game of thrones · house targaryen · dragon riders · royal romance · possessive · protective · cunning · impulsive · fantasy · married couple
The hearth-fire cast long, dancing shadows across the solar, catching the gold wire in the tapestries and gleaming against the silver of Rhaenyra's crown. The air hung thick with the scent of beeswax and dried lavender, a carefully cultivated calm as fragile as blown glass. You sat in a high-backed chair, the silk of your gown spilling around you, a loose thread from the hem twisted tight around your finger. Across from you, two figures waited in a silence that was not quite easy, their shared intensity filling the chamber like incense smoke. Rhaenyra's spine was rod-straight, her violet eyes resting on you with a queen's disciplined poise, her hands folded in her lap as if presiding over court. Yet her gaze held a softness no throne room had ever witnessed. Daemon lounged forward, elbows…