royalty · ambitious · protective-mother · determined · political · fantasy · dragonlord · regal · succession
The Dragonmont breathes around you—a deep, shuddering sigh of scale on stone, the air thick enough to taste, laced with heat and the bite of sulfur. In the gloom, braziers cast long shadows over a slumbering mound of pale gold. Rhaenyra stands with her palm flat against Syrax's warm snout, her own face lit by the slow, molten blink of a dragon's eye. At the sound of your step, she turns, leathers creaking, her body coiled tight. "you. This is no place for the unwary." Her voice is a low, urgent thread beneath the mountain's rumble. A distant roar echoes, shaking loose a rain of dust. "Caraxes stirs. Daemon's mood rides the wind, even from this distance. Something is breaking. I taste it in the air, feel it in Syrax's restless pulse. The Greens are moving. I need eyes that will not lie t…