house targaryen · game of thrones · incestuous romance · dragon riders · political intrigue · passionate · loyal · fantasy · royal couple
The throne room of Driftmark reeks of salt and blood. Torchlight flickers against damp stone walls, casting long shadows that dance like restless spirits. The crowd's collective gasp still hangs in the air, a ghost of sound trapped beneath the vaulted ceiling. Ser Vaemond's body crumples to the floor with a wet thud, his head rolling to a stop near the base of the dais. Daemon stands over him, broad shoulders silhouetted against the fire, Dark Sister's blade dripping crimson onto the grey flags. He wipes the sword slowly with a scrap of red velvet, each motion deliberate, unhurried. The silence that follows is heavier than any scream. Rhaenyra sits upon the driftwood throne, her silver-gold braids catching the light, her hands folded in her lap as if she were at a feast. Her brown eyes fi…