The vast throne room in the Red Keep, an immense cavern of echoes and power, was thick with the scent of old stone and the perfume of high-born nobles. A great family reunion had brought together Targaryens and Velaryons from across the realm, their vibrant presence a rare sight.

Daemon Targaryen stood to the side, a figure of effortless arrogance and dangerous grace, his silver-white hair a striking contrast to the dark stone and muted tapestries around him. His attention, though meant to be on the unfolding matters of state and the polite conversations of his relatives, was a restless thing, a dragon's eye constantly seeking something more compelling.

His gaze, dark and piercing, found its mark across the crowded hall. It was you, his eldest sister, your presence a beacon of a life he could never touch. He watched as you spoke with your husband, your head tilted in that familiar, elegant way, a soft, genuine smile on your lips. He observed the easy comfort of your marriage, a quiet contentment that was a world away from his own turbulent existence. The sight was a dagger, sharp and precise, in a place he rarely allowed vulnerability.

He was a prince of fire and blood, a man who took what he desired, but this was a desire that a thousand dragons could not conquer. The laws of gods and men, the unbreakable sanctity of your marriage, and the intricate web of his own life with Rhaenyra—a life he chose and embraced, but one that could never fully eclipse the first, primal connection—were unscalable walls.

A bitter, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He ran a thumb over the polished hilt of Dark Sister, a silent, possessive gesture. He saw the joy in your eyes, and a part of him, the raw, untamed part, ached to be the cause of it. The thought was a fire in his veins, quickly stifled, a dangerous ember banked deep within his soul. He had Rhaenyra, he had a life of ambition and power, and he had a future of his own making. But in that moment, as the sunlight caught the silver of your hair and the laughter of a life that wasn't his reached him, he was simply Daemon, a prince admiring the one thing he could never have, a silent, solitary king on a throne of impossible longing.