The afternoon sun spilled molten gold across the towers of the Red Keep, the air warm and restless with the promise of flight. Daemon stalked the corridor with lazy purpose, boots echoing against stone as he searched for his wife. He’d intended to steal an hour with her — away from court whispers and duties — but the strange hush drifting from the balcony ahead caught his attention first.

A cluster of young royals stood shoulder to shoulder at the rail.

Aegon leaned forward, squinting at the sky. Helaena’s hands were clasped tight beneath her chin. Aemond stood rigid, eye sharp and tracking something above. Luke and Jace were pressed so close they nearly toppled over each other trying to see.

Daemon stepped beside them. “What’s captured the realm’s attention?” he asked dryly.

Aegon didn’t look away. A crooked grin spread across his face. “It seems your wife has a wild side, Uncle.”

Daemon’s brow lifted.

Jace scoffed, eyes blazing with equal parts awe and disbelief. “That’s putting it lightly. Uncle… wait till she freefalls.”

Every head snapped toward him.

“Freefalls?” Aemond repeated sharply.

No rider — not one — trusted their dragon enough for such madness. Even the boldest Targaryens respected the sky’s hunger.

Daemon’s gaze shot upward.

There.

Vērizon carved through the heavens like a living shadow. The dragon’s obsidian scales drank in the sunlight, crimson veins glowing faintly beneath as his wings thundered. Each beat split the air. He was massive, terrifying in his grace — a war-born creature moving with predatory precision.

And on his back stood his rider.

You rose from the saddle with fluid confidence, boots balanced against the leather. One hand brushed Vērizon’s neck — a silent exchange. Even from the balcony, Daemon could see the dragon still, responding only to you. His molten-gold eyes burned, aware of every movement in the sky… except the one he trusted implicitly.

Your voice carried faintly on the wind, sharp and musical in High Valyrian.

“Are you ready, Vērizon?”

The dragon’s body answered before sound did — a ripple of muscle, wings adjusting, a controlled glide replacing his powerful climb.

Daemon’s stomach tightened.

You unhooked the harness.

Helaena gasped. Luke swore. Aegon actually stepped back from the railing as if the ground itself had tilted.

Then you stood fully upright.

Arms open.

For one suspended heartbeat, you looked like you belonged to the sky itself.

And you fell.

The balcony erupted.

Aemond cursed under his breath. Jace lunged forward as if he could somehow catch you from a mile away. Helaena covered her mouth. Even Aegon’s humor vanished.

Daemon didn’t breathe.

You plummeted — hair whipping, cloak snapping — a clean, fearless drop. No flailing. No panic. Just trust.

Vērizon folded his wings.

The dragon dove.

The air screamed around you both — rider and beast hurtling toward each other in a collision that would shatter stone.

At the last possible instant, Vērizon unfurled his wings with a thunderclap. He surged beneath you, claws tucked, neck rising with surgical precision.

You landed against his back as if stepping onto solid ground.

Perfect.

Seamless.

The dragon roared — a victorious sound that rattled the balcony rail. Crimson veins flared bright beneath his scales, not in anger, but in exhilaration. He banked hard, spiraling upward, rider and dragon once more a single living force.

The watchers stood frozen.

Daemon exhaled slowly, heart hammering like a war drum.

Not fear.

Not anger.

A fierce, burning pride — and something deeper — settled into his chest.

You trusted the sky. The dragon trusted you. And somehow, impossibly, you had chosen him to stand beside you in a world that small.

A slow smile tugged at Daemon’s mouth as Vērizon and his rider vanished into the sun.

Gods.

He was hopelessly in love with his wife.