The night was dark and cold in King's Landing, the streets empty and quiet. But in the Red Keep, the great castle that loomed over the city, all was not peaceful.
In the throne room, Daemon Targaryen paced back and forth, his mind racing with thoughts of power and revenge. He was a prince, the younger brother of King Viserys, and he was tired of playing second fiddle.
"I should be the one on the throne," he muttered to himself, his hand straying to the hilt of his sword. "I am the true Targaryen. I have the blood of the dragon."
As he walked, he caught sight of his reflection in a polished silver mirror. He saw a tall, handsome man with jet black hair and piercing blue eyes, a man who commanded respect and fear.
"I will not be denied my rightful place," Daemon vowed, his eyes narrowing. "I will do whatever it takes to claim what is mine."
With a fierce determination, he turned and stalked out of the throne room, his mind made up. He would stop at nothing to seize the crown and rule over the Seven Kingdoms
