She was never meant to burn. At Ashford, Princess Viserra Targaryen plays a dangerous game; flirting with knights, provoking princes, and refusing to be controlled. But when her rivalry with the dangerously charming Aerion Targaryen turns into something deeper, sharper, and far more consuming, the game begins to unravel. Because Viserra is changing. And whatever is awakening inside her is not something even dragons have forgotten.

Aerion Targaryen was fire made flesh, a prince whose cruelty was as deliberate as it was brilliant. He reveled in chaos and indulgence, a storm of menace that left ash and ruin in his wake. No one could tame him, not kin, not crown, not fear, and yet he drew her in with the quiet promise that some temptations were worth every burn. Rhaella Targaryen had always walked the narrow line between sweetness and steel, a careful mask over a heart that could cut sharper than any blade. She knew the rules, the expected smiles, the polite obedience, but when grief and desire festered, she discovered the intoxicating pull of defiance. In King Daeron II's court of spectacle - of knights, feasts and whispered rivalries, Rhaella and Aerion circled each other like flame to tinder. Nothing was tender. Everything was peril. And some fires, once ignited, could never be tamed.

Born a year after the Realm's Delight, Prince Aerion Targaryen was never meant to inherit the Iron Throne. But the realm has always preferred sons. Cruel where his sister is calculating, merciless where she seeks legitimacy, Aerion grows beside Rhaenyra as her shadow and her sword a dragon hatched of the same fire, but forged in something darker. While lords whisper that he would make the stronger ruler, Aerion's loyalty belongs to one person alone. When the Dance of the Dragons begins, the realm will learn a terrible truth: Rhaenyra may want the crown. But her brother wants the world to burn for her.

They were never meant to 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 each other. Still-something between them 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈, slow and merciless, until it becomes impossible to ignore. 𝒟𝒶𝑒𝓁𝓎𝓇𝒶 𝒟𝒶𝓌𝓃 𝒯𝒶𝓇𝑔𝒶𝓇𝓎𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒜𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒯𝒶𝓇𝑔𝒶𝓇𝓎𝑒𝓃 . .ᐟ ⟢ ۫

"She dances with fire to the song of the stars her name is written in the flames." "Whoever dwells in darkness should see to it that in the process they do not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you." In which Rhaelyn Targaryen becomes ensnared in the madness of her family's bloodline, a tale of fire and fate where two dragon souls burn within the same flame, slowly driving the princess toward madness. A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS Aerion Targaryen x oc

Where Aerion burned outward, Aeralieth burned inward. Where he demanded the world's gaze, she learned to move unseen. Two halves of the same fire, shaped differently but born from the same spark. Aerion Targaryen x original character Aeralieth Targaryen This is a slow burn, but I'm not gonna drag chapters out with useless foder, so it won't be too far away for the juicy stuff to happen i pinky swear. AERALIETH PRONOUNCIATION: Air-ah-lie-eth

"You don't own me, Aerion. You're too mad to even see straight." "I own every dragon I desire, bastard or not." ⋆༺𓆩𐂂𓆪༻⋆ Princess Aelynn Targaryen was born a Stormdragon bastard, but fate and her cunning uncle Lyonel, would see her legitimized as a true Targaryen princess. Raised in the shadow of kings and dragons away in Storms end, she is betrothed to a careless, drunken prince she barely knows... only to find her heart drawn to his dangerous, mad younger brother. In a court where love is a weapon and loyalty a gamble, Aelynn must navigate fire, fury, and forbidden desire. ⋆༺𓆩𐂂𓆪༻⋆ Aerion Targaryen x OC Slight Daeron Targaryon x OC

"𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑮𝒐𝒅 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒏." aerion targaryen x fem!oc

This is the tale that began at the great tourney of Ashford Tourney-the year hedge knights dared to dream too high, princes rode with fire in their blood, and I first understood what it meant to be born a dragon among men who wished to see you burn. My name is Aelora Targaryen. Daughter of Prince Maekar of House Targaryen. Granddaughter to King Daeron II Targaryen. Twin to Aerion-my mirror and my shadow. Sister to Daeron and little Aegon. Niece to Prince Baelor Breakspear, heir to the Iron Throne, and cousin to Valarr of the brown hair and careful smile. We were raised at Summerhall, beneath high towers and hotter tempers. My father, Prince Maekar, believed in discipline as other men believe in gods. My mother believed in silence. My brothers believed in glory. Aerion believed in destiny. He says it often enough that one begins to wonder if he has convinced himself. He was born moments after me, though he refuses to admit it. "Together," he insists. "We were born together. We belong together." He says it the way men speak of prophecies. Of conquest. Of inevitability. His hair is the pale silver-gold of old Valyria, bright even in shadow. Mine is a honeyed blonde that glimmers gold in the sunlight. Our eyes are storm-blue-restless, watching. When we walk side by side, courtiers stare as though they have glimpsed something out of a history book: the blood of the dragon made flesh. But blood alone does not make a story. It was the year a hedge knight named Duncan the Tall rode into legend. The year when my twin smiled at me in a way that made the air feel thin. If the singers tell it true, this is a story of a knight and his squire. They are wrong. And of the moment I began to wonder whether dragons are born to rule... or born to ruin everything they touch. If you wish to hear it, I will begin at the start. Before the events of Ashford. At the first crack in the shell of destiny Aerion so carefully built around us. Shall we begin?

In the jeweled city of Lys, where marble glows like moonlight and every pleasure has a price, a dragon lives in exile. Prince Aerion Targaryen was sent across the Narrow Sea to quiet the fire in his blood. Instead, he lets it burn. The courts adore him. The streets fear him. And the sea whispers of the kingdom he left behind. Then she appears. Valeyra does not bow. She does not tremble. And when she looks at him, it is not with awe - but with something far more dangerous. Recognition. She came to Lys to escape her past. He was sent there to outrun his. Neither intends to fall into the orbit of the other. Yet in a city that devours the lonely and crowns the reckless, their paths refuse to remain separate. What begins as defiance becomes fascination. What grows from fascination begins to feel like fate. But blood remembers what the mind forgets. And some bonds, once broken, do not remain buried. Set against silk-draped balconies, moonlit canals, and the ever-present shadow of dragonfire, this is a story of exile, longing, and the kind of love that does not ask permission - only sacrifice. In a world where destiny is written in flame, two souls will discover that not all stories are meant to end in glory. Some are meant to burn.