Aemond Targaryen Outfit นิยาย & เรื่องราว

XERXES I shifted in my seat, suppressing a groan as my fingers drummed against the polished arm of the chair. Gold embroidery gleamed on the sleeves of my ceremonial jacket, catching the dim candlelight, while the heavy, royal-blue fabric weighed on my shoulders like a boulder. This suit was made to command attention, crafted from the finest velvet and adorned with intricate golden designs that reflected my family’s standing. But right now, it felt like a straitjacket.

The scent of incense and flowers filled the air, mingling with the perfume of the nobles and the sharp, clean smell of anticipation. Maddox stood at the altar, his back straight, his expression unreadable. He wore the traditional royal vestments of Emberclaw, deep crimson embroidered with gold thread, the sigil of his house stitched over his heart. A crown of silver and rubies rested on his brow, catching the candlelight and scattering it like drops of blood.

"But you don't see me advocating for those in the courtyard. We use stone. We use iron. We use things that don't melt in the rain." I leaned back on the Throne of Regalia. It was uncomfortable, cold, and designed to make you feel like a deity. Which was convenient, because I felt entirely unholy today. My eyes drifted. They drifted past the rows of somber-faced Council members. They drifted past the flickering torchlight. They landed on him. Armando was standing at the foot of the dais, his back to a marble pillar. He was in full dress uniform—black wool, silver buttons, the ceremonial sword at his hip. He looked like a statue carved from midnight.

As Roland galloped through the streets, his elegant linen garments billowed in the breeze, offering glimpses of the sturdy chainmail and armour concealed beneath. The sight of the armour caused the citizens to widen their eyes in recognition. It was clear that Roland's attire was of the highest quality. Their assumptions were spot-on. For this particular outing, I had equipped Roland with Grade III magic chainmail and armour, meticulously refined by the system. His attire was tailor-made to complement his class as a Demonic Monk, ensuring unrestricted movement and durability in battle. "Did you see that guy? There's something about him that's just captivating. It's like my eyes are fixated o

Every step was guarded by a Drinealia soldier. They saluted her with their heads bowed and their right fist pressed over their hearts as she passed by. She was reminded of her childhood when she used to run around the corridors of the Castle of Drinealia. The soldier came to a halt in front of a door at the far end of the corridor and knocked. With his head bowed, he stepped aside and pushed open the door for her. As attendants dressed him, the Demon King stood with his hands spread to his sides in front of a huge shining mirror, she walked in. He was dressed in black knee-length leather boots and black leather pants tucked into the boots. He was dressed in a black shirt, and two attendants

I pick up a padded cream shirt, a pair of brown trousers, a chainmail shirt and a brown leather armoured vest and belt. 'These must be for you,' I say to Magnus. He takes them from my hands and nods in approval. Next, I pick up a black linen tunic with silver embroidery along the collar, a pair of black trousers, and a long gambeson coat lined with matching silver embroidery. As I hand them to Alec, I spot a leather baldric falling from the clothes pile. I pick it up and pass it to Alec. 'These are very fine clothing,' Alec says. 'How do I look?' Magnus asks. I turn around to see he has already changed into his new clothes. 'I'm getting some Robin Hood vibes from you,' I giggle.

Damn, damn, damn. Emrys was a whole man, if you catch my drift… During his meeting Emrys changed into a tight, what looked to be, black fighting leathers; the material hung to his muscled self beautifully, and the black boots he wore matched. A few different colored metals and badges decorated his right pec area and his black hair combed back, letting his broad shoulders appear more intimidating. A small golden sun pendant was closest to his heart.

ARES’ POV The moment had finally arrived. Standing before the grand, full-length mirror in my suite, I adjusted the collar of my ceremonial regalia, the sharp gold accents catching the morning light. My reflection stared back at me—stoic, unreadable. Every detail of the outfit was tailored to perfection: the fitted black suit lined with crescent silver embroidery, the heavy alpha medallion resting against my chest, and the sleek crown of authority nestled over my dark, neatly combed hair.

Navori's gown had a thousand gold crystal shimmers that fit her extravagantly dolled-up golden blonde hair. While Jorah stood in a dark blue top buttoned down to reveal his chest and low-rise pants that showed his waistline, his hands adorned with black rings. This was how he normally dressed, but his beauty was amplified that night, his dirty blonde hair swept back, showing off his hazel eyes in a beautiful light, a true show-stealer between the two celebrants. “Myra! Nice to see you!” Tarrin's voice broke the tension in Navori's gaze as the gamma walked over to take Myra into his arms and swing her around, making her crack a smile.

Absalom paused and fingered a tunic in his hands while he thought. “I don’t know. I just do.” He lifted the cream-colored tunic over his head and pulled it down over his torso. He’d already set a pair of black boots next to the bed and pulled those over his feet, then stood to face her. The tunic did little to conceal the muscle beneath it and the collar only accented the thickness of his neck, drawing her wondering eyes to it. “Now to find some cloaks. It will continue to become cold at night, so we’ll want to be covered.” Despite his harshness at times, she had to admit that his ability to take care of a situation was admirable. Still, she was reluctant to trust him, especially aft