Khal Drogo Daenerys Targaryen Novels & Stories

My mother halted mid-step. All sound seemed to squeeze from the air. “That’s…” she bit out. “Yeah.” I inclined my head. “That’s Draven Kael.” She pivoted on her heel, lips curled back in wrath. “You brought him here? You allowed that… that monster free roam in a village full of survivors?” “He fought with us.” I kept a level tone. “Not against.” She stalked closer, eyes gleaming embers. “He’s nothing but the Interregnum’s pawn. Their weapon. Don’t you know what he’ll do?”

Khaleesi's pov; "Please! Khaleesi please! You can't do this to me. We've known each other for years and have shared the same thing! Please don't kill me. Spare me!" Dan's cowardly cry and plea to be spared was like the sound of a bug in my ears, pestering me and asking to be let go. One sniff and all I could smell was blood. The blood of his fallen warriors and not even one of my mine or neither Aodhàn's around us.

The maid quarters were a beautiful representation of the kingdom of Ghandor. In the early morning, a cold air blew back and forth, causing shivers. Multiple groups of men practice swordplay, as usual, with distant metal striking metal. He remembered the maidens and the over ten contenders who are getting ready for the second round, battling for His affection. Prince Kohl reached out of his bed, glanced out the window, and heard a silent whisper, a voice echoing,'she is the queen of the iron throne'. He looked around his bedroom and wondered whether he was having a hallucination. 'No, this is real,' he exclaimed.

The Dragons The Elders: Neyalha – (Nay-ALL-a) Gheyaral – (GAY-arall) The Guardians: Nayara – (Nay-AHR-ah) Ghaeron – (GHER-on) The Inhabitants of Edon The King and Queen Emerik (EH-merik) and Adalyn (AD-alin) The Grenyaar – (GREN-yahr) (The Black Knights) Sira – (SUR-ah) – Title for female Knights

The soldiers dropped to their knees, the captives quieted, and the dragons returned and took up a position around the village. Evrah inched closer, putting her face against the wood, trying to see what had caused everything to stop. A deep voice spoke. The kind that caresses flesh, as it slowly spreads poison against the skin. Smooth and venomous. Evrah could not see the body the voice belonged to, but his words found her ears just fine. “Where is she?” the voice demanded.

If we ever found ourselves on opposing sides of a conflict, he wouldn't think twice about crushing me. The four kings and their heirs occupy the rest of the chairs: Pakstan of the North with Pharaoah, Theo of the South with Thorn, River of the East, and me, and lastly, Nathan of the fuckin' West with his second son, Elliot. The latter gives me a scowl, and I return it without blinking. He is a little younger than father in age, but he is still tall, and his grey eyes are exceedingly penetrating. Without sure, he is the one who proposed Bella be wed to one of his kids, who are more repulsive than he is.

“She never left.” The passage opened into a vast chamber. At its center stood an obsidian throne, coiled by a statue of a serpent biting its tail. Bones littered the floor, human, animal, unidentifiable. Incense burned from iron bowls, filling the air with a sweet rot that turned the stomach. On the throne sat Valentina. Her silver hair cascaded down her shoulders; her eyes shimmered with molten gold. Around her, the Crimson Pact knelt in silent devotion. When she spoke, her voice rolled like silk over razors.

faces, dossiers, crime scenes, each a monster in its own right. “Diovolo Castellano,” Salvatore said first. A handsome man with sharp eyes and an arrogant smile filled the frame. “Daemon Castellano.” A taller, broad-shouldered figure with a scar running down his cheek stared back. “Draven Castellano.” The youngest, almost ethereal, his beauty is a dangerous bloom. Then finally... the last image appeared, and my breath caught. Draco Castellano. The man from outside the cathedral. Sharp features. Dark eyes. An expression devoid of warmth. He looked terrifyingly emotionless in the photograph. A king raised inside violence.

Ilena sobbed louder as she struggled against his grip, scratching and biting. He placed his bloody palm on the wall beside his name. “I, Dreg the king of the North is wholly bound with soul and body to Ilena, the Queen of the North.” The bloody print stuck to the wall beside his name and then Dreg picks up a blade towards Ilena’s palm. “Please, please wait!” Ilena begged in terror with tears clouding her vision. “We have been wed in the ways of the Thanes, it is now time to be bound in the ways of the North and there’s no stopping that.”

Hearing it spoken in the open air above the Atlantic gave it a different quality. Permanent was the word she kept arriving at. Not ending. Permanent. The crown of the Vael bloodline was a physical object smaller than she'd expected, old metal worn smooth by time, carrying nothing theatrical. Seren placed it on Caspian's head with the precise care of someone who had done this for three hundred years and understood that the object was less significant than the moment. He became, in that moment, what he had been becoming for a very long time. She watched it happen.