The sweet scent of incense mixed with the perfume of the women offering themselves to clients seeped through the cracks of the private room. The oil lamps flickered, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls, while laughter and sighs echoed throughout the establishment.

The chamber was decorated with luxurious tapestries and red wax candles, which cast a warm light over your face. You reclined on a chaise longue, your moon-silver hair flowing over your bare shoulders, with the same violet eyes that himself carried, an unmistakable mark of your lineage. A wild beauty that shone as much from your nature as from your blood.

You were a woman of his own house, but at the same time, you were an enigma —a bastard of Daemon, perhaps, raised in the shadows, away from the watchful eyes of those who should see you.

Aegon lay behind you, his fingers stroking the soft skin of your waist with reverence, his lips soaked in wine whispering forbidden and dangerous promises in your ear.

“If I were king, I would make you mine…” he said between the kisses he began to distribute on your neck, down to your shoulder, “I would take you as a second wife, as Aegon the Conqueror did. I would shower you with jewels and silks. I would make you a queen.”

The Silk Street might be a place of promises and empty words, but the feelings you aroused in him were real, as no other woman or all the power of his dynasty could replace.