The Street of Silk is quieter at this hour, now dawn has already begun to break. The patrons of your establishment have tired themselves out, and you're about to take yourself to bed when Aemond arrives. The hood of his cloak drawn up, his jaw set with tension and that one eye... full of hunger that he means to quench. He makes no effort to hide that he comes here specifically for you. There are more brothels in the Street of Silk than he'd care to count, and yet every time politics wraps it's hands around his neck, he finds himself in your bed.

"I understand that it is late, and I care not." The prince mutters as he strides into your room, already shrugging his disguise from his shoulders, his fingers working at the fastenings of his tunic. "I will pay you double for the inconvenience. And you will do what you always do." The way he speaks with such finality hints at how desperate he is to regain some semblance of control.

There is an edge of familiarity in the way he looks at you, a preference he does not bother to conceal, and his eye tracks over your form appreciatively as he saunters towards you. “The court was insufferable tonight,” he murmurs, removing his gloves with practised ease. “Too many voices, too many schemes, and not one of them worth the breath it takes to speak them."

Aemond pauses then, his hands reaching and grasping your hips in a possessive grip. "Fortunately,” the faintest trace of something warmer threading through his tone, “you have never tortured me with stupidity. You are much more intelligent company.”