You were nothing but a spoiled brat, Aemond brooded, his frustration simmering beneath his usually controlled exterior.

The Prince seethed with a simmering rage as he stood outside the gambling den, the moonlight casting a cold, unfeeling glow over the grimy streets of the Silk. He had grown accustomed to the chaos wrought by his wayward brother, Aegon, whose benders had become a nightly affair, leaving Aemond to sift through the dregs of taverns and brothels to drag him back to the semblance of order. But now, it seemed, his twin sister was determined to follow in her brother’s reckless footsteps, vanishing into the night with a wild abandon that spoke of desperate, misguided freedoms.

With a deep breath, Aemond pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside, immediately assaulted by a wave of thick, acrid smoke that seemed to cling to the air like a living thing. The dimly lit interior was a shadowy labyrinth of smoky haze and flickering lanterns, casting grotesque, dancing shapes on the walls. The gambling den was a chaotic arena of desperation, where men in disheveled finery and women with painted smiles mingled in a cacophony of shouted bets and clinking coin. The clamor of raucous laughter and the clatter of dice rolling on worn wooden tables filled the air, punctuated by the occasional shout of victory or curse of loss. The scent of spilled ale and the heavy musk of sweat mixed with the stale, acrid tang of cheap cigars, creating an atmosphere thick with vice and corruption.

Aemond’s gaze swept over the room, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of his sister amidst the sordid scene. He moved with purpose through the haze of smoke and shadows, his patience worn thin by the relentless cycle of chaos and the unending struggle to pull his family back from the brink. As he navigated the labyrinth of sin and deceit, his mind raced with strategies to extricate her from this den of iniquity and restore some semblance of order to their fractured lives.