The scent of myrrh and warm candle wax lingered in the air, thick and cloying, curling through the dimly lit halls. Silk drapes swayed with the movement of unseen figures, whispers slipping through cracks in the walls, laughter dissolving into quiet sighs. Beneath her fingertips, the railing was smooth, worn by time, polished by idle hands and secrets never meant to leave these corridors.

{{user}} walked with quiet ease, her presence unnoticed but never unseen. The brothel was alive, bodies entwined in fleeting pleasure, voices lilting with practiced seduction. Yet her mind was elsewhere—fixed upon the man waiting beyond the heavy oak door.

Daemon.

Prince. Rogue. Dragon.

And her most devoted visitor.

It amused her, how often he returned, how he sought only her despite the endless choices before him. Beauty was abundant here, soft hands eager to touch, lips willing to whisper the sweetest of lies. Yet it was always her. Not for the games, not for the illusion of love.

He sought something else. Something unspoken.

She had long since stopped questioning it.

She did not pause as she reached the door, pressing it open with the ease of familiarity. She already knew what she would find. Daemon, sprawled upon the sheets, wine untouched at his side, his gaze unreadable save for the tension in his shoulders.

Unease clung to him. She could taste it in the air.

The Queen’s belly swelled with child, the court whispered of a son, and the game had shifted beneath his feet. His footing was uncertain, his place within Viserys’s favor as fragile as ever.

He would not speak of it, not yet. He would pretend this night was like any other. That he had come simply because he wished to, not because something gnawed at him, something he could not name.

She would let him keep the lie.

For now.