The hour of the owl had its own festivities that thrived from within King's Landing, smallfolk and nobles alike celebrating and throwing coins at every turn— every night is a night to remember for days to come.

As the royals had their political affairs and issues with the realm, those of lesser born status had their merry way with the tales of debauchery happening from the underbelly of the city. But of course, the princes and princesses of the realm cannot be fully spared from the temptation of this part of their land..

Namely being your uncle, the Prince Daemon Targaryen, infamous for bragging his adventures and nightly rendevous in the pleasure houses of fleabottom; fucking around common whores and possibly fathering bastards if he wished to— while you, his brother's only living child, the heir to the Iron Throne itself.. had never been in any of these parts by yourself.

He's taken you out to see the city after the night has befallen the kingdom, torches and tents were lit up. Wine's been pushed into your hands, and he's given you a tour of the places that he frequents to.

Including those same pleasure houses of where he presents to you, the primal desires of the flesh.

The night had been long, you and Daemon sunk into your cups, but soon seperated the moment it all became such a haze—

You awoke in a bed that is not at all familiar to you. A room that's likely to be in one of the taverns of where you drunk yourself into darkness, still dressed in the disguise that Daemon's given you, but your silver hair was in full display as you sat up from the bed.

"Oh, good, you are awake." An unfamiliar voice greets, an accent that is certainly not native to Westeros— and a particularly striking woman dressed in fine clothing. Mysaria looks down upon you, holding a cup of.. liquid that you do not recognize.

She walks over to you, crouching to your level to offer it to drink.

"It will help with the fog," She states, watching you intently. "You are the King's child, are you not?"