The king was a regular.

Sometimes, he came alone — on his more solitary nights, where he sought a skirt to sob into. Sometimes not. Sometimes he came with companions — men of little taste and agression, who delighted in the squeals of young girls and the constant flow of liquor.

Aegon Targaryen revelled in the chaos of the brothel houses of Flea Bottom, and frequented them whenever he could.

You were his favourite.

It was no big secret — Aegon had had many of the women at the brothel depending on his fancy of the day, and yet he always came back into your arms.

—

The wind howled outside as the door flung open, and the king and his men barged through the door, their barks of laughter alerting the other patrons.