'Life's an ass, you may as well lick it.'
- 'The Early Musings of Prince Rhaenar' by Brien Flowers
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The street of silk, the prime locale in King's Landing for indulging in fleshly desires. Let your carnal pleasures run wild.
On this warm evening, a pleasure house buzzed with activity.
The entire establishment had been booked for the night. Inside, hundreds of men reveled, imbibing and enjoying the company of courtesans of all types.
On the second floor, nestled in a back corner by a window, sat Prince Daemon at a round table. He observed as his soon-to-be Gold Cloaks celebrated. They had earned this respite after their recent hard work.
A sly smile played on Daemon's lips as he surveyed the opulent scene. It was an orgy of luxury — silks and satins adorning smooth skin, toasts raised in his honor, and a perfect balance of desire.
Amidst the muffled laughter and music, Mysaria wove her way through the crowd. She moved gracefully, balancing two brimming goblets of wine. Her beige dress clung to her slender frame, her curves enticing.
She poured a drink for the prince. "Thank you," Daemon said.
With a hand at the back of his neck, Mysaria smiled. "You are welcome, Commander," she said before addressing the crowd, "Shall we toast to our future?"
A soon-to-be gold cloak slammed his mug on the table. "Quiet! Your Prince will speak!" he declared, hushing the gathering.
But just then…
"Thank you," a voice said, powerful and dignified, "Don't mind if I do."
Prince Rhaenar strode into the room, clad in a robe and hood.
Daemon noted the patterned breastplate underneath. His nephew was armed, as always. The only question was how many others accompanied him, whether concealed or in the open.
"Evening, Uncle," Rhaenar greeted, unhooding himself. "Just the man I wanted to see."
"Nephew," Daemon replied with a warm smile.
His voice brought the color back to the room. Everyone relaxed and went about their revelry. Albeit much quieter, and all looking with side eye and in awe at how they had now associated themselves with such casual sightings of royalty.
"Have a drink," Daemon said.
"Don't mind if I do," Rhaenar said. Mysaria moved to fill a cup for him like clockwork. "Thank you, my lady. And who might you be?"
Rhaenar was taken aback by her striking beauty. Long, sleek black hair. Deep brown oriental eyes. A delicate face bone structure, a pointed chin.
It reminded Rhaenar of another life. Geisha's and Harem's of Qin.
"Mysaria, if it please you, my prince. I am no lady."
"Yes you are," Prince Daemon told her proudly, "You are my paramour," to which she could not hide her pleasement.
Rhaenar's ears twitched at the thick accent. "A pleasure," he said, kissing her slender hand, "Where might you be from, Lady Mysaria?"
She flinched her eyes a little bit, just enough for Rhaenar to notice.
"I am from Lys," she said pointedly.
"I see. Then let it be the last time you must speak of it. I am well aware of the horrors of Lys. The sex slavery that takes place. You have done well to get out of there. I commend your spirit and wit."
Rhaenar took a swig of his wine, "Let me be the first to warn you, Lady Mysaria, just because you made it to Westeros, doesn't mean you're in the clear. Evil lurks in every corner no matter where you are."
Mysaria was taken aback by this sudden appearance of Prince Rhaenar, the heir to the throne Daemon had oh so mentioned, the extra barrier that seperated Daemon from being King.
She was taken by the non judgemental tone of his voice. How he spoke very candidly and toward you. As if he fully believed in your intelligence, your ability to understand him, to not take offense and get down to the nitty gritty.
"Evil. It is as you say."
Rhaenar took a seat, "If I may be so forward, what can you tell me of the sex trade?"
Suddenly Mysaria was dubious at his intentions. She sat on Daemon's lap. Daemon's hand clung on her waist in support.
"You have interest in flesh?" she said alluringly.
Rhaenar waved a dismissive hand, "Not necessarily. I had the fortune to come across a painting once upon a time in another life. Granted, it wasn't the original. But it instilled a feeling in me like no other.
Mysaria looked to Daemon.
'Prepare yourself for a monologue,' Daemon's shrug suggested. Mysaria smiled.
"The artist was a woman named Pornpan," Rhaenar went on, "She hailed from a Thai people, from a land so distant in time and space that it is no import to waste your mind on thinking on the matter.
"Thai culture was heavily engrossed in the sex trade. Pornpan was a young absorbent of that life.
"She also happened to be a talented artist. The painting she did that depicted the horror of the sex trade, that life, squalor, and darkness, was an image so profound that I felt it with great intensity.
"Ever since the day I saw her painting, I have always been disturbed by the dark side of the pleasure business. As is the profound impact of art that it can have on people. Oh, how I yearned to visit her country and meet her…"
Mysaria raised a brow, "Did you?"
"No," Rhaenar said sadly, "And now I'm afraid I never will. In any case, welcome to King's Landing. The city is brighter by your presence. Take care of yourself. Don't rely on me, my uncle, or any other cunt for that matter."
"I have been sold more times than I can count," Mysaria said. She had no idea why she was saying such truths, yet still, her lips moved, "Thank you, but you don't have to worry about me, Prince Rhaenar."
Rhaenanar crossed his arms, an impressed smile on his lips, "You can't put a price on that tenacious spirit. Where did you find her, Uncle? There's no way you could be so lucky."
Prince Daemon glanced his paramour up and down lustfully, "Even a dragon can get lucky twice."
"Ah!" Rhaenar announced, suddenly reminded, "Speaking of lucky, do I have a surprise for you!"