Chapter 26: Brothels, Posts, and Free Labor
On Silk Street in King's Landing, the night shimmered with torchlight and perfume. Prostitutes in bright silks leaned from balconies or doorways, calling out to passing men with practiced laughter.
A burly man with a scarred jaw — Harvey, captain of a local gang — swaggered into the Blue Pearl, one of the finer brothels on the street.
The madam, Catelyn, hurried to greet him with a painted smile.
"Ser Harvey! We've just received two virgins from Lys tonight. Go upstairs and enjoy yourself — my treat."
Harvey's grin vanished. He seized her arm roughly.
"Enough with the smiles. My brothers keep your whores safe. If not for us, they'd have been torn apart by the gutter rats of Flea Bottom. When will you pay the protection fee — one hundred gold dragons, last month's due?"
Catelyn paled. "Business has been poor, my lord. The city has levied a copper tax on every customer, and many of our girls are ill. Can we—"
Harvey's hand closed around her throat.
"If I'm short by a single copper before midnight, I'll cut your tongue out."
A cold voice cut through the air.
"Harvey," said Prince Daemon Targaryen, stepping into the hall with a squad of Gold Cloaks, "are you so mighty that you kill whomever you please?"
The brute froze. All color drained from his face. "P–Prince Daemon! We didn't know you were here. We all miss you, my prince — the girls talk about you nightly."
Daemon smiled thinly and plucked the heavy coin pouch from Harvey's belt. It jingled with gold dragons.
"I've visited several brothels today. Every madam tells the same tale — your extortion. I've known of your dealings for some time, but back then, I wasn't responsible for the peace of this city."
He stepped closer, eyes hard.
"Now I am."
Harvey stammered, "Prince, we only protect the girls from violent customers. If a man refuses to pay, we make him—"
Daemon's voice cracked like a whip. "Enough. You call it protection. I call it theft. Go reflect in the dungeons."
The Gold Cloaks seized Harvey, shackled him, and dragged him away. His screams faded down the stair.
Madam Catelyn fell to her knees, tears welling.
"Prince Daemon, you've rid us of that brute! Tonight, the girls and I—"
Daemon raised a hand. "From now on, Silk Street falls under my command. The Gold Cloaks will protect every brothel here — and in return, a fair share of your profits will go to the crown."
Catelyn bowed low. "A blessing, my prince. The girls will remember your kindness."
Daemon's tone softened, almost kindly. "Some of your women spread sickness. That must end. The Gold Cloaks will record the names of every prostitute in the city. The healers will examine and treat them. Those too sick or too old to work will go to my lands near the Blackwater Rush. They'll tend sheep and fields there — and if the gods are kind, perhaps find a husband among the laborers."
Catelyn smiled tearfully. "Only you would think so mercifully of us. You are truly the realm's protector."
Within days, Daemon's reforms swept through the underbelly of King's Landing.
Every brothel — from the high-end houses of Silk Street to the cheap dens of Flea Bottom, Scaly Bay, and Eel Alley — was registered under his authority. The same system extended to unlicensed prostitutes. All now paid their dues through Daemon's office and were kept under the King's protection.
Next came Flour Street, home to the city's bakers. Daemon received complaints that several bakers were cheating customers — mixing sawdust into their bread and shorting weights. He ordered a full inspection. The guilty were fined or seized, and Daemon quietly took ownership of several bakeries.
Under his direction, these bakeries began producing biscuits and loaves according to recipes Daemon himself dictated. The food was sold exclusively through Gold Cloak outposts, where citizens could buy clean bread at a fair price.
The profits, of course, were recorded under "public service revenues."
Later, Daemon descended into the Red Keep's dungeons, now bursting with prisoners. The air reeked of sweat and despair.
"You were pickpockets and poachers," Daemon said, his voice echoing off the stone. "By old law, you would have lost your fingers or hands. But I grant you mercy. You'll work for the realm instead — build castles, clear lands, labor at my estates. Serve well, and your sentences may be reduced. Prove yourselves, and you may even become my huntsmen or soldiers."
A murmur rose from the prisoners. One red-haired youth cried out, "Prince Daemon! I was born in the Kingswood. No one knows those woods better. Let me serve!"
Daemon smiled faintly. "Then prove it."
The next morning, shackled lines of men marched out of the city — Daemon's first penal laborers, bound for his lands along the Blackwater. There, they would build roads, bridges, and fortifications — and Daemon's power.
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At the Small Council, word of these changes sparked fierce debate.
Lyman Beesbury, the elderly Master of Coin, addressed King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne in outrage.
"Your Graces, Prince Daemon has completely ignored Ser Raymont Royce, the former Lord Commander of the City Watch. He's turned the Kingsguard into his own enterprise! They control every brothel and gaming den in the city, and now they're selling food at guard posts! The Kingsguard has become his private tool — a merchant's company in armor! This cannot stand — it may even hurt royal tax revenue."
Daemon leaned back in his chair, amused. "Master Beesbury, you are too cautious. If you've examined the ledgers, you'll find revenues from King's Landing have increased. By bringing the brothels and gaming houses under my rule, I've stopped their tax evasion. Every copper now goes to the royal treasury."
He smiled, thin as a blade. "Even the bread we sell is taxed properly. I act not for myself — but for the good of the realm."
Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, snorted. "And the prisoners you emptied from the dungeons? You sent them to your own lands as forced laborers. Is that also for the realm?"
Daemon's eyes glittered. "They were caught by my Gold Cloaks. Every man there was lawfully sentenced — by royal interrogators and my father himself, as Master of Laws. Would you prefer I maim them instead? At least this way, they serve a purpose."
King Jaehaerys turned to the council. "And what do the people of King's Landing say of these reforms?"
The newly appointed Archmaester Yalar, who had succeeded the late Archmaester Elysar, answered calmly.
"The common folk adore Prince Daemon, Your Grace. The streets are safer, the brothels cleaner, the markets fairer. Order has returned to the city."
Queen Alysanne nodded. "The people's favor is the foundation of any rule. If they approve of Daemon's measures, we should not hinder him."
But the Sea Snake pressed on. "Even so, Your Grace — Daemon uses the Kingsguard to make money. He's cast aside Raymont Royce completely."
King Jaehaerys raised a hand. "Enough. I dislike the word sidelined. The City Watch has been reorganized into the Kingsguard, as we agreed. Only the King or his kin may command them. From this day forth, Daemon shall serve as Lord Commander of the City Watch. Ser Raymont Royce shall act as his deputy."
Prince Baelon looked thoughtful, then said, "Your Grace, I ask that Viserys be named royal advisor, to serve by your side and learn."
Jaehaerys smiled. "A fine thought. Your mother and I grow old. It is time our children and grandchildren learn to rule."
When the council dispersed, Daemon and Baelon lingered in a shadowed corridor.
Baelon spoke softly. "Daemon, you are the second son. I know what that means. The first inherits everything, the second is left to prove himself. To surpass your brother, you must always do more — I lived long in Aemon's shadow myself."
He sighed. "You've already outshone Viserys. But a wise man knows when to temper his fire."
He hesitated. "Viserys told me he wished to remain cupbearer — to learn from Father and the council. He is older than you, yet I couldn't bear the sight of him pouring wine while you sat among lords. So I refused."
Daemon met his eyes. "Father, I do this not for myself alone. I strengthen our family. Viserys will be royal advisor — and together we'll guide the realm."
Baelon shook his head. "No. The City Watch is yours. But Viserys must learn to rule as a king, not as your shadow. He rejoices in your success, but remember — one day, he will inherit the Iron Throne. Do not burn too brightly before him."
Daemon smiled faintly. "Even a second son casts a long shadow, Father — especially when his fire burns hotter."
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