In the eventide, the Street of Silk welcomed the princes with the bright light of lanterns and torches; it seemed this hotbed of vice and iniquity, where virginity was sold at auction like bales of sheep's wool from the North at the port exchange, sparkled brighter than the Red Keep, shrouded in the dreary pall of the King's morbid grief. In his four years in Oldtown, Aegon had occasion to pass through streets where a similar trade was plied, but the screaming luxury of the capital's brothels could put the richest pillow houses of the continent's oldest city to shame.
Daemon and Aegon rode on horseback accompanied by several guards. The Prince-Half-Maester assumed that his brother arranged his visits secretly, but the other did not hide in the slightest: on the contrary, he openly displayed his face. Scarce had the rumor swept down the street that the princes were riding than the mistress of every house of tolerance appeared on the porch, managing to be decked out in finery yet wearing not too much clothing. Each of them warmly greeted Daemon, sinking into a revealing curtsy, and in a languid voice invited the Prince to honor their particular establishment with his visit.
"Have you truly managed to visit every one?" Aegon marveled involuntarily.
The answer was his brother's not-too-modest, triumphant smile.
"Each of these houses is at least not bad," he remarked when they had passed roughly half the street at a parade pace. "But for my own brother, only the very best is needed."
"Strange care you have," Aegon chuckled, hiding the nervousness that suddenly seized him behind a barb.
Soon they stopped near a white marble mansion richly decorated with carvings, possessing several terraces and resembling a stepped pyramid. Vegetal ornamentation thickly entwined the door portal and passed almost imperceptibly to the eye into the carving on the wooden door. Daemon made a sign to halt and dismounted himself; Aegon, hesitating a little, carefully crawled out of the saddle, remembering Dennis's advice. The faithful servant, though following his young master, prudently offered no help. The doors of the brothel were thrown open, and a strikingly beautiful woman of truly Valyrian appearance appeared on the threshold: tall, slender, with loose linen hair to her waist, she stood on the steps in a thin red gown, paying no heed to the night chill, with the air of a queen. Aegon thought she might be twenty, or forty—in the taverns of Oldtown, novices told one another that in brothels kept by those from the Free Cities, one could forget about age.
"Noble Prince Daemon," she bowed respectfully, melodically stretching the vowels in imitation of High Valyrian. "It is a great honor for us to welcome you again. We mourn your loss together with all King's Landing. I hope your gods were able to grant you solace in these heavy days?"
"Tonight I am interested in the solace the gods of free Lys can grant me," Daemon chuckled. "Nerra, this night you have again eclipsed the moon and stars with your unearthly beauty."
"The Prince flatters me with such a compliment," the woman named Nerra smiled and turned her attention to Aegon. "I see you came not alone."
"I have the pleasure to present to you my brother Aegon," Daemon clapped his brother on the shoulder, and for the first time since the day the Seven Kingdoms swore fealty to Prince Baelon as heir to the Iron Throne, the latter felt awkward because of his infirmity. "He has just returned from the Citadel, and I decided to acquaint him with the beautiful world beyond the bounds of stuffy and dusty libraries."
Aegon wanted to say something so as not to stand like a silent idol, but as luck would have it, all his wit and all his sarcasm vanished somewhere; in the end, he barely managed to smile—it came out pitiful, embarrassed, and ingratiating. But Nerra, who had eclipsed the moon, did not wish to attach importance to this and merely bowed deeper, nigh spilling her breasts from the slit of her dress.
"It is a great honor for us to welcome two Princes of the House of the Dragon; pray, come in."
The brothel was even more luxurious inside than out. Behind the door lay a small corridor leading to an atrium spanning all four floors of the house, with a magnificent white marble staircase whose rails were supported by dolphins, sirens, and mermaids. Where the walls were not covered with drapes of fabrics so expensive that any lady of a Great House would have given all her father's or husband's money for them, hung paintings in which women and men caressed and pleasured themselves and each other in a thousand and seven possible ways. Doorways of smaller rooms opened into the spacious atrium; they had no doors, but some were curtained with heavy velvet portieres, almost hiding the moans and cries of pleasure.
"Offering a prayer to the Panther today at dawn, I saw highborn guests in the incense smoke," Nerra informed the highborns, leading them somewhere into the depths of the mansion. "Therefore I ordered no one to occupy the rooms usually used by Prince Daemon."
"Your Panther is prescient," the other noted.
"May I suggest the Princes perform ablutions?" asked the mistress of the brothel, pulling back a curtain behind one of the arches.
"Naturally," Daemon readily ducked under her arm, and Aegon, remaining alone with the Lysene woman, started when he met her gaze. The fire of numerous lamps danced in her dark blue eyes, and curiosity splashed at the bottom of them.
"You have not been to such houses as ours, have you, my Prince?" she inquired with a polite smile.
"I h-have not," Aegon answered, managing his voice somehow. "But in the Citadel I came across some Lysene tracts..."
This amused the mistress, and she laughed melodically.
"Naturally, old fat scholars love to amuse themselves with our painted books—in them the call of their flesh and their passion for dusty tomes are united. I assure you, my Prince, this does not compare in any way with what awaits you behind this curtain."
Nerra made an inviting gesture with her hand, and Aegon entered a richly decorated bathhouse. In the center of a white room with semi-columns of red granite was a square pool with several steps. Its floor was decorated with intricate mosaics, and faint steam curled above the water's surface.
"Do not fear," Daemon encouraged his brother, having already managed to rid himself of his clothes and climb into the pool. "The water is heated here, you will not freeze."
His mockingly patronizing tone managed to stir Aegon, who had suffered from indecision and embarrassment since crossing the threshold.
"Thank you, my brother," he answered caustically, unfastening the silver dragon-headed brooch fastening his crimson cloak to his right shoulder. "However, by your grace I am deprived of the ability to dance, but not to see."
"Oh, so our little dragon has grown bold at last," his brother chortled, evidently having sought precisely such a reaction. He took a sip of wine offered by a servant girl wrapped in a translucent dress. "Since you remembered abilities and limitations... Beautiful Nerra, as you surely noticed but so tactfully ignored, my younger brother has certain..."
"Special needs," the Lysene woman readily came to his aid. "Of course, we can provide the noble Prince Aegon with all possible care and all necessary attention. If you wish, my Prince, I shall call the maids and they will help you undress and..."
"I am capable of removing my clothes," he snapped, pulling off his tunic. Nerra's clumsy attempt to show that very care only angered the Prince. Plopping into a chair that turned up, which was too deep, he began to remove his boots, but with the first sharp movement he disturbed the old wound, and the leg did not delay in vengefully sending a flash of pain. Hissing through his teeth, Aegon somehow got rid of the boot and was about to hurl it into the corner, but remembered in time that it would be terrible childishness.
"Aegon, my brother, this is a brothel," Daemon reminded him, lazily sipping wine and looking expectantly at the maids flitting in the doorways. "To be shy of nakedness here is as sinful as coming naked to the Sept."
Aye, Aegon agreed to himself, you have nothing to be shy of if both your legs are of the same length. He had long ceased to pay attention to his own infirmity, but usually he was shod, and the heel compensated for the difference a little; without anything, only the Maesters and Dennis, who helped him dress and take baths, saw him. Neither Maesters nor Dennis were here.
Having rid himself of everything, Aegon keenly felt the utility of the heel: his right side immediately dipped sharply, and the leg began to twitch and dance—not so much from overexertion as from nerves. The distance to the wretched pool suddenly doubled, and the Prince, limping awkwardly and burning with shame, slapped towards it, only to meet a new obstacle in the form of the rim. Low, barely a palm in height, for Aegon it became as impregnable as the Wall for wildlings.
Pondering how to cross it, Aegon nearly cried out in surprise when a chocolate-black hand stretched out to him. A black-skinned Summer Islander, appearing as if from nowhere, with an imperturbable air and saying not a word, offered him his help. Glaring balefully at him but receiving no reaction, Aegon leaned on the hand, so hard that it seemed hewn from stone, and finally immersed himself in the blissfully warm waters of the pool. The Summer Islander vanished as soundlessly as he had appeared.
Daemon, reaching for another goblet, bestowed a dazzling smile upon his brother: see what I said, they know how to serve here. Aegon, trying not to look at the barely dressed servant girls, accepted his cup. Uncle Vaegon considered Lysene wines a waste of money due to their excessive sweetness, but this wine pleased him with its restraint and a certain floral aftertaste.
"We have the best Lysene wines," Nerra boasted, having gone nowhere as it turned out. "Outside Lys itself, naturally."
"Meaning you bring us the slops you are ashamed to drink yourselves?" Aegon tried to be sarcastic; the wine expectedly gave him boldness.
Daemon laughed out loud, and the mistress of the establishment laughed politely, but by all appearances appreciated the ambiguity of his words.
Daemon struck up a meaningless conversation with Nerra about the latest rumors of the Street of Silk, receiving the news of the ruin of her Pentoshi neighbors with laughter. Aegon did not listen, dedicating himself to the wine, the offered fruit, and the relaxingly hot water.
"Do not sleep, little brother, 'tis early," suddenly he felt a poke in the side. It turned out he had managed to doze off in his corner of the pool, and an amused Daemon kicked him lightly under the water.
Realizing it was time to get down to business, Nerra inquired efficiently:
"Will Prince Daemon have the same as last time?"
His brother feigned thought and, scratching his chin, uttered:
"Aye, perhaps. Daria, if I remember correctly?"
"Doreya, my Prince," Nerra corrected with a smile, watching Daemon climb out of the pool. Aegon suddenly wondered if his brother had slept with her too.
"Aye, Doreya. Good girl."
"I do not think that word is applicable to her," Aegon remarked lazily. "At least now."
Daemon offered him a hand with a smirk, helping him out of the pool. Immediately they were surrounded by several girls (who surely were no longer girls, Aegon reminded himself again), who began to wipe them with soft towels that smelled pleasantly of lavender. His brother was already enjoying their attention with might and main, whilst Aegon still fought with embarrassment and examined the ceiling with interest until he noticed that the previously abstract painting on it formed quite concrete figures.
"Do not worry," Daemon cast out, being led away by assistants into the neighboring room. "They know their business here."
"I doubt it not a whit," Aegon grumbled, remaining alone with Nerra. The mistress of the brothel smiled slyly.
"I confess, my Prince, at first I was in confusion. I have many girls, good and skilled, but I was somewhat at a loss choosing whom to entrust with such a special client as you."
"I am sure rich cripples come to you."
"Yes," she agreed. "But not every one of them is of the blood of the dragon. And I am Lysene after all. Despite what was in the past, we honor Valyrian blood."
Aegon involuntarily took a step back and, stumbling over the leg of a couch that had appeared behind him, collapsed onto the pillows.
"And whom did you decide to foist upon me?" he asked, already guessing the answer he would hear.
Nerra clicked the clasp of her brooch and in two wide strides, slipping out of her dress on the move, was beside Aegon. Climbing onto him, Nerra cupped his face in palms that proved soft and silky, and, pulling him close, pressed herself to his lips. The kiss was almost chaste, but even it knocked not only the breath out of Aegon, but also the defensive sarcasm ready to break loose.
"Ao rhakitē, dārilaros-maestus? (Are you happy, Prince-Maester?)" Nerra whispered against his lips.
"Issa, (yes)" Aegon exhaled.
---------------
Read advance chapters on my Patreon
Patreon(.)com/WinterScribe