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The laughter and the rhythmic clinking of silver plates in the Hall of the Sea King converged into a roaring river of sound. This was a night where the scent of spiced lampreys mingled with the expensive perfumes of Lys, and where the power of the Free Cities was on full display.
Viserys Targaryen sat in the exclusive box, gaining a firsthand education in the courtly operations of Braavos. In Westeros, power was rooted in the dirt—in the feudal military lords who held the land. But here, trade was the heart, and coin was the blood. Merchants and courtesans held the status that highborn knights back home would despise, calling them "upstarts" and "cheese-mongers." Yet, looking at the sheer wealth of the Hall, Viserys knew whose pockets were deeper.
"Today isn't even the liveliest," the Black Pearl explained, leaning back as she watched him work through a mountain of snow-white crab meat. "Wait for the Ten-Day Grand Revelry. When the Titan roars at midnight on the tenth day and everyone removes their masks... that is when Braavos truly breathes."
"Mesmerizing," Viserys replied, his focus primarily on his plate.
The Daughter of Darkness watched him from across the table, her gaze cool and analytical. She was an iceberg in a black dress, projecting an aura of aloof mystery that kept most men at a distance. She seemed struck by the contrast: here was a descendant of the ancient, proud dragonlords, yet he ate with the unrestrained hunger of a common soldier.
"Is it truly that delicious?" she asked, her voice like cold silk.
Viserys didn't pause. He had long ago discarded the empty facade of "noble dignity" that had led his family to ruin. To the [Glutton], every bite of Sea King crab and every spoonful of snail soup was a brick in the wall of his future strength.
"Appearances are for travelers," Viserys said between bites. "A king who suffers for the sake of an empty stomach is no king at all. These snails are priceless, and I intend to enjoy every one."
Moonshadow laughed, her fair hands pushing her own bowl of creamed snail soup toward him. "A good knight must have a good appetite. You can have mine, Silver Traveler. I don't care for snails."
"I am honored by your gift, Lady Moonshadow," Viserys said, flashing a charming, effortless smile that made the courtesan flush.
"Don't get fat," the Nightingale teased.
"The gods wouldn't dare," Viserys assured them. He knew his talent ensured every calorie was converted into attribute energy. Without it, he would be a bloated mess; with it, he was becoming a living weapon.
Even the icy Daughter of Darkness seemed moved by his presence, eventually pushing her own untouched bowl toward him. "If you are so hungry, take it. I have no appetite tonight."
"You're truly lucky," the Black Pearl joked, raising an eyebrow. "She rarely speaks, let alone shares her table."
As the dinner concluded, the long tables on the first floor were swept away by servants to make room for the dance floor. The air shifted from the scent of food to the electric anticipation of the waltz.
"The wine here is subpar," Viserys noted, taking a final sip of the thin Braavosi vintage. "It lacks the fire of the south."
"Everyone knows the best wines come from Dorne and the Arbor," the Black Pearl agreed.
"Then come to my manse another time," Moonshadow whispered, her eyes locked on Viserys. "I have vintages that would make a dragon purr."
The Black Pearl stood, smoothing her dark yellow gown. "His Majesty has three excellences: his writing, his kingly tongue for delicacies, and his keen blade. But now, we shall see if he has a fourth—his feet."
She put on her black jade mask and extended a hand. "My first dance, Knight."
"My pleasure, beautiful maiden," Viserys said, taking her hand. He had learned the court dances of the Red Keep as a child; he might not be the most graceful, but his high Agility ensured he wouldn't stumble.
As they made their way toward the spiral staircase, they encountered the other elite courtesans: the Mermaid Queen with her four followers, the Poetess, and the Veiled Lady.
"Who is this, Bellegere?" the Mermaid Queen asked, her silver mask shimmering.
"The Silver Traveler," the Black Pearl introduced him with a touch of possessiveness. "And my partner for the opening waltz."
The other women were stunned. The first dance with the Black Pearl was the most coveted prize of the evening, usually reserved for merchant princes or the Sea Lord's kin. To give it to a lyricist—no matter how talented—was a statement of immense favor.
As they descended the stairs, Viserys noticed the four "Mermaids" trailing behind their queen. They were beautiful, but their eyes held a hollow, practiced submission.
"You don't like her," Viserys whispered to the Black Pearl.
"She is a hypocrite," the Pearl replied softly. "She plays the pure, noble lady, while those four Mermaids are her tools. When she is not in the mood for a guest, she sends a Mermaid in her place. They are playthings, replaced whenever they wear out."
"I thought Braavos rejected slavery," Viserys noted.
"It is not slavery by law," she said, her voice hard. "They are 'maids' from families hoping for a shortcut to fame. But in reality? They are shadows. Tools for the Queen to maintain her light."
Viserys looked back at the silver-masked Mermaids. "Where there is light, there is ugliness," he thought. Even in this city of freedom, the old games of power and exploitation were being played in the dark corners of the palaces.
"Then let us dance," Viserys said, pulling the Black Pearl closer as they reached the floor. "And let the world look at the light while we discuss the darkness."
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