Night Shadows on Silk Street, Young Eagle's Wine

Night fog drifted through Silk Street, carrying the scents of ambergris and bitter almonds. The broadest square was lit by twelve gilded lanterns, their light filtering through stained glass and casting brilliant patches across the flagstones like spilled wine.

When Daemon Targaryen expertly pushed open the oak doors carved with coiling serpents, the silver bells on the knocker gave a soft chime, mingling with the music and laughter inside into a haze of decadent sound.

"Come in, little brother." Daemon Targaryen stepped aside for him, his cane tapping against the carpet. "The sweetest honey in the Seven Kingdoms is all here."

Daemon Blackfyre stood in the doorway, his brows drawn tightly together.

The cloying sweetness in the air reminded him of the rotting camp brothels on the Red Grassland. No matter how thick the perfume powder had been, it could never hide the sour stench beneath.

The sight inside made his stomach tighten even more. Women in gauzy dresses writhed on men's laps, jeweled nobles drank with bare-shouldered dancers in their arms, and in one corner, a man and woman kissed as though no one else existed. Silver bells circled the woman's ankles beneath her skirt, chiming with every movement.

"You promised we'd only stay for an hour." He lowered his voice, but the irritation in it nearly overflowed.

He knew this namesake great-grandfather "brother" had romantic debts stretching from King's Landing to Storm's End, but he had never expected him to drag him straight into a place like this.

"An hour it is." Daemon Targaryen smiled like a cat that had stolen cream, his violet eyes glinting slyly in the lamplight. "But you ought to see the world of adults, lest those noble ladies swindle you someday."

Before his words had faded, a woman in a scarlet fitted dress came swaying over. She looked around forty, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes mostly concealed beneath powder. The pearl necklace around her throat rose and fell gently with her breathing. She was Mera, the madam of this Pleasure Hall.

"Well, if it isn't our esteemed Prince Daemon." Her voice was like sandpaper soaked in honey, sweet and rough at once. "How long has it been since you came to favor my business? Are the bronze beauties of Runestone sweeter than the delicate flowers of Silk Street?"

"Cut the nonsense." Daemon Targaryen gave her backside a familiar pat. "Any new girls? I brought my little brother to broaden his horizons." He jerked his chin toward Daemon Blackfyre. "Bring my brother a cup of Young Eagle's Wine. Let him learn a thing or two."

Mera's gaze immediately stuck to Daemon Blackfyre like glue, sweeping from his silver-white hair to the hilt of Blackfyre at his waist before settling on his tense jawline. "This young lord is truly handsome."

She licked her lips and beckoned over a cluster of girls. "Come keep our honored guests company! Especially this little one—such soft skin. I doubt he's ever tasted a woman before."

The women immediately crowded around him, waves of perfume washing over him. A blonde, blue-eyed woman reached for his hair, but Daemon Blackfyre sidestepped her.

Another woman in green tried to burrow straight into his arms. He raised a hand and pressed it against her shoulder, using enough force to make her frown in pain.

"Don't frighten the little eaglet." Mera laughed and personally brought over a cup of amber-colored wine, a cherry still clinging to its rim. "Want a taste? It's brewed from flower nectar from across the Narrow Sea. It has quite a kick."

Daemon Blackfyre looked at the cup, then at Daemon Targaryen's teasing expression. After a moment's hesitation, he accepted it. He could not lose his composure here, not when these people might see how disgusted he was.

The wine went down with a sickly sweet floral fragrance, followed by a warm current sliding down his throat and soothing his taut nerves.

"That's more like it." Daemon Targaryen patted him on the back. "A man needs something with a bit of bite." He turned to the girls and pointed at three of them. "You three, come with me. The rest of you, keep my brother company."

A busty woman suddenly laughed and reached for Daemon Blackfyre's belt. "Don't be shy, young lord. Big sister here will teach you for free. I guarantee you'll never forget it."

Daemon Blackfyre gripped his cup tightly, his knuckles whitening. He could feel the warmth inside him gradually turning into heat, and the figures before his eyes seemed to sway. He forced himself to lower his head and pretend to focus on tasting the wine, putting on the cold expression of someone no stranger should approach.

Only after Daemon Targaryen had chosen his girls did he slowly turn back. Seeing Daemon Blackfyre surrounded so tightly by women that not even water could pass through—some even daringly stuffing perfumed handkerchiefs into his arms—he burst out laughing. "All right, all right, spread out a little." He walked over to Daemon Blackfyre and deliberately raised his voice. "My brother's a clean freak. You old hands should stop crowding him." He turned to Mera, one brow lifting. "Don't you have any cleaner little birds? A young eagle should be paired with a young bird."

Mera's eyes rolled, and she clapped her hands. "Bring Mysaria over." A moment later, a young girl in a pale violet gauze dress was pushed forward.

She looked no more than fifteen or sixteen. Her skin was as white as milk, and her platinum curls had been braided into two long plaits that hung over her chest. Her eyes were large and bright, but filled with frightened unease, like a startled doe.

"She just came from Lys," Mera introduced with a smile. "She dances beautifully, and she's still a virgin."

Daemon Targaryen immediately made his choice. "Her." He winked at Daemon Blackfyre. "Enjoy yourself, brother." With that, he wrapped his arms around three girls and headed upstairs with a whistle, the tapping of his cane on the steps gradually fading away.

Daemon Blackfyre watched his figure disappear around the stairway corner and silently cursed, Forget friends when there are women around. Then the heat within him suddenly surged, ten times fiercer than before, as though a fire had ignited in his organs.

He shook his head, trying to stay awake, only to find the girl before him beginning to blur into overlapping images. Even the scent of powder around his nose was becoming enticing. "Honored guest, upstairs, please." Mera's voice seemed to come from far away, carrying undisguised amusement. She clearly knew the effects of Young Eagle's Wine and was waiting to enjoy the show.

The girl named Mysaria timidly held out her hand, her fingertips icy cold. Daemon Blackfyre wanted to shake her off, but his arm had gone limp and would not obey him.

Several of the women who had surrounded him earlier came forward to help, some lifting his arms and others lifting his legs, half-pushing and half-carrying him toward the stairs.

"Need our help, little worm?" one woman teased. "This young eagle isn't easy to handle." Mysaria's face flushed crimson at once, and she shoved them away with all her strength. "No! I can do it myself!" Her Lyseni accent trembled, but there was stubbornness in it.

The women dispersed amid laughter, though they did not forget to take liberties with Daemon Blackfyre on their way out.

One woman deliberately leaned close to his ear, her breath fragrant. "Come find me later, and I'll charge half-price." Another pinched his backside. "I'm free!"

By the time he was carried upstairs, almost none of Daemon Blackfyre's reason remained.

He could feel Mysaria's hands trembling, hear the faint music from downstairs, and even smell the increasingly heavy scent of wine on himself.

The last scraps of his consciousness were still screaming, No, but his body felt as though all its bones had been pulled out, so limp that he could only rely on others to support him.

Mysaria pushed him into a hidden private room. Inside stood only a large velvet-covered bed and a flickering silver lamp.

She locked the door, and when she turned around, tears suddenly fell from her eyes. "Honored guest, I'm sorry... I have to do this..." She choked back a sob. "If Mother Mera finds out I didn't serve you well, she'll sell me to a slave ship..."

Daemon Blackfyre looked at her tear-streaked face and tried to say something, but his throat felt blocked.

The drug's effects completely swallowed his reason. The girl before him overlapped with a vague face from his memories, while the heat in his blood surged madly, screaming for release.

The last thing he heard was his own ragged breathing and the girl's muffled sobbing.

Outside the window, there seemed to be the distant cry of a dragon, far away and indistinct, like an illusion.

He did not know what mark this night would leave upon history. He did not know that the crying Lyseni girl in his arms was Little Mei, the famous White Worm hidden in the corners of history.

The halo of the silver lamp swayed across the walls, stretching the two entwined shadows long, like an unknown secret of desire and ruin.