Marai, a young courtesan from the Street of Silk, learns to her horror she is the bastard daughter of Aegon II. Prince Aemond could help her...or he could be her greatest peril yet.
Contains sexual situations, strong language, and uncle/niece inces...
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"My sweet brother is relentless," said Aemond, as we made our second round through the main halls.
I did not answer. That sweet brother was my king, and I could neither agree with him nor contradict a patron.
I held a long candle, and Aemond followed close behind. I was not established enough to have my own chamber for receiving patrons. Normally, one of Mysaria's pages assigned the rooms. But in the confusion of helping the king to bed, which had involved carrying him, and catering to his increasingly strange requests, I had been left to fend for myself.
I had never been so keenly aware of how loud it was, the wails echoing from the chambers, the squeak of headboards and the desperate panting. I had known these sounds since childhood, and had simply ceased to notice them, if I ever had at all. But now, with a Prince stalking my steps, each cry nettled me.
"If we had known more temperate king, on the other hand-" Aemonds's voice trailed over the hall.
I ignored this further bit of treason. His footfall was quiet and controlled behind me, but it unnerved me nonetheless. I misliked him at my heels, misliked even the steady sound of his breath. I had some foolish sense that if I fled, he would run me down like a hare.
We passed the third lantern, and I turned. The candle reflected in his eye, warming the chill violet. His eyepatch was browner than I had thought, which seemed strangely earthy against the hard lines of his countenance.
"Do you care to go to the main hall, my prince?" I said with false sweetness. "The fire has died, but I can start it again. I have a talent for kindling a flame." I tried to laugh but only managed a pitiful smile.
"No." His hand brushed my shoulder. "I need to be alone with you." My face flamed. He could not possibly mean-
"Where do you sleep?" he asked.
"You don't want to see it, Your Highness, truly, it's too lowly for you." I steadied my hands over my core. It was true, the thought of it did shame me, but more, I didn't want to be alone with him.
"Mm, I've seen worse, I'm certain." He looked askance. "Take me there."
Swallowing, I nodded, and hurried to order wine. I returned to his side slowly, like a guilty child awaiting a chiding, pinning back a few loose white strands and averting my gaze.
The journey is part of the spell. Mysaria had told me. The trick was to take a client's hand, to whisper nonsense to him, to tease and flatter him on the way to the bedchamber. We were never supposed to let down our guard, though it was far too late for that. But if he wants that....
I placed my hand stiffly in the crook of his arm. He looked down at it so scornfully I felt the blood drain from my cheeks, but it seemed too painfully awkward to retract it.
He ducked as we walked through the door. The faint shadow of dawn broke through window, casting a pale light over my chamber. The furniture had once been costly, a lifetime ago. The bed was now warped and buckled, the fittings of the chest rusted over, the surface of the table stained with various spills from my childhood. Tiny cracks broke through the plaster walls and the shutters were askew on their hinges, a coat of peeling white paint barely hiding decades of ill-usage. It was not meant to be seen.
