The Blood of Old Valyria

VIII

~The Blood of Old Valyria~
Chapter VIII

The woman's slender body was wrapped in white transparent silks that blended with the pale color of her skin and hair. She moved leisurely and gracefully, letting herself be seen from all sides and showing the advantages of her slender body. She threw her arms up and down in a circular and undulating motion. Gold bracelets, beads, and earrings tinkled, accompanying each sweep and rotation, with music. The scarlet lips that stood out especially brightly on her white face stretched into a pleasant smile, and then a soft laughter erupted and the silk fell from the woman's body, exposing it.

The scent of wine, fruit, wood, and perfume, which the woman constantly used, wafted through the room. Behind the patterned carved wall of wood the girls crowded together, pushing each other, wanting to get a better look at the guest spread out on a bed covered with burgundy sheets, and there were so many pillows that it seemed possible to drown in them. On the table beside the bed was a carafe of wine, several glasses, and a vase of fruit. The cool night air seeping in through the casements did nothing to cool the stuffy, hot room, forcing those present to take in long breaths of air to get enough oxygen.

The dragon prince's silver hair was slightly mussed, his crumpled camisole and pants tumbled in one corner of the room, his hands behind his head and his eyes fixed on the dancer from Lys. After a long tournament, Targaryen always came to the brothel, wanting to relax in the company of his favorite whore or get drunk and watch the dancing girls. This time was no exception...

Mysaria smoothly approached the bed, running her hands over her hips, breasts, and belly. The woman shook her white hair and, burying her knee in the featherbed, began to crawl toward the prince, who kept his gaze on her. His Valyrian eyes were surprisingly dull and not as eager as they usually were. Daemon looked...completely disinterested in her body, but despite that, the woman continued to approach until Mysaria's face was in front of the prince's eyes.

Targaryen placed his hands on her buttocks, squeezing slightly. Violet eyes raced across her face and stopped on the brightly parted lips, from which a languid breath escaped. Mysaria rested her hands on the cushions on either side of the prince's head and leaned closer, kissing Daemon passionately, but she received a suspiciously slow and even uncertain response. If it had been business as usual, the prince would have already thrown her on the bed and begun to do things that no whore had ever felt or seen before. The White Worm was unspeakably surprised by Targaryen's calm, even indifferent, demeanor, but she didn't show it yet.

The girls behind the carved wall giggled, noticing that the dragon prince, who was famous for his skills in bed among the whores, had suddenly lost interest in Mysaria or just sex. The girls gloated, thinking that now the White Worm wasn't the only one who could subdue Daemon Targaryen.

Catching the disgruntled look in the faded blue eyes, the girls fell silent and began to disperse, leaving the prince and Mysaria alone.

The woman felt a touch on her hair. The prince's nimble fingers, which had given Mysaria plenty of pleasure each time he visited, were now playing with her white curls. The woman straightened up and sat on Damon's stomach, revealing to him a view of her small breasts, flat belly, and beautiful neck. She leaned her arms against his strong torso and noticed for the umpteenth time how much her pale, almost translucent skin contrasted with the healthy color of the dragon prince.

Daemon watched his mistress's actions, but her body did not interest him. Targaryen had seen this woman every night for years, what had he not seen there? Why should he be surprised? No doubt Mysaria wanted to satisfy him and certainly herself, but now, on this night, something was not right. Daemon didn't feel the proper arousal and desire to feel the warmth of a woman's attractive body. And that was the most unbelievable thing. For the first time in years, he didn't want to sleep with a harlot, because his thoughts were now occupied by a woman of a different sort.