At night, Prince Daemon payed a visit to his paramour in one city's brothel before the day was done. He needed to seep out his delight, anger and frustrations, he needed the warmth core of a whore.
And so the rogue prince left the confines of the Red Keep, into the alleys, taking corners of the city in his hooded cloak, disguising his identity while strolling into a pleasure house in the Streets of Silk.
The pillow house was a fine one, as far as these things go. He desperately needed Mysaria's touch. The Yi-ti maiden knew how he likes it
Upon his arrival, there were naked women from the youngest to the oldest lounging around in corners with men of different status: rich, noble, middle class and poor lads.
Unfazed, Daemon proceeds to his usual private room, shutting the door, he sees Mysaria sipping wine, she wore a transparent silk fabric, revealing her naked body.
Daemon stripes off his clothes and pulls Mysaria and began kissing her roughly, as the wine cup fell from her hands to the ground.
He pushes her to her bed in all fours, fiddles with her vaginal while she moans, he fingers her core before thrusting inside her warmth without proper foreplay.
Moments later, the muffled sounds of sex filter in through the walls.
Daemon angrily bangs Mysaria from behind, pulling her hair while she grabs the sheets from ripping it off while he bangs life out of her body mercilessly.
Mysaria moans in pleasure, she is young and slim in her late twenties. Her physique is that of a porcelain skinned woman with dark brown hair. Her whole being is mysterious yet her services to the Prince has brought nothing but few riches here and there even though he often complains about his bronze bitch at Runestone.
A group of other whores crowd around a latticed screen to watch the Prince work from an adjoining room. Prince Daemon is a celebrity they admire and this is prime entertainment.
Daemon wants to find pleasure in the act, but he can't derive none. Otto's words are affecting his mind, that man was a pain in his flesh, plus the Queen would soon give birth, and push him down the line of succession, it troubles him and he's having a hard time, stalled on his way to climax, he feels unsatisfied, with pent up feelings that he can't seem to let out.
"That fuckin cunt of a Hand, who is he to challenge me" Daemon continues thrusting, Mysaria moans.
"I am the heir apparent chose me as his heir, the iron throne is mine."
He seethed, thrusting deeply into the whore's core. Mysaria moans.
"Maegor should have chosen me as his Hand, I deserve to be by his side, not Otto Hightower."
It's the only ways Daemon knows how to feel better is through violence and sex and if it doesn't work for him, what will?
"Fuuuck!" Daemon groans pulling out of Mysaria and walks away from her, his cock darting left and right with threads of fluids.
"Fuck the Hightowers!" He mutters underneath his breath. He paces, naked, eaten alive by his preoccupations, the audacity of Otto, made his blood boil like an inferno.
The rogue prince takes a cloth to draps around his naked body and sits beside a window thinking of what his future holds.
If Mellario gives birth to a son, the child will replace him.
His lover, Mysaria turns over, seemingly unaffected by this turn of events.
"What troubles you, my prince?" She goes to him.
Daemon doesn't say a word.
"I could bring in another. Perhaps a maiden. I have several..." Mysaria runs a finger through his Targaryen-silver hair.
Daemon doesn't say a word.
"I could even arrange one with silver hair." She offers.
Daemon doesn't utter a word.
"What gives you so much burden, my prince?" She questioned.
Daemon doesn't say a word.
"Is it because of your brother? Or that Hightower man." She softly blurts out, caressing his sliver hair.
Daemon snatches her hand angrily, she whimpers.
"Don't ever mention that cunt before me again." He grits his teeth in warning, dangerously glaring at her, then releases her hand gently with a sigh.
Daemon hissed. "I'm just not in the mood." He gives her a look of genuine pain Mysaria peaks his forehead, inhaling his scent.
"Don't be frightened my prince. You are Daemon Targaryen. Rider of Caraxes. Wielder of Dark Sister. The king cannot replace you, no one can." Mysaria assures him.
Daemon held her gaze for a while then looks off Mysaria bitterly into the eerie night, as if ready to either slap her or to burst into tears, either way he's heart was heavy and he needed to release his seed.
"You are the heir to the Iron throne my prince, all will bend the knee to you very soon." Mysaria goes on to kiss him and embraces him, giving the Prince comfort in between his thighs on her knees lustfully.
*****
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