In a dark room, Rhaenyra sat frozen… she shivered slightly as her mind recalled the moment from before.
She remembered his cold fingers on her waist. The sharp pinch at her neck… she'd thought it was a brooch… but when she pulled away, his lips were wet… with blood, and his eyes… gods, his eyes were glowing like a demon from tales.
Her fingers found their way to her nape where a faint mark remained similar to a serpentine bite. Her eyes widened.
Daemon sat on the bed in front of her. He frowned, his wife had not spoken since she had danced with Baelon.
He looked at her with concern, studying her face bathed in the moon's light.
Rhaenyra's despondent eyes suddenly snapped… a quote from long surfacing in her head as stated by her father to her once.
'The song of Ice and Fire.'
'Danger awaits North of the realm… yet the agents of evil have already grasped their way directly into the heart of fire….'
'No… Aegon's prophecy wasn't about the North at all. It was about him. The agent of evil is already here…'
Her eyes widened as she nodded to herself. Her fingers clasped the helms of her dress as she moved back and forth like a maniac.
'Yesssss…. Yessss…. Yessss… that has to be it… yessssss…. Oh gosh…. Oh gosh… oh the gods… no… no… no… those eyes… no… no… no… AAAAAGYHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!'
Daemon quickly clutched Rhaenyra forcing her to look at him, her dress was in tatters as her nails tore it apart.
He shook her head with his hand as she was lost in a superfluous daze.
"….rhaenyra… hey! Rhaenyra! RHAENYRA!!"
Suddenly Rhaenyra snapped out of her stupor in a fright… seeing that it was her husband uncle- Daemon… tears welled up in her eyes.
"Oh Daemon… oh daemon…. Baelon… he… h-he…"
"Shhhhhh…" Daemon clutched her head with care letting it rest against his chest as he patted her head.
"Calm down… calm down… talk slowly…."
After a moment of recollection, Rhaenyra glanced up at Daemon, her eyes solemn.
"There's something wrong with Baelon. Something terribly wrong…
~
The moon shone bright.
Baelon walked in the darkness of the town. His figure merged into the shadows as if they were his mere extension.
A rare genuine smile graced his face. He lifted the chalice of blood-mixed wine.
Baelon was genuinely happy. He took a deep breath in, feeling the wind blowing into his face.
'Oh, the moon is truly wonderful.'
He almost staggered looking at the moon. Its divine radiance fell upon his skin, illuminating his entire body as if he were a celestial descended upon the mortal plane.
A peach plucked from the heavens. His eyes dimmed a little, he suddenly missed the warm body of his soon-to-be wife, Laena. Dyana too… Allisandre's hateful gaze as well.
…and how could he forget his first victim, the spy of Myssaria.
Truly though Baelon could not lie, his sister Rhaenyra was absolutely beautiful.
'Her blood tasted delicious. The most delectable I have had…'
His lips curled as he remembered his sister dearest's expression back in the banquet. Absolutely stupefied.
"Heh… you'll be mine soon."
Yet despite all of these Valyrian beauties… his mind could not help but wander to the visage of Rhaenys Targaryen… mother of his fiancée.
Overcome with emotion he could not help but mutter, "Resplendent though the radiance of the full moon may well be, the brilliance of the sun-faced beauty is better surely…"
Taking a sip from his chalice, he continued waking… observing the streets… the architecture… the sleeping lights, the whispers of them that were still awake…. it fascinated him.
After all, Baelon was once a sickly prince. Cooped up not just in a castle but in a room with nothing for entertainment but his novels and servants.
'Though however, the stink is too pungent. I must clean this city even if I must bathe it in blood.'
The Street of Silk never slept, but in the deep hours of the night, it groaned softly… a beast of pleasure and pain.
Baelon walked through its heart, his pale figure swallowed by shadows, his ruby eyes scanning the faces of whores, merchants, and spies.
He found the establishment easily enough. A modest brothel, unremarkable from the outside. But the woman who owned it was anything but.
He glanced at the door of the establishment and a small grin came onto his face.
'Most men give up their innocence here… at the entrance of the door.'
The entrance of a whorehouse could be said to be the most sacred point in a way. With everyone having placed their honor at the entrance before entering.
'I was never innocent although.'
As Baelon walked inside, the guards fell like dominoes, their blood sucked dry… as their corpses withered.
He ignored the moans and the grunts, the women fucking women, the men fucking women, and a whole lot serving each other.
His face remained impassive and stoic as he made his way further. He raised his chin high as his cold gaze fell upon a woman in a dark hall… sitting upon a makeshift throne of all the innocence.
A saintly sinner.
"Good evening, Mysaria."
Mysaria's hand instinctively reaching for the dagger hidden beneath her robe.
"You," she breathed. "How did you…"
Baelon interrupted, his voice soft as velvet. "Your guards… they were... unworthy of your service. I have removed them for eternity."
Her blood went cold. She took a deep breath in… her face did not betray any expression that her twitching legs did.
"The crown prince… in my humble establishment… to what do I owe the honor?"
Baelon laughed. His laughter resounded across the halls as the shadows painted by the candles cackled along.
"Do not talk about honor with me White Wrym. I'm surprised that you aren't too surprised…"
Mysaria smiled. It was not a warm smile.
"I am surprised by very little, my prince. It keeps me alive."
Baelon smiled coyly.
"I am surprised you are not grovelling before me. I am the future king after all, whereas you are simply the queen of whores."
Mysaria rose from her chair ignoring his comment entirely as she circled him slowly. Her eyes swept over his pale skin, his stillness, the way his chest did not seem to rise and fall with breath.
"You are different," she murmured.
"The court whispered that Prince Baelon is sickly. Weak. That he will not last the year. Then how are you standing here…? How did you conquer the Stepstones? How did you conquer Dorne… an unbroken and unbent kingdom? How did you survive the assassination in the first place? Truly mysterious."
Baelon let her circle him. He stood motionless, a statue carved from moonlight and shadow. Slowly a grin crept onto his face.
"Well then I won't be too humble myself, I am quite a charming man after all, made in the likeness of the Seven themselves."