King's Landing, Silk Street
Nightfall stripped King's Landing of its daytime clamor, only to replace it with a different, more ambiguous and dangerous kind of life.
Glass lanterns cast a dim yellow glow across Silk Street. The air was thick with cheap perfume, spilt wine, and something deeper—desire.
Walking beside King Robert, Pierce could feel every gaze on them. Awe, greed, flattery, and well-hidden hostility.
Robert was clearly a frequent guest here.
His enormous frame squeezed confidently through the narrow street, heading directly toward the most luxurious brothel Littlefinger owned.
"Petyr!" Robert shouted the moment he crossed the threshold, loud enough to shake the chandeliers.
"Send in that little darling of yours—the one who sings Summer Island songs and plays the harp! Tonight I want music until sunrise!"
His rough laughter boomed through the beautifully decorated hall. Silk drapes and painted murals trembled from the force of it.
Littlefinger emerged from a side door like a shadow, wearing his practiced, immaculate smile.
"Your Grace, Myranda has been waiting eagerly."
He bowed, then turned his gaze to Pierce, smile deepening with sly warmth.
"And of course, our newly appointed Lord of Crackclaw Point. Welcome to a more… pleasant corner of the city."
Robert slapped Pierce on the shoulder—hard enough to stagger any normal man.
"Enjoy yourself, boy! Petyr, give my Golden Crab the best this place has. Put it on my tab!"
Laughing loudly, Robert disappeared behind a curtain. A moment later, feminine singing and the king's bawdy laughter echoed from inside.
Littlefinger guided Pierce with a welcoming gesture.
"Please, my lord. We have… exclusive selections I think you may appreciate."
He led Pierce through a soft-carpeted hallway into a private salon decorated with far more elegance than the main hall.
Exotic incense drifted lazily through the air.
A soft clap from Littlefinger brought several women gliding in. Beautiful, well-trained, and dressed to entice, they stood silently, awaiting a choice.
"These are among the finest girls in the capital," Littlefinger narrated smoothly. "Skilled, cultured, and from every corner of the world…"
As servants poured Dornish red and Arbor gold, Pierce sat down casually on a silk-draped couch. He glanced at the women once—no more.
He picked up a goblet and swirled the wine thoughtfully.
"Lord Petyr," he said calmly, cutting him off, "why don't we discuss real matters first? They may leave."
Littlefinger blinked, a flicker of unease crossing his eyes. But he waved them away. The women withdrew silently, the door closing behind them.
Only the crackle of the fireplace remained.
Pierce set his gaze on Littlefinger's hands—still tucked inside his sleeves.
"Lord Petyr," he said quietly, "you can put away that little toy you're hiding. It won't harm me."
Littlefinger's smile froze.
Slowly, he pulled out a tiny, exquisitely crafted hand crossbow and set it on the table.
"Remarkable. Nothing escapes you, Lord Pierce."
"A harmless precaution. You understand."
"No offense taken." Pierce leaned forward, violet eyes sharp in the firelight. "I'm simply curious. Why did you try to 'interfere' with me earlier today? We have no past grievances."
Littlefinger sighed, adopting the perfect mask of regret.
"A misunderstanding, my lord. Truly. Your father provided… misleading information. I deeply apologize."
Pierce watched him perform, hiding his amusement.
"So it was my dear father causing trouble. Very well. Since the misunderstanding is resolved…"
He paused.
Littlefinger felt the pressure.
"…I won't pursue it. Consider it forgotten."
The spymaster exhaled with visible relief—completely unaware that most men in Essos would rather face a dragon than face Pierce Celtigar's displeasure.
Pierce continued, shifting the tone.
"Lord Petyr. Would you like to earn more gold? Far more than these girls could ever bring you?"
"More gold?" Littlefinger's eyes gleamed instantly, sharp as a hunting beast's. Wealth and influence drove him more than anything.
"My lord, I am listening."
Pierce began outlining ideas from another world—ideas no Westerosi merchant could imagine.
"Petyr, your business is profitable, but limited. It attracts kings like Robert, yes. But the truly wealthy, the powerful nobles—they desire luxury, exclusivity, prestige."
He stood, pacing slowly.
"Imagine a house not simply of pleasure, but of influence. A place so exclusive nobles compete for entry. A sanctuary of culture, mystery, and indulgence. The finest social retreat in all of Westeros."
His voice carried an alluring certainty.
"We shall call it Eden."
"Eden…" Littlefinger whispered, captivated.
Pierce nodded.
"First—branding and exclusivity. No more open doors. Entry by invitation only. And an expensive initiation fee. A filter for the elite."
Littlefinger's eyes were starting to sparkle like gold.
"Next—product elevation. We choose girls not only for beauty, but talent. Singing, dancing, instruments, conversation. We hire teachers. We create… tomorrow's stars."
"Stars?" Littlefinger echoed. "Like Braavosi courtesans—but different?"
"Braavosi courtesans are independent. Our stars belong to Eden. They are living art."
Littlefinger's breath quickened. He understood perfectly. High demand, limited supply, emotional manipulation—it was a gold mine.
Pierce continued with membership tiers, themed events, new games, exclusive drinks—tools to make nobles compete, overspend, and chase prestige.
"When we're finished, Eden won't be a brothel. It will be the beating heart of King's Landing's elite circles. And you, Petyr Baelish, will control it."
Littlefinger was fully hooked—admiration, fear, and greed mixing in his eyes.
"My lord… your brilliance is terrifying. This system—it's the perfect trap for nobles. Of course I want this partnership."
They discussed details for a long while, the atmosphere growing more cooperative than either expected.
When business ended, Pierce said casually, "Now then. Petyr, send in the small Lyseni girl from earlier."
Littlefinger blinked, then smiled.
"Ah—you mean Shae. Pretty thing. Bright eyes, sharper mind."
He left briefly.
A moment later, a slender young girl entered.
Sixteen, perhaps seventeen, simple clothes that couldn't hide her beauty or exotic Lyseni allure. Her gaze was lowered, but alert—ambitious.
This was Shae, a girl Pierce had "rescued" near the Rhoyne. His first recruited asset.
Once the door closed, Shae immediately lifted her head. Her eyes burned with devotion.
She rushed forward, knelt deeply.
"Master. You're finally here."
Pierce didn't tell her to rise.
"Are you settling in?"
"Everything is perfect, master," Shae said sweetly. "Serving you is my greatest honor."
She believed she was Pierce's trusted subordinate—dreaming of rising beyond her low birth.
He had placed her here to infiltrate Littlefinger's network, studying his methods for future replacement.
"What news?" Pierce asked.
Shae straightened, reporting everything—Petyr's recent contacts, scraps of financial data, weaknesses in the brothel's operations.
Then her voice turned venomous.
"Master… those three fools of the Celtigar family dared insult you today. Shall I arrange for them to… disappear?"
Her eagerness to serve bordered on fanaticism.
Pierce's tone chilled.
"Control yourself, Shae."
She flinched, fear flashing in her eyes, "I—I apologize, master. I only wished to defend your honor…"
Pierce's gaze sharpened dangerously.
"Do not mix your feelings with your mission. You are here to learn, to infiltrate—not to misuse the tiny bit of power I've given you. Tell me about the girl named Lina."
Shae turned pale instantly.
"Master… she insulted me first, she—"
"Enough." Pierce's voice cut like a blade. "This is your only warning. Abuse your position again, and you will understand suffering worse than death."
The icy threat crushed her growing arrogance.
Shae bent until her forehead touched the floor, "Yes, master… I was wrong… it won't happen again…"
Pierce watched her a moment, then spoke quietly.
"Rise."
She obeyed, trembling.
He continued:
"Littlefinger trusts no one. Remember that. Your place in the organization is not guaranteed. There are twelve Gem Lords—and each one is exceptional."
His eyes glinted.
"I've always believed you had potential. That is why I entrusted you with the glass candle."
"Bring it out."
Shae, pale and shaken, carefully retrieved a small box from her clothing.
Inside lay a twisted crystal rod the length of a palm—smooth, bone-like, glowing faintly in the firelight.
Pierce stared at it, feeling something stir deep within him—his skinchanging ability resonating with the artifact.
"Watch closely," he said.
"Tonight, I will teach you how I communicate with the other Lords."
"And tonight, I will awaken your power as a skinchanger."