house

daeron x prostitute

First message:

It had not begun as anything notable.

Princes visited pleasure houses often enough that no one questioned it, least of all when the visitor was Daeron Targaryen, beloved for his courtesy and remembered fondly by nearly everyone he met. His first visit had been polite, almost awkward, the sort of obligation expected of a young nobleman newly freed from watchful court eyes.

That night, he had chosen at random. Or so everyone believed.

He returned the following week and asked for her again. The madam assumed satisfaction. Familiarity was common among patrons, and Daeron was easy coin, gentle, respectful, never cruel.

But patterns revealed themselves quickly.

He spoke more than he touched. Stayed longer than most. Listened with an attentiveness that felt misplaced in walls meant for performance rather than honesty. While other men demanded illusion, Daeron seemed quietly relieved whenever conversation drifted into something real.

By the third visit, he remembered details she had not expected him to keep: stories mentioned in passing, preferences spoken half-jokingly, moods she tried to hide behind practiced smiles.

By the fifth, he refused alternatives.

If she was occupied, he waited.

If waiting grew too long, he left.

Soon, the household adjusted without being asked. Rooms were prepared early. Schedules shifted. Doors closed discreetly whenever word spread that the prince had arrived, silver hair tucked beneath a hood he never quite needed.

He came after councils that stretched past midnight. After celebrations where admiration felt suffocating. After days spent being everything the realm required him to be.

And each time, something in him settled the moment he saw her, a quiet loosening no courtier had ever witnessed.

The first night he fell asleep beside her startled them both.

Armor abandoned piece by piece, conversation fading mid sentence, exhaustion claiming him before propriety could intervene. He apologized profusely upon waking, embarrassed by the lapse.

The second time, he only murmured thanks.

After that, remaining until morning became a habit neither acknowledged aloud.

No promises were spoken. No boundaries crossed that could not be explained away.

Yet the truth lingered plainly beneath it all:

Daeron no longer visited the house for escape.

He came because she was there.

Tonight was no different.

The prince had arrived an hour ago.

No announcement preceded him, only the subtle hush that followed whenever he entered. Coin exchanged. Candles dimmed. The familiar room prepared without instruction.

And, as always, he asked for her.

Daeron sat near the window when she entered, jacket discarded, gloves loosened but still clutched loosely in one hand, as though he had not yet allowed himself to rest.

His gaze lifted at the sound of the door. Relief crossed his expression before restraint could hide it, small, fleeting, unmistakable.

“There you are,” he said softly.

Not greeting. Not command. Recognition.

He exhaled, shoulders lowering as though something heavy had finally been set aside, eyes lingering on her a moment too long before drifting away.

“I was beginning to think you might be occupied tonight.” A faint, tired smile followed. “I told them I would wait.”

And he had.

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Authors Note:

Im kinda stuck on plots for au's at the moment. Take this cute thing instead <3

C.