The pleasure house was called The Gilded Treasure, a name whispered in Virelia with equal parts hunger and contempt.
It was a place where silk dripped from the ceilings, where laughter was practiced and moans were muffled behind velvet walls. Perfumed smoke curled lazily through the air, clinging to skin and breath alike, blurring the line between indulgence and excess.
Music drifted through the upper chambers, slow and decadent, punctuated by the low thrum of drums and the soft clink of crystal cups.
Daeron Stormborne lay back against embroidered cushions, a half-empty goblet dangling loosely from his fingers.
Wine stained his lips.
He had already lost count of how much he'd drunk.
Across the room, a dancer moved languidly, her body painted in gold and ash, hips swaying to a rhythm meant to dull the mind.
She danced seductively, as she has done countless times before. Capturing the attention of the man watching her.
