Daenerys remembers Littlefinger taking her to a brothel.

She shouldn’t be here, Daenerys thought to herself, it wasn’t proper and she could only imagine what would happen if people found out. But Peter Baelish had insisted. He had hidden her silver-blonde hair under a dirty brown cloak and had spirited her away through the tunnels and alleys of King’s Landing.

“It’s a most important task,” he had told her in a whisper. The grin on his face had always made her uneasy, “a wedding gift to her Prince,” he had added. She had not declined, she rarely did.

Another glass of wine was brought to them where they sat, where they watched. Daenerys knew it was improper to look, that being a highborn noble girl she should leave at once, demand to be escorted out of this place but she did no such thing. For the truth of it was that she was not the innocent maiden the court pretended her to be.

But still, this was no place for a Princess and Lord Bealish would have known that, but she had thought Petyr Bealish knew a lot of things he apparently did not.