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Chapter Text

The most current version of this list is always available here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1AkrHV1bRxInZlR88gaP_RCGXjMoQNN27SEW1BDB0fZw/edit?usp=sharing 

Dramatis Personae - bolded are people actually present

The Bride:

Princess Loreza Nymeros Martell, (226) heir to Sunspear, Keeper of the Spear Tower

Her Family:

Rhodryn Nymeros Martell, (190) Lord of Sunspear, Prince of Dorne, her father

Lady Robarra Baratheon, his first wife, died (224) in childbed after three stillbirths and as many miscarriages

• Prince Caddam Nymeros Martell, (212), died hours after birth

Lady Lenelle Manwoody ( 208 ) of House Manwoody of Kingsgrave, her mother

Prince Lewyn Nymeros Martell, (230) her brother, a new-made knight of seventeen

Prince Arion Nymeros Martell, (195) her uncle

Lady Rebanna Wyl, (199) heir to Wyl, his wife

• Ser Maron Wyl, (217) their son

Larra of Lys, his paramour

• Morgan Sand, (235) their bastard son, a boy of twelve, squire to Ser Maron Wyl

Princess Trystana Nymeros Martell, (199) her aunt

Duran Gargalen, Lord of Salt Shore, her husband

• Lady Linette Gargalen, (222) heir to Salt Shore, her daughter
• Ser Lucas Allyrion, her husband
• Tremond Gargalen, Lady Linette’s son, a babe
• Lady Joleta Gargalen, (225) her daughter, paramour to Lady Deneza Dalt
• Lady Daenerys Gargalen, (232) her daughter, a maid of fifteen

Princess Daenella Nymeros Martell, (210) her aunt, called “Princess of the Breeze” because her whims can be altered by the breeze

Terence, an Orphan of the Greenblood, her husband

• Manfrey Martell, (239) their son, a boy of eight
• Yanna Martell, (241) their daughter, a girl of six

Ser Olyvar Sand, (184) Keeper of the Sandship, called “The Bastard of Sunspear”, her uncle

Ser Henrick Dayne, of the Daynes of High Hermitage, her paramour, sent away

Her Friends and Companions

Lady Emlyn Wells, her chatelaine

Lady Joleta Gargalen, her cousin and lady companion

Lady Rhona Santagar, her lady companion

Lady Elda Toland, her lady companion

Genna Sand, bastard daughter of Lady Anila Qorgyle, her lady companion

Alyse Ladybright, her friend from childhood, a lemon factor

Ser Ormond Yronwood, a hostage in Sunspear since the fourth Blackfyre Rebellion

Ser Rolyn Toland, heir to Ghost Hill

Serron Vaith, crippled in an accident as a child, a justiciar

Garwyn of Salt Shore, The High Seneschal

Maester Geuren, counselor, healer, tutor

The Bridegroom:

Ser Eliott Rowan, of House Rowan of Goldengrove

His Family:

Adwin Rowan, Lord of Goldengrove, his father, known for his love of books

Lady Sarra Fossoway, of the Fossoways of Cider Hall, his mother

Ser Alastor Rowan, heir to Goldengrove, his brother, a drunk

Lady Bessa Rowan, his sister, married Ser Waltyre Bracken

• Betha Bracken, their daughter, a girl of four
• Othor Bracken, their son, a babe

Lady Aelora Rowan, his sister, a maid of fifteen

Ser Corret Rowan, his uncle,

Lady Taria Tully, Ser Corret's wife

• Ser Marq Rowan, his son, a knight of growing reputation
• Dian Rowan, his daughter, now called Septa Donella
• Ser Owain Rowan, his son, Ser Eliott’s oldest friend, to remain with him in Dorne

Lady Allana Rowan, his aunt, married Ser Jarl Jast

His Friends and Companions

Ser Lymen Osgrey of the Osgreys of Coldmoat

Ser Jon Inchfield, a household knight

The Guests at the Wedding

The Lords of Dorne:

Edgar Yronwood, the Bloodroyal, Lord of Yronwood, Warden of the Stone Way

Lady Emma Mertyns, his wife

• Lady Alyse Yronwood, (225) heir to Yronwood, his daughter, married Ser Clarian Jordayne
• Ser Ormond Yronwood, (229) a hostage in Sunspear

Jennelyn Fowler, Lady of Skyreach, Warden of the Prince’s Pass

• Lady Ysilla Fowler, heir to Skyreach, her daughter,
• Ser Quentyn Santagar, Lady Ysilla’s husband
• Franklyn Fowler, Lady Ysilla's son, a boy of three

Lady Ariandra Fowler, her sister, married Lord Veryn Toland

• Ser Rolyn Toland, heir to Ghost Hill, her son
• Lady Elda Toland, her daughter, companion to Princess Loreza Nymeros Martell, betrothed to Ser Casson Vaith
• Jennelyn Sand, her bastard daughter by Lord Allyster Wyl, a woman of sixteen
• Devan Sand, her bastard son by Lord Allyster Wyl, a boy of twelve

Mors Allyrion, Lord of Godsgrace, Lord Justiciar

Lady Ryanne Manwoody, his wife

• Lady Delonne Allyrion, heir to Godsgrace, a girl of nine

Ser Lucas Allyrion, his brother,

Lady Linette Gargalen, heir to Salt Shore, Ser Lucas’s wife

• Tremond Gargalen, their son, a babe

Meria Blackmont, Lady of Blackmont

Ser Simon Leygood, her husband

Lady Alyssa Blackmont, her sister and heir, married Edric Qorgyle

• Arron Blackmont, their son, a boy of two, twin to Arrelle
• Arrelle Blackmont, their daughter, a girl of two, twin to Arron

Lady Synelle Blackmont, her aunt, assistant to the Keeper of the Spear Tower

Ser Marence Santagar, Lady Synelle’s husband

• Lady Elysa Santagar, their daughter, a maid of twelve

Ashryn Dayne, Lord of Starfall

Lady Deria Dayne, of the Daynes of High Hermitage, his wife and cousin, died in childbed

• Lady Alleza Dayne, heir to Starfall, his daughter, a maid of fourteen

Ser Qoren Sand, bastard brother of Lady Vallena Vaith, his paramour

Duran Gargalen, Lord of Salt Shore

Princess Trystana Nymeros Martell, his wife

• Lady Linette Gargalen, heir to Salt Shore, his daughter
• Ser Lucas Allyrion, Lady Linette’s husband
• Tremond Gargalen, Lady Linette's son, a babe
• Lady Joleta Gargalen, his daughter, paramour to Lady Deneza Dalt
• Lady Daenerys Gargalen, his daughter, a maid of fifteen

Isabella Jordayne, Lady of the Tor

Ser Bryndyn Wade, her husband, a famous knight, died in the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion

• Trebor Jordayne, heir to the Tor, her son, a squire of twelve
• Lady Brynelle Jordayne, a girl of ten

Ser Clarion Jordayne, her brother, married Lady Alyse Yronwood, heir to Yronwood

Dickon Manwoody, Lord of Kingsgrave

Sarae of Volantis, his estranged wife, proprietor of a pillow house in the shadow city

• Lady Lysanne Manwoody, heir to Kingsgrave, his daughter, a maid of thirteen

Lady Lenelle Manwoody, his sister, married Prince Rhodryn Nymeros Martell

Lady Ryanne Manwoody, his sister, married Lord Mors Allyrion

Veryn Toland, Lord of Ghost Hill

Lady Ariandra Fowler, his wife, now paramour to Lord Allyster Wyl

• Ser Rolyn Toland, heir to Ghost Hill, his son
• Lady Elda Toland, his daughter, companion to Princess Loreza Nymeros Martell, betrothed to Ser Casson Vaith

Dylan Uller, Lord of Hellholt, Warden of the Broken Arm, a respected battle commander

Lady Derielle Vaith, his wife, recently returned to Vaith

• Harmen Uller, heir to Hellholt, his son, a boy of eleven, a page at Starfall
• Lady Ellaria Uller, his daughter, a girl of eight
• Ulwyk Uller, his son, a boy of six

Lady Deria Uller, his sister

Ser Dalmor Laq, Lady Deria’s husband, died in a fall

• Lucas Laq, the Knight of Laqstone, a boy of four

Vallena Vaith, Lady of of the Red Dunes

Ser Casson Vaith, her brother and heir, betrothed to Lady Elda Toland

Lady Derielle Vaith, her sister, estranged wife of Lord Dylan Uller

• Harmen Uller, heir to Hellholt, her son, a boy of eleven, a page at Starfall
• Lady Ellaria Uller, her daughter, a girl of eight
• Ulwyk Uller, her son, a boy of six

Ser Qoren Sand, her bastard brother

Ser Allin Vaith, her uncle, married to Lady Anila Qorgyle

Allyster Wyl, (173) Lord of the Boneway

Lady Jeyne Swann, his wife, died of a wasting disease

• Lady Rebanna Wyl, (199) heir to Wyl, his daughter
• Prince Arion Nymeros Martell, Lady Rebanna’s estranged husband
• Ser Maron Wyl, (217) Lady Rebanna’s son

Lady Jeyne Wyl, his daughter, Lord Bailiff of Sunspear

Lady Ariandra Fowler, his paramour

• Jennelyn Sand, their bastard daughter, a woman of sixteen
• Devan Sand, (235) their bastard son, a boy of twelve

Anila Qorgyle, Lady of Sandstone

Ser Allin Vaith, her husband

• Ser Gallwel Qorgyle, heir to Sandstone, her son, a new made knight of eighteen
• Lady Obella Qorgyle, her daughter, a woman of sixteen, betrothed to Ser Artyr Dalt
• Emerik Qorgyle, her son, a boy of twelve, a squire at Ghost Hill

Genna Sand, her bastard daughter, companion to Princess Loreza Nymeros Martell

Edric Qorgyl, her brother,

Lady Alyssa Blackmont, Edric’s wife

• Arron Blackmont, their son, a boy of two, twin to Arrelle
• Arrelle Blackmont, their daughter, a girl of two, twin to Arron

Deneza Dalt, the Lady of Lemonwood, Keeper of the Tower of the Sun

Lady Joleta Gargalen, her paramour

Ser Artyr Dalt, her brother and heir, Lord Shariff of Sunspear, betrothed to Lady Obella Qorgyle

• Dennet Sand, his bastard son, a boy of six

Ser Torren Santagar, the Knight of Spotswood

Corella Sand, his paramour

• Ser Eldon Sand, their bastard son, a dashing young knight, Officer of the Threefold Gate

Ser Marence Santagar, his brother and heir, a hero of the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion

Lady Synelle Blackmont, Ser Marence's wife, assistant to the Keeper of the Spear Tower

• Lady Elysa Santagar, their daughter, a maid of twelve

Ser Quentyn Santagar, his brother

Lady Ysilla Fowler, heir to Skyreach, his wife

• Franklyn Fowler, their son, a boy of three

Lady Rhona Santagar, his sister, companion to Princess Loreza Nymeros Martell

From King’s Landing and the Crown Lands:

Aegon V Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm

Queen Betha, of House Blackwood, his wife

Prince Duncan, his son, once heir to the Iron Throne, called “The Prince of Dragonflies”

Jenny of Oldstones, his wife, a common woman

Jaehaerys, Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne, his son, brother-husband of Shaera

Princess Shaera Targaryen, his daughter, sister-wife of Jaehaerys

• Prince Aerys, their son, a boy of three
• Princess Rhaella, their daughter, a babe

Prince Daeron Targaryen

• his lover, Ser Jeremy Norridge

Princess Rhaelle Targaryen

Lord Ormund Baratheon, her husband

• Steffon, their son, a babe

Ser Duncan the Tall, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard

Ser Willas Manderly, a knight of the Kingsguard

Ser Harlan Grandison, a knight of the Kingsguard

Ser Tybot Sarsfield, Master of Horse at the Red Keep

Lady Alysanne Mooton, his wife

• Lady Tyia Sarsfield, his daughter, a maid of eighteen

Dontos Darklyn, Lord of Duskendale

Lady Amerei Stokeworth, his wife

Aurane Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark, a famous knight

Lollman Stokeworth, Lord of Stokework

• Ser Jon Stokeworth, heir to Stokeworth, his son

From the Reach:

Gared Tyrell,  Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, Warden of the South

• Ser Luthor Tyrell, heir to Highgarden, his son
• Ser Gormon Tyrell, his son
• Garth Tyrell, his son
• Moryn Tyrell, his son

Runceford Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor

• Ser Horas Redwyne, heir to the Arbor, his son
• Lady Olenna Redwyne, his daughter, a maid of nineteen, once betrothed to Prince Daeron Targaryen
• her septa, Unelletine

Denys Hightower, (208) Lord of the Hightower, a widower

• Leyton Hightower, (234) heir to the Hightower, his son, a squire

Lady Alanna Hightower, (211) his sister,

Lord Jon Mullendore, Lady Alanna’s husband

• Ser Martyn Mullendore, (227) their son,

Ser Humford Hightower, (215) his younger brother

• Ser Nordon Flowers, his bastard son

Ser Gerold Hightower, (219) his youngest brother, a knight of great renowned

Lady Malora Merryweather, his widowed mother

Jon Bulwer, Lord of Blackcrown

Edwyn Oakheart, Lord of Old Oaks

Lady Alysanne Rosby, his wife

• Lady Ellyn Oakheart, his daughter, a maid of twenty

Ser Joffrey Costayne, younger son of Lord Leo

Jothor Florent, Lord of Brightwater Keep, an old, querulous man

Daisy, his mistress, a blacksmith’s daughter, younger than his granddaughter

• Ser Farin Florent, heir to Brightwater, his son
• Ser Selman Florent, Ser Farin’s son
• Alester Florent, Ser Selman’s son, a squire of fourteen
• Lady Joslyn Risley, Ser Farin’s second wife
• Lady Mariah Florent, Ser Farin's daughter, a maid of sixteen
• Alton Florent, his son, a squire at The Crag

Samwell Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill, a hero of the fourth Blackfyre Rebellion

Lady Doryssa Hayford, his wife

• Lady Leona Tarly, their daughter
• Ser Daeron Darklyn, Lady Leona’s husband
• Garth Tarly, heir to Horn Hill, their son, a boy of eleven

Ser Arwen Casswell, heir to Bitterbridge

From the stormlands

Belmor Dondarrion, Lord of Blackhaven, a new made knight

Ludwyn Swann, Lord of Stonehelm

Lady Donna Frey, his wife

• Ser Manfred Swann, their younger son
• Barristan Selmy, Ser Manfrey's squire

Alfros Connigton, Lord of Griffin’s Roost

Lady Elenora Westerling, his wife

• Lady Dyanna Connington, his daughter, a maid of fourteen
• Armond Connington, heir to Griffin’s Roost, his son, a boy of eleven, squire to Ser Arwen Caswell

Cedra Buckler, Lady of Brozegate, a widow

• Ser Randyll Buckler, heir to Bronzegate, her son
• Lady Jeyne Buckler, Ser Randyll's wife and cousin
• Lady Betha Buckler, Ser Randyll's daughter, a maid of twelve

Ser Andrew Estermont, heir to Greenstone

• Ser Eldon Estermont, his son, a knight of seventeen

Durran of Tarth, The Evenstar

Lady Cersei Hetherspoon, his wife

• Lady Brianna of Tarth, his daughter and heir
• Ser Adan Lonmouth, Lady Brianna's husband
• Selwyn of Tarth, Lay Brianna's son, a babe

From the westerlands:

Tytos Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West

Lady Jeyne Marbrand, his wife

• Tywin Lannister, their son, a boy of five
• Kevan Lannister, their son, a boy of three
• Genna Lannister, their daughter, a girl of two

Ser Jason Lannister, his brother

Lady Alys Stackspear, Ser Jason's first wife, died in childbed

• Damon Lannister, his son, a boy of three

Lady Marla Prestor, Ser Jason’s second wife, twice his age

• Joanna Lannister, their daughter, a girl of two
• Stafford Lannister, a babe

Lynora Hill, Ser Jason’s bastard daughter by a serving girl, a girl of five

Ser Tywald Lannister, his brother, died in the Peake Rebellion

Ser Tion Lannister, his brother, died in the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion

Walderan Tarbeck, Lord of Tarbeck Hall, an old man (b. 184)

• Ser Theo Tarbeck, heir to Tarbeck Hall, his son, a knight of forty years
• Ser Alyn Tarbeck, Ser Theo’s son, a new-made knight of eighteen, called “The Younger Alyn"
• Ser Alyn Tarbeck, his son, called “The Elder Alyn"
• Lady Arryka Tarbeck, his daughter, a maid of seventeen

Lady Ellyn Reyne, his third wife

• Tion Tarbeck, their son, a boy of five
• Lady Rohanne Tarbeck, their daughter, a girl of two

Ser Reynard Reyne

Tyrion Broom, Lord of Bromm

• Perrin Broom, his son, squire to Ser Jason Lannister

Geylman Farman, Lord of Fair Isle, an old but powerful man

• Ser Tommen Farman, heir to Fair Isle, his son
• Tytos Farmen, Ser Tommen's son, a boy of six
• Lady Rohanne Farmen, his daughter
• Ser Bonifer Lydden, Lady Rohanne’s husband
• Steffon Farmen, Lord of Silverhill, his son,
• Jonelle Serrett, Lady of Silverhill, Lord Steffon’s wife, a girl of eleven

Marwen Hamell, Lord of Goldenbowl Valley

Other Guests:

Ser Jon Arryn, heir to the Eyrie, a knight of eighteen

Wallyn Waynwood, Lord of Ironoaks

Gregor Darry, Lord of Darry

Lady Meredyth Carson, his wife

• Lady Megga Darry, their daughter, still a maid at thirty
• Ser Willem Darry, their younger son
• Jonothor Darry, a squire of fifteen

Nosarro Fomittis, envoy from the Iron Bank of Braavos

Trino Lohar, a Magister of Lys

• Sarra, his daughter, a girl of seven, a ward of the prince at the Water Gardens

Tresellar Saan, a great Lysene wine merchant

Doton Tonkori, son of the Archon of Tyrosh

Horhas Serrhar, a Magister of Myr

Vogarro of the Old Blood, a merchant and Freeholder of Volantis

Chapter Text

The family gathered to break their fast and Loreza regretted ever getting out of bed. Or at least, she regretted ever leaving her room. She could feel everyones eyes on her. They exchanged glances when they thought she couldn’t see, to decide between them who would break the uncomfortable silence. Her father smiled at her sadly. Her cousin Joleta was annoyed. Her aunt could barely contain her eagerness to be useful, Loreza could hear her shifting in her chair. She could all be hear her eyes moving in her head, looking from her brothers, to her good sister, to her daughters to encourage them.

Princess Trystana finally surrendered. “The dressmaker wanted to come in today for one last fitting,” she told the table. “But we should put it off. It will be of little use, in any case, before all the jewels are finished being reset.”

“If you think that’s best,” Loreza told her. She picked up a piece of bread from her plate and them threw it back down again without taking a bite. The very sight of food was making her sick. And her head throbbed. From all the weeping, no doubt.

She’d resolved to control herself and she had. Not a single tear was shed when Henrick knelt to kiss her hand and take his leave. Her voice barely shook when she asked the gods to bless him. But as soon as the door closed behind him the tears came and they didn’t stop. She was still crying an hour later when she stood at the window and watched his horse disappear though the western gate of the Old Palace.

He had left at least, a greater man than he was when he came. Then he had nothing but his sword and the clothes on his back. Now he was known, and respected, and for more than being her paramour. No one questioned it when he rode off with twenty men and enough gold to keep them armed and fed for the rest of his days. It was still less than he deserved. Loreza bit her lip to keep her chin from shaking.

“Perhaps you should go to the Water Gardens for a few days,” her mother said, “and take all your friends with you. Unless you rather be by yourself.”

“Yes!” Her aunt leaped at the suggestion. “I agree, go to the Water Gardens, you’ll have quiet there. And you know we have no need of you for a week at least.”

Loreza closed her eyes before responding. Would that Princess Trystana went back to Water Gardens. “You just told me that the dressmaker would need me,” she said. “And there’s more than enough to be done here, I assure you.”

“There can’t be anything that won’t keep for a few days,” her aunt insisted.

“That’s for me to judge, isn’t it?” Burying herself in her duties was the only thing to be done. That way she could be alone, more or less, but she wouldn’t have to think.

There was a knock on the door.

“Yes,” Prince Rhodryn prompted.

Maester Geuren came in and approached them. They were crowded almost elbow to elbow around the small round table where the prince always broke his fast. The maester’s eyes flashed quickly to all of them, and stopped for a moment when they fell on Loreza. He had to be pleased by the turn of events. He’d never know how to treat Henrick.

“My prince,” the maester said, “there is news from the port. Lord Redwyne is here.”

“How can he be here,” Lady Lenelle asked. “He’s not expected for, what, ten days at least.”

“Indeed, my lady” he confirmed, “but he has already sent for leave to land. According to his message, the winds were very fair.”

“They would have to be very fair indeed,” Joleta said. She stood from the table and walked to the eastern window. This high up in the Tower of the Sun you could see far out to sea. “There they are,” she announced, “three galleys with blue sails. They’re anchored just outside the harbour.”

“What does he mean by coming so early?” Joleta’s younger sister Daenerys asked. “I hope he doesn’t expect us to drop everything and entertain him.”

“I imagine that’s exactly what he expects, Dany,” Joleta told her.

“Well, I say we tell them all to stay on their ships for a while until we’re ready for them,” Dany said.

Ser Olyvar Sand laughed. “I’m sure Lord Tyrell will take that suggestion with a good grace.”

“Are the Tyrells here too?”

“I believe that was the arrangement, was it not maester?” Loreza asked Geuren.

“It was, my princess,” he said, reading from the paper in his hand. “Lord Gared sailed with them. And Lord Florent. Along with Ser Joffery Costayne. And, of course, Lord Hightower and his brother Ser Gerold. Along with various other members of his family.”

“There Dany,” Loreza told her cousin, “you wouldn’t want to slight Ser Gerold Hightower. And it’s not as though they intended to come early. No one can control the winds.”

Their uncle scoffed. “Do you really believe that?” he asked her. “No wind, no matter how fair could have brought them here nearly a fortnight before they intended.”

“I suppose they see some advantage in arriving before the king does,” Loreza’s mother opined. “Though I can’t imagine what that could be.”

She was probably right, but the princess couldn’t bring herself to care much about it. “I have no doubt we’ll find out soon enough,” she said. “But unless we really intend to shun them we’ll have to do something.”

Lady Lenelle shrugged. “I’m sure we can manage a few capons and some dancing.”

Princess Trystana chimed in. “Not even the musicians will be here for another five day.”

“Are you afraid our ordinary court musicians will offend Gared Tyrell?” Ser Olyvar asked her.

“I’m sure he’ll find something to be offended by,” his sister answered. “He usually does.”

“It’s not as though we have much choice in the matter,” Loreza said. “Unless you think he would be offended less to eat in silence.” She turned to the maester. “Send them word that I’ll be ready to receive them in six hours.”

“What is this?” Joleta came back to her seat at the table. “You surely don’t intend to go greet them yourself.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Joleta certainly wouldn’t, in her position. She would spend the whole day wailing and demanding that everyone feel sorry for her.

Her cousin made a disgusted little snort. “Are you really going to do this? He hasn’t been gone two hours and you already…”

“Who else could go but me?” Loreza demanded.

“Your mother could,” Princess Trystana said. “And Lady Deneza will get the feast in hand. You can sneak off before they land. There’s no reason Lord Tyrell should even know you were in Sunspear.”

“Yes, my love,” Lady Lenelle said. “Let me go in your stead.”

“And then,” Princess Trystana continued, “when you come back in a week, you’ll have started to feel more like yourself.”

“I told you, Aunt,” Loreza said, not caring about the tone of her voice, “I’m not going to the Water Gardens.”

“Mother have mercy, what good are you here?” she asked. “You’re in no state to be seen in public, and don’t pretend you are.”

Loreza’s mother cut in before she could reply. “Go back to bed now,” she said, “at least until tonight when we’re ready to eat. We can tell them you’re indisposed.”

“I’m not indisposed.” Loreza stated.

Princess Trystana turned to her brother. “Say something!”

Prince Rhodryn looked up from his plate as though he’s barely been attending to the conversation, though his daughter knew him better than that. “Loreza knows what she’s doing,” he said.

“I do,” she agreed. “This is my wedding. Not yours, aunt, and not my mother’s. I will greet Lord Tyrell and Lord Hightower, and then I’ll dance with their sons at the feast. And then I’ll go to bed.” Alone. “See to it, if it please you, Maester.”

Geuren bowed. “As you command, my princess.”

As it turned out, it was their guests who required more than six hours to put themselves in order. They finally appeared at the quayside well into the afternoon. It took a dozen barges to get them all off. Lord Tyrell brought two of his four sons and a retinue of twenty knights. Lord Redwyn brought one son, one daughter, and five bannermen. The Hightower delegation was so large that Loreza wonder if there was anyone left in Oldtown. Ancient, gouty Lord Florent brought his sons, his grandchildren, and a great sedan chair that took four men to carry.

The princess brought only thirty men of the city watch, the Lord Sharrif, two of her ladies, and as many of the household knights that could be cajoled into coming. The reach lords made a poor job of hiding their disappointment at this paltry welcome. Lord Tyrell’s greeting was as full of bluster as she expected, but he kept looking over towards the gate as though he expected more to be coming from the palace. Lord Redwyne asked her where Prince Lewyn was, and Lord Florent didn’t get up at all. He glared at his son when Ser Ferin asked her to forgive his father on account of how old and frail he was. All the young knightly sons and maiden daughters looked rather resentful that they had put on their best clothes for nothing but this rather disappointing princess. Loreza could hardly blame them for that. Though, Dany was right, if they wanted better, they shouldn’t have come so early.

Lord Tyrell rode beside her on the way back to the palace. If she had offended him, it was not enough to put a curb on his gallantry. There was an endless stream of it, each comment on her beauty and grace more meaningless than the last. Loreza had suffered that kind of nonsense for four years in King’s Landing and had no patience for it at the best of times. All she could do was smile and give him thanks whenever he paused for breath.

As soon as they entered the palace, the princess was more than happy to hand them all over to the care of the seneschal. She went to the Keeper’s Chambers in the Tower of the Sun to look for Lady Dalt, but found her mother there instead, giving orders to stewards, and servants, and factors. It seemed that arranging a feast at such short notice was not as simple as she had hoped. What was more, she became quite annoyed with Loreza’s offers of help.

“Go to bed,” Lady Lenelle told her. “Go riding. Go to the sept and pray. Anything but staying here and pretending to be busy. You’re too distracted to be useful, so why try?”

Loreza scowled at her. “Do you still think I should have gone to the Water Gardens to mope about?”

“I do,” her mother told her without looking up from the paper she was writing on, “considering the alternative is to have you moping about in Sunspear.”

She bit her lip, in sudden danger of crying again. “I don’t want to mope at all.”

Lady Lenelle put down her quill. “I know you don’t, my love,” she said, “but you have no choice. That is how the gods decreed we shall deal with loss. You should show yourself some kindness.”

What had she done to deserve kindness, from herself or from anyone else? Why were they all acting as though there was anyone but her to blame?

Daneza Dalt came into the room just then and save her from her own thoughts. She looked furious. “What is it?” the princess asked her at once.

“Lord Florent isn’t satisfied with his chambers,” she told them. “He’s making quite fuss.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Lady Lenelle asked. She stood up so Lady Deneza could take her seat in the keeper’s chair behind the desk.

“He says there are too many stairs,” she said, “but I suspect his real objection is that he’s not in the Tower of the Sun.” Lord Florent and his family were being housed in the Garden Keep by the southern gate. It was generally considered to be the most pleasant part of the palace.

“There are a good deal more stairs in the Tower of Sun,” Lady Lenelle pointed out. “And in any case, there isn’t room for him.”

Lady Deneza shrugged. “There’s room for the Tyrells and the Hightowers, so he thinks there should be room for him too.”

Loreza scoffed. “He’s not a Tyrell though, is he? He’s not even a Hightower. Would he be satisfied with the king’s chambers, do you think?” The other two women ignored her.

“I’ll speak to him, if you like, my lady,” Lady Lenelle said. “I’ll convince him that we gave him the fewest number of steps possible to deal with out of consideration. Perhaps that will placate him.”

“I don’t see why we should placate him at all,” the princess muttered.

Her mother lost patience with her. “Loreza! I insist you at least get an hour or two of sleep before you appear in public. You’re like to start a war, with the mood you’re in.”

She stalked out of the chambers and up the numerous steps to her own rooms. No one was there. No doubt all her ladies had been recruited by someone to perform some task. Someone who though there was no need to consult her before taking her own ladies away. So she stalked about from room to room for a while, being angry in turn at her mother, her aunt, the reachmen, and herself.

Rhona Santagar appeared with an unnaturally cheerful look. “Shall we go riding, princess?”

Loreza narrowed her eyes at her. “Did my aunt send you?” She asked. “Or my mother?”

“No,” Rhona said without shame, “Lady Emlyn did.”

The princess resumed her stalking across the floor of her sitting room. “Well, tell her I don’t require minding like a child. And I don’t want her pity either, or yours. Don’t you have something more important to do?”

“Not more important, no,” Rhona said. “I suspect you need company.”

“I don’t.”

“Then what do you need, princess?”

She knew what she wanted. She wanted Henrick. She wanted to get on a horse and chase him down before he was gone forever, and damn any consequences. And failing that, she wanted to stop thinking about the terrible thing she had done. “All I want is something to do.”

“Good,” Rhona said, “in that case you can do some hemming for me, and I read aloud.”

“No,” Loreza said. “I’ll read to you.” Rhona’s constant serenity and patience was making her feel ashamed of herself. She certainly didn’t deserve to be snapped at.

Loreza opened the book cabinet and found the most ponderous book she could— a long history about trade along the Rhoyne. If she was fortunate it would occupy her mind and prevent her from thinking about anything else or from being horrible to her friends.

It worked for a few minutes, but then she found herself staring at the page without reading any of the words. Rhona made no objection. They sat in silence except for the sound of the thread passing through the needle as she sewed.

When the sun was well into setting in the western sky, Lady Emlyn came into the room and tutted at the look on Loreza’s face. She must have been crying again, her eyes were swollen, but she didn’t remember doing it.

“Child,” her chatelaine said, “you need a bath.” She look her by the hand and lead her into the dressing room, unlacing her gown for her while the large wood and tile bath was filled.

Lady Emlyn knelt by its side and washed Loreza’s hair for her, just as she had when she was a little girl. “No one in the world would blame you,” she said, “if you stayed here tonight and cried yourself to sleep.”

“Not you too,” Loreza complained. “That is the very last thing I want to do.”

“It was very bad luck,” Lady Emlyn continued, “that the first guests would show themselves the very day Ser Henrik left you.”

“It wasn’t bad luck,” the princess muttered to her, “it was my own doing.” She had put it off week after week. Despite an almost daily resolution that she must do it now, somehow, it has never happened. She watched the inevitable approach with dread, but did nothing until her father had shamed her into action. Yesterday, he had summoned her into his solar and she stood before him, knowing what he would say, without a word in her own defence.

“The king will be here in a week,” the prince said, “and your betrothed won’t be far behind him.”

“Yes,” was all that Loreza managed.

Her father had risen from his chair and come to stand next to her. He took her hand in his and spoke to her with such sympathy that it had cut Loreza to the quick more than anything. “He cannot stay here.”

“I know…” Loreza whispered.

The prince sighed. “Send him here, Loree. I will speak to him.”

“No,” Loreza said, finding her voice. “That wouldn’t be right. I… I will do it.”

And so she had. And now, a scant day later, he was gone.

“Time will heal the pain,” Lady Emlyn said. “But denying it will only make it fester.”

“I know that,” the princess said. “I’m not denying anything.”

“So stay here tonight.” The older woman sighed when Loreza shook her head.

“I feel so much better,” she told her chatelaine. “You were right, a bath was just what a needed.” It had certainly soothed her sore head. All she had to do was force herself to dance a few dances. It was worth it to give the likes of Gared Tyrell one less reason to speculate and gossip. No doubt they were already gossiping and speculating enough.

“I don’t know why I bothered to try,” Lady Emlyn muttered. “But I beg your leave to tell you, I think you’re behaving very foolishly.”

“Yes, thank you,” Loreza said. “You’ve made that clear.”

Lady Emlyn put one hand on her pregnant belly and the other on the rim of the tub, she pulled herself up with a groan. “If you insist on this then you better get out. We’ll dress you in something other than red, however. Your eyes are red enough.”

So, clad in blue and gold, Loreza sat between her father and Lord Tyrell in the feast hall and picked at a stew of shark in pepper sauce. Her neighbour sniffed at it skeptically before asking for another capon.

Lord Gared was a stout and red-faced man with an enormous moustache. “Well, princess,” he said, with a leg of capon in his hand, “the big day approaches.”

“Yes,” Loreza agreed, “I’m very much looking forward to—”

“To meeting your intended,” he interrupted. He sucked the last of the meat off of the bone before throwing it onto the floor among the rushes. “Yes, any maid would be. And Ser Eliott is a fine man, a fine young man indeed. And he’ll be well pleased to find such a beautiful bride waiting for him.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Loreza said evenly, “that’s very reassuring. I hadn’t realized you knew him so well.” It was hardly surprising. Even though Lord Rowan had kept both his sons at home while they were growing up, it was natural they would have met any number of times.

“I haven’t seen him in a few years, not since that tourney at Old Oaks. He was still quite the lad then but he did quite well, as I recall. Though,” he chucked, “not as well as my son, Luthor.”

“Naturally not—”

“His father and I were squires together during the war. Not that trifling thing ten years ago,” he dismissed the fourth Blackfyre Rebellion with a wave of his hand, “the one before that. A fine man— though he’s never been very martial. Always reading something, he was, and talking to maesters, but still, a fine man.” The princess opened her mouth to speak, but Lord Tyrell wasn’t finished. “However, you needn’t fear, my lady, his sons more than make up for it. Fine men, both of them.”

“I’m sure they’re all very fine,” Loreza said, trying not to think that she would no doubt be obliged to sit beside this man at every formal occasion until the king arrived, “Lord Aldwin and his sons. All three of them.”

“They are, my dear, they are. Ser Eliott especially. A fine young man, and strong.” Lord Gared took a large swallow of his wine and wiped his mouth with a green velvet sleeve. “Your noble father need not fear for the future,” he said, “with Ser Eliott to protect and guide you, you’ll be in good hands.”

“Yes, that will be a great comfort to him,” she snapped, safe in the knowledge that he was too stupid to hear the sarcasm in her voice. Her aunt heard it, however, and saw the danger at once. Princess Trystana came to the rescue. She listened to him drone on about his own sons and how fine they were, while Loreza was obliged to do nothing more than smile whenever he happened to look her way.

She danced with the famous Ser Luthor Tyrell first. He was slim and comely, with shinny brown curls on his head, but his conversation was as interesting as his father’s had been. The younger son was still at his seat, stuffing lemon creams into his mouth. No one seemed to expect the princess to dance with him. Next came Horace Redwyne, who only wanted to talk about the tourney, and then Ser Gerold Hightower, who was much more pleasant.

“The prince is very honoured that the king would choose to invest you into the Kingsguard in Sunspear,” she told him. “And indeed, so am I.”

“The honour is all mine, my princess,” he told her as he lead her gracefully through the dance. “I can think of no occasion more fitting. Although, I didn’t think quite so many of my kin would attend. I’m sure you’re overwhelmed with Hightowers.”

“Not in the least,” Loreza assured him. “Of course they would want to come see you.”

He would have danced with her again, but even his company was exhausting her. She plead fatigue and went to sit against the wall with Alyse Ladybright. Her friend patted her on the head in an amused manner when she leaded against her shoulder and yawned.

“I could sleep in your bed with you tonight, if you like,” Alyse said, “I shouldn’t want you to be alone.”

“You’re welcome to, of course,” Loreza told her. “But it will be a crowd. You’re not the only one who seems to think I will die of loneliness.”

Alyse smirked. “How could you when you have Ser Gerold to dance with. He may get more attention that you, princess.”

“He’s welcome to it,” Loreza said peevishly, “tonight most of all.” Before she could inflict too much of her bad humour on her friend, she saw Lady Deneza nearby and motioned to her to come sit with them.

“You’re to be congratulated, my lady, the princess told her. “Everything seems to have gone smoothly.”

The lady smiled ruefully. “I glad it seems so, my princess.” Even as they were speaking, her eyes were darting all around the room, no doubt looking for the next disaster that would require her attention.

“Who have you displeased?” Alyse asked good-humouredly.

Lady Denza took up her fan and opened it with a practiced snap. “Only one who’s been determined to be displeased from the moment he landed.”

“You mean Lord Florent, I suppose,” Loreza said. Lady Denaza sighed loudly by way of confirmation. “What did you do to him?” The old lord had been carried up to the dais in his sedan chair. He seemed frail and harmless, unable to lift a cup of wine to his mouth without his hand shaking. But Loreza had taken an instant dislike to him. There was something prideful and prickly about him.

Lady Deneza sighed again. “It seems my Lord of Florent brought a girl with him.”

“His granddaughter, you mean?” asked Alyse.

“I certainly do not,” she told them. “She’s a common girl by the looks of her. If I were to guess, he found her scrubbing pots in his kitchens. When I came to see if he was satisfied with his new chambers, she was there with him.”

“Did you offer her a seat on the dais?” Loreza asked her with a smile.

She returned it. “I may never have lived in King’s Landing, my princess, but I’m not that much of a fool.” She started to fan herself with more vigour. “All I did was speak to her. She looked as though she were trying to disappear into the wall. I told her that I hoped the feast would please her. I couldn’t imagine it would offend him to seat her below the salt.”

“But it did,” Alyse prompted.

“Yes, it did,” said Lady Deneza. “He was huffing steam out of his nose like a dragon. And she just squeeked something about ‘wishing to stay in m’lord’s chamber,’ it was mortifying.”

“I’m sorry,” Loreza told her. “What you should have done was let her disappear into the wall and pretend she didn’t exist at all.”

“What would the point of such a person be?” Alyse asked. “She would probably be happier if she could scrub a few pots.”

Loreza shrugged. “It’s their way.”

“You needn’t be sorry for me, my princess,” Lady Deneza continued. “It’s the Keeper of the Tower of the Sun’s duty to absorb abuse from our noble visitors. I just hope I didn’t make things more difficult for the poor child.”

“Child?” Said Alyse. “You can’t be serious, my lady.”

She flapped her fan again. “If she’s a day over fifteen, then I’m a mummer’s monkey.”

Loreza looked over at Lord Jother again— at the wine dripping from his cup onto his beard— and shuddered in disgust. Ser Eliott Rowan was very comely. Everyone who had ever seen him made a point of telling her so.

The princess stood and left them sitting there. Her fatigue was at war with her restlessness. The thought of dancing or even speaking to anyone else was exhausting, but she couldn’t sit still either. So she flitted around the perimeter of the hall and moved along whenever anyone looked as though they meant to speak to her. Eventually, she found her way to a group by a pillar, where Joleta was holding court. She had the reachmen surrounding her in raptures as she confidently exclaimed on jousting, riding tackle, and which falcons preformed best in the white sands. They were so engrossed that they barely stopped to acknowledge that the princess had joined them. It suited her well to stand there quite for a while, only exchanging the occasional laughing look with Genna Sand whenever little Layton Hightower attempted a gallantry.

She was quite alone until Ormond Yronwood came to stand beside her. He was Ormond, however, and she would never avoid speaking to him.

“Will you dance with me, princess?” he asked her.

Loreza smile. “I know you will forgive me if I don’t,” she told him. “But I wouldn’t mind hiding behind you for a while. I don’t think I could bear another compliment.” Ormond had grown from a shy little boy, into a tall young man with a wide chest and blond hair that curled out in all directions from his head. Many rated him very handsome.

“I certainly won’t compliment you then,” he said.

The look of pity in Ormond’s eyes when he smiled would have annoyed her if it had been anyone else. “Thank you,” Loreza answered him. “In fact, you may tell me I look haggard and sullen, if you choose.”

“I will if it would please you, princess,” he said, “but if you prefer I be truthful I will only say that you look tired.”

“I suppose I am.” In truth she was exhausted. She hadn’t slept a moment the night before. Every time they had resolved to sleep it somehow ended in more tears and embraces, as though they hoped to make up for all the time they would never have. Some time in the dead of night, as they clung to each other, Henry kissed her on the hollow of her throat and looked up at her with his dark, purple eyes. ‘Do you think your lord husband will fuck you like that?’ he asked her. He had said such things before. Even a week ago, it would have been funny. She would have laughed and told him that she’d never thought about it. This time, however, she burst into tears. ‘I doubt it,’ was all she remember saying as he kissed her all over and begged her forgiveness. He must have made it to the Planky Town by now. Would his ship wait until the morning tide, or was it already at sea. Was he lying awake and thinking of her?

She shook her head to force the thought out. She had no right to wish for such a thing. If the gods were kind he would never think of her again.

“I wish I knew what to say,” Ormond said quietly.

Loreza had forgotten that he was there. She forced herself to smile. “Wish me joy, then,” she told him, “I’ll be a woman wed soon.”

She turned towards the conversation around the pillar. The group had grown and it wasn’t long until Ser Humford Hightower managed to draw her into a conversation about the joust.

“I’ve heard Ser Quentyn Santagar is a great favourite here,” he told her.

“Yes,” Joleta said dismissively before her cousin could answer, “he was champion at the tournament two years ago when my sister wed. But that was a far smaller field than this will be.”

“Mark my words,” said Ser Gallwel Qorgyle, “this will be a young man’s tourney.”

Loreza couldn’t help but smile. “What Ser Gallwel means is that it will be his tourney.”

“Did I say that, my princess,” said the young knight, more boastful than ever. “I dare say there are two or three men in Dorne who would stand a chance against me.”

“This is a contest for jousting, ser,” said Loreza, “not for pissing.” Poor Ser Humford opened his mouth in shock, but he recovered quickly enough to join in the laughter. “But my brother,” continued the princess, “is almost as sure of himself as you are. We seem to have a surfeit of young knights eager to prove themselves.”

“And to do the bride honour as well, I’m sure, my princess,” said Ser Humford gallantly.

Lorza smiled at him, or at least she intended to. His comment was courtly and more or less meaningless, but she couldn’t bring herself to receive it. Perhaps if she turned away he would only think she was attending more closely to the conversation and not be offended. The gods knew, he’s done nothing to merit it.

“I have no doubt Prince Lewyn will do well,” Ser Gallwel went on, “he’s already a better sword than Ser Quentyn.”

“Though the gods only know how he will fare against the flower of the Reach,” the princess said in a sweet tone that had always pleased in King’s Landing. Indeed, it made Ser Horas Redwyne look quite smug.

“Lord Rowan’s sons are both well regarded in the lists,” Ser Horas said, “and his nephews too. Though I imagine Ser Eliott is quite disappointed that he won’t be permitted to take the field.”

“I dare say there will be other chances for him,” said Joleta.

“I must admit,” Ser Horas continued, “I find it an odd custom that a man should be prevented from jousting at his own wedding. Indeed, on the Arbor, only the very old or the crippled would not consider it their duty.”

“I don’t think being knocked into the dirt is a very auspicious beginning to a marriage,” Joleta chimed in, “and surely a newly married man has other things that should concern him.”

“Of course, they say that was the very purpose once,” Ser Galwell said with a smirk. “In the times of the Andals.”

“Yes,” Joleta agreed, “the tourney would be before the marriage, rather than after it. And the prize would be a woman, instead of a bag of gold.”

“Would that please you, my lady,” Ser Horas asked her, “to have one hundred knights risk life and limb to win your favour?”

Joleta had enough courtesy in her to take this speech for yet more courtly nonsense but not enough to answer in the same style. “I suppose it was thought that a woman would be fortunate to get the strongest man she could. No matter who he might be. Or how many blows to the head he took in winning her.”

“A lady would know that her lord could defend her, surely,” Ser Horas argued.

Joleta shrugged, which made Ser Galwell chuckle.

“Is it being a prize in a tourney that you object to, my lady,” he asked her, “or is it the idea of a husband who may be able to outride you?”

“I suspect that would be small comfort,” she said, “to any man married to me.”

Loreza laughed out loud.

She laughed heartily enough that she pulled her head back to touch the shoulder of the man behind her. For half a moment her body leaned against him, entirely certain that it would find comfort and familiarity there. The comfort and familiarity that part of her always took for granted would last forever, even when her rational mind knew it would not. Instead, Ser Humford Hightower stiffened in shock and snapped back. Loreza’s heart broke all over again when she realized who he was. Who he wasn’t.

“My princess, you look pale,” Ser Humford said, alarmed. He put a hand on her elbow to steady her, as though he were afraid she would faint. She was grateful, rather than annoyed, at his courtesy, but even so, she flinched from his touch.

“I need a breath of air,” Loreza said. They were all looking at her. “It’s too hot in here.” Ser Humford approached her again, offering his arm, saying how honoured he would be to escort her. “No!” The princess said, far too loudly. “You needn’t trouble yourself.”

She turned away from them all and walked as fast as she could to the great doors, ignoring everyone she passed. When she gained the courtyard she became aware of the sound of shoes behind her, scrapping against the stone. She walked faster, all but running, though she hardly knew where. Joleta caught up with her soon enough. “Leave me be,” Loreza told her cousin.

“This is just like you,” Joleta said, “you would be pretending nothing is wrong on the way to the gallows.”

“I’m not on my way to the gallows,” the princess insisted, “I’m getting married.”

“But you would prefer it the other way round, I think,” she said.

“How can you speak such idiocy!” Loreza cried. They were across the courtyard now, where there was a gallery, hung with lanterns and overlooking the gardens. A thin crescent moon hung in the sky. When it was full it would be her wedding day.  There was nowhere for her to go, so she paced along the railing. “This is what I want. What I’ve always wanted. Marriage and children. Heirs for Dorne.”

“I know that!” Joleta yelled at her, “that’s not what I… He loves you, Loreza! You love him.”

The princess stopped, she turned to look her cousin in the face. “I did,” she told her. “Now I’ll forget him.”

“Even if you could, it won’t serve to just carry on as though he never existed. You will drive yourself mad. What you need is to mourn him.” Joleta wasn’t yelling anymore. She crossed to distance to Loreza and tried to take her hand, but the princess pulled it out of the way.

“He’s not dead,” Loreza said. “Neither of us have anything to mourn. We both knew this day would come, from the very beginning, we knew. And now it has, that’s all. It was never more than selfish amusement, anyway. How can I mourn something so meaningly.”

“The Others take you, Loreza,” Joleta twisted her face in disgust. “That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. I’m ashamed to hear it.”

“If you don’t want to hear it, then leave me be, like I asked you to,” the princess told her.

“This is not courage,” Joleta said. “You’re just being a pigheaded fool.”

“Go away!”

“Loree—” cut in a deep, strong voice. Prince Rhodryn stepped into the light of the lanterns. He put a hand on Joleta’s shoulder and whispered something in her ear. She scowled and scoffed, but in a moment she left them both without another word.

As soon as her father enfolded her into his arms, Princess Loreza began to cry. He stroked her hair and hummed tunelessly. It was a long time before he spoke. His voice was thick. He had shed his own tears. “I know you do this for my sake,” he told her. “I know, and I love you for it.”

Loreza shook her head. “I can’t—” she sobbed. “What if I can’t do it? I can’t face it…” She had no courage anymore, Joleta was right about that, no strength. Any strength she might have had left her that morning through the western gate.

“You will, my dearest,” her father said. “You’re a princess of Dorne. You can face anything.”

Chapter Text

They were no more than two days from Vaith, Lord Manwoody assured Ser Corret as they set out again, as soon as the worst heat of the day was over.

He was glad; he was sick of the desert. They were all sick of the desert. In the Prince’s Pass, the land had been beautiful: forested mountains, and lakes, and crisp morning air. All that changed as soon as they entered the red sands. Here, they baked under the sun by day and shivered by night, and life was all about getting to the next well.

“How can people live here?” he heard his nephew Alastor ask Prince Lewyn as they passed a group of smallfolk leading a train of mules loaded with skins of wine and sacks of oranges. “How can they make a living when all they must do is think about water?”

The young prince laughed. “The desert dwellers say you’re never two leagues away from water, even in the dunes.”

“There’s more than one army that would be surprised to hear that,” Corret said.

“This wasn’t their land,” Edric Qorgyle said, “they didn’t know where to look.”

Alastor didn’t seem to believe it. “I’m sure that’s what they say, but I think this desert wants everyone dead. If thirst doesn’t get you, the vipers will.”

“Or you can just get lost,” said Ser Jon the Green. “I swear we passed that rocky outcrop three days ago.”

Prince Lewyn and Edric Qorgyle exchanged a look that was full of scorn. These soft northerners can’t even tell one rock from another, it seemed to say.

Eliott saw the look, and cut in before his uncle could, “Harsh places are always the most beautiful,” he said. “Especially if they’re wild.”

“Wild?” Qorgyle said, “this is a well traveled road.”

“Road?” said Alastor.

Ser Corret turned from the young men and led his horse back along the column of knights and men-at-arm to where his brother rode beside the great litter, suspended between twenty horses.

The ladies had been upset to loose the great wheelhouse they had taken from Goldengrove to Kingsgrave, but they had made themselves comfortable enough. Though Aelora was still complaining that the constant swaying made her sick.

Lady Sarra’s head was sticking out through the gap in the silk draperies as she was talking to her husband. He could see the half dozen women inside, sprawled on cushions and fanning themselves.

“Brother,” Corret called, “we should be in Bloodwell before dark. There’s an inn there, I’m told.”

“Thank the gods for simple mercies,” Lady Sarra said. She ducked back in to tell the others, and Corret heard feminine murmurs of relief and approval.

“I don’t think it will be the kind of inn they’re hoping for,” Lord Adwin said. They hadn’t seen an inn in more than a fortnight. There were some nights when they were able to take shelter in a holdfast of sunbaked mud brick, but just as likely, they had slept in tents around a well or in the shade of the rare clump of trees.

“It should be well enough,” he told his brother, “Lord Manwoody says it’s a substantial village. And in two nights we’ll be sleeping in Vaith.”

“Sleeping in Sunspear would please me more.”

Adwin was getting as peevish as the women. He was dressed in the Dornish fashion, with loose outer robes and a bright silk scarf wrapped around his helm and over his mouth to keep out the dust- even proud Lord Tarly had given into that necessity by the time they were five days into the desert- but even so, his brother was clearly uncomfortable. He had never been a great traveller. Or a great warrior. That had always been Corret’s place.

As the evening wore on the land began to change. The scrubby vegetation became more common and then, suddenly, or so it seemed to him, they were among olive trees and dozens of children could be seen beating the trees with sticks and gathering the fallen fruit.

The column was crossing an irrigation ditch when the outriders returned to report that all was ready for them in the village.

“Lord Dayne and his party are already there, my prince,” the rider told Prince Lewyn.

“Good,” the prince said. He spurred his horse and galloped off towards the well. The Dornish lords who’d been riding with him all followed him, even Lady Alyssa Blackmont and Lord Manwoody’s young daughter. And so did fifty mounted spearmen. They kicked up a fearsome cloud of dust.

“We can’t let them beat us, El,” Corret’s son Owain told Eliott. His nephew laughed and put his heel into his own mount.

“And so they’ll get there a quarter hour before the rest of us,” Lady Fowler said. She was a handsome woman of about fifty who looked as comfortable sitting astride a sand steed as she had sitting in her high seat at Skyreach. “The young are always in a hurry, but they hardly ever know why.”

“Ser Eliott is in a hurry to reach his bride,” Corret told her with a smile.

The path through the olive grove was too narrow for the litter to pass, so the ladies were obliged to leave it on the road to be disassembled by the small army of servants while they found other ways to cross the last half-mile. Corret pulled his wife behind him on his own horse. She clung to him fiercely. Taria had never been a horsewoman, although Dian had. Their daughter had often out raced her brothers.

He felt his grip on reins tighten. It had been days since he thought about Dian.

The village of Bloodwell was indeed a fair size for one in such an inhospitable place. It boasted a large plaza centred around the well that gave it its name. A carved sandstone rim had been built around where the pool bubbled up from the stoney ground, and canals radiated out from it like spokes on a wheel. There was an empty holdfast made of the same sandstone, and carved all about with the same swirls and shapes. It was more beautiful than defensive. When all the servants and men-at-arms and hedge knights who latched onto their party were counted, they were four hundred. And they would double the inhabitants of this village tonight.

Prince Lewyn was standing on the stairs to a building built of the same stone as everything else with his companions and a man of Corret’s own age who’s had hair so fair it was almost white. Lord Dayne, he knew at once.

Once the principal members of their group had dismounted and gathered around, it was Lord Manwoody who made all the introductions. Lord Rowan and Sarra Fossoway, his wife. Their son Ser Eliott, the heir to Dorne’s intended husband, his elder brother Ser Alestor, and his younger sister Lady Aelora. Corret himself, and his lady wife Taria Tully, his sons Ser Marq and Ser Owain. Young Lord Bulwer, as big as the bull that was his sigil. Lord and Lady Tarly, and their son. Thier daughter and good son, Ser Daeron Darklyn. Lord Oakheart and his lady, Lady Alysanne Rosby, who was once a famous beauty, and their daughter Ellyn, who rather took after her father in being tall and plain.

Lord Ashryn Dayne nodded and bowed and kissed hands as was expected. He brought forward a girl of about twelve who had his bright purple eyes, though her hair was as dark as any other Dornishman’s.

“This is my daughter Alleza,” he said.

“My lady,” Eliott said as he bowed.

“Ser Eliott,” she said with a smile, “I’m very glad to meet you. I’ve been so curious.”

“About me, my lady?” Eliott asked her, smiling uncomfortably.

“Oh yes,” she said, with mischief in her eyes, “all Dorne is curious about you, ser.”

“Indeed,” said Lord Ashryn. He beckoned to another man. He was very handsome and had olive skin and dark hair peppered with grey. “And this is Ser Qoren Sand, my paramour.”

They all managed to keep their composure, except for Lady Oakheart who purpled and turned away to run back down the stairs to the horses. She seemed willing to mount up and ride back for the Reach. Her daughter ran after her. Her lord stayed, though Corret could see the muscles of his jaw clench.

The Lord of Starfall was more amused than offended. All the Dornishmen seemed to think it was a great joke. Lady Ysilla Fowler had to hide a laugh behind her hand. But that was how it had been ever since they had cross into Dorne. For almost a month, every conversation, every meal and exchange of pleasantries, had been a test. They poked and prodded at them, forever trying to find the limits of their courtesy.

“Well, shall we get settled?” Lord Rowan said, as oblivious to the mood as always, “We all need a hot meal and a cool bedchamber.”

That night, they ate under the star-filled sky in the inn’s central courtyard; jugged desert hare and the local olives prepared a dozen different ways, all washed down with sour red wine. Ser Quentyn Santagar explained how there were hundreds of different kinds of olives, though only a few of the most widely planted ever made it outside of Dorne. The big purples ones they were eating tonight were found only in Bloodwell.

“What an odd name for a place,” said Lady Leona Tarly.

“There’s a tale behind it,” Ser Qoren Sand told her.

“Oh, let me tell it!” Lady Alleza cut it.

“Yes, do!” said Aelora. She had latched onto the Dayne girl as fiercely as she had to Lysanne Manwoody in Kingsgrave. They were now, all three, the very best of friends, as only young girls who’ve known each other less than a day could be.

“Well,” she said, “long ago, when the Andals first came to Dorne, this place was ruled by a vassal of House Dryland. They were kings on the Brimstone and claimed all of the deep sands. An Andal adventurer came to conquer the kingdom, I forget his name-”

“It was Bonifer Granster,” Edric Qorgyle told her.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Ser Bonifer made it across the desert, though only a few score of his men survived. When they arrived they were almost dead from thirst. And the men who lived here had no intention to let them quench it, they fought, even though the Andals were much better armed and their desperation made them fierce. In the end they fought to the last man, quite literally, and Ser Bonifer was the only one on either side to survive the battle. He dragged himself to the well and thrust his hands in to take a drink, but the water was red with the blood of all the men who had died.”

“How dreadful,” said Lady Leona, “to think so much blood would be split over a little pool.”

“Little pools like this were worth more than the blood of any man,” said Alyssa Blackmont, “then even more than now.”

“A well is more precious than life?” Lady Leona asked.

“Yes,” Lady Alyssa said.

“The well is life,” Edric Qorgyle said in support of his wife.

They milled about the courtyard when the food was done, clustering around braziers drinking wine and talking. All the voices sounded relived. Relived that they could finally see the end of these vast sands.

Aelora and her friends were sharing a cup with Prince Lewyn and giggling endlessly. His niece was smitten with the Dornish prince, Corret could see that plainly. He supposed it was natural enough, not only was he a prince, but he was tall and comely as well, with strong features and broad shoulders. And he was witty too, and easier around women than any boy of seventeen had a right to be.

“Niece,” he said, trying not to sound too sharp, “it’s late, you should be in bed.”

“It’s not so very late,” she argued.

“We’ll be back on the road before dawn.” She got up reluctantly with the other girls following her up the stairs. No doubt they would be sharing a bed and gossiping half the night. About Prince Lewyn. Or if not him, then Jon Bulwer or Lyman Osgrey. He would have to watch her, because he knew his brother never would.

Corret sat with the others around the brazier and listened to a singer play a harp and talked. Alastor was sitting with a flagon of wine in one hand and a cup in the other, scowling at where Lord Dayne was sitting with his head on his lover’s shoulder, his eyes half closed.

Who was fool enough to let him have wine? Corret thought. No doubt he demanded it of some serving woman and she, not knowing any better, gave it to him. Eventually, his voice rose over the general chatter about hunting and horses.

“Dornish women will fuck anyone,” he said to Lord Dayne, “but you still couldn’t find one who would have you?”

The group fell silent. “I beg your pardon, ser,” Lord Dayne said.

“Not that there’s much difference, the women all act like men, and the men all look like women.”

The Dornishmen seemed too shocked to say anything. Alyssa Blackmont looked as though she was about to prove his words by striking him.

“My nephew is drunk,” Corret told Lord Ashryn.

“I can see that,” he said. The man was angry, that was plain, but thankfully he didn’t seem the kind to demand satisfaction for drunken insults.

“And he will apologize.”

Alastor made no move to do so, he downed another cup of wine.

“Ser Alastor needn’t trouble himself,” Lord Dayne said. He stood and left them without another word, hand in hand with his paramour.

Eliott let out a humiliated breath. “My prince,” he said to Lewyn Martell, “please forgive him. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” the young man replied, “it’s not your doing.”

“We’ll put him to bed,” Eliott continued, “and tomorrow he’ll be in his right mind enough to make amends.”

“As you wish.”

Eliott and Ser Lyman Osgrey pulled him up protesting to his feet. He was still muttering as his younger brother dragged him up the stairs.

Lord Manwoody shook his head as they all watched. “It’s fortunate for all of us that the sober one is the bridegroom,” he said, “my niece would eat the other one for breakfast, and still have room for bread and honey.”

Prince Lewyn chuckled at that.

“But Lord Dayne and that... do they really… you know?” Lady Ellyn Oakheart seemed more fascinated than anything.

“Fuck?” Edric Qorgyle said bluntly, “I assume so.”

Lady Ellyn’s face was so scarlet it glowed as bright as the braiser. Corret thanked the gods that neither of her parents were anywhere near.

"I suppose you imagine such things never happen in the Reach,” Alyssa Blackmont said.

“I’ve never heard of it….”

“Ah,” Lady Alyssa said.

Lady Ellyn was getting the sense that she was being made fun of. “But surely they’re not so… free everywhere. They can’t behave like that in Vaith in the high hall. What will Lady Vaith think?”

Prince Lewyn laughed out loud at that. Lady Alyssa joined him, though the others tried to contain themselves.

“What’s so amusing?” Lady Ellyn said, on the verge of tears.

Lord Manwoody spoke to her in a gentle voice. “Ser Qoren Sand is Lady Vaith’s brother,” he told her. “They’re very close, as I understand it.”

“Oh,” the lady said. “How strange.”

Corret couldn’t help but agree with her. He wondered, not for the first time, if his lord brother knew what he was getting his son into. They will hate him if he doesn’t become one of them. But was Eliott capable of that? I never could be.

Taria was already in the bed when he came into their chamber holding an oil lamp in one hand. The bed was sandstone too, but the three feather mattresses piled on top of it made it comfortable enough.

“Are you asleep, my lady?” he asked as he pulled off his boots and threw his tunic carelessly on the floor.

“No,” she said, “there’s too much noise.”

“Well, everyone is celebrating. The worst part of the journey is over,” he told her as he slipped in beside her. “Once we reach the river we won’t be falling down exhausted into bed every night.”

“And I won’t have to listen to Lady Sarra and Aelora complain about the litter,” she said happily. “Maybe we would have been wiser to go to Lannisport and take ship.”

“Yes, it’s a little late for that now,” he said. “And besides, then you would have to listen to Lady Sarra and Aelora complain about being seasick.”

“Thank the gods I escaped that!” she said with a laugh.

Corret ran his fingers through her auburn hair. It was beginning to grey around her temples, but somehow, it made it more beautiful. “We’ll be in Sunspear in less than a fortnight,” he told her, “then all this hardship will be a memory. They live like kings in Sunspear.”

“You mean like princes,” she said.

Chapter Text

Olenna had only just finished dressing when Lady Emlyn came with the invitation. Breakfast with the princess? And all the other ladies too?

That would have thrilled her once, but now it made her panic. The thought of being seen by any other highborn woman always made her panic these days. When they didn’t scorn her, they pitied her, and she didn’t know which was worse.

Septa Unelletine clucked at her as she fixed her hair and straightened the neckline of her bodice. “Be courteous,” she said. “Don’t act like everyone is against you. Princess Loreza doesn’t care enough about you to be against you. This invitation is just a formality, it doesn’t mean anything, so don’t try to convince yourself that it does. And above all, don’t start.... talking like you do.”

A lady should be an ornament to the eye, not an ache in the ear.

Lady Emlyn was waiting for her in the corridor and they set off together down a staircase. The woman was as short as Olenna, past forty, and just pregnant enough that her belly protruded through her gown.

“Do you have any other children, my lady?” Olenna asked her. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Oh yes,” the woman laughed and stroked her bump, “this will be my fifth. My eldest will be having a child of his own soon.”

“How splendid,” Olenna said without interest.

“Isn’t it?” she said, perfunctorily. “Now wait here, my dear, while I go fetch the Florents.”

Olenna was left standing alone in the corridor. She looked about her awkwardly. The corridor was really no more than a columned gallery on the ground floor of the tower, the wall separating it from the gardens was just a carved wooden screen, she could hear a fountain on the other side. But it was always dry here, she heard, even in winter. On the Arbor, winter brought endless rain, and sometimes even sleet. Every hundred years or so, it snowed. But here in Sunspear they didn’t have to worry about locking their doors against wet and cold, in fact they wanted to catch every cool breeze they could.

Olenna wasn’t kept waiting long, Lady Emlyn came back out with the Florents, Ser Farin’s wife, Lady Joslyn and her daughter Mariah.

Lady Joslyn greeted Olenna with simpering courtesy, kissing her on both cheeks on telling her how pretty she looked this morning. She tried to endure it with a smile planted on her face.  

“Come along now, ladies,” Lady Emlyn said in a motherly tone, “or all the food will be gone.”

They walked down a stone path through the gardens shaded with cedar trees. There was a salty wind coming off the Summer Sea, but even that seemed... dry.

“The castle is rather empty,” Lady Joslyn said, “especially considering that there’s going to be a wedding in two weeks.”

“Yes,” Lady Emlyn agreed. “But Prince Lewyn is coming from the Prince’s Pass escorting Lord Rowan’s party, and Prince Arion is meeting another party in Yronwood. Almost everyone is gone with one or the other of them.”

“I see,” Lady Joslyn said, “I hope Princess Loreza isn’t lonely. It would be sad for her to be lonely so close to her wedding.”

“How can she be lonely with you here?” The dornishwoman said in a slightly mocking tone, Lady Joslyn was probably too thick to notice. “And the princess has always known how to keep herself busy.”

“If the gods are good, she’ll be even busier soon,” Lady Joslyn said, “just as you will be.”

“Yes...” Lady Emlyn seemed to find the innocuous comment rather strange. “The princess’s garden is just here.” There was a gate in a wall overgrown with climbing orchids. As they went through, Lady Joslyn admonished her daughter to not slouch and smile more.

Inside, there were fruit trees and a fountain, and a large table standing in the shade. At its head sat Princess Loreza Martell with a dozen other ladies below her. The women all got up to greet them, although the princess stayed in her seat, as though she were the queen or something. She greeted the three newcomers with a word and a smile, but she let her chatelaine do all the introductions.

Olenna already knew the Hightowers, Lady Alanna and her mother Lady Malora; they had been guests on the Arbor before they had set out, but she didn’t really know any of the dornishwomen. The princess’s greetings to her the day before had been even more desultory than her greeting this morning, and at the feast Olenna had been trapped between one-armed Lord Uller and her brother. She had gotten away before the dancing even started.

Daenerys Gargalen was the princess’s cousin and a few years younger than Olenna. Lady Larra was a Lyseni with silver hair who was married to someone or other. Rhona Santagar and Elda Toland were the princess’s ladies-in-waiting, and so was Genna Sand. Septa Unelletine had warned Olenna something like that might happen, so she was able to smile through it, but Mariah Florent looked like she had a bad smell under her nose. Alyse Ladybright didn’t seem to be anyone important, except that she was the princess’s friend.

Lady Jordayne was short and plump, but still dignified, with hair beginning to turn grey. Her daughter, Brynelle was a little girl who insisted on being called “Nelly”. Lady Elysa Santagar was Lady Rhona’s niece. They had the same unfortunate abundance of freckles. Her mother was a Blackmont, but Lady Synelle didn’t have any freckles, just pox-scars. Jeyne Wyl was so tall and blonde that Olenna wondered if she was really dornish, though she stop wondering when Lady Emlyn call her the “Lord Bailiff”.

“Shall we wait for Princess Trystana?” Lady Emlyn asked.

“We’ll be waiting all day if we do,” Princess Loreza said.

Olenna was seated beside Daenerys Gargalen.

“My mother is always late,” she confided as they settled in.

“Oh,” Olenna said. She looked at the food. There was fried fish and eggs made several ways, a profusion of pomegranates and oranges, olives, and cheese. The bread was strange, it wasn’t fluffy like proper bread, but baked into flat discs.

Daenerys Gargalen took a piece, ripped it in half, and then started packing egg into the space inside it.

Lady Daenerys may have gotten her name from her Targaryen grandmother, but she hadn’t inherited any of the Targaryen look. She had brown eyes and curly dark hair and a put upon expression. “Usually, Princess Loreza makes us wait for her too,” she continued, “but she’s been in a very bad mood lately.”

“Why?” She was about to be married, what right did she have to be in a bad mood? “You would think she’d be very happy.”

“She’s just been really busy, I guess,” she muttered, “with the wedding, and all the guests.” The Gargalen girl blushed.

Olenna frowned. Everyone looked uncomfortable when they mentioned weddings around her. She look at the other ladies at the table. Lady Elda was whispering something to Genna Sand, and she could have sworn the bastard had glanced her way for a moment. Septa Unelletine would tell her she was being ridiculous, but they were talking about her. She was sure. They surely knew. Everyone knew.

“I think I danced with your brother last night,” Lady Daenerys said. “Do you only have one brother?”

Olenna looked back at her distractedly, “What? Oh yes, I only have one brother.”

“I don’t have any brothers,” she chattered, “well, I suppose I have a good-brother, but that’s not the same thing.”

“No,” Olenna agreed, “but you have sisters.”

“Two,” she said unhappily. “My eldest sister just had a baby six months ago.”

Olenna couldn’t care less that some dornishwoman she had never met had had a baby. She smiled and turned away from the girl. On her other side was Lady Jordayne, but she was attending to the conversation Princess Loreza was having, so Olenna attended to it too.

The princess was sitting wrapped in a shawl embroidered all over with suns with little golden discs in the middle. She had lovely hair that was black and curly, and long enough for her to sit on, but besides that- If she weren’t a princess no one would ever look at her. Her nose was long and sharp. Her eyes were sharp too, and heavily lidded. Her skin was olive coloured, though it was clear enough. Handsome, maybe, but no one could call her beautiful.

“But it’s all so complicated,” Alyse Ladybright was saying, “no one can remember everything, and mistakes get made.”

“It may be complicated,” Jeyne Wyl said, “but that’s hardly an excuse for mistakes.”

Alyse Ladybright blushed. “I only mean,” she said, “I don’t see why it should be so complicated.”

All the women at the table suddenly stood up, except for Princess Loreza. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she had no legs, Olenna thought as she followed everyone’s example.

Princess Trystana floated in unhurriedly. “I’m sorry to be late,” she said unconvincingly. She gave her daughter a kiss on both cheeks and her niece a kiss on one before sitting down next to the head of the table. “What are we talking about?”

“Customs duties on fruit,” Princess Loreza said with a smile.

“How thrilling,” she said. “And next we’ll move on to discussing the customs duties on wine. Things are sure to get heated then.”

“You joke, but I’m quite sure Lady Jeyne has had men killed for disagreeing with her about wine duties.”

“That was only once,” Jeyne Wyl said.

Princess Loreza laughed.

“I’m glad to hear you laugh again, Loreza” said Princess Trystana. That only caused the princess’s smile to falter.

Princess Trystana turned to her daughter and fussingly tucked a loose strand of her hair back into its net. “Where’s your sister?” she asked her.

Daenerys Gargalen shrugged. “I haven’t seen her this morning.”

“She should be here.” The princess noticed Olenna sitting on her daughter’s other side and smiled at her. “Which one are you, my dear?” she asked her. Olenna felt herself blush. She looked around, but none of the other women were paying attention to her.

“Mother...” Lady Daenerys said, blushing herself.

“I’m Olenna Redwyne, my princess,” she said quietly.

“Yes, of course,” she said, “now I remember.” Olenna knew what that meant, I remember, you’re that spurned girl. The princess smiled. Olenna knew what that meant too, pity. “Have you ever been to Dorne before?”

“No, never,” Olenna said.

“And how do you like it?”

“How could she possibly know that?” Lady Daenerys said, rolling her eyes. “She hasn’t even been here a day.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Dany.”

“Sunspear is very beautiful, my princess,” Olenna said. What else was she going to say?

“Well, I hope you see more of Dorne than just Sunspear.” She turned her attention elsewhere and Olenna was left sitting there. Lady Jordayne was speaking to Elda Toland across from her about the wedding tourney, but Olenna hardly knew any of the names. And she somehow didn’t think they would appreciate it if she told them that Luthor Tyrell was the greatest jouster she had ever seen.

“My brother has unhorsed Prince Duncan before,” the Toland girl was saying.

“When they were both fifteen,” Lady Jordayne said. “Things might be a little different now.”

“I don’t see why.”

“Do they all intend to chance the lists?” Rhona Santagar asked, “Prince Jaehaerys as well?”

“Prince Jaehaerys isn’t much of a jouster, from what I hear,” said Lady Elda. “Do you know one way or the other, princess?”

Princess Loreza hadn’t been paying attention. No doubt she was still talking about taxes. “What was that?”

“Will Prince Jaehaerys compete in the tourney?”

“Oh no, of course not,” she said, “Prince Jaehaerys won’t be here. Only Prince Duncan and Prince Daeron will.”

Olenna felt as though someone had punched her and knocked all the wind out of her. If she had known that he was going to be here, she would have locked herself in her cabin on the ship and refused to come out. They wouldn’t have been able to force her out, even by breaking down the door and dragging her. Had her father known about this? Was this all part of some scheme to reinstate the betrothal? Did they expect her to beguile him or seduce him? She couldn’t do that, even if she wanted to. She didn’t even want to look at Daeron Targaryen ever again.

All the women at the table had looked at her when the prince’s name was spoken. She hadn’t imagined that, she was sure. Most had the courtesy to just glance quickly and look away again, but the wretched Gargalen girl smiled at her uncomfortably as though she were commiserating.  

“I suppose breaking a betrothal is better than marrying your sister, like the other one did,” she said quietly.

“What?” said Olenna weakly.

“Dany...” Princess Trystana said, she was looking pale and shocked, “that is possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say in all my life.”

Lady Daenerys didn’t look very chastened. “You mean the truest thing.”

No one was looking at Olenna, but she didn’t know if it was because they hadn’t heard, or because they were all as humiliated as she and Princess Trystana were. All she could hear was her own breathing, even though everyone was chatting much like before. The silence was unbearable.

“Lady Daenerys is right,” Olenna said, “in fact, the whole thing was rather a relief. I was beginning to be afraid that I would have to go through with it.” Once she started to talk, she found her courage, she was even able to look the older princess in the eye. “I never wanted that betrothal, anymore than Prince Daeron did. And, yes, he’s comely and dashing and a prince, but that doesn’t mean he would make a good husband. All he ever cared about was swords and lances. I was a good deal more bored by him than he ever was by me. I was glad I won’t have to marry him, and live at court and put up will all the scheming and constant trouble and ceremony. Everyone makes it seem like I should be upset and that they should be sorry for me, but they needn’t be. Marrying a Targaryen is far more trouble than it could possibly be worth, I’d rather die an old maid. I really couldn’t be happier about the whole thing!”

All the other conversation had stopped. Olenna hadn’t realized how loudly she’d been talking. But everyone had heard her, and they were all staring. Mariah Florent looked disgusted, and Princess Loreza had a crease between her full eyebrows. For what seemed like an hour, the only sound was the soft bubbling of the fountain behind them.

Olenna felt tears welling in her eyes. She wondered if she could possibly make the whole thing worse if she stood up without leave and ran away.

“Like I was saying, though,” Alyse Ladybright said into the silence, suddenly, “if we just got rid of all the books and tables and imposed the same custom on everyone, it would take much less time, there would be no mistakes, and it couldn’t mean anything but more money in the end.”

“There’s more to life than money, Alyse,” the princess said fondly.

“It would please no one,” Lady Synelle Blackmont said, “the Braavosi are jealous of their privileges, so are the Lyseni.”

“That’s the thing,” Alyse Ladybright said, “they all have privileges, but they’re all different. Can’t we see that they all have the same privileges and have done?”

Everyone seemed to think that was very funny. Olenna was absurdly grateful when they all stopped paying attention to her. Daenerys Gargalen and her mother were still looking at her, but the girl finally seemed ashamed. She handed Olenna a handkerchief and looked about to say something, but Princess Trystana shook her head at her and she bit her lip and stayed silent.  

No one said a word to her for the whole rest of the meal. She sat and picked at the fruit on her plate, dabbing at her face with the handkerchief. She kept feeling eyes on her, but her own stayed down until a hand touched her on her shoulder.

“Why don’t we walk back together, my lady?” It was Joslyn Florent.

“Oh,” Olenna said, “thank you.” She looked around her to find that the table was almost empty. Princess Loreza was gone, and so was Lady Daenerys.

They walked in silence back they way they had come an hour before. Out of the shade, the sunlight was so bright, it was oppressive.

“Well,” Lady Joslyn said, “she’s very elegant, isn’t she?”

“Who is?” asked Lady Mariah.

“Princess Loreza, of course,” said her mother, “she looked just as impressive at breakfast as she did at the feast last night.”

“Yes, I suppose she is elegant,” Mariah said, “but she’s not very courteous, she more or less ignored us.”

“How can you say that, sweetling?” said Lady Joslyn, “she invited us to break our fast with her, didn’t she? 

“That seems like the least she could have done,” she said, “and she’s not very pretty anyway.” Mariah Florent was one to talk, Olenna thought. She had the giant Florent ears and hairs on her chin. “Maybe that’s why she had to wait until she was so old before getting married.”

“Old?” said Lady Joslyn. “She can’t be more than twenty!”

“She’s one-and-twenty,” Olenna offered.

“I think I would die of shame if I wasn’t married by the time I was twenty,” she said, giving Olenna a mocking little smirk.

“You needn’t fear, my love,” her mother said, “I promise you.”

Olenna felt her face turning red, “I think I would die of shame if I had so little to me that I had to scorn others to feel better about myself!” She lifted her head up high and quickened her pace to leave them both behind.

Chapter Text

Dany made her way down the grand staircase in the Tower of the Sun as quietly as she could. The palace was just now beginning to wake, only a few servants were around, and squires carrying odd pieces of armour, but she had always been an early riser.

But so was her mother, and Dany knew that the moment she ran into her she would have no freedom for the rest of the day. She’d be roped into trying to figure out how many pigeon pies they needed, or something equally ridiculous.

She went out into the courtyard, past the bathhouse and the library. She could smell breakfast being made in the kitchens but tried to skirt around the buildings to not be seen. She scurried up the short steps to the Ocean Keep.

No one bothered Dany as she went up to the top story and into the large suite with the bedchamber where her sister was still asleep.

“Joleta!” she hissed when she was standing right at the foot of the bed, “Joleta, I want to talk to you.” Joleta grunted in her sleep. Dany poked her. “Wake up.”

Lady Deneza Dalt, on the other side of the bed, woke up instead. “What in seven hells!” she said, “How did you even get in here, child?”

Dany shrugged. “No one stopped me.” She poked her sister again, “Joleta!”

Jolenta groaned and turned over, throwing her arm around Lady Daneza and murmuring into her chest. “Bugger off, Dany.”

“No,” she said, “I want to talk to you.”

She reluctantly turn over again and propped herself up on her elbows. “About what?”

Dany looked over at Lady Deneza uncomfortably. She laughed and rolled out of the bed, putting on a bed robe as she walked to the dressing room, still shaking her head.

“What’s so important that you had to chase Deneza out of her own bed?” Joleta asked her.

Dany sat down next to her sister. “Well…” she started, “Father’s coming today.”

“Yes,” she said, “and so is Uncle Arion, and Ariandra Fowler, and Lord Yronwood, and a hundred other people.”

“Yes, but...” Dany said, “Maron will be with them.”

Joleta seemed to understand at last, “Don’t tell me you’re nervous about seeing him.”

“No.” She said confidently. There was a flutter in her stomach every time she thought about it, but she didn’t think that was nerves. “I was just thinking last night… What if he says something to Father, or to his father?”

“About your understanding, you mean?”

“Yes,” Dany said, “Well, no. We don’t really have an understanding or anything.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“If he says something too soon, they’ll all just say no right away. I feel like… we should get them all used to the idea first.”

“Why do you think they’ll refuse?” Joleta asked, “It’s a good match, for both of you. Even if you are cousins.”

“Mother will say he’s too old for me.”

“He is too old for you,” her sister said, “but that can’t be helped. And his grandfather will be sympathetic, at least.”

Dany rolled her eyes, “How can you say that?” she asked, “Lady Deneza is older than you.”

“Yes,” Joleta agreed, “but she’s not twice my age.”

“Our uncle was twice Lady Lenelle’s age when they wed.”

“That was different.”

“I suppose so,” Dany said. She bit her lip. “He wouldn’t say anything, would he? Not until we did have an understanding?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, “and even if he had, it wouldn’t be a disaster. It’s certainly nothing worth waking me up at dawn for.”

Princess Trystana found her while she was crossing the courtyard again, thinking about going for a ride to the tourney grounds.

“There you are,” Mother said, “is Joleta still asleep?”

“No,” Dany told her, “Lady Deneza’s already dressed.”

“Good, I should speak to her too,” she said. “After today, we won’t have any rest until the tourney is over.”

“Yes…” Mother seemed to say that every day, “I don’t see why you’re more worried about it than Lady Deneza. She’s been preparing for months and everything always turns out fine.”

“Everything always turns out because people like me and Lady Deneza worry about them. Now, what are you doing?”

“I was going to… nothing.”

“Good,” she said, “find Garwyn and tell him I want an inventory of all the game we have on hand.”

“He did that for you less than a week ago,” Dany complained.

“That was before the Tyrells showed up, wasn’t it.”

“He’s the senechal, Mother,” she said, exasperated, “if he thinks there’s a danger of running out of game, he’ll send the hunters out himself. He doesn’t need anyone’s leave to do that.”

Her mother only gave her a dirty look. “Just make sure you do it quickly, I’ve invited Olenna Redwyne to do her needlework with us. I’ll probably be too busy but I expect you and your sister to both be there. And to be kind to her.”

“We’re always kind to her,” Dany said, “though I think she would be happier if we weren’t.”

“And make sure you leave yourself time to get changed. You’ve all but grown out of that gown, I don’t want you looking shabby in front of the stormlanders, much less in front of your father.”

“Jolenta said they’re not expected before evenfall.”

“So think about it now and make sure you give yourself plenty of time,” she said, “and go find Garwyn.”

“The princess already has an inventory,” Garwyn said when she found him. “I prepared one less than a week ago.”

Dany rolled her eyes and left.

Her mother’s sitting room was deserted when she arrived. Only Olenna Redwyne and her septa were there. She sat with them and helped to sew a lace edging onto a table cover while she made excuses for her relations.

“My mother says everyone will be busy all the time now,” she said, “until the tourney’s over.”

“A wedding like this is a great undertaking,” Septa Unelletine said, “poor Lady Lenelle must be working herself to exhaustion.”

“No,” Dany said, “she has my mother to help her. And Lady Deneza’s doing all the real work anyway. And she’s used to these kinds of thing.”

Lady Olenna was quiet, she hadn’t lifted her eyes from her work in ten minutes. Dany couldn’t think of anything to say to her, and she never seemed to speak a word herself unless forced. Maybe she had used them all that one time in the garden. “This lace is very pretty,” she tried lamely, “did you work it yourself?”

“No,” Olenna said, with a little scoff, Dany hadn’t fooled her, “it’s Myrish.”

“Oh.”

People started to trickle in after that. Elda Toland and Genna Sand cooed over the baby clothes that Lady Emlyn was making over and Nelly Jordayne cried in frustration when she found a mistake in her embroidery. Joleta sauntered in an hour late and sat down with the child to help her through it. Within ten minutes she was doing her work for her.

Mother and Lady Lenelle were even more late. As soon as they arrived everyone started talking about the wedding again. Dany was already sick of the stupid wedding and it was still more than a week away.

“I got a new gown with pearls on all the seams for the sept,” Brynelle told them. “I wanted to get another new one for the feast but Mother said that was excessive.” She said the last word as though she didn’t know what it meant. And she probably didn’t.

“Well, you’re growing so fast that no seamstress can keep up with you,” Joleta said, “you’ll probably only wear it once.”

“I’m sure you got two new gowns.”

Loreza came in and sat by Joleta on the settee, groaning and rubbing her belly.

“Are you alright, princess?” Joleta asked with a smile.

“I’m like a sausage about to burst its casing.”

“Oh dear,” Princess Trystana came over and felt her forehead fussily, “you’re not ill, are you.”

“No,” she said, squirming away, “it’s only my moon blood.” She groaned again, “It feels as though there’s a creature inside me trying to escape.”

“I’ll have some chamomile tea sent up,” she said instantly.

Loreza rolled her eyes, “That won’t… thank you, aunt.”

That was wise of her, Dany knew. Letting Mother get on with it was always easiest.

“I hate chamomile tea,” Dany said when she was gone. “And it never works anyway.”

“No,” Loreza agreed. “Only one thing ever works.”

“What’s that?” Joleta asked. Loreza smirked. “Ah,” she said, “well, yes.”

“What?” Nelly Jordayne asked.

“Never mind, child,” Loreza told her.

“Moon pains aren’t the only thing a good release will cure,” Lady Emlyn said, “better than milk of the poppy, in my opinion.”

“Releasing what?” asked Nelly.

“I said never mind, child,” Loreza repeated, “and anyway, there’s nothing for it now, if there?”

“Take care of it yourself,” Joleta told her.

“You think I haven’t tried?”

Dany giggled when she saw that Lady Olenna’s face had gone as red as her hair. Septa Unelletine looked like she was about to cry. No one else seemed to have noticed.

“Come riding with us this afternoon then,” Joleta said, “Dany wants to see the tourney grounds.”

Dany nodded. “Serron Vaith told me the stands will hold ten thousand.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Loreza said. “And I can’t come, I have far too much to still do.” She hadn’t been doing anything but working lately. And Dany knew why, ever since she had sent Henrik Dayne away she’d been avoiding everyone, even the family. But she could hardly point that out, Mother had told her not to mention it and she would give Dany a lashing if she thought she had, especially in front of the visitors.

“It’s your loss,” Jolenta said, shrugging. She turned to the Redwyne girl, “But Lady Olenna will come with us, I’m sure.”

She turned red again. “Me, my lady?”

“Yes,” Joleta said, “you can ride, can’t you?”

“Of course,” she said. Dany didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be that red.

“Good,” her sister said, “we’ll go an hour after noon.”

But Joleta found Dany after lunch and told her that she couldn’t come either. Their cousin needed her help. “Loreza said that taking on more watchmen is more trouble than it’s worth, but she’ll be glad of it when the marchers arrive and start having tavern brawls everywhere.”

Dany couldn’t care less about the watchmen. “You’re not going to make me go alone with her, are you? She’s boring and she doesn’t like me.”

“The poor girl hasn’t left the palace since she arrived,” Joleta said, “maybe if she got some fresh air she would be more interesting. And Mother’s right, if no one else will pay attention to her, then we have to.”

Dany resigned herself to her fate and met Olenna Redwyne in the stables by the gardens. She didn’t react at all when Dany told her it would just be the two of them, but she looked confused when they mounted up and went through the southern gate.

“Where are the guardsmen?” she asked.

“We’re only going to the tourney grounds,” Dany told her. The Threefold Gate was open, so she moved her horse to a trot down the straight street that would get them out of the shadow city within a quarter hour.

Lady Olenna still looked uncomfortable as they passed through a courtyard where flowers were being sold. Dany stopped to trade a quarter-penny for two small bunches of yellow carnations. She tucked hers into her girdle and Lady Olenna held hers in her hand as she gripped the reins.

“What’s the matter?” Dany asked her.

“I don’t think Septa Unelletine would have consented to my going if she knew we wouldn’t have any guardsmen. We could have brought some of my father’s.”

Dany shrugged, “We’re only going a little ways,” she said, “and anyway. Princess Loreza had Ser Artyr take on two hundred more watchmen.”

“Yes but...” she hesitated, “she wouldn’t like it. Neither would my father.”

“Can I ask you something,” Dany said once they had started off again, “Septa Unelletine, does she go everywhere with you?”

“No, not everywhere.” Lady Olenna turned red, “But, I don’t have a mother or sisters so… And I like her company. I suppose you didn’t like your septa.”

“I never had a septa,” Dany said, “not like that anyway.”

“Then who taught you to read and such?”

“The maester.”

“Well, who taught you needlework?”

“Septa Allrica, but she was never my septa. She taught all the girls at the Water Gardens; she still does.”

“Oh.”

They rode in silence through the city gates to the tourney grounds beyond them, tucked between the city, the olive groves, and the sea. Dany brought her horse to a gallop but slowed when she realized Lady Olenna had trouble keeping up with her. They rode through the small town’s worth of pavilions that was already growing around the edges of the lists and tzykanion field.

Rhona Santagar and Elda Toland were on the field practicing with Artyr Dalt and Eldon Sand.

“Lady Dany!” Ser Artyr called over when he saw them, “have you come to play?”

She shook her head, “We’re only exploring. We’re not dressed for it anyway.”

“Well, we should stop for a while and eat something.”

All six of them gathered around the cookfire outside of Ser Eldon’s pavilion to eat cold chicken and drink wine.

“Everyone will be here,” Ser Artyr said, “it will be a very interesting game.”

“It’s useless to speculate about it until the teams are announced,” Lady Rhona said.

“Well, what about the jousting,” he asked her, “are we allowed to speculate about that?”

“There’s no point in speculating,” Rhona said, “my brother will win.”

Ser Eldon laughed, “Your loyalty is admirable.”

“Your brother?” Lady Olenna asked, “has he been a champion before?”

“Ser Quentyn Santagar,” Ser Eldon told her, “indeed he has, several times. He broke my collar bone two years ago at Salt Shore.”

“That was your own fault,” Rhona said.

“I never said it wasn’t. Who will you be putting you coin on, my lady?” Ser Eldon asked Dany.

“I don’t know,” she lied. “It will have to be one of my cousins, I suppose.” She smiled at him, trying to flirt. Everyone flirted with Ser Eldon Sand, he was the handsomest man in Dorne, even Loreza thought so. “Or was I supposed to say you, ser?”

He smiled back, “No,” he said, “your choice may be wiser, everyone expects Prince Lewyn to do well.”

“What about my other cousin?” she asked.

“Ser Maron Wyl, you mean? He always does well enough, I suppose.”

Dany didn’t see why everyone though Ser Eldon was so handsome. His nose was too big and his ears stuck out.

“I don’t see why there's this need to always champion one's own family anyway,” Ser Artyr Dalt said, “a sister’s love, as sweet as it is, has never made anyone a better jouster.”

“You’ve never heard of Florian and Jonquil, I see,” said Ser Eldon, “Or Queen Naerys and and Dragonknight.”

“A sister’s love is different.”

Lady Rhona laughed out loud, “Naerys and the Dragonknight were brother and sister.”

“So they were,” he agreed, “it’s easy to forget those kinds of things.”

“You don’t think love can make you more brave?” Dany found herself asking.

“Is that what you think, my lady?” Ser Eldon asked with a patronizing smile. 

She couldn’t help but scowl at him. He thought she was silly child who liked to sing about Florian and Jonquil. “That’s what my sister says,” she said defensively, “She says she and Lady Denza are so in love that nothing scares her anymore, as long as they’re together.”

“Yes,” Ser Eldon told her, “it’s plain to see how in love they are. Maybe she’s right.”

Lady Olenna looked confused, “I don’t understand,” she said, “Who are they in love with?”

Ser Artyr started to cough up wine and Dany had to bite her lip to stop from giggling.

They all rode together back to the Old Palace. The sheriff at the gate told Ser Artyr that outriders from Prince Arion’s party had already been through to say they would be arriving within two hours.

Ser Artyr swore and galloped off to see that the city watch was in good order and the rest of them rode back as quickly as they could. Dany tried to ignore her mother’s constant stream of admonitions as she changed into her clean new gown of gold and red and black.

“I told you to make sure you were back in good time!” Mother said.

“I was with Olenna Redwyne,” she said, “you also told me to be nice to her.”

They were all dressed up and lined up in the outer ward by the time the party came. Her uncle, Prince Arion behind his banner of two sun-and-spears, her father with their cockatrise on gold, Lord Edgar Yronwood with his iron gate. There were the stormlanders too, Lord Connington and his griffins, Lord Swann with his birds. Both the banner had the creature combatant, as though they fought each other as much as anyone else.

But the turtle of Estermont seemed peaceful enough and Lady Bucker’s sigil was three belt buckles. Lord Dondarrion wore black and purple and young Ser Arwen Caswell had a centaur on his shield.

When she saw Lord Gargalen dismount, Dany smiled and waved her arm at him, despite her mother’s disapproving cluck. He laughed and came right towards her, picking her up in his arms and spinning her about.

“My little chickie!” he said, “how are you?”

“Father...” she said abashed, “I told you not to call me that anymore.” 

“You still seem like a little chickie to me.” He kissed Joleta on both cheeks and Mother on the hand.

“You look well, my princess,” he told her.

“Yes,” she said shortly, “we are well, all three of us.” She turned from him, “Brother,” she said to Prince Arion. They embraced much more warmly, though brother and sister had only been apart for three weeks, and husband and wife for three months or more. Everyone said that Prince Arion looked most like his own mother out of all of her children, but even he hardly looked like a dragon lord. His hair was light brown instead of black, and he had almost delicate features. The prince embraced both his nieces too, and kissed Lady Larra on the mouth.

Then Maron came forward. He didn’t look like a dragon lord either, but Dany couldn’t imagine they were any more beautiful. He had sandy hair and eyes somewhere in between blue and green, a narrow waist and a powerful looking chest. She tried not to stare.

He came to their mother first and then turned to Dany and Joleta.

“Ladies,” he said with a nod, looking at Joleta.

She scoffed, “Cousin,” she said pointedly. She turned to her sister, “Doesn’t our cousin look gallant this evening, sister?”

Dany blushed, “Ser Maron always looks gallant,” she said.

“So he does,” she agreed, “look gallant.”

She welcomed the distraction when her father started to introduce them to the other man there.

“Lord Yronwood, these are my younger daughters, Joleta and Daenerys.”

Dany curtsied and took a good look at the infamous Edgar Yronwood. He was huge, just like everyone said, but Dany suspected it was as much fat as muscle. At more than forty, his blond hair was started to become streaked with grey. He bowed to them courteously enough, but there was no softness anywhere on his lined, hard face, for all the softness of his belly.

Their uncle was about to start the introductions to all the visitors but a hush had descended on the yard and Dany knew that Loreza must have finally arrived. The crowd of knights and assorted ladies parted for her as she descended down the great stair, dressed for the feast in scarlet and cloth of gold with a circlet of gold and diamonds across her brow. She was followed by her mother and four ladies, two carrying the long train of her mantle.

The princess smiled as she greeted her uncle and cousin and Lord Gargalen after them. She seemed to purposely wait until the tension in the yard was just about unbearable before she finally turned to Lord Yronwood, her smile completely gone. 

“Lord Edgar,” she said, “you and yours are very welcome.”

With silence around and every eye in the yard on him, the huge lord took a knee before her. Loreza waited entire seconds before extending her hand out for him to kiss. Joleta rolled her eyes so extravagantly that their mother elbowed her in the side.

“My princess,” Lord Yronwood said, with a tone as hard as his face, “I wish you every happiness.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly. She waited another very long moment before motioning for him to rise. Dany saw Ser Ormond behind him looking like Lord Edgar’s younger, thinner, mortified shadow. As soon as he was up Loreza turned from him and towards Lord Connington.

Lord Yronwood seemed no more pleased at the feast, even as he sat in a place of high honour to the left of the prince’s brother on the dais. He stayed there alone unmoving when the dancing started, with just his son looking miserable for company.

Olenna Redwyne found Dany while she sat resting after a solid hour of dancing.

“Lady Daenerys,” she said after she sat down, “will you do me a kindness?”

“Of course,” Dany said, a little shocked.

“Will you tell me what it was I said today that made everyone want to laugh?”

“I don’t remember you sa-”

“It was about your sister, and the man she’s in love with, who makes her brave. There must be some joke I don’t know about.”

Dany had to struggle not to laugh again. “Oh, yes,” she said. She looked around the hall for Joleta and saw her standing against a pillar whispering into Lady Deneza’s ear. “Well,” she started, “there is no man Joleta and Lady Deneza are in love with, it’s each other.”

“Each other?” Lady Olenna said, “But how can they-”

“She’s her paramour.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

Dany didn’t quite know what to say. “Um, well, it means they live together and sleep in the same bed and, you know…”

“But, how?”

Dany couldn’t help but just stare at her. It seemed a very odd question to ask about someone's own sister.

“I apologize,” Lady Olenna said after a moment, “I know you do things queerly here, I suppose I shouldn’t pry.”

“Yes,” Dany said, still at a loss.

“May I ask you something else?”

“Yes?” Dany said, full of dread.

“Why is everyone so tense this evening?”

“Oh,” Dany almost laughed in relief, “it’s just because of the Yronwoods.”

“Lord Yronwood?” she asked, “why would that-”

“My uncle hates him.”

“Prince Rhodryn? Why?”

“Because he was a rebel of course,” Dany told her, “and this is the first time he’s come to Sunspear since.”

“But that was ten years ago, and he was pardoned.”

Dany nodded, “They all were, for the third time. But my father says pardoning isn’t forgiving, or forgetting.”

“No, I suppose not,” Lady Olenna agreed, “and Lord Yronwood hasn’t forgiven or forgotten either?”

She shrugged, “I don’t see how he can forget that his son is a hostage.”

“I didn’t realize that,” she said. “That’s him isn’t it? Dancing with Dyanna Connington?”

“Yes,” Dany agreed. Even he had finally left his father abandoned on the dais. “Ser Ormond Yronwood. The prince doesn’t hate him, I don’t think.”

“He’s very comely.”

“I suppose so.” He had always been there, since she was little. She'd never thought about it. Besides which, he’d probably be as fat as his father in twenty years.

“That man keeps looking over here,” Olenna said.

“Ser Ormond?”

“No, the one two couples over.”

“Oh,” Dany’s stomach fluttered, “that’s just my cousin, Ser Maron Wyl.”

“He’s very comely too, isn’t he the heir?”

Dany didn’t like the way Lady Olenna was looking at him, “Yes,” she said, “well, he’s the heir to the heir, really. And my uncle says Lord Allyster will probably live forever so...” She trailed off when she realized that he was coming towards them.

“Hello!” she said much too loudly when he reached them and bowed.

“You look well, my lady,” he said. Dany heart sank.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at the ground, “this is Lady Olenna Redwyne-”

He bowed quickly and then held out his hand, “Will you dance with me, Dany?”

She took his hand and they walked together to the centre of the hall. Dany felt as though her feet were never touching the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what,” her voice sounded breathy.

“You know for what.” They stood across from each other on the floor and she finally looked up to see Maron’s face. He was smiling and it made his eyes sparkle like moonlight on water. “When I look at you I- I don’t always trust myself to behave as I should.”

Dany felt herself blush all over, “I understand,” she managed to say.

“Then you forgive me?”

“Oh course I do!”

He smiled again, and took her hand to lead her in the dance.

Chapter Text

Lord Edgar was eating and drinking liberally. By the look of him, he did that quite often these days, though Ormond couldn’t help but suspect it was to avoid talking to him.

“I...” he started, his father put down his cup to look at him, “I was hoping I would see my sister.”

He scoffed and picked up his cup again, “I was obliged to come, Alyse wasn’t.”

Ormond was about to say that he hoped she would want to see him, but he decided it would sound peevish. “Is she well?”

“Well enough.”

“And Ser Clarian?” The last time he had seen his sister, or his father, was at her wedding to Ser Clarian Jordayne four years before. The first time he’d seen Yronwood since he was eight years old.

“He’s perfectly healthy too.”

“I’m glad.”

The last dish was cleared away and the dancing started. His father made no move to get up. Hardly surprising, but Ormond felt obligated to stay with him.

“And you’re well too, I take it,” Lord Edgar said after several minutes silence.

Ormond all but started at being spoken to, “Yes, I’ve never felt better.”

“Lord Toland tells me you’re expected to do well in the lists.”

“I intend to do as well as I can,”  he said. In truth, Ormond was a middling jouster. The most he could usually boast was that he hadn’t shamed himself.

“I look forward to seeing you.”

Ormond supposed that was the closest to affectionate words he was likely to get from his father, but he was at a loss to think what he could say to it. Thank you? That sounded ridiculous. He said nothing and let the silence drag on.

Lord Edgar used his goblet to point to the floor beneath the dais where the princess was dancing with some stormlander. “She’s certainly grown into quite a… Martell, hasn’t she?”

Ormond knew precisely what he meant. “She was already like that when she was ten. All the other children went in fear of her. We were more afraid of her wrath than the tutors’.”

“What works for playmates, works as well for lords,” his father said bitterly, “quite ingenious.”

Ormond refilled his own goblet and hoped his face wasn’t red. He had felt exactly like that in the yard. It was as though he was nine years old again and the princess had ignored him for a week after he pushed Gallwel Qrgyle into a fountain. When she wouldn’t speak you, no other child in the Water Gardens would.

“If you want to dance, Ormond, then go,” Lord Edgar said, “you needn’t sit here fidgeting.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Before he could even look about for a partner Princess Trystana fell upon him.

“Are you dancing with anyone?” she asked briskly.

“No, I- ”

“Good, go ask Lady Dyanna.”

“As you say, my princess,” he said, “which is-”

“The one standing by herself looking devastated that no one has asked her to dance.”

He scanned the walls, there were a lot of unfamiliar ladies.

“The Connington girl!” she said.

He nodded and made his way to the lady indirectly, or else Princess Trystana would tell him off for being too obvious. Dyanna Connington was fifteen, with a mop of strawberry blonde hair so wild that not even a hairnet could control it. She was pretty enough for a girl, but painfully shy. She would barely look at him while they danced, and any conversation seemed out of the question. When the music paused she practically ran away from him to resume her lonely vigil by the wall.

Then he danced with Joleta Gargalen, then with Lord Swann’s wife Lady Donna. He had just sat down to drink some lemon water when Rhona Santagar joined him. She smiled and he felt better than wretched for the first time all day.

“Is he really so bad?” she asked.

“Is who really so bad?” he replied.

“Your father.”

Ormond tried to laugh, “I suppose we just… don’t have much to say to each other,” he told her, “but no, he wasn’t that bad at all.”

“You looked like you were desperate to escape,” Rhona said, “I was half afraid he was holding you hostage somehow.”

She only seemed to realize what she had said when she saw the horrified look on Ormond’s face. She covered her mouth with her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“You don’t have to ap-”

“I just,” she said, “I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Ormond said sharply. “How could you forget?”

She looked ashamed, “I don’t think of you that way,” Rhona said, “none of us do.”

“How fortunate for all of you.”

“I said I was sorry, Ser Ormond,” she told him stiffly.

“I know...” he said, “I suppose… I wish I could forget as easily.”

She put her hand on his thigh, “Forgive me,” she said, “please.”

He smiled, “I always do, don’t I?” She laughed at that. “Do you want to dance?”

“Yes,” she said, “but not here.”

“Where then?”

She sighed, “In your bedchamber, of course.”

“Rhona...” he told her, “you don’t have to bed me just to apologize.”

“I know that,” she said, “I had every intention of “dancing” with you before I even sat down, I promise you. I’ve been thinking about it all evening.”

His smile widened. Rhona in the hall was always good company, but Rhona in bed was always enough to make up for any bad day. They left the hall together.

She was gone when he woke up the next morning, but that was usual enough. Ormond had breakfast with Gallwel Qorgyle and Eldon Sand before spending a few hours being bruised and thumped by Gerold Hightower in the yard. “Is that Artyr?” Gallwel asked when they paused for breath.

The four of them went to the table beneath the covered gallery where Ser Artyr Dalt and his sister were in serious conversation.

“I thought the Council was meeting.” Eldon Sand said.

“Oh, it was,” Lady Deneza said.

“And you finished so early?”

Lady Deneza scoffed but her brother shook his head, “Certain things were said, and after that business was rather impossible.”

Ormond felt a pit form in the bottom of his stomach, “Things?” he asked, “said by who?” They looked uncomfortable. “Please, just tell me.”

“Well,” Lady Deneza started, “Lord Yronwood and the prince… disagreed.”

Gods be good. “About what?”

“About Princess Loreza’s marriage,” she said, “what else is anyone talking about lately?”

“His words were… immoderate,” Ser Artyr told him. “The prince was rather-”

“Furious,” his sister finished. “He would have locked him up in the Spear Tower if Serron Vaith hadn’t convinced him it was impossible.”

“Why was it impossible?” Ser Gerold Hightower asked her.

She regarded him sharply. “We were in council.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said, “but what difference does that make?”

“You can’t arrest the Warden on the Stone Way for what he says in council,” she told him, sounding rather horrified.

“I see,” he said, unconvinced.

“Why would anyone give his prince honest council if he had to fear being imprisoned for it?” she asked him, rather belligerently.

“It seems that privilege was abused,” he said.

“It’s not a privilege-”

“And Lord Yronwood’s council was honest,” Ser Artyr interrupted, “few can doubt that.”

“Then what happened?” Ormond said.

“Nothing really,” Ser Artyr said, “the prince stormed out and the session was over.”

“Needless to say, this was all before we could discuss the Braavosi envoy’s terms for the loan to rebuild the coastal defenses. And that’s been put off long enough...”

Ormond excused himself and went to the armoury to discard his mail. He walked briskly up to the gardens and across the courtyard, hoping that no one would try to speak to him if he were quick enough. He reached the Tower of the Sun and climbed the stairs to his father’s chambers.

Lord Yronwood was sitting at table on a balcony tearing into a brace of quail with his huge hands. He saw Ormond and motioned for him to sit down opposite him. He sat with ill grace and an angry expression.

“I suppose you heard all about it,” his father said.

Ormond was so upset that it was difficult to speak. “How could you?” he finally whispered.

His father put down the fowl and pushed his plate away. “Have you been made to answer for my words,” he asked, “by your… friends?”

He stood up and paced between the doorway and the table, trying to control the shaking in his hands. “I’m a fool to be upset,” he said, “I should be used to it by now. I’ve been made to answer for your words for more than ten years.”

To Ormond’s surprise, his father seemed to get smaller. He deflated like a skin all the wine had spilt out of. “I know,” he said.

“Do you?” he said. “Every time your name is mentioned, I don’t even have to ask what you said or did. I just know that whatever it is will shame me.”

“Shame you?” He looked so hurt that Ormond stopped pacing to look at him in shock. “What have I done that would shame you?”

“After all these years,” he told him, “you come here still nursing your grievance. Still unwilling to admit that you were beaten. That we were beaten, that you were wrong. I’m embarrassed for you.”

“I wasn’t wrong,” Lord Edgar said with conviction.

Ormond growled in anger and started to pace again.

“Is that what you think of me?” He sounded more sad than angry. “That I’m a peevish old man?”

“What else am I to think of you, my lord?” Ormond asked. “You certainly can’t care anything for me, seeing as you’re willing to antagonize the man who has every right to have me killed if you antagonize him!”  He didn’t mean to yell, but he could hardly control himself.

“It hasn’t been easy for you, I know,” his father said with perfect calm, “forgive me.”

“Why should I!”

“Someone has to stand up to them!”

“Stand up to them?” Ormond asked him, incredulous. “To who, the prince? Is that what you were doing when you gave all your strength to a hopeless rebellion lead by a fool?”

Lord Edgar scoffed, “It’s easy to say it was hopeless now.” Ormond opened his mouth, but his father cut him off, “It doesn’t matter. You’re right, we were beaten. But I cannot say we were wrong.” He sighed, reached for the flagon of wine on the table and poured two goblets. “Sit, Ormond.”

“I don’t want to drink with you.”

His father’s face hardened. “Do you think I’m made of stone?” he asked. “How do you imagine I feel about the little boy I lost growing into a man who thinks so lowly of me?”

Ormond couldn’t imagine what to say. “I have no notion what you feel about anything.”

“No,” Lord Yronwood said, “so sit and have some wine with me.”

Ormond sat, but he left the goblet untouched.

“I suppose you think it’s a very small thing,” he said, “this marriage.”

“What do you think it is?” Ormond asked him.

“It think it’s the prince being so eager to please these northerners that he’ll give them anything, even his daughter.”

Ormond could have laughed, “You said that in her hearing?” he asked, “You don’t know her at all then. And you’re the one with northern ideas if you mean to imply that he’s giving her to anyone.”

“Yes, I know, she’s more than a match for any husband.” Lord Edgar said, “but what will her children be?”

“It’s hardly the first time a princess of Dorne has married a foreigner.”

“No, but it’s all rather different now isn’t?” he said bitterly, “Now that we’re nothing but a mere province.”

“If you want to complain about that, you’re sixty years too late,” Ormond told him. “And Dorne will never be a “mere” province, Maron saw to that.”

“Oh yes,” his father said with energy, “Wise Prince Maron, who gave us peace forever. And all it cost us was everything we ever fought for.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Lord Yronwood asked. “Let me tell you a simple truth about these Martells. One that I doubt they ever told you. They have worked very hard for near a thousand years to convince us all that they are Dorne, but they’re not.” He had drained a whole goblet and poured himself another. “When the dragons, and all those who came before them fell on us, it was our blood that was spilt first. And last. Not even Princess Meria could have killed Meraxes by force of will.”

“I know that,” Ormond said, “they know that, everyone knows that.”

“Do they know?” he said, “What gave them the right to give this land away? This land that was made sacred by our blood.”

Ormond shifted “Now you do sound like a peevish old man,” he said. “Do you really expect me to believe that you acted from principle, rather than out of a desire to grab as much power as you could? If they don’t have the right to speak for Dorne than neither do you.”

“I never claimed I did,” he said. “I would never ask what was asked of us. And to expect us to swallow it without offering nothing in return was an insult.”

Ormond looked at him incredulously. “And what reward did you expect,” he asked, “in exchange for not committing treason?”

“Don’t be impertinent, Ormond,” his father said as he poured another goblet. “Every loyal vassal has a right to expect some sign of respect from his lord.”

“But you haven’t been a loyal vassal, have you?”

“Well, that’s the real crux of the matter, isn’t it?” he said, laughing. “Perhaps if they had given some sign that they valued our loyalty in the first place, instead of decreeing from on high and using force, maybe my mother wouldn’t have risen with Daemon at all. Maybe we both would have stayed home when the chance came again, if only all our worst fears hadn’t been realized.”

“You’re drunk,” Ormond finally realized.

“Yes,” Lord Yronwood allowed, “and I intend to stay drunk until this ordeal is over.” He proved the truth of his words by draining his goblet and filling it again. “It’s bad enough that I came and bent my knee to that glorified sycophant and his little tyrant of a daughter, but soon their master will come. And I’ll bend my knee to him as well.” He flung his half full goblet away from him. It flew over the railing of the balcony and disappeared. Lord Edgar immediately took the one he’d poured for Ormond and drank from it. “If you’re ashamed of me, son, it’s nothing to how ashamed I am of myself.”

“You hate them,” Ormond said. Seeing his father like this filled him with an odd mixture of pity and revulsion that twisted his gut and made him want to weep. “Nothing they could have done would have pleased you. You would have twisted it somehow. Nymeria married Mors Martell instead of Yorick Yronwood, and you’re still not over it.”

“You’re wrong,” Lord Edgar said. “I didn’t always hate them, my mother didn’t always hate them.” He chucked into his goblet. “You don’t hate them yet.”

Ormond chose to ignore his last words. “Really?” he said. “Pray tell me, my lord, what would have pleased you?”

“For a start,” his father said, “this could have been your wedding.”

He stood up abruptly, “That’s madness,” he said at once.

“Why?”

Ormond fought the urge to cover his ears with his hands. “How dare you come here and put me in this position?” he said. “I made a place for myself here. I have friends who even manage to forget...”

“A place?” Lord Edgar’s laugh was like a booming crack a thunder, “friends? Do you think any of your friends would lift a finger for you if it came to it? Do you think your precious princess who you admire so much for being so fierce would? Or that the fact you were children together will cause her to waver in her princely resolve?”

“Stop. I won’t be tainted by your bitterness.” He was proud of himself for not screaming at his father. He was a man, a knight. “You want to drag me into your pit of self-pity, but I won’t go. I won’t let you turn me against the man who’s been more a father to me than you ever have.”

Lord Edgar laughed again. Or perhaps he was crying, Ormond could hardly tell. I don’t know him well enough to tell.

“Do as you please,” he spat out through tears. “Kiss his ass until your lips fall off. It will do you as much good as it ever did me. But in another twenty years, you’ll have that drink with me, never doubt it.”

Ormond ran from the room without another word. He managed to control his own tears until he reached the deserted back staircase, but when they did come, they brought a rage with them that he had never felt before. He punched the wall so hard that the skin of his knuckles split and left a smear of blood on the polished sandstone. He wondered what Rhona would do if he found her and cried in her arms.

As soon as he judged himself fit to be seen he left his hiding place and wandered back to the gardens with no thought but to be as far from the Tower of the Sun as he could. He must have made a dozen circuits of the entire place when he heard Princess Loreza’s voice beckoning him. She had a trail of ladies behind her and a book in her hand.

“Princess,” he said, trying to smile. But then he remembered what had happened and was glad he hadn’t. “Please,” he started instead, “allow me to apologize for my fath-”

“Don’t be foolish, Ormond, you don’t have to apologize,” she said casually. “Besides, it wasn’t as bad as everyone is saying. You know how gossip gets.”

“Yes, but,” he said, “I… I don’t want you to think that I...” he trailed off.

“Share all his opinions?” she asked with a wry smile. “None of us are perfect reflections of our parents, are we? And we all do what we must sometimes.”

“I suppose so,” he said.

“What happened to your hand?” She passed her book to Genna Sand beside her and took his injured hand in both of hers. It had stopped bleeding but was redder and more swollen than ever. Her touch made him feel a little strange. Remembering what his father had said made him consider her has he never had before. Her hands were soft, and her touch was so gentle. But the feeling passed as swiftly as it appeared. She had been an elder sister to him, far more than his actual elder sister ever would be. And if she’d felt differently she would never have been shy about letting him know.

“It’s nothing,” he said, pulling his hand away, “Ser Gerold Hightower is a better swordsman than me, that’s all.”

“It looks painful.”

“No,” he lied. The truth was that that it was throbbing so badly he suspected something might be broken.

“Good,” she said. “In any case, I’m glad you mentioned Lord Yronwood. Have you seen him?”

“I haven’t, princess,”  he lied again, though he hardly knew why.

“Well, if you do it would please me if you would tell him that I’ll be in my garden for the rest of the afternoon, reading. Alone.”

“You want me to tell my father that you’ll be in your garden reading?” he asked her, confused.

“Yes,” she said with a mischievous look in her eye.

“And you wish to speak with him?”

“Did I say that?”

Ormond chuckled to hide his discomfort, “Princess, I don’t- you want to speak with my father secretly?”

She rolled her eyes, “Not secretly, Ormond,” she said, “privily. Will you tell him?”

“If you wish it, my princess.”

“I’m glad,” she said, “and you’ll have the maester look at your hand too, I hope.”

“Of course.”

“Good day then.”

The princess and her companions walked passed him towards the southern wall, and Ormond reluctantly turned back towards the Tower of the Sun.

Chapter Text

The town lay where the River Vaith and the Scourge met to form the Greenblood. The greatest river in Dorne was only half as wide as the Silverwater that Eliott had swum in as a child, and the Mander made it seem no more than a stream, but he knew it was as essential to the life of Dorne as heartsblood was to a living man. In a narrow band on either side of it, the land was green and fertile. They rode through fragrant lemon groves in blossom and small gardens planted with pepper.

Lord Manwoody had explained at length about how no one grew corn along the river anymore; there was far too much gold in olives and fruit to make it worthwhile. And gold can buy corn from the mountain valleys or even from the Reach.

They passed through the orchards and into the drylands, across a flat expanse where Daeron’s army must have hosted, poised for a battle that never came. The sand steed between his thighs seemed to float over the rough stony ground and never stumble or slow. In a hour they had reached a deep gully with a stream running through it.

“It was somewhere between here and that outcrop,” Ser Olyvar Sand told them, “the one up ahead that looks like a vulture.”

It did look like a vulture. Eliott wondered if that was why they had chosen this place.

“An excellent spot for an ambush,” Owain said, “any fool should have seen that.”

“I’m sure he would have seen that,” Ser Olyvar said, “if he had bothered to look, but why would he? All he was doing was accepting a surrender.”

“The Dornishmen came over that ridge, I assume,” Lymen Osgrey said.

“Yes we did,” Prince Lewyn said with his typical smirk, “they were only a hundred, all told, but it was enough.”

Ser Casson Vaith nodded, “They say it was over before the Kingsguard even managed to draw their swords.”

Eliott shook his head, “Forgive me,” he said, “but it was a dirty trick.”

“So it was,” Ser Olyvar said, though his eyes burned with a pride that gave the lie to his words. He must have seen Eliott’s suspicion. “Some things are worth a dirty trick. The Young Dragon was dead and all hope for his conquest died with him; that’s what those men cared about.”

“Didn’t they care about their own honour?”

Ser Olyvar smiled, not unkindly, “You have a good deal to learn about Dorne, Ser Eliott.”

Yes, I know, he thought.

They stopped to water the horses and look around some more. Eliott and his friends sat to pass a wineskin between them. Jon inspected every rock and grain of sand as though he expected to find them still splattered with royal blood. He turned over a small boulder and disturbed a nest of scorpions. Prince Lewyn exclaimed happily and started to catched them by the tails.

Ser Casson built a small fire while the others put the dead scorpions on skewers to cook. When the heat had cracked open the outer skeleton, Lord Manwoody took one and bit into it happily.

Prince Lewyn held another out to Eliott. “Try it,” he prompted.

He regarded it skeptically. Lyman made a face. “I don’t know... aren’t they poisonous?”

The prince chuckled, “It’s not going to sting you; it’s dead.” Eliott still hesitated. “They’re my sister’s favourite.”

He took it then; it wasn’t as if he had a choice. His friends made no move to join him. He took a bite into the fattest part of the middle of the creature and felt the shell crunch between his teeth.

“What’s it like?” Owain asked after a moment.

“It’s well enough, I suppose,” he told him, “tastes a little like crab.”

Owain and Jon both took one, though Lyman didn’t.  

“Does Princess Loreza like the desert then?” Eliott asked when they were all still eating.

“All Dornishmen love the desert,” Ser Olyvar said. He was an old man, past sixty, and a bastard, though you would never know it by the way he was treated. Even Prince Lewyn deferred to him, with actions if not with words, and he spoke proudly about how his uncle had been a squire at the Redgrass Field and had commanded the Dornish forces at Wendwater Bridge.

He certainly had led the party that came from Sunspear to meet them in Godsgrace. None of the Dornishmen seem to find it strange, so Eliott determined that he wouldn’t either.

Prince Lewyn rolled his eyes, “That’s very helpful, uncle,” he said. “She does love the desert,” he told Eliott, “but I think she prefers Sunspear.”

“And what does she like in Sunspear?”

“Working, mostly.”

“You make her seem so interesting,” Ser Olyvar said sarcastically.

“She is interesting,” Prince Lewyn said defensively, “and she works a lot.”

“I’m glad that someone does, between the two of you.”

Prince Lewyn grinned, “Perhaps the gods made her first-born for a reason.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, nephew,” Lord Manwoody said, “even if the prince never manages to put you to work, Princess Loreza will.”

“No doubt she’ll try.”

“But when she’s not working,” Owain tried again, “what does she like to do?”

He shrugged, “Riding, needlework, reading, talking about working...”

“Lewyn!” Ser Olyvar said with a grin, “enough.”

On the ride back Eliott and his friends rode a bit apart from the Dornishmen.

“How bad can she be, do you think?” he asked Owain after making sure they were out of earshot.

“El,” Owain said sympathetically, “bad? Why would you say that? Everyone knows that Dornish women are beautiful.”

“And willing,” Ser Jon the Green said.

Eliott shot him a dirty look, “Well, no one has called this one beautiful. Or even pretty.”

“It’s true,” Lyman said, “I noticed that myself.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Owain argued.

“I think you should prepare yourself,” Lyman told Eliott, “for pimples at least. Maybe even a hump.”

“They would have mentioned a hump!” Owain said, “Although... maybe to lessen the dower...”

“I’m quite sure I’m the one who payed over the dower,” Eliott said glumly.

“What.” Jon said.

“Well, they didn’t call it a dower, but money was handed over, for my “maintenance”.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jon said.

“Dornish...” said Lyman.

“Get used to them,” Eliott told him.

In the castle, Eliott found Alastor alone in his bedchamber reading, but failed to convince him that he should regret not coming with them. “I had no wish to bake under the sun again just to see where some fool died a hundred years ago.”

“The Young Dragon wasn’t a fool.”

Alastor laughed, “Anyone who would want to conquer this place is a fool.”

Eliott glanced over to where Samuel Reer was standing silently. But the man didn’t react at all. He’d come from Sunspear with Ser Olyvar Sand and Lord Allyrion and informed Eliott that he would be running his household in Sunspear.

“I already have a manservant,” he had said.

“I’m not your manservant, my lord,” he had told him haughtily. “I’m your senechal.”

“Do you know Princess Loreza?” Eliott asked him now.

“Oh course,” Reer said, moving closer to the brothers by the window, “the princess was the one who appointed me.”

“She did?”

“Who else,” he said.

“So...” Eliott asked him, “what is she... like?”

Samuel stood up straighter, “Princess Loreza is the heir to Sunspear, my lord.”

“Yes, I know,” Eliott said, trying not to sound frustrated, “but she’s a woman too, isn’t she?”

“Certainly,” he said.

“So, what kind of woman is she?”

“A… a very good one,” he said.

“And?”

“She’s a princess of Dorne, Ser Eliott.” Reer said pointedly.

“You mentioned that already.”

“I think you’ll find that, as such, she’s the object of some reverence.”

Alastor laughed, “We noticed that.”

Reer glared at him, “Yes, and people won’t take kindly to you asking these questions. As thought the princess were being… appraised.”

“I see,” Eliott said. He moved to sit next to his brother on the window seat. “I’ve offended you, I’m sorry.”

“You could never offend me,” Reer said, “but I consider it my duty to make sure you don’t offend anyone else.”

Eliott didn’t know what to say. “Yes,” he managed, “you can go.”

“You’re expected in the hall in a hour, my lord.”

It was an effort not to be sharp, “I’ll be there.”

The senechal left and Eliott let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m going to be wed to the wench in less than a fortnight and I’m not allowed to know anything about her.”

“Well, you don’t expect any of them would say anything against her, do you?”

“Lyman is convinced she must have a hump or something.”

“Does it matter what she looks like? Even if she does have a hump, marrying her will still make you the most powerful man in Dorne.”

“Will it?”

“Can you doubt it?” Alastor asked him, “She might be a Dornish woman, but she’s still a woman.”

“Don’t let Samuel Reer hear you say that,” Eliott said sardonically. “Besides, Lady Qorgyle is only a woman too; does it seem to you like it does her husband any good?” Lady Qorgyle had joined them in Vaith, but her husband hadn’t.

“He’s Dornish, he doesn’t know any better.”

Eliott inhaled, “You really have to stop saying things like that, brother. You might not care what they think of you, but I have to.” Alastor looked away from him, abashed. “You gave me your word.”

“I did,” he said solemnly, “and I’ll keep it, I swear. That lemon water of there’s isn’t so bad if you put enough sugar into it.”

“Well… good,” Eliott said, “we should get ready for supper.”

They supped in the hall much less formally than at the feast they had the night before. They sat around one large table, all of those who who had come from Vaith, and those who has come from Sunspear with Lord Allyrion and Ser Olyvar. The food was brought out all at once in the old Dornish fashion, rather than there being courses, and the only diversion was a lone lute player. Aelora whispered and giggled with her friends but the rest of them managed to keep to one conversation.

Lord Mors grinned broadly when Eliott told his father and uncle where they had been. “The host was so large that you couldn’t see the end of the camp, not even from atop the walls, but within two days all that was left was the latrine pits.”

“I never understood that,” Lady Leona Tarly said. “Why would they turn back? The army was just as strong as it was before, even if the king was dead.”

“Don’t be foolish, girl,” her father said, “rabble like that always cut and run at the first sight of trouble.”

The lady turned red and her husband jumped in to comfort her, “An army is only as strong as the man who leads it,” Ser Daeron Darklyn said. “They would have followed the Young Dragon to the ends of the earth, but not anyone else. The Kingsguard were all dead or captured too.”

“Ser Olyvar Oakheart died beside the king,” Lady Ellyn Oakheart said proudly; “he was my great-great uncle.”

“But they still could have won,” Lady Leona asked, “if there had been someone strong enough?”

Lord Tarly scoffed, “Oh course they could have.”

“You sound very sure,” Lord Dayne said.

He scoffed again, “I am sure, if the Dornishmen thought they had a prayer, they wouldn’t have resorted the treachery in the first place. Only those who were already defeated would stoop to a coward’s trick, against all the laws of chivalry. To kill any man under a banner of peace is monstrous, but your own king...”

Eliott sighed to himself and closed his eyes. What kind of fool would say that, here and now?

“Some would say that invading a realm without cause is fairly unchivalrous too,” said Alyssa Blackmont, who had a knack for making things worse.

“I’m sure there wasn’t really a peace banner,” Eliott’s mother Lady Serra said. “That’s only a calumny.”

Lord Mors smiled and motioned towards one of the old standards displayed along the walls of the hall. It was a large peace banner on a pole mounted with a pointed crystal. The seven streamers of the tail were ragged and torn, and the seven stripes were splattered with mud and a more reddish kind of brown that could only be blood, nearly a century old.

Lord Tarly looked disgusted, “And it doesn’t shame you, to display such a trophy?”

“No,” the Lord of Godgrace said simply.

Prince Lewyn and Lady Alyssa both visibly fought the urge to laugh. Little Lady Delonne Allyrion, who was all of nine and so small she needed to sit on two cushions to reach the table, did laugh.

“They say Prince Rhodry took that banner and drove the spike...”

“Delonne!” Lady Ryanne said, “not at table.”

“I’m sorry, mother,” she said, though she seemed quite proud of herself. And so did her father.

“If Baelor were not a half mad with milk in his veins it would have all come out differently,” Lord Tarly continued, undeterred. “Any other king would have returned and burnt this town to the ground, instead of making peace.”

“If?” Lady Vaith said. “Yes, and if goats could fly and breath fire they’d be as good as dragons.”

“Aegon the Conqueror did burn this town to the ground,” Lord Allyrion said, “we rebuilt it.”

“I suppose...” Lady Leona said, distractedly, “the king thought that, because it was hopeless, they wouldn’t fight. And that’s why we walked right into a trap. He didn’t see how desperate they were.”

Ser Olyvar Sand was smiling at her. “I think you reached the heart of it, my lady.”

She smiled back shyly.

“The heart of it is that they had no honour,” Lord Tarly said.

“It was dishonourable,” his daughter agreed, ‘but it was a choice between-“

“Honour isn’t a matter of choice,” Lord Tarly cut in, “a man either has it, or he doesn’t.”

“But maybe they thought-”

“And it’s not something a woman could understand. You sound like a fool prattling on about it.”

Lady Leona pressed her lips together as a tear ran down her face.

“I imagine anyone who disagrees with you is a fool.” Alyssa Blackmont said contemptuously.

“Sweetling...” Lady Doryssa Tarly said to her daughter, “you look tired. Why don’t you take yourself to bed a little early tonight.”

She nodded. They all rose as she left the table on her husband’s arm and then sat back down in uncomfortable silence.

“That girl...” Lord Tarly said scornfully. “I thought she would finally shut up when I married her off, but it seems it was all for nothing.”

Prince Lewyn made to rise from his seat again, but his uncle grabbed him by the arm. Eliott was close enough to hear them, though Lord Samwell wasn’t, “Don’t lower yourself,” Ser Olyvar told him.

Lord Mors looked even angrier. “My lord,” he said to his guest, “I must ask you to leave my table.”

“What did you say to me?” Lord Tarly asked him.

“If it please you,” he said through clenched teeth, “before someone does something they may later regret.”

The rest of the excruciating meal pasted in near silence and, when it was finally over with, Eliott found himself walking back to their rooms in a corner keep with his father and his uncle.

“Samwell Tarly has always been an ass,” Ser Corret said.

“But to be so antagonistic towards a man in his own hall...” Lord Rowan replied. “He must know that Lord Allyrion’s own grandfather was one of those who set upon Daeron. And the prince’s great-uncle.”

“Lord Allyrion was hardly the picture of courtesy himself. None of them have been.”

Eliott’s father seemed annoyed by that, “He’s the Lord Justiciar; we don’t want to make him our enemy.”

“You mean I don’t want to make him my enemy,” Eliott said.

His father turned to him with the lantern in his hand, “No, you don’t. He could make your life difficult in Sunspear if he chose to. So can Alyssa Blackmont.”

“Alyssa Blackmont is near hysterical.”

“There.” Lord Rowan said, “You see, you cannot say that. You can’t even think it. She is heir to a great seat, and she behaves as she’s expected to. Didn’t you read that copy of Maester Kasian’s History of Dorne that I gave you?”

“Oh course I read it, Father,” Eliott said, wounded. “It said that only the Dornish can ever understand Dorne.”

His Uncle Corret laughed at that.

“It’s not… neither of you seem to grasp how important this is.”

“Would I be here if I didn’t grasp it?”

“The Martells stand high in the king’s favour, we do not...”

“I know that.”

“.... this family is unlike to have a chance like this again. Not while I live. The way to heal fifty-year-old rifts is not to continually bring up grudges that are a hundred years old.”

“Except no one cares about the black dragon,” Eliott told him, “only about the young one.”

“Oh, they care,” Lord Rowan said. “If they cared less, they would mention it more.”

Eliott fought the urge to roll his eyes. Making up for supporting the black dragon had turned into an obsession with his father. His own father had been a squire on the Redgrass Field, just as Ser Olyvar had, though on the other side. The fact that he had known better the next time Bittersteel cross the Narrow Sea didn’t keep Lord Adwin from being convinced it was held against him, even now. And maybe he was right; how else to explain a man of his abilities being passed over again and again.

“This marriage can open many doors,” he continued. “For all of us, but especially for you, my son,” he continued. Eliott nodded. “But it will all come to nothing if the Dornishmen think we can’t get through one meal without insulting them.”

“Brother...” Ser Corret said, “the boy has enough on his shoulders without you piling the whole world onto them.”

“I’m not “the boy”, Uncle,” Eliott said angrily. “I know what my duty is, and I’ll do it. From now on, House Rowan will have no stauncher friend than Dorne, I swear it.”

His father smiled and clasped his shoulder, but his uncle shook his head skeptically.

Eliott knew sleep would be impossible for a few hours yet, so he climbed onto the battlements, hoping a walk would calm his mind. Before he could open the door that would lead out into the open air, he heard Dornish voices on the other side.

“You’ve only had to put up with it for two days, my lord,” it was Ser Quentyn Santagar’s voice; “we’ve been putting up with it for a month.”

“It can’t go on like this,” Ser Olyvar Sand said. “It will come to blows if it does. And I doubt the prince will be very happy if it happens at his daughter’s wedding.”

“I could always call him out before then,” Prince Lewyn said cheerfully.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Ser Olyvar said sharply. “Any man who would treat his own child like that in public isn’t worth the trouble of running through with a spear.”

“What are you saying,” said Lady Vaith’s voice, “that we should pretend we don’t hear Tarly the next time he opens his fat mouth?”

“That’s precisely what I’m saying.”

“Tarly may be the worst of them,” Ser Quentyn said, “but that doesn’t mean he’s the only one. Lord Oakheart is just as bad, if less graceless. And the elder brother...”

“He was drunk,” Prince Lewyn cut in.

“It was inexcusable.”

“It was,” agreed Lord Manwoody, “but in another month he’ll be gone. So will Tarly and Oakheart.”

“But they won’t all be gone, will they?” Lady Vaith said. “We’re in bed with these Rowans now, quite literally. And everything that comes with them. I can’t imagine what it was about them that the prince would find so appealing that he would choose them over every house in Dorne. The boy is comely enough, but there doesn’t seem to be much too him.”

“That’s not for us to say,” Ser Olyvar said.

“No, of course not.”

“Ser Eliott Rowan isn’t so bad,” Prince Lewyn said. “He even seems… willing to learn our ways. And he’s quiet, not stupid.”

“Learned and skilled in arms enough to be useful,” Lord Manwoody agreed, “but not strong enough to make mischief, even if he wished to.”

“A perfect consort, them,” said Lady Vaith.

“One certainly hopes,” said Ser Quentyn.

Eliott opened the door all the way and stepped right among them.

“Ser Eliott,” Lady Vaith exclaimed, “imagine you being… right there.”

“I only came to get some air, my lady.”

“Don’t let us detain you then, ser,” she said.

The four of them moved passed him and down the stair from the battlements. Only Prince Lewyn remained. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

“Please,” Eliott told him politely.

The prince was six years younger than Eliott, but he was a good inch taller, and broader in the chest. He wonder if the Dornish called him a boy. They strolled along past sentries and rounded the corner of a bastion. Before them were the lights of the town, and the river held hundreds more, they were like a shining ribbon fading into the distance.

“There are so many boats,” Eliott said.

“Wait until you see the Planky Town,” Prince Lewyn told him.

“Yes, I’m always being told how much more there is for me to see.”

“Dorne is a big place, and you have many years to see it all.”

“I’ll have to occupy myself somehow,” he said, “since I’m not strong enough to make any real mischief.”

Prince Lewyn laughed, “Don’t mind them,” he said. “They see every outsider as the vanguard of an invasion. Loreza will like you, I’m sure of that, and then even Quentyn Santagar will suddenly decide that he likes you too.”

Eliott had no idea what to say to that. “And Prince Rhodryn,” he asked, “will he like me?”

“Father likes anyone who can make my sister happy.”

He was at even more of a loss. “I see,” he said, wishing to all the gods that he actually did. 

Chapter Text

Loreza heard the murmur of quite conversation through the door to Lady Lenelle’s sitting room. When she opened it, she was surprised to find more than a dozen women waiting for her. Her grip tightened on the door knob; she resisted the urge to turn around and go. 

“You’re here,” her mother said. Lady Lenelle crossed from the centre of the room, where an open space had been cleared, and took Loreza by the arm, leading her to stand in front of the assembled guests. Like the prize winning horse at the town fair.

“You didn’t tell me there would be as many here as the wedding itself,” Loreza whispered. Between her uncle’s arrival, the council meeting the day before, and Lord Yronwood, there had not been much time to think about the many great lords and ladies who were filling up the old palace. She would have forgotten the dress fitting altogether if Rhona hadn’t reminded her. She was still red faced and breathless from running up the stairs. Being appraised by every old woman from the Reach was not what she had expected.

“Don’t be difficult now, and greet your guests,” her mother whispered back.

Loreza tried not to make her sigh too obvious. She greeted the eldest of the ladies first. Lady Buckler and Lady Malora Hightower were seated on a cushioned bench surrounded by their daughters and granddaughters. Most of the others were standing around the window with its view of the sea, and the sun nearly at its highest point. But no one was looking out the window, only at her. Alanna Hightower had come with her lady mother. Betha Buckler and Dyanna Connington were there as well. So was Lady Joslyn Florent and her own daughter, Mariah. Loreza’s cousin Dany had attached herself to Olenna Redwyne and was standing with her a little bit apart from the others. All four of the younger ladies had brought their septas, and they grouped together unobtrusively at the back of the room. Further still, by the door to her mother’s dressing room, the dressmaker and all her assistants stood with bundles of silk in their arms. Her aunt Princess Trystana and Lady Emelyn could be seen through the open door, laying out jewels. They all greeted her with dignity, or obsequiousness, or boredom, the princess was having trouble distinguishing one from the other these days.

 Elda Toland held a silver tray in front of her and Loreza removed her rings and earrings one by one as her mother helped Genna and Rhona unlace her gown. Soon she was standing in nothing by her small clothes and trying to avoid meeting anyone’s eye. The room was so silent she could hear the sound of wine being poured from a flagon as Lady Malora had her cup filled.

The dressmaker had brought three seamstresses and four apprentice girls. Together, they spent close to half an hour tying, clasping, and sewing the princess into her wedding gown, while her aunt hovered and asked for an endless number of alterations. Loreza barely listened. The gown seemed perfect to her. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it, and the feel of the fabric like water under her fingers. Couched gold threads and encrusted gems decorated the hem of the skirt and the length of the sleeves with a pattern of suns and spears. The skirt was slashed in the front to reveal a cloth of gold petticoat attached to the overskirt with rows of pears set on gold filigree suns. Loreza praised the dressmaker’s work and she bowed low while simultaneously clasping the griddle shut. It had a metalwork sun and spear on the front picked out in rubies and orange tourmaline, and was so tight it made her gasp.

“It’s not unbearable, is it, my love?” Lady Lenelle asked.

“No,” Loreza told her. “I shall need the help staying upright by the time the ceremony is over.”

The assembled ladies cooed and made appreciative noises, but the cooing turned to gasps when the apprentice girls began to unfold the train, edged with the same jewels and gold work as the rest of the gown.

“How long did it turn out, in the end?” Princess Trystana asked.

“Just about twenty feet, my princess,” the dressmaker said, “or a little longer.” The girls were most of the way to the back wall by the time they finished smoothing it out.

Lady Betha and Lady Dyanna both exclaimed happily and declared that the gown was the most splendid they had ever seen. Lady Joslyn quite agreed. “The princess will be the most beautiful bride in all of Westeros,” she fawned. “Ser Eliott will certainly think himself a fortunate man, Don’t you think so, Mariah?” Mariah did.

“You’re too kind, my lady.” Loreza called over to her cousin, who was still talking with Lady Olenna by the window. “And what do you think, Dany?”

Daenerys turned her head to look, apparently surprised to be addressed at all. “Well, I…”

“She won’t be able to judge until we get all the jewels on you,” Princess Trystana interrupted.

Lady Emelyn had them brought out and placed them on Loreza one at a time, a process that took as long as putting on the gown. There were gold bangles on each arm that clinked annoyingly with the slightest movement, delicate gold filigree earrings, and a coronet of suns-and-spears made from rubies and yellow diamonds. 

The worst was the ornate gold and gem collar that draped halfway down her chest and back and across her shoulders. Wherever the gold chains intersected there were more rubies, tourmalines, diamonds, and fire opals in clusters shaped like suns. “It’s so heavy,” Loreza complained, “my shoulders are already sore.”

Her mother gave her a displeased glare. “You look very princely.”

It would look very princely when she toppled over to the sept. But then, of course, she would have her girdle to hold her up. And her husband too.

“Come Daenerys,” Princess Trystana said to her daughter, “now you can tell us what you think.”

Dany walked over to stand in front of Loreza. She looked her up and down appraisingly. “Can I have the earrings when you’re done with them?” Everyone laughed, and Loreza laughed with them. Dany scowled. “I didn’t mean… You look very well, and you know it.”

“It’s will do very well,” Princess Trystana said, “as long as we can keep the train in order.”

“We’ll manage, my princess,” Elda Toland said, “between the six of us.”

“Shall we try on the other one?” Loreza suggested. The faster they did, the faster she could leave. But she had failed to consider that taking the wedding gown off again would take as much time as putting it on. By the time she was back in her small clothes it was a struggle to remain cheerful. Thankfully, no one expected her to speak, only to smile and receive increasingly inane compliments. Did they think her vain enough to believe she was beautiful, or did they simply not know where the jewels ended and she began?

The second gown, for the feast, was far less ornate. It was sleeveless and simply cut, the rich golden tones of the bodice darkening into orange, and then to scarlet down the length of the skirt. The front was slashed deeply. It exposed enough of her breasts to displease Lady Buckler.

“Well,” she whispered to Lady Melora, loudly enough for the room to hear, “I do hope it’s warm in the feast hall.”

Loreza was content to roll her eyes with Genna Sand at that, but Lady Lenelle tried to laugh it off. “It’s a wedding feast, my lady,” she said.

To the princess’s surprise, the old woman smiled. “True enough,” she said. “At my own wedding feast, I wore a blue silk gown that was cut so low I was quaking in fear that my breasts would spill out entirely.”

“Grandmother…” Lady Betha whispered, turning pink.

“Oh, they never did,” she told her granddaughter, “if that’s what you fear. But then of course the bedding started and everyone saw what I was trying to hide in any case.” 

That drew a genuine smile from Loreza. “There will be no bedding here, so I need not have any fear at all.”

The jewels for the feast gown were far simpler as well, a band of silver and gold across her brow with a necklace to match and golden cuffs for her wrists. 

The dressmaker was less pleased. She fussed about with pins, complaining that the waist was too loose and the hem too high. “Don’t make it too low,” Loreza told her, “I shall want to dance a great deal.”

In another quarter of an hour she was back in her own gown and still listening to Lady Joslyn’s endless flattery. “It will be the most beautiful occasion I will ever attend, that is certain,” she went on. “And Princess Loreza will be the most elegant bride I…”

“That was very enjoyable, Mother. Thank you,” Loreza said, as she turned to leave the room. “Good day to you, ladies.”

Lady Lenelle grabbed her by the hand. “Where are you going?”

Loreza didn’t meet her eye. “I have my duties to attend to.”

“Your duties, you say?” her mother snapped back at her. “Your uncle is coming to eat with us.”

“I can eat in my solar.”

Lady Lenelle’s face hardened. “Daughter,” she said, “I would speak to you.” She pulled her by the arm, leading her past the slightly shocked ladies and into the dressing room. Lady Emlyn followed after them and shut the door.

Once there she rounded on Loreza. “What do you think you’re doing?” her mother asked her. 

“I have work to do,” the princess said defensively.

“You’re getting married in ten days!”

“I know that!” Loreza said, matching her mother’s tone. “And then I will be gone for three months. Everything has to be in order.”

Lady Lenelle made a disgusted sound. “Speak some sense to her,” she told Lady Emlyn.

“I’m flattered that you think I can convince the princess of anything, my lady,” she said sardonically. But she tried anyway. “The Spear Tower won’t fall down without you,” the chatelaine said, “not even after three months.”

Loreza suddenly felt herself on the verge of tears. They were always coming upon her when least convenient lately. “I’d rather it fall down on top of me then hear one more time how ‘well pleased’ Ser Eliott Rowan will be by his beautiful bride.” 

Lady Lenelle groaned. “What did you expect them to say?” she asked. “I don’t know when you became such an unpleasant and solitary person, Loreza.”

Don’t you? “You could have warned me you decided to make a public spectacle of the thing.”

“Spare me,” her mother said. “You’ve been making a public spectacle of everything since you were three years old.”

That was probably true. But she used to have the strength for smiling through things she didn’t enjoy. Not anymore. “I’m not three years old now,” she said, “I just want to be alone.”

Lady Lenelle shook her head. “I tried to let you do that, but you refused, and now you’ve missed your chance. Because as you so sagely told me, this is your wedding, not mine. And those are your guests waiting for you.”

Loreza felt the tears that had threatened forming in her eyes, but she wiped them away angrily with her hand. “Alright!” she said, trying not to raise her voice, “but I won’t stay all afternoon.”

They went back into the sitting room just as Prince Arion was coming in through the other door. He has brought both his sons with him. Ser Artyr Dalt and Serron Vaith had arrived too, along with a few others, while Loreza was arguing with her mother.

The princess kissed her little cousin on the cheek. Though he was not so little anymore; he was almost as tall as she was. “I’ve hardly seen you since you arrived, Morgan,” she told him. “Did I tell you you’ve grown?”

“Yes,” he said peevishly. “Twice.”

“Come sit with me,” Lady Larra called to him. She drew her son down to sit beside her and clung to his arm. He squirmed, but that only made her hold on harder.

“Don’t smother him, my love,” Prince Arion said with affection. 

“I’m not smothering him,” she protested. “But I’ve not seen him in half a year. While he is with me, I will hold on to him.”

“That’s what smothering means, Mother,” the boy told him. 

Prince Arion laughed. “How was the lace?” he asked Loreza.

“I don’t believe there was any lace,” she told him.

“I’m shocked,” he said. “Your mother allowed that?”

“She looked beautiful,” Lady Larra said.

Loreza smiled. “Yes, well…” She looked around for a means of escape and saw her cousin Daenerys standing alone nearby. She walked towards her and took her by the arm. “Where is Lady Olenna?”

“Sitting with the Florents,” Dany said. “I’d prefer to jump out the window, but she does whatever her septa tells her.”

“Don’t be disagreeable about it,” Loreza warned her, “that’s just their way. Where’s Joleta, then?” By rights, she should have been there, as one of the princess’s companions. But Joleta had a tendency to come and go as she pleased.

Dany shrugged. “She went hunting with my father, or something.”

“Didn’t you want to go with them?”

She shrugged again. 

Loreza was unlikely to get anything more from her. She led her cousin to where some of her friends were sitting. They rose to make her welcome.

“Lady Betha was just telling us about a particular necklace that was, by her word, splendid.” Artyr Dalt told her as she sat down between Serron Vaith and the very Lady Betha he was referring to.

“Are we going to talk about jewels then,” Ser Maron Wyl asked.

“Not if it’s such a punishment to you,” Loreza told him. “How is your lady mother?” It was the only thing she could think of that he would wish to talk about less.

Maron, however, thought it was a great joke and laughed. “Well enough, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry she couldn’t come down with you.”

“No you aren’t,” he said immediately. “Though perhaps every wedding should have an example of how very wrong it can all go. And then there is the advantage that you wouldn’t need any follies.”

That made Dany laugh out loud, and Betha Buckler had a look of wide-eyed curiosity. Loreza glared at him, but that only amused him further. He was prevented from saying anything else foolish when Morgan, having escaped his mother’s arms, pushed into their group. “Are you talking about the tourney?” he asked.

“No!” Daenerys said. “Anything but that!”

Maron chuckled at her. “We could,” he told his little brother, “you probably have more thoughts about it than anyone else.”

Morgan sat down next to Loreza and warmed to his topic immediately. “I think it will be very exciting,” he said. “They say Ser Corett Rowan is one of the greatest knights in the Reach and once he unhorsed Lyonel Baratheon and Ser Duncan the Tall on the same day! And Lord Farmen once unhorsed him and-”

“They’re both old men now,” Artyr Dalt pointed out. “Well past their prime, even if they were to take the field. And I doubt they will.”

“But they were so good,” Morgan said with emotion. “Even just seeing them will be wonderful. And they say Sir Marq Rowan is as good as his father ever was and-”

“When will the food be here?” Dany interrupted him.

Loreza would have reproached her but her timing proved prescient. At that moment, the door opened and ten serving men walked in carrying twenty trays. They were arranged on a table between the windows with practiced efficiency. The group all rose to help themselves, but Loreza hung back because she had just caught sight of someone whose presence in the room surprised her.

The princess hadn’t seen Sir Rolyn Toland in more than a year. His lord father’s health had taken a turn for the worse and he’d gone back to Ghost Hill. At the time, she had expected for him to be Lord Toland when she saw him again, but the father was hanging on. Perhaps he was even improving, or else his son would not have risked leaving his side.

Royln walked over to her and bowed. He looked the same as ever, with the long limbs and dark auburn hair he shared with his sister Elda, though she fancied he might be graver, more serious. But that would be the weight of new responsibility and cares. He was probably seeing the same in her. “Princess,” he said with a smile, “I wish you joy.”

“Thank you,” Loreza told him, indicating that he should sit down beside her. “I did not expect to see you. Though I’m very glad to. I hope it means your lord father is doing better.”

He winced. “Not better, no,” he admitted, “but not worse either. The maester has stopped speculating as to how long…”

Loreza nodded in understanding. “When did you arrive? I hadn’t heard anything about it.”

“Just this morning,” he told her. “It was my lady mother who wished me to come. It’s been a long time since we saw each other.”

“I imagine so.” Lady Ariandra Fowler had lived as Lord Wyl’s paramour for enough years that Jennelyn Sand, the elder of their bastard children, was already a woman grown. As far as Loreza knew she had not returned to Ghost Hill since and only saw Rolyn or his sister at the sporadic weddings and tournaments and funerals that brought the lords of Dorne together. “Does she intend to go back with you?”

“I doubt it,” Rolyn said with a humourless smile. “Not unless she thinks it necessary. It’s my sister, you see, and her betrothal. My mother never liked Casson Vaith.”

“Surely she wouldn’t interfere with her dying husband’s wishes.”

He smiled again. “And how do you fare, princess?”

“It’s my wedding,” she told him.

“Is that supposed to be an answer?” he asked her. 

“It is an answer,” she said, snappishly. Far more snappish than she intended. 

“Forgive me,” Ser Rolyn said. “I didn’t mean to presume on our old friendship.”

Is that what he called it? She stood. “If I’m not more attentive to my guests my mother will be cross with me,” she said.

He got back to his feet. “Of course, princess. Shall I make a plate for you?”

“Yes, thank you.” She looked around the room for the least painful target possible, but she had the misfortune to catch her aunt’s eye instead. Princess Trystana raised an eyebrow at her and she had no choice but to go to her, even though she was talking to the Florents. They were seated on the bench nearest the open door to the small terrace, with the younger ladies on stools around them. Maron was also there, she was surprised to see. No doubt his aunt had dragged him to her, hoping for support, but he had clearly disappointed her. He yawned and drained his cup of wine.

“I never thought of eating without a table before,” Lady Joslyn was telling Princess Trystana as Loreza joined them. “I think it’s rather ingenious, don’t you Mariah?”

Lady Mariah pinched her face, but nodded anyway. “It works just as well to have a plate on your lap.”

Loreza could tell from her aunt’s forced smile that felt the same disdain for such sycophantic behaviour as she did. Who did the woman think she was fooling? As soon as she was away from dornish ears she would say it was barbaric, ’they eat on the ground like savages!’. 

“Loreza!” her aunt said, “aren’t you eating anything?”

“Ser Rolyn Toland is bringing me something.”

He appeared with a plate in either hand and his sister and Genna Sand in tow. 

“My brother has come, my princess,” Elda said to Princess Trystana.

“So I see,” she replied. “I suppose you couldn’t resist the joust, Rolyn, no matter what other considerations there might be.” 

Royln didn’t bother to defend himself, he just submitted to be introduced to the Florents and the rest and then accepted the burden of being charming to them. He addressed Mariah Florent. “I’ve just heard that Ser Marq Rowan is an excellent jouster. Should I be worried, my lady?”

The young lady blushed. “I’ve never seen him,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure there’s no one you need fear,” Elda told her brother in an amused tone. 

“What about Ser Quetyn Santagar?” Genna asked. “If I recall, he bested you at Salt Shore.”

“He bested everyone at Salt Shore,” Rolyn told her, “the Warrior smiled on him that day. Perhaps he will smile upon me here.”

“Well, if it’s all in the hands of the gods,” Loreza opined, “I don’t see what the use of speculating about it is.”

Maron, as was his way, chose then to speak for the first time. “Don’t you like jousting anymore, cousin?” he asked her. “I’m sure you did, at one time.”

Loreza shrugged. “I enjoy watching the joust very much,” she said. “But I don’t see why we all have to talk about nothing else for weeks beforehand.”

Lady Joslyn smiled in a way that she probably thought was indulgent. “Ah yes, my princess,” she said, “but it is all in your honour, you know. There is no harm in some harmless speculation. I’m sure everyone only seeks to soothe your nerves.”

“My nerves, my lady?” Loreza said as smoothly as she could. “Do I seem nervous?”

Her smile dripped even more honey. “Oh, it is only natural. Any maid would be nervous at such a time. One doesn’t know what to expect.”

“Yes,” the princess said, “I imagine that’s true.”

Maron clearly had his cup of wine refilled, because now he was choking on it as he laughed. Princess Trystana elbowed Genna in the ribs. She frowned, but then reluctantly squished herself into the seat between Maron and Lady Joslyn, and took the cup right out of his hand. He let her do it, but the harm was already done. Maron was in a flow of wit.

“But in your case,” he said, “the nerves come from the idea that you might know exactly what to expect. For years and years, without variety. Will you be able to bear the novelty of monotony?”

“Is that supposed to be clever?” Genna asked him, disgusted. Princess Trystana did nothing but shake her head and roll her eyes. Lady Joslyn looked like she didn’t quite understand what the joke was supposed to be.

“I…” she began. “I don’t think, ser, that such a thing is a fit subject for japes. People may misunderstand you.”

“All I meant, my lady,” Maron told her with exaggerated courtesy, “is that Princess Loreza, in certain things at least, cannot tolerate boredom.”

“What about idiocy?” Ser Rolyn asked him as Lady Joslyn’s mouth fell to the floor.

Maron shrugged. “As to that, ser, I defer to your first hand experience.”

Loreza laughed, she couldn’t help herself. “I’m afraid I’ve stayed too long.” She stood and gave her untouched plate to Elda and strode out of the room. Mercifully, no one made a move to stop her. 

She met no one she was obliged to speak to on the stair, and she soon found herself outside the doors to her father’s rooms. She stopped for a moment to collect herself, to push Rolyn Toland, and Maron, and all the gossip that Lady Joslyn would be sharing, out of her head to focus on the weightier matters that must concern her now, and to will away the pit that was forming in her stomach. The guards let her pass without a second glance and she walked down the short corridor to knock at the open door of the prince’s solar.  

Her father looked up from his writing. “You’re early,” he told her, indicating the candle clock burning in the corner of his table.

“I’m sorry,” Loreza said, “I can come back.”

“Nonsense, sit down.”

She did, and settled into the hard back chair across from him. The prince sat back to regard her for a moment before choosing his first topic.

“Are you pleased with your gown?” He grinned at her and she did her best to return it.

“It will do, I suppose,” she said. “There’re enough gems on it to buy a free company, but my aunt approves, so it must be alright.”

“Yes,” Prince Rhodryn agreed. 

Having exhausted that subject so quickly they both sat in silence for whole seconds. It was only relieved when one of her father’s hunting hounds got up from where it was asleep on the floor and put its head on Loreza’s lap. She stroked it while she waited, unwilling to begin.

“Well Loree,” the prince said at last, “I assume you wanted to see me because of that secret meeting you had with Edgar Yronwood yesterday.”

She blushed. “It wasn’t secret,” she protested, “it was only… private.”

That didn’t impress him. “And what did you speak of, in this private meeting?”

Loreza looked away from him. “In truth, I mostly let him speak.”

There was another excruciating interval of silence before her father spoke again. “Yes? And?”

“He’s very upset,” she said without back looking at him.

The prince scoffed. “The poor man.”

Loreza frowned. “You really do hate him, don’t you?” she asked. “I don’t think I quite realized that, before.”

He shook his head. “I don’t hate him,” he insisted. His daughter chuckled. “That is, it makes no difference if I love him or hate him. He’s a traitor, and that can never be forgotten.”

“Yes,” Loreza agreed, “and you may well drive him to remind us of that all over again.”

The prince stared at her. “You go too far Loree,” he said with anger in his voice. “He has no right to be aggrieved, I owe him nothing. And he owes me… he forfeited his life, his lands, his wealth, and I gave them all back to him.”

But you kept his pride, thought Loreza, and his son.

“I let him sit on my council and insult me to my face. The least he should be is grateful, and humble. And not go out of his way to vex me.”

“Why did you?” she asked. “Spare him, I mean.”

Some of Prince Rhodryn’s passion fled his face. He shook his head. “I may yet regret it, but at the time… his children were so young and the king… well, the king was very eager that he be put to death. And it wouldn’t do for him to have everything he insists on, would it.”

“Certainly not,” she agreed, “though perhaps he sometimes gives good advice.”

The head shook again. “You were ten years old, Loreza. And the situation was more complicated. Not to mention that Edgar Yronwood still has friends, even now. Even in my own court.”

“Yes, he does,” Loreza cut across him, “friends, and swords, and gold, and sympathy. More sympathy now, maybe, than he did before. Even those who have never been his friends have eyes to see how determined you are to punish him. You commanded him here to show that you could. Because, not in spite, of the fact that you know how much he hates even the idea of this marriage. You wanted to make him bow and scrape, not just to you, but to the king too. Everyone knows it. You allowed him to sit on your council so you could show how little you cared for anything he said. That is what everyone saw yesterday, and none of them could blame him harshly for defying you.”

The prince stood abruptly and crossed the room in a few long strides, to stand by the window and stare out over the shadow city. Loreza stood by the writing desk, watching apprehensively as the muscles of his jaws clenched and unclenched for long moments. Perhaps she had gone too far. They had disagreed before, but not like this. 

“Does he have your sympathy then, Loree?” her father finally asked.

“No,” she said at once, and meant it. In his place… she didn’t think she would have done the same, no matter what the king said. Every instinct she had inherited from those who came before her was disgusted by him, by any dornishman who could ever take up arms with foreigners against his own people. Her father surely shared that feeling, but he had pushed it aside to do what he thought necessary. And now that same feeling was keeping him from finishing what was only started. “But since he is alive,” she continued, “and on your council, I suppose I can at least understand his wish that…”

“What? What does he want from me? How should his treason be rewarded?”

Loreza closed her eyes in frustration. “You’re making this very difficult, Father.”

“Difficult?” he asked, “for you? I see. What is it exactly that you want from me, then?”

“I only want,” she started hesitantly, “for you to see that it cannot go on like this for any longer. I don’t question that you were right to spare him, but… so much time has passed that all it’s done is embitter him, make him even more desperate. And he has so little left to lose… He’s not a cowed rebel, he’s a dagger in the dark.” She was gaining courage as she spoke. “But you are so afraid to look weak that… it’s shortsighted, and petty.”

“What makes you think you can speak to me like this, Loreza?”

“Well, no one else is like to, are they?” No one alive. Princess Daenerys would say a lot worse. She probably had.

“True enough,” the prince said. “So… what did you offer him?”

“Offer him? Nothing.” She said heatedly. “I told you, all I did was listen to him. He needed very little encouragement to say exactly what he thinks.”

“You have that in common, it seems,” he said. “I never imagined that you would do this to me, Loree, go behind my back and do exactly what you know I never would.”

“Never could, you mean,” she said, “because you hate him. All I did was… well, you have no choice but to do something now.”

He closed his eyes. “But why… is this your revenge?”

Loreza blinked. “What?” She asked in genuine confusion.

“You’re angry with me.”

“No!”

“I would be angry in your place,” he continued, “I forced you into this marriage, I made you…”

“No!” The princess said again. She turned away, suddenly unable to look at him. He had tried to warn her. It had been in this very room, nearly three years ago. He had told her that all she would get was a broken heart. But she hadn’t listened. She was too much love. And now her father blamed himself, because had he loved her too much to deny her. “It is for the best. I swear, that’s all I’m trying to do.” She bit her lip, hoping it would stop the tears.

“Come here, Loree, please.” She heard her father say. She looked at the ground the whole way across the room. “I’m listening.”

She took a deep breath. “Ormond.”

The prince’s gaze didn’t move to her. He was still fascinated by whatever he saw out the window. “You chide me for being too lenient, then you tell me to give up the only leverage I have.”

“I wasn’t chiding you…” she trailed off. “We don’t have any leverage there. You could never bring yourself to harm Ormond and neither could I. Lord Edgar will realize that sooner or later. But if you release him now, it will be taken as a sign of good faith.”

“Good faith, you say,” the prince said. “Good faith for what? Won’t that be enough?”

“No, being an outsider is what makes him so dangerous. But there are more pleasant ways to bind him to us than hostage taking.”

He finally turned to look at her, and he didn’t look convinced. “You don’t really expect me to entertain that notion.”

“Why not?” She asked him. “You were willing to do it with the Wyls. And I daresay you were very glad you did.”

“Nothing about that marriage made me glad, Loreza,” he countered. 

“Except then years ago, when it kept Lord Yronwood from ever leaving the mountains.”

“I suppose it did,” he allowed, “after a fashion. But Allyster Wyl was never half so obstinate. Lord Yronwood done nothing to deserves…”

“It’s not about what he deserves,” Loreza argued. “It’s time the rebellions were behind us all. His cause is well and truly lost and if he…”

The prince disagreed. “Bittersteel may be dead, but as long as the Golden Company still…”

“That was not his cause!”

“I don’t need you to lesson me on that, Loreza,” the prince snapped. “His cause was to destroy everything my father built. He’s so full of pride that he would rather ally himself against his own people, with those who hate us, and plunge us all back into an endless war that we can never win, than to admit that Prince Maron achieved more with a few words than a dozen Vulture Kings did in a thousand years of raiding the marches. He learned treason at his mother’s knee, nothing I could have done would have stopped him. I tried, I truly did. For years he threw every attempt at goodwill in my teeth. Bittersteel and all his pretenders were only ever the spear he wanted to plant in my gut. And yours. And your brother’s. If I did hate him, I would have every reason to. And I have no reason at all to trust him. Not as long as he lives.”

“If that’s the case, then he should be dead,” the princess argued. “If you want to find an excuse, it shouldn’t be difficult. But if you’re not willing to do that, you must forgive him. Absolutely and completely. These halfway measures serve no one. All we are doing is giving him more cause to sit in Yronwood and brood. And plot with his friends.”

“And if I take your advice, Loree, what will it change? Will he suddenly forget the last twenty years?”

“I think that,” Loreza told him, “he knows his cause is lost as well as anyone. All he wants is his pride and, well… reassurance.”

“Of what?”

“That he was wrong. That you, that we’re…”

“Dornish enough?” The prince guessed. “If he’s not convinced of that by now he never will be.”

“He’s not the only one who would benefit from such reassurance, especially now.”

“My father wasted forty years trying to reassure every stubborn fool in Dorne. Now here I am, back where he started.”

“That’s not true,” Loreza told him. “There’s Ormond. You’ve been more a father to him than Lord Edgar ever was. He will not need to be convinced or coerced. And he’s been a hostage half his life. If you send him home, give him the right wife, he’ll be yours forever.”

“Would that your saying it made it so,” her father argued. “He may never even inherit.”

“But he will,” Loreza said. “Lady Alyse will never have children, she’s not capable of it.”

“Yes, so everyone says,” the prince agreed. “I wish I could share your certainty.”

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t change what needs to be done.”

“No,” he finally agreed, “it doesn’t.” Loreza let out a slow breath in relief. “Forgiveness will taste foul in my mouth, I admit, but that is nothing. And Ormond,” he smiled to himself, “I’ll miss him. You were children together not so long ago.”

Loreza nodded. “I remember that well enough. It’s time, though,” she repeated. “Difficult things don’t get any easier when you put them off.”

“A marriage then,” he said, “or a betrothal at least. Daenerys.”

It wasn’t a question, she was the only choice. “She is still too young, I know, but that is surely to the good. Four or five years of betrothal… that should be enough time for everyone to prove their sincerity.”

Her father sighed. He reached up and touched her hair. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“I hope I have,” she said. 

“And will you ever forgive me?”

Loreza knew her father too well to be surprised by his change of subject, or fail to follow it. She only wished she could do it without so much emotion, without adding to the burdens she had already put upon him in her selfishness. “I’m the one who needs forgiveness, I… I should have been strong enough to never make you doubt me.”

“I never doubted you for a moment,” her father assured her, “You deserved some happiness. But as you say, I’m short sighted.” Before she could contradict him he veered back to their original course. “It’s best, I think, to leave off any talk of betrothal until after the wedding.”

“I agree,” Loreza said.

“But we’ll give his son back to him in the meantime. And I will embrace him and take him back into my love, for all to see.”

Loreza smiled. “I’m sure Lord Edgar will enjoy that as much as you.”

“At the very least,” the prince said, “it will give him a reason to be cheerful for all the festivities. And it will give everyone else something to talk about other than jousting.”

“That will be a mercy.”

“Not to mention, Lord Gargalen will need to be consulted. And my sister. But you may leave all that to me,” he added quickly before she could speak. “You will have far more important work to do.”

“Yes, Father,” Loreza whispered. She was getting married.

“You will have many chances, I think, to have those kinds of conversations, when I am gone.”

The princess cringed inwardly at those words. “Please, don’t say such things.”

“I must, though,” he insisted. “There will be a time for that as well. The Crone had already lifted her lamp and seen it. And I have no fears.”

Loreza felt herself blush. Terror and sorrow mixed with joy that he would say such a thing to her. “But I do,” she admitted.

“I can only pray that there will be someone you can depend upon,” he told her.

“To do what?”

“To tell you when you’re wrong,” the prince said.

Chapter Text

The covered litter was stifling in the late-morning heat. It stopped and jerked to a start again repeatedly as they wound their way through the shadow city.

“We could have walked there faster than we’re going,” Olenna complained.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Septa Unelletine told her. “It’s enough that I let you cajole me into this in the first place. I don’t like this city at all.”

Olenna hadn’t told her that she had rode through it unescorted just days before, and she’d decided that she never would. “Daenerys says that it’s very safe. And we’re only going such a short way.”

“Daenerys?” Septa Unelletine asked. “When did you start calling her that?”

She shrugged and pulled back the curtains to peer out onto the street. They were passing through a tiny square congested with chicken and duck sellers. In one corner, two dozen people were gathered around a group of finger drummers. A child with dark eyes seemed to feel Olenna’s gaze. It stared at her curiously. She pulled the curtain shut again and turned back inside.

“Daenerys also said a litter would take twice as long.”

“I must say, Olenna,” the septa said, “I’m rather surprised with how you’ve taken to that girl. That family...”

“She’s the prince’s niece.”

“Yes, sweetling, I know. But the sister...”

Olenna shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “It’s one of those Dornish things,” she said, “you told me to be sanguine about those Dornish things.”

“A few bastards is one thing, that’s common enough, but this,” the septa shook her head. Her lined, handsome face formed a frown. “I didn’t expect it. And I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you.”

“Well, Daenerys isn’t like that,” Olenna said. “The way she talks about it is strange but, like I said, it’s just one of those things.”

“Yes, I know but the mother is...”

“Princess Trystana?” Olenna said incredulously, “What can you possible object to about her?”

“I’ve heard rumours, that’s all.”

“Rumours?” Olenna furrowed her brow. “I thought you didn’t approve of rumours.”

“I assure you, I don’t,” she said. “But in this case...” she trailed off. “Models of proper wifely behaviour seem to be thin on the ground in Sunspear. Lady Daenerys is very young, and she’s allowed to run wild. I’ll wager there’ll be rumours about her too, soon enough. You’re in a delicate position, child.”

Olenna flicked the curtain open again so she wouldn’t have to look at her. “You don’t have to tell me that,” she said after a few seconds. “And besides, Daenerys and Princess Trystana are the only ones here who pay me any attention.” She had found them both rather overwhelming at first but Daenerys, at least, had improved the more she got to know her. She was clever and she knew everyone.

“If you hadn’t taken the first chance to make a spectacle of yourself...”

“I know,” she said regretfully.

“Honestly, sweetling, your lord father brought you here so that you can make a good impression, but it’s not the Dornishmen’s opinions of you that matter. You gain nothing by spending so much time with Daenerys Gargalen, no matter whose niece she may be.”

She shifted uncomfortably again, “She invited me to the tourney grounds today. I can’t snub her.”

“I never said you should,” Septa Unelletine said, “Just consider it carefully in the future.”

Olenna nodded. They spent the next few minutes in silence. She could hear through the curtains that they had left the noise of the shadow city and were passing into the open fields beyond it.

“I hope we won’t be here long,” the septa ventured. “A race, did you say it was?”

“A horse race,” Olenna confirmed. “It was someone’s whim.”

“Ser Maron Wyl’s, no doubt,” Unelletine said. “He’s dreadful.”

Olenna quite agreed. “If he’s racing his horse we won’t have to talk to him.”

They arrived near the viewing stands that were still being raised around a large field. There were no barriers, but Olenna supposed that there would be in time for the jousting. She heard her name and saw Daenerys waving her arms in the front row of the stand closest to them.

Olenna and Septa Unelletine climbed the steps to join her.

“They’ve only just decided on the route,” Daenerys said. “Over there.” She point to the far side of the field near the pavilions where a dozen figures on horseback were gathered around man with a hunting horn.

Lady Deneza Dalt was seated there with two men Olenna didn’t know. They had the look of the Free Cities about them.

Septa Unelletine’s mouth twisted when she saw the lady, she sat in between her and Olenna.

“Magister Lohar,” Lady Deneza said, “may I present Lady Olenna Redwyne.”

He was undoubtedly Lysene, with long white-blond hair that was artful curled and fingernails painted a bright green. “Lady,” he said with a little bow and an oily smile.

“And this is the Honourable Nosarro Fomittis, an emissary of the Iron Bank of Braavos.”

“An honour,” he said without looking at her. This one was taller and dark-haired with a rather silly looking cone-shaped hat.

Olenna began to turn away from them to talk to Daenerys, but Septa Unelletine nudged her in the side with her elbow. “Are you here for the wedding, Magister?” she said instead.

“Indeed,” he allowed. “Though, at this moment, I am here to watch the great nobles of Westeros race their horses.” He didn’t bother to hide how scornful he was.

“They’re starting!” Daenerys said excitedly.

The horn blew and a cloud of dust rose up as twelve horses charges off along the line of the edge of the field. They reached a corner and turned to come towards the sitting group. A few moments later they came rushing past them so fast Olenna couldn’t even make out who the riders were. They disappeared into a gap between two half constructed sets of stands.

“Aren’t they finished?” Olenna asked Lady Deneza.

“No,” she answered breathlessly. “They’re going all the way to the gate and back.”

Daenerys jumped up and ran up the steps to the top of the stands. Olenna made to go after her, but the septa grabbed her arm and shook her head.

For several minutes the only indication of anything was Daenerys’s alternating gasps and exclamations. The thunder of hooves slowly became louder and she came running back down the steps just as the first two riders appeared through the same gap they’d gone out from.

“Joleta’s right behind him!” she cried.

The horses were tired enough to make out who was riding on them. Joleta Gargalen was two lengths behind Ser Manfred Swann. He turned his head and saw her, and suddenly his horse shied and came to a stop. Lady Joleta didn’t have the space to avoid him. The animals crashed together, taking the riders with them.

“Oh!” Lady Deneza gasped. She bolted down the steps and made to run across the field. Daenerys blazed after her. By the time Olenna had followed more sedately herself, the next group of riders had come around. Ser Maron Wyl came past without giving anyone a glance, just ahead of several others. Ser Adan Lonmouth and Rhona Santagar followed after him, but Artyr Dalt circled around the fallen pair before stopping and dismounting.

“They’re alright!” he called to his sister, who was still running towards them. The horses were both back on their feet and whinnying.

“Seven hells!” she heard Lady Joleta yell. Lady Deneza reached her and pulled her up. By the time Olenna joined them, the group was a cacophony of Lady Deneza relieved admonitions, Daenerys’s squeals, Ser Manfred’s attempted apologies, and the stragglers galloping by to finish the race.

“What were you thinking!” Lady Deneza felt down Lady Jolenta's arms as though to check if anything was broken. “You could have killed yourself.”

“All I did was tear my gown,” she said distractedly, turning her head towards the finish line. “Who won?”

Lady Deneza let out an exasperated sigh.

“My lady,” Ser Manfred said, “I should not have… I’m mortified that...” Lady Joleta ignored him, but Olenna couldn’t help but notice how gingerly he was holding his arm. Ser Artyr must have seen it too.

“Are you alright, ser?”

“It’s only a bruise,” he insisted, “but Lady Joleta-”

“I don’t have a scratch on me,” she said, annoyed.

Other riders approached them from the other side.

“Gods be good!” Rhona Santager exclaimed, “what happened to you three?”

“We’re alright!” Lady Joleta repeated.

“I think Ser Manfred’s shoulder is dislocated,” Ser Artyr said.

Ser Maron Wyl reined up. “That’s ten dragons you owe my now, cousin,” he said to Lady Joleta. She and Lady Deneza both glared at him.

“You didn’t win,” Lady Joleta said.

“I did,” he stated happily. “It was a close thing at the end. Ser Adan almost-”

“Come ser, I’ll take you to a maester,” Ser Artyr cut across him to Ser Manfred.

He was looking quite uncomfortable now, but he still seemed more concerned with Lady Joleta. “Perhaps you should see the maester as well, my lady.”

“There’s no need,” Lady Joleta said. “And I would see to that shoulder now, if I were you. Or your chances in the lists will greatly diminish.”

“My lady, I hold myself entirely to blame-”

“I’ll see to your horse,” she said with growing impatience.

He finally went off with Ser Artyr on foot, grimacing in pain.

“The fool couldn’t control his mount,” Lady Joleta said as soon as they were gone. “Speed can never make up for poor horsemanship.”

“You wouldn’t have said that if you had won,” Ser Maron said.

“I would have won,” she insisted. “You were half a league behind me.”

“Not when I crossed the line, I wasn’t.”

Lady Deneza glared at him, “If she had, she wouldn’t have been half as boastful about winning some trifling whim of a race.”

He laughed. “Wouldn’t she?”

“I’m glad you won,” Daenerys told him. “You looked very fine.” Lady Joleta rolled her eyes.

“You weren’t even watching him,” Olenna pointed out, regarding her friend curiously.

She blushed.

“In any case,” Ser Maron said, suddenly uncomfortable, “I enjoyed it.” He turned his horse and cantered away towards the pavilions.

Lady Deneza turned to Lady Joleta. “You really could have broken your neck,” she said. “Why do you have to be so reckless?”

“It would have been worth it to beat him .”

“You’re impossible,” she said, cupping Lady Joleta’s cheek affectionately with her hand. Olenna looked away when they leaned in close and kissed each other on the mouth.

“Shall we get out of the sun, ladies?” Septa Unelletine had appeared at Olenna’s elbow.

It was hot. Olenna could feel sweat running down her back underneath her gown.

Lady Deneza suddenly started and exclaimed that she had left the dignitaries alone. She ran back towards the stands where they had watched. Olenna could see the tall hat of the Braavosi still sitting in the front row.

“Dany, catch Ser Manfred’s horse,” Lady Joleta said.

Daenerys took a minute or two to calm the still skittish horse with soothing sounds. She stroked it on the nose before grabbing its bridle.

“In fact, Olenna,” the septa said with an uneasy look on her face, “this heat may be too much altogether. Perhaps we should return to the castle.”

“Nonsense, septa,” Lady Joleta said. “You’ve only just arrived. I’m sure we can find you something cool to drink.”

“Yes, please don’t go yet,” Daenerys said, “there’s already an entire row of merchants. And a mummer’s show. It’s supposed to be very funny.”

“We could stay for a little while,” Olenna told Septa Unelletine. “Or,” she hesitated, “you could return without me.”

“Without you?” she asked in a shocked tone.

“I only meant-” Olenna said, “I would rather stay.”

She didn’t look happy, but she followed the three of them as they headed towards the pavilions. Lady Joleta lead her own horse, and Daenerys lead the other. It shook its head and neighed ever once in awhile. Olenna kept her distance and tried not to start.

“What kind of mummer’s show is it?” she asked Daenerys.

“I don’t know,” she replied, “but Ma- Ser Maron really liked it.”

“Then it no doubt involves a good deal of falling over on one’s ass,” Lady Joleta said. Daenerys glared at her.

As they approached the pavilions a boy ran up wearing the black and white livery of House Swann. “Ser Manfred sent me to get his horse, my lady,” he said.

“Yes, take him. Maybe a good brushing will calm him down.”

The boy lead the animal away, but he was soon replaced by Lord Duran Gargalen. Both his daughters took after him. They were all tall, with curly dark hair and a strength to their build.

“That was quite a crash,” he said, sounding impressed.

“The idiot is lucky neither of the horses broke their legs,” Lady Joleta said, “I would have murdered him.”

Her father laughed, “I think he’s suffering enough. I sent Maester Casdin to see to him.”

“He won’t miss the tourney, will he?” Daenerys asked him.

“I don’t think we need fear that.”

Lady Joleta went to take care of her own horse, but Olenna followed Deanerys and her father into a gold and red silk pavilion. Inside, Ser Manfred Swann was sitting on a stool in only his tunic while a young maester fussed over him. His right shoulder had an odd lump in it.

“How are you feeling, ser?” Lord Gargalen asked.

“You needn’t trouble yourself, my lord, it’s a trifle.” He winced, “I’m only grateful the Lady Joleta was unharmed.”

“Oh, she’s had more than her fair share of injury,” Lord Duran said happily, “but not this time.”

“Hold still, ser,” the maester said. He grabbed the knight’s arm firmly with both hands.

“Come back outside, girls,” Septa Unelletine said. She grabbed Olenna’s arm just as firmly and lead her out. They heard Ser Manfred’s scream of pain just as clearly through the silk.

“Well,” Lord Gargalen said to Olenna as though nothing were amiss, “I suppose you and Dany will make mischief together now, my lady.”

“We were going to see the mummer’s show,” Daenerys said at once, “and Septa Unelletine is too hot, so we’ll go to the ice seller first.”

The septa started to tell her that it wasn’t necessary, but the thought of ice was far too tempting for Olenna. “Yes,” she said, linking her arm with Daenerys. “Let’s go.”

Daenerys seemed to know where they were going. “Have you been to many tournaments before?” she asked Olenna as they weaved through more pavilions.

“A few,” she admitted. “There was a really big one four years ago in Highgarden, when Lord Tyrell’s son earned his spurs. It was about as big as this.”

“Who was champion there?” Daenerys asked.

“Ser Gerold Hightower,” she told her. “And Lord Tarly won the mêlée. I don’t suppose you’ll have a mêlée.” There would never be a mêlée at a wedding in the Reach, but who could guess how they did it here.

“Of course not,” Daenerys said. “I’ve never seen a mêlée,” she continued. “The only other tourney I’ve ever been to was the one when my sister wed. Everyone said the jousting was exceptional there.”

“Mêlées tend to have a lot of broken bones,” she said. “I’ve never seen what the great fuss is. But I suppose the men like it because it’s more like a really battle.”

“Do they want it to be like a real battle?”

They turned the corner of a pavilion and were suddenly among dozens of merchants selling food, and arms, and everything else to scores of people milling around looking about. Daenerys stopped to look at an assortment of gauzy veils edged with silver and gold beads being sold by a small old woman.

“I thought you wanted to find an ice seller, Little Chickie,” Lord Duran said fondly after a good ten minutes.

“Oh yes!” Daenerys took out a small purse of coins from down the front of her girdle and traded a few for two veils for herself and another for Olenna. Hers was a deep purple edged in silver tarnished black. “You won’t be so hot if you wear it,” her friend told her.

“Thank you,” Olenna said. She watched, oddly fascinated, as Daenerys tug the sting on her purse tight and put it away again. 

She took Olenna by the hand and lead her down the row of stalls to the shade of a bristled old fig tree where a man was shaving ice from a giant block packed in straw. She asked him for four. He folded four squares of paper into little pouches and scooped some of the shavings into them before pouring some bright red syrup on top. She handed the first to Septa Unelletine.

“You wouldn’t rather have lemon, would you?” she asked her.

“Uh, no, my lady,” the septa said, “this is... fine.”

Daenerys turned away from her and gave the next pouch to Olenna. It was wonderfully cool and the red was sweet pomegranate.

“Come!” She said, as soon as she got her own. Her gait was not quite a run, but Olenna had far shorter legs, so hers was. They went all the way down the row of stalls to a makeshift stage with a few benches set before it. “Joleta’s already here!”

She grabbed Olenna’s elbow again and pulled her along to where Lady Joleta was sitting near the stage with Ser Eldon Sand. He would be very good looking, Olenna thought, if he wasn’t a bastard.

“What took you so long?” Lady Joleta asked when they all seated themselves.

Daenerys shrugged. “We explored a little bit.”

“You mean you explored some silk,” Lord Gargalen said.

Daenerys looked sheepish. “Olenna got something too. See?” She flicked the veil Olenna had wrapped around her head with her finger.

“Did you buy it for her?” Lady Joleta asked.

Daenerys rolled her eyes.

“I think generosity is a virtue,” Ser Eldon Sand said to Lady Joleta. “And Lady Dany has it in abundance.”

Daenerys smiled unnaturally and stuck her chest out as she sat up straighter. “Generosity with coin?” she asked him, “or with other things?”

Lady Joleta rolled her own eyes, Septa Unelletine let her mouth hang open, Lord Gargalen looked wroth, and Olenna felt her face turn red.

Ser Eldon chuckled uneasily, “Such as youth?”

Daenerys laughed, but her father rounded on the man. “Far too much youth to interest you, I know.”

Ser Eldon’s smile fell. “I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”

He scoffed, “I’m sure you don’t have any idea at all, ser.”

The knight stood up and bowed, “Excuse me, my lord,” he said, “ladies.” Then he turned and practically ran from them.

Lady Joleta looked at her father incredulously. “What was that?” she asked him.

“He was rubbing it in my face.”

“He was doing no such thing.”

“It’s bad enough that he-”

“That he what?” Lady Joleta asked, angry. “It has nothing to do with you.”

He scoffed at her as bitterly as he had at Ser Eldon, “Of course it doesn’t. I’m only her husband.”

Daenerys started to laugh. She covered her mouth with her hand and looked at Olenna as though she expected her to share the joke. But she stopped when she saw her face. Olenna wasn’t sure if she was crying yet, but she knew she would soon enough.

“This is beyond anything,” Septa Unelletine said, standing up herself, “come Olenna, we’re returning to the castle.”

Olenna obeyed at once. The septa put her arm around her shoulders and lead her gently away from the stage, and them.

“I did try to warn you, child,” she said.

“Olenna!” she heard Daenerys’s voice calling when they had walked back amidst the pavilions. Septa Unelletine tried to keep guiding her away, but she resisted, she turned to face the Dornish girl. “I upset you,” she said, “I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t-” The paper full of ice she had bought Olenna was still in her hand. The syrup had soaked through as it melted. “Aren’t you upset?” she asked her, “She’s your mother.”

“Why would I be upset?”

“For your father’s sake.”

She scowled, “But Joleta’s right, it has nothing to do with him. In any case, he had no right to take it out on Ser Eldon.”

“How can you say that?”

“You don’t understand,” Deanerys said, “he just gets strange sometimes. They haven’t lived together since I was a baby. And besides, my father is hardly a septon himself.”

“What difference does that make?”

She looked away and bit her lip, “Perhaps we just shouldn’t talk about it.”

Olenna nodded. It wasn’t Daenerys’s fault. How could she know any better?

“Lord Redwyne!” Septa Unelletine called suddenly. Olenna looked about to see her father and brother both a short distance away. She hurriedly handed over her ice to the septa and wiped at her face with her sticky hands. She wiped them on her new veil as they approached and she saw that Lord Tyrell was with them.

“Olenna?” Horas said to her, “what are you doing here?”

“Lady Daenerys invited me,” she said defensively.

“That was very kind of Lady Daenerys,” Lord Redwyne said formally, bowing to her.

“It was my pleasure,” Daenerys said, with a courtesy Olenna didn’t know she was capable of. “My mother and I have grown very fond of Lady Olenna.”

“Then you and Princess Trystana have discovered what many already knew to be the true treasure of the Arbor,” Lord Tyrell said with extraordinary pomposity. Olenna tried to smile graciously.

“Yes,” Daenerys said, furrowing her brow. “In any case, we were going to see the mummer’s show, but Olenna is suffering too much from the heat. We were just walking back to the litter.”

That news seemed to please her father and Lord Tyrell very much. “Well, we can’t let you go without an escort,” the Lord of Highgarden said, with a smile on his face like a cat that had just caught a fat pigeon. “Luthor, my boy, why don’t you see the ladies there safely?”

Ser Luthor Tyrell came up from behind his father. He was a spitting image of him, with the same expression on his face. “It would be an honour,” he said, holding out his arm. Olenna looked at her own father uncertainly. He nodded and smiled so she took the young man’s arm, somehow unwilling to look him in the face. “My lady?” He offered his other arm to Daenerys, but she frowned and stepped back.

“Thank you,” she said, “but I think my father will be wondering where I went.”

“Of course, we mustn’t keep Lord Gargalen waiting,” Lord Redwyne said.

“Allow me,” Horas offered her his own arm.

“Oh,” Daenerys’s frown deepened, “you don’t need to do that.”

“I insist,” he said with his best attempt at a charming smile.

Daenerys looked at Olenna. She nodded. “Well, alright.” She placed her hand on his arm and let him lead her off back towards the stage.

Olenna and Ser Luthor started back at a sedate pace. There was silence for a time, but Olenna eventually forced herself to break it. “Have you ever been to Dorne before, ser?” she asked, feeling foolish.

“No,” he said. “At least, not to Sunspear. There was a hastilude at Skyreach a few years back and the jousting was quite good. Ser Eliott Rowan was there, in fact, and his cousin, Ser Marq. He’s very good, but I never did get the chance to face him. We were both unhorsed two matches before the final.”

“How unfortunate.” She finally raised her eyes to look at him. He was comely, and tall, though almost everyone was taller than Olenna. And he had the most wonderful, curly brown hair. But she couldn’t remember if she ever heard him speak about anything besides jousting. Prince Daeron had always been the same. The thought made it hard for her to not hate him.

“Yes,” he said, suddenly defensive, “it was just after I earned my spurs.”

“I saw you at Horn Hill last year,” she said quickly, “you were splendid.” Olenna noticed that Septa Unelletine was no longer beside her. She looked around in slight panic and finally found her a good ten paces back, watching them with a strange look in her eye. “I-” she stammered stupidly, “Was that a wedding too? At Skyreach?”

“I don’t believe it was,” he said, making it quite clear that the occasion for the tourney never even occurred to him. “No, I remember, Lord Fowler had just had a grandson.”

“Lady Fowler,” Olenna said without thinking.

“I beg your pardon, my lady?”

“She’s a lady,” Olenna told him. “There isn’t a Lord Fowler.”

“Yes,” he said with a little chuckle, “I sometimes forget about that foolishness.”

“Do you think it’s foolish?” She asked him before she could stop herself. “Women have ruled in the Reach too.”

“Needs must sometimes, I suppose,” he said, “and the right woman, with the right husband… but no, even then. It’s cruel to force a lady into a position like that. And in a time of war? Even a very uncommon woman would be hard pressed to get men to follow her then.”  

Olenna couldn’t imagine that Joleta Gargalen would have any trouble finding men to follow her, but she wasn’t graceless enough to say so. “I quite agree,” she said.

“Good,” he declared.

They’d reached the litter. Ser Luthor handed Septa Unelletine into it before turning back to Olenna.

“I expect we’ll be seeing a good deal of each other in the next few weeks, my lady,” he told her after he took her hand.

Olenna frowned, “I should like that a good deal, ser.”

She sat back in the cushions and watched him pull the curtains shut.

Chapter Text

The ship was rocking fiercely with another squall. Alysanne already felt greensick the moment she opened her eyes. She wrapped herself up in a shawl and hurried to the deck. She took a moment to ascertain which side was leeward before running to the gunnel to be sick. She had learned that lesson the hard way, but after almost a month a sea, she was becoming quite expert.

Tyia found her and sighed while she rubbed her back and held her hair away from her face. “How can you still not have gotten your sea legs, Mother?”

“It’s not so bad,” she claimed, “it’s only this storm.”

“This isn’t a storm.”

Perhaps not , Alysanne thought. But it was windy and choppy enough so the the spray from the waves crashing against the side of the ship was hitting her face. She had to cling to her shawl to keep it from blowing away.

“You should get back down below,” Tyia continued. “Father wouldn’t like it if he knew you were out here with only a bedgown on.”

Alysanne leaned on her daughter’s arm as they walked down the steep steps into the hold of the ship. It rocked again right before they reached the bottom and she nearly tripped. “Thank the gods I wasn’t born a sailor,” she said.

They had almost reached the tiny closet that was called their cabin when her lord husband came through the doorway and practically walked into her.

“Where have you been?” he asked her in surprise. “And dressed like that.”

“Mother was sick again,” Tyia said immediately. “No one saw us.”

Ser Tybot Sarsfield frowned but moved aside against the wall to let her pass by him into the cabin. Alysanne stood nervously as he closed the door, but he said nothing about her breech of decorum. 

“You’ve been sick a good deal,” he said instead. “Every morning, it seems like.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I think I still expect to be on solid ground when I awake.”

He seemed pensive for a moment, stroking his short golden beard with his hand. “I don’t suppose...”

Alysanne turned to look at him. He had an odd expression, as though he were trying to keep himself from looking happy. “Suppose what, my lord?”

“Women often are sick, I’m told,” he said, “when they’re with child.”

She felt herself go red. “I’m not,” she said in a small voice.

Tybot didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. “You’re sure, I assume.”

She nodded, “It’s impossible. My moon blood-”

“All right,” he interrupted. “It was too much to hope for.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking at her feet. She hadn’t quickened in eighteen years; why would she now? She sometimes suspected that he had too little seed left by the time he got to her bed.

“It’s a son I want from you, not an apology,” he snapped, but he seemed regretful when he saw the look on her face. “Nevermind,” he said, “just get dressed.”

He left her and she dressed herself. Her maid was nowhere to be seen; she had been seasick for the entire journey too. She found a gown that laced up the front and put her hair up in a plain net. Everyone was dressing plainly at sea, even the great ladies; it was too much of a bother to be elaborate.

Alysanne went to find her daughter in the cabin she was sharing with several other girls. It was so cramped that they kept walking into each other. Tyia had been dressed before any of the others had been even awake, so she was the one lacing up their bodices and arranging their hair.

“We can’t be late, sweetling,” she told her.

“Of course, Mother, I’m sorry.”

They climbed the steps together back onto the deck and walked slowly the the forecastle. The wooden planks below their feet were slippery from the spray of the still turbulent sea.

“Lady Amerei said that in Sunspear they pass their goblets and plates down to their neighbours before their eat, to prove they’re not poisoned,” Tyia said suddenly. “Do you think it’s true?”

Alysanne frowned, “I haven’t any notion. I suppose we’ll have to do as they do.”

Tyia’s frown must have been very similar to hers. “She also said that whoever the champion crowns Queen of Love and Beauty is put in his bed that night with nothing but her crown-”

“What a horrid thing to say!” Alysanne interrupted. “Lady Darklyn told you this?” Amerei Darklyn had come to court soon after her marriage. She was half a year younger than her daughter, and already with child. She seemed to live for nothing but gossip. Alysanne would never have allowed Tyia anywhere near her, but they couldn’t afford to waste such a good connection, for her sake.

“Yes,” Tyia admitted. She seemed more frightened than titillated. “You don’t think that’s true, do you?”

Alysanne didn’t have any notion of that, either. “There’s never a Queen of Love and Beauty at a wedding,” she said.

“No,” she said, relieved. “Will we be staying as long as the king?”

“Of course,” her mother said. “The master of horse goes where the king goes, you know that.”

“Even if he chooses to stay for months?”

She put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “Your father will protect you, sweetling.”

Tyia nodded.

They entered the forecastle and the cabin where Lady Jenny was holding court. She had preferred to take her meals and play her music in the sun on the foredeck, but the miserable weather had driven even her inside. It was so dark in the room that candles were lit.

“Tyia, Lady Alysanna!” Lady Jenny said happily, “what wretched weather, come and eat.”

She was as joyful as ever, and seemed to give off more light than the candles. There were several blue cornflowers woven into her hair.

How does she manage to keep fresh flowers on a voyage like this? Alysanne thought. Some sorcery, she knew her enemies would say.

Jenny of Oldstone had made a lot of enemies since she’d come to court some five years ago. For two years after their marriage, the king had refused to even set eyes on his son’s wife. But she had won him over, in her own way. Her constant cheerfulness, and vague promises of doom, seemed to please him, all the while making his courtiers uneasy.

The devastation she had left in her wake was undeniable, but so was the respectability she now wielded. If the queen was happy to share Lady Jenny’s company then Alysanne could hardly refuse. No more than Tyia could refuse Lady Amerei.

The two young ladies had holed up by the window seat and were whispering in each other’s ears as though there was no one else there. Alysanne was left with only Lady Jenny and Meredyth Darry. Lady Meredyth’s round-faced daughter hardly counted.

“Have some hot spiced wine,” Lady Jenny said, putting a goblet into Alysanne’s hand. “There’s nothing like hot wine to make the world warmer.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she said. The first sip of wine was like climbing into a warm bath. The second almost made her believe the sun was shining. She pushed her quiet fear away. “I thought it was always warm this far south,” she said conversationally, “but perhaps the season is changing.”

“Already?” asked Lady Darry. “That would make for a very short summer.”

“The season is changing,” Lady Jenny said with absolute confidence. “And autumn and winter will have come and gone before we know it. All the seasons will be short for the next few years.”

The other ladies said nothing to this pronouncement.

“Do they even have winter in Dorne?” Alysanne asked when the silence became unbearable.

Lady Jenny laughed. A deep, clear laugh that sounded like a dozen little bells. “Megga, my sweetling, drink your wine.”

Megga Darry started, spilling wine on herself.

“Oh Megga!” Her mother despaired. She wiped her skirts with her handkerchief.

“If summer is over that means it will be winter soon,” Lady Megga said. “And snow.” She looked at Lady Jenny with child-like excitement, “I like snow.”

“Me as well,” Lady Jenny said.

Lady Meredyth frowned, “If you’ll forgive us, my lady, my daughter isn’t fit to be seen at the moment.” She pulled Megga to her feet, “Come now, dear, we need to change your gown.” She left without a fight.

Alysanne glanced over to her daughter, she had watched the scene with Lady Darklyn, but they had soon returned to their gossiping. Lady Jenny was smiling at her when she turned back. Had she made it too obvious how little she liked the idea of being alone with the woman?

“Do you like winter, Lady Alysanne?”

She felt a shiver down her spine. “No, my lady, I don’t believe I do.” In the winter everyone and everything was grey and cold. Food and sleep became necessities rather than joys. You felt trapped indoors.

Much like this ship.

“You haven’t eaten anything, Tyia,” she called, hoping to have something to look at besides the woman’s smile.

Tyia and her friend both came to the table.

“My stomach can hardly abide anything lately,” Lady Amerei said conversationally with her hand on her belly. “All this oarsmen’s food might be the death of me.”

“There’s fresh fish,” Lady Jenny said happily. “And oysters.”

“Oysters?” Tyia asked, surprised.

She smiled again and held out the tray to them. “A little boat came up along side the ship early this morning. That’s where this fish came from too. And there were pomegranates too, but they all went to the king’s table. The king is very fond of pomegranates.”

“But why would a boat in the middle of the sea have oysters and pomegranates, my lady?”

“Oh,” Lady Jenny said with a casual wave of her hand, “my husband says there are hundreds of little boats like that in the Stepstones. They keep the ships so well provisioned that many of them can stay out to sea for months and months.”

Pirate ships looking for prey might want to stay out for months and months , Alysanne thought. The Stepstones were full of pirates, but few would be bold enough to attack a ship flying the banner of House Targaryen.

Jenny of Oldstones leaned in close to Alysanne. “My grandmother saw a thousand stones with blood floating over them, and a man with two heads and nine crowns. A boy with bold eyes cut one of the heads off, but the other opened it’s mouth and said, “the dragons will return”.”

Alysanne blinked.

Lady Jenny said things like that from time to time. Her “grandmother” was a terrifying old dwarf who had come from the same bit of swamp as she had. She was not her real grandmother, Lady Jenny claimed, but she was one of the Children of the Forest. The she found the infant girl abandoned among the reeds and raised her as her own.

Lady Amerei giggled as she picked up another oyster from the plate. “You know what they say oysters look like?”

“No,” Tyia said, giggling herself.

“Well,” she said, “if a woman feels neglected by her husband a plate of oysters might do the trick.”

They both giggled again.

“My lady!” Alysanne chided her. “Not all of us have husbands.”

“Forgive me,” she said before falling into another storm of giggles. Tyia didn’t giggle anymore, though.

They left arm in arm as they’d come in. Tyia ran back down below to fetch two shawls and they strolled around the deck of the ship for an hour. The wind was still brisk, but the sun was making occasional appearances through the clouds. And it was far better than being boxed up in the hold.

“Do you think Megga Darry will ever wed?” Tyia asked suddenly when they paused to watch a flock a seabirds dive for fish in the middle distance.

“I don’t think there’s ever been a question of her marrying,” Alysanne said. It was impossible to picture the poor girl as a mother, or managing a household.

“The Darrys are very rich. She must have a large dowry,” said Tyia, who hardly had any dowry at all. “Surely they could find someone.”

“I dare say they could,” Alysanne agreed. “But I doubt they think that would be for the best.”

“But who will look after her when her mother is too old?”

“She has her septa,” Alysanne assured her, “and her brothers would never abandon her.” Too late, she realized that was not the kindest thing to say to someone who didn’t have brothers anymore than she had gold.

“Perhaps she’ll be a septa herself,” Tyia said tremulously.

Alysanne sighed, “Only if she wished it.”

Her daughter nodded. Alysanne felt a stab of guilt at the sadness in her face. Her daughter was pretty and gracious. She could get rather silly, but that was natural enough when you were eight-and-ten. Surely it wouldn’t be hard to find someone worthy of her, if she put the effort in.

“Not all men are so worldly that they would value a dowry over usefulness, or virtue.”

Tyia smiled. She slipped her arm into her mothers and they continued their stroll.

As they approached the bow of the ship Grand Maester Aethelmure voice was carried on the wind towards them. “Your Grace,” he said in a tone of long-suffering, “a decree will mean nothing if the lords feel able to ignore it, and they will. Not even the crown can oppose every lord in the Reach at once.”

“If Lord Tyrell can be persuaded-”

“He won’t be, Your Grace,” the maester told him. “He benefits from the flour taxes more than anyone.”

The king groaned and turned away from the maester in frustration.

Aegon Targaryen had seized the opportunity the informality of the voyage offered to throw off all the trappings of state in favour of a plain leather jerkin and the kind of boots a hedge knight might wear. Tybot, standing behind him, cut a more impressive figure in his silver studded doublet. Prince Duncan looked like a peacock in plain green and black silk. In the king's royal hand was a hunting knife that he was idly turning.

“I let them keep their control of the mills, I didn’t even mention the idea of setting minimum corn prices-”

“Your Grace, Lord Tyrell will not concede anything that will weaken his own standing.”

“If he can be convinced, then the Tullys will follow.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” the Grand Maester allowed. 

The king sighed. “But he can’t be convinced, is that what you’re trying to tell me?” He looked at the knife in his hand thoughtful. “There must be some way. Prince Rhodryn can be depended on to take my side.”

Prince Duncan smiled, “Then Tyrell, and Tully, and all the rest of them will oppose anything you say. Just on principle.”

“I strongly counsel against involving Prince Rhodryn,” Aethelmure said with a pained expression. “The perception of any favouritism towards him will be very badly received. And given the fact that this scheme will never affect Dorne in any way-”

“A disinterested voice-” the king began, but the maester only shook his head. “Damn them all!” he exclaimed. “Damn their short-sighted prejudice and folly!”

“As though the Dornish are any better,” Prince Duncan offered.

“They’re the only ones in all the Seven Kingdoms not vexing me,” his father said. “But according to you, they’re the only ones I should not be courting.”

“You would gain nothing but the enmity of every other lord in the realm, sire,” the maester told him.

“So you have said!” The king turned to Alysanne suddenly, “Do you have an opinion on flour tax as well, my lady?”

Alysanne started, “Me, Your Grace? No, how could I?”

“Everyone else does.”

“My lady wife would never presume, Your Grace,” Tybot cut in, “she’s a very wise woman.”

“And it is a wise woman who knows her place,” the king said, completing his thought. “Yes.” He smiled at her, “Forgive me for troubling you with my cares.” He strolled off unceremoniously with the prince and the master trailing behind him.

Tybot was frowning as he came forward to take her with one arm and Tyia with the other. “You shouldn’t have been snooping on the king’s conversation,” he said unhappily. 

Alysanne’s face flushed, “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, “the ship is so small, and he certainly wasn’t making any effort to be secretive.”

“It’s unseemly to be butting in like that,” her husband continued as though he hadn’t heard her, “I don’t like being made to look like a fool.”

Her flush deepened. She wouldn’t have said anything if the king had not addressed her. “You’re right, my lord. Forgive me, please.”

He paused in his strides and smiled, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss it, “Gladly, my lady. Now I hope you’ll go and rest.” They’d reached the main hatch with its steps into the dark bowels of the ship.

“Yes, I will,” she told him, “come along, Tyia.”

Her maid was in the cabin rearranging clothing in the trunk and looking positively green.

“Marigold,” Alysanne told her, “you needn’t do that if you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m well enough to be of use, my lady,” the girl said.

Alysanne felt a twinge of affection for her. “It will only be a few more days, I’m told,” she said. “I can only imagine how miserable it must be for you. No doubt they have you crowded like apples in a barrel, wherever it is you’ve been sleeping.”

“Yes, my lady,” Marigold said woefully, “but I’ve been sleeping on the deck. It’s very comfortable there at night. And the sky is so lovely.”

“It must be,” Alysanne said, “I should come up and see it one night.” She laid back on the small, narrow bed and stared at the wood of the deck above her.

Chapter Text

There was a gap in the curtain drawn across the windows. The early morning light peaked through to shine right across Ormond’s face. He tried to move his arm up to cover his eyes, but Rhona was sleeping on it.

She stirred at his movement, but didn’t wake. Ormond could feel her soft breath on his chest; it felt better than anything they had done the night before. Her long reddish-brown hair was covering most of her face. He used his other hand to brush it away behind her ear. Her nose wrinkled up as she stirred again, he touched that too.

Rhona moaned, “What are you doing?” she asked him sleepily.

“Counting your freckles.”

She chuckled, “You’ll be counting a long time.”

“That’s alright.”

She turned her face up to look at him. “I hate my freckles,” she said.

Ormond kissed her on the nose, and then on the mouth. She moved on top of him as their kiss deepened. He ran his good hand down the smooth curve of her back and over the swell of her ass. She broke the kiss and pulled herself up straight, with her legs on either side of his hips. He grinned as he looked up at her.

“What is it?” she asked him.

I have a beautiful woman sitting on my cock, he almost said, but that wasn’t it. “You’re still here,” he told her instead.

Rhona smiled and shook her head, “Still here? Where else would I be?”

“You’ve never been here when I’ve awaken.”

She frowned, “Sure I have.”

“No,” Ormond said with confidence, “I would have remembered.”

“Well,” she said, suddenly uncomfortable, “I suppose I usually have some place to go.”

“But not today?”

“No.”

“Good.” He sat up and kissed her again. Her hands slid down between them. She grabbed his cock with a sudden urgency.

“I need to have you while I still can,” she told him as she guided him inside.

Ormond gasped and held on to her waist as she moved on top of him. He took one nipple in his mouth and sucked on it gently. She grabbed both his arms to support herself. Their breathing got more and more ragged together.

The door to the bedchamber suddenly opened with a careless thud.

“Ormond are you-” Lord Edgar cut himself off as soon as his head was through the door and he could see the scene on the bed. “Oh,” he said in a voice that seemed entirely unlike his, “I thought you were alone.”

Rhona’s body was still pressed up against his, she had a look on her face that was somewhere between laughter and tears.

“I’m not, my lord,” Ormond said, uncomfortably aware of how breathless he sounded.

“No.” His father said. He made no move to leave. His wide, tall form filled the entire frame of the door. Ormond could see the lump in his throat move up and then down again. He seemed like some invisible force was trapping him there. “Uh,” he began, “good morning, Lady Rhona.”

Rhona turned scarlet. Ormond was suddenly aware that her breasts were in plain view. He grabbed the sheet that was bunched around her middle with one hand and pulled it up to cover her.

“Good morning, Lord Yronwood,” she said, with her eyes on Ormond’s face.

“I hope you’re well.”

“At this moment, my lord,” she said, “I’m rather more abashed than well.”

“Of course,” he said, going scarlet as well, “forgive me for intruding.” He backed out and closed the door.

Rhona laughed uncomfortably, resting her head on Ormond’s shoulder. He couldn’t quite bring himself to laugh with her.

“Does he always come charging into your bedchamber in the morning?” she asked.

“I don’t know what he’ll do,” Ormond told her. “When we… go back home.”

She smiled more widely and ran her fingers through his long, fair hair. “I should go,” she said.

Ormond did his best to hide his disappointment, but he could feel his face falling as she slid off of him and started to collect her smallclothes from the floor by the bed. “Must you?” he said.

“I may already have been missed.”

“You were going to stay.”

“That was a mistake,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

He watched the sunlight dance across her skin as she pulled on her drawers. “Please,” he heard himself saying, “can’t you stay? Only for a while.”

She stopped to look at him, her freckles ran all the way down her chest. “I-” she said, “No. I have duties, I can’t just lie in bed with you all morning.”

He turned away from her. “You said you wanted to have me while you still could.”

Rhona was silent for a few moments. “There’re still weeks for that,” she said. “Aren’t there?”

He closed his eyes and sighed, “Don’t let me keep you.” She left through the door to his dressing room.

Ormond lay back down in the featherbed and cursed himself. He’d been so happy yesterday, but now he’d found a reason to be miserable. For half his life, he’d dreamed of the day when he would be free, when he wouldn’t be “the hostage” anymore. But now that it had come, the idea of leaving Sunspear seemed more frightening than the idea of being made to stay.

But there was no reason to stay in this room any longer. He dressed in a sullen mood. Fryd put him in a tunic with the iron gate picked out in black beads across the chest.

“I suppose you’ll want to stay here,” Ormond said with idle resentment, “Yronwood will seem very quiet to you.”

“I’m sure I’ll make do, my lord,” the manservant said with a grin.

He found his father pacing in the corridor. Lord Edgar looked like a large boy. “Your man seemed to think you were alone,” he said sheepishly.

“It’s not his fault,” Ormond felt himself flush. “She’s never stayed before.”

“Before?” He fiddled with the sword on his belt. “How…?” He paused, “Women often would rather not be obligated to...”

Ormond wrinkled his brow at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have thought. You’re a man now, aren’t you?”

“There wasn’t any harm done, my lord.” Ormond wished desperately that his father would just go away.

“I hope not.”

They stood in silence.

“Is there something you wanted, my lord?”

Lord Edgar looked for moment as though he was reconsidering what he was about to say, but he cleared his throat and charged ahead. “I only thought… perhaps we could go for a ride along the shore.”

“Oh,” Ormond said, “yes, it would be a pleasure, my lord. But today I’m...” he paused. It seemed cruel somehow to say that he was already going riding. “I’m afraid I’ll be occupied all day.”

“Of course, of course, son,” he said, “some other time.” He turned and left down the main staircase.

Ormond took the servant’s staircase, to make certain he didn’t meet him again on his way to break his fast in the small hall. Gallwel Qorgyle clapped him on the back and congratulated him on his recent good news and his sister, Genna Sand, declared that he would be missed. Ormond thanked them both and lingered over his bacon and oranges before making his way to the stables.

Prince Rhodryn was already waiting for him there, filling a quiver with arrows.

“Ormond,” the prince said when he rose from his bow, “come with me.” He led him to a stall in the back and a splendid jet black sand steed with a snowy mane and a spirited looked in her eye. “My brother says that she’s the finest mare he’s ever bred.”

Ormond stroked her nose. She had long slim legs and elegant lines. “She must be, my prince,” he said. “A beautiful animal.”

“She’s yours,” Prince Rhodryn said with a smile.

Ormond’s heart stopped for a moment. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You needn’t say anything,” the prince said, he touched Ormond on the shoulder. “Let’s see how she rides.”

She rode better than he had imagined. They reached the drylands within the hour and found a herd of gazelles clustered around a waterhole. Ormond’s injured hand made drawing a bow impossible, but the prince felled an animal with three shots. They stopped to rest and eat in the shade of an acacia tree, sitting on the parched ground and leaning against their saddles.

“You’ve been very quiet,” the prince told him. “Are you apprehensive about the thought of returning home?”

“I’m very pleased,” Ormond said. That was true enough.

“Yes?”

“I suppose,” he amended, “I’m glad to be going home, but I’m sad to be leaving Sunspear.”

That seemed to please Prince Rhodryn. “It’s natural enough,” he said. “But Yronwood is your place now. No doubt your lord father has need of you.”

He’s done well enough without me so far, Ormond thought. “I know.”

The prince regarded him pensively as he bit into a ripe fig, “You’re sure that’s all there is?” he said. “You are very sullen.”

“Am I?” he asked. “Forgive me, it’s only that...” He sighed, “I shouldn’t trouble you with my trifles.”

“I wish you would.”

Ormond almost laughed, “It’s stupid,” he said. “I’m falling in love with a woman who’s all but indifferent to me.”

Prince Rhodryn paused in his eating for a moment before he made a sympathetic sound. “What makes you so sure of her indifference?”

“She said it was a mistake.”

“I see,” he said with a sad smile. “I’m sorry for you.”

Ormond played with the short, brown grass around the tree with frustration. “I sometimes think…” The prince raised his eyebrows encouragingly. “Well, I was indifferent too, at first, I suppose. It was all a bit of fun.”

“And something changed,” he said, “for you at least. Yes, that happens.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t really know that, and I should tell her.”

Prince Rhodryn frowned, “To what end?”

He hadn’t thought about that before, but it came easily to him there in the shade. Why shouldn’t he think of a future with Rhona? Marriage, children by her? He was only a younger son, after all. But no had ever spoken of his future. Perhaps it was only because it had always seemed so uncertain. Until now. “I hardly know,” he said, trying to sound circumspect, “I suppose it would depend on what my father thought.”

The prince’s frown deepened. “You’re very young, Ormond,” he said. “there’s nothing wrong with indifference. Emotional attachments are for older men, who no longer have more important things to consider.”

Ormond put on a frown of his own. “I must confess, my prince,” he said, “that isn’t the advice I would have expected from you.”

He smiled wanly, “Perhaps it’s advice I should have given more vociferously in the past.”

Ormond didn’t have to be told what he meant. “The princess was very happy,” he said.

“I doubt either of them are very happy now.”

“This isn’t the same thing, though, there’s no reason-”

“There’s no reason to be hasty,” Prince Rhodryn said in a tone that was almost commanding. “And every reason to not let yourself be ruled by sentiment.” His looked softened. “You’ll be more than two-hundred leagues away soon,” he said, with a hand on Ormond’s shoulder, “that’s a far better place to decide your true feelings about the matter than here.”

“Of course, my prince,” Ormond said, “you’re right.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Many things have changed now, for all of us. They may keep changing for a little while yet.”

One of the mounted spearmen in the prince’s escort rode back to the Old Palace with their kill so it could be dressed for their supper; the rest of the half-dozen followed them deeper into the scrubland. They found the trail of a leopard and spent the rest of the day in a fruitless search for the beast, but their spirits were still high when they returned at dusk to a table in a corner of the garden lit by torches.

“The morning was splendid,” the prince told Lady Lenelle, “but the afternoon was a waste.”

“Never mind,” she said, “sometimes a good morning is all it takes.”

The gazelle was served bloody on a large silver platter. Prince Arion speared the choicest piece with his dagger before anyone else could.

“I’m glad it’s been such a dry summer,” he said with meat in his mouth, “it makes all the game taste better.”

“How does it do that?” Ormond asked.

“There’s less water,” he said as though it were obvious, “the flavour is more… concentrated.”

“That sounds like nonsense to me,” Princess Loreza said.

“Think what you will,” he told her, “but once the rains start, nothing will taste as good.”

“Once the rains start, no one will be hunting.”

“My point exactly,” Prince Arion said.

“I hope it’s not this dry for much longer,” Lady Lenelle said. “I don’t want to think about what it will do to the harvest. Especially now that I can’t buy anymore land without being punished by the bailiff.”

“I’m not going to change my mind about that, mother,” Princess Loreza said. “If you had your way there’d be no more land left for anyone else.”

Prince Rhodryn laughed.

“The northerners are all complaining endlessly about the heat,” Ser Maron Wyl said.

“Of course they are; they love to complain,” his father said. “And the women all dress like septas, no wonder they’re hot.”

“And now they’re complaining about the food as well,” Ser Maron continued.

“Don’t forget the music.”

“What’s wrong with the music?” Lady Larra asked him.

“Lord Redwyne told me it was, what did he call it? ‘Far too unusual.’”

The princess laughed, “The poor man hasn’t heard anything yet. Besides, they only ever played about five songs in King’s Landing.”

“Like I say,” Prince Arion told her, “anything to complain.”

“And now you’re all complaining about them,” the prince said. “It’s almost poetic.”

Princess Loreza flushed.

“Is your hand still troubling you, Ormond?” Landy Lenelle asked solicitously.

Ormond looked down at his right hand, still wrapped in stiff linen. “It’s not so bad, my lady,” he told her. “I thought it was broken, but Maester Geuren says it’s just a bad sprain.”

“Oh dear,” she said, “I hope it won’t keep you from the tourney.”

“The maester doesn’t think it will.”

Ser Maron frowned at him, “How did you say that happened?”

Ormond hoped he wasn’t blushing, “I got hit, is all,” he said, “with a tourney sword.”

He scoffed, “Right across the knuckles?”

“Yes.”

“Yet it’s your hand that’s sprained, not your fingers.”

“Yes.” Ormond pulled his hand down under the table.

“Imagine that,” Ser Maron said with a sneer. “Maybe, if you’re prone to mishaps like that, it’s better that you stay out of the lists until you’re ready.”

Ormond knew he was blushing now.

“You’re rather prone to mishaps yourself,” the princess said. “Perhaps you should stay out of all company until you’re ready.”

Ser Maron shrugged, “I was only giving the boy some honest advice.”

“I’m not a boy,” Ormond said, sounding quite boyish.

Ser Maron laughed, “My little brother is a boy, only he knows how to block a sword properly.”

“Maron,” the prince said in a warning tone, though it was his brother he glared at.

He shook his head and scoffed again.

“I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of Ser Gerold Hightower’s blows either, I don’t think,” Prince Arion said, a little uncomfortably.

“Well,” Ser Maron said, “maybe with him in the Kingsguard the king will be able to get something done.”

“I doubt that,” Princess Loreza muttered under her breath.

Lady Lenelle gave a little sigh. “Speaking of Morgan, Larra,” she said. “He’s such a dear.”

“Yes, I know,” Lady Larra said with fierce pride.

“He played his harp for us this morning,” the princess said. “Even Lady Buckler is in love with him.”

Ser Maron laughed again, “I’m sorry you had to sit through that.”

“You can’t say anything nice about anyone, can you?” Lady Larra said.

Ser Maron rolled his eyes.

“He can’t have your looks and your talent both,” Prince Arion said to her adoringly. “That would be too much for any boy.”

They kissed full on the lips right there at the table. Princess Loreza made a disgusted face at Ormond that made him laugh out loud.

“Really, Loreza,” her mother said, exasperated.

Princess Loreza walked back to the Tower of the Sun with Ormond when they had finished eating. Four serving men walked with them holding torches, two behind and two in front.

“I will be sad to see you go, though,” she told him. “It won’t be the same.”

“I dare say you’ll have enough new faces about you, princess,” he said. “You won’t be bored.”

“None of them will be you.”

Ormond hesitated, but decided he could hardly stay silent. “I’m surprised you’re so sad about my leaving, since it was your doing.”

“My doing?” she asked. “What do you mean by that?”

Ormond smiled, “I mean, I know you convinced your father to release me. Nothing else makes sense.”

She shook her head, “You’re wrong,” she insisted. “The prince thought it was past time, he didn’t need me to convince him of that. I would much rather have you here, in fact.”

“You’re not a very good liar, princess.”

“Well, I hope that’s not true.”

“Regardless,” he stopped walking so he could look her in the face. “Thank you.”

All of a sudden she was Loreza the princess, not the Loreza who was almost a sister. “Holding you hostage was doing more harm than good,” she told him. “That’s all.”

“Of course,” Ormond said. “I mean, I know you didn’t do it for my sake.”

She smiled sympathetically. “I’m happy for you,” she said, “and for your father. He has his faults, but he loves you very much.”

Ormond sighed. “He’s all but a stranger to me,” he told her. “Alyse is even worse.”

“Maybe so,” the princess said, “but she loves you too.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’re her little brother.”

“My princess?” They turned and found Rhona standing there in the middle of the path. “Lady Emlyn set me to make sure you have your shawl.”

“My shawl?” Princess Loreza asked her. “This is the hottest night I can remember all summer.”

Rhona smiled in the torchlight. Ormond felt a flutter just seeing it. “She says it won’t do for you to be ill when the king arrives.”

The princess rolled her eyes but let Rhona drape the shawl over her shoulders. “I was going to come inside now anyway.”

They started waking again. Somehow, Ormond and Rhona ended up walking behind the princess, side by side. He couldn’t stop himself from constantly looking at her. Princess Loreza noticed too.

“You know, Rhona,” she said, “I have my shawl, you needn’t stay.”

“Oh,” she said. “I… thank you, my princess, but...” Her face turned darker. “I think I should stay with you.”

Ormond stopped walking, suddenly feeling as though he’s been punched in the gut.

Princess Loreza frowned, “If you wish.”

She took Rhona by the arm and walked ahead with her along the path. “Goodnight, Ormond,” she told him.

“Goodnight, my princess.”

The torchbearers went with her, leaving Ormond alone in the dark.

Chapter Text

The harbour at Sunspear was small; there seemed little room left once the king’s four galleys crowded into it. But it was beautiful. The dawn light reflected on the water, still as glass. The ancient fortress of the Martells looked too elegant and delicate to be as formidable as Jeremy knew it was. The Winding Walls of the shadow city wending their way around it like a drape of fabric.

Jeremy stood right at the stern. The banner of the royal house was flying on a pole extended from the ship. He couldn’t help but wonder what the first Daeron would think to see the great, red three-headed dragon of the Targaryens here in such a circumstance. In the distance he could see preparations being made on the shore for the king’s arrival. The crowds were gathering, His Grace would like that.

Daeron came up to stand beside him, placing his hand on top of Jeremy’s as they gazed out together. “Look at all that fuss,” he said. “Mark my words, we will be standing in the hot sun for hours while they all make a show of greeting each other.”

“They’ll be greeting you too,” Jeremy pointed out.

“No,” Daeron scoffed, “they’ll pay me no mind. Princes are a penny for a dozen here.”

“You’re wrong,” Jeremy said. “Everyone will be watching you.”

“No more than in King’s Landing.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. “But it won’t be the same.”

The weeks at sea, of being confined to a ship, had given them a freedom they hadn’t had since they were boys. No one here cared if they spent all morning closeted in the prince’s cabin, or that they stood on the deck, his hand on Jeremy’s. But that was all over now. Within a few hours they would be back under the king’s disapproving eye. It was the worst kept secret in all the Seven Kingdoms. But it was to be a secret, still.

“Come,” Daeron said with a smile.

Jeremy followed the prince up to his cabin in the forecastle of the ship. They lay on the bed together with Daeron’s head on his chest. He stroked his silver-gold hair and closed his eyes.

“I mean it,” Daeron said after near an hour of silence, “everyone will be engaged. There will be hunting and games all the time. We’ll have plenty of time to be alone.”

“But we shouldn’t be alone,” Jeremy told him.

“I should be making nice?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “And I don’t want to miss the hunting and the games. Neither do you.”

“Maybe not,” Daeron said, he played with the collar of Jeremy’s linen shirt idly with his fingers. “But I’d much rather be with you.”

“You will be with me,” Jeremy told him. “Every hunt and game. I promise.”

Daeron sat up, a frown on his handsome face. “You’re being difficult now. It won’t be the same, you said so yourself. Not with my father-”

“Well, there’s nothing either of us can do about it, is there?”

He didn’t answer. He fell down onto his back next to Jeremy and stared at the ceiling of the cabin with him.

“I hate weddings,” he finally said. “And the Dornish hate us, you know. Even if they pretend not to.”

“That can’t be true,” Jeremy said. “They were the crown’s greatest ally during the rebellions.”

Daeron scoffed. “It’s not as though they had a choice. Bittersteel hated them more than they hated us, that’s all.”

“I thought you knew her, though,” he said. “The bride, I mean.”

He shrugged. “I saw her a couple of time when I visited my mother. She was one of her companions. I never took much notice of her.”

“You must know something.”

“She was a girl,” he said. “She was dark and skinny.” He shrugged again, “My mother was never too fond of her, I don’t think.”

“What about her father?”

“I never met him,” the prince said. “He’s an old man, though. He was married to some Baratheon for nearly twenty years, but nothing came of it.”

“Everyone knows about that.”

“He was so desperate for an heir that he kept at it, even after the maesters told him it would kill her. So then it did.”

“That’s a common tale,” Jeremy said. “But Ser Eliott Rowan is pleasant enough, if I recall.”

“Sure he is,” Daeron said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “but I couldn’t care less that he’s getting married.”

“You’ll sing a different song once the jousting starts,” Jeremy said with a smile. “You’ll be very glad you came then.”

Daeron rolled over and looked at him, propped up on his elbow, “Maybe, but that’s more than a week away. And until then it will be nothing but misery.”

“All you need do is be courteous and dance with a few unmarried ladies,” Jeremy said. “Is that so hard?”

“It might be,” he told him. “Especially if it’s one unmarried lady in particular.”

Jeremy sighed. “You’ll have to face them all eventually. And her.”

“And make nice,” Daeron asked sardonically.

“You owe her that much, surely.” Olenna Redwyne was always a kind and gentle girl, and her love for Daeron was obvious.

“Not this again,” Daeron sighed. “Anyone would think you wanted me to marry her.”

“I didn’t say that.” The truth was he had been relieved when Daeron had broken his betrothal, even as he told him not to, but the idea of saying so seemed selfish.  

There was a gentle rap on the door of the cabin. The two men separated instantly. Jeremy fastened his doublet and climbed off the bed, moving to stand by the large window on the other side of the room. The prince sat at the table and picked up a quill to make it seem as though he had been writing.

“Yes?” he called.

His manservant stuck his head through. “You will need to dress, You Grace,” he told him. “It’s nearly midday.”

“I leave you to it,” Jeremy said. On the way to the door he grabbed Daeron’s shoulder briefly as he passed. It was the most he could do.

In his own cabin below the deck, he changed into his best doublet and the gold collar that his father had given him when he came to court. He had polished his high black boots to a shine the night before; when he pulled them on they reached up over his knees. They made walking awkward, but all the men at court were wearing them.

By the time he came up on deck, the boats were already docked onto the side of the ship. Daeron stood in the middle of a crowd of knights and lordlings, Ser Harlan Grandison stood next to him in his white armour and white cloak. Daeron said the Kingsguard knight was the only man in the world with finer shoulders than Jeremy.

He stood at the back of the group and stayed there as the prince climbed onto the boat and they were all rowed towards the shore. The boat was covered in red flowers and black silk drapery. Some distance in front of them in the water, a larger boat carrying the king was much more elaborately festooned. As they approached the jetty, Jeremy heard trumpets and cheers. A hundred or more spearmen in shining copper armour acted as a guard of honour that stretched from the gangplank to a raised silk awning where a dozen lords and ladies were standing waiting for the king. Countless others stood on either side in the hot midday sun.

Jeremy found himself in the middle of a crush of men moving at a slow pace. Prince Daeron had gone up to stand beside his father and brother to be greeted by the Dornishmen.

The tall, slender man at the front of the group could only be Prince Rhodryn. He was an old man, as Daeron said, near sixty at least, his hair was more silver than black, but he still seemed to posses the vigour and strength of a far younger man.

When the prince had bowed to the king, His Grace embraced him and called him cousin. Then he turned to the younger woman next to him and raised her to her feet. She could only be Princess Loreza, Jeremy decided. The coronet of golden suns across her brow made her unlikely to be anyone else. Her resemblance to her father was strong; they had the same prominent nose and well-defined jaw.

The king kissed her on one cheek. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful bride,” he told her.

The princess smiled shyly. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, “your presence here is the greatest honour I can imagine.”

“And it’s the greatest pleasure I can imagine,” the king said gallantly. “The queen regrets her health wouldn’t allow her to share in it,” he continued, “but she sends her love and good wishes.”

“Her Grace is too kind.” The princess smiled again.

“He brought two of her sons to make it up to you,” Prince Duncan interrupted.

That made her laugh. She greeted both of the royal princes affectionately. Daeron managed to be perfectly charming as he kissed her hand and told her she looked lovely.

For the next hour there was nothing but bowing and kissing and greeting for the great worthies, and nothing but stewing in the heat for everyone else. The sun beat on the back of Jeremy’s neck so strongly that by the time the party had progressed to the palace, Daeron told him it looked like pork crackling.

Maester Gillam spread some salve onto it in the dressing room of the prince’s chambers while Daeron's clothes were changed for the feast. Even his light touch made Jeremy gasp in pain.

“I believe it’s bad enough that the skin will peel, ser,” the maester told him.

“No matter,” Jeremy told him, “I’m sure my burn will match everyone else’s.”

Daeron came over and knelt beside the chair Jeremy was sitting in. He looked magnificent in black. It gave his pale skin an other-worldly appearance. His hair was tied back with a velvet ribbon so nothing could distract from his striking purple eyes. He pressed his lips to the angry red flesh on Jeremy's neck.

Jeremy saw the maester back away uncomfortably just before he closed his eyes and sighed. “We both have to go to the feast,” he told Daeron. “And I need to settle into my own chamber.”

“You don’t have a chamber, ser,” the maester cut in.

“I don’t understand.”

“All your things were brought here,” Gillam continued. “The porters claimed those were their instructions. I’m in the processes of rectifying the oversight, of course.”

“No, don’t do that,” Daeron said.

“Daeron-” Jeremy started hesitantly.

“The castle must be full-up,” he said, “we shouldn’t make trouble. We both know you’ll never use the chamber anyway.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No one will notice,” Daeron insisted. “They’ll all be too distracted.”

By “no one” Jeremy knew he meant the king. “I don’t know...”

“The Dornish take a different view of, um, these matters,” the maester said. “The arrangement is unlikely to provoke comment.”

“There,” Daeron said, as though the discussion was over.

And, in truth, it was.

Jeremy stayed in their chamber for ten minutes after the prince had left so that there would be no danger of them arriving at the feast together. As soon as he did, a steward beckoned him forward and lead him down the length of the hall. The man moved with such assurance, that Jeremy was halfway up the steps leading to the dais before he realized what was happening.

“Where are you seating me?” he asked.

The steward raised one dark eyebrow in puzzlement. “Where else, ser,” he said, “beside Prince Daeron.”

“No!” Jeremy said, louder than he had intended. The man raised the other eyebrow. “I mean, I couldn’t possibly sit on the dais,” he tried again. “The king wouldn’t approve.”

The stewart frowned. “If you’ll wait here, ser.” He climbed the dais and made his way behind the chairs to a lady sitting half a dozen seats to the right of the wall. She looked over at Jeremy with a troubled expression as the man bent over to whisper in her ear. The lady next to her turned bodily and regarded him openly with narrowed eyes. The first lady whispered something back to the stewart and he immediately returned to Jeremy’s side.

“Lady Deneza sends her apologies, ser,” he said. “Follow me, please.” They walked a short way to a table right at the foot of the dais. Several people budged down along the bench to make room for him, quite close to front of the room towards the dais.

“You’re Ser Jeremy Norridge,” the man seated to his left said the moment he sat down.

“Uh,” Jeremy said, a bit at a loss, “yes, I am.”

“Huh,” the man said. He was very comely with light brown hair and and sea-green eyes, but something about his almost mocking manner made Jeremy dislike him instantly. “Well, I have the honour to be Ser Maron Wyl,” he said.

“Well met,” Jeremy replied.

“Let me see,” Ser Maron continued looking about him. “This is Ser Humford Hightower, not the Hightower of the hour, but we make do.” He already knew Ser Humford from any number of tourneys. They nodded at each other.

“And this is Ser Ormond Yronwood,” Ser Maron continued, indicating a young man a year or two younger than Jeremy with blond hair that reached his shoulders. “He’s as green as a salad but don’t mistake him for one.” Ser Ormond’s cheeks turned pink. A young girl sitting across the table giggled, which only caused Ser Ormond’s flush to deepen. “Ser Eldon Sand,” he went on, “who you’re obligated to at least try to fall in love with.” Ser Eldon chucked. He was quite comely, Jeremy thought. No doubt all the Dornish maidens swooned over him. “And Lady Rhona Santagar, she’s very useful.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said a lady with an alarming abundance of freckles.

“You should, of course,” Ser Maron said. He turned his attention to the other side of the table.

“This is Ser Horas Redwyne and Lady Ol-”

“We know Ser Jeremy,” Ser Horas interrupted with a peevish tone.

Jeremy tried not to start at the sight of them both there. Ser Horas glared at him, but Lady Olenna smiled courteously enough.

“I’m glad to see you again, Ser Jeremy,” she said.

“And I you, my lady,” he told her. He had always marvelled at her courtesy.

“Have I forgotten anyone?” Ser Maron asked sardonically.

“Me!” that same girl as before said with another giggle.

Ser Maron smiled broadly. “Lady Daenerys Gargalen,” he said simply, not giving her an epitaph. But she hardly seemed to need one. She had that unstudied, good-humoured energy that only a very pretty young girl could have. She looked at Jeremy excitedly.

“I’m surprised you’re sitting down here with us,” she said.

Jeremy was saved needing to reply to that strange statement by the herald announcing the king’s entrance. They all stood to watch Prince Rhodryn lead the procession with his lady wife on his arm. Next came King Aegon and Princess Loreza. Daeron was behind his brother with some other lady. He smirked and winked at Jeremy as he passed. The fool, he thought, even as he smiled back.

After a few toasts and short speeches they were all sitting down again. Servers came round to put a bowl of soup in front of each of them. It was bright orange.

“It’s made from carrots,” Ser Humford said with a sympathetic expression. “But it’s not too bad.”

When he put a spoonful in his mouth it tasted strongly of lemon and spices he didn’t recognize. Jeremy push it gently away, trying not to be rude. No one seemed to notice.

“Is that me Deneza Dalt is glaring at?” Ser Eldon asked Lady Rhona.

“I hope not, for your sake,” she said. Jeremy followed her eye to the dais and the lady who had sent him down to the table. “Have you done something to her?”

“What could I have done to her?”

“Joleta says she’s been grumpy all day,” Lady Daenerys stated.

“That’s hardly surprising,” Lady Rhona said.

“Maybe one of us is at the wrong table,” Lady Daenerys said mischievously. “She would hate that.”

Lady Rhona’s eyes flashed between Jeremy and Lady Olenna before she sighed at the girl. “That would be the kind of thing one doesn’t mention,” she told her.  

Ser Maron laughed out loud and Lady Daenerys blushed. “I’m sorry,” she said, addressing Lady Olenna.

The lady looked confused. “Why should you say sorry to me, Daenerys?” she whispered.

The burn on the back of Jeremy’s neck was becoming so painful it was difficult to attend to what was being said. If he had a choice, he would leave and go to his bed. No , he reminded himself, Daeron’s bed . But no one could leave while while the king was still at table.

“Do you intend to ride in the tourney, Ser Jeremy?” Lady Rhona asked him, just as Lady Daenerys opened her mouth to say something more.

He hoped he wasn’t grimacing. “Yes, my lady, I do.”

“Ser Jeremy knows all about knocking lances together,” Ser Horas Redwyne muttered in a false whisper. Then he chuckled to himself.

Ser Maron Wyl’s lip curled up in disgust. “What was that, ser?”

“What was what?”

“We didn’t hear you,” he continued. “Why don’t you say it outloud, so we can all share the joke.”

Jeremy couldn’t tell if it was anger or embarrassment that made Ser Horas turn red, “I made no joke, ser.”

“Are you sure?” Ser Maron pressed on, “You seemed to think something was very amusing. I’m sure Ser Jeremy would want to hear it.”

Jeremy didn’t want to hear anything of the kind. Ser Horas was glaring at him rather than at Ser Maron.

“You have yet another admirer,” he sneered.

Ser Maron banged a fist on the table, causing people sitting further down the bench to turn and look at him.

“Leave off,” Ser Ormond Yronwood told him.

“Why should I?” Ser Maron snapped at him, “He has no intention of leaving off.”

“Stop,” Lady Daenerys told him in a soft voice. “You’re upsetting Lady Olenna.”

The lady was pale as milk and staring at her bowl of soup. Jeremy felt an absurd need to apologize to her, but Ser Maron beat him to it.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, my lady,” he told her in a tone that was almost gentle. “And doubtless Ser Horas didn’t mean to upset anyone either.”

Ser Horas just scoffed.

Lady Daenerys smiled cheerfully. “Why would anyone be upset on such a happy occasion?”

“Exactly,” Lady Rhona said.

The bowls were cleared away. Jeremy found a plate with meat covered in sauce being placed before him. He could tell just from the smell that it would be fiery enough to twist his stomach and bring tears to his eyes.  

“Snake,” Ser Humford whispered to him unhappily.

Chapter Text

Dany was getting used to a feast every night, but this one was grander, and noisier, than all the others by far. Mariah Florent had to almost yell to Ser Rolyn Toland beside her.

“I think that’s Ser Duncan the Tall,” she said of the very tall knight in the white cloak dancing with Lady Lenelle.

Ser Rolyn smiled graciously, “Yes, my lady, I believe it is.”

“He lives up to his name, doesn’t he?” asked Dany cheerfully. “Do you think he would dance with me?”

“With you, Lady Dany?” Ser Rolyn said, “Of course he would.”

“Yes,” Mariah Florent said, looking at Dany with distaste, “he’s very gallant. He would dance with any lady.”

Dany rolled her eyes, but she was not about to lower herself and respond.

Olenna would surely have done it for her, but she was unusually subdued. She stared at the opposite end of the feast hall, at nothing in particular. Dany suspected her main objective was not to stare at Prince Daeron, dancing near the front of the room, but the last time Dany had tried to say something comforting to her about that matter, she had rather made a fool of herself.

“And who is that dancing with Prince Daeron?” Lady Mariah said with the slightest hint of a smirk. Olenna frowned.

“That is Lady Deria Uller,” Ser Rolyn told her impassively.

“Oh,” Mariah said, “I don’t believe I know her.”

“No, my lady,” Ser Rolyn said, “I expect that if you knew her, you would have recognized her.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Yes,” she said, “I suppose I would have.” She pretended to laugh, “You’re very witty, Ser Rolyn. I wish I were as witty as you are.”

Dany rolled her eyes again.

“Thank you, my lady,” Ser Rolyn said courteously, though Dany could see him fighting a smirk of his own.

The few seconds of silence that followed were too much for Lady Mariah. “I think that’s a very pretty name,” she said. “Although it’s very unusual.”

“Whose name? Lady Deria’s?” Ser Rolyn said. “It’s a very common name in Dorne.”

“Most Dornish names sound unusual to me,” she stated.

“Like your own, for instance?” Olenna suddenly cut in.

Dany couldn’t help but chuckle.

Lady Mariah frowned at them both. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Olenna said. “And I can’t imagine that it would be worth explaining it to you.”

Lady Mariah turned pale instead of pink. Her frown deepened and she pressed her lips together angrily. “You-”

“Would you like to dance with me, my lady?” Ser Rolyn cut in before she could say something more.

Her frown turned into a smile, “With great pleasure, ser,” she said. Mariah smiled cruelly at Olenna as she walked away.

Olenna shook her head. “How could anyone be so ignorant?” she asked Dany.

Dany shrugged. Her mother would say that it was because she was never taught anything different, but Olenna was probably not taught much more and she didn’t seem as stupid as Mariah Florent. Nor as vicious. “She just likes to speak and doesn’t seem to care if she has anything to say or not.”

Her friend looked pensive. “We share that flaw, I’m told,” Olenna said.

“Do you?” Dany asked her.

“Talking is better than being talked about,” she said. “But maybe it’s small of me to accuse anyone else of being ignorant.”

She was looking over to where Prince Daeron was dancing again, her chin was starting to tremble. Dany clucked at her, “You shouldn’t-” she started, but she thought the better of it. “Do you want to go outside?” she said instead. “For a walk?”

Olenna just managed to nod and rise to her feet. They left through the main doors and walked along the peristyle walk to the gardens, where the paths were lined with lanterns of gold and orange glass.

“I think she’s trying to catch him,” Olenna said suddenly as they passed a pool of still water.

“Who’s trying to catch who?” Dany asked.

“Mariah Florent is trying to catch Ser Rolyn.”

“Is he a fish?” she said, hoping it would make Olenna smile. But her friend just looked more sullen. “I’m sure he doesn’t like her,” she said, “he’s just very courteous, that’s all.”

“Yes, I suppose he is,” Olenna said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother told him to be attentive to her.”

“Like she told you to be attentive to me?”

Dany flushed. “She did tell me that,” she admitted. “But I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t like you.”

“I apologize, I shouldn’t have-” she said, embarrassed. “I told you I talk.”

“I’m glad you’ve come,” Dany told her. “I don’t really have any friends in Sunspear. Everyone here is always running around doing something.”

“In Sunspear?” Olenna asked, “I thought you lived here.”

“No,” she said. “I live at Salt Shore. I only came to visit my mother and sister. And to help with the wedding. Not that I’m any help.”

“I didn’t know that,” Olenna said. “I sometimes forget I’ve known you less than a fortnight. It seems longer.”

“It does,” Dany agreed. She laughed, “I don’t know where you live either. On the Arbor, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Olenna said unhappily. “I do live there now. My father thought it was best that I not stay in Highgarden after...” She turned away and picked a blossom off of a flowering bush growing by the path. “Well, I thought I had a lot more friends than it turned out I did.”

“That’s stupid,” Dany told her warmly. “It’s not as though you did anything wrong. Or anything at all.”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding on the verge of tears again. “Maybe if I were more… he wouldn’t have done something like that if I...”

“What?” Dany asked her, shocked. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Did everyone know?” Olenna asked her with shuddering breath. “Did everyone in all the Seven Kingdoms know about them but me?”

“Well...” Dany began hesitantly. She had certainly known, and she had never given Prince Daeron more than a moment’s thought before today. “Did no one tell you?”

Olenna looked uneasy. “It’s not normal, you know,” she said, “people speaking about things like that. Not to a maiden.”

“So they let you think that it was just because he didn’t like you or something?”

“I don’t know what I thought,” she said. “I’m an idiot for not seeing it. We’re were supposed to be married as soon as I flowered, but then they kept putting it off, and then a year ago...”

Olenna wiped at her face with the sleeve of her gown. She was bound up in so much brocade and lace that her small form seemed lost in all of it.

Dany touched her hand with her own, “It must have been horrible, blaming yourself like that.”

“I don’t.” She shook her head sadly, “He wouldn’t have been a very good husband.”

Dany laughed. “No, probably not.”

“It’s just,” Olenna said, fiddling with the blossom in her hand, “I’ll be twenty soon. I thought I’d have a home of my own by now. And children. People treat me like I’m still a child myself.”

“Yes,” Dany said, thinking of Septa Unelletine and Olenna’s horror at even going to the tourney grounds without her. “But plenty of people wed after they’re twenty. Princess Loreza is one and twenty.”

“I’m not Princess Loreza, am I?” Olenna said. “As far as everyone is concerned, I may as well be soiled. If anyone marries me now, it will only be for my dowry.”

“You don’t really think that, do you?” Dany asked her. “Your father is a great lord; everyone should want to marry you.”

“Do they all want to marry you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Dany told her. She would have been pleased enough at the thought of never getting married at all, until three months ago. “Do you know what you should do?” she asked her friend, “You should go dance with the best looking man in the hall, right in front of him, and make him jealous.”

“I doubt that would make him jealous,” Olenna said. “Besides, who’s the best looking man in the hall?”

Dany shrugged, “Probably Ser Eldon Sand, though I never knew what all the fuss was about.”

“I couldn’t dance with him!” Olenna said hotly.

Dany rolled her eyes, “Fine, we’ll find someone nice and true-born,” she said, “like Maron.”

“That might upset my brother,” Olenna said, “although, he is the prince’s nephew, I could hardly refuse him.”

“Exactly,” Dany said. She put her arm through Olenna’s and turned her around to walk back towards the feast hall.

“And I know Ser Maron would do whatever you asked him,” Olenna said.

Dany stopped in her tracks. She hoped her cheeks weren’t red as she turned to her friend. “Why would you… I don’t know what you mean.”

Olenna arched one red eyebrow. “Is that a jape?” she said. “As far as I can see, impressing you is all he thinks about.”

Dany bit her lip, “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Daenerys,” Olenna said, “I very much doubt I’m the only one who’s seen it. I don’t think you’re very good at being secretive.”

“I don’t want to be secretive,” Dany said, “it’s just that, with Princess Loreza’s wedding and everything… everyone is so distracted, it doesn’t seem like the best time to bring it up.”

“Does your father disapprove of him?” Olenna asked.

“I don’t think so,” Dany told her. She didn’t think her father took much notice of Maron at all. And she suspected he wouldn’t be able to refuse his consent to anyone she wanted. Unless… “My mother does, though. And Joleta, but she would never say so.”

Olenna frowned. “Why should your mother disapprove of him? He’s going to be a great lord.”

“Well...” Dany hesitated to bring up family squabbles, but she felt that Olenna would be sympathetic. “She’s never really liked… I mean, you must know about Maron’s mother and father.”

“I admit,” Olenna said, “I’ve heard a few rumours.”

“I suppose it’s natural that my mother would take her brother’s part.”

“Yes.”

“I just don’t think she would be very happy if I went to Wyl,” Dany said. “She would think they didn’t deserve it. And she can convince my father of anything if she tries, and the prince too. My sister’s marriage was all her doing.” That was what Dany feared most; if her uncle wouldn’t take her side then there was no hope. Though she knew she could count on Loreza to speak for her. Maybe then...

“But surely, she would rather have you wed than...” Olenna frowned again, “I’m sorry, I know it’s not my concern.”

“No,” Dany said, “please tell me.”

“What if you...” she turned pink. “I should think that she would prefer you marrying him, and soon, to… What if he changes his mind? Or worse, what if you’re in a delicate position when he does?”

“A delicate position?” Dany tried not to laugh. “That’s not possible.”

Olenna looked very relieved. She took Dany’s hand in her. “Oh good!” she said with sudden animation. “I’m so sorry, I should have known it wasn’t.”

Dany frowned. “I mean, it’s not possible yet,” she said. “There hasn’t been time for that either.”

Her friend’s face fell. “Daenerys, you shouldn’t.”

She pulled her hand away, “Why not? I’m not a child anymore.”

“Think about it,” Olenna said. “Do you really want to be wed to him?”

"You know I do,” Dany said, starting to get annoyed. “And he wants to wed me. ”

“I’m sure he says so,” Olenna said. “But if you give him… what he wants,” she blushed again. “Well, men are like that. And if his family is against it as much as yours is… why would he marry you at all? And then what will you do?”

Dany’s annoyance grew deeper. Olenna was almost twenty, a woman grown, yet she was more bashful than Nelly Jordayne when it came to matters of love. And she had no right to talk about Maron like that.

“It hurts me that you would talk about him as though he were a bad man; he’s not at all like people say he is.”

“Not to you, maybe.”

“What does that mean?” Dany asked her.

“He’s rude, Daenerys,” she said; “he upsets everyone.”

“Your brother was the one who was being rude.”

“My brother was trying to protect me!”

“And Maron doesn’t mean to upset people, he’s just very clever. They don’t understand him. He’s brave, and he’s gentle, and he’s already had his heart broken once. And he loves me. The way they all talk upsets him too, you know.”

“Really?” Olenna said. “He hides his feelings quite well.”

“Of course he does,” Dany said. “It would be too hard for him otherwise.”

Olenna frowned. “I hope you’re right,” she said. “I want to like him, for your sake, truly I do.”

Dany felt herself deflate. “I know,” she said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that no one will defend him but me. And I want him so badly, and I can’t talk to anyone about it. You can’t know how awful that is.”

“I thought I felt like that once,” Olenna said. “I even managed to convince myself that Prince Daeron loved me too… it’s all so humiliating now.”

Dany felt a surge of pity for her friend, and shame for herself. “I’m sorry I said that about your brother,” she told her. “If someone had spurned my sister, I think I would have said a lot worse.”

Olenna smiled. “I hope you wouldn’t,” she said. “And I hope you won’t… do anything rash.”

“It’s not rash,” Dany said, refusing to back down.

“If you’re so certain of his constancy, then there’s no harm in waiting until you’re wed, is there?”

Dany didn’t want to wait another moment, but she didn’t think that answer would impress Olenna. “I am certain,” she said in a tone of finality. “So, shall I ask him to dance with you?”

She finally agreed to the scheme so the two made their way back to the feast hall, where the music and noise was louder than ever. Before Dany could even start to look for Maron, she saw Lady Deneza motioning them over to where she was standing in front of one the windows of leaded glass. When they came to her side she immediately put a hand on Olenna’s forearm.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” Lady Deneza asked solicitously.

Olenna looked down at the hand as though it were a large spider. “I’m feeling very well, my lady,” she said. “The feast was lovely.”

“Good,” Lady Deneza said, looking relieved. “I would hate to think that anything would happen to upset you.”

Dany felt a hand on her own arm and turned to see Maron smiling at her.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked her at once.

She shook her head, “No, you have to ask Olenna to dance.”

“Do I?” he asked with one raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” Dany said. “And you have to take her to the front of the hall so that they can see you from the dais.”

“Why?”

Dany rolled her eyes.

“Very well,” Maron said with a smirk, “I’ll do as you command, if you promise to dance with me afterwards.”

“You know I can’t refuse you.”

As soon as he had led Olenna away, her mother swooped in.

“Why aren’t you dancing, my love?” she asked.

“I’m tired,” Dany lied. There was only one man she wanted to dance with, and she didn’t want to be stuck with someone else when he came looking for her.

“Nonsense,” Princess Trystana said. “You can’t be too tired to dance with the king.”

“I am!” Dany insisted.

“You’re growing quite willful, Daenerys, I don’t like it one bit,” she said. “Come along now.”

“Oh, leave her be, aunt.” Loreza had appeared and swiftly linked arms with Dany. “His Grace is just as tired as she is.”

Her cousin led her away from her mother and towards one of the carved pillars around the edge of the room.

“Stay and keep me company, Dany. If you can bear it.” The princess was wearing a green silk gown with a plain gold tiara and the loveliest emerald earrings Dany had ever seen.

“You look so splendid,” she told her.

Loreza smiled, “So do you, sweetling. You’ve looked more beautiful than ever the last few days.”

Dany tried not to blush. People said you looked different when you were in love. “So many exciting things have been happening.”

“If you like excitement, then maybe you should stay in Sunspear a little longer.”

“I think my father would miss me too much,” Dany told her.

“You can’t expect to be at Salt Shore forever,” Loreza said.

“I don’t,” she said, “but it’s not time for that yet.”

“I quite agree.”

Lady Emlyn came forward and announced some lord and his wife.

“Lord Darklyn,” Loreza said with a nod as they both bowed low.

“Princess Loreza,” the man said obsequiously, “you look in remarkable beauty tonight.” He was a tall man near thirty who would have been handsome if he didn’t have the pallor of a corpse.

“Thank you,” Loreza said perfunctorily, she turned to the woman on his arm. “Lady Amerei,” she said with another nod.

The lady was only a few years older than Dany, she curtseyed again when Loreza addressed her. “My princess,” she said in a tone that made Dany dislike her at once. It screamed of a desperation to be liked, “I’m so looking forward to the wedding. I can only imagine how beautiful you will be then.”

“You’re very kind to say so,” Loreza said with an unnaturally wide smile.

Dany let her attention wander and looked over towards the dais where Olenna and Maron were still dancing. She seemed pleased enough with her partner. Somehow Maron sensed than Dany was watching him and looked up to wink at her. She laughed and winked back, admiring the graceful way he moved when he danced.

“I’m sure you recall my cousin, Lady Daenerys,” Loreza’s voice cut through, forcing Dany to attend.

A different man was standing before then. This one had a round face and fair hair. He was undoubtedly one of the ones Dany had been presented to that morning, but she could hardly be expected to remember them all.

“My lady,” he said to Dany, and she bobbed a curtsey in return. “Every maiden is more lovely than the last here in Sunspear,” he said, “I’m quite overwhelmed.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, my lord,” Dany told him, as Loreza smirked beside her.

He paid them both another empty compliment or two before he slinked off to be replaced by someone who pleased the princess a great deal more. She greeted Deria Uller as an old friend, taking her hands and kissing her on both cheeks. And Dany supposed they were friends; Lady Deria had been one of Loreza’s companions long ago, before she’d even gone to King’s Landing. Dany, though, couldn’t recall ever speaking to her before.

“There was so much fuss today that I didn’t even notice that you’d arrived,” the princess said apologetically.

“I’m not surprised, princess,” Lady Deria said. “It’s a wonder you’ve found time to eat or sleep.”

Loreza laughed. “I’ve managed it most days,” she said. “I haven’t see you in an age.”

“It has been too long,” Lady Deria confirmed. “And you, Lady Dany,” she said, “you were half the height you are now the last time I saw you.”

“I’m nearly sixteen now, my lady,” Dany said cheerfully. “I may have stopped growing altogether.”

“I doubt that,” she said, “you’ll be as tall as Lady Joleta, at least.”

Lady Deria was gone too soon and the next supplicant was an old lady who was about as interesting as plain bread. Then came a man with a great golden beard and a woman on his arm.

“Ser Tybot,” Loreza said when he rose from his bow, “I hope you’ve found everything to your satisfaction.”

The statement seemed to surprise the man. “Everyone has been most gracious, my lady,” he said.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” she said. “There’s nothing more important to the prince than the king’s comfort.”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Naturally.” Loreza looked pointedly at the woman next to him until he got the hint. “May I present my lady wife,” Ser Tybot said shortly. She curtseyed deeply.

“My lady,” Loreza said, “I hope everything is to your satisfaction as well.”

The lady was almost as tall as Dany and still very handsome, despite being well past thirty. She had the shrunken look of a person who was only just recovering from illness. “Very much so, my princess,” she said, far more smoothly than her husband. “Everything is so well arranged.”

This pleased Loreza a great deal. “Excellent,” she said.

The music stopped and people all over the hall were moving towards the front.

“What is it?” The princess asked Lady Emlyn.

“Prince Arion has convinced Lady Larra to play for us,” she said.

“Oh, how wonderful,” Loreza said. She addressed Ser Tybot’s wife, “I’m sure you’ll enjoy this, my lady. She hardly ever plays in public.”

Dany made her way towards the front with everyone else and found Olenna standing with Septa Unelletine near the edge of the crowd. She took her by the arm and led her through to get a better view.

“How was it?” she asked her.

“He’s a very good dancer,” Olenna admitted.

Dany giggled.

Prince Arion hadn’t taken his seat on the dais but stood at the front, very near to where his paramour had arranged herself before the dais on a stool with her lyre in her lap. Maron was beside him, so Dany led Olenna over to them.

“It’s the best place,” she said defensively at her friend’s raised eyebrow.

Her uncle shushed everyone until silence fell on the hall.

Once Lady Larra started to play the silence only seemed to deepen, everyone was struck breathless. Her long, slender fingers moved over the strings of the lyre so smoothly that the music sounded like water flowing in a brook. Then she started to sing, an Old Valyrian song about a dragon and her rider falling to their doom in the midst of a great battle, Olenna was so moved that she covered her mouth with her hand.

Prince Arion gazed at Lady Larra adoringly. He leaned down towards Dany. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

“She always does,” Dany whispered back. “And she sounds beautiful too.”

“Yes,” he said. “She was playing this song the night I fell in love with her.”

Maron smiled at Dany from behind his father’s shoulder. She smiled back, feeling a warmth in her belly that tingled down her legs. She wished she could reach across Prince Arion and hold his hand. Her uncle smiled too, though she couldn’t tell if it was at her or at the music.

When the song finished, Lady Larra blushed at the applause. Prince Arion went over to her immediately, and even the king came down from the dais to congratulate her.

“I would give a great deal to be able to play like that,” Olenna said.

“Lady Larra said once that she’s been playing the lyre since before she could walk.”

“You can tell,” Olenna said wistfully. “But I suppose it’s no use comparing myself.”

“Come on.” Dany took her hand and started to lead Olenna to where the lady was standing, but Septa Unelletine grabbed on to her other sleeve.

“No, my dear,” she said, “on no account.”

“Whyever not?” Olenna asked. “I only want to speak to her.”

“Child,” she said, “that woman...” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “that woman is a whore.” She said the last word so quietly that her mouth was moving without making any sound. “What would your father say if he saw you speaking with her?”

Olenna looked shocked; she was standing between the septa and Dany with her mouth slightly agape, but Dany was so angry that she knew her face was red.

“She’s my uncle’s paramour,” she told her, struggling not to raise her voice. “You shouldn’t call her a whore.”

Septa Unelletine’s jaw clenched. “You must do as you see fit, of course,” she told Dany. “But call her what you will, Lady Olenna will not be consorting with her.”

“Surely Lady Olenna can decide for herself,” Dany said.

Olenna looked between Dany and the septa uncertainly, then over to where Lady Larra stood, surrounded by admirers. It was clear to Dany what she wanted to do. She looked away. “I’m sorry, Daenerys,” she said. “It’s past time I retired, anyway.”

Dany let go of her hand, too upset to not look disappointed. “You don’t have to apologize,” she told her friend, “I understand.”

She left Olenna standing there and went without her. 

Chapter Text

It would seem that kind attention from one princess entitled one to kind attention from another, because as soon as the dancing began again Alysanne somehow found herself in the care of Princess Trystana.

She took her by the arm and lead her towards the far end of the room, by the doors.

“Has the food been agreeing with you, my lady?” The princess asked.

It hadn’t. All the peppers and strange meat had burned on the way down and was now making her stomach feel heavy and unsettled. The Dornish dishes they sometimes served in King’s Landing had not prepared her for what real dornishmen ate. “The food was delicious, my princess,” she said.

“I’m so glad you think so,” replied Princess Trystana. “We’ve had the cooks making all of Princess Loreza’s favourite dishes. To perfect them, for the wedding feast.”

“I’m sure that will please her very much,” Alysanne said.

The princess nodded gravely, “Though I pray it will not be the only thing that pleases her that night.”

“Yes,” Alysanne said uncertainly.

“Not that my niece is overly fastidious, of course,” she said quickly.

“No,” Alysanne agreed, not sure if they were still discussing food.

Princess Trystana nodded again. She was half a head taller than Alysanne, and still very handsome, though she had to be close to fifty. There were long streaks of silver in her black curls. But she seemed to have enough energy for several women far younger. “No indeed,” she said.

They reached a bench covered in cushions against the far wall where several women stood up at their approach.

“Have any of you met Lady Alysanne Sarsfield?” the princess asked.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” a younger lady said. She looked enough like Princess Trystana to be her daughter. Though she was taller and fairer, she held herself with the same air of easy confidence. “This is my daughter, Joleta,” the princess confirmed.

“My lady,” Alysanne curtseyed.

The princess turned next to a darker woman with thick black eyebrows and a friendly smile, “Lady Deria Uller.”

Alysanne curtseyed again.

“And Lady Ariandra Fowler,”  she said of a lady with a thin face and blonde hair turning to white.

“Lady Alysanne,” Lady Ariandra said, “I’m very charmed.”

“Shouldn’t you be dancing, my dear?,” Princess Trystana asked her daughter.

Lady Joleta rolled her eyes, “Yes, Mother,” she said. “Even I have to rest some time.”

“Who is it going to be?”

“Oh, I forget,” said Lady Joleta, “I’m sure he’ll come find me.”

Sure enough, at that moment, a man came towards the group and bowed to the princess.

“Ser Marence,” she said. “You’ve come for Lady Joleta, I assume. Go ahead then.”

Her daughter laughed a little, took the man’s hand, and went off.

Princess Trystana shook her head. “At least Joleta doesn’t make me chase after her all night before she deigns to dance. The other one is full of excuses.”

“What kind of excuses, my princess?” Lady Deria asked her.

“The gods only know,” she said, “she’s tired; her feet hurt.”

“Perhaps Lady Daenerys really is tired,” Lady Deria suggested. “She’s still very young.”

The princess scoffed, “Nonsense.” She sat down on the cushions and the other three women followed. “Her trouble is that she’s too much like her father.”

“Some children are,” said Lady Ariandra.

“Yes,” the princess said, “and many are like their mother.”

“Indeed,” Lady Deria said with a smile.

“How is your little boy?” Princess Trystana asked her, changing tack suddenly. “You should send him to the Water Gardens.”

“I intend to, my princess,” she said. “When he’s a little older.”

“He must be nearly six.”

“He’s not quite five,” she said. “And he’s very attached to Hellholt.”

“Well,” the princess said, “he should get over that as soon as may be.”

“Do you have any children, my lady?” Lady Deria asked Alysanne. She started slightly at being addressed.

“Yes,” she said. “That is, I have a daughter. She’s a woman grown.”

“Has she travelled with you?”

“She has, my lady,” Alysanne said. Tyia had been subdued that morning and all the time they were making their way to the castle and settling in, but as the feast when on, and no one had done anything especially frightening, she had started to behave more like herself. “But I have no notion where she is right now. Dancing, I expect.”

“Well, if it’s you she takes after, I’m sure she has more partners than she knows what to do with.”

Alysanne blushed. “Thank you,” she said. “But Tyia is very demure.”

This time, Lady Deria’s smile seemed amused, “No doubt she is.”

“How is Lord Wyl?” Princess Trystana asked Lady Ariandra, “and my good sister?”

“Everyone is very well,” she said, looking away from the princess and taking out her fan. “Lady Rebanna would have liked to be here,” she said, “but… well. ”

“She is always welcome,” the princess said. “Though no doubt, her lord father has need of her more and more, as he gets older.”

Lady Ariandra’s smile became tight. “You needn’t fear for him, my princess,” she said, “I assure you.”

“Lady Ariandra has come down from the mountains,” Lady Deria confided in Alysanne. “Have you ever seen the Red Mountains?”

“I have,” she told her. “From Summerhall.”

“Oh,” Lady Ariandra said, “that can’t be called seeing the mountains.”

A young woman about Tyia’s age approached the bench and dipped into a deep curtsey.

“Lady Elda,” Princess Trystana said at once, “won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you, my princess,” she said. She placed herself in the space between the princess and Lady Ariandra.

“My love, you’re looking thinner every day,” Lady Ariandra said, “have you been eating well?”

“Well enough, mother,” she said. “There’s been a great deal going on.”

“Yes,” she said, “I imagine so.” She turned to Alysanne. “Lady Alysanne, this is my daugher, Lady Elda Toland,” she said.

Before Alysanne could respond someone else had approached them. This time it was a strikingly handsome man who turned striking dark eyes on Princess Trystana.

“Ladies,” he said as he bowed.

“Ser Eldon,” said Lady Deria with an amused tone. “You’re looking very well.”

“I am very well, my lady,” he said without looking at her. “Thank you.”

There was silence for a moment and Alysanne saw Lady Ariandra hide her mouth behind her fan.

“Will you do me the honour of dancing with me, my princess,” he finally said.

Princess Trystana smiled, “Yes,” she said at once, “it would be a pleasure.” She placed her hand in his and let him lead her off into the centre of the room.

Lady Ariandra could hardly contain herself. “She was blushing,” she whispered as soon as they were sitting again.

“I do believe you’re right,” Lady Deria confirmed.

“I didn’t believe it at first,” she continued, “but now I think it must be true.”

Lady Elda looked at her hands uncomfortably. “I wish you wouldn’t gossip, mother.”

“It’s not gossip if they’re making it that obvious,” her mother retorted.

“What difference does it makes, in any case?”

“It doesn’t make the least bit of difference, of course,” she said.

“Then what’s the use in talking about it?”

“What are you talking about?” Another man’s voice said.

Lady Ariandra started. “Rolyn,” she admonished, “don’t sneak up like that.”

“I apologize, mother,” he said, amused. “We’ll make more noise next time.”

He looked quite like his mother, more than Lady Elda did. He had her long thin face. With him was a very beautiful young woman with delicate features and chestnut coloured hair.

Lady Elda seemed quite relieved to see him. “I’m sure you remember my brother, Lady Deria,” she said.

“I do indeed,” she said. “Lady Alysanne Sarsfield, this is Ser Rolyn Toland, and Genna Sand.”

Lady Ariandra narrowed her eyes, “You’re Lady Qorgyle’s daughter, aren’t you?” She asked the pretty girl.

“I am, my lady,” she said.

“Well,” the lady said, “look at you, who else could you possibly be?”

The girl turned pale, “I… I don’t know, my lady.”

“Oh, there’s no reason to be upset, my dear,” Lady Ariandra said, “it’s not your doing, is it?”

Now she looked on the verge of tears. Ser Rolyn took her hand, “Shall we dance again, Genna?”

She nodded and curtseyed before turning away.

“How could you?” Lady Elda asked her mother.

“Did I suggest anything that isn’t true?” Lady Ariandra said defensively. “Gods be good, she’s his spitting image.”  

“That’s only a rumour, my lady,” Lady Deria said. That caused Lady Ariandra to scoff.

“A rumour that’s always upsets her a great deal,” Lady Elda said.

“I would be upset too,” she said, “if my father behaved so abominably and refused to acknowledge me.”

Lady Elda covered her face with her hand, “If he had acknowledged her, you would say that was abominable too.”

“What rubbish,” she said, “being a terrible husband is no excuse for being a terrible father.”

Alysanne felt herself turning red. She had never felt more strongly that she was in the middle of something she should have no part in. She shifted in her seat and tried to turn away.

Lady Deria touched her on the arm. “Shall we find something to drink?” She asked her.

“Oh yes, please,” she said.

They strolled along the edge of the hall, between the great carved pillars and the windows of leaded glass. Lady Deria’s smile was almost embarrassed.

“Lady Ariandra can be quite… formidable,” she said.

“I gathered that, yes,” Alysanne said. “Who was that girl?”

“Genna Sand?” Lady Deria asked casually. “Like she said, she’s Lady Qorgyle’s natural daughter. People have been speculating about her other parent ever since she was born, the poor thing.”

“Lady Qorgyle?” It must have been a trial to her, especially if her lover refused to own up to it. That kind of thing never left a woman. In her place, Alysanne may have died from the shame. “But Lady Ariandra seems to be quite sure she knows...” Alysanne stopped herself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask you to repeat gossip.”

“No,” Lady Deria agreed, “if you want gossip, go back to Lady Ariandra. I’m quite sure it’s the only reason she comes to Sunspear at all. That and to interfere with Lord Toland. Their daughter is getting married herself in half a year, and I don’t think she trusts her husband to make all the arrangements to her satisfaction.”

“Lady Elda’s father?” Alysanne asked, confused. “But… I assumed he was… dead. Isn’t Lady Ariandra wed to Lord Wyl?”

“Oh no,” Lady Deria said with a laugh, “they’re not wed.” Alysanne’s face must have betrayed her. “I’ve shocked you,” Lady Deria said, “I am sorry, I’m not one who enjoys shocking people.”

“I’m not shocked,” Alysanne lied. “It’s just all a little confusing.”

Lady Deria smiled kindly. “Well, my family is not confusing at all, if that’s some comfort to you.”

Alysanne could not help but laugh at that. “Just you, your husband, and your little son?” She asked hopefully.

“No,” Lady Deria admitted, “my husband has been dead these past three years.”

“Oh dear,” said Alysanne, “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said. “He was a decent man. He fell from his horse one day and bashed his head in.”

“How dreadful,” said Alysanne, more shocked now than ever.

“These things do happen.”

“I don’t know what I should do, if such a thing happened to my husband.” Go to her lord cousin in Maidenpool and beg to be taken in, she supposed. Or join the Silent Sisters.

“First I shocked you, then I made you gloomy,” Lady Deria said. “You must regret you met me tonight.”

“Not at all,” Alysanne said earnestly. She liked Lady Deria a good deal, though she could hardly say why. Women shocked her all the time, but they hardly ever apologized for it.

“Let me make it up to you,” Lady Deria offered.

“There’s no need for that, my lady,” she said, “you didn’t offend me one bit, truly.”

“Maybe not,” she allowed, “but I should like to see you dance with someone.”

Alysanne blushed, “I haven’t danced in years,” she confessed. Even when she had been young and far more attractive then she was now, she hardly ever danced. “I’m sure I’ve forgotten how.”

“It hardly matters if you know how or not,” Lady Deria said. “Not if you have the right partner.”

She blushed again, “My lord husband isn’t fond of dancing either.”

Lady Deria smirked. She grabbed a goblet off a passing tray and handed it to Alysanne. “Have some lemon water,” she told her. “Do you see anyone you like?”

“Now you are trying to shock me, my lady,” Alysanne admonished her gently.

“Wait here,” she said.

Alysanne did, nervously. She tried to find her husband in the hall, but he was nowhere to be seen. She did find Tyia, though, dancing with a young Dornishman, looking beautiful and happy. When one dance ended she was immediately engaged for the next.

Lady Deria came back before too long, with her was a tall man with dark curls that fell to his shoulders and a grin that was as amused as hers. Alysanne recognized him as one of the lords who had sat on the dais that evening, but his name escaped her.

“Lady Alysanne,” Lady Deria said, looking pleased with herself, “this is Lord Gargalen.”

Alysanne suddenly had nothing to do with the goblet in her hand. She found herself shoving it towards Lady Deria before dropping into a deep curtsy. Lord Gargalen took her hand and brought it to his lips. His dark eyes met hers. “My lady,” he said.

When he took his lips away, Alysanne realized that she had been holding her breath. So long that she felt light on her feet. She couldn’t bring herself to look away from those eyes.

“Lady Alysanne was just saying how much she wanted to learn this dance,” Lady Deria’s voice cut in.

Alysanne had forgotten that she was even there. That she existed at all.

“Will you let me show you?” He asked. His voice was deep, and breathy. Alysanne couldn’t help but feel that he was not only speaking of dancing. And the idea didn’t offend her.

“If you would, my lord,” she managed to say.

He had never let go of her hand. As they walked together to the centre of the room all the music, and conversation, and noise seem to disappear. Alysanne was dimly aware of the crush of people, but they didn’t matter at all.

They reached the floor and joined the two lines of men and ladies preparing for the next dance, Their fingers parted as he positioned himself across from her. Alysanne was so distracted by the way he was looking at her that she forgot what was about to happen.

“I...” she started, feeling awkward, like she was a maiden at her first feast, “I really don’t know this dance at all,” she said.

Lord Gargalen’s smile widened. “Don’t worry, my lady,” he told her, “it couldn’t be simpler. All you need to do is follow my lead.”

The music started, a slow and stately song. They came together and joined hands once more, then moved around the room in circles and lines. He had been right, all she need do was follow him.

“Where did you come from?” He asked her in a wondering voice after another minute of staring at each other. Or was it an hour?

Alysanne smiled back at him, “King’s Landing.”

He laughed. It was deep and booming; Alysanne could feel its vibration inside her own chest. “That’s impossible,” he said, “I’ve been to King’s Landing, and I hated it.”

“Does that mean you have to hate everything about it?” she asked him.

“I thought so,” he said, “until now. You need to move around the circle.”

“What?” Alysanne said stupidly, “oh.” The dance parted them, but Alysanne barely registered the faces, or the touch of any of the other men who were briefly her partner before she made her way back around to Lord Gargalen.

She could feel herself blushing as he took her hand again. “You dance so well, my lord,” she said. Immediately reproaching herself for saying something so inane.

“So do you, my lady,” he replied. “It’s very pleasant to watch you.” His cheeks turned a little pink at those words, but Alysanne could hardly believe it was a blush. “Forgive me,” he said.

She shook her head, “I know what you mean.”

Alysanne didn’t notice when the music stopped, but thankfully Lord Gargalan did. He lead her away towards the edge of the room and its many seats. A new, much livelier song was beginning.

“Did you want to dance again?” he asked her.

“I don’t think I could,” Alysanne admitted. She was so breathless that anyone would have thought she had been running.

“Yes,” he said, “this is a dance best left for the young.” He sat down next to her on the bench and they watched a dance that was quite unlike the courtly march they had just engaged in. There was a good deal of running, spinning, and ladies jumping into the air. “And they don’t dance like this in King’s Landing.”

“No,” Alysanne confirmed.

A girl of about sixteen came over to sit beside Lord Gargalen. She clutched his arm and looked around the hall furtively.

“What are you doing, Little Chickie?” he asked her.

“I’m hiding from Mother,” she said bluntly.

“Here?” he questioned fondly. “This will be the first place she looks.”

“Every time I try to sit down, or do anything at all, she swoops in and forces me to dance.”

“I thought you liked dancing,” he said to her.

She rolled her eyes. “I do. But I don’t like being forced to dance,” she said. “And she never throws anyone interesting at me.”

“Uninteresting men have to dance with someone too.”

“Oh no,” the maiden said. Alysanne followed her gaze and saw Princess Trystana coming towards them.

“I’m sorry, Little Chickie,” Lord Gargalen said as he rose to his feet, taking Alysanne with him. It was only then that she noticed that they were still holding hands. She pulled hers away, then she put it behind her back, as though the princess would see blood on it.

Princess Trystana, who had been so kind to her.

“Dany,” she said sternly to the girl, who had resolutely remained seated on the bench, “Lord Velaryon is waiting for you.”

“If you make me dance with anyone more, I’ll scream!” The girl declared. Princess Trystana only narrowed her eyes, but the effect was terrifying enough. “I’m tired!” Her daughter said.

“You had strength enough to run in the other direction when you saw him coming, so you must have the strength for one dance.”

Lord Gargalen laughed. Princess Trystana and the girl both glared at him. The resemblance between them was striking.

“You better go,” he told her. “You’ll break the man’s heart if you jilt him.”

The girl scrunched up her face, “This is the last one!” She told Princess Trystana before stalking off towards the dancers again.

Lord Gargalen chuckled. “That was my daughter, Daenerys,” he whispered to Alysanne. She felt herself go red with shame.

“She seems to think she can do whatever she pleases,” Princess Trystana said to Lord Gargalen. To her husband. “And I can only imagine it’s because you spoil her.”

“She doesn’t think so at all,” he said defensively. “We both know she’ll be charm itself to Lord Whoever. Perhaps you ask too much of her.”

“All of ask of her is her duty,” Princess Trystana said. “There can be nothing more important than that to teach one’s children. Don’t you agree, my lady?”

Alysanne felt the heat in her face increase. She couldn’t see those words as anything but a reproach, even if the princess was gracious enough to look at her solicitously. “I do, my princess,” she said. “I agree entirely.”

“Thank you,” she told her. “And for all her charm, Daenerys has never understood her duty.”

“You’re wrong, my princess,” Lord Gargalen said.

“I hope you’re right. One of these days, we’ll see.” She sat down on the bench.

Lord Gargalen sat down beside her. Alysanne didn’t see any choice but to sit down too, careful to leave a good space between herself and him.

“Lady Alysanne and I were only just dancing,” Lord Gargalen said. Pointedly.

“I’m glad,” said Princess Trystana. “I was afraid you weren’t enjoying yourself, my lady.”

“Yes,” her husband said, “and we had some thought of dancing again.”

Princess Trystana looked between them, Alysanne trying to appear as small as she could, and Lord Gargalen, acting completely unabashed. “Oh,” she said, “I am sorry.” She stood, “Goodnight,” she told him. “And please, think on what I’ve said. About Dany.”

“I will,” he said, “if you wish it.”

When she was gone, Alysanne let out a shuddering breath.

“Are you unwell, my lady?” Lord Gargalen asked her, taking her hand once more.

She didn’t pull it away; she felt as though she needed the support. “I should go,” she said, “to bed.” Back to King’s Landing may have been better, however. She felt like weeping just remembering the thoughts she had entertained, how she must have acted. Here in the feast hall, with her own husband somewhere in the room.

Had he seen?

“So soon?” He asked, “Surely you can stay for one more dance.”

“No!” She said quickly, “I should find my daughter. And we should both go to bed.”

“Let me help you,” he said. “You do look ill.”

“I’m not ill,” she said. She forced herself to look at him. The way he was looking at her… She didn’t think anyone had looked at her like that before. “I need to go.”

“As you say.” He kissed her hand again. The heat of his lips felt as though it were spreading up her entire arm. “I hope you have pleasant dreams.”

Alysanne fled from him into the crowd of people milling around, talking and watching the dancers. She tried to find her daughter somewhere in the scrum. When she finally did, Tyia was sitting, sipping wine with a young man. She grabbed her arm.

“Sweetling,” Alysanne said, trying not to sound panicked, “it’s time for us to retire.”

“Oh,” Tyia said. She stood immediately, for all the disappointment on her face. “I’m sorry, Ser Galwell,” she said to her companion, “it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to dance with you after all.”

The young man didn’t look very upset, “Some other time perhaps,” he said to their backs as they walked away.

Tyia sighed when they got outside and started together along the walk to the tall, hulking Tower of the Sun across the great courtyard. “I had a very nice evening,” she said. “The way everyone was talking, for the entire journey, I expected to be terrified, but it was all quite ordinary. The food was very queer, and some of the dancing was rather, well, unrefined, but everyone was very pleasant. Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Alysanne said to her, “I was met with nothing but kindness.”

“Mother?” Tyia asked her when they passed in front of a torch, “are you crying? What’s the matter?”

She wiped angrily at the tears on her cheeks. “I’ve had too much wine, I think,” she lied. In truth, she had only half a glass while she was eating before discovering that she much prefered the sweetened lemon water.

“I think I have too,” Tyia said, “I’m sorry. All the dancing made me thirsty.”

“Don’t make it a habit my love, that’s all.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “To think, this morning we were still on the ship.”

Alysanne left her daughter on the first floor of the tower, still sharing a bed with half a dozen other young ladies, and climbed the staircase higher up.

Her husband, as Master of Horse, had been given a chamber just a floor down from the king himself. The corridors up there were richly decorated with tapestries and paintings. The mirrors behind the lamps on the wall made it almost as bright as day.

The door from the corridor opened into a small receiving room that was darkened except for the light of the moon through the uncovered window. There was a light in the dressing room, however, and Alysanne found Marigold there, still unpacking clothing from the large cedar trunk.

“You should have been in your bed hours ago,” Alysanne told her gently.

“There’s work that needs to be done, milady,” she said. “I was resting all afternoon when I should have been doing it.”

“You’re not still ill, are you?” She looked flushed.

“No, milady,” she said. “Though what they gave us for dinner didn’t quite agree with me.”

“Nor with me."

She helped Alysanne out of her best gown and into a sleeping shift. She watched the maid fold the sleeves and over-skirts away lovingly as she freed her hair from all its pins and nets. Her own stomach was starting to roil again, an uncomfortable heat was creeping up her throat.

“I suppose we’ll grow accustomed to the food soon enough,” Alyanne told Marigold.

“I pray you’re right, milady.”

Alysanne was surprised to find Tybot in the bedchamber. He was sitting at a writing desk in his shirt sleeves with a single candle and a scatter of papers.

“I expected you to stay at the feast a good deal longer,” he told her without looking up.

The bed had already been used. The sheets looked as though they’d been hastily put back with an unpractised hand.

“I couldn’t find you,” she said, “and the food upset my stomach. I thought it best to come to bed.”

“Well,” he said, looking at her from his seat, “there was some business I had to...”

“Yes,” Alysanne said quickly. He was watching her with a familiar expression, she pulled back the sheets and climbed into the bed. She knew what was coming; she had been his wife for nearly twenty years, so she didn’t bother to bring the blankets back up to cover herself.

Her husband rose from his seat and stood at the foot of the bed, disrobing and leaving his clothes in a pile haphazardly at his feet. He came over to Alysanne and ran his hand up her thigh, pushing up her bedgown over her hips.

She closed her eyes as soon as he started to thrust into her. His huffing and puffing always came in a rhythm that seemed to lull her. But tonight, the feel of his breath on her cheek reminded her of the shiver she felt down her spine when Lord Gargalen had first looked up at her.

Her hand still burned where his lips had touched them.

Alysanne felt a tightness slowly building in her belly. With every breath, and every thrust it seemed to coil up, like wrapping a ribbon around her finger until the tip turned purple. She remembered his laugh, the affection in his eyes when looked at his daughter, the line of his jaw when he smiled, the creases around his eyes. The touch of his hand when he asked her to stay.

Alysanne cried out as her body shook, quite against her will.

Chapter Text

Olenna didn’t often break her fast with her lord father. In truth, she wasn’t often in his presence for so long. And when she was, she always felt as though it could only be to because she had displeased him.

But Lord Redwyne didn’t seem displeased. They were sitting on the balcony of his chambers, the usual Dornish profusion of fruit spread out on the table. Her father and brother conversed easily with each other, but Olenna hardly knew what to say. And they were unlikely to ever ask her view.

“Is that Lord Tarth’s daughter?” Her father asked.

“I believe it is,” Horas replied. “Marrying that one off couldn’t have been easy.”

Olenna looked over to see the lady herself. She was very tall, and plain of face, but other than that, she didn’t seem so horrible.

Lord Redwyne scoffed, “The idea of ruling Tarth no doubt helped. And her husband is an idiot.”

“He would have to be,” Horas declared. “I would never marry a woman like that. Not for the greatest lordship in Westeros.”

“Not even a Princess of Dorne?”

“Of course not.”

Lord Redwyne raised his eyebrows. “Then you’re a better man than Lord Rowan.”

“What do you mean by that, my lord?” Horas asked.

“Perhaps it’s an idle rumour,” he said, “but not one I have much trouble believing. Some men will do anything to gratify their ambition, and the Dornish...”

“Yes,” Horas said. “There are certain rumours that are clearly true about them. A man doesn’t have to work very hard, if you understand me.”

Septa Unelletine, sitting beside Olenna and delicately eating pomegranate seeds, cleared her throat gently.  

Horas started and turned to Olenna as though surprised to find her there. “In any case,” he said, “it makes me grateful, to have a sister myself who is so virtuous.”

Olenna blushed. She supposed it was praise, but for some reason she found it almost menacing. As though he was warning her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Lord Redwyne said. “I hope that her example is instructive to all the ladies here.”

Olenna said nothing. Her father and brother regarded her silently for a moment longer before Lord Redwyne smiled at her. “How are you occupying yourself today, my dear?”

She was quite unused to being asked such a question. Her mother had died before she was old enough to ask her anything, and in Highgarden, she always did whatever Lady Tyrell wished. “Um,” she said uncertainly, “I believe we’re going to have a quiet morning. But at midday...” She trailed off, suddenly wondering if her plans would meet with his approval.

Septa Unelletine came to her rescue. “Lady Deneza has invited Lady Olenna to lunch with her in the gallery above the small yard,” she said. “I expect Princess Loreza will be there, my lord.”

“I see,” her father said. “Excellent. Are you going with the Gargalen girl?”

“I intend to, my lord, yes,” Olenna told him. They had made those arrangements the previous day, however. Before the feast.

“Excellent,” he repeated. “I would be more pleased if you’d managed to befriend the princess, of course, but that is excellent.”

Olenna blushed, and reproached herself for her fear of his disapprobation. It was foolish to think he would object to her spending time with the Dornish. Why else would be bring her to Dorne? Then again, he seemed pleased that she was finding favour with the very women he had only just finished criticizing for their lack of virtue.

But if Lord Redwyne was lowering himself to find favour with them, that could only be her fault. He once had every expectation of being goodfather to a prince, and now…

“Princess Loreza doesn’t seem to want to befriend anyone,” Olenna said defensively.

“Hush child,” Septa Unelletine chided her. “What a thing to say.” She turned to Lord Redwyne. “The princess has been very gracious, from the very first day. I believe she is quite fond of Lady Olenna.”

Olenna doubted that was true. They’d been in the same room often enough, but the princess had hardly spoken two words to her in the ten days she had been in Sunspear. It was only Princess Trystana who had taken any notice of her. Her and Daenerys. “I only meant,” she said. “She’s obviously far too busy to be more than civil to anyone.”

That was true enough. The princess arrived whenever she wished, and left without regard to anything. It didn’t seem to Olenna that she was ever any more courteous than she had to be.

“No doubt,” Lord Redwyne said. “But I hope you’ll make the effort in any case.”

He paid her little mind after that. He and Horas joked together about the tourney and other men. Things they would hardly solicit Olenna’s opinion on. They left the Garden Keep to Olenna, the septa, and their needlework. When the time came for the ladies to leave, Olenna almost demurred. But she knew Septa Unelletine would not be sympathetic.

“I supposed we can meet Daenerys there,” she said instead, as they started their walk across the gardens. “There’s no cause to wait for her.”

“No indeed,” Septa Unelletine said with a knowing expression. “You must makes amends with her, of course.”

“Amends?” Olenna asked. “For what?”

“Well, sweetling,” she said, “I do believe we managed to offend her last night.”

Olenna was a little incredulous. “I was only following your advice,” she protested.

“Yes,” the septa admitted. “I advised you to do as I believed your lord father would wish. And it seems I was wrong.”

“But...” she said. “You don’t think I should have acted… other than I did? You couldn’t possibly.”

“No,” she said, “but still, you must make amends with Lady Daenerys. And hope that she herself shows more judgement in the future.”

Olenna doubted that. Her friend always seemed so sure of herself. She would defend the Lyseni woman from any argument against her, no matter how reasonable. Just like she defended Ser Maron Wyl.

“Lady Olenna,” she heard an unfamiliar voice call to her. It came from a young woman walking towards them down the stairs of the keep. She had a cheerful face, plump, in that pleasant, youthful way, with thin brown hair and a small mouth.

“That’s Lady Darklyn, sweetling,” Septa Unelletine whispered in her ear.

“You are Olenna Redwyne, aren’t you?” The lady asked her when they met at the bottom of the stairs. “I know we were introduced yesterday, but I’m hopeless with names and faces.”

“Um,” Olenna said, a little astonished, “I am, my lady.”

“Oh good,” she said cheerfully. “It would have been quite embarrassing otherwise. And do you know who I am?”

Olenna was finding it hard to maintain her composure. “I do, Lady Darklyn.”

“That’s very good of you,” she said, “I was sure you wouldn’t remember me. I probably wouldn’t remember me.” She brought forward the girl who was with her, a very comely girl with blonde hair and high cheekbones. “And this is Tyia Sarsfield, my dearest friends in all the world.”

She blushed prettily and bobbed a little curtsey at Olenna. “Are you going to the small yard, my lady?” She asked.

“We are,” Olenna confirmed.

“That’s a relief,” Lady Darklyn said, “we have no notion where it is.”

“Well, we certainly do,” Olenna said, summoning her courtesy. “Why don’t you walk with us.”

“Thank you,” she said. But as soon as they started walking, she started talking again. “You’ve been here for quite some time already, haven’t you?” She asked Olenna.

“Not long,” Olenna said. “A little less than a fortnight.”

“And isn't it a strange place?”

“Yes,” Olenna said without thinking.

“Oh Ami,” Tyia Sarsfield admonished. “It’s not so bad.”

“She’s only saying that because every man in Dorne was at her feet last night,” Lady Darklyn confided. “She was too busy dancing to notice anything.”

She blushed again. “Well, you tell me all about it, then.”

“I wouldn’t want to shock you.”

“Since when have you been worried about that?”

“I wouldn’t want to shock Lady Olenna.”

“I don’t believe you could, my lady,” Olenna told her. “As I said, I’ve been here nearly a fortnight.”

“Let me see,” Lady Darklyn said. She touched her chin as though she had so many scandalous things to choose from, that she couldn’t quite decide. “I suppose you’ve heard about Prince Arion and his… well, I have no notion of what to call her.”

“Paramour,” Olenna said. “They call them paramours here.”

Lady Darklyn giggled. “Yes, I know,” she said, “but I’m not sure it applies in this case. What I heard is that he, the prince that is, is wed to some lady whose father hates him so much that he ordered him from his castle. And he didn’t want to face his brother, so he ran off the Lys, for four or five years, as I understand it. And when he came back, he brought this woman with him.”

“What’s so extraordinary about that?” Asked Olenna. It was nothing compared to all the other things she’d been hearing daily.

“My dear!” Lady Darklyn said. “It would be one thing if she was some magisters daughter or something, but he found her in a… well. The way I heard it, he had to buy her.”

Olenna was shocked. She looked over to Septa Unelletine. The expression on her face told her that she already knew, and wished that Olenna hadn’t found out.

Tyia Sarsfield gasped. “You can mean that she was a… slave, can you?”

Lady Darklyn nodded excitedly. “In one of those Lysene pleasure houses, where they breed them to look like dragon lords, you know. The prince saw her and decided he couldn’t live without her.”

“Are you sure it’s true?” Olenna asked her. It seemed too much, even for the Dornish.

“My husband says it’s true.”

“She’s always about, though,” Olenna said. “I never speak to her, of course, but Lady Lenelle is very attached of her. She would never allow her to be around her daughter. Not when she has this marriage at stake.”

“I’m not sure,” Tyia said. “All our mothers let Lady Jenny around us.”

“And the Dornish, you know,” said Lady Darklyn confidently. “I hear he has bastards too. Prince Arion, I mean.”

“Only one,” Olenna said. “With the Lyseni woman."

“That’s not what I heard,” Lady Darklyn said. “My husband...”

“Ladies,” Septa Unelletine cut in suddenly, “can we perhaps find some other topic of conversation?”

Lady Darklyn laughed. “I warned you I would be shocking.”

Tyia Sarsfield smiled fondly. “I heard that the bridegroom is arriving tomorrow.”

“And about time too,” Lady Darklyn said. “The wedding is in six days. One delay and he could have missed it.”

“That means she will only know him for five days,” Tyia said. “Princess Loreza, I mean. Before they wed. I don’t think I would like to marry a man I know so little.”

“I don’t think I could,” Lady Darklyn said. “I’ve known my husband since I was a child.”

Olenna tried not to frown, or to tell them both that knowing a man from childhood was no guarantee of anything.

“But I suppose it’s different when you’re a princess,” Tyia Sarsfield continued. “No one could be displeased with a princess.”

All four of them turned at the sound of running steps. Daenerys Gargalen was coming down the path that lead from the great courtyard and the Tower of the Sun. She joined them and immediately linked her arm with Olenna’s.

“Good day,” she said cheerfully.

Olenna felt herself flush. “Good day, Daenerys,” she said. “Have you met Lady Darklyn?”

“I have,” Daenerys said in the same happy tone. “Good day.” Lady Darklyn answered with equal cheer and introduced her friend. Daenerys smiled at Tyia. “You’re Lady Alysanne’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“I am, my lady,” Tyia Sarsfield said, a little confused. “Have you met my lady mother?”

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Daenerys said, “but my f- my mother has, and she likes her very much.”

“Your mother, Princess Trystana?” Lady Darklyn asked excitedly.

“Yes,” Daenerys told her. She turned to Olenna and spoke to her in a much softer voice. “Are you...” She started. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” Olenna told her. “Last night was rather… I was very tired.”

“So was I,” she told her. “My mother says we should all go to bed early; no doubt we’ll be up even longer tomorrow, with the Rowans finally coming.”

“And I doubt anyone will take her advice.”

“No,” Daenerys laughed.

Lady Darklyn whispered something to her friend and giggled. Tyia Sarsfield shook her head.

“Lady Daenerys,” Lady Darklyn said boldly. “You must know Prince Arion very well too.”

Olenna turned red with embarrassment for the lady, but Daenerys could only frown in confusion. “He’s my uncle,” she said.

“So you must know his family.”

“Please Ami, don’t.” Tyia Sarsfield. Olenna could see her mind searching for a way to distract Lady Darklyn from her desired course. “Is it true that, in Dorne, you don’t perform the bedding ceremony?”

“At the wedding feast, you mean?” Daenerys said. “Yes, and I’m very glad. It sounds dreadful.”

“I don’t know,” Lady Darklyn said with a smirk. “I rather enjoyed it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t,” Daenerys declared. “And neither would Princess Loreza.” She looked at Olenna again. “What do you think about it, Olenna?” She asked solicitously.

“I...” Olenna said. “To tell the truth, I can’t really imagine a wedding without a bedding. They go together.”

“Not in Dorne,” Daenerys said haughtily.  

“Is there a wedding pie?” Tyia Sarsfield asked curiously.

“Of course,” Daenerys said. “And there’s dancing too.”

“That’s a mercy,” Lady Darklyn said. “Oh, we’re here.”

They’d arrived at the the small yard. Several archery butts had been set up and a small group of knights and ladies were letting fly at them. Lady Darklyn and her friend immediately made for the table set up in the shade under an awning, but Daenerys saw her sister standing with a long bow in her hands, so Olenna went with her towards the butts.

As they approached she made out the form of Prince Daeron, clad in plum coloured silk. Ser Jeremy Norridge was by his side, smiling at something the prince was saying to him.

Olenna paused; Septa Unelletine squeezed her hand. “Steady on, sweetling,” she said quietly. “You have no cause to fear facing him.”

She nodded and went to stand beside Daenerys. Horas was there as well, with Ser Luthor Tyrell and three or four other dornishman. Olenna knew them all by name now. Ser Galwell, the heir to Sandstone, Ser Eldon Sand, and Ser Arthur Dalt. Lady Joleta was not the only lady among them; Elda Toland was there as well, with her bastard half-sister Jennelyn. Lady Joleta greeted Olenna and Daenerys cheerfully.

“You need to practise as well, Dany,” she said.

“What’s the point,” Daenerys said glumly. “Everyone knows you’ll win.”

“Don’t let yourself be demoralized, my lady,” Ser Galwell Qorgyle said. “Lady Joleta may become unbearable if no one challenges her.”

“I thought she was already unbearable,” Daenerys muttered as she accepted an arm guard from the young knight.

Olenna heard the sound of a man clearing his throat. She turned to find that Prince Daeron was close by her. He glanced at Ser Jeremy, who nodded encouragingly. “My lady,” he said. “I’m glad to see you so well.”

You would have been more glad to never see me at all . “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. “It’s a great pleasure to see you again.” He still looked just like he ever did, with the same silver hair she had once dreamed of running her fingers through, but he had a sheepish expression she had never seen before on him.

“I had no notion you would be here,” he continued awkwardly. “Though, of course, I’m very pleased that you are.”

Olenna didn’t know what to say. “Yes, so am I.”

Horas noticed her plight and came over to stand beside her. He was silent, but his mere presence was a comfort to her.

Prince Daeron looked almost nervously at him before he spoke to Olenna again. “I hope, my lady, that you’ll dance with me at the feast tomorrow.”

“It would be an honour, thank you,” she said. Septa Unelletine smiled at her in approval. Olenna exhaled as he turned away. Now that it was over, it didn’t seem so bad. She decided that she felt many things towards Prince Daeron, but regret at losing his affection was not one of them.

“Would you like a turn, Lady Olenna?” Lady Joleta asked.

“I...” She had shot a bow and arrow a few times before when she was at Highgarden—Lady Tyrell had a passion for hawking and thought archery respectable enough to tolerate it in her ladies—but she had never taken to it. She would certainly not be able to match the graceful way Daenerys was letting shafts fly, one after the other. “I’m sorry, my lady,” she said, “I wouldn’t know how.”

Ser Luthor Tyrell came forward eagerly at those words. “Allow me to show you, my lady,” he said.

Lady Joleta smiled and offered him her bow and quiver of arrows. She unlaced her own arm guard to give it to Olenna, but Ser Luthor took that too. “With your permission,” he said, approaching her and indicating her left arm.

Olenna allowed him to slip the guard over her forearm and tried not to look too uncomfortable when he looked up and smiled at her while he tied the laces.

He put the bow in her hand and started to give her advice on where to place her feet. She did as he told her, though she didn’t feel quite balanced when she drew the string back. It took all her strength to get her fingers back to her right cheek.

“You needn’t pull so far,” Lady Joleta said. “You can’t anchor your shot all the way back there.”

Ser Luthor frowned. “No, in my experience, my lady,” he said, “it’s not so important where you anchor your shot, so long as you do it consistently.”

He came up behind Olenna and put her arms around her. One hand went over her left hand the the shaft of the bow, and the other over her right on the string. His body was close enough against her that the back of her head bumped into his chest. She glanced at Septa Unelletine, but she was standing well back with a look smug contentment on her face. Ser Luthor leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I know my lady’s aim will be true,” he said. “She pierces men’s hearts with unequaled skill already.”

Olenna cringed instinctively and let the arrow fly without meaning to. It missed the target by a hair and embedded in the bale of hay that was holding it.

“Well done, my lady,” Ser Luthor said. But Lady Joleta was less impressed.

“You rotated your elbow out far too much,” she offered. “It should be straight up and down.”

Olenna nodded. She drew another shaft from the quiver Ser Luthor was holding and notched it the the bow. She pulled it back and turned her elbow straight, letting loose the second she saw Lady Joleta nod out of the corner of her eye, so Ser Luthor didn’t have time to touch her again. This time it hit the outermost ring of the target.  

Daenerys came over and clapped for her. “That was much better,” she said.

Olenna smiled. The next shot hit the outermost ring as well, but on the other side. She scoffed in frustration. When she drew another, her shoulder was already sore enough that holding the arrow steady was difficult.

“Oh come on, Olenna, just one more,” Daenerys encouraged.

She let fly. The shaft landed close enough to the previous one that Olenna decided it wasn’t shameful.

“If you practice, you may get somewhere,” Lady Joleta said with a smile. Olenna returned it.

The group around the archery butts all stirred at once and turned towards the short flight of steps leading from the bailey of the Sandship. Princess Loreza and two of her ladies were coming down into the yard and straight towards them. They all bowed as she approached. Except for Prince Daeron, of course. He inclined his head, slightly.  

“Princess Loreza,” he said.

“Prince Daeron,” she returned, not bowing either.

“Have you come to shoot as well?” He asked her.

“No,” the princess said with an affected laugh. “I’m not fond of making a fool of myself in public.”

Lady Joleta rolled her eyes. “She can’t compete in the tourney,” she said, “and the princess never does anything without a purpose.”

She rolled her own eyes. “I’m not sure if that’s praise or censure.”

“Praise, I have no doubt,” said Prince Daeron gallantly.

She smiled, then looked pointedly over the prince’s right shoulder where Ser Jeremy was standing.

No one said anything, so she kept staring. Finally Lady Rhona Santagar made the introduction.

“Ser Jeremy Norridge, my princess,” she said.

“Ser,” Princess Loreza held out her hand and allowed the knight to kiss it. Olenna saw Horas whisper something to Luthor Tyrell, who twisted his mouth in distaste.

“Ser Jeremy is my oldest friend,” Prince Daeron said, now that he seemed to realise he had no need to pretend that the man was invisible.

“So I’ve heard,” Princess Loreza said. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to meet you yesterday,” she addressed to Ser Jeremy. “I can’t imagine how it was overlooked.”

Ser Jeremy seemed quite uneasy. “I’m very honoured that you would notice me so kindly, my princess,” he said.

“It isn’t kindness,” she said, “it’s simple decency.”

“Yes,” he said, even more uncomfortable.

“Well,” Princess Loreza said, “shall we go eat?”

Prince Daeron gave Princess Loreza his arm and they all began to make their way to the table under the awning. Horas and Ser Luthor hung back, so Olenna and the septa stayed with them.

“I don’t suppose we can get out of going with them,” Horas said glumly to Ser Luthor. “Or avoid witnessing more displays like that.”

“What did you expect?” Ser Luthor asked. “They can’t seem to help themselves, it’s in their blood.”

“Prince Daeron has a good deal of Dornish blood himself,” Horas pointed out. “Perhaps that explains it.”

“Yes,” Ser Luthor laughed.

Without a word he extended his arm towards Olenna, clearly intending for her to take it. He walked her across the yard to the table that was already crowded with people. Princess Loreza sat at the head with Prince Daeron beside her. There more more ladies there, who hadn’t been practising in the yard. Lady Darklyn and Tyia Sarsfield had joined Lady Deneza Dalt and a few of the Hightowers. Daenerys pulled out the chair beside her, halfway down the table. Olenna let go of Ser Luthor’s arm and went over to her gratefully.

“I was half afraid Ser Luthor would never release you,” she said with a giggle.

“Stop,” Olenna said, smiling. “He was only flirting, it doesn’t mean anything.” Not that flirting was something she had much experience with. It had never been in her own nature, and most men didn’t think to flirt with a prince’s betrothed without encouragement. But for every other young person at Highgarden, it had been a general preoccupation. Ser Luthor probably flirted without even noticing he was doing it.

Daenerys giggled again. “As you say.”

“So...” Prince Daeron said at the front of the table. “I hear that tomorrow is the day.” She regarded him without understanding. “That the bridegroom will be arriving,” the prince supplied.

“Oh, yes,” Princess Loreza confirmed, not saying anything else on the subject.

“You’ve never seen him before?” He tried again.

“No,” she admitted. “But my uncles and my brother all speak very highly of him.”

“What does Prince Lewyn say about him?” asked Jennelyn Sand curiously.

“Ah,” Princess Loreza considered, “that he’s very clever and good-natured.”

“But, to be fair, Prince Lewyn thinks everyone is clever and good-natured,” Ser Galwell Qorgyle said.

The princess did smile at that. “My brother is an excellent judge of character,” she said.

“Yes, but is he comely?” Lady Darklyn asked, probably a little louder than she had intended. Several people laughed.

“I’m sure Princess Loreza is far more concerned with more important things,” Tyia Sarsfield said in a mildly admonishing tone.

“I’m told he’s a very fine looking man,” Princess Loreza said, sounding coldly indifferent.

After the meal of fish and green salad, Olenna managed to avoid being dragged into anyone else’s company and walked back through the garden alone, arm in arm with Septa Unelletine.

“What do you think of Princess Loreza?” Olenna asked her.

“Well,” the septa said uneasily, “she’s very...”

“Please don’t say she’s elegant,” Olenna begged her.

“I wasn’t going to,” Unelletine claimed. “I was going to say that she’s very… well, Dornish, I suppose. And she can hardly be blamed for that.”

“I wish I could like her, but...” Olenna hesitated.

“Yes, sweetling?”

“She doesn’t seem happy, about this wedding,” Olenna said. “Everytime someone mentions it, or her betrothed, she just becomes very… cold.”

“Perhaps she’s anxious about it.”

“No she isn’t,” Olenna argued. “She’s trying to pretend it’s not going to happen. I mean… Ser Eliott Rowan is a very good match for anyone, even her.” Doesn’t she know how fortunate she is? What others wouldn’t give to be in her place?

“Not as good as the heir to Highgarden,” Septa Unelletine said significantly.

“What?” Olenna asked. “He never wanted to marry her, did he?” Olenna couldn’t image how Princess Loreza would react to Ser Luthor’s gallantries.

“No, my love,” the septa said. “But I’m beginning to think someone else may have caught his eye.”

Olenna had no trouble interpreting her significant look. “That’s impossible,” she said.

“You mean to tell me that you haven’t noticed how he’s gone out of his way to be courteous to you in particular this last week or so? Or that your lord father and Lord Tyrell have been speaking a good deal together too?”

“He’s only flirting,” Olenna insisted. “I’m sure he flirts with everyone.”

“Or perhaps he’s trying to know you better,” she suggested. “And you could stand to be more encouraging. Lord Tyrell is a famously indulgent father; he would never betroth his eldest son to someone he wasn’t partial to, no matter how much he would want to show Lord Redwyne his favour.”

“But...” Olenna said in a small voice. “Why would they want me? I’m...”

“You’re the Lord of the Arbor’s daughter,” Septa Unelletine told her, “You have more right to him than almost anyone.”

Olenna didn’t want to look at her. “I wish you hadn’t told me this,” she admitted, “I know it will only get my hopes up.”

“You mustn’t think that, Olenna,” the septa said seriously. “Lord Redwyne has done what he could, and now it’s your duty to see that his efforts aren’t wasted. A Tyrell marriage is almost as good. In some ways it’s better.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Olenna admitted. “But… I don’t know what to do. I could never be like...”

“Like one of those empty-headed girls in Highgarden who spend all their days looking for young knights to flirt with? I should hope not.” Septa Unelletine took her hand and spoke to her affectionately, “It’s a wife he’s looking for, a Lady for Highgarden, a mother for his sons, not a fool to play a courtly game with.”

“And how can I convince him it should be me?”

“Well,” she said, “pleasing a husband is a good deal like pleasing a father. You need to show him that you will be guided by him, that you value his judgement above your own. He must know that you think he is the best man in the world.”

Olenna nodded. “Then perhaps it’s for the best,” she said, “that I’m not marrying Prince Daeron.”  

Septa Unelletine laughed out loud.

Chapter Text

Eliott awoke in the morning with a dull ache in his head. Owain opened the door to their room with a laugh.

“Are you still asleep?” he asked. “Everyone is waiting for you. Not least your bride.”

He groaned and rolled out of the inn’s narrow bed, stumbling groggily over to the earthenware flagon of water on a side table and drinking straight from it. The water was as cool as if it had just been drawn from the well, though Eliott could already feel the heat of the sun through the glass windows.

“I was a fool to not get a good night’s sleep,” he confessed. “What were we thinking?”

As soon as the ladies had gone to bed, Prince Lewyn had lead all the young men of the party back to the Planky Town, where they spent most of the night crossing the treacherous plank bridges and exploring the wine sinks and brothels hidden in the warren of boats and skiffs.

“What were we supposed to do,” Owain asked, “refuse to go?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Out in the yard of the inn, preparations were being made for their ride into Sunspear. There were dozens of banners and a score of grooms polishing bits of tackle and leather until they shone, but they would clearly not be ready to depart for an hour or more. Eliott pulled a clean tunic on over his head and followed his cousin down the corridor into a small room where his lord father had chosen to break his fast away from the noise of the dining hall below.

Ser Corett scoffed derisively at the sight of him. “What kind of display is this?” he asked. “I’m sure your good father will be very impressed when you’re sick all over his shoes.”

“I don’t feel sick in the least,” he lied. “I only need to eat something.”

He sat down and helped himself to several rashers of greasy bacon. He gobbled them up and used a piece of bread to soak up the grease.

Lord Rowan looked more worried than displeased. “Everything needs to go perfectly today, Eliott.”

“It will go perfectly,” he assured him.

“Have something fiery,” his cousin Marq suggested, pushing a bowl of strange looking paste towards him. Eliott picked up a glob with another piece of bread. It was dragon pepper and aubergine, so hot it brought tears to his eyes. “That will clear your head for sure,” Marq laughed.

“Don’t make this sound worse than it is,” Eliott told him. “My head doesn’t need clearing.”

“I should hope not,” his uncle said with even less sympathy than before. In fact, only Alastor was looking at him with sympathy; he, at least, had had the wisdom to plead fatigue the night before and stay behind. Even his mother and Lady Taria shook their heads disapprovingly.

Aelora, of course, was acting as though she didn’t know what was going on.

“I’m so excited that I can’t even eat,” she declared.

“What do you have to be excited about?” Eliott grumbled.

“Meeting Princess Loreza, of course,” Aelora said. “Do you think she’s pretty? Prince Lewyn said she is.”

“Aelora,” their mother admonished, “you shouldn’t be concerned with how pretty she may be. There are far more important things.”

“Prince Lewyn told you that?” Eliott asked her.

The young prince had never told him any such thing, for all his efforts. Last night, in a brothel in the bowels of a boat, he and his soon-to-be good brother sat together among the piled cushions in the common room. Prince Lewyn didn’t seem to have any interest in going anywhere more private and Eliott was not about to either, half convinced as he was that it was some kind of test. Instead he drank an entire flagon of wine to build up the courage to be blunt in his questions.

“What does she look like,” he finally asked, “your sister?”

Prince Lewyn only shrugged. “They say we look alike.”

Eliott squinted and tried to imagine him as a woman, but there was nothing for it. His features had a sharp, masculine quality that would be totally out of place on one.

It took half of another flagon before he tried again.

“I just...I still feel like I know nothing about her. What kind of wife will she be?”

Prince Lewyn looked at him with good natured sympathy. “You really don’t need to fear her,” he said. “You’ll do fine as long you don’t try to go up against the Wall.”

“The Wall,” Eliott asked, confused. “Like in the north?”

“No, this one’s worse,” Prince Lewyn confessed. “It’s when my father and my sister agree. No one stands a chance against them when they agree. And, of course they always do.”

“Always?”

“Oh yes,” he said with a laugh. “Officially anyway. Maybe they argue when no one is watching. But, well… my mother has always said that those who are born to rule are just not like the rest of us.”

“I know there are more important things,” Aelora was saying. “But it would still be nice if she were pretty too.”

“I wouldn’t take Prince Lewyn’s word for it, though,” Alastor told her. “All brothers say that their sisters are pretty.”

“Do you say I’m pretty?”

“You are,” Eliott assured her.

He escaped and went back to his chamber where Samuel Reer was waiting, holding a glass of something vile.

“What is that?” he asked.

“To clear your head, my lord,” he said.

It looked and smelled like vomit, but Eliott downed it five quick gulps, then nearly doubled over coughing. It was even more fiery than his breakfast.

“It’s past time you were dressed, my lord,” Reer said in his usual stoney manner.

“Yes,” Eliott said between coughs. “Or we’ll be riding in the worst heat.” He washed his face and hands before sitting for his shave. Then he helped Hugh get him into his best finery.

Or second best. The very best would be for the wedding.

He wore snowy breeches and a doublet of white silk with sleeves slashed with gold and the Rowan tree worked over the heart. He put on a golden chain where each link was shaped like the curving branches of a tree. Finally, he pulled on boots of the softest, honey-coloured calf’s skin. He would be hot, but he would look like a Rowan.

They were all about to leave when his mother came into the room and adjusted his chain affectionately.

“You look so handsome,” she said, touching his face with ther hand.  

“Do I?” he asked her, embarrassed by how anxious his voice sounded.

“Oh yes,” Lady Sarra assured him. She looked nervously at Samuel Reer and Hugh. They both took the hint immediately, and both senechal and manservant left the room, closing the door behind them.

“I wanted...” she started again, fiddling with his chain again. “I’m glad I have the chance to speak with you.”

“You can always speak to me, Mother,” he said, “whenever you wish it.” He couldn’t remember ever seeing her so nervous before. She was having trouble looking him in the face.

“You see, Eliott,” she said, “women are different than men, in how we love. We could never ask for it, but we need it desperately. Far more than men do.”

“Yes,” Eliott said. He would have been embarrassed, but his mother was clearly embarrassed enough for both of them.

“What I mean to say is, we depend so much on our husbands to… to give us what we need.”

“What is it that you need,” he asked her earnestly, “exactly?”

“Kindness,” Lady Sarra said at once. “Gentleness.” She finally met his eye. “I believe you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Eliott admitted. In truth, he had given it surprisingly little thought. It was difficult to feel desire for a woman you’d never seen, who you couldn’t even form an image of in your mind’s eye.

“I know you do, sweetling,” his mother told him, smiling. “If you’re kind to her, she will love you. No woman could help but love you then.”

“But will I love her?”

“I’m sure you will,” she said. “You’ve always had such a gentle heart. And she will need you, that will make you love her.”

“I hope so,” Eliott said.

“And… if she should seem shy, or nervous, I hope you won’t be hard on her. It’s only natural for a woman to be diffident so close to her wedding day.”

She was blushing, his lady mother was actually blushing. He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “I know, mother. I will remember.”

“It’s the most important moment in a woman’s life,” Lady Sarra said, “a solemn moment. It should be treated as such.”

“It will be,” Eliott said. “I promise.”

They walked down to the yard together where everyone was waiting for them. His uncle, Ser Corret gave a grunt when he saw him.

“You look much better,” he said gruffly. But he squeezed Eliott’s arm reassuringly. His father embraced him.

“I know you’ll make us all proud,” he said.

A pit was starting to form at the bottom of Eliott’s stomach.

He handed his mother and sister into their litter then mounted up next to the banner bearers and all his friends.

“You look quite impressive, El,” Lyman Osgrey told him.

“Yes,” Jon agreed. “I almost want to leap into bed with you myself.”

“Leave him alone,” Marq said, though he was laughing with the rest of them. “He’s as nervous as a maid.”

“Save some of those nerves for the wedding feast,” Jon advised.

“The bride is like to be disappointed with that,” Lyman said. “Dornish women like men with blood as hot as their own.”

“Perhaps you should give up drink altogether until then,” Jon added. “Gods forbid she should be disappointed.”

“Don’t talk about Princess Loreza that way,” Eliott snapped, wondering why he was so protective of a woman he didn’t know. She’s still my betrothed , he reminded himself. It’s my duty to protect her honour as I would my own .

Prince Lewyn and Ser Olyvar Sand had mounted up close by, but if they heard his friends’ crass remarks, then they made no sign of it.

“Good morning!” the young prince said cheerfully. “You’re not any the worse for wear, I hope.”

“No, not at all,” Eliott said. His head was remarkably better. Whatever Reer had given him had done its job.

They rode out of the inn’s yard and through the small town. Their escort of minor knights, men-at-arms, and various other hangers-on fell in behind them as they passed through the disassembled village of tents that had been erected the night before. They could already see the Sunspear in the distance. Or, at least, the top of the Spear Tower was visible on the horizon.

They rode for two hours along a coastal road with the sea cliffs on one side and endless olive groves on the other. Smallfolk were gathering along the road in little clumps to watch them pass. Eliott waved at a little girl with red ribbons in her hair sitting on top of a man’s shoulders.

A league out from the city, when they could see the other towers of the palace and the Winding Walls, they were met by a large party in the middle of the road. Eliott recognized Prince Arion at the front. He had met the prince the year before when he’d come to Goldengrove to negotiate the marriage treaty. He had hardly changed in that time. He wore the same perpetually amused expression he had then.

With him came even more banners than Eliott’s own party had, though he noticed that most of them displayed the sun and spear. A prince could have as many banners as pleased him, it seemed.

“Lord Rowan!” the prince called when they approached. “Well met, my lord.”

His lord father was well back of the lead group. He rode up now, looking as unnatural on horseback as he ever was. “Prince Arion,” he called back. “How gracious of you to meet us.”

“It is my honour to do so,” the prince said formally. “And to welcome you, and all your companions, in the name of my brother Prince Rhodryn.”

“The honour is ours,” Lord Rowan said stiffly. He seemed to get smaller under the prince’s sardonic gaze, just as he had before. Lord Rowan had never been forceful. His instinct was always never to offend. It made Eliott apprehensive about the idea of how he would behave to Prince Rhodryn. “I’m certain you recall my sons,” he said. “And the rest of my family.”

“Indeed I do,” the prince said. “Ser Eliott,” he nodded towards him. “Ser Alastor, Ser Corret.”

“Prince Arion,” Eliott said, trying to sound lordly and assertive. “You remember my cousins Ser Marq and Ser Owain as well.”

“Sers,” the prince said.

“And allow me to present Lord Tarly and his son Garth,” he indicated the huge lord and the small boy, side by side on matched black horses. “Lord Oakheart,” he continued, “Lord Bulwer, Ser Daeron Darklyn.”

“My lords,” the prince said. He scanned the group and frowned slightly. “Where are the ladies?”

Prince Lewyn spoke up from amongst their group. “They’re right behind us,” he said with his usual grin. “In about half a dozen litters.”

“I see,” his uncle said. His own grin was almost identical. “Then I supposed we must delay the pleasure of greeting them.” He turned to his own group. “This is my son, Ser Maron Wyl,” he said, indicating a handsome man to his right who was a slightly fairer copy of his father. “My good sister Lady Jeyne, the Lord Bailiff of Sunspear.” The lady was tall, blonde, and stern looking. “Lord Toland and his son Ser Rolyn,” he continued. “Lady Jordayne, and her son Trebor, her daughter Brynelle. Ser Marence Santagar and his daughter Elysa. Ser Artyr Dalt, the Lord Shariff.”

They all nodded at each other awkwardly.

The Dornishmen in the Rowans’ own party presumably thought introductions were superfluous. Lady Fowler cleared her throat. “Shall we move on, my prince?” she said, as though prompting a small boy.

“Yes, of course, my lady.”

They all turned their horses and soon they were continuing down the road to cover the last league together.

Prince Arion smiled at Eliott in a way that made him even more nervous. “You look very well, Ser Eliott,” he said.

“Thank you, my prince,” he said, wondering if he should return the compliment.

“Yes,” said Ser Maron Wyl, “I dare say he’ll do.”

Prince Lewyn laughed and Eliott could feel heat creeping up his neck.

Ser Maron noticed. “You don’t need to look so apprehensive, ser,” he said. “Princess Loreza is unlikely to eat you. And even if she does, the experience may not be entirely unpleasant.”

Eliott saw Owain stifling a laugh out of the corner of his eye, he could have punched him on the mouth. Ser Corret though, had clenched his jaw in an effort to control his anger.

“I see you’re as charming as ever, nephew,” Ser Olyvar Sand said sardonically.

“And you’re as humourless as she is,” Ser Maron muttered.

“Loreza, humourless?” Prince Lewyn asked.

“You’ll see,” his cousin said. “Though who knows, maybe Ser Eliott will lift her out of her sulk.”

“That’s quite enough,” Prince Arion said with an indulgent smile. He put his spurs to his horse and moved up the group to fall in beside Lord Rowan. Ser Corret followed him, glaring at Ser Maron as he passed him.

“Is it really so bad with her?” Eliott heard Prince Lewyn ask Ser Rolyn Toland quietly.

“I suppose it’s as one would expect,” he replied.

Eliott found himself oddly cheered by the idea that his intended might be as overcome with nerves as he was. Though what she was dreading was necessarily quite different than his own fears. He had a few days yet. Surely that was enough time to put her somewhat at ease. He was half-afraid he wouldn't be able to go through with it, if she was truly frightened of him.

As they neared the city, the crowds of people lining to road to watch them increased. By the time they got through the first of the three-fold gates the rooftops were full of them.

They took the direct route from the city walls to the palace, bypassing the warren of alleys and courtyards that had thwarted more than one army in the last thousand years.

Sunspear itself was built on a jut of land going out to sea, and approached by climbing a rise and passing through an ornate arched gate, covered in painted blue and green tiles. It belied how formidable the thick walls really were.

The inner ward was more of a courtyard than any other castle ward Eliott had even seen. It was like a small lake of smooth, polished sandstone surrounded on all sides by buildings in the same airy ornate style.

At the far end was the Tower of the Sun, huge and tall with a beautiful dome of many-coloured glass at it top. A large group of people were standing on the stair up to the entrance when Prince Arion lead them all to dismount in front of it.

At the door, they were met by Princess Trystana and a whole new round of introductions was started.

“How many of these gauntlets do you supposed there will be?” Lyman Osgrey asked.

“It’s traditional to pass through trials to get to the princess,” Alastor pointed out. “Perhaps there will be a dragon for you to slay, El.”

Eliott winced. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to speak of that.”

Princess Trystana looked him up and down appraisingly and gave a little nod before she introduced them to her husband, Lord Gargalen, and their daughters.

Next came Lady Deneza Dalt, who seemed rather distracted, and Lord Uller, still fierce looking despite having a left arm that ended above the elbow. Lord Yronwood and his son were both tall, though the father was twice as wide as the son, but the rest of the names and faces barely registered to Eliott, as though he had reached his limit for one day.

By that time the ladies had arrived. Eliott ran back down the stairs to hand his lady mother out of the litter and escort her to scrum of courtesy.

Introducing the ladies around took even longer but eventually, he found himself inside the tower walking up a great set of stone steps with Princess Trystana on his arm, and his family and the princes following behind.

“The prince and my niece are waiting for you in the audience chamber,” the princess said conversationally. “It’s far better to do these things privately. Don’t you agree?”

“I do,” Eliott agreed, with perfect honesty. “It was very kind of you to arrange it so.”

That seemed to please her. “Yes, there will be more than enough time for everyone to see you both.”

“We were told that His Grace had already arrived,” Eliott heard Lord Rowan say to Prince Arion behind him.

“Oh, the king is upstairs with them,” Princess Trystana interrupted casually.

Eliott could almost feel his father’s apprehension at that.

“Are you always clean shaven, Ser Eliott?” the princess asked him suddenly.

“Yes, my princess,” he said bemused. “I always have been.”

“Hmm,” she intoned critically.

“Really, sister, leave the poor man be,” Ser Olyvar said. “He looks very well.”

“I certainly never said otherwise,” she told him defensively.

They climbed several more flights of stairs before turning into a wide corridor covered in a long Myrish carpet and lined with spear-carrying guardsmen in bright copper-scaled armour. The doors to the audience chamber itself were twice as tall as a man and carved from cherrywood in intricate geometric patterns.

The doors opened as they approached, swinging out from the inside. It took four men to move them.

Inside, the king was waiting for them at the top of a short flight of step leading to a dais. The room itself was not as large as the doors would have let Eliott believe, so it didn’t take them long to cross it and pay their obeisance.

Eliott had only ever seen King Aegon once before, at a tourney when he was still a squire, but the king was still as he had been then, smiling and friendly, like everyone’s favourite uncle. He congratulated him and patted his arm, almost familiarly.

“You’re a fortunate man, Ser Eliott,” the king told him.

“Your Grace is kind to say so,” he said, hoping he didn’t seem as fumbling as he felt.

Prince Rhodryn was standing next to the king. Eliott hardly needed to be introduced to know the man who would shortly become his good father. He seemed to be most things the King Aegon was not and managed to project a stern dignity that the king lacked, even as he smiled just as broadly and embraced Lord Rowan like a brother.

He held out his hand and another figure came into Eliott’s view. It was clad in flowing folds of scarlet and gleamed with yellow gold. She took her father’s hand as he presented her to Eliott’s father.

“This is my daughter, Loreza,” the prince said with obvious pride.

“Princess Loreza,” Lord Rowan said bowing. “It’s very gratifying to meet you at last, after so many months of hearing you highly spoken of.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said. Eliott liked her voice, it was deep without being in anyway unfeminine. “I hope I live up to such lofty expectations.”

“I do not doubt that you will, my princess,” he said, clearly charmed by her. “And I’m certain the two of us will find we have many common interests to discuss.”

“I look forward to it,” she said. Her eyes were restive, as though she was trying not to look at Eliott.

Lord Rowan took a few seconds to notice it. “Forgive me,” he said, almost snapping backwards, “I’m not the one you’ve been anxious to meet.” He moved aside to allow Eliott to come forward.

Princess Loreza took two steps towards him and held out her hand for him to kiss. He took it in his own hand and realized he’d been holding his breath. “My princess,” he manages as he bent down to bring her fingers to his lips. Her hand was small and soft.

“Ser Eliott,” she said. “I’m glad to see your face at last.”

He was finally able to look at her properly. There was certainly no hump on her back. She was, in fact, quite tall for a woman, but not nearly so tall as him, with breasts that were neither too big or too small. Her skin was a rich olive colour but her face was marred by her large, aquiline nose. It was her father’s nose, and it looked well enough on him, but on her it made her look very harsh, almost stern.

Her eyes on the other hand… They were large and dark and heavily lidded. It gave them a perpetually sleepy appearance, as though she had just come from bed. Eliott decided that he liked her eyes very much. “Yes,” he said, “I’m very glad to see you as well.”

She smiled. Shyly, as far as Eliott could tell. “Um,” he said, feeling himself respond to her look, “may I present my lady mother to you.”

The princess greeted her very kindly. “Lady Sarra,” she said, “you’re most welcome.”

“Princess Loreza,” his lady mother said. “I’m very honoured to meet you. You’re very beautiful.”

She smiled more widely. “Thank you. This is my own mother.”

Lady Lenelle Manwoody came forward and repeated her daughters greeting. She kissed Eliott and both his parents on the cheek. “Ser Eliott,” she said. “I’ve heard you spoken very highly of as well.”

“My lady,” he said. “You’re too kind.”

“I hope not.” Her daughter didn’t take after her much, though there was some resemblance in the shape of their full lips. But she was no less handsome for being near forty, with that direct manner that all Dornish women seemed to have.

Next he introduced his brother and sister to the princess. Alastor was perfectly gracious, and Aelora was so nervous that she trembled. But a kiss on the cheek made her glow happily.

When everyone was introduced at last there was a silence that no one seemed to know how to break. Eliott gave Princess Loreza an uneasy smile that she returned.

“Perhaps,” Lady Lenelle said after a few seconds, “we should leave the children alone for a while.”

“No,” Princess Loreza said, “I wouldn’t want to drive you all out. Ser Eliott and I will can go to the gallery. I’m sure it will interest him.”

“An excellent notion,” Prince Rhodryn said. Eliott saw him squeeze his daughter’s forearm encouragingly before she came over to him and took his offered arm. Her hand was so light that he barely felt it.

“Shall we?” she asked him.

“Yes,” Eliott said, a little breathless. “If my princess would be so kind as to show me the way.”

They walked together from the room, Eliott aware, as surely she was, of how keenly everyone was looking at their backs. The princess lead him down the spearmen lined corridor to an arched doorway leading to a wide stone staircase. It went up a couple of stories before ending at a wide gallery with a carved lattice railing on the inside and brightly painted frescos on the curved outer wall.

Eliott leaned over the railing and saw that they were overlooking the throne room. It was a vast room with a mosaic floor made of tiny coloured stones, formed into an image of the sun and spear. At the far end, a long set of steps lead to a high dais where the two high seats of the princes of Dorne stood. One beneath the Martell spear, and the other the Rhoynar sun.

There seemed to be a good many steps in the Tower of the Sun, as though to remove any doubt that some were higher than others.

He looked up to see the dome of the tower above their heads. The midday sun was shining through the glass and scattering many coloured light everywhere.

“It’s very beautiful,” he told Princess Loreza, standing beside him. Just as you are , he almost said, but Samuel Reer had told him more than once that she was unlikely to be pleased by “empty gallantries,” as he called them. He wouldn’t have tried it in any case, not after going out of his way to compliment Lady Obella Qorgyle’s beauty in Vaith and getting nothing but a scowl in return.

Besides, the princess wasn’t truly beautiful as much as she was… alluring. And unlike any lady he was used to seeing. The cut of her flowing gown left her arms and the top of her shoulders bare, but he was used to seeing that by now. The neckline scooped down so that there was the slightest peak of the hollow between her breasts. She wore a golden band around her upper right arm. It had a pattern of pearls and rubies that matched her earrings.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “I’ve always liked it up here.”

She said nothing else, and very soon there was silence. Eliott tried to think to what everyone had said of her since they’d left Kingsgrave, but nothing he remembered seemed to be of any use. She worked very hard. She was fond of the desert.

“I…”

“Was your journey very unpleasant?” she asked, just as he was opening his mouth.

“No, my princess,” he said. “I mean, it was rather long but… I was glad to see the country.”

She stayed silent.

“Dorne is very beautiful.”

“Yes.”

Eliott didn’t suppose he would have known what to say to that innocuous comment either. He tried again. “Prince Lewyn mentioned that you breed horses.”

“No, not really,” she said. Every time she happened to looked at his face, her eyes darted away again quickly. She preferred to look vaguely off over his shoulder than at him. “That is, I supposed I’ve been dabbling in it these last few years. But it’s really my uncle who breeds horses.”

“And you only ride them?” Eliott said, hoping to make her smile. He got nothing more than a slight twitch in the corner of her mouth. “But I didn’t know Prince Arion was interested in that sort of thing either.”

“He isn’t,” she said in a clipped tone. “My father has two brothers.”

“Yes, of course,” Eliott said, feeling foolish. His headache was starting to return. He would have killed someone for a glass of wine. “Forgive me.”

“No, there’s no need,” the princess said. She was fiddling with the pendant that hung around her neck nervously. “Uh… more than one person has told me that you excel in the joust.”

Eliott tried to look modest. “I’m fortunate to come from a family of great jousters. My uncle especially.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too.”

That seemed to exhaust that line of conversation. Eliott noticed her pendant was the seven point star, set with more pearls and rubies. The sight of it made him anxious. Was she very devout? No one had told him that she was. And surely they would have. People were always praising ladies for being devout.

But pious modesty might explain her reticence, and would no doubt make her nerves even worse. He tried to think of something pious to say to her himself, but nothing whatever came to mind. In that moment, he wasn’t entirely sure if he could name all seven gods.

“Would you like to see the paintings?” she asked.

“Oh,” he said. “I would like that very much.”

She walked away from the railing and towards the wall. There was a gap between the ceiling and the top the the fresco that was filled with more leaded windows. They lit the paintings and let Eliott see every fine detail.

The fresco went all the way around the gallery, broken only by four arched staircase entrances. They depicted great events in the history of Dorne in a lively, realistic style that owed more to the Free Cities than anything he’s ever seen in Westeros. The Children of the Forest were calling down the waters to create the Broken Arm. The Children themselves were small and dark figures, without any clear form. An army was lost in the red sands, a thousand arms reaching up to the sun as though begging it for mercy. The ten thousand ships burned and a king knelt before Nymeria, placing a crown at her feet.

She didn’t look unlike Princess Loreza.

“Who are they?” he asked of three fierce looking figures, two women and a man, surrounded by symbols of war and discord.

“The Red Princes,” his betrothed said.

Of course , Eliott thought. Nymeria’s successors who bound the country together in blood as she had in steel. Half a century of invasion and rebellion that Maester Kesian called Dorne’s bloody birthing bed. They called them the Red Princes, even though two of them were princesses. Even the Dornish took time to get used to that idea.

 “‘Subtlety was not yet a part of the Dornish character, and fear ruled the conquerors as much as the conquered. In many parts of the land, the sun and spear were symbols of terror. Peace returned only when the terror had done its work and no one was left to object to the new bloody vision the Red Princes built .’”

If some part of Eliott had hoped that she would be impressed or pleased by that, then he was disappointed.

“You’ve been reading Kesian,” she said, her face betraying nothing about whether she approved of that or not.

“I have,” he admitted. “He argues that the geography of Dorne will never allow for true unity.”

Princess Loreza scoffed. “He argues that he understands Dorne better than we do.”

“He says quite the reverse, that…”

“Only the Dornish can understand Dorne?” she asked. Eliott was glad she was finally looking him in the eye. “Yes, and then we’re meant to marvel at his cleverness as he explains it to us.”

Eliott smiled. “You don’t agree with the sentiment?”

“No, it’s nonsense,” she said.

“I’m glad for that,” he said. “That you think I might….” He trailed off as soon as she turned her face away from him to look back at the wall. “I’m surprised you like history. No one told me you did.” That had been precisely the kind of thing he’s been hoping to hear for a month. He’d never met a woman who knew much history beyond the stories that septas told children. Aelora knew songs about how good and holy Baelor had been, to be sure, but not about how his neglect almost destroyed the realm.

She was silent for a few moments, giving him a strange look. “I do like it,” she confirmed, but she didn’t offer anything more. “Shall we move on?”

“Yes.”

They walked in silence past more painted scenes. The Storm King Baldric VII dying in a pit of vipers, Prince Ullryn mourning his three sons, slaughtered at the third siege of Horn Hill, Meraxes falling out of the sky at Hellholt. Eliott looked at the princess as much as he did the walls. Her black hair was half bound up in a golden hairnet that matched the rest of her jewels, but the lower half was loose and fell in lazy ringlets so far down her back that he thought she could sit on it. It looked soft and thick, he wanted to touch it, to see what it smelt like. Like flowers, he imagined.

I don’t have long to wait , he told himself.

Princess Loreza paused in front of Deria’s embassy to the Iron Throne, looking as though she were steeling herself for something equally frightening.

“Have you been suffering from the heat?” she asked. “Has your lady mother?”

“Uh,” Eliott said, trying not to feel dispirited that they were reduced to talking about the weather, “it’s hot everywhere in summer.”

They both turned at the sound of someone running up the steps closest to where they were standing.

“Lewyn!” Princess Loreza said happily, her face suddenly coming alive.

Prince Lewyn ran around the curve of the gallery towards them.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you but… well, I couldn’t wait.”

“It’s alright,” she said, “I’m glad you came.”

They embraced warmly, with Prince Qoren looking from the wall sternly. He lifted her up off her feet and spun her around a few times. When she was back on the ground he touched her on the face and looked at her concernedly. “You look… how are you?”

She took a step back from him, shaking her head slightly. “I’m very well,” she said.

The prince rolled his eyes. “So,” he said, turning to Eliott, “isn’t she wonderful?”

“Really, brother,” she said, blushing for the first time.

“What?” He said, unabashed. “I’ve been telling Ser Eliott about you for weeks, and now he can finally see for himself.”

Eliott have no notion of what to say. Perhaps he was allowed to give her a empty gallantry now.

“And I told him how sure I was that you would like him,” Prince Lewyn continued.

“How could anyone fail to like Ser Eliott?”

The bottom fell out of the pit in Eliott’s stomach. The look she had was rather telling, but it surprised him to know how upset he was about it.

“I knew you would think so,” the prince said. “He’s almost as clever as you are, after all.”

She laughed lightly. Her eyes shone twice as bright when she laughed. “You’re flattering me, Lewyn.”

“No,” Eliott said, the words tumbling out. “I don’t believe he is.”

Princess Loreza smiled at him with that same tight mouthed smile she’s been giving him all along. “You’re too kind.”

“Well,” Prince Lewyn said happily, “I’ll leave you alone again. I’m sure you still have a lot to talk about.”

“No,” she said, far too quickly. “I’ve already kept Ser Eliott here too long, he must be very tired.”

He was about to object, to claim that she revived him or some such nonsense, but what would be the point? “Yes,” he said instead, “it was a very long journey. And I should see that my family is...”

She nodded, “We’ll go back down.”

“Please, don’t trouble yourself, my princess,” he told her, “I’m sure I can find the way.”

“As you say, ser,” she said. “I hope you will rest before the feast.”

“I will, my princess,” he told her, bowing. “Prince Lewyn.”

He heard them go back to their conversation as soon as he was down the gallery and in the staircase. When he turned to look back they were embracing again, her head on his shoulder.

It could have gone a good deal worse , he told himself as he walked back down to the great corridor alone. It wasn’t just to expect her warm to him instantly. His mother had warned him about that. He had to be patient, gentle…

But she didn’t think he was impatient or rough, she thought he was an idiot who couldn’t speak to women. Eliott blamed Samuel Reer.

I should have told her she was pretty , he thought.

Chapter Text

Loreza was getting to be rather sick of all this feasting. There’d been far too many nights with rich meat and an overabundance of wine. And too many mornings with sore heads and turbulent stomachs. She’d been dancing so much that her feet were constantly hurting. So did her face from all the smiling.

But it wasn’t even near over; in truth it had hardly begun. And she would have to smile and dance until it was. All these great lords and ladies, the king, they had all come to see her be happy.

“They’re going again,” Alyse Ladybright said.

“Hm?” Loreza asked her. They were on a bench by a pillar, resting before the next obligation of courtesy presented itself. It wouldn’t be long. It never was.

“Prince Lewyn and Jennelyn Sand,” Alyse reported. “They’re dancing again.”

“Really?” She looked over to where her little brother was making his way to the dance floor, hand in hand with pretty blonde Jennelyn. “It’s not like him to dance with the same lady twice.”

“Three times, princess.”

“Oh dear,” Loreza said, scanning the hall to see if anyone else had taken notice. “Is her mother watching her?”

“Do you doubt it?”

“Then I hope it comes to nothing,” she said. “I don’t think anyone would be able to deal with Lady Ariandra if she had that kind of victory.”

“That’s cruel of you,” Alyse declared. “He’s grinning like a little boy.”

“He is a little boy.”

“I don’t think Jennelyn would agree.” That was true enough. Lewyn had always been a handsome child, but in the last two or so years he had gone from awkward and gangling, flushing pink whenever a girl looked his way, to tall and muscled, with confident smiles and a way of making girls laugh. Loreza wasn’t sure how much she liked it.

Though in all justice, she had been a good deal worse when she was seventeen.

“They hardly know each other,” she told her friend.

“I’m sure they’ll find something to talk about,” Alyse said with a grin. “She can tell him she knows where Wyl is, and he can wonder in amazement.”

Loreza rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t as bad as that.”

“You’re right, of course,” Alyse said. “You’re only the heir to Sunspear, it’s reasonable to assume you haven’t read Kaisan.”

“I regret telling you anything about it.” He’d clearly been nervous, and the gods knew she had done little enough to help him. She supposed she’d been too nervous herself.

Ser Eliott Rowan seemed at ease enough now, dancing with Olenna Redwyne. He felt her eyes on him and looked over with a smile. Loreza felt her stomach twist as she smiled back.

“Well, he’s comely, in any case,” Alyse said. “Perhaps it will all go well enough. Assuming he doesn’t talk too much.”

The princess frowned at her.

“I’m sorry,” her friend said quickly.

“There would be little point to this, if he were that kind of man.” Ser Eliott Rowan was the right kind of man; her father had taken a great deal of care to assure himself of that. Learned, courtly, skilled in arms; highborn, but not so high that anyone could mistake him for your equal. He’s a man that could be a strong support for you. Prince Rhodryn hadn’t said he was comely, but everyone else had.

Loreza had known it would be like this since she was a little girl, and she saw the wisdom of it, even now. This was a matter of a consort, a father for her children. Not something anyone should trust to one’s own judgement. Particularly when her own judgement where men were concerned hadn’t always been above question.

“I know,” said Alyse. “Forgive me.”

Before she could respond, Lady Emlyn was at her side and whispering in her ear. “Lord Tyrell is coming, sweetling.”

The princess pasted a smile onto her face and turned her head to watch him approach.

“Princess Loreza,” he said with a florid little bow, “your beauty is even more radiant than usual tonight, and I believe I know why.”

“Lord Tyrell,” she returned, “you’re too kind.”

“May I beg a dance?” he asked.

Loreza placed her hand in his and let him lead her out into the centre of the floor. He was more or less a buffoon, but he danced very gracefully. Lord Tyrell had been famously handsome in his youth too. The whole family was famous for being handsome in youth and going to fat in old age.

“Well, my dear,” he said as familiarly as though he were one of her uncles, “I promised you a fine man did I not?”

“You did, my lord,” she admitted.

“And did I not come through on my promise?”

“Yes. Indeed.” Loreza smiled and wondered if he actually thought that Ser Eliott’s good looks were somehow his doing. “I’m very pleased.”

“There’s little that pleases me more than a wedding,” he declared. “I hope when another joyous event arrives, that Highgarden will be graced with your presence.”

“That would be a great pleasure,” Loreza said. “But I didn’t know that...”

Lord Gared smiled smugly and placed a finger on his lips. “I’ve said too much already.”

She nodded, to his obvious disappointment.

“These are not decisions that should ever be made lightly,” he continued. “Yes indeed,” he added when she remained silent. “Your own father certainly considered very carefully. And you’re to be commended for your own dutifulness too, of course. Obeying one’s father seems to be unfashionable these days.”

Very unfashionable, Loreza thought. Lord Tyrell had cause for resentment. Ser Luthor had been betrothed to Princess Shaera, until she ran off to marry her brother. “I’m not sure I deserve that praise, my lord,” she told him. “The prince and I have always been of one mind where my marriage is concerned.”

“Of course, few ladies would ever object to a man like Ser Eliott. Indeed, I had quite forgotten how handsome he was.”

“Very handsome. And a very good dancer.” No doubt Lord Gared thought she would have pitched a fit, if presented with an ugly man for her husband. “And well read too.”

“Yes, well,” he said. “He gets that from his father.”

When the dance was finally over he offered her his arm, and she tried to seem gracious rather than obligated as she took it.

The lord of Highgarden lead her to where his own son was standing with his constant companion Ser Horas Redwyne, as well as several other men. Most of them had been presented to her that afternoon, but Lord Tarly took the opportunity to introduce her to his good son, Ser Daeron Darklyn. He was awkward, fiddling with the daggeds of his sleeve, and couldn’t be much older than her brother.

“My princess,” he said, “you are even more lovely than I was lead to expect.”

“Thank you, ser,” she said. “Do you intend to chance the list as well?”

“I do,” he said. “And I pray that my performance will be worthy of the occasion. And of you.”

Loreza couldn’t help but smile at how earnestly he was making an effort. “You crossed the red sands to be here, I’m sure you’re up to it.”

“I found the red sands quite lovely, my princess,” he said, almost believably.

“And it was pleasant to find out that what they say about sand steeds is true,” Lord Bulwer said. “Two days and two nights without tiring.”

“They’re the finest horses in the world,” Loreza said with a smile.

“In my opinion,” Lord Tarly said, “endurance is the least valuable of traits in a war horse. Quite useless in a charge.”

“Sand steeds weren’t made for charging,” she told him, though he was hardly addressing her. “Or indeed for carrying knights in armour. No one jousts on a sand steed.”

He looked at her as though he was struggling manfully not to sneer. “A knight that doesn’t don armour or fight with a lance is hardly worthy of the name.”

“I thought it was a noble heart that made a knight, not a sword or a lance.”

“Well said, my princess,” Ser Horas Redwyne said, not seeming to catch her sardonic tone.

Lordy Tarly didn’t bother to hide his sneer after that. “I consider it very fortunate that Ser Eliott Rowan is unlikely to have such romantic notions.”

Loreza smiled as graciously as she could. “You know him far better than I do, my lord.” She turned her shoulders slightly away from him. But he spoke again just as she was about to ask Ser Daeron another question.

“It’s folly for someone entirely ignorant in arms to presume to rule in a time of war,” he said. “Dangerous folly.”

“You’re not shy about expressing your opinions, Lord Samwell,” the princess told him. “I admire that a great deal.”

Lewyn appeared at her elbow. He smiled at Loreza with a perfect understanding. Tyrell, Tarly, and the others all clamoured to greet him, but he only nodded at them. “Sister,” he said, “I need to speak with you.”

She excused herself and they walked away together arm and arm towards the dias.

“Lord Tarly is a piece of work,” Lewyn said simply.

“He must be, if you’re willing to speak a word against him,” she told him. “But I find him oddly refreshing.” She turned to face him as they mounted to steps. “They all think just as he does; you do know that, don’t you?”

“At least they don’t try to make trouble,” he told her. “Quentyn Santagar nearly murdered him more than once on the road.”

“Ser Quentyn hardly requires an excuse to nearly murder someone.”

“Everyone is saying he’ll win the tourney,” Lewyn said as they sat back down at their seats in the centre of the table. He poured them both wine and then drained half his goblet in one large gulp.

“Perhaps he will,” she said. “But I doubt it will be easy for him. Everyone is also talking about Marq Rowan and Joffrey Costayne.”

“Well, would you rather they win, instead of Ser Quentyn?”

“What difference does it make?” Loreza asked. “I haven’t given it any thought.” Her brother chuckled uncomfortably in surprise. “I haven’t had any time.”

Lewyn narrowed his eyes. For a few seconds he regarded her without a word. “Maron is right,” he stated, “you’re not yourself.”

“What could Maron have to say about anything?” she asked, annoyed.

“He’s concerned for you.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’m concerned for you,” he amended. “When Henrick was here you were always laughing.”

Loreza felt her jaw tighten as she turned her face away. She heard Lewyn scoff.

“Is that how it will be now?” he asked her. “For three years you were inseparable and now you won’t even bear to have his name spoken.”

“No,” she said at once, “that’s not what I… no one mentions him in my hearing anymore.”

“Because everyone can see how miserable you are,” he said.

She shook her head. She had no business being sad about something that was so entirely her own doing. Henry hadn’t blamed her, and she loved him for that. When she told him she was betrothed it was he who gave her comfort. And in the painfully short months since he never once reproached her, though she was certain that she would have hated herself in his place. He loves me, he gave me everything. And I told him to go because I had no further use for him.

“It’s so strange that he’s gone,” Lewyn went. “I keep expecting that he’s somewhere about.”

“Yes.”

“Did he have to leave?” he asked suddenly. When she stared at him incredulously, he rolled his eyes. “I know he couldn’t have continued as your paramour, but Sunspear is a big place.”

“Not nearly big enough.”

“He’s my friend. I’ll miss him too. And Ormond’s leaving as well.”

“I know.”

Lewyn pressed his lips together. “I’ve never seen you like this,” he said. “I don’t like it. Will you be alright?”

She smiled and put her hand over his on the table, “Of course I will be,” she told him. Before you know it . “Don’t trouble yourself about it,” she said. “Go ask Jennelyn Sand to dance again.”

Her brother’s cheeks barely turned pink. “No, not yet.”

Aelora Rowan had returned to her seat. She sat half a dozen chairs down and smiled shyly at Loreza. Little girls gave the princess that look all the time.

“Go dance, Lewyn,” she told her brother. She stood and walked over to sit next to Ser Eliott’s sister.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked her.

“Oh yes, my princess,” Lady Aelora said. “The music is so lovely.”

“I’m very glad you think so,” Loreza said. “But don’t you want to dance?”

“I was dancing,” she admitting. “But I need to rest.”

Loreza smiled. “You had a very long journey.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I thought it would never end. I was so anxious to get here.”

“And we were all anxious for you to arrive, I assure you.”

Lady Aelora smiled at that. “I do like the music,” she repeated. “Do you like music, my princess?”

Loreza had been rather hopeless at music for the years she had bothered to try. The queen had once told her that listening to her play the lute was like listening to a cat give birth. “I do,” she told Aelora, “but I’m afraid I don’t have much time for music anymore.”

“Oh,” Lady Aelora said, looking quite surprised. “How sad.”

Loreza regarded her with growing fondness. She was fifteen, as old as her cousin Daenerys, but she seemed much younger. She had a woman’s shape, but there was still a roundness in her face that made her seem like a girl. That and the innocent look in her eyes.

“Do you play yourself, my lady?” she asked her.

The girl blushed and nodded. “I can play the high harp and the wood harp,” she said. “And the lute, but only a little.” Her blush deepened. “I’m sure I’m not very good.”

“I’m sure you are,” Loreza told her. “I hope you will play for me sometime.”

“I would like that very much,” she said excitedly.

Ser Rolyn Toland stood in front of the dais and bowed when Loreza turned her head to regard him. “Are you not dancing, princess?” he asked her.

She tilted her head and looked him up and down, from the gold embroidered hem of his tunic to the mischievous glint in his eye. “No, I’m certainly dancing, ser,” she told him.

“Then won’t you dance with me?”

Loreza smiled to Lady Aelora by way of parting and went down the steps to meet Rolyn at the bottom. She took his hand and went with him to join the other dancers in the centre of the room. They didn’t speak as they danced- the music was so loud that they hardly could- but the princess kept her gaze on him, watching the graceful way he moved, and how the muscles in his calves tensed whenever he jumped into the air. She’d enjoyed watching his muscles move very much once, and feeling their hardness under his skin.

It seemed like a lifetime ago now. They had both changed since then, when they were little more than children, acting on impulses that felt beyond their control. But it had only ever been a strange and passing whim. As soon as he left her bed he was only Rolyn again, the boy who used to throw sand in her hair at the Water Gardens. Loreza had hardly thought about it in three years, but now that she had… it would be easy, to fall back into something so simple and familiar.

And she was no fool. She saw the way he looked at her from time to time. He was looking at her like that now. It made her chest swell and her breath quicken.

The dance was over sooner than Loreza though it would be. Though that was probably more because she hadn’t been attending to it. “There’s so much noise,” she told Rolyn. “Will you walk outside with me?”

He smiled and walked beside her out the doors to the courtyard. It was almost as crowded as the feast hall and filled with so many lamps that it was even brighter. Their progress towards the quieter, darker gardens was slowed by the constant stream of people approaching her to pay their respect. Lord Yronwood kissed the princess’s hand and spoke to her pleasantly.

“My princess,” he said, “allow me to congratulate you again.”

He almost sounded as though he meant it. “Thank you,” Loreza told him. “It means a great deal to me that you would say so. And I won’t forget it.”

“I hope we will always be good friends, my princess.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Rolyn laughed as soon as they were alone by a fountain surrounded by flowering hibiscus plants. “I never thought I’d see anything like that,” he said.

“I don’t suggest getting too excited about it,” she told him. “He’s just in a good humour, that’s all.” And if the gods were kind, we would be in an even better humour soon.

“You act as though his good mood were anything but your own doing.”

Loreza rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about Edgar Yronwood.”

“As you say,” he said with a smirk. “Would you rather talk about your betrothed?”

She tried to laugh it off, turning away from him to watch the golden fish swim in the water of the fountain.

“I saw his ass and knew at once that you would be pleased.”

“In truth,” Loreza said, with her sauciest smile, “I’ve always been more partial to broad shoulders than small asses.” She laughed when he stood up straighter and pulled his own shoulders back.

“What are you saying, princess?” he asked. “That he doesn’t please you?”

I didn’t say that at all. “I don’t-”

“You don’t want to talk about him,” Ser Rolyn finished. “Is there anything you would like to talk about?”

“No,” Loreza said, turning back towards him to look at his face. She took one step closer to him. “I don’t want to talk at all. I want to leave this feast and go back to my bedchamber. With you.”

She watched Rolyn’s expression move from surprise, to pleasure, and then to a kind of grim resignation.

“You don’t want that, princess,” he said. “Not with me. Not in particular, anyway.”

Loreza felt herself flushing. All her desire disappeared in an instant, leaving only shame in its place. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be,” Rolyn told her, “I understand.”

“I just...” she couldn’t look him in the face. “I know that I’ve done the right thing. I suppose I hoped that would make it easier.”

“Some things will never be easy,” Rolyn said. “And perhaps they shouldn’t be.”

He was right about that too. She had no right to ask Rolyn anything, certainly not to amuse her for an evening and then just go away. She’d done the same thing to him as she had done to Ser Henrick Dayne. She’d been a silly, self-centred girl who’d enjoyed it when men were in love with her. Before Henry she had thought it was a weakness that she herself would always be safe from. But he made her forget everyone else. All other men just seemed boring when she knew that Henry was waiting for her in her bed. But she’d never really spared a thought to how it felt, to find yourself suddenly alone. “I shouldn’t have burdened you,”  she told Rolyn.

“You could never be a burden, princess,” he told her. He extended his hand as though to touch hers, then seemed to think the better of it. “I would do… I only want you to be happy.”

“I know,” Loreza said, feeling her heart wrench. Nothing she’d done had ever made Rolyn happy. She hadn’t made Henry happy either, in the end. He had lost everything, his friends, his home, his place in court, all for her sake, and got nothing in return. But perhaps it was best that it had happened now, while he could still remember her with some kindness. No doubt, she would have gotten bored with him too, sooner or later. “You’ll have to be happy enough for both of us.”

Rolyn winced. “You won’t consider giving him a chance?” He nodded over her shoulder and she turned to see Eliott Rowan walking through the flower strewed archway in the shrubbery.

“Ser Eliott,” Loreza called.

He smiled when he saw her and come over, bowing in a smooth, confident motion. “My princess,” he said. “I’m glad to have found you.”

Rolyn shifted his feet uncomfortably. “I will take my leave now, if it please you, princess.”

“Yes, if you wish,” she told him, making sure to meet his eye. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight then,” he told her. “Ser Eliott.”

Her betrothed watched as Rolyn walked briskly away, leaving them alone by the bubbling fountain with only a few lanterns. Her turned to face her with a determined air. “You look very beautiful tonight,” he told her.

Loreza forced herself to smile. If she had been in a better mood, it might have been funny. But as it was… did he have nothing else to say to her?

“It’s so hot during the day here, and yet so cold at night,” he tried again. “Are you cold, my princess?”

“No, not at all. Have you enjoyed the dancing?” she asked him, almost rolling her eyes at her own vapid question.

“Yes,” he said. “Very much. Although, I don’t know half the dances that you do here.”

“You’ll learn them soon enough, I expect.” Ser Eliott seemed like the kind of man that had to know everything.

“I’m sure I will,” he said, flirtatiously, “if my princess will consent to teach me.”

She smiled again. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation,” she told him. “Malcon has much more insightful things to say about the Red Princes than Kesian.”

“Malcon?” Ser Eliott asked. “ Reflections on the Orphans? ”

“You’ve read it?” Loreza asked him. That should have pleased her, but then she remembered a day when she’s been ill with a summer chill and Henry has sat by her bedside and read that book aloud to her. The thought of this man reading the same words made her dinner churn in her stomach. But she pushed the thought away as too stupid to be entertained.

“No,” Ser Eliott admitted. “I’ve only heard of it. And Grand Maester Alford quotes him from time to time. Though I can imagine what you must think of his opinions.”

Loreza chuckled. “I like them well enough, as long as he doesn’t try to cross the mountains with them.”

“But Malcon was Dornish,” he said with a knowing smile.

“So he was.”

“Don’t you think that rather proves Kesian’s point? That only the Dornish can know Dorne?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, it doesn’t. Though it may prove that only the Dornish are willing to try.”

“You don’t...” he began, but he trailed off almost as quickly, flushing a little.

“Yes?”

“If you’ll forgive me saying so, my princess, you don’t always make it easy.”

She smile earnestly. “I can’t imagine we do. Perhaps we like the idea of being mysterious.”

“Beauty often is,” Ser Eliott said, drawing himself up to his full height.

Loreza frowned. “No doubt,” she said. “In any case, I have a very fine copy of Malcon’s book.” It was illuminated in a bright child-like style that had always made her smile, ever since she’d been a child herself. “I should like you to have it.”

“Thank you,” he said, sounding like he meant it. “I’ll read it most carefully.”  

The princess smiled; she knew that he would. And he would come to her when he was done, full of newly memorized passages. Perhaps by then they would talk about it in bed.

“I have something for you as well,” he said, as though suddenly remembering. He reached into a pocket a brought out a ring. “I meant to give it to you earlier, but...”

Loreza nodded. She would have forgotten too, in his place. “Yes,” she said, “I understand.”

“May I?” he asked, reaching out towards her, standing close enough so she could feel the heat of his breath.

“Of course.” She held out her left hand and he took it and slipped a yellow gold ring on her third finger. It was a large white moonstone with delicate scrollwork around the setting. It gleamed in the lantern light. “How lovely.”

“Not as...” he stopped when she frowned again. “It was my grandmother’s. My grandfather gave it to her when they wed. It’s white and gold, you see.”

“Yes, thank you” Loreza said, surprised to hear how husky her voice had become. Ser Eliott was still holding her hand. His own was strong and rough, a swordsman’s hand. Every man she’d ever been with had had hands like that. His face was bent down, he looked at her through his eyelashes. His green eyes gleamed in the lantern light as much as the moonstone. And his face was very comely, at least as handsome as everyone had said. His jaw had a strong, defined line, as clean-cut as his cheekbones. Light brown hair fell in waves down to his shoulders. It made a widow’s peak that drew her gaze back to his eyes. Their children would be beautiful.

I want him , she realized. If he were any other man, she wouldn’t wait five days. My patience is as short as my memory . She had wanted him from the moment she saw him. And they’d all known she would, her father, and her aunt, and her uncles. They all knew that all it took to please Loreza was a pretty man with strong hands.

Ser Eliott seemed to sense her change in mood. “Shall we return to the dance, my princess” he asked with one eyebrow raised. “I should very much like to dance with you again.”

“Yes,” she said at once. “That is, we should return to the feast hall, but I don’t think I have any dancing left in me tonight.”

“Of course,” he said. His face was kind when he smiled.

She took a step back from him. “And Lady Emlyn will be cross with me if I disappear for much longer.”

“I expect Samuel Reer is hunting me down too.”

“Are you pleased with him?” Loreza asked him.

“Very much so,” Ser Eliott said.

“Good.” She withdrew her hand from his. “And...” she added, “there’s a matter I should speak with Artyr Dalt about.”

“Matter?” he asked. “What matter is that?”

“Oh...” Loreza said. “The city watch is… never mind, I’ll leave you now.”

“Shall I walk you back?”

“No,” she told him. “I wouldn’t wish to interfere with your amusement.”

“It wouldn’t be a...”

“Goodnight, ser,” she said before he could finish, then left him through the archway.

Lady Emlyn had indeed been looking for her. She found her along the peristyle walk, immediately took her by the arm and started tisking.

“Where have you been, princess?” she said. “I was sure you had, well, gone to find a bedchamber, as they say.”

“I would never have done that,” Loreza said, with as much conviction as she could. But her chatelaine only scoffed at that.

“I would hope not,” she said. “And I should hope you will always show such wisdom from now on. Unless you want whispers to follow your children.”

Loreza glared at her.

She sighed. “I didn’t mean that.”

Of course you did. And with reason . “I know,” the princess said. “I’m not sixteen anymore, I intend to do my duty. Haven’t I proved that?”

“Oh, sweetling,” she said, “of course you have. I was insupportably unjust.”

“No, you weren’t.” No one knew her weaknesses better than Lady Emlyn.

“Ser Eliott seems very...”

“Comely?” Loreza asked.

“He seems as though he greatly wishes to please you.”

“He does,” the princess said.

Lady Emlyn only smiled sadly.

Chapter Text

Taria had fallen in love with the gardens in the palace at Sunspear the instant she saw them.

The place itself was a strange beast. When the Martells were nothing more than petty lords ruling a strip of barren land by the Summer Sea, they had a raised a castle that reflected their place in the world; a central keep, a bailey, a few stout towers in the curtain walls. It had only been noteworthy because some lord or another of that house had built the keep in the fanciful shape of a great galley, with a long curved prow and buttresses shaped liked gigantic oars. Thereafter, for a few hundred years, the Martells were known as the Lords of the Sandship.

But when Nymeria came to raise them out of their obscurity, the newly made princes of Dorne didn’t abandon their ancient seat, instead they made it the heart of their new palace. Over the next few generations they surrounded the Sandship with a dozen other towers and keeps, the greatest being the Tower of the Sun, large enough to be a palace in its own right, and the tall golden spire of the Spear Tower. They were all built in an airy, curved Rhoynar style, covered in painted tiles and leaded glass. Many centred around a great courtyard the size of many a town square, but elsewhere the towers were connected by stone paths lined with hardy, gnarled trees and a few fountains filled with golden fish.

The gardens were nothing compared to Highgarden, or even the godswood in the Red Keep, but it were shady and full of little side paths and corners to explore. Corret and his wife walked arm in arm along a smaller path that weaved its way between the Spear Tower, the small Keep of the Crone, and a clump of pomegranate trees. Taria was chatting away happily; her voice soothed him, but he couldn’t manage to attend to her words.

“You seem distracted, my love,” she told him.

“Distracted,” he asked. “No. I’ve been listening to every word you said.”

“Have you indeed?” She asked with a smile.

“Of course. You were talking about Lady Jenny. And I know she upset you more than you’re letting on.”

“Upset me?” Taria asked. “No. Not upset. She’s an odd one, to be sure, but friendly enough. And...”

“Yes?”

“Well, I’ve never seen anyone sew as quickly as her. It was rather unnerving.”

Corret laughed. “It must have been black magic.”

“Make fun all you like, but it wasn’t natural.”

“Was Princess Loreza there?” he asked her, trying to sound as though it were a casual question.

“No,” said Taria. “She sent one of her ladies to make her excuses for her. Lady Lenelle seemed quite annoyed by it, as a matter of fact.”

Somehow, Corret wasn’t surprised that she would disoblige her mother.

“Poor Aelora was very disappointed, but it was a pleasant morning all the same,” she continued. “Lady Lenelle was sweet and Princess Trystana and her daughters are all extremely… interesting.”

Corret could imagine. He had danced with all three ladies the night before. The younger girl especially had a lively, youthful manner that made it difficult to imagine her sitting at needlework for very long. His own daughter had been the same. Is the same , he told himself. Dian is still alive, even if she had forfeited that name .

“And how is Lady Sarra managing?” he asked his wife.

“I think she’s getting on very well,” Taria said. “No one can help but love Sarra.”

“Quite true.” Corret lapsed into silence. The ground at their feet was covered in small flowers, struggling to come up from between rocks.

“You are distracted,” Taria said after a few moments, “and I wish you would tell me why.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “Forgive me, my sweet,” he said. “I can’t seem to stop thinking about Eliott.”

“Eliott,” she frowned. “Why? He seems very pleased.”

“He’s relieved that she’s not ugly, that’s not quite the same as truly pleased.”

Taria scoffed. “Eliott likes to play the boy from time to time.” She frowned at him, “Are you saying she doesn’t please you ?”

“It hardly matters what I think.”

“That’s nonsense,” she said. “Eliott thinks very highly of your opinion, you know that.”

Corret wasn’t sure how much Eliott’s opinion mattered either. Even if the worst was true, it was hardly like they could pack up and go home. But he would never want his nephew to suffer that kind of pain. “I can’t shake my doubts about her,” he admitted. “After what we heard in Vaith. And in Godsgrace.”

Taria sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that too,” she said. “But now that I’ve seen her, I feel quite reassured.”

“Do you?” Corret himself felt quite the opposite.

“Well, consider,” she said in a tone of perfect reason. “If there were any... doubts, then the prince would have her wed quietly, to one of his own vassals. He would never allow her marriage to be such a great event. And the king! Would he risk the king being offended?”

Corret wasn’t sure how offended the king would be. House Targaryen had its own share of soiled princesses. Though, to be sure, that had been in the days when Aegon the Unworthy had set the tone in King’s Landing. His great-grandson was certainly not that kind of man. “This is Dorne, my love,” he said. “They do things… differently.”

“I know,” she said. “But she’s a princess. Her father made her a brilliant match. I can’t believe that either he or she would be so deceptive. Not when it can all be explained away by malicious slander. It’s so easy for rumours to spread.”

“That’s the thing,” Corret told her, “Ser Casson Vaith didn’t speak of it as though it were a rumour. And Lady Allyrion is her own aunt, you know.”

“Well, what did she say, exactly?”

“Only that there was a man, some Dayne, and that he was sent away from Sunspear very recently. She seemed to think it was more amusing than anything.”

“That could mean anything.” Taria argued. “Perhaps this was just some man she had hoped to marry. It’s hardly unusual for young girls to have their own ideas about such thing. It doesn’t mean that she...”

“You’re right, I suppose,” he said with a smile. He once knew a young girl with her own ideas about marriage himself. The niece of the lord of Riverrun could have done a good deal better than a man who was, in the end, nothing more than one of his brother’s household knights. Not a day went by that he wasn’t grateful. “Besides, Prince Rhodryn doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would put up with...”

“No, he doesn’t,” she said, her voice suddenly much quieter. “There are some things that even an indulgent father could never forgive. I know that.”

Corret squeezed her hand again. It was the closest they had come to speaking of it for a long time. But sometimes she had a look on her face, in odd moments, that made him know that it weighed as heavily on her as it did on him.

“Speak of the Stranger, and he will appear,” Taria said. Corret turned to see the princess striding briskly down the path from the Spear Tower, carrying a bundle of papers and deep in conversation with Mors Allyrion. “Princess Loreza,” Taria called. Corret would have been happier to let her pass them by, but his wife usually had the right of it where courtesy was concerned.

“Lady Taria,” the princess returned. She walked over to them and accepted their bows with a little nod of her head. Lord Allyrion followed along at her heels. “I can see you’re well rested.”

“We are, my princess,” Taria said. “Thank you.”

She smiled. She turned to Corret. “Ser. I hope everything is to your satisfaction as well.”

Nearly everything . Corret regarded her carefully, from the jeweled sandals on her feet to her elaborately arranged hair. She seemed older than one and twenty, like a woman who was accustomed to having her own way, rather than a girl who was willing to be guided in anything. And she had an air about her. Corret knew that if she were to command, even he would obey, just out of instinct. There would be few men who wouldn’t. That realization did nothing to help his unease. “Yes,” he told her. “We’re all very comfortable.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Lord Allyrion,” Corret said to the tall, slender man behind her.

“Ser Corret,” he answered with that Dornish grin they all seemed to save for him, patronizing and sardonic. “Good afternoon.”

“We were all sorry to have missed your company this morning,” Taria said to Princess Loreza.

“And I was sorry to have lost the pleasure of seeing you,” the princess said. “But I’m afraid there’s even more to be done than usual.”

“Yes,” Taria said, seemingly quite impressed. “I only only imagine how taxing it must be, with all your responsibilities.”

The smile the princess gave was was different. As though it were genuine. “Your understanding means a great deal to me, my lady,” she said.

“In a few days, there will be nothing but enjoyment for everyone,” Lord Allyrion said.

“Yes, exactly,” Princess Loreza said. “But not yet, I’m afraid. Excuse me.”

When the two of them were alone again, Taria gave him a look, as if she thought the conversation had proved her point. “I don’t know how you can believe anything less than good about her.”

“You see the best in everyone,” Corret told her fondly. “All I see is willfulness.”

“Maybe. But willfulness is not wickedness.”

“I hope that’s true.”

Taria sighed. “I hate to see you so careworn. Do you want my advice?”

“I always do,” he told her.

“If there is something you want to know, then ask someone.”

“Ask who?” Corret replied. “Princess Loreza?”

“No,” Taria allowed. “But there must be someone.”

Corret considered her words even as they finished their stroll and returned to the Tower of the Sun. He left his wife to her maids and went out again, back towards the Spear Tower. Just before it, a great set of sandstone steps lead up to the Old Gate and the Sandship. Once inside the keep, he twice asked for directions before finally finding his way to the open door of a large, well-appointed solar filled with paper, where Lord Dylan Uller was sitting behind a desk, talking to a woman some ten years his junior who shared his dark features.

“I understand that you have no interest in these things,” the woman was saying, “but I’m afraid there are some matters that you simply must attend to yourself.”

“I don’t see why,” Lord Uller said. “You’ve managed them all perfectly well these last five years. Why would they cease to heed you now?”

“Six years,” she amended. “And your neglect is starting to be remarked upon.”

“How is it neglectful,” Lord Uller argued, “I have you to look after it. And you don’t think it will come to violence between them do, you?”

“I doubt it,” the woman said.”Lady Janella may have the stomach for that, but Ser Alvyn certainly doesn’t.”

“Then what are you so distressed about?”

“Bannermen who are busy quarrelling with each other often forget to remit their taxes.”

Lord Uller chuckled. “Ah, now it comes out.”

Corret cleared his throat and both figures turned to look at him standing in the doorway. “Pardon me for interrupting you, my lord.”

“Not at all!” Lord Uller rose from the desk and crossed the room in a few short strides. He laughed and enfolded Corret in a one-armed embrace. “I’m very glad you’ve come, my friend.”

Before yesterday, it had been nearly fifteen years since he saw Dylan Uller, but time made no difference. They had fought together at the storming of the walls at Starpike. Uller had lost his arm in the same battle where King Maekar had lost his life.

“I know you’ve never met my sister,” he said, turning to the woman still standing by the desk. “Deria, this is Ser Corret Rowan.”

“My lady.” Corret gave her a bow and she returned the favour.

“Ser Corret,” she said, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Alright,” Lord Uller said. “I promised Ser Corret a drink, so you’ll have to hold off your pestering until later.”

“Don’t imagine I’ll forget,” Lady Deria said. She kissed her lord brother on the cheek and left them.

“Thank you for the rescue,” Lord Uller said as soon as she was gone.

“I’m sorry to hear that you’re having trouble.”

He dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. “Deria will see to it, she always does. The gods know I have enough to concern myself here.” He went to a side board and poured them each a goblet of wine. He picked up the first and handed it to Corret before turning back for his own, then led him to a pair of leather settees in front on a small window. “I saw your son Marq in the yard this morning,” he said. “He’s already a favourite to win the tourney.”

“So I hear,” Corret said with pride.

“I was thinking the other day how curious it is that we both had two sons, with a daughter in between.”

Corret’s stomach twisted. “Perhaps you’ll have more sons.”

Lord Uller scoffed. “I doubt that.”

“My younger son is going to stay here,” he said, “with Eliott. Ser Eliott, I mean.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” his friend said. “And I hope you’ll be convinced to stay longer than you strictly need too. I know the king shall.”

Corret was beginning to feel like all this pleasant talk was becoming deceptive. He hadn’t come simply to catch up with his old friend. “Forgive me,” he started, “but there’s something I need to ask you about. And I trust that you will know that I intend no malice.”

He laughed out loud. “You haven’t changed one bit,” he told him. “What could be so important?”

Corret sighed. “Princess Loreza,” he said.

“Yes? What about the princess?”

“Well,” Corret said, not knowing how to phrase it, “I started hearing things almost as soon as we reached Kingsgrave, and then Ser Casson Vaith…”

Lord Uller scoffed again. “I can imagine what he said. Ser Casson was of the very strong opinion that he should have been in your nephew’s place. And his sister quite agreed with him, of course.”

Corret could almost feel the relief building inside him. An angry man with disappointed ambition, that was all it was. “But then,” he hesitated, “we heard the same tale in Godsgrace.”

“Heard what, exactly?”

“I don’t know how to say it,” he admitted.

“Just come out with it!” his friend said.

“Well, they all seem to think that,” he winced, “that the princess may not be coming a maid to my nephew’s bed.”

“What!” Lord Uller’s exclamation was almost a laugh.

“Forgive me, please,” Corret said, regretting this entire conversation. “I shouldn’t have doubted….”

“Where on earth could you have gotten the idea that Princess Loreza was a maid?”

It was Corret’s turn to exclaim. “What?” he asked. “I… I didn’t say that she wasn’t, I only… I only heard a rumour that there was a man, Ser something or other, Dayne.”

“Ser Henrick Dayne,” Lord Uller stated.

“Yes,” Corret confirmed. “Their names see to be connected.”

“I should hope they are,” Lord Dylan said, “considering that he was her paramour.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Whose paramour?”

His friend seem confused. “Princess Loreza’s. How can it be that you’re ignorant of this?”

“Do you mean that everyone knows?” Corret asked him, too shocked to know how he was feeling.

“Well, it could hardly be a secret,” Lord Uller said. “They lived together quite openly, for nearly three years. Of course everyone knows.”

Corret was finding it difficult to breath. “Who is this man? Is he kin to Lord Dayne?”

“Distantly,” Lord Uller acknowledged. “He was one of Lord Allyrion’s household knights, but then Ser Olyvar took him under his wing.”

Ser Olyvar Sand. The bastard . “And Prince Rhodryn,” Corret asked, “he did nothing?” He felt a rush of sympathy for the prince, for all he was angry at the deception. It could never be easy, when you had a daughter who you loved.

“What was he to have done?” he asked him. “Besides, the prince thinks very highly of Ser Henrick.”

Corret bit his lip. “He thinks highly of the man who deflowered his daughter?”

“No, he was a couple of years too late for that.”

“Are you saying there were others?” This was getting worse and worse.

Lord Dylan smiled, as though remembering something amusing. “She came back to Sunspear from King’s Landing when she was sixteen, right before Princess Daenerys died, and well… she was young, and a princess of Dorne. She was perhaps a little too self-indulgent, but I we were all young and foolish once. Ser Henrick steadied her. I believe the prince was quite relieved.”

Relieved? Corret supposed that some might consider flaunting one lover better than behaving like a harlot, but either way, it made Princess Loreza little better than a whore.

“My brother,” Corret said. “He couldn’t have… I can’t be sure how he will react to this.” He knew exactly what Eliott would think, and he saw no way that it would end well. Corret could have no one to reproach but himself. He should have known that there were certain questions that Adwin would be too innocent, or cowed, to ask. He should have taken a stronger hand. “I shall have to tell him.”

Lord Uller wasn’t laughing anymore. “You believe he doesn’t already know?”

“He never would have...” he began, but thought the better of offending his friend even more. “I don’t see how he could.”

“And I don’t see how he couldn’t,” Lord Dylan countered. “As I said, it has never been a secret.”

“It seems as though someone was eager to conceal it.”

“My friend,” Lord Uller said in a grave tone. “I don’t know who you think has mislead you, but I doubt it was Prince Rhodryn, and it certainly was not Princess Loreza. Neither would bother with a ruse so impossible to maintain. And neither would see any need to.”

“But my nephew will feel that he has a right to expect...”

“Your nephew’s children will rule Dorne,” Lord Uller snapped. “If he would throw that away over a matter that has nothing in the least to do with him, then he’s a fool.”

Corret said no more about it, and his friend seemed as eager as he was to pretend the subject had never been raised. Instead they drank wine and spoke of the old days, and of innocent things like tourneys and the trouble with the corsairs on the Stepstones. He tried to push it from his mind, to tell himself that nothing could be done. Surly Eliott’s humiliation would only be made worse by any attempt to redress it now.

But it was easier to tell himself to not think about something than to actually do so.

The feast that night was quiet compared to the great spectacle of the night before. Corret spent most of it watching Princess Loreza, despite how useless he knew it was. Her attention was sought after by everyone, by the great ladies of Dorne as much as by the lords. The esteem they all seemed to hold her in was obvious. But how could that be, if they all knew as Dylan Uller had said? But then again, Lord Uller certainly knew, and he was as eager as anyone.

Perhaps he didn’t know as much as he claimed. Perhaps it was all rumour. He had always been fond of gossip. But it had never been a secret, he had said.

Eliott was preoccupied with his betrothed as much as Corret was. He was seated next to Prince Lewyn, a few seats closer to the centre of the table than Corret; Lord Adwin and Lady Sarra were both between them. The young prince was being his usual self, disarmingly cheerful and quick to laugh. His reacted to most of Eliott’s questions with a chuckle.

“Princess Loreza seems to have a good many friends,” he said.  

“I suppose so,” Prince Lewyn said. “Most people do.”

Eliott took a long draft of wine. “And a lot of admirers?”

The prince laughed out loud at that. “She has those too, it’s true.”

Another drink. “Like Ser Rolyn Toland?”

Prince Lewyn shrugged. “They’ve always been friends. His sister Elda too.”

“They seem..” he began, “did he want to marry her?”

The prince rolled his eyes. “She’s the heir to Sunspear; everyone wanted to marry her.” Then he was distracted by something further down the other side of the table, and that seemed to end the conversation.

“My dear,” Lady Sarra said to her son, “you’re drinking too much.”

“Yes, you’re right,” he admitted, pushing his goblet away.

“Why are you tormenting yourself, asking those questions?” Adwin asked him in a quiet voice.

“I’m not tormenting myself,” Eliott answered defensively. “I was only… it doesn’t surprise me in the least that men would admire her.”

“But it’s you she’s going to marry, so what could it possibly matter?”

“Matter?” Eliott asked. “Of course it doesn’t matter.” He reached for his goblet again, but then stopped himself. “Mother, you seem tired.”

“I am, in truth,” Lady Sarra admitted. “It would be nice to go rest, but I suppose I must endure.”

“I don’t see why you should,” Eliott said. “Let me take you.”

Lord Adwin looked at him sharply. “You can’t leave.”

“I’ll come right back,” his son assured him. Corret watched his nephew rise and make his way along the dais to speak to Prince Rhodryn.

The prince leaned forward to address Lady Sarra. “I hope you’re not unwell, my lady,” he said.

“Thank you, my prince,” she said, “I’m very well, but I’m afraid I’m not the traveller I was in my youth.”

“Few of us are,” he said with a smile. “I wish you good night.” The king seated beside him said not a word.

Lady Sarra took her son’s arm and left the hall through the lord’s door. Corret moved down a seat to take her place beside his elder brother, so that his own wife wouldn’t hear them. “You did know,” he said simply. “I didn't want to believe it, but it’s true isn’t it?”

Lord Rowan didn’t need to be told what Corret was talking about. He glanced furtively over to where Princess Loreza was in conversation with Prince Duncan. “Of course I knew,” he said. “No attempt was made to conceal it from me.”

“But you attempted to conceal it from me,” he stated.

His brother flushed. “I knew it would upset you,” he said. “Considering...”

“It doesn’t upset you?” Corret asked in disbelief.

“You don’t understand the Dornish,” he began. “They would almost consider it suspicious if a young woman in her-”

“Eliott isn’t a Dornishman,” Corret pointed out. “I suppose you concealed it from him as well.”

Lord Rowan’s silence answered his question. Corret found it difficult to fight the urge to throw his plate across the hall. “Do you have no regard whatever for your son’s feelings?” he asked through clenched teeth. “This... paramour of hers wasn’t the only one.”

“Yes,” his brother admitted. “I knew that too.”

“A Rowan shouldn’t have horns!” Taria heard him well enough to look over with a deep frown on her face. It made no difference; he had never been able to keep a secret from her.

Adwin flushed deeper. “Fornication and adultery are not the same thing,” he said. “Eliott will would never have a chance for another match like this, not if he lived to be a hundred.”

“You’re blinded by your imaginary need to atone for sins that no one is holding you to account for,” Corret said. “The brilliance of the match will only make him that much more humiliated in the end. He would be better off marrying the dairy maid.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“And do you really imagine he won’t find out?” he asked. “They all speak of it as though it’s nothing.”

“In a few days, it won’t matter anyway,” Adwin said.

Corret laughed bitterly. “Eliott isn’t a fool. It’s not as though he won’t know the difference. Or do you just mean that he won’t be able to do anything about it then?”

His brother bit his lip. “You don’t intend to tell him, do you?” he asked. “And Sarra, I would not like her to be burdened with this.”

“No,” Corret said bitterly. “I have no intention of shaming you before either of them.”

Before Adwin could say anything more, the conversation was interrupted by the sound of angry voices coming from one of the tables near the foot of the dais. A man Corret remembered as Prince Arion’s son suddenly stood, grabbed the head of the man seated next to him by the hair, and slammed his face down into the table with a crunch that could be heard from the dais.

Blood was streaming down the man’s face on onto his black and purple tunic when he lifted his head again, as everyone seated around exclaimed and jumped out of their seat. The musicians in the gallery fell silent. Ser Maron moved to put his hands on him again but by then the prince had stood up and commanded him to stop.

When the prince stood, so did everyone else in the hall. Only the king was still seated by the time two other dornishman had succeeded in pulling Ser Maron away from his victim. One of the younger ladies had burst into tears.

Princess Loreza spoke into the mass of shocked faces. “Ser Arthyr,” she said.

Ser Arthyr Dalt walked forward to the front of the room before the dais and bowed deeply to her.

“Remove Ser Maron from the hall,” she told him. “Take him to a cell atop the Spear Tower.”

He hastened to obey, without even looking to the prince. Prince Rhodryn didn’t seem to object to his daughter speaking over him, however. The only one to object was Prince Arion. He stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by the look his brother gave him.

Ser Maron twisted his arm out of Ser Arthyr’s grasp and walked out of the hall himself, still scowling and shaking with rage.

The man with the bloody nose was lead away as well, to see the maester presumably, and far more gently. Prince Arion left the hall soon after, looking as angry as his son; no one made a move to stop him.

The prince sat back down and called for the music to begin again. The hall quickly fell backing into the normal noise of conversation. Princess Loreza and her father whispered to each other as though no one else was there.

“Do you understand now?” Adwin asked Corret. “She doesn’t need Eliott. If you, or him, or anyone else were foolish enough to make a problem out of this, he would be the only loser.”

Corret gripped the table until his knuckles turned white. “It isn’t right,” he said.

Chapter Text

Dany couldn’t focus on anything. She would have spent the morning in the garden near the Spear Tower, where she knew that Maron would be able to see her from the window of his cell. But her sister had caught her within ten minutes and dragged her to the rooms she shared with Lady Deneza in the Ocean Keep.

“For all you know, he’s on the other side and can’t see you at all,” Joleta pointed out. “I won’t let you waste the whole day moping around.” She placed Dany in front of a window overlooking the sea and gave her an enormous bedsheet to hem.

“How could you expect me to work at a time like this?” She asked, with tears falling down onto the fabric.

“A time like what?” Her sister said. “You can’t seriously expect that anything of any consequence will happen to Maron. His father would never allow it.”

Dany shook her head. “The prince was so angry.” You could always tell when her uncle was especially angry because he would be stone faced and calm. Prince Rhodryn never raged when he was really upset. And last night, his face had hardly moved at all.

“No,” Joleta insisted. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. He was just annoyed that it was his own nephew.”

“That makes it worse!”

Joleta rolled her eyes. “You’re upsetting yourself over nothing.”

“How can you call it nothing?” Dany asked. The worst part was that she wasn’t allowed to show her feelings publicly. As far as everyone was concerned, Maron was only her cousin. “He’ll keep him locked up for days, at the very least. And Maron will suffer horribly from that. He hates being alone more than anything.”

“I don’t know what Maron expected to happen,” Joleta said. “You can’t just attack people at dinner.”

“You don’t know what was said,” Dany told her. She knew, she’d been sitting right there. “If someone had said that about me, you would have done the same.”

“Of course I know what was said,” Joleta said dismissively. “Everyone does by now.”

“How can you be so cold?” Dany burst into tears again. Her sister put down her work and came to sit beside her. She put her arm around her and smiled indulgently.

“What do you propose we do, break him out?”

Dany sobbed again angrily and pulled away.

Joleta sighed and went to the desk in the corner of the room to write a note. She sent it off with a page, and within a quarter of an hour Olenna and Septa Unelletine had arrived.

The septa sat off with her own work, but Olenna came to sit beside Dany and pinned the hem down for her. “You look as though you haven’t slept, Daenerys.”

“I did,” she said. It had taken her a long time to settle, even with her sister and Rhona Santagar in her bed to keep her company, she had cried into her pillow for half the night.

“I don’t blame you for being upset,” Olenna said. “It was dreadful; I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Neither have I,” Dany admitted.

“And I’m sorry for you too,” she continued. “It’s a very cruel way to have your opinion of someone changed.”

Septa Unelletine nodded sagely. “I can’t say I thought very highly of Ser Maron before this,” she said. “But I never imagined he was violent.”

“No indeed,” Olenna said shaking her head.

“He’s not violent!” Dany exclaimed hotly.

“He certainly behaved violently, Daenerys,” Olenna said.

“Maybe so,” she admitted, “but that was… you don’t know anything about it!”

She spoke far more harshly than she intended, and Olenna flinched at her anger. But she didn’t back down. “Do I need to? I can’t imagine any provocation that would justify what he did.”

The septa nodded again. “Princess Loreza couldn’t have been pleased.”

“No,” Joleta admitted.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Olenna asked her.

Joleta shrugged. “The prince will decide.”

Dany’s nerves got the better of her. She had to put the needle down because her hands were shaking so badly. Olenna took one and squeezed it. “It will all work out for the best, I believe.”

“Not for Maron.”

There was a knock on the door and Rhona Santagar came in. “Well,” she told Joleta, sitting down next to her, “I promised I’d bring you news.”

“About Maron?” Dany asked. “What is it?”

Rhona raised an eyebrow. “The prince has already summoned him down.”

“So soon?” Joleta asked. “And Dany was worried he would waste away.”

“What will he do with him?” Dany asked her.

Rhona shrugged. “That’s certainly not for me to say,” she said. “But he seems impatient to be done with it quickly. There are plans to go hawking with the king this afternoon.”

That could either be very good, or very bad. Perhaps the prince only wanted to let him go with nothing but a dressing down. Or perhaps he was summoning Maron to tell him he was being sent to Ghaston Grey.

She stood up and headed towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Joleta asked her.

“To the Tower of the Sun.” Where else would she go right now?

“What on earth do you think you can do there?”

“Really child,” Septa Unelletine butted in. “Stay here. Your presence would be unseemly.”

Dany ignored her. “Are you going to come with me, or do I have to go by myself?” she asked her sister. “I won’t bother asking Olenna.” She saw her friend flush out of the corner of her eye, but she hardly cared.

“I’ll come with you,” Rhona told her. “But I doubt you’ll be allowed in the audience chamber anyway.”

She forced herself to walk briskly, rather than run, into the courtyard and across to the Tower of the Sun. Rhona was three strides behind her the whole time. “You’re not going to...” she asked Dany as they climbed the main staircase. “Joleta’s right, there’s nothing you’ll be able to do.”

“I know that,” Dany told her. “I just want to be there.” Maron would be reassured, just knowing she was.  

They reached the audience chamber and entered through the large front doors. It was still deserted except for Loreza and Serron Vaith, speaking to each other in a far corner just below the dais. The princess wrinkled her brow when she saw them.

“Dany?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

Dany flushed. “I...” she began. “I only wanted to see.”

“See what?” Serron Vaith asked.

Dany shrugged, feeling her blush deepen. “What’s going to happen?”

Loreza ignored the question. “Stay if you wish,” she said with a sigh. “But don’t try to speak, and don’t interfere.”

She nodded, grateful not to be asked any more questions.

Prince Arion came in through the side door, with Morgan close behind him. He didn’t seem to notice Dany, but glared at Loreza as though… well, as though she had imprisoned his son.

“Uncle,” she said, nodding. “You don’t need to be here either.”

He exhaled through his teeth. “Do you imagine I would allow you to do as you like with my son?”

“Allow?” Princess Loreza said in her most dangerous voice.

Before anything could escalate, the prince himself appeared, wearing riding clothes and an annoyed expression. Maester Geuren followed him, and Lord Allyrion and Lady Deneza. He lowered himself into the high seat on the dais and motioned for the princess to come stand beside him. The rest of them stood about near the steps.

“Let’s get this over with,” he told the maester.

Geuren shuffled off and returned a moment later. Maron came through the main door, flanked by Artyr Dalt and Ser Ormond Yronwood. Dany smiled as widely as she could manage at him. Maron looked so tired, his fine feasting clothes were creased from a restless night. His eyes met Dany’s, but all he gave her was a resigned expression.

The room was as silent as a tomb as Maron walked alone up to the foot of the dais and fell to one knee.

The prince waited whole seconds before speaking. “Do you have anything at all to say for yourself?”

Maron twisted his mouth. “I regret I caused you embarrassment, uncle.”

“Embarrassment?” the prince asked, his jaw tightening.

“Do you even realize what you did?” Princess Loreza asked.

“I...” Maron began. “I can’t imagine much harm was done.”

“You were drunk enough that I’m surprised you were aware of anything,” the princess said.

“Lord Dondarrion’s nose is broken,” Lady Deneza offered.

Dany could see the smirk on Maron’s face, even with his head bowed down. “If you had heard what he said...”

“Are you a child?” the prince cut in. “I couldn’t care less what he said.”

Prince Arion turned his body towards the prince. “Brother...” he began.

“There’s nothing you could say that you haven’t already,” he snapped.

“I dare say Ser Maron can defend himself,” the princess added. “Even without the benefit of breaking noses.”

“Not all of us are content to just sit and be insulted,” Maron snapped.

“It’s me you’ve insulted,” the prince said. “Me, and Princess Loreza.”

“That was not my intention,” Maron said.

“The Rowans don’t care what your intention was,” the princess said. “Much less the king. You can imagine how pleased he was.”

Maron didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. Dany could almost hear his teeth grinding.

“You’re my nephew,” Prince Rhodryn declared. “And you attacked my guest at mine own table. How dare you.”

Maron’s mouth twisted again. “Forgive me,” he said.

“Forgive you?” the prince said. “No one would dispute my right to lock you away until I can stand to look at you.”

“Is that what you intend to do, brother?” Prince Arion asked.

The prince ignored him. He balled his right hand into a fist a placed it in front of his mouth. He let out a disgusted sound. “Loree?” He asked the princess, though no one in the room would ever believe that he didn’t already know exactly what she would say.

She shook her head. “This can’t go unanswered,” she said. “The greatest lords in Westeros all saw him break the sanctity of your hall. His behaviour reflects poorly on all Dorne, not to mention our family.”

Maron raised his face up to glare at her. “You have some nerve invoking family to chastise me for defending mine.”

“Be silent!” The prince commanded.

Loreza continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “I know my cousin well enough to suspect that your forgiveness now will be no assurance that he’ll behave himself in the future. As long as he’s in Sunspear, he’s a liability.”

Dany could see how angry Prince Arion was becoming. Red was creeping up his neck, but he surely knew better than to raise his voice again. Only a fool enough to go up against father and daughter both.

Prince Rhodryn considered for a few moments more. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Maron, and Dany felt her heart beating in her chest. If he was sent away, she didn’t know how she would be able to bear it. He’s only just returned to her.

“You will apologize to Lord Dondarrion,” the prince finally said. “Publicly.”

Maron looked as though he might be sick. He glanced at his father, but Prince Arion kept his silence. “As you command, my prince,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I warn you,” the prince continued, “if you give me cause to regret my leniency, if you mar my daughter’s wedding with your hot-headedness, packing you back to Wyl may not content me.”

Princess Loreza didn’t seem to mind so much that she hadn’t gotten her way. “We’ve all had to endure abuse from these northerners,” she told Maron. “They believe us to be governed entirely by baser passions, and you’ve proven them right. And you certainly didn’t help anyone. I’m ashamed of you.”

The prince motioned with his hand for Maron to rise from his knees. Then he stood from his high seat with an air of impatience. “Find the man, beg his forgiveness where all can see you, and we can put a close to this sorry episode. Ser Artyr.”

Artyr Dalt climbed the dais and stood by the prince’s side as he whispered something in his ear that Dany couldn’t hear. She was smiling again, and resisting the urge to run to Maron, all these eyes on them be damned.

Prince Rhodryn and the others left. Rhona Santagar gave Dany an amused smile then followed Loreza out through the side door. Prince Arion had a short, whispered conversation with Maron before he stalked out as well, still looking in a dark mood. The only ones to stay were Maron and Dany themselves, Morgan, and Ser Artyr and Ormond Yronwood.

“Let’s go, ser,” Ser Artyr said without humour. “The prince won’t go hunting until I tell him it’s done, and the longer he has to wait the worse it will be.”

“For all of us,” Maron said bitterly.

Dany came to stand with them. She regarded Maron’s appearance critically. It won’t do for everyone to see him like this. “Perhaps you should change your garb first,” she told him. “You look rather... crumpled.”

Maron smiled indulgently at her. “I expect I do. I’ll go to my chamber and change.”

Ser Artyr frowned. “Can’t that wait?”

Dany frowned at him.

“All right,” he conceded. “But Ser Ormond will go with you.”

Maron bristled at that. “I don’t need a wet nurse,” he said. “Certainly not one who still has a wet nurse of his own. Do you think I’ll bolt?”

Dany saw Ser Ormond’s face turn as red as a pomegranate. “Every time you call me a boy, you only prove how childish you are.”

Maron sneered, but didn’t respond. Dany surreptitiously touched his forearm, hoping it would calm him.

“Ser Ormond will go with you,” Artyr Dalt repeated. “To see that there’s no delay. Then we’ll both accompany you to the yard.”

“I don’t see why you should object,” Dany told Maron.

“Object? I wouldn’t dream of it,” Maron quipped. “A prisoner has no choice but to obey. Come on then, Morgan.”

The brothers left with Ser Ormond trailing behind them.

“Ser Maron seems to listen to you, Lady Dany,” Ser Artyr told her. “I can’t tell you how envious that makes me.”

Dany looked down at her feet. If she met his eye, her face would betray her. “He’s my cousin,” she said.

“Princess Loreza is his cousin too.”

She supposed he had a point. Maron always obeyed the princess, but he seemed to resent it. Loreza had never understood that he hated to be obliged to do anything.

“Are you going to join in the hunt?” Ser Artyr asked her.

“I hadn’t planned to,” Dany said. “I thought they were going hawking.”

“It hardly matters,” Ser Artyr shrugged. “It will be such a crowd that no one will be able to take anything anyway.”

“Yes,” Dany said. She tried to laugh, but managed nothing more than a weak smile. “Excuse me,” she said. “I should find my mother.”

But Dany didn’t try to look for Princess Trystana; she went out to find Lord Dondarrion herself. It wasn’t hard. At this time of the morning, all the men were in the small yard training. She skirted around its edge, avoiding the clouds of dust the horses were kicking up, and climbed the short stone steps to the gallery.

Lady Amerei Darklyn was already there. “Lady Daenerys!” she called happily.

Dany rolled her eyes before putting on a smile and going over to where the woman was sitting at the table under the awning. She hadn’t enjoyed their previous conversation in the least, but some things couldn’t be avoided.

“Good morning,” she said. “It’s not too hot today, is it?”

“Isn’t it?” Lady Amerei laughed. “Come, sit next to me, if you will.” It was a good spot, facing the top of the stair where Maron would surely come from. “Oh,” Lady Amerei said, “doesn’t my husband look dashing?”

Dany saw Lord Darklyn in his black and gold fusily taking a turn at the quintain at the far side of the yard. He wasn’t disgracing himself, but he wasn’t doing any better than a common squire either. And the man was far too skinny. “Yes,” she told his wife.

“I just love watching him,” she continued, and sighed forlornly with her hand on her heart.

Dany couldn’t help but smile. “It’s lovely, how fond you are of each other.”

“It is rather splendid,” She admitted. “But not many marriages are like ours. I wouldn’t want to fill a maiden’s head with unreasonable expectations.”

“I already knew that.”

“Truly?” Lady Amerei laughed. “Do your parents not get along?”

It was a rather rude question from a person who was almost a stranger, but Dany didn’t mind so much. “They don’t see each other often enough for it to matter any more. I hardly know what they were like before.”

“Oh,” Lady Amerei seemed a little disappointed. “But I’m sure Princess Loreza and Ser Eliott will be very happy. That’s what you’re supposed to say on the eve of a wedding, isn’t it?”

Dany shrugged. “He’s very comely.” She’d danced a dance with him, and her mother seemed pleased with him. But other than that, Dany had barely noticed his arrival. Loreza wasn’t acting any different now that he was here.

Lady Amerei leaned back in her chair and sat with her hand on top of her belly. She looked at Dany with eagerness, as though she was finally saying what she’d wanted to all along. “They say the more interesting the wedding, the better the marriage.”

“Do they say that?” Dany asked. It didn’t seem likely. But they said all sorts of odd things in the north.

“And it’s certainly been an interesting wedding already, hasn’t it?”

“Well,” Dany said. “Everyone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it a very grand occasion and there are so many people...”

“Like last night, for example,” she bowled over Dany’s words. “That was very interesting.”

“Was it?”

“People have been saying all sorts of thing,” Lady Amerei continued. “But you were right there, if I recall. So you know the truth.”

Dany did mind her impertinence this time. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, my lady,” she said. “But I don’t know anything about it.”

Lady Amerei clucked her tongue. “Oh, don’t be cruel,” she said. “You needn't tell me anything. Just nod if I’ve gotten something right.”

“I don’t...”

“I heard that Lord Dondarrion was being boastful. About a lady, if you understand me.”

He was a good deal more than boastful , Dany thought. But she said nothing.

“That’s not the interesting part anyway,” Lady Amerei continued. “It’s who the lady was, and why Ser Maron would consider himself at liberty to defend her...”

Dany glared. “Really!” she said. “I can’t image why you would think I would say anything. You’re speaking of my own cousins.”

“Cousins?” Lady Amerei said triumphantly. “So it is true.”

Dany felt herself turn red. She stood. “Excuse me, my lady.”

There really wasn’t anywhere in the yard for her to go to get as far away from Lady Amerei as she wished, and still be there to wait for Maron, but she was spared any need to navigate that awkwardness by the man himself appearing at the top of the steps. Ser Artyr followed closely behind him as he made his way down into the yard. Morgan and Ormond Yronwood were still with them too, following behind like baby ducks.

Maron looked very handsome. He’d changed into a yellow tunic that had the foot and viper of House Wyl painted across it. His hair was pulled back away from his face in a way that added to the intensity of his eyes. Dany went down to the edge of the gallery and only descended the stairs herself when he was halfway to the middle of the open space.

Someone must have warned Lord Dondarrion about what was going to happen. He brought his charger over and dismounted just a dozen feet away from Maron. Ser Manfred Swann and Randyll Buckler came up to flank him, like guards. He took off his helm to reveal two black eyes and a nose swollen to twice its natural size.

The yard had gone deathly silent. The only sound was the snorting of horses being reined in by men whose attention was entirely fixed on Maron and his adversary. Daenerys wasn’t the only woman watching from the gallery, a group of them must have followed Maron there. Lady Amerei was already whispering to Elda Toland, and Mariah Florent stood near them with an eager look in her eye.

“Lord Belmor,” Maron said, loudly enough for the whole yard to hear him. “I must beg your forgiveness for my behaviour last night.”

The other man looked sceptical. “Must you, ser?” he asked.

“Indeed,” Maron continued. He looked so dignified standing there that Dany felt her breath coming quicker. “It was unconscionable. I degraded myself, my family, and my prince, and only your pardon can ease my shame.”

Ser Artyr Dalt grunted in a mixture of amusement and frustration.

Lord Dondarrion didn’t seem to know how to respond. He looked over to Ser Manfred, who could only shrug. “Then I give it to you, gladly,” he said. He held out his hand and Maron grasped his forearm with his own.

They broke apart again after only a few seconds. The crowd milling about the yard lost interest soon after. Maron immediately turned to Ser Artyr.

“Well,” he said. “That’s your charge done, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Ser Artyr agreed. “I shall tell the prince how earnestly you obeyed his command.”

“Let this one tell him,” Maron said, indicating Ormond Yronwood. “He never misses a chance to toady up.”

Ser Ormond turned red. “It’s a comfort to know that you’re not likely to be tolerated in Sunspear much longer.” He turned on his heels and left, giving Dany a little nod in the process.

“I wish I didn’t share Ser Ormond’s fear,” Ser Artyr said. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish with your constant disdain for everyone.” He left them too.

Maron never disdains me, Dany thought. He smiled at her now. “You didn’t have to see all of that,” he told her.

“I wanted to,” she said. “I’m glad it all turned out.”

“Did it?” he asked. “Having to demean myself is not what I call a good conclusion.”

“It’s better than you being sent away,” she said. “And why are you so mean to Ser Ormond?”

“Ser?” Maron said with a sneer. “Our uncle only knighted him because he pitied him.”

That didn’t sound much like Ser Olyvar Sand. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Are we going to go hunting?” Morgan asked suddenly. He’s been so quiet that Dany had forgotten he was there.

“Hunting?” Maron asked, surprised. “Did you want to?”

“With the king?” Morgan said, “of course I do.”

“Go then,” Maron said, looking at Dany and smiling a little. “It will please Father to have you there.”

“Alone?” his younger brother asked. “But I should stay with you. I’m your squire.”

Maron rolled his eyes. “If I need help putting my armour on today, I promise to send a rider after you.”

Morgan went away towards the stables, still reluctant, but Maron and Dany climbed the stairs and made their way on to the gardens, in search of some privacy.

They hadn’t been in the shade of the trees long when they saw Elda Toland sitting on a bench speaking with Genna Sand. She rose as soon as she saw them.

“Genna,” Maron said, stopping in his tracks. He stood before her. “Are you well?”

She didn’t look him in the face. “I never asked you to do anything.”

“I couldn’t do nothing,” Maron said. “Not while he insulted you.”

She glared at him. “Why not? I’ve faced a good deal worse than an indiscrete boy. Do you think I care what he says about me?”

“I care,” Maron told her. “I wish I’d done a lot worse than break his nose.”

“It’s not your place to care, Ser Maron.”

Dany could tell how much those words wounded him. “Of course it is,” he said, shocked. “How can you even say that?”

“I don’t need anyone to defend me,” she told him. “And even if I did, I have my brother.”

Dany frowned. Gallwell Qorgyle had been sitting there too, and he hadn’t said a word. But perhaps that hadn’t been a mistake, considering what had happened.

“Now you’re being cruel,” Maron said. “I would defend you, with my life. I don’t care if you never call me brother.”

His last word made Genna turn red. She turned her face away from him. “No,” she said, “you never care for anyone’s feelings but your own.” She exhaled through her teeth. “My mother is… And now the prince thinks I’m the cause of all this mischief.”

“That’s not true,” Dany jumped to say.

“You haven’t done anything worthy of blame,” Elda Toland said, standing beside Genna. “It all would have passed for nothing if Ser Maron hadn’t lost his temper.”

Maron’s face flashed with anger. “I’m willing to be reproached by Genna, but not by you.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any point in reproaching you,” Genna said. “You do as you please. I can only hope it will never please you to help me again. Good morning, Lady Daenerys.” She curtsied and walked away with Elda, back towards the yard where Maron and Dany had come from.

Maron let out a frustrated little scream as soon as she rounded the corner and went out of sight. “What was I supposed to do?” he asked Dany.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But-”

“Not sure?” he said. “You think I was wrong?”

“No...” she started. “Well… It was very gallant of you, but, Genna is… things have always been hard for her. It’s all so complicated.”

“It’s not complicated at all,” Maron argued.

“It is though,” she said. “It would be different if your father...”

“That was never his choice,” Maron interrupted. “It makes him angry, in fact.”

“I know,” Dany admitted. “But her mother, and your mother-”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Maron said. “It certainly doesn’t make her any less my blood.” He made another little scream. “What was she doing spreading her legs for that little shit anyway?”

Dany shrugged. “I suppose she thought he was comely.”

Maron started. “Do you think he’s comely?”

“I did,” she said with a grin. “Before his face puffed up.”

He laughed. Dany looked around the garden. This path was out of the way enough to be deserted, but she could hear voices and footsteps through the shuberry. She took Maron’s hand and lead him along.

“Where are we going?” he asked her.

“Where no one will walk in on us.” They reached the gate to Princess Loreza’s garden. She opened it with one hand and pulled him through. The garden was empty. Dany turned and threw her arms around Maron’s neck. She barely had to go up on her toe to reach his lips with her own.

He pushed her on the shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Dany frowned at him. “You’ve kissed me before.”

“I know I have,” he said. “But maybe I was wrong.”

“Wrong?” Dany asked. “I wanted to kiss you. I thought you did too.”

“Of course I do, but,” Maron sighed and smiled, patronizingly. “I remember being fifteen. Who knows what you’ll want in a fortnight.”

She shook her head. “A fortnight won’t change my feelings for you,” she said. “And even if it did, I can still decide for myself what I want.”

“I dare say you can,” he said. He took a step back from her. “What have you decided?”

Dany stepped towards him so that they were as close as could be again. She took one hand in his and smiled the most alluring smile she knew how. “That I want you.”

He lifted his other hand to cup her face. “I want that as well,” he said. “I want you to be my wife.”

Dany laughed. “Well, good,” she said. “But I don’t want to wait that long. I think about you. All the time.”

Maron bit his lip. “I would hate myself,” he said, “if you did something you came to regret because of me.”

“But-” Dany said, starting to feel a little frustrated, “I wouldn’t. And even if I did… ” The only thing she would regret was not making him understand. The thought of being wed to Maron, of always being by his side, was thrilling. But the thought of laying with him, of giving him her maidenhead, was almost too much for her to bare. She stayed awake in bed almost every night and imagined how it would be, to feel his skin against hers. “I said I wanted you. Why can’t you just believe me?”

Maron looked stricken. “I believe you,” he said. “But if we’re to be married, then we’ll have so much time. There’s be no point in rushing anything.”

Dany twisted her mouth. “You sound like Olenna Redwyne.”

“What?” he asked with a laugh. “I hope not.”

The gate creaked, and the two of them both jumped back, letting go of each other’s hands. The High Senechal poked his head through and seemed pleased to find Dany there.

“My lady,” he asked, as though not noticing Maron, “have you seen Princess Trystana this morning?”

That was strange. Usually Garwen went out of his way to avoid her mother. “Not this morning, no,” Dany told him. “Isn’t she going hunting with everyone else?”

“No, my lady, I don’t believe so.”

“Is Ser Eldon Sand going hunting?” Maron asked with a smirk. Dany swatted him on the arm playfully.

“What did you need her for?” she asked the senechal.

The man looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, my lady,” he began, “Princess Daenella has arrived and I’m not entirely sure-”

“Princess Daenella?” Dany said happily. “Where is she?”

“I asked her to wait in your mother’s sitting room, my lady.”

Dany giggled in excitement and went past him through the gate and down the garden path. The gardens and the courtyards had become crowded with all the visitors; she had to weave her way through a group of poorly dressed hedge knights gawking at the Spear Tower. But the Tower of the Sun was far emptier. Almost everyone who was important enough to enter here was important enough to go hunting with the prince and the king. Dany hopped up the stairs and through the wide corridor to her mother’s rooms.

Her aunt was sitting on an upholstered chair by the window. She was so pregnant that she was practically round. She used both arms to push herself up.

“Dany,” Princess Daenella said, holding her arms out to embrace her, “look how tall you’ve gotten. I haven’t seen you in a year.”

“Longer!” Dany told her. She tried to hug her aunt, but her belly was so large that she couldn’t quite reach.

“Hold still so I can look at you.”

Dany stood up straight and let the princess look her up and down.

“You look more like your father than your mother, I think,” she finally declared.

“Oh,” Dany said. “Is that good?”

“Well, it hardly matters in your case, they’re both very handsome.”

Dany giggled. “I’m so glad you’ve come, aunt.” She gestured towards her belly. “I didn’t think you’d be able to.” Her aunt had some land between here and Godsgrace, on one of the smaller rivers that drained into the Greenblood. Neither of her parents would ever let Dany visit her there, as much as she would have wanted to.

Princess Daenella wrapped both arms around her bump and smiled widely. “We couldn’t have missed this. Don’t be silly.” She took Dany’s hand in one of hers and pulled her towards a settee. “So, niece,” she said. “Tell me all your news.”

She could feel her cheeks turning pink. “I don’t have any,” she said. “Salt Shore is quiet and everything here has been about the wedding.”

Her aunt looked sceptical, but before she could say anything the door opened and Ser Olyvar Sand came in.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked Princess Daenella. “In your condition?”

She rolled her eyes so only Dany could see. “It’s very nice to see you too, brother.”

He sighed. “Don’t be an idiot,” he told her. “Of course I’m happy to see you.” He came up to her and bent to kiss her cheek. “But I’m even more happy that you didn’t give birth by the side of the road. Look at you.”

“I’m perfectly well,” his sister said. She turned to Dany. “You think leopards stop hunting just because they’re with child?”

“You’re not a leopard,” Ser Olyvar pointed out. He sat down on the settee next to Dany and put his forehead in his hand. “Rhodryn will have a fit when he sees you. What could you have been thinking?”

Princess Daenella rolled her eyes again. “I was thinking that I wanted to see my niece wed.” She spoke to Dany again as though he wasn’t there. “I assume you’ve seen the young man,” she said. “I heard he’s very comely.”

Dany shrugged. “I suppose he is,” she said. “He dances well.”

“Loreza thinks he’s comely,” Ser Olyvar said, “it hardly matters if anyone else does.”

“That’s a mercy!” Princess Daenella said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck in this palace with her if her husband couldn’t please her.”

Dany giggled, but Ser Olyvar frowned. “I don’t think you need to be concerned.”

“I doubt he could be as pretty as that Dayne boy of hers.”

“Don’t even think of mentioning him!” Ser Olyvar said with sudden severity. “Certainly not to her.”

Dany heard the click of the door opening. Her mother came in already wearing a scowl. “The Others take you, Daenella!” She said. “What were you thinking coming here?”

The princess suddenly began to look defensive for the first time. “I came for the wedding,” she said.

“The wedding?” Princess Trystana asked. “How could you consider going anywhere so near your time? Not even you should be as reckless as that!” She was nearly screaming, and her face was purple.

Ser Olyvar stood to put a hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, Trystana,” he said in a soothing voice. “She’s here, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Dany’s mother didn’t seem to have any intention of calming down. “The king is here!” she exclaimed. “And half the lords of the Reach. We’ll be fortunate to even find a bed for you to have your child in!”

“You don’t need to panic so, sister,” Princess Daenella said with a scowl on her beautiful face. “It’s still a week or two off.”

“A week or two?” Princess Trystana actually stamped her foot. “You know as well as I do that that means it could come at any moment. The heir to Sunspear is getting married in three days! No one has time to deal with you!”

Dany could see that her aunt was getting upset. She was looking everywhere but at her sister. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. “It would all be just a bunch of boring feasts without you.” Princess Daenella smiled.

“She’s here now,” Ser Olyvar Sand repeated, but Princess Trystana didn’t hear him any better this time.

“This is so like her!” She told him. “She does whatever she pleases and we have to deal with it! And of course she gave no thought to our brother and how anxious this will make him! As though he didn’t have enough to worry about!”

Princess Daenella started to cry. She put one hand on her belly and used the other to cover her face.

“Don’t cry, aunt,” Dany said. “The prince will be happy to see you.”

“I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience to everyone,” Princess Daenella said through sobs. “I wanted us all to be together, but I’ll leave if I’m just a problem to you.”

Ser Olyvar rolled his eyes. “There’s no question of your leaving,” he said. “I doubt the prince will consent to you leaving your bed.”

The door opened yet again. “Who is it now?” Princess Daenella asked, blubbering. But she wiped her eyes and struggled up to her feet as soon as she saw that it was Princess Loreza. Even Dany’s mother made a visible effort to control herself.

“Aunt,” the princess said. “I can’t say that I expected to see you here. No one told me you were coming.”

She blushed as her niece kissed her on the cheek. “I wanted to surprise you,” she said.

“Yes,” Loreza said. “I’m famous for being fond of surprises.” She sat down on the settee and frowned slightly at her aunt’s belly. “And it looks as though we’ll be having another guest soon, too.”

“We don’t even have a bed for her,” Princess Trystana cut in.

Loreza sighed. “Yes...” she admitted. “Even the Tower of the Sun is full of Tyrells. And the Lannisters still haven’t arrived.”

“And it will be any day now-”

“I can see that.” The princess’s frown deepened. “You’ll have to take one of my ladies’ rooms, I suppose. The bed should be big enough for two.”

Princess Daenella blushed deeper than ever. “It doesn’t need to.”

“What!” her sister asked. “You mean your husband hasn’t come with you?”

“No,” Princess Daenella said quietly.

“I see what this is now,” she said with a scoff. “You quarreled with him and ran away. Again.”

“No!” her sister said more stoutly. And unconvincingly.

“It hardly matters,” Ser Olyvar Sand said to Dany’s mother. “It’s our sister’s health that should concern us now.”

“I quite agree,” Princess Loreza said. She stood up again, but put a hand on Princess Daenella’s arm to keep her down. “Stay here for now, I’ll send the maester to you. I can’t imagine you brought yours with you.”

“I haven’t,” her aunt admitted.

“And I’m sure you’ll be able to arrange about the bed, aunt,” she said to Princess Trystana.

She sighed. “Lady Deneza may be able to do better for her than someone else’s bed.”

“No, don’t trouble her now,” Loreza said. “I’ll have Rhona Santagar see to it.”

“If you wish,” Princess Trystana told her. And Loreza was gone as quickly as she came. “Well, that’s it then,” Dany’s mother said to her sister. “I hope you’re proud of yourself. Come along, Daenerys.”

Dany shook her head. “I’d rather stay with my aunt,” she told her. “She may need my help.”

Princess Trystana rolled her eyes, but left herself without another word.

Princess Daenella’s sobs resumed. “She hates me even more than she did before!”

Ser Olyvar sat beside her and put an arm around her. “She doesn’t hate you, Dae,” he said. “She’s been under a good deal of strain, that’s all.”

She managed to laugh through her tears. “You mean she’s working herself up interfering with everyone else’s business.”

He laughed softly. “That’s not what I said. Come lie down on the daybed and get your feet up.”

Dany and her uncle both helped Daenella stand and guided her over to recline on the bed in the corner of the room. Dany rearranged the cushions for her and heard her aunt sigh with relief as she leaned back. Obviously the journey hadn’t been as effortless as she had pretended. 

“I’ll need to have word sent to the prince that you’re here,” Ser Olyvar said unhappily.

“But, that will quite ruin his day,” Dany protested.

“Maybe so, but he’d never forgive me if I didn’t.”

Dany shrugged. “Then Loreza’s probably done it already.”

“True,” he said with another laugh. “But I best be sure.” He bent down again to kiss his sister on the brow. “Promise me you’ll rest,” he said.

“I doubt I’ll be given much of a choice.” When she and Dany were alone, the princess became quite animated again. “You still haven’t told me your news.”

Dany shrugged. “What did you and your husband argue about?”

She stroked her belly. “We didn’t,” she maintained. “But it’s been hard for him to be stuck in that thrice damned house for all these years. It’s been hard for me too.” Princess Daenella’s husband wasn’t high-born, or even a knight. He’d sold spices up and down the Greenblood before she’d married him. Dany’s mother always spoke of it angrily, but also said that she supposed it was just as well. Since Princess Daenella could hardly be trusted with a real marriage.

“And everyone’s always coming to us with problems they expect us to fix,” her aunt continued.

“Your smallfolk, you mean?”

“Yes, it’s very annoying,” she said with a flap of her hand. “But don’t think you’re getting out of it this easily. You must have news, who are you in love with?”

Dany was sure she was as red. “Why do you think I’m in love?”

“All girls your age are,” her aunt said. “I’m sure I was in love with seven people when I was fifteen.”

“Joleta’s in love,” Dany tried.

“I know all about that,” Princess Daenella said. “What about you?”

“Well...” Dany said hesitantly. “There is someone.”

“I knew it!” Her aunt exclaimed. “Well! Tell me who it is.”

Dany shook her head. “I think he’s in love with me too,” she confessed. “He told me he was.”

“Oh dear,” Princess Daenella said. “You’re mother’s told you about moon tea, hasn’t she?”

“Yes!” Dany said, blushing even deeper. “Well, my mother didn’t tell me about it, but I know about moon tea.”

“Hmm...” her aunt said. “It’s a good thing the maester is coming.”

Chapter Text

Barely an hour after dawn the heat was already oppressive. Jeremy was loath to leave the cool sandstone walls of the Tower of the Sun and step into the bright glare of the morning sun to make their way through the gardens.

Daeron didn’t seem to mind it. He always loved the heat. And he never burned in the sun, though his skin was pale as ivory.

“How tedious do you suppose this excursion will be?” his prince asked.

Jeremy grinned. “I’m rather looking forward to it. A long, hard ride will be nice after being stuck on a ship for so long.”

“You’re right, of course,” Daeron conceded. “And anything will be better than another feast.”

They arrived at a table set up under an awning in a corner made by the curve of a garden wall. Prince Lewyn sat at its head and barely paused in his eating to greet them. Lady Joleta Garaglen sat opposite on the young prince’s left side, an empty seat between her and Ser Artyr Dalt. The other four at the table, two young men and two young ladies, Jeremy couldn’t put a name to. He sat down next to Daeron as the others settled back down around them.

“I thought Lady Deneza was going to be here,” said one of the young ladies. She had dark hair, and striking purple eyes that looked remarkably like Daeron’s.

“She said she would be,” said Lady Joleta.

“Did she?” Ser Artyr Dalt asked. “I’m astonished she thinks she’ll find any time to break her fast at all.”

Lady Joleta’s face turned into an unmistakable scowl. “Well,” she muttered, “it’s always one thing or the other, isn’t it?”

Prince Lewyn chucked to himself. “Perhaps you should try what my father did with my sister.”

“What was that?” Daeron asked him indifferently. He leaned forward and grabbed a dish of eggs close to him and examined it critically, no doubt searching for any sign of fiery pepper. Daeron had taken to Dornish food with even less enthusiasm than Jeremy had. More than one night in the five days since their arrival had been spent in complaint about the state of his stomach.

The Dornish prince laughed. “He locked the door to her solar and forbid her to do any more work. The he commanded her to go enjoy herself. You can’t imagine she would agree to go on this excursion otherwise, can you?”

“No, I can’t,” one of the young men said. This one was tall and fair. “In fact, I’m quite surprised that a lock on the door was enough.”

The sound of hurried footsteps made everyone turn to see Lady Deneza Dalt running to the table with an air of barely controlled panic about her. “I’m sorry to be so late, my prince,” she said, addressing Prince Lewyn.

He shook his head and motioned towards the empty seat beside Lady Joleta. “I’m glad you came.”

Lady Deneza gave Lady Joleta a light kiss on the cheek as she sat down, but she just frowned again. Lady Deneza clearly noticed, but said nothing. “Are you spending the night in the Water Gardens?” she asked her brother instead. “Tell Dennet I’m sorry that won’t be able to see him, won’t you?”

Ser Artyr assured her that he would, but Lady Joleta let out an audible scoff.

Jeremy saw Lady Deneza close her eyes and purse her lips before answering. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you really have to be told?” Lady Joleta asked peevishly.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

Lady Joleta rolled her eyes. “You’re sorry not to see your nephew, but you don’t seem to mind that you’ve barely seen me for a fortnight.”

“Is that a jape?” Lady Deneza asked her with anger in her voice. “I’ve hardly seen my bed for a fortnight.”

“And I suppose that pleases you,” the other lady continued.

“Of course it doesn’t please me. My hair is going grey.”

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to deal with me as well.”

“Yes, maybe it is!”

“I’m glad to know how you really feel!”

Daeron looked at Jeremy with confusion in his eyes. None of the Dornishmen around the table seemed concerned at the lovers’ quarrel erupting over breakfast. Prince Lewyn was laughing into his goblet of wine. Jeremy shrugged.

Lady Deneza stood back up from her chair. “I don’t have time for this nonsense,” she said. “I hope you all enjoy yourselves.” She went back the way she had come just a minute before.

“Can you believe her!” Lady Joleta said to no one in particular.

“I don’t know what else you expected,” Ser Artyr Dalt said.

“I expected you to take her side,” she countered.

Soon, the meal was done and the group made its way together through the gardens to the stables near the southern gate. Lady Joleta scowled, but everyone else was cheerful. One of the younger ladies, the one with the purple eyes, attached herself to Jeremy to strike up a pleasant conversation.

“I’m quite excited about seeing Batarra,” she said.

“I confess,” Jeremy said with a smile, “I’d never heard of it before yesterday.”

“Really?” she said, surprised. “It’s always been the one place I wanted to see when I finally came to Sunspear.”

“You’ve never been here before, my lady?”

“No, I’ve hardly ever left Starfall before.”

She was a Dayne, then. Daeron’s grandmother had been a Dayne. Perhaps that was why they had the same eyes. “It’s a very long journey.”

“I suppose so,” she allowed, “but I like travelling.”

“As do I.”

“Has anyone told you the story about Batarra?” The lady asked, but before she could start telling it herself, they arrived in a bailey where a large group was assembling. Ser Harlan Grandison was waiting for Daeron beside three sand steeds tacked up with saddle and bridle ornamented with gold and copper.

“Ser Casson Vaith tells me that the colour of the sky means the heat won’t be so bad today, Your Grace,” he told them.

“I’m not sure Ser Casson can be entirely objective about what ‘so bad’ might mean,” Daeron grumbled. He looked around the bailey frowning, “Gods be good, will she never leave me in peace?” Jeremy turns to where his eye had fallen and saw Lady Olenna in the middle of a cluster of young women that included Daenerys Gargalen and the Dayne girl. “Her brother isn’t here, is he?” Daeron asked.

Jeremy’s turned his head to look behind them. “Not that I can see.”

“Well, that’s a mercy at least.”

Jeremy smiled. “You should say something to Eliott Rowan,” he told him. “He’s right there.”

Ser Eliott was standing by his horse, fiddling with his sword belt nervously. Beside him were his companions. One was Ser Marq Rowan, his cousin, who Jeremy had been meeting at tourneys since they were all squires, and another was Ser Marq’s younger brother Owain.

“You look half a Dornishman already, ser,” Daeron told him.

“Do I, Your Grace?” Ser Eliott asked self-consciously. He looked down at his silk tunic and baggy trousers, worn with a loose robe that was cinched at the waist. “I suppose one must dress for where one is. And I’ll be grateful for it, when the sun comes out.”

Jeremy raised one eyebrow significantly at Daeron. He was wearing light hunting greens that would have been more than comfortable for a summer hunt in the Reach. “We’ll be fine,” Daeron insisted. “I like the heat.” But it didn’t take much to cajole him into sending for some robes of their own, or to return to the tower to change.

When they emerged again some quarter of an hour later, Jeremy already felt cooler. Princess Loreza was waiting in the bailey, Ser Eliott and a dozen others around her. She and all the other ladies were clothed in linen from head to foot, and covered up as much as any septa, though Jeremy knew it was not from modesty. The princess had covered her dark hair with a deep saffron-coloured veil edged with small golden disks. Her long braid was draped over one shoulder and held together with red-gold wire.

“Prince Daeron,” she said with a smirk on her face. “You look very well thus.”

“I’m sure you’re jesting,” Daeron said to her. “But I’m told it’s certain death to dress otherwise.”

“Oh, it won’t be so bad today. Shall we get going?”

It was only then that Jeremy noticed the impatient looks on many faces. “I hope we haven’t delayed you, my princess,” he said to Princess Loreza.

“Delayed us? Of course not,” she said. “Though we have no time to waste. Unless we want to be riding through the hottest part of the day.” She turned towards the horses with a conviction that made everyone do the same at a noticeably brisk pace. Ser Eliott held out his arm, as though expecting her to take it, but the princess must not have seen it because she walked past him and vaulted easily onto the back of a grey sand steed.

Jeremy’s own mount was just as fine, a sorrel mare with a light mane and fire in her eyes. He could tell how swift she would be. The thought thrilled him, it had been far too long since he’d felt the freedom a fine swift horse could give. A few runs up and down the lists in the past four days hadn’t cured the restlessness that a month’s confinement at sea had given him.

The group, numbered close to thirty, slowly filed out of the bailey and through the courtyard towards one of the palace’s lesser gates. That path spared them the need to ride through the shadow city. There was only a short pebble beach to cross before they were riding through olive groves. The pace was quick at first, but it slowed when a few of the younger ladies fell behind. They stopped at the top of a high hill crowned with a watch tower so they could admire the view back towards Sunspear.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Jeremy asked breathlessly to Daeron as they crested the hill, Ser Harlan just a few paces behind him.

“Very lovely,” the prince said smiling, not even turning to look, his eyes only on Jeremy’s face. He smiled back.

Soon, the olive trees thinned and the horses were kicking up a fearsome cloud of dust. They turned inland from the coastal road and into scrublands covered by nothing by the odd clumps of desiccated grass.

The sun began to beat down, even when they were still in sight of the sea. The princess paused to draw her veil across her face so all that could be seen was a narrow slit across her eyes. The others all did the same. Even the men covered their faces with sheer lengths of silk secured to their metal half-helms. Daeron drank half the contents of his water skin and poured the other half on his head before he would consent to so the same.

In three hours they arrived in a little speck of a village built around a lonely looking well. The inn was small, dark, and made of stone. It seemed to Jeremy that it would be wonderfully cool inside, but Princess Loreza declared that they would eat outside, in the shade of some old, ragged fig trees.

The innkeep, a short old man with a round belly, shouted imperiously to several young boys as they spread carpets out onto the dusty ground for them to sit on. The princess settled down with her back against the trunk of a tree while everyone else gathered about her. Daeron chose to sit some distance away under the next tree, but Ser Eliott Rowan planted himself at the right hand of his betrothed.

The same group of little boys came out again to lay dishes of bread, olives, and fruit out before them. When they finished they didn’t go back into the inn, but gathered by the fence to the horse paddock to watch them eat with open-mouthed fascination.

Ser Eliott picked up what looked like a large green pear with the skin of a lemon. He dug his fingernails into the skin to peel it away then broke the flesh into segments. “Another kind of orange?” he said to Princess Loreza. “How many different kinds are there?”

“Oh hundreds,” she told him. “But that’s not an orange.”

“Not an orange?” he asked. “It tastes like an orange.”

“Perhaps it does,” the princess said, “that doesn’t make it any less a pomelo.”

“A pomelo, you say? How is that different from an orange?”

She smirked. “How is a horse different from an ass?”

“Any man can see the difference,” he returned. “Which is hardly the case here.”

“Well,” said Ser Rolyn Toland, “I think we can all agree; a well-bred ass is all anyone really needs.”

Princess Loreza chuckled. “For some tasks, maybe.”

The expression on Ser Eliott’s face changed. “Most would argue that a horse is always better, I think.”

Her smile wavered. “Like an orange will always be better than a pomelo?”

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t see why I have to choose between them.”

Ser Eliott turned his head away. “No, I don’t suppose you do,” he snapped.

The princess wasn’t smiling at all anymore. “It’s only fruit,” she said.

He turned back to her. “Of course,” he said with an apologetic look. “It’s hardly a subject to upset oneself over.”

Daeron shook his head at Jeremy. “Happy couple,” he said quietly. “What will they do when they disagree about the colour of the sheets in their bedchamber?”

They rode for another two hours. The land became drier and more rocky. Occasional boulders and outcrops turned into steep-sided gorges that narrowed until no more than a dozen horses could pass breast to breast.

“Oh,” Jeremy heard the Dayne girl exclaim. “It’s just as beautiful as I imagined.”

He turned his head to see the ruins of an enormous gate, now nothing but a stone arc thirty or more feet high. When they passed under it, Jeremy could see that beyond, the walls of the canyon were cut into defensive towers and battlements. It was like a castle built into a cliffside.

They all dismounted and hobbled the horses before walking through the greatest of the doors. It was almost as tall as the archway, flanked on both sides by smooth pillars carved right into the rock. Inside was a wide, columned hall that ran for a hundred feet before breaking out into daylight once more.

Suddenly, they were in an oblong shaped gorge with walls of striped red and pink sandstone. Almost every natural surface was carved. Jeremy could see staircases and covered porticos and more doorways than he could count. This place wasn’t so much a castle built into a cliff as it was a town.

Jeremy found his companion from the morning among a group that had formed in the centre of the gorge, around a raised platform that might have once held a statue. She was standing with her head tilted up and a look of wonder on her face, circling around so that she could see every bit of the view.

“You seem to know a lot about this place, my lady,” Jeremy said.

“Lady Alleza knows a lot about almost everything,” Ser Casson Vaith said fondly. “And she’s always eager to make sure everyone else does as well.”

Jeremy was grateful to finally know her name.

She blushed. “I’ve read about it, that’s all,” she said. “Did you see how narrow the valley got right before the gate?”

“I did.”

“This valley is the only way through from the white sands to the sea for a hundred miles in either directions. The First Men built this fortress here to command the pass. The kings of the Broken Arm had their seat here.”

Jeremy ran his hand along the side of the platform, carved with scrolling flower and vines. There were still flakes of green and red paint clinging to it. “It does seem worthy of that,” he said.

“Yes,” Daeron agreed. “It’s not Dragonstone, but it will serve.”

“This was a long time ago,” Lady Alleza said defensively. “Before the Andals came to Dorne.”

“Why was the castle abandoned?” Jeremy asked her.

She shrugged. “The well ran dry.”

“That seems a common tale,” Jeremy said.

“I suppose there were many great battle here too,” Daeron said with the air of studied indifference he used when something interested him but he didn’t want people to know it.

“Certainly,” Lady Alleza agreed. “But most of them are only legendary, since the First Men didn’t write anything down.”

“That was short-sighted of them,” Daeron quipped.

Lady Alleza narrowed her eyes. “What they built lasted a good deal longer than most books, didn’t it, my prince?”

Daeron laughed. “I may as well go take a good look at it then.”

They wandered away, deeper into gorge. Jeremy and Daeron poked into dozens of man-made caves that must have once been shops and homes and storehouse. Daeron looked behind them and saw only Ser Harlan. The knight of the Kingsguard looked distinctly alien, walking among the sandstone in his long white cloak, but he had long learned the knack of being all but invisible. Indeed, Daeron seemed to decide that they were as good as alone, because he took Jeremy by the hand and pulled him into the back of one space, where a table have been carved out of the wall. The white knight turned his back and faced the entrance.

When they came out into the light of the courtyard once more, Daeron declared that he wished to see the place from a height. Up three turns of a stone staircase carved from a prominent outcrop the two men and the kingsguard came across a group under a portico. Princess Loreza was nowhere to be seen, but her brother was entertaining Ser Eliott and his companions instead.

“There are all these paintings on the walls in the back,” the young prince was saying happily. “I used to adore them when I was a boy.”

The hall was cunningly shaped so that the light slanted enough for them to see the painted wall perfectly well when they were lead towards it. It showed a scene of battle, with figures portrayed in an unnatural, ridged style, as though they were wooden dolls more than people. A little further down were more figures hurling stones from a wall not twice as tall as they were.

“They’re very lively,” said Ser Marq Rowan, clearly bringing out the only compliment he could think of.

“Yes,” Ser Eliott agreed. “They quite remind me of the painting in the gallery at Sunspear.”

“Do they?” Prince Lewyn asked quizzically. “I suppose they’re a little similar, though I never liked those as much. The maester used to make me walk along them and recite all the names.”

“And were you very good at it?” asked a pretty blonde girl at the prince’s side.

He laughed. “No, I was hopeless. My sister was quite ashamed of me.” The girl giggled, which seemed to encourage him. “I couldn’t tell Mors II from Lucifer Dryland.”

They laughed together until Ser Eliott interrupted.

“Princess Loreza was very good at it, I imagine,” he said.

Prince Lewyn shrugged. “She has to know about things like that, doesn’t she?”

“She seemed to the other day,” Ser Eliott continued. “It was all she would talk about.”

“She’s not usually so shy, I admit that. But she’s much more herself today.”

Daeron scoffed, and Jeremy couldn’t help but agree with his skepticism. As little as he knew Princess Loreza, he doubted anyone could consider her shy.

“No doubt,” Ser Eliott said quickly. “Now that she’s had a few more days to get over her disappointment.”

Ser Marq sucked in his breath, but Prince Lewyn only smiled. “Disappointment? Not at all. She likes you a good deal. I told you she would. She only had us come here because she knew you would like it.”

“That was very considerate,” Ser Eliott allowed. “But it’s natural that she would be disappointed. To not be marrying where she would wish.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s true either,” Prince Lewyn said.

“Please, my prince,” Ser Eliott said sighing. “I know all about it.”

“I assumed you would,” the prince said. “Everyone is being a little stupid not talking about it, if you ask me. Not that anyone does. My opinion counts for the least around here.”

Daeron laughed. “Yes, I know what that’s like.”

“I’m sure it’s to spare her feelings,” Ser Eliott offered.

“Yes,” Prince Lewyn agreed. “That’s why she hates it.”

“Well, I’m very sorry for her,” Ser Elliot said, though Jeremy was sure he was trying to convince himself he should be more than anything.

“Don’t tell her that, please,” the prince said. “She never expected she could have wed him, so she thinks that means she’s not supposed to have any feelings about it at all. It drives almost everyone mad.”

“Never?” Ser Eliott asked. “That surprises me.”

“Why should it?” he said. “There are those who thought he was too lowborn to be her paramour. And she’s very practical, even in affairs of the heart.”

Ser Eliott looked as though he had suddenly turned to stone. “What do you mean?” he said slowly. “Ser Rolyn Toland is as highborn as I am.” He looked at Ser Owain, then at his other companions, all of whom looked as shocked as he was. “Her paramour?”

Prince Lewyn’s brow creased. “Rol-” he stopped. “I think you’ve misunderstood me. I-” He looked about him, searching for a means of escape. “Jennelyn,” he said suddenly, “have you ever seen the kitchens here?”

“No, my prince,” the blonde girl said, jumping up slightly at his words, “I don’t believe I have.”

“There’s a stone cauldron in there that five men could take a bath in.” He held out his arm; she took it and they turned to scurry down the stairs.

As soon as they were gone, Daeron broke out into laughter. “Stop it,” Jeremy said under his breath. Ser Eliott had gone pale.

“How can he be surprised?” Daeron said. “When you marry a Dornish woman you should be glad to even have her to yourself for the wedding night.”

“What a thing to say!” said one of Ser Eliott’s companions, the shorter one in the green surcoat.

“Oh, I don’t think we should judge her harshly for it,” Daeron continued. “We all at least wish we could do the same.”

Ser Eliott was still silent when the five of them heard feminine voices coming up the same stairs that Prince Lewyn had just descended from. Jeremy almost winced when he saw who it was:  the princess herself and half a dozen ladies, Joleta Gargalen, her younger sister, and Olenna Redwyne among them.

“She’s only using this talk of being so occupied as an excuse,” Lady Joleta was saying. “She wants to cast me off, but she’s too cowardly to admit it.”

“Nonsense,” said Princess Loreza. “You’re making a difficulty out of nothing.”

They came into the portico and into the midst of the silent group of men. The princess smiled at her betrothed. “I’m glad to have found you, ser,” she said. “It would please me to show you everything.”

Ser Eliott started. He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. And he didn’t seem pleased. “No,” he stated simply.

Princess Loreza raised one dark eyebrow.

“I mean...” he began again, “Prince Lewyn already offered to do so.”

“I see,” she said uncertainly. He turned his head away. “Don’t let me detain you, then,” she added. “We only just passed him on the stair.”

“Yes,” Ser Eliott managed. He inclined his head and left, taking his companions with him. Ser Owain visibly glaring at the princess as he passed.

Daeron chuckled and smiled at her. “You could show me around in Ser Eliott’s place,” he said, holding out his arm. “If you can bear the disappointment.”

“Disappointment?” the princess said with the smallest hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Not in the least, I assure you.” She took his arm and lead him in walking east along the portico. “The armoury is on this level.”

“Is it covered in paintings too?” Daeron asked.

“Yes,” she said distractedly. “Everything is, more or less.”

Daeron smirked down at her knowingly. “You won’t let it upset you, I hope,” he said. “I dare say he’ll get over it. And even if he doesn’t, it’s most likely for the best.”

Jeremy saw her roll her eyes, but he doubted that Daeron did. “Thank you for the advice,” the princess said. “Though I have no notion of what you mean.”

“No, of course not,” Daeron allowed. “But you must admit, it’s better for this all to come out now, rather than later.”

“Yes,” the princess conceded. “I suppose that’s true. Whatever “it” is, exactly.”

“But I hope you’ll take my word for it,” her continued, “seeing as I speak from experience. There are few things worse than being trapped with someone who causes you nothing but annoyance. And if you know there is something better for you... Well, no hell can be worse.”

Jeremy felt his cheeks grow hot. He turned in alarm to Lady Olenna, and indeed she look as though she couldn’t decide whether to scream or cry. He felt an absurd need to apologize to her. Lady Daenerys looked at Daeron as though she wished she was a dragon so she could set him in flames. She grabbed Lady Olenna by the forearm and pulled her away without a word.

Princess Loreza watched them go before turning back to Daeron. “I can’t say that was well done.”

“What? Speaking at all within her hearing, you mean?” He asked.

“Yes,” she allowed. “That too.”

Daeron’s mouth twisted. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “But that’s hardly your concern.”

“No, it isn’t. But since you were kind enough to share your own thoughts with me, I feel it’s my duty to return the favour.”

“Indeed? You’re very scrupulous in your duty, I’m sure.”

“I try to be,” Princess Loreza said. “I’ve always been taught that, when a person is born with every advantage—”

“Like you and I were, I suppose?”

“Yes,” she said. “In such a case, a scrupulous devotion to duty is the only thing that will save you from living a life of nothing but… selfishness.”

Jeremy looked at Daeron with some trepidation. There were few people in the Seven Kingdoms who would have dared say that to his face, but fewer still would be surprised that a princess of Dorne would be one such. Daeron didn’t look angry or offended, however, as much as he seemed confused.

“You think I’m selfish?” he said.

“Did I say so?”

Lady Joleta Gargalen forgot her own troubles long enough to give a short, loud laugh.

“You didn’t need to say so,” Daeron said. “I’ve heard it before. You think I should have spent my whole life playing out a mummer’s farce designed to please everyone but me. What good would have come from that?”

“A good deal of it, most like,” Princess Loreza said, “or it wouldn’t have been asked of you. But you’re right, I do think so. Some would say that’s what princes are for. And knights are for protecting women, not shaming them before the whole world.”

Daeron’s brow creased. “That’s unjust. I feel sorry for her, I do, but no one with any sense could think it a matter of shame. It had nothing to do with her, everyone knows that.”

“Do they indeed?” Princess Loreza asked, with a curl to her upper lip. “Does she?”

“Of course she—” Daeron stopped, half angry and half ashamed. “She’s better off!”

“Perhaps,” the princess said. She had a tired look in her eye, the same one Jeremy sometimes used to see in Daeron’s face when he still bothered about what anyone thought. “Though I doubt she thinks so.” One of the princess’s companions came forward as though to whisper something to her, doubtless some reminder of how unwisely she was behaving, but she raised a hand to keep her back. “The truth is you never considered her feelings, or even that she had any at all.”

“I don’t see why her feelings should be given so much more consideration than mine,” Daeron said. “And I must say, I expected you to be more sympathetic than this, given what I heard. But I don’t believe it. You’ve never been in love at all, have you?”

A darkness passed across Princess Loreza’s face. She gave Daeron such a look that it prompted Ser Harlan to stand beside his prince. Her lady put a hand around her forearm as though she were afraid the princess would lunge at him.

“Let go of me, Alyse!” she spat out. The lady jumped back as quickly as if a bird had pecked her. “You don’t know anything about it, Prince Daeron,” she said, in a voice remarkably calm and steady “or about me. I take my leave of you.”

She turned away from him without another word or courtesy. Her ladies behaved better and all bowed before following her up the nearest set of steps.

Daeron didn’t bother to wait before she was out of earshot to explode with rage. “That insolent little Dornish bitch!” she shouted. “How dare she! And how dare you let her?” he added to Ser Harlan.

The kingsguard looked sheepish. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” he offered. “It’s only that she’s… well...”

“What was he supposed to do,” Jeremy asked him, “cut her down?” He put his arm around Daeron and immediately felt him become less tense. He leaned back into Jeremy’s chest. “Maybe,” he said. “Few would mourn her if he did. Certainly not her soon-to-be husband.”

Chapter Text

Daenerys was still holding onto Olenna’s arm as they climbed together up a steep set of stairs carved into the face of the cliff.

“He’s horrible!” she said. Her face was still red. “How dare he act like we should all feel sorry for him! I’ve never heard anyone so rude.”

Olenna smiled, though she knew she should be ashamed of herself for it. The truth was, she had never been so happy to have a friend beside her as she had been at that moment. It had only been a look, but no one had ever defended her like that, not even her brother. Not to Prince Daeron.

“I don’t think he meant to be rude,” she told Daenerys. “He’s just never known what might hurt someone’s feelings.”

“That’s even worse!” she said. She was getting angrier. And anger seemed to make her climb faster up the steps. Olenna tried to keep up with her, but was almost too breathless to speak. “I hate him!” Daenerys continued. “I think I may hate him more than anyone!”

They reached another level where the stairs reached a ledge carved into the rock and extending along the cliff farther than the eye could see. It was covered with an overhang of yet more carved stone supported by wooden pillars bleached white. Olenna, doubled over from a cramp in her side, made her way to the shade and sat down on a rock that may once of been a bench.

“Are you alright?” Daenerys asked her.

“I can't climb anymore,” she gasped. Her head felt as though she was on a ship in a storm, which only made her especially aware of how high up they were from the floor of the desert, with the edge only feet away.

“Oh,” her friend said. She sat down next to her, not even sort of breath. “You should have some water, I suppose.” Daenerys removed a leather strap from across her chest to pass Olenna a small water skin attached to it. She’s hadn’t even noticed it.

She took it gratefully and let a thin trickle of lukewarm water dribble into her mouth.

“Don’t gulp it,” Daenerys told her. “Just take small slips, or it’ll make it worse.”

After a minute or two of sipping, Olenna finally no longer feared for her life. “You shouldn’t say you hate him,” she said without preamble.

“Hate?” Daenerys said, confused. “Hate who?”

“Prince Daeron,” Olenna said, sighing. “You shouldn’t say you hate him. He’s a prince of the Seven Kingdoms. And a Targaryen.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes. “I don’t think anyone would confuse him for Aegon the Conqueror.”

“Still...” Olenna said, “It wouldn’t do for anyone to hear you.”

“If you say so,” Daenerys said, obviously not taking Olenna’s advice very seriously at all. She looked past her shoulder to where the stairs continued, even further up the cliff. “Are you ready to move on yet?”

“No,” Olenna said. “I honestly don’t think I can climb any more at all.”

“But...” Daenerys said, “There’s a sept up there I know you would like to see. It’s only four or five levels higher.”

“I’m sorry, Daenerys.”

“It’s alright,” her friend said grudgingly. “I’m sorry you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, I am!” Olenna said sincerely. “I’m very grateful that you invited me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she shrugged. Her eyes flicked back to the stairs. “I don’t know why you live like a prisoner.”

“I don’t,” Olenna protested. “I don’t know how you can do whatever you like.”

“I don’t,” Daenerys said. “Well, maybe in Sunspear, but at home I have things to do all day. Especially during the grape harvest, or when my sister was with child and was sick all the time...” she trailed off. “I rather miss being busy.”

“I’m busy all the time too...” Olenna started to say, but she stopped when she saw her friend’s eyes move again. “If you really want to go higher you don’t have to worry about me. I’m quite comfortable here.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do—” she began, “are you sure?” It didn’t take her long to persuade her after that, and soon Olenna was alone, looking out across the canyon to even more carved holes in the rock.

Her mind wandered back to the scene below, how Prince Daeron had found her mere presence too much of an annoyance to bear. And was willing to say so in company. It had hardly been the first time; he used to do the same thing all the time, even when they were children in Highgarden. He really is terrible.

Olenna had always thought it was natural enough that a boy would rather run off to horses and swords than spend time with a girl, even if she was his betrothed. But it wasn’t horses and swords he was running to. That thought made her angry, especially when she remembered how kind Ser Jeremy had always been to her. Every time the prince was cruel, he would go out of his way to be kind. Perhaps he felt guilty.

He should feel guilty.

Her solitude was interrupted by a group coming up the stairs, speaking in loud voices. It was Princess Loreza, accompanied by Joleta Gargalen and Alyse Ladybright. Olenna was about to stand up to greet them, but the princess froze just as she stepped onto the landing.

“Don’t move, my lady,” she said in a tone of quiet seriousness. Olenna obeyed, alarmed by the look in her eye. “There’s a viper by your feet.”

Olenna felt her heart jump into her mouth. She turned her face down to see a snake with horney scales, almost exactly the same colour as the rock it was nestled in, curled in a coil not three inches from the hem of her skirt. It was too gloomy in the shade to see where its head was, or if it was even awake. But perhaps it was the panic that was preventing her from seeing clearly.

“Don’t lose your head, sweetling,” the princess said in a soothing voice. “Just shift your bottom away from it. Towards us. Slowly.”

She put a hand on either side of her and slid down the barest bit to the left.

“Keep going,” Lady Joleta said. “It doesn’t want anything to do with you either.”

Olenna closed her eyes, hoping it would make her braver not to see it, and felt tears sliding down her cheeks. When her hand reached the edge of the stone seat she jumped up and ran the short distance to the three other women, throwing herself into Princess Loreza’s arms.

The princess stiffened, but then brought her hand up to pat Olenna on the shoulder uncertainly. It took a few moments more for Olenna to remember herself, then she backed away, blushing. The viper looked like a tiny thing, from a safe distance. Olenna felt like a fool. Princess Loreza must have thought she was a hysterical child.

“Daenerys was only just sitting right there,” Olenna said, her voice still sounded scared. “Neither of us saw it.”

“I imagine you didn’t,” the princess said. “Not being seen is what makes them so dangerous. But you are alright, aren’t you?”

Olenna blushed again, knowing she wasn’t only speaking of the viper. “Yes, of course I am, my princess. You’re very kind to ask.” Princess Loreza smiled understandingly.

“Where did Dany go, then?” Lady Joleta interrupted.

“Oh,” Olenna took a moment to remember. “She wanted to go up to see the sept”

“And she left you here alone?” Lady Joleta pressed. “That’s not like her.”

“I...” Olenna hesitated, wondering which kind of weakness was better to admit to. “I asked her to, my lady. I needed some time to myself.”

“I’m sorry we intruded,” Princess Loreza said.

“No!” Olenna blurted. “You didn’t. Not at all.”

“I didn’t even know there was a sept up there,” Alyse Ladybright said.

“Oh yes,” the princess said. “It’s quite small, but lovely.”

“You mean it’s dark and few are willing to make the climb to disturb you,” Lady Joleta said with a smirk.

Princess Loreza smirked back. “I’m sure you would enjoy seeing it, my lady,” she said to Olenna.

She tried not to frown. Daenerys had said the same thing. Did they all think she was especially pious? Immoderately so even? Why would they? “Yes, my princess,” Olenna said. She could hardly have refused, though the steps hadn’t gotten any less steep, or numerous.

Only yesterday she had been grateful for Princess Loreza and the way she had of removing all possible objections. Septa Unelletine had baulked at the very idea of her going on this outing, calling it ludicrous that so many young women would even think of going off into the desert with a group of men. But the princess had simply said, “Have no fear, septa, I shall look after Lady Olenna,” and then all discussion was done. No one could have prevented her from going, not even her father. Indeed, she was obliged to go, whether she wanted to or not. Just as she was now obliged to climb the steps.

They started up and Olenna was determined to keep a slow pace, even if she were left behind. But Princess Loreza matched her steps, even shooting a look at Lady Joleta when she made impatient noises. Olenna suddenly felt quite ashamed of herself for ever thinking unkindly of her.

When they had climbed half as high as they needed to they stopped at the sight of Alleza Dayne, quite alone, wandering down a ledge and running her hand along a wall carved in bas-relief.

“Are you all by yourself, Alleza?” Princess Loreza asked her. “Have you gotten lost?”

“Oh no, my princess,” the girl said happily. “That is, I am my myself, but I’m not lost. I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to come up with me, but I so wanted to go all the way to the top.”

“That’s where we’re going,” Lady Joleta told her.

The climb seemed even worse when Olenna knew they would have to go that high.

Lady Alleza didn’t seem fatigued. She chatted away without ceasing. “Ser Eldon Estermont thought it was strange that there would be a sept here at all,” she said, “since the First Men built it.”

“He’s quite right,” Alyse Ladybright said. “It is strange.”

“Well, the First Men didn’t build a sept, of course,” she said. “It’s hundreds of years later than everything else. A group of Warrior’s Sons made a septry in the ruins. They even built brick walls in one of the halls to divide it into sleeping cells.”

The Dayne girl was even younger than Daenerys, and so like her in many ways. They had the same need to impose their will on everything. But Olenna supposed to was natural enough, however jarring she may find it. Daenerys was the prince’s niece and Lady Alleza would rule a great seat one day. Olenna was almost tempted to envy them, but Septa Unelletine had been right about the danger they were in.

Horace had warned her about that even more strongly than the septa had, and told her how much it would pain him to hear his own sister spoken about the way all the men were talking about Genna Sand.

Olenna didn’t want that either. Having the freedom to wander in solitude couldn’t be worth it.

They reached a ledge where the staircase stopped and started to walk along it. “The statues and the painting in here will be completely different than anything else,” Lady Alleza prattled on. “Oh!”

They had turned to go through an ordinary doorway that opened to a large space carved into the traditional seven-sided sept, with a much less expert hand than the other caverns they had seen; but Olenna barely had time to take that in before she saw what made the Dayne girl exclaim.

Daenerys was standing with Ser Maron Wyl by the altar of the Maiden. Her hand was out of sight somewhere inside Ser Maron’s linen robe, but his was on her left breast. The laces of her over-tunic were untied and loose.

Olenna felt a pain in her chest and tears welling in her eyes, but all the others were looking at Princess Loreza. Daenerys and Ser Maron hadn’t moved.

The princess was completely sanguine. Olenna saw her swallow once before speaking in a calm voice. “Dany,” she said to her cousin, “get out of here.”

Daenerys disentangled herself from her... her lover and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “But--”

“Go with Joleta. Out.”

Lady Joleta came forward to grab her sister’s arm and lead her back outside. Olenna followed them with Alyse Ladybright and Lady Alleza, leaving the princess alone with Ser Maron.

The four of them started right back down the stairs. Olenna looked over at her friend. She was breathless and her lips were flushed dark red—from the violence of her embraces.

“We...” she said to no one in particular, “we were only kissing.”

“I know, sweetling,” Lady Joleta said.

“Loreza was furious!”

“Yes,” Alyse Ladybright agreed. “I’ve never seen her so angry.”

“What is she going to do?”

“I couldn’t say,” she replied. “Princes do as they will.”

Daenerys began sobbing, but no one said anything more. They moved down the stairs and at a pace so fast that they were soon passing the level where her friend had left Olenna sitting alone.  

The group turned at the sound of a commotion behind them. Princess Loreza was hurrying down the stairs so quickly that she would soon overtake them, while Ser Maron ran behind her calling to her back.

“You have no cause to disapprove out of hand,” he said.

“I have every cause!” the princess snapped without looking back at him. They had come level with them now, but neither Princess Loreza nor the knight seemed to notice. Olenna saw Daenerys look for a moment as though she wanted to come forward and say something, but her sister held her back. “Any fool with eyes could see her mooning after you for months,” the princess continued, “but you! Even you should have more judgement than this. She’s a child!”

“She’s not,” Ser Maron said. Astonishingly, he was more composed than Princess Loreza was. “You saying she is over and over won’t make her so. She’s nearly sixteen. At which age all of Sunspear had made a sport of betting on which cock you would jump on next.”

That seemed to stop the princess in her tracks. She looked over at Daenerys, still red-faced from sobbing, but with a defiant look in her dark eye. Her frown deepened.

“No,” she told Ser Maron. “Not you. You’re twice her age!”

“I know,” he said. He threw up his hands, “I didn’t intend for it to happen! But I don’t see why you can’t give me the courtesy of not doubting my intentions.”

“Your intentions?” the princess asked contemptuously. “I can see plainly what your intentions are.”

“No!” Daenerys spoke up.

“Dany, don’t—” Lady Joleta said, but her sister ignored her.

“You don’t see,” she continued. “We love each other! And we’re going to be wed.”

Quite suddenly, Princess Loreza ceased to be angry and became as stone-faced as she had been in the sept. She pulled her shoulders back and drew herself to her full height, darting her eyes between Ser Maron and Daenerys once.

“Mother have mercy,” Olenna heard Alyse Ladybright murmur.

“What madness is this?” The princess asked, her voice perfectly calm again. “Who put that thought into your head? Our uncle?”

Daenerys matched her pose and lifted her chin up. “No, no one did.” Her voice only shook a little. “No one but me. And Maron.”

Princess Loreza was silent for a full half-a-minute. Olenna was beginning to suspect that her calm demeanor was only a way to mask a far deeper anger than that she had felt towards Ser Maron. If that was true, then the idea of marriage offended her more than the idea of her cousin fornicating in a sept, and that was a level of Dornish peculiarity that Olenna couldn’t possibly understand.

“Well, don’t think it again,” the princess told Daenerys. “It won’t happen.” She turn on her heels and continued again down the steps. Daenerys ran after her, and the rest of them followed.

“You can’t!” She called. “Loreza!”

Lady Joleta overcame her sister and reached the princess. “Loreza, stop,” she said.

Princess Loreza didn’t stop. “You knew about this,” she stated. “You knew and you never thought to tell me.”

“Dany would have told you herself,” Lady Joleta said. “She wanted to. Eventually. She didn’t want it to be a secret; she wants to marry him.”

The princess paused in her descent long enough to glare at her cousin. “Don’t even say that.”

“Why are you so against it?” Lady Joleta asked, “It’s a good enough match.”

“What? How?”

“You can’t say he’s not good enough for her.”

They had reached the level where the princess had spoken to Prince Daeron less than an hour ago. She stopped entirely and put her face in both her hands and paced back and forth across the ledge. “That’s hardly my objection,” the princess said. “Why would you want this for her?”

Lady Joleta looked wounded. “I don’t,” she said. “My sister wants it. She loves him.”

“Well then, if she loves him!” Princess Loreza said with biting sarcasm. “You’re not a little girl, Joleta. You know we don’t live in a world where you can just wed everyone you happen to fall in love with. Dany must learn that too.”

“Like you did, you mean?” Lady Joleta shot back. “It may have escaped you, but there are few heartless enough to be capable of such a thing.”

The princess stopped pacing. “Heartless?” she asked.

“Yes,” Lady Joleta said. “What else can you call it? Cruel? Stupid? Do you know what others would give to have what you did? What you just threw away?”

“Stupid.” The princess said, her voice was barely contained rage. “It must be. I’m the only fool in Westeros stupid enough. Everyone else is able to forget their duty completely, do as they like, and suffer nothing at all for it.” She made a disgusted sound in her throat. “Yes, I must be stupid.”

“Spare me!” Lady Joleta shot back. “We’ve all had quite enough of humouring your need for martyrdom. We know how noble and brave you are. But few would be willing to tell you there is nothing praiseworthy in feeling nothing. I have no intention of letting you drag my sister into your pit.”

Princess Loreza looked as though she could hardly speak. “You think I feel nothing?”

“What else am I supposed to think?”

The princess made a noise that Olenna couldn’t distinguish between a laugh and a sob. “You think I feel nothing,” she repeated. “Because I don’t spend days wailing and inflicting my feelings on everyone, it must mean that I don’t have any!”

“What do you feel, Loreza? Tell me!”

“What do you want to hear?!” Princess Loreza was all but screaming. She looked a completely different creature than the perpetually poised lady who had so impressed them all. Her hands were balled up into fists. “That I feel as though my heart is broken? That my life is over? That I destroyed the only man I ever loved, who loved me, and for what? A statement to shut up a few obstinate old fools and a man who knows less about how to make me happy than—than you would!”

Lady Joleta didn’t seem especially sympathetic. “I tried to help you...we all did,” she said. “But you wouldn’t take it. You would rather be wretched forever than admit to any weakness. You brought this on yourself!”

“Weakness!” the princess screamed. She took two long strides towards her cousin but before she could reach her Prince Lewyn had come to stand between them. He put his arm across her chest.

“Sister!” he said in alarm.

Olenna had no idea where he had even come from. She had been too enthralled watching the argument to notice the large group that had assembled at the top of the steps leading from the desert floor. Ser Eliott Rowan was among them, not bothering to hide his disgust. Prince Daeron was covering his mouth with a linen sleeve to hide his laugh. Olenna had no way to know how long they had been standing there.

Princess Loreza’s passion was killed instantly. She surveyed the watching group impassively as her brother whispered something in her ear. “Well,” she said, in her usual commanding tone, “I’ve had quite enough of this place.”

The group on the stairs parted to let her pass, then they all filed out of the canyon in near silence, back to where the horses were waiting for them.

Olenna looked around for Daenerys. She was walking with her sister’s arm around her shoulders near the back of the group. Still, by all appearances, sobbing. Olenna would have gone to her friend, but she couldn’t imagine what to say. She had never felt the fact that Daenerys was four years her junior more. And as much as the Dornish girl was self-assured and independent, she was still a child who would stamp her foot if she didn’t get her way. Olenna doubted she knew how fortunate she was to have someone who truly cared for her as Princess Loreza did. Lady Joleta encouraged the worst in everyone, and Lord Gargalen had seemed indulgent far past the point of fault the one time Olenna had met him.

They mounted up and left through the ruined gate far faster than she would have imagined possible. The pace was such that Olenna had to give all her attention to not falling off her horse and hardly saw the landscape at all. No one seemed disposed to slow down for her as they had that morning, and she found it difficult to even take any water.

It was coming on twilight by the time they arrived at a palace by the sea. She was parched and her thighs ached, but the setting sun reflecting on the pink marble was so beautiful that it took her breath away.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t get to see the Water Gardens,” she heard Alleza Dayne say quietly to Elda Toland. “I thought for sure the princess would just take us back to the Old Palace.”

“No,” Lady Elda said. “Princess Loreza never changes her plans. Not for anything.”

Even Olenna had heard of the Water Gardens. Prince Maron had them built as a sign of love for his Targaryen bride. The palace had certainly earned its name. It was huge, with no defences other than a few guards at the gate. The buildings were all low, none more than two stories high, built around innumerable pools and fountains, and gardens full of fragrant orange trees in blossom. Olenna followed the group through successive archways and up and down little sets of steps. Eventually they came to a terrace set among more orange trees that overlooked the largest pool in the place. Beyond it was darkness and the sound of the sea crashing against sand.

At the pool, a harried looking young woman was shepherding a group of children away into one of the adjoining buildings. It looked as though they had been swimming in it naked, the boys and girls together, like peasants swam in the river in summer.

Olenna turned away from the sight just in time to see a little boy running down the polished marble. He was mercifully not naked but wearing a long, garishly green tunic. “Father!” he called happily as he ran in Ser Artyr Dalt’s arms.

Ser Artyr picked him up, threw him into the air and laughed. He was a small boy, no more than five or six. Olenna could see some of the tension disappear from the party as they watched the display of affection between father and son. “Say good evening to Princess Loreza,” Ser Artyr told him.

The princess’s face turned from a scowl to a smile as he bowed to her. “Hello Dennet,” she said. “Are you as well as you look?”

The boy’s brow crinkled as he seemed to consider. “I think I am, my princess,” he said.

“You haven’t run away from the tutor, have you?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I told her that my father was here and I wanted to see him.”

“Of course you did,” she said. “Have supper with us, if you think you can behave.”

He nodded. “I know I can!”

They gathered at a table in an interior courtyard next to a fountain filled with floating water lilies. Their scent overpowered the orange blossoms and mixed strangely with the strong smells of the food that was being brought to their table. Olenna looked apprehensively at a meat pie in front of her, wondering how firey it could be, before her hunger made her take a slice anyway. The last time they had all eaten was at the inn in the desert.

The silence that had reigned on their ride returned as they all ate. Princess Loreza was at the head of the table, with Ser Eliott beside her. But they were not even glancing at each other, much less speaking. No one else was brave enough to start a conversation. Only Ser Artyr’s son, sitting on his father’s lap did not seem to notice.

“Isn’t my aunt here?” he asked Lady Joleta beside them.

Lady Joleta made a sound that Olenna couldn’t quite make out. It was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. Perhaps she was grateful to have someone speak of something other than what they were all thinking about. No doubt most of the company was longing to ride hotfoot to Sunspear to gossip about it.

“No,” Ser Artyr told him, “but she asked me to send her love. You’ll see her at the wedding.”

Obella Qorgyle clucked her tongue and Ser Artyr winced at his own words. Then even the child decided it was best to be silent.

Olenna was having trouble taking it. Awkward silences were always more than she could bear. Daenerys was seated on her right, but was staring at her full plate, occasionally rubbing her face with her sleeve. Talking to her was impossible. On her left was Lady Obella, whom Olenna barely knew, though at least she wasn’t weeping at table.

“Um,” she began. The clatter of eating around them and the gushing fountain preventing her from being heard by the whole table. “I didn’t know Ser Artyr Dalt had a son,” thinking of the most innocent thing she could say. “I didn’t even know he was wed.”

Olenna thought she saw a smirk at the corner of the girl’s mouth. “He’s not,” she stated.

“Oh,” Olenna said, reproaching herself for not thinking of that. But she would never have been able to make such a mistake in the Reach.

“His is betrothed, though,” Lady Obella continued, certainly smirking now. “To me.”

Olenna went red. “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly.

“Sorry?” she asked. “Why?”

She must have turned yet redder.

“Stop,” Genna Sand said on Lady Obella’s other side. She was smirking too.

Olenna was in no mood to be mocked. She turned away from them. This entire excursion had been a mistake. She would have done better had she listened to Septa Unelletine. Every other woman here was Dornish. Surely there was a reason for that. She turned back to her pie. It wasn’t firey at all, though the way the meat was spiced was very odd.

There was nothing but murmurs for a few minutes, then Rhona Santagar began to speak in a loud enough voice to carry over the noise.

“I did enjoy the ride this morning,” she said to no one and everyone. “There’s nothing quite like a ride in open country.”

“Yes,” Princess Loreza agreed with a smile, but not much enthusiasm. Most of her attention, as far as Olenna could tell, was being spent on not looking at Ser Eliott. But Lady Rhona was on the other side of the table. “It was a fine day.”

Lady Elda picked up the banner. “I can’t remember the last time we all did something like that,” she said. “It must have been five or six months ago. When we rode to Spottswood and you jumped all the ditches in that orange grove. Do you remember, princess?”

“I do,” the princess said, far more genuine this time. “I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

“You had a splendid horse, I recall,” Lady Rhona said. “She looked as though she were flying.”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t ride her again today.”

“No,” Princess Loreza said. She seemed for a moment as though that were all she had to say, but then her smile turned almost defiant. “That was Henrick’s horse,” she said. “I imagine he took her with him.”

They all heard a clank as Ser Eliott threw his knife down on his plate. Princess Loreza turned her head slowly to look at him, daring, it seemed, for him to say something.

He didn’t. He didn’t even look back. Instead he stood up and stalked away from the table, between the trees, and out of sight. His companions stood up as well. Ser Owain Rowan and Lyman Osgrey and the rest. Ser Owain spoke, his embarrassment at his cousin’s behaviour only just winning out over his anger for his sake. “With your leave, my princess,” he said through clenched teeth.

Princess Loreza had that look on her face that was beginning to be familiar to Olenna. Only her shoulders going up and down with every angry breath gave any indication that she wasn’t carved from stone. She gave the slightest of nods to Ser Owain before he and all the Rowan men left the table behind Ser Eliott.

Prince Lewyn looked much more distressed than his sister. “Should I… go after him?” he asked her.

She rounded on him. “Do as you like, Lewyn!” she snapped. He flinched, but then matched her anger with a remarkably similar expression.

“I shall.” The prince stood, causing everyone at the table to scramble to their own feet. “There’s certainly no point in speaking to you!” he said as he walked away by the same path as the Rowans. A few of the younger Dornishmen followed him. So did Ser Maron Wyl, no doubt happy for the excuse to leave.

Olenna looked around the diminished company. Daenerys seemed as though she hadn’t noticed anything, still too absorbed in her own cares. Ser Artyr’s bastard regarded Prince Lewyn’s empty seat with wide-eyed confusion. Prince Daeron didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he grabbed a blood orange and ate it. Rhona Santagar had her face in her hand.

The princess sighed and slouched back in her chair. She looked as tired as Olenna felt. “I’m going to bed,” she announced.

Chapter Text

Alysanne heard her name being called as she left the sept for the baking hot courtyard.

“Lady Deria,” she paused to return. Alysanne hadn’t noticed her during the service. But the sept had been packed to bursting with all the visitors still pouring into Sunspear.

“Are you all alone?” Lady Deria asked. “I wish I had seen you earlier. Though perhaps you pray better in solitude.” The lady linked arms with Alysanne and began to walk with her. She raised her other hand to shield her face from the sun.

“I don’t know if I do pray any better alone,” Alysanne admitted. “But I always have.”

Her companion laughed. “That’s wise of you, my lady,” she said. “When I was a little girl I could never pray with my friends. We would spend the whole time giggling.”

Alysanne smiled. “But you’re not a little girl now.”

“No indeed,” she admitted. “But it’s still nice to have a friend to giggle with. I hope that we could be friends.”

Alysanne felt her heart leap with a sense of gratitude. “I would...” she began, “I would like that very much, my lady.”

“Won’t you call me Deria? You must miss all your friends in King’s Landing terribly. You’ve been alone whenever I see you.”

She blushed. She was just as likely to be alone in King’s Landing. “My daughter is always a good companion,” she said. “But here, I always feel as though I’m interfering with her amusement. And my husband prefers me to be… I don’t mind being alone, most of the time.”

“No, neither do I. Most of the time.”

“Even without your husband?” Alysanne asked her with a little surprise. “Don’t you get lonely?”

“Loney?” Deria said with a good natured smirk. “No.”

“Of course not,” Alysanne said, remembering. “You have your little boy.”

Her new friend look at her with confusion for a second before she smirked again. “Yes,” she said. “I do indeed.”

“But you might wed again,” she told her, “and have more children. You’re certainly young enough.”

Deria shrugged. “I suppose I might if my brother wishes me to. Or the prince. But I don’t see why either of them would. Princess Trystana did invite you to her rooms to do needlework, didn’t she?” They had reached the steps inside the Tower of the Sun and were beginning the laborious climb to the princess’s rooms near the top.

Alysanne felt herself blush. “Yes, she was kind enough to invite me.”

“Good,” Deria said, “there’s another place where I should be glad to have a friend.”

“Why?” Alysanne asked her, “what are you expecting?”

Deria smiled in her amused way again. “Oh, you’ll see. Do you have any sisters?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Neither do I,” she said. “And I don’t suppose they can all be like Princess Trystana and Princess Daenella.”

“Princess Daenella? I must admit,” Alysanne said, “I’ve heard some very strange stories about her.” Tyia had repeated what she’d heard from Ami Darklyn the night before. Alysanne had reminded her of the stories that lady had told on the ship about the Dornish court, and how little reality had reflected them. She couldn’t imagine the princess would still be received at court if the things being said of her were true.

Deria laughed. “Whatever you heard, I’m sure it doesn’t begin to do her justice.”

“Do you know the princess, then?”

“I do,” Deria admitted, “quite well. She’s only a few years my elder. I was her companion before I was Princess Loreza’s. Though that was the most thankless duty anyone could ever have.”

“Is she bad tempered?” Alysanne asked.

“Quite the contrary, she’s generous to a fault,” Deria told her. “But she hates to stay still. It was tiring to always run after her, and makes excuses for her to her mother. Princess Loreza was less trouble, even when she was only five years old.”

Deria waited for Alyanne as she hurried into her rooms to fetch her sewing, and then they walked together down the wide corridor and through a set of doors. Princess Trystana was holding court in a large sitting room well lit by the sunlight coming through the open doors to the balcony. Two dozen women sat on setees and sofas with heads bent over their needlework. Tyia was there, as ever with Lady Darklyn, in the middle of a chatting group. The princess looked up and seemed relieved to see Deria.

“Oh, you’re here at last,” she told her. “Come and help us, the gods know there’s quite enough to do and not enough time to do it in.”

Deria and Alysanne both bowed to her, but when her friend went to sit beside the princess and Lady Lenelle, Alysanne chose a seat farther away, near the window next to a lady with long silver-gold hair. She said nothing but smiled at Alyanne and pushed a length of lace edging and a half-finished gown for a baby towards her.

“Lady Alysanne, you came too,” Princess Trystana said suddenly.

Alysanne started. Part of her had hoped that the princess wouldn’t see her at all. “Yes, my princess,” she said in a small voice. “You were very gracious to invite me.”

“No, not at all,” she said shortly, making Alysanne blush, “I’m sure Larra would appreciate your help very much.”

“Yes, indeed,” the lady beside Alysanne said. Her voice was melodic, and thick with some kind of accent. “I am so slow.”

“Your work is lovely, my dear,” the princess said, before she turned away from them both to speak to a woman who looked so glum and so determined to blend into the sofa that Alysanne hadn’t noticed her at first. “You could at least do some work yourself, Daenella,” she said, “since this trouble is all your doing.”

Princess Daenella had been lying down with her feet propped up on several cushions. Her pregnant belly was so large that she struggles to get herself up on her elbows. “You’re the one making trouble out of nothing,” she snipped at her sister. “The maids could do all this.”

“The maids!” Princess Trystana exclaimed. “Are you mad, there’s a wedding in two days!”

“I wouldn’t know, anyway,” Princess Daenella said, in a tone of long-suffering. “How can I know anything that’s going on, since I’ve been imprisoned in this tower.”

“Imprisoned? No,” Lady Lenelle said in a soothing voice. “The prince only wants you to rest.”

“I’m not tired,” the princess said, “I’m bored.”

“Then do some work,” Princess Trystana shot back. “Or your child will have to go naked.”

“I doubt she would mind,” her sister said. “She won’t be born with a scowl on her face like you clearly were.”

Alysanne saw Deria put down her work to cover her mouth with her hand. Their eyes met, but she couldn’t bring herself to agree with the amused glint in her friend’s eye.

“She, my princess?” said Lady Ariandra Fowler. “Do you think you’re having another daughter then?”

Princess Daenella smiled and stroked her belly. “Yes, I’m sure of it.”

Princess Trystana scoffed. “Nonsense, there’s no way you could be sure.”

“I was right twice before,” her sister countered. “Her name is going to be Trystana.”

“What?” Princess Trystana asked. “Why should you do that?”

Her sister seemed hurt. She looked down at the hands still on her stomach. “I thought it would please you,” she said in a much subdued voice. “Manfrey and Yanna are both so fond of you… more than they are of me.”

“Maybe if you saw them more often, they would have a reason to be fond of you.”

“I always knew as well,” Lady Ariandra said to Princess Daenella. “Girls just feel different from boys.”

“They do,” the princess agreed, “but I can tell with anyone.”

Princess Trystana scoffed again.

“Can you tell if I’ll have a boy or a girl, my princess?” asked Lady Darklyn from the settee by the window.

Princess Daenella turned her attention to her and narrowed her eyes, considering for a few moments. “A boy,” she declared with complete confidence. “Without question.”

“Well, thanks the gods for that!” she said, before breaking down into giggles.

The princess only narrowed her eyes further at that. “Boys make you sick far worse than girls do,” she continued. “With a girl you hardly notice you’re with child at all.” She looked over to her sister, “Which is why forcing me to sit here all day is useless.”

“I think most of the advice women are given is nonsense,” Lady Ariandra said. “No riding, no dancing… I don’t see any reason why you need to spend half a year or more being wretched every time you have a child.”

Princess Trystana looked as though she were about to say something scathing in reply, but Lady Lenelle cut her off. “The young people must be having a very hot and dusty ride,” she said.

“No doubt,” said Lady Emlyn Wells, “but that’s the way Lo- Princess Loreza prefers her rides.”

Princess Daenella giggled. “Sweaty, you mean?” she said, “yes, I imagine she does.”

Her sister put down her work with an angry motion, “Really, Daenella, you’re worse than a child!”

“Oh spare me,” the princess said with another chuckle. “You thought about it too, I know you have. But now that I’ve seen the man I know we have nothing at all to worry about.”

“The same way you know you’ll be having a girl?” Princess Trystana muttered.

The lady beside Alysanne leaned over to look at the small blind-hem stitches she was using to attach the lace. “You do that so well,” she said. “And so quick.”

Alysanne was rather grateful for the distraction. She looked at the lady properly for the first time. It took a few moments to recognize her as the one who had played the lyre to such great acclaim the first night the king’s party had arrived in Sunspear. She had seemed so beautiful and other-worldly then. She was still beautiful now, without a doubt, but to see her sitting and sewing with her striking hair bound up in a simple braid made her seem much more real...just an ordinary woman.

But she wasn’t an ordinary woman, if even a tenth of the rumours about her were true. She had been trained in Lys in the arts of love, they said, and knew all the magic they used there to ensnare men. She was Prince Arion’s paramour, that wasn’t a rumour, and had borne him a bastard son. That fact was enough to put Alysanne in danger of blushing again. She knew that many men kept such women, but she’d never knowingly spoken to one before. Her own lady mother had kept her very sheltered until almost the moment of her own wedding, so even if such things happened at Maidenpool, she never would have known.

And however much her predecessors may have turned a blind eye, Queen Betha would never stand for it at court, not from her own husband, or from anyone else. That wasn’t to say it didn’t happen, to be sure, but there would never be evidence of it in a princess’s sitting room.

“It’s nothing,” Alysanne told her, surprised to hear herself breathless, “not compared to you, and how well you play.”

The colour that rose up in the woman’s cheeks was a delicate and elegant as the rest of her. “When I was a girl,” she said, “I learned how to play, but not how to do needlework. Now, I think I would have liked it better to know something useful.”

Alysanne couldn’t help smiling. “But you know it now,” she told her. The way she held her needle was indeed a little more hesitant and unnatural that most ladies, but her stitches were even enough.

“Yes,” she said nodding. “Princess Daenerys taught me everything. When I first came here. She was very patient with me. I was worse than a little child then.”

Alysanne felt a rush of sympathy for her. It must have been terrifying enough to throw yourself into a man’s power and go to some new place. It was a relief to hear that she hadn’t been without any friends. Prince Arion had a wife, after all, and a true-born son as well. How they must hate her.

“Princess Daenerys?” Alysanne asked. “Her death must have been such a great loss to you.”

The woman nodded again. “Yes, it was. For everyone. For Dorne.”

“I imagine so.” They said the princess had been first in her husband’s councils, as well as her son’s. Some even whispered that she had ruled them both, in truth.

“But Princess Trystana is just like her,” she continued. “They are both very strong, but kind too.”

Alysanne looked over at Princess Trystana, frowning and still speaking to her sister in biting tones. She remembered to way she had spoken to Lord Duran at that first feast. In truth, the princess had cause for anger in both cases, but it didn’t make it easier to receive. “Is she kind?” Alysanne whispered.

Her companion seemed to understand her completely. “Always,” she said. “Very kind. And very determined to do what is right.”

The lady they were speaking of stood up suddenly, sending the room into disorder. “I’ve had enough,” she said. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Yes,” Princess Daenella said sardonically. “A walk sounds lovely.”

Several of the woman around Princess Trystana made as though to come with her, but she waved them off. “No,” she said, “the idea is to go alone.” The princess walked towards the door, but stopped right in front of Alysanne. “Unless,” she said, “you would consent to come with me, my lady.”

Alysanne was sure she flinched to be addressed by her. Her stomach twisted in dread, but she couldn’t refuse. “It would be an honour, my princess,” she said.

“Good,” Princess Trystana said, “come along then.” She linked her arm with Alysanne’s and began to lead her away.

Alysanne turned her head to look back at Deria, though she couldn’t imagine how she would be able to save her. Her friend didn’t seem to share any of her concern; her smile was as mischievous as ever.

She and the princess walked in silence down the great staircase, still arm-in-arm. Every moment was an agony to Alysanne, she wished the other lady would just get it over with. The gods knew Alysanne deserved it. A sharp rebuke would have been justified even after only the first feast, when she had made a fool of herself mooning after her husband, but it hadn’t been only the first feast. Every night since, Lord Gargalen had asked her to dance, and every night she had been the same tongue-tied idiot. She had promised herself more than once that next time, she would refuse him, she would plead fatigue or say that her daughter had need of her, but when the moment came she was helpless. It was only when the music would stop and they were among others what she would regain the presence of mind to escape.

But even when she was in the midst of staring at the man as he danced and smiled, she was sure that Princess Trystana was watching them. Alysanne would catch her out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t imagine that she was pleased with what she saw. And Alysanne had learned enough about Dornish women in a week to know that they said as they thought.

“I don’t suppose you have any sisters, do you Lady Alysanne?” Princess Trystana asked suddenly.

Alysanne was so surprised by the question that she didn’t know what to say. Deria had asked her the same thing. “No, my princess,” she said, “I don’t.”

“That’s too bad,” the princess said. “I should like someone’s advice on what to do with mine.”

“I...” Alysanne began. “I’m not sure if having a... Princess Daenella seems rather...singular.”

Princess Trystana laughed. “I hope she is,” she said. “I have three brothers, and they never vexed me half as much all together. And I’m sure my daughters don’t give each other as much trouble.”

Still at a loss, Alysanne decided that her safest course was to not offend her any further. “I’m afraid I haven’t spoken to either of them for more than a few moments,” she said. “But they both seem like very pleasant young women.”

“Hmm,” Princess Trystana said, looking pensive. “The elder maybe, but I worry about Daenerys. Well, you saw how she was, didn’t you? Very willful.”

“She’s still very young, my princess,” Alysanne said.

“That’s what everyone says, but I don’t remember being like that when I was fifteen. Though, Daenella certainly was.”

Alysanne said nothing. The princess was thinking aloud more than she was talking to her, in any case.

“Perhaps it’s my own fault that Dany isn’t as I would like her to be,” she continued. “I neglected her when she was very little, and I’m doing the same now. Even when she was with me at the Water Gardens I never gave her all the attention I should have.” The princess paused just long enough to smile. “I can see what you’re thinking, my lady,” she said. “It was small of me to chide my sister for something I know to be one of my own weaknesses.”

The thought may have occurred to Alysanne, but she never would have given voice to it. And in all truth, the two princesses didn’t seem to her to be at all the same. She somehow doubted Princess Daenella ever questioned if she were doing right by her children.

Princess Trystana seemed to be expecting her to speak. They had left the tower and were crossing the courtyard to enter the maze of gardens, the princess stopped in the shade of a tree to look down at Alysanne expectantly. But she could think of nothing. She couldn’t agree with her, but she could hardly contradict her.

The princess finally gave up. “You would have a right to be disappointed with me,” she said. “Everyone speaks of how devoted you are to your own daughter. I doubt you know how admired you are.”

Alysanne felt tears forming in her eyes. She wasn’t sure how much more kindness she could take. “She’s my only child,” she managed to say in half a whisper. “What else could I do?"

Princess Trystana smiled sympathetically. “It’s easy to feel that way about one’s children, I know,” she said. “But children grow older, they have lives of their own. You need to have something for yourself.”

Alysanne swallowed. “I have my husband.”

The princess raised one eyebrow. “Hmm,” she said. “He certainly seems to have you.”

“I... ” Alysanne said. A part of her thought she knew what the princess was trying to say, but she was still more than a little afraid that this was some kind of trap being set for her. “He’s my husband.”

“Oh, what a coincidence,” Princess Trystana said. “There is mine.”

Alyanne’s heart jumped. She turned and saw him, Lord Duran Gargalen, walking briskly towards them down the garden path. It sank back down as she saw the look on his face when he realized she was there.

“How serendipitous that we should meet you here,” Princess Trystana said to him.

An look of amused confusion appeared on his handsome face. “Serendipitous?” he asked her, “you told—”

His wife cut him off. “Lady Alysanne was kind enough to take a walk with me,” she said, “and I was so enjoying her company that I quite forgot how much there still is to do, with the Lannisters landing in just a few hours. Poor Lenelle will need my help.”

Lord Duran’s chuckled without humour. “You forgot, my princess?”

“Yes.” She took Alysanne hand from around her arm and held it out to him. “I hope you won’t leave her entirely abandoned.” He took the hand without giving Alysanne a glance. “I knew I could depend on you,” she said, then in the next moment, she turned away, back towards the Tower of the Sun, and left them quite alone.

Alysanne was suddenly aware of how quickly her breath was coming, and the feel of her hand in his. She wished she had the courage to say something, but the silence seemed to drag on and on.

“I apologize,” Lord Duran finally said. He let go of her hand and took a step away from her. His voice seemed deeper outside the noise of a feasting hall. “She— Princess Trystana, she can be... She never expects anyone will refuse her anything, so no one ever does. No matter how uncomfortable it makes them.”

“I see,” Alysanne said, suddenly struggling not to weep.

“Yes,” he said. “You’ve made it quite clear that you find the attention I’ve been paying to you distressing, and that you much rather I let you be.”

“No!” Alysanne said before she knew she was speaking. “That’s not how I feel. I only—”

“You don’t need to be courteous to spare my feelings,” he said with a sad smile. Seeing it cut a knife into her heart.

“I’m not,” she said. “Forgive me, I— I hardly know how to behave.” She hardly knew what she felt; she only knew it was wrong somehow, that it needed to be hidden. “You’ve never distressed me, my lord.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” he said to her. “I hope I never will.”

Alysanne had difficulty imagining he ever could. The way he made her feel confused her. It was frightening, but all the same, when she was away from him, she craved to feel it again. Because he somehow made her feel safe as well.

Lord Gargalen was smiling when she finally got the nerve to look up at him. It made her blush again. He held out his arm to her. “Would you like to take a walk with me, my lady?”

Alysanne took it without a thought. She had always taken his arm without a thought, but this time there was none of the shame she had felt before. Perhaps it was simply because they were here in this garden, in the light of day, rather than in the dimly lit feast hall. After all, she reminded herself, she was only talking to the man, enjoying his conversation. What reason could she have for shame? They were in few view of dozens of people taking similar strolls, she was hiding nothing. If her own husband were to see her now, he would have nothing to reproach her with.

There was a silence for a minute or so as they moved towards the large long pool in the centre of the gardens. They both began to speak at once.

“I—” he said.

“Does—” she began.

“Please,” he said smiling. “What were you going to say?”

“I was only thinking about the Lannisters,” she said. “Is it Lord Tytos that’s come?”

“No,” Lord Duran said with humour. “I imagine there would be more of a fuss if he were. It’s the younger one who’s coming. The one who... But I’m sure you don’t like gossip.”

“Gossip?” Alysanne asked. “I sometimes think gossip may be one of my weaknesses.”

“Yes,” her companion agreed. “Mine too. Though truly, I couldn’t care less about Jason Lannister.”

Alysanne didn’t think he was interesting enough to talk about either. She cast about for something else to say. “Everyone is talking about this excursion,” she finally said. “Did Lady Joleta go with them?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “I’m quite sure the whole thing was as much her doing as Princess Loreza’s. She loves riding about all day. And so does Dany. Maybe even more.”

“Did she go too?” Alysanne asked, surprised. “I thought she would be too young.”

He laughed out loud. “Maybe she is,” he said. “But I don’t have the heart to keep her from doing anything her sisters can, just because she happened to be born third.”

“Third?” Alysanne asked. “I’m sorry, I thought you had two daughters.”

Lord Gargalen smiled. His countenance softened even more. “Linette is my eldest,” he said. “But she stayed in Salt Shore. With my grandson.”

That made Alysanne laugh softly. It was strange for some reason, to think of this man as a grandfather. He didn’t seem old enough. Though he was older than her, and she was certainly old enough to be a grandmother. “You seem as though you miss them very much.”

That smile appeared again. “I do,” he said. “But Linette wouldn’t hear of coming, and leaving no one to attend to things at home.”

“Yes,” Alysanne said. “She seems very dutiful.”

“She is,” he said with a laugh. “She takes after her mother.”

Alysanne felt her face turning pink again for the first time since they began talking. She looked down at her feet to the path made of large flat stones. Being reminded of Princess Trystana’s existence put her resolution to not feel shame in danger.

“I’m sorry to be speaking of myself so much,” Lord Duran said. “Has your daughter gone on the excursion as well? I’m sure Joleta invited her.”

“No doubt she did,” Alysanne confirmed. “She’s been very kind, to both of us. But Tyia would never leave Lady Darklyn for a whole day.”

“They seem as close as sisters.”

“They are...” Alysanne trailed off.

“That doesn’t please you?” Lord Duran asked her.

“I...” She wasn’t sure what to say. In any other case, she would speak without hesitation about how happy she was, but saying that to him would feel like lying rather than meaningless politeness. She didn’t want to have any meaningless words with him. “I hardly know,” she said. “Lady Amerei has been so kind to her, so generous. And she has nothing to gain by it.”

“Surely your daughter’s company is gain enough,” he said gently. “Would that be so extraordinary?”

“No!” Alysanne said, with a soft chuckle. “Not at all. It’s only...”

“Yes?” he asked.

“No one has ever paid her notice before. Why would they? Then it all seemed to happen so suddenly. In a week they were inseparable. And now she’s in the midst of so much notice that… I fear for her.”

“What can you fear?” Lord Duran said. “She’s young and good-natured, and… when two people are meant to be friends, time doesn’t matter. It’s all perfectly natural.”

“Yes...” Alysanne said uncertainly. “And she was so lonely. Some people aren’t made for solitude, they just learn to live with it… I should be glad for it.”

“But?” he prompted after a few moments of silence. “What is it that has you uneasy, my lady? Do you question her judgement?”

“No,” Alysanne said instantly. “I have no cause to. And Lady Darklyn is silly, without a doubt, but she would never lead Tyia astray, I know that.” She turned away from him entirely now, embarrassed to feel tears well up in her eyes. She knew why Tyia’s friendship really upset her, but she didn’t want to admit it, even to herself. There was a group of people strolling nearby, coming towards them. Alysanne raised a hand to her face so they wouldn’t see her.

She felt Lord Duran take her other hand in his. “Come,” he said. He lead her away lightly down a path towards where the gardens ended against the curved sandstone walls of the palace. In one of the curves, a wooden bench with a back carved into a lattice sat in beside a small pool in the shade of a tree. He sat her down on it and took a seat beside, far enough so that she couldn’t see his face when she looked down, but close enough to hold her hand.

They were alone; Alysanne couldn’t even hear the crowds in the gardens, but he said nothing. Though she could feel him looking down on her as she wiped at her face with her handkerchief. Minutes passed.

Alysanne sighed. “What I fear most is that… she will only be disappointed. Lady Darklyn made a splendid match, but Tyia never will. It’s beginning to weigh on her, I think.”

“Are you so certain?” Lord Duran said. “She wouldn’t be the first.”

She nodded. “It’s not possible.”

“I see,” he said. “But that would mean she would stay with you forever, and it seems as though you would like that.”

“Yes,” Alysanne said. “Without her, I… I don’t know what I would do...”

He squeezed her hand. “I know,” he said. “Parting with your children will never be easy.”

She nodded. “If only… ” Alysanne sighed. “If she had had a brother, things would have been different. A boy could have found advancement but...”

“I suppose that’s true,” Lord Duran allowed. “But she doesn’t. And that’s no one’s fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Alysanne asked in a whisper.

“Whose fault could it be?” he asked. “The gods perhaps.”

“Or mine...” her breath shuddered and she felt tears flowing freely down her face. Lord Duran moved closer to her, and placed his other hand on top hers, still entwined with his own. “Forgive me, please,” she gasped. “I have no right to burden you.”

“You’re not a burden, my lady,” he said. “Is this what has been truly troubling you?”

He was so close to her that should could easily lean her head on his shoulder. It seemed so natural a thing to do. “N—” she began, but stopped herself. “Yes,” she admitted. “It has. It must be my fault. And he hates me for it, he always has.”

“Who hates you?”

“My husband.” Even mentioning him made her stomach twist painfully. She looked down at her hand and saw that her knuckles had turned white.

“Forgive me for being so... crass,” Lord Duran said. “But it’s just as likely to be his fault as yours.”

“Yes,” she said, “I thought so too, for many years. But now... Marigold proves it must be my fault.”

“Who is Marigold?”

Alysanne closed her eyes, ashamed of herself. Of what he would think of her. “She’s my maid.”

“Ah,” said Lord Duran. “I believe I understand you now.” He moved on arm to wrap it around her waist, pulling her even closer to him. Alysanne could feel the rough stubble of his cheek against her forehead. “But,” he continued, “that’s hardly anything to blame yourself for either. These things happen, that’s all.”

“But,” she said, “if she should have a son... I’m not sure what he would do then.” At the very least he would hate her even more. At the most, Marigold was only a common girl, but if she could bear him a son then so could another woman. “And the poor girl...” Alysanne said. “She’s sweet, I’m very fond of her. It’s not as though she welcomed any of this.”

She felt Lord Duran’s face form a smile. “Perhaps not being with child,” he said, “but she must have welcomed something.”

Alysanne shook her head. “No,” she said. “He frightens her. He’s done this before.” Nothing usually came of Tybot’s anger, but his way of quiet, disapproving brooding was terrifying. She’s received it enough herself to know that.

Lord Duran shifted in his seat. He put both his hands gently on her shoulders and looked her in the face. “What are you saying, my lady? Is your husband misusing this girl?”

Alysanne turned away from him and stood up from the bench, hugging herself with both her arms. “I shouldn’t have...” she said. “Forgive me, I’m being foolish, and jealous, and—”

“I don’t think that’s true.” He came to stand close by her.

“I don’t even know if she’s really with child,” Alysanne said, crying freely again.

“It hardly matters,” he said, “not if she’s in danger.”

“Danger?” she asked. “I...” Yes, the girl was in danger. Alysanne couldn’t imagine an outcome for her that would be happy. She felt a rush of anger rise up, taking her by surprise. Anger at her husband, and at her own helplessness. “Yes,” she said. “But there’s nothing I can do for her.”

“There must be something we can do,” Lord Duran said. He bent his head down to look her in the face again. “Surely we can’t let her stay where she is.”

Alysanne shook her head. “She doesn’t have any family,” she said, “or anywhere to go.”

He considered for a moment. The way his brow creased made Alysanne stomach flutter, despite her state of distress. “It’s clear then,” he said. “She needs a different place.”

“But if she is with child,” Alysanne protested, “who would take her?”

“I confess,” Lord Duran said, “I know little about taking on maids, but my wife will help us if I ask her.”

“The princess!” Alysanne asked, in sudden panic. “No,” she shook her head, “I couldn’t possibly trouble her with this.”

He smiled and took her hand again. “She will want to be troubled, have no doubt. There is nothing she likes better. Unless it’s having another servant to order about.”

“But...” She didn’t want to confess her last fear, not even to Lord Duran: Tybot wouldn’t be pleased if he suspected that she had interfered to take Marigold away from him. He didn’t seem particularly fond of her, but he hated when arrangements were upset without his say so. That was, after all, why he was so useful to the king as Master of Horse. But she would be a coward if she wasn’t willing to bear that, for Marigold’s sake at least.

And Princess Trystana. Even if she didn’t object to—why would she help her? Alyanne already felt as though she had a debt to her she couldn’t repay.

“Please,” Lord Duran said. “Allow me to help you. It pains me to see you so troubled. More than I can express.”

Alysanne raised her eyes to look at him. He was saying that he could help her, and she believed him entirely. Was the foolish of her? Perhaps it was, but somehow she had trouble caring. “Thank you,” was all she managed to say.

He touched her cheek with his hand. “You don’t need to thank me,” he said.

She stepped towards him and rested her face against his chest. Without a word, he wrapped her in his arms and held her. She could hear a light breeze rustling the leaves of the tree as she closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet, comforting smell of him.

Chapter Text

There could be little less pleasant than awaking to a morning that was already as hot as a bread oven, with the taste of sick in your mouth.

It was surely hours after dawn already; Eliott could hardly imagine what hour it had been when he finally managed to sleep. The whore was sitting up in the bed, clearly not aware that he was awake, humming tunelessly and fiddling with the ends of her hair.

They had arrived in the pillow house after dark, riding through the narrow streets filled with the smell of grilled meat and the sound of finger drums. In a spacious common room, on countless piled cushions, he drank while his friends commiserated, and the Dornishmen mocked him for his feelings.

They were more than willing to tell him everything now. If only they had all been as forthcoming on the road, he may have been able to avoid this mess all together.

She was notorious, her weakness for handsome men was well known. But this last one had been a good deal more than a passing fancy. All her reticence, her coldness, what he had taken for fear and modesty, had in truth been her mourning the loss of the lover who was still sharing her bed while he crossed the red sands to claim her as his bride.

Prince Lewyn still seemed to be taking Eliott’s disillusionment for jealousy. “She never had a thought of wedding him,” he said again, just as he had said at Batara. “And she agreed to your betrothal instantly. My mother was harder to convince than she was.”

Eliott was too angry at him to speak. He might have warned him. Any of them might have. She might have shown herself for the whore that she was, rather than teasing him with shy smiles and sad looks.

“If she never thought of wedding him,” Owain asked, “what was she doing fucking him?” Eliott nodded gruffly at his cousin’s words.

“What?” Galwell Qorgyll asked with a laugh. “Why does anyone fuck anyone?”

Why indeed? The thought of it made the wine go sour in Eliott’s mouth. It disgusted him, to think about the knots he had twisted himself into to deny what was in front of him all along. He wasn’t a fool; he could see her wishing he was someone else when she looked at him, and after he had chanced upon her and Rolyn Toland in the gardens he thought… He had woven some nonsense romantic tale about disappointed—and chaste—love that made him pity her. He’d all but determined that he would never reproach her for it, that he would be the perfect husband to make her forget him. But to find out it was some up-jumped hedge knight she was pining for and that Rolyn Toland had nothing to do with it…except that he’d probably fucked her too.

“I don’t see why she wouldn’t,” Eliott said, hearing the slur in his own words. “She doesn’t seem to deny herself anything.”

“Is that what you think?” Rolyn Toland said. “You don’t understand her at all.”

He was the last man in the world who Eliott wanted to hear from. “Then why don’t you explain her to me, ser,” he snapped. “Since you know her so well.”

Ser Rolyn said nothing. He only scowled in that typical Dornish way.

The young prince spoke up again. “I think he was the only thing she didn’t deny herself,” he said. “And it took a lot of doing, if I remember.”

“Well, it’s easy to see why she would be tempted to do something so against her own character,” Eliott said sarcastically. “For so illustrious a figure.”

Rolyn Toland made a disgusted sound. Eliott couldn’t help but realize that he was drinking almost as much as himself.

“There’s no call to disdain him,” Ormond Yronwood said. “You certainly won’t endear yourself to Princess Loreza if you do.”

“No,” Toland agreed. “She’s never had an patience for jealousy.”

“Oh, is that a fact?” Eliott asked. He addressed Prince Lewyn, determined not to give Ser Rolyn any notice. “And I suppose you just indulge her impatience. And her self-denial.” That was greeted by silence.

“You seem to have forgotten who she is,” said Galwell Qorgyle pointedly. “And what she is.”

Eliott took a long swig of wine. “No, I haven’t,” he said. “She a spoi—”

“She’s my sister,” Prince Lewyn said in a tone of voice Eliott had ever heard him use before. It reminded him of her. “My elder sister,” he continued. “It’s not my place to judge her. And it’s certainly not yours.”

“He’s not,” Eliott heard Owain said. “Forgive him, my prince. He’s drunk.”

“I admit,” the prince said. “That excuse is going a little stale. It seems to be the only one you Rowans have.”

Eliott barely heard him. “She’s a fortunate woman, to be so entirely beyond any reproach,” he said. “It explains a good deal.”

“What exactly did you expect from her?” Rolyn Toland said loudly, cutting across him. “She’s not a fortunate woman, she’s a grown woman. If it’s a little girl you want to marry you should go back to the Reach.”

Eliott had had enough. He had a vision in his mind’s eye of smashing the earthen wine jug into the man’s face—he could all but feel the bones cracking under it—but his friends were holding him back before he could even stand up. The next thing he knew he was in the corridor barely able to support himself against the wall.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Marq asked him. “Do you intend to start a war?”

The cool of the sandstone wall against his forehead made the swimming in his head subside somewhat. “He fucked her,” he mumbled under his breath. “He fucked my wife.”

Lyman groaned. “What did you expect, though,” he asked. “We knew they were all liars.”

“Look, El,” Owain said in a soothing voice, “perhaps there’s something to be said for a woman who… knows what she’s about. We’ve all heard the stories. At least it won’t be like fucking a corpse on your wedding night.”

“Brother,” Marq interrupted. “That’s not helping.”

“Well, he’s going to have to make the best of it somehow, isn’t he?” Owain replied. “So I don’t see how I’m making it worse.”

“That can’t be,” Lyman objected. “When Lord Rowan finds out—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Owain said. “Mark my words, we’re not going anywhere.”

Eliott didn’t know then whether to laugh or cry. He somehow hadn’t realised until that moment that it was true. This didn’t change a thing. That was when his friends despaired of doing anything with him that night and threw him into a room, hoping that a good fuck would give him some relief.

“Are you going to be sick again, milord?” The whore had finally noticed that he was awake. She brought him back from an disagreeable memory to a no less disagreeable present.

Eliott scowled at her. “Get me some wine,” he said, struggling to sit up with his back against the pillows.

She left the bed and crossed the room to a flagon on a side table. Not even the sight of her naked form did much to distract him.

The wine she poured for him was dark and even more sour than usual. It made his face twist.

“Why are you so sad, milord?” the whore asked him with pouty lips. She climbed back in beside him on the bed, propping herself up on an elbow to look him in the face. She wasn’t all that pretty, and certainly not Dornish. Her blue eyes and pale, freckled skin betrayed that as much as her voice. But she at least seemed willing to speak to him.

“I’m not sad,” he said, swallowing more of the horrible wine. “I’m just sick to death of Sunspear.”

“Are you sick of me?” she asked, teasing. She ran her hand down his stomach to touch his cock.

Eliott ignored her. “I’m going to be trapped here,” he told her, “for the rest of my life. These people all despise me even more than I despise them.” He poured another cup and emptied it in three large gulps.

“Who could despise you, milord?” she said. Her simpering tone couldn’t quite hide how little she cared. “You’re sweet.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, “so sweet I’ll rot your teeth. Owain is right though, I have no choice, I have to stay. Forever. And be a mummer’s monkey. With horns.”

He saw the whore make an annoyed face, but she forced herself to giggle. “Monkeys don’t have horns.”

Eliott laughed. Wine squirted out of his mouth. “This one will. Haven’t you been listening? They’re making me marry a slut.”

“How terrible for you,” a familiar voice said from the door to room.

Eliott and the whore started at the same time. Princess Loreza was smiling as she came in.  She looked much the same as she had the day before, dressed for riding with her hair arranged in a simple braid, but she walked into the room with an unmistakable demand for notice. The whore certainly knew her for who she was; she jumped out of the bed, as naked as anything, and tried to curtsy ridiculously. The princess visibly suppressed a laugh.

“Go on,” she told her, “I dare say you’ve done more than enough.”

The whore grabbed a random scrap of silk from the floor and ran out. When she passed by the princess she paused to catch the little glint of gold that was tossed towards her.

Eliott tried not to panic as she turned her eyes toward him. He couldn’t dress himself without leaving the bed, but that was out of the question. He returned her gaze, in despair of anything else to do. The few moments of looking at the self-important expression on her face made him hate her all over again. “What are you doing here?” He was pleased that his voice sounded more angry than shocked.

“What else,” she said, stepping towards him, “I came to speak to you. You weren’t hard to find.”

He took a swallow of wine and scoffed. “I see,” he said, “I thought perhaps you worked here from time to time.”

To his annoyance, her smile only widened. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. He hated her damn eyes too. “It’s very fortunate I came alone,” she said, “half the men in Dorne would kill you just for saying that to me.”

“Yes,” he said with at the scorn he could manage, “it’s only right that all your lovers defend you.” She laughed out loud at that. “Why in fuck are you laughing?”

“You’re very witty.”

“And that pleases you, I suppose.”

“It does,” she said. “I much prefer a witty husband to a stupid one.”

Her husband. It annoyed him that she would use that word, as though she even knew what it meant. “Why not have one of each? You can laugh at my witticisms and the other could laugh at yours.” Rolyn Toland would no doubt be overjoyed.

“If you’re going to be so amenable about it, it may be worth considering.”

Eliott scowled again, angry that she could be so composed, here and now. What kind of lady could walk into a brothel with such impunity? “Have a different one every night for all I care,” he said. “From what I’ve heard, you’re more than capable of it.”

Her smile became something different. It wasn’t anger, it was more like contempt.

“I’m not accustomed to being insulted to my face,” the princess stated.

“I’m not accustomed to being publicly humiliated.”

“Who has humiliated you?” she asked him.

“You have!” Eliott said, raising his voice. “The whole world will laugh at me. The whole world already is.” They were going to see him standing in the sept saying his vows, and know it was all a farce.

“If this is how you intend to behave, I don’t particularly blame it.” She sat down next to him on the bed, inches away from his naked body. “But I won’t have my consort acting like a fool. Not before half the court. Not against me.”

“You won’t have it?”

The princess said nothing to that. She looked around the room with its carved screens and cushions and sickeningly sweet scent. The pillow house was well appointed for what it was, but there was no mistaking it. Her eyes moved from the clothes and dry wine jars on the floor, to Eliott lying on top of the bed sheets. Her gaze travelled from his face down along his torso to his manhood, flopped like an empty stocking. She didn’t blush, as surely any decent woman would, just raised an appraising eyebrow. Eliott blushed for her, and blindly grabbed the sheet the cover himself.

“I hope whoring isn’t one of your regular failings,” Princess Loreza said.

He couldn’t help but laugh at her hypocrisy. “It will be when I start poking you.”

The first hint of anger crossed her face, “That’s quite enough, ser. I think you made your point.”

He smirked and took another swallow of wine.

“And you’ve had quite enough to drink as well.” She took the flagon out of his hand and stood to carry it to the window where she emptied it into the alley below.

“What are you doing?” Eliott asked in horror.

“I won’t stand up in the sept with a greensick man,” she said bluntly. “Much less a drunk one.”

“You can’t stop me drinking.”

She laughed. “I think you’ll find that I can.”

Eliott wanted to slap the self-assurance off her face. “What else do you want to take away from me?”

Princess Loreza rolled her eyes. She came back to sit by his side and sighed deeply. “What are you doing, ser?” she asked him. “Because I can’t say it gives me a very flattering picture of your character.”

He laughed bitterly. “Did I disappoint your expectations?”

She smiled again. “Ah,” she said. “I see. I might ask what madness lead you to form those expectations in the first place, because it can’t be anything I said or did.”

He frowned, angry because he had to admit that it was a fair question. He had spent half a year devouring every book on the Dornish that his father’s large library could furnish. They had been full of princesses who had more lovers than gowns, but somehow it had never occurred to him… Did he think those old barbaric ways were dead? He had surely known they weren’t. Perhaps it was only their capacity to deceive that he thought was dead. Their open manner, maybe, had disarmed him. Until he had come up against the wall of Princess Loreza’s stiff courtesy, at least.

“You might have told told truth,” he muttered.

“When have I done less?” she asked him.

“I hardly know,” he said. “You’ve hardly told me anything at all.”

“I suppose that’s true,” the princess admitted.

She didn’t seem inclined to start then either. There was silence for half a minute before Eliott broke it. “One wonders why you would bother marrying at all,” he said. “Seeing how well you were provided for, in every way.”

Princess Loreza frowned. “For the same reason anyone ever wants to marry,” she said. “To have an heir.”

“You don’t need me for that,” he said. “Surely.”

Her frown deepened. “I need a husband.”

“And you chose me,” Eliott said bitterly. “Out of all the men in the world.”

“Of course I didn’t,” she said, in a tone as though she were speaking to a particularly annoying child. “My father did.”

That made Eliott laugh. Her painting herself as some kind of model of daughterly obedience was just too good a joke. “And you always obey your father.”

“I always obey my prince, yes,” she said. “I obey, and I expect to be obeyed.”

He could have murdered her to get his wine back. “You expect me to obey you,” he said, still chuckling.

“Is there some reason why it should be otherwise?”

“It’s not a husband you want, my lady,” Eliott told her. “It’s a stud stallion.”

The princess rolled her eyes. “That’s not how I would chose to put it.”

“But it’s true.”

“No,” she insisted. “No more than every husband has been. No more than every wife has been a broodmare.”

Eliott felt bile rising in his throat. He would have been sick again, except that he refused to show such weakness in front of her. “I won’t accept that,” he said. “I’m a knight. A man.”

Princess Loreza stood up, she pulled her skirts away cautiously from the edge of the bed. “Yes, I know,” she said snidely. “You’re a big, strong man, with a big, strong sword. That, ser, is the entire point.”

Eliott tugged the sheet closer to himself. “And any other sword your father could have presented to you would have done just as well, I suppose.”

She made an angry sound and walked away towards the window before turning back to him. “What do you wish me to say, exactly?” she asked him. “I met you three days ago. I found you as satisfactory as I could have found anyone under the circumstances.”

“Anyone who wasn’t him, I suppose you mean,” he said.

“What?” she said, with exasperation.

“I just wonder,” he said, “if all you need is someone to squirt in your cunt, why you didn’t just marry the one who was doing it already.”

She hardly seemed phased by his crude words. “I couldn’t,” she said.

“Perhaps not,” he allowed. “But you wish you could.”

She got an odd look on her face, neither angry or sad, but also both at once. “It’s neither here nor there,” she said. “He’s gone.”

Was he? No, Eliott would never be free of him. He would never be free of any of them. She would never truly be his wife. He had never realized how much he had wanted that, a wife; a woman who was his and his alone. His uncle Ser Corret’s marriage was like that. His wife all but worshiped him, was guided by him in everything. Eliott had seen from boyhood how strong it made him, to have someone he could depend on to always take his part. His father even had that in his mother, why would the gods deny it to him? Why would they wrap that disappointment up in a marriage that made him the envy of every man in Westeros? “Barely gone,” he said. “You waited as long as you possibly could.”

At last, Eliott could see some pink in her cheeks.

“What does that matter?” she asked. “He’s no less gone. And it’s you I’m going to wed. Tomorrow. Aren’t I?”

He couldn’t quite bring himself to laugh anymore. “Are you afraid I’ll cut and run?”

“Should I be?”

Eliott could feel himself deflating. “No,” he told her. “I don’t suppose either of us has any choice now. Even if the thought of wedding me repels you.”

“It doesn’t,” Princess Loreza said.

That made Eliott frown. It didn’t sound like the statement gave her any joy, but he had no trouble believing it. She just said the same way she said everything. A way that demanded to be believed. She wasn’t used to anyone disputing her, or questioning her. It was very doubtful that her lover ever did.

“Does it repel you?” she asked.

“No,” Eliott said immediately. And that was true enough as well. He had nothing to fear now, which should be a comfort, surely. But just because the thought of innocence in his bed had made him anxious it didn’t mean he would rather have… Even so, it was true, she didn’t repel him, for all that she knew that she should. It was a weakness, a lust that was unworthy of what any man should feel for a wife, but it was what he had felt for her from the first. Perhaps some part of him had known what she was all along, even if he refused to admit it. And now that he’s been forced to see the truth, at least she wasn’t the infuriating mystery she once was. No, fucking her would not be the difficulty.

“I’m glad,” she said. “There’s no need for our bed to be haunted by ghosts.”

Our bed. Eliott felt his cock stirring at those words. Damn her.

“The past is best forgotten,” she continued. “It’s the future that should concern us, the future of Dorne.” The princess had become very grave. Her eyes pierced him. “Do you understand me, Ser Eliott?”

“I do,” he told her. And he was grateful for the reminder. It wasn’t only her that he was marrying, it was Dorne. The Prince of Dorne had chosen him, that had to be worth something. “Don’t worry, I’ll be as dutiful a stallion as you could wish for.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I suppose that will have to do. Get dressed.” It was unmistakably a command. “I was going to have you come down to eat with us, but it won’t do for anyone to see you in this state. I’ll have some food brought up. We’re all expected back at the Old Palace by midday.”

When she was gone Eliott lay back down among the pillows and groaned. In anger, frustration, or shame, he hardly knew. Tomorrow was his wedding day and here he was, drunk in a brothel. It would break his mother’s heart to see him now. He at least owed it to her to make her believe that he was happy. And even more importantly, all the lords of Dorne—the one’s whose sons he had made a fool of himself before—if they didn’t take him seriously then all was lost for him.

He dragged himself up and began to collect his clothes from the floor. They were wrinkled, and there were a few winestains down the front, but it would serve to get him back to his chambers and into a bath.

He looked decent enough by the time a girl came in with a tray piled high with food. It was the same fearfully firey stuff they all seemed to break their fast with everyday, but he was grateful for it this morning. He wished Samuel Reer were there to feed him his disgusting potion again. All he had instead was a jug of sickeningly sweet lemon water.

“Bring me some wine,” he told the girl.

She went red. “I’m sorry, milord,” she said. “There isn’t any.”

“No wine?” he asked incredulously. “In this whole house?”

“Well,” she hesitated. “There is… but, the pri— she said—”

Eliott waved her off angrily. His head was throbbing far worse than before, and the day was still getting hotter.  

Chapter Text

By dawn there was no one left in the common room but Ormond and Rolyn Toland. He had fallen asleep some hours before; the sofa was so comfortable that the noise of a dozen drunk people had barely disturbed him, but Rolyn looked as though he had been awake the whole night.

“You should drink some water,” Ormond told his friend. He fetched him a flagon from a side table. It was lukewarm after standing out all night, but Rolyn didn’t mind. He gulped the whole thing down.

“How much of an ass did I make of myself?” Rolyn asked.

Ormond hesitated. “You didn’t,” he told him. “Or at least, I think we can all agree it was Ser Eliott who was far worse.”

Rolyn groaned. “I can’t dispute that,” he said. “Not even I expected him to be so… insufferable.”

“Well,” Ormond said, “he didn’t make a good show of himself yesterday. But before that he seemed pleasant. And Prince Lewyn spoke well of him.”

“Prince Lewyn is the most undemanding acquaintance in the world,” Rolyn said dismissively. “He would think Aegon the Unworthy was a good enough fellow.”

Ormond laughed lightly. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Maybe not,” Rolyn allowed, “but he would try to like him. And we all tried to like Ser Eliott. We had good cause to try, after all.”

He supposed that was true. It wouldn’t help anyone in Sunspear to be at odds with Princess Loreza’s consort. Not unless she was at odds with him as well, of course. On the other hand, many had cause, good or otherwise, to find fault with him. His father had declared that Ser Eliott was clearly useless and taken by his own cleverness within a minute of seeing him. “Did you truly try to like him, though?” Ormond asked his friend.

Rolyn looked hurt. “Don’t you think I’m capable of it?”

“Of course I do,” Ormond told him. “But… some would think that you have little reason to.”

He frowned. “I’m not that petty,” he declared. “I didn’t have to try to like Henrick Dayne. And now that ass from the Reach gets to take his place.”

“That was different,” Ormond said. “He was your friend already. And he...”

“He loved her.” Rolyn interrupted. “He knew how fortunate he was to be loved by her, and not only because she...” He closed his eyes. For a moment Ormond thought he might cry. “She doesn’t give her love easily.”

“No,” Ormond agreed. “She doesn’t even give her good regard easily.”

“No,” Rolyn repeated. “Though it’s easy enough to love her.”

Ormond wondered about that. The gods knew that Princess Loreza had her share of faults; he had always supposed that loving her would be a rather thankless endeavour. Surely no one knew that better than Rolyn, but he was incapable of ever thinking of her as anything less than perfect. “Maybe Ser Eliott will love her, then. And that will make him behave differently.”

Rolyn didn’t seem to hear him. “The first time I saw her look at him, I knew I had no hope,” he mused, more to himself than to Ormond. “But maybe she never would have looked at him at all if I… Forgive me,” he said. “I must still be drunk. What kind of fool rips open a wound that should have healed three years ago?”

“Do you really think it would have changed anything?” Ormond asked him. “If you had… said something. Done something.”

“Probably not, in the end,” he admitted. “But I could have given myself the courtesy of trying.”

The lattice work screen slid open and Ser Owain Rowan walked into the room with Lyman Osgrey. Rolyn scowled at him, but Ormond forced himself to greet them. “Good morning,” Ser Owain replied. He sat himself down on the settee across from Rolyn and narrowed his eyes at him. “I see you’re still not quite yourself, ser.”

Rolyn smiled unpleasantly. “I dare say I feel well enough.”

Prince Lewyn arrived a moment later, as cheerful as only he could be early in the morning. He poured himself his own glass of lukewarm water and sat beside Ormond. “How long do you think we can get away with staying here?” he asked. “Before they send a party out to find us.”

Ormond smiled and shrugged. “An hour. Maybe two.”

“I’m sure Loreza is as upset with me as she is with anyone,” he said. “Perhaps she’ll let us be lost for a while.”

“That’s not bloody likely,” said Maron Wyl, stubbling into the room. He looked even worse for wear than Rolyn. His long dark blond hair was uncombed and falling into his eyes. “She won’t be able to bear the idea of someone enjoying themselves today.”

The prince rolled his eyes and shared a smile with Ormond. “We should wait for Ser Eliott at least, it’s only courteous.”  

The rest of the party trickled in over the next quarter of an hour, though Eliott Rowan was still nowhere to be seen. Prince Lewyn sent for some food to break their fast with, and they were all about to sit down around the low table when the ladies arrived.

Rhona was among them. Ormond felt his face turn red when she smiled knowingly at him. Everyone else’s eyes were on Princess Loreza. She scanned the room once before addressing Prince Lewyn.

“Brother,” she said, for all the world as if they were greeting each other back in the Tower of the Sun, “you look very well-rested.”

“Oh, I am,” he said sardonically. “And now that you’re here you may as well eat with us.”

“No,” she said. “I already ate. Hours ago.”

“It’s no surprise that you’re not as well rested as I am,” he said. “If you’re going to get up so early.”

“I’m always up early, you’re just hardly ever up to notice.” She turned from him to Ser Owain, who rearranged the shocked expression that appeared on his face when she’d arrived to stare back at her determinedly. “Well,” the princess said. “Where is he?”

Ser Owain furrowed his brow. He surely wasn’t considering denying where his cousin was, but he seemed at a loss nonetheless. “He’s upstairs,” he finally said simply.

The princess raised one eyebrow. “I’m not sure why I bothered to ask,” she mumbled to herself before walking past them all to the sliding screen on the other side of the room.

Ser Owain’s mouth was open again. “But...” he called to her, “you can’t just...” He was instantly silenced by the look she gave when she turned back to face him. He composed himself and tried again. “I doubt that he’s expecting company, my princess.” He said her title as though it pained him.

She didn’t answer.

As soon as the princess was gone, the room became more relaxed again.

“I thought she might run you through with a fruit knife or something,” Ser Lyman Osgrey said to Ser Owain, using just such a knife to cut a persimmon in half.

“She’s a princess of Dorne,” Alyse Ladybright told them. “She’s not accustomed to being told what she can’t do.”

“Clearly not,” Ser Owain quibbled.

Maron Wyl laughed loudly into his goblet of wine. So loudly that everyone assembled turned to look at him.

“What could you possibly be doing here?” Joleta Gargalen asked him. “Surely this is the last place I should expect to find someone as madly in love as you are.”

He scowled at her. “You’re even more annoying than usual when you try to play coy.”

Ormond looked over at Rhona. She was smiling to herself lightly as though enjoying the joke, but he was sure she was avoiding looking at him. Clearly she thought he was here for the same reason that Maron Wyl was, and that thought almost made him panic.

“Mother have mercy,” Rolyn said, “do we really intend to sit here sniping at each other all morning? My head hurts far too much for that.”

“Some of us deserve to be sniped at,” Lady Joleta said.

Elda Toland made an annoyed sound then stood to retrieve a vihuela that had been discarded by a cushion on the floor. Ormond vaguely recalled Prince Lewyn having played it the night before. Lady Elda, however, found it so badly out of tune that she needed a few minutes to pluck at the strings while they all watched her in exhausted silence. Rhona caught his eye at last, still smiling ever so slightly.

“I...” her smiled deepened when he addressed her. “I’m very glad you all came,” he said, trying to sound disinterested. “It was very dull sitting here in this room all night.”

“In this room, you say?” Rhona asked. “By yourself all night?”

“No, not by myself,” Ormond told her. “Rolyn was here.” Her chuckle made him go on. “Well, he was in such a state, that I couldn’t leave him alone...”

“You’re a very loyal friend,” she said. Her smile had turned mischievous. “But that must have been very lonely.”

Ormond smiled back. “It was no difficulty at all,” he told her, “until you arrived.”

“I don’t like the idea of causing you difficulty, Ser Ormond,” she said. “Not at all.” She stood and made her way across the room and through the sliding lattice screen door. He sat and tried to stop his breath from coming too quickly as everyone joined Lady Elda’s song in tired, murmuring voices. Or almost everyone. The reachmen didn’t know the words.

 They claimed the fields, claimed the skies,

They came at night to smoke and cries.

Yet never knew what they despised,

Until they let us soar.

 

They saw no path to their defeat,

The Carons sat with their conceit.

And lo there was no song so sweet,

The day they let us soar.

The screen slid open and Rhona smiled at him. Beckoning. He stood up and joined her, closing the door with one hand and grabbing for hers with the other. Elda’s song followed them up the stairs, but they didn’t make it to the top before her mouth was on his. It felt like a year since he had tasted Rhona’s mouth. She threw her hands around his neck and pulled him closer, so her back was against the wall in the corridor and Ormond could feel her heart beating as his chest pressed against her.

He broke the kiss, suddenly needing to see her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath was short. She looked up at him with all the desire he felt in her eyes. He lifted his bandaged hand and ran his thumb along the line of her jaw.

“I missed you,” he murmured against the soft skin of her neck. “Why did you stay away so long?”  

She didn’t answer him, but he heard her sigh and felt her fingers in his hair, urging him to continue his ministrations. She shivered when his lips touched her neck.

“We should get to our room,” she finally said, breathless. “Lady Sarae might kick us out if she thinks we’re fucking in the corridor.”

She was right, of course. The proprietor of the pillow house was notoriously scrupulous about such things, but Ormond suspected she would look the other way for anyone connected to the palace, let alone for one of Princess Loreza’s closest friends.

Rhona pulled him along to a door halfway down the corridor, but he barely had a chance to register the large bed or the silk curtains on the windows before they were both on top of the bed. He pulled at the laces on the front of her kirtle, trying to have the self-control to not just tear the garment in two.

She was pulling on his own laces just as frantically. Ormond could hear her moans of impatience in his ear as she pulled his britches down. Once her kirtle was off, there was still an endless numbers of ties and skirts.

“How can you bear to wear so many clothes?” he mumbled. Rhona laughed and pulled away from him. And first it was almost painful to lose the feel of her in his arms, but the pain vanished when she stood at the foot of the bed and met his eye. She had no trouble with the layers. As each garment fell to the floor, her smile became more and more wicked. By the time she was naked Ormond could feel tears welling in his eyes. She was beautiful. More beautiful than anything he would ever see, even if he lived to be a hundred. He reached his hand out to her and pulled her back towards him. When they came together at last he knew with total certainty that it wasn’t Sunspear, or his friends, or the life he had known since he was a boy that he feared leaving, and it wasn’t a family or a home that he barely knew that he feared returning to. All he feared was losing her. He would be content to live in the Old Palace, or Yronwood, or in the seventh hell, if only she were there with him.

After an hour, or a year, he hardly knew, they lay together on the feather bed, her soft cheek against his chest. Ormond steeled himself for the greatest joy, or the greatest disappointment, of his life.

“If--” he began, feeling his voice catch in his throat. “If I were to ask you to come to Yronwood with me, what would you say?”

She lifted her face up towards him, her nose crinkled in confusion. “To Yronwood?” she said, “but you’re not serious.”

Ormond felt his stomach clench. “I am,” he insisted. “I don’t want to be without you. Ever.”

Rhona sat up and turned away from him. She drew the sheets up to cover her breasts, as though she suddenly wanted to hide from him. “There’ll be other women,” she said, “in Yronwood. I doubt you’ll be without long.”

He felt a flash of anger towards her. A pain stabbed through his hand when he tried to bunch it into a fist. “I don’t want any women from Yronwood, or any other women at all. I want you.”

“I’m sure you think so now. But one night of self-denial in a pillow house is hardly the same thing as a lifetime of constancy.”

“You’re being cruel,” he told her. “And I don’t know why.”

“I’m being cruel?” she snapped. “How is it any less cruel to ask me to give up my position here, just to satisfy your lust? What would my brother think after all the trouble he went through to secure it? He didn’t do it out of love, he may never forgive me.”

“That would be foolish of him,” Ormond told her. “Surely his dearest wish for the whole business was that you would make a good marriage out of it.”

“Marriage?” Her expression changed, but not into one of understanding or joy. She looked as though she pitied him. “Ormond-- you can’t wed me.”

“Why not?” He asked. “I meant what I said. I don’t want anyone else.”

She smiled sadly. “I forget how young you are sometimes.”

Ormond blushed. “I’m only two years younger than you,” he said defensively. “That can’t be any impediment. Unless it is to you.”

“It’s not,” she said. “But perhaps those two years have given me the wisdom to know… your lord father would never allow it. He would think it’s ridiculous.”

“Why should he?”

She laughed softly. “You could do a good deal better than me, Ormond. No doubt he’s already made his plans for you.”

“He couldn’t have,” he argued. “He had no idea that he would be able to make any decisions at all concerning me until last week.”

“Well, now that he can, he’ll want someone better.”

“You keep saying that,” Ormond said, angry with her again. “There isn’t anyone better than you. You would think you were a bastard or something.”

“Fourth born is little better than bastard,” she said with what was clearly trying to be good humour. “And who will be your good-mother?”

Ormond winced. They said that old Ser Elryn must have gone mad in his old age when he married the daughter of a horse merchant who’d been his paramour for many years. As far as he knew, Rhona hadn’t seen her mother since she was a little girl. The woman hadn’t stayed at Spottswood long after her husband died.

“I don’t care about that,” he said.

“Lord Yronwood will.”

Ormond shook his head. “If I ask him...” he said, “he won’t deny me anything. He feels guilty, you see. He would do anything to make me happy.”

Rhona’s look became hopeful. Or perhaps Ormond only hoped that it was hopeful. “He’d resent it, eventually.”

“If you don’t want me, then say so. But don’t refuse because of some foolish idea that you’re unworthy. You’re the most worthy woman in the world.”

“I do want you. And I want you to be happy as much as Lord Yronwood does...”

“So I have your leave,” Ormond asked her. “To speak with him.”

Her nose crinkled again. Ormond couldn’t hope to guess how she would answer. But she was prevented from it in any case by the door to the room crashing open.

“Joleta!” Rhona exclaimed. “Do you not know the meaning of a closed door?”

Lady Joleta rolled her eyes at that, and at Ormond’s attempts to cover himself from her view. “Oh please Ormond, I saw everything you have when you swam in the Watergardens, and it holds just as much interest for me now as it did then.” She turned back to Rhona. “I would love to let you stay here all day, but the high and mighty princess says it’s time to go. And I’m not risking her anger for your sake. Not today.” She turned and walked right out.

Rhona sighed. She made to climb out of the bed, but Ormond grabbed her arm. “You didn’t answer me.”

She twisted her arm out of his grip. “There’s so much going on,” she said.

“There’s always a lot going on,” he argued.

“Let’s just get through one wedding before we start thinking about the next one.”

“There’s always another wedding too.” He pulled his breeches back on and left her to get dressed while he struggled with his boots in the corridor. The door next to theirs opened and Ser Eliott Rowan stumbled out. His eyes were as red as the wine stains on his shirt.

“Um,” Ormond struggled to say anything. How could it be that the world would think him good enough for a princess of Dorne, but wouldn’t think Rhona fit to marry an Yronwood? “We’re all leaving now,” he said.

“Yes,” Ser Eiott said. “I’ll have to get a better night’s sleep tonight.”

“Indeed,” Ormond agreed. “We all have to be at our best tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Princess Loreza’s bed was large enough to sleep six, though it had seldom ever slept more than two for many years. On the night before her wedding, however, seven ladies crammed into it. They had all fallen asleep some time after dark, as exhausted from an afternoon and evening filled with last minute preparations as they were from their outing, so much more eventful than anyone had expected it to be.

It was not yet morning when Dany woke up. She was near the middle of the bed, nearly crushed between her sister and Genna Sand. She climbed over them and onto the carpeted floor, scattered all about with gowns and silken small clothes that no servant had gotten around to putting away. The first creeping light that came before dawn was starting to fill the room, no one had bothered to pull the curtain either, so she had no trouble making her way out of the bedchamber and towards the sitting room.

Loreza was already there. She was standing by a window, contemplating the Summer Sea. For a moment, Dany stood in the doorway and considered what she should do. She had woken in hopes of finding the princess, but now she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to speak to her. She had been angry with her cousin, so angry she couldn’t think straight, but a night and day to consider the situation for what it really was had just about convinced her that the anger was misplaced, or at least that it would do no good.

Joleta had told her so right away, even before they had left Batara. “Don’t get yourself worked up,” her sister said. “She’s in a bad humour because she hates any decision that she didn’t make herself. When she sees how resolved you are, she’ll give in. Just show her that you have as much force of will as she does.”

Maron had said much the same thing as well. As soon as they had returned to the Old Palace, they had found each other in the garden and shared all the embraces they had been denied the day before. Dany wept in his arms, half afraid that if she ever let go of him, she would never see him again.

“You’re not despairing, are you?” he asked her. “Nothing at all has changed. No one is even talking about it. Loreza herself made sure of that.”

“But it does change things,” Dany argued. “I was so sure she would be on our side, but the prince will never give his consent if she advises him not to, never. Even if my mother and your father both do. You know he wouldn’t.”

Maron chuckled and held her close. “Perhaps I should ask my father to advise against it. Then she’ll contradict him on principle and our problems will be solved.”

“Don’t joke, Maron,” Dany cried. “This is the worst thing that could have happened.”

“It’s not,” he said. His tone was so calm and sure that she couldn’t help but find it persuasive. “She has no real reason to object; she’s only doing it out of some kind of misplaced need to protect you.”

He had been perfectly right. That’s what her cousin had always been, protective. No matter how upsetting to Dany the way she chose to show it was, all Princess Loreza had done was out of love for her. When she realized that, she couldn’t stay angry.

She cleared her throat when she stood beside her cousin.

“Dany,” the princess said. Her voice sounded sad and tired. “You should be asleep.”

Dany smirked in a way she hoped was friendly. “That applies double for you. Don’t you need all your strength?”

Loreza didn’t look at her. “I just wanted some time to myself,” she said. “Before all the noise begins.”

Dany knew that was a gentle way of asking her to go, but she couldn’t help but think the meeting was serendipitous. “I want you to know,” she began, “I understand why you said what you said yesterday.”

Her cousin looked at her with an expression of mild surprise. “Good,” she said. “I knew you would eventually, but I’m glad it was so soon.”

Dany frowned. “Yes...” she said. “And… I know you think we don’t know our own minds—that we’re not sincere. You think that I’m too young to be and that Maron is never serious about anything. But in a little while, when you’re convinced that we are, I know you’ll see things differently.”

The princess sighed and closed her eyes.

“We can wait,” Dany said before her cousin could say anything. “As long as we need to. Years. That way, everyone will know it can’t be a passing fancy. I know it isn’t. And I know you think Maron wouldn’t be a good husband, but—”

“Daenerys, stop. Please,” the princess said. “I did doubt your sincerity, and I’m sorry, it was wrong of me. The gods know that Maron has his faults, but he was right; you’re not a child anymore. But you’ll never wed him, Dany, not if the prince’s consent means anything to you. My advice is to stop tormenting yourself and give up on that idea now.”

She felt the anger she had thought was gone surge up again. Loreza was telling her she took her feelings seriously with one breath, then dismissing them with the other. “No,” she said. “I won’t. And I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t want to wed him.”

Loreza closed her eyes again. “It’s not a question of there being a reason why you shouldn’t. There’s no reason why you should, and that’s much more important.”

Dany resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “I love him,” she said. “We love each other. I want to live with him, and have his children. Isn’t that a reason?”

“No,” the princess said. “Not good enough. Not for you.”

“Like it wasn’t a good enough reason for you?”

She was silent for a moment. “Yes,” she said at last. “Exactly.”

“And instead you’re going to marry...that man?” Dany did stamp her foot this time. She couldn’t help it. She had been too busy thinking about her own concerns to be any more than vaguely aware of the high drama that had occurred between the princess and her betrothed, but the greatest fool in the world would be able to see that it didn’t look promising between them. Joleta was disgusted with him. “You don’t even like him!”

“That’s not true,” she said immediately. “There’s a good deal about him that I like.”

“After how he behaved?” Dany asked her incredulously. “After what he said about you? I don’t understand how you can stand for it.”

“I have no intention of standing for it,” she said, suddenly stern. “But it was my fault as much as it was his. I expected too much from him. He has a great deal to learn.”

“About what?”

“About what it means to be my husband. And I’ve been far too distant with him. I’ve ignored how strange and difficult Sunspear must be for him, for my own selfish reasons.”

“You mean because of Henrick Dayne.” The look on her cousin’s face made Dany think for a moment that she had gone too far. But she hardly cared, she had nothing to lose. “You were never distant with him. You never had to worry about standing for anything with him. You were just happy.”

The princess’s face softened. “Maybe I was, while it lasted.”

“It only didn’t last because you willed it so,” Dany argued. “You know that’s true! If you really wanted to marry him, all you had to do was ask. Your father would have allowed it.” He would allow Dany and Maron to wed too. In a moment, if Loreza advised him to. If she wanted to, she could convince him it was the wisest decision in the world.

“Yes,” she said. “It is true. So I suppose it must follow that I didn’t really want to.”

“Why not?” Dany asked her, shaking her head. “You love him. I remember when you came to Salt Shore, for Linnette’s wedding. All anyone would talk about was how in love you were. I never wanted to be in love before, until I saw you there.”

Loreza turned away from her. She looked out to sea once more. “It was a mistake. All I’ve done is hurt us both. And you too, it seems.”

“But you couldn’t have helped loving him, anymore than I can help loving Maron. How can you say it was a mistake?”

“Loving him wasn’t the mistake,” she said with an angry energy. “The mistake was indulging feelings I knew from the beginning were a weakness, and flaunting that weakness before the entire world.”

Dany was crying. The tear flowed silently down her face, as though she no longer had the energy to sob passionately the way she had. It was so hard to stay hopeful, even after only a day. “I think it would have been brave of you,” she told Loreza. “I think Prince Duncan was brave to marry for love. I would have admired you if you had, the world would have.”

Loreza shook her head. “And what about Prince Daeron? Do you admire him?”

“No!” Dany said, at once. “I mean,” she amended, once she she saw the self-satisfied glint in her cousin’s eye, “I don’t admire him for how he treats Olenna, or how he treats anyone; but you can’t deny it was brave.”

“Certainly,” the princess said. “I suppose you can argue that bravery is just a particular kind of stubbornness. What about the harm he did, he and both of his brothers?”

Dany wiped angrily at a fresh tear. “What does that matter? Do you really think that they will remember how Lord Baratheon was angry with the king for half a moment? They sing songs about Jenny and the Prince of Dragonflies already. They will for a thousand years.”

“Children might,” Loreza snapped back. “But I’m a Princess of Dorne—those are not the kind of songs I want them to sing about me. And you, Daenerys, I would have hoped that you had greater ambitions than to be remembered for who you fucked.”

Dany didn’t know what to say to that. She knew that she should tell her that love, real love, was more than that. It was good, and pure, and the gods blessed it, and Loreza had no right to try to force her to be as unhappy as she was. “Do you know what I think?” she said angrily. “I think you hate yourself for what you did. And you hope that if you bully me enough you’ll be able to convince yourself that it was right. But it wasn’t.”

Loreza stared at her. Perhaps she was struck dumb. Dany waited for rage, but it didn’t come. The silence lasted until Princess Trystana came charging into the room. She hardly seemed to notice Dany at all, she went straight to the princess and pulled her away from the window.

“There you are!” she said. “Oh, you’re going to regret not getting every moment of sleep that you could.”

The noise had started. The bedchamber was already a flurry of activity when Dany reentered it. A maid was crossing to the dressing room carrying a steaming pail of water, while the princess’s ladies scrambled to get all the finery and jewels into good order.

“What are you doing standing there, Daenerys!” she heard her mother say. “You’re for the bath too.” Dany found herself grabbed by the arm and pulled along as well, but while the princess got to spend a quarter of an hour or more in the tub being scrubbed from chin to toe, Dany barely had the chance to get wet before she was chased out to make room for someone else. She and all the other ladies were still only half-dressed when they gathered around the low table in the sitting room to break their fast.

Loreza’s hair was already arranged. It was woven with strings of pearls and stuck all over with ruby pins. Lady Emlyn draped a white sheet over her shoulders so the wine and cooked eggs wouldn’t dribble on her silken small clothes. Everyone was too distracted by their giggling to notice that Dany was glaring at her cousin. She hated her for the fakeness she saw in her smile, for the way everyone in the whole world had always fallen over themselves to tell her how wonderful she was.

Genna Sand laughed loudly at whatever Rhona Santegar was whispering in her ear. Lysanne Manwoody heard them and covered her mouth to stifle her snigger. “I must confess,” Lysanne said, “I’m looking forward to the feast most of all. I want to see their faces when they see your dress.”

“Their faces,” Loreza asked with feigned innocence. “Whose?”

“They’re a pack of hypocrites,” Joleta said. “They don’t seem to consider anything wrong with their tight breeches and short doublets.”

“Well, I’m not like to complain about it,” the princess said, causing Elda Toland to blush and Lysanne to collapse with giggles.

Princess Trystana pursed her lips disapprovingly. “I can only imagine what my mother would think if she heard you speak so an hour before going to the sept on your wedding day. She stood vigil all night before she was wed. And she fasted.”

Joleta rolled her eyes. “I saw you looking at Ser Martyn Mullendore, Mother,” she said. “His breeches were the same colour as his skin. He looked naked.”

“Is that what you did?” Dany asked her mother. “Stand vigil in the sept all night?” It sounded like a beautiful idea.

“No,” the princess admitted, “but I certainly felt the solemnity of the occasion.”

Loreza’s smile disappeared. “And you think I don’t?”

“Don’t chide her so,” Lady Lenelle said to her good-sister. “An inability to feel solemnity is not one of Loreza’s faults.”

“No indeed,” she admitted. “Loreza knows her own faults more than anyone. I just pray she knows that japing about them won’t make them disappear. Marriage is a serious business.”

“I agree,” Dany said, “It’s very serious.” She could almost picture herself in her own wedding dress, kneeling in front of the altar of the Maiden for the whole night, waiting for the moment when she and Maron would be bound forever. That would prove to everyone how much she loved him, as much as it proved it to the Maiden Herself. “And it shouldn’t be something you do just because it’s what someone else wants. It should be holy. And if you don’t mean it then that’s as bad as lying. To the gods.”

Her cousin was staring at the plate in front of her with eyes suspiciously bright. Lady Lenelle reached out across the table take her daughter’s hand. “Daenerys, how could you say something like that? Here and now? And about something you yourself understand very little. You should beg the princess’s forgiveness. At once.”

“No,” Princess Loreza said before Dany could even set an angry expression on her face. “She doesn’t need to apologize. She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, and I agree with her entirely.” She looked up to meet Dany’s eye. “I’ve never been more serious about anything.”

She stood up and went to her dressing room soon after. Dany stayed where she was. She and Joleta and Rhona Santegar and Elda Toland and Genna Sand and Lysanne Manwoody all helped each other into their identical yellow gowns and arranged their hair into golden nets. Lady Emlyn came out to inspect them. She fussed over getting the neckline of Joleta’s bodice straight and tucked away loose strands of hair. When she was satisfied, she ushered them into where Loreza was standing as straight as a rod while the dressmaker knelt at her side, sewing closed the seam at her left ribs. Dany stood a little back with Lysanne while the others finished dressing the princess with practised efficiency. When the jewelled girdle was on and the collar was draped over her shoulders, Lady Emlyn held a silvered looking glass so Loreza could see her own reflection.

Perhaps it was the morning light, but Dany instantly thought that her cousin looked much more lovely now than she had ten days ago, when she’d fist been in raptures over the dress. The way she held herself was different. She seemed older. Maybe it was because it was all so… serious now.  

Loreza’s chin began to shake. “Mother...” she whispered, holding a hand out towards Lady Lenelle.  

“Out, ladies,” the chatelaine said quietly. “Everyone out now.”

Dany gave her sister a questioning look. “She’s panicking, of course,” Joleta told her. “Wouldn’t you?” Their mother sushed them, so they had no choice but to stand awkwardly watching the closed door to the dressing room and pretend to not be straining to hear what was being said.

After what felt like an hour, it opened again. “I’m ready,” Loreza’s voice called. Elda and Genna spread the train of the gown out behind her and the six of them stood, three on each side to lift it up off the ground, like they’d spent hours practising in the last week.

“Don’t let it touch the ground, Dany,” her mother nagged in a soto voice.

“I know,” she snapped, “I won’t.” Dany had been relegated to the very back of the train, so that when the princess started to slowly shuffle forward, she was yanked along whether she liked it or not. It was worst on the stairs, where it was a challenge to manage the train, her own skirts, and her two feet, all at once. Her mother tutted at her again when she had to stop and grab the wall to not topple down. “Have you forgotten everything you were told?” Princess Trystana snapped at her.

Dany fumed, but she managed not to snap back. That would only get her accused of ruining the whole wedding.

They paused for a moment in front of the great wood and bronze doors of the Tower of the Sun. The princess’s mother, chatelaine, and aunt spent minutes making sure every seam was flat and every jewel was in its proper place. “It will have to do,” Loreza finally whispered. “Enough, or we’ll never get there.” At her word, the guards opened the door and they found themselves at the top of the steps leading down to the great courtyard. Between them and the palace’s sept was a mass of townspeople broken only by two lines of spearmen who cleared a straight path so the bride could go and keep her vigil. When she’d prayed enough, they would have to clear another path to the liters that would take them all to Nymeria’s sept in the shadow city. The sun had only now come above the walls, the wedding itself wasn’t until midday, and it might be dawn again before the feasting was done.

They were all so silent that Dany heard her cousin’s deep intake of breath before she started down the stairs.

The people’s eyes were fixed on the princess. They lifted up children so they could see them over the heads of the guard. They threw flowers and bright bits of cloth into her path. A few shouted blessings, wishing her joy and long life, but the courtyard was more still than Dany had seen it in since her grandmother had died. The entire city had been silent. You could hear the shuffling of the smallfolks’ feet when they all came to see her bier.

Dany shook her head to drive out the daydream. Princess Daenerys certainly wouldn’t have approved of her thinking of a funeral on a wedding day.

The sept was lit by candles and so thick with incense that Dany could barely see the altar of the Maiden. Once the sun came through the leaded glass windows, it would be as hot as a bathhouse. As soon as they came through the door, a chorus of septas began a high chant.

They passed all the great ladies who had gathered to pray with the princess. Olenna Redwyne smiled at Dany from where she stood with Septa Unelletine. Near her were all the Hightowers and that horrible Florent woman.

Loreza stopped to greet Lady Sarra, who was waiting right next to the altar. Her soon-to-be good-mother gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You look so lovely, sweetling,” Dany heard the older woman whisper, as she wiped her eyes. “As lovely as the Maid Herself.”

Dany struggled not to roll her eyes.

The princess knelt on a cushion embroidered with gold work and held her hands together in front of her, lifting her eyes up to the mosaic of the Maiden that Nymeria herself had commissioned nine hundred years ago. Dany and the five other train bearers knelt where they were behind her. Her eyes followed her cousin’s up to the Maiden’s dark and sharp featured face. She looked determined, mayhaps a little angry. And no wonder. Her father once told her that She was made in the likeness of Nymeria’s granddaughter, who grew up to be one of the Red Princes.

Please, gentle Lady, Dany prayed, You know how much I love him. Please, please, let it all work out. I’ll never ask You for anything again. I’ll never ask any of the gods for anything. All I want is this one thing.

She prayed as hard as she could, but after twenty minutes her knees began to ache. After an hour her head hurt from all the incense. Some of the women in the sept began to whisper to each other. Soon, even Rhona Santegar was shifting in discomfort. Lysanne Manwoody stood up once, for a moment, before a glare from Princess Trystana drove her back down. But there was no help for it; the vigil surely wasn’t even close to done. Loreza’s eyes were closed. Perhaps she was sleeping, though Dany doubted it. The thought of keeping vigil through the night didn’t seem quite as romantic as it had.

It felt like another hour at least, her feet were both a mass of pins and needles, before Dany noticed the first sign of tiring from the princess. She was swaying to one side while her head bobbed forward. Maybe the septas’ chanting really had lulled her to sleep, or maybe it was the weight of the gold collar. Lady Emlyn poked her in the arm and she snapped back to attention with an audible gasp.

At a sign from Lady Lenelle, a septon came to stand beside Loreza. He held his crystal up over her and loudly proclaimed a blessing. The chanting stopped and all around, the ladies roused themselves as he asked the Maiden, Mother, and Crone to keep her in happiness, fecundity, and wisdom.

Dany stood up with the others and the blood rushed back into her legs with such force that she bit back tears. Genna stamped her feet back to life as discreetly as she could. The princess stood up as gingerly as the rest of them, though at least she had Rhona and Joleta to help her. When her train was in hand again they all walked along the periphery of the sept, past the altar of the Crone and the Smith, rather than try to turn her around.

There were still a few townspeople in the courtyard, though most of them had left to line the streets. The fountains of free wine wouldn’t begin to flow until after the ceremony, but there were already musicians and acrobats, and farces being performed on wooden stages all over the shadow city. Dany could hear the din, even in the palace. And it was just as well. That way, there were fewer people to see the commotion that was being made to get Loreza, and all her skirts, into the litter. Elda Toland and Genna eventually just gathered it all into a big bunch and threw it on the seat beside her.

The liter was huge, but it was as crowded as the sept by the time they all got in there. Dany was practically sitting on her her sister's lap just so they would all fit.

“Eat something, Loreza,” Princess Trystana said. “I saw how little you ate at breakfast.” She untied a bundle onto her lap with some figs, soft cheese, and a few pieces of bread. Loreza took a fig in her hand but made no move to eat it.

“Could I have some cheese, mother?” Dany asked.

“Don’t be absurd!” her mother said.

“Go ahead, Dany,” the princess said. “Have all you like. I couldn’t eat a thing. It’s all turning my stomach.”

They started to move and slowly made their way through the palace gate, behind all the litters, palanquins, and sedan chairs carrying their guests. The female half of them, anyway. The men were already there waiting for them. The prince, and the king, and Ser Eliott Rowan.

Loreza was breathing as hard as if she’d just run a flight of steps. Soon they were on the street and the people were calling her name. She smiled and pulled the curtain back, so they could see her.

Chapter Text

The most ignorant yeoman in the Seven Kingdoms knew the old saying, that Dorne was ruled by the sun as much as by any prince. Most of them could likely even repeat the first Daeron’s words about the sun being a Dornishman’s weapon, even more fearsome than his famous spear. But knowing a thing, and feeling its truth beating down on your head, hour after hour, were different things entirely.

Jeremy had been banished once again outside the shade of the silk canopies that sheltered the king, Prince Rhodryn, and all the family and lords deemed worthy enough to wait in greater comfort at the front door of Nymeria’s sept. The rest of them crowded around, spilling over the steps and down towards the line of copper-armoured spearmen that kept the crowd of smallfolk at bay.

It was an improvement from when he had arrived in Sunspear; Jeremy was at the top of the stair this time, close enough to Daeron that the king had seen him and frowned, but not close enough to speak to him, or to share the shade. He had gotten accustomed to always being at Daeron’s side remarkably quickly, and to be separated now stung a sense of pride that Jeremy hadn’t known he had.

They were all getting impatient. Prince Duncan was shuffling his feet and even the king could be heard to exhale loudly more than once. And patience, of course, had never been counted among Prince Daeron’s virtues. He had begun to groan and complain loudly to his brother even before the Rowan men arrived. When the bridegroom joined them at the door with his father and uncle and the rest of them, Jeremy heard his voice again.

“Oh, so he did come,” the prince said. “I confess I had my doubts.”

Prince Duncan, perhaps seeing a flush of colour starting to rise on Prince Lewyn’s cheek, scolded him. “I do wish you would shut up, brother.”

If the king, or the Dornish prince, or indeed Ser Eliott himself, heard Daeron’s outburst, they made no sign of it. Soon the Rowans fell into the same interminable game of standing and sweltering in silence. The bridegroom sweated visibly. He had clearly given consideration to the climate when choosing his garb, but even white silk would get hot when weighed down with that much cloth of gold. Jeremy would feel more sorry for him if the sun wasn’t burning the skin on the back of his still tender neck.

It was Ser Maron Wyl who broken the silence next. “Since when does she pray this much, anyway?” he quipped. His father, Prince Arion, shushed him.

Ser Artyr Dalt was standing next to Jeremy. “There,” the knight said to him, “do you see.” He pointed to the east, towards the palace. Jeremy squinted and saw that a man was standing on the battlements over the outermost gate, waving a red banner attached to a spear. “They’ll be coming now.”

“Thank the gods,” someone said. Probably Daeron.

A procession of covered liters started to appear on the street leading from the palace gates soon after and for the next three quarters of an hour the ladies slowly arrived.

Lady Jenny was among the first. Her husband greeted her with a kiss on the hand and the same look of adoring reverence he always gave her. “Was it very tedious?” Prince Duncan asked her.

“No,” she said in her high, dreamy voice. “It was lovely.” The red and orange orchids woven into her hair looked like they had been picked from the gardens at Sunspear. They were the only thing that weren’t wilting in the heat. “Princess Loreza looks as bright as anything.”

The steps became more and more crowded as the women came to join their men, each arrival seemed to push Jeremy a little closer towards Daeron and the other princes. Olenna Redwyne and her septa arrived in the same litter as the Florent ladies. She looked right through Jeremy to the carved wooden doors of the sept, and Lady Mariah Florent giggled when she saw at him.

By the time the groom’s mother and sister arrived, the front of the sept was near pandemonium, a hundred conversations replaced the unending silence. Lady Aelora Rowan all but skipped up the stairs towards her brother. She took his hand in both of hers as he kissed her on the cheek. “Oh, wait until you see the princess, Eliott. She’s looks so beautiful!”

Ser Eliott’s brother and cousins all laughed at that, but the groom himself looked a little queasy.

Finally, the largest litter of all came. It’s arrival signaled one door of the sept to open, causing more confusion among the assembled. Three richly adorned septons filed out, followed by as many holy brothers and several boys swinging censers.

Princess Trystana and Lady Lenelle emerged from the litter first. The latter climbed the steps quickly to join the prince, but Princess Trystana stayed a few moments to call back inside. By the time she came to join her husband, Jeremy was close enough to Daeron to hear everything the royal party was saying.

“May the gods protect her from making a fool of herself,” the princess said to Lord Gargalen.

He laughed. “I’m not the least bit worried about Prin-”

“Not her,” she interrupted. “Dany. She’s in her own little world this morning.”

There was an audible gasp from the smallfolk, and a few of the lords as well, when Princess Loreza climbed out of the litter. Seven ladies had come before her and were helping her make her way down to the cobblestones. The train on her gown followed behind her, neverending, as far as Jeremy could tell.

The Princess stood at the bottom of the stairs, unmoving and unsmiling, as a flurry of activity went on behind her. Joleta Gargalen snapped something at her sister, who snapped right back, but soon they were in good order enough to start up the stairs, slowly climbing step by step. The sun reflected brilliantly off the jewels and gold she was encrusted with, sending shafts of light in every directions. Daeron lifted his hand as one hit him in the eye.

“Some people clearly think very highly of themselves,” the prince muttered to Jeremy.

“What do you mean?” he asked him.

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” he said, indicating the princess’s gown. As she got closer, Jeremy could see the finer details; the sun and spear in precious gems and the circlet of yellow diamond suns, the rubies in the collar draped over her shoulders.

“I think she looks very well,” Jeremy said with a shrug.

“Anyone would look well in that much gold,” the prince said dismissively. “My sister didn’t wear half as much when she married Baratheon.”

“She looked very well too.”

“Poor taste, I call it,” Daeron said, not listening. “Showing off.”

Jeremy wanted to tell him that he thought showing off was the point, but the bride herself was approaching them. Her gold and ruby collar clinked softly with every step. “Wish you joy,” Daeron said with a sardonic smile when she paused momentarily in front of him. She didn’t smile back, not even when Prince Duncan offered his much more sincere sounding good wishes. She looks as gloomy as Ser Eliott. He was standing at the door watching his bride slowly make her way to him. Jeremy had to admit, he’d never seen a couple make less of an effort to look happy on their wedding day.

By now, Princess Loreza had made her way to the king. He took her hand and spoke to her for at least a minute. It was too far for Jeremy to hear, but he could see her lips moving in response, still unsmiling.

Prince Rhodryn had been standing beside the king. As soon as his daughter came before him she fell to her knees. Jeremy heard Daeron scoff as he touched his daughter's head with his hand in benediction, then he raised her to her feet. When he whispered in her ear, Princess Loreza smiled for the first time. Before Jeremy could wonder what the prince had possibly said, she turned away from her father and began to cover the short distance to where Ser Eliott was standing next to the septon by the doors. Her ladies followed after her, carefully swinging the train of her gown around.

Jeremy couldn’t tell if she was smiling when she reached the groom and placed her hand in his, but it pleased the smallfolk. They gave another roar, loud enough to drown out the words of the septon as he raised up his crystal to say a blessing. When he was finished, the septon led the couple into the sept and all his assistants followed.

They all came after them, the king, the princes, and all the great lords slowly shuffling their way through the broad doors, leaving the small folk behind in the sun. Inside Jeremy was so overjoyed to be free of the harsh sunlight that he imagined it felt like the Mother’s mercy. And he wasn’t the only one who sighed when he felt the cool air on his face. Daeron moved to stand near the altar of the Father with the king and the other worthies. Jeremy would have taken the chance to put some distance between them again, but the prince tugged on his sleeve.

“I do believe he was crying,” Daeron said in a low voice.

“Who,” Jeremy replied in the same tone, “Ser Eliott?” Jeremy was surprised to hear that. Besides, his mother had started weeping as soon as she’d arrived, and that seemed sufficient for her and all her children.

Daeron scoffed. “No. Prince Rhodryn. There were tears in his eyes, I’m sure of it.”

Jeremy smiled fondly. “Surely he’s allowed to be happy,” he said. “Won’t you cry when your daughter marries?”

“I’ll never have a daughter,” Daeron said with venom in his voice. That made Jeremy’s smile widen. The first time Daeron had told him he would never marry they must have been ten years old. Jeremy had laughed and told him that everyone knew that princes always married princesses. But he had shaken his head with a rare seriousness. “Not me.” It had been a few more years before either of them entirely understood why Daeron had spoken the truth.

“Please,” Prince Duncan hissed again, “just be quiet.”

They had all reached the middle of the sept. The group stood just feet away from the short flight of steps that lead to where the bride and bridegroom where standing between the altars of the Mother and the Father. The king turned his head to look at his sons, and his gaze fixed on Jeremy, standing behind Prince Daeron. Jeremy tried not to shrink beneath the glare, but it didn’t last long. When the septon started to intone the first prayer, King Aegon gave the ceremony all his attention.

When the septon finished the long chat, there was a song from the choir of septas while three other septons made a big show of swinging censers around the couple.

“What will happen now?” Prince Duncan asked Prince Lewyn.

“Um,” the young prince sounded like he was trying to remember himself, “they’ll be doing the reading now. From The Seven-Pointed Star. ”

That was ordinary enough. It was customary to read the passage about how the Maid made Hugor of the Hill a bride who bore him four and forty sons at any wedding.

The three boys holding the censers came down the stairs to meet another who had come from somewhere carrying an enormous copy of the holy book in front of him with both arms. They walked as a group to the presiding septon, who lifted his crystal once more and said a prayer to the Crone, asking that She might let them see the wisdom in the holy work. Daeron groaned.

“How long will this be, anyway?”

“It’s barely begun,” Prince Duncan replied in a whisper, “and shut up!”

The septon opened the book and began to read in a booming voice. While he went on, Jeremy looked up to admire the high dome of the sept. It was built in the Rhoynish fashion—without straight lines and with as many windows as possible to let light in through leaded glass. A pane behind the altar of the Warrior depicted two crowned figures kneeling before the god, shown with a spear and small shield. Mors and Nymeria, Jeremy supposed. He remembered being told that they had built this sept, but he wasn’t certain. Alleza Dayne would have known. Jeremy found her standing across the sept near the altar of the Smith. She saw him looking at her, smiled, and gave a little wave before her father grabbed her arm and brought it down. Jeremy laughed quietly to himself. It would perhaps have been wiser to have sought her company than to push in with the king’s family. It certainly would have been more pleasant to listen to her tell him everything she knew about the place and its history than it was to suffer the glares of the king. He didn’t dare speak to anyone at all, lest the king remember he was there. Besides, the only ones standing near him who weren’t princes were Edgar Yronwood, who had a look like there was an unpleasant smell beneath his nose, and his son, who was a bored as Daeron but trying not to show it.

The Seven-Pointed Star was closed and taken away with as much ceremony as its arrival had merited. Then there was a hymn, a song to the Mother that Jeremy had never heard before. As soon as the chorus of septas fell back into silence two embroidered cushions were brought for the couple to kneel on.

“This will be the first part of the vows,” Prince Lewyn whispered to Prince Duncan.

The septon took Princess Loreza’s hand in his. His voice boomed again across the sept as he asked he asked her if she consented to take this man as her husband by all the laws of gods and men. Princess Loreza cleared her throat lightly before Jeremy heard her voice for the first time that day.

“Yes,” she said, “I take this man.”

Then the septon took Ser Eliott’s hand and asked him the same. He looked up at the princess’s face for a moment before answering.

“I do,” he said, “I take this woman.”

Several people let out their breath. Jeremy had been holding his too, he suddenly realized. Not that he had believed for one moment that Ser Eliott would have made a scene in the sept, in front of half the Lords of Westeros, but stranger things had already happened here.

The septon placed the bride’s hand in the groom’s and began the Seven Vows, asking Princess Loreza and Ser Eliott to promise each other love, fidelity, honour, obedience, patience, protection, and devotion. It seemed to last half an hour.

When that was done the septas began to sing again. The couple got to their feet, the princess grasped Ser Eliott’s forearms with both her hands as he helped her up. Then the septon lead them in a procession around the altar of the Father. It should have been a simple matter, but with the septon and all his assistance, Princess Loreza’s seven ladies, and the three men attending on Ser Eliott, it became a triumph of meticulous coordination. The pace was painfully slow and they gave the altar a wide berth to prevent the gown’s train from being tied into a knot. They ended just to the right of where they began, in front of the image of the Father.

The princess and Ser Eliott knelt again while the septon chanted another blessing.

Father above, Font of Justice who judges the living and the dead, bless this man and this woman so that they will live by your law….

And so he went on. Daeron groaned.

“At least it’s almost over.”

Prince Lewyn chuckled. “Not quite,” he said. “They’ll be doing that another six times. Then it will almost be over.”

Jeremy could only see the back of Daeron’s head, but he could imagine the annoyed expression on his face. “The Dornish are the last people in the world I’d expect to make some much fuss over marriage vows,” he complained. 

The young prince chose to be amused by that. “I can’t imagine why you would think so.”

It was as Prince Lewyn said. When the first of the Seven Blessings were finished, everyone who had knelt stood up again to walk around the altar of the Mother. Her blessing was invoked to make the union both fertile and pure.

That’s rather a contradiction, Jeremy thought to himself.

The assembled wedding guests turned to face each altar in sequence, each time with the sound of shoes rustling across the stone floor. The Warrior was asked to give them safety, the Maiden to give each love for the other. The Smith, if He were good, would given them health and prosperity, and the Crone would light their way to virtue and honour. Before the altar of the Stranger the gods were asked to give them long life and to ensure that nothing would part them before death. Jeremy could hear Daeron chuckle again. “That might be sooner than the septon has any notion of.”

This time, it was the king who silenced him with a look and a finger at the mouth.

The princess and Ser Eliott returned to where they had started, between the Father and the Mother, and the septon raised his crystal again. Surely this was it, the last blessing that would proclaim them man and wife. They knelt, and the septon boomed again, with a loudness that could only come from knowing a long task would soon be done.

“In the sight of gods and men...” he began.

Jeremy felt something brush against his right hand. He looked down to see that Daeron reached behind himself blindly, even as his eyes stayed fixed on the princess and her new husband. Jeremy had to fight the swell of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him as he took the hand and clasped it with his own. He felt Daemon squeeze it harder.

The septon went on, “... that Loreza of House Nymeros Martell and Eliott of House Rowan are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

All the assembled lords and ladies began to clap when the couple stood, their own hands still joined, and turned to face their congratulations. But Jeremy didn’t clap. He would hold onto Daeron’s hand for as long as he could, until people started paying attention to them again.

Chapter Text

A few hours of sleep must have done their work. Princess Loreza seemed a different woman when Eliott saw her again, for the first time since returning to the Old Palace at midday. 

They were sequestered in a small room at the bottom of the Spear Tower, waiting to make their entrance into the nearby feast hall. The noise could already be heard, along with the even greater clamour coming from the rabble of lesser lordlings, hedge knights, and squires gathering in the courtyard. The wine would flow freely there all night, as it would along the path of the Three Fold Gate in the shadow city. Eliott doubted the commander of the city watch would be celebrating much tonight. 

The princess smiled at him as she sat down in the hard-backed chair next to his own. The sight of her smile was almost as shocking as the gown she was wearing. He didn’t recall her smiling at him once during the ceremony. “Good evening,” she said in a cheerful tone.

“Uh...” he stammered, “good evening.” Eliott had accepted by now that the Dornish idea of modesty didn’t answer to his own and it wasn’t as distracting to him as it once was, but the dress his wife was wearing was another matter entirely. The gold silk of the bodice slowly turned into a bright orange, as though to draw the eye to the skin between her breasts that the cut of the gown exposed. The skin, and half her breasts themselves, almost down to her navel. It was traditional for a bride to be more daring at her wedding feast, but this... His Lady Mother might faint when she saw her new good daughter.

Eliott cleared his throat and turned his head so he wouldn’t have to look at her. Instead, he tried to remember how she had looked in the sept—sparking and demure—and the way she had leaned on him more and more every time they had stood up. 

By the time he had helped her into the open litter that would take then through the crowds lining both sides of the street, he could hear the sharpness of her breath beside him, like even inhalation pained her. The smile she had plastered on her face for the small folk was turning into a grimace. The steps to the Tower of the Sun were climbed on the verge of tears, but by then Eliott had no chance to help her, all her ladies swarmed around as soon as her feet were on the ground. He followed behind sheepishly with Owain, Lyman, and his brother. 

When the doors were closed behind them the princess stopped fighting the tears. She threw her heavy gold and ruby collar over her head and onto the floor. “Oh gods,” she cried, tugging at her girdle desperately, “I can’t… get it off me!” She fell to her hands and knees on the floor while her ladies undid her laces and tore the seam on the back of her gown.

“How many hundreds of times did we ask you if that girdle was too tight?” Princess Trystana berated her over the continued sound of her tears. “You’ve always let your pride overrule your good sense...”

“Not now, Mother!” Lady Joleta Gargalen snapped. “Gods be good, this is not the time!”

Princess Trystana huffed but said no more. Her daughter put her arm around Princess Loreza’s shoulder and tried to stand her up. “Come now,” Lady Joleta told her cousin. “We need to get you to bed.”

The princess got up on shaky legs. She was wearing nothing but her shift. The remains of her brilliant gown were discarded at the foot of the stair. One look at that stair made her sob again.

“You made it all the way here, princess, you can make it up a few steps,” said Elda Toland, no doubt trying to sound encouraging. 

They’d all forgotten that Eliott was there. He cleared his throat, but no one heard him; they were all too concerned with attending to his wife, apparently not realizing she could no more climb all those steps than she could fly. He wondered what they would do if he sent them all away.

Ser Olyvar Sand passed right in front of him. He put a hand on Lady Joleta’s shoulder to pull her aside. “Put your arms around my neck, sweetling,” he told the princess. She nodded and he scooped her in his arms as though she were a babe. Two of her ladies followed them up the stair. “It’s not all bad,” Ser Olyvar told his niece, “you’ll never need to do that ever again.” Eliott could hear her chuckle through her tears. 

“If the gods are good,” Genna Sand said, rather piously. 

Eliott and his friends watched as the ladies gathered up the jewel encrusted gown like so much soiled laundry in their arms and Lady Emlyn chattered to herself about how much there was to do before the feast. Eliott could feel Owain looking at him, ready to tell him he’d never seen any man be so pathetic a husband so quickly.

“Oh, Ser Eliott,” Lady Rhona Santegar said suddenly, confirming to him that he’d indeed been as invisible as he’d felt. “The princess is going to rest now. I think you’d be wise to do the same.” 

And so he had. He went to the chambers that would no longer be his after that night, changed his clothes, and watched as all his things were packed up to be carried away, higher up in the Tower of the Sun. When they came to fetch him he went obediently down to this room to wait to be told what to do next. 

Princess Loreza seemed to be waiting for the same thing. She played with the gold cuff on her wrist and stared at the tiles on the wall. She was wearing her hair half down, like she had on the first day they had met. It fell down to the small of her back in loose ringlets, with the top half arranged in a golden hair net. Eliott considered reaching out to run his hand through it—surely it was his right to by now—but he wasn’t entirely sure she would notice if he did. 

“Are you feeling better?” Now that he had to nerve to look at her closely, he could see that she was still paler than usual.

“Oh yes,” she said at once. “I apologize, there was no need to be quite as… dramatic as I was.”

“You don’t need to apologize, my princess.” He didn’t want her to. It had been one of only two times he had believed she wasn’t made of stone. The other had been...but no. That was the last thing he should be thinking about now. “The ceremony was very long.”

“Long?” His wife smiled and looked down at her wrist again. “Is that all you have to say about it? Your own wedding.”

Eliott couldn’t help but smile with her. “It was beautiful,” he said earnestly. “You were beautiful.” Surely even the Dornish couldn’t object to a man paying his own wife a compliment. 

She looked at him with eyes full of promise. 

“You were beautiful too.” She sat back in her chair, leaning on both arms in such a way that made it impossible for him not to stare at her breasts again. A ruby the size of a sparrow’s egg rested perfectly in the valley between them. “Is something the matter, ser?”

Eliott decided that he liked this Princess Loreza far more. “Your gown is very distracting.”

She laughed lightly. “I’m glad,” she told him. “It’s serving its purpose, then.”

“It’s as likely to distract everyone else as it is me.” He pointed out, trying to sound playful rather than jealous.

The princess smirked. “Everyone else will be disappointed.” But not you, her eyes told him.

A rap on the door brought in entrance of Lady Emlyn Wells. She floated in wearing a knowing smile and a gown that made her pregnant belly even more prominent than it needed to be. “Are you ready, children?” she asked. “Everyone is waiting.”

Eliott frowned at being addressed as a child, but Princess Loreza stood up with an eager smile. “Yes.”

“Good,” Lady Emlyn said. She walked over to the princess without giving Eliott a glance and started to make minute adjustments to her clothes and jewels. “Now, don’t try to leave the feast too early,” she told her. “It won’t be worth hearing about it for the next week if you offend someone by failing to dance with him.”

“You would never let me miss anyone,” the princess said pleasantly. “Or leave without your permission.”

“If only that were true.” She reached into the bodice of Princess Loreza’s gown and adjusted her breasts. “There, you look perfect.”

“How do I look, my lady?” Eliott asked. He would have to do something about his apparent invisibility to Dornish eyes. He wondered if he was important enough to be allowed to dance with her himself.

Lady Emlyn didn’t answer him, but she frowned in concern at Princess Loreza’s giggle. She took her face in both her hands and look into each eye, one at a time. “My love, did Maester Geuren give you something?”

The princess shrugged. 

“Well, what was it?”

She shrugged again. “I didn’t ask. Some tincture. But I feel so much better.”

“Yes, I imagine you do,” she sighed. “That maester is a careless young man and he thinks a tincture can solve everything.”

Princess Loreza rolled her eyes. “It will be alright,” she said. “I may even be able to enjoy myself. Can we please get this over with?”

“Alright,” Lady Emlyn allowed. “It’ll do you good to get some food in you, no doubt. And you’ll have me to look after you.”

Eliott had no intention of letting that stand. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, my lady.” He got up to stand next to his wife. “I will look after the princess,” he said. He put a hand lightly on the small of her back. She jumped and looked back at him in surprise.

“Hmm,” Lady Emlyn intoned. “Yes, that is a great comfort.” She turned around and went out the open door, clearly intending them to follow. Eliott offered the princess his arm. She took it with another smile. 

“Do I look happy?” she asked Eliott.

His heart sank. “I would hope that you are happy.” 

The princess rolled her eyes. “It would do no good, in this case, to be happy and not look it,” she said. “So do I look happy?”

“Yes,” he conceded.

The feast hall seemed to shake with noise of cheers as they entered. There were musicians in the gallery above, a score of them at least, blaring on fifes and banging drums. Many of the reachmen clashed their goblets against the top of the table, making the plates and knives rattle. When they passed where his cousins Lyman and Jon were seated together, they stood up and hooted. It was ordinary enough, Eliott had no doubt done the same at a dozen weddings in his time, but it was quite a different matter to be the object of it. Walking down the aisle at the centre of the feast hall, with loud men close to them on either side, felt more like being shamed in the village square than being wished well. 

The dais has been lavishly decorated. Their houses’ banners hung on the wall behind their seats, the sun and spear behind her chair and the golden tree of Rowan behind his. The seats were in the centre of the table, larger and ever so slightly higher than anyone else’s. A man’s wedding feast was the only time he could expect to sit higher than a king. They said that the First Men believed that every man was a king on his wedding day.  And every woman a queen.

Eliott’s mother was weeping again, though she was trying to be discreet about it. She smiled at him when he stopped to embrace her and touched his cheek. “What a pair you look,” she whispered to him. Aelora jumped with excitement beside her.

The men of Eliott’s family were more subdued, but no less earnest. His father gave him a long embrace and Alastor punched him in the arm like he used to do when they were boys. Even King Aegon smiled and patted him on the shoulder convivially, as though he were an old friend.

Eliott’s seat was on the left side of Princess Loreza’s. In between there was a single plate and goblet for them to share, both made from heavy polished gold and inscribed with the sigils and words of their houses. As soon as they sat a score of more little pages appear to fill the cups of all their guests with wine. One of them leaned over Eliott’s shoulder to fill the golden wedding goblet to the brim with dark red wine. He leaned over to his wife.

“Am I to be permitted to drink from this cup, or is it all for you?” he asked her.

She laughed the same short, sweet laugh. “You are permitted,” she said. “But pray don’t over do it. It would be very inauspicious if tonight were to go to waste.”

He hoped to all the gods there were that he wasn’t blushing, or at least if he were, that she didn’t notice.

Prince Rhodryn, Eliott’s own good-father, rose to make the first toast. “Lords and Ladies,” he said in a voice that cut through all the noise, leaving an awed silence in its wake as every head in the feast hall turned. “To the bride and the bridegroom! I pray the gods grant them peace and long life.”

Hundreds of chairs scraped against the stone floor as all the guests rose to their feet. “The bride and bridegroom!” they all said as one, raising their cups towards the dais. 

Eliott and the princess both put their hands around the stem of the great goblet where it met the bowl. It was impossible not to spill as they brought it to their lips and it sloshed onto the table. Eliott drew his chest back, lest any get on his white and gold doublet, which his wife seemed to think was funny.

The King rose next. “To Prince Rhodryn,” he cried. “Our most gracious host. May the Crone ever shine his way to wisdom.” The prince nodded his head in appreciation as the whole hall again repeated the toast and drank.

Then it was Lord Rowan’s turn. Eliott’s father raised his goblet. “To my son,” he said, looking over to him with a pride that made Eliott’s heart swell with affection, “the gallant bridegroom. May he...” his father’s voice broke. He bit his lip before he smiled again and raised his goblet higher. “May he be happy.”

“The bridegroom!” Voices called from below. “To Ser Eliott!”

Princess Loreza raised her eyebrows and smiled at him before they began the complicated maneuver of taking another sip of the wine together. It was low enough in the goblet, at least, that they was no fear of making a mess of themselves.

The three toasts they had heard were judged a sufficient beginning. The first course was a stew in a rich broth and a sauce of olives and dragon pepper. A golden basin was laid before them and one spoon placed on the princess side. She immediately took it up and scooped out a chunk of meat. She made of show of blowing on it delicately before bringing it to Eliott’s mouth.

He was conscious of the fact that most of the eyes in the hall were on him as he leaned forward to accept it. He felt the now familiar texture of snake meat. Not as fiery as it usually was. Perhaps the cooks had decided to be merciful as a wedding gift. 

It look a few tries for his wife to have a bite of stew unimpeded by giggles. And Eliott couldn’t help but laugh himself at how silly he must look feeding her with a spoon as though she were an infant. 

Lady Lenelle stood just as Eliott was about to take another sip of wine, taking the goblet in two hands. She lifted her own cup up prompting another quieting of the hall. She didn’t command the silence that her husband did, and it wasn’t until the lady began to speak that everyone realized what was happening. Many surely, had never seen the bride’s mother give a toast at a wedding before.

“To the princess,” she said in a voice that reached the rafters. “To the bride. May you be as happy as you are dutiful.” There were scattered laughs from others on the dias and Prince Lewyn chuckled into his wine. 

“The bride!” came the call from the tables below. Eliott raised the goblet towards his wife in salute. Over her shoulder, he saw Alastor raise his cup and drain it in one go. He tried not to frown. It would have been beyond rudeness not to toast the bride, and his uncle was there beside him, he would stop it from getting too far. 

The stew was cleared away and replaced with a salad of fennel with oil and vinegar, sprinkled with pomegranate seeds. Then came chicken with preserved lemons. A whole bird was set before them. Prince Arion wished them wisdom and Prince Duncan prosperity for all of Dorne. There was lamb with a jelly made from dragon pepper that looked innocent enough, but was potent enough to bring tears to Eliott’s eyes. The princess ate it with relish and licked the jelly off her lips, but he preferred the mound of carrots baked with earthy cardamom that had accompanied the meat.

Lord Tyrell rose to toast them. His belly, wrapped in a fine velvet doublet embroidered with gold, protruded in front of him. “To the blushing bride,” he said, though his face was redder than Eliott had ever seen the princess be. “May the Mother make her fertile, and grant her many sons.”

Princess Loreza gave a laugh. For a moment, Eliott feared she would choke on a piece of saffron honey cake and he debated how it would look to thump her on the back at the dais but everyone was too loudly cheering her future offspring to notice her outburst. “Come now, my princess,” he said into her ear, “that was a perfectly ordinary thing for him to say.”

She laughed again. “Oh yes, it’s entirely what I should have expected.”

His wife was then distracted completely by the entrance into the hall of several enormous fish, large enough to need several men to carry the platters. The pages scrambled to clear a large enough space on the table for the biggest fish of them all to be placed in front of the bride and bridegroom. They both stood to better appreciate it and make all the admiring nosies about its size and the gold leaf scales that covered its top side. The prince himself cut them the choicest piece from near the tail. They ate it with black olives and capers that made the whole dish taste like the brackish water the fish had come from.

Alastor rose to give his toast. Eliott was relieved to see that he seemed steady on his feet, and quite himself besides. “To my beloved brother!” he said with a good humoured smile that let Eliott know what any humour would be at his expense. “It was very kind of you, to submit to being wed before me. A great sacrifice, I know, but I’m sure you’ll learn to live with it.”

Princess Loreza decided this was very funny, and that gave even the Dornishmen permission to laugh at it. She raised the goblet to Eliott and drank deep. It was filled again as soon as she put it down. Not once had it been allowed to be less than half full. 

Then came venison baked in clay with dates. Eliott was beginning to feel the effects of so much rich food, and didn’t eat more than a few fresh figs from a bowl beside them after he had taken a few small bites just for show. His wife didn’t seem to enjoy it either. Though she was happy enough to accept half a fig that he tossed into her mouth from his own seat. 

“Do you know what’s coming next?” he asked her. It was so loud that he had to lead over to speak right into her ear. His lips almost touched her skin. 

“I have no idea,” she said with a giggle, reaching for another fig. She tore it in half and tried to repeat his trick of landing it in his own mouth, but it flew past Eliott’s head and over the table. She shrugged and put the other half in from a safer distance. “My aunt refused to tell me anything about it,” she continued. “Though, I can tell you how much it all cost, if you like.”

A lot , was all Eliott knew about it. “No thank you,” he said.

There was a collective gasp that moved like a wave from the back of the hall towards the front. The princess stood up for a better view and gasped herself, and Eliott couldn’t help but do the same. He thought nothing could equal the golden fish until he saw six blue and green peacocks, each in their own plumage, being borne on plates down the centre aisle. They both applauded with everyone else.

Again, the largest and most ornate of the birds was placed before them. Around her lay several enormous eggs covered in gold. Princess Loreza cracked one open and nuts and candied fruit spilled onto the cloth. 

The peacock tasted rich, sweet, and a little bit dry. The bird remained on its platter in front of them while they ate much more satisfactory rabbit in a creamy almond sauce and raspberries in ice with mint. The toasts were getting more raucous and less creative. Edgar Yronwood could do no better than to toast the gallant dead, which made the princess roll her eyes behind a hand. Eliott was so full by the time the wedding pie arrived that he could feel his belly strain against his wide belt. He sincerely wished he would be able to dance without being sick.

The pie caused as much commotion as the fish and the peacocks had. Everyone stood and applauded the pie that needed six men to carry it. It was as tall as Eliott and shiney with eggwash. On top was a sun and spear made from pastry crust. He offered Princess Loreza his hand and lead her around to the front of the table. His cousin Owain came forward to give Eliott a sword. It was his own sword, he was surprised to see, the one that his father had gifted him when he earned his spurs-- simple and practical, made for war and not for show, the only concession to ornamentation was the large moonstone set into the hilt. No doubt it was Owain he had insisted he use it, the sword was exactly like the kind of man he wished to be.

Princess Loreza put her hands over his and together they raised their arms above their heads to make a cut near the top of the pie. The birds flew out towards them causing the princess to shriek and take a few steps back. Eliott put her arm around her waist to steady her before he bumped into the table. She was laughing as he held her.

The pie was taken away and within half a minute they were given a slice on a golden plate, topped with a dollop of lemon cream. It was filled with large chunks of pigeon meat, whole eggs, and warm spices. While she held the plate, Eliott broke off a piece with his hand and fed it to his wife. Her eyes met his as she scraped his finger with her teeth and lips. She had the most extraordinary eyes, dark and heavy with an infinite number of eyelashes. The suggestion in them made him clear his throat uncomfortably. He didn’t even hear the cheers of the guests, or taste the pie when she fed it to him. He was sure that if she looked at him again, the whole hall would see what he was feeling.

The prince gave one last toast, wishing them a marriage that contained many good things, and then he order that the dancing begin. There was bustle and noise as the long tables were moved away to make space but soon Eliott was leading Princess Loreza to the middle of the floor to start the first dance. The music changed from the lively tunes that filled to feast to a stately march that had them shuffling slowly through the steps. Eliott chucked with discomfort at the knowledge that the whole hall was once again staring at him and his wife giggled in sympathy. After far too long a time, King Aegon lead Lady Lenelle to join them and soon you could hear the sound of leather shoes on stone reverberating against the walls. 

When the first dance was over, he followed his wife to a bench that had been prepared for them in front of a leaded-glass window. There were silk cushions on it and an arch overhead made of lattice-work covered in red and orange flowers. As soon as they sat, the princess held her hand out for some wine. She frowned with the first sip. “What is this?” she asked Lady Emlyn, as always hovering nearby.

“Lemon water,” she stated matter of factly. “You’ll thank me later.”

Princess Loreza rolled her eyes but made no complaint. When Eliott asked for wine, he was given the same, either because the lady thought that he needed it, or that it was wrong for him to drink while the princess wasn’t. He had eaten far too much to be the least bit drunk. 

Maybe she would leave Sunspear once her child was born.

“Are you ready?” She asked the princess when she had drained her cup.

“I suppose so,” Princess Loreza sighed.

“I’m ready too,” Eliott said to Lady Emlyn’s back when she bustled off. 

That made his wife giggle. “Oh, I doubt it,” she said.

The chatelain bustled back to her side a moment before the king approached them. Eliott and the princess both stood up to acknowledge him. “Ser Eliott,” His Grace said, patting him on the shoulder again, “what a fortunate man you are.”

Eliott wasn’t entirely sure what to say. “Thank you, Your Grace.” But he had already turned to Princess Loreza. “Will you honour me, cousin?” she asked with his hand extended. She took the king’s hand and they went off. Eliott was only alone for a few moments before Princess Trystana descended on him with an expectant look. He lead her to the line of dancers.

“You’re doing so well, ser,” his new aunt told him as the music began. 

Eliott felt like a boy being praised for learning to sit on his pony. “You’re very kind, my princess.”

“I’ve rarely seen my niece so happy,” she continued, “and you looked so handsome together.”

He had no notion what she expected him to say to this. “Yes,” he finally said. “She seems to be enjoying herself.” Princess Trystana smiled at him with a small, tight-lipped smile, and didn’t bother to speak to him again for the rest of the dance. 

As soon as they returned returned to their bench Lady Emlyn led over a tall man with a golden beard about Eliott’s own age. On his arm was a handsome lady whom he supposed to be his mother.  Princess Loreza stood and offered him her hand. “Ser Jason,” she said in her most polite voice, “it’s delightful to see you again.”

Eliott hadn’t even recognized Jason Lannister. He hadn’t seen him since they were both squires. That meant the lady wasn’t his mother at all, but the wife his brother made him marry to keep him out of trouble.

Ser Jason kissed the princess’s hand and made some courteous noises of congratulations. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to greet you properly when you arrived,” Princess Loreza continued. 

“Think nothing of it, my lady,” Ser Jason said cheerfully.

“Yes,” Lady Marla Prestor said from beside him, “we were made most welcome.” She turned to address Eliott. “And I suppose we should congratulate you as well, ser. I hope you’ll be very happy, and have many sons.” 

He smiled as graciously as he could and took her offered hand. “Thank you,” he said. “I hope we will.” Without another word, he offered her his arm and lead her to the next dance. As soon as they were out of earshot of their respective spouses, Lady Marla’s smile changed from courtly to saucy.

“You blushed, ser,” she leaned in to tell him so he could hear over the music, “when I wished you many sons.” She was wearing a strong perfume that smelled like sugar burning. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

“You could never do so, my lady,” he said. “Your wish was very kind.” If he had blushed it wasn’t because of her, but for fear that the princess would laugh at the idea again. “After all,” he continued, as much to himself as to Lady Marla, “that is the point of all this, isn’t it?”

Lady Marla’s smile grew even saucier. She was wearing a gown that pushed her breasts up and caused them to spill over the bodice of her gown. The sight repelled him. “Is it son-making in general you don’t like, or just her?” She inclined her head towards to top of the hall, where her husband was dancing with Princess Loreza.

Eliott felt his blush this time, but it was anger rather than embarrassment that prompted it. If the steps of the dance hadn’t parted them, he would have said something just as insulting back to her, but by the time he had circled back he was calm enough to decide that so inappropriate a question could safely be ignored. He saw her moving her lips to speak again, but he refused to hear. When the dance was over, he handed her back to Ser Jason without looking at either of them. 

He frowned at the lemon water in his cup.

“There’s Lady Fowler,” Lady Emlyn said after a minute. 

Eliott saw her standing near a pillar talking to Lord Allyrion. “Yes,” he agreed.

Princess Loreza rolled her eyes. “She means go dance with her,” she said in a laughing tone. 

He rose and went to the lady, already resigned to the kind of evening it would be. Then it was time for Lady Lenelle, and Lady Qorgylle, and Leona Tarly. He tired to ask Lady Malora Hightower, but she claimed to be much too old for dancing and patted him on the cheek with a wrinkled hand. His only comfort was that Lady Emlyn was just as merciless a task master to his wife. In the same time, she danced with both Prince Duncan and Prince Daeron, as well as Lord Yronwood and Aurane Velaryon. She had a long conversation with Lord Tyrell, while Eliott danced with Daenerys Gargalen, before being led onto the floor by his son Ser Luthor.

After that, they were allowed to rest for a while. Ormond Yronwood approached and addressed the princess. “You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he said good-naturedly. 

“Oh, we are,” she replied back in the same tone. “Who knew there were so many brilliant conversationalists in Westeros.”

Ser Ormond laughed. Eliott considered him for a moment. He was tall and clearly strong, but the way the princess spoke to him made Eliott think of the way he spoke to his sister when she asked him how his hunt had gone. He seemed harmless enough.

“In that case,” Ser Ormond said, “I won’t even try to live up to those high expectations by asking you myself.”

“Oh, I wouldn't dare anyway,” Princess Loreza said. “I would never be given permission.” For a moment, Eliott thought that it was his permission she sought, and was about to say that he would happily give his leave, but he realized just in time that she must mean Lady Emlyn.

”I’m not offended,” Ser Ormond lightly, with a grin on his face, in case she might think he was serious. 

“Hmm,” the princess said. She looked over across the hall to where her chatelaine was making her way through a crowd towards a group of Hightowers.

“Quickly now,” she said, springing up from the bench and grabbing Ser Ormond’s hand. 

Lady Emyln was not too pleased when she arrived back. “Where did she go?” she asked Eliott.

He took great pleasure in shrugging innocently at her. “She went to dance.”

The lady made a frustrated sound and scanned the hall. “Ormond Yronwood,” she mumbled, “I should have guessed.” She turned to Eliott, “I can trust you, ser, to go dance with Lysanne Manwoody, who is just now standing by herself.”

Eliott saw Lady Lysanne near the back of the hall, by herself, as Lady Emlyn had said. A little ways behind her, Alastor was in a group of young knights, and matching each cup for cup. He frowned. Owain and Marq were both with them, they should have found a way to prevent that from happening.

“No,” Eliott said, ignoring the look of indignation on Lady Emlyn’s face, “I need to speak to my brother.” He took a fresh cup of lemon water and made his way around the perimeter of the dance. His brother and both his cousins were making toasts—mostly to each other as far as Eliott could tell—with Ser Luthor Tyrell and a couple of his friends. Lymen Osgrey was there as well, already red in the face. 

“The man of the evening!” Lymen said, raising his cup as soon as he saw Eliott. 

“To Ser Eliott!” Ser Martyn Mullendore exclaimed. They all repeated the toast and drank. Eliott, as discreetly as he could under the others’ eyes, switched his cup with his brother. Alastor made a face when he realized what he had done, but he made no complaint. 

“Marq,” Eliott said, “will you do me a kindness?” He tried to express with his eyes how disappointed he was with him for failing to watch over Lord Adwin’s son and heir, but Marq was just as much in his cups. 

“For you, El, tonight,” he proclaimed, “I will do anything.”

“Will you go ask Lysanne Manwoody to dance?”

Marq voiced his disappointment that his task didn’t involve more heroics, but went off to complete it all the same. 

“Do you have a quest for me as well, Ser Eliott?” Ser Luthor asked. “Perhaps I can dance with your princess for you.”

“You already have,” Eliott reminded him.

Ser Arewen Casswell laughed into his cup. “I don’t think that’s the kind of dancing he had in mind.”

Eliott felt Owain’s hand on his arm, as if his cousin was afraid he would so something, but Eliott was in no danger of losing his temper. He had known Luthor Tyrell and his like too long to take anything they said seriously. “You’re drunk, ser.”

Ser Arewen didn’t deny it. “I would get used to it, if I were you,” he laughed to himself in anticipation of his own joke—“she has many years of dancing ahead, I dare say.”

Owain tightened the grip on his arm, but Eliott said nothing.

“And if you scowl like that all the time,” Ser Martyn Mullendore added, “you won’t get any at all yourself.”

“Please remember ser,” Eliott praised himself for the steadiness of his tone, “you are speaking of my wife.”

“So he is,” Ser Luthor agree. He raised his cup, “to Ser Eliott’s wife, the blushing bride.” His friends joined him, but Owain, Lyman, and his brother took the opportunity to separate from them by some distance. 

“I’ll knock him off his horse tomorrow,” Alastor offered affectionately.

“Thank you,” Eliott chucked, “but I don’t see how you can if you keep drinking with him.”

“I’ve barely drank anything,” he said, slurring his words slightly, those the gods knew it could have been worse. “And I ate so much.”

“Why don’t you stop drinking altogether and start dancing instead,” Eliott suggested. He gestured over to a group of ladies sitting together against a wall. They giggled when they say him look at them. 

“Yes,” Alastor said, “I think I will.” He put the undrunk goblet of lemon water back into Eliott’s hand, straightened himself up before striding off towards them.

“I’ll look after him,” Owain offered.

Eliott was left standing with Lyman, he sipped at the wine he’s taken from Alastor and looked around him. His father was dancing with Princess Trystana and Ser Sleman Florent was already asleep on a bench.

“Ser Martyn might have a point, you know,” Lyman said to him.

“What!” Eliott glared at him, but his friend was unperturbed. 

“Even Owain said so the other day,” he continued, “you may as well make the best of the situation.”

“What in seven hells does that mean, “make the best of it”?”

“Well—enjoy yourself, as they say,” he said with a knowing grin. “Who know what they get up to here.” He lowered his voice, “maybe she can show you a few things.”

Eliott cleared his throat uncomfortably. If she ever did, Lyman would be the last man in the world to know about it. “‘Here’ is my home now,” he reminded him. “And yours too.” But his friend brought a thought to his mind that he’s been avoiding for two days at least. What exactly did she expect from him? No woman had ever complained about his performance in the bedchamber, but he was honest enough with himself to know that the kind of women he had taken to bed thus far in his life never would have complained about anything to do with Lord Rowan’s son. He drank the rest of the wine. “I need to get back,” he gave Lyman the empty goblet and left him standing alone.

When he returned to their bench, Ser Maron Wyl was there standing next to Princess Loreza and looking in black humour. He nodded sardonically to Eliott as he sat down. “You came back, ser,” he said in mock surprise. “You cost me ten gold dragons this morning.”

“Did I?” Eliott asked. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yes,” Ser Maron said, looking at his cousin, “I bet that you wouldn’t show up at all.” Eliott knew better than to respond. He didn’t imagine the princess would tolerate being spoken to that way. But she barely reddened. Speaking to Ser Maron seemed to have sobered her up completely.

“That’s what husbands do,” she said staring forward, “they’re always where they’re needed. You should try it yourself, perhaps.”

Ser Maron clenched and unclenched one fist before replying. “I intend to,” he said, “you know that.”

“No Maron, I don’t know that,” she said. “Finding a woman willing to marry you who is also not a child might prove impossible.”

He clenched and unclenched again. “Is this why I was summoned here,” he asked, “so you can tell me all my faults?”

“I believe you were summoned here to ask me to dance,” Princess Loreza replied. 

“And I believe,” he said in imitation of her tone, “that I’d rather gouge both my eyes out with a spoon.”

“You have my leave to do so,” she told him. He bowed stiffly and retreated.

“Are you all right, my princess?” Eliott asked her. He didn’t like the stoney impression she was wearing. 

“Of course I am,” she said. She shook her head slightly before she turned to face him. “I know better than to let Maron upset me.”

“Is he always...” Eliott trailed off when she waved Lady Emlyn to her said and whispered something in her ear. The lady sighed and looked around the room quickly. 

“Ser Eliott,” she said, “Arryka Tarbeck looks like she needs a partner.”

He scowled at her for so overtly getting him out of the way, but he was already too used to it to argue, so he went and danced with Lady Arryka, who had half a hundred pimples on her face and not a single thought in her head.

This time, he returned to find Princess Trystana in his seat. She and his wife had their heads bent together. “...Lord Wyl had always taken his part when he’s refused anyone before,” the elder princess was saying. “And his mother induges him out of spite.”

“I don’t see why we should give either of them a choice,” Princess Loreza said. “He should never have been allowed to wait so long. I know Lord Wyl has every intention of living forever, but I doubt he’s actually capable.”

“I certainly agree that Maron needs someone to keep him out of trouble,” her aunt said, “maybe even make him do something useful.”

Princess Loreza rolled her eyes. “I’m not asking for a miracle, just someone we can depend on.” She sighed, “and someone Lady Rebanna can be convinced is in her best interest too, if at all possible.”

“No one too close, you mean,” Princess Trystana said, nodding seriously. “I will give it thought. There must be someone… what about—no she’ll never do...”

“Aunt,” the princess interrupted her musings.

“Yes, dear, what is it?” Princess Trystana asked, shaking herself out of a reverie just as Eliott had seen her niece do.

“Ser Eliott wants his seat back.”

“Oh,” she said, springing up from the bench. “Yes, I dare say he does.” She smiled at Eliott and tapped him on the shoulder affectionately with her folded fan. “Though people are starting to wonder how long you both plan on sitting here.”

Eliott felt his face go hot. The princess’s smile grew more indulgent and she patted him with her fan again.

“Not much longer, I dare say,” Eliott’s wife told her, “now that I’ve spoken to you.”

The elder princess sighed and shook her head knowingly at Eliott as though to say, that’s just like her, to think of such things as House Wyl having an heir in twenty years time at her own wedding feast. Then she left them to themselves. 

“You think marrying him off with solve the problem, my princess?” Eliott asked her as he sat down. He found the whole affair interesting, in spite of himself. It had been the work of a thousand years for the princes of Dorne to manage the famously bellicose and independent family that ruled the entrance into the Boneway.  

She tilted her head and considered him for a moment, moving her eyes up and down his body before answering. “It might,” she said finally, “if he marries the right woman. He’d make a poor septon, in any case.”

“And he’s an only son,” Eliott pointed out.

She nodded. “Indeed. No one can deny the necessity of his marrying someone. Not even him.”

“But it doesn’t concern you?” he asked her, “that he might resent not being allowed to choose for himself.”

The princess scoff. “He’ll have some new fancy next week, I promise you. And he’ll feel whatever that will be just as strongly. It’s not his resentment I’m worried about.”

Eliott supposed she meant Lady Daenerys, the young cousin whose declaration of love had, or so Eliott was told, started all that trouble at Batara. “Why should you worry about her?” he asked. She was only a little girl, after all, around the same age as his sister Aelora. And she fell in love with every dashing knight who came into her view. 

“Because she has actual feelings,” the princess said. She was fiddling with the pendant around her neck in what Eliott was beginning to recognize as a nervous habit. It drew his eyes, for the first time in an hour, to the way her gown exposed her breasts. “But she also has a thousand times more sense than he ever did, so who knows how it will go...”

“Her mother doesn’t know what happened, does she?” Eliott asked. He had trouble imagining Princess Trystana as viewing her daughter’s choice favourably.

“Gods be good,” Princess Loreza exclaimed. “You would know it if she did, and I can only hope no one is mad enough to tell her.”

“I certainly won’t,” he promised. 

She laughed. The movement of her chest made her breast shake. She seemed to notice where he was looking and dropped the ruby pendant so it rested once again in that hollow. He curled his fingers around the edge of the bench, to keep them from reaching out to touch it.

“Do you want to go, then?” Princess Loreza asked him. Perhaps he was imagining it, but he thought her breath was quicker.

“Yes,” was all he managed to say.

She made a motion with her hand and Lady Emlyn was at her side again, listening as the princess spoke a few words in her ear. She nodded and hurried towards the door behind the dias, collecting some of the princess’s ladies on the way. 

“Ten minutes,” his wife said. She reached out her hand again and took a goblet. Eliott did the same, gulping down the sour water to keep himself from overheating and studiously avoiding looking at her. And ignoring the impatient stirring of his cock. He was vaguely aware that those gathered in the hall were beginning to anticipate what would soon happen, there were more eyes on them and ladies whispered to each other behind their hands. The prince and Eliott’s parents were returning to their seats on the dias. 

It was several long minutes before Genna Sand appeared through the small door. When the princess saw her, she nodded and stood to one side, apparently waiting for them.

“Alright,” Princess Loreza said to him. 

Eliott swallowed hard, his mouth was suddenly dry again. A boy whose name he didn’t know was standing at the other end of the hall, staring openly at them. Eliott stood and offered his arm to his wife. When she rose to take it, her touch on his arm felt like a spark from a flint stone. And the kindling of his desire caught flame , as the poet said.

The crowd parted for them. Most were trying, so it seemed, to maintain a fiction that nothing in particular was happening, even though everyone was turning to watch them slyly, making every dance and supposed conversation nothing but a cover for their curiosity. 

By the time they were climbing the steps of the dias, even the polite facade of indifference was growing rather thin. The music for the dance didn’t stop, but the musicians were growing less expert with every note. Eliott could see them behind the rails of the gallery, craning their heads to watch. From the back came the scattered sound of clapping and of cups being banged against the table. When Eliott turned to frown at it, two or three of the men began to hoot as they had when he first entered the hall. He couldn’t see them, but he could guess well enough who they were.

The princess jerked gently on his arm. “Ignore them, please,” she told him. 

Eliott didn’t see how he could do otherwise. His wife let go of his arm and kissed her mother, once on each cheek and wished her a good night. Meanwhile, his father folded Eliott into a strong embrace. When they parted, Lord Rowan said nothing but smiled and gripped his son’s shoulder.   

“Good night, mother,” Eliott told Lady Sarra, taking her hand and kissing her on the brow. “Sleep well.”

She gripped his hand tightly. “You’ll remember what we spoke about, won’t you?” she asked him. Eliott could feel his colour rising and his cock shrinking. His mother’s fears had been uncomfortable before, now they felt humiliating. But it would surely break her heart to hear that her compassion was so misplaced.

“I’ll remember,” he promised her.

She nodded. “May the Maid watch over you.”

Genna Sand held the door open for them and they entered a corridor lit only by a single lamp in a wall sconce. The air was so cool compared to the crowded hall that Eliott felt like he was back in the mountains around Skyreach, where they had swum in streams fed by melting snows. He hadn’t noticed how damp with sweat his shirt had become. It was clinging to his back.

The princess sighed and leaned against the stone wall. 

“There shouldn't be too many people along the walk, princess” Genna Sand said, “but there are torch bearers in any case.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m quite ready to be alone.”

Alone with him, Eliott could only hope.

The air was even sweeter outside. There was a breeze that was coming off the Summer Sea that wafted the smell of the night blooming flowers in the garden. Eliott could get used to nights in Sunspear.

He felt a hand in his, and though it could hardly be anyone else’s it still surprised him to look over and see that it was Princess Loreza. She smiled at him with a look that brought his cock entirely back to life.

“You haven’t had too much to drink, have you?” she asked with mock concern.

“No,” he grinned. “Certainly not.”

“Then what are you waiting for, ser?” She trotted out a few steps ahead of him, pulling him along by the hand. Four torch bearers came up to form around them, two in front and two behind, matching their pace to form a wall of light to protect Eliott and his wife from the view of the few guests who were walking in the gardens. They could hear the noise from the courtyard where the lesser lords and knights were being feasted in silk tents, but they certainly couldn’t be seen by them through the garden wall. 

All the lamps inside the Tower of the Sun were lit, but the place itself was deserted. The torch bearers left them at the door and not even the usual guards in copper armour stood sentry. As they climbed the stairs, the princess was a few steps ahead of him. She turned around and laughed, grabbing the front of his doublet to urge him along. At a landing, she stopped to catch her breath. Emboldened by the shadowy darkness and the sound of her panting breath he drew his arms around her waist and pulled her close, taking in the smell of hair. It smelled like the incense in the sept that morning, deep and mysterious like an unexplored land.

His wife leaned back into him to rest her head on his shoulder. His cock pressed against her lower back. 

“This tower is too tall,” she said breathlessly.

“I agree.”

She turned in his arms to face him, his lips brushed over her cheek. “Come on, then,” she said, flitting out of his arms and back up the steps.

They reach a door that opened to a corridor lined on both sides with the fresco of a great battle, but Eliott didn’t see it. He only saw the swinging skirts of Princess Loreza’s gown as she all but ran to the other end. There were two guards, the only ones alive in the palace perhaps, on either side of a set of double doors. They were already open. She stood in the doorway and held out her hand for Eliott to take. The guards stood like statues. For a moment he wondered how many men they had seen her bring through these doors, but he banished the thought from his mind and followed her inside. The statue-guards sprung to life to close them behind him. 

The anteroom of the apartment was round with several more doors leading away from it. Only one was open. It lead to a spacious chamber with a bed raised on a platform of carved wood, surmounted by a canopy of gauzy, translucent silk. Princess Loreza went straight to the window and opened the lattice shutter. Eliott went to stand beside her.

The view took in the whole of the shadow city. They could see the top of the feast tents within the palace walls, and beyond, the lights of the city as the townspeople celebrated into the night, drinking the prince’s wine and sweet cakes. They were high enough up that not a sound reached them.

“It’s lovely,” he whispered. This would be the view from his bedchamber now. For the rest of his life, if the gods were good.

“I’m glad it pleases you.”

Eliott raised his hand to his wife’s face and ran his fingers along her cheek and over her lips. She closed her eyes and sighed with contentment as he kept moving down along her neck, her chest, and towards that valley between her breasts. 

The princess suddenly opened her eyes and moved back. “Wait!” she gasped.

“What.” Elliot said, feeling a panic rise in his throat.

“I need to take off my jewels.” She crossed to room towards a door on the far side of the bed. “She’ll be barging in here soon if I don’t.” She stopped with her door on the handle. “Your dressing room is on the other side.” And then she was gone.

Eliott cleared his throat and looked around him. There was indeed a door at the closer side of the bed and in the silence he thought he could hear activity behind it. When he opened it he found both Hugh and Samuel Reer beyond, apparently waiting for him, among several unpacked trunks that held every garment, book, and assorted object Eliott owned. 

“Good evening, Ser Eliott,” Reer said with a stiff bow. Eliott said nothing as Hugh helped him off with his boots, belt, and doublet, but waved him off his breeches and his linen shirt. He watched as his seneschal placed his golden chain carefully in a box lined with velvet that he locked with a key. “Might I suggest you relieve yourself, my lord,” he said with no expression at all on his face, gesturing towards a privy hidden behind an embroidered curtain.

It was hard to piss with his cock as hard as it was, but Eliott was more handicapped by the thought of the two men on the other side of the curtain, and wondering if they would be staying in the room all night, listening at the door. 

But that was ridiculous. Listening at the door was exactly what he and Owain had done when his sister Bessa wed. After the bedding, they had stayed half the night singing songs and drinking. To encourage them, everyone had said at the time, though now Eliott couldn’t imagine anything less encouraging. Perhaps he was going native already. 

The princess wasn’t in the bed chamber when he returned to it, so Eliott went back to the window to look down at the city and all the people who were at that moment drinking to the success of his marriage. A success that depended on him pleasing her tonight, but surely on a good deal more as well. She needed a husband, not a lover; she had said as much. There was a flagon of wine on a table nearby. He poured himself a cup and drank it, waiting.

A door clicked and she was there, jewelless, with her hair down entirely, flowing over her shoulders, but she still wore the gold and orange gown. Without its girdle it looked formless, like it was about to fall off.. She looked down at the ground and bite her lip. Eliott saw something in her face that might, perhaps, be nerves, that perhaps she was counting on this going well as much as him. He smiled when she came to him and took the cup from his hand. She emptied it and put it aside on a table. 

“Are you ready now?” he asked her jokingly, “there’s nothing else you need to take off?”

“As a matter of fact...” she said. She brought her hand to the right shoulder of her gown and pushed it off. 

Eliott ran his fingers through her hair, leaning in to place a kiss on the skin where the silk had been. He felt her tremble under his lips. He brought his own hand to her other shoulder and did the same as she had done, causing the gown to fall to the floor at her feet. 

Chapter Text

After Eliott and his bride left the feast hall the celebration began in earnest. At a normal wedding, the festivities would be dying down, at least for an hour or so, while all the young people turned their merriment into seeing the new-made couple to bed. At Corret’s own wedding, one of Taria’s many relations had burst into the bedchamber to tear the bloody sheet from the bed and carry it through the corridors of Riverrun. He could still hear the laughter and noise of it, and how his wife clung to him as he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Here, there would be no bloody sheet and the few young men who had tried to follow the newlyweds had been firmly blocked by spearmen at the lord’s door. Put there, it seemed, just for that eventuality. All the hot blood that naturally came with a wedding feast, therefore, was spent on drinking and dancing as boisterously as possible.

Corret had given up on dancing almost at once. He led Taria to the floor for the first dance only because it was expected, but then he sat down with Dylan Uller and Lord Dayne, two other old men, and talked about the dancing instead. It had been a wise choice. With every new song, more decorum was abandoned. It degenerated into leaping, running, and throwing into the air. Marq, Owain, and Alastor had not sat down once.

“I told you your sons would be popular,” Lord Dylan told him. Corret couldn’t recall him saying anything of the kind. “Where did they learn to dance so well?”

“Good jousters often dance well, I have found,” Corret said, trying not to sound boastful. But the tournament would begin on the morrow. Surely some boasting was acceptable. 

His friend laughed. “Would you care to put some gold behind your words?” Lord Dylan asked. “Though perhaps you think it frivolous.”

“You give me too much credit, my lord,” Corret smiled. “I would gladly wager on both my sons.” Doubtless they would do well, and Alastor too, if he could keep his head on straight for a few days. Training for the tilt was taken seriously at Goldengrove, and always had been. Even Adwin had been a respectable jouster, though he never took a moment’s pleasure in it.

Lord Adwin’s heir was dancing with a very pretty girl Corret didn’t think he had been introduced to. She was one of the king’s party, he was certain. Alastor smiled, moved gracefully, and made the girl laugh more than once. He was clever as men came, and could be charming when he had a mind to be, especially to women. Corret never understood where his melancholy had come from, or why he chose to drown it in wine. Perhaps he spent too much time brooding in his youth, over sad tales he read in books. Eliott didn’t share his weakness, though he read at least as many books. Corret could only hope that Alastor loved his brother well enough to control himself. For tonight at least. 

Owain was entirely engrossed in dancing with a dornish girl. Corret couldn’t recall if he had danced with anyone else all evening. Lord Dayne leaned over in his seat to speak to Corret more privily. 

“I would be careful of that one, in your place,” he said, raising his chin to indicate the girl. She was dressed in a white and blue gown cut in the local fashion. A fashion that revealed more than any man should see, in Corret opinion, though it was not nearly so bad as what the bride has come in wearing. Poor Eliott. Corret had seen the shame on his face as they entered together. 

“Owain can look after himself.” Corret tried to laugh it off. His younger son had always been a practical man, and not one to have his head turned by an immodest display. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lord Dayne continued. “She’s very ambitious.”

Corret frowned. The girl squealed as Owain spun her around according to the steps of the dance. It was a wonder what an ambitious dornish lady would want with Owain, younger son of a younger son that he was. Though now… he was Eliott’s cousin, and Eliott was someone worth getting close to. He turned to Lord Uller. “Do you know that girl, dancing with my son?”

“Alyse Ladybright,” he told Corret at once. “Her uncle is a petty knight on the Broken Arm.”

“She’s one of the princess’s ladies,” Corret stated.

“No,” his friend said. “Though it would no doubt please them both. She’s not nearly highborn enough for that.”

Lord Dayne gave a little laugh. “But don’t pity her, she’s had more than enough profit from the friendship. Every barrel of lemons that leaves the port at Planky Town makes her a few coppers richer.”

“Yes,” Lord Dylan said, unknowingly echoing Lord Dayne, “she is very ambitious.”

“I have no intention of pitying her,” Corret reassured them. “Where would the princess even get such a friend.” Though he imagined she was comfortable in a good many low places. 

“The Water Gardens, naturally,” Lord Dylan said.

Ah, the Water Gardens, he should have guessed. The place where Princess Daenerys Targaryen had decreed the tradition of raising the children of the prince alongside the children of the servants and small folk. To what purpose, Corret couldn’t determine. It didn’t seem to make the Martells more humble, or any less prone to extravagance.

A bird from the wedding pie landed on the back of Lord Dayne’s chair. It was beautiful, green and gold, with tail feathers as long as its body. From the Summer Isles. He shooed it away with a flick of his hands. 

On his other side, his paramour clicked his tongue like a disapproving old woman. “Why would you want to get rid of something so lovely?” Ser Qoren Sand asked him. “And perfectly harmless.”

“It’s harmless until it shits on you,” the lord mumbled. He took his lover’s hand in his own and smiled to himself at the sight of their fingers intertwined. Corret shifted in his seat. Like the way the women dressed, he had become accustomed to Lord Dayne’s peculiarity. He had even begun to respect him. Corret only wished that he didn’t insist on being so open in public about it. When they had first met at Bloodwell, he had assumed the ostentatious shows of affection were another dornish ploy to make their guests uncomfortable. That seemed unlikely now. 

Corret cleared his throat. “Your daughter looks very beautiful, my lord.” Young Lady Alleza was dancing with Ser Jeremy Norridge and by all appearances knew every step of the energetic dance.

Lord Dayne laughed. “Yes, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more pleased than she is today, not even the bride.”

“That may be,” Ser Qoren interrupted, “but I shall miss her.”

“Is Lady Alleza going somewhere?” Corret asked Lord Dayne.

“Not at all,” he said cheerfully, “she is staying here. As a companion to Princess Loreza. It was only just decided yesterday.”

“I congratulate you both,” Corret told him. Though, if the girl were his daughter… it was difficult to say whether she was better off at Starfall, with her father and his paramour, or at court in Sunspear, where Princess Loreza would teach her to be a woman. But he doubted the dornishman would see it like that. His daughter was his heir no less than the princess was heir to Prince Rhodryn. Modesty and a humble heart would be seen as a weakness in a Lady Dayne, no doubt. Even so, Corret didn’t understand how a father could be so lost to natural feeling that he didn’t break his heart to see it.

The girl herself came to stand by them, breathless and pink-cheeked. Corret had not been speaking empty courtesy when he called her a beauty. She glowed with the first bloom of youth, her deep purple eyes shone with happiness. He took the opportunity to congratulate her for her success. 

“Thank you, ser!” she beamed, then immediately turned away to her father.  “Oh, I want to keep dancing!”

“What is stopping you?” Lord Dayne asked her. “Have you run out of partners already?”

Corret blushed for him.

“I haven’t dance with you yet, ser,” the girl said. It took a moment for Corret to realise she was speaking to him. 

“I don’t think you would enjoy dancing with an old man like me, my lady,” he told her. “I’m sure my dancing days were over before you were even born.”

Lady Alleza raised one eyebrow and looked mischievous. “I saw you dancing with your lady wife.”

“Yes, well…” Corret had to turn his eyes away from her. She was lively and witty. In these last two years he couldn’t see a lively and witty girl without being reminded of his daughter, and where her wit had taken her. “Even my lady wife did not beg the honour again.”

Perhaps she would have pressed him, Corret would wager that she intended it, but she gave off when everyone stood. Prince Rhodryn was approaching them. Their host looked to be in high spirits, as cheerful and personable as ever. And no wonder. His daughter was married, and it couldn’t be undone. The prince acknowledged them all with a nod of his head then lowered his tall frame down into an empty chair on the other side of Lord Uller.

“When my daughter and her husband return from their wedding tour,” he said to him without preamble, “I intend to put him in your charge.”

“I have no objection, my prince,” Lord Dylan said immediately. “Ser Eliott seems like he can make himself useful, and with these damnable rouges on the Stepstones I shall take any useful help that’s offered.”

Corret fought the urge to mutter something. Uller might think that Eliott was fortunate to have whatever position he was willing to give, but he would be a fool to waste his talents. He had all his father’s learning without his passivity and indecision. Corret intended to tell him so, whenever the prince was gone.

Some of Corret’s thoughts must have shown on his face. Prince Rhodryn smiled at him in what might have been understanding. Corret found it difficult to tell when he was sympathetic and when he was amused. “Yes, I have no doubt he will be very useful. Princess Loreza certainly thinks so.”

How gracious of her, Corret thought.  

“In that case,” Lord Uller said, “I’m surprised the princess didn’t choose to have him in the Spear Tower.”

“She thinks he’s more suited to your line of affairs,” the prince said, “and I quite agree with her.”

Corret only had a vague notion of what duties Prince Rhodryn had given his daughter in the governance of Dorne, except that it had something to do with counting coppers. Eliott would hate that. Lord Uller, on the other hand, saw to all the coastal defences around the Broken Arm, and the few ships the dornish had to protect the many merchanters from the danger of the Narrow Sea. Eliott could make a name for himself there among the lords of Dorne. And he would not have to endure anyone sniggering that he was content to follow his wife.

Corret rose from the bench and excused himself with some vague words about wishing to find Taria. Prince Rhodryn was happy enough to release him. His luck did not hold, however, because as soon as he found her he also found another Martell.

“Ser Corret,” Princess Trystana simpered at him with her most insincere smile on her face, “you are to be congratulated today, I’m sure, as much as anyone.”

Corret returned her smile with all the courtly courtesy he was capable of. “I thank you, my princess,” he told her, “though I’m no sure what I’ve done to deserve it.”

She turned to Taria with pretended fondness. “Your husband is so humble,” she said, “but I know all about his efforts last year when my brother went to Goldengrove.” The malice in her eye was unmistakable. “All of this could not have happened without him.”

Corret clenched and unclenched his fist to keep his feelings from showing on his face. If he had known then what he did now, he would have told Prince Arion to turn around and go back to Dorne. Eliott would never have forgiven him, but it would have been worth it. “That is an exaggeration,” he told the princess.

“Perhaps it is,” she conceded. “I can’t imagine Ser Eliott needed much convincing. He seems like a wise man.”

Corret let even his false smile fall. It was clear that she knew what had happened between the bride and the bridegroom the day before. Most likely, she knew far better than he did. But she had further got it into her head that it was somehow Corret’s fault. It should not have surprised him that a woman like her, who treated her own husband with contempt and indifference for all to see, would seek to place the blame anywhere other than where it belonged. As though Eliott had no right to his pride. “It’s clear enough that he is a good match for her,” he finally said. 

Princess Trystana seemed to find that amusing. “As you say, ser.”

Corret didn’t answer. It was not truly Princess Trystana who made him angry. It was expected that she would take her niece’s part. But the absurdity of the entire situation was breathtaking. What madness possessed them all— man and woman alike— to go off into the desert like that in the first place? Such a thing would never happen in the Reach, that was certain. Marq and Owain must have known how wrong it was. That was why they had chosen to go without telling him beforehand.

Even so, Corret could not regret that it had happened. For all that he had promised his brother, his conscience would never have allowed Eliott to take his vows in the sept without knowing his wife’s true nature. 

Taria, who, bless her soul, always wanted to make peace, spoke up. “In the same spirit,” she told the princess, “you must also be congratulated. Much of this,” she indicated the richly appointed hall around them, “is your work.”

She smiled tightly. “An exaggeration.”

“You’re too modest, I’m sure,” Corret said curtly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I promised by lady wife another dance.” He held his arm out to Taria and lead her away towards the group of dancers. One dance was ending, but the lines were already forming for the next one.

“I hope you didn’t offend the princess,” Taria said.

“How was I to do that?” he asked. “She is above offence, surely.”

If Taria noticed his tone, she ignored it. “You should have asked her to dance; it may be taken as a slight.”

“I don’t care if it is.” Corret had never put on a false face with his wife and he wasn’t going to start now.

As soon as the music began, both he and Taria knew it was a mistake to stand up. It was another one of those dances suited only to the young who’d had too much to drink. They fled and stood at the sideline.

“I wonder,” Taria said, “what the princess could have done to make you forget your courtesies.”

Corret didn’t answer. “Where’s Aelora?” he asked. He hoped to every god there were that she was not being exposed to this.

“In bed,” Taria answered. “She left soon after Elliot did. So did Sarra.”

“That is good.”

“But you haven’t answered me,” she persisted. “I imagine it had something to do with yesterday. When something happened that no one wants to tell me about.”

“I imagine you’re right,” Corret allowed. He wasn’t pleased she knew anything about it at all. Their sons would not have breathed a word, so he could only assume the dornishwomen had been gossiping. “Don’t ask me anything else about it.”

His wife gave him a look that he knew meant she did not intend to obey. But thankfully, at that moment Corret heard cheers and shouts from the dancers. Against his will, they found themselves in a circle that was forming around Prince Lewyn and his partner, one of Princess Trystana’s daughters, if he recalled correctly. The pair had totally abandoned the steps of the dance and moved instead with reckless energy, capering about in a manner they both seemed to know, though it looked spontaneous to Corret. Like peasants at a harvest dance.

Behind him he heard the deep laugh of Prince Rhodryn. He turned his head to find the prince, and the king standing beside him. They were both laughing and clapping their hands along with the rest. Princess Trystana, also at her brother’s side, looked as pleased as a cat with a fat bird in its mouth. 

“He and Dany have gotten along so well lately,” she raised her voice to say. “I’ve noticed it.”

The prince paused his clapping to look at her. “I can’t say I have,” he told his sister. “In fact, I’m quite sure they’ve both had their minds in other places.”

“No doubt they can turn,” she said. “With some encouragement.”

He turned his eyes back to the dancers, dismissing her completely. “No, don’t waste your time there.” She scowled and walked away, giving the young prince and her daughter a glare for good measure.  

Corret reached for Taria’s hand. “Shall we sit down?” He had been right to think he was too old for all this. Standing about in the heat all day had worn him down, and now his back was beginning to feel sore. They reached a bench in front of a window and sat. They could still see the dancing through the gaps in the crowd. By then, everyone had stopped to watch, from the king down to the serving women. Prince Lewyn picked his cousin up at the waist and spun her in the air.

“I can only assume,” Taria said, as quietly as it was possible to speak and still be heard over all the noise, “that you were right, and that I advised you poorly.” Corret furrowed his brow and that was all the encouragement she need to continue. “No one will tell me exactly what happened, but from what I can gather… I can’t stop thinking about our walk in the garden that day, and how wrong of me it was to try and talk you out of your suspicions.”

“My love…” he began, squeezing her hand harder. 

She looked down at it, her hand in his own. “Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” Corret asked her. “Of every creature living, you are the least to blame in all of this. I must beg forgiveness, that I ever burdened you at all.”

“All your burdens are mine to bear,” she told him seriously. “Weren’t you listening in the sept this morning?”

Corret lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I do not deserve you, my lady.”

That made her smile, at least. “You cannot distract me with flattery. Tell me what happened.”

He sighed. “I don’t know much more than you do, I’m afraid.” Marq and Owain had told him as much as he had wished to know, he hadn’t felt the need to ask for many details. “I can only say that Eliott behaved rather foolishly, and his bride behaved as one would expect.” 

“It is true then,” Taria asked. “That she…”

“Yes, there’s not doubt about that,” Corret admitted. “And she’s not been discreet, either.” It was her shamelessness that really made Corret angry, he decided. Her sense that she was the one aggrieved. 

Taria’s gentle heart couldn’t imagine such wickedness. Even now, after it had been shattered by her own daughter. “Poor Eliott must have suffered,” she said, shaking her head. “And you as well. How long have you known?”

“A few days,” he told her. “Lord Uller confirmed everything. He thought it was a joke.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s Eliott who they all seem to be upset with, for making trouble about it.”

“She can do no wrong,” Corret told her. 

“But I never would have imagined Prince Rhodryn would be capable of such a cruel deception as this,” Taria continued. “Eliott would not have consented if he had known. Not for anything.”

Corret sighed. “I wouldn’t be so certain of that. He’s already reconciling himself to the idea, and he’s more ambitious than you would give him credit for.” He scoffed. “Besides, my brother knew from the very start, and it didn’t dampen his enthusiasm for the match.”

There was a final cheer and the music stopped with a florist of pipe and drum. Prince Lewyn and the young lady bowed to the general applause of the whole audience. The music started again at once, but all the pretence of order was gone, replaced with the chaos of young people in their cups.

Owain came to see his mother and father. He looked to be enjoying himself, but he had the good sense to not get drunk, Corret was happy to see. His son hardly ever drank to excess, and never the night before a joust. Corret had taught him that much at least, even if he had never taught him not to take a man to a brothel the day before his wedding.

“They certainly have interesting ways of doing things here,” Owain said to his mother in a tone of good humour. “I suppose I shall learn them all in time, me and Eliott both.”

“I’d managed to forget all day that we will be parted,” Taria said. “It was cruel of you to remind me.”

“Oh Mother,” Owain said, but he offered no other comfort. He met his father’s eye and gave him a look that meant he wanted to speak to him, and about something he was not willing to speak of in front of his mother. Corret sighed again, begging his wife’s pardon and walking with his son around the crowd of dancers to a quieter spot near the door to the feast hall.

“If there had been a bedding I wouldn’t need to be so anxious now,” Owain muttered.

“Don’t be,” Corret tried to reassure him. “Eliott knows what he’s about. They both do.”

His son gave him a disgusted look. “That’s what worries me,” he said. “I would not be surprised if she contrived some kind of nonsense. And he drank too much.”

“No,” Corret said with determination. “It will be well.” The new couple seemed eager enough to him, when they had left the hall. Though, the thought of Eliott having to drink himself into nerves gave him disquiet. If that continued, she might drive him into complete ruin, the gods prevent it. Corret no longer had the power to.

“You can still change your mind, you do know that?” he found himself telling Owain.

“Change my mind about what?”

“It would be simple enough to find some excuse for you to come back to Goldengrove with us,” Corret said. “Besides pleasing your mother.”

Owain’s earnest face was shocked. “I cannot leave him,” he said stoutly, “how can you suggest it? He needs someone here with some sense.”

“But what future can you have here?” Corret asked him. “Your lord uncle will be able to do something for you.  In a few years. I’m sure of it.”

Owain pulled his shoulders back to set himself at his full height. He was taller than Corret. “I will have whatever future Eliott has.”

“And you believe Eliott would wish you to be so self-sacrificing?”

“I believe he will be glad of some good advice that he can trust to be disinterested,” Owain said. “And he’s not like to get that from Lyman Osgrey or any of these dornishmen.”

“Like the advice you gave him yesterday?” Corret asked.

“Father, please. That is unjust,” Owain objected. “It was my advice that saw him to the sept at all. Marq would have him halfway back to the Prince’s Pass by now. Anything else was Prince Lewyn’s doing, I promise. You don’t think I was wrong, do you?”

“Right and wrong has nothing to do with it,” Corret said miserably. “It was already too late.”

“Yes, I agree,” Owain said. “And you surely don’t blame me for failing to anticipate that she would show up, do you?”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But such things are likely to happen again. Eliott must learn to be more… politic, or it will all end in disaster.” At least, an even greater disaster than it was already.

“All marriages end the same way here,” Owain pointed out. “The more they hate each other, the more the dornish will see him as one of their own.”

“I know you jape,” Corret said. “That cannot be what you wish for him.”

“I don’t,” Owain said, “but it seems like the best thing that can happen. You surely can’t wish that he will love a woman like that.”

That was true. It should be impossible for a man of Eliott’s intelligence and sense of honour to fall prey to such a thing, but he had his weaknesses too. He might enjoy her, and tell himself it was love. Unless she betrayed him again. Then there would be nothing for him. “Whatever she is, they are man and wife,” Corret told his son, though the reassurance was more for himself. “The gods command that a man should love his wife.”

“They also command that a woman should obey her husband,” Owain said sardonically.

So they did. “Pray she is with child quickly,” Corret told him. “That is the only hope I see.”

“Yes,” Owain agreed, “a son. He would have reason to stay, for a son.”

They stood in silence for a time. Then Corret noticed that his son was not as lost in dark thought as he was. Through the throng of dancers he saw Alyse Ladybright making eyes at him. The suggestion in them was as bare as her arms. Owain was smiling.

Corret frowned. “Be on your guard,” he told him. “Even Lord Dayne warned me about her.”

“Yes, I know,” Owain admitted. “But I’m only flesh and blood, and she’s so…”

So what? Corret wondered. So willing? No doubt she was. And too low, surely, for there to be any danger, even if she intended to use Owain to climb as high as she could. Women like that were common enough. “You better go to her then,” Corret told him.  

Owain gave him one last smile, then bounded across the hall to obey. Within half a minute he had taken her hand and joined the dancers. 

Taria was just where he had left her. She always would be. “He is staying,” she told him.

“For now,” he conceded. “Perhaps, in a year or two…”

“I doubt that.” She took his hand. 

Corret searched the hall, looking for Alastor, or Marq, but he couldn’t find either of them. They, at least, would soon be gone from this place. Corret, however, would carry the burden of his guilt back with him.

Chapter Text

The curtains hadn’t been drawn the night before. Perhaps that was why Loreza was awake as soon as the sun was above the horizon. She lay in bed as the sky slowly lightened and a bird chirped somewhere close by. Ser Eliott was asleep beside her. She was on her side, with her back to him, but even the feeling of his weight on the feather bed felt unfamiliar, and the sound of his breath, the soft scent of him. There was a dull throbbing in her head that was growing by the moment. Too much wine.

It would be hours before they were expected to break their fast with the king, and hours more before the joust would begin. Then she would have to pretend not to know what everyone was thinking about when they looked at her and her husband. She couldn’t say why that bothered her so much. She was used to people speculating about everything she did, and thought, and felt.  But this was different. It mattered now.

Loreza shifted herself in the bed to turn and look at the man she was sharing it with. He was lying on his back with an arm flung over his head. The sheets were bunched up around his middle, leaving the expanse of dark hair on his chest exposed. She remembered how it had felt beneath her fingers when she was on top of him. At first it had been almost shy, but soon they got over their self-consciousness and Loreza had managed to forget the weight of the moment. Then, it was just fucking. And he was not selfish or too gentle, or any of the other things that would have made her remember that it was her wedding night and he was her husband. Now, in the light of day…

With a sudden determination, the princess parted the gaze curtain and swung her feet down to the ground. Ser Eliott didn’t stir as she walked naked into her dressing room. She poured water from the basin into the bowl to splash on her face. The water was cool and fresh, so someone had changed the water that morning, even though there was no sound of activity to be heard in the tower. Most likely, everyone was walking on soft feet, expecting her to sleep longer, to want to stay in bed.

Loreza found a dressing robe slung over the back of the chair in front of the looking glass. She could see what a mess she looked in the polished silver, her eyes puffy from sleep and her hair in a complete tangle. And her head was getting worse. She frowned to try and remember anything foolish she had done the night before, after Maester Geuren’s potion had allowed her to believe she could face the wedding feast. Everything blended together in a blur of food and dancing. But, after all, she had gone to bed with the man she was supposed to, so whatever happened couldn’t be so bad. 

She tried to pull the brush through her hair, but soon gave up. She pulled it back as it was and tied it with a ribbon discarded on the table. 

From the altar in the corner of the room, the Father and Maiden were looking at her as though she had already disappointed them. The candle had burnt out but whichever servant had changed the water didn’t think to replace it. But Loreza didn’t feel like wandering the tower looking for a light, not when this was likely the only solitude she would get all day.

I’m sure you’ll forgive me, she told the Maiden as she knelt at the prie-dieu, you have so far. 

The Maiden made no reply, and Loreza found herself at a loss for anything else to say to Her. She should thank Her, for sending her the worthy consort she had prayed for every day since she was old enough to understand why she needed one. Now that he was here, she should be grateful for him, for how easy it had been, all things considered. Not every marriage could boast a consumption on the first night.   

Her mother had given her this image of the Maiden when she was twelve and leaving Sunspear to go to King’s Landing. She looked joyful and innocent, in the midst of dancing, but there was a sadness under Her smile. “The Maiden is free,” Lady Lenelle had told her, “She is a girl and there is nothing for Her but joy. But each of the Seven contain all of the Seven. She is the Mother and the Crone, too.”

Loreza knew what she must pray. That she would be quickly with child, and give Dorne the heir it needed so that her father’s and her grandfather’s work of peace could last another generation. But somehow, the words were thick and heavy in her mind, refusing to form on her lips.

“Please, Holy Lady,” she whispered at last, “let there be peace between us, at least. Let us understand one another even if…”

Loreza heard the soft click of the door opening and Lady Emely slipping quietly into the room.

“Oh,” she said, when she saw the princess kneeling there, “you’re awake.”

Loreza kissed the picture of the Maiden on the face and stood. “Of course I am,” she said, “why does that surprise you?”

Lady Emlyn smiled indulgently. In a way that made Loreza feel like she was seven years old again. “I do believe it is traditional to sleep longer, the morning after your wedding.”

“I don’t see why it should be,” Loreza said. 

Her chatelaine gave that look again. “How is your head?”

“Not good,” she admitted. 

Lady Emlyn gave a tut. “I had a word with that maester, you’ll be pleased to know.”

“Well, I hope you weren’t hard on him,” Loreza told her, “he only did as I asked.” Maester Geuren always did, and kept his own opinions to himself. If she asked him to make her Moon Tea now, he would do it and not betray her confidence.

Loreta felt her entire body seize up at the insanity of that thought. Lady Emlyn must have mistook her shame for pain. 

“I’ll get you something for your head,” she said sympathetically. “It doesn’t hurt to breathe, does it?”

“No,” Loreza said. There was a band of purple and green bruises, though, all around her middle under her breasts, where the girdle of her wedding gown had been laced too tightly. A foolish mistake to make, she hadn’t thought about how long she would be wearing it. At first it had been a comfort to know she couldn’t bend, even if she wished to. 

“Good,” Lady Emlyn said, “do you want to get dressed now?”

“Not yet, perhaps I’ll read, until everyone is awake.”

“As you wish, princess,” her chatelaine said. “So he’s still abed, I assume.”

“You mean Ser Eliott, my husband,” Loreza said, amused and annoyed at the same time. “He is, yes, and I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

Lady Emlyn made an unconvincing show of innocence. “I can’t imagine what you mean, do what?”

“Try so hard to ignore him,” the princess told her. “He has noticed it, I’m sure. I’m sorry that you don’t like him, but…”

“Do you like him?” Lady Emlyn asked her suddenly.

Loreza took far too long to answer. “Yes.”

She scoffed. “There’s that, I suppose.”

The princess rolled her eyes and walked past her into the sitting room. She went straight to the lattice doors of the balcony and opened them wide, to feel the sea breeze on her face and cool her head a little. She found a book that had been left on a work table and sat with it on a sofa. It was so quiet that Loreza could hear the pages flapping in the wind. A fair wind, and easterly. It was the same wind that had filled the sails of Henrick’s ship as it sailed the south coast of Dorne towards Starfall. 

Damn it all! She had gone the whole morning so far without thinking about him. But now, here she was, tormenting herself, today of all days. There were many other things to think about, things that should have no trouble distracting her. 

The breeze blew and she kept her eyes on the pages of the book. Joleta must have left it there. It was her favourite book of poems. Loreza could remember how many times she had listened to her read them. She had always laughed at her cousin for her sentimentality. 

After some time, the door from the bedchamber opened. Ser Eliott Rowan stuck his head through. He was wearing a bed robe and his hair was bedraggled and uncombed. He looked nervous. As nervous as he had on that day when they had first met, less than a week ago.

“Good morning, my princess,” he said. “May I enter?”

Loreza smiled. “This is your room now, as much as it is mine, ser,” she told him. “You don’t need leave to enter it.”

He came in and closed the door behind him. As awkward as ever he came and sat on the sofa, leaving the full length of it between them. After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat gently. “I hope you slept well.”

She looked up at him a smirked. “Slept? I suppose I did sleep, eventually.”

That made him look rather pleased with himself. “You didn’t mind losing sleep, did you, my princess?”

Loreza would have thought that her feelings on the matter had been rather obvious. But considering everything, perhaps it was reasonable of him to want some reassurance. “I didn’t mind.” If he wanted more praise than that, she wasn’t equal to it. “Why sleep?”

“Why indeed,” her husband said. “I hardly slept at all.”

She shrugged. “One can never expect the best sleep, in a strange bed.” That had been a stupid thing to say. She cursed herself when she saw him flinch.

“I should have thought the bed is mine now too, as well as the rooms.”

“So it is.”

She was spared from the undoubted uncomfortable silence that would have followed by her chatelaine. Lady Emlyn came in, holding a silver cup in her hand. Her smile was tight when she saw Ser Eliott there. “Good morning, ser,” she said with false brightness, “I hope you slept well.”

Loreza groaned, but her husband seemed to decide it was funny. He met her eye. “Very well, my lady. I thank you.”

“Good, good,” Lady Emlyn said absently. She came over and put the cup in Loreza’s hand. “Drink it all now.”

Loreza considered the foul mixture for half a moment before forcing it all down in one go. It has been quite some time since she was required to start the morning with egg and pepper sauce, and she breathed fire. 

“How is your head, ser?” she heard Lady Emlyn ask. “I can make some more, if you require it.” But the moment he indicated that his head was fine, she left out the door and they were alone again.

“She doesn’t like me,” Ser Eliott stated frankly.

Loreza was not able to contradict him. “She’s set in her ways.”

When the silence fell again, she could think of nothing to say or do besides pretend to read her book again. She felt a shift in weight on the sofa and then he was sitting next to her. Their thighs touched as he looked over her shoulder. “You’re reading poetry,” he stated.

“Does it surprise you that I should?” she asked.

“No,” he said at once. “I’ve learned not to be surprised by anything you might do.”

Loreza couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s very wise.”

“Do you prefer Valyrian poetry, then?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s the poem itself I prefer, I suppose, not the language.” He leaned in close enough for her to feel his breath on the back of her neck. 

“Valyrian poetry is generally thought to be the most romantic,” he said. She felt his hand move along her back until it reached the ribbon that held her hair in place. The room was so quiet, she could hear silk run against silk as he untied it. “Or rather, the most sensual.”

Loreza didn’t intend to talk to him about poetry, or anything else. She put her own hand on his thigh and leaned back into him so his lips touched her neck. 

“I could write a poem about your hair,” he whispered on her skin.

She turned her head so he could see her smile. “As long as it’s in Valyrian.”

“Whatever you want.” Ser Eliott kissed her, hesitantly until she opened her mouth to encourage him. He gasped when she took his cock in her fingers and felt it grow. “We should go back to yo- to the bedchamber.,” he said.

“Why?” Loreza asked. She turned entirely and swung one leg around the straddle him. It was at that moment, just as her husband had taken one of her nipples into his mouth, that they heard the sound of Lady Emlyn clearing her throat at the door. He stood up with a start, forcing Loreza rather gracelessly to her feet as well. 

“What do you want?” he asked Lady Emlyn angrily.

The chatelaine raised her eyebrows at him, but when she spoke, it was only to Loreza. “You’ll have to get dressed now, if you don’t want to be late.”

“Yes, thank you,” the princess said as sharply as she ever could to her. Lady Emlyn looked distinctly pleased with herself when she closed the door again. 

“I told you we should have gone to your bedchamber,” Ser Eliott snapped as he tightened the fabric belt of his robe.

Loreza chuckled. “That wouldn’t have stopped her.”

“Does this amuse you?” he asked, his voice raised. His body had gone stiff even as his manhood went flaccid once more. He turned away from her. “Others might tolerate such a thing, but I won’t. I will not be humiliated in my own rooms.”

Loreza forced back the angry words that were forming in her mouth. The hatred she had felt once before, the one other time he mentioned Henry, was not rational and it had to be controlled. And, damn him, he was probably right, though he must not get it into his head that he could speak to her that way. “I understand,” she said, in her most calm voice, “that you might be used to more privacy than I am. And that it might take time for you to…” she trailed off. It was wrong of her, and petty, she decided, to expect him to change and her to be able to stay entirely the same in all her little ways. “If you wish it,” she told him, “I will speak to her. And it won’t happen again.”

Ser Eliott sucked on his teeth. “As it pleases you, my princess.”

Loreza winced at his formality. “She doesn’t want us to keep the king waiting.”

“I doubt that was her motive,” her husband said.

“Perhaps not,” Loreza allowed, “but we still need to get dressed.” She left him to follow Lady Emlyn into the dressing room, but she was not there, perhaps she didn’t want to be glared at. Rhona and Genna were there, however, along with two maids arranging small clothes and hair pins.

“Good morning, princess,” Genna said brightly after they had all finished curtseying. She had a glint in her eye that was asking questions Loreza was in no mood to answer. 

“Yes, good morning,” she grumbled. “My hair is in a state; I’m sorry.” She sat in her chair and submitted to all their usual tugging and poking, trying to be patient as Rhona explained why the garb she had chosen was perfect for the day. “I’ve never had cause to doubt you before,” she finally said.

There was little point in wearing a cloth of gold mantel to break her fast, so that was put aside while a red silk gown was put on and her hair was arranged around a simple silver and ruby coronet.  She would have to return, before they rode to the tourney grounds. Rhona was holding a tray of rings for her to choose from. Loreza had formed to habit of always grabbing two or three more or less at random, but this morning, she saw the gold and moonstone ring Ser Eliott had given her and chose it alone to put on the first finger of her left hand.  

The princess was obliged to wait several minutes for her husband to show himself in the hall. When he finally appeared, he looked very well in white and gold, with his hair pulled back in a way that emphasized the widow’s peak at the front of his hair. Ser Eliott didn’t make any apology for keeping her waiting. She took his arm without a word and he led her in equal silence towards the staircase and up a level where a vast set of rooms had been prepared for King Aegon and his sons.

Ser Duncan, the lord commander of the kingsguard himself, was standing at the door that opened to the large terrace where they were all to break their fast. They stopped to accept his congratulations and good wishes for their marriage. Good wishes, Loreza was certain, he had already given the night before. But, at last, the door opened and they were facing them all.

The king all but sprang to his feet and pulled Loreza out of her deep curtsey. “Come sit by me, my dear,” he said. As the king led her to the seat at the right of the head of the table, her father caught her eye and she knew he was having all the same thoughts about the king as she was. For the almost four years while she lived in King’s Landing he had ignored her, content to let her live in the orbit of the queen. But now, he was behaving as though he had always been her favourite uncle. Perhaps it was all the disappointment and defiance he had suffered since she left, from the great lords as well as from his own children, and the belief that he would always have a steadfast ally in Sunspear. Perhaps he liked that they had not demanded anything from him but his presence. But dornish support was a poisoned pill for any Targaryen, as Lord Tyrell and the others would not be shy to let him know, if the king showed any sign of favouritism, even here on dornish ground.

They were a large group around the table, yet only their closest family had been invited. There were the princes Duncan and Daeron, along with Lady Jenny, who started dreamily at the view of the gardens and the sea beyond the walls. Lewyn sat beside her, and there were Loreza’s parents, and uncles, and aunts. All her husband’s relatives were there as well, Lord Rowan and Lady Sarra, his brother Ser Alastor, and his sister Aelora, who had not lost her perpetual look of wide-eyed amazement, and Ser Corret and his lady wife. Lady Taria told Loreza that she looked radiant, but Ser Corret only glared at her like he always did. 

Lewyn popped his eyebrows up and down suggestively at her, until she struggled not to make a face at him. But he was being more honest than everyone else. They were all looking at her— wondering, speculating, about what had happened when they left the feast hall, about whether all this fuss would have a purpose or not. Her aunt was all but searching her face and form for clues.

The food arrived and the wine was poured. King Aegon made a toast to wish joy to the newlyweds and all their kin, but he had the mercy not to wish her a hundred sons.

Loreza forced herself to put something on her plate. The table was spread with bread, eggs, bacon, and fruit. It was the kind of food one would break one’s fast with in King’s Landing. There had been occasional dishes there, she remembered, that had been called dornish. Everyone would complain about how fiery they were, and the princess would laugh at them behind her hands. 

Little Lady Aleora was visibly relieved when she saw the food. Princess Daenella grumbled something that made Prince Duncan laugh and tell her that everyone knew the king kept a simple table. Loreza’s aunt was somehow ever larger and more round than she had been a few days ago when she arrived. It was a wonder the prince had even allowed her to leave her bed, in her state. But Joleta had been telling her about how much trouble and noise their aunt was making. Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise her that she was given anything she wished in the hopes that it would shut her up. 

Loreza was suddenly aware that she was staring at her aunt, and that her hand had been resting at her belly for the gods only knew how long, tracing circles with her palm as though to soothe a restless child inside. She quickly grabbed her goblet and took a sip of wine, hoping that no one had noticed. But Lady Sarra certainly had. Her eyes met Loraza’s and she gave her a sad little smile that was surely meant to be one of understanding and sympathy. For some reason, though, it made the princess feel angry, or perhaps it was ashamed.

Someone was speaking. Ser Alastor and Lewyn were talking nonsense about the tournament, like men always did. She forced herself to give it all her attention.

“We reachmen are quite well known for jousting from time to time, my prince,” Ser Alastor said. The statement provoked general laughter.

“Oh yes, you’ll all do well,” Lewyn allowed with his usual good humour, “unless it gets hot, that is.”

More laughter, and Princess Daenella laughed the loudest of all. “You will need to give me a very detailed report, Lewyn,” she said, “since I’m not to be permitted to come and see you.”

“I do wish you would stop,” said Princess Trystana in a whisper loud enough to be heard by everyone. “His Grace doesn’t need to know about your petty complaints.”

King Aegon leaped at the opportunity to be gallant. “I cannot agree with you,” he told Princess Trystana. “It grieves me very much that my cousin is so uncomfortable. And I’m even more sorry to lose her company at the joust today. However, it does seem to be for the best.”

Princess Daenella grumbled into her eggs and bread, but said no more. 

Prince Duncan, who could never bear an awkward moment, leaned forward slightly to address Loreza. “Who do you think will be triumphant, princess?”

She smiled. Prince Duncan hadn’t ignored her in King’s Landing, but he was another one who could use all the friends he could get. “I suspect you wish me to say it will be you,” she told him.

He laughed in self-deprecation. “Don’t tell anyone, but I suspect my best jousting days are behind me.”

“Oh dear,” Princess Daenella said sarcastically, “I hope there’s time to get back all the money I put on you.”

“That would be wise,” Prince Duncan told her. “That way, you have the means to put it all on Ser Corret’s sons.” He nodded towards the man in question, who gave a stiff nod in acknowledgement. 

“You honour me,” Ser Corret said.

“It’s an excellent suggestion, your grace,” Ser Alastor said, “and one I mean to act on. Though only because it’s uncouth to bet on yourself.” That made Lady Aelora giggle. He addressed Loreza. “I’m sure, my princess, you think it right to bet on your brother. But I’m your brother now too, so you should not hesitate for a sure thing.”

She took this for what it was. “Thank you, but I never gamble. Not even to bet on my brother.”

“How… serious of you,” Prince Daeron said, pulling himself away from fiddling with a spoon. “Though I don’t know why you should object to a little fun.”

Loreza resisted the urge to glare at him. “Taking risks for no good cause is not my idea of fun.”  

“You surprise me,” Prince Daeron told her. “From everything I’ve learned of you, I didn’t expect you would show such caution.”

No, he probably didn’t. “Why is that, exactly?”

“I suppose because it makes you seem boring,” he told her. “And you’re certainly not that.” 

Prince Daeron no doubt lived in terror of being thought boring, even though he spent most of his time pretending to be bored. “Quite a compliment,” she said. “I Thank you.”

“There’s worse things one can be than boring,” Aelora said. Everyone turned to look at her, surprised that she had spoken. The young lady seemed to shrink under so many eyes. “I mean… I think you’re right, my princess. I never understood why anyone gambles. It only makes people cross.”

“Not if they win, it doesn’t,” Princess Daenella said.

“How often does that happen?” Lady Aelora asked. Then, overcome by her own daring, she blushed pink and was silent until it was time for them to make their way to the tourney grounds.

As Loreza was making her way down the stairs, on Ser Eliott’s arm once again, Lady Sarra overtook them. “Mother?” Ser Eliott asked her. The anxious look on her face had taken him aback, Loreza supposed. As indeed, it had her. But Lady Sarra didn’t speak to her son, she just touched him fondly on the arm and addressed Loreza.

“My princess, I wonder…” She looked remarkably like her daughter Aelora in her unaffected meekness. “I wonder if I might speak to you.”

“Yes,” Loreza said immediately. “I should like it very much if you did, good-mother.”

Being addressed so made Lady Sarra turn red, but she managed to take Loreza’s hand and lead her just a little way further down to the rooms she had been given. They were pleasant and airy, Loreza was glad to see, with a view of the shadow city and the tourney grounds beyond. By the window, there was a long piece of embroidery, destined to cover the altar of a sept, stretched out in a frame. Lady Sarra stood in front of it for a moment, as though she had no notion of what she wanted to say or do, then she distracted herself by arranging the chairs so she and Loreza could sit across from each other. 

“Is this your work, my lady?” the princess asked her, hoping to put her at ease. “It’s rather remarkably fine.” It showed a scene of girls dancing in a flower-filled field, with wild animals around them as though tame. For the altar of the Maiden.

“Yes…” Lady Sarra looked at the work as though she only just noticed it was there. “That is, Aelora and Lady Taria have been working on it as well…” She trailed off. Loreza sat in silence. She judged it best to let her take her time, to say whatever it was she wanted to say. Lady Sarra took a deep breath. “Well… I…” she began. “I hope, my princess, you won’t find me impertinent.”

“I doubt I could, my lady,” Loreza told her. “Given what our relationship now is.”

“Thank you.” Another moment of silence. “Well… I couldn’t help but notice…” she said at last, “while we were breaking our fast, I’m sure you observed me, but you were watching Princess Daenella and…”

“I see,” Loreza said. “I was hoping you hadn’t seen that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Oh, my dear,” she said with sympathy. “Forgive me, but… I felt I had to tell you.”

“Yes, my lady,” Loreza prompted, “tell me what?”

She seemed to hesitate again. “You always seem so self-assured. And I know you must. I mean, you must lead and be in command of everyone. But it makes me think, perhaps you had no one you felt you could speak to and…”

“Speak about what?” Loreza asked her, though she had some idea.

“Well…I want you to know that I believe I understand you. I felt the same way. So did my daughter. My elder daughter, I mean.” Loreza waited as she paused again. “And… even though my lord husband is the kindest and gentlest man in the whole world, and I’m sure Eliott is no less…”

“Yes, of course,” Loreza told her. She seemed to require it.

“Yes,” she repeated, “good.” A pause as she took another deep breath. “Even so, I know how… shocking it is. I don’t doubt… I’m sure your lady mother gave you all the advice she could, and I know that these sorts of things are spoken of much more freely here, but there’s nothing that can really prepare you…”

Seven hells. Loreza was very glad that her good-mother was too overcome by modesty to look her in the face, because she wasn’t at all confident in her ability to govern it. Pity, anger, and shame must have all been warring there. Who had kept her ignorant of everything that had happened? And why? And how? That was the most impressive feat of all, to keep all the whispers of the last few days out of her ears. And now Loreza had to choose between lying to her and exploding the illusion she had in her head. Loreza doubted she would rage like her son had done, but she would be disappointed. And the idea of disappointing Lady Sarra, who was too sweet and kind to credit, was somehow worse than the idea of lying to her. She would just need to find true things to say. Loreza reached across and took her by the hand. “Yes,” she said, “I suppose that is so.”

“I’m sure I thought I would suffer forever,” Lady Sarra continued, “and just when everyone was expecting me to be the most happy. I thought there must have been something wrong with me…”

The anger won over the pity and shame, though Loreza hardly knew who she was angry with. At the mother who had failed this woman, perhaps. Though, no doubt, she had a mother of her own who had blushed and stammered the morning of her wedding and spoke in nothing but euphemism. 

“I want you to know, my princess, that it is not…” Lady Sarra started again, “that it is not… immodest to speak about these things with other women. With your mother, yes, but with others as well. Those who are more experienced, I mean. Married women. And when you do, I’m sure you will find it as I did. That it’s very common for us to feel more fear than joy.”

“I see,” Loreza said, more horrified than ever. Any dornishman who caused his wife more fear than joy would soon hear about it from many quarters. And from his wife most of all, one hoped.

“What is more,” Lady Sarra said, “the joy does come. After a little while. Then you will understand what… well, what all the fuss is about.” She stopped speaking and stared vaguely into the space beyond Loreza’s right shoulder. Waiting for her to say something. Something true.

“Thank you,” the princess finally said. “It moves me very much that you would speak to me so candidly. With a mother’s love.” That made Lady Sarra smile, she was glad to see. “But I would hate myself if I were to cause you worry for no reason. I was very… well prepared. Nothing that happened took me by surprise.” There, that was true enough. “As you said, there are things we dornish tend to be more frank about.”

“Yes,” Lady Sarra said with a little chuckle. “I have noticed that. Perhaps it’s a better way.”

Loreza was silent. She would have liked to assure her that her son wasn’t some kind of brute, but she couldn’t think of a way to do it that wasn’t lying all together. However, she felt her good-mother needed to be repaid in kind, for baring her soul as she had. It must have cost her much. 

“I regret I was so unguarded this morning,” Loreza said, “I wouldn’t want to distress you for anything. It’s just that my aunt…” What could she say? That she was afraid of her health and her life being at the mercy of something as uncontrollable as her own fertility. That she might die. That she might fail and put the burden of rule on those who were not born for it. “It’s rare that you see your own future so plainly before you, I suppose.”

Lady Sarra squeezed her hand and smiled at her. She seemed glad to have a reason to comfort her. “That is not in your control,” she said. “The Smith has already made every child that you will bear. You must have faith that it will all happen as it’s meant to.”

That was one interpretation of the mysteries of the Faith. Just as many septons would tell you that the gods punished sinners with barrenness. Though Loreza preferred Lady Sarra’s way of seeing things, to the idea that the Father whose justice she had always relied on would allow something so cruel. “Yes,” she said. “The gods have a plan for me.” 

Chapter Text

The morning after Princess Loreza’s wedding Tyia was helping Alysanne arrange her hair. There was no real need for it. Alysanne had always had simple taste, and it had not grown any more extravagant as her husband rose from landless knight to the king’s own retainer, so she never wore her hair in a style that took more than her own hands to arrange. Tyia, however, was unwilling to leave her that morning. She had come to her mother soon after she had awakened, already dressed, and coiffed, and eager to help.

“Did you have a pleasant time at the feast?” Alysanne asked her daughter. She certainly had. It felt as though she had danced the night away. Now that it was known she had Princess Trystana’s favour, the partners had come crowding in. Dornishmen mostly, but not all. Tybot had even noticed, and insisted on dancing with her too.

Tyia flinched when her mother spoke to her. “What was that? I’m sorry, Mother, I…”

Alysanne turned in her seat to look at her daughter. “My dear,” she asked, concerned, “did you get any sleep at all?” Some of the young people had been at it until the sun came up.

“No,” Tyia admitted. “Not really.”

Alysanne frowned, but resolved not to scold her. It would be hypocritical. Tyia, after all, was doing no more than she was doing herself, enjoying newfound friends and freedom. “Perhaps you should rest now, then,” she suggested. “I doubt you would be the only one left behind.” The first day of any wedding tournament was always half watching men too green sick to sit a horse fall down into the dirt. And many of the matches were decided by default, since one opponent or another failed to even make it to the field of play. 

“I couldn’t!” Tyia said right away. “I wouldn’t want to miss anything. And I promised Ami. She had to go to bed early, and she’s so looking forward to it.”

Alysane sighed. To tell the entire truth, she would not complain of having the excuse to stay behind herself. She had never enjoyed the violence of the joust, not even when she was a girl. “Alright, but I will gladly return with you, if you find yourself too tired.”

The door connected to the bedchamber opened and Tybot entered. He wore a velvet doublet studded with silver that somehow made his chest look even broader than it was, and the badge of his office on his right breast.

“What is she doing here?” he asked, indicating Tyia. “Is that maid of yours still nowhere to be found?”

“No,” Alysanne told him, her voice quiet. “I mean, yes. She still hasn’t returned.”

He scoffed. “I supposed that’s to be expected. Even a few days around the dornish is enough to make some people forget themselves all together. I suspect the dumb slut is off with some pot boy.”

“That might be,” Alysanne murmured in assent, praying he didn’t take the matter any further than that. She had never lied to him about anything so substantial before. She didn’t question the rightness of what she had done, but that didn’t keep her from fearing his reaction. The decision had been made, for better or for worse, and Marigold was already at the Water Gardens. Grateful to be there, if her letter was to be believed. It had arrived yesterday, while she was getting ready for the feast, written in a maester’s hand and signed with an x. Perhaps there was a pot boy there, who would love her and be a father to her child. May the Maiden make it so.

Tybot frowned down at her. “You’re very quiet and low this morning.”

“It was a long night,” Alysanne said at once.

“Too long, if you ask me,” Tybot complained. “And now we’re expected to sit through five days at least of watching that dornishwoman preen herself like some kind of bird.” He held out his arm and Alysanne stood to take it. They walked out of the room and Tyia followed behind them. Even her footsteps sounded subdued, at least to her mother. But nothing could be wrong beyond the exhaustion she claimed. Nothing that she wouldn’t have told Alysanne about at once.

The lower they got down the great stair, the more lords and ladies they met. Everyone was making their way to the covered litters that waited at the bottom of the steps to the Tower of the Sun, poised to take them from the palace, through the shadow city, and to the tourney grounds. Lady Ariandra Fowler stopped them altogether and told Alysanne how well she looked.

“I think the climate is agreeing with you, my lady,” she said. “You’re glowing with health.”

Alysanne took a deep breath to control the spread of blush on her face. What had she done to the woman that she would say such a thing in front of her lord husband? Or was she imagining it, and she genuinely meant to say she was better for the sunshine?

Tybot gave a gruff clearing of his throat. “My wife is a poor sailor, so I imagine so.” He pulled Alysanne passed without another word.

A little lower still, Lord and Lady Darklyn appeared through a door on a landing. Lady Amerei kissed Tyia affectionately on the cheek, and her lord offered her his other arm as they all continued down together. 

In the courtyard, each litter was departing as soon as it was filled. Even so, they had to wait a few minutes for their turn. It was beastly hot in the courtyard, with the sun reaching its highest point in the sky. At length, they crammed in with the Darklyns and two other young ladies who were unknown to Alysanne, but seemed to know her daughter and Lady Darklyn. Soon, their constant giggling was making Tybot frown.

“Lord Darklyn,” Alysanne called through the hen-like noise, “I’m surprised you didn’t go down earlier. Or do you not intend to chance the lists?”

He smiled contentedly. “Oh, my first tilt will be one of the last of the day,” he told her. “Plenty of time to get ready. I saw no reason to sit alone in my pavilion all morning. Not when I could have pleasant company like yours, my lady.”

The girls giggled again. They whispered to each other behind their hands, then giggled some more. She used to do the same, she remembered, with all her girlhood friends in Maidenpool. It was so long ago she could hardly recall most of their names. They had all been scattered by marriage to the four corners of the Seven Kingdoms. No doubt that was the fate of these friends.

“I must say, Tyia,” one of the girls piped up, “you’re being very quiet, even for you.” Another giggle.

“She’s just not used to being up all night,” Lady Amerei said, leaping to Tyia’s defense. “And in any case, Jeyne, Tyia is always the serious and sensible one. Thank the gods. Every woman needs a serious and sensible friend who loves her enough to still stick by her, even when she’s done something very silly.” The lady took Tyia’s hand.

Tyia, however, was still not able to smile. “Yes,” she murmured, “I should have gone to bed earlier.”

“Probably,” Lady Amerei agreed. “But it’s difficult to be sensible at a wedding feast, even for one such as you.”

“Oh,” the girl called Jeyne exclaimed, “we’re finally out of the palace!”

Alysanne pulled the curtains of the litter aside a crack and saw that it was true. They were slowly moving through the crowded warrens of the shadow city. Most of the denizens of the town that Alysanne saw seemed to be recovering from the night of revelry, but there was a perceptible movement in one direction, towards the tournament grounds outside the walls.

It was ever hotter outside of the palace. They stopped and started with appalling regularity. It was too much for Lady Amerei’s tender mother’s stomach and her lord husband was obliged to open the door for her so she could be sick in the gutter.

Eventually, they left the town behind and came to a new town of silk and cloth of gold pavilions. Each knight displayed a bright banner before the entrance to proclaim to all the proud and ancient lineage he belonged to. Alysanne could see them, and their servants and squires, rushing about making preparations for the beginning of the joust. The litter stopped and the doors were thrown open to discharge them all. It was only then that Alysanne could see properly what a splendid tourney this would be.

The tiltyard was large enough for seven jousts to take place at once. The barriers in the middle of each course were painted in a repeated design that combined the Martell sun and the Rowan tree. All the gold and orange and white glared in Alysanne’s eyes. Across three of the courses, a stage had been built and covered in white cloth and the red dragon banner of House Targaryen. No doubt, that would be where the new knight of the Kingsguard would be made. All around, to three sides of the field were stands constructed from wooden planks, draped in even more banners. Those in the middle were the tallest, and shaded from the sun so that the king, the prince, and all their noble guests might have the best and most comfortable view. At the top, four stories high, a place had been prepared for the bride and bridegroom, shaded, but in plain view of all. Even those on the shorter stands to either side, where lesser folk who could afford to had purchased seats exposed to the sun, though Alysanne saw that many had brought their own parasols and sunshades. They were in plain view, even, of the mass of common people who were crowded into the open space opposite the royal stands, pushing each other for the best spots. Even here, some thought had been given, as the land sat on a slight hill, so those behind were a little higher than those in front.

Tybot, Alysanne, and Tyia were led by a page boy to some chairs and benches on the second level, up wooden stairs built right into the stands. The shade was deep and there were jugs of water on a low table at the far wall. 

Over the next half hour or so, the seats around them began to fill. Old Lady Buckler arrived with her granddaughter and her septa. The Florent ladies all came in a large group. Lady Joslyn complained loudly about the heat and dust the moment she sat down by Alysanne. She smiled at her with a little smile that suggested they were fellow sufferers.

“Did they tuck you away here as well, my lady?” she asked.

“Yes,” Alysanne replied, “we’re fortunate to have such a good view.”

Soon after, three Lyseni men joined them, looking strange with their perfumed silver-gold curls and fingernails painted different bright shades of blue or green. They nodded politely to those assembled and thereafter kept to themselves, speaking in whispers to each other in their own tongue.

There was a cheer. The common people on the ground were crowding in against the barrier. Lady Joslyn stuck her head over the railing and craned her head up. Alysanne and the others copied her, and they could soon see that Princess Loreza and her new husband had arrived. Even from her less than ideal angle, Alysanne could make out the cloth of gold and silver of their garb. It was whole minutes before the cheers subsided enough for them to sit down. Or perhaps the cheers subsided because they did so. 

“Oh,” Mariah Florent complained, “I wish I could see her properly.”

Lady Buckler smiled indulgently. “My dear,” she told her, “you cannot have a good view of both the bride and the tilts. Not if you want to be seen as well.”

“And you’ve been looking at the princess for a week or more,” Alysanne added, “they will only have this chance.” She indicated the crowd.

“The bridegroom as well,” Lady Buckler chimed in support. “Many of them would give much to say they have danced with the bridegroom, as you have.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” the young lady conceded.

Her mother, however, curled her lip up. “None of those people are Florents of Brightwater Keep,” she declared. ”You speak as though we’ve been given more than we have the right to expect.“

Tybot’s look at Alysanne told her that he agreed that she had said something wrong. But perhaps he was just determined to glare at everyone all day. “I hope I didn’t imply otherwise, my lady,” she told Lady Joslyn.

The woman snorted. “Who could blame you for forgetting,” she said, “when we are given no account here. They treat us like we’re foreigners.” She snapped her head back to indicate the three Lyseni gentlemen. She must have assumed that they couldn’t understand her, but clearly, one of them did. He gave Alysanne an ironic little bow when she looked his way.

“They’re going to start!” Betha Buckler exclaimed.

Down on the ground, four trumpeters were taking their places around the white and dragon bedecked platform. When they blew their instruments, most of the noise died away. Betha Buckler held onto the railing with both her arms and leaned forward as much as she could before her septa grabbed her by the gown and pulled her back. 

King Aegon appeared. He’d come through a parting in the hanging banners almost exactly below them. He was flanked on one side by Prince Rhodryn, and on the other by his son, Prince Duncan. The common people weren’t able to see him until he mounted the steps onto the platform. Then the cheers began in earnest.

“They’re not cheering him, you know.” Tybot’s voice was a hiss in her ear. “Don’t let their dornish simpering fool you. They would all be as silent as the grave if Prince Rhodryn weren’t there beside him.”

“I see,” Alysanne whispered back. “I suppose that’s why they’re always together.” 

“I’m not sure he knows it,” Tybot added, “but the dornishman certainly does. That one isn’t as loyal as he seems. They will turn on us again, as soon as they see their chance.” Alysanne was silent. Her husband had never been so frank with her about matters concerning the king before. But his next speech revealed his purpose. “A dornishman never keeps his promises.”

Despite the heat, Alysanne felt a shiver running through her. He knew. But reason overtook her panic as quickly as it came. There was nothing to know. All she had done was dance with a man at a feast, and walk with him in a garden, in plain view of the whole world. His wife knew all about it, had encouraged it. If her lord husband thought, or even suspected, anything of her he would not speak in vague terms about deceitful dornishmen, we would… gods be good, she didn’t want to think about what he might do. She hadn’t done anything. And as for Marigold, if that was what he was talking about, then he was wrong. They did keep their promises. They had kept her safe from him. 

From the far side of the field came a cluster of brilliant white. Ser Duncan the Tall, the lord commander of the Kingsgaurd, led the way. Behind him came two of his brothers and between them, already wearing armour shining with white enamel, was Ser Gerold Hightower.

The crowd hushed, in reverence for the event. Alysanne could hear the breaths of those around her. They all watched as Ser Gerold mounted the wooden steps and went down on one knee before the king. Some words were spoken by Ser Duncan, then the king said something.

“What are they saying?” Betha Bucker asked.

Her septa silenced her with a finger in front of her lips and a hiss. “Listen,” she said.

“Listen to what? I can’t hear a thing!”

Ser Harlan Grandison had a white cloak in his arms. Silk, Alysanne judges from the way it draped as Ser Harlan passed it to Ser Duncan, who gave it reverently to the king.

The king spoke again.

“This is the oath,” the septa whispered, “you don’t need to hear to know that.”

Alysanne strained her ears. “I swear it,” she thought she heard Ser Gerold’s words float up to her, and again a minute later. Though, perhaps she only assumed. What else could he have said? In another minute, the oath was made. The king swept the white cloak onto the shoulders of the kneeling knight and pulled him up to his feet to embrace him. The cheer came up again.

Tyia gave a little sigh. Alysanne looked over to her and was surprised to see her wiping away tears. “Sweetling? What can be the matter?”

“I’m sorry,” Tyia whispered. “He just looks so fine there, in his white cloak.”

Soon the platform was empty. Fifty or more men worked with impressive speed to take it apart board by board while the assembled crowds made noise and milled about. In their box, everyone soon became restless. Lady Betha announced that she could see the king taking his place at the top of the stands. One of the Lyseni addressed Tybot and asked him if there was to be any jousting at all today or only “more of your rituals”.

At long last, the trumpets blared again. The herald’s voice cut through everything, the conversations, the banners flapping in the winds, the sound of horses whinnying as armoured men mounted them. He announced the first seven contests, hearable even through the cheers as fourteen great lords and princes formed up in their places.

The bride gave the signal, though Alysanne could not see it, and they charged. The hooves of the horses made the stands shake. In the lists nearest, Lord Velaryen went crashing off his horse when Ser Humford Hightower struck him in the breastplate. There was a sound of metal crumpling. Alysanne winced and closed her eyes, pressing her face against her husband’s shoulders.

Tybot pushed her away. “Don’t be squeamish, he fell clean.”

She forced herself to look again, and it didn’t seem all that clean to her. Lord Velaryen was being carried from the field between two men with his head sagging. Alysanne prayed she wouldn’t have to watch a man die today.

Tyia looked as though she was having similar thoughts. She took her mother’s hand. “Do I have to stay?” she asked in a whisper. “Will I need to come and watch everyday.”

Alysanne grimaced. She had told her she would return with her if she asked, but now that they were here, it seemed impossible. “I don’t know,” she said, “it will be expected of us. Perhaps we can go after a few more tilts. You’ll feel better after some sleep.”

Tyia nodded and turned to face the field again, where two pairs of knights were still at it, passing back and forth.

It was then that Lady Daria Uller arrived amongst them. She flitted past everyone and came over to Alysanne’s seat, kneeling beside it to whisper in her ear. “Good day,” she told her, “I’ve just come from Princess Trystana. She asks if you might come sit with her. And your daughter too, of course.”

Alysanne was flustered by the invitation. But she couldn’t have refused, even if she had wished to. She was so deeply in the princess’s debt now. “Yes,” she told Deria, “we would be honoured.” She hadn’t mentioned Tybot, but that didn’t surprise Alysanne either.

“Oh good,” Deria said, “she will be pleased. The princess also asked me to tell you that she’s sorry she didn’t think of inviting you from the first, but you know how chaotic these things can be.”

Alysanne didn’t really have any notion. “Yes, indeed.” Tybot grabbed her arm when she stood up and asked her where she was going. The scowl he gave when she told him made her glad to be leaving him. 

Deria led her and Tyia up the steep staircase. “How did you hold up this morning?” she asked. “I hope you weren’t as green sick as my lord brother.”

“No,” Alysanne admitted with amusement, “though poor Tyia is having a hard time. We’re not used to being up all night.”

“What?” The lady asked sarcastically, “they never feast into the morning in the great court of the Red Keep? I am surprised.”

“They do, of course,” Alysanne assured her. “When Princess Rhaelle wed Lord Baratheon I’m sure they did not stop for a whole week. But we usually leave early enough to get a full night of rest. Unless it is a very special occasion, such as this is.”

Deria smiled that smile Alysanne still hadn’t deciphered. It made her feel as though she were being indulged by a fond aunt. Which was made ever more ridiculous by the fact that Deria was ten years her junior, at least. “I hope we’ve made it worth your while,” she said.

Alysanne frowned. “I hardly expected to be considered.”

“If there is one thing I would wish for you, Alysanne,” she said, “it’s that you would expect to be considered.”

“But why would I?”

“For my sake, perhaps,” Deria said, “or for Princess Trystana’s. I know how greatly she wishes to be of service to you.”

Alysanne stopped her climb. Deria turned to her to hear what she had to say. Alysanne looked over to Tyia, but she seemed so in her own world, it wasn’t even clear if she was listening. “That’s very kind of her, of course,” Alysanne said, “but… I don’t think the service she thinks to do me is…”

“Yes?” Deria prompted.

“I wonder,” said Alysanne, “what her motive could be. And if it could ever be my own good.”

“As to that,” Deria said, suddenly quite serious, “you must decide for yourself. But what are you afraid her motive might be.”

“I hardly know,” Alysanne said, “her own amusement, I suppose.”

“I see,” Deria said. “There may be something to that, she is a princess, after all. But I assure you, she has nobler intentions as well.”

“My lady,” Alysanne said rather desperately. She was becoming weak, she could feel it. “I don’t wish to offend you, but where I come from these things are not done.”

Deria smiled again. “I can’t believe you really think that. A woman of your intelligence?”

“I hope so,” Alysanne told her. “I hope I’m intelligent enough to understand that there are some things that the Princess Trystanas of the world might be able to do and those like me cannot.”

“Like adultery perhaps?” Deria provided.

Alysanne flinched. She looked over to Tyia, she was watching her with round eyes, full of surprise. “Don’t…” Alysanne whispered in a panic. “You told me once you didn’t enjoy shocking people.”

“I did,” Deria admitted, ”and I’m sorry. I’m even more sorry that I can’t put you at ease.”

“I’m so very grateful to the princess,” Alysanne said, “I really am. But I’m not a toy she can discard when it’s time to face the consequences.”

That made Deria frown. “I don’t think you entirely understand,” she told her. “Princess Trystana is offering you her protection.”

“She barely knows me.”

“That doesn’t matter to her,” Deria said. “She considers herself to be an excellent judge of character. She sees your… situation, and she wants to help you.”

“She has helped me already,” Alysanne said. “I cannot ask any more of her.”

“You don’t need to,” Deria said. “It costs her nothing, but might be everything to you. And surely you don’t want things to return to how they were before.”

Alysanne couldn’t answer her. This was what temptation was, that voice in her head that told her to leap off the edge of the precipice and never look back.

“I’ve distressed you,” Deria finally said. “No one would want you to act against your own better judgement. If you wish, I will take you back to your husband.”

“No.” Alysanne said before she had time to think. “I don’t know what I wish, but not that.” She began to climb again and passed Deria on the stair. 

Chapter Text

Dany was finding it hard to focus on the jousting when her mother, damn her, seemed to think that she was there to serve her.

“Daenerys!” Princess Trystana hissed at her. She rolled her eyes, but gave in to the inevitable and stood up to stand by her mother’s chair. “Go pay some attention to Tyia Sarsfield, she hasn’t said a word since she came up here.”

Dany sighed and went to sit in an empty space on the bench next to the lady in question. She was looking at her hands folded on her lap.

“Um,” Dany began, “is your father in the lists today, or your brother?”

Tyia Sarsfield looked up at her with unfocused eyes. “My father doesn’t joust anymore,” she said, “and I don’t have a brother.”

“I see,” Dany said. She bit her lip to think what else to say. “I suppose Lady Amerei is with her husband,” she finally thought. It was probably the first time she had ever seen the two women apart.

“She certainly is devoted to him, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Tyia said. Then suddenly she was crying. Silently, but the tears were falling down her face.

“Oh!” Dany gasped. She scrambled in the purse attached to her girdle for a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Did I upset you? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she insisted. “Forgive me, my lady, I’m just very tired.”

Dany had never heard of someone crying from being tired, but even if her mother thought she lacked all social grace, she had enough to see that, whatever was distressing Tyia Sarsfield, she didn’t want to talk to her about it.

Joleta appeared and prompted them both to squeeze in so she could sit next to Dany. “You don’t mind, I hope,” she said to her sister, “I just can’t bear to sit anywhere near them anymore.”

“Who do you mean?” Dany asked her.

“Who could I mean,” she retorted, “Loreza and her husband.”

Dany felt her stomach churn in discomfort. If they were still at odds because of what had happened at Batara then she herself must hold some blame for it. “They seemed to be getting on well yesterday,” she said, at least a little in her own defense.

“Yes,” Joleta allowed, “maybe too well.” She turned back to glare at the couple. They were sitting in hardback chairs on a platform slightly above everyone else. Both Loreza and Ser Eliott had their gaze fixed determinedly at the jousting. “I know his kind,” Joleta continued, “now that he’s fucked her he thinks he owns her.”

Tyia gave a little gasp and a sob at Joleta’s words.

“If that’s true,” Dany said, frowning, “she won’t let him think it for long.”

Joleta leaned in to whisper in her sister’s ear. “What’s wrong with her,” she asked, motioning with her chin in Tyia.

“I wish I knew,” Dany whispered back. “She's tired, she says. And I don’t think she approves of your language.”

“Oh,” Joleta said, any concern she may have felt for Tyia evaporating. She continued in a low voice. “She may need to get used to me, if Father has anything to say about it.”

Dany frowned again. She turned around to find her father. He was sitting near her mother, next to Tyia’s mother Lady Alysanne. The look on his face told the whole story, as did the look on hers.
“Ah,” she said. “Mother says he falls in love too easily.”

Joleta scoffed at that. “She would say that about anyone.”

Dany shrugged. Her mother always did seem to think that falling in love was a waste of time. And she didn’t see any proof that she had changed now, even if the rumours that were being thrown about the court were true. Dany wouldn’t have believed them at all, if they hadn’t upset Ser Eldon Sand so much.

“I wouldn’t begrudge him if he fell in love everyday, myself,” Joleta continued, “if he weren’t so ridiculous and didn’t take it out on poor Eldon.”

“Mother doesn’t care about it,” Dany pointed out, “so I’m not sure why you do.”

“Eldon cares.”

Dany smirked. “He doesn’t care enough to stop, does he?”

The herald called out Maron’s name. Dany gripped her sister by the arm, already nervous.

“Did you give him your favour to wear?” Joleta asked her.

“Of course I did!” She couldn’t see from this distance if he was wearing it; she would just have to trust that he remembered. Maron mounted up in the third list from the front. There were streamers of yellow and pink coming from the top of his helm.

“Ser Adam Lonmouth has a better seat than him, I fear,” Joleta told her in an indifferent tone.

“What does that matter!” Danny snapped at her angrily.

“In jousting?” Joleata retorted. “It’s the only thing that matters.”

The signal was given and they were off. The first pass was clean, with neither lance making contact. On the second, Ser Adam struck Maron’s shield and he lost his seat at once, falling back and off his saddle like a sack of lemons falling off a wagon.

“Oh!” Dany cried as a general wince came from the crowd. She jumped up. “I must go to him!”

“No, you mustn’t,” Joleta said with a roll of her eyes, “but I suspect you will anyway. Look, he’s already up.” On the field, Maron was on his feet. He took his helm off with one hand and caught his own horse before a page could do it for him.

“I’m going,” Dany repeated. “Don’t be horrible to Tyia.”

She could hear Joleta laughing at her back as she pushed her way through all the people sitting on the benches and started down the stair. The small city of merchants selling food and other assorted things was mostly deserted; everyone was watching the jousting, so it didn’t take Dany long to make her way through it and into the open space where hundreds of pavilions and tents were pitched. There was some order here- and many more people- with cook fires, and horse lines, and a makeshift street.
Maron’s pavilion was the same colour as his ribbons, stripes of pink and yellow. The flap was already open to admit a harried Maester Geuren and a boy carrying his box. Dany picked up her pace and entered just behind him.

The pavilion was larger than most, and well appointed with furniture and other comforts. Morgan was there, helping Maron take off the last of his armour. He was standing with a cup of wine in his hand, looking angry, but not any the worse for wear.

“All I did was bruise my ass,” he told the maester as soon as he saw him, “I have no need of you.” The maester looked rather relieved. He bowed, then went back out the way he came.

Dany came to stand by Maron’s side. “Are you really alright?” she asked him. “It looked like you came down pretty hard.”

Maron scowled. “Like I said, my ass will be black and purple.”

“Will it?” Dany said, trying to be funny. “Can I see?”

That made him laugh. “Best not,” he told her, “not while Morgan is here.”

Morgan made a face. “I’ve seen your ass plenty of times. You’re always falling on it.”

Maron laughed harder. “I suppose you think you could have done better.”

Morgan shrugged. “I think you could have had him, on the first pass,” he said, “if you’d held your lance true.”

“I’m so glad I have my little brother to school me in such things,” Maron said. He sat down and unbuckled one of his greaves while Morgan did the other. “Though you’re right, no doubt. I wish
there was a mêlée so I could so I could smash Ser Adam’s pretty face in like I did Dondarrion.”

“Why are you blaming him?” Dany asked.

“I’m not,” he insisted. “Not for knocking me off my horse, in any case. I can blame him for being a cunt, though.”

Dany frowned then turned to Morgan. “Is there anything to eat? Why don’t you go and see if you can find something?”

“If you want to be alone with him, you can just say so,” Morgan grumbled, but he left all the same.

“You really didn’t need to come running,” Maron told her, “I’m perfectly fine.” He poured another cup of wine and held it out to her. Dany took it from his hand only to put it back on the table next to the flagon. She sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck.

“I hardly got to see you yesterday, it seemed like a good excuse,” she told him. “I’m almost glad you were unhorsed. That way, there will be nothing to distract us all day.”
Maron wrapped his arm around her waist. “Do you think I did it apurpose?” he asked her with a smile that made her stomach flutter.

“I don’t care one way or the other,” she told him, “you looked so splendid.” She raised her head to kiss Maron’s mouth. He tightened his hold around her waist, pulling her in closer. He tasted like wine and she moaned at the feeling of his chest against hers. She moved her hand down to touch his manhood through his leather breeches, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Not now,” he whispered in her ear, “Morgan will be back. Someone might come in.”

Dany scowled. “What does it matter if anyone sees us,” she asked him, “they all know now anyway.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “the princess does. And she threatened to send me as an envoy to Yi Ti for it.”

“She’s going to give us her consent,” Dany said with confidence. “It will just take her a while. I know it. When I spoke to her about it all she kept saying was that I was too young. And she can’t argue that forever.”

“I’m glad you’re so optimistic,” he said, “but I spoke to her too, and I’m not.”

“That’s only because she doesn’t like you,” Dany insisted.

Maron laughed. “She hates me, she always has. And it’s my life she intends to make miserable, not yours.”

“What are you saying?” Dany asked, annoyed that she was blowing cold again, and that Joleta would only call him inconstant again. “Are you so afraid of her that you would give up on us?”

Maron lifted her off his lap and placed her on the ground. “That’s not what I’m saying at all, and I’m not afraid of either of them.” She knew he meant Loreza and the prince, who were always best when considered together. “I’m saying that if they don’t consent to our marriage, it will be near impossible. Don’t set your heart on it.”

Dany stared at him. “That’s not what you said at Batara.”

“I know what I said.”

The entrance flap of the pavilion opened again, but it wasn’t Morgan returning, it was Prince Arion. He didn’t seem surprised to see Dany there; he came over to his son and put a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Never mind,” he told Maron, “I dare say you acquitted yourself well enough.”

Maron only grumbled and picked up his cup of wine to take a large swallow.

Prince Arion turned to address his niece. “I assume you’ve just come from the joyous newlyweds. How are they doing?”

Dany shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to share what her sister had told her. “They both survived the night.”

Her uncle laughed. “Well, good. That was never a sure thing. Not that they spoke a word to each other this morning as we all broke our fast.”

“I don’t suppose they would,” Dany said, “with everyone watching.”

“Hmm,” he said, “perhaps Loreza is too occupied scheming with my sister to speak to her husband.”

“Is that what they’re doing?” Dany asked him. “I haven’t heard that.”

“Yes,” Prince Arion confirmed. “Apparently, they’re of the opinion that Maron should wed.”

“But you don’t agree with them, uncle?”

“Perhaps I do,” he allowed, “but I don’t intend for Trystana to have any say in the matter, nor the high and mighty princess either. There is only one person Maron intends to wed, and that should be the end of it.” Maron didn’t say anything. He was pouring himself another cup of wine.

“I’m glad someone thinks so,” Dany said, though for some reason, her uncle’s support didn’t really reassure her. He was always at odds with everyone- it seemed a bad omen.

“Would that someone had taken my part, when I was the subject of all their plans,” he said.

Dany shifted her feet uncomfortably. “Perhaps I should go back,” she said, “before I’m missed.”

“Yes,” Prince Arion said, “your father was looking for you, a little while ago.”

“Was he?” Dany asked, surprised. “Why?”

Her uncle shrugged. “He was with Rhodryn.”

Dany left the pavilion without another word. She made her way through the crowd, full of all the people needed to get two knights in a position to joust. She passed Morgan waiting by a merchant selling chickens roasted on a spit, where he complained at her that he was fetching her food she would not eat, she passed Ser Alastor Rowan, already toasting his first victory. Close to the stands, Prince Rhodryn had erected his own pavilion of painted gold-orange silk. He always did this, Dany knew, because a pavilion at a tournament was a convenient place to converse and consult, even though he hadn’t jousted since before she was born. If her father was with the prince now, it was probably there.

The two guardsmen didn’t make any objection to Dany’s entrance, neither did the hunting hound that ran to greet her. Lord Gargalen was indeed there, sitting with the prince in camp chairs arranged around a table.

“Daenerys!” Prince Rhodryn called when he saw her, “I was about to send for you, come.” For some reason, his eagerness to be welcoming gave her unease. She accepted a glass of sweetened lemon water from his hand, and sat down on another camp chair that he had fetched for her.

“We thought to find you watching the tilt,” her father told her, “where did you run off to?”

Dany shrugged. “Joleta was being…” she stopped at his laugh.

“Lord Gargalen and I were discussing you,” the prince said.

Dany had gotten that impression already. “Were you, uncle? I can’t imagine why.” She didn’t doubt that they both knew what had happened. Joleta had an annoying tendency to not have any secrets from their father. But if they intended to reprimand her for it, they were behaving strangely. Both her father and her uncle seemed nervous, like they were about to ask her a great favour they were by no means sure she would grant. Dany had no idea what favour she could possibly grant the Prince of Dorne.

Her uncle took a deep breath to steady himself before he spoke. “You’re so very nearly of age, Daenerys,” he said, “far too young to marry of course, but even an informal betrothal would be useful at a time like this.”

Dany struggled to maintain her calm, though her shock probably showed on her face. Her uncle’s little frown when he observed her reaction suggested so. It was too much to hope that the betrothal they were thinking of, however informal it might be, would be the one she had thought for herself. No. Whatever it was, it was something they knew she would not like.

“A time like what, uncle?” Dany asked.

“A time when the future is uncertain,” he said.

“Isn’t the future always uncertain?”

“Yes,” the prince said, “so it is.” He said no more.

“What is it that you want me to do, my prince?” she said, if only to get it over with.

Her uncle looked to Lord Gargalen, prompting him to do his dirty work. “What do you think of Ser Ormond Yronwood, Little Chickie?” her father asked her.

Of all the names he could have said, that seemed like one of the least likely. Dany could do nothing but shrug. She'd never really thought about him at all. He’d been one of several people who had always been attached to her cousin, on the edge of her awareness all her life. He was only a few years older than her, already a fixture at the Water Gardens when she had arrived. And now, he was always there whenever she came to Sunspear. If she had ever spoken to him for longer than a moment, she didn’t remember it. “I…” she began, “I hardly know.”

The prince seemed encouraged by her reaction. Perhaps he had expected her to scream at him. “We’re proposing that you should marry him,” he said, “not any time soon, of course, but if you give your consent we can come to an understanding now.”

Dany noticed that her breath was uneven. She looked at the walls of the pavilion, at the falcon on a pole perch in the corner, or the table with a book open on a stand, anywhere but at her uncle or her father. “My consent?” she asked. “But why?”

She could feel the two men looking at each other. It was the prince that spoke. “Lord Yronwood needs to… be brought out of the wilderness.”

Dany bit her lip before she tried to answer him. “You think that if I marry Ser Ormond, then his father won’t join any more rebellions.”

“That’s a rather simplistic way of saying it,” her uncle said, “but, yes. In essence.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to stop him from doing anything,” Dany told him, speaking quickly. “And Ser Ormond has never thought about me, not any more than I’ve thought of him. And anyway, I…” She stopped. She knew the prince would not be moved by any argument about her feelings for Maron. He would listen to that even less than Loreza had. She could say that Maron was like to start a rebellion himself if they didn’t let him marry her, but that was sure to make everything worse. “Anyway,” she said as the realization hit her, “why is my mother not here?”

The prince winced, and Dany grabbed at the thread. “She wouldn’t like this at all, would she?” she asked her uncle.

“Perhaps not at first,” he admitted, “but together, we can all convince her that it would be in the best interest of Dorne.”

“She’ll say that you’re giving them too much,” she pressed. “She may even think that you’re putting me in danger.”

“I would never allow you to be put in danger, Daenerys,” Prince Rhodryn said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but to Dany he only sounded a little desperate. “If you were to go to Yronwood, there would need to be…”

“They hate us, though,” she continued, “and I would be a stranger there.”

“Little Chickie,” her father said at last, he had been just sitting there, saying nothing, for far too long, “do not make yourself unhappy. It’s only an idea.”

But Dany could see from the look on her uncle’s face that it was not only an idea. He was depending on it. If she dug her heels in and refused, it would upset all his plans. He would think forever that she was not to be depended on. It was a choice between doing as he wished, and being all but banished, like Princess Daenella had been. If her mother made a fuss then maybe, or… “My cousin can’t think this is a good idea,” she suggested. “She hates Edgar Yronwood.”

Prince Rhodryn smiled. “You should know her better than that,” he said. “It was Princess Loreza who had the notion in the first place. She convinced me it was time to forgive.”

Dany felt all the calm she had fought for vanish. “But, when?”

“Quite some time ago,” he told her.

“Not yesterday?” she asked. “Or the day before?”

“Certainly not,” he said firmly, “neither of us would consider such a great step on an impulse.”

Dany knew that was his way of telling her that this had nothing to do with Maron, or what had happened at Batara, or anything Loreza might feel about either of them. She had planned this long before then. “That can’t be,” Dany began, “she would have…” But she did know her cousin better than that. Of course Loreza would have pretended to care about Dany, that all she wanted was to prevent her from doing something she might regret when, really, Dany’s feelings were absolutely and completely irrelevant to her. “She should have just told me!”

Her uncle frowned, but he chose to ignore her outburst. “Consider it carefully, Daenerys,” he said. “There is no need to settle anything now.”

Dany glared at him. “Why? It seems as though you’ve already considered it, uncle. You and Loreza both.”

“Yes,” he said with perfect patience, “and I hope that will hold some weight with you.” He wasn’t angry with her. Dany almost wished he was. Then she would have a reason to control the rage that was building in her belly. “When you’ve had time to think it over,” the prince continued, “I know you will see this is the wisest course for everyone.”

“Give yourself some time to get used to the idea,” her father advised. “I know that we’ve surprised you.”

“Do I have your leave to go, my prince?” Dany asked. The longer she stayed, the more risk there was that she might indeed say or do something to regret.

“You do,” he said. “We will speak again soon.”

Dany was gone in a moment, and back out into the noise of the tourney grounds.

Chapter Text

Olenna had never enjoyed watching jousting. At Highgarden, it often seemed as though half of every day was spent watching men joust. And the other half was spent praising men for how well they jousted. But, to Olenna’s mind, it was rather silly; two men risking themselves and their horses to knock each other over with long sticks. She had never seen a battle, or even been anywhere near one, but she had never been convinced by the idea that a joust was any preparation for it. She was glad, then, for the excuse of going to attend to her brother in his pavilion after his first tilt. That way, they would remark how dutiful a sister she was, and she wouldn’t need to watch any jousting for a few hours.

Horas had poured a cup of wine and watered it down for her. They sat around a little table while he ate fruit and cheese, using his dagger to cut wedges from a wheel of hard yellow that was brought from the Arbor just for the purpose.

“You looked very impressive,” Olenna told him, “and everyone was saying how well-bred your courser must be.”

Her brother looked up at her. “Who was saying that?”

She shrugged. “One of the Hightowers, I think.”

He groaned. “If the gods are good, I won’t have to face any of the Hightowers.”

“You may need to,” Olenna pointed out, “if you intend to win the tournament.” Horas had never won a tourney before, but those who had won didn’t seem any more skilled than him, at least not to Olenna, so he must have a chance.

“Oh sister,” he scoffed, “it would not be politic for me to win.”

Olenna frowned. “I don’t understand,” she said, “do you mean to let yourself be unhorsed? On purpose?”

He looked at her as though she were a fairly stupid child. “The only question is when, and by whom.”

“But,” she objected, “you face Prince Duncan next.”

“Yes, that’s unfortunate,” he agreed. “It’s very soon, and I must protect my reputation.”

“I don’t think Prince Duncan would be pleased to know you lost to him on purpose,” Olenna said.  For all her disdain for jousting, it still disappointed her to think that her brother had made such calculations before. The last time he’d had great success in a tournament, he was defeated in the second to last bout by Ser Luthor Tyrell, and since then they’d been the closest of friends.

Horas shrugged. “Prince Duncan’s best jousting days are behind him, so perhaps…”

He was cut off when Ser Luthor announced himself and walked into the pavilion. They all rose to greet him. He accepted a cup of wine from Horas and then sat down in a camp chair, between Olenna and Septa Unelletine.

A feeling of panic rose up in Olenna as she considered how best to break the silence, but the septa beat her to it. “Lady Olenna was only just saying you ran a splendid course.”

Olenna flashed a frown at her, but perhaps she was right. She had let them sit in silence for too long. And it would have been immodest to praise Ser Luthor so obviously. “My brother was explaining it,” Olenna said. “Do you know, yet, who you’ll face next, ser?”

Ser Luthor smiled at her in a very charming, very courtly manner. It showed his fine white teeth. “My lady is very gracious to say I ran a good course,” he said, “though it was rather wasted on a no account hedge knight with a hedgehog on his shield.”

Horas shook his head. “Leave it to the dornish to waste your time like that.”

“I thought the pairings were chosen at random,” Olenna said.

They both chuckled at her. “A tournament like this,” Ser Luthor explained, “is more about politics than chivalry. But, of course, a man can overcome that, if he has the skill and the strength of character.” Olenna glanced at her brother, but if he felt it as a criticism, he didn’t show it. Ser Luthor continued. “They wish for one of the bridegroom’s family to win, or failing that, Ser Gerold, our new white knight.”

“Not a dornishman?” Olenna asked.

“No,” Ser Luthor said, “I’m sure you’ve noticed, my lady, the dornish have chosen to show their most obliging face to us.” Perhaps, Olenna supposed, that was how he explained how attentive they had been to her. “And besides, they know very well that none of them is good enough to make it plausible.”

“I see, ser,” Olenna said, “but surely it is not all in their control.”

“Indeed not,” he said, “I intend to upset their plan, when I face Ser Alastor Rowan tomorrow.”

“I hope it will not make difficulties for you,” Olenna told him. Though she never had the impression from Ser Luthor that he would care about anything like that. He put on this courtly smile again, and Olenna knew to expect a gallantry.

“Difficulties?” He asked. “No, my lady, I believe I can weather any difficulty at all, if you consent to give me your favour.”

Horas looked pleased at this idea. So did Septa Unelletine, who smiled contentedly and nodded.

“Yes,” Olenna said. “Of course, ser, it would be my honour.” She drew out her handkerchief. It was perfect for the purpose, edged with fine lace and embroidered in the corner with the purple grapes of House Redwyne. It was almost as though the septa knew this would happen when she chose it for her this morning. Olenna tied it around Ser Luthor’s offered forearm. “I pray the Warrior gives strength to your arm, and that you be a true knight in victory and defeat.”

Ser Luthor smiled at her. Olenna found herself wondering if she would see that smile again, if they ever did marry. A man had no need to charm his own wife. If truth be told, she rather wondered why he was going out of his way to be so courteous now. It was out of the question that he found her attractive, and he must know she was desperate enough to marry him, even if she hated him. And perhaps it was just as well, because when he thanked her, and kissed her hand with exaggerated slowness, gazing into her eyes all the while, she blushed. Whenever she blushed, her face always turned a very unattractive shade of red. But there was nothing for it.

 He left the pavilion and Septa Unelletine immediately patted Olenna on the shoulder. “You did well.”

Horas made a noncommittal sound and sliced into his wedge of cheese again. “Do you have to turn so red? You look like a pomegranate.”

“I’m sorry,” Olenna said, “I know. I can’t help it.” 

“I hope you learn how,” he countered, “or you may drive Luthor away the same way you did your princeling.”

Olenna felt her blush deepen, she turned her head the vain hope that he wouldn’t see. To her surprise, the septa spoke up.

“I don’t think that’s fair…” she began, but she withered when Horas glared at her.

“You know why Prince Daeron broke our betrothal,” Olenna said in a whisper, still not willing to look at him. It had been the prince who had broken it in any case, not her. And Horas hated him for it far more than Olenna ever had. 

He looked unimpressed by the argument, though. He stabbed an apple with his dagger, picking it up off the fruit plate. “Men like that marry all the time,” he told her, “they grit their teeth and do their duty. Except he wasn’t willing to do it for you. And I can only imagine it’s because all you ever did was sit there and blush at him.”

Olenna took a gulp of her watered wine. “I don’t understand,” she protested, “what was I supposed to do?” She hadn’t just sat there, whatever her brother said. Her entire girlhood had been spent learning to do what she was told would please Prince Daeron. She learned to dance, and play the woodharp, and ride, and sew, and sing songs. She did all these things as well as any other girl, and better than some.

“You were supposed to keep him from breaking the betrothal,” he stated. “Instead you brought our lord father shame and grief. If you scare off Luthor Tyrell too, you won’t get a third chance.”

Olenna stared at him. “You’ve never spoken to me like this before,” she told him. “When did you become so cruel, brother?”

He relented. Putting down his fruit and his knife, he reached across the little table to hold her hand. “I don’t mean to be cruel,” he told her. “But you’re not a child, are you?”

“I’m not,” Olenna said, “which is why I wish I had heard about Prince Daeron’s… particularities from you. Not from strangers in a strange place.”

He looked at her strangely. “Didn’t you know?”

“No!” She said instantly. “I barely knew that such a thing was possible.”

She saw him glance at Septa Unelletine, whose look confirmed that Olenna hadn’t been exaggerating. “I think sometimes you are too innocent,” he said to her, “even for a maiden. If you’d rather live your life in the Mother House, you owe it to our father to tell him so. It would pain him, but not nearly so much as seeing you publicly rejected again.”

“I don’t want that at all,” Olenna told him. “And my lord father knows that. We’ve spoken about it.”

“In that case,” Horas said, his tone impatient again, “I wish you would act like it.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “At the very least, look as though you’re happy to see Ser Luthor next time.”

Olenna couldn’t imagine ever being particularly happy to see him, but she nodded her promise.

Just then, all three of them were distracted by the commotion from the entrance to the pavilion. Daenerys came in with anger written on every part of her body. Her face shone and her hair was coming loose from its net, as though she had run there with no care for it. Her fists were balled up and she stomped her way towards them. When she saw Horas, she was taken very slightly aback. She breathed in several times before she spoke, each word coming through clenched teeth.

“Olenna,” she began, “I need to speak to you. Urgently.”

Horas was looking at her like she was a wild animal invading the tourney grounds. It occurred to Olenna that he might not even recognize her for who she was in this state.

“Daenerys,” she made sure to say her name clearly, “are you quite well? Has something happened?”

She sounded like a stubborn horse about to buck when she breathed. “Yes, I’m well. And yes, something has happened. I need to speak to you.” She repeated.

“Of course,” Olenna told her. She poured out a cup of water from the jug on the table then left her chair to bring it over to her friend. “Have some water.” Daenerys took it without a word, drank it all in three large gulps, then dropped the cup on the ground before grabbing Olenna by the forearm. 

“Come,” she said.

Olenna gave a helpless look to her brother before she and Septa Unelletine followed Daenerys out the door and into the crowded camp. “Daenerys,” Olenna objected as she was being pulled along, “whatever is the matter? Are you angry with me?”

“Angry with you?” Daenerys asked as though it were a ridiculous notion. “No, not angry with you.”

“Then who are you angry with? What has upset you so?”

The question finally got her to stop walking. She turned to face Olenna, creasing her forehead as she considered the question. “A lot of people,” she said after a moment, “but not you. What possible cause could I have to be upset with you?”

They had stopped in a seemingly random spot on the path between the pavilions and Olenna kept getting jostled by passersby. “Please,” she said to Daenerys, “calm down, or you’ll make a spectacle of yourself.”

“Good,” her friend declared stoutly, “I hope I do. Then everyone will know what happened and maybe then at least it will shame them.”

“I wish you would tell me what happened, then,” Olenna said in exasperation. 

This seemed to calm her down a little. “Right,” she said, “I apologize, I…” another angry noise.

Septa Unelletine spoke. “My lady,” she said, “this is no fit way for you to behave. Let us go somewhere you might cool down, and speak more privily.”

“Oh, alright,” Daenerys conceded. She led them through the throng, only a little way down the row, towards a large pavilion of gold-orange silk. Inside it was deserted, with a suit of armour ready for polishing in one corner.

“This is Prince Lewyn’s pavilion,” Olenna stated. 

Her friend nodded. “He’s finished for today, and gone to watch. No one will come in here.”

Olenna approached her and took her hand. “Good,” she said, “so what is it you wanted to speak to me about?”

Daenerys looked as though she wasn’t sure if she should cry or rage. Her lip trembled. “It seems,” she began after another steadying breath, “that they’ve all decided I’m betrothed. Or will be.”

Olenna started a little. “I wish you joy, then,” she said.

“No!” Daenerys snapped, pulling her hand away. “Don’t wish me joy. There’s no cause for joy!”

“I’m sorry,” Olenna said. It was the only thing to say when a friend was so upset, but Olenna didn’t see much cause to feel sorry for her. Obviously, whoever had been chosen was not who Daenerys would choose. Perhaps it was Prince Lewyn, whose pavilion they were in. There had been much speculation when they danced together at the wedding feast. Or maybe it was someone who was not a dornishman. But surely no one would think that wise. “I thought you wanted to get married,” Olenna finally said.

“Yes!” Daenerys admitted in an exasperated voice, “but not to Ormond Yronwood. Who would want to marry stupid Ormond Yronwood?”

“Ser Ormond Yronwood?” Olenna confirmed. “I imagine a lot of people would think that an excellent match. Do you dislike him so much?”

“I don’t have any feelings about him at all,” she declared. “They may as well have betrothed me to a horse.”

“Then why are you so upset about it?” Olenna asked her. “Oh Daenerys,” she said, trying to express sympathy she didn’t really feel, “you didn’t really expect that your father would betroth you to Ser Maron, did you? Especially not after what…” She glanced over at the septa, who frowned in a way she did when her curiosity was aroused. Olenna hadn’t told her what had happened at Batara, and if the gods were good she would never need to.

“I could have convinced them,” she insisted, “with a little time. But now… they’ve decided this, and anything I say I want would needs be against…”

“Who decided this, your father and Lord Yronwood?”

Daenerys gave her a look of exasperation. “No! My father and my uncle. And Loreza. She’s the one who decided that we need to make peace with Yronwood again. And she intends to use me to do it!” She started to pace around the pavilion, she crossed and uncrossed her arms across her chest over and over.

“I see,” Olenna said. “That, you feel, is a lot of responsibility. I suppose.” Olenna couldn’t pretend to understand all that was transpiring at this wedding between Lord Yronwood and the prince, except that the dornishman all seemed to think it very important. More important than the Rowan alliance, certainly.

“And then they acted as though I had a choice in the matter,” Daenerys said bitterly. “‘Oh, it’s just a notion’ he said. ‘It will be many years yet.’ But now, if I make any trouble about it, it will be my fault the alliance failed, and my fault if he goes off and has another rebellion!” She sat in a chair, but then decided she was too angry and shot back up to resume her pacing.

Olenna stood with Septa Unelletine, moving her head to follow her friend's erratic movements.“Is that what the prince told you?” She asked her.

“No, as I said,” her friend spat, “he just kept saying that it was only an idea and that I should think on it. And Loreza didn’t talk to me about it at all. She pretended that she didn’t think Maron was good enough for me, that I was too young. Well, she doesn’t think I’m too young to go behind my back and trade me like a prize hunting falcon.”

“I know you don’t really think that ill of her,” Olenna objected. “And how is it behind your back if you were just told about it? The prince must think this alliance is very important. And I think it’s a great show of how highly he regards you that he placed it in your hands.”

“If Loreza thinks it’s so important she should marry him herself!”

Olenna laughed. “She’s hardly in a position to do that, is she? And she doesn’t have any sisters either.”

“Why are you defending her?” Daenerys asked her. “Don’t you see that she lied to me?” She suddenly started to march towards the door of the pavilion. Olenna grabbed her arm. “I’m going to find her,” Daenerys declared. “Then you’ll see how it is when she tries to defend herself. She doesn’t care for me at all.”

“You can’t just go and accost her now,” Olenna told her, tightening her grip. “She’s surrounded by people. The king is there, for goodness sake!”

“So what!” She shouted, tugging at Olenna’s hold, “let them all see. I hope she dies of shame.”

“My dear!” Septa Unelletine exclaimed, “you cannot be serious.”

Olenna tried a different tack. “I don’t know her as well as you do,” she admitted, “but I doubt Princess Loreza would react with shame.”

“Oh, I don’t care!” Daenerys shouted. “I’m going to tell her what I think. Then everyone will know she puts politics over her own family!”

Olenna chucked a little, and her friend glared at her. “Are you sure that’s not what she wants everyone to think? And you really should consider the compliment she’s paying you, by trusting you with something like this.”

“You said it yourself,” Daenerys told her with a roll of her eyes, “I’m the only choice she has.”

“Aren’t you afraid of making things difficult for your father if you defy the prince?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Daenerys said immediately. “My father isn’t making trouble.” But the idea, at least, got her to stop pulling towards the door. “Well, what do you think I should do then?”

Olenna frowned. In truth, she thought her friend should thank the princess on her knees for choosing for her so much better than she had chosen for herself. Any other young lady in Westeros would be thrilled at such a match. She certainly would be, even if he were a dornishman. They all said his elder sister was simple minded, and dying besides, and that he would rule Yronwood after his father. But Daenerys didn’t account for such things. “I don’t think you should do anything at all,” she told her at last. “If you really think that time will convince the prince you should marry where you choose, I don’t see how it’s different now. Especially if it’s a long betrothal, as you say.” She sighed. “Believe me, many things can change during a long betrothal.”

That caused Daenerys to give Olenna a brief look of sympathy, but she was soon distracted again by her own thoughts. “That’s true,” she said, “but you don’t know her, she won’t change her mind, not unless Edgar Yronwood does something stupid and the prince cuts his head off. And even then… no, the longer I don’t object, the more settled everyone will consider it to be.”

“So you didn’t?” Olenna asked her.

“Didn’t what?”

“Object. Didn’t you tell the prince you didn’t want to marry him.”

“Well,” Daenerys hesitated, “not in so many words.”

“What does that mean?” Olenna asked her. “It seems to me that if you were dead set against it you would tell him so. Or do you think he would try to force you to wed against your will?”

“No, of course he wouldn’t,” Daenerys insisted. “And my mother wouldn’t let him, even if he wanted to.”

“In that case,” Olenna told her, “it appears your problem has a simple enough solution. Why haven’t you taken it?”

Daenerys stared at her without speaking for a moment. “I don’t think you understand why I’m angry about this, Olenna.”

“Indeed?” She said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s Loreza! She was going on about how I should have greater ambitions than who I f— who I marry, but all along, this was what she cared about, her stupid plan. She only said it to manipulate my feelings so she could get what she wanted and… oh!” She stopped and stamped her foot. “I don’t think I could explain it to you.”

Perhaps she was right, because Olenna couldn’t really understand her. “I think perhaps, your own mother and father have caused you to have a low opinion of marriage.”

“What?” Daenerys snapped. “No they didn’t. I don’t have a low option of it at all. I want to marry.”

“But not to oblige your family?”

“I don’t think that marrying Maron would be disobliging them!”

“But Princess Loreza seems to think so,” Olenna pointed out.

Daenerys started pacing around the pavilion again. “Maron will be as great a lord as Ormond Yronwood will ever be. What’s more, he’s practically a prince. He would have been if my uncle had never had children. And Ormond is just the son of a traitor.”

“But he’s not a traitor,” Olenna reminded her, “the prince has forgiven him. That’s the whole point.”

Suddenly, Daenerys stopped her pacing. Her face fell and in another instant she was crying. Olenna was too shocked by the sudden change to do anything for a moment, and when she came over to her friend to put a comforting arm around her, he shrugged her off. “I wish you would be on my side!”

Olenna felt as though she had been slapped. “But I am, Daenerys,” she said, “that’s why I want you to see reason.”

“Reason has nothing to do with it,” Daenerys sobbed. 

“I know,” Olenna soothed. “But it can be comforting, when one is dealing with disappointment.”

Daenerys gasped. “Oh gods be good! Olenna! How could I? I didn’t think. It must upset you to hear me go on about betrothals and things.”

“It doesn’t upset me,” Olenna told her, “not nearly so much as it used to.” It was true. Seeing Prince Daeron again had done wonders for any feelings of loss she may ever have had. And knowing why, that had helped too. She had Daenerys to thank for that. Without her, who knows how long she would have spent brooding. And besides, now she was on the brink of another betrothal, she could hold her head high again. 

“But you do think I’m being ungrateful and silly?”

“I didn’t say that,” Olenna objected. 

Daenerys stepped back from her to fumble in her purse for a moment. “Oh, I gave away my handkerchief.”

Olenna reached into her pocket before she remembered. “So did I.”

That caused another dramatic turn in her friend. This time from crying to laughing. “I’m sure a poet could make that mean something,” she said. 

“Would that I were a poet,” Olenna told her, laughing along. “Have you decided what you will do?”

“No,” Daenerys admitted.

“How about we start by going back to watch the jousting,” she suggested. “I dare say you’ll be missed soon. And perhaps it won’t be so boring with you there.”

“Yes, perhaps,” her friend said. “But,” she told her with a bit of her previous anger, “if Loreza says anything to me at all, I make no promises for how I will behave.”

Chapter Text

The first day of any wedding tournament could never expect to be the most exciting. Half of one’s opponents were too green sick to sit a horse, and most of the rest were poor, nameless knights who spent more time sleeping in old canal ditches than training for the tilt. Still, it was sweet to celebrate any victory, even when the loser had no hard feelings about falling into the dirt on the first pass. 

“I’m only lucky my squire was able to get my helm off before I vomited into it,” Ser Tommen Farmen told Ormond cheerfully. He was fair-haired, past thirty, and going slightly to fat. “This dornish wine is stronger than it seems, I think.” He downed another cup of it.

Ormond was a little repelled by him, and the foul smell of his breath, but smiled and tried to match his mood. “It’s certainly not the grape-flavoured water you drink in the west.”

Ser Tommen laughed at his lame jape. “You did me a favour, ser,” he told him, “now that I’m done making a fool of myself I have nothing to worry about but pleasure.”

 He would get as raging drunk tonight as he had the night before, but Ormond had no intention of joining him. Now that the fools had been weeded out, the real contest would begin on the morrow. Looking around the feast hall, it was easy to see who the serious contenders were. They were all quieter, eating with purpose and drinking moderately. Or scorning wine altogether in favour of water and lemon squeezings.

Ormond left Ser Tommen to his merry-making and joined a group of such knights at a table near the far end of the hall. Ser Marq Rowan was there with his brother and a few of the other men that had come from Goldengrove. Ormond nodded in greeting before sitting down to cut himself a new trencher and fill it with a rich stew of meat.

“It’s a mercy to finally find something plain to eat,” said Ser Marq, indicating the serving dish. “But I suppose you’re used to fiery food, Ser Ormond.”

Ormond smiled and shrugged. “I suppose I am,” he conceded. The northerners all seemed surprised at any proof that he, despite his blond hair and tendency to burn in the sun, was as much a dornishman as anyone. 

“So at some point,” asked Ser Lyman Osgrey, “It won’t burn as much on the way out as it does on the way in?”

“What?” Ormond said with a laugh, thinking he was being japed with. But the look on Ser Lyman’s face suggested he was serious. “I don’t believe,” he said more composedly, “I’ve ever had that problem.”

Ser Marq chucked. “No doubt you all suckle on fiery peppers when you’re infants.”

Ormond decided the conversation was best over with and turned his attention to his stew. It was indeed bland, but the chunks of beef were tender enough. Soon, he caught sight of Rhona at the next table over. She was talking to a group of their friends. Galwell Qorgyle was imitating someone’s shocked face as they fell from a horse and everyone around him was laughing, Rhona included. When she had a hearty laugh, her cheeks turned pink and she always covered her eyes with one hand. Maybe tomorrow, Ormond would ask her for her favour. And then, when he did well again, she would be in a good frame of mind when he talked about the future.

Ser Owain Rowan sat across the table. He leaned forward to address Ormond. “I had the pleasure to see your first tilt,” he told him.

Ormond smiled uncomfortably. “It wasn’t much to see, I’m afraid, unlike your own first tilt.” Ser Owain and Ser Jon Arryn had broken two lances in one of the few interesting matches that day.

“Such things are a matter of chance,” Ser Owain said with humility, “and by chance I was given a real opponent. I was fortunate not to have been knocked out in the first round. My brother and cousins would never let me forget it for as long as I lived.”

“It didn’t look like a matter of chance to me,” Ormond told him. He had never doubted who would prevail, Ser Owain’s skill was so obvious. What had made the match impressive was how long his opponent was able to keep his seat.

Ser Owain shrugged. “Ser Jon is very green; he looks as though he only moved up from a pony. In two or three years, I suspect the outcome may be different.”

Ormond laughed. “Yes, that’s what they say about me. In two or three years…”

“I don’t think so,” Ser Owain said. “Only a fool would underestimate you.”

After another half hour the tables and benches were pushed aside and the dancing began. Far fewer people filled the floor than had the previous night. Ormond doubted there would be much energy for dancing again until the jousting was over. The previous feast had exhausted everyone. At once, he looked around the hall for Rhona. She was standing with a group of women near the dais. Ormond bowed to them all, but he addressed only her. His offer to dance, however, was met with a shake of the head. 

“Not with me,” she told him. “Not yet, anyway.” Ormond couldn’t have hid his disappointment if he tried. “Elda will murder me if I don’t take my turn.” She indicated where Elda Toland was standing behind Princess Loreza and Ser Eliott, sitting under their flower festooned arch. “Dance with someone else, for now,” she told him as she ran off.

Ormond sighed. She could succeed in avoiding him all night if she were in a humour to do so. Or perhaps she would be back and they would end up in bed together. It was difficult to know sometimes. For the moment, he decided it was best to obey her and choose another lady. He glanced around the group and tried to imagine who Princess Trystana would tell him to dance with, but he didn’t know any of the ladies to name them, apart from Joleta Gargalen and Olenna Redwyne.

There was one lady sitting near. She was staring into her cup of wine and looking very cast down. “What’s her name again?” He whispered to Joleta.

She gave him a look of disappointment that he didn’t know the name of every highborn woman in Westeros. “Tyia, I suppose you mean,” she said. “Go ask her to dance, Ormond. She needs something to cheer her up.”

Of course, Ormond had planned to do just that, but when he approached the lady, she looked up at him with eyes full of tears. “My lady!” He said, “whatever is the matter?” 

She took a shaky breath, then stood to run past him and out of the feast hall, all without a word.

Out of nowhere, Dany Gargalen was stalking over to him. She scowled at Ormond with her hands on her hips.

“What did you do to her?” She snapped at him.

Ormond was taken aback. “Do to her?” he said. “Nothing. I only asked her to dance.”

“Why is she crying then?” The lady persisted.

“Leave him be, Dany,” Joleta told her. “Poor Tyia’s been on the verge of tears all day. Perhaps she just doesn’t like jousting.”

Lady Dany twisted her lips. She grumbled something to her sister that Ormond couldn’t make out. It made Joleta roll her eyes. “Oh, do stop behaving like a child,” she said, “and just dance with him.”

“Yes,” Ormond offered at once. It seemed the right thing to do. “I always find that dancing makes me forget whatever’s upsetting me.”

For whatever reason, that made the expression on Lady Dany’s face darken. “I wouldn’t dance with you if you were the last man in Dorne!” Then she turned on her heels and ran out of the feast hall, just as Tyia Sarsfield had. Her elder sister followed her.

As soon as they had gone, he heard a voice at his elbow. “Perhaps you will dance with me, ser.” It was Olenna Redwyne. She seemed so shocked at her own daring at speaking to him, that she couldn’t look him in the face. Indeed, Ormond was rather shocked himself. The lady had never said two words to him. She had spent the last fortnight hiding in the back of the group whenever one of Princess Trystana’s daughters went anywhere. Never would he imagine her bold enough to ask a man to dance. 

“With great pleasure,” he told her, lest she run away from him too. 

He took her hand and led her to the floor. The dance was a slow and stately one, allowing plenty of opportunity for conversation. Lady Olenna danced gracefully enough, though she was so short that moving together was rather awkward. 

“My lord…” she started, “Ser Ormond…” she blushed crimson, which did nothing at all for her red hair, but she seemed determined to press on. “I believe, though I’ve only known her a short time, that I understand Lady Daenerys quite well.”

“I imagine so,” Ormond agreed with her. “You seem inseparable.”

“Well, she’s very young,” the lady told him.

“She’s sixteen, isn’t she?” Ormond couldn’t begin to guess why Lady Olenna felt the need to answer for her friend’s behaviour. “It’s only youthful high spirits, I suppose, my lady.”

“Yes, exactly,” Lady Olenna grabbed at the idea. “But even so, I know how eager she is to be a wife and a mother. She only needs a proper direction.”

It was Ormond’s turn to blush a little. Westerosi women really did say the oddest things sometimes. And for one as seemingly modest and demure as Lady Olenna to do such a thing… “I dare say she will find one,” he finally managed to say, “in good time.”

That didn’t please her. She frowned and winced. “I pray you, ser, don’t judge her too harshly, or hastily.”

“Judge her?” Ormond asked, surprised. “No, why would I?”

“You’re very gallant.”

“If you say so, my lady,” he said with a shrug. “But she’s the prince’s niece. She hardly needs my good opinion.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t make so light of it,” she told him without looking at him. And after that, she lost whatever nerve she had. They past the rest of the dance without speaking.

When Ormond was finally away from her he began to search the hall again for another lady to dance with. Preferably a dornish woman, who he could trust not to say strange things. However, he saw his father come in through the lord’s door and take his seat on the dais. He climbed the stair to join him. 

“Ormond!” Lord Edgar called, “come.”

He sat in the chair beside him and took the goblet full of wine that was poured.

“I drink to your health,” Lord Edgar told his son, “you’ve had quite a good day.”

“Thank you,” Ormond said, no doubt as red as Lady Olenna. “Have I had a good day?”

“Oh yes,” his father said, “first, your victory in the lists, and now this interesting conversation I just had with the prince. Though I’m sure your friend already told you all about it.”

“My friend?” Ormond asked. 

“Your friend Princess Loreza,” his father amended, “I’m confident it was all her idea, and that I may have misjudged her.”

“Have you?” Ormond was surprised to hear him say such a thing, but pleased. And he knew the princess would be pleased to know it too.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Lord Edgar was quick to say, “she’s still as tyrannical as the rest of them, but at least she seems to know that there are things to make amends for.”

“Good, I suppose,” Ormond said, “but she didn’t tell me anything.” They hadn’t spoken in days. Not since the wedding, certainly.

His father raised an eyebrow. “I’m shocked,” he said, “though perhaps I shouldn’t be.” He refilled both their goblets. “You’re betrothed. That is, you will be soon.” Ormond nearly chocked on his wine. That caused his father to laugh as he smacked him on the back. “I’m sure I had the same reaction.”

“But…” Ormond coughed, “when was this… who?”

“The Gargalen girl,” he said, “the youngest one. I suppose that’s the best they could do.”

“Daenerys.” The Others take it, that would explain… and Lady Olenna must have known already as well.

Lord Edgar made a face. “There’s nothing to be done about the name.” She’d been named for her Targaryen grandmother, to one whose marriage had caused the rebellions in the first place. 

Ormond was in such a state of shock he didn’t quite know how he felt, or what he thought. “But…” he began, “I don’t know her. How could I…”

His father stopped him short. “What is this Ormond? Are you baulking?”

Was he? He must be. It was Rhona he wanted to marry after all. He had told her so. What would she think of him, if she heard he was betrothed to someone else? “And if I am?” He heard himself saying.

“Why would you?” His father asked him sharply. “What’s wrong with her?”

There was only one thing wrong with her that mattered. Besides which, he had never had any cause to think about her. She was his friend’s little sister. “She’s a child,” Ormond said.

“What nonsense,” Lord Edgar said at once. “You’re only three years older than her. And no one expects you to wed her tomorrow.”

“I don’t think she likes me,” Ormond said lamely.

“Likes you? What does that matter?” He said. “Not one woman in a hundred actually likes her husband. Do you imagine your princess likes hers very much?”

Ormond shrugged. “She could have had anyone; she must like something about him.”

“Then I’m sure Lady Daenerys will find something to like about you,” Lord Edgar said with a shrug. “You’re comely, and far from a fool. She’s not a fool either, from what I hear. And she’s Princess Trystana’s daughter. I don’t understand what you could possibly object to.”

“It’s not her I object to, it’s just…”

“This is not the reaction I expected, Ormond,” his father interrupted him. “Surely you didn’t expect to marry wherever you chose. Your sister certainly didn’t and neither did I.”

“I know,” Ormond muttered. “You wed because your mother wanted an ally for her rebellion.” He didn’t like to think about it. How his very existence was so tightly bound to something that had failed so deeply and destroyed so much.

His father looked at him strangely. “And now you’ll wed to sew up that wound.”

“Will I?” Ormond asked peevishly. “Am I even allowed to refuse?”

“You can,” Lord Edgar conceded, “but you won’t. Not without a far better reason than that you think she doesn’t like you.”

Ormond regarded the wine swirling in his cup for a moment. “It’s only that…” he began hesitantly, “there is someone who may have an expectation.”

“Rhona Santagar,” Lord Edgar asked, “I think I finally see.”

Ormond couldn’t meet his eye. “Do you object to her?”

“Object to her, no,” he said, “I’m sure she’s been very good for you. But she’s no one compared to Daenerys Gargalen.”

“She isn’t no one to me,” Ormond muttered into his wine.

“I am happy for you,” his father said, with only a little bit of sarcasm. “But there comes a time for everyone when they must put such things aside. If you marry Daenerys Gargalen, all of Dorne will know our time of disfavour is over, and we will take our rightful place again. If you waste yourself on anyone else, it will mean nothing. We will have to depend on the prince’s good will for a generation more.”

A new feeling came over Ormond then. It took him a moment to find a name for it. He had felt it that day he had found his father drunk after a meeting of the council. It was shame. Shame to see him so defeated and weak. “A week ago I would have thought you’d rather sleep in a pit of vipers than have the prince’s good will, even if he offered it to you.”

“And a week ago, I would have thought you would do anything for it,” his father countered. “What changed?”

“With me?” Ormond asked. “Nothing at all has changed with me. But I cannot say the same for you.”

Lord Edgar shrugged and poured himself another cup of wine. “It’s Prince Rhodryn who has really changed. I’m not as stubborn as both of you seem to think I am. It will profit me better, and you as well, to be his friend rather than a thorn in his side. Even if the words I speak to him are the same.”

“You think he’s suddenly more disposed to listen? Why would he be?”

His father gave a quick glance around then leaned in closer to speak softly. “This king is weak. His children are weaker still. There may come a day when the prince will be glad of someone trustworthy at his back.”

Ormond stared at him. “I don’t believe that,” he said. “The prince would never even think of it.”

“Perhaps he wouldn’t,” Lord Edgar allowed, “but she would. I’m convinced of it. She hates weakness, that much is clear.”

It was true enough. Princess Loreza despised anyone who let their feelings govern their actions. He had heard her tell Daeron Targaryen so at Batara. Even now, she was sitting across the hall, pretending to be happy, when a less than a fortnight before she had lost a man she was in love with. If she wished Ormond to marry her cousin and he refused, any respect or affection she ever felt for him would be dead. “I know her better than you do,” Ormond argued. “You may be right, about what she thinks. But that doesn’t mean… She would never turn her back on the alliance.”

His father shrugged. “The closer we cleave to these dragons the weaker we will be. And I will tell her so. You will as well.”

“Will I?” Ormond asked.

“One day, yes.” His father sounded very confident. “And one day, if the gods are good, perhaps she will listen. But for now, you must obey, just as I do. It’s the only hope for us. And for Dorne.”

Ormond took another deep drink of wine. The room, indeed the whole world, was spinning. In all these years he had been a hostage… This must be what his father had felt, when he was forced to give up his son, just as Ormond was being asked to give up himself. For favour. For mercy. It was demeaning. He hated it more than he thought possible.

 “You told me someone has to stand up to them,” he said.

“I meant it,” his father told him. “But it’s easier to stand up if you’re not being trodden underfoot. You will marry Daenerys Gargalen, Ormond. Then there is every chance your grandchildren will rule in Dorne. Then they might listen.”

Ormond tasted bile. This from the Lord of Yronwood, the descendant of kings, whose grandfather had led half the lords of Dorne to fight for the black dragon. “Is that the best you can do?” He asked. “ If I marry her and if in thirty years some other marriage happens, then they might listen?”

“I’ve disappointed you, I know,” Lord Edgar told his son. He turned away from him to pour another drink.

Chapter Text

It was early morning. That meant the tourney field was not as hot or as dusty as it would be. Jeremy thanked whatever god, or master of the revels, had allowed him to draw the lot for one of the earliest jousts of the day. The crowd was still small, not everyone had yet roused themselves from another night of drinking and feasting to fill the stands again. Jeremy lifted the visor of his helm to look up to the highest part of the centre stand. The princess and her husband were there already, that was clear enough. So was the king. Jeremy couldn’t quite see what the distant figure was doing, but he was sure it was avoiding looking at him. The king always seemed to have his attention elsewhere whenever Jeremy was around. Daeron said he imagined it.

He was too poor a knight to have a squire, but Prince Lewyn had arranged for a squire from the palace to help him don his armour and hand him a lance with some last minute advice. It was a courtesy he never expected, and was grateful for, though he was skilled enough at armouring himself.

“Ser Quentyn has been a champion before, ser,” the boy told him frankly.

“Yes, I know,” Jeremy said, “And he’s everyone’s favourite here. I still mean to defeat him, if I can.”

“No doubt, ser, if you can,” he returned. 

“Who are you to be so insolent?” Jeremy asked him with a smile. 

“Harmen Uller,” the boy told him. “I’m the heir to Hellholt.”

Jeremy felt a rush of panic at the idea of a great lord serving him in this way, but he was, after all, a knight, and whatever this boy would grow up to be, he was still a squire who would do well to remember his courtesy. 

“Well, Harmen Uller, heir to Hellholt,” he said, “hand me that lance with the wide vamplate or get out of the way so I can get it myself.”

The boy scrunched his brow. “I’ll get it for you, ser.” He turned to take the right lance off the stand and brought it over to where Jeremy was already mounted on his horse. He was small enough that it took both arms to carry it. “Ser Quentyn doesn’t like to break too many lances,” the boy said by way of advice, “he’ll try to unseat you from the first.”

Jeremy looked across the lists to where Ser Quentyn was mounting up. His round shield held the spotted leopard of his house and was quite a bit smaller than the escutcheon that held his own flight of flaming arrows. “That’s good to know, thank you,” he told Harmen Uller.

The herald blew the trumpet. “Good fortune, ser!” Jeremy heard the boy cry. 

He dug his spurs into his horse’s side and felt her stiffen beneath him before springing forward down the lists. Ser Quentyn’s mount was smaller, but swifter. They both brought their lances down across their horse’s necks and braced for the impact. Jeremy could see at once that young Harman had spoken true, Ser Quentyn’s lance was aimed at his chest, rather than at his shield where it could be expected to break against the oak and iron. Jeremy shifted in his seat, ever so slightly, at just the the right moment and the lance found his shield anyway. At the same instant his own lance hit Ser Quentyn’s shied. With two great cracks both lances splintered, much to the delight of the crowd.

Jeremy dropped the remains of his lance when he reached the end of the course. Turning his charger around, he watched as Ser Quentyn did the same, and heard him cursing from within his helm.

Another lance, another charge. This time Ser Quentyn seemed to take him more seriously. He ducked out the way of Jeremy’s lance altogether, not even close to hitting him. This provoked more excitement from the stands. 

On the third run he seemed determined, and maybe a little angry. Jeremy found his opening easily enough. His opponent over-extended himself in an effort to ensure a hit, and the loss in balance was enough for Jeremy’s own strike to send him off the back of the horse and onto the ground. 

The cheers, and Jeremy’s own raised fist of triumph, were both cut short by the scream of pain that Ser Quentyn gave from the ground behind him. When he brought his horse around, Jeremy saw him already being carried away by his own men. Harmen Uller came running to him.

“Is it very bad?” Jeremy asked the boy as he dismounted.

“I don’t know, ser,” he told him. “It was his leg, I think. But no blood that I can see, so it can’t be that serious.”

“I hope you’re right,” Jeremy said.

“It was a clean hit, ser,” the boy assured him. “Everyone saw that.”

“Even so,” he said. Jeremy was not the sort of man who could injure a local hero and not face consequences from the crowd, even when the hit was clean. Besides which, he had never liked it when someone got hurt, in training or in tourney. It had been thus ever since he was a little boy and first playing with wooden swords. His father always told him it boded ill for any real battle, should the gods ever send him one.

On the way back to his pavilion he was stopped by Ser Casson Vaith, who complained that he had lost a number of dragons betting against him. But he laughed about it and said he would not make the same mistake again.

“And it was more than worth it to see him crashing down like that,” Ser Casson told him. “What a proud, unpleasant fellow he is.”

“Yes, well…” Jeremy said uncomfortably, “it is very regrettable that he was injured.”

“Indeed!” Ser Casson agreed. “It may be months before anyone else has the pleasure of knocking him over again.” He clapped Jeremy on an armoured shoulder before laughing again and walking away. 

It was some distance to the spot where Jeremy had raised his pavilion, beyond the lords and famous knights, but not quite so far as all the poor knights who fought in mismatched armour. He stripped down to his leather jerkin and breeches and sat in his camp chair outside in the shade made by the plain canvas cloth structure, no more than a large tent, really. It was amazing how quickly it was quiet when you got away from the main encampment. He took sips of watered wine from a skin, and enjoyed being out of the sun. After a week in Dorne, the burns on his neck and face had receded to brown, and now the sun seemed to do him no harm at all. It could not have been more than an hour before Harmen Uller appeared leading his horse.

“Ser Marq Rowan unhorsed Harlan Grandison,” the boy said excitedly, “of the Kingsguard. And then right after, Ser Owain did for Lord Darklyn. They broke seven lances! What are you doing all the way over here, ser?”

“Did you have trouble finding my pavilion? I’m sorry,” Jeremy told him. 

“It isn’t much of a pavilion, is it?” The boy said insolently. “I would think that Prince Daeron could see you get a better one. Then you could raise it beside his.”

“Why would I…” Jeremy started hesitantly. The boy was echoing most of the dornishman, who all seemed to think they were doing him a favour, to imply he should be outraged.

“You’re his paramour, aren’t you, ser,” Harmen Uller said, “it doesn’t seem right that he would allow…”

“Who told you that!” Jeremy snapped.

The boy looked at him with genuine confusion. “Everyone?” He said. “Certainly, no one told me it was supposed to be a secret.”

“No,” Jeremy said, flustered, “there is no secret. That would imply that there is anything to be secret about, and, as it’s not…”

Harmen Uller made a face at him. Confusion, and perhaps disappointment. “Right,” he said. He handed the reins of Jeremy’s charger over to him. “I brushed her down. Do you want me to find you something to eat, ser?”

“No,” he told him, “I’ll find something myself.”

Jeremy couldn’t regret the boy’s leaving. He retreated into the pavilion to finish taking off his mail and to wash his face and hands before donning a clean tunic and striking out towards where the merchants offering food and drink were to be found.

It was easy to tell which stands were selling grilled snake or fiery stew and who was selling more ordinary fare by the clusters of men around each. Some men-at-arms with the badge of House Tyrell on their breasts were grouped around a fire pit where sausages and chicken pieces were crackling and filling the air with aroma. He paid a few coppers for the back quarter of a chicken and a cup of wine and ate while watching some spear dancers rehearse and argue with one another behind the platform where they would soon perform. Then, he began to make his way back towards the lists, the pavilions growing larger and more ornate the closer he came.

Ser Quentyn’s pavilion was not as grand as Daeron’s, but it was as fine as any of the others around it. His shield of white and blue chequey with a rampant leopard was displayed by the door, some of the paint scratched off by Jeremy’s lance. He was about to pull the fabric of the entrance aside to make his presence known, but he paused when he heard the conversation taking place within. 

“It’s no less than I expected from you. Nor should I be surprised, I suppose, that you set your sight so high.” It was Ser Quentyn’s voice. And the voice that responded back to him was no doubt his sister, who Jeremy knew as one of Princess Loreza’s ladies. 

“I don’t know what I’ve done that you think so of me,” Lady Rhona said, “or why you suppose I have any scheme at all.”

“So you’re not fucking Ormond Yronwood, then?” he asked her.

“Does it offend you that I am, brother?” she snapped at him.

“You make a fool of us, with your crass ambition,” Ser Quentyn continued. “Or do you expect me to believe that a woman like you could have any real interest in a boy like him? No one would give that notion any credit. I can’t imagine his fumbling gives you any joy.”

 “He’s not a boy any longer,” Lady Rhona said, “and he doesn’t…”

“Spare me the details,” Ser Quentyn interrupted, “I don’t care how wet he gets you between the legs, Anders Yronwood has suddenly become a man not to cross, and he has ambitions of his own.”

“What a hypocrite you are!” She snarled. She nearly walked right into Jeremy outside the pavilion. “Oh, it’s you, ser,” she said to him. “Did you come to collect your ransom in gossip?”

“No,” Jeremy said earnestly, “indeed not. I would never…” He had so much gossip directed at him in his life that he couldn’t imagine wanting someone else’s as well.

“Forgive me, ser, that was unkind,” Lady Rhona said. “It’s only that…” She paused and seemed to think better of saying any more. “Don’t let him cheat you on the horse,” she said as she pushed past.

“Ser Jeremy,” Ser Quentyn said in greeting when he entered the pavilion properly, “come, sit and have some wine.” His host was on a chair with his injured leg propped up in front of him on a cushioned stool. Whatever had happened to it couldn’t have been as bad as Jeremy feared, since it didn’t seem to put him out of humour. Ser Qunetyn reached around to the table beside him where a flagon and several silver cups lay. He filled one and held it out for Jeremy to take.

“I’m relieved to see,” Jeremy said, “that you’re… well, not on your feet exactly, but…”

“Don’t trouble yourself about it,” Ser Quentyn said with a wave of his hand. “The maester says it’s barely a sprain. And it was my fault entirely. My father would have been wroth to see me take a fall that badly.”

“Even so,” Jeremy said. He sat and took a sip of the wine. It was thick and sour. “I…” he hesitated for half a moment, but it felt deceitful, to pretend he hadn’t heard anything. “I met Lady Rhona just outside. She was a little distressed.”

“Was she?” Ser Quentyn raised a dark eyebrow. “You need trouble yourself even less about her than about my leg. She takes after her mother.”

Jeremy frowns. “What does that mean, ser?”

“It means that she will find a way to turn any situation to her advantage.”

“I see,” he answered. “That’s a praiseworthy quality, surely.”

Ser Quentyn laughed. “Yes, I suppose it is. In a sister, if not in a stepmother. But, as I say, don’t feel sorry for her. She may not be able to get Ormond Yronwood, but she’ll get someone else, have no doubt.”

Jeremy had no idea what to say to that. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to pry into your family affairs.”

“Oh, you didn’t pry,” he said, “you were only being gallant. And indeed, you ride a gallant course, ser, and your ransom is well earned. Martyn!” A boy, Ser Quentyn’s squire, no doubt, came running from somewhere in the back of the pavilion. “Go fetch that gold we counted out for Ser Jeremy.” The boy ran to obey. “You have no objection, I hope,” Ser Qunetyn continued, “to taking the ransom in gold.”

“None whatever,” Jeremy said with a smile, “though your sister did warn me you would undervalue the horse.” As soon as he said it, he cringed inwardly. When would he learn that he was no wit?

But to Jeremy’s relief, the dornish knight only laughed. “Did she now? Martyn! Put another two golden dragons in the purse.”

“Ser, that was a jape!” Jeremy said as quickly as he could. “A bad one.”

“No, no,” Ser Quentyn said, “take them, with my compliments. You seem in need of all the gold you can get. Since Prince Daeron is content to let you fend for yourself.”

Jeremy almost choked on his wine. Clearly, Ser Qunetyn’s direct manner of speaking was not only for his sister. His first instinct was to deny, but young Harmen Uller had proved there was little point to that. “You do him wrong,” Jeremy said, “he does what he can for me. You don’t understand…”

“Clearly not,” Ser Qunetyn allowed. “But it seems to me a good deal for you to put up with. Certainly, no dornishman ever would.”

“I’m the one who is put up with, ser,” Jeremy told him. “And I’m grateful for it.”

“Well,” Ser Quentyn said, “that’s not the way of it at Sky Reach. Lady Fowler would never allow one of her knights to be treated thus.” 

For the second time in the conversation, Jeremy was at a loss for anything to say. “I’m sure that does her credit,” he said lamely.

“You would do her credit as well, ser,” Ser Qunetyn pressed. “My good-mother would always be glad of a knight such as you for her household. And she tends to take my advice about such things.”

Jeremy said nothing at all, just stared at the wine in his cup. Ser Quentyn perhaps felt that he had gone too far. He didn’t speak again until his squire came and put a purse into his hand. He in turn gave it to Jeremy.

“There is no need to say anything now.” His tone was kindly. “But I hope you will give it consideration.”

“I will,” Jeremy told him. There was nothing else for him to decently say. “Thank you for the wine.”

The journey from Ser Qunetyn’s pavilion to Prince Daeron’s was a short one. It was only a little way down along the makeshift street and across the dusty courtyard that had been formed by all the royal pavilions being erected to face one another. King Aegon’s was black and red, and looked more like a castle than a tent. It even had silk and wood framed towers at each corner. On either side, the grand structures of Prince Duncan and Prince Rhodryn looked rather modest.

Daeron had set up right next to his elder brother. Inside the pavilion, two squires were in the final stages of getting the prince into his armour. He looked up from pulling on a second gauntlet of lobstered steel to smile at Jeremy.

“You’re looking very pensive,” Daeron told him.

“Am I?” Jeremy was not about to tell him what Ser Qunetyn had said. Not about his offer and not about his opinions. “I was only thinking that you and Ser Artyr Dalt are well matched. And they say he favours his left side, as you do.”

Daeron shrugged. “What does it matter?” He said without concern. “I didn’t go down in my first tilt, so whatever happens, he will be pleased enough.”

He was the king. 

“Don’t be so glib about it,” Jeremy begged him, “you have every chance of beating him.”

Daeron shrugged again. He took his helm, crested with a three-headed dragon, its wings spread in flight, from one of the squires and made his way to the door. He paused for a moment to put a mailed hand on Jeremy’s forearm as he passed.

“Strength to your arm!” He called to the prince’s back.

Jeremy stood at the edge of the lists, watching as the young squires chose a lance for Daeron, handing him a long tourney lance of turned ash, painted in the same black and red as his armour. The prince hardly looked at it before he turned his courser to await the signal to begin. Across the field, Ser Artyr’s round shield showed the purple field and lemons of his house. If he were Daeron, he would fix his eye on one of those lemons and hit it square.

The first pass came to nothing, both knights grazed the others’ shield with barely a scratch. On the second, however, Ser Artyr’s coronel punched Daeron squarely on the breastplate, causing him to fall back and over the horse’s hindquarters and crash onto his ass. The horse, barely phased, trotted back sedately to the end of the lists, where someone caught him by the reins.

There was laughter mixed with cheers from the small folk, but Daeron didn’t seem to mind. Jeremy heard him laughing himself when Ser Artyr dismounted to help him to his feet.

“Well, thank the gods that’s done with,” the prince said back in his pavilion. They were alone, at last, and sitting with their hands clasped together between them on the table. “And, in truth,” he said, twisting his mouth into a smile, “it’s no great hardship to be unhorsed by a man like Ser Artyr.”

“He is skilled enough, I suppose,” Jeremy told him, “though I still say it was hardly inevitable.”

“I only meant, he shall have to come here to collect his ransom,” Daeron continued, watching him significantly, “and I wouldn’t mind having an excuse to look at him.”

Jeremey laughed. “You can look at him anywhere.”

That made Daeron frown. He pulled his hand back. “I’m sure it wouldn’t upset you at all if I did.”

“Why would you…” Jeremy asked. “Do you wish me to be jealous?” He feared he was not capable of it. What right could he have to be jealous of Daeron? 

The prince didn’t answer. He gazed at the silk walls of the pavilion, and hardly seemed to hear him at all. “And I suppose you already went, to collect your ransom.”

“I did,” Jeremy admitted, glad not to be under the scrutiny of Daeron’s gaze. He would surely know he was hiding something. Not that he meant it, when he said he would consider… That would be impossible.

“Everyone enjoyed your tilt,” Daeron said suddenly. “I don’t think Ser Quentyn is well liked. And several people congratulated me for it, it was…”

“You should probably go see him,” Jeremy said. 

“Who, Ser Quentyn, why?”

“No, not him,” Jeremy answered, “the king.” His mind had snapped to that conclusion in a moment. They had gotten too comfortable. First on the ship, and now here. The dornishmen had put ideas in his head, and he had let them tempt him into forgetting how it must be. “He’ll want to know that you’re not hurt.”

“If he wants to check on me, he’ll send someone,” Daron said with a frown.

“Even so,” Jeremy encouraged, “I’m sure he would think it dutiful of you to go to him.”

“If you say so,” the prince said, making no move to leave his seat. “But I don’t think he’s said a word to me in days, only scowled.”

“Has he noticed,” Jeremy asked in sudden alarm, “about the bedchamber?”

Daeron laughed. “You would know it if he had.”

Ser Harlan’s voice came from where he stood sentry, outside at the entry to the pavilion. “The boy is here, my prince,” he said, “with the matches for tomorrow.”

“Let him come in,” Daeron called.

The little boy entered. He had a whole stack of papers in his arms and the sun and spear painted on his tunic. He gave a little bow as he handed a sheet to Daeron, then ran out as quickly as he came in.

Daeron slapped his knee in amusement when he read it. “You will not believe who you’re to face on the morrow.”

“I’m sure I will,” Jeremy countered. “Unless it’s Leo Longthorn come back from the dead, or something.”

“Oh, it’s far better than that,” Daeron told him. “It will be worth this whole journey to see you knock Horas Redwyne off his horse. And break his leg too, if you can.”

Chapter Text

On the third day of his wedding tournament Eliott sat with his wife in the highest part of the stands, watching other men joust. Many of them were the very men he had met in tournaments since he was a squire, but now all he could do was watch them. He made a very lordly sight, dressed in white silk and cloth of gold, surrounded by followers. The princess was even more impressive with her red gown and golden mantel, and the coronet on her head glittering with rubies. All her companions were there, but of Eliott’s cousins and friends only Ser Jon Inchfield wasn’t occupied with the tournament and could sit with him. The poor man had overdone it at every feast, and been eliminated in the first round. 

At this time of day the high box was mostly empty. Neither the king, nor any of his sons were there. Nor Prince Rhodryn. Many of those left, Eliott’s lady mother, his sister, and Lady Taria among them, had taken advantage of all the empty space to move closer to the front where the view was better. For the bride and bridegroom, on the other hand, it was more important to be seen than see anything themselves. The small folk down below could only make out the splendour, they did not notice the sweat on his face. They couldn’t feel the silence that settled between Eliott and Princess Loreza since their wedding day. 

His wife’s eyes were determinedly on the field, where the herald was crying the match between Ser Horas Redwyne and Jeremy Norridge, but he could tell easily enough that her attention was elsewhere. The princess only attended to the joust when one of her friends took the field. At least, when it was one of her friends who was tall and comely, and wore the close-cropped beard that was the fashion at the dornish court.

Eliott lifted his goblet, and almost instantly a serving man came to fill it up again with water, sour with lemon squeezing and so well iced it made his teeth ache. He’d been foolish enough to ask for wine earlier, and only got a shake of the head in return. Eliott had no notion of what he could have done to deserve that. If she was displeased with him in the performance of his martial duties, she was hiding it well. As for anything else he may have done wrong… they had hardly spoken for three days. 

Every night, they left the feast, hurried to their rooms in the Tower of the Sun, and fucked in their marriage bed. In that bed, his wife turned into an entirely different woman. A woman of passion and energy who, for that time, lived only for him. Each night they knew each other better, and found new ways to bring each other pleasure. The first night, they had slept on a different sides of the great bed, the second they at least faced each other, though they didn’t touch once their bodies were no longer connected. That morning, however, Eliott had awoken with his wife nestled in his arms, her head on his chest. 

So how was it that she was more a stranger to him now than ever? It was difficult to see her sitting next to him without remembering how she had looked at him as she trailed kisses down his stomach, lower and lower, until his manhood was in her mouth. But she rarely looked at him at all any other time. The woman who had laughed and flirted with him at the wedding feast had disappeared and never returned. The last night, while they sat next to each other at the high table, he had even baited her with some nonsense some maester wrote that he was sure would make her eyes light up and provoke one of those exchanges of wit that had so enchanted him. But he had gotten nothing beyond courteous formality.  

What was worse, there was no one he could speak to about it. His uncle would listen solemnly, but he would never understand. His friends only wanted to speak about the jousting, which made him feel useless, or about their conquests, which made him seethe. Marq and Lyman Osgrey had even spent an hour the day before trying to tease Eliott into telling them everything about his wedding night.

 “What do her tits look like?” Lyman had asked, before Marq pointed out that there couldn’t be much more to see than they all had at the feast. Owain had been there, to check them. But even he, who had always been Eliott’s truest friend, seemed too preoccupied with his own concerns to help him. The only one who had shown him any sympathy was, astonishingly enough, the maester at the old palace. 

Maester Geuren was young, as maesters went, perhaps the age of Eliott’s elder brother, and he was not a dornishman. He had grown up, so he said, in Lannisport, where he had learned curiosity by watching the ships and crews from faraway lands. Princess Loreza, he admitted, was still on occasion a confusion to him, though he had already been in service at Sunspear when she had returned from King’s Landing five years before.

“There are many allowances made for the princess,” he admitted. “But I think that it is only the case because she’s otherwise seen as very serious and dutiful. It is like how no one begrudged Prince Qoryn, in the days of the great war with the kings of the Reach, for his many bastards or his weakness for wine, because he defended the pass and reformed the currency besides.”

“And made the alliance with the Vale,” Eliott confirmed that he knew the history.  “But… Prince Qoryn was a man.”

“He was a prince,” the maester shrugged. “And your lady wife, ser, is a princess. I assure you that all the great lords and ladies of Dorne see her as everything a princess should be.”

“And Henrik Dayne,” Eliott asked. “What did all the great lords and ladies of Dorne think of him?”

The understanding expression on Geuren’s face made Eliott feel sane, at the very least. This learned man who knew Dorne better than he did wasn’t immediately telling him he was overreacting. “Ser Henrik was little more than a hedge knight when he came to Sunspear.”

“And was he not a hedge knight again when he left?” The thought made Eliott more pleased than he wanted to admit, to think of the man reduced back down to nothing.

“Indeed not,” the maester said. “Ser Henrik is now a rich man. He has a reputation.”

“Reputation for what?” Eliott wondered aloud, with a vile taste in his mouth. 

Geuren stroked his beard in thought before he answered. “Well, he is a very personable man, a fair jouster, so they say. And I must defend him as far as to say that, not all the good regard he was held in here had to do with his, um, connection to Princess Loreza. He was, is, a competent administrator. Ser Olyvar regards him highly. And he does not give his good opinion easily.”

Ser Olyvar. Princess Loreza’s favourite uncle. Another dornishman who would never love him, no matter what he did. For the sake of a man who had whored himself in a woman’s bed for advancement.  

There were cheers as the combatants broke lances, but Eliott wasn’t attending. He never had any notion that a tournament could be so slow and tedious from the other side of it. When one was competing there was never enough time to be as prepared as you would like; to make strategy and settle all your debts. But now, there was a great deal of waiting while not much at all happened. No wonder people gambled.

As soon as Ser Horas was unhorsed, Ser Rolyn Toland rose from where he’d been sitting with his sister and lady mother and climbed the steps to stand next to the princess. Eliott could feel his fist clenching at the sight of him, with his dashing smile and his stupid beard. 

“I must go prepare for my next contest, princess,” he simpered at her. “You’ve already refused to give me your favour, but I hope you will not refuse to wish me good fortune.”

Eliott saw his wife’s face form the first real smile he had seen on it all day. “I have never known you to lack for fortune,” she told him. “And I can hardly give my favour to both you and Ser Gerold Hightower at once.”

Toland’s smile widened, and Eliott knew he was about to say something he thought very clever. “It would hardly be the first time you’ve done that, princess.”

Eliott saw red in front of his eyes. He heard a snigger coming from one of the princess’s ladies seated near them. For the second time in five days, he would have struck Ser Rolyn Toland if someone had not been there to stop him. This time, it was his wife who put a hand on his forearm before he could even turn to get out of his seat.

“But it may well be the last, ser,” she said without emotion. “It would be discourteous for you to be late.”

He didn’t see him go, he didn’t see the following joust either. The next thing to enter his awareness was everyone around him standing up and moving towards the back of the stands. There was a pause in the jousting, and they all wanted to eat something. Most of the guests went to the stair and left to find food and drink elsewhere, most likely in the grand feast tent that was erected just behind the stands, but Princess Loreza, Eliott, her ladies, and Jon, went to a small chamber built into the stands that was separated from the rest of the space by a silk curtain. That had become almost a ritual, every time there was a break. It was the only time and place they were not being looked at by everyone between waking and going to bed. Inside there was a table and chairs, already laden with cold meats and fruit. He sat at one end and his wife sat at the other.

For a few minutes they all ate in silence. Once Rhona Santagar looked as though she would speak, but Lady Emelyn silenced her with a shake of the head. Jon sat with his hand over his mouth and hardly ate anything.

They all heard stomping on the stairs and then rose to their feet when Prince Arion shoved the curtain aside.

“You’re very pleased with yourself, no doubt,” the prince raged to his niece, who alone of everyone had kept her seat.

“What have I done, that you imagine I’m so pleased about?” The princess snapped at him.

Lady Emelyn immediately began shooing the ladies out of the room. Prince Arion seemed content to wait for them all to leave before really beginning whatever it is he wanted to say. As she passed Eliott, Lady Emelyn nudged him on the arm to make him follow her, but he resisted until his wife actually met his eye and made it clear there was no use in him staying.

They all stood awkwardly on the other side of the curtain, able to hear every word.  

“Do you intend to tell me you know nothing about it?” The prince began. 

Eliott could almost hear his wife rolling her eyes. “I intend nothing of the kind,” she said. “Someone must take him in hand and force him to bear some responsibility. Since you will not, it must be my aunt.”

“I see,” he replied, “you shift the blame to my sister. Well, it makes little difference, you’re all as thick as thieves together. Understand me now Loreza, I will not allow you to condemn my son to same torment that I was forced to endure.”

Eliott had no difficulty knowing what they were discussing. He was getting as sick of Ser Maron Wyl as he was of a half dozen other dornishmen, though at least in that man’s case he had no cause to wonder if his wife was imagining him while she moaned in Eliott’s arms. The others were clearly as aware of the situation as he was. Genna Sand turned paler and walked away to sit by herself on a bench, Rhona Santagar shook her head in disgust, and Jon winced and rubbed his forehead.

“I have no wish to discuss it here and now,” the princess said.

“I don’t particularly care what you wish,” her uncle shot back. “Even Lord Wyl has always intended that he be allowed to choose for himself who and when he will marry. You have no right to interfere.”

“Lord Wyl is unlikely to thank you for invoking his name in this way. From what I hear, his patience is almost as exhausted as my father's.”

The prince paced. “From what you hear?” Prince Arion leaped on her. “From who? That busy-body Lady Ariandra? You should know better than to regard a word she says.”

“You’re mistaken,” the princess claimed. “But you surely concede that he must marry someone. You yourself saw to that.”

“Be that as it may… it shall not be one of my sister’s creatures.”

“Fine. As long as it’s understood that it will not be Daenerys either.”

The pacing stopped. “It’s true then; you’ve decided to get into bed with Edgar Yronwood. You know who will like that even less than Dany? My good-father. The one whose grandson you’re disregarding.”

Eliott heard his wife sigh. “We’ll discuss it later.”

“There’s no discussing anything with you.” The curtain was pushed aside and the prince scowled briefly at all of them standing there listening before he stomped again down the stair.

Princess Loreza appeared at the makeshift door, as blank faced as ever. “Have some wine brought up,” she said to Lady Emelyn.

The lady raised an eyebrow. “You said you were sick of your head aching.”

“Please,” the princess said without looking at her.

“I’m yours to command, of course,” she said in a tone that made it clear how she really felt, “but you will regret it.” She swirled her skirts and was down the stair herself.

Eliott followed his wife back into the little room and pulled the curtain shut as she sat back in her chair and put her face in her hands. “Are you alright, my lady?” he asked her.

She brought her head up to look at him, the smallest of smiles on her lips. “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” Her eyes were inviting him, and he found himself at her side in an instant. He knelt by her chair and put an arm around her waist, feeling her shift her weight to lean against him with her head on his shoulder. She ran her hand down his thigh. “But I think I shall be glad to leave Sunspear for a while.” 

However ambivalent he felt about dornish traditions, the idea of a month shut up with her, with no uncles or old lovers to distract them… But he was enough master of himself in that moment to remember that Lady Emelyn would soon be coming in with wine. “It was harmless raging, I think,” he said before her hand could travel any further and put him in danger.

“Hm?”

“Prince Arion.”

She sat up, the softness instantly gone from her voice. “Nothing about him is harmless, but he cannot get his way this time, so it’s useless at least.”

Eliott sat down in the chair beside her. “Surely he must have some say in the matter. Ser Maron is his son.”

His wife made a face. “He is when it’s convenient.” And then she lapsed into thought, staring at the orange rinds on the table and fiddling with her bangles. When Eliott opened his mouth to speak again she shook her head at him. “It needn’t concern you.”

He frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just that these things are all rather… you couldn’t understand it.”

Eliott felt bile rising up his throat. Did she ever speak to Henrik Dayne about matters of state? He stood. “I see,” he told her. “How foolish of me to think you would welcome my advice. I shall keep to a stud-stallion’s proper sphere in the future.”

“I didn’t mean that you should never…” she began, but her face turned into a scowl remarkably like her uncle’s. “You must do as you see fit, ser.” She was on her feet and out of the room before he could move.

On the stands, people were beginning to trickle back to their seats. The princess was again sitting with her eyes on the jousting lines, though they were empty of any men or horses. Eliott took his seat next to her and tried his best to put her out of his mind entirely, at least for a few hours. His lord father returned to the royal box, and paused to greet him. Alstor would be in the lists soon, and his cousins were both distinguishing themselves. All the seats began to fill. It portended that the next few matches might actually be worth watching. There was no need for him to be entirely absorbed by his infuriating wife.

And there was one other mercy. When he raised his cup, wine was poured into it. It was heavy and as sour as lemon water, but it was wine. 

Soon enough, the herald cried another match. At this point in the tournament, the field had narrowed enough for only one contest to take place at once. Unfortunately, it was the one he was the least interested in seeing.

Ser Gerold Hightower was in white enamel plate, carrying the plain white shield of the kingsguard. His new white cloak was streaming behind him as he trotted back and forth, waiting for his opponent. Eliott watched as Ser Rolyn Toland prepared to meet him. He mounted his charger and took up his round gold and green shield. On it was a dragon eating its own tail. The sigil was as insolent as the man himself.

When he saw his wife start to shift in her seat and attend to what was happening, some kind of madness overtook him. He didn’t give it a chance to be reasoned away.

“I want him gone.”

For a moment he thought that she would ignore him entirely, but then he heard her exhale slowly. “Did you speak, ser? I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”

“You hear me well enough, my princess.” He hoped to the gods he was speaking with a voice of authority. A husband’s voice. A voice she had probably never heard in her life. “I will not suffer him near you.”

“I see,” she said. She began to fidget with the woven straw fan she was holding, her fingers worrying the flowers embroidered in ribbon that covered it. “I’m sorry he makes you suffer so.”

Eliott chose to ignore her tone. Her sarcasm could not hurt him. “So you will do it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Certainly not,” she said instantly. 

He was rendered speechless for a moment. He had somehow not imagined that even she could be so brazen, so lacking in shame. “I must insist.”

“Must you?”

Ser Gerold and Ser Rolyn both spurred their horses, and both broke their lances. The small folk cheered and exclaimed. He saw his sister Aelora stand up from her seat in excitement, but Eliott could care less what was happening.

The princess’s ladies seated in front of them were all pretending not to be listening. But Eliott saw them exchanging looks and knew they were silently debating whether and how to intervene, before they started screaming at each other before half the great men of Dorne and the Reach. He turned towards her, and spoke lower. “So it seems. He insults me and you do nothing.”

One of the ribbon flowers disintegrated. Pink tendrils came off the fan like the guts coming out of a deer being dressed. “You must be very determined to be insulted,” she said, “if one poor jape can provoke you to this display.”

She had no idea the display he was capable of … But that was a lie. Never in his life would he have the capacity to make a scene like what was deserved, not here where his father and Lord Tyrell would see. “If it were a jape…” he started. “But you haven’t even troubled yourself to deny it.”

“Deny what?”

He felt his neck turning red. “You know what.”

She closed her eyes. “You’re right, I haven’t.”

Another cheer from the crowd. Ser Rolyn had knocked Ser Gerold on the chest. He fell back in the saddle but kept his seat, and was back up and calling for a new lance before he reached the end of the list. “Gods be good,” Eliott finally managed to say to her, “I’m your husband.”

There was now a little pile of silk ribbon at her feet, but the princess was not showing any sign of relenting. “He is not mine to send away,” she told him, “even if I did wish it. If you want to take the matter up with the prince, you have my leave to do so. Though I must warn you, he will need a better reason to risk offending Lord Toland than your petty jealousy.”

“You name it petty?” 

“I do,” she said, “and so will my father.”

“As you say.” Eliott didn’t doubt that the prince would take her part, even if she had started fucking Rolyn Toland there and then in the view of everyone. 

The princess threw her fan aside then clapped her hands perfunctorily as everyone else gave a cheer. The two knights on the field had made another pass without outcome. Eliott couldn’t watch at all. What made him angriest of all was that he knew, once he and his wife were alone again, none of his anger would keep him away from her, no more than his finer feelings or doubts had. She had  made his duty as a husband feel like sin.

But she wasn’t finished. “There are few things I find less appealing than jealousy.”

“The gods forbid I should be unappealing to you!” What did she want from him! He had already left his home and his family for her sake, had pledged his sword to her, had forfeited the right to father children that bore his name. He had even forgiven her. Was he not entitled to some gratitude, or at the very least a little assurance that she had any intention of ever behaving like a wife?

“Yes,” she said, and she actually turned her face to look at him, “that would be very unfortunate. For both of us, I think. What would there be left then?”

At that moment, the contest in the lists finally came to a head. With a loud crack, both lances splintered to kindling, but unlike their first pass, this time Ser Gerold had hit true and he sent Rolyn Toland down into the dirt. The princess gasped.

Eliott gave up on any attempt to hide his feelings, or to be discreet. He laughed, more deeply and freely than he had since he had come to Dorne. More than since he was a boy. It was enough to get the attention of half the people in the box. Even his own mother had turned around from the front row and was staring at him in confusion. On the field, Ser Gerold dismounted to help his fallen foe to his feet. Eliott slapped his thigh once more and then stood from his chair.

“Where are you going?” His wife asked him.

“I’m going to see my brother,” he said on sudden inspiration. “That is, my princess, if I have your leave.”

She turned to stone. “You don’t require my leave to go and see your brother, ser.”

“In that case…” he gave a little bow and left her to go climb down the stair.