Blood poured steadily from the wound. Standing across from the victim, dagger still in hand, was a powerfully built man in a loose silk robe that hung open, revealing a bronzed, muscular chest. Long black hair fell carelessly over his shoulders. His narrow, dark eyes gave his handsome face a dangerous, almost serpentine edge. He looked exactly like a coiled viper ready to strike.
The moment Corleone saw him, he knew exactly who this was—the man he had come to the Street of Silk to find.
The Prince of Dorne. The Red Viper. The man who never lost a duel.
Oberyn Martell.
Petyr Baelish stepped forward at once. He loved chaos, but he had no desire to watch the Prince of Dorne murder a Lannister knight inside his own establishment. That would cause him far too many headaches.
"Seven Hells, what is happening here, Your Grace? Why the sudden rage?"
Oberyn didn't even glance at him. His mocking gaze stayed fixed on the knight writhing in pain. His thick Dornish accent dripped with contempt.
"I thought this was simply a place for pleasure, Petyr Baelish. I didn't realize Lannister vermin could stroll in here so freely and foul the air."
Petyr's mouth twitched. He forced down his irritation and tried to smooth things over.
"Ah, Your Grace, you're putting me in a difficult position. A brothel opens its doors to anyone with coin. The girls don't check house sigils. They serve every paying customer with professional courtesy—whether it's you or anyone else."
"If this knight has offended you, I apologize on his behalf. A man of your stature shouldn't dirty his hands with the likes of him."
"Why the fuck should I apologize to this Dornish bastard?!"
The knight pinned to the table by his own hand was clearly an idiot. Pain and fury had stripped away any sense. He cursed both Oberyn and Petyr with filthy abandon.
"Fuck you and your—"
Oberyn simply smiled wider. He gave the dagger a slow, deliberate twist.
"AAAHHH!!!"
The scream tore through the room.
Idiot. Complete fucking idiot, Petyr thought. Since the victory at the Blackwater, Lannister men had grown unbearably arrogant in the city. But this fool was only a knight. Insulting the Prince of Dorne to his face? Could he not see Petyr was trying to give him an exit?
Oberyn watched the man's face twist in agony, his own smile deepening with pleasure.
"Scream all you like. I love that sound. Wherever Lannisters appear, my mood improves only when I hear them suffer. I can smell your stench all the way from Dorne."
At that exact moment, a calm voice cut through the tension like a scalpel.
"An adult male has roughly five to six liters of blood. At the current rate of bleeding from that wound, blood pressure will drop to critical levels in ten to fifteen minutes. Then comes disorientation, organ failure, and finally he'll flop around like a fish out of water and die on this very expensive table."
Oberyn looked up.
Corleone walked forward unhurriedly, studying the wound with clinical detachment, as if he were discussing the weather.
"You sound like an expert," Oberyn said. His viper eyes glittered with sudden interest. "I studied at the Citadel—earned six links—but I only learned these details while serving with the Second Sons in Essos. What's your name?"
"Vito Corleone, Your Grace." Corleone met his gaze evenly. "I'm a physician."
He continued, perfectly composed, while his right hand settled calmly on the dagger's hilt. "If I'm not mistaken, you're here representing your brother Prince Doran for the royal wedding. Allow me to be blunt: a Lannister knight dying by your blade in the most luxurious brothel on the Street of Silk will complicate matters considerably."
"You have greater ambitions, Your Grace. Why waste precious time on someone so insignificant? It will only bring you unnecessary trouble."
Oberyn's tight expression eased a fraction. He studied Corleone, weighing the words.
"He's right, Oberyn," a woman's voice called from behind them.
The speaker wasn't a classic beauty, but her exotic Dornish features gave her a wild, sensual allure.
Ellaria Sand. Oberyn's paramour.
In free-spirited Dorne, formal marriage was often unnecessary. A steady paramour held the same status as a wife. Ellaria had borne Oberyn four daughters and carried real influence even inside House Martell.
With Ellaria's gentle urging, the combative fire in Oberyn's eyes finally dimmed. He loosened his grip on the dagger.
Corleone smoothly pulled the blade free. The motion looked natural—except the tip "accidentally" sliced through the tendon at the base of the knight's thumb with surgical precision.
A soft tearing sound. Another agonized scream. The knight's hand went limp.
The tiny, deliberate move did not escape Oberyn's experienced eye. The corner of his mouth twitched upward—not in anger, but in clear, growing fascination with this unpredictable man.
At that moment, heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. A squad of Gold Cloaks burst in, drawn by the noise.
"Lord Baelish, what—"
The captain stopped short at the scene, then bowed respectfully to Petyr. Everyone in King's Landing still knew that even without the Master of Coin title, Petyr Baelish remained one of the most powerful men in the city.
"Oh, perfect timing, Captain Jeff," Petyr said, flashing his trademark warm smile. He gestured at the moaning knight on the floor. "This brave ser simply had too much to drink and injured himself during a friendly game of knife-dancing."
"Since you're here, please escort him to the best maester. Put everything on my account."
The captain understood immediately. Knife-dancing was a reckless mercenary gambling game—slamming a dagger between spread fingers at blinding speed. A mistake usually cost a fingertip, not a palm. And no self-respecting knight played it.
But when Petyr Baelish spoke, you didn't ask questions.
"Yes, my lord." The captain waved his men forward. "Get him out."
Two Gold Cloaks hauled the still-groaning knight away.
The moment they were gone, Ellaria Sand flowed forward like liquid fire, wrapping her arms around Oberyn's neck and kissing him with open hunger. Oberyn answered just as fiercely, completely unconcerned with the audience.
Dornish passion—nothing subtle about it.
Petyr, long used to such displays in his own brothel, simply bowed with a smile. "Your Grace, I apologize for interrupting your evening. Allow me to prepare a more comfortable room and send up some girls to wash away the unpleasantness. Everything tonight is on the house."
He turned to leave—only to notice Corleone still standing calmly in place.
"My lord?"
Oberyn, still entangled with Ellaria, glanced over with a lazy, amused smirk. "What's this? Can't bear to leave, Vito Corleone? Care to join us? I don't mind. As long as the face is pretty, I'll take either a man or a woman."
He grinned, showing slightly stained teeth.
The blunt invitation made Corleone's mouth twitch. Even with [Bed Skill Lv3] and a lifetime of experience, Dornish openness still hit like a cultural broadside.
He recovered instantly. "I appreciate the generous offer, Your Grace, but I'm not overly enthusiastic about such matters."
"To me, the so-called 'pleasures between men and women' usually begin with 'I shouldn't' and end with 'that wasn't worth it.'"
Oberyn blinked, as if he'd never heard such a theory before. Then he barked a laugh—more intrigued than offended. To prove his point, he yanked Ellaria's already-skimpy gown off her shoulder, exposing the lithe, panther-like body beneath.
"Not worth it?" he challenged, voice thick with mockery. "Look at this magnificent form. This raw, burning life. Tell me again it's 'not worth it.'"
Corleone remained utterly unfazed by the brazen display. His dark eyes stayed locked on Oberyn's face.
"Your paramour is undeniably captivating, Your Grace. I don't deny that. But I'm only interested in business."
"Business?" Oberyn's playful expression sharpened into genuine interest.
"Exactly." Corleone nodded once, calm and direct. He pulled out a chair and sat down across from the prince as if they were old acquaintances.
"I believe we can become valuable friends to each other, Your Grace. And right now, I'd like to discuss a deal that will benefit us both."