Chapter 48
ARIANNE MARTELL
The new King was an enigma to Arianne. Steffon Baratheon had ascended to the throne after slaying two of his own uncles in battle. Stannis's letters had called into question his very parentage, but the man was dead, and his lie was dead with him.
No matter the truth, the histories would write his name as Steffon Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men and Lord of the First Men. They would not speak of Stannis's claims, nor would the realm.
The Lannisters had won the war, or at least they had won one war. Euron Greyjoy still wreaked havoc across the North, and the Crown had yet to defeat him. But no matter what, he was the King.
She had imagined a thick boned, broad-shouldered monstrosity. She had expected to find a cruel man, for his very reign had begun with kinslaying and replacing his own brother.
But he was not the monster or brute she had imagined him to be. He was tall and had a flat belly. She had imagined a Demon, yet she had found a well-mannered lion who had the patience of a saint.
Arianne knew well the effect she had on men. She was not ashamed of her desires, much like Dorne, and so most of the people she had met often fell into two categories. The cowards would avert their eyes, and the leachers would ogle away at all the skin they could see, yet he was different.
He was a young man, and one who now sat in the most powerful seat in the realm. Yet he sat there still, his eyes rarely straying away from her face while she tried to entice him with her entire being.
"I must say, I was not expecting our new King to be a septon," Arianne teased, leaning forward. He was reading the letter her father had sent with her, expressing his great regret over not being able to come to the capital himself.
He raised a brow at her as Arianne reached forward and picked up the very missive she had handed him earlier. She plucked it out of his hands, intentionally brushing his skin as she flicked it to the ground.
"You busy yourself with my father's writings when I sit here right in front of you. Such disrespect," and Arianne knew well that the King was seeking a bride. The entire realm knew that, and her name was on the list of possible candidates as well.
She also knew that the King had spent a night with the Stark girl, and many believed that he had already made his choice, but she did not care for that.
She was Dornish, and she had decided that she would have a taste of him, and she would let nothing stand in her way.
"I would be lying if I said that I wasn't expecting this," he chuckled, and so he had heard of her, yet even without the letter, his eyes did not stray away from her face.
"You know of me," and he nodded.
"I know of your Dornish blood," and so she snarled.
"But I am not just an ordinary Dornish girl. I am the Dornish Princess, one who is offering you everything, yet you refuse to even glance at me in full," and she chuckled softly as she rose to her feet and sauntered towards him.
She sat down on the arm of the chair, and straddled her legs over his as she whispered over his own, and whispered into her eye.
"You need not worry about a child, though. I am rather familiar with the taste of the Moon Tea by now," and she had him wrap his arm around her back.
Her offer was simple, yet the King was unmoved. But rather than backing down, she considered it to be a challenge, and he smirked.
"I was told that the Dornish have fire running through their veins," and she lowered her face until only the sheer cloth covering the lower half of her face stood between their lips.
"Let me show you the truth then," she offered, as her hand began to move down his chest, and no matter how he may try to hide it, one could hardly deny nature itself.
"I don't know about fire, but I do know what runs through your veins," and he slowly traced his fingers upto her neck, before he brought his lips to her ear and whispered coldly.
"Treachery," and she stilled for a moment, as his grip over his abdomen tightened, yet he refused to let him win this battle.
"I offer you myself, your grace," she leaned back and met his gaze.
"Yet you accuse me of treason," and he frowned and shook his head.
"No. Not you, Princess. I know you are innocent of this crime," yet his words meant that someone was guilty of it. Someone from Dorne.
"I would not have let you near me if I thought you a suspect," he assured her, and her heart was racing now as she realized that there was more to their new King than she had realized.
"But I am afraid I cannot say the same for your father," and with that her eyes widened, and she tried to pull away, but the Prince refused to let her go.
"There is no need for such a hurry now," and she met his gaze and realized that they had walked into a trap.
The Crown's letter had asked her to come to the capital in thinly veiled terms. The proposition was simple and made in a clear manner. The King was in need of allies and a bride. House Martell was offered to be an ally and to have a Queen sit on the throne, yet now he spoke of treason and treachery.
"It was why I was so engrossed in your father's letter, for I hoped to see a mention of his treachery, yet for some reason it seems like he failed to make any mention of it at all," and her temper rose with those accusations.
"This is not a game, your grace," she warned.
"You are accusing Prince Doran Martell, the Prince of Dorne. The Lord of Sunspear," she clarified, and while she had little love for her father, who hoped to replace her with her own brother, she would not let an outsider accuse him of treachery.
"I have proof," and for a second she wondered if he was lying, but making such an accusation was no small matter. He would be a fool to lie about this.
"To think that he never spoke about it to you, his own heir," and the Prince's words told her that he knew of the rift between Arianne and her father as well.
"I do not believe you," she protested, and he reached towards the desk and grabbed a rolled-up scroll. He offered it to her, and Arianne hesitated to take it, but she was left no choice.
She picked it up and began reading its contents. The scroll was a copy of an agreement between House Martell and House Targaryen, and her eyes widened as she saw her name mentioned in the text.
Her father had betrothed her to the Beggar Prince in secret, and he had not even discussed it with her. She felt a flurry of rage, anger, and a hint of fear in that moment as she realized the truth of his allegations.
Her mind raced, and then in the blink of an eye, she tried to reach for the dagger strapped to her leg, but as she did, she found the belt empty, as she saw the King raise a brow.
"Are you looking for this?" She felt a sharp pain in her abdomen and looked down and saw that the prince had her small knife aimed at her abdomen.
"I could slit you open right now, but I am not that kind of a person," and his tone had lost all of its playfulness now, as he looked directly into her eyes.
"You! You cannot do this," she retorted.
"You offered us bread and salt. We are under the guest rights," she protested, and he nodded.
"I have no intention of killing you or your family," he answered easily as he pushed her away. She was standing now, and he was standing as well with that blade aimed at her neck.
"But I do have need of your loyalty. I have too many enemies already, and I have no intention of letting you and your father add to it," and she shook her head.
"I knew nothing of this. This is my father's plot," and while she finally realized what that half-written letter about Quentyn one day replacing him now meant, she was still furious that he had decided on her future without even speaking to her.
Viserys Targaryen. He was once called the Beggar Prince, and while now he had an army of his own and the favor of Pentoshi magisters, he was also said to possess his father's madness.
Arianne had heard many a tale about the Mad King and how her own Aunt had suffered because of the man's madness. He was part of the reason why Princess Elia had suffered in the way that she had, and now he had betrothed her to that man's son.
"I know," the King agreed.
"It is the only reason I have chosen to offer you mercy. Prince Doran is an old man, one who is filled with grudges and hate. He clings to the past, but you are different," and she was taken aback by those words, as her back hit the wall.
Steffon Baratheon lowered his blade, now much to her surprise.
"I know that there is bad blood between our families. But we are not our forefathers. We have no reason to cling to their grudges," and he was making her an offer of peace.
"You want me to betray my family?" He shook his head.
"I want you to save them. Not just them, but the people of Dorne as well," and his voice grew duller now.
"You can reject my offer, and we will be forced into a fight. My grandfather's men will have captured your entire retinue by now. No matter the trickery your father may try, Dorne would have no choice but to bow," and she ground his teeth in disgust, as she realized that he had them trapped.
"On the other hand, you can swear fealty to me right now, and in return I shall give you what you have always sought," and her heart skipped a beat as she realized his insinuation.
"Doran Martell will abdicate the throne and present himself in my throne room to face punishment for his crimes, while you shall take over Dorne and fight for my cause from this day to the end of my days. I will call on your armies for war, and Dorne shall answer," and he stepped forward, until his face was inches from her.
"I will no longer let Dorne be an unwilling bride in this marriage. It will answer the call to war like the rest of the Kingdoms," and her chest moved up and down rapidly as she considered his offer.
"What of my cousins and my uncle?" she asked, and she made no mention of her father.
"The Sea Snakes will be my hostages. I shall not imprison them, but they will remain in the capital for ten years. As for your uncle, I have no intention of killing him," and that was a more merciful offer than she had thought.
"He will take the Black and go to the Wall," and she nodded.
"And my brothers? Quentyn and Trys?" she asked in desperation, for all their faults, they were her brothers, and she did not wish to see them suffer.
"Quentyn shall go to Storm's End and serve as a paige under Ser Davos there. Trystane, though, shall come to the capital as well, and I will have him squire for myself," and they would both be hostages as well.
She looked into his green eyes and realized that there was indeed some truth to the rumors.
"The choice is yours, Princess," he repeated.
"We can have peace and prosperity together, or we can have war, and I can assure you do not want to fight a war against me," and she bit her lip, and though the choice seemed easy, in reality it was not.
Steffon Baratheon's offer came with many advantages, but it would turn all of Dorne against her. They would hate her for this, but as she thought of the alternative, she realized that it was far worse.
The choice was obvious, but she would not give him Dorne so easily. He had played them, so she would take something from him as well.
"I accept the offer, but I have a condition of my own," and he raised a brow.
"Name it?" he said, and she pushed herself forward and crashed her lips onto his. He was a bit reluctant, yet she did not let him pull away, as she grabbed his head with her hands strongly.
She entangled his lips for minutes, and only let go when she could feel her body grow numb from the lack of air. He was taken aback by her vigor, and she licked the blood dripping down her lip as she saw the Prince.
"If I am to give you Dorne, then I want you in return," and he frowned.
"I will not marry you, Princess, for I have already chosen my wife to be," and she shrugged, and that was not what she was asking for.
"I am not asking you to marry me, your grace," and she walked up to him once more, just as a snake would slither towards its prey.
"I am asking you to become mine for the days we are together…."
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