The great feast hall of Sunspear thrummed with a heavy, restless energy as night settled over the Shadow City. Torchlight danced across warm sandstone walls, glinting from gilded cups, polished mail, and silks dyed in every hue of Dorne.
The murmur of noble voices filled the hall, subdued by the memory of the blood spilled at the gates and the unseen ward that still encircled the palace.
Upon the raised dais, the ruling house of Martell sat at a high table with solemn dignity. At its center presided Prince Nolan Martell and his wife, Princess Maris, while at his right sat his heir, Princess Dareya, her bearing calm despite the weight of expectation upon her shoulders.
Beside them were Prince Qhorys and the youngest prince, Qoren Martell, with the young Princess Mereya seated among her family. Watching over them all was the Peacebringer, Princess Deria Martell, whose quiet presence carried the authority of decades and the memory of generations.
Among the honored guests sat Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the Iron Throne's envoy, her silver-gold hair gleaming beneath the torchlight. Though her posture remained regal, a quiet grief lingered behind her violet eyes, hidden beneath the practiced composure of a princess who had lost far more than any court could see.
A sudden silence rippled through the crowded hall as the herald at the grand doors struck his staff against the stone, his voice carrying over the murmur of the court.
"Lord Thaddues Peverell, Lord of the Ancient House Peverell, Lord of Peverell Castle in Salt Shore, Wizard of Dorne, Savior of Dorne, Master of the Skies, Guardian of the Marches, and Sentinel of the Realm!"
As Thaddues entered alongside young Merlin, the hall erupted in a breathless wave of whispers and muted awe. Lords who had seen their scorched fields revived by miraculous downpours stared openly, while noblewomen behind lace fans watched the dark-haired wizard who had shattered the Reach's vanguard without drawing a sword.
Some raised goblets of sweet Arbor wine in silent toast; others pressed back against the pillars, whispering prayers to guard their souls against his magic.
Thaddues made his way to the dais, exchanging brief, silent nods with the ruling house and Princess Rhaenys before taking his seat at the vacant chair next to Dareya. Merlin followed, settling into the chair at Princess Mereya's side.
To his left, the conversation among the nobility was already turning toward the future.
Prince Nolan of House Martell leaned across the carved table toward his wife, Maris, his voice low enough to avoid the ears of the roaming servants but clear enough for Princess Deria to hear.
"The boy possesses power that defies every master in Oldtown, Maris," Nolan whispered, his eyes fixed on Thaddues. "If we bind our daughter's hand to his house now, before the iron thronw tempt him away, our lineage secures its safety for a hundred years."
Maris turned to Princess Deria.
"What say you, Grandmother? Would the ruling house look favorably upon such an alliance?"
Deria swirled the dark wine in her chalice, a small, approving smile touching her lips.
"A house tied to the Wizard is a house anchored in iron, Maris. If the young lord agrees, Sunspear shall give its blessing gladly."
Further down the board, away from the heavy talk of matchmakers, young Mereya leaned over an enchanted chess. Fashioned to reflect the delicate power struggles of Westeros. It was a new piece, a gift Thaddeus had given her the previous night.
"Look at the way the dragon piece moves here," Mereya murmured to Merlin, pointing at a crimson-stained ivory piece carved in the shape of a coiled beast. "It strikes from three squares away, but if you flank it with the spearmen, it cannot turn without exposing its flank. Is that how your master designed it?"
Merlin gave a quiet, knowing nod, his eyes sharp as he shifted an obsidian knight forward.
"My master says power without patience is merely fire waiting to burn its own house down. The dragon strikes hard, but the board belongs to whoever controls the square it lands upon."
Before the feast could descend into solemn politics, the musicians in the gallery struck up a lively, rhythmic Dornish tempo—a dance of winding steps, quick turns, and subtle flexes of the wrist that matched the pulse of the southern coast.
Lords and ladies spilled onto the cleared stone floor, paired off in swirling patterns of silk and wool.
Thaddues rose from the high table and offered his hand to Princess Dareya.
She accepted, her slender fingers cool against his palm as he led her into the center of the revolving hall under the watchful eyes of every noble in Dorne.
As they moved in rhythm with the hand drums and lutes, stepping close before spinning apart, Dareya leaned in, her dark eyes flashing with sharp amusement.
"You have walked at this Hall as though you owned the stones beneath their boots, Lord Peverell. Half these lords look ready to kneel, and the other half look ready to flee."
"Let them look," Thaddues replied smoothly, twirling her with effortless grace as the music swelled around them. "Fear keeps a lord honest, my princess, but respect keeps his hand off his dagger. I find a healthy mix of both keeps the peace far better than any shield at the gate."
Dareya laughed softly, the sound lost beneath the clatter of silver goblets and rising chatter.
"A dark philosophy for a banquet, Wizard."
"Only as dark as the shadows we keep from crossing the threshold," he teased, his lips curling into a dry smile as the dance brought them close once more. "And so long as you dance with me, no one in this room dares question either."
The music ceased, fading into the ambient roar of laughter and clattering goblets as the dance concluded.
Thaddues led Princess Dareya back to the high table, where the servants were already moving down the line with heavy silver pitchers of dark Dornish red.
As a servant stepped up to pour his chalice, Thaddues felt it—a subtle, sickly prickle against his skin, the telltale mark of dark alchemy veiled in sweet grapes. Even without a warning from the system.
He flicked his wrist. His goblet shattered, spilling its contents across the table, and in the very same breath, an unseen ripple swept through the great hall. Every flagon, pitcher, and cup in the room turned over at once, splashing wine across silks and polished flagstones.
Before a word of outrage could be spoken, the servant who had served him produced a curved assassin's blade from his sleeve and lunged straight for Thaddues' throat.
The strike was fast, born of fanatical desperation, but the steel struck an invisible wall an inch from Thaddues' skin, grinding to a halt with a harsh metallic ring.
"Bold rats," Thaddues murmured coldly.
He raised his hand and opened his palm.
The assassin was yanked off his feet, hoisted into mid-air before the horrified eyes of the entire court.
Thaddues slowly clenched his fist.
The assassin's bones cracked in a sickening chorus, his limbs snapping inward as his frame was compressed into a dense, gruesome orb of broken bone and crimson ruin.
The bloody mass crashed onto the floor with a wet thud.
The hall dissolved into gasps and stifled shrieks.
Screams echoed from the lower tables as ladies turned away and lords reached for their sidearms.
Thaddues glanced down at young Merlin, who sat beside Mereya.
"Close your eyes if you do not wish to see this," he said quietly.
The young princess closed her eyes but Merlin did not.
He did not even blink.
He stared straight at the pool of blood spreading across the stone, his jaw set firm.
He remembered the teachings of Lady Rowena—that to walk beside a master who held the power of life and death, one could not afford to flinch at the grim reality of war.
Princess Deria stood up from her chair, her face pale but her voice steady.
"Lord Peverell..."
"It is the rat of this place," Thaddues interrupted, his eyes shifting toward the grand entrance of the feast hall.
--
[Host Warning! Detected forty-one catastrophic presences of magical weilders approaching sunspear.]
--
Before she could respond, a violent shockwave rattled the sandstone walls.
The high stained-glass windows flickered with a sudden, unnatural radiance as a massive ball of white flame plunged from the night sky, streaking directly toward Sunspear.
Thaddues rose smoothly from his seat, his gaze piercing through the stone walls toward the heavens.
It was starting.
Panicked nobles scrambled toward the balconies, looking up into the dark desert sky just in time to watch the orb collide with the translucent ward encircling the castle.
Then a deafening boom echoed across the Shadow City, sending violent ripples across the shield as the sky blazed with blinding light.
"Is this the reason for the ward?" Dareya asked, stepping close to him as her father, Prince Nolan, began barking loud orders to the household guards to secure the gates and protect the bloodline.
Thaddues offered a brief nod.
His eyes swept across the high table, resting first on Princess Deria, and then lingering on Princess Rhaenys, whose face was pale under the flashing lights of the sky.
"It will be a long night," Thaddues said softly.
Deep down, he felt the cold weight of the moment; even without relying on his system, he knew the coming battle would be unlike any trial he had faced before.
"Go to my chambers," Thaddues commanded, his voice slicing through the frantic din as he locked eyes with Dareya. "The room is heavily warded; not even a deity could force entry. Get the children inside—now!"
Dareya gave a swift, decisive nod, trusting his word without a second's hesitation as she gathered the frightened younger children to shepherd them away from the slaughter.
Prince Nolan bellowed for the household guards to form a ring of steel around Princess Deria and the royal line. But as the guards stepped forward, two of them suddenly broke formation, their eyes ablaze with manic devotion.
"Hail, O Old Gods!"
They hurled themselves at the royal bloodline, blades drawn and voices raised in a feral roar.
Thaddues reacted in the space of a heartbeat; with a swift flick of his wrist, he transfigured their iron spearheads into harmless showers of falling sand before snapping his fingers sideways with a brutal crack, breaking both traitors' necks mid-stride.
Panic erupted across the high table as screaming nobles scrambled over overturned chairs and spilled wine.
Princess Rhaenys, however, stayed clear of the madness, her jaw set as she swept toward the courtyard where Meleys was stabled.
Thaddues closed his eyes, casting his Legilimency across the hall like a razor-sharp net, sifting through the chaotic minds of every guest and guard while Princess Deria raised her enchanted necklace—its jewel throbbing with a radiant glow as it marked those who harbored malice.
Together, wizard and the Peacebringer hunted the hidden rats in the room, cutting down the remaining infiltrators before another weapon could be drawn.
Yet, as Thaddues turned toward the tall arched windows overlooking the coast, his breath hitched.
Beyond the shield of Sunspear, half Shadow City was already a roaring furnace, orange flames devouring the wooden roofs and thick black smoke billowing into the night sky as the invaders torched the lower streets to create total, blood-soaked turmoil.
He had not anticipated the infiltrators would burn their own people just to clear a path.
He turned his head slowly, meeting the eyes of Princess Deria.
In her gaze, there was no fear—only a quiet, harrowing resolve that chilled Thaddues to his core.
She smoothed her silk skirts, her hand resting heavily over the ancient seal of House Martell at her breast.
She knew what this night demanded. The old princess let out a soft sigh, offering her family one last lingering look before giving Thaddues an authoritative nod.
"Go, Lord Peverell," she commanded, her voice unwavering amidst the rising chaos. "Defend my city. I shall see that the bloodline endures, no matter the cost."
Thaddues answered with a silent nod.
He watched as the royal family, together with the children and the young nobles from the banquet, hurried toward the safety of his warded chambers. Beyond the palace walls, the Shadow City burned, its streets already awash with steel and flame.
Then he turned.
Stepping onto the balcony, Thaddues faced the inferno consuming the Shadow City. The wind carried ash, smoke, and the distant screams of the dying.
The first course had been served. The feast of blood had only just begun.
TBC
The Bloody banquet begins.
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