"Prince Oberyn," Samwell called with a courteous smile. "Princess Arianne is resting in her room. There's no need for concern; she's been treated with the utmost respect here."
"I want to see her." Oberyn's tone was as unyielding as iron.
"Of course." Samwell summoned a guard and whispered instructions.
Moments later, Oberyn followed the guard out without sparing a single glance at the Reach lords around him, as if they weren't worth a moment of his time.
"What arrogance!" Horas Redwyne cursed—but only after Oberyn had left the room.
"All right," Samwell said with a smirk. "Let the uncle and niece have their little reunion. Meanwhile, let's get back to business."
"Yes, yes!" Mark Mullendore chimed in. "I believe it's time for House Dayne to deliver the war indemnity."
Noticing the lords' eyes on her, Natahalie startled, giving a timid nod after a long pause. "Of course, right away. We'll fetch the gold."
"Excellent!"
...
Oberyn swung open the door, finding Arianne lounging by the window in a chaise, cradling a bottle of summer red wine. She wasn't even bothering with a cup, instead drinking straight from the bottle.
She glanced back at him, her large dark eyes glazed with confusion, blinking before recognition dawned. "Uncle? Why are you here?"
Oberyn closed the door behind him and approached her. "Why wouldn't I come? Do you think the Reachmen would let you go otherwise?"
"Then let them keep me," she replied, tipsy and defiant. "At least then I'd be far from Sunspear, out of everyone's way."
Oberyn snatched the bottle from her hand, taking a deep swig himself. Savoring the taste, he smiled wryly. "And what would you do in the Reach? You think they'd treat you like a princess?"
Arianne pouted, turning her back to him as she stretched out on the chaise. "What difference does it make? They never treat me like a princess in Sunspear anyway. They all think I'm still a child. Especially Father…"
"Because you are a child." Oberyn drained the bottle, tossed it out the window, and glanced back with a smirk. "Now tell me, what's your grievance with your father?"
"I am not a child!" She sat up abruptly, drawing herself up with an indignant pride. "I'm twenty-one! An adult for five years now!"
"Yes, you are," Oberyn said, the smirk fading as his expression turned serious. "Old enough to lead thousands of Dornishmen to their deaths."
She flinched, her bravado crumbling. She had spent the past days drowning herself in wine, desperate to forget the horror of that evening, the sound of dying men.
But Oberyn's words tore through her, reopening wounds she'd tried to numb.
Oberyn took a step closer, crouching beside her to meet her gaze directly. "You're right—you've been an adult for five years. Did I ever tell you what I did as soon as I came of age?"
He didn't wait for her answer. "I bedded the lover of Edgar Yronwood, Lord of Yronwood. He challenged me to a duel, and I accepted, sending him to the Seven."
Arianne knew this story well—how her uncle earned the nickname "Red Viper." Edgar had foolishly believed Oberyn would be satisfied with drawing first blood in the duel, seeing no reason for either to die over a lover.
Oberyn had disagreed.
He'd poisoned his sword, ensuring Edgar died a slow, agonizing death.
"See?" Oberyn continued, "I'm good at killing men in duels. But I never play cyvasse with your father. Do you know why?"
"Because he always wins." Arianne smirked. She knew that Prince Doran often played cyvasse alone, as he found no match among his peers.
"Exactly." Oberyn's eyes sharpened, his tone more grave. "I'm skilled at fighting; your father, at cyvasse. We play to our strengths, knowing the risks. But you, Arianne—do you know the game you're playing? Are you skilled enough? Can you defeat your opponents? Did you consider this before you challenged Randyll Tarly, Alester Florent, and that Samwell Caesar?"
The blood drained from her face as she began to understand the recklessness of her actions. All those Dornishmen who had died because of her…
Oberyn cupped her chin, lifting her head to meet his gaze. "Remember this, Arianne: we are playing the game of power, not a drunken round of dice. Any misstep brings severe consequences."
"I understand." Her eyes welled up with tears. "I was wrong."
Only then did he release her chin, pulling a handkerchief from his cloak.
She took it, dabbing at her eyes before muttering, "But Uncle… don't you think Father is too weak? If I don't act, people will think House Martell is theirs to trample over!"
"Do you truly think your father is weak?"
"Isn't he?" she retorted. "When you killed Edgar Yronwood in that duel, House Yronwood nearly declared war on Sunspear. And what did Father do to resolve it? He exiled you across the Narrow Sea and sent his own son as a ward to Yronwood! How is that not weakness?"
"And if you ruled Dorne, what would you have done?" Oberyn asked. "Summoned your bannermen and sparked a civil war?"
"That would be better than letting Father disgrace House Martell!" She let out a torrent of frustration, months of resentment pouring out. "He has shamed our house! Do you know how many men Yronwood sent when I called for banners? Thirty. Just thirty. The Yronwoods no longer answer the call of the Spear and Sun."
"That's hardly their fault. Yronwood is far from Starfall; they couldn't afford to commit fully." Seeing her unconvinced, Oberyn added, "Besides, Anders Yronwood is as loyal as they come. You don't know how defiant Edgar Yronwood was in his day—so much so that even your father had limits to his patience."
Arianne faltered, beginning to catch his drift. "Uncle… do you mean that…"
"Yes," Oberyn replied with a cold smile. "Did you think that duel happened by accident? Edgar's lover was twenty years my senior, as dry as the Dornish desert. Why would I court her?"
"So, you lured her to provoke Edgar, to force him into that duel…" she murmured, realizing the scheme.
"Exactly." Oberyn admitted freely. "And as for your father's so-called 'weakness,' think about his actions afterward. The exile he imposed was no punishment—it was a tradition for Martell heirs to travel beyond the Narrow Sea once they came of age. He merely used it to pacify Yronwood.
"As for your brother, Quentyn… is it so terrible that he went to Yronwood? He's now a squire to Lord Anders and will be knighted in time. Yronwood now respects him as family. In reality, we lost nothing, and gained the removal of a dangerous rival."
Arianne was silent, deep in thought, realizing her father's quiet strength, his cunning.
"Besides," Oberyn added, "House Yronwood is not our greatest enemy. Nor are the Reachmen."
"Then who is?" she asked instinctively.
In response, Oberyn's eyes seemed to ignite, flames reflecting his barely contained fury.
"House Clegane. House Lannister. House Baratheon," he said through clenched teeth, his voice a quiet roar. "The usurpers who butchered your aunt and her children—the real enemy is those who stole our blood."
(End of Chapter)