The maids seamlessly fanned out, moving with an eerie, gliding silence as they took up positions around the edge of the magical mist, ready to move in the second the doors materialized.
Alaric watched them go, a deep sense of satisfaction settling in his chest. His bank was down to just over ten thousand points, but the investnt was worth it. His fortress was secure, his inner circle was protected, and his enemies were running out of places to hide.
He turned away from the construction site, walking back to his black destrier. He gathered the reins and swung himself smoothly into the saddle.
Alaric spurred the massive horse forward, guiding it down the grassy slope toward the Tyrell encampnt. He rode at a steady, confident pace, the coastal wind whipping at his dark cloak.
As he approached the vanguard, he saw a group of n gathered near the edge of the camp. They weren’t Tyrell soldiers or Northern spearn. They were wearing light leather armor and carrying curved, unfamiliar blades. A single Tyrell commander was standing in front of them, looking frustrated and completely out of his depth.
Alaric slowed his destrier to a asured trot as he approached the gathering. The tension in the air was palpable. The Tyrell commander looked visibly relieved as Alaric rode up, quickly stepping aside and dropping to one knee.
Standing amidst the group of lightly armored Dornishn was Prince Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper looked as relaxed as ever, leaning casually on his spear.
But Alaric’s gaze imdiately snapped to the three won standing just behind the Prince.
He recognized the first one instantly. Obara Sand. She stood tall and heavily muscled, her plain brown tunic offering no pretense of courtly grace. She wielded her father’s signature spear and carried a coiled whip at her hip. She glared at Alaric with the sa barely concealed hostility she had shown when they first t.
However, the two won flanking her were entirely new to the board.
To Obara’s left stood a striking woman with long, dark hair braided with copper wire. She wore flowing silk and carried a hidden arsenal of slender daggers. To her right was a woman who looked deceptively innocent, with fair hair and pale skin, her hands resting demurely in front of her.
Alaric pulled his destrier to a halt. His brow furrowed slightly. He hadn’t seen the other two when Oberyn first arrived in the camp. Had they been hiding in the Dornish retinue the whole ti, or had Oberyn smuggled them into the capital while the Tyrell army was distracted by the battle?
"Prince Oberyn," Alaric said, his voice a calm, carrying rumble. He didn’t dismount. He simply looked down at the Dornish prince. "I wasn’t aware you traveled with such a large family."
Oberyn’s smirk widened. He tapped the butt of his spear against the dirt. "A man must keep his most precious assets close, Your Grace. Especially when the world is changing so rapidly."
Oberyn stepped aside, gesturing toward the three won with a sweeping, theatrical flourish.
"When I first arrived, I offered my spear to your cause," Oberyn said smoothly. "But witnessing your... divine architecture on the western bluff has made realize that a single spear is not enough to secure Dorne’s place in this new era."
He walked behind the won, resting his hands lightly on the shoulders of the two dark-haired assassins flanking Obara.
"You already know my eldest, Obara," Oberyn said, offering a mocking little bow. "Allow to introduce Nyria and Tyene. My daughters."
Alaric’s eyes narrowed slightly, sweeping over the three Sand Snakes. They were famous throughout Westeros—not for their beauty, though they possessed it, but for their absolute, ruthless lethality. Nyria was a master of blades, and Tyene was reportedly one of the most dangerous poisoners in the Seven Kingdoms.
"And why exactly are you introducing them to now, Oberyn?" Alaric asked flatly.
"Because a King requires more than just heavy infantry and stone monsters," Oberyn replied, his voice dropping into a smooth, persuasive cadence. "He requires eyes in the shadows. He requires blades that can reach where armies cannot. My daughters are the sharpest weapons Dorne has to offer."
Oberyn stepped forward, looking up at Alaric with dark, calculating eyes.
"I am offering them to your absolute service, Your Grace," Oberyn declared, his voice loud enough for the surrounding Tyrell guards to hear.
"Take them into your court. Let them serve your household. Dorne wishes to prove its loyalty to the Sovereign of Ash... in whatever capacity you see fit."
The phrasing was incredibly careful. He didn’t explicitly offer them as concubines or brides—doing so in front of the Tyrell vanguard would have been a direct insult to Margaery’s position. But the subtext was blindingly obvious.
He was offering three incredibly deadly, beautiful won to be placed directly into Alaric’s inner circle.
Alaric stared down at the Sand Snakes. He rembered the conversation he’d had with Margaery in the bathhouse.
He intends to offer his daughter to you... to secure Dorne’s favor. Margaery had been right. But she had underestimated the scale of the offer.
He wasn’t just offering one daughter; he was offering his three most dangerous assets all at once.
Alaric’s mind imdiately went to the Sovereign Bond system. If he took them, he would undoubtedly gain a massive payout of MP for claiming the Martell bloodline.
But should he take them?...
Reviews
All reviews (0)