Chapter 283

"You are not my father!" Prince Cuisitdan screamed and wept loudly.

Yalianen felt her heart wrenched as if in a vise, feeling her face flush hot. Seeing her brother's sorrowful appearance, she felt utterly ashamed, only able to blankly follow the prince as they gazed at the flowing water garden.

In the pool, the sound and shadow of the sand snake had faded, leaving the homeless children by the riverbank to dominate the pool.

How long ago was Yalianen still a member of the flowing water garden? How many of those former playmates are still alive?

She had supported Princess Misaila, yet the consequences were borne entirely by others, as if he had played no role at all in this mistake.

She saw Andereldeite's head, which was some consolation——the corpses of other old friends might still be lying in the desert, devoured by vultures. And her female companions, those noble children, had been ordered by the prince to marry the knights and nobles he needed to win over, elderly lords, making them utterly incompatible with the spouses they had dreamed of……

That beautiful princess also lost her life because of her actions, as did the white‑clad warrior.

She thought the pain from this matter would fade with time, but the young Prince Cuisitdan rashly rushed into Prince Daolang's flowing water garden with his sword, tearing the wound open again.

It turned out that this brother of hers was also a victim.

The princess clenched her little husband's hand, and Aideruike responded firmly. If he weren't still too short, she would surely bury her face in his rather thin chest.

"If you're not my father, then who am I?" Prince Daolang's pale face was covered in sweat as he weakly questioned.

"You killed my fiancée, you killed the person I swore to protect!" He pointed his knife sorrowfully at the prince. "You also killed the one you were supposed to protect!"

Princess Yalianen never imagined that one day she would have to endure such an embarrassing scene, but he was more worried that Prince Cuisitdan would do something foolish——the soldiers beside Prince Daolang had already prepared themselves; if it weren't for Prince Cuisitdan's special status, they would have swarmed him long ago to subdue or kill him outright.

She hoped things would not have to come to this.

It was all her fault. No, the fault lay with the prince.

He was too weak, choosing to kill others to shield his own children. He was also too foolish, thinking that sending the queen's corpse would earn the Iron Throne's trust and avert war—she still hasn't figured out the logic behind it.

This was nothing but a punishment for her.

Foolish, foolish.

"Cuisitdan!" she thought she could no longer stand by idly; she was his sister, the best mediator here. "Princess Misaila is already dead, and this has nothing to do with the father."

"Then who is it related to?" Prince Cuisitdan pointed his sword at him. "Do you all take me for a fool?"

The prince's hair was disheveled, his eyes blood‑red, and Princess Yalianen felt heart‑broken, on the verge of tears.

Her little husband, at this moment shielding her behind him, had already placed his hand on the sword hilt.

Poor Prince Daolang was completely unable to control the situation before him. He was too old, too ill, too inept.

"This matter……" she wanted to be frank with her brother.

"This matter has nothing to do with the prince or the princess," Aideruike interrupted her. "Don't," she heard him say to her in words only she could hear.

"No matter what, we are family. The one seated is your father, the one behind me is your sister, they are all your blood relatives……" Count Daien firmly shielded her behind him, "Put down your sword, let's have a proper talk."

She felt she had failed utterly as a princess.

As Count Daien spoke, a soldier stepped forward, snatched Prince Cuisitdan's sword, turned and pressed him down, pinning him firmly to the ground. Then she saw Prince Cuisitdan's face limp against the stone slab, sobbing silently.

Yalianen could bear it no longer, turning to embrace her little husband, burying her tear‑filled eyes in his chest.

As a princess of Dorne, this move was truly embarrassing, so she hastily wiped her tears, red‑eyed, and stepped forward.

"The prince is tired, take him back to his chambers." She heard the prince order the attendant.

At that moment, the scholar brought flower milk; the prince gulped it down, weakly leaning back.

His face grew even paler, as if he might die at any moment.

The farce ended abruptly in this way. They remained silent for a long time in the gallery of the flowing water garden; when she thought the prince had fallen asleep and wanted to leave, he suddenly spoke again.

"I have received news of the queen, but I still have no word of your other brother." He reopened his eyes, appearing as if the medicine had taken its intended pain‑relieving effect.

"Whether prince or beggar, before the sea there is no difference." Isn't that an obvious fact? If he succeeded, he should have sent word.

"Do you really wish your brother to meet misfortune?"

"I am merely stating a fact everyone knows." She need not have sneered, but whenever the prince mentioned Kunting, she felt as if she were seeing again that letter she ought not to have seen.

Kunting is the heir he idealizes in his heart.

Thinking of this, she felt wronged and a fury that could not be contained.

Her grandmother was the princess of Dorne, able to sit on the Longspear Throne and rule Dorne—why can't she? The prince could tolerate his mother ruling Dorne, so why can't he tolerate his daughter?

Moreover, she felt that the prince swiftly crushed that rebellion, leaving her alone merely to mock her before his vassals, to ridicule her incompetence and naivety, and that stripping away all her close aides was done solely to create an opportunity for Kunting.

"As long as the Dragon Queen lands in the Seven Kingdoms, we can join the dragon's faction and take revenge on the Lannisters." The prince said softly, "Dorne is an important force; we can join the dragon's faction at any time, and we have no other choice, but this does not mean we will give our support for free."

"We do not need to cling to the Dragon King." Reflecting on the history of opposing the Targaryens, she found the prince's words increasingly laughable: "I would never take pride in being attached to the Dragon King's family; we are House Nymeros Martell, and I hope you remember that."

"The prestige of this surname is forged by strength, not granted by the gods. Strength is shown by victory, consolidated by invincibility. To rush into battle and suffer defeat not only weakens our power, but the name itself will fade with failure." The prince paused, "No matter whether you become Dorne's leader in the future, you had best remember this."

Whether or not……well, this truly saddens her. Has the prince still not made up his mind by now?

"I have always remembered." Remembering that she is older than Kunting, and that everyone regards her as Dorne's heir.

Prince Daolang gave her a puzzled glance.

"The Dragon Queen is unmarried; Kunting is the candidate I proposed for her. If she chooses him, we will not only share the fruits of victory, but also, through marriage, share glory with the Targaryens, further strengthening the prestige of the surname you mention. I can think of no better plan."

"The Dragon Queen is attacking the Three Sisters city‑states; you could easily send someone to inquire about my brother's news." Yalianen laughed, "Are you worried? Are you afraid the news will only be of my brother's death?"

Her little husband sensed her mood and furtively tugged at her sleeve.

"The weather of the Narrow Sea is unpredictable; I no longer want to gather news I might not hear." The prince coughed lightly, straining to control the extent of his trembling, enduring the pain with difficulty, "Yalianen, Dorne is not as stable as you imagine."

"I know."

"You know?" Yalianen looked as he straightened his swollen finger joints, the lumps like pomegranates upon them, "The Conqueror Aegon was an outsider, while Dorne's Rhoynar have always felt no affection for the Dragon King's family; that is why we have been able to fight the Targaryens to the bitter end, not merely because of the 'unbowed, unbent, unbroken' motto. Yet now the situation has changed. If we alone attack the lion, those border houses——" He coughed again, "I am not speaking of you, Lord Daien; Starfall has always been a good friend and partner of Storm's End, and I have always felt grateful—when war comes, the heaviest casualties fall not on House Martell, but on the other families bordering the Six Kingdoms."

Yalianen had never heard the prince explain things in such detail.

"Yes, Your Highness the Prince," Count Daien replied politely.

"I am proud of you, Count Daien." The prince's attitude toward her little husband made her feel jealous.

Just how much does the prince despise his daughter?

"Our resistance to the Targaryens is not only to strengthen Dorne, but also to seize the chance to weaken the alliances of the Blarmong, Manwood, and Follard families' Prince's Pass, as well as the Vale and Ironwood's Bone Way alliances." The prince glanced at Aideruike, "Needless to say, this also includes the Dale alliance of the Rushwater River. House Martell needs to use border wars to weaken its internal rivals."

"You truly have a serpent's heart." Yalianen had not failed to consider this angle, but the prince's blunt words still shocked her.

We Dornish are all poisonous snakes, you forgot? the prince coughed again, his breathing heavier. But if we launch an attack ourselves to avenge Elia—of course we have the right to avenge—but the strength needed for vengeance largely must be borne by House Martell. If we win, that's good, but we gain nothing; and if we lose—look at the state House Stark is in. The Young Wolf, to rescue his father, let the strength of House Stark and its close allies suffer heavy blows, and that is the cause of the turmoil in the North.

We are not the Starks.

Be serious, Arianne. Coarseness has always been your flaw. The prince pressed his lips together in silence, as if enduring pain, and Arianne could only bear his criticism. You're right, we are not the Starks; in fact, we are far inferior to them. For thousands of years they have been the Lords of the North, their position far more stable than ours. Tell me, how long has House Martell's history as Lords of Dorne been?

Before Nymeria arrived, we never called ourselves kings.

We have never called ourselves kings. However, Nymeria landed and conquered all of Dorne in just a thousand years; compared to the history of House Dayne, we are like beggars.

Eddrick lowered his head.

The Starks are fortunate enough; Eddard Stark at least left behind excellent children to clean up his mess. However, if House Martell in Dorne suffers defeat, facing the same difficulties as the Starks, it would hardly have a chance to recover. Forgive me saying this, Arianne, but you are not someone who can go to the battlefield.

You're afraid. She had had enough of the prince's contempt.

I am afraid, and that's true. If you think my brother Prince Oberyn isn't afraid, you're wrong. He and I fully understand this, we just have different divisions of labor. I'm grateful Mother gave me a brother so I could get his help.

He's dead. What you need is me.

We have been waiting for an opportunity. Waiting for a chance to win, then we will clench all of Dorne's strength and throw it into revenge and victory. Arianne, this is why I have lain low.

Yes, lying low—you think you lie low like a poisonous snake, but to some people you look like an ostrich burying its head in the sand—still showing its stupid butt.

That remark successfully brought a flush to the prince's face.

What kind of ostrich would send that girl's corpse to the Iron Throne? Prince Doran turned his head toward the garden outside, I can send the queen back to King's Landing safely; there's no need to kill her.

You finally realized your honor doesn't matter anymore? Arianne couldn't help mocking, her little husband anxiously tugged at her hand.

You... the prince exclaimed at her words, then fell silent again, and after a long painful silence, You can mock me all you like. I know you've endured long enough, so after Princess Myrcella's corpse is sent to the Iron Throne, I hope the kingslayer's patience is worse than yours—perhaps he will rebel against the Iron Throne and launch an attack on Dorne—the borderlands.

What if he lacks patience? You helped him kill the Iron Throne's traitors; he hasn't even had time to thank you.

This is a good reason to kill; I have justification for breaking my oath.

You're truly cruel. Because of this reason, how many innocent people have died?

You'd better remember, this thing was started by you. If it weren't for your stupidity, the people around you wouldn't die, and your brother wouldn't today raise a knife against your father.

You could cut off his knife-wielding hand as punishment for disrespecting you.

Then I'd better cut out your tongue.

You want a mute to rule Dorne?

Princess! her little husband increased his force, anxiously tugging at her.

Hah, my tongue still has to serve my Lord Dayne! She pulled Eddrick's shoulder, looking provocatively at the prince.

He fell silent again.

After a long while, the maester's footsteps broke their frozen silence.

Your Royal Highness? Maester Caleotte anxiously looked at the prince. A letter from King's Landing.

These days the letters contain ever more brutal information, the prince said gently to the maester, the last letter you gave me bore the news of Prince Oberyn's death.

I'm sorry, the maester said.

That's not your fault. The prince's gaze fell on Arianne and Count Dayne. You can read it out; anyway they've already prepared to rule Dorne.

Yes, Your Royal Highness, the letter says King Tommen Baratheon I was stabbed by a Sparrow sneaked into the Red Keep.

Upon hearing the news, Arianne almost wanted to laugh out loud. The gods' malice could not be greater: if the prince had delayed killing Princess Myrcella, he could have used her to seize the Iron Throne, and then...

She looked at the prince with a mocking smile, only to see his face flush red then white, his hand trembling uncontrollably.

After that, Arianne never heard the prince say another word.

Then she heard the maester shouting loudly.

The guards surged forward, separating her from the prince; she stood dazed to one side. Afterwards she heard the thud of Areo Hotah throwing down his great axe and his loud wail.

Prince Doran is dead.