[16] Riding For Kings Landing
Chapter 16: Riding For Kings Landing
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[Ding! END +1 for your intense bed performance.]
The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, painting the room with a warm, golden hue. The faint sound of waves crashing against the shore drifted in through the open window, mingling with the occasional chirp of distant birds.
Arianne lay beside me, her head resting on my arm, her hair a dark cascade over the silk sheets. Her finger lazily traced circles on my chest, the cool press of her touch contrasting against the warmth of the room.
“So,” she murmured, her voice light but edged with something deeper, “when are you leaving?”
“This morning,” I replied, my tone casual, though I could feel her body tense slightly against mine. “Yes, in a couple of hours.”
Her lips pursed, and she frowned. “Can’t you wait? It’s not as if you’re on a timer…”
I let out a quiet laugh, my hand brushing her side. “I am on a timer, in fact,” I said. “As beautiful Dorne – and its princess – is, I can’t be idling here. I have seven kingdoms to reclaim. Just wait for me. I’ll be back in no time.”
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You better. Unless some other man steals me while you’re gone,” she teased, her grin playful but her gaze sharp, gauging my reaction.
My hand slid lower, cupping her ass with a firm squeeze. She let out a soft whimper, her lashes fluttering. “After last night?” I asked, my lips curling into a smirk. “I doubt you’ll be satisfied with anything less than a dragon dick. And well, if you still whore around…” I trailed off, my tone turning mockingly disappointed. “It’ll be a shame to see my current number one Queen candidate lose her position.”
Her scowl deepened, but not because I called her a whore, she’d heard a lot worse the whole night. It was because of the last line. She looked at me, and the corner of her mouth twitched as if fighting a smile. “Right… Priestesses can’t be Queens,” she said, her grin sharpening. “I guess I’ll have to wear a chastity belt, then.”
Arianne Martell was a whore in all but name, and I wasn’t blind to that. She was too flirtatious, too unrestrained, and far too accustomed to getting what she wanted. That was why she’d never be my queen—not in this lifetime or the next. But still… she was mine now, and I wasn’t about to let her forget it.
I decided to mention her behavior to Oberyn. The entire Old Palace knew by now that I’d bedded the princess. Her moans weren’t quite restrained, so they must be assuming she’d be my Queen. So if I mentioned her whore-like behavior to her uncle, he would figure out my intentions. His Ellaria and their daughters wouldn’t let Arianne spread her legs for just anyone if it risked the position of Queen. Especially not with the Second Sons stationed here. They’d be too wary of loose lips spilling secrets.
Yawning, I let my hand wander upward, brushing over her round, soft boobs before giving one a grope. “It’s time for me to get up,” I said, nudging her with my chin. “So better to work, Princess. Use your mouth.”
Her lips parted slightly, a soft whimper escaping her as her cheeks flushed. She bit her lip, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Yes… daddy.” She moved between my legs, her obedience unquestioning as the warmth of her mouth embraced me far more than the warmth of the morning light.
****
The scent of spiced wine hung heavy in the air, mixing with the clatter of goblets and the coarse laughter of men who knew only battle as their constant. The dimly lit chamber buzzed with energy, the kind that came when men drank just enough to lower their guard without dulling their edge.
I sat among them, my back resting lazily against the high-backed chair. Daario Naharis was at my side, his sharp grin practically a permanent feature of his face. He sipped his wine with the practiced ease of a man who knew how to enjoy life without ever letting his guard down. His eyes flicked toward me.
“So, you’re leaving, your grace?” he asked, his tone casual but the curiosity beneath it clear.
“Not your grace yet,” I replied with a faint smirk, tilting my goblet just slightly toward him. “But I like the sound of it.”
Daario’s grin widened. “Oh, I think you are. You’ve got a thousand Second Sons under your command, and from what I’ve heard—” he leaned in, lowering his voice but not enough to hide his amusement, “—from the Old Palace last night, it sounds like you’ve got thirty thousand Dornishmen, too.”
The laugh that left me was low and smooth. “Fair point,” I said, raising my goblet slightly in acknowledgment. “And yes, I’ll be leaving soon.”
“How many men are you taking?” he asked, swirling his wine as though the answer were just as important as the drink. “Last time we spoke, you mentioned—”
“Same plan as before,” I interrupted my tone calm but carrying the weight of finality. “I’m going alone.” My gaze swept the room, noting the men whose laughter came a little too easily, whose movements were just a little too deliberate. “And before you ask, no, I can’t share the details. Too many ears, even here. But if I need your assistance, Prince Oberyn will reach you.”
Daario raised his goblet with an approving nod, his grin shifting into something sharper. “Understood. To your success, then.”
The clink of our goblets was a muted sound compared to the din around us, but it held more weight. I downed the rest of my wine in one smooth motion before setting the goblet aside. Rising from my seat, I gave Daario a short nod before stepping away.
The hall noise faded behind me as I walked through the corridors of the Old Palace. The stone walls cast long shadows in the faint light. The silk curtains swayed gently in the breeze, and the faint scent of citrus teased the air.
It’s about time, I thought, the faintest flicker of a smirk pulling at my lips as the door to the meeting room loomed ahead. I’d mention Arianne’s case first and then announce my departure.
My boots echoed softly against the stone, each step steady, deliberate. The laughter from the hall was a distant hum now, replaced by the quiet anticipation that had become a familiar companion.
The door creaked open as I pushed it, and I stepped inside, my thoughts already on the road ahead.
****
“Alright, Prince Viserys. Have a swift journey,” Prince Doran said, nodding at Viserys.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and citrus as it wafted through the Water Gardens. Sunlight dappled the tiled paths, its reflection glinting off the still pools. Oberyn Martell leaned against a carved pillar, his sharp gaze fixed on the figure preparing to leave.
“Thank you,” Viserys Targaryen sat astride a white horse, his hair bleached black and his face wrapped in cloth, leaving only his sharp silver eyes visible. The transformation was striking—practical, but striking.
It would hide him well enough, though Oberyn couldn't help but feel that no disguise could mask the fire that radiated from the young prince. Fire was difficult to contain.
A crowd gathered at the gate. Beside Oberyn, Princess Arianne stood silently, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the departing figure. Her expression was carefully blank, but Oberyn knew her too well. She looked like she was holding her breath as if his departure would rob her of air. Good, Oberyn thought. Let her feel that weight. It would keep her tethered.
“She’s in love already,” he murmured to himself, amused. He glanced at her sidelong, noting the faint tension in her jaw. A single night had been enough to snare her heart. That could work in Dorne’s favor.
He thought back to his conversation with Viserys the previous evening. The prince had been blunt, as always. “I’m not aiming for marriage, not yet,” he’d said. It had annoyed Oberyn at first—he disliked the idea of his niece being left with false hopes. But Viserys had been clear: while he had no immediate plans to make Arianne his queen, he didn’t want to give Dorne false promises, either. He admired her, and perhaps… perhaps she could be queen one day. But only if she earned it.
It was honest. Oberyn respected that. Better this than an empty scam.
He’d spoken with Ellaria afterward, asking her to keep an eye on Arianne. If there was even a sliver of a chance she could rise to queen, then she needed to stay pure—untouched by scandal or poor choices. At least for now.
“I’ll be riding now,” Viserys called, his voice breaking Oberyn’s thoughts.
He nodded, about to respond, when the sound of hoofbeats echoed through the courtyard. Heads turned as a figure emerged from the shaded paths of the Water Gardens, her dark horse cutting an imposing silhouette. Kinvara.
Her crimson robes caught the sunlight, making her appear as though she carried fire itself. She rode with effortless grace, her red hair gleaming like embers, her smile sharp and knowing as she reined in beside Viserys.
“You’re leaving without me?” she asked, her tone laced with amusement.
Viserys tilted his head, his gaze flicking over her. “A Red Priestess is… conspicuous,” he said, his voice edged with skepticism. “You’d stand out too much.”
“Not if I want exactly that,” Kinvara replied, her smile deepening. “I’ll simply say I’m here to preach. What’s suspicious about a woman spreading the word of her god? Besides,” she added, her tone softening into a teasing lilt, “you need an identity, don’t you? You can’t just appear in King’s Landing with nothing. My presence will give you credibility should your outlandish powers slip.”
Viserys frowned slightly. “And if they hang you? The largest Sept that worships the Seven Gods is in King’s Landing.”
“Religious leaders have a mutual respect for one another,” Kinvara replied, her confidence unwavering. “At worst, they’ll warn me to stop preaching if I gain too many servants. But I won’t gather servants; that isn’t my goal. So I’ll be safe.” She glanced at his bleached hair. “And besides… this?” She gestured to his hair. “One good rain and your secret are out. You should have asked me sooner.”
Before he could respond, she snapped her fingers. Her hair shimmered, shifting from its glossy black to a sleek, fiery red in an instant. She looked at him, arching a brow. “Easy, isn’t it?”
Viserys groaned. “You could’ve told me that before I went through three wigs.”
“It was funny,” she said with a grin. “But no more wigs. I’m coming with you. Azor Ahai needs his priestess, doesn’t he?”
Oberyn watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. The priestess was too smooth with him, too confident. Dangerous. She would be a threat to Arianne’s position—Dorne’s position—if weren’t a Priestess. Even so, she needed to be kept on watch.
A sudden idea sparked in his mind.
“Perhaps I can help,” Oberyn said, stepping forward. His voice carried the easy charm he always wielded so effectively. “Varys’ little birds have long wings. Unfortunately, even here in Dorne. They wouldn’t know your secret, I can assure you that much, but they’d notice a Red Priestess traveling from here to King’s Landing. That’s enough to draw suspicion to Dorne.”
Kinvara tilted her head, her smile faltering slightly as she listened. He clapped his hands, and eight girls carrying weapons stepped up. Three among them stood out.
“But,” Oberyn continued, his tone shifting, “if suspicion is inevitable, then let us use it to our benefit. My daughters are skilled in more than just poison. They can fight, spy, and kill when needed. You can take them as your followers with the excuse that they’re servants to the Red Priestess. Their presence will lend you protection—and they’ll be more eyes and ears for you in King’s Landing.”
Ellaria’s hand touched his shoulder lightly, a silent question in her gaze. He met her eyes, his expression softening slightly. Trust me, his look said. She sighed, nodding.
“U-uncle?!” Arianne’s head snapped to look at him, and he ignored her. She was feeling threatened, but he’d explain to her later.
Both Arianne and Ellaria seemed to understand what he was doing. If not Arianne, then perhaps one of his daughters could secure a place of influence besides Viserys Targaryen. Maybe not as ‘Queen,’ but as lovers. After all, Ellaria and Oberyn weren’t married either. Yet, she was invaluable to him.
Viserys considered this, his sharp gaze flicking over Oberyn and then to the Sand Snakes, who had stepped forward at their father’s silent command. The three eldest—Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene—stood tall, a step before the others.
“Alright,” Viserys said at last, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll take the three of them. Too many would just get in the way.”
Oberyn clapped his hands, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Three more horses, then.”
The morning ended as five riders rode out through the gates of the Old Palace. Viserys, Kinvara, and the three Sand Snakes—Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene. The rising sun cast long shadows across the courtyard, and Doran and Oberyn watched them go, his mind already turning over the threads of his plans.
One way or another, through one girl or another, Dorne was going to secure a high position in the new Empire that’d be born.
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