Chapter 63: Veiled Threats

Missandei, walking behind her queen, stepped forward to announce her:

—Before you stands Daenerys Drakul Targaryen, First of Her Name, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the Stormborn, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, wife to the Great Conqueror of the East and Queen of Meereen.

Daenerys stopped at the foot of the low throne just as Doran raised a hand in welcome.

—Sunspear opens its gates to you, Your Grace —he said with a firm, serene voice—. And House Martell offers you its hospitality.

—I accept it with gratitude, Prince Doran —she replied softly. A voice so perfect that Arianne felt a chill—. Your name is honored beyond the Narrow Sea.

The courtiers murmured respectfully. Doran nodded, then looked to his daughter.

—My daughter, Princess Arianne Martell.

Arianne stepped forward with a slight bow and a warm smile. She wore a tight-fitting orange silk gown that accentuated her curves and contrasted beautifully with her sun-kissed skin. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded freely down her back. She was the living embodiment of Dornish beauty—and, until thirty minutes ago, the most beautiful woman in the realm.

—Welcome to Dorne, Your Grace, —she said with poise—. I've heard so much about you, I feel as though I already know you.

Daenerys observed her for a moment, then gave a slight smile that never reached her eyes.

—Dorne is known for raising strong and intelligent women. I'm pleased to see the rumors are true.

There was a pause. Courteous, yet tense. Doran, in his infinite wisdom, remained silent, a spectator to that metaphorical duel of queens.

It was Arianne who broke the silence with a soft, beautiful laugh.

—We were eagerly awaiting your arrival… though I confess, I half expected you to arrive riding a dragon. They say you have four. —Her tone was light, almost playful, but like all things in Dorne, it carried poison.

Daenerys remained unbothered. She didn't even blink.

—We considered that option —she replied with serene calm and a dazzling smile—. But it might have been perceived as a threat.

—Oh, it's impossible for you to threaten Dorne —Arianne replied, as if they were old friends.

—Is it, princess? —Daenerys asked, amused, as if it were obvious.

Arianne frowned, confused.

—Is what?

Daenerys's smile could have melted stone.

—Impossible? —Her tone remained kind, but it was unmistakably a threat.

Arianne parted her lips in surprise, but ended up smiling with practiced grace.

Doran narrowed his eyes, though he said nothing.

—And your husband? —Arianne asked, as though making polite conversation—. The infamous Lord Impaler. Many hoped to meet the man who makes warriors tremble from Braavos to Yi Ti.

—Sadly, he had a wedding to attend —Daenerys answered with mock regret.

Doran raised a hand, cutting the tension with diplomacy.

—Your presence in Sunspear is an honor. We have much to discuss. If it pleases you, let us retire to the gardens, where the wine is chilled and the heat less oppressive.

Daenerys nodded politely. Both royals gave her passage, though Arianne lingered behind, watching the queen walk away. Inside her, a storm brewed—a mix of jealousy, envy, and a creeping certainty: Daenerys was a threat to her plans.

---

The hanging gardens of Sunspear offered a gentle respite beneath Dorne's burning skies. Flowers and fountains adorned the space, filling the air with a soft, pleasant scent, turning it into a haven of calm and beauty. It was tradition for palace lovers to walk there, enjoying the shade and serenity.

Prince Doran moved forward in his chair, Arianne pushing him gently while they spoke casually with Daenerys. Missandei and the guards kept a respectful distance.

—Dorne has a relentless climate —Daenerys said with a light smile, glancing up at the flowering branches—. But this place is as cool and beautiful as an oasis.

—That was the wish of its designer, —Doran replied—. A Targaryen princess, generations ago. Her name was also Daenerys.

—Then I thank my ancestors for their exquisite taste.

Arianne laughed softly.

—And for beauty, of course. It seems, Your Grace, you inherited both. Some would sail across the sea to Meereen just to see your face.

—Please, Arianne, you'll make me blush —Daenerys said politely, not taking the bait, but not rejecting it either.

They sat beneath a pergola covered in violet blossoms. The stone bench was cool in the shade, and a pitcher of wine with cups awaited on a nearby table.

—I was told your health keeps you confined to Sunspear —Daenerys commented, courteously.

—Gout is a cruel companion —Doran replied, shrugging with quiet grace—. But I've learned to live with it.

Daenerys carefully took out a small dark glass vial, sealed with red wax, and placed it on the table near the prince.

—This might help. It's a potion I was given in Essos. It has no side effects, but I was told it might cure your affliction.

Doran observed it silently. He did not ask what it contained, though his gaze lingered on the red seal. He took it slowly and stored it away without comment. His expression remained calm, though his eyes had sharpened.

It was her blood. Just a few drops, mixed with wine and sealed with heat. Vlad had said a few drops could heal wounds and illnesses. The only caution was ensuring the drinker didn't die immediately—or they'd become his offspring. But Daenerys wasn't concerned. Doran was safe in Sunspear.

—I thank you —the prince said at last, in a measured tone.

—It's the least I owe you, for your hospitality and for the history your house shares with mine —Daenerys replied.

Doran nodded. Silence lingered for a few moments as they drank a cup of wine, until Arianne broke it with a question:

—It's touching that you care so much for our family, Your Grace. Especially... considering you didn't grow up among us —Arianne said with false kindness.

Daenerys did not lose her composure.