Chapter 64: Doran Martell

—I didn't grow up in Westeros, but it wasn't by choice, —she replied softly—. My family was hunted, killed, and scattered. If I wasn't born here, it's because the men who usurped my father's throne made sure I couldn't be.

Arianne raised an eyebrow but didn't respond immediately.

—And yet —she said after a brief pause, her lips curling ever so slightly—, you seem to have done quite well for yourself.

Doran, who until then had kept his eyes fixed on his goblet, spoke up before the tension could rise.

—Indeed. Despite everything, the princess has flourished. Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons... you bear nearly as many titles as your husband. And yet, he remains a mystery —few in Westeros know anything about him.

He paused, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of his chair.

—Imagine my surprise —he added, with a touch of irony and reproach— when I find a letter on my desk signed by none other than the "Lord Impaler" himself... and no one in the fortress knows how it got there.

Daenerys let out a soft, genuine laugh —the first that didn't seem measured or diplomatic. For a moment, her smile lit up her face with a warmth that even disarmed Arianne, who stared at her, unsure whether to smile or frown. Doran, too, was briefly taken aback, as though he had seen a flower bloom under the desert sun.

—My husband —Daenerys said, eyes gleaming with something almost conspiratorial— has a weakness for the dramatic.

Arianne tilted her head slightly, her eyes glinting with a playful and provocative spark.

—I must admit, your husband intrigues me —she said, letting her words linger like the scent of wine—. What kind of man inspires so many stories? Is he truly as formidable as they say... or do the bards exaggerate?

Daenerys took a small sip of wine, calmly.

—The bards usually fall short —she replied lightly, though without a smile.

Arianne tilted her mouth into a sly grin. Her fingers played with the stem of her goblet as she let out a low chuckle.

—Perhaps you might introduce us someday. I'm sure he would appreciate Dornish hospitality —she ended with a sigh that was almost sensual.

Her comment was met with silence.

Daenerys set her cup down slowly and deliberately. Her eyes, once warm, turned cold. When she spoke, her voice was no longer cordial, but sharp and cutting.

—Unfortunately —she said, her voice now sharp as a dagger—, my husband has little patience for social gatherings. He only tends to... entertain one person. —Her lips tightened into something that could never be called a smile— It's a pity that there are men and women who will never inspire that kind of devotion. So... deep. So exclusive. So... permanent.

Arianne held her smile, though her fingers tightened slightly around her goblet. Doran swallowed slowly, his face still calm. Both of them sensed, though they couldn't explain why, that for a moment, they were standing before a predator.

Doran cleared his throat, breaking the sudden tension.

—Perhaps it is time to set aside these trivialities —he said firmly, though not harshly—. Tell us, Your Grace... what does your family seek in Dorne?

Daenerys turned her gaze toward him. Her eyes softened again, though her bearing had lost the lightness from before. Now, she was a queen —not a guest.

She set her goblet on the table, adjusted a strand of hair with a brief gesture, and straightened up, locking eyes with the man before her.

—I've come to see if the Martell's are still loyal to my family —she answered seriously.

—And which family would that be? Targaryen? Drakul? —Doran replied with an inquisitive tone.

—Does it matter? My family is the only one with a legitimate claim to the throne. That is enough —she answered, somewhat defensively—. My husband was very understanding regarding the name. He allowed me to keep mine... he even took it alongside his, out of respect. But our children will be Drakul.

—Would you allow House Targaryen to disappear? —Doran asked, incredulous.

—Not necessarily, —Daenerys replied calmly—. My relatives will carry on my family's legacy. But make no mistake —the Drakul will be the new dragonlords. I owe Vlad more than I can say. It's the least I could do for him.

Arianne then spoke with a mocking tone:

—Such heartfelt love, princess. Like something out of a tale.

Daenerys didn't let the comment affect her. She simply turned back to Doran.

—Which relatives? —the prince asked, a strange light in his eyes—. Viserys?

—Gods, no —Daenerys seemed amused—. My brother was executed a few years ago. He was completely mad, so I imprisoned him. Then he tried to rape a kitchen girl who brought him food. Vlad executed him.

—And you allowed that? —Doran appeared stunned. For years, his plan had been to wed Viserys to Arianne. But now, that plan lay in ruins.

—Of course —Daenerys replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world—. He didn't just threaten my life, he was a disgrace... and a threat to my children.

Then, picking up her goblet again, she continued in a tone of subtle self-satisfaction:

—If you're worried about your arrangement with Ser William, I'm sure we can reach a new understanding.

For the first time, Doran showed genuine surprise. He hadn't expected Daenerys to know the details of one of his most secret —and dangerous— arrangements.

—What arrangement? —asked Arianne, frowning. But her father signaled with a glance that they would speak later.

—If Viserys is dead... —Doran continued, deliberately ignoring the previous subject— ...what relatives are you referring to, then?

—He didn't trust Dorne enough to reveal that information. All those of Targaryen blood were hunted down and eliminated, either by the usurper or "other" forces, — he said without a hint of tact.

—I assure you, Princess, that you can trust my family, — Arianne commented defensively, sounding even offended. —After all, we have a history together.

—I barely trust myself, princes —Daenerys said playfully.

—And that's a sensible attitude —Doran remarked, glancing at his daughter, urging her to ease her tone.

Arianne frowned, her voice laced with irony and disdain:

—If your family wants something from Dorne, perhaps you should start by offering a little more trust.

Daenerys held her gaze without blinking, her smile failing to soften the chill in her words.

—My family doesn't need Dorne.