The approaching ship undoubtedly belonged to House Martell. As the two vessels drew closer and the figure at the prow became distinct, it proved Princess Elia's certainty was completely correct—the man leaping and waving at the prow was none other than her brother, the Red Viper of Dorne, Prince Oberyn Martell.
Euron couldn't help but marvel. Perhaps a mysterious connection transcending the five senses truly existed deep within blood ties.
Oberyn Martell couldn't even wait for the two ships to fully dock and stabilize.
The moment the gunwales were about to touch, with waves still pushing the hulls, Oberyn leaped. Agile as a desert scorpion, he landed precisely and lightly on Euron's deck, making almost no extra sound.
His gaze locked onto his sister immediately. In the next moment, he strode forward, spread his arms, and pulled Princess Elia Martell into a tight, solid embrace. It was a hug filled with worry, longing, and the ecstasy of reunion, as if trying to melt all the concerns of their time apart into this powerful embrace.
Following Oberyn over the gunwale was a graceful woman with captivating eyes—his paramour, Ellaria Sand.
"Sand" was the surname given to noble bastards in Dorne.
Ellaria Sand was the bastard daughter of Lord Harmen Uller, a Dornish noble. She was a sea buckthorn flower growing in the shadows yet blooming wantonly.
There were many rumors about her. The most striking was that she had once squandered her youth in the pleasure houses of Lys, an experience that plated her with a lingering, mysterious, and exotic charm. There were also rumors that she devoutly worshipped a Lysene love goddess, whose doctrine advocated the freedom of carnal pleasure and eros.
Prince Oberyn himself never shied away from praising Ellaria's uninhibited views in that regard, often hinting with playful pride that Ellaria's charm was like the richest wine, enough to intoxicate admirers of any gender.
Exotic flair and unconcealed sensuality constituted her unique attraction. Standing beside Oberyn, she was not a simple accessory but a dangerous and charming treasure that complemented his temperament, naturally seizing all surrounding gazes.
Ellaria's lower abdomen was visibly swollen, showing that a small life was being nurtured within her.
Prince Oberyn Martell's gaze finally looked past his sister's shoulder and landed on Euron. He sized up this partner with whom he had spent three years across the Narrow Sea, a familiar smile curling his lips. "Ha! You bastard brat!" He released Elia and gave Euron an equally warm, powerful hug, slapping his back hard. "Haven't seen you for a year, and you're almost taller than me!"
Enduring this Dornish enthusiasm, Euron smiled back. "Haven't seen you for a year, and you're about to become a father." His gaze glanced pointedly at the smiling Ellaria Sand nearby.
Meanwhile, other companions on Oberyn's ship appeared one after another.
Castor Daniels leaned lazily against the rail, a cynical smirk on his face, calling out teasingly to his sister, Victoria Daniels, on Euron's ship: "Yo, look who it is? Isn't it my dear sister who unfortunately got caught? I warned you long ago, licking blood from a Sorrowful Man's blade doesn't suit you. Finding a good family to marry into and have children is the right path!"
Victoria Daniels instantly reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, retorting without weakness, "Shut up! Disgrace to the family! My business isn't for you to dictate!"
Ashara Dayne and Arianne Martell didn't jump over like Oberyn. The two ladies stood elegantly side by side at the prow, arm in arm.
Ashara Dayne looked at Euron from afar, a gentle smile in her azure eyes as she nodded slightly to him. Arianne Martell, standing beside her, leaned in to whisper something mischievously in Ashara's ear, clearly teasing her friend about her relationship with Euron. This caused Ashara's cheeks to flush slightly as she gently nudged the Dornish princess with her elbow.
Euron raised an eyebrow at Oberyn and asked directly, "Why did you suddenly run out to such distant waters?"
Oberyn shrugged, his tone casual but carrying unmistakable concern. "I calculated your itinerary long ago and expected you to arrive these days. But this morning I received news that those two gangs of stupid pirates in the Stepstones were killing each other again. I was afraid you wouldn't know the depth of it and would crash headfirst into that meat grinder." A signature playful smile curled his lips. "Mainly worried about you. If the little Kraken accidentally died on Dorne's doorstep, we'd have a hard time explaining it."
Euron chuckled, clearly not buying this excuse. "Worried about me? That doesn't sound like the Red Viper's style."
"Mm," Oberyn nodded readily, his eyes flashing cunningly. "More accurately, worried that after you died, that pack of wolf-like relatives from the Iron Islands would come to Dorne for revenge. You know, the 'Flames of the Arbor' is currently the most popular ballad in Dornish taverns. How would we dare provoke the Iron Islands that can ignite such 'fireworks'?" His tone was exaggerated, full of jest.
Euron heard the teasing in his words and deliberately put on a stern face to play along. He huffed coldly, "So, are you scared?"
"Scared? Of course I'm scared!" Oberyn laughed loudly, clapping Euron heavily on the shoulder. "The noise you made this year was truly not small. Sweeping the Arbor, doing business so prosperously... I heard your 'Ice and Fire Caravan' is so busy their feet don't touch the ground. Even the horselords on the grasslands are using the ironware you sell?"
"All trivial matters, not worth mentioning." Euron brushed it off lightly.
"But the most 'hateful' thing is," Oberyn pivoted, slinging his arm around Euron's neck, his tone becoming heartbroken as if accusing him of a heinous crime, "you quietly plucked the brightest star in our Dornish sky—Ashara! And you dare to come to Dorne, to Sunspear, so brazenly?"
"Not 'plucked'," Euron corrected helplessly, though his eyes held laughter. "We are merely betrothed."
"Then you'd better be fully prepared," Oberyn dropped his joking expression. Though his eyes still smiled, his tone carried a serious warning. "The lads in Sunspear who adore Ashara could line up from the Tower of the Sun to the Water Gardens. You, the 'Star Plucker,' are likely to have endless trouble knocking on your door."
"Heh," Euron let out a short laugh, his eyes calm as a windless sea. "I've always hated trouble." He paused, looking meaningfully at Oberyn, a cunning arc returning to his lips. "However, with you, the Prince of Dorne and the 'Red Viper' himself, holding the ground nearby, it shouldn't be a problem, right?"
Hearing this, Oberyn laughed heartily, with a hint of schadenfreude. "Whether I'm there or not, the rules are the same. If someone openly challenges you with this reason, even as a Prince, I cannot overtly intervene with partiality."
Oberyn changed the subject, holding up three fingers. He spoke seriously, yet sounded like he was reading game rules. "What I can do is, at most, ensure every challenge is 'fair and just.' For example, the challenger must be of orthodox noble birth; bastards won't do. Their age must be similar to yours; we can't let experienced veterans bully a young man. It must also be a public, formal duel. One person gets only one chance, and you accept at most one challenge a day. How about that? Generous enough?"
Euron narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Are you serious? Why do I feel like you aren't helping me, but deliberately arranging an exhibition match schedule for me?"
"Oh my, you figured it out a little." Oberyn admitted grinningly, then lowered his voice to reveal another key reason. "Actually, part of this is also because of my precious niece."
"...?" Euron showed a puzzled expression.
"Arianne," Oberyn jerked his chin toward his own ship. "Her suitors could line up from the Water Gardens to the Broken Arm. That little girl is cunning. For peace and quiet, she pushed all her troubles onto your head. She declared publicly that anyone who wants to qualify to court her must at least first defeat the man she once 'rejected'—Euron Greyjoy!"
"Me?" Euron instantly felt the absurdity of being shot while lying down. "When did I ever provoke her? And when did I court her? Hmph, even more impossible that I was rejected! Truly, a man sits on a ship, and disaster falls from the sky!"
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