The gazes the young nobles cast upon Arianne and Ashara were fervent and full of admiration, as if chasing the two most dazzling stars in the desert. However, when their eyes shifted to Euron, walking beside the two ladies, the temperature plummeted to freezing point, transforming into undisguised jealousy and hatred. It was as if a sea monster had intruded upon their holy land and stolen Dorne's most precious treasure.
Silent hostility permeated the air, taut as a drawn bowstring.
Were it not for the two bearded guards, Areo Hotah and Sebastian Fernandez, standing behind the trio like stone statues; were it not for the great glaives in their hands and the striking Martell sigil on their chests—constantly reminding these love-struck youths that this visitor from the Iron Islands was a most honored guest personally acknowledged by Prince Doran—
If not for this layer of inviolable protection, these jealousy-blinded Dornish youths probably wouldn't have cared that they were on a bustling street. They would have drawn the curved blades or spears at their waists long ago and challenged Euron to a duel to the death.
Areo Hotah's eyes, hidden under thick brows, slowly swept over the crowd. His hand remained on his massive longaxe. That silent deterrence was more effective than any words, temporarily suppressing the brewing conflict.
Euron felt the hateful glares behind him that almost seemed to pierce him, but the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. There was not a shred of worry in his heart.
Challenges? When had Euron ever feared a challenge?
Euron's opponents were already peak figures renowned across Westeros—Ser Arthur Dayne, the "Sword of the Morning" who wielded "Dawn" with godlike skill; the highborn and supremely skilled Prince Rhaegar Targaryen; and the steady, experienced "White Bull" Gerold Hightower. Even in lesser spars, he had dealt with unpredictable opponents like the "Red Viper" Oberyn Martell, or honed his skills in real combat with fierce warriors like Balf and Balon.
These Dornish noble youths crowding the streets of the Shadow City, though each posing with arrogant disdain and resentment, were not much different from moving targets on a training ground in Euron's eyes—merely walking, spare defeat points.
Their hostility wasn't even enough to make Euron's heart beat half a beat faster.
Although they couldn't challenge Euron directly, this didn't dampen the enthusiasm of the Dornish youths to curry favor with Arianne and Ashara in every possible way. They crowded around the two ladies like peacocks fanning their tails, vying to display themselves.
Sugary compliments flowed endlessly like Dornish mead; carefully prepared gifts of all kinds—local sweet pastries, chilled mellow wines—were frequently presented. Some even began loudly boasting of their martial exploits: which famous knight they had defeated, which distant city-states they had traveled to, what strange sights they had seen—the noise and attentiveness almost drowned out the street.
While Euron maintained an indifferent air of detachment, Princess Arianne beside him frowned impatiently first. She suddenly stopped, turned her pretty face with undisguised disgust, and waved her hand. "So noisy! A bunch of chattering followers, stop following us!"
She paused, her eyes rolling cunningly as if she suddenly changed her mind. Her tone became "kind." "Hmph, forget it. Seeing how 'loyal' you are, this Princess will personally take you to see the quarters arranged for Euron and Ashara." She deliberately dragged out her tone, adding slowly, "I picked out the best room for them."
"A room?!"
This word was like a boulder thrown into a still lake, instantly stirring up a thousand waves among the youths.
The suitors looked at each other in dismay, their faces flushing red. The hands of several impulsive young men on their sword hilts trembled slightly from shock and anger. Their eyes darted back and forth between Euron and Ashara Dayne in disbelief.
Ashara Dayne's cheeks turned crimson instantly. She hurriedly tried to clarify, "No! No! We aren't yet..." Her words were flustered with shyness.
Seeing the prank's effect achieved, Arianne could no longer hold it back and burst into triumphant, clear laughter. "Haha! Fooled you! Look at you lot! Come on, I'll take you to see their respective rooms!"
Princess Arianne led Euron and Ashara through the intricate corridors of Sunspear, finally settling them into their arranged quarters.
Though not in the same room, their chambers were separated only by a corridor laid with gorgeous Dornish carpets—neighbors, so to speak.
That night, the Old Palace of Sunspear was brilliantly lit. Noise and music replaced the usual solemnity.
A grand evening banquet was held in the main hall beside the fountain courtyard. The air was interwoven with the scent of roasted meat, the freshness of lemons, and the rich fragrance of unique Dornish spices.
Prince Doran Nymeros Martell sat in his wheelchair, placed at the seat of honor. Despite being plagued by illness, he was dressed solemnly, his expression gentle yet majestic. When the guests were mostly seated and the music paused, he raised his hand slightly.
The gaze of the entire hall converged on him.
Prince Doran's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a steady power that commanded quiet listening, spreading clearly through the hall. "Friends, kin," he began, his gaze slowly sweeping over every honored guest present, finally landing affectionately on his sister Elia. "First, we gather here tonight to celebrate. To celebrate my dearest sister, Elia, returning safe and sound after a long journey. Sunshine will eventually dispel the gloom. Her smile lighting up the Water Gardens again is Dorne's fortune, and my greatest comfort as a brother. To celebrate my niece Rhaenys, the little Princess, safe and healthy!"
He paused slightly, allowing the warm applause and blessings welcoming Elia and the little princess to echo. Then, he turned his gaze toward Euron and Ashara, continuing, "Secondly, we are here to welcome a guest from the Iron Islands, Euron Greyjoy. His courage in crossing the Narrow Sea and the 'Flames of the Arbor' are no secret even in Dorne." His tone held a trace of imperceptible evaluation, but immediately turned into clearer approval and affirmation. "And what brings even more joy is that he has contracted a betrothal with our most cherished Pearl of Starfall—Lady Ashara Dayne."
He raised the bejeweled goblet symbolizing Dornish rule, his voice rising slightly, full of sincere blessing. "Let us raise a toast together! To the joy of reunion, to the guest from afar, and even more to this brave young couple and their future happiness! May their future be as brilliant as the sun of Dorne!"
"Cheers!"
As Prince Doran's voice fell, the entire hall resounded with enthusiastic responses: "Cheers!"
Cheers, the clinking of glasses, and the resumed joyous music instantly pushed the banquet's atmosphere to its climax.
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