Ashara and Arianne walked gracefully through the crowd, hand in hand.
Ashara's face overflowed with irrepressible joy and pride. Though she knew Euron's swordsmanship was superb and that he had undergone months of grueling training with her brother Arthur on Dragonstone, witnessing his valiant figure defeat ten Dornish warriors in a row still made her heart surge. Her violet eyes sparkled with moving radiance.
Arianne wouldn't miss a chance to tease her friend. She nudged Ashara gently with her elbow, her voice low but loud enough for those nearby to hear, her tone full of cunning banter. "Look at someone. She was so nervous just now she almost tore her dress~ terrified that if someone slipped up and lost, she'd be forced to consider candidates for remarriage tomorrow."
Two clouds of red instantly flew onto Ashara's cheeks. She glared at Arianne shyly but didn't deny it.
Hearing this, Euron showed a hint of curiosity. He looked at Ashara and asked seriously, "So, if I really had lost just now, according to Dornish rules, would our betrothal truly be void?"
"Of course not!" Ashara shook her head immediately, explaining softly, "That's just what challengers say. Usually, at that point, the bride's family—like my brother, or Prince Doran—would step in and announce: 'This man has proven himself with strength and courage; though defeated, he retains honor! The betrothal remains valid.' It's just a traditional rhetoric to motivate the competitors while keeping the final decision firmly in the family's hands."
Euron deliberately let out a long sigh of relief after hearing this, putting on an annoyed expression of "I suffered a huge loss." He laughed ruefully, "Why didn't you say so earlier! If I had known, I wouldn't have fought so desperately just now. Losing a couple of rounds casually wouldn't have mattered."
His lazy joke immediately made Ashara chuckle, and Arianne let out a string of crisp laughter.
After the banquet ended and the noise faded, Euron and Ashara bade each other goodnight at the end of the corridor and returned to their respective rooms.
Warm steam filled the bathroom. Euron leaned against the edge of the tub, eyes closed, relaxing his body after the intense battles.
Lisa knelt behind him, wiping his broad back with a soft cloth, water sliding down the lines of his tense muscles. Her movements were gentle. After a moment of silence, she spoke softly, her tone carrying a trace of imperceptible worry. "Your actions tonight... were a bit too reckless. You almost offended all the Dornish nobles."
Euron didn't open his eyes or answer. He simply reached back, his arm precisely wrapping around Lisa's slender waist. His wet palm habitually caressed her smooth skin with a hint of lazy possessiveness.
Lisa's body stiffened slightly, then she gently but firmly grasped his restless hand. Her voice dropped even lower. "No... You just formally met Lady Ashara today. You can't do this." She paused, advising sincerely, "Right now... you should go find Lady Ashara."
Euron finally opened his eyes and turned to look at her, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. "Find her? Ashara is of House Dayne, strictly adhering to etiquette. She would never agree to any transgressions before marriage."
"I'm not asking you to go do..." Lisa's cheeks flushed red in the misty steam, explaining hurriedly. "I mean, you should go chat with her, talk to her. She is your future wife, the noble Pearl of Starfall. And I..." Her voice dropped, filled with resigned submissiveness. "I will only be your salt wife."
"No." Euron's voice suddenly became clear and firm. He turned around, water splashing. Cupping Lisa's face, he forced her to look at him, his gaze burning and unquestionable. "Listen well, Lisa. Not a salt wife."
Euron's thumb gently caressed her jaw, every word landing with weight. "You are my woman. You were in the past, you are now, and you will be in the future. Moreover, you will be one of the... Queens who ascend to the peak with me. I will never let you suffer injustice."
In the hazy steam, Euron's promise was scorching and solemn.
Although Lisa's heart was filled with indescribable emotion, she firmly suppressed the ripples within. She clearly knew the boundaries of her identity and position, and understood Euron's true heart even better. Thus, she advised Euron softly but earnestly again, telling him not to worry about her, but to go to Ashara's side and spend time with her.
Euron heeded this well-intentioned advice.
In the dead of night, he arrived outside Ashara's door and knocked gently.
The door opened, and Ashara's figure appeared under the soft light. Without many words, the two walked tacitly to the stone steps of the balcony outside the room and sat down. The cool Dornish sea breeze blew gently, ruffling their hair and taking away the day's noise.
Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, they conversed in low voices in the quiet night.
From the rich red wine of Dorne to the cold, damp winds and arduous training on Dragonstone; from Prince Rhaegar's melancholy to the thrilling flames and naval battle at the Arbor—Euron narrated calmly, and Ashara listened intently.
As she listened, a blush quietly rose on Ashara's cheeks under the moonlight. Whether it was the wine, the night breeze, or the comfort brought by the person beside her, she didn't know. Gently, almost naturally, she leaned her head on Euron's broad shoulder, finding the most comfortable position.
The evening breeze, whispers, snuggling—everything was just right.
Early the next morning, the sandy square outside the Water Gardens, usually used for training, had already gathered numerous unwilling Dornish swordsmen.
They weren't waiting quietly. Instead, they deliberately swung their swords with force, banging blades violently against shields, creating clanging, ear-piercing impacts and shouts. The huge noise broke the garden's tranquility, their intent simple and direct—to prevent that arrogant Ironborn from sleeping peacefully after last night and force him to come out of the castle immediately.
However, they didn't know that this sky-shaking provocation sounded like the most wonderful invitation to Euron's ears.
Euron was just pondering that the "Points" harvested yesterday were far less than expected. This group of challengers delivering themselves to his door was simply exactly what he wished for.
"Since they delivered themselves, might as well take them."
With this thought, Euron appeared unhurriedly.
The result held no suspense. Like a replay of the previous night, only faster—ten confident young Dornish nobles were defeated one after another, falling into the sand, their faces written with disbelief and humiliation.
To "harvest" these self-delivered "Points" more sustainably and efficiently, Euron didn't hesitate to display his superb acting skills.
After victory, Euron didn't end things simply. Instead, he deliberately revealed just the right amount of humiliation. It was an unconcealed, supercilious gaze, as if defeating the opponent was merely brushing away a speck of dust. Accompanied by the disdainful, arrogant back view as he turned to leave, every detail was like a cold file, ruthlessly grinding down the honor Dornish nobles valued most, making them burn with shame and indignation, almost crushing their teeth.
"Continue tomorrow if you have the guts!" The humiliation of defeat turned into the most direct letter of challenge.
Facing the invitation, Euron accepted calmly, the infuriating arc on his lips never disappearing.
Thus, the nature of these daily duels outside the Water Gardens quietly changed.
It was no longer about romance, no longer about Ashara Dayne or Arianne Martell. It evolved into a pure War of Honor—to defeat Euron Greyjoy and reclaim face for the entire younger generation of Dorne.
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