“I hope you have not taken what I said at Chataya’s as an insult, my lady,” I said earnestly, moving a hand over my chest to where my heart was. I had taken a flair for the dramatic since I became a king.

It was a few hours after our last Small Council meeting, and the sun had only just set over the city. I had come to say my farewells to the Dornish Prince before they left early on the morrow, and Oberyn roped me up into a balcony dinner with him and Ellaria. We were sitting in a half-ring around a small table that faced King’s Landing, drinking spiced wine and snacking on several courses of appetizers that added up to more than a full meal.

Behind us in their guest rooms, servants wearing the burnt orange color of House Martell loaded whole wardrobes into thick oak chests, while a few men-at-arms had Oberyn’s many spears bundled up together and wrapped in thick leather ready for transport.

The Prince and his retinue had come inland on their journey to King’s Landing, up the Boneway and through the Stormlands and the Kingswood. But with the rush to be back home in time for the Mountain’s arrival, they’d be taking ship to Wyl, where Oberyn would rendevouz with his brother’s forces waiting for him there.

“Bastards are quite used to harsh words, Your Grace,” Ellaria said, arms crossed under her chest. “Even in Dorne.” She’d been just short of unpleasant with me throughout the night. I think she was prodding me, hoping I’d explode on her face and act the spoiled boy-king she still thought I was.

It amused me more than anything. In the grand scheme of things, with Oberyn surviving his trip to King’s Landing, she was an irrelevant piece on the board.

“I believe bastardry rests in one’s heart, not in one’s name. The circumstances of one’s birth have no bearing in the desire to avenge our loved ones. It’s a rather natural feeling.” I fixed her in the eyes then. “One that I myself would be hard-pressed not to give into should something similar happen to me.” The veil of my threat was paper thin.

I pointed across the table from us, beyond the gilded iron railing of the balcony. “Look outside, my lady.” Down below in the muddy streets of King’s Landing, you could only see shadows walking this way and that, all nameless and faceless like tiny ants. “Tell me, do you think they care?”

Ellaria frowned. “Care about what?”

“Whose arse sits on the throne,” I said. Admittedly, I might’ve had a bit to drink. “Or whose father had thicker king’s blood, or whose mother had a nobler cun—”

“You’re starting to sound like Varys,” Oberyn said, his voice muffled. He had his head between a whore’s tits. They’d apparently taken a liking to the girl and were taking her home to Dorne. He came up for a breath and turned to me. “Now, enough about peasants. And please Your Grace, there’s no need for these little threats. Myrcella will be well taken care of. I give you my word.”

“What can I say.” I shrugged. “A brother worries.”

“Yes yes, but we’ve no cause for further conflict,” he said, “at least not with your side of the family.”

I wished I could trust him wholeheartedly, but life was a harsh mistress when it comes to teaching lessons. And this was already my second.

I still smiled pleasantly. “And I’m glad for it.” I lifted my goblet of wine in salute. The breeze blew gently around us, thankfully coming from the sea. Nothing ruins a meal like the smell of shit. “We will miss you out in the tourney’s field, my prince. Many a man would pay good gold to see the Red Viper ride.”

“Oh I’ll be riding, Your Grace,” he said. His tone dripped with a dangerous sort of hunger. “On a hunt I’ve dreamed of for nearly twenty years. I have you to thank for that.”

“I’m more for fulfilling a woman's dream, Prince Oberyn. I do hope you’re not getting any ideas.”

Oberyn barked a laugh. “So I’ve heard, Your Grace.” It seemed Margaery had been talking, most likely in hopes of marking her territory. I would have to disabuse her of that idea. “Maybe I should bring my daughters the next time I visit King’s Landing. I’m sure you’ll get on famously.”

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“I’d be concerned for my safety,” I said. Oberyn shot me a smile that confirmed my fears and started devouring his whore again.

I looked behind me into the sea of orange-clad servants, found the ones dressed in Baratheon livery and gestured with a hand. They both left for a minute, before returning with a large chest carried between the two of them.

I cleared my throat “I have also brought some gifts, for you and your family. I’d not want you to go back thinking me a poor host.”

Oberyn chortled into the whore’s neck. “There wasn’t a day I wasn’t entertained in this city, Your Grace,” he said, face poking out from behind the woman. Even Ellaria had perked up at the mention of gifts. “I’ve even grown used to the stink.”

“It’s an acquired taste, is it not?” I joked. The servants put down the chest next to us and pulled the top open. I reached inside and drew out two objects, one small the size of a bottle, and the other round and larger than a plate, both hidden within a leather casing. “This is for your brother and for Prince Trystane. A remedy for the Prince’s gout, made by my own personal Maester, and a bronze shield the color of your house for my brother-in-law.”

Oberyn tapped the whore on the leg who—well-trained as she was, left his lap and made herself scarce inside. He made a show of looking at both gifts before bowing my way. “Princely gifts, King Tommen. You have my thanks.”

“This one is for the Lady Ellaria.” I picked out a small velvet case and passed it to her. “Think of it as an apology, my lady.”

She handled it slowly, as if afraid a tiny viper might just pop out of it. When she finally opened it, she just stared at it in awe. It was a beautiful pearl necklace. One of Cersei’s actually. The one she wore the night I killed her. One could only hope it was cursed now. “Your Grace…” she trailed off, voice weak. Oberyn gave me a thankful nod.

“There’s something for your daughters as well,” I continued, “All eight of them.”

The servants began pulling out the gifts. Ornate daggers and whips, old tomes from the times of the Targaryen kings, bolts of silk and satin from the free cities, even a new spear Qyburn had made in his free time that folds into three different pieces.

Aside from the spear, most were offerings Robert had received during twenty years as King that’d been gathering dust in the Keep’s vaults. Cheap gifts that meant nothing to me, but could perhaps solidify my hold in an entire kingdom even more securely than with just Myrcella’s marriage.

“I hope that encompasses the whole spectrum of their tastes,” I said.

He looked surprised at all the items for a moment before he turned to me. “You have my gratitude. Truly” Then he smiled mischievously. “But you should know you’ve signed your sentence with this, my friend. They’ll jump your bones when they see you.”

I smiled back. “There are worse ways to die.”

Finally the servants brought out the last gift. It was another chest, which by their grunt of effort, made up most of the weight that’d been inside the larger chest. They heaved it up out of its resting place and put it down on top of the table. Its wooden legs groaned in complaint.

“This is yours, Oberyn. But you should open it when you’re back in Sunspear, after your mission.”

“Oh, is that so?” He looked at it from side to side, trying to suss out what was hidden underneath.

“It’s a display case,” I told him. It was made out of a thick piece of marble a foot in length and width, with a green-tinted glass covering it like a dome. “I’d say it’s about the size of a large man’s head.”

Oberyn’s eyes widened and he soon fell into laughter. He rose up from his chair and swaggered up to me, then clasped me on both shoulders. “When you come visit your sister in Sunspear in the future, I will feast you underneath this display case for a fortnight, my friend.”

“It’ll be my pleasure,” I said. I stood after a moment and signaled him to follow. We stopped by the railing, away from prying ears. “I’m no great fighter, Prince Oberyn, but I will give you a piece of advice when you see dear Gregor.”

“And what would that be?” Oberyn looked amused.

“Finish him quickly,” I said. “Some Lannister men tell tales of him at the Keep. I overheard one such story, of how the Mountain went on fighting with a spear on his gut and five arrows sticking out of his chest.”

His good humor melted and he simply nodded slowly. “I’ll take that to heart, Your Grace.”

He moved to turn away, but I put a hand on his arm stopping him. “Another thing.” I nodded my head to Ser Osmund Kettleblack who had been waiting for me all the way at the door of their rooms. “I’ll be sending one of my Kingsguard with you, to represent the Iron Throne in the destruction of these outlaws.” I looked at him levelly, eyes full of meaning. “I hope I can count on you to… take good care of him while he’s down there.”

“Truly?” Oberyn asked. He seemed more surprised at my request than adverse to it, and so I nodded. “What about the other one who’s down there with Myrcella? Ser Arys Oakheart, I believe his name was.”

I hadn’t forgotten about Ser Arys. He was said to be a good man, keen with spear and sword, if a little inexperienced. “You gave me your word on her safety, so I’ll expect him on a boat back to King’s Landing.”

Oberyn nodded. “It’ll be as you say, Your Grace.”

I smiled. Wasn’t it always.