Chapter 9

We only had to wait for a few minutes before the Red Viper came rushing down from his room, bronze-colored robes hanging half-open and a wicked dagger clutched on his hand. I'd commandeered a small den on the bottom floor of the brothel's single turret, and Prince Oberyn barged into it without even having the grace to knock.

Very rude, for a prince.

"Ah, Prince Oberyn." I rose from behind a narrow table. My helmet was off, showing my Lannister-blonde hair. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me at this time. You are most gracious."

Oberyn only had eyes for the burly form of Ser Balon, standing in the cramped corner of the room, but he seemed to deflate when he realized not even my kingsguard was large enough to be the monstrous Mountain That Rides. He looked between me and my knight for a moment, assessing us, and his posture betrayed violence.

"Ser Balon," I said quickly, before the prince did anything foolish. "Kindly stand outside and make sure we're not interrupted. I suppose you can let the Lady Ellaria in, but just her. In this case, and in this room, four would be a crowd."

The knight nodded and slipped past Oberyn, all without turning his back on the dornish prince. Some men's reputation demands caution, even from a kingsguard. He'd protested my plan of being left alone with an infamous poisoner and renowned warrior, but child-murdering aside, my word was still law.

Oberyn let out a huff and sheathed his dagger with unnecessary flourish. "You have some balls, your grace. I'll give you that much."

"Coming from you, a compliment on my privates is a great boon. Please." I gestured to the seat opposite mine. "I do apologize for taking your time. I'm sure you were quite… busy."

"Indeed, I was," he said in his drawling voice. He considered me for a moment longer before he sat. "Such is the purpose of a brothel, no?"

I spread my arms and smiled. "I wouldn't know, my prince. Kings have no such freedom."

"Is that so?" Oberyn reclined back on his chair, all cat-like in his lazing. He made relaxing in front of a potential enemy look easy. "Perhaps you should have imparted that wisdom of yours to your father. I hear he may have had more bastards than even I."

My face turned grim. "You must understand that I intend to rule with higher standards than my father," I told him.

Oberyn showed himself as quick of wit as he was quick to anger. I could see the muscles in his jaw flexing at the silent mention of his dead sister and her brood. "We shall see, King Baratheon."

Before anymore could be said, the door slid open, and Ellaria Sand marched in past the large form of Ser Balon. Alas, she had taken the time to gather herself, and wasn't half-dressed as Oberyn had been. She had the same olive skin as him, but her hair was a beautiful black, combed and oiled into ringlets, with not a strand of white as the Prince's had.

"King Tommen," she started warily. Her measuring eyes darted between myself and her lover, no doubt catching on to the previous tension in the room. "What an… unexpected visit." She gave me a shallow curtsy and sat on the remaining chair to the side of the Prince.

I managed to put a smile back on my lips. "I was just apologizing to the Prince for that, my lady. There is hardly any privacy to be had in the Red Keep, you see, and I'd heard you were planning to visit this fine establishment today." An establishment that is notably not owned by one Petyr Baelish. "But it is certainly a pleasure to formally meet you. I am sorry we could not speak before. It has been a rather tumultuous time for the crown, what with the wedding and all."

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

"Which one?" Oberyn asked, tilting his head to the side. "The one where your brother choked to death on his pigeon pie, or the next one, where you'll marry his former bride-to-be?"

"Pigeon pie?" I asked. "I would call it poison, from where I stood. Though I'm sure I don't need to tell you. You know well about poison, don't you, Prince Oberyn?" I affected a contemplative look for a moment, then shook my head. "Forgive me. One can't help but wonder, in times like these."

Oberyn stared back at me with piercing dark eyes. "You grandfather wondered just the same, did you know? It is almost funny, he came to me in a brothel as well. So did Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, on my first day in the capital. Do you Lannisters make a habit of accosting people in whorehouses?"

"I'm a Baratheon," I told him. "But no. At least, I don't." Then I smiled conspiratorially. "You are my first, you'll be glad to know."

Oberyn laughed. "Is that what you're here for, then? Ellaria and I would be glad to have a royal third share our bed. I'm sure your future wife will appreciate your experience."

"Not this time, I'm afraid. I'm here to talk about my sister."

"Ah." Oberyn nodded. "Little Myrcella. She's taken well to Dorne, I assure you. Last time I saw her she was swimming in the Water Gardens with two of my girls. And from what I hear, Prince Trystane is quite smitten with her."

"That's good," I said. "That's good. She was my favorite sibling, you see, and I miss her dearly sometimes."

"I understand the sentiment, your grace," said Oberyn. "More than you know."

I nodded back solemnly. I could sympathize with him and his tightly wound bundle of grief and hate for my family. Had someone done to my sister what the Lannisters had done to his, no amount of empty platitudes could've stopped me from my vengeance.

It just so happened I had his on the palm of my hand.

"I didn't come all the way here to inquire about her health, however." I ran a hand over the table, feeling the grain of the wood underneath. The roughness was reassuring. "I came to ask the wedding between Prince Trystane and Princess Myrcella to be brought forward."

"You will find my brother can be patient beyond good sense," said Oberyn. "He will not reschedule the wedding simply because you want it to."

"I don't expect him to do it simply because I asked. In return, I will give you what you want. What you've wanted for the past twenty years."

"Will you, now?" Oberyn asked, nonplussed. "Your grandfather has you beat in that, too. He has offered me a meeting with the Mountain, should I serve as the third judge on your Uncle Tyrion's trial."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you want, Prince Oberyn? Would that be enough for you? A meeting with the Mountain?" Oberyn made to speak. I cut him off. "No. I don't think it would. I certainly wouldn't be if it were my sister."

Oberyn frowned. "Is that your concern?" At my silence, he scoffed. "Then do not lose any sleep over it, King Tommen. We do not hurt little girls in Dorne."

I smiled knowingly. I think I had heard that one before. "I do not doubt that you don't, Prince Oberyn. Nor your brother. He is a sensible man, I hear. The Lady Ellaria and your daughters, the Sand Snakes, however… I can't say the same about them." Ellaria Sand shot up off her chair in her indignation, but Oberyn knew the game better than her and raised his hand.

I was still the King, afterall.

He leaned forward on his seat. "What are you trying to say, your grace?" Oberyn's voice had regained his earlier tone of barely-contained, crouching malice.

I shrugged my shoulders. "It's rather simple, Prince Oberyn. Tell me, if you were to die in the capital tomorrow, even if by your own foolhardiness, could you assure me that the Lady Ellaria would not go back to Dorne and murder my little sister as quick as the viper that nests in your epithet?"

Oberyn turned to Ellaria, who chose not to answer the question, and instead rebuked, "Are you threatening a Prince of Dorne?"

I shook my head and smiled, as I would've for a misunderstanding child. "No, my lady, I most certainly am not. Quite the contrary, in fact. I wish to see the enmity between our families resolved as soon and as peaceful as possible. I have no desire to see future generations of Lannisters and Baratheons and Martells pay the blood price for something their ancestors did."

"The Martells did not initiate this ill will," said Oberyn.

I nodded. "Then it falls on me, a Baratheon and Lannister by blood, to see to its end. I'm not here to offer you a meeting between the Mountain and yourself, Prince Oberyn, though that's as far as my grandfather will go, I can guarantee it. He takes great pride in holding the leash around the beasts' neck, and will take it as a personal insult if anyone were to kill one of his bannermen without provocation." I opened my arms wide so he could drink in my magnanimity. "What I offer is the man himself, Ser Gregor Clegane, delivered within a few steps of the Dornish border, ripe and succulent for the picking." Then I smiled a mean thing. "Just as soon as Trystane and my sister are bound in marriage."