Arianne picked up a grape, rolled it between her fingers, and brought it to her lips with a self-satisfied smile.
—Sunspear is enormous, Dany… I may call you Dany, yes? —she continued without waiting for an answer— You have barely seen the gardens and the castle; you should stay a while longer.
Daenerys did not change her expression; she kept her gaze fixed on the cup and gently shook her head.
—Impossible —she remarked calmly— The campaign will begin soon, and every day counts.
The crunch of footsteps interrupted the conversation, and from the shadows emerged a tall man dressed entirely in black. Daemon Sand, or Darkstar as he was known, stepped forward without greeting or bowing, his dark hair falling to his shoulders and framing a defiant smile and violet eyes that scrutinized Daenerys with brazen interest.
The bastard of House Dayne was technically a knight, but no one regarded him as such; he was arrogant, narcissistic, and ruthless, behaving as though he stood above any noble, a dangerous and intelligent man whom, under other circumstances, Vlad would have recruited without hesitation.
Arianne rose naturally and took the man's arm, leaning against him as though they had been lovers for years.
—Unfortunately, Dany… —she said with false sweetness— Your stay in Sunspear will be extended indefinitely. Do not attempt to call your men; I have sent mine to… relieve them of their duties.
That was when the soldiers Daenerys had already sensed began to appear. Twenty-five men approached without adopting a combat stance; after all, they had only come for a princess, and so the circle closed calmly.
Arianne did not even attempt to hide her satisfaction.
Daenerys did not respond at once. Her expression did not change; she merely arched a brow with irony, thinking that at last her bloodriders would be able to drink their fill.
—I hope they were not important soldiers —she said softly, wiping her fingers with a napkin— Because they will not return.
Myrcella pretended to shrink into herself, as though terrified.
—So this was your plan —Daenerys remarked— To take me hostage?
Arianne lifted her chin proudly, as if she had devised an infallible scheme.
—Did you truly think you would impose yourselves upon Dorne so easily? —she shot back, raising her voice slightly— My men will now escort you to more private chambers. I beg you not to resist, or they may be more… forceful.
Daenerys looked at her for a moment, not with the indignation or fear Arianne expected, but with the expression of a teacher faced with a particularly foolish question.
Without arguing, she set down her cup and rose with elegance.
—I am not impressed —she said without raising her voice.
Arianne stared at her. She could not understand how she could remain so calm in a situation where she was clearly outmatched, but she did not care about her reasons; to her, the game was already won.
—Please, Your Grace —she used the title with evident irony— Show some composure and accept your loss with dignity.
Daenerys did not answer and continued to observe her with the same expression one might reserve for a dull lecture.
Arianne pressed her lips together.
That calm was unbearable; it was neither fear nor haughtiness, not even pride, it was pure disdain, and it made her rise with almost childish anger, raising her voice without thinking.
—Seize her! —she ordered with a sharp gesture and a cruel smile— And be careful with her dress, it is the sort that tears at the slightest touch…
A poorly concealed laugh escaped one of the soldiers at the Princess of Dorne's insinuation. He was a dark-haired man with a broad face and crooked teeth who stepped forward first, licking his lips with an unpleasant grin as he reached toward Daenerys, his eyes shining with excitement.
He never touched her.
Daenerys moved swiftly; her hand closed around the man's wrist and, with a sharp twist, the bone cracked as it broke at an unnatural angle.
The soldier's scream tore through the air as he writhed like an animal; before the others could react, Daenerys had already torn the sword from his belt with her other hand and, with a turn, slit his throat from side to side.
Blood gushed in torrents, soaking the floor and the queen's dress, but she merely released the body, which collapsed with a dull thud. Daenerys never took her eyes off Arianne; she looked directly into her eyes as she killed the man and smiled.
Even Darkstar remained motionless; he had watched the scene with interest, but not even he had expected such a clean and brutal murder. He had anticipated a frightened girl, not a cold and ruthless warrior.
Daenerys lowered her gaze to her hands and pressed her lips together in distaste, not at the blood itself but at its origin, because the idea of drinking from that man repulsed her, like tasting sour ale after fine wine. So she wiped her face with her thumb, collecting a drop of blood from her cheek in a slow, almost refined gesture, careful that it did not touch her lips.
There was a second of absolute silence, broken only by the breeze and the faint dripping of blood still falling from the sword's tip, and then, as if someone had given a signal, three men lunged at her at once.
Daenerys moved like a blur.
She spun with precision, her blade describing a clean arc that cut the first soldier's throat while piercing the second's abdomen. The third managed to block the strike, but Daenerys shoved him, sending him flying as if he were a rag doll, and his body struck a stone column with a dry crack before falling to the ground without moving.
Daenerys clicked her tongue, annoyed; she had not intended to use so much force.
Arianne watched the scene in horror; the confidence had vanished from her face and been replaced by a pallor that could rival that of any vampire.
Myrcella, meanwhile, sheltered behind the Princess of Dorne, looked at Daenerys with astonishment… and with eyes gleaming with greed.
When another soldier came from the flank with a raised spear, Daenerys turned and drove a punch straight into his chest. The impact was sharp and, an instant later, wet, as her arm pierced flesh, ribs, and lung, becoming lodged inside. She frowned as she yanked it free, lifting the body as though it weighed nothing, and dropped it at her feet with evident disgust.
That delay cost her dearly.
A fourth man came from behind and swung his sword at neck height, but Daenerys reacted in time and her body dissolved into a dark mist that scattered into the air, only to reappear an instant later several paces away, her violet eyes blazing with fury.
It was her first real battle and, during her training sessions with Ser Barristan, they had done nothing but praise her talent and skill, so she had felt confident, certain she could face any human opponent without resorting to her supernatural gifts.
However, from the moment the fight began, she had made foolish mistakes, one after another.
The soldier turned, bewildered, but she was already upon him, driving a swift thrust that entered through his right eye and exited the back of his skull. The body fell to its knees and then collapsed onto its side.
A shout rose among the guards.
—It's a monster!
One of them, trembling, dropped his weapon and ran toward the garden corridors, but he did not get far. Daenerys lunged after him like a blur, propelling herself forward, and her sword pierced the man; however, instead of embedding itself in the wall as she expected, the blade splintered in her hands.
Daenerys sighed, resigned.
This battle had not been the epic display of skill she had imagined recounting to Vlad, and she could already anticipate his remarks about "performance issues."
Pushing those thoughts aside, she forced herself to pause for a second, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, regaining her focus, then picked up another sword from the ground and lifted her gaze toward the remaining soldiers.
Some were no longer shouting orders or advancing, but stumbling backward with lowered weapons, staring in disbelief at the mangled bodies at their feet; one even dropped his sword and fled without looking back.
Daenerys did not follow him with her eyes; she simply pivoted and slit the throat of another who still hesitated, while the rest faltered, forming a trembling semicircle.
Then, without warning or word, Daemon Sand attacked her from behind.
Only years of discipline had kept him from doing so sooner.
He had watched her move with that impossible strength, swift and brutal as a beast, but he could not continue watching her slaughter his men, not if he intended to survive.
At the beginning, the plan had been simple: surround her, corner her, and with Arianne's confident smile the men advanced while he felt secure, even euphoric, convinced that a few seconds, a couple of cuts, and a handful of screams would be enough to have the dragon princess at his mercy.
Even with the rumors about her skill with a blade, Daemon trusted he could defeat any woman, however skilled she might be.
But Daenerys did not fight like a woman.
Each of her blows was lethal and her movements were faster than anything he had ever seen; she even seemed capable of becoming intangible for an instant, evading strikes that should have reached her.
Daemon understood, too late, that all the assumptions sustaining his arrogance were useless, and his mind wavered between greed to uncover the secret of that strength and the certainty that, if he did not kill her in that very moment, she would kill him.
So he lunged when he thought she was distracted, his blade seeking her back with lethal precision, but it never touched her.
Daenerys spun at an impossible speed and blocked the attack, catching his blade with hers, and their gazes met for the first time: violet eyes, serious, shining with an unnatural light. Daemon pressed forward again, stamping hard and shoving her with the intent of throwing her off balance, but she pivoted around him as if in a dance step and launched a direct slash at his neck.
Daemon reacted on pure instinct, twisting his wrist and managing to intercept the blow, deflecting it along the edge of his blade. The impact was so violent that Daenerys's sword bent abruptly, taking her by surprise, and without losing rhythm Daemon shifted to a two-handed grip and delivered a brutal cut to her side, almost allowing himself to smile as he imagined her split in two.
The smile vanished instantly.
Daenerys also leapt back, alarmed, bringing her hand to her hip where she had felt the impact, but she found only the long line of torn fabric in her dress, which had long since ceased to be white and was now covered in blood and dust.
Both remained motionless.
She, because for an instant she had been outmatched by an ordinary person.
He, because he had just discovered with horror that his sword was incapable of piercing the skin of the thing before him. Because, for Daemon Sand, there was no longer any doubt: the creature standing before him was not a woman at all.
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First of all, thank you once again for being here for another week. I truly appreciate it more than you know.
I also want to apologize for the two-week delay. It's been carnival season in my city, which in my job means a much heavier workload and a lot more stress than usual. On top of that, one of our coworkers left, so we've been covering shifts and working extra hours almost nonstop. It's been pretty chaotic.
Unfortunately, writing for me is a form of entertainment and a way to disconnect. It's the equivalent of playing a video game or watching a movie, something I do to relax when I have free time. And being as stressed as I've been lately, I simply haven't had the mental energy to sit down and write the way I would like to.
I know this may disappoint some of you, and I understand that. But there isn't much I can do beyond apologizing for the delay and hoping that I'll be able to organize my work schedule better moving forward.
I'm truly sorry. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and I'll try to be more consistent with updates in the future.
Thank you for your patience.