Chapter 126: You Came at Just the Right Time
The night in Sunspear was long.
Very long.
Compared to the dull, exhausting journey that had brought her here, this idle stretch of darkness made Ashara feel even more restless and unsettled.
Especially as she listened to the soft murmurs and faint, indistinct sounds drifting from the room of a certain Kingsguard captain.
She hadn't planned to come.
As Elia's closest friend, she normally shared meals and lodgings with the Dornish princess, the two of them never running out of things to talk about.
But tonight was different.
After Lance Lot had mercilessly beaten Oberyn Martell in the Water Gardens, a rift had formed between her and the princess—despite how close they had always been.
In a huff, the Starfall girl stormed out of the princess's chambers. Yet instead of returning to her own quarters, she found herself wandering here, almost unconsciously.
Damn it… was I too late?
Ashara bit her lip, her hand resting against the door, unable for a moment to decide what she should do.
On the road to Sunspear, she had already sensed that the Queen held an unusual interest in Lance Lot. But because of the Queen's status, Ashara had dismissed it as imagination.
Now, though…
She frowned and glanced toward the direction of the Queen's chambers. The doors were shut tight, two fully armed Crownlands knights standing guard outside.
Ashara stood in the shadows, teeth clenched, still unable to summon the courage to act.
Just as she turned to leave—
The door suddenly opened.
"It's her!"
Seeing the eldest daughter of Blackmont step out from the shadows, her graceful figure outlined by the dim candlelight, Ashara clapped a hand over her mouth, nearly crying out in surprise.
"I—I'm sorry. I think I came at the wrong time."
Though shocked, she apologized immediately and turned to flee—only for a slender hand to seize her wrist and pull her decisively into the room.
At the same time, Jynessa's clear, cheerful voice rang out:
"No. You came at just the right time."
---
Morning came.
After a long night of exertion, the Kingsguard captain was dragged from sleep by a knock at the door.
Groggy-eyed, Lance carefully extricated himself from between several long limbs, shook his still-dazed head, and recalled the events of the previous night. Even now, it felt unreal.
At first, it had been only the Blackmont lady against him—but before long, she'd been forced to concede.
And then, after he stepped away just to get a drink of water…
She'd brought reinforcements.
Absolutely outrageous.
Looking at the two Dornish maidens sprawled across the bed, both unashamedly proactive, Lance couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
First time, and it's already like this… this damn medieval world…
The knocking came again.
The door opened a crack. Lance frowned—and was greeted by the grinning, unmistakably lecherous face of a blond knight.
"What is it, Ser Balman?"
"The Queen requests your presence, ser."
Seeing Lance's dark expression, Balman immediately wiped the smirk from his face and straightened up, speaking crisply.
"One of Prince Doran's guards came earlier this morning. He invited Her Grace to lunch to discuss official matters."
"I wasn't going to disturb you," he added quickly,
"but Her Grace said that as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, you must remain at her side at all times—so…"
"Enough."
Lance cut him off.
Seeing that familiar sly grin creeping back onto the man's face, Lance cut him off immediately and slammed the door shut with a sharp bang.
A few minutes later, the door opened again.
The white-armored knight now stood fully dressed and immaculate.
"Um… about that…"
Glancing at the milky-white greatsword resting behind Lance, Ser Balman hesitated before explaining,
"Her Grace said this is only a simple luncheon. There's no need to carry a weapon—it might detract from House Targaryen's dignity."
"After all, Sunspear is the safest place in Dorne. Whether you carry a sword or not hardly makes a difference."
"That… makes sense," Lance replied after a brief moment of thought.
He nodded, unhooked the greatsword from his back, and handed it directly to Balman. After taking a few steps, he paused and turned back, adding cautiously,
"Keep an eye on it. Don't let what happened last time happen again. Understood?"
"Yes, ser!"
Balman straightened at once, his expression solemn as he declared loudly,
"I swear upon my family's honor and my life—if the sword stands, I stand!"
"No need to be so dramatic."
Lance chuckled and patted the young knight's shoulder.
"When we get back to King's Landing, we'll have a proper drink together."
With that, and under Balman's excited, almost reverent gaze, the white cloak turned a corner and vanished down the corridor.
---
"What are you smiling about?"
As they walked across the hard stone paths of the Old Palace, the Queen glanced back repeatedly. Seeing the radiant grin plastered across the Kingsguard captain's face, she frowned and finally asked.
Lance suppressed his smile slightly and shrugged indifferently.
"I just thought of something amusing."
Her expression darkened immediately.
"Don't think I don't know what you've been up to, Lance Lot!"
She shot him a vicious glare, then pulled young Prince Viserys a little farther away from the Sunspear guards ahead. Lowering her voice, she stabbed straight through his defenses without restraint:
"I saw it. That woman from Starfall—she lingered outside your door for a long time last night."
"I must remind you," she continued sharply, "you are Kingsguard. You are forbidden from marrying or fathering children for the rest of your life."
Lance raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
After all, who had been provoking him relentlessly all along this journey?
And now she remembered he was Kingsguard?
You're the Queen, for the Seven's sake.
Seeing his unresponsive expression, the Queen clenched her teeth, unsure how to scold him—especially since her own actions were hardly beyond reproach.
"I don't care what you do in Dorne, Lance."
After a moment's silence, she leaned close to his ear, her voice low and unwilling to yield.
"When we return to King's Landing… I want you as well."
With that, she lifted the hem of her black gown and strode ahead, following the Sunspear attendants.
Lance clicked his tongue as he watched her tall figure retreat.
You want me, so I just give myself over?
What do you take me for?
I, Lance Lot, have read the Seven-Pointed Star.
---
Glug, glug…
Dornish cuisine was notoriously spicy. Accustomed to lighter fare, the Queen struggled, draining her cup of orange-gold blood-orange juice after only a few bites.
Seeing this, Prince Doran kindly instructed the servants,
"Bring Her Grace honey-roasted capon and lemon lamprey pie."
Both dishes were mild and sweet—rarely favored in spice-loving Dorne.
Yet the Queen, clearly in a mood, refused the kindness.
"It's fine, Prince Doran. This will do."
She picked up her spoon again and continued with the fire-pepper snake stew before her.
This time, however, she ate slowly, careful not to be overwhelmed again.
"This dish is made from seven different kinds of snake meat," Doran explained with a smile.
"It's not something one encounters often. Your timing is excellent."
Seeing her persistence, he continued conversationally,
"The Dornish palate favors heat. Outsiders sometimes find it unbearable—but others adapt."
"That you've adjusted so quickly is admirable, Your Grace."
Admirable my ass.
Listening to Doran's gratuitous flattery, Lance rolled his eyes discreetly.
Didn't he see the Queen was sweating?
After spending enough time around Rhaella, Lance had learned one thing well—she was stubborn to the bone. The more you told her not to do something, the more determined she became to do it.
A very Targaryen trait.
Aerys. Rhaegar.
None of them ever listened to reason.
"A dragon's blood does not fear heat," the Queen said lightly, lifting her chin with pride.
"Certainly not something as trivial as spice."
And yet, almost immediately, she placed the spoon down.
Keep talking tough, Lance thought dryly.
Her already rosy lips were flushed even redder by the spice. He shook his head inwardly.
Prince Doran, however, clearly loved it. He laughed warmly and continued,
"When I was young, I once traveled to King's Landing with my mother. I had the honor of standing before King Aerys at the Iron Throne."
"Truth be told, I have never since encountered such regal presence. It left a deep impression on me."
He glanced at Viserys, quietly eating beside him.
"And in the prince, I believe I see echoes of His Majesty's bearing."
"Heh… is that so?"
The Queen merely smiled, offering no encouragement.
She glanced at her son, noticed how enthusiastically he was devouring the Dornish food, and casually slid the remainder of her own plate toward him.
"Thank you, Mother,"
Young Viserys said politely before resuming his battle with the meal, cheeks puffed adorably.
Lance watched him, unable to reconcile this earnest child with the man he would one day become.
"Speak plainly, Prince Doran," the Queen said at last.
She patted her son's head, a flicker of maternal warmth passing through her eyes, then straightened against the back of her chair, her long pale neck lifted high.
Even without her crown, she carried herself with effortless nobility—an aura born of blood itself.
"Very well, Your Grace."
After all the flattery, even Prince Doran felt slightly embarrassed.
He set down his spoon, wiped his mouth carefully, adjusted his robes, and then looked directly at her.
"I wish to discuss the marriage between Prince Rhaegar… and my sister."
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