Princess Arianne's dark eyes shifted toward him. "What I hate most are Lannisters who are still alive—"
As she spoke, she paused briefly, then raised her cup toward Lord Hand Mace. "—but I don't want the king to misunderstand my loyalty. Clearly, the king considers Jaime a useful sword."
What she wanted was every Lannister head—
Using the motion of drinking to think for a moment, Lord Hand Mace turned his gaze back to her. "Not merely a good sword. They forged a friendship once. Gryn—the king has always been helping Jaime find a chance to atone."
Arianne said nothing, merely curling her lips in a faint smile at him.
Yes, all Seven Kingdoms knew that while Gryn I was somewhat stern, he was incomparably merciful. And his love for his wife was equally unwavering.
Ladies envied her, young maidens longed for her place; he seemed like a legendary knight stepped straight from a poem.
In the dead of night, her fingers would sometimes twitch. Unknowingly, that man had become the leading figure in her dreams.
Her father's health had become increasingly worrying, yet the Prince of Dorne's gaze had only grown sharper. On the night before she left, he had warned her—never underestimate the madness of the Targaryens, especially a queen with three dragons.
"Your judgment is correct. Given the current situation, the king will never allow you to—"
Lord Hand Mace rarely offered advice out of kindness, but Princess Arianne was thinking—how she wished the place Daenerys had wandered in those years had been Dorne rather than across the Narrow Sea. Then they could have happily shared that man every day.
Her eyes trembled, and Princess Arianne smiled faintly. "Thank you for your advice, my honored Lord Hand."
Her tone was utterly sincere, causing Lord Hand Mace to