The Blue Cloaks stationed on either side slowly pushed open the great hall's wooden doors. Princess Arianne saw Gryn standing with his hands behind his back on the steps within, that familiar gentle smile on his face.
"Your Grace."
She nodded from afar, and as the doors closed behind her, Princess Arianne could not help quickening her pace.
Gryn paused briefly, then smiled and opened his arms to her.
What she had expected to be a warm embrace after their long separation became Arianne clutching him tightly and directly offering him a passionate kiss.
To be honest, Dorne's uninhibited premarital ways were rather—
The two finally parted, Arianne's gaze hazy.
This was not merely love. The unyielding Martells always distinguished gratitude from grievance. Because of the man before her, she had completely secured her position as heir, and she had no way to repay him.
At the same time, this man's strength, elegance, and restraint all fascinated her, drawing her ever deeper in.
And there was also—
"Gryn—"
Arianne's hand reached for the king's exquisite belt, while Gryn's expression stiffened slightly as he caught hold of the Dornish princess, who was about to lower herself.
"Come with me, my Small Council Member."
Not the bedchamber—
Seeing Gryn move toward the long table, Arianne, whose breathing had already become somewhat hurried, felt the fire within her blaze up.
Then she pounced on him.
Cautious and sharp as ever, Lord Gryn barely held back his deadly elbow strike at the crucial moment. He immediately wrapped an arm around her waist, spun her around several times, and set the impulsive Dornish woman on the edge of the long table covered with a map of the North.
After a brief pause, Arianne, her arms around Gryn's neck, tried to offer him her burning lips