The sea breeze of Lys carried the tang of salt and decay all year round.
In this city-state that had once worshipped the Goddess of Lust, the old customs ran deep.
Frivolous, indolent, and steeped in sensual pleasures, it had once been common to see men and women coupling shamelessly in the streets. Extravagance and disorder were bred into its bones.
Even after Prince Aegon's iron-fisted reforms had curbed much of the city's excesses, its ingrained indolence remained.
Arianne Martell walked along the broad street at an unhurried pace, her gaze drifting over the lanes on either side.
She had spent considerable time in Lys. With her standing as a princess of Dorne and her keen mind, she had long since seen through the city-state:
The framework of order Aegon had left behind was still functioning, and Luciana proved reasonably capable as consul. But ever since Daenerys had opposed the slave trade and threatened the city-state's nobles at the root of their interests, the lords who had once chosen to lie low under Aegon's iron fist had begun stirring up trouble behind the scenes again.
They obeyed the law in public but threw obstacles in the way at every turn behind closed doors, feigning compliance, finding endless excuses, and refusing to cooperate in the slightest.
Even some of the lower- and middle-ranking free citizens fiercely resisted. They might own a few slaves and regard them as valuable property.
The faintest trace of mockery passed across the Dornish princess's lips.
That young Targaryen princess did have a mind for reform, and she even dared to wade into the bottomless mire of slavery. At least she had shed some of her timidity.
Unfortunately, she was far too inexperienced.
She lacked a firm enough hand and had no foothold in the Narrow Sea.