"Alleras."
Joffrey explored the depths of her dark eyes, as if peering into some secret chamber hidden within.
"You are Sarella Sand, are you not?"
The king's voice, laden with spirit and magic, cut through the air like Valyrian steel, reaching every ear in the chamber.
All present stood transfixed, their expressions dazed as the weight of the revelation settled upon them.
The king nodded to himself, satisfied. "It truly is you, Sarella."
No verbal response was needed; Joffrey had already confirmed the answer from her trembling eyes and the poisoned needle concealed between her slender fingers.
An unexpected pleasure, this.
Sarella Sand—bastard daughter of Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, the notorious "Red Viper"—was renowned for her vivacious nature, formidable intellect, love of learning, passion for history, and relentless pursuit of hidden knowledge.
Sarella and her seven half-sisters all bore the Dornish bastard surname "Sand" and were collectively known throughout the realm as the "Sand Snakes."
Though these eight young women were nominally bastard daughters, Oberyn had provided them with the finest protection and education, allowing them to grow alongside the trueborn children of Sunspear and various Dornish lords.
Thus, the Sand Snakes had become a formidable force among the rising generation of Dorne's nobility.
Joffrey savored this unexpected development.
He had long contemplated the matter of Dorne, wondering when and how best to break the ice and incorporate its considerable strength into his domain. Now, remarkably, a Sand Snake had delivered herself to his very doorstep.
Sarella Sand.
He scrutinized the tense and wary Dornishwoman with a gaze that held both amusement and calculation.
"Could it be that Prince Doran intends at last to heed the Iron Throne's call? That he means to march north against the rebels and has sent you ahead to deliver his message, demonstrating his sincerity?"
In theory, such a possibility existed.
Oberyn's elder brother was Doran Nymeros Martell—Prince of Dorne, Lord of Sunspear, and liege to whom all Dornish vassals pledged their fealty.
By virtue of this relationship, Sarella was Prince Doran's own niece, certainly qualified to serve as messenger or even hostage.
But in truth, Dorne would never willingly yield its independence at this juncture.
The southernmost kingdom's unique geographical features—vast deserts and harsh wilderness—had always hindered its integration with the other six kingdoms. Its economy remained relatively self-contained, making it notoriously difficult for foreign armies to conquer completely.
Its culture and ethnicity, strongly influenced by the ancient Rhoynar, further weakened the Dornish people's sense of belonging to the Iron Throne.
To this day, Dorne remained the only one of the Seven Kingdoms that retained its royal titles. The ruling Martell family and their children all proudly bore the style of "Prince" or "Princess" rather than mere lords.
Evidently, compared to other territories nominally loyal to the Iron Throne, Dorne functioned more as a vassal state—perhaps even as a united but separate kingdom.
For these reasons, Dorne possessed ample justification and confidence to maintain its neutrality, without need to hastily declare for any faction.
Moreover, House Martell had stood firmly with House Targaryen during Robert's Rebellion, choosing to oppose the Baratheon uprising at great cost.
Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard and countless Dornish soldiers had perished in that war. Later, Lannister forces had brutally murdered Elia Martell—Rhaegar's wife—and her children in the very halls of the Red Keep.
Elia Martell had been Prince Doran's beloved sister.
Though Hand of the King Jon Arryn had personally journeyed to Dorne afterward to negotiate peace, leading to a nominal renewal of their alliance, Dorne had since harbored an irreconcilable hatred for House Lannister. Its support for the Iron Throne had grown increasingly tepid, while its isolationist tendencies only strengthened.
Joffrey also knew that House Martell had been secretly supporting a Targaryen restoration for years.
Oberyn himself had traveled to Braavos and, with the Sea Lord as witness, entered into a clandestine agreement with Ser Willem Darry, protector of the exiled Viserys Targaryen.
The parties had agreed that Viserys would wed Arianne Martell upon reaching maturity, whereupon Dorne would rise in rebellion to support Viserys in reclaiming the Iron Throne.
Varys, the Pentoshi magister Illyrio Mopatis, the exiled Lord Jon Connington, and Myles Toyne, commander of the Golden Company, had all played roles in this elaborate conspiracy.
But this scheme had undoubtedly been shattered beyond repair.
Joffrey extended his left hand, and Daenerys obediently pressed her cheek against it, allowing herself to be guided onto his lap as his hand moved with gentle insistence.
"Daenerys, you may not be aware, but Ser Willem Darry once secured a betrothal for your brother Viserys."
Joffrey's gaze returned to Sarella.
"A most advantageous match—Princess Arianne Martell, heir to Dorne itself."
Arianne!?
Sarella's eyes darted from Daenerys back to the king, meeting his mysterious, captivating gaze. She could not prevent the involuntary tremor that passed through her body.
"A pity that Viserys will have no need of her now," Joffrey remarked with feigned regret.
"I truly worry for Princess Arianne's future. Whom might she marry? Willas Tyrell of Highgarden, perhaps? Or will she compete with Lady Margaery for my uncle Renly's affections?"
"I would recommend Uncle Renly. Who says a king may have but one queen?"
"Ah, but I forget—Uncle Renly is no king at all."
Joffrey added with false kindness, "Though I could issue a special decree, permitting Uncle Renly to take two wives. I trust Princess Arianne would find such an arrangement satisfactory."
Sarella maintained her resolute silence.
King Joffrey's words cut too deeply, their implications too profound. She found herself utterly at a loss for response.
Everything about this night had transcended her expectations.
All had been proceeding according to plan.
As Assistant Scholar Alleras, she had successfully accompanied Archmaester Marwyn to King's Landing.
Her intention had been to quietly investigate the city's secrets, cleverly obtaining whatever knowledge and information she desired.
No one would mark her presence, just as none had truly seen her at the Citadel.
What an intriguing adventure it should have been.
Yet how could her carefully constructed identity have been so easily penetrated?
Is this magic?
Will Renly and the Tyrells truly fail in their ambitions?
Did Father and the others indeed conspire to restore the Targaryens? Is King Joffrey now set against Dorne?
Excitement, panic, and other emotions beyond description surged through her heart. Sarella raised her head and met the king's piercing gaze, forcing herself not to look away, demonstrating the resilience for which the Dornish were famed.
But she knew, with cold certainty, that she had nowhere to flee.
Joffrey then turned his attention to the golden-haired youth standing nearby. "Leo Tyrell, has Highgarden sent you to sue for peace?"
"Lazy Leo" executed a respectful bow.
"Your Grace, though I am merely an assistant scholar, I have long since dedicated myself wholly to knowledge and truth, setting aside the burden of my surname. All matters concerning House Tyrell belong to the past and hold no relevance to my present circumstances."
Joffrey lifted a six-pointed star badge from the table before him. "In truth, I had already reached my decision."
"To restore peace as swiftly as possible, to reunite the vassals of the Seven Kingdoms, and to deliver the smallfolk from the ravages of war, I stand prepared to endure criticism, to break with tradition, and to take Lady Margaery as my second queen."
Leo Tyrell stared at the king, shock evident in every line of his face.
Joffrey sighed. "The misunderstandings between our houses run deep, and mere letters cannot adequately convey sincerity. You would have made a suitable messenger. What a waste."
"It seems we must quell this rebellion with blood and fire after all."
Joffrey tossed the six-pointed star carelessly onto the table.
The brass badge spun upon the polished surface, producing sharp, rhythmic sounds that grew louder and more urgent with each revolution.
Before the six-pointed star could come to rest, Leo Tyrell—scion of Highgarden—bowed with newfound solemnity.
"If my actions might end this turmoil and preserve innocent lives, then personal interest becomes insignificant. What does it matter if I reclaim the name Leo Tyrell?"
"Your Grace, I willingly offer myself as your messenger."
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