Three days after the tryst, the trusted messenger Arianne had dispatched with secret orders to gather her men had barely departed when an uninvited guest appeared at the door of her reception chamber in the Old Palace.
Cletus Yronwood leaned lazily against the doorframe, his posture relaxed and insolent. He had inherited the Yronwood family's signature tall build and striking features. A roguish grin curved his lips as his bold gaze roamed over Arianne, lingering shamelessly on the curves outlined by her sheer gown.
"Good day, my beautiful Princess. The sun of Sunspear truly feels less scorching when one stands in your light."
After returning from Tyrosh with his father, Lord Anders, Cletus had accompanied him to Sunspear, where they met with Prince Doran and his family.
After comparing the appearances of Quentyn, Arianne, and Trystane, Anders confirmed what he already suspected—Quentyn was an imposter. Though furious, he dared not act openly against House Martell's power. But back in Yronwood, his hesitation lingered until recently, when he finally decided to accept Lo Quen's offer.
Anders sent Cletus to Sunspear with one purpose: to coax information about Prince Doran's plans from Arianne. He had faith in his son's charm. Cletus was handsome enough, reckless enough, and knew how to capture the attention of a woman like Arianne Martell—known across Dorne for her lovers and her loosened tongue. Once she learned a secret, the whole of Dorne soon knew it.
Arianne arched an eyebrow, mildly surprised by the sudden visit from Yronwood's infamous heir. Leaning back against her cushioned couch, her pose languid yet alluring, she smiled faintly.
"Cletus, what wind has blown you from Yronwood? Or does your father think the wine of Sunspear better suits your taste?"
Cletus sauntered in with a grin, settling casually onto the cushions opposite her. Without hesitation, he poured himself a cup of chilled Dornish sour wine from the silver jug on the table, his movements smooth and self-assured.
"The wine of Sunspear is fine indeed," he said, swirling his cup, "but it pales beside the 'scenery' here."
His tone carried obvious intent, his gaze bold and teasing.
"Even the finest scenery," Arianne replied, lifting her goblet and watching him over its rim, "needs someone who truly knows how to appreciate it—especially when that scenery is in the mood for an adventure."
"An adventure?" Cletus leaned forward slightly, his grin widening. "That happens to be my area of expertise, Princess—whether it's a chase across the desert or a conquest between the sheets."
...
Over the next few days, Arianne's bedchamber became Cletus's battlefield. He was handsome, strong, and practiced—well aware of how to spark Arianne's wildest passions with both words and touch.
Amidst the heat of desire and the breathless murmur of their nights, Arianne's tension slowly unraveled, her caution slipping away piece by piece.
After one particularly fevered night, she lay languidly against Cletus's sweat-damp chest, her fingers absently tracing the lines of his muscles as she murmured about her plan to journey north and bring Jon back.
At her words, Cletus's arm stiffened for a brief instant before he relaxed again. Lowering his head, he kissed the damp skin near her temple.
"What an exhilarating plan, my Princess. You truly are the brightest star of the desert."
But behind her back, his eyes gleamed cold and calculating. He needed more—details, names, direction.
He drew her closer, igniting another round of passion. With hotter kisses and lingering caresses, he pulled her deeper beneath the tide of desire.
In her dazed whispers and soft gasps, he guided the conversation deftly, like a fisherman working a line, using pleasure as bait to reel in the secrets he sought.
When Arianne finally gave him everything—every word, every plan—a glint of triumph flashed in Cletus's eyes before it was swallowed by renewed, feigned hunger.
Afterward, he succeeded in joining the expedition.
...
Several days later, Arianne had finished selecting her most capable guards when Gerold Dayne arrived in secret.
The moment he saw Cletus among the group, his expression froze in disbelief. When he realized Cletus had already taken Princess Arianne to bed, his thoughts were beyond words.
Still, he said nothing. The plan continued.
Planky Town.
The Greenblood River flowed past here, joining the Summer Sea not far beyond. Garbage and wilted leaves floated on the murky water, the midday sun drawing up a sickly, stinking mist.
A few old fishing boats and a medium-sized single-masted ship rocked lazily against the dock, their hulls creaking with the motion of the filthy waves.
Gerold Dayne frowned, glancing toward the ship.
The journey hadn't even begun, and already the princess was tangled up with that Cletus.
He almost regretted not stopping her from slipping a lover into the company.
Just as he stepped onto the gangplank, still a few paces from the ship...
"Ser, please stop."
A cold voice cut sharply through the noise of the harbor.
Gerold Dayne spun around to see Areo Hotah, Captain of Prince Doran's guards, standing at the pier's entrance. He wore sleeveless scale armor, his bronze arms bare as he gripped the long, fearsome axe in his hands.
Behind him stood Obara Sand, Nymeria Sand, and Tyene Sand—the three Sand Snakes—each clad in light leather armor suited for movement, their eyes fixed on him with icy detachment.
Gerold's pale violet eyes contracted sharply, a flicker of shock and panic flashing across his face.
"Seize him!"
Hotah's voice carried no emotion.
From the decrepit fishing boats moored on either side of the gangway, dozens of armed Dornish soldiers suddenly emerged, spears gleaming coldly in the sunlight as they surrounded the pier and sealed every escape.
Run!
Gerold reacted instantly. The moment Hotah's order fell, he leapt from the edge of the gangway.
There was a loud splash as he hit the water, vanishing into the foul, murky depths of the Greenblood.
"Catch him!" Obara barked, fury twisting her voice.
Several soldiers rushed to the edge of the pier, peering into the swirling, brown-green waters. But beneath the churning current, there was no trace of Gerold Dayne.
Amid the chaos, Hotah ignored the disturbance and the fleeing knight. His purpose was clear. With heavy steps, he crossed the gangplank and strode straight toward the cabin entrance.
...
Inside the ship, the cramped captain's cabin was thick with the lingering scent of sweat and passion.
At the sound of the commotion outside and Gerold's shout, Arianne's heart nearly burst from her chest.
She shoved Cletus off her and scrambled frantically for her clothes scattered on the floor beside the bed.
Cletus sprang up as well, his easy grin gone, replaced by terror. His tanned body tensed as he instinctively reached for a weapon—
Too late.
With a deafening crash, the cabin door burst open, shattered by a single brutal blow. Splinters flew as the doorway filled with Areo Hotah's massive frame, blocking out the light.
Obara Sand slipped past him like a striking cat, her spear leveled at the cabin's occupants, the point gleaming with killing intent.
Time froze.
Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne, knelt half-dressed upon the disheveled bedding. One leg was still bare, her honey-colored skin glowing faintly in the dim light. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her face caught between fear and the fading flush of desire.
She held a pair of trousers in one trembling hand, frozen mid-motion.
Beside her stood Cletus Yronwood, completely naked. His muscular, bronzed body was exposed in its entirety as he stood half-straightened, caught between flight and shame.
Both were laid bare before the intruders' cold gazes, stripped of all pretense and dignity.
Hotah's dark eyes swept across the scene, expressionless, as though he were observing two inanimate objects. He shifted slightly to the side.
Obara let out a low, scornful laugh, the sound sharp as steel. Her spear tip stayed leveled at Cletus.
"Seems we've interrupted Her Highness's... amusements?"
Her tone was icy, mocking.
Arianne let out a strangled, despairing sound that drained all strength from her body. She collapsed, limp as if her bones had melted away.
Cletus stood frozen, paralyzed like a man turned to stone.
The soldiers surged into the narrow cabin like wolves, roughly dragging the helpless Arianne from the bed. Cold iron shackles clamped around her bare arms.
Two others seized Cletus, slamming him to the floor and binding his naked body tightly with coarse rope.
Outside, the guards Gerold had brought were already subdued, their muffled groans lost beneath the sound of boots and steel.