Chapitre 389: Chapter 390: The Bracelet
The white dragon landed in the courtyard before the Yronwood stronghold, kicking up a towering storm of sand and dust.
Cletus Yronwood, Lord of Yronwood, held his breath as the scorching wind whipped his face, his heart brimming with awe.
"Your Majesty Caesar, welcome to Yronwood!" As the dust settled, Cletus bowed deeply and called out loudly.
Samwell leaped down from the white dragon's back, stepping forward to grasp Cletus's arm with a smile.
"Lord Cletus, your late father spoke often of your bravery. Seeing you today, I find his words to be true."
"You overpraise me, Your Majesty. Our success against House Martell was only possible thanks to your aid. Without your blockade of the Greenblood River cutting off Sunspear's supplies and the resulting rebellion among Riverlands and Vale captives, the Martells wouldn't have surrendered so swiftly."
"How fares Sunspear now?"
"It's under the control of captives from the Riverlands and the Vale, but the city is suffering from severe food shortages. The situation is dire. Princess Arianne, realizing she could no longer quell the unrest, laid down her arms and surrendered. Her condition for surrender was that we provide immediate aid to stabilize the city."
Samwell pondered this briefly before asking,
"What do you think should be done with House Martell?"
Cletus hesitated, glancing at the Storm King beside him before carefully replying,
"Your Majesty, I've already agreed to Princess Arianne's request and am preparing to send troops to Sunspear. Furthermore… I intend to marry Princess Arianne."
Samwell stopped in his tracks, turning to meet Cletus's gaze.
The young lord's heart raced under the weight of that silent scrutiny. Hastily, he explained,
"Your Majesty, I know I'm betrothed to your sister, but… for the sake of Dorne's stability, I feel I must break the engagement."
Samwell said nothing, his eyes fixed steadily on Cletus.
Sweat beaded on Cletus's forehead. Growing more anxious, he blurted out,
"My cousin, Ser Archibald Yronwood, will marry your sister in my place. He's more handsome and valiant than I am—a perfect match for Lady Tara.
"Your Majesty, please understand. I seek this marriage only to secure control of Dorne. House Martell holds unparalleled influence here. Rest assured, after our wedding, Arianne and I will swear fealty to you."
When Samwell still did not respond, Cletus grew increasingly desperate.
"If it pleases Your Majesty, we're even willing to relinquish our princely titles and accept the rank of duke, swearing eternal loyalty to House Caesar."
Finally, Samwell spoke, his tone calm yet cutting:
"Cletus, breaking an engagement is hardly an honorable thing. And have you forgotten? Arianne Martell killed your father with her own hands."
"Yes, Your Majesty, you're right to remind me," Cletus stammered, sensing a flicker of hope in Samwell's less-than-hostile tone. "Of course, I remember my father's death. But for the sake of Dorne's future, I must make this difficult choice. I hope you can understand. And if you require any further compensation, please name it."
Samwell regarded the young lord for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he said,
"You've broken my sister Tara's heart. You'll need to apologize to her personally."
"Of course! Of course! I'll kneel before Lady Tara and beg for her forgiveness." Relieved, Cletus bowed again, inwardly rejoicing at Samwell's seemingly lenient response.
"I'll remember Your Majesty's mercy forever. Dorne will be forever loyal to House Caesar!"
Once again, he bent low in a formal bow, missing the fleeting chill in Samwell's eyes.
Samwell pulled him upright, his smile returning as if the matter were settled.
"Is Arianne in the castle?"
"She is."
"And she's agreed to marry you?"
"I haven't asked her yet," Cletus admitted with a chuckle. "I wanted to secure your approval first. Once I have it, what choice does she have? By surrendering, she's already shown she understands the reality of her position. I'm sure she won't refuse my offer."
Samwell's smile deepened, though his tone carried a faint edge.
"Still, you should ask for her opinion."
"Of course, Your Majesty." Eager to please, Cletus led Samwell into the castle. "We've prepared a grand feast in your honor. I hope it meets your satisfaction."
---
In a small room atop the castle, Princess Arianne Martell sat cross-legged on a carpet, unceremoniously drinking from a wine bottle.
The room was neat and bright. A chessboard sat on the table, its pieces scattered across the floor. The table also held uneaten roast lamb, lemons, grapes, and fiery peppers, though Arianne had only touched the red wine.
Draining the bottle, she staggered to her feet and stumbled toward the open window. Beyond it lay the azure waters of the Dornish Sea and the golden sands of the dunes.
Staring out at the beauty of her homeland, tears suddenly streamed down her cheeks.
It must be the sand in the wind, she told herself.
She slammed the window shut and collapsed onto the feather-stuffed bed, her gaze vacant as she stared at the ceiling.
A knock at the door roused her.
Believing it to be a servant, she remained silent.
Moments later, a maid entered and curtsied.
"Your Highness, please prepare for the feast. You've been invited by Lord Yronwood to welcome the Storm King."
"The Storm King?" Arianne sat up abruptly, her sudden movement making her head spin.
Once she steadied herself, she said,
"Fine. Prepare my bath."
"As you wish, Your Highness."
When the bath was ready, Arianne slipped out of her silk gown, her long hair cascading freely. She slid into the warm water like a mermaid, immersing her lithe body in the comforting heat.
As the steam enveloped her, visions surfaced in her mind—her father Doran's sorrowful face, her uncle Oberyn's fiery gaze, her brother Quentyn's unfulfilled dreams. Faces of countless Dornishmen stared back at her, silent yet reproachful.
Arianne clenched her eyes shut, tears beading on her lashes.
Only when the maid's voice called her did she rise from the water.
After drying off, the servants dressed her in a sleeveless silk gown and braided her hair. As she moved to leave, Arianne paused.
"Wait." She walked to her jewelry box and retrieved a bejeweled bracelet.
Her uncle Oberyn had given it to her on her coming-of-age day. She remembered his words:
"Today, you become a woman. A woman needs her own weapon."
Yes, it was a weapon—a deadly one.
The bracelet bore a dozen gemstones, one of which was crystal-clear, filled with a liquid that seemed to flow with life.
Arianne fastened the bracelet to her wrist and whispered the words of her house:
"Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken."
Her eyes hardened, growing colder.
"Let's go," she said, turning to the maids with a seductive smile.
(End of Chapter)
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone