A Feast for Dragons

one shall ever harm Myrcella whilst I live.”
    “A noble vow,” said Doran Martell with a faint smile, “but
you are only one man, ser. I had hoped that imprisoning my headstrong nieces
would help to calm the waters, but all we’ve done is drive the roaches back
beneath the rushes. Every night I hear them whispering and sharpening their
knives.”
    He is afraid, Ser Arys realized then. Look, his hand is
shaking. The Prince of Dorne is terrified. Words failed him.
    “My apologies, ser,” Prince Doran said. “I am frail and
failing, and sometimes . . . Sunspear wearies me, with its noise and dirt and
smells. As soon as my duty allows, I mean to return to the
Water
Gardens
.
When I do I shall take Princess Myrcella with me.” Before the knight could
protest, the prince raised a hand, its knuckles red and swollen. “You shall go
as well. And her septa, her maids, her guards. Sunspear’s walls are strong, but
beneath them is the shadow city. Even within the castle hundreds come and go
each day. The Gardens are my haven. Prince Maron raised them as a gift for his
Targaryen bride, to mark Dorne’s marriage to the Iron Throne. Autumn is a
lovely season there . . . hot days, cool nights, the salt breeze off the sea,
the fountains and the pools. And there are other children, boys and girls of
high and gentle birth. Myrcella will have friends of her own age to play with.
She will not be lonely.”
    “As you say.” The prince’s words pounded in his head. She
will be safe there. Only why had Doran Martell urged him not to write
King’s Landing about the move? Myrcella will be safest if no one knows just
where she is. Ser Arys had agreed, but what choice did he have? He was a
knight of the Kingsguard, but only one man for all that, just as the prince had
said.
    The alley opened suddenly onto a moonlit courtyard. Past
the candlemaker’s shop, she wrote, a gate and a short flight of exterior
steps. He pushed through the gate and climbed the worn steps to an unmarked
door. Should I knock? He pushed the door open instead, and found himself
in a large, dim room with a low ceiling, lit by a pair of scented candles that
flickered in niches cut from the thick earthen walls. He saw patterned Myrish
carpets underneath his sandals, a tapestry upon one wall, a bed. “My lady?” he
called. “Where are you?”
    “Here.” She stepped out from the shadow behind the door.
    An ornate snake coiled around her right forearm, its copper
and gold scales glimmering when she moved. It was all she wore.
    No, he meant to tell her, I only came to tell you
I must go, but when he saw her shining in the candlelight he seemed to lose
the power of speech. His throat felt as dry as the Dornish sands. Silent he
stood, drinking in the glories of her body, the hollow of her throat, the round
ripe breasts with their huge dark nipples, the lush curves at waist and hip.
And then somehow he was holding her, and she was pulling off his robes. When
she reached his undertunic she seized it by the shoulders and ripped the silk
down to his navel, but Arys was past caring. Her skin was smooth beneath his
fingers, as warm to the touch as sand baked by the Dornish sun. He raised her
head and found her lips. Her mouth opened under his, and her breasts filled his
hands. He felt her nipples stiffen as his thumbs brushed over them. Her hair
was black and thick and smelled of orchids, a dark and earthy smell that made
him so hard it almost hurt.
    “Touch me, ser,” the woman whispered in his ear. His hand
slipped down her rounded belly to find the sweet wet place beneath the thicket
of black hair. “Yes, there,” she murmured as he slipped a finger up inside her.
She made a whimpering sound, drew him to the bed, and pushed him down. “More,
oh more, yes, sweet, my knight, my knight, my sweet white knight, yes you, you,
I want you.” Her hands guided him inside her, then slipped around his back to
pull him closer. “Deeper,” she whispered. “Yes, oh.” When she wrapped her legs
around him, they felt as strong as steel. Her nails raked his back as he drove
into her, again and again and again, until she screamed and arched her back
beneath him. As she did, her fingers found his nipples, pinching till he spent
his seed within her. I could die now, happy, the knight thought, and for
a dozen heartbeats at least he was at peace.
    He did not die.
    His desire was as deep and boundless as the sea, but when
the tide receded, the rocks of shame and guilt thrust