A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

She will give us leave to marry if we ask.” Arianne put her arms around him and laid her face against his chest. The top of her head came to just beneath his chin. “You can have me and your white cloak both, if that is what you want.”
    She is tearing me apart.
“You know I do, but . . .”
    â€œI am a princess of Dorne,” she said in her husky voice, “and it is not meet that you should make me beg.”
    Ser Arys could smell the perfume in her hair and feel her heart beating as she pressed against him. His body was responding to her closeness, and he did not doubt that she could feel it too. When he put his arms upon her shoulders, he realized she was trembling. “Arianne? My princess? What is it, my love?”
    â€œMust I say it, ser? I am afraid. You call me
love,
yet you refuse me, when I have most desperate need of you. Is it so wrong of me to want a knight to keep me safe?”
    He had never heard her sound so vulnerable. “No,” he said, “but you have your father’s guards to keep you safe, why—”
    â€œIt is my father’s guards I fear.” For a moment she sounded younger than Myrcella. “It was my father’s guards who dragged my sweet cousins off in chains.”
    â€œNot in chains. I have heard that they have every comfort.”
    She gave a bitter laugh. “Have you seen them? He will not permit me to see them, did you know that?”
    â€œThey were speaking treason, fomenting war . . .”
    â€œLoreza is six, Dorea eight. What wars could they foment? Yet my father has imprisoned them with their sisters. You have seen him. Fear makes even strong men do things they might never do otherwise, and my father was never strong. Arys, my heart, hear me for the love you say you bear me. I have never been as fearless as my cousins, for I was made with weaker seed, but Tyene and I are of an age and have been close as sisters since we were little girls. We have no secrets between us. If she can be imprisoned, so can I, and for the same cause . . . this of Myrcella.”
    â€œYour father would never do that.”
    â€œYou do not know my father. I have been disappointing him since I first arrived in this world without a cock. Half a dozen times he has tried to marry me to toothless greybeards, each more contemptible than the last. He never
commanded
me to wed them, I grant you, but the offers alone prove how little he regards me.”
    â€œEven so, you are his heir.”
    â€œAm I?”
    â€œHe left you to rule in Sunspear when he took himself off to his Water Gardens, did he not?”
    â€œTo
rule
? No. He left his cousin Ser Manfrey as castellan, old blind Ricasso as seneschal, his bailiffs to collect duties and taxes for his treasurer Alyse Ladybright to count, his shariffs to police the shadow city, his justiciars to sit in judgment, and Maester Myles to deal with any letters not requiring the prince’s own attention. Above them all he placed the Red Viper. My charge was feasts and frolics, and the entertainment of distinguished guests. Oberyn would visit the Water Gardens twice a fortnight. Me, he summoned twice a year. I am not the heir my father wants, he has made that plain. Our laws constrain him, but he would sooner have my brother follow him, I know it.”
    â€œYour brother?” Ser Arys put his hand beneath her chin and raised her head, the better to look her in the eyes. “You cannot mean Trystane, he is just a boy.”
    â€œNot Trys. Quentyn.” Her eyes were bold and black as sin, unflinching. “I have known the truth since I was four-and-ten, since the day that I went to my father’s solar to give him a good night kiss, and found him gone. My mother had sent for him, I learned later. He’d left a candle burning. When I went to blow it out, I found a letter lying incomplete beside it, a letter to my brother Quentyn, off at Yronwood. My father told Quentyn that he must do all that his maester and his master-at-arms required of him, because ‘
one day you will sit where I sit and rule all Dorne, and a ruler must be strong of mind and body.
’” A tear crept down Arianne’s soft cheek. “My father’s words, written in his own hand. They burned themselves into my memory. I cried myself to sleep that night, and many nights thereafter.”
    Ser Arys had yet to meet Quentyn Martell. The prince had been fostered by Lord Yronwood from a tender