Viserys’s face froze.
His voice rose despite himself.
“He is merely my guard.
A loyal Dothraki warrior!” Prince Doran’s mouth curved into a knowing smile.
He tapped his cane once against the floor.
“In that case, my prince, there are certain matters I would prefer to discuss with your guard in private.
Why don’t you return to your chambers and rest for a while?” Viserys opened his mouth to argue, but a strong hand settled on his shoulder.
“Listen to him,” Rahallo said quietly.
“Go back.” Viserys’s expression darkened, but he swallowed whatever retort he had been forming and stalked out.
A servant hurried forward to escort him.
Doran watched him leave and let out a soft sigh.
His body might be crippled, but his mind remained as sharp as ever.
House Targaryen was finished.
Viserys, by any measure, was mediocre at best and now clearly little more than a puppet.
He was not the man who would restore his house.
“Khal Rahallo,” Doran said, eyes steady, “there is currently a bounty on your head in Westeros worth an earldom and a great deal of land.” Rahallo smiled.
“My lord prince, since you have already seen through the disguise, I assume you intend to hand me over to Baratheon?” He sounded completely certain that Doran would do no such thing.
The question had only been a test.
Though the prince looked like a kindly elder, he was in truth a cold and calculating player who thought only in terms of Dorne’s long-term interests.
Even if Doran turned Rahallo over, Robert Baratheon would never thank him for it.
The old grudges between Dorne and the Iron Throne ran far too deep.
Doran was surprised by how fluent Rahallo’s Common Tongue was.
He recovered quickly and changed the subject.
“Rumors about you have been reaching Dorne from Essos with increasing frequency.
A Dothraki horse-lord who defeated two powerful khals in single combat and then crushed an enemy force twice his own size.
I will be honest—I find you far more interesting than the prince who accompanied you.
So tell me, Khal Rahallo.
What exactly do you hope to gain by crossing the Narrow Sea and coming to Sunspear?” “Nothing,” Rahallo answered at once.
“On the contrary, you can gain a great deal from me.
For example, I can offer you the chance to conquer Westeros.” House Martell carried blood feuds with both House Baratheon and House Lannister, but they held no great love for House Targaryen either—especially not for Rhaegar, the man who had abandoned his wife.
During Robert’s Rebellion the Mad King had kept Doran’s sister Elia and her children hostage in the Red Keep to ensure the loyalty of the Kingsguard knight Lewyn Martell.
When the city fell, the Lannisters had butchered them anyway.
Elia had been raped and murdered by the Mountain, and her children had been dashed against the wall as proof of Lannister loyalty to the new king.
Robert had accepted the gift without protest, dismissing the slaughter of infants with a single careless remark: “I saw no children, only dragonspawn.” Doran spoke plainly.
“Dothraki bring only slaughter and ruin to Westeros.
Everything they touch turns to ash.
Where is the conquest in that?” “I can bring slaughter and ruin to your enemies,” Rahallo replied, following Doran’s own logic.
“I can turn their lands to ash while Dorne sits back and profits.
I did not come here for conquest.
I came for resources.
And the Tyrells have everything I need.” “What would you ask of Dorne in return?” Doran asked.
“Nothing difficult.
Simply open the Prince’s Pass in the north.
My riders will land on your shores, pass through quickly, and be gone.
We will disguise ourselves as raiders out of the Red Mountains.
Dorne will suffer no blame.
The Tyrells’ wealth goes to me.
A weakened House Tyrell goes to you.” Silence filled the hall.
Doran glanced at Areo Hotah, the captain of his guard.
The big man stood with his longaxe planted on the floor and gave the smallest of nods.
After a long moment Doran spoke.
“The rumors about you appear to be accurate.
You are ambitious.
And dangerous.
But how can I be certain your riders will not turn on Dorne itself?” Rahallo’s smile widened.
“My lord prince, I am not a fool.
I want Dorne as an ally, not an enemy.
And my enemies happen to be your enemies as well.” House Tyrell, with their golden roses and their rich, fertile lands in the Reach, had always been steadfast supporters of the Iron Throne.
Doran had disliked them for years, but they were too strong to strike at directly.
Rahallo was offering him a blade he could wield without ever drawing it himself.
Doran considered for a while longer, then said, “I will not decide in haste.
Give me a few days to think on it.” … The next day, in a shaded courtyard, Prince Doran sat in his wheeled chair.
Beside him stood his brother Oberyn Martell and Oberyn’s paramour, Ellaria Sand.
Doran’s daughter Arianne Martell reclined on a cushioned chair beneath a grape arbor, her long black hair spilling over her shoulders like dark silk.
Her full lips curved in a faint smile.
The silk gown she wore traced the lines of her body with deliberate elegance.
Doran broke the silence first.
“A Dothraki horse-lord named Rahallo has arrived in Dorne in secret.
He plans to invade Westeros and hopes for our support.” Oberyn’s eyebrows rose.
“The same one who killed Drogo and carried off Daenerys Targaryen?
Interesting.
I already like him.” Oberyn, called the Red Viper, was bold and unrestrained by nature.
Rahallo’s audacious style appealed to him.
Ellaria’s brow furrowed.
“House Targaryen still hungers for the Iron Throne, and now we would add a horde of raiders who know nothing but plunder.
Westeros is about to become a very lively place.
But allying with them… what is the difference between that and lying down with wolves?” Doran turned to his daughter.
“Rahallo’s true target is House Tyrell.
He intends to raid the Reach.” Arianne glanced at her uncle, a spark of mischief in her eyes.
“Father, this could be the perfect opportunity to teach those proud Tyrells a lesson they will not soon forget.” Oberyn caught his niece’s look and understood at once.
He knew her character well—adventurous, ambitious, and hungry for control.
She would almost certainly support Rahallo’s proposal.
“The Tyrells could certainly use a reminder that the world is not theirs to command,” Oberyn said.
Then his expression grew more serious.
“Still, the Dothraki have a terrible reputation.
If word spreads that House Martell allowed them into Westeros, the consequences could be severe.” Ellaria nodded.
“Exactly.
This is playing with fire.
The other kingdoms would brand Dorne a traitor.
We cannot chase short-term satisfaction at the cost of Dorne’s future.”
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