Chapter 391: Poisoned Wine

The night wind sliced through the corridors like a blade, carrying the mingled scents of the sea's salt and the desert's scorched sands.

Arianne Martell strode through the castle's halls, guided by her maidservants. The lights of Yronwood Castle glittered like fallen stars, a sharp contrast to the bitter turmoil within her heart.

She entered the banquet hall, where the strains of harps and flutes wove with laughter, the gentle clink of knives and forks on porcelain creating a backdrop of forced gaiety.

At the center of it all sat the young Storm King. On the dais, in the seat of honor, Samwell Caesar was clad in a blue velvet coat, his brow adorned with the Valyrian steel and ruby crown of conquest. His deep black eyes, dark as the abyss, locked onto Arianne the moment she entered the hall.

By his side sat Cletus Yronwood, the lord who had betrayed his betrothal to Samwell's sister. Seeing Arianne, Cletus rose with an eager smile.

"Welcome, our lovely Princess Arianne!"

The hall fell silent. Heads turned toward the woman who had once embodied the pride and power of Dorne. Now, those gazes held little respect. They were filled with mockery, anger, and thinly veiled lust.

"I am no princess." Arianne stepped forward, her amber eyes meeting Samwell's unwavering stare. "I am merely your captive, left only to beg for your mercy."

"King Caesar is ever merciful," Cletus declared. "So long as you cooperate."

"What cooperation does your king require of me?" she asked, her voice soft, her demeanor docile as a lamb.

But Martells were never lambs.

The Red Viper of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, had taught her well. Even her father, the seemingly docile and ever-calculating Prince Doran, had carried a viper's venom.

The Martells had always been serpents.

Looking at Arianne's bowed head, her apparent surrender, Samwell's lips curled into a knowing smile.

Cletus, eager to impress, took it upon himself to speak first.

"His Majesty wishes for peace. No more bloodshed in Dorne. He believes this can be achieved through unity. Therefore…"

He glanced nervously at Samwell, who made no effort to interrupt, before continuing:

"Therefore, His Majesty proposes that you marry me, Princess Arianne."

Her expression did not change. Arianne had anticipated this moment. Her amber eyes, however, stayed fixed on Samwell, as though she needed to hear the words from him.

"King Caesar," she asked softly, "is this truly what you wish? For me to marry Lord Yronwood?"

Samwell leaned back in his seat, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

"What I wish is for Dorne to be at peace—united, loyal. If your marriage to Lord Cletus can achieve that, then I have no objection."

"You hear that?" Cletus exclaimed, almost leaping from his chair in excitement. "His Majesty speaks the truth! Peace in Dorne, unity under Caesar's banner! Arianne, marry me, and Dorne's bloodshed will end. Together, we will kneel to our king and secure our people's future."

Arianne's gaze shifted to Cletus.

Were it not for all that had happened, Cletus Yronwood might have been a suitable match. He was handsome, valiant, and of noble blood. Three years ago, Arianne might have accepted his proposal without hesitation.

But those days were gone.

She had killed his father.

He had slain countless Martell warriors.

Blood ran too deep between them to be ignored.

Every night, her dreams were haunted by her father's broken body, her uncle Oberyn burning alive, her brother Quentyn's lifeless eyes.

She was a Martell. And Martells did not forget.

"I agree." Arianne's voice rang out, startling everyone in the hall. "I will marry Lord Yronwood, if His Majesty grants mercy to House Martell."

"Of course!" Cletus sprang to his feet, beaming.

For Cletus, this was more than a marriage—it was power. By wedding Arianne, he would wield authority over Dorne, legitimizing his control through her name.

"To our union and to the peace of Dorne, let us toast!" Cletus announced.

Servants approached with pitchers of wine, but Arianne intercepted them, taking one pitcher into her hands. Her lips curved into a seductive smile.

"Let me do the honors."

In that moment, her hand moved deftly to her bracelet. With practiced ease, she plucked a small red gem from its chain, holding it between her fingers.

Arianne remembered her uncle Oberyn's lessons vividly.

A weapon must strike true, swiftly, invisibly.

The gem shattered with a faint crack, releasing a single drop of crimson liquid. The poison disappeared into the wine, unnoticed by all.

It's done.

Arianne's heart raced as she poured the tainted wine into the cups.

Her face betrayed no emotion. She was a flawless actress, her movements smooth and confident. She began with Samwell, filling his cup, followed by Cletus, and then the other prominent guests.

At last, she poured herself a glass.

She had resolved to drink as well, to eliminate suspicion. Tonight, she would not leave this hall alive.

Repeated failures made her realize that she would never be able to complete her revenge on the battlefield.

Fortunately, the Dornishmen's advantage has never been on the battlefield.

This can be seen from the history of Aegon the Conqueror's failed conquest of Dorne three hundred years ago.

Raising her goblet, Arianne glanced once more at Samwell. She half-expected him to smile, half-feared he had seen through her ploy.

His expression was calm, unreadable.

"Thank you, Princess," Samwell said, lifting his cup. "To Dorne!"

"To Dorne!" the hall echoed.

"To Dorne," Arianne repeated, downing her wine in one motion.

The others followed her lead—except one.

"Your Majesty?" Cletus noticed Samwell's untouched goblet. "Why don't you—"

The young lord's words broke into a choking gasp. Clutching his throat, he collapsed, his body convulsing.

"The wine is poisoned!" someone screamed.

Panic erupted in the hall. Servants screamed, guards drew their swords, and maesters rushed to the stricken lord's side.

Samwell remained seated, his gaze fixed on Arianne. His eyes were full of mockery and pity.

She fell to her knees, her face contorting as the poison took hold.

Why didn't he drink?

Arianne wanted to demand an answer, but her voice failed her. Her throat burned, her lungs seized, and the world blurred around her.

Her thoughts spun in chaotic circles until one clarity emerged:

He knew. He knew about the poison.

Then why didn't he warn the others?

Why did he let Cletus drink?

The answer hit her like a blow.

Samwell wanted Cletus to die.

Realization turned to bitter laughter in her heart. Her plot to exact vengeance had only aided her enemy.

House Martell and House Yronwood would both fall, leaving a power vacuum in Dorne. And who would fill that void?

A single name formed in her mind.

Nathalie Dayne.

The girl from Starfall—the beginning and end of everything.

As her vision darkened, Arianne's last thoughts were of what might have been. If only she had not rallied her forces to challenge the Storm King in the past. If only she had chosen differently at Starfall.

But there were no "ifs" in reality.

Arianne's gaze locked onto Samwell one last time. His black eyes stared back, unfathomable and merciless, as the light drained from hers.

Flames flickered in his pupils, reflections of the torches that illuminated her final moments.

(End of Chapter)