novelzi [12] The Clash of Ideals
[12] The Clash of Ideals
Chapter 12: The Clash of Ideals
—
Dorne was a beautiful place. Unlike Volantis, which stank of overpopulation, iron shackles, and men’s greed, Dorne was alive—a free, raw beauty that didn’t hide its edges. The sunset poured its last light through my window, dyeing the sky with an amber glow. But that hardly mattered to me now. The true view stood before me.
Princess Arianne Martell.
"Princess Arianne," I greeted, a slight smile playing at my lips as she approached with that dangerous grace Dornishwomen had perfected. I took her hand, bowing my head to brush my lips across her knuckles.
“Prince Viserys.” Her voice was rich, layered with interest and amusement as she withdrew her hand, silver eyes meeting mine. Her smile lingered, and I could see why men lost themselves over her. She was beautiful and hot-tempered, both a pleasure and a danger.
Then we exchanged pleasantries, it was a formality that neither of us truly believed in but performed out of habit. She asked how I liked Dorne, her eyes flicking over me as though
I chuckled, shaking my head. “I’ve heard stories about you, Princess. Stories of your… revealing tastes.” I let my smile fade, my gaze hardening as I added, “Only one person in this palace dresses like a whore while being accompanied by a knight. Turns out I was right.”
Her smile faltered, surprise flashing across her face. I saw the slight flicker of anger before she caught herself, recovering with a restrained smile. “I, uh… I heard you spent a lot of time in Essos. I imagine jokes there are different?”
I laughed, taking a step back to the table piled with fruits. I plucked an apple and bit into it, savoring her glare as I kept my back to her. I could feel her eyes on me, and it was clear she hadn’t expected this. She wasn’t used to being treated with anything less than reverence.
“That knight you brought with you—Ser Andrey, isn’t it?” I said, glancing at her over my shoulder, a smirk on my lips. “He was looking at you like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. Maybe he already has. I won’t be surprised given your dressing sense and rumors. Unfortunately, I like my women… well, a bit less public about it.”
The silence was sharp, and I could feel her mood shift, her interest replaced with something colder. It was a pity, really. If only she’d come in here with the disdain she’d left with; that would have been simpler. Her interest only made it sadder, the crush fading from her eyes, replaced by something bitter and disappointed.
“The rumors failed to capture just how foul your personality is.” Her eyes narrowed, a look of contempt hardening her gaze. She sounded angry. “Since you seem to care so much about coverings, I think you can throw on a shirt now. Or do you hold that bare chests on men are somehow different from a woman’s exposed skin? I’ve always hated how differently men and women are judged. It seems you are no different from the rest of them, Prince Viserys.”
I chuckled, biting into the apple, savoring its sweetness before tossing it back on the table. “Men and women have their places, their roles. It’s not a matter of looking down on you. We just aren’t the same.” I shrugged, my tone dismissive, already tiring of the subject. I didn’t care to explain myself to her; it was her problem if she didn’t like it.
Her eyes remained fixed on me, her anger simmering beneath her gaze. “Well, " she said with a curt nod, turning sharply on her heel and striding toward the door without another word. She didn’t bother hiding her fury, the insult simmering in her step as she swept from the room, leaving the air thick with her resentment.
I watched her go, letting the false smile of arrogance drop the door shut behind her. I munched on my apple, “It’s a shame, really.”
She’d been the easiest way to pull Dorne to my side, the quickest route to gaining support from Prince Doran and the Dornish army. I knew how this looked—pushing away a simple solution, an engagement that could give me everything. But I had my own set of ideals. For a marriage, I wouldn’t settle for a woman who paraded herself like that.
No, dressing sense was one thing, character another. She was a whore. I wasn’t going to get engaged to a whore, no matter if people called me a hypocrite.
Now, I’d have to figure out a different way to gain Dorne’s support.
****
Arianne Martell’s head burned with rage.
How dare he insult her like that?
The audacity of that man, standing there with his dismissive tone and those piercing, relaxed arrogant eyes. Her hands clenched into fists as she stalked down the corridors, barely noticing the guards and attendants who quickly stepped aside to avoid her wrath.
When she reached the meeting chamber, she pushed the doors open a bit too hard for royal etiquette. Inside, her father and uncle were still talking, but her uncle Oberyn had freshly bathed, his hair still damp, leaning back with a look of ease. Doran looked as he always did, quiet and contemplative.
When she stormed in, her father’s gaze sharpened with curiosity, and Oberyn smiled.
“Oh, you’re back already,” her uncle began, but she cut him off, fixing her father with a hard stare.
“Father,” she said, her voice tight, “I feel dishonored by this meeting with my ex-fiance, Viserys Targaryen. He is just like every other arrogant man from outside Dorne, and I refuse to entertain any marriage with him. I am not going to marry someone who looks down on women, someone who would—” Her voice faltered with frustration. “He called me a whore in all but name.”
Doran blinked, taken aback by her vehemence. He turned his gaze to Oberyn, who cleared his throat, looking away from her while holding back a shrug.
“Maybe I should have prepared you,” Oberyn muttered, running a hand through his hair. “The prince isn’t exactly... subtle with his words. Men from powerful lineages are often arrogant. Plus you have to understand the culture he comes from too. To them, Dornish men and women are… well, not holy.”
Doran shook his head with a sigh. “Arianne, you don’t have to marry someone you don’t like.” His voice was calm, even gentle. “I have no intention of selling my daughter for a political marriage, certainly not one that brings us no benefit.”
Arianne felt her anger flare again, but not toward her father. Her father’s measured words and his unyielding refusal to sacrifice her for mere strategy were reassuring. She was more than relieved knowing that she wouldn’t be forced to marry that bastard. Yet she couldn’t shake the humiliation of that encounter, the dismissive way Viserys had spoken as if she were something cheap and unworthy.
“No,” she said, her voice steeling as she straightened. “That’s not enough.”
Doran shook his head, “We can’t punish him for running his mouth. He’s still a Targaryen, and your fiance, even if that part is a past.”
“I don’t want you to punish him,” she said, gathering her breath. “I demand an Honor Trial of Combat against him!”
Her father stared at her while Oberyn’s face fell, his hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose as he let out a groan. She didn’t care if she sounded frustrated. That bastard insulted Ser Andrey Dalt too, didn’t he?
Tomorrow, Ser Andrey Dalt would wipe his face on the floor.
**
**
**