Chapter 132 – The Supreme King of Dorne
"It's only been a few days… and you've already managed to end up like this?"
Lance raised an eyebrow, unable to resist a dry remark as he looked at Lord Anders Yronwood, who was bound hand and foot—left hand twisted one way, right hand another—just short of being kicked and stomped for good measure.
Lance wasn't foolish enough to think that Ynys, the Yronwood heir, meant to harm her own father.
Still… he truly hadn't expected their reunion to look quite this miserable.
"Mm—mmmmm!"
The moment Anders saw Lance, his eyes nearly brimmed with tears. He struggled desperately, muffled sounds pouring out as he tried to speak to the Kingsguard captain—only to be foiled by the cloth stuffed in his mouth.
"Whatever happened here," Lance said with a polite smile toward Ynys, "perhaps we should let the Lord speak first."
"Hmph."
The little girl snorted unhappily, then turned to her father and warned him sternly:
"If you dare shout, I'll have Ser Seth stuff his socks into your mouth instead."
At that, Anders shot his daughter a furious glare—only to lose the staring contest immediately. With a resigned sigh, he nodded helplessly.
Lance stepped forward and removed the gag.
Freed at last, Anders sucked in several deep breaths before turning on his daughter in outrage.
"Untie me at once! You've had me tied up all afternoon!"
"No, I won't!"
Ynys pouted stubbornly.
"If I untie you, you'll immediately go confront Doran Martell. Then our entire plan will fall apart!"
"This is treason against our liege!" Anders thundered.
"You'll destroy centuries of Yronwood loyalty and honor, Ynys!"
She was unmoved.
"You're the one who dumped Yronwood Castle on me and ran off alone to Sunspear. That means Yronwood answers to me now!"
"Wait—hold on—"
As father and daughter began bickering back and forth in earnest, Lance felt a headache coming on and quickly cut in.
"Enough. What do you mean by 'betraying your liege'? And what exactly is this plan?"
At Lance's question, Anders's chest heaved angrily. He shot his daughter a hard look, clearly signaling her to explain.
Ynys did so without hesitation.
"I know about the Martells' conspiracy with the North," she said calmly.
"And about their kidnapping of the Queen and the young prince, Ser."
Lance frowned.
"How do you know all this?"
What was happening in Sunspear was known only to the Martells themselves. Even the nobles attending the accession ceremony were completely in the dark.
The guests were trapped in the Old Palace. The Crownlands knights had been poisoned en masse. If no one escaped, the truth would never reach the king.
Doran Martell's plan was meticulous. By keeping the Queen and prince in Sunspear under the guise of 'protection,' Dorne would hold two invaluable hostages once the North marched south and declared war on the Iron Throne.
At Lance's question, Ynys rolled her eyes.
"Don't assume only you northerners know how to run an intelligence network."
"If I hadn't made preparations inside Sunspear, why do you think the two guards above us would help cover our tracks?"
"…Fair point."
Lance nodded thoughtfully.
The Yronwoods had ruled parts of Dorne for thousands of years. Even after submitting to Martell rule, it was unthinkable that such an ancient house lacked its own sources of information.
As for her comment about "northerners"… well, to Dorne, the rest of Westeros might as well all be the North.
Still, this girl was far too clever.
Lance glanced at Anders—red-faced, hot-tempered, and visibly seething—and couldn't help but wonder whether Ynys was truly his daughter.
Could a man this blunt, this impulsive, and this thick-headed really raise a child so perceptive and composed?
For a fleeting moment, Lance even wondered if Anders had been… cuckolded.
He quickly shook the thought away.
None of that mattered right now.
"What do you intend to do, Lady Ynys?"
Though it felt absurd to negotiate strategy with a ten-year-old, Lance asked seriously.
Between father and daughter, she was clearly the one who resembled a true lord.
—not a reckless brute.
"Create chaos. Rescue Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys. And before House Martell can make an even greater mess, return them safely to the Iron Throne."
Before Ynys could answer, a tall figure stepped out from the shadows. Her voice rang out, clear and commanding, filling the space.
As the candlelight reached her face, a slender woman was revealed—dressed in a light black-and-red gown, chin lifted high, almost pointing at others with her arrogance.
Yet that haughtiness did not feel out of place. On her, it seemed natural—earned, even—as though she had been born with authority woven into her bones.
Lance's gaze dropped to the sigil on her chest: a golden hand upon a red-and-black fan-shaped field. His brow furrowed.
"And why are you here, Lady Delonne Allyrion?"
Indeed, the newcomer was Lady Delonne, head of House Allyrion and Lady of Godsgrace.
Though House Allyrion was not as powerful as Yronwood or Fowler, they were still among Dorne's great noble houses. Their lands lay close to Sunspear, and in recent years, their influence had grown steadily.
Still, her presence here puzzled Lance deeply.
Especially since she had just answered his question for Ynys.
Had Yronwood and Godsgrace formed an alliance?
And to what end?
"Come here, little Ynys."
Instead of replying to Lance, Lady Delonne beckoned to the Yronwood girl at his side.
To Lance's surprise, the Yronwood heiress—who had tied her own father up without hesitation—immediately scampered over and threw herself into Lady Delonne's arms.
The sight was almost tender. Almost maternal.
Lord Anders Yronwood, bound to a chair nearby, looked as though his eyes were about to burst into flames.
"What exactly are you doing, Ynys?!"
Despite being tied tight, Anders struggled furiously, the ropes creaking under the strain.
"When did you get mixed up with this woman? She'll drag House Yronwood into eternal ruin!"
"Silence, Anders!"
Lady Delonne snapped coldly, cutting him off.
"If you want to draw the guards here and get us all killed, then by all means, keep shouting."
Her gaze fell on him with open contempt.
"You left a ten-year-old girl alone to rule a castle while you charged off to Sunspear to play the hero. And you thought that was noble?"
"In the Water Gardens, if not for Ser Lance Lot, you'd already be fertilizer for fire-peppers!"
At that, Anders finally shut his mouth, grinding his teeth. He looked pleadingly at Lance, silently asking for support.
Lance merely shrugged.
He wasn't touching that mess.
Lady Delonne, however, was not finished.
"So brave now," she sneered. "Yet back then, you didn't have the courage to propose to my father."
"If you hadn't been such a coward, our child would be older than Ynys by now!"
Lance raised an eyebrow.
Well now. That was an unexpected development.
Once again, he marveled at how… open Dorne could be.
Anders lowered his head, thoroughly defeated, choosing silence over humiliation.
Satisfied, Lady Delonne softened slightly. She stroked Ynys's hair with genuine affection and smiled.
"It doesn't matter. I will treat Ynys as my own daughter."
"After all, once she turns fourteen and her first blood comes, she will marry my son—Ryon Allyrion."
"What?!"
Anders's head snapped up.
He stared at his daughter—who clung to Lady Delonne like a kitten—voice trembling.
"Is that true? Ynys… you agreed to marry that little bastard Ryon?! Seven save us—could you at least have discussed it with me first?!"
"You didn't discuss coming to Sunspear with me either," Ynys replied coolly, rolling her eyes.
"If not for Lady Delonne's help, do you think we could have infiltrated the Old Palace so easily?"
"And as the eldest daughter of House Yronwood, I decide whom I marry."
Anders fell silent again, shoulders slumping.
Your little padded jacket leaks air, old man.
Lance sighed quietly. This was family business—none of his concern.
And frankly… having the support of two Dornish houses would make things much easier.
Perhaps more than two.
He frowned slightly. Since leaving, he hadn't seen any sign of Jynessa or Ashara.
Where had they gone?
Still, it didn't matter—for now.
With Houses Yronwood and Allyrion backing him, and the Martells unaware of their infiltration, the advantage was clear.
Enemy in the open. Us in the shadows.
"Do you know where they're holding the Queen and Prince, Lady Ynys?" Lance asked.
"Not for certain," she replied thoughtfully. "But if I had to guess… it would be there."
"You have a concrete plan, then?" Lance turned to Lady Delonne.
She cast a disdainful glance at Anders—now thoroughly cowed—before answering solemnly.
"Yes."
"Our numbers are limited. To rescue the Queen and Prince from the heavily guarded Old Palace, there is only one option."
"Create chaos."
Lance frowned.
Sunspear was not King's Landing, but with the prince's accession ceremony underway, nearly every Dornish lord was present.
The guards alone would number in the thousands.
To draw them all out…
"…You intend to—"
Lance glanced down at the scorch marks on his armor. A realization struck him.
Lady Delonne smiled faintly.
"Correct, Ser Lance."
"I've already placed people in the barracks, stables, silk archives, and granaries—each doused with oil."
"We will burn the palace."
"No—absolutely not!"
Anders jerked upright, voice low but furious.
"This is betrayal! This violates our oaths!"
"Burning the Old Palace? Seven above—even the Targaryens never did something so insane! You've lost your mind, Delonne!"
"We could confront Prince Doran directly! Force him by circumstance to release the Queen and Prince! Fire and poison—those are weapons of women and cowards!"
His righteous outrage rang out.
Lady Delonne's eyes grew colder with every word.
"You're right, Anders Yronwood."
She stepped forward, gripping his chin and forcing his face up.
"I am a woman. And you are a coward."
"Which makes us perfectly suited to start this fire."
She twisted his face toward the window.
"Look."
"This House Martell is no longer worthy of our loyalty."
"The one sitting on the Sun Throne now is just as foolish as you—and has no honor left."
"Doran Martell!"
Her voice rose.
"He tolerated his brother poisoning your grandfather."
"He colluded with Northmen to abduct his own guests—then lied to the Seven Kingdoms, calling it 'protection'!"
"Look at me, Anders!"
Her eyes burned with fury and sorrow.
"If not for Ser Lance, you'd already be dead."
"You abandoned a castle to a ten-year-old child—don't you dare lecture me about loyalty!"
"The traitors are the Martells—not us!"
"Godsgrace will never recognize such a liege!"
Silence fell.
Anders swallowed, shame filling his eyes.
He looked to his daughter—who met his gaze with stubborn resolve.
By now, more than ten Yronwood knights had gathered.
"Enough hesitation, my lord!"
The tall, thin knight—Yronwood's captain—stepped forward, drawing his sword and kneeling.
One by one, the others followed.
"Kneel!"
"House Yronwood is blood of kings—lords of the Stone Way—High Kings of Dorne!"
"The Martells have proven themselves unworthy!"
"Spread the truth across the Seven Kingdoms, and the Dornish lords will rise!"
"And you, Lord Anders Yronwood—will become the true—"
"High King of Dorne!"
"High King of Dorne!"
"High King of Dorne!"
The words were quiet—but intoxicating.
Lance understood the feeling immediately.
Yellow robes upon the shoulders.
Even if they couldn't topple the Martells now, the seed had been planted.
And Dorne had never lacked would-be kings.
"Enough," Lady Delonne said sharply.
"At dawn, when the heat rises, ignite all points simultaneously."
"The smoke will be our shield."
"Yes, my lady!"
The knights dispersed swiftly.
Left behind, Lance exhaled slowly.
"Your swordsmanship is exceptional, Ser Lance," Lady Delonne said.
"Only competent," he replied modestly.
"Alone, I could enter and leave Sunspear freely. No one here could take three of my strikes head-on."
She smiled—clearly pleased.
Midnight had passed.
Less than four hours remained until dawn.