It happened too fast, too decisively, that everyone on the walls and below them simply froze.
"No—! Cletus!"
Anders Yronwood let out a gut-wrenching howl, nearly pitching from his saddle before the guards at his side caught him.
Tears streamed down his face as he beat his chest in grief.
He had forced himself to say they should press the attack no matter what, but who could truly watch their own son die like that with their eyes open?
Luo Wen's face turned instantly bleak. The last trace of hesitation vanished from his eyes.
He yanked his sword free and pointed it at Sunspear, his voice rolling across the army.
"Attack! Avenge Ser Cletus! Level Sunspear!"
The war horns wailed, harsh and mournful.
The army surged forward again, crashing into Sunspear with renewed fury.
The Dragon Soul Guards led the charge, pushing through sheets of arrows, rolling logs, falling stones, and boiling oil poured from above without a flicker of fear.
Their Valyrian steel armor gleamed with a cold, dim sheen. Most ordinary Dornish arrows simply bounced off. Only heavy crossbow bolts and huge stones posed any real threat.
They set ladders swiftly and efficiently, swords flashing as they began to climb.
The fight erupted into full chaos.
Sunspear's defenders fought like men possessed. With the advantage of height and position, they hurled anything they could lay hands on at the attackers.
Regular soldiers and slave soldiers were hit again and again, screaming as they tumbled from ladders.
But the Dragon Soul Guards were terrifying.
The moment a Dragon Soul Guard gained the wall, he could plant himself and hold ground, and then more of his kind poured through that breach without end.
They fought in small groups, back-to-back, blades flickering. Dornish soldiers fell one after another.
After a brutal struggle, the Dragon Soul Guards finally seized full control of the first wall.
But two more curved walls still stood ahead.
This was Sunspear's famed defense, the triple curved walls.
Those winding passages allowed the Dornish to fire from multiple angles and stall attackers in layers, bleeding them as they advanced.
Yet against the Dragon Soul Guards' overwhelming strength, the defenders' advantage was worn away bit by bit.
The Dragon Soul Guards pressed inward along the twisting corridors. The Dornish still fought bravely, but against enemies who surpassed them in armor, stamina, and sheer individual prowess, their lines were broken one layer at a time.
When the Dragon Soul Guards breached the final curved wall and stormed into the Old Palace district, word reached Prince Doran in the Throne Hall.
The last color drained from the ruler of Dorne's face, leaving only dead-gray despair.
He would not be able to hold out until his son returned.
His captain of the guard, Areo Hotah, was grim as stone.
"Prince," he said in a low, steady voice, "the Old Palace cannot be held. You must leave at once through the secret passage. Beneath Sunspear there is a tunnel that leads to Sandboat Fortress. Ships are prepared there. We can reach safety."
Prince Doran nodded with visible effort.
Areo Hotah immediately gathered every guard he could still command. They surrounded Prince Doran's wheelchair and withdrew quickly deeper into the palace.
But just as they crossed the courtyard and neared the section that led to the hidden passage, a surge of shouting and the clash of steel erupted behind them.
The Dragon Soul Guards had already broken into the Old Palace!
"Hold them!"
Areo Hotah roared. He turned with most of the guards and blocked the palace entrance, throwing himself into a desperate fight against the Dragon Soul Guards pouring in.
Two or three trusted men grabbed the wheelchair and hurried Prince Doran toward the entrance to the secret passage.
The palace dissolved into chaos. Maidservants and stewards screamed and fled in every direction.
At the same time, in the Spear Tower of the Old Palace, the "fake Quentyn," long kept under Prince Doran's soft imprisonment, heard the commotion outside as well.
He crept to the door and found the guards gone, clearly rushed off to meet the invaders.
A flash of hatred passed through his eyes.
The humiliation of long confinement, of being used like a pawn, and the fury that had burned in him since learning the truth of who he was, all boiled over at once.
He slipped out and, in a corridor choked with panic, picked up a blood-smeared dagger from beside a dead guard.
He moved through the palace corridors he knew so well. At a corner leading into a quieter passage, he suddenly stopped.
There, he saw a familiar back in a wheelchair, guarded by only a single man.
It seemed Prince Doran had just been pushed here when a handful of enemy soldiers surged in from the outside.
The guards had no choice but to hide Prince Doran here for the moment before charging back to meet the enemy, leaving only one last man to watch over him.
The fake Quentyn hardened his heart and crept closer. With a sudden burst of speed, he slashed the panicked guard's throat.
The man never made a sound before collapsing.
Prince Doran had his back to him. Hearing footsteps, he asked in a low, uneasy voice, "Hotah? How are things at the front?"
The fake Quentyn did not answer.
He held his breath and closed the distance step by step, then suddenly reached out, pressing the cold edge of the dagger against the back of Prince Doran's neck.
Prince Doran stiffened at once.
He felt the lethal chill and instantly knew the man behind him was not Hotah.
A far more dreadful possibility rose in his mind.
His voice trembled slightly. "Is it… Quentyn?"
A choked reply came from behind him.
"No. I am not your son Quentyn. I am nothing but a Sand from the Water Gardens, a pawn you could discard at any time. Isn't that what you told me yourself?"
Hatred filled the fake Quentyn's voice.
Prince Doran's heart sank.
In the chaos, he had completely forgotten to deal with this hidden danger.
He forced himself to calm down and spoke as gently as he could.
"Child, you misunderstand. I have always treated you as my own. That was only spoken in a moment of anger. Listen to me. Once Dorne's great vengeance is complete, I will immediately send troops to wipe out the traitors of House Yronwood. Then you will inherit Yronwood Castle and become its true Lord. You will have the honor and status you deserve."
The promise was powerfully tempting. The hand gripping the dagger trembled slightly, as if hesitating.
But memories of being deceived, used, and looked down upon surged back over him.
He shook his head hard, tears streaking down his face as a bitter smile twisted his lips.
"No. I don't believe you anymore, Prince. In your eyes, I was always just a pawn, a pawn to be thrown away once worn out. I will never let you control my life again."
Before the last word had fully fallen, his wrist snapped forward.
The sharp dagger cut cleanly through Doran Martell's throat without a moment's hesitation.
Prince Doran's eyes flew open, filled with unwillingness. Blood poured from his neck like a spring, soaking his fine velvet robes in red.
His body jerked violently a few times in the wheelchair, then went completely limp.
The fake Quentyn stared at what he had done, as though all strength had drained from him.
"It's over," he murmured. "It's all over…"
He raised the bloodstained dagger and, without hesitation, drove it into his own heart.
When Luo Wen, Lord Anders, and the three Queens led the Dragon Soul Guards through a brutal fight, finally cutting down Areo Hotah and the remaining guards and pushing deep into the Old Palace, they were met with the sight of Prince Doran Martell slumped lifeless in his wheelchair, with the fake Quentyn lying beside him.
Blood had soaked the secluded palace passage a deep, violent red.
Lord Anders looked at Doran's corpse, vengeance and the pain of losing his son mingling in his eyes before turning into a long, heavy sigh.
Luo Wen's expression was cold and unyielding. With Sunspear fallen and the Prince of Dorne dead, the war in Dorne was clearly drawing to its end.