The solar Braxter had granted them was much like the man himself: unsettling yet undeniably pleasant.

  “He has eyes on me,” Alyx spoke, leaning her back to Verona, who was cuddling her from behind. She could not say if the comfort she felt came from Verona’s heat or the featherbed, a luxury her back had not known in moons.

  “You are such a genius sometimes.” Elissa sat by the hearth, the rasp-rasp-rasp of a whetstone against her spearhead cutting through the quiet. She was almost like an alien presence in a room full of women, save for the sleeping young man. He lay on the bed where Daleria sat, legs crossed, watching him with the patience of a viper.

  “Do not mistake Braxter. He is tame,” she said. “For now.”

  Alyx exhaled with an annoyed snicker. Was she being serious? So much for trusting the sage-so-wise.

  Verona pressed closer, arms tightening and her chin pressing Alyx’s shoulder. “But, you fancy him anyway, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” Alyx turned her cheek, irritated, flushing. “Ask Daleria. She knows everything.”

  “Alyx…” Daleria sounded weary. “You know we can handle him, right?”

  “It’s just… you like taking risks too much. But you said so yourself: there is a brink to everything. At some point, we might hit a wall.”

  “You are always fretting,” Elissa smirked. “Just break the wall, simple.”

  Alyx rolled her eyes. Then she noticed Daleria focusing on her intently.

  A beat, on the next bed, Daleria’s eyes were staring way too seriously into Alyx’s. There was a depth deeper than rivers in there. “We just…” She faltered, then hardened her jaw. “We must face the world—”

  “Uugghhh…” A low groan cut the air. The squire shifted, clutching his temples.

  “Heh,” Elissa laughed. "The loud little craven wakes.”

  He went quiet with shock; frozen with wide eyes. His eyes darted around in panic before finally catching Daleria’s frame next to him. When his olive green eyes met her light blue, an instant red burned his face..

  Daleria rose almost immediately, but also somehow elegantly. Crossing her arms on her stomach, she looked down at him, seeming intent on establishing a hierarchy without words. She looked down at him; calm and imperious.

  "M-M-My Lady?!" He scrambled back against the headboard, nearly tangling in the linens.

  “Alive, I see?” She stared, unblinking. “Does your head hurt?”

  "It... n-no-well-yes-but-but..." He checked around, looked at the women, then down at his own tunic. "Why is... why am I... this is...”

  “Why are you in a room full of women?” Verona finished for him, resting her chin on Alyx’s shoulder. "A fine question.” She stared at Daleria

  “He was beaten and his body had a bad condition in so many accounts. I had to personally attend him, I chose to do it here.” Daleria simply explained.

  “Oh…”

  “Well,” Alyx joined in. “Tragic as that is, he’s still filthy. And male.”

  “Those often go together,” Verona giggled.

  “What is your name?” Daleria focused on him.

  “Robin, m’lady.”

  “Those knights,” she said. “Who do they serve?”

  “They said they were hedge knights.”

  Daleria hummed softly. “Since when were you with them?”

  “A month. They dragged me from a farm I worked. I always wanted to see the roads.” He swallowed. “So I went.”

  “Just a group of bandits.” Alyx rolled her eyes. “Sellswords, a gang, nothing else.”

  “Men who lie about knighthood risk losing their heads,” Daleria replied. “But even if they were true knights, they’d still need vouchers. They likely took us for nobles. They are like bandits in every case.”

  “He’s a fool,” Elissa said, amused. “Did they even pay you once? A squire, my ass. They only made use of you.”

  “They had arms. Sigils. I don’t know…”

  “There is barely any difference between a poor squire and a poor slave, anyway,” Daleria added. She briefly observed Robin. “You seem a bit old for a squire. Do you know your age?”

  “Eighteen, m’lady.” He bowed his head.

  Below his orange hair, his face was clean save for a dusting of freckles. He was tall, and his voice sounded boyish without sounding young. Alyx could’ve expected him to be a few years younger, though.

  "Eighteen," Daleria repeated. "Quite old. Squires are usually made knights at that age. How did they convince you of this folly?”

  “I’m an orphan, m’lady. An oprhan with no job. Find a poor kid and they’ll accept anything.” He offered a weak, bitter smile.

  Daleria rubbed her chin, silence stretching in the room. “Do you know how to count? Beyond your fingers?”

  He nodded. “Line eleven swords and line six more, makes seventeen.”

  Daleria smiled, while Elissa laughed. “Whoa, look at his knowledge.”

  “Barely anything.” Daleria shook her head, though still smiling.

  “Ease off him, already.” Elissa leaned towards him. “I find you interesting.”

  “He himself is interesting,” Daleria agreed, drawing a nervous glance from him. “But how simple he thinks makes barely anything.”

  Daleria leaned toward him, her face hovering over his. "Perhaps if he admits he has his letters as well, he might earn my favor, who knows?”

  His eyes widened at the words spoken too near his face.

  “Admits?” Verona tilted her head, brow raised curiously.

  Alyx saw it then. He was choosing his words with too much care. His accent slipped, the common burr fading when he forgot himself.

  “Do you think yourself clever?” Daleria pressed a finger on his forehead.

  “I-I’m an orphan, I speak no lies. But my father was a merchant. I grew up with my parents before I lost them.”

  “Why do you pretend?” Daleria straightened, crossing her arms.

  "It is a shield, My Lady. I’m still trying to adapt to being a poor commoner." He looked up at her looming face with a soft smile. “It keeps me alive.”

  “Alive from whom?” Daleria asked. Her voice was calm, but not gentle.

  “From men who see a clever boy and think useful. Or worse, threat.” He shrugged with open palms. “A fool is ignored. A clever man is watched. In that stake, I also didn’t want to frighten My Lady.”

  Daleria’s lips curved upward, a touch of a grin. “Only night walkers frighten me, child.”

  “Well said.” Verona, for some unknown reason, frowned at the boy. As if he were a certain one.

  Elissa raised a brow. “You were planning to betray those knights?”

  “I was barely loyal to them and they knew it. I owed none. I worked and they got the coin, barely even feeding me. I did have plans.”

  “An extremely dangerous game to start playing in the first place,” Alyx noted.

  “Being starved to death is no better.” Robin countered. He looked at Daleria again, his smile turning disarmingly warm. "And... given the company I have found myself in, I cannot be happier with the result.”

  Daleria held his gaze for a long beat. "Enough." She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched. "Get off the linens. You’ll infest them with fleas.”

  "Ew, really?" Verona squeezed Alyx to the brink.

  It was either suffocate or melt with her.

  Robin swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Where am I to sleep, then?”

  All three girls seemingly expected Daleria to answer within a second. When she didn’t, eyes fixed on her.

  "The stables have straw," Daleria said, looking about the room. "But... he may stay.”

  "What?" Alyx and Verona chorused. Even Elissa paused her sharpening.

  “We have five beds here. I had three of them brought. It’s a waste of effort.”

  “And?” Alyx tilted her head; this could not be her reasoning.

  "He can make himself useful as a servant this way.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “A… servant?”

  Daleria nodded. “The idea would serve well. The upcoming days will be busy, and the road already turned out to be more exhausting than we expected anyway. We will be dealing with a lot of labor. We will be carrying boxes around, managing horses and material, traveling back and forth.”

  “He can help with that stuff staying in another room.” Verona frowned. “The place has servants and other males. They’ll help.”

  "I prefer one we keep close," Daleria said. She turned her cold eyes back to Robin. "He can fetch food and wine. He can scrub the floor. He can wash clothes, change linens, organize around." Her gaze sweeped about the girls again. "He has experience as a slave, I’d say.”

  Elissa snickered loudly.

  “But… those are different from polishing a sword or grooming a horse.” Robin sunk.

  “You can polish my metal.” Elissa offered, pointing the tip of her spear with a grin.

  Daleria chuckled. "More work indeed. You should shut up, perhaps?” She stared at him, although amused again.

  Robin swallowed.

  “I polish well,” he said after a moment, staring at Elissa. “Metal, armor, leather. Words, too, if needed.”

  Alyx’s eyes widened for a moment. That was a subtle speech, and a harsh one towards Elissa.

  Elissa barked a laugh. “Words?” She tilted the spear. “Careful. That’s how men get stabbed.”

  The more he showed spine, the more Daleria liked. “I’d prefer stabbing with wits, should he persist.” Her stare was fixed straight at him. “Do you have any other complaints?”

  "My Lady, I could have no greater joy than to serve, but... I know little of domestic work.”

  Daleria flicked his forehead. “Then learn, stupid.”

  “Stupid.” Elissa echoed, drawing her spear back.

  “Yeah, stupid!” Verona chirped in. She was reluctant just a moment prior, but she didn’t miss the chance to banter.

  Alyx just sighed.

  A boy sharing our room?

  Alyx stepped in the grass, body stiffened. The boy himself did seem harmless, but what about the others? When she asked Daleria, she responded that he was staying with us anyway and she had a talk with Braxter. The argument was that he needed to be healed and being awake now was no excuse, neither to the fact that Daleria wanted to take care of him in the same room. The girls already making him work like an animal was to no one’s bother, of course… at least according to Daleria.

  Alyx exhaled a sigh, but it was part breath of relief. Relief, because Braxter appeared to be an amiable man anyway. Sigh, because he was just next to her. As contrary as that sounded, Alyx had reasons.

  They were visiting the tourney. Alyx had a fine but plain dress gifted by him, striped in red and blue.

  “Heh,” he snickered, watching the practicing tourney competitors and candidates. “Do you see that one?” He wide extended his arm, pointing to the fight at the far right corner. “He is about to get his ass swept.”

  So it did happen as he predicted, the man took a strike on his leg and winced with a shout. It looked painful until worse came: "His rival slammed a shield into him with such violent force that the man flew back, crashing through the wooden barrier and rolling into the dirt.

  Alyx just shook her head and rolled her hand with uninterest. “Men and their beastly games.”

  She didn’t wait for Braxter to walk before taking off with her steps.

  Braxter aligned his walk with hers. “Do you have no interest in watching the Tourney?”

  “Not particularly. I arrived here to trade.” She gazed across the sea of colorful pavilions and the teeming crowd. The metallic scent of blood was in the air, but the smell of coin was stronger. “In the very least, a tourney is a good occasion to trade. But it weighs my heart to see people only willing to convene when there is barbaric entertainment nearby.” She shook her head in disappointment. “A lord will probably kill another lord and people will scream as if that does not happen every single time. But some will smile at this unexpected accident. Maybe even most. It is the thrill after all: one falling horribly for one to be cheered. I fail to excite myself in this.”

  “My Lady has a good heart.” Braxter nodded with a smile. “But a fighter’s heart is needed for we people. I hope it does not sadden My Lady that I consider myself a man with such a heart.” He placed his fist on his chest as he inclined his head with respect and resolution.

  Alyx returned both the nod and the smile, softer as she clasped her hands together, as ladylike as always.

  “It suits you, My Lord. And I do agree with your words. But a liking for a fighter’s heart only comes when it fights for you.” Her lips slightly curved up with mischief. “Not when they are fighting for the cheap glory of the nobles. Some people may find it inspiring, but it is meaningless to me.”

  She stopped walking, forcing him to halt alongside her amidst the flowing river of smallfolk and squires. “You will participate, as well, will you not, My Lord?”

  Alyx recalled that he asked for her favor. Although she did not grant him, yet, he asked.

  “I did have plans. But as of now, I am considering not joining.”

  For a moment, she was taken by genuine surprise. “But you are armored, My Lord. You have brought a warhorse.”

  “You called the glory cheap. Perhaps you persuaded me. Or perhaps…” He glanced toward the lists, where a herald was announcing the entry of Valarr Targaryen. “Perhaps I simply did the sums, much like your formidable friend would.”

  Scared, was he? A fighter’s heart, he so-called his.

  “My Lord,” Alyx recomposed herself thoroughly, as if she wasn’t elegant enough already. “Allow me to ask: what is the true reason you are hosting us then? I thought of this as a short transaction meant for the tourney. Is there anything else?”

  Though Alyx and her friends were not great candidates for vouching, they weren’t nothing either. Especially if they were to hit success with their trading. There was also the possibility of him considering Alyx much more seriously than he already appeared to. But his behavior was making it clear that he was not only about that.

  A beat, then Braxter bowed his head with a resigned chuckle. “I thought we’d have this talk in the company of sweet Dornish red. Evening, perhaps?”

  Alyx narrowed her eyes, unwilling and annoyed. “Please, there is no need.”

  But the idea was nice. A very subtle touch of faint pink marked her cheeks.

  “It is pretty important to me. But you are right, it is your right to know.” He presented the road with an extended arm. “But please, let us keep walking. Maybe I can offer red still if we happen to find one.”

  Alyx sighed briefly but nodded, returning to their joined walk.

  “As a Dornish lady, you know of Starfall, I presume?”

  “The ancient seat of House Dayne,” Alyx confirmed. “Most Dornish child knows of the Torrentine.”

  “Where Starfall meets the sea, Torrentine pours to the gulf between Dorne and Reach; they call it the Lower Torrent.” Braxter smiled. “For centuries, we looked at the opposite bank and polished our swords. Or so the Reachmen say, but this is merely the case for Beachcastle. My forbears envisioned trade with Dorne since our old times. With Dorne joining the Iron Throne near half a century ago, trade was established with them at last. You know how it went since then. Only more of Westeros turned against them in time; half of Reach fought in the name of that Blackfyre pretender, Daemon. When the Black Dragon rose, fueling his rebellion with hatred for your people, Beachcastle did not waver. We did not turn our cloaks like the Peakes or the Osgreys. We marched beneath the banners of Leo Longthorn to crush the pretender. I was but a lad, yet my blade tasted blood and my heart knew loss. I was knighted then, not long before I took the seat of Beachcastle. Knighthood and Lordship... those are trinkets given to me soaked in blood.”

  Alyx could see the pain in his eyes as his dark irises were washed with a darkness beyond color: the shadow of war. He was making a fair claim, saying I fought for the union between the Throne and Dorne. That, indeed, helped Alyx trust him a tad more.

  “I’m sorry…” She murmured, her tone tinged with genuine sadness.

  “Do not be. We made a choice, a choice to remain loyal to ourselves. Men of House Glasser drew the blade without regret.” Yet, there was a subtle sigh attached to his speech. “The realm is healing now. Only if Beachcastle could do likewise.”

  Alyx felt a weight settle over his words. A beat of silence passed before he began speaking again, his voice hardening

  “The war was one of many hindrances for trade with Dorne, yet there is trade now, growing… and seven hells! We still get the short stick despite our efforts for the past fifty years. The shortest stick.” He turned to Alyx, eyes glinting with frustration. “Beachcastle is located North of the Arbor, East of the Oldtown, My Lady. Stuck between two rich houses, we always remained a burdened, dependent, small House despite being the Lords of the magnificent Beachcastle. Our sand is the brightest in the Reach, our glass the best, yet we remain dark in trade, forgotten and beholden. When Dorne finally joined the Iron Throne, we saw an opportunity to ease our burdens. They opened up in the end, but still, not to us. Hightowers detests the idea of Dornish goods entering their port, despite them harboring the biggest one in the Reach. House Redwyne has one of the largest fleets in Westeros, which they still point towards Dorne. When it comes to trade, they burden Dornish trade by keeping them from the Redwyne Strait, wanting Oldtown’s port and other western ports only for themselves. What little slips into the strait, still visits Oldtown, but never us.”

  He halted abruptly, ordering two flasks of red from the nearby stall.

  He passed one to Alyx. “For you, My Lady. The taste of your homeland.”

  She smiled. She knew the taste too well ever since she was a child. She grew up near a vineyard, after all.

  Her lips touched the wood, then the dark red poured into her throat smoothly. Sour as salt, yet sweeter than any dessert can offer. It was dangerously drinkable.

  It tasted desire.

  Yet Alyx only sipped enough to help with her thirst.

  “What was I telling, ah, yes, the Southeast of the Reach, just near east of Beachcastle, past the Orchard Shore, has the main trading partners of the western Dornish ports; Cuyport and Dunnport, named after their ruling Houses. Luckily, House Cuy has ties to us and trades with us in volumes. Dunnport takes the main bite, however, as the port is adjacent to the Rolling River. The trade travels to inner Reach from there.” He sighed. “You see, my Lady, we are obsolete in the middle of a triangle of rich ports. Even House Cuy merely trades with us; they prefer to sail ships as second sellers to Oldtown or feed those in the north of us, like Meadowsmeet. It breaks my heart just too much.”

  “My Lord…” Alyx sympathized a bit with a bitter noise and a tilted head — but not too much. “I can offer you no diplomatic value. I have no ties within Dorne.”

  “But you know Dorne. You know trade. I talked to Daleria, and now I’m certain that you know… more than enough for me to invite you into my domain.”

  Alyx lowered the flask before she could take a sip again, eyes widened. “Invite us…?”

  “To stay and work, of course. Your counsel would be invaluable. I’d serve you ships for your voyages into Dorne. You’d be regularly paid coin. Indeed, safety, stability, status, wealth: These are my offerings of the deal in exchange for your service.”

  Alyx could only stare, bewildered.

  This man…

  “My Lord…” She kept staring at him, eyes sharp with scrutiny now. He was comely with everything that was framing his dark eyes. Yet, indeed, he seemed… thirty? Not past, perhaps, but definitely near.

  “Forgive me, but I must ask: Do you not have a wife?”

  His gaze turned detached for a moment, before nodding with a sigh. “Lady Sanesa Cuy, aye.” He chuckled bitterly. “So much for House Cuy to just… ignore us. She was not even the girl I loved. For I loved a Dornish girl when I was young; named Alerie. Lost to time now, good memories.”

  Alyx couldn’t help but gulp. He was becoming more and more unsettling for some very certain reasons.

  Alyx drank again, this time not for thirst but to buy herself a heartbeat.

  “I have to discuss this with Daleria. Presumably for days.” Alyx lowered the flask at last, her fingers lingering around its neck as if the wood itself could anchor her thoughts.

  “Of course.” Braxter nodded slowly.

  Then, a silence settled in as they kept walking.

  Alerie, Alyx repeated the name internally. Everything pointed to the fact that Braxter was a dangerous man. He was seeking thrill, and offering it to her as if desirable.

  Past minutes, she spoke again, softer. “You have a heavy heart, my Lord. Not the cleanest.”

  “True words, indeed. But it is an honest one.” He stopped, inclining his head toward a stall, where a Dornish girl was playing a show with puppets. It was a play of Florian the Fool and Jonquil.

  They stopped and watched.

  “You are no knight!” Said Jonquil. “I know you. You are Florian the Fool.”

  “I am, my lady,” Florian knelt before her. “As great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight as well.”

  “A fool and a knight?” Said Jonquil. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

  “Sweet lady,” said Florian, the puppet looking up at her. “All men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned.”

  “My Lady.” Braxter turned toward her. “I had a change of mind. I shall join the tournament. To prove my honor, and to grace your already excellent self by donating any rewards given to me for your endeavors. Regardless of whether you will join me with them, or keep your efforts personal.” He extended a hand, holding an open palm. “I do understand your reservations. But I will be so bold again to ask for your favor.”

  Alyx stared at the empty hand, and then locked eyes with him, observing his sincerity. His gaze was resolute, honest, deep… and in that depth, Alyx saw tragedy.

  An easy find in Westeros, Alyx knew. But here, in this land, a beautiful tragedy was made for songs.

  She exhaled a slight breath from her nose, lips curving upward; a smile and a gaze meeting in reflection of a pondering mind. The stakes weren’t so simple, even though the jest he was asking for seemed so. Yet, there was merely any sense in rejecting him at this point.

  “Very well,” she muttered, pulling a blue handkerchief from her chest and offering it to him.

  He took the offered favor. “A blessing to adorn my lance.” He bowed before her, his arm pressing his chest in reverence.

  Alyx nodded cordially. A blessing of blue was handed to him.