The Dragon's Legacy

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Princess Deria calmly drank her Dornish wine as she looked at Sunspear from the comfort of her own balcony.

"... And what of the council?" Princess Deria asked as she put her glass of wine down and turned her eyes toward her son and heir, Maron Martell.

Her son, Maron Martell, was a boy of fifteen of average height, olive-skinned, with dark brown eyes and shoulder-length wavy brown hair much like her own.

"The council has been suggesting to launch another attack on Stormlands even though earlier this year half of our legion was burnt alive by Maegor the Cruel. And I frankly agree with them, mother." Maron answered as he looked at his mother with dark brown eyes. "What our spies have whispered is that Davos Baratheon's son, Rogar Baratheon has married Alyssa Velaryon, King Aenys's widow, and has assumed his place as King Jaehaerys's hand for a little more than a month now. It is perfect to take our revenge."

Princess Deria looked at her son with a gentle small smile.

His determination reminded her of her father, Nymor Martell, and his strong head and sense of duty toward Dorne reminded her of her grandmother, Princess Meria... But nevertheless, her son was still green.

"We have Stepstones, Maron. The council needs to understand with the death of Martyn Hightower we no longer have any rebellion, therefore, distraction in the heart of Westeros so we can conquer wherever we please. We got what we wanted and lost but we got Stepstones." Princess Deria spoke. "And if the council is not bright enough to understand that we should not launch another attack any time soon, then I will personally attend the next council meeting, for they have forgotten that I am the Princess and my word is law."

Maron Martell, her sweet son, gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "Mother... You need not bother with matters if you are restless, mother. Allow me to take care of the council once more for you."

"No, my sweet boy. If I allow that, our council and our soon-to-be new allies and people of the kingdom will think that I am lining up my heir and successor, meaning you, to take over as the Prince of Dorne. That will make me look old... and weak." Princess Deria spoke calmly.

"You are neither, mother." Maron said as he frowned and looked at his mother with his dark brown eyes. "You are still the most powerful woman in the whole of Dorne and Westeros and everyone who thinks otherwise is a fool."

"Nevertheless." Princess Deria spoke calmly as she kissed Maron's forehead. "I am proud that you are eager to fight for Dorne as I have, as your grandfather and my grandmother did. They too are proud of you, Maron. The strength of our people lies in the strength of our hands and what we possess between our ears. Never forget that."

"Never, mother." Maron promised as he looked at his mother. "Never."

The chamber door was knocked three times and with that, Maro stood up, approached the door, and privately spoke to the messenger.

"What was it, Maron?" Deria asked as she straightened her back and sat up straight as she looked at her only son.

"A man has come with a few dozen men by his side, seeking an audience with the ruler of Dorne." Maron spoke. "The messenger said that he was the largest man he had ever seen."

"Did he introduce himself?" Deria asked.

"He did," Maron spoke. "He introduced himself as Jumong, The Lion, Son to God-Emperor Lohan, and rightful Emperor of Yi-Ti."

"And brother to God-Emperor BuGai the Enlightened." Princess Deria's eyes shined as she spoke. And older brother to now God-Empress Amethyst of Yi-Ti. Interesting.

"Yes. That is correct, mother. Would you want me to dismiss him?" Maron asked. "I can send our scorpions to silently take him and his dozen men out."

"No, my son. Bring him before me. Bring him before my throne. From what I know he took half of his brother's forces before escaping. If he is here with a dozen men, most likely the rest will attack if we kill him. Let us hear what this cowering exiled Prince has to say." Princess Deria spoke, as she gently smirked to herself.