Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 146 A Night of Romance—Who Did I Sleep With?

Someone shouted first, "May you win the championship at Harrenhal!" "May your martial arts prowess be abundant!"

This blessing quickly resonated with many, forming a wave of goodwill.

At this moment, they sincerely hoped that this young man, who had etched an undefeated legend on the battlefields of Dorne, could win the ultimate glory for all those who had witnessed his prowess in that grander tournament.

This unique Dorne tournament to defeat Euron ended in an unexpected way.

Just as the atmosphere reached its peak, Prince Oberyn Martell waved his hand, and his servants immediately brought out dozens of barrels of chilled Dornish wine and wine from the Reach. The maids also presented a mountain of delicacies—a sizzling, spicy leg of lamb, and various rare dishes garnished with olives and lemons—

In an instant, the tense battlefield transformed into a grand carnival.

People raised their glasses in respect to Euron. At this point, Euron could no longer refuse this warm welcome of reconciliation. He laughed heartily, accepted the glasses, and drank merrily with each person who came forward.

What's even more impressive is that even after downing glass after glass of fine wine, Euron's shrewd business acumen, deeply ingrained in his blood, remained undiminished. His face flushed, he put his arm around the shoulder of a Dornish warrior and enthusiastically promoted the Iron Islands' specialties: "Hey, brothers, you absolutely must try our Greyjoy's Kraken wine sometime! It's much stronger than this Dornish sweet wine! After you've had it, all other wines will taste like seawater!"

"The people of Dorne drink Dorne wine!"

"We only love summer red!"

"Sales are not permitted here, thank you."

The festive atmosphere lasted until late at night, with the clinking of glasses and hearty laughter continuing for a long time.

In the end, Euron's memory became as blurred as a reef shrouded in sea fog—he completely forgot how he left that noisy battlefield, how he stumbled and staggered his way to finally collapse on his bed...

In a hazy, dreamlike state, Youlun felt a soft, warm body supporting him, and a faint, unfamiliar fragrance lingered around his nose, like a night-blooming cereus under the moonlight, enticing him to indulge—his later memories were like fragmented tides, blurry and discontinuous.

He appeared to be helped into a room, the door closing gently behind him.

Then, hot breaths mingled, fingertips traced the shivers on skin, whispers and gasps were barely audible in the darkness—what was meant to happen, happened inevitably, like being pushed by the tide; and what shouldn't have happened, also quietly occurred in the entanglement of intoxication and desire.

The next morning, the sharp sunlight pierced through the windowpane, also nailing the hangover headache deep into Euron's mind.

Euron struggled to open his eyes, the first thing he saw was his naked body and the disheveled bed beside him. The velvet sheets were crumpled, and the most glaring feature were several dried, yet still shocking, dark red stains, like fallen red plum blossoms in the snow, silently telling the story of the madness that had occurred the previous night, a madness he had forgotten.

Euron struggled to wake from his deep drunkenness, his head throbbing with pain, and the sunlight streaming through the window stung his eyes.

Last night's fragmented memories surged back like a chaotic tide: the revelry, the clinking of glasses, and—

A warm and soft figure? He sat up abruptly, looked around, and tried to piece together the blank space.

However, no matter how hard he tried, the woman's face, her voice—everything about her—disappeared without a trace, as if swallowed up by a thick fog.

"Who was it last night?" The first thing that came to his mind was naturally the beautiful face of Ashara Dane.

However, this guess was disproven the moment he pushed open the door.

Asara stood on the veranda, dressed in a smart travel outfit, the sunlight gilding her. She turned at the sound, her famous violet eyes clear and bright, a hint of urging amusement in them: "Awake? Hurry up and pack your things, we're leaving soon."

Her expression, movements, and tone were all natural and open, showing no trace of the shyness or unusualness that she had felt the night before when they had been intimate.

The itinerary had already been set.

The group will board a ship at the port of Sunspear, cross the vast Dorne Sea, and land at Vil.

The journey then shifts to land, heading north through Black Harbor, paying homage to the ruins of Summerhall, the former summer palace of House Targaryen, before traversing Greendale and arriving at Tengstone in the Reach. From there, the party will embark on the vibrant Rose Road. Finally, near King's Landing, the kingdom's capital, the journey turns onto the King's Road, continuing north to their destination—Harrenhal.

Following this meticulously planned route, they traveled at a leisurely pace, expecting to arrive at least seven days before the official start of the martial arts tournament.

The procession heading to Harrenhal was enormous, with hundreds of lords, nobles, rangers, and mercenaries eager to make a name for themselves joining the ranks from Dorne alone. Riding sand steeds and carrying various family banners, they formed a vast and colorful caravan, the sound of hooves and clamor echoing across the land as they marched north.

On the journey, the sound of horses' hooves echoed, but Euron seemed somewhat absent-minded, his mind constantly trying to recall the blurry yet warm figure from the previous night. He seized an opportunity to ask Lisa privately, "What happened to me last night—what happened afterward?"

Upon hearing this, Lisa's face showed a hint of helplessness: "You drank far too much last night, my lord. I advised you to go back and rest, but you insisted on drinking more. Prince Oberon was also there at the time, and he smiled and said that nothing would happen with him, and that I could go back without worry. You also told me to leave, so I went back."

"And then what?" Euron pressed, trying to find a clue.

"And then?" Lisa shook her head, a slight blush creeping onto her face. "I also had some wine, and I fell asleep as soon as I got back to my room. Are you asking because—did something special happen last night?"

Euron rubbed his still throbbing temples and mumbled, "It seems—a woman entered my room in the middle of the night."

Lisa's eyes widened slightly, and she instinctively asked, "And then?"

"And then?" Euron asked with certainty, "of course, we find out who she is!"

Lisa was silent for a moment, then gently asked the most crucial question: "After you find it, what are your plans?"

Euron was stunned by the question.

Yes, after finding it, what else needs to be done?

My fiancée is Ashara Dayne, and last night's affair was nothing more than a drunken, accidental encounter. Euron isn't bound by conventional norms, and it seems there's no need for him to dwell on this. Should I take responsibility for it?

Euron pondered for a moment, then finally let out a long sigh, a helpless smile playing on his lips, and said to Lisa, "You're right."

Euron seemed to have temporarily put the mystery of the previous night behind him. Just then, Prince Oberyn Martell rushed over excitedly, grabbed him, and dragged him into the cabin, mysteriously wanting to discuss with him a newly developed, supposedly "instant-killing" poison.

The two hid in a cabin, closed the door tightly, and remained silent for a long time. Only occasionally, a few suppressed but sinister laughs would leak out from the crack in the door, sending chills down one's spine.

On the other end of the deck, Princess Elia Martell walked slowly to Lisa, who was gazing at the sea.

The sea breeze caressed her slightly flushed cheeks. She hesitated for a moment, then whispered, her voice almost blending into the sound of the waves: "Thank you—"

Lisa didn't turn her head; her gaze remained calmly fixed on the distant horizon. Her tone was indifferent yet certain: "Nothing should have happened in the first place. So, nothing happened last night. Didn't it?"

Upon hearing this, Ilya seemed to have a heavy burden lifted off her shoulders. She nodded slightly and repeated, her voice soft yet firm, "Yes, nothing happened."

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