Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 198 Rhaegar—Let's get a divorce!

Ilya sat alone by the bedroom window, dappled light filtering through the lead-framed glass onto her pale skirt. Her slender fingers unconsciously caressed the hem of her dress, her whole being like a statue waiting in anticipation.

When the door was finally pushed open, her body trembled slightly.

Rega trudged in with heavy steps, his silver and gold armor still stained with the dust of the arena. He removed his helmet, revealing sweat-dampened bangs, and his violet eyes were filled with an indescribable weariness—not only the physical burden of days of fighting, but also a deep-seated exhaustion.

In a daze, he saw Euron Greyjoy's composed demeanor after his defeat: the man leading Ashara into the arena, receiving blessings amidst the cheers of thousands, as if winning or losing had never been his primary concern. The sunlight at that moment was perfect, gilding the figures of the two smiling at each other with a golden edge.

And what about himself? When he placed the crown of the Winter Rose on Lyanna's lap, he was met with Brandon's roar.

Robert's hostility, and the deathly silence of the room. Those accusatory and angry gazes were like spears, piercing through all his ideals and romantic notions.

Rhaega closed his eyes wearily, not even noticing Ilya sitting in the shadows. He simply slowly removed his armor, letting it fall to the ground with a dull thud.

Ilya's voice came softly from the shadows of the room, like a barely audible sigh: "You're back."

It seemed as if Rega had only just become aware of her presence. He wearily raised his eyes, his gaze lingering briefly on her pale face. "I'm sorry," his voice was hoarse, "I didn't notice you were here."

A bitter smile touched Ilya's lips, so faint it was almost imperceptible. "It's alright," she whispered, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the folds of her skirt. "Anyway, you've never really paid attention to me, have you?"

The candlelight flickered in the room, casting long shadows of the two people on the stone wall.

Rhaegar was silent for a moment, his armor creaking softly with his breathing. "If you're referring to the jousting with spears," he finally spoke, his voice tinged with barely concealed weariness, "and the Winter Rose Crown—"

"Do you have any other explanation for this?" Ilya interrupted him, her voice still soft, yet like a carefully sharpened dagger, precisely piercing the unspoken barrier between them.

Réga stood there, the candlelight casting deep shadows on his handsome face. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but it only turned into a barely audible sigh. Silence spread between them, more deafening than any words.

Ilya's voice was exceptionally clear in the dim light, each word like a carefully polished ice crystal: "Your actions have hurt many people."

Rega turned his head slightly, the candlelight casting a flickering shadow on his handsome profile. "I didn't expect—" His voice was low, tinged with a rare hesitation, as if the words had already lost their weight before they were even spoken.

"You just didn't expect Brandon to react so strongly," Elijah interrupted him gently, her voice still calm but with an unprecedented sharpness, "but you never thought about how I, your wife, would feel sitting in the stands watching all of this happen."

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"I'm not just talking about myself! I'm talking about Dorne, the North, the Seven Kingdoms! And our families who have always loved us!"

A familiar silence descended once more, and Rhaegar lowered his eyes, his usual way of avoiding the situation. In the past, Ilya would have silently risen and left, using the same silence to maintain the superficial calm of this political marriage.

But this time is different.

Instead of leaving, Ilya took a step forward. The candlelight finally illuminated her face, revealing a resolute expression that Rhaegar had never seen before on her face, which always wore a gentle smile.

"This time," her voice was soft, yet it pierced the silence like a dagger, "I don't intend to remain silent any longer."

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Ilya's gaze was like a calm lake, yet unfathomable: "You like that girl, don't you?"

'

Rega looked up, finally meeting her gaze. A flicker of emotion crossed his purple eyes, revealing not only guilt but also an undeniable burning passion. He opened his mouth, but remained silent.

Ilya shook her head gently, a bitter smile playing on her lips. "Don't deny it! I saw the way you looked at her, Rhaegar. That admiration and affection can't be faked." Her voice remained soft, yet carried an undeniable firmness. "Stop being silent. If silence could solve the problem, we wouldn't be in this situation today."

A long silence stretched through the air, broken only by the faint flickering of the candlelight. Finally, Rega took a deep breath, his voice low but clear: "Yes." This admission seemed to drain all his strength, yet also a release.

"She made me feel... a kind of excitement I'd never felt before." Rhaegar's gaze passed over Ilya, as if he were seeing a distant scene. "We talked about music, and she said the ancient harp of the North had a completely different feel from what I played."

We shared our travel experiences, and she described how the winter roses in Winterfell's glass garden bloom in the bitter cold; even martial arts... His voice gradually warmed, "She not only understands the spirit of knighthood, but also has her own unique insights."

These words, once spoken, flowed like a flood, surprising even Rhaegar himself. He finally turned to look directly at Ilya: "Before her, I can be more than just a prince, more than just an heir..."

He stopped before he could finish speaking, as if he suddenly realized that his words themselves were a betrayal.

Ilya's voice was so soft it was as if she were talking to herself, yet every word was clear: "I've heard some things. Your father said that I can no longer bear you children, and he hopes that you will—take another wife."

Rega looked up abruptly, a flicker of panic in his eyes: "How could you—"

“Your father never liked me,” Elijah interrupted him, her voice heartbreakingly calm. “It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t like me, I don’t care. But he didn’t like little Rhaenys. He said we smelled like the Dornish desert, which made him nauseous.”

You've always known that.

Rega's fingers tightened unconsciously, his nails digging deep into his palms. "I'm sorry," his voice was low and hoarse, "I failed to protect you, failed to uphold your dignity."

Elijah shook her head slightly and continued, "I've also heard that your father hopes you will marry a daughter of House Stark. He believes that only a child born from the union of ice and fire can save the world."

Rega stared at his wife in shock, his face turning deathly pale. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out—this secret was meant to be known only to him and his son.

A bitter smile played on Ilya's lips. "Don't be surprised. Your father often mutters to himself in the corridors, talking to the walls." Her gaze deepened. "He's said these things many times before. The walls of the castle can keep secrets, but they can also inadvertently reveal them to the people who least should know."

The candlelight flickered in her eyes, reflecting a heartbreaking clarity: "Now, tell me, Rhaegar, was your choice today an impulsive act, or was it to fulfill that prophecy?"

Rega remained silent for a long time, so long that even the sunlight outside the window seemed to shift slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and hoarse, yet carried an undeniable clarity: "It wasn't an impulse, nor was it because of that unknown prophecy. It was because—I love her."

Ilya smiled softly, a smile filled with indescribable complex emotions—a sense of relief mixed with heartbreak, but at least she had finally received an honest answer.

"So, if you're destined to marry her," Ilya's voice was as calm as a still lake, "I have become the obstacle between you."

Rhaegar opened his mouth, but didn't know how to respond. His eyes were filled with guilt and confusion, as if he were realizing for the first time the consequences of his choice.

But Ilya had already stood up. The candlelight outlined her slender yet upright figure, her eyes unusually calm, her tone as firm as steel: "If you don't love me, please allow me to leave! Rhaegar, let's get a divorce."

Ilya's clear voice echoed throughout the room, like a thunderbolt ripped through the night sky, shattering all established facts.

Rhaegar's voice held a hint of struggle and hesitation: "You can still retain your crown and enjoy the honors of a queen—"

Ilya let out a very soft laugh, a laugh filled with bitterness and mockery: "So, where do you intend to place the girl you love? To make her your mistress? To have an affair with you, and have her bear you a bastard child despised by all?" Her gaze was sharp as ice, piercing straight at Rhaegar. "And what about me? Right here in the depths of the Red Keep, alone in my empty chamber, wearing this empty crown, going mad, dying alone?"

She took a step forward, the candlelight flickering on her resolute face, and her voice suddenly became solemn and clear: "Réga, you have already hurt me, so please put away your self-righteous 'mercy'."

"Stop hurting another girl in such a ridiculous way!"

Rega seemed struck by these words; he lowered his head deeply, his hands hanging limply at his sides. The shadows obscured his face, but could not conceal the pain and regret that emanated from his very bones.

Ilya's voice was calm as still water, yet carried an undeniable resolve: "Tonight, I will return to Dorne with my brother and our daughter Rhaenys."

Rhaegar snapped his eyes shut, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly: "Rhaegar—"

"This is not a discussion, Rhaegar!" Elijah interrupted him, her tone firm. "You know better than anyone how your father treats Rhaegar, and you understand the situation she will face if she stays in King's Landing. With me, she can at least grow up in a place full of sunshine and love."

She paused briefly, her voice softening slightly, and said calmly, "Rhaegar, I have lost my marriage, my love, and my dignity. So at least let me keep my child, or consider this your final compensation for betraying me. However, I will allow you to visit her in Dorne at any time, and she can return to see you whenever she is older."

Rega's voice was almost inaudible: "Is there anything else I need to do?"

"Since the chains of marriage were forged by the Iron Throne, they can naturally be melted by the Iron Throne as well." Ilya's gaze fell upon the endless night sky outside the window. "Before you and that girl plan your future, please have the Archbishop settle the divorce and announce it to the Seven Kingdoms."

She turned and walked towards the door, where Oberyn had been waiting for some time, holding the sleeping Rhaenys in his arms, carefully tucking a few of his sister's personal belongings into his coat. Just as she was about to step out the door, Ilya looked back one last time.

In the flickering candlelight, she saw Rhaegar slumped to the ground, his once melancholic and idealistic purple eyes now empty. Ilya spoke softly, her voice devoid of resentment, only filled with acceptance: "Rhaegar, I sincerely wish you and your love will find happiness in the end."

Her figure blended into the shadows of the corridor, and her last words drifted away like a sigh: "This is our parting, and we will never meet again."

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