Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 204 Ilya - Confession

As the ship slowly entered the port of Sunspear, Ilya unconsciously came to the bow of the ship when the distinctive ochre-red cliffs of Dorne came into view.

A gentle sea breeze caressed her face, bringing with it the familiar scents of sand and spices from her homeland. A long-awaited, heartfelt smile finally bloomed on her pale face, like a rare dew-kissed flower in the Dornish desert.

At the dock, a ceremonial guard was already waiting.

Prince Dorne, Lord of Sunspear, Doran Nemelos Martell, sat serenely in his intricately carved wooden wheelchair, his expression as calm as the green blood river in summer. Although illness had rendered his legs unable to support him, his gaze remained wise and dignified, as if he could see into the hearts of everyone.

Behind him stood two guards as imposing as iron towers. Ario Horta, the mercenary captain from Norfolk, wielded a massive, long-handled battle axe that gleamed coldly in the sunlight; Sebastian Fernandez gripped a Dornish scimitar, his sharp gaze constantly scanning the surroundings. They were like two unshakeable iron mountains, protecting the ruler of Dorne.

As the springboard was lowered and Ilya stepped onto her homeland, Prince Doran slowly raised his hand, his voice gentle yet powerful: "Welcome home, sister."

Upon arriving at Storm's End in the Stormlands, Oberyn asked the maesters of Storm's End to help him send a detailed message back to Sunspear via ravens, detailing everything that had happened at the Harrenhal Tournament (the message did not mention Ilya's pregnancy). At that moment, when Prince Doran saw his sister Ilya's pale face, deep guilt and sorrow welled up in his eyes.

Years ago, it was their mother, the princess of Dorne, who, out of consideration for Dorne's interests and political alliances, arranged the marriage between Elia and Prince Rhaegar. As her brother, Doran was also pleased with this marriage. He watched his beloved little sister stand with that talented dragon prince, as if they were a perfect couple from a legend.

However, looking at the undisguised pain in Ilya's eyes, Doran's fingers on the armrest of his wheelchair tightened unconsciously. He had never expected things to develop to this point, let alone that Rhaegar would openly humiliate Ilya at the tournament, tarnishing Dorne's dignity.

The sea breeze ruffled the hair on Prince Doran's forehead, making his gaze grow even more profound. At this moment, the ruler of Dorne felt not only the tenderness of a brother for his sister, but also a deep disappointment and anger towards the Targaryen family.

Unlike the joy of returning to Dorne last time, this journey home was shrouded in an inescapable heaviness.

As Elia stepped onto the familiar brick and stone ground of Sunspear City, she deliberately straightened her back and gave her brother, Prince Doran, who was sitting in a wheelchair, a gentle yet weary smile. She didn't want her brother to worry about her anymore.

After a simple welcoming ceremony, Prince Doran gestured for Oberyn, Elijah, and Arianne to follow him into his study.

As Arianne passed Euron, she suddenly stopped. She whirled around, her deep Dornish eyes flashing with a sharp, scorpion-like light as she glared at him. Her gaze seemed to pierce through flesh and go straight to the depths of his soul, filled with undisguised anger and condemnation.

Euron couldn't help but offer a wry, helpless smile. Although he didn't fully understand the source of this sudden hostility, he could read in that look that it clearly said, "You're about to be in big trouble, just you wait and see!"

The heavy wooden door to the study closed behind me, isolating me from the outside world.

No grand welcoming banquet was held in Yangji City that night; only a few simple hometown dishes were prepared in the restaurant. Even late into the night, the study lights remained bright, and the prince's wheelchair never left the space surrounded by maps and scrolls. Occasionally, suppressed voices drifted out, telling of a sleepless night destined to end.

In the dead of night, the sea breeze wafted between the stone pillars in the corridors of Yangji City, carrying a slightly salty scent.

Euron had just escorted his fiancée Ashara back to her room when, as he turned around, he spotted a familiar figure under the archway at the end of the corridor.

Ilya stood alone on the moonlit veranda, the sea breeze gently lifting her skirt, the sheer fabric clinging to her slender figure as if it might vanish in the next second.

The bright moonlight outlined her delicate profile, casting a soft silver glow on her overly pale face. She stood there, like a fragile piece of porcelain, possessing a heartbreakingly delicate beauty that made one want to protect her.

Euron unconsciously slowed his pace. He saw Ilya's fingers idly stroking the railing of the veranda, his gaze fixed on the dark sea in the distance, his whole being immersed in an invisible sorrow.

At that moment, she seemed to be the one in Dorne who needed the most protection.

Euron asked softly, "It's so late, why aren't you resting yet? Have you finished talking with the Prince?"

'

Ilya turned around, the sea breeze gently caressing her hair. "I came here specifically to find you," her voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable firmness, "There's something I must tell you."

"6

Euron observed her serious expression and immediately realized that this was going to be an important conversation. "Okay," he replied briefly, without asking any further questions.

Ilya nodded slightly, then turned and walked slowly toward the direction from which the sound of the waves came. Euron followed silently behind her, the two of them walking one after the other through the moonlit corridor, their long shadows cast on the stone slabs.

The sea breeze at night was cool, but it couldn't dispel the heavy atmosphere that permeated the air.

Ilya's voice was so soft it almost blended into the sound of the waves: "Do you remember the night we left Dorne last time?"

Euron paused, a look of guilt crossing his face. "I'm sorry, I drank too much that night—I'm so sorry about what happened with Ariane. It was my fault—"

Ilya sighed softly. "Let's not talk about Ariane for now. That night—" She paused, seemingly finding it difficult to speak, but finally continued, "When she left, she accidentally left some personal belongings in your room. But she—was unable to move around easily, so she asked me to retrieve them for her."

The sea breeze ruffled the hair on her forehead, and her voice grew softer and softer: "After I entered your room—we—"

Euron's pupils contracted slightly: "Us?"

Ilya closed her eyes, as if that would give her courage: "Yes. We did things that shouldn't have happened."

"I'm sorry." Euron's voice was low and hoarse, filled with genuine remorse.

"It's not entirely your fault," Ilya opened her eyes, her gaze filled with complex emotions. "I also bear some responsibility. I didn't push you away, I didn't reject you—"

"I will accept it—" Euron was about to speak when Ilya gently shook her head, interrupting him.

The two fell into a long silence, with only the sound of waves crashing on the shore echoing in the night, as if telling the story of this irreparable mistake.

Ilya's voice was barely audible in the sea breeze, yet it reached Euron's ears clearly: "I'm pregnant."

Euron was speechless for a moment, countless thoughts and questions flashing through his mind. Could it be that the accident that night was actually—

As if reading his thoughts, Ilya continued softly, "Ever since giving birth to Rhaenys, I have been weak, and Rhaegar has never been near me—you are the only man I have been with these days."

Euron took a deep breath, the salty taste of the sea breeze suddenly becoming exceptionally clear: "Is it my child?"

The truth that followed was like a thunderbolt, throwing him into a state of utter confusion. He needed time to process it all.

Ilya calmly shook her head. "I'm telling you this not to burden you with anything. It's simply because this is your child, and you have the right to know before I make any decisions." Her hand gently covered her lower abdomen, the movement tender yet firm. "The maester once said that I might not be able to conceive again after Rhaenys. This child's arrival is an accident, and it might be my last child."

Her gaze was fixed on the undulating sea in the distance, her voice filled with unwavering determination: "I will not drink the moon tea. I will give birth to him and raise him to adulthood."

After a long silence, Eulen finally spoke solemnly: "I will take responsibility and will never shirk it." His words fell heavily into the night, like a resounding vow.

Ilya shook her head gently, the sea breeze ruffling the hair on her forehead: "No, as I've already said, you don't need to take any responsibility. On the contrary, this matter must not be known to anyone else."

Euron frowned: "Then this child—"

"Starting tomorrow, I will move to the Old Palace until the child is born." Ilya's voice was calm but firm. "No one will know I'm pregnant. After the child is born, it will be announced that he is Oberyn's illegitimate son, and I will raise him."

Euron's face instantly darkened. The thought of his own flesh and blood being treated as someone else's illegitimate child filled him with an indescribable sense of unease.

Ilya seemed to sense his displeasure and explained softly, "Before you—I was nominally Rhaegar's queen. Even now that the engagement is dissolved, it would be dangerous if people misunderstood that this child was related to Rhaegar." Her fingers unconsciously traced her abdomen. "You once said that there would be great chaos in the future. If people misunderstand that this child has Targaryen blood, it will only bring him disaster. Moreover, I don't want anyone to associate him with House Targaryen."

The moonlight shone on her pale face, revealing a maternal resolve mixed with helplessness. This decision, though cruel, was the best protection she could give her child.

Ilya gazed at Euron, her eyes filled with a mixture of helplessness and determination: "Otherwise, do you have any better ideas?"

She continued, her voice carrying the open-mindedness characteristic of Dornish people: "Here, illegitimate children will not face the same discrimination as elsewhere. They will grow up in sunshine and love, receiving just as much care as other children."

Euron's brow remained furrowed: "It's still not a pleasant identity."

Ilya took a step forward, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on her pale face. "But I believe that with your abilities and wisdom, one day you will be able to help him rightfully shed the label of illegitimate child." Her voice suddenly softened, yet was filled with trust. "I believe that the future you will have this ability. But for now, this may be the best way."

The sea breeze swept across the space between them, carrying the whispers of distant waves. Ilya's words contained both practical considerations and expectations and trust in Euron's future.

Euron stood alone on the beach shrouded in night, like a frozen statue. The sea breeze whipped his dark, curly hair, and the salty moisture dampened his clothes, but he remained oblivious. The waves crashed against the rocks, making a mournful sound, just like his turbulent emotions.

Ilya gazed silently at his tall, stiff back for a moment, then quietly turned away. Her skirt rustled softly on the stone slabs, quickly swallowed by the sound of the waves. She knew that this always composed man was facing an unprecedented shock; he needed time—the company of the sea, the embrace of the endless night—to process this news that would change the lives of many.

The moonlight stretched her shadow long, making it grow longer and longer as she walked away.

On the coastline, Euron remained standing still, letting the tide wash over the soles of his boots, as if trying to find an answer in the sound of the waves.