Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 237 The Future is Long

The winters of Dorne are quite different from the bone-chilling cold of the Iron Islands.

Here, there is no biting, knife-like wind, nor swirling snowflakes; only a higher, more distant sky and a milder, drier air. However, this does not mean it is entirely harmless.

At dawn, a thin, fragile layer of ice forms along the edge of the Green Blood River, shimmering briefly in the sunlight before silently melting away. Deep in the vast desert, however, the nighttime temperatures remain high enough to claim the lives of unprotected nomads; frostbite and hypothermia remain deadly threats.

When Prince Oberyn and Euron Greyjoy's fleet arrived at the port of Sunspear, a welcoming ceremony befitting their desert fervor was already prepared. Even more remarkable was the presence of Prince Doran Martell, who, after years of reclusive life, personally awaited them at the end of the shadowy corridor, seated in his magnificent wheelchair, to greet the army that had returned with immense glory and fortune for House Martell.

His face still bore the marks of endurance and weariness from years of gout suffering, but his deep eyes gleamed with a mixture of relief and caution. Beside him stood his heir—Princess Ariane Martell—like two precious flowers blooming in the desert. She stood tall and straight, possessing the olive skin and black hair characteristic of the Martell family. Her eyes were intelligent and full of curiosity, surveying the returning heroes without any fear, especially the legendary "Son of the Drowned God."

Beside Arianne, slightly behind, stood her companion, Ashara. She possessed a more composed demeanor, her gaze sharp yet reserved, also observing the group, but her attention was primarily focused on her fiancé, Euron.

The personal appearance of Prince Doran undoubtedly signifies the extraordinary nature of this victory for Dorne.

Inside the grand hall of Sunspear, a grand banquet was underway, celebrating the Dornish navy's resounding victory at the Stepstones and Dornish's newfound status as an integral part of that rich yet dangerous sea. The air was thick with the rich aromas of roasted lamb, spicy spices, and fine wine, while lively Dornish music mingled with the boisterous voices of the crowd, creating an incredibly vibrant atmosphere.

Tonight, all eyes are undoubtedly on Euron Greyjoy, the distinguished guest beside Prince Oberyn. In fact, his name was already legendary in Dorne long before this naval battle.

Firstly, his engagement to Miss Ashara of Starfall City made him almost a "half-Dorn," bringing him closer to this land psychologically.

Secondly, there was the legendary "Ten Days' War," in which he single-handedly challenged almost all of Dorne's young warriors in a series of battles, never suffering a defeat. His reputation for bravery had already spread throughout the Red Hills and Sands.

Thirdly, there was the Tournament of Tournament of Harrenhal, known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. He not only overpowered all the other contenders in the individual duels and won the final championship, but also earned the title of "Blade of Justice" that resounded throughout Westeros because of the near-perfect skills and demeanor he displayed in the tournament.

Finally, and most breathtakingly, was the recently concluded Battle of the Stone Steps Islands. His terrifying power to command deep-sea behemoths and crush massive fleets gave his title of "Son of the Drowning God" real meaning; his declaration, "On the high seas, I am invincible," carried a chilling majesty, and together with his iconic "Crown of Sea Bones," became a terrifying symbol enough to intimidate the Three Daughters Alliance.

Countless admiring, curious, fearful, and even calculating gazes were cast upon him, and all sorts of wine glasses were constantly raised in front of him. In stark contrast to this extremely lively scene, Euron himself behaved with unusual restraint. Faced with the endless stream of toasts, he only took small sips, no longer drinking heartily as he usually did.

Because he kept in mind that Ilya's due date was fast approaching, he had to remain absolutely clear-headed to avoid making a similar mistake again.

In the dead of night, the daytime hustle and bustle of Yangji City gradually subsided, with only the cool night breeze weaving between the pillars.

Led by Prince Oberyn himself, Euron Greyjoy passed through the heavily guarded inner courtyard and silently entered Elia Martell's chambers.

The room was filled with a faint, calming floral scent and the warm glow of candlelight.

Ilya was leaning against a pile of soft cushions. Her once slender waist had been replaced by a high, protruding belly. The life she was carrying brought the day of delivery closer and closer, and the air seemed to be filled with a quiet tension of anticipation.

Despite this, she maintained her usual elegance and composure. Seeing the two enter, she looked up, a gentle yet slightly weary smile blooming on her face, one hand softly and lovingly stroking her rounded belly. Her gaze passed over her brother, landing directly on Euron, her deep, unfathomable eyes flashing with wisdom and a hint of barely perceptible teasing.

"Congratulations, Euron," her voice was soft yet clear, like the gentle murmur of a night stream. "This victory is truly extraordinary." She tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening. "Now, your fame extends far beyond the Seven Kingdoms. The entire Free City-States are reveling in the might of the 'Son of the Drowned God,' who can command sea monsters and pile up crowns."

Euron's gaze fell on Ilya's prominent belly, his eyes becoming deep and complex. His deep voice carried a heavy weight of unfulfilled promise: "I promised you that I would give our son a—a true crown. Now the Steps Islands are settled, but that crown is still some time away. It has not yet been truly done."

Ilya's smile remained gentle, as if it could melt away all ice. She shook her head slightly, her voice as soothing as a feather: "You have done enough, and done enough. There's no need to rush, Euron. The future—is still very, very long."

Hearing her forgiving words, Euron instinctively took a step forward, seemingly wanting to get closer. However, a figure swiftly and firmly blocked his path between him and the bed. Prince Oberyn stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the bedpost, a half-smile playing on his lips, but his eyes were sharp as an eagle's.

He spoke lazily, but his voice carried an undeniable reminder, "Don't forget, you have a fiancée in Starfall City, Miss Ashara. So, watch your manners, Greyjoy."

Euron froze instantly, a rare look of embarrassment flashing across his face—a kind of disarray that would never occur on the battlefield.

Seeing this, Ilya couldn't help but smile. She said softly to her brother, "It's alright, Oberyn. You can go out now. Let Euron and I talk alone for a bit."

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Euron's face for a moment, as if assessing something. Finally, he shrugged, straightened up, and walked towards the door. As he passed Euron, he stopped, his voice low but clear, carrying a definite warning: "Don't stay too long." He gave Euron a meaningful look. "I'll be outside. Remember, don't overstep your bounds."

Euron's hand paused slightly in mid-air for a moment, with a hint of barely perceptible hesitation, before finally slowly reaching out towards Ilya's swollen belly, which was pregnant with new life.

Ilya did not flinch or refuse. Instead, she smiled gently, extended her slender hand, and gently grasped Euron's calloused hand, which was accustomed to holding swords, guiding it to rest firmly against her warm belly.

The instant his palm landed, Euron clearly felt a powerful little point suddenly bump against his palm beneath the smooth, rounded surface, as if it were a mysterious high-five from an unknown world.

Ilya sensed the movement, looked down at their clasped hands, and smiled even more, her voice filled with maternal affection: "Can you feel it? You're so lively, always making a fuss like this at night."

The pulse of life seemed to shatter the last barrier. Euron nestled close to Ilya, gently sitting down beside her. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly leaned down, carefully pressing one ear against her swollen belly, trying to catch more of the tiny life within.

Seeing that Ilya showed no objection and simply gazed at him tenderly, Euron seemed to have received some kind of tacit approval, and his behavior became even more intimate and relaxed. Like a sea beast that had retracted its claws, he chuckled softly, with a clumsy dependence that was quite different from his usual self, and then casually rested his head on Ilya's fragrant legs, his arms gently and protectively encircling her waist.

Ilya's fingers unconsciously rose and gently brushed aside Euron's stray hairs, the movement carrying an indescribable, complex emotion. After a long while, she gazed at the deep night sky outside the window and sighed softly, a sigh as light as a feather, yet seemingly carrying countless unspoken words and intertwined destinies.

She knew that their fates, because of the unborn child, would forever be intertwined. But—

This warm and private moment did not last long.

Outside the door, a deliberately emphasized cough, carrying a clear warning, suddenly rang out, breaking the silence of the room like a cold stone thrown into a calm lake. It was Oberyn's signal, urging him to leave.

Euron's body stiffened slightly, then he took a deep, helpless breath. Heeding the warning, he slowly rose from beside Ilya's soft body. Before leaving, he gazed at her intently, then leaned down and gently placed a kiss on her smooth forehead.

Ilya did not refuse, but simply closed her eyes gently.

The kiss was brief and restrained, yet it contained complex emotions that were difficult to describe. It marked the first time, apart from that chaotic night when they were both drunk and completely unconscious, that they had such a clear and intimate contact while both of them were sober.