Ylsa was very unused to this sort of treatment. Well, there were many things about her current situation that she was unused to, but being waited on was certainly one of the most prominent. Even just having Marlyn wait on her throughout the entire voyage to Sunspear had been strange enough, though she wasn't complaining. Despite Marlyn's older age, Ylsa had been desperately grateful for her handmaiden's company. But now that she was here in Sunspear, she found not only handmaidens but guards at her beck and call, and honestly, not only was she unused to this, she was a bit perturbed by it as well.

Ylsa's Septa had been sent away ages ago, when Ylsa was barely 12, well before her education should have ended when her father married his new wife. And shortly after, Ylsa had been forced to attend to her step-mother's beck and call, so she was far more adept at serving, rather than being served. Even if she hadn't been forced to look after her step-mother's affairs, House Payne's words even reflected their servile nature; "To Serve is Joy", a reflection of their vassalage to House Lannister. So now, waking at her handmaiden's words and not the demands of an angry old woman, to be dressed and powered and treated and not to work, she felt utterly foreign.

"You don't need to," she tried to protest, as she was sat down to have her hair brushed through and pinned, but her handmaidens, Ellanna and the other whom she'd come to know was named Telen, were not of the immediately obedient nature. They had a job to do, and they were going to do it. So Ylsa had to sit uncomfortably as she was attended to, the entire time feeling guilty to be so much trouble to others.

"I said I wouldn't wear that one," she said, as Telen once again tried to dress her in the gauzy pearl colored gown from the night before. "It's too sheer."

"I've told you," Telen said, rolling her eyes (an act that would have rewarded Ylsa back home with a sharp slap from her step-mother) "It doesn't reveal anything, I could even put it on myself to show you that you would be perfectly decent."

"You just want an excuse to wear it, admit it," Ellanna joked, smiling slyly at the other.

"So what if I do? I can't understand why Ylsa doesn't, it's gorgeous." Ylsa pursed her lips unhappily, the mere thought of being seen in anything other than her normal attire was humiliating to think of. And yet….even in her loose sleeping gown, she was already feeling warm. And she certainly didn't want to embarrass herself further in front of the Prince and his court, not while she was apologizing for her previous humiliation the day before. She let out a deep sigh through her nose.

"It's….what the ladies in Dorne wear?" she asked quietly.

"The ladies in Dorne wear whatever they want," Telen reiterated, "and men know to keep their mouths shut if they want to keep all their teeth in their head." Well, Ylsa knew she would not be knocking anyone's teeth out today, but, if this sort of dress was not what was considered strange….then it would do her well to try and fit in among her new consort? It was then that an errant thought crossed her mind.

"The Princess Myrcella," she suddenly remembered, "this is the type of gown the Princess wears, right?"

"More or less." Ellanna tucked a curl behind Ylsa's ear, finishing her hair with a jeweled pin at her temple. This set Ylsa's nerves a bit at ease; if the Princess, who had also come from 'the North' as the Dornish put it, was wearing the same sort of frocks, then it was surely alright for Ylsa to do so? She relented reluctantly.

"Alright. This one is fine."

"What? Unhappy that it is not the same quality as the Princess?" Ellanna teased, standing to fetch a wrap; she suspected no matter the heat, that Ylsa might feel more comfortable with a wrap around her shoulders. Ylsa tensed as Telen all but yanked the gossamer fabric over her head.

"I…no! No, of course not! I wouldn't….I just, if the Princess is wearing something similar, than I thought, it would also be appropriate for me to wear something like hers!" She stuttered slightly as she tried to explain herself, her arm getting caught up in the dressings before she pulled it through properly. She felt altogether too 'loose' in this dress, seeing as there were no undergarments to compliment it; no corsets, no petticoats, no bunched crinoline or boning. Just fabric, nipped and tucked at her waist and criss-crossed along the bust with rather delicate woven silk cords. This would hardly be appropriate for nightware in the Westerlands, let alone to be seen in public! "I don't want to be thought of as strange or…or Seven forbid, indecent!"

"Please child!" Ellanna laughed, tying the silken cords behind her and going to fetch a necklace. "There is no time for modesty when you're running for shade and water in the desert. It's a lesson you will soon learn. Besides." Clasping the necklace behind her neck, and stepping back, Telen did similar, letting the hem of her skirts flutter easily to the floor. The morning breeze that whispered in through the open archways of the room ruffled her dress slightly, which Ylsa tried her best to keep from moving. "You look lovely."

"Doran will think so," Telen added, giving the older woman a somewhat wry expression; Ylsa wondered what that meant exactly. Ellanna did not return the look, and motioned for Ylsa to follow.

"Come. He's asked for you to join him in the gardens." Ylsa nodded slightly at this, glancing at Marlyn and Telen briefly before her and Elenna departed. Keeping pace with her, Ylsa didn't want to be a bother and chatter at her, but….one of her flaws was curiosity. There was a saying about that, wasn't there? Something about a cat?

"He's not…..upset, is he?" she finally asked, keeping her hands clasped close to her chest. "About my…indiscretion yesterday?"

"Indiscretion? You were seasick over the dock." Ylsa flinched at the handmaiden's bluntness, but it was the truth after all. She just nodded. "You will know when you meet him properly, Doran is not the type to be offended so easily. Dornishmen aren't as picky about introduction as Northerners."

"It was terribly rude of me though. I didn't even say hello, or thank him properly-"

"You can say hello today then. You're thinking too much." The raven-haired woman led her down a set of spiral stairs, the steps carved meticulously right into the sandstone. Through an open corridor, Ylsa could hear the coastal beards making their morning din over the harbor. It wasn't an unpleasant sound. "That's not the Dornish way."

"But I doubt the Dornish way is to be sick upon first glance and faint." This made Ellanna opening laugh out loud, and she turned, placing a hand on Ylsa's bare shoulder.

"You are funny, Lady Payne. You'll make Doran laugh, he'll like that." Smiling kindly, her cheeks dimpling a bit, Ellanna motioned for Ylsa to continue on; the corridor opened up to a vined trellis, that led no doubt into the garden. "He's just through there. Relax, Ylsa. You look stiff as a board."

"Stiff as a board is the Western way," Ylsa pointed out, trying to breathe as she followed her handmaiden's beckoning, continuing on into the Garden alone. Her silken slippers padded along the soft moss underfoot quietly, as she bit her lip. Internally, she rehearsed what she would say when she met the Prince. 'Good Morning, Your Grace,' she would start out, curtsying- oh Lord, how would she curtsy properly in this dress!? 'I hope you slept well. I wanted to apologize for my impoliteness yesterday afternoon. My indiscretion was inexcusable, and I am dearly sorry for my rudeness.' Yes, yes that would do. She swallowed hard, going over it again and again in her head.

The pathway she was walking opened up about 100 meters down into a small clearing, where it looked as if several flowering bushes had been diverted from their natural growth to form a sort of shielded enclave. Fine rugs and cushions had been set around a low table set with tea and breakfast, though Ylsa only knew the food as breakfast foods from the time of day, for most of what was laid out were foods she was unfamiliar with, from sight or smell. Overhead, from their trellis vines stretched, letting the soft white flowers that bloomed from them hang down, a petal or two falling every now and then. Shaded, it was somewhat cold in this flowering enclave, and Ylsa pulled her wrap around her slightly, finding it funny she was chilly in such a hot climate. It was early yet though.

Doran sat in his chair, as usual though Ylsa wouldn't have known that. A scarf of burnished red hung around his high-collared neck, with the Martell crest threaded through one end, keeping the other secure. He was leaned away from Ylsa as she approached, speaking quietly with the lone guard that stood by him, an older man whose head shone brightly, either shaved or bald, and whose height dwarfed any man Ylsa had ever met with face to face. Doran's face was unshaven, though not unkempt; he must've been unshaven yesterday as well, though Ylsa wouldn't have noticed, and in his forehead set a deep worry-wrinkle in between his eyebrows.

As The Prince and his guard's attention had not yet fallen upon Ylsa, she was able to pause, taking in the sight of her betrothed for the first time properly. The first and foremost striking factor was, of course, their age difference. Ylsa had known the Prince was older; of course, his son was nearly her age. It certainly wasn't unheard of for young women to marry older men, even much, much older than they, and, at the very least, Doran was not exceedingly decrepit. Despite the worry wrinkle, and his deepset, storm green eyes that could have belonged to the most battle-worn warrior, he was not unsightly, in fact one could attribute a sort of stately handsomeness to his features. There was a streak of gray through his dark brunette locks, but even that Ylsa could live with. She did suppose it could be much worse.

But of course, it was not his looks Ylsa's worries laid with.

Doran couldn't hardly remember what he'd even been speaking to Areo about. As soon as he noticed his guard's eyes lift, the Prince's attention shifted as well, startled somewhat by the sudden, silent appearance of Lady Payne. Though, he could scarcely believe the creature before them was the same girl who had been so distraught and ill the day before; she had that pallid nervousness to her, but here she was, cloaked in pale pearl, brushed up to look the part of a proper guest to the Dornish royal family. Doran's momentary shock gave way to his customary warm smile.

"Lady Payne," he greeted, turning his full attention to her. "You startled me; you're so quiet, I didn't hear you approach!" He glanced back at his Captain of the Guard. "Should I have your head for your unobservance, Areo?" He chuckled lightly, but at this, Ylsa looked stricken, and any well-rehearsed monologue in her mind flew out the window as she panicked.

"I'm sorry, your Grace!" she apologized quickly, bowing her head, to Doran's surprise. "I didn't mean to, I shouldn't have-"

"I was only kidding!" Doran waved his hands, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a lopsided, awkward smile. "I wasn't serious, My Lady! Please, come!" He held his hand out to her, beckoning her to come closer, cursing his ailing foot for not letting him approach her instead. Ylsa held her pause a while, before hesitantly stepping forward. Her hands were clasped so tightly at her chest that he could see her knuckles run white from the pressure, and when she finally extended her hand for Doran to take, he could feel how clammy her palms were. "I won't be having anyone's head, not today."

"I'm truly sorry, your Grace," Ylsa repeated, not looking up to meet his gaze. "For yesterday, as well…it was so terribly ingracious of me."

"There is nothing to apologize for, My Lady. It was audacious of me to assume you wouldn't be ill and exhausted from such a voyage. And please." He smiled brighter as he saw her eyes flicker up to his face briefly. "I'm no King. Doran is perfectly acceptable." Motioning for her to sit among the cushions laid out, Doran was amused to watch her try and tame her skirts as she sat, as they billowed up around her airily. Her cheeks were pink from the unfamiliarity of the situation. "I won't show the bad decorum of asking how your voyage went."

"It was lovely," Ylsa insisted, glancing at the cup laid before her by the cupbearer that seemed to immerge from nowhere, bewildering her. There was a strong dark liquid within. "I mean, apart from being ill…"

"It's alright to tell the truth." She looked up suddenly, startled by that; she was only trying to be polite, why did he keep insisting she show bad manners? Her face flushed further. "Sailing isn't for everyone," he continued, noticing her eyeing the cup placed before her warily. "Do they not have coffee in the North?"

"Is coffee a type of Dornish tea?" Ylsa asked, giving up on trying to remind everyone that 'The North' was an actual region, and not just a blanket term for anywhere in Westeros that wasn't Dorne. She picked up her cup, taking a sip, and immediately wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste. Areo couldn't hold in a sudden chuckle, though Doran was better at keeping his laughter in.

"It's a bit like tea, in a way. It's certainly an acquired taste. You might stomach it better at first with cream and sugar." As if on cue, the cupbearer returned, setting a small tray with a carafe of cream and a bowl of sugar lumps in front of her; Ylsa mentally remarked on how different Dorne was, even to the last detail. Even the sugar here was different, a deep brown color, and clumpy, as opposed to the grainy white sugar she was used to in the West. "The Princess Myrcella made the exact same face when she tried her first sip."

"It's…..distinctive." Ylsa chose her words carefully, following the Prince's suggestion and trying the drink with a fair amount of cream and sugar, turning the inky brown liquid a more pleasing caramel, and found that, even though it was still rather bitter, it was indeed more palatable.

"You don't have to like coffee either." Doran sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers together, studying the girl before him. "You're not required to be so polite, Lady Payne. If something displeases you, please, tell me. The last thing I want to do is to impose a choice you're unhappy with onto you." It was a funny enough statement, Doran mentally remarked. It was all well and good to say this, as he was imposing a betrothal on her. Though, he wondered if it was truly an imposition? Women in the North he knew were much more compliant to the wishes of men, though that certainly didn't make their compliance right. But that was a dilemma to ruminate on for another time. "You won't anger or offend me to let me know when you're unhappy."

"I'm not unhappy," she asserted, taking another sip as if to prove her point. If anything, her earnesty was endearing. "…But, I will. Let you know, I mean, if I am. ….Thank you." She met his eyes briefly, blue on deep green, before looking away, her hands fidgeting slightly in her lap. It was then, however, that she remembered part of what she had wanted to say to the Prince. "Thank you, your G- …Prince Doran. For accepting my father's proposal. It is truly an honor to be here." Her head bowed low, and at this, Doran glanced very quickly at Areo; what a strange set of words to say, he thought. Despite her genuine tone they were such formal words so…practiced. It rubbed Doran the wrong way.

"There is no need to thank me. I only wish-" he paused, feeling somewhat…strange. That was the only way to describe it, it was a strange, foreign feeling. He didn't much like this feeling. "…I hope we are a good match."

Ylsa smiled at this, looking away, but not unhappily so. The calls of the harbor birds filled the silence between them, and she smiled as a bit of her worry chipped away; Doran was not what she'd expected him to be, but he seemed very kind, at least so far. And alone, or relatively alone as they were, she knew it was not for show; who would he be showing for? Not decrepit, and kind. That was all Ylsa could hope for in a match, and it appeared as if she were to receive it.

"You're usually quite the orator," Areo remarked, escorting Prince Doran back to his study. Ylsa had been fetched by her handmaidens after the breakfast they'd taken in the garden, leaving Doran with his old friend, and so far, the two of them had been silent. Until now, that is. "But you seemed to have trouble with some of your words just then."

"The things she said threw me off a bit," Doran replied, drumming his fingers on the armrests. "Repartee only flows smoothly when both parties can keep up with one another."

"It did appear as if she threw a spear in your spokes once or twice."

"She's a curious girl. Even Myrcella isn't quite as…" Doran couldn't quite find a fitting descriptor for Ylsa.

"Beautiful?" Areo supplied, smiling slightly. "In a Northern sort of way."

"To be honest, I hardly noticed, and it wasn't for lack of beauty," the Prince replied, shaking his head. He stayed quiet for a while, just thinking on his own interpretations of the morning. As his friend wheeled him into his study, he raised his eyebrows at him, wondering silently what the other was thinking. "Northern women are a creature all their own, it seems. And I thought Mellario was such a rare creature."

"The North is more staunch, if you ask me. Didn't Oberyn warn you of this?"

"Oh, Oberyn's warned me of many things." Doran tapped his fingers together under his chin. "He warned me of buying the herd when I only wanted a taste for the beef."

"What is it and that man comparing women to foods? One day it's fine wine, the next, cheese, then beef? Next he will see a fig in the street and proclaim every woman he's ever bedded is like a fig! Squishy but with a hard pit on the inside or some such." Doran laughed at this; Areo was wise, that was for sure. Wise to the ways of the Martells, at least.

"It wasn't for a taste I agreed to bring her, you know," Doran continued, now seated at his desk, leaning his elbows on the polished wooden surface. "I could have a taste of paler flesh in the city. But…I couldn't tell you why it was. And speaking to her doesn't clear the reason up; in fact it only clouds it more."

"The more you thrash in shallow water, the more sand is kicked up, and the fewer fish you will see. You'd think the ocean was barren of fish for all the sand you've kicked up with your thinking and rethinking, Doran." Areo settled at his usual post in the corner of the room, spinning his spear lightly between his hands, before settling it beside him. "Let the water's calm. You'll find the shallows teeming with fish, if only you'd let the sand settle."