The late afternoon sun was hot and red. And the only sounds were the children splashing in the pools and fountains to cool them down from the immense Dornish heat. An occasional soft plop could be heard, as an orange would drop onto the terrace to burst. The rolling of wheels and heavy footsteps alerted Arianne Martell to the presence of two others. She turned around.

"The blood oranges are well past ripe," her father said with a sad look in his eyes.

His words were true. The sharp, sweet smell of them filled Arianne's senses. No doubt her father, Prince Doran of Dorne, could smell them too, as he sat beneath the trees in the rolling chair Maester Caleotte had made for him, with its goose-down cushions and wheels of ebony and iron.

"They will come back," she assured him.

"In the late spring," he agreed. "Many years from now. We are in autumn, and winter will undoubtably arrive. The summer has been a long one, over ten years. The coming winter will be long and hard."

Prince Doran was not a well man, that was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. He was of four and fifty, with keen eyes, and a nose for deceit. However, he suffered from gout, which had weakened his body.

Doran Martell's joints were swollen, and he was unable to walk. He rarely made public appearances, as he was confined to moving about in either the rolling chair or a palanquin. His body may have been physically weak, but his mind was not.

Arianne understood the look in her father's eyes. If what the Maesters said was true, winter could last as long as the ten-year summer. It might be a dozen years before the blood oranges returned. Her father would likely as not be alive to see them again. But Arianne didn't like to dwell on such things. He hadn't called her to the water gardens to discuss blood oranges or how long the next winter would be. Something of great importance had happened.

Dorne was an angry and divided land, and Prince Doran's hold on it was not as firm as it might be. Many of his own lords thought him weak and would have welcomed open war with the Lannisters. Revenge for the murder of his sister, Princess Elia, and her two children, Rhaenys and Aegon.

"Why did you want me here, father?" Arianne had been surprised by her father's summons.

She lived in Sunspear, although despite being three and twenty, and her fathers heir, he gave her no position of power. Instead, she was put in charge of 'feasts and frolics', while her uncle, Prince Oberyn was given the highest place of power at Sunspear's court.

Oberyn would visit her father at the Water Gardens every sennight, while Arianne was summoned by her father only twice a year. Arianne surmised her father did not want her to inherit Dorne. The choice of husbands he had given her, greybeards they were. To add insult to injury, his refusal to entrust her with any power only cemented her beliefs.

Her being summoned out of nowhere had come out of the blue.

"My brother, Oberyn, has decided not to return to Dorne, for now."

This was a surprise. Oberyn had not said a word about travelling elsewhere after Joffrey's wedding. As far as she was aware, he had set off from Kings Landing with his paramour, Ellaria Sand, who was due to arrive back in Dorne any day.

"Why?" Arianne sat on the pink marble next to her father's feet.

"He has ventured North, to Winterfell."

Of all the places in Westeros Arianne could have imagined her uncle to visit, Winterfell was the last place she had imagined he'd wish to visit. It was cold and grim, and so were its inhabitants.

"Why would he choose to go to Winterfell. It even snows in the summer," she shivered at the thought. "A Dornishman does not do well in the north."

'If what my brother says is true, there is a Dornishman in the North who is doing very well for himself."

Arianne saw a glint in his eyes. Whatever Oberyn was up to, was of great importance to their family.

"Who is this Dornishman?"

"He goes by the name of Lord Jon Whitestark. Born in Dorne, the son of Ashara Dayne and Brandon Stark. Raised by his brother Ned… allegedly. Also known to the world as the 'bastard of Winterfell."

Arianne frowned. She had heard of the bastard of Winterfell. Even the smallfolk knew of him. He was the most famous bastard in Westeros. She hadn't known he was born in Dorne. Not that it mattered. Being born in Dorne didn't make a man Dornish.

"What is so important about Lord Whitestark? Isn't he a bastard? He was raised in the North. His birth and his mother do not make him Dornish. He knows nothing of our culture."

Her outburst made her father chuckle.

"Ashara Dayne never had a son. Brandon Stark may have gotten her with child, but she birthed a daughter. The baby didn't survive."

"I take it he is important," her father nodded in agreement. "Who is he?"

"According to Oberyn, he is Rhaegar's son with Lyanna Stark."

"Oh," was all Arianne could think to say at such momentous news. Not that it mattered in the line of succession. Rhaegar was wed to Arianne's late aunt Elia. Any child with Lyanna would make him a bastard. "What does it matter? How is he relevant?"

"Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia. He was to send her to Dragonstone and then she would return to Dorne. Aerys wanted Rhaenys and Aegon dead. He threatened to name Viserys his heir. The only way Rhaegar could help Elia and the children was by annulling the marriage. Or so she told me. She may have told Oberyn a different tale. But all I know is Rhaegar and Elia were no longer wed when they died."

"Are you suggesting Rhaegar wed Lyanna?"

Her father nodded. "Oberyn says there is proof."

"And how can we know this man is Rhaegar's son? Any fool could pretend to be, unless he has the Targaryen look."

"Oberyn knew who he was before the boy told him. Lord Whitestark has the Stark colouring, but the face of his sire."

"And nobody knew," she shook her head in disbelief. "What does Oberyn intend to do? Kill him?"

"Despite all that has happened, he likes the boy. It is not the fault of this Jon Snow to have been borne amidst such death and deceit."

"Does he intend to seat him upon the Iron Throne?" she asked.

"Ah, the Iron Throne. So many seek it, but who has the truest claim?"

"Father, you are talking in riddles. What does this have to do with me? Do you wish for me to wed him? Or is he far too young for your liking? No, he is a Stark. You would never make such a proposal. So no, you do not intend to request a betrothal. I have had enough of your games, I want what is rightfully mine."

"What is that?

"Dorne."

"You will have Dorne after I am dead."

"Are you sure? Shall we ask my brother?"

"Trystane?"

"Quentyn."

"What of him?"

"Quentyn has gone to Lys."

"Where did you get that notion?"

"A friend told me."

"Your friend lied. You have my word, your brother has not gone to Lys. I swear it by sun and spear and Seven."

Arianne was not so easily fooled. "Where is he, father? If not Lys, is it Myr? Or Tyrosh? I know he is across the narrow sea, hiring sellswords to steal my birthright. Don't trouble yourself trying to deny it. I read your letter." 'One day you will sit where I sit and rule all Dorne' Tell me, Father, when did you decide to disinherit me? Was it the day that Quentyn was born? What did I do to make you hate me so?"

"I never hated you." Prince Doran's voice was full of grief. "Arianne, you do not understand," he pleaded.

"Do you deny you wrote those words?"

"No, I do not deny it. I intended for him to follow me. I had other plans for you."

"Oh, yes I remember," she scorned, "Such grandiose plans. Greybeards like Gyles Rosby and Blind Ben Beesbury. Father, I know it is my duty to provide an heir for Dorne. I would have gladly wed, but the matches you brought to me were insults. If you ever felt any love for me at all, why offer me to Walder Frey?"

His face looked contrite before he told her the words which would change her life.

"Because I knew you would spurn him. I had to be seen to try find a consort for you once you'd reached a certain age, else it would have raised suspicions, but I dared not bring you any man you might accept. You were promised, Arianne."

"Promised?" Arianne stared at him incredulously. "And you thought not to tell me?"

"The pact was sealed in secret. I meant to tell you when you were old enough … when you came of age."

"I am three-and-twenty, a woman grown for some seven years."

"I know. If I kept you ignorant too long, it was only to protect you. Arianne, your nature … if you…" he seemed to struggle to find the right words. "What if the wrong person found out? I could not take the risk."

She was lost, confounded. "Who is it? Who have I been betrothed to, all these years?"

"It is no matter. He is dead."

That left her more baffled than ever. "Was it a broken hip, a chill, the gout?" she was unsuccessful in keeping the sarcasm from her voice.

"It was a pot of molten gold. We princes make careful plans and the gods smash them all awry."

Prince Doran made a weary gesture with a chafed red hand. "Dorne will be yours if you wish. You have my word on that. Your brother Quentyn has a harder road to walk."

"What road?" Arianne regarded him suspiciously. "What are you holding back? I am sick of secrets. Tell me, Father … or name Quentyn your heir."

"I was to have sent you to Tyrosh. You would have met with your betrothed in secret, but your mother threatened to harm herself if I stole another of her children, and I … I could not do that to her."

"Is that where Quentyn's gone? To Tyrosh?"

"Your brother went with Cletus Yronwood, Maester Kedry, and three of Lord Yronwood's best young knights on a long and perilous voyage, with an uncertain welcome at its end. He has gone to bring us back our heart's desire."

She narrowed her eyes. "Our heart's desire?"

"Vengeance." His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. "Justice, Fire and blood."

There was only one other Targaryen in the world who she was aware of, the Dragon Queen in Meereen.

"Daenerys Targaryen?"

Her father smiled. "The very one."

"And what of the northern dragon? Do you wish to wed me to him if Quentyn's task goes awry?"

"The one you were promised to, was Prince Viserys. But as he is dead, it is no longer a choice. There are two other contenders for your hand, each with their own problems. The northern dragon, is already wed. To the girl who was raised as his sister, Sansa Stark."

Arianne laughed. "How very Targaryen of him."

"Oberyn claims he loves the girl, but they have been wed for over two years. In that time, they have spent little time together. How can love blossom from sibling to cousin is such a brief space of time? Until there are children, people will ask questions. Either their love is not true, or the Stark girl cannot give him an heir."

"If we wait too long, I'll be too old to give him an heir," Arianne sighed.

Her father nodded in agreement. "The other is a boy claiming to be my nephew, Aegon Targaryen."

Arianne's heart leapt. "How can it be?"

"The story goes, the babes were swapped. The child murdered by Ser Gregor was an imposter, while the real Aegon was smuggled across the narrow sea and raised by Jon Connington."

"Do you believe it?" she asked.

"I know not what to think. Yet, we cannot dismiss him as a folly. Quentyn is with the Dragon Queen. Oberyn is getting to know this Jon Snow, and you will be the one to determine the truth about the one claiming to be your cousin."

"When?"

"Soon. For now, we must entertain Myrcella Lannister."

"Why? She is a Lannister?"

"A Baratheon by name. Tommen's heir. She is to wed your brother Trystane."

Arianne could see what her father was planning. No matter who took the Iron Throne, he intended for one of his children to become the consort." There was only one thing she didn't understand. "What does my uncle wish to achieve with the northern dragon?"

"To deplete his forces. Let this Jon Snow fight the Lannisters. With Oberyn at his side, they will take down Tywin and his family. He has no dragons, and his forces will be tired and depleted. There will be nothing left in him to win a dance of dragons."

"You expect Daenerys to win," it wasn't a question, more a statement of fact.

"She has three dragons. You will either wed your cousin and become Queen, and Quentyn will rule Dorne, or Quentyn will marry the Queen, take the Iron Throne and you will rule Dorne. Becoming a widow in the process and having any man you choose. But for now, not a word. Although, Jon Snow's true identity will not stay secret for long. As soon as the Lannisters know, there will be war.

"And we will have a Lannister hostage."

Her father smiled. "A mind is more powerful than a sword if used wisely. Now, go find Areo, I wish to go inside. I have been outside too long."

Arianne stood and kissed her father on the cheek.

"Thank you, father. I will not utter a word of our conversation to anyone."

With a final smile, she ran to fetch her father's guard.