"Ser Daemon." Karon nodded in greeting, his tone familiar.
They had worked together for years; they were both familiar with and kept a certain distance from this "bastard of Godsgrace," not just because Daemon was deeply trusted by the prince, but also because of his sword.
Dorne was filled with too many stories about this young fencing genius, how he would defeat opponents in tournaments before they could even see his moves; the number of people who had died by his blade was likely higher than the number of battles he himself had experienced.
It was precisely for this reason that Prince Oberyn had made an exception to take him as a squire.
"His Highness is... still resting."
Karon glanced at the tightly shut door, from which a burst of exaggerated laughter from Oberyn and the sound of clashing cups and plates emerged right on cue.
Beside him, Maros also squeezed out a smile, a trace of envy for Daemon flashing in his young eyes.
It wasn't that he envied his status as a bastard; after all, while being a bastard wasn't considered a disgrace in Dorne, it wasn't exactly noble either.
Maros envied his swordsmanship talent, which was often praised by the prince and hailed as a "gift from the gods."
"Ser Daemon, you look well today."
"Thank you, Maros." Daemon responded with a smile, his gaze sweeping over their slightly weary faces. "This gate-guarding duty is the most grueling; I understand."
As he spoke, he stepped aside, gesturing to the armored knight behind him. "This is Ser Denzel Dat, and he has urgent military business that requires an immediate audience with His Highness."
"Ser Denzel Dat?" Karon repeated, his gaze scrutinizing the silent knight.
He was clad in full plate armor, simple in style but well-maintained, wearing a great helm with a nasal guard that completely concealed his face.
His build was indeed similar to the cheerful and sociable eldest son of House Dat rumored about. Karon remembered Prince Oberyn mentioning this young man, saying that he had good swordsmanship and a quick mind, and was considered a figure among the young nobles of Dorne.
Maros also sized up "Ser Denzel," and added casually, "So it is Ser Dat. We met your brother a few times back in Sunspear; his name is Andre, right?"
He tried to make small talk to alleviate the boredom of the watch. "He always kept to himself and didn't talk much; he's quite different from you."
At these words, the armored knight—or rather, Andre Dat beneath the helmet—did not react at all. He didn't even nod or make a sound, just stood quietly one step behind and to the side of Daemon.
The atmosphere was awkward for a moment.
Daemon, standing to the side, took over the conversation very timely, his smile unchanged. "Ser Andre is a bit sullen in nature, but his loyalty to Dorne is unquestionable."
"Do not casually judge his brother in front of Ser Denzel; it's a bad habit, and you should change it."
Having said that, without waiting for their response, he turned to Karon, his tone turning serious. "The matter is urgent, Karon; I must see His Highness immediately."
Karon looked at Daemon, then at the silent "Ser Denzel."
Daemon was the prince's personal squire and deeply trusted. Since he was the one introducing the person and claiming it was urgent military business, they naturally had no reason to stop him.
Karon moved away from the position directly in front of the door, but his body still maintained a blocking posture; this was his duty.
"You know the rules, Ser Daemon."
"His Highness's room, especially at a time like this..." As he spoke, he glanced at the door again.
"I understand." Daemon nodded, a hint of understanding in his smile. "I will go in and report alone; Ser Dat can wait outside the door and enter after His Highness gives his consent."
Having said that, he turned his head and nodded slightly to Andre. "Ser, please wait here."
Once these words were spoken, "Ser Denzel" finally reacted.
He nodded ever so slightly, and a muffled "Hmm" came from beneath the helmet.
Then he stepped back half a step to the side and stood still, his hands hanging naturally by his sides, neither too close nor too far from the hilt of his sword—a standard and restrained stance of waiting.
Seeing this, the last shred of doubt in Karon and Maros dissipated. He was indeed a knight who knew the rules.
Immediately after, Daemon raised his hand and knocked lightly on the ornately carved wooden door.
The commotion inside paused slightly.
A moment later, Oberyn's voice came through, laden with laziness and impatience. "Who is it? Didn't I say not to disturb me when I'm preparing for battle?"
"Your Highness, it's me, Daemon." Daemon's mouth twitched, and he cleared his throat. "There is an emergency that must be reported immediately."
A brief silence followed.
Then came reluctant muttering, the rustling of clothes, and a woman's soft complaint.
After a good while, Oberyn's voice came from inside, sounding a bit more sober than before. "Come in, Daemon."
"Yes, Your Highness." Daemon pushed the door open, his figure flashing inside, and immediately pulled the door shut behind him, though he didn't close it tight, leaving a gap about two fingers wide.
The heavy scent of alcohol, perfume, and lust immediately spilled out from the gap in the door.
Daemon entered to find the Prince of Dorne reclining on a large couch piled with cushions, his muscular upper body bare, with only a thin silk blanket draped casually over his lower body.
His black hair was slightly damp, with a few strands sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead. His handsome face bore the traces of a hangover and indulgence, but those black eyes, beneath a slightly unfocused appearance, were still as sharp as poisoned daggers.
Oberyn's lover, Ellaria Sand, curled up beside him, wearing only a sheer, cicada-wing-thin robe, her exquisite curves faintly visible.
The woman was half-asleep, toying with an empty wine glass, looking at Daemon as he entered with a dreamy gaze.
Two handmaidens who were cleaning up the mess on the floor hurriedly lowered their heads and retreated through a side door.
"My little viper." Oberyn grabbed a bottle of red wine, still half-full, from the low table beside the couch, and took a swig from the bottle. The crimson wine trickled down his beautifully defined jawline and dripped onto his sweat-drenched chest.
"You'd better really have an emergency, you know? I was just teaching Ellaria a new Lysene love song, and we just got to the crucial part."
As he spoke, his other hand was still wandering carelessly over Ellaria's smooth shoulders, causing her to hum lazily.
Daemon stood in the center of the room, about ten paces from the couch. His gaze swept quickly and meticulously over Oberyn's state. After two consecutive days of revelry, an ordinary person would have been withered and exhausted, but Prince Oberyn Martell seemed to possess a beast-like resilience.
There were indeed bloodshot eyes, and his breath reeked of alcohol, but his spirit strangely exuded a kind of excitement. His muscle lines remained clear and fluid even in a relaxed state, as if they could burst with terrifying power at any moment.
Truly a gifted individual. Although he had seen it countless times, Daemon was still full of admiration; at least he, who was called a fencing genius, could not do this at all.
And this was one of the reasons why the over-forty-year-old Oberyn could roam The Seven Kingdoms, making countless enemies yet remaining carefree.
He was not only intelligent and vicious, but also possessed physical strength and energy that surpassed ordinary people. In his own words, "Women and wine can always provide me with an endless supply of energy; sometimes men do too."
"Your Highness." Daemon bowed slightly, his attitude respectful but his back straight. "I apologize for interrupting your pleasure, but the matter is urgent."
"Oh?" Oberyn raised an eyebrow and put down the wine bottle, showing a bit more interest, but his posture remained relaxed, without any guard.
His trust in Daemon had been built up over the years, not only because of his swordsmanship talent and ability to get things done, but also because of Daemon's status as a Sand and his years of loyal performance.
"Let's hear it. Is that Old Lion Tywin up to something new, or is my stiff and boring brother in Sunspear nagging me again?"
His tone was teasing; he clearly didn't take the so-called "urgent matter" too seriously.
Daemon did not answer immediately. His gaze seemed to inadvertently sweep across the direction of the door, at that gap left ajar.
Then, he took two steps forward and lowered his voice, as if about to divulge a great secret.
In the corridor, time passed slowly in silence.
The vague conversation from inside could not be heard clearly, only the occasional teasing of Oberyn in a raised tone and the woman's laughter.
Andre Dat remained standing like an iron statue in the shadow by the door, motionless. Only the eyes beneath the helmet occasionally flashed with a cold light as the sounds inside rose and fell.
Karon and Maros, however, seemed bored. Guard duty was most dreaded during such waits; time was stretched out like cooling syrup. They tried to find something to say to break the silence and incidentally get on good terms with this "Ser Dat," who was said to be highly appreciated by the prince.
After all, Dornishmen were strangers in King's Landing, and connections among the nobility were always beneficial.
"Ahem." Karon cleared his throat and gave a friendly smile to the armored knight. "Ser Dat, are you getting used to King's Landing? It's much cooler here than in Dorne, though the weather is too humid; sometimes I even feel like I'm choking when I breathe."
A muffled "Hmm" came from beneath the armor, serving as a response.
Maros was younger and less able to endure loneliness, so he smiled and continued, "If you ask me, only this Silk Street in King's Landing is interesting; the other places, tsk... are just dirty and smelly."
He winked, revealing a smile that all men understood. "Have you been to Hummingbird these days? The girls here are the best in The Seven Kingdoms."
However, faced with their active goodwill, the armored knight remained silent, not even offering an "Hmm."
The atmosphere was a bit awkward.
Karon tried to ease it by steering the topic toward an area the other might be more familiar with.
"Speaking of which, Ser Dat, we've all heard of you. The prince often praises your swordsmanship, your quick wit, and your reliability."
He paused, feeling he really couldn't find anything else to say, so he blurted out, "Much better than your brother..."
He meant this as a compliment to build rapport, as they had indeed heard some gossip from other Dornish companions.
The two Dat brothers: the older one, Denzel, was cheerful and sociable, with good swordsmanship, and was well-liked by the prince; the younger one, Andre, was reclusive and gloomy, like a mute, knowing only how to clean and practice his sword all day, not very sociable, and not very likable.
"Yeah." Maros didn't think much of it and chimed in, "We met your brother a few times back in Sunspear, Andre, right?"
"He always kept to himself, didn't talk much, and was sullen. At one banquet, he just sat in a corner cleaning his sword all night, ignoring whoever talked to him."
He smiled, trying to make the discussion sound lighter. "It's a good thing it's you who came this time. If it were your brother's personality, I'm afraid he wouldn't make any friends in a place like King's Landing."
They were just chatting casually to kill time, with no real malice in their words, mostly just random evaluations based on surface impressions.
In Dorne, reclusive people were not uncommon, and being talked about a little was nothing.
However... the very instant Maros finished speaking, the iron statue in the shadows moved.
Without any warning, the silent "Ser Denzel" seemed to instantly turn into an enemy.
Clang!! The sound of a longsword being drawn was short and shrill. The sword light slashed from bottom to top, at a quite tricky angle, towards the neck of Maros, who was closer to him!
The angle was vicious, and the speed was faster than imaginable!
At the same time, his left hand, like a viper striking from its hole, grabbed at Karon's throat with lightning speed!
His five fingers, like iron pliers, accurately clamped onto the windpipe!
The casual smile on Maros's face hadn't even had time to fully freeze.
His pupils shrank, and his eyes only reflected the rapidly enlarging, deadly cold light. He instinctively wanted to lean back and draw his blade, but his body's reaction speed was far from keeping up with his thoughts.
Too close, too sudden!
"Pfft!" The sharp blade sliced through skin, and warm liquid sprayed out in a fan shape, splattering on the ornate carpet, the carved wall panels, and the abandoned booklet by the door.
Maros's eyes widened, and a "hissing" sound leaked from his throat, like a broken bellows.
His Dornish scimitar was only half-drawn when his body lost all strength, and he slumped backward, hitting the wall with a heavy thud.
Almost at the same instant, Karon's throat was tightly gripped by that armored iron hand!
The immense power instantly cut off his breathing and screaming. His eyes bulged, and he looked in disbelief at the helmet visor inches away.
"Urgh... Gurgle..." Karon's hands frantically clawed at the iron hand, his nails scraping a harsh sound against the steel gauntlet.
His legs kicked uselessly, his boots scraping against the carpet, but the disparity in strength was too great; that hand was like iron, unmoving.
The armored knight's right hand had already withdrawn the longsword from Maros's neck, the tip dripping with blood.
He didn't even look at the dying Karon. With a slight turn of his wrist, he smoothly and precisely drove the blade into the heart area beneath the gap in Karon's leather armor.
"Pfft." Another soft sound; the tip pierced through leather and muscle, straight to the heart.
Karon's body stiffened violently, and then all struggle ceased. Andre let go, and Karon collapsed straight to the floor like a sack of heavy grain, beside his companion's still-twitching body.
From the sudden burst to the double kill, the whole process took no more than three seconds.
Smooth and efficient, the two experienced Dornish guards hadn't even been able to put up a decent resistance before their souls departed in front of the door to a foreign land's den of pleasure.
Andre Dat slowly withdrew his longsword. Beads of blood rolled down the blood groove and dripped onto the carpet, blooming into dark red flowers.
He looked down, his eyes devoid of any emotion, as if he had just cleared away two troublesome stumbling blocks, and then slowly opened his mouth.
"Do not casually judge others; it's a bad habit, and you should change it."