The cart rolled on for hours before the landscape began to change.
The fields grew richer, the hedgerows taller and more neatly kept. In the distance, the great castle of Highgarden finally came into view, rising atop a broad hill like a crown of white stone and green gardens.
Three concentric walls shimmered in the afternoon light, and even from here they could see the famous briar maze winding around the base like a living serpent. The Mander flowed wide and golden at its feet.
The old farmer slowed his mules as the road forked. One path continued along the river toward the castle's outer gates. The other turned inland toward a cluster of villages.
Arianne sat up straighter.
"This is far enough," she said softly. "We'll walk from here."
The farmer pulled the cart to a stop beside a stand of willows. He turned in his seat, studying the two of them with tired but knowing eyes.
"You sure about this?" he asked.
Arianne offered him a small, genuine smile as she climbed down.
"We're sure. Thank you for the ride."
The old man grunted, then looked directly at Rhaego, who was carefully unfolding his long legs from the back of the cart.
"You, boy," the farmer said gruffly.
"Keep that temper of yours leashed. Not every man who reaches for something pretty is worth breaking. Some roads you can't come back from once you start down them."
Rhaego met the old man's gaze for a moment, then gave a single respectful nod.
"I'll remember that."
The farmer waved a dismissive hand, clicked his tongue at the mules, and turned the cart onto the inland road without another word.
Arianne and Rhaego stood together at the edge of the path, watching the cart slowly disappear behind a line of trees. Then they turned toward Highgarden.
The castle was even more breathtaking up close. Towering white walls covered in flowering vines, golden roses carved into every gate and parapet, and the enormous central keep rising like a palace from a song.
Rhaego folded his arms across his chest, tail carefully hidden beneath his tunic. He stared at the distant gates with open skepticism.
"So," he said dryly, voice thick with sarcasm, "how exactly are we supposed to walk into that looking like this? One of us has wings and scales, and the other looks like she stole her grandmother's dress. They're going to take one look at us and call the guards before we even reach the outer wall."
Arianne smirked, brushing a stray curl behind her ear.
"Don't worry. My father prepared more than just good advice for Quentyn. He also prepared a secret code, something only a very small circle of people would know. A passphrase meant to reach Lady Olenna directly if Quentyn ever made it this far."
She glanced sideways at him, eyes sparkling with quiet confidence.
"I memorized it before we left Dorne. We won't be walking in as strangers. We'll be walking in as people with a message from Sunspear… about a certain alliance."
Rhaego raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed despite himself.
"You stole your brother's passphrase?"
Arianne's steps slowed. She glanced at him, the mischievous smile still playing on her lips, but something in her eyes shifted a decision being made.
She let out a small breath and stopped walking for a moment, turning to face him properly.
"I didn't steal Quentyn's passphrase," she said honestly.
"My father prepared it for him. He was going to send my brother to the Reach with a small, quiet envoy… not us."
Rhaego blinked. The color slowly drained from his face as the meaning sank in.
"Wait… what?"
Arianne watched his reaction carefully, her expression calm but not unkind.
"The plan my father approved wasn't for you and me," she continued. "It was for Quentyn. He decided it was too dangerous to send you openly right now. So he chose my brother instead."
Rhaego's mouth opened, then closed. His tail still bound beneath his tunic gave an involuntary twitch. For a second he looked genuinely panicked, like a man who had just realized he'd helped kidnap a princess.
"So… we ran away," he said slowly, voice tight.
"I helped you run away from Dorne. Without your father's permission. That's… that's treason, isn't it?"
Arianne watched him for a moment, then let out a soft, delighted laugh.
"Oh, look at you," she teased, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"The big scary dragon prince, suddenly worried about committing treason. How adorable."
She stepped closer and lightly poked his chest with one finger.
"Relax, my prince. You didn't 'steal' me. I stole you. There's a difference."
"Technically it's not treason?" She shrugged lightly.
"Perhaps. But only between me and my father. You didn't know. You thought I had his blessing."
Rhaego turned slightly pale, running a hand through his hair.
"I basically stole the heir of Dorne," he muttered, half to himself. "Doran is going to skin me alive and use my wings as a cloak."
Arianne laughed soft, warm, and surprisingly gentle.
"He won't," she said, stepping closer.
"You're too valuable to him, my prince. A living son of Daenerys Targaryen? He'd be a fool to throw that away over one impulsive decision by his daughter."
She reached up and lightly brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, her touch surprisingly tender.
"And besides… if we succeed in securing this alliance with the Tyrells, my father will forgive a one little act of defiance. He always does when the result is worth it."
Rhaego stared at her for a long moment, still looking a little dazed.
"Really?" he asked, voice uncertain.
Arianne's smile widened, bright and confident as she started walking forward again toward the distant towers of Highgarden.
"He will," she called over her shoulder, voice playful but edged with steel. "As long as we succeed. So try not to look like you just committed high treason, dragon prince. We have a Queen of Thorns to charm."
Rhaego stood frozen for another second, then let out a long, suffering sigh and hurried after her.
"I'm going to regret this," he muttered under his breath.
Arianne's laughter floated back to him on the warm Reach wind.
"Probably," she agreed cheerfully.
She glanced back at him with a wicked little smile.
"Or do I need to hold your hand the whole way there so you don't faint from guilt?"
Rhaego muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "I'm doomed," but he fell into step beside her anyway.
As they walked the final stretch of road toward Highgarden's outer gates, the sheer scale of the castle became more imposing with every step. The three concentric walls gleamed white in the afternoon sun, covered in flowering vines and golden roses.
Even from here they could smell the faint, sweet perfume of the famous gardens drifting on the breeze.
Arianne's playful expression slowly faded into something more focused, more calculating. She adjusted the hood of her plain dress and glanced sideways at Rhaego.
"Remember," she said, voice dropping to a more serious tone, "from this point on, we are simple travelers from the Marches. Keep your head down, your tail hidden, and your temper leashed. Let me do the talking when we reach the gate."
Rhaego gave a short nod, though his violet eyes were still wary as they approached the massive outer gatehouse. Guards in Tyrell livery stood watch, and beyond them lay the legendary briar maze and the heart of the Reach.
He swallowed hard.
This was it.
They were no longer just running from Dorne.
They were walking straight into the most powerful castle in the south with nothing but a stolen passphrase and a very dangerous secret between them.
Arianne steered them away from the grand main entrance toward a smaller side gate used by merchants and lesser petitioners. Two Tyrell guards in green and gold livery stood watch, looking bored in the afternoon heat.
She kept her hood low and her voice humble but clear as she approached the sergeant.
"Good ser," she said politely, "we are travelers from the Marches bearing a message from the south. We seek the lady who knows the taste of winter roses."
The sergeant's bored expression sharpened instantly.
He studied her for a long moment, then flicked his gaze to the tall, broad-shouldered "laborer" standing silently behind her.
"The lady who knows the taste of winter roses," he repeated slowly.
Arianne met his eyes steadily. "Yes, ser."
The guard replied in a low, guarded tone. "And what does this lady do when the winter roses wither?"
Arianne answered without hesitation, her voice soft but steady. "She plants new seeds… and waits for spring to burn away the frost."
The sergeant held her gaze for another heartbeat. Then the tension in his shoulders eased. He gave a short nod to his companion.
"Wait here," he said. "Do not move."
He disappeared through the gate. Rhaego shifted uncomfortably beside her, his tail twitching beneath his tunic.
"Relax," Arianne whispered without looking at him. "If they were going to arrest us, they would have done it already."
Several long minutes passed. Finally, the sergeant returned with an older woman in plain but well-made clothing, clearly a senior servant or handmaiden.
The woman looked them over carefully, then spoke in a low voice.
"Follow me. Quietly. And keep your heads down."
She led them through a side entrance, away from the grand avenues and into a maze of servant corridors and garden paths.
The scent of roses and myrtle was thick in the air.
Rhaego walked close behind Arianne, every muscle tense, ready for trouble.
Arianne, however, felt a quiet thrill running through her veins.
They were inside.
Now all that remained was to convince the Queen of Thorns that a dragon and a viper were worth listening to.