The sun casts a warm glow over the gardens, where laughter and conversation fill the air. Joana moves through the gathering, her son nestled in her arms, his tiny fingers curling against her gown.
Lady Stak looks at her with round blue eyes. She bears a striking resemblance to her eldest daughter, but Joana can see something of Aria in her too—the stubborn tilt of her chin, perhaps.
"Aria," she chastises lightly, "I do hope you didn't bother the consort while dragging her here."
She turns her gaze to Joana, her expression softer. "Come, my dear. Sit by my side."
Lysa Velmont looks petulant as Joana takes a seat. "I can't stay here," she announces, pushing back her chair. "My child and I will find other seats."
"Lysa…" Lady Stak murmurs, but her sister is already walking away, Myrcella trailing behind her. She sighs, placing her hands primly in her lap before turning back to Joana.
"Do not mind her. It's a mother's plight to feel her child's pain. I'm sure you will understand once your son is older."
"I'm sorry if I offended Lady Myrcella, but I cannot recall an incident between us," Joana says carefully, keeping her tone diplomatic.
"It's not you," Lady Stak replies. "It's the Emperor, who favors you and not my niece." She exhales again, a slow, graceful sigh—one that Joana notes is oddly elegant.
Lady Stak smiles softly. "I hope you will forgive my daughters. They were simply reacting to a comment I made during our ride here."
"Oh?"
Joana arches a brow, bouncing her leg slightly as Jaehaerys gurgles, sucking on his fist, unaware of the weight of the conversation around him.
"I had not thought myself worthy of being discussed by you, my lady."
"I was very curious about you," Lady Stak admits. "The northern girl who came from nowhere and gained the imperial favor. What was the name of your father?"
Joana pales.
"Oh, my lady, he was a merchant," she says quickly. "Lowborn. You would not have known him."
"Your last name implies you're the bastard of a noble," Lady Stak notes, her eyebrows arching ever so slightly. "But there are many merchants who pretend to be highborn, regardless."
She leans forward, her expression kind but her words sharp. "And your accent—so fascinating. You must not have spent a single day in the North with your father. For a northern merchant to have moved his entire family to the capital, he must have been quite wealthy and successful. What was his name? Tell me. Surely, Lord Manderly at least knows of him."
She knows.
A cold shiver runs down Joana's spine. Lady Stak knows she's lying. But why doesn't she say anything outright? Does the marriage between Lady Stak's eldest son and Princess Daenerys matter so much that she would rather imply than expose? Or does she simply lack proof?
Before Joana can formulate a response, Jaehaerys lets out a shrill cry, squirming in her arms. She looks down to see him smacking his lips, searching for a breast to suckle. Adjusting her hold on him, she glances back at Lady Stak.
"I must feed him," she says, standing up. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Stak, and both of your beautiful daughters. Have a pleasant day."
She walks away quickly, feeling like a dog slinking back home with its tail between its legs. Once inside the keep, she slips into a hidden alcove behind a tapestry, lowering herself into a squat as she bares her breast to nurse.
Jaehaerys' tiny fist presses against her chest, his soft suckling the only sound in the dim space. But Joana doesn't relax. Fear coils tightly in her chest. If she returns to the gardens, Lady Stak might demand an answer—one she doesn't have.
Footsteps approach.
Joana presses herself against the wall, willing herself to disappear. The steps stop beside the tapestry, and before she can react, someone pulls it back sharply, exposing her hiding place.
It is a young woman.
Short, but buxom and beautiful, with dark ringlets cascading to her hips and the golden-brown skin of the Dornish. She wears red silks with gold accents, an enormous teardrop ruby resting between her full breasts. Gold rings adorn each of her fingers, and her dark eyes gleam with amusement.
"There you are," the woman says. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
She steps inside, pulling the tapestry back into place and sealing them in.
Joana frowns. "Do I know you?"
Perhaps it's the babe at her breast or the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders, but she doesn't bother with the usual courtesies. This woman is clearly highborn, likely in her mid-twenties, but she only smiles.
"No," she says. "But I know you."
Jaehaerys' mouth goes slack as he releases her breast, milk dribbling down his chin. Joana sighs, shifting him slightly to tap his back. He doesn't even seem to notice the woman watching them.
"You're Joana, aren't you?" the woman continues. "The northern bastard who has gained the Emperor's favor."
"It seems that is me," Joana says, still focused on her child. Jaehaerys lets out a tiny burp, smiling in contentment.
"And you would be?" she finally asks, lifting her gaze.
"I'm Arianne," the woman says. "Princess of Dorne. My father's heir."
Joana knows she should stand and curtsy, but she's too drained to care. Arianne merely smirks and takes a seat beside her, her dark eyes drifting to the baby in Joana's arms.
"You are the Emperor's cousin," Joana remarks.
Arianne nods. "The Gracious Mother is my aunt."
Her gaze softens as she looks at Jaehaerys. "Your son is very handsome. He reminds me of my firstborn, Lewyn. Though his hair was black from birth. I have five children, but only one son. Hold him close, and never let him out of your heart."
"Is your son here, then?" Joana asks coolly.
Arianne laughs. "No. He stayed in Sunspear with my father and his sisters. Too young for the capital, my father said—and I agreed. Lewyn isn't even ten."
She reaches forward, gently playing with Jaehaerys' chubby foot as it peeks out from under his gown. "Look at those sweet cheeks. My Dorella had cheeks like this when she was born. She's in Sunspear as well, under their grandfather's careful watch."
"Did you come with anyone to the capital, Princess?" Joana asks.
Arianne shrugs. "My brother and our uncle came as well. Prince Oberyn will take a seat on the imperial council, and Quentyn might stay to find a wife. But Daemon and I will return to Sunspear to take up our duties as heirs."
"Daemon?" Joana frowns.
"My husband," Arianne clarifies. "Did I not mention him?" She smiles brightly. "Ser Daemon Sand—the finest sword in all of Dorne."
"Sand? But that would make him—"
"A bastard?" Arianne's dark eyes glint with amusement. "Careful how you use that word, as you are one yourself."
She flicks her hair over her shoulder, golden bracelets tinkling with the movement. "We don't despise bastards in Dorne. They are born of passion and love. When Daemon first had me, I told my father I would marry him or no one. He pretended to refuse, but since I was a little girl, my father could never deny me anything. So, we were wed."
"How romantic," Joana says dryly.
Either Arianne doesn't notice her tone or chooses to ignore it. She simply smiles again.
"How ironic, in truth, that I love a bastard and my cousin does as well." She reaches out, lightly touching a brown curl that falls over Joana's shoulder. "Although I'm not sure love is the right term in the harem. Favor, perhaps? Lust?"
Joana exhales, growing weary of the conversation. "Is there something you want from me, Princess?"
Arianne's smile widens. "I wanted to meet the famed bastard who captured an emperor's heart."
She tilts her head. "If you hold such power over him, I would like to be your friend, Consort."
Joana isn't fooled. Arianne wants something more.
"I have no idea what I could offer you that you don't already have as a princess of Dorne and cousin to His Majesty," Joana says.
Arianne stands, still smirking. "I think you'll learn soon enough."
She pulls back the tapestry and strides away. Joana sighs, looking down at Jaehaerys, now sleeping peacefully in her arms.
Your family will drive me to madness, my son, she thinks.
As Joana passed them, she could feel their eyes turn toward her, their gazes sharp and cold enough to freeze over the Blackwater Bay. She met their stares briefly before shifting her attention elsewhere. Her mind wandered to the conversation she had overheard earlier, and she wondered if these two were the very women who had spoken so cruelly of her son. She recognized one—Mina Tyrell, Desmera's mother—but the other remained unknown to her.
Rather than dwell on their scrutiny, she looked away, focusing instead on the table where Aria and Serina were leading her.
Seated there were two high ladies engaged in conversation. Both had long, stunning auburn hair, though their appearances differed in other ways. One was tall and slender, dressed simply but with a grace that made her elegance unmistakable. The other was fuller in the figure, wearing elaborate cloth of gold and rich red velvet that gleamed under the morning light.
Joana noted Lady Myrcella sitting beside the plump woman, though she seemed disinterested in the discussion, idly poking at the sugar scone in front of her.
"If she is unhappy, why not marry her to someone else?" the elegant woman mused, her voice light but firm. She placed a reassuring hand over the round palm of her companion.
"You know Lord Velmont would not accept it," the other woman replied with a sigh. "I cannot go against him. It's unfair for you to think—"
"Mother," Aria interrupted, her voice cutting through their exchange. The two ladies turned in unison, their matching features now fully visible. Joana immediately saw the resemblance. These were not just highborn women sharing a conversation; they were sisters.
"This is Consort Joana," Aria continued without hesitation. "Joana, meet my mother, Lady Catelyn Stak, and my lady aunt, Lysa Velmont."
It was only at that moment that realization struck Joana—Lady Stak's sister and Myrcella's mother were one and the same.