GOT: My Secret Lover is sansa-Chapter 128 Dorne?

The herald snapped out of his shock, yanking his reins so hard his mount reared back. Without another word, he dug his spurs into the horse’s flanks and galloped frantically back down the road toward King’s Landing, the white flag of parley snapping wildly in the wind until he disappeared around a bend.

Alaric watched the dust settle, his face completely unreadable.

"A rather bold gamble, wouldn’t you say?"

The dry, raspy voice came from just behind the vanguard’s front line. The ranks of heavily armored knights parted seamlessly to allow an ornate, horse-drawn wheelhouse to roll forward. The wooden shutters were thrown open, revealing Olenna Tyrell peering out, her heavily wrinkled face pinched in a mask of skeptical disapproval.

"Or do you simply not care about the Stark girl’s life?" Olenna continued, her sharp eyes boring into Alaric’s. "Because if Joffrey does spike her head on the gates, it will make negotiations with the North... complicated, to say the least."

Alaric didn’t even turn his horse to face the Queen of Thorns. He just kept his eyes on the horizon. "Sansa Stark is perfectly safe, Lady Olenna."

Olenna raised a solitary, skeptical brow. "Oh??"

"She’s safe," Alaric repeated flatly, offering absolutely zero elaboration. "That is all you need to know. Captains! Sound the advance!"

The horns blew, and the massive host lurched forward once again, the rhythmic thud of boots and hooves swallowing the silence. Olenna let out an annoyed huff, snapping her wooden shutters closed with a sharp clack, clearly displeased with his refusal to explain his methods.

As the column resumed its march, Margaery spurred her pristine white mare closer to Alaric’s massive destrier. She kept her posture perfectly straight, every inch the dutiful Queen, but her eyes were swirling with calculated curiosity. She glanced at him, her voice low enough that only he could hear over the din of the army. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

"You’re very confident in her safety," Margaery murmured, studying his profile. "Joffrey is a rabid dog, Alaric. Even a cornered dog can bite. How can you be so sure she won’t come to harm before we breach the walls?"

Alaric glanced sideways at her, a faint, knowing smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "You’ll know soon enough, Margaery."

It was a dismissal, plain and simple. Margaery opened her mouth, the sharp, inquisitive nature of a Tyrell urging her to pry, to pick apart his secrets until she understood all the pieces on the board. But she paused. She saw the immovable, iron look in his eyes and knew that pushing the issue would only annoy him. He was a man who played his cards close to his chest until the exact moment he decided to slam them on the table.

Instead of asking again, Margaery simply offered a soft, yielding sigh. She guided her horse until their legs were practically brushing. With a graceful, affectionate movement, she reached over and wrapped her hands gently over his thick, gauntleted arm where it rested on his saddle pommel.

"Alright," she whispered softly, offering him a warm, trusting smile that smoothed away her earlier political mask. "I will leave the magic to my King, then."

He turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with hers for a brief, grounding moment as the shadow of the capital finally began to rise over the treeline.

...

Alaric sat in the back of his command tent, He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the glowing blue interface that only he could see.

[Current MP Balance: 18,920]

He tapped his fingers on the armrest, his mind running through the numbers. With the capture of Jaime and the fall of the Boltons, his bank was overflowing. He scrolled through the summoning tab, bypassing the familiar Blood Knights and Dire-Wolves until he reached the very bottom.

[New Unit Unlocked: Sky-Scourge Sentinel (Gargoyle)]

Cost: 6,000 MP per unit

Type: High-Altitude Siege Construct

Description: A thirty-foot titan of weathered stone. Winged siege constructs capable of ’Stoneform Descent’—dropping from the clouds like meteors to absolutely shatter enemy fortifications.

Alaric stared at the description. If he summoned three of them, the walls of the Red Keep wouldn’t last an hour. He hovered his finger over the ’Confirm’ button, calculating if he should burn 18,000 points right now or keep the buffer for a rainy day.

The sound of the tent flap shifting made him blink the screen away instantly. Margaery stepped inside, her expression a mix of confusion and interest.

"Lord Husbend," she said, her voice dropping some of its usual playfulness. "You need to come to the main pavilion. Now."

Alaric stood up, adjusting the heavy leather of his sword belt. "What is it? Has Joffrey did something??"

"No," Margaery said, shaking her head. "Something much more unexpected. A party has arrived from the south. From the Prince of Dorne. They are requesting an audience with you."

Alaric paused, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. "Dorne?"

He felt a genuine spark of curiosity. In every version of the world he knew, the Martells stayed behind their mountains, nursing their old grudges and waiting for the Lannisters to rot from the inside. They hated the lions, yes, but they were famously slow to move.

"What are they doing here?" Alaric muttered, more to himself than her. "I know they want Lannister blood, but coming to my camp while I’m at the gates of the city...?"

"Grandmother is already with them," Margaery added, her eyes flashing with a silent warning. "And my father is... well, he’s trying to look important. But the Dornishmen don’t seem impressed by his titles."

Alaric nodded, his mind already shifting gears. "Lead the way."

They stepped out into the camp. As they approached the large Tyrell pavilion, Alaric saw the standard—a red sun pierced by a golden spear.