Once she had quietly exited the court, Margaery Tyrell, accompanied by her cousin, entered her carriage, effectively isolating themselves from the clamorous cheers outside.
The serene and delicate expression she had worn in public melted away, replaced by one of pensive surprise. "He did not seem to bear the coldness of the Lannisters, nor the brute fury of the Baratheons."
Her cousin, Elinor, playfully laughed. "What could he possibly be, then? Surely not a secret Targaryen?"
Margaery pinched Elinor's cheek with a hint of exasperation. "How could that be?" From the moment she had laid eyes on Renly Baratheon, an undeniable intuition had struck her: he was undoubtedly a good man. Yet, she could also see he would never trust her. In his eyes, she was merely a rose from Highgarden, seeking proximity to him for the sake of a crown.
"Margaery, do you think he has feelings for you?" another of her ladies-in-waiting inquired, her face bright with anticipation. "Prince Renly is so handsome. Future minstrels will surely sing of the union between Highgarden and King's Landing."
Margaery smiled again, this time with a subtle, knowing undertone. "Of course, they will." Just as they once sang of Lady Catelyn and the Young Wolf, she thought. She glanced down at her green gown, chosen meticulously to complement her complexion and tailored to perfection, all to leave a favorable impression. It appeared her efforts had not borne the fruit she desired.
Upon returning to their manse in the city, Margaery was gracefully greeted by her brother, Ser Garlan, who had come to escort her inside. The siblings strolled hand-in-hand through the corridor, which was adorned with tapestries reminiscent of Highgarden.
"Sister, do you believe this prince is a suitable candidate for a future king?" Garlan asked.
"He may not mirror the king's gluttony, nor does he possess the queen's cruelty," Margaery replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "He shows concern for the common folk. At the very least, that will ensure his long reign upon the Iron Throne." Her tone then shifted to one of analysis. "However, he currently lacks the decisive edge of a king. In my view, neither Robert nor Cersei has nurtured him into a truly worthy ruler."
Garlan nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. So, you mean to say Renly is exactly as rumored: handsome, charming, and empathetic. He embodies the persona of a perfect knight."
"At least he isn't dressed like a flamboyant peacock," Margaery teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
The siblings shared a laugh and then went to sit beside their grandmother, the Queen of Thorns.
Olenna Tyrell was a diminutive elderly woman whose advanced age belied her sharp wit and the immense, unspoken authority she wielded within Highgarden, reportedly surpassing even that of her son, Lord Mace. Margaery and Garlan had been raised under her care and held her in the highest regard.
"Margaery," the Queen of Thorns said leisurely as she retrieved a pastry, "would you recount how everyone behaved upon your arrival at the council chamber today?"
Margaery recounted her experience in great detail. Olenna seldom interrupted, except at one moment when an odd expression crossed her face. "Could it be that he, like Robert, harbors a fondness for hunting?"
Margaery sighed. "Grandmother, after all, he is a Baratheon."
"No, I am inclined to believe he has not been entirely truthful with you," Olenna countered, tenderly grasping her granddaughter's hand. Her aged and veined palm was a stark reminder of the beauty it once possessed. "How could someone who spends so much time in the council suddenly propose a hunting trip? That was not a Baratheon impulse. It was likely a courtesy learned from the Starks of Winterfell."
The Queen of Thorns gazed deeply into her granddaughter's eyes. "What manner of people are the Baratheons? Storms. Fortunately, as long as he retains some semblance of reason, it is not a grave concern. However, should you discover any illegitimate offspring of his in the north, do not be overly astonished. Simply eliminate them. Remember, never let your true intentions show. In his eyes, you must be the woman who desires to be queen, not the woman who desires him. He will not harbor any tender feelings for you otherwise."
Margaery felt a flush of warmth on her cheeks. "Indeed, that is the truth, Grandmother. Our marriage is solely a political alliance. It was so in the past, it is so now, and it shall remain so in the future."
"I hope you will not allow emotions to cloud your judgment," Olenna warned. "Ever since Luthor's demise, the world's perception of Highgarden has shifted to that of a weak and ineffectual land, a sentiment your father's posturing has only deepened. Yet, should you become queen, it would be the key to restoring Highgarden's status."
"Grandmother speaks wisely," Garlan added. "Love does not endure, but self-interest will always reign supreme."
Margaery felt a wave of resolve wash over her. "Thank you, Grandmother. Garlan. So, shall I accompany him on the hunt?"
The Queen of Thorns regarded her blossoming granddaughter, understanding that what she needed now was not more advice, but affirmation. "Follow your heart, Margaery. Do not forget, you are the rose of Highgarden. The only one that matters."
Laughter from other girls echoed through the estate, while distant sounds of merriment reached them from King's Landing. This atmosphere of support granted Margaery immense strength.
She spoke resolutely. "I will accompany him. If the king desires a refined lady, I shall become one. If the king wishes to ride, I will master horsemanship within a week. Nothing shall deter me, for I have my grandmother, my brother, and the entirety of Highgarden at my back."
At this very moment, Margaery's eyes were devoid of any trace of disappointment. She was acutely aware that success was ultimately within her grasp.