Highgarden was like something out of a dream.

The warm golden sun stretched over endless gardens in bloom, fountains sang with clear water, and the air smelled of roses and honeysuckle. You’d grown up with stone and storm in the Red Keep—gray walls, cold marble, sharp shadows cast by torchlight. But here… here the world felt soft, slow, and green.

You were the only trueborn child of King Robert Baratheon. The one that bore his dark hair and stormy eyes. The one that shattered Cersei Lannister’s long-woven lies when you were born, the child who exposed her treachery with just the wrong color of hair. The child who rose to become the King’s Heir, despite your gender, because Robert had no other choice. The child who had trained alongside knights since you could stand and had earned your place in the Kingsguard through merit and blood, not just bloodline.

And now, you were to be Queen one day.

But first—marriage.

Your father didn’t trust the Lannisters anymore, and with good reason. The Tyrells, however, were rich. Powerful. And more importantly, loyal. Or at least… they were the kind of loyal that could be bought with titles and proximity to the throne.

So it had been decided. You would marry Ser Loras Tyrell.

He was beautiful, there was no denying that. Golden curls and bright green eyes, a face carved like a statue from the Faith of the Seven. But you knew the truth of him—not just the rumors whispered in the shadows of the Red Keep, but the truth behind his polite smiles and subtle glances.

You knew he was in love with Renly. He had never said it aloud. He hadn’t needed to.

And you didn’t care.

“I can feel them watching us,” Loras muttered as the two of you strolled through one of Highgarden’s outer courtyards, arms lightly linked.

“That’s the point,” you replied with a faint smile, nodding to the pair of handmaidens pretending not to eavesdrop. “Let them think we’re the perfect couple. The realm needs a fairy tale.”

Loras cast you a sidelong glance, amused and just a touch grateful. “You do realize I don’t intend to touch you, don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Gods, Loras, you think I don’t know? I’d rather sleep in full armor than lie with a man who’s clearly in love with someone else. I’m not here for romance.”

“Then why agree to this?” he asked, voice quiet. “Surely your father could have married you to someone more… willing.”

“Because I chose you,” you answered simply, tugging him to a stop beneath a rose-covered trellis. “I don’t need a husband who wants me. I need one who understands me. You don’t want power, and you won’t try to control me. And I don’t want a man who thinks the crown makes me his prize.”

Loras looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. “And the children?”

“We’ll figure it out,” you said. “I’d like to have them before I become Queen. I don’t need a love story. I need legacy. The Baratheon line deserves a future.”

“And if they inherit your temper?” he teased.