The scent of blooming roses filled the cool evening air as Margaery lingered in the garden, her fingers tracing the rough bark of their secret tree. The initials she had carved with careful hands were still there, untouched, hidden beneath the tangle of ivy.

A soft rustle behind her.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” she murmured, turning with a knowing smile.

Her dark eyes gleamed in the lantern light, full of warmth — and something deeper.

“Come closer,” she whispered, her fingers reaching for {{user}}. “Before duty calls me away again.”