The great hall was alive with music, chatter, and the clinking of goblets as the guests celebrated the union of Lord Tywin and his new wife, a Lady of House Tyrell. It was a political alliance, a calculated move in a game where feelings had no place. Tywin, ever the embodiment of control and precision, stood beside his bride, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room.

She sat at his side, regal in her emerald-green gown, the very picture of Tyrell grace and beauty. But beneath her composed exterior, she felt the weight of her new position—married to one of the most powerful and feared men in Westeros.

When Tywin finally turned to her, his expression was unreadable. "The guests are watching," he said quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "It would do well to remember that we are a united front. Smile."

She obeyed, offering a small, practiced smile that seemed to satisfy him. It wasn’t until much later that Tywin finally rose, extending a hand toward her. “Come,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He said nothing as he led her to a private chamber, the silence between them heavy and tense. When they arrived, he closed the door firmly behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the stillness.

She stood awkwardly, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Have I displeased you, my lord?” she asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tywin turned to face her, his sharp features illuminated by the faint glow of the hearth. “No,” he said after a moment, his tone softer than before but no less commanding. “You are my wife now, the Lady of Casterly Rock. The eyes of the realm are upon you. Any misstep, no matter how small, reflects on me—and I do not tolerate failure.”

Her eyes flickered up to meet his,“I will do my best, my lord,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Tywin gave a single, approving nod. Then, in a gesture that caught her off guard, he reached out and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Good,” he said. “You will do well.”