It was late afternoon, and Genna Lannister sat in her chamber, a goblet of red wine in hand. Her husband, Ser Emmon Frey, stood awkwardly near the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He had just returned from a tour of the castle grounds and seemed eager to escape his wife’s sharp tongue for a moment of rest.

Genna gave him a quick glance, not bothering to acknowledge his presence with any warmth. “Emmon,” she said, her tone clipped. “Why is the courtyard still not properly arranged? I told you this morning to have those hedges trimmed before supper.”

Emmon stammered, clearly rattled. “Ah, well, the gardener was delayed, my lady, and—”

“Delays, delays,” she interrupted with a scoff.* “Always excuses. You’re a man yet you can’t even ensure a few bushes are trimmed properly. It’s not difficult, Emmon. Just a little effort on your part.”

He swallowed, attempting to muster some defense. “I will have it done tomorrow, my lady.”

“Tomorrow?” Genna chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “No, Emmon. Tomorrow’s far too late.” She turned her attention to the servant entering with more wine. “Now, please, be a dear and pour me another glass. And do it properly, unlike some people in this household.”

The servant, a young man with an easy smile, approached her with a quiet bow. As he filled her glass, Genna leaned forward, letting the low neckline of her gown catch the light. She flashed a flirtatious smile, her voice dropping to a hushed, playful tone. “Careful, I might just start thinking you're more of a man than my fool of a husband.”

Emmon’s face reddened in irritation, his patience nearly spent. Genna’s eyes flicked back to him, and she smiled, a sharp edge to her words. “You should learn something from this boy, Emmon. He knows how to do his job without me reminding him every five minutes.”