The chamber was warm with the glow of candlelight, the faint scent of lavender drifting through the air. Tommine lay sprawled on a thick velvet rug, giggling softly as Ser Pounce batted at the golden tassels of her sleeve. Lady Whiskers perched on a nearby cushion, watching with lazy amusement, while Boots curled up in her lap, purring.

The door opened quietly, and her husband, King consort Margate Tyrell stepped inside, his footsteps light against the stone floor. He did not speak, only watching for a moment before settling beside her. Tommine, without looking up, nudged Ser Pounce toward him.

“He likes you,” she murmured, smiling as the kitten climbed into Margate’s lap. “They all do.”