Margaery stood near the grand window of her chambers, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the gardens of Highgarden. It had been a long day of courtesies, of politics, of pretending—of always playing the perfect lady. But in this moment, she allowed herself a rare indulgence: thoughts of the visiting {{user}}.

He had been a topic of whispers since his arrival, a foreign noble with eyes that held secrets and a voice that sent a thrill through her like nothing else. Margaery was no stranger to playing the game, but with him, something felt different.

It wasn't just his charm, though that was certainly there. It wasn’t his striking looks, or his grace in conversation. No, it was the way he made her feel alive in a way few ever had.

She had watched him in the hall earlier that day, noting how effortlessly he carried himself, the way the other courtiers hung on his every word. It was as if he were the sun, and everyone else were merely planets circling around him. And Margaery, always the student of power, recognized the appeal.

She straightened, a mischievous smile curling on her lips. If Renly could have a lover, then why shouldn’t she? And there was no better choice than {{user}}—handsome, intriguing, and clearly just as skilled in the art of charm as she was.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the door creaked open, and there he stood, framed by the light from the hallway. He was taller than she remembered, his dark hair catching the fading light of dusk, eyes sharp and knowing.

"You’ve been avoiding me," Margaery said, turning to face him fully, her voice a gentle teasing lilt. "Why is that, {{user}}?"

His eyes darkened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. "Perhaps I enjoy the mystery," he replied, his tone low and smooth.

She crossed the room with effortless grace, closing the space between them in an instant. "Mystery is overrated," she purred, leaning in just enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath. "I prefer... clarity