Gazing upon the golden crown that matched the King's own in style and splendor, Margaery tilted her head with curious delight.
"Your Grace, what wondrous magic."
She fairly bubbled with excitement, naturally taking Joffrey's arm and giving it a gentle, playful shake.
"Teach me, please~"
"Change!" Margaery extended her pale, delicate hand and pointed it about randomly, pretending to weave spells. "Turn into mountains of gold. Oh, and beautiful jewels too."
Joffrey could not help but laugh at her charming display.
"There is no need for magic, my dear Margaery—you possess all such treasures already."
"You are Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
He brought the carefully crafted crown closer to the maiden's soft brown curls.
Margaery appeared suddenly bashful, shaking her head to avoid the approaching diadem, yet the crown followed her movements with relentless purpose.
Her eyes darted about nimbly for several heartbeats before she ceased her resistance entirely.
The queen's crown settled upon her brow with ceremonial weight.
The Queen of Thorns chose that moment to interject. "Your Grace, from your words it seems Renly yet lives, so his marriage contract with Margaery..."
The pleasant, flirtatious atmosphere shattered like glass.
Joffrey calmly accepted the golden rose wreath from Margaery's hands and wove it about his own crown with practiced ease.
Thoros of Myr pressed forward through the assembled crowd, brandishing a rolled parchment above his head.
"That marriage contract holds no validity whatsoever," the red priest declared.
"Renly stands revealed as traitor and ambitious usurper—neither good lord nor fit husband could he ever prove."
"Moreover, this was mere verbal agreement. Lady Margaery never gave her consent."
All present found themselves drawn to Thoros's proclamation.
The scroll in the red priest's grasp became the focus of countless eyes. It bore a six-pointed star pressed in wax—the new symbol of the Faith of the Seven.
"This is the annulment of marriage contract, signed by His High Holiness."
Understanding dawned immediately upon every face.
Any marriage unconsummated could be dissolved by the High Septon. Furthermore, such annulment required no witnesses—only petition from at least one party to the intended union.
Had Margaery made such petition?
The answer was written plain in every knowing glance.
Regardless, the document's authority remained unquestioned.
Thoros publicly broke the seal and presented the parchment to king and assembled nobles alike.
Margaery read its contents with growing clarity.
The document set forth articles of annulment and bore the High Septon's signature along with the Faith's official seal. An ink-stained quill lay at the bottom beside a blank line awaiting signature.
"Dearest Margaery."
Joffrey's voice carried gentle warmth. "Simply sign here, and all shall be set right. You may freely choose your heart's desire while sparing my uncle Renly from his consuming ambitions."
He added with playful jest: "Else your brother may grow quite wroth with us."
Soft laughter rippled through the gathering.
Every eye turned toward Loras, whether openly or with discrete glances, causing him to flush crimson with shame.
Margaery looked to her grandmother for guidance.
The Queen of Thorns tapped her walking stick against the ground. "His Grace shows such consideration. Good granddaughter, what cause have you for hesitation? Act swiftly and correct the foolish mistake your father made."
So Margaery lifted the quill, delicate ink marks flowing across parchment to form "Margaery Tyrell" in elegant script.
Then she smiled brilliantly at Joffrey and set the pen aside.
In the next instant, every Kingsguard raised voice in thunderous acclaim: "Long live Queen Margaery! Long live King Joffrey!"
Their cheers shook the very countryside and echoed long across the hills.
Joffrey stepped forward and intertwined his fingers with those of his new betrothed, turning to smile and wave at his loyal men.
The Highgarden soldiers serving as honor guard stood stunned for several heartbeats before the warm atmosphere moved them to join the celebration. Cries of "Long live the Queen!" and "Long live the King!" grew ever louder and more unified.
The Queen of Thorns narrowed her eyes—whether dozing or nodding approval remained unclear.
Margaery waved her free left hand to acknowledge the crowd's acclaim.
The atmosphere proved festive and harmonious indeed...
After some time, congratulations from noble ladies to the newly engaged couple gradually subsided, and the murmur of conversation quieted.
Evening shadows lengthened.
All present realized the King would truly enter Highgarden now.
The crowd parted respectfully, honor guards formed flanking lines, and musicians began playing melodious tunes meant to ease the growing tension.
Yet the music could not disturb the troubled thoughts weighing upon every mind.
The new alliance had formed with unseemly haste, its terms proving harsh indeed—insufficient to make folk forget what Highgarden had been mere hours before.
Until the previous night, none had imagined Highgarden might face war's threat.
Lord Mace and Lord Randyll Tarly commanded troops upon distant battlefields, while garrisons at Bitterbridge, Old Oak, and Blackcrown remained secure. How could Highgarden, nestled safely in the rear, welcome enemies to its very gates?
Yet Loras had appeared without warning, bearing news more shocking still.
Storm's End had fallen into King Joffrey's hands.
The rumored miracles and sorcery proved all too real—and greater, more terrible magic yet remained.
The "Kingsguard" who wielded divine power approached Highgarden's walls. Though fewer than two thousand strong, they commanded might surpassing twenty thousand common soldiers.
Before their "cannons," Highgarden's stout walls would crumble like rotten timber and shattered tile.
Loras had spoken with desperate earnestness, his words nearly pleading.
This intelligence matched perfectly with information conveyed by "Lazy" Leo Tyrell.
Could it be lies?
If neither man had been transformed into caged birds who merely repeated their master's words, then the claims held at least some credibility.
For Highgarden, even a fifty percent chance of destruction proved absolutely unacceptable.
Even the formidable Queen of Thorns had temporarily sheathed her sharpness, concealing her famous barbs lest they invite catastrophe.
Under such circumstances, however harsh King Joffrey's terms might prove, they could only be endured.
Yet hearts could not be so easily changed.
Margaery's marriage represented mixed fortune at best. Considering the premise of defeat, it might even be counted fortunate. People managed to greet them with smiling faces and maintain warm atmosphere.
However, more than a thousand soldiers accompanying the King would garrison Highgarden, with many remaining for extended periods.
What would come of that?
Ser Willas Tyrell approached with his characteristic limp. "Your Grace, Highgarden has prepared a sedan chair for your comfort. Please, follow me."
"Unnecessary." Joffrey's gaze swept over the assembled nobles.
After this half-day of personal observation, he had formed preliminary understanding of those before him.
Save for precious few exceptions, they embodied fascinating contradictions.
They were fearful yet arrogant, cautious yet hopeful.
They dreaded destructive power while doubting its existence. They resisted systemic change while craving its benefits.
Such contradictory nature was quintessentially human.
A servant brought forth the white destrier. Joffrey encircled Margaery's waist and lifted her onto the mount.
"That tickles~" Margaery giggled melodiously.
Joffrey swung into the saddle behind his betrothed, holding her within his arms while grasping the reins.
He looked down at Willas below.
"However comfortable a sedan chair might prove, how could it compare to touring such beautiful grounds with my lovely queen? The perfect opportunity for sharing sweet words meant for no ears but ours."
Willas bowed respectfully. "As Your Grace wishes. However, the plant maze within the walls proves quite complex—my sister likely cannot navigate it fully. Perhaps you would permit a servant to serve as guide?"
After issuing instructions through the mystical light screen, Joffrey displayed a mysterious smile.
"Fear not—it shall not remain complex much longer."