"Indeed sweet."
Joffrey cupped spring water in his palm, taking but the smallest sip.
"Ha! Mortal king, you have been deceived! I did not guide you here for your benefit—this spring water belongs to we flower fairies by ancient right."
Margaery reclined upon the fountain's stone rim, stirring the pool's surface with both hands. Cool spring water filled her mouth, her throat moving periodically as she swallowed, the silk of her gown stretched taut across her chest, revealing enchanting curves.
Splash, splash~
Streams cascaded from above, striking the rippling surface, striking the maiden's delicate skin, striking the small pool cupped within her lips, sending droplets scattering like liquid diamonds.
Margaery seemed to find endless delight in her play.
Joffrey watched the beautiful scene in quiet appreciation, reluctant to interrupt such innocent pleasure.
Highgarden Rose.
Had the clever and intelligent "Rose of Highgarden," Margaery Tyrell, truly fallen for the king at first sight so completely that she abandoned all pretense?
Joffrey dared not claim such pride.
Yet the beauty before him was undeniably real. That sufficed—why trouble himself with questions of sincerity or calculation in other matters?
Moreover, he possessed ample confidence to protect all that belonged to him. In his presence, people would show only their most beautiful and pure aspects.
Judge by actions, not intentions.
Simply enjoy what was offered—why entangle himself in needless questions of human hearts and hidden natures, inviting only troubles?
Thus Joffrey settled beside the maiden, his gaze adoring, his manner affectionate, showing no trace of distance or unfamiliarity.
The two appeared as lovers lost in each other's company.
Before the fountain could completely soak her garments, Margaery expelled the spring water from her mouth and sat upright.
"Ah, I have had my fill, quite enough."
She rubbed her belly with both hands, breathing through parted lips, her clothes rendered half-transparent, her hair disheveled in charming disarray.
Joffrey gently combed the maiden's tresses with his fingers.
Margaery lifted her face, wide eyes gazing directly into his with captivating intensity.
They drew ever closer.
Near enough to feel each other's breath, Margaery closed her eyes, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. "Your Grace..."
Joffrey suddenly straightened.
"Flower fairy, pray show some restraint. Mortals and fairies cannot love—especially since you are the tiniest of spirits."
Margaery started with surprise, then dramatically widened her eyes, adorably indignant.
"Hmph! You jest with me cruelly. Very well—I am no longer a flower fairy but a mortal maiden. Margaery. Will that suffice?"
Joffrey smiled and nodded. "Of course, my enchanting queen."
Again they leaned toward each other.
Yet Joffrey sighed and withdrew once more.
Margaery's anger flared as she clenched small fists and struck him twice. "You insufferable wretch! What excuse now?"
Joffrey spread his hands in apparent helplessness.
"I cannot help myself—seeing your pure countenance at such proximity makes base desire difficult. I wish only to admire you quietly."
"Hmph, mere excuses," Margaery pouted with charming petulance.
"I believe we require greater closeness and understanding. If you would have me kiss you now, then..." Joffrey chuckled knowingly.
"Call me 'brother.'"
Margaery appeared suddenly shy. "Would that not be improper? You are three years my junior."
"Is that so?" Joffrey pulled her forcefully into his embrace. "Feel carefully—save for age, in what aspect am I small?"
Margaery rested her head against his chest, voice barely above a whisper.
Joffrey moved his hands restlessly while feigning puzzlement. "What did you say? I could not hear clearly—speak again, louder."
Margaery's lips brushed his ear. "Can you hear me now... brother~"
"Good sister."
With deep satisfaction, Joffrey cupped her face and leaned down to bestow a passionate kiss...
Afterward, the vast maze became their private realm, letting them play and frolic without restraint, running and chasing with none to disturb their pleasure.
Much time passed before they reached the maze's exit.
The white destrier carried the lovers at leisurely pace, arriving before the second wall's gate.
"Hail, Your Grace! Good day, Your Grace!"
Guards wearing six-pointed stars or golden rose livery respectfully stepped aside, not daring the slightest hesitation.
Clop, clop, clop.
The white horse walked directly through the gateway, its pure tail swaying freely, brushing past the guards and their polished mail.
The sound of hooves gradually softened.
Only then did the guards straighten, gazing after the king's receding form.
Most guards bearing golden roses could not help touching the backs of their necks, feeling flat surfaces—painless yet still unsettling.
After all, within their necks lay not flesh and blood, but mysterious dragonglass crystals.
The clear visions before their eyes could be no illusion, but the king's gift made manifest.
Clop, clop, clop.
The hoofbeats maintained steady rhythm, neither light nor heavy, like musical accompaniment that enhanced their touring pleasure.
The scenery beyond the second wall proved even more abundant.
Verdant growth flourished everywhere—flowers bloomed in profusion, gardens and fountains alternated with artificial waterfalls, stone sculptures, and marble colonnades. Walls and statuary bore decorations of grapes, roses, and trailing vines, natural and crafted beauty perfectly integrated.
Today brought exceptional quiet.
Margaery could not help asking with curiosity, "So few people about—where has everyone gone?"
While Joffrey played at capturing the maiden's nimble fingers, he replied casually, "Where else? They receive Divine Grace—a blessed thing. The Seven Kingdoms' future depends upon it."
Margaery nodded in confusion. "Loras and the others mentioned it. It seems quite powerful."
Ha, caught you! Joffrey's left hand seized the girl's wrist and brought it to his mouth for a tender, greedy bite.
"Good sister, would you have it as well?" Joffrey asked teasingly.
Margaery ceased struggling, affecting helpless sighs. "Even should I desire it, if brother will not grant it, what can sister do?"
"How could I refuse?" Joffrey smiled with quiet satisfaction.
"Need sister but offer a sweet kiss, and brother shall not only grant it but bestow even finer and more potent Divine Grace."
"You must keep your word." Margaery's cheeks flushed faintly as she turned to brush his lips with butterfly lightness.
Joffrey shook his head. "You cheat shamelessly."
"However," Joffrey lowered his head until his nose touched the smooth skin of her nape, "I shall forgive you this once."
He pressed his lips to the delicate skin at the base of her neck, close to her spine.
"Ahh~" Margaery arched involuntarily, her body tensing, complexion turning rose-pink as if electric current had coursed through her entire being.
The lips that wrought such sensation withdrew from her nape, the current faded, leaving her strangely bereft.
Yet soon Margaery exclaimed with excitement.
"Oh my! How wondrous!"
"I saw so much—no, not saw exactly. More like dreaming. What is this power?"
Joffrey explained patiently, "This is all information within the Divine Grace network—the common home of those blessed with Divine Grace, our shared domain. Good sister, use this gift carefully. Do not let such power control you."
Margaery nodded eagerly, though how much she truly absorbed remained unclear.
Joffrey studied the sky's growing shadows.
"Evening approaches." He turned his mount about.
"I had hoped to visit Highgarden's sept and godswood as well, but that must await another occasion."
Margaery lay quietly within his embrace.
Joffrey spoke softly, "After tonight, we who sign this alliance shall be true family."
Indeed, let us call it the 'Highgarden Treaty.'
With a flick of the reins, the white destrier began climbing toward the hilltop...