Dominating.
Overbearing.
Karl's words struck Margaery like a thunderbolt, leaving her frozen in place.
The disbelief in her eyes grew with every passing second as she stared at him. Seeing her reaction, Karl merely snorted and tapped his knife against the plate, the sharp sound snapping her back to reality.
"Let me guess," he said calmly.
"If I accept House Tyrell's goodwill, what happens to my uncle, Renly Baratheon?"
"Will he conveniently die from poisoning?"
"Will there be an assassination?"
"Or perhaps a tragic accident?"
Karl's eyes narrowed.
"Or maybe you'll simply tie him up with a ribbon and present him to me as a gift?"
The relentless questions left Margaery speechless.
For the first time in a long while, she felt genuinely cornered.
"I... I don't know."
Karl didn't seem interested in her answer.
He set down his fork, picked up a silk napkin, and casually wiped the corners of his mouth.
Then he leaned back against the table, crossing his arms.
His deep blue eyes fixed on Margaery Tyrell.
The famous Rose of Highgarden.
The woman who had willingly come to him.
"I remember House Tyrell already swore loyalty to Renly."
His voice remained calm, yet every word felt like a blade.
"And now, for some reason, you're offering that loyalty to me instead."
He tilted his head slightly.
"So should I assume that if another rival appears tomorrow, House Tyrell will abandon me as easily as it abandoned him?"
"Tell me, Margaery."
"Should I consider House Tyrell a friend or an enemy?"
Margaery could not answer.
No matter what she said, it would change nothing.
She was intelligent enough to understand that Karl had already made up his mind.
After a long silence, she finally spoke.
"What are you going to do?"
Strangely enough, she felt calmer now.
The fear that had gripped her earlier gradually faded.
She simply wanted an honest answer.
Karl stood up.
The silk napkin slipped from his hand and landed on the floor.
Step by step, he walked toward her.
His expression remained peaceful.
Yet somehow, that made him even more intimidating.
"Conquest."
The single word echoed through the room.
Margaery frowned.
"Why?"
"What possible reason is there?"
"To prove your strength?"
"To imitate Aegon the Conqueror?"
"Or is it because you've brought dragons back into the world and want to prove that the blood in your veins is not inferior to that of any Targaryen?"
Her brown eyes met his directly.
There was challenge in them.
Defiance.
Because if Karl truly intended to plunge the realm into war merely to satisfy his pride, then she would despise him.
At that moment, Margaery felt something inside her begin to change.
Throughout the day, Karl had caused her pain again and again.
He had deceived her.
Used her.
Betrayed her expectations.
And now he seemed determined to shatter everything she believed.
The perfect image she had unconsciously built around him was beginning to crack.
For the first time, she was seeing him clearly.
Not as a hero.
Not as a dream.
But as a man.
Karl suddenly reached forward.
His hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look directly at him.
Their eyes met.
Blue against brown.
A faint smile appeared on Karl's lips.
"Aegon the Conqueror was great."
"He changed history."
"But his vision only reached so far."
"Or perhaps that was all he was capable of."
He leaned slightly closer.
"Do you want to hear about my conquest?"
His thumb gently brushed across her lips.
Margaery's heartbeat quickened.
The candlelight illuminated her face.
Wrapped loosely in a bedsheet, she looked less like a noble lady and more like a painting brought to life.
Outside, rain drummed against the windows.
Thunder rolled through the distant sky.
Yet within the room, everything felt strangely quiet.
Margaery found herself genuinely curious.
"What makes your conquest different?"
Her voice had become softer.
"Conquest only brings death and suffering."
"How can you call such ambition noble?"
Karl's expression immediately grew serious.
"Because every great change in history has required sacrifice."
His voice was calm.
"But look at the Seven Kingdoms."
"They govern themselves."
"They fight endless wars."
"They waste countless lives."
"And despite all of it, the realm remains weak."
He took a deep breath.
"My conquest is different."
"I want complete unification."
"I want to build a truly powerful empire."
The moment those words left his mouth, thunder exploded outside.
A flash of lightning illuminated the room.
The windows rattled violently as wind and rain battered the castle.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Margaery stared at him.
Her eyes widened.
Slowly, she rose to her feet.
The bedsheet slipped from her shoulders, pooling around her feet.
She didn't even notice.
Her mind was elsewhere.
Only now did she truly understand the scale of Karl's ambition.
He wasn't fighting for a throne.
He wasn't fighting for revenge.
He wasn't fighting for recognition.
He wanted to reshape the entire world.
Her lips moved.
Several times she tried to speak.
No words came out.
Because a terrifying realization had appeared in her mind.
Karl believed every word he was saying.
Worse yet—
He might actually succeed.
"Do you understand what you're saying?"
Her voice trembled.
"You'll make enemies of everyone."
"Your ambition will destroy you."
For a brief moment, she imagined a colossal shadow standing behind Karl.
A monstrous silhouette stretching toward the heavens.
A beast with its jaws open wide enough to devour the world.
Yet Karl remained completely calm.
In truth, Margaery was the first person to hear his genuine ambitions.
Not Tyrion.
Not his advisors.
Not even his closest followers.
Only her.
Because Karl had finally decided it was time.
The schemes of House Tyrell.
The betrayal of House Crakehall.
The endless political games.
All of it had convinced him that cautious development was no longer enough.
If war was inevitable, then he would seize the initiative.
"You're right."
"I am making enemies of everyone."
Karl bent down and picked up the fallen bedsheet.
"But how can you build a new house without tearing down the old one first?"
A trace of complexity flashed across his eyes.
Then he gently wrapped the bedsheet around Margaery's shoulders.
Before she could react, he lifted her into his arms.
Margaery gasped.
Her hands instinctively pressed against his chest.
The warmth of his body made her thoughts scatter.
Karl carried her back to the bed and carefully laid her down.
Her face was completely red now.
Like a rose in full bloom.
"You..."
She could barely form a sentence.
Karl leaned over her.
His voice remained calm.
"Only by becoming the enemy of those who profit from the current system can I gain the justification to destroy it."
"A truly strong kingdom requires central authority."
"It requires sacrifice."
Margaery wanted to argue.
Wanted to push him away.
Yet somehow she couldn't find the strength.
Finally, she asked the question that mattered most.
"Does that include House Tyrell?"
Her eyes searched his face.
"Will my family become one of those sacrifices?"
Karl looked directly into her eyes.
His answer came without hesitation.
"I can tolerate only one thing."
"True submission."
The rain continued throughout the night.
By morning, the storm had passed.
The skies were clear.
Sunlight reflected off the nearby sea, while the blood spilled during the previous night's massacre had largely been washed away.
Within Crakehall Castle, the surviving soldiers and knights sat silently in the muddy courtyard.
Many looked lost.
Others looked furious.
None of them had expected Karl Baratheon to seize the castle and purge House Crakehall immediately after being welcomed as a guest.
The truth of what had happened spread quickly.
Ser Arys Oakheart had personally informed many of the survivors.
Some reacted with resentment.
Others simply seemed confused.
Regardless of their feelings, the outcome could not be changed.
The castle now belonged to Karl.
Arys himself looked exhausted.
He had spent the entire night collecting the bodies of his fallen brothers.
Bronn and Sandor Clegane looked no better.
Both men sat nearby, changing out of rain-soaked armor and bloodstained clothing.
"Damn it."
Sandor dumped muddy water from one of his boots.
"I expected blood on a battlefield."
"Not in a lord's dining hall."
Bronn laughed.
The sellsword was washing himself beside a well.
Unlike Sandor, he seemed to be in an excellent mood.
After cleaning himself, he walked over and stared thoughtfully around the castle.
The Hound noticed.
"What are you looking at?"
Bronn chuckled.
"I've seen plenty of castles."
"But never from this perspective."
He grinned.
"If I'd tried this before, some lord would've hanged me."
"Probably while a bored guard slowly cut the rope with a dull knife just to make the execution last longer."
Sandor rolled his eyes.
"You're an idiot."
Before Bronn could respond, a stir passed through the courtyard.
Soldiers quickly lowered their heads.
"Your Grace."
"Your Grace."
Karl approached.
Bronn and Sandor immediately stood.
Karl stopped in front of them.
"You fought well."
His gaze settled on Bronn.
"So tell me."
"Do you want gold?"
"Or do you want the power you once dreamed about?"
Bronn froze.
For a moment, he looked around the castle.
At the walls.
The towers.
The banners.
The future.
Then he made his choice.
Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee.
Raising the dragonbone-hilted dagger given to him the previous night, he offered it to Karl.
A smile appeared on Karl's face.
"It seems you've made your decision."
He accepted the dagger.
Then he spoke the words Bronn had dreamed of hearing his entire life.
"Rise, Ser Bronn."
"You may now begin thinking of a name for your house."
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)