By the Seven Gods, what kind of foolish woman gets distracted at her own wedding?
Margaery cursed herself inwardly, relieved that her father's reminder had come in time and that most guests hadn't noticed her delayed reaction. This wasn't her first marriage—after a quick bow to express her apology, she relied on muscle memory to guide her through the motions: turning, facing Aegon, and under the gaze of thousands, allowing her father behind her to remove the green cloak of House Tyrell. She lowered her shoulders slightly, letting the young king drape the bright red cloak of House Targaryen over her.
Even if he had something to say, Aegon did not show it now. A gentle smile remained on his youthful, handsome face as he fastened the cloak at her throat, signifying that from this moment on, he would protect Margaery in place of Lord Tyrell. Seeing that the ceremony was complete, the Archbishop, supporting his weary frame, finally declared solemnly: Aegon and Margaery were henceforth husband and wife, joined as one.
From this moment on, the Flower of Highgarden became Margaery Targaryen, once again Queen of the Seven Kingdoms after several years. A perfect alliance between two great powers was thus fully established. The gathered guests erupted in cheers, crowding forward in turn to offer their congratulations to the newlyweds.
Amid the joyful and harmonious celebration, two armored soldiers running in from a distance stood out starkly. One carried a small flag denoting an urgent military matter, and the other held a wooden box. They shouted as they pushed through the crowd toward the center. The guards, noticing their approach, quickly parted the crowd to let them through. After verifying their identities, they were escorted directly to the king.
"Did Daenerys's army begin to cross the river, or did the Dornish move up?"
At such a crucial moment, only one of these two—or both—could have occurred.
The young king spoke with a serious expression but showed no panic. They were separated from the Night's Watch Industrial Park on the north bank by only a river, and the Dornish army, camped to the south, had not yet declared their position. The chance that someone would create trouble during the wedding was high. Thus, though a celebration was underway, most of the commanding generals remained at their posts. Under the leadership of Randyll Tarly and his son, they maintained high readiness, prepared to respond at a moment's notice. Even the groom himself wore armor beneath his ceremonial robe, with a sword at his waist, ready to shift into command mode if necessary.
"Neither. A ship left the dock to the north and landed on the south bank. It dropped off a local claiming to bring the Queen's wedding gift."
The second soldier stepped forward and presented the wooden box to the group.
The Queen's wedding gift?
Everyone leaned in closer—it was a finely crafted wooden box, though not particularly ornate, tied with a red ribbon and bow, unmistakably packaged as a gift.
All present knew the intent behind the gesture was far from kind, and speculated about what might lie inside.
A human head? It wouldn't fit, and no important members of House Tyrell or the Golden Company had fallen into enemy hands.
A pile of manure? Crude and tasteless. It might disgust some Riverlords or Golden Company officers, but would likely only enrage them and steel their resolve.
The crowd buzzed with speculation, but only Margaery grew inwardly cold and wary.
The bizarre assassination of her previous husband, Renly Baratheon, remained vivid in her memory and likely always would. Though the Golden Company claimed they had paid a hefty price to hire two sorcerers from across the Narrow Sea—said to be capable of warding off Binding Shadow magic—there were other means in the world to kill a man.
She gripped Aegon's arm tightly, stopping him from approaching the box, not that he had shown any such intent.
"Your Grace, please have the crowd cleared and have armored guards raise shields before opening the box," she said in a tone that allowed no objection, a stark contrast to her usual gentle manner. "There could be traps or mechanisms inside. It's dangerous."
Aegon accepted his new queen's first recommendation seriously and swiftly ordered the guards to clear the crowd, then ordered the soldiers to raise shields and prepare for anything before opening the box. Most of the wedding guests were lords and commanders, not naive villagers, and they were well aware they were still on a battlefield. Rather than rush forward for entertainment, they retreated in an orderly fashion, forming a perimeter. The soldier who had carried the box set it down carefully, shielded it with a guard's shield, untied the ribbon, and slowly lifted the lid.
No fireballs burst forth. No hidden blades flew out. The soldier reached inside and pulled out the contents for all to see: four solid iron balls, each the size of a fist, black and glossy. From the weight in the soldier's hands, it was clear they were solid, and no one could guess what they were meant for.
Just as a second wave of speculation broke out, the soldier who had opened the box made a new discovery.
"Oh, there's a note underneath!"
There had been four iron balls inside, three forming a triangle at the bottom with the fourth placed in the center on top. The soldier removed them one by one, tapping each against the ground to confirm they were solid. He even smashed the wooden box apart to ensure there were no hidden mechanisms. Finally, he picked up the folded note that had been lying beneath.
"What does it say?" Aegon asked calmly. "Read it aloud for all to hear."
At worst, it would be a few vulgar insults or another jab at his parentage and legitimacy. He was long used to such things.
A king has no need to fear words. To conceal such a message would only make him appear guilty. Aegon Targaryen faced the world with open eyes and a clean conscience. Besides, everyone here had already chosen a side after careful consideration. There were no neutrals in this gathering.
What trouble could a mere note cause?
It was a fair thought. Unfortunately, the soldier was illiterate and had to look around for help. Lord Jon Connington, the Hand of the King, stepped forward without hesitation, took the note from his hand, and read it carefully. Confirming that there was only one line, he gave a derisive snort and read it aloud:
"It says, 'In the name of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms…'"
He paused here, his lips curling into a grin. When he read the rest, his voice carried the faintest hint of amusement.
"…declares this marriage… illegal? Ha… haha!"
Silence followed at first. Only the Hand laughed openly. Then someone else chuckled. More joined in, until the whole camp echoed with laughter. Even those who hadn't found it funny at first were pulled into it by the wave of derision.
This note, placed in an ornate box and weighted down with iron balls—if taken seriously—would have been offensive. But Connington's sharp wit turned it into a farce. His deliberate mockery shifted the mood completely, dissolving the tension in an instant.
So long as they weren't embarrassed, the enemy was.
That thunderous laughter rang out from the alliance of the Riverlands and the Golden Company, full of confidence and pride. Under its roar, Daenerys's declaration of an "illegal marriage" was reduced to the bark of a beaten dog, good only for a laugh. From this point on, no matter how many more boxes Aegor or Daenerys sent or what was written inside, they would no longer be taken seriously.
As expected of the Hand of the King. That sharp, situational awareness was something even Margaery could only muster at her best.
She praised him silently, feeling relieved. Yet, a persistent unease still stirred within her.
She moved with Aegon toward the center of the crowd. Others were still laughing, passing around the "illegal marriage" declaration, but she silently picked up one of the iron balls that had been discarded.
It was heavy. Definitely solid. She was wearing gloves, so even if the surface was poisoned, she would be safe.
The queen studied the object in her palm. Black, round, smooth, and heavy. It carried a quiet but undeniable sense of power. Though there was nothing outwardly strange about it, a chill crept up her spine, and the hairs on her neck stood on end.
A strong and irrational intuition took hold of her: this seemingly unremarkable iron ball might be one of the last missing pieces of the puzzle.
The new siege weapon mentioned in those intelligence reports, the legendary substance known as Powder, and this plain iron sphere that Aegor had delivered as a "wedding gift"—there had to be a connection she hadn't yet grasped.
Margaery sensed that she was only a step away from understanding it all. But today, at least, she would not get the chance.
Because at that moment, a deep, muffled boom rolled out from across the river, louder than the wedding guests' laughter and cutting off the train of thought she was just about to unravel.
(To be continued.)