Lynn's warm breath brushed Margaery's ear. Like a feather. Lightly teasing her most sensitive nerves.
Margaery's always-perfect smile finally cracked. A suspicious blush spread from her ear to her cheeks. Made her already beautiful face even more breathtakingly stunning.
Margaery's body trembled imperceptibly. But she didn't retreat. She was a clever woman. She knew: before absolute strength, all schemes seemed pale and powerless.
Lynn had laid his cards on the table. He didn't need to pick sides. Because he himself was a force that could change the game. And now, Lynn extended a new invitation. One far more direct, more tempting than crowning Renly.
Let Highgarden's rose bloom in the North. Margaery knew exactly what this meant. Renly was too uncertain—after all, he didn't like women. But Lynn was different. A normal man. Their marriage would produce heirs. If Lynn took the Iron Throne and had a child with her, it would solidify House Tyrell's position even more.
She wasn't angry at Lynn's almost-rude behavior. Instead, her heart—panicked from having her plans exposed—strangely calmed. Lynn's attitude instantly showed her value in his eyes. Whether lust or something else—she didn't care. She only cared about status and her family.
This gave her unprecedented excitement. Margaery looked up. Those beautiful brown eyes—confusion and panic quickly fading.
"The North's lands are too harsh and cold." Margaery's voice regained its usual softness. But carried a subtle hook. Lightly scratching at one's heart. "I fear Highgarden's rose would quickly wither in such ice and snow."
She didn't refuse. Didn't agree. Just cleverly threw the question back. Like an experienced merchant. After Lynn's offer, she calmly assessed this deal's risks and returns.
"Wither?" Lynn smiled. He released Margaery's chin. Fingertips traced down her elegant neckline. Finally stopped at the gold-embroidered rose on her chest. The movement—full of aggression, yet carrying irresistible ambiguity.
"No. I guarantee it'll bloom more beautifully than anywhere else." Lynn's fingertips—through smooth fabric—gently caressed the rose's center. "Because I'll water it with all the North's wealth. Warm it with dragonflame."
Margaery's breath caught. Lynn's promise—like the richest Dornish red wine. Carried lethal temptation. Made her slightly intoxicated. She knew Lynn wasn't speaking empty words. A man who could produce world-changing canned food—his promised wealth was no lie.
But Margaery also knew: the more tempting the fruit, the greater the risk. She needed to see Lynn demonstrate strength worth betting on—for her and all House Tyrell. Not just distant dragons and armies. But immediate reality that could truly change King's Landing's power structure.
Margaery stepped back half a pace. Cleverly escaped Lynn's heart-racing control range. She walked to the table. Poured herself water. Used this small action to calm her disordered emotions.
"Lord Lynn, your promise is indeed tempting." She turned. Face again wearing that flawless perfect smile. "Only, future matters are too distant. I prefer grasping what I can see now."
Margaery's gaze fell toward the Iron Throne hall. "For example, the duel seven days hence. And also..." Margaery's voice dropped lower. Those beautiful eyes gleamed shrewdly. "After Petyr Baelish falls, that vacant Master of Coin position."
Lynn's eyebrow raised slightly. He knew: the real negotiation was just beginning.
"A Master of Coin position for Highgarden's rose?" Lynn's tone carried amusement. "Lady Tyrell, are you undervaluing yourself?"
"No, a Master of Coin position is merely the foundation of our cooperation." Margaery shook her head. Looked at Lynn seriously. "I'm just assessing your sincerity. Though Petyr Baelish has fallen, many in King's Landing eye that position. House Lannister, Duke Renly, even Varys—they'll all try to install their people."
"If you can place the Seven Kingdoms' most important purse in someone we both accept and can control..." Margaery didn't finish. But the meaning was clear. This was both test and pledge of allegiance.
If Lynn could do it, he'd prove he could command wind and rain in King's Landing's power vortex. Prove he deserved House Tyrell staking everything on him.
A mutually controllable candidate... Several names flashed through Lynn's mind. But he quickly rejected them all. He needed someone absolutely loyal but not too conspicuous. Best if everyone overlooked them, yet he could firmly control. Someone seemingly unthreatening, even foolish, who could sit in that position and guard his purse.
Suddenly, a figure surfaced in his mind. A girl in a blue gown. Always looking down when seeing him. Timid. Like a frightened bird. Red-haired.
Sansa Stark. The moment this thought emerged, even Lynn found it absurd. Let that silly girl—head full of princes, knights, and love songs—become Master of Coin? More ridiculous than making the Mountain embroider.
But thinking carefully, this seemed the most perfect, most unexpected, most suitable choice. First, Sansa was Ned's daughter. House Stark's eldest daughter. Her replacing Petyr—Ned Stark as Hand would absolutely support, even fully back it. Legal footing secured.
Second, Sansa had seemed naive, even foolish. In everyone's eyes, she was just a pretty decoration. An easily manipulated puppet. The Lannisters would think they could control her. Renly would think he could win her over. Varys would think her negligible.
No one would see her as a real threat. And that was exactly what Lynn needed. He didn't need a shrewd Master of Coin. Just an obedient stamping machine. All complex accounts and operations—he could hand to professionals dug from the Iron Bank of Braavos or other Essos free cities to handle behind the scenes.
Sansa only needed to sit there. Use her identity as House Stark's eldest daughter and Master of Coin to stamp and seal every requisition. Most importantly: Sansa had almost blind worship and dependence on him. Especially after experiencing Joffrey's betrayal and King's Landing's cruel reality—that prince image once godlike in her eyes had long collapsed.
And Lynn had long occupied a special place in her heart. Sansa could be said to obey him completely.
"I have a candidate." Lynn looked at Margaery's probing eyes. Slowly spoke the name. "Sansa Stark."
"Who?" Even brilliant Margaery thought she'd misheard. "The Stark eldest daughter?" Margaery's face showed undisguised shock for the first time. "Lord Lynn, are you joking?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Lynn's counter-question made Margaery's shock gradually transform into deep thought. Her brain raced. Sansa Stark... This choice seemed absurdly ridiculous, yet carried stunning brilliance. Like Lynn himself—never playing by the rules, yet always achieving the most astonishing results.
She instantly understood all the intricacies. With Sansa as Master of Coin, Ned Stark as Hand would support. King Robert—for Ned's sake—wouldn't object. And Sansa herself—in everyone's eyes—a soft persimmon easily squeezed. A perfect candidate no faction could fault, yet all thought they'd gained advantage!
But actually, the true controllers were Lynn and Tyrell behind the scenes! Brilliant! Truly brilliant!
Margaery looked at Lynn. Those beautiful eyes shining. She found herself increasingly unable to see through this man. Every move so unexpected, yet so precise and ruthless.
"Seems Lord Lynn has a well-thought plan." Margaery put away all contempt. She bowed gracefully to Lynn. That posture carried sincere respect. "Then I'll await good news."
She knew she should leave. Tonight's information was too much. She needed to return and digest it with her grandmother.
"Lady Tyrell, leaving just like that?" Just as Margaery turned to leave, Lynn's voice drifted from behind.
Margaery's steps paused. She turned. Face showing just-right confusion. "I showed my sincerity." Lynn walked slowly before her. That tall figure again enveloping her. "So, what about yours?"
His gaze—burning, direct. Unabashedly falling on Margaery's beautiful face. Margaery's heartbeat skipped. She certainly understood what Lynn meant.
She bit her full lower lip. Those always-smiling eyes flashed cunning. Next second, she suddenly stood on tiptoes. Planted a feather-light kiss on Lynn's cheek.
"This is the down payment." Margaery's voice carried girlish shyness. But her eyes—bold and fiery. Before Lynn could react, she retreated like a startled butterfly. Pulled back distance between them.
She winked at Lynn. Lips curved in a heart-stirring arc. "As for the rest... After you win the duel, help Sansa sit in the Master of Coin's chair, develop that miraculous canned food—then come collect from me."
Finished speaking, Margaery smiled slightly at Lynn. No longer lingering. Lifted her skirt. Elegantly, swiftly disappeared outside the door.
Lynn touched his kissed cheek. Still seemed to hold rose fragrance and maiden warmth. He couldn't help but smile. This Highgarden rose—truly a cunning little fox. But he liked it. Games were more interesting played this way.
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