Chapter 39: I Don’t Wish to Argue With a Child
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I awoke in Margaery’s bedchamber to the soft warmth of morning light creeping through tall, arched windows. A gentle breeze teased the curtains, bringing with it the scent of Highgarden’s roses—less intense than last night.
“Mmm…” I yawned, sitting up a little. My gaze fell on the bandage wrapped around my hand, now tinged with faint red stains from my half-healed wound. It throbbed in a muted reminder of yesterday’s nearly fatal arrow, but the pain was barely there.
I slowly unwrapped it to find the wound… fully healed. I smiled. At Level 23, such a wound was barely a scratch. I pulled out my Status Page to take a look.
=== Page [⅓] ===
Viserys Targaryen
The Dragon King
22 Years Old
Level 23
-
27 STR
32 END
27 DEX
31 INT
29 LUC
40 AUTH
=== Page [⅓] ===
The numbers made smile, but unfortunately, I hadn’t earned any levels from Viserion’s goat massacre last night.
My Authority was 40, which stood out. It had jumped unexpectedly higher than I’d calculated. At Level 14, it was Auth 20—gaining nine levels should have made it 29.
I supposed that my alliances and conquests were all feeding sothing deeper within . The realm itself recognized who I was becoming, so my Authority increased.
A soft humming drifted from the far side of the room, where Margaery stood in front of a mirror. She was slipping on a new gown for the day, an elegant piece that cinched at her waist and fanned out over her hips. I doubted she’d bother to wear it modestly after what happened last night, but outward appearances mattered. Even in privacy, she balanced her seductive aura with a composed grace worthy of a queen.
Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed stirring and offered a smile—it was gentle yet sharpened by sothing unspoken. “Good morning, Your Grace,” she teased. “I trust you slept well despite… our evening’s little diversions?”
I stretched, biting back a small chuckle. “I’m not complaining. My hand’s healed, and the rest of feels quite satisfied.” My mind flickered to the steamy events we’d shared, half-lost in the gloom of goat-feeding, half-lost in her body.
Her smirk deepened, and she turned fully, letting admire how the golden sunlight played across her hair, highlighting each curl. She looked at her side where new bandages were ready and then back at . “I see you took off your bandage, but from the looks of it, new ones won’t be needed. It’s almost as if you're not human. Haah, if anything, I need dical care for my legs. You know, I can’t stand up right now. Did you truly have to be so rough?”
“It’s already healed, yes,” I assured her, flexing my fingers. “Another day or so, and the scar will vanish too. It’ll be as if the bolt never touched .”
She stepped closer, carefully examining the cloth around my palm. “That’s good. We can’t have our rising dragon king crippled before the next stage of… well, everything.”
A flicker crossed her gaze—concern or cunning. It was hard to tell. One thing I knew for sure was that it wasn’t love. But she’d grown a little protective over , that too I was sure.
I nodded, “Fair. Yesterday’s demonstration—my fight, then the assassination attempt—has guaranteed strong backing. A hundred thousand n.”
“That is a major step forward, yes, Your Grace. But I suspect we’ve only scratched the surface of what’s to co. We have the army, but Renly Baratheon had a bigger one. Then, he ended up dead,” she looked into my eyes with worry. “Be careful.”
Margaery’s eyes flickered with that near-invisible blend of ambition and warmth, and she continued when I remained silent. “The realm will take notice. Word moves quickly, especially with the tale of the crossbow bolt. I suspect the rumors of so crazy beast devouring goats in the secret halls will also spread. You should have withdrawn Viserion into that weird space.”
She’d suggested the sa last night, but I didn’t listen. I shook my head, “A dragon can’t grow when chained. Let her have a good night’s rest in that chamber. I don’t mind rumors.”
“We stand on a precarious edge, Your Grace. So rumors might strengthen your image as an unstoppable Targaryen… others might color you as reckless or far too dangerous to be left alive, drawing threats from all corners,” she said, looking at with caution.
I let the silence hang briefly, my thoughts drifting to how last night’s deeper intimacy might alter the political ga. She was already worrying about as a husband. My alliance with Margaery Tyrell had grown personal—and in Westeros, personal and political were rarely separate. She realized that too. I liked this girl.
“Are you worried?” I asked softly.
She paused at that, smoothing her gown and fiddling with an embroidered rose at her hip. “Worried that so might see our closeness as scandalous? No. That I’ll be rumored to have surrendered my virtue before marriage? No. Worried about your life? Yes.”
I tilted my head. Her worry was lovely, but it wasn’t as if I was reckless. If I was, I’d have been over Level 50 by now. I was playing things very safe as it was, and she didn’t know what it ant to have a System backing my growth. “That is touching,” I said.
She shook her head, voice dropping to a whisper. “I hope you remain careful. Of everyone. Especially… that Red Priestess.” She stared at briefly.
I nodded, deciding to let the subject rest. I inhaled, pushing off the bed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, and I doubted she knew that it included her too.
****
I finished dressing, adorning a black doublet with discreet hints of Targaryen red thread. Not long after that, knocks fell, and soon the door to the chamber cracked open. Kinvara slipped in, crimson robes flowing around her like molten silk, her eyes calm as always. They were also curious.
“My Prince,” she began, offering Margaery a guarded nod before turning to . “It appears the morning finds you well, despite all that happened last night.”
Margaery arched a brow, bristling at the intrusion but maintaining her grace. “Lady Kinvara,” she said, managing a polite smile. “You’ve excellent timing as always.”
Kinvara’s lips curved faintly, though her gaze remained on . “One ti I’m not by your side, my Prince, you almost get assassinated. Perhaps I should tie you to my sleeves.”
I rolled my eyes lightly. “Almost is a strong word. The damage was minimal. See?” I raised my hand and showed her, and she blinked. Her smile widened a mont later.
Margaery watched our exchange in silence and then crossed her arms, standing up and stepping slightly forward as if to shield from any perceived slight. “I hate to interrupt, but he’s one of the five kings now,” she stated, addressing Kinvara firmly. “The entire realm must have heard whispers by daybreak. So it’s ‘Your Grace’ from now on.”
Kinvara raised an elegant brow. “...Indeed. A King. Yet a single crossbow bolt nearly ended him. Isn’t that funny? Where one assassin fails, two more will co. You should remain vigilant,” she looked at , smiling, “Your Grace.”
Margaery smiled in satisfaction seeing Kinvara comply, but I held back a sigh. This old woman didn’t care what she’d call , while this little girl thought she was winning against her. “He’ll be fine,” Margeary said, “as he is today.”
Kinvara’s eyes flicked to her like a subtle challenge. “Is he, truly? You’ve proven your capacity to guard yourself… but he was injured. He’s the most valuable asset that House Tyrell has, and he was unguarded yesterday.”
Margaery stiffened, her expression carefully impassive. “He isn’t unguarded at all… not while I’m here.”
A thin, knowing smile curved Kinvara’s lips. “And you were where, precisely, when the arrow ca flying?” she asked, voice delicate but pointed.
“That… I was nearby. I took care of the aftermath,” Margaery shot back, a hint of tension in her voice. “I bandaged him. I—”
“You bandaged it. You couldn’t stop it,” Kinvara said, making the girl fall silent. Kinvara sighed and returned her gaze to . “Regardless, I don’t wish to argue with a child. Your Grace, shall we leave for King’s Landing soon? Our work here is done.”
A faint flush of anger was visible on Margaery’s cheeks. But she didn’t let her emotions control her. She faced , adopting a gentler tone as she touched my injured hand. “Must you really go so soon? As you said, Stannis will invade King’s Landing within months. So that city is not safe. Highgarden is. Leading our new army from here might be the smarter choice.”
I regarded her quietly. “We’ve already prepared for that scenario. But for my claim to resonate throughout the Seven Kingdoms, I must move, not hide in Highgarden.”
“Still…”
“I need to be where the next storms gather. My stay in King’s Landing will be crucial. Let assure you, Margaery, this is how I also guarantee your future crown.”
Her gaze flicked between Kinvara and as though asuring my resolution. Finally, she inhaled slowly and nodded. “Then I hope the gods favor your journey, Your Grace. And rember, Highgarden is still your strongest ally,” she added with a half-smile.
I allowed myself a short laugh, moving toward the door. “Of course. I’d be a fool not to keep you close.”
“See you later, my lady,” Kinvara bowed her head, acknowledging Margaery with a composed half-smile. Margaery stood, looking every inch the poised lady of the court, though I could sense the swirl of emotion beneath her calm façade.
She’d already grown to desire more than a re alliance—perhaps a asure of real control over and my path. It was adorable, but I didn’t like it.
As we left the room, the morning sun blazed brighter beyond Highgarden’s walls, a fresh day brimming with promise and silent perils.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, and a few hours later, after I had so last-minute talks with the Tyrell heads, the footsteps turned into the sound of hooves against the ground, each one taking closer to King’s Landing.
I hope I wasn’t late. I had a plan to execute during the Riot of King’s Landing regarding a certain character. Hopefully, the riot hadn’t happened already.
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Author Note: The Tyrell Alliance concludes here, and we’re now entering what I’ll say is one of the main phases of the story. There will be a LOT OF actions from here on, small and big, and hopefully, you’ll enjoy reading them all.
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