After finishing his words, Karl did not wait for Margaery Tyrell to recover from her surprise or attempt to stop him.
He simply performed a perfect knight's bow—graceful, polite, and impeccably noble.
Then he turned.
And left.
His steps were quick—almost unnaturally so—as if something dangerous were chasing him from behind.
Margaery Tyrell stood frozen in place.
Her emerald eyes widened slightly as she watched his retreating figure, her mind momentarily blank.
It wasn't until Karl disappeared completely beyond the garden corridor, his coat tails vanishing from sight, that realization finally dawned on her.
He hadn't been joking.
Nor had he been teasing her.
Karl Stone had truly… rejected her.
For a brief moment, disbelief flickered across her face.
Then came understanding.
The famous Rose of Highgarden—admired, pursued, and desired by countless men—had just been… avoided.
And not subtly, either.
Karl had fled as if she were something dangerous.
Although he had maintained perfect courtesy from beginning to end, Margaery was far too intelligent not to see through it now.
He hadn't wanted anything to do with her.
And more importantly—
She had gained nothing from the entire interaction.
No useful information.
No leverage.
Not even the beginnings of a meaningful connection.
Her current relationship with Karl Stone was no different from that of a passing noble or merchant who had exchanged a few polite words with him in the throne room.
That…
Was unacceptable.
Worse still—
As she replayed the conversation in her mind, a disturbing realization surfaced.
From beginning to end…
She had been led.
Every word.
Every turn of the conversation.
Even when she had tried, subtly, to steer things back under her control—
He had cut it off.
Cleanly.
Decisively.
Leaving her no room to recover.
Margaery had never experienced such a thing before.
Not once.
From childhood to adulthood, men had always approached her with hidden motives—admiration, desire, ambition.
And she had always been the one in control.
Except for her grandmother, Lady Olenna Tyrell, no one had ever managed to outmaneuver her in conversation.
And certainly not someone her own age.
Yet Karl Stone had done it effortlessly.
Silently.
Without even appearing to try.
The more she thought about it, the more frustrated she became.
A tight knot formed in her chest.
Suddenly—
She stamped her foot lightly against the stone path.
Her lips pressed into a pout, her brows knitting together.
"Hmph… Karl Stone."
Her voice was soft, but carried a sharp edge.
"I'll remember this."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of determination igniting within them.
"You want to avoid me?"
"Let's see how long that lasts."
With that, she turned sharply, all thoughts of leisurely strolling through the godswood or offering prayers in the sept completely forgotten.
Her pace was brisk as she exited the garden.
Not long after, she met up with her escort—guards from House Tyrell waiting patiently at a nearby intersection.
Without wasting time, the group departed the Red Keep.
A carriage awaited them outside.
Margaery stepped inside, her expression already composed once more, the earlier frustration hidden beneath a calm exterior.
Their destination—
The Tyrell estate outside King's Landing.
There was someone she needed to speak with.
Her grandmother.
Lady Olenna Tyrell.
Meanwhile, Karl, having left decisively, allowed himself a quiet breath of relief.
As he walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, his gaze remained sharp, subtly scanning his surroundings.
No one appeared to be watching him.
No hidden observers.
No trailing footsteps.
In fact—
There was even a slight emptiness around him.
A rare thing in the Red Keep, where servants, guards, and informants filled nearly every corner.
This only confirmed one thing.
His encounter with Margaery Tyrell…
Had not been accidental.
Fortunately, he had reacted quickly.
If he had lingered even a moment longer—
If he had allowed himself to be drawn into her rhythm—
The outcome might have been very different.
Karl understood Margaery Tyrell far too well.
Behind that delicate beauty lay a mind as sharp as any blade.
She was not merely a rose.
She was a carefully cultivated weapon.
He recalled her history.
After King Robert's death, she had swiftly married Renly Baratheon, becoming queen in all but name.
Even then, she had played her role flawlessly.
After Renly's fall—
She had wasted no time shifting her position.
Through Tyrion Lannister's mediation, she became engaged to Joffrey.
She had learned of Joffrey's nature beforehand.
Cruel.
Unstable.
Dangerous.
Yet instead of resisting him—
She adapted.
She praised him.
Encouraged him.
Gave him exactly what he craved—recognition, validation, admiration.
Even when others mocked or ignored him—
She stood by his side.
Supported him.
Understood him.
Step by step—
She shaped him.
Even a king like Joffrey could be "tamed" under her influence.
And when Joffrey died—
She transitioned seamlessly once more.
To Tommen.
Gentle, kind, easily guided.
Margaery became everything he needed.
That was her strength.
She could bend without breaking.
Three parts innocence.
Seven parts cunning.
And unmatched beauty.
From an outsider's perspective, she was perfect.
For a king, she would be an ideal queen.
But Karl knew better.
Nothing in this world was perfect.
And anything that appeared to be—
Came with a price.
A heavy one.
Karl remained calm.
If he were already king, Margaery Tyrell would indeed be his best choice for queen.
But he wasn't.
Not yet.
And until that day came—
He would not allow himself to be entangled.
More importantly—
He had other matters to attend to.
A certain "dwarf."
Karl sighed softly.
Compared to the Rose of Highgarden, he would choose the Little Lion without hesitation.
Tyrion Lannister.
In this world—
He was perhaps the only person Karl could truly call a friend.
And Karl had no intention of losing that.
Not now.
Not ever.
Beyond friendship, Tyrion was invaluable.
A mind like his…
Could change the course of kingdoms.
If Karl intended to claim the West—
To rule Casterly Rock—
Then Tyrion's assistance would be essential.
Unlike the empty title of Warden of the East—
The West was real.
Tangible.
Granted directly by Robert.
For the first time in his life—
Karl had something of his own.
A foundation.
A beginning.
A place from which to rise.
And legally—
No one could deny it.
This was no longer the life of a bastard with nothing.
This…
Was the first step toward power.
As for Robert remarrying and producing a legitimate heir—
Karl wasn't worried.
Because until such a child existed—
It meant nothing.
Words alone held no weight.
What truly mattered…
Was action.
And what Karl needed to do next—
Was clear.
He needed Robert to legitimize him.
To make him—
Karl Baratheon.
That was why he remained wary of the Tyrells.
Compared to open rebellion, political maneuvering was far more subtle—
And far more dangerous.
But also—
Far more stable.
If he succeeded—
The transition of power would be smooth.
Bloodless.
And inevitable.
As these thoughts filled his mind, Karl returned to his residence, already planning his next move.
Elsewhere, in the Tower of the Hand—
Eddard Stark had just finished the day's court session.
Stacks of documents awaited him.
Duties that could not be ignored.
Though he had arranged to dine with his family that evening—
There was still much to be done.
This was the burden of the Hand of the King.
Robert ruled in name.
But governance…
Fell to Ned.
Catelyn Stark understood this.
She did not complain.
After everything—the war, the dangers, the uncertainty—
This life, though busy, was far better than she had feared.
The Lannisters were gone.
The immediate threats had faded.
And yet—
A lingering unease remained.
Bran's strange behavior during the court session troubled her.
She decided to check on him.
And later—
She would speak with Ned.
About many things.
A knock sounded at the door.
Ned looked up.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Hullen entered and bowed.
"My lord," he said respectfully, "Lord Stannis Baratheon requests an audience."
Ned froze.
"Stannis?"
His brows furrowed immediately.
That name…
Brought trouble.
Memories surfaced.
Jon Arryn.
Secrets.
Questions about the royal children.
Though the truth had already come to light—
The implications remained.
"Did he say why?" Ned asked.
Hullen shook his head.
"He said only that it is important."
"And that he wishes to speak in private."
Ned's expression darkened.
"Prepare the private meeting room."
"And send for Jory."
"I will meet him shortly."
Moments later—
Dressed formally, composed but wary—
Eddard Stark entered the chamber.
The room was quiet.
Warm.
Well-appointed.
And waiting inside—
Was Stannis Baratheon.
Standing rigidly by the window.
He did not turn immediately.
Only when Ned closed the door behind him did he speak.
Without greeting.
Without hesitation.
His voice was cold.
Direct.
Unyielding.
"Eddard Stark…"
"I believe we need to discuss the matter of the king's heir."
The air in the room grew heavy.
And the storm…
Was about to begin.
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