Margaery waddled through the garden with one hand resting on the swell of her belly. Sola and Falia flanked her, along with a pair of guards. The little group moved like they owned the place.
She stopped outside a quiet courtyard ringed by blue-armored men. No one was getting in or out without permission. This was where she was keeping Alester Florent under house arrest.
"Lady Margaery," the two guards at the door said, bowing.
She left the others outside and took only Sola with her. Sola kept a loaded crossbow hidden at the small of her back, just in case.
Alester looked up when she entered. His face went dark the second he saw her.
"Well, if it isn't the Lady of Casterly Rock," he said, voice tight with anger. "The Rose of Highgarden herself."
Margaery smiled and settled into a chair with Sola's help. "You don't have to be so formal, my lord. You're the Hand of the King. And older than me."
"Older doesn't mean I've forgotten what you've done," Alester snapped. "You've imprisoned the King's own Hand. That's treason."
"Imprisoned?" Margaery tilted her head. "You're still eating, still breathing, and still sending ravens. My husband is fighting for the crown on the front lines while I keep Casterly Rock running smoothly. Where exactly is the treason?"
Alester's jaw tightened. He'd learned the hard way that complaining too loudly only got him worse food and colder rooms.
"Did Jon take Pyke?" he asked.
"Yes." Margaery rested both hands on her belly. "Balon is dead. Jon personally took Euron's head. The last Greyjoy woman is sailing for Sothoryos. Jon is folding the Iron Islands into the West and using the land to settle the free folk. Two problems solved at once."
Alester went very still. He understood what that meant. No more threats from the Iron Islands. No more wildling raids in the North. Trade across the Sunset Sea was about to explode. The North, the Riverlands, the Reach, and the West were tying themselves together tighter than ever.
They had the strength to stand against the Iron Throne if they had to.
And Margaery hadn't even executed him. That told him everything he needed to know.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, voice lower.
Margaery smiled. "I want you to write to the King and tell him everything is under control. That my husband remains loyal. That the Iron Islands campaign was a success because you commanded it well. And that it would be wise to let the realm rest for a while."
Alester stared at her. She wasn't asking. She was telling him how things were going to be.
Margaery stood, one hand still on her belly. "You're free to move around the Rock again. Try not to make me regret it."
She turned and left before he could answer.
Outside, Sola leaned in. "You think he'll write what you want?"
"He will," Margaery said. "For now. He's smart enough to know that if anything happens to him, the alliance between the West and the Reach becomes permanent. And Stannis can't afford that war."
She looked out over the courtyard, one hand absently rubbing her stomach.
"We're not ready to break with the crown yet," she said quietly. "But we're getting there."