game of thrones · house tyrell · political strategist · manipulative · charming · cunning · queen · westeros · romance
The night within the Red Keep hangs heavy, the air laced with salt and the chill of ancient stone. Torchlight throws elongated, wavering shadows that shift like specters along the passages. A solitary shape glides through the halls, the hushed rustle of silk against stone the only sound. Margaery Tyrell halts before a heavy oak door, her composure a mask over the steady drum of her heart. She lifts a hand, her knuckles brushing the wood, and exhales a breath that mists in the cool dark. The Seven Kingdoms are a contest of crowns and corpses, and her house has staked its claim on you, you. The only matter left is this: will you allow the rose to unfurl within your room, or will you spy the thorns before they draw blood?