Chapter 32: House Tyrell Doesn’t Want A Beggar King

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  The sunlight slipped through carved shutters, bathing the dressing room’s polished floor in soft m gold. Within that glow stood Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns, perched on a cushioool before a mirror that captured every fine line and frown. A handmaiden hovered over her shoulder, brush in one hand, a delicate tainer of pigments iher. The girl’s firembled slightly, no doubt from the old woman’s impatient sighs.

  “Do hurry,” Olenna said, her tone dry and precise. “I’ve no iion of spending the entire forenoon having my face dabbed like a vas. Bald Tarly hates waiting, or so they say—and the gods know I won’t keep a man with such a brilliant head of ent hair lingering in my halls.”

  The handmaiden swallowed and worked faster, dabbing color along Olenna’s cheekbones, smoothing out the subtle shadows under her sharp eyes. Olenna watched the girl’s refle, taking a mild satisfa in the renewed urgency of her efforts. It was amusing how the mere mention of a perpetually irritable lord could spur a servant’s hands.

  With a final dust of powder, the handmaiden stepped back. Olenna reached up and adjusted a strand of silver hair beh her headdress. Not bad, she decided. The face staring back at her was dignified, ing, and gave nothing away. Exactly what she required for her meeting with Tarly—though now that the m’s routine had ended, perhaps she could finally escape this little chamber.

  She stood, ready to leave, when the door swung wide without warning. Olenna’s lips pressed into a thin lihe handmaiden squeaked and backed away. In strode Loras Tyrell—no knog, no heralding voice, just the scrape of hinges and his urgent footsteps.

  Olenna clicked her tongue and turned, her spiraight, her lifted. “Where are your manners, boy?” she said sharply, casting a cool g her grandson. “Has Highgarden stopped teag courtesy to its own knights? I could have been… quite i, you know.”

  Loras halted mid-step, cheeks c slightly. “Grandmother,” he murmured, bowing his head. “I’m sorry. It’s urgent.”

  Olenna folded her hands over her embrowing the silence weigh on him. Loras hesitated—odd for him, this golden rose of the family, usually so swift with fide made Olenna’s eyebrows lift with mild curiosity. At st, he found his voice.

  “I… I brought home a Targaryen.”

  A beat of stillness met his words. Olenna’s first instinct was to bark a ugh, but instead, her lips simply tightened. “What?” she said, short and crisp.

  Loras’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Viserys Targaryen, the so-called Beggar King. He arrived at ates not an hour past. He… he killed two of our knights—just like that—and demands an audieh you. The Red Priestess—Kinvara, the High Priestess of the Faith of Light—is with him, lending her support.”

  Olenna’s eyes narrowed. The handmaiden, still present, looked ready to faint. Olenna waved her off with a curt gesture. The girl slipped out, relieved to escape this charged atmosphere.

  “How lovely,” Olenna said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We have a beggar king at our doorstep, painting the stones red with our own men’s blood. My first thought would be to tie him up and gift him to King Joffrey. At least that boy would see us in a kindly light for a day. But…” Her voice trailed off. Kinvara. The name drifted through her mind like an uling rumor. Everyone worth a dime heard of that woman’s influence overseas. A meddler, a mystieo easily dismissed.

  A red priestess was seen hanging around Stannis, too. Margaery had seen that woman with her own eyes before, ae that, Olenna didn’t feel the urge to throw this Kinvara into the dungeons. Kinvara was far more iial than some random red priestess.

  Olenna ihen exhaled slowly. “But perhaps not,” she cluded. “A Targaryen prince is ohing. Add a priestess of note, and it plicates matters. We must be careful.” She waved a hand. “Loras, deploy knights all across the estate. Double uard. If these two ireachery, I want them caged before they blink. As for Lord Tarly, cel my meeting. The bald buzzard sit in his hall and crow for a while longer. I’ve more pressihers to pluck.”

  Her grandson nodded, relief and tension warring on his face. He turo go, and Olenna eyed him sternly. “Aime, dear boy, try knog first. My heart’s too old for surprises.”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” Loras said, subdued. He left, the door closing behind him.

  The Queen of Thorns stood alone in the quiet dressing room. Her refle awaited her in the mirror, unged—except now, Olenna’s eyes glinted sharper. She would meet this fallen Dragon, see what fire he tried to breathe in her gardens, and if he dared shance, she’d remind him that roses had thorns food reason.

  She stepped to the door and ope. Time to greet these visitors.

  ****

  I settled onto a rose-patterned sofa, my back straight and my expression posed, though my pulse thrummed with anticipation. I had to admit I was a little nervous.

  Across from me, Olenna Tyrell lowered herself into her seat with a poised elegahat betrayed the sharpness in her gaze. Behind her, Loras Tyrell stood watchful, his posture taut, while off to one side stood Garn Tyrell, arms crossed and sizing me up with quiet iy. Garn was a book character who was said to be even strohan Loras. I didn’t know much about him, but he was certainly dangerous.

  At my side, Kinvara remained as calm and still as a statue. The crimson hue of her robes vividly trasted with the muted greens and golds of Highgarden’s decor. I cleared my throat, ready to speak, but Olenna spoke first, her tone clipped. “You have my attention, boy. I do hope you’re not going to waste my time.”

  Rude and snarky, just as I remember. I ined my head and said, “Lady Olenna, I’ve e seeking the support of your house.” My voice soueadier than I felt. “The Tyrells and resped power, and—”

  She cut me off with a shh, tapping a e that rested beside her. “Support? From Highgarden?” She lifted a brow. “If that’s what you’re after, you should be talking to my son, Mace Tyrell. He’s the Lord of this house if you didn’t know. Except he’s off hunting, and it might be weeks before he returns. You’ve unfortunately missed the man who could give you what you want. If that’s it, we end this meeting. Trust me, I have far more important things to do than to eain a beggar king.”

  I let a small smile show on my lips. “Perhaps,” I said, “but I know where the true strength of House Tyrell resides, and I don’t believe I’ve missed my mark at all. I’ve received Dorne’s support already,” I said, slipping a hand iy air, “you firm it through this letter.” I pulled out a letter and reached out.

  Olenna’s eyelids twitched at the dispy. Loras’s stance behind her grew more protective, and I noticed Garn shift his weight as if measuring the distaween us. Kinvara said nothing, allowio lead this dance of words.

  She waved a dismissive hand, taking the letter and opening it. She only gave it a look and scoffed. “Oh, that’s Prince Doran’s writing for sure,” she looked at Kinvara. She stayed silent for a bit and then hummed. “...Dorne supports you, and so does the First Priestess. The letter says you also have a few sellswords—Sed Sons, was it? You’re preparing well,” her tone dripped with sarcasm and skepticism. “But I don’t think even your brother, Rhager, could have takehrone back with this little support. It’d be suicide to support someoh your reputation, and here I thought Prince Doran was a smart man.”

  I shrugged, “I’m sure you’ve also heard whispers that my sister is stirring trouble in Qarth with her dragons, busy gathering an army for me.”

  “Sounds like a traveling bard’s fancy tale,” the woman didn’t trust a word from my mouth.

  I felt a stir of pride and a flicker of annoyance. Kinvara came to my support, smiling as she spoke, “Not a fancy tale, my dy. As you read, Dorne’s bag is real, and my Faith of Light endorses his cim, as do I myself. Yes, his sister Daenerys has made herself known in Qarth. She’s no rumor—she’s walked through fire, raised dragons from stone eggs, and is f a loyal force. These are y boasts.”

  Olenna shrugged, looking utterly unimpressed. “Sounds to me his sister is more suitable for the throh these dragons of hers,” she chuckled, and behind her, her grandsons also ughed. They didn’t believe in dragons, and my brags came off as inpetenbsp;

  I was starting to see why the Dornish hated the Rea. They could get under one’s skin, and even though their words were valid, the way they spoke to them was annoying.

  She tinued, looking at me, “Alright, fine. Suppose I handed you the Iron Throne on a ptter—somehow cutting through Lannisters, Baratheons, and all the vipers—you’re still a Beggar King. A t who lost his before he ever wore it. Tell me, how do you pn to hold the Seven Kingdoms against the tide of challengers who’d rush in ohey smell weakness?”

  That was a good point. Holding the throne would be more troublesome than taking it, I think. But I kept my faeutral. “Your caution is uandable, and I have something to vince you,” I said. “But I wonder, Lady Olenna, how mas of ears overhears this versation? Are we sure this room is safe? I’d hate to have delicate truths carried beyond these walls by less-than-loyal tongues.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and I sensed a shift in the air. “Are you questioning the loyalty of my people?” she asked, voice soft but threatening.

  I held her gaze a a moment stretch. “I questioher you be absolutely certain that no rumor could slip through. I’m not here to insult your household, only to emphasize that some matters deserve a more secure setting.”

  Olenna’s knuckles whitened slightly on her e. The silence grew heavy. Finally, she gave the barest nod. “Very well,” she said curtly. “We’ll find a pce where no ears lurk behind curtains. Really curious what you pn to show me. By the way, my grandsons kill you before you blink. Keep that in mind.”

  Arrogant hag, I chuckled as Garn helped her to her feet, and Lestured sharply for us to follow.

  We left that chamber behind aured deeper into Highgarden’s castle. Corridors morphed into more private branches, and we passed through a heavy door that closed with a firm thud behind us. The chamber we entered had a vaulted ceiling and a hush that felt a. Dust motes swirled in the filtered light, and the tension was nearly tangible.

  Olenna stood before me again, e in hand, Loras and Garn close at her fnks, while Kinvara remai my side. “We’re alone,” she said. “N eyes, no loose tongues. You wanted privaow you have it. Go on, tell me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I said.

  “...If you’re wasting my time, Targaryen boy, I promise you I won’t be amused.”

  I didn’t bother with more words. Instead, I snapped my fingers, feeling a quiet surge of power. The air beside me wavered as if reality itself had grown thin. It split with a soft crack, and in that instant, my dragon lunged forth.

  I felt like I’d dohis a few times by now, but no matter, it still felt as impactful as the first time. Heat and the st of char mingled with shock. Loras tried to yank out his sword, but a roar deafehe area. The two knights froze as the sight of a living, breathing dragon halted them mid-motion.

  Garn’s eyes were wide in disbelief, and even Olenna flinched. Her pupils narrowed, and her lips parted as she took in the creature’s gleaming scales, its wings half-furled in the fined space. Viserion growled, staring at the three of them as fmes crackled out of her nostrils. She bared her teeth, and the whole chamber trembled.

  “They’re my friends,” I said, raising a hand, “stay calm.” For a lobeat, no one spoke. The drago out a low, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate through the stone flood girl,” I reached out a hand and patted Viserion’s head. She grumbled but did not bite me. Then, I looked at the hag, “Lady Olenna, as you see. I have a dragon of my own. And this one’s bigger, stronger, and smarter than the ones my sister has. Is this enough to vince you?”

  Olenna’s chest rose and fell in silence. Her knuckles no longer pressed into her e; they rexed, and slowly, a grin spread across her face, aowledging power, audacity, and opportunity.

  I watched that grin form and uood that I had, at st, peeled back her skepticism.

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