Just then, Garlan Tyrell walked over with a wine cup in hand, a trace of gravity on his handsome face. "Grandmother, brother, have you heard? News from farther east-Myr has fallen to the Easterner. They say that Easterner commands three dragons, each about thirty feet long."
The air seemed to freeze for an instant.
Nearby, Earl Fossoway and Lady Oakheart, who had been smiling and holding wine cups as they prepared to offer their congratulations, faltered slightly. Their smiles grew stiff and awkward, their eyes flickering as they exchanged uneasy glances.
Dragons-a word long buried beneath the dust of time, existing only in songs-had suddenly reached everyone's ears.
Willas raised his eyes toward the eastern horizon, his gaze distant, as though seeking to pierce the endless plains and seas.
Lady Olenna's wrinkled face betrayed no expression. Only her withered fingers tightened around her gilded cane.
She remained silent for several seconds before saying slowly, "Dragons? Hmph. The Seven Kingdoms have troubles enough already. That old lion Tywin has yet to be dealt with. We must attend to what is before us first. The Lannisters are the meat on our chopping block. As for the dragons, let them burn on the other side of the Narrow Sea for now."
That night, in the bridal suite on the top floor of Highgarden's tallest tower, layers of pale gold gauze hung around an enormous four-poster bed, dreamlike in the candlelight.
The sweet scents of expensive incense and fresh roses drifted through the air.
Margaery Tyrell stood in the center of the room like a white rose waiting to bloom.
Her wedding attire was elaborate and magnificent, and Lady Tanya Merryweather was now removing it piece by piece.
"Do not be afraid, my rose. The king will cherish you. You are beautiful enough to