(Thanks to Hai you for the two monthly tickets.)
(Thanks to Bookfriend 20210212142527187 for the monthly ticket.)
Evening.
Arthas sat at the dining table, thoroughly enjoying the grilled steak before him.
The knife in his hand moved like a scalpel, cutting precisely along the fine grain of the steak. His elegant movements made him look like a highly skilled surgeon.
His elegant table manners did nothing to slow his eating. In no time at all, the enormous steak had disappeared into his stomach.
"Lord Arthas, your methods and strength are truly admirable."
At the other end of the table, Margaery Tyrell, the Little Rose of Highgarden, held a glass of wine, her lively eyes fixed on him with what seemed to be deep admiration.
Margaery did not seem hungry. She showed no interest in the table full of delicacies, merely watching Arthas with interest as she gently swirled her glass and took an occasional sip.
It seemed that admiring Arthas's handsome face was more filling than enjoying the food.
"Lady Margaery."
Once he was about seventy percent full, Arthas also picked up the wineglass before him and took a sip.
"If I remember correctly, this is already our third dinner together."
"Is everyone in House Tyrell this idle?"
Ever since he had declined her invitation and instead shared dinner with her at his own residence, Margaery had taken it upon herself to turn up at Arthas's place for a free meal at the same time every day.
Yet she never ate the food on the table. She simply drank her wine and kept staring at Arthas, as though trying to discover something about him.
Looking up at the woman across from him, who feigned innocence while harboring ulterior designs, Arthas was very curious about what exactly she wanted.
"Of course, my lord."
Margaery made no attempt to hide the affection in her eyes as she looked at the handsome young Lannister heir, who was now also Commander of the Gold Cloaks.
But this fellow was like ice that had never thawed in all eternity. Though he always wore a gentle smile, his eyes had never shown the slightest desire for her.
Margaery, who had always been confident in her looks, had suffered quite a blow. Any other man in King's Landing would probably have pounced on her long ago in the face of such overtures.
Of course... Renly was the exception. He only liked her brother.
"As the eldest daughter of the wealthy House Tyrell, what do you think could possibly require my personal attention?"
She gave a wistful sigh, as though reminding the unromantic Arthas that a beautiful, captivating duke's daughter was sitting before him.
"I am merely an ordinary girl hoping to find true love."
"Hahaha, Lady Margaery, you are far too modest."
Arthas elegantly swirled his wineglass, the smile on his face as gentle as the first light of dawn.
Even with two lifetimes behind him, he could not help admiring the superb acting of this thorny Little Rose before him.
Had Arthas still been the young, impulsive prince of Lordaeron he once was, he had no doubt that this thorny rose would have devoured him without leaving so much as a scrap of bone.
Meanwhile, seeing that Arthas refused to take the bait, even someone as mentally resilient as Margaery could not help doubting her own charm.
Margaery was already sixteen. As House Tyrell's eldest daughter, she bore the same weighty duty as the daughters of other noble houses: marrying into a family of equal standing.
Among the nobles of Westeros, marriage was always the most direct and effective way to gain allies.
But unlike an ordinary duke's daughter, Margaery had great ambitions-so great that she was unwilling to simply follow the expected course, marry some ducal heir, and wait to become a duchess.
She wanted to be queen!
Margaery had originally come to King's Landing for the heir to the throne, Joffrey.
She had never expected to stumble upon someone with as much potential as Arthas.
House Tyrell, renowned throughout Westeros for its social maneuvering, would only ever choose whatever best served the family's interests, regardless of the circumstances.
In some respects, they valued their interests even more than that old fox Tywin did.
With her keen eye, Margaery had no doubt that the amiable, sunny blond youth before her would one day become the most dazzling figure in all of Westeros!
"I went to see him."
Just as the dinner was gradually reaching an impasse, Margaery suddenly came out with that remark.
"That High Sparrow, the Faith of the Seven's new High Septon."
When Arthas cast a curious look her way, Margaery raised her glass as though her scheme had succeeded, tilted her head back, and drained the wine in one go, leaving her slender, fair neck fully exposed to his gaze.
Whether deliberately or not, a few drops of crimson wine slowly trickled down her cheek, passed over her enticing collarbone, and flowed toward her high, rounded peaks.
Out of male instinct, Arthas could not help stealing a few extra glances at the girl's well-developed figure.
Only then did the Little Rose, who had been secretly observing his reaction, slowly lower her glass and reveal a satisfied smile.
"I don't like that fellow."
"Whether you like him is not the criterion. Get to the point."
Arthas calmly watched Margaery, who seemed to be pouting drunkenly, and felt that there had been nothing improper about his earlier gaze.
Since she wanted to play, he would play along.
"I don't know why you appointed such a... peculiar new High Septon to the Faith of the Seven."
Recalling her meeting with the High Sparrow, Margaery's expression grew a little strained.
"When he looked at me, I kept feeling as though I was facing an object devoid of all emotion."
"Although that fellow always looks solemn, I saw an endless hunger for power in his eyes."
"He is a madman, a madman who would do anything for power."
Such an accurate assessment of the High Sparrow made Arthas see this girl of only sixteen in a new light.
Had he not lived two lives, and even been able to look directly at the man's soul, he might truly have failed to see the desires buried deep within that seemingly upright fellow.
"Then why are you telling me all this, my dear Lady Margaery?"
The curiosity in Arthas's eyes deepened. He had never met a girl as unusual as Margaery.
In her, he saw something entirely different from Jaina.
"Just a friendly warning."
Seeing that this icy youth had finally developed a trace of interest in her, Margaery, who excelled at reading and swaying people, decided to press her advantage.
She picked up her glass, poured herself more wine, and approached Arthas with a young girl's light steps, slowly bending down to bring her lips close to his ear.
"A knife may be useful, but if it is too sharp, you might hurt yourself..."
"My dear Commander of the City Watch."
Margaery placed particular emphasis on those last few words. She leaned closer and closer until the two were almost touching.
The girl's delicate fragrance mingled with the scent of wine and wafted toward him, but Arthas once again spoiled the mood by making a tactical retreat, leaning against the back of his chair to put some distance between them.
"Then you need not trouble yourself over it."
Arthas stared intently at the girl's radiant face. In the candlelight, his golden eyes looked incomparably sharp, as though everything lay within his grasp.
"If a knife hurts its master, that only proves the hand wielding it lacks skill."
"Besides, the madder that fellow becomes, the happier I am."
"Harvesting fallen souls is what gives me the greatest pleasure!"
Margaery took Arthas's final words as a metaphor, supposing that he merely enjoyed this sort of cat-and-mouse game.
"You really do sound like some heretical dark god."
The beautiful girl's smile bloomed like a flower, her shoulders trembling slightly as she followed his words with a joke.
"But how do you know I'm not?"
The moment he finished speaking, a faint chill emanated from Arthas. Margaery trembled all over, and even her thoughts seemed to freeze.
She felt that what stood before her was not that amiable youth, but a... god of death from another realm!
"Knock, knock, knock..."
Just then, a crisp knock at the door broke the stillness.
The chill in the room vanished instantly, and a warm smile returned to the blond youth's face, as though the nightmare-like scene just now had been nothing but an illusion.
"Lord Arthas, Daven is awake. He's insisting on coming to see you immediately."
Looking every bit a secretary, Lancel walked in. His wide eyes filled with confusion at the slightly awkward atmosphere between the two, but he did not dare ask.
"I understand. Tell him to wait a little."
Arthas stood, slowly slipped an arm around the girl's slender, noticeably stiff waist, and gently lifted her off the table and set her on the floor.
Clearly, what had just happened had given her quite a fright.
"My sincerest apologies, Lady Margaery."
He inclined his upper body slightly in an elegant bow, his gentle manner utterly different from his earlier coldness.
"As you can see, I have other matters to attend to. Please forgive my shortcomings as a host."
"Of course, Lord Arthas."
As she slowly recovered from her fear, this perceptive girl unexpectedly showed no fear; instead, she grew even more curious about the youth before her.
"I very much look forward to our next meeting."
Lifting her skirts, Margaery left briskly without the slightest reluctance, excitement in her eyes.
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