Then Margery laughed and remembered... And she tried to learn how to control her future husband.
Unfortunately, she soon realized that his interests were quite limited. He was mainly interested in everything related to knightly tournaments, weapons, and bloodshed.
He was utterly indifferent to the affairs of his own state, disliked reading or music, knew no foreign languages, and showed little curiosity about anything beyond his narrow world.
In short, he was a rather mediocre king—far removed from everything in which Margaery herself had achieved considerable success. She played the harp beautifully, knew countless songs and performed them with skill, loved to read, and could talk for hours about what she'd read.
And then unpleasant rumors began to reach them. Lady Olenna instructed her to befriend Sansa for that very reason—and one day, Ned Stark's daughter told her many disturbing and even frightening things about her former fiancé.
They did not like what they heard.
They were sitting in wicker chairs at a small marble table on a stone terrace shaded by vines. Below, the turquoise sea shimmered warmly. Several ships were leaving the harbor, their sails filling as they turned toward the open sea. Margaery watched them with quiet fascination. It would have been interesting to know where they were headed and what they carried in their holds—she had always loved stories of unknown lands, long voyages, and distant wonders.
"Could it be that Sansa is lying?" Margaery asked after the girl had left.
"Quite possible. Why not?" Lady Olenna took a bite of cheese, washed it down with wine. She looked thoughtful.
"So what should we do?"
"Just wait for now, my dear."
"Wait?"
"Yes. In any case, we'll think of something."
The wedding day arrived almost unnoticed. Like any girl, Margaery awaited the event with great impatience and excitement.
She spent the morning with a light breakfast. Beside her were her grandmother, Garlan and his wife Leonette of House Fossoway, as well as Loras and numerous vassals and ladies-in-waiting.
The girl regretted that her eldest brother was not with her. Willas, the heir to the Reach, had been seriously injured in a duel with Oberyn Martell at a tournament several years ago, and since then had seldom left Highgarden, devoting himself to studying the stars, reading, breeding horses, and training hunting birds.
Her father, Lord Mace, and his standard-bearers preferred Joffrey's table to their company.
"The old fool decided it was more fun there," Lady Olenna remarked without much politeness about her own son—and Margaery's father. She rarely considered any man intelligent or interesting.
To her, they were all the same—thinking primarily with their balls rather than their heads.
Only Willas, her grandson, was held in high regard by the old woman. In her eyes, he stood on par with Tywin Lannister—and that said a lot.
After breakfast, Margaery met with King Joffrey. She immediately noticed how much he had changed.
It was as if she were looking at an entirely different person—confident, cheerful, self-assured. And he looked at her with such admiration as she had never seen before.
He even hinted that he would be happy to study the Valyrian language together—something Margaery had not expected at all.
At the wedding in the Great Sept, he held her hand often, turned his head toward her again and again, and tried in every way to show his affection.
True, he was a little clumsy with etiquette, but Margaery attributed it to nerves—he was surely as anxious as she was.
During the evening feast, Joffrey behaved like a prince from a fairy tale. He was cheerful—perhaps a bit simple-minded—but sincere in his words, joked, careful not to cross the line into vulgarity or bad taste. He courted her attentively, as if guessing her wishes before she voiced them.
She had expected to find him boring and uninteresting that evening—but instead, she enjoyed herself and found him surprisingly intriguing.
Joffrey told her about the book Lives of Four Kings, which Tyrion thi Imp had given him that morning, and asked if she had read it. He seemed absolutely delighted with the gift. Margaery was embarrassed for a moment but admitted she had not read it. The king laughed brightly and said that he hadn't either…
At first, she watched everything with quiet skepticism—it seemed to her a performance, a mask, nothing more.
But as time passed, she began to like Joffrey more and more. Before that evening, she had regarded him merely as a handsome young man who would someday be her husband. But she had never felt real affection—let alone love.
That evening, looking at him, she began to sense that he might indeed be worthy of her hand. That perhaps this marriage—originally conceived as a political arrangement—might grow into something more.
Perhaps it was because, deep down, she wanted to like Joffrey. And all this time she had been searching for a reason—and now, she had found one.
Yes, that was probably it. And yet, her heart—the heart of an inexperienced and innocent girl—beat faster and faster, telling her this was no mere coincidence.
And Joffrey, with every look and gesture, showed that he was utterly enchanted by her. He openly admired her, lingering on her eyes, her lips, her figure. He even kissed her—gently, but very skillfully. At that moment, she even felt a fleeting spark of jealousy that he knew so well how to kiss.
And it seemed to her that she was not looking at a boy, but at a man—someone worldly and very reliable, who would respect her mind, her talents, her interests. A husband she could rely on for everything.
It was a strange feeling…
And then, during the dance, when Joffrey first let her lead and then, with a gentle but confident motion, took the initiative—kissing her again at the same time—she understood and believed that she was standing on the threshold of happiness.
After all, she wanted it so much!