Margaery's heart tightened.
Double the stakes.
The Lannisters would have to pay a price, too.
Although she didn't know exactly what chips Lynn was referring to, she understood the weight of his words.
Lynn wasn't trying to humiliate House Tyrell; he was stating his rules—the rules of the victor in this current stage of the game.
The perfect smile she had maintained the entire journey began to crack.
In her beautiful brown eyes, humiliation and ambition warred madly.
She knew very well that these so-called "double stakes" meant far more than just gold dragons and grain.
It meant that House Tyrell had to unreservedly bind its fate to Lynn's warship.
No retreat, no watching from the sidelines.
And absolutely no fence-sitting or playing both sides.
It was either get on the boat or get lost.
The Tyrells' previous hesitation had already displeased Lynn.
"I..."
Her family's previous conduct embarrassed her slightly. Margaery opened her mouth, unsure of what to say.
"I need time to consider."
She finally managed to say.
After all, she couldn't make such a decision for the entire House Tyrell on the spot.
She needed to think.
Lynn looked at her, the mockery on his face slowly fading, replaced by a look of playful scrutiny.
This woman was more composed than he had imagined.
"Granted."
Lynn walked back to the throne and sat down.
"I'll give you three days."
He shifted into a more comfortable position, resting his chin on his hand.
"You can use these days to wander around Dragonstone. Take a look."
"Look at my army, look at my people, look at this barren land of mine."
"Then figure out if we are worth House Tyrell placing a bet on."
"Rest assured, even if you disagree and want to back out, I won't hurt you. At most, I'll just keep you in the North as a guest for a year or two."
Lynn waved his hand at the Winter Wight Blood Guards by the door.
"Take Lady Tyrell to rest."
Two Blood Guards walked over and made a "please" gesture to Margaery.
Margaery's expression was a bit strained, but she curtsied to Lynn again, turned, and followed the monsters emitting the aura of death out of the hall.
When her figure disappeared from the doorway, Myranda, who had been standing in the shadows, stepped out.
"My Lord, that woman... is not simple."
Myranda's face held a look of wariness.
"Her ambition is undisguised."
"Ambition is a good thing."
Lynn smiled.
"I just worry she doesn't have the brains to match it."
He cast his gaze toward the vast snowy plains outside the window.
"Go keep an eye on her."
"Let her see what she wants to see, and also let her see what I want her to see."
"Yes, My Lord."
Myranda bowed and withdrew.
...
Margaery was arranged in a spacious guest room.
The room's decor followed the usual rugged style of the North, but the fire in the fireplace burned brightly, and the thick bear-fur rug felt soft and warm underfoot.
A handmaiden brought her hot tea and food.
Black bread toasted to a golden brown, a bowl of steaming meat broth, and a few pieces of dried venison.
Simple, rough, but full of heat.
Margaery didn't touch the food.
She stood by the window, looking at the world covered in ice and snow outside the castle.
She saw it.
In the clearing of the castle, a group of poorly dressed but high-spirited wildlings were undergoing some kind of training she couldn't understand.
Some were pushing their bodies up and down with their hands on the ground, others were constantly squatting and standing...
They had no uniform armor, and their weapons were a motley collection.
Iron spears, axes, flails, and swords.
The equipment showed little craftsmanship; it looked incredibly simple.
But their eyes were like wolves on the ice plains, full of fearless ferocity.
On the other side, led by a tall wildling, soldiers repeated slashing and charging movements over and over again.
Simple, direct, effective.
Every movement was designed solely to kill the enemy most efficiently.
This was Lynn's army?
A rabble from beyond the Wall?
No.
Margaery dared to say they absolutely were not.
Just then, there was a gentle knock on the door.
Myranda walked in.
"Lady Tyrell, my Lord has asked me to show you around."
Myranda's tone was polite, but her eyes held an undisguised scrutiny.
"Thank you."
Margaery nodded with a smile, as if she hadn't noticed the other woman's hostility.
She followed Myranda out of the room and into this fortress built of ice, snow, and black stone.
She saw more.
She saw the families of the wildlings, the women and children.
Although dressed in rags, there was no sign of starvation on their faces.
Children chased and played in the snow, holding wooden toy swords, mimicking adults "fighting" each other.
Women sat together sewing animal skins or processing game.
There was something on their faces that Margaery had never seen on the faces of commoners before.
Hope.
Hope was a luxury in Westeros.
Yet, it appeared here, in the impoverished Gift.
One could imagine what this meant.
"They look... like they're living well," Margaery sighed sincerely.
"In the South, people say wildlings are savages who drink blood and eat raw meat."
"That's because people in the South have never seen a wildling with a full belly in winter."
Myranda's tone carried a hint of pride.
"My Lord gave them food, gave them a home, and gave them dignity."
"They are the Free Folk."
Margaery couldn't help but ask, "I thought the Free Folk never knelt to anyone."
"Freedom?"
Myranda glanced at her, a look reserved for a naive child.
"When your belly is empty, freedom is worthless."
"My Lord brought them back from the dangerous lands beyond the Wall and let them live. That is why they are willing to dedicate their lives to Lord Lynn."
"It's a fair trade."
Margaery fell silent.
She couldn't refute that.
Just then, a high-pitched dragon roar came from the sky.
Margaery jerked her head up.
A massive shadow passed through the clouds above Dragonstone.
It circled in the air, its huge wings fanning the cold wind, kicking up snow on the ground.
Even from a distance, Margaery could still feel the terrifying pressure originating from a dragon.
This was Lynn's true trump card.
A war machine capable of turning any army into ash.
ROAR—!
Winter let out a roar, diving violently toward a snow-capped mountain outside the castle.
One of its heads opened its giant maw, and a stream of dragon breath surged out!
The breath wasn't hot fire, but an extreme cold capable of freezing the soul.
BOOM!
The peak of the snow mountain was hit by the dragon breath in an instant.
No explosion.
The peak, several meters high, along with the rocks and snow on it, simply... vanished.
Decomposed into tiny dust particles by that extreme cold dragon breath, dissipating into the air.
Margaery's body began to tremble involuntarily.
She watched the empty mountain top, her heart almost stopping.
This was... the power of a dragon?
This was beyond the scope of magic.
"Now, do you still think the knights of Highgarden are the most elite in Westeros?"
Myranda's voice sounded faintly in her ear.
Margaery's lips moved, but she couldn't say a word.
Elite?
Ten thousand Knights of Flowers probably wouldn't last a single breath against that dragon.
She suddenly understood the true meaning of Lynn's "double the stakes."
He didn't care about Highgarden's army at all.
What he cared about was House Tyrell's attitude.
It had to be a posture of unreserved, total submission.
At dusk, Myranda took the unsettled Margaery to a clearing behind the castle.
The clearing was surrounded by high wooden walls.
Margaery saw Lynn standing in the center of the clearing.
In his hand, he held a longbow that was snow-white throughout, as if carved from ten-thousand-year-old ice.
On the bow, ancient runes flowed slowly like living things.
Weirwood heart.
"What is the Lord doing?" Margaery asked curiously.
"I don't know either."
Myranda shook her head, her eyes also full of confusion.
Lynn didn't nock an arrow.
He just slowly drew the bowstring.
As the string was drawn, an arrow made of soft green light appeared out of thin air on the string.
The arrow was filled with an indescribable aura of life.
HUM—
Lynn released his fingers.
The green light arrow made no sound, shooting like a meteor toward the frozen earth covered in snow ahead.
The moment the light arrow touched the ground, it didn't disappear.
Instead, like a stone thrown into a lake, it rippled out circles of emerald green.
The next second.
A scene Margaery would never forget in her life occurred.
Wherever the green light touched, the snow melted at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Countless tender green shoots scrambled to drill out of the thawed black soil!
They grew madly at a speed that defied the laws of nature, heading, and bearing fruit!
In just a few breaths, that frozen land turned into a golden wheat field!
Heavy ears of wheat swayed in the cold wind, emitting the scent of harvest.
Margaery was completely stunned.
Her mouth hung open, her beautiful brown eyes wide and round, staring dead at the wheat field that appeared out of thin air.
Her mind went blank.
What was this?
A miracle!
This was absolutely a miracle.
A miracle not recorded even in the oldest epics!
And she was lucky enough to witness it today!
Lynn... he could create food?!
He could create enough food to feed an army of thousands out of thin air on this cursed land of ice and snow!
In this moment, Margaery finally understood.
She understood completely.
Wealth? Armies? The title of Queen?
In the face of such a miracle, those things were simply a joke!
Every poor person in Westeros would probably go completely mad seeing this!
Tywin Lannister only wanted her to be a puppet queen.
But this man before her...
An ambition unprecedented, a thousand times stronger than becoming the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, swallowed Margaery's reason like wildfire instantly!
She had to have him!
At any cost!
...
Late at night.
Margaery returned to her room.
She locked herself inside alone.
Walking to the mirror, she looked at her face, flushed with excitement.
Double the stakes.
She finally knew what kind of chips she should pay.
She rushed to her luggage, throwing those magnificent gowns onto the floor one by one.
She needed a weapon.
A weapon capable of moving even that god-like man.
Finally, her gaze landed on a black silk nightgown.
It was stuffed into her luggage by her grandmother, the Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna, before she left.
"Remember, my dear granddaughter."
"Sometimes, to make a man listen to you, you have to let him taste you first."
Her grandmother's meaningful words rang in her ears.
With trembling hands, Margaery took off her dress and put on the black nightgown, thin as gauze.
The fabric of the gown was cold and smooth, clinging tightly to her skin, unreservedly outlining the curves of her mature, voluptuous body.
In the candlelight, the black gauze was nearly transparent.
The woman in the mirror looked like a saintess about to be sacrificed to a god.
Holy, fallen, and full of fatal temptation.
She took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and walked toward Lynn's chambers.
The corridor was quiet, save for the slight sound of her bare feet on the cold stone slabs.
She arrived in front of the massive obsidian door, raised her hand, and knocked gently.
Thud, thud, thud.
"Who?"
From inside came Lynn's calm voice.
"My Lord."
Margaery's voice carried a deliberately suppressed tremble and an undisguised allure.
"It is me, Margaery."
"I think I am ready to pay my chips."