“To all the honored lords, a toast!” William raised his goblet and drained it in a single swallow.
The assembled nobles upon the high dais followed suit, setting down their cups before turning their attention back toward him.
Their smiles carried different meanings: amusement, curiosity, mockery, and assessment.
Only Lord Randyll Tarly remained as unreadable as ever.
According to custom, a guest would introduce himself, share a cup of wine with the assembled lords, exchange a few polite words with the host, and then drink once more.
After that, formal acquaintance would be considered established.
If anyone intended to embarrass William publicly, the interval between those two cups would be the ideal moment.
William stood calmly under their gazes as servants hurried forward to refill the empty goblets.
He even offered a courteous nod and smile to the servant pouring his wine.
Blend in when possible, step back when necessary.
Everything for the Little Rose.
As long as they don’t chase me out of the hall, I win.
Music continued to drift through the chamber, and guests still laughed and conversed, yet an uncomfortable silence slowly settled over the high table.
As the atmosphere grew increasingly awkward, Lord Randyll’s hand moved toward his goblet, as though he were about to speak.
But someone else cleared his throat first.
Ser Alekyne Florent.
As heir to Brightwater Keep and brother to Lady Melessa Florent Tarly, his position in the Reach was considerable.
Had House Whent not declined so dramatically, William’s standing would have been roughly comparable.
As Lord Randyll’s good-brother, it was hardly surprising that he chose to speak first.
The cough drew every eye toward him.
“Ser William.” The emphasis he placed on “Ser” earned a few scattered chuckles.
William offered a graceful bow.
He had long since stopped bothering to correct the fact that he was technically still a squire.
He felt no shame about it either.
Over the past two years, he had defeated dozens of knights, and his skill was beyond question.
The title was little more than paperwork, and no one was foolish enough to press the issue.
After all, if they questioned whether William deserved knighthood, they would have to consider what happened if he challenged them afterward.
Based on tournament performance alone, only Garlan Tyrell among those present could confidently face him.
Alekyne smiled faintly.
“The Magic Knight,” he chuckled.
“A rather impressive nickname.” More laughter followed.
Even several lords joined in, while only Randyll remained expressionless.
Laugh all you want.
You know nothing about real power.
Fortunately, William had anticipated this line of attack.
Smiling easily, he replied, “Perhaps it comes from studying under Archmaester Marwyn.” After all, Marwyn himself was known as the Mage.
Invoking his mentor here seemed entirely appropriate.
Alekyne lazily swirled his wine.
“Do you believe magic truly exists?” His tone was casual, but the question itself was not.
I’m long past believing.
The real question is whether I can use it.
Outwardly, William remained composed.
“Legends say magic and dragons are connected,” he said with a shrug.
“Since dragons were real, it is reasonable to assume magic once existed as well.” A neat answer, and a smooth shift of topic, but Alekyne was not finished.
“But the dragons are gone.” He leaned forward slightly.
“Harrenhal still bears scars from dragonfire, does it not?” A faint smile returned.
“Tell me, Ser William, are you planning to restore the castle with magic?” Laughter rippled across the table again.
Are you trying to pick a fight with magic tonight?
William merely spread his hands.
“To restore Harrenhal would require wealth beyond even the Iron Throne’s means.” His smile widened slightly.
“If magic could accomplish it, why would I not welcome the help?” That answer earned a few genuine laughs, and even some of the harsher expressions softened.
Alekyne nodded.
“Fair enough.” Then his eyes narrowed again.
“You have studied under Archmaester Marwyn for years,” he said, pausing, “and you have employed…” he coughed lightly, “…certain unusual advisors.” The word he swallowed was likely charlatans.
“Tell us, Ser William.
What is the progress of your research into magic?” William nearly sighed.
Technically, I could answer this in a very direct way.
He could draw a dagger, cut his hand, cast Healing, and watch half the hall faint in shock.
The thought was undeniably tempting.
Unfortunately, there were limits to even his willingness.
So diplomacy prevailed.
“If you wish to discuss magical studies, Ser Alekyne, you should ask Archmaester Marwyn,” William said with an innocent smile.
“He remains the foremost scholar of such matters in the Seven Kingdoms.” Alekyne leaned back, clearly seeing through the evasion, but before he could press further, Lady Melessa Florent Tarly cast him a look.
It was not harsh, but the disappointment in her eyes was unmistakable.
Alekyne immediately relented.
A glance toward Randyll revealed no support either, so he quietly drank his wine and abandoned the attack.
The conversation stalled.
Then Randyll finally spoke.
His voice carried clearly across the hall.
“A knight should trust the sword in his hand and the companions at his side,” he said, his gaze fixed on William.
“Not imaginary magic.” The hall fell silent.
Randyll lifted his cup.
“I once placed my hopes in such things,” he said coldly.
“And what did it bring me?
Humiliation.
Nothing more.” A shadow briefly passed through his eyes.
“And that humiliation will follow me for the rest of my life.” His gaze sharpened.
“You are a promising young warrior, Ser William.
Learn from my mistakes.
Stay away from such foolish pursuits.” William nearly wanted to applaud.
That’s it?
That’s all?
Lady Melessa really is an angel.
She just saved me from a much worse situation.
Maintaining a solemn expression, he bowed respectfully.
“Thank you for your guidance, my lord.
I will remember your words.” Whether he intended to follow them was another matter entirely.
At that moment, Lady Melessa rose gracefully from her seat.
A warm smile lit her face.
“Well then, gentlemen,” she said, glancing around the table, “you have monopolized our guest long enough.” Her eyes twinkled.
“We ladies are eager to meet this handsome and courageous young man ourselves.” That immediately drew approving smiles from the women nearby.
William bowed to the assembled lords before moving toward the ladies’ side of the dais, where Lady Melessa remained standing to receive him.
After the usual introductions, she began presenting the other women one by one.
“Ser William, this is Lady Janna Tyrell Fossoway of New Barrel.” The woman seated nearest was pleasantly plump, her round features softened by a perpetual smile.
William bowed politely.
“A pleasure to meet you, my lady.” “The pleasure is mine,” Lady Janna replied with a laugh before he had even finished speaking.
Then she struck.
Without warning.
“Though I suspect you have been far more eager to meet Margaery.” William froze.
The smile on her face widened.
“You have been sneaking glances at her since the feast began.” Laughter erupted around the dais.
“There are certainly other young men doing the same,” she added lightly, “but none quite as brave about it as you.” William nearly wanted to vanish on the spot.
Lady, was subtlety banned in the Reach while I wasn’t looking?
The noblewomen laughed, the lords laughed, and even William could only smile helplessly.
At least being teased by beautiful women was better than being mocked by old men.
Meanwhile, Margaery remained composed, handling the attention with practiced grace.
She neither blushed excessively nor showed irritation, only a faint, poised smile resting on her lips.
Lady Melessa shook her head fondly.
Everyone knew Janna loved teasing others, and as Lord Mace Tyrell’s sister, she could afford to.
Then Melessa continued, “And this is Lady Margaery Tyrell, daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell.” Finally.
The person he had come for.
William suppressed his excitement.
“Lady Margaery,” he said, keeping his voice steady.
“It is a pleasure to meet you.” Yet even as he spoke, he unconsciously stepped a little closer.
Just one step.
Purely for magical research.
Nothing else.
Margaery, meanwhile, remained at ease.
The teasing had been slightly embarrassing, but no more than usual.
Men looked at her every day, and William was neither special nor particularly important among them.
So she maintained exactly the expression she had been taught: perfect posture, a pleasant smile, warm enough to seem approachable, restrained enough to discourage excess imagination.
A touch of ambiguity, carefully controlled.
Men liked ambiguity.
Then she met his eyes.
For the second time that evening, and this time from only a few feet away, William felt it clearly.
Undeniably.
The faint magical ripples within her gaze.
His heart nearly stopped.
Without hesitation, he focused his mental strength.
Magical energy surged as he attempted to guide it toward her.
If he could trigger even a reaction… if he could awaken something dormant… perhaps she would notice something unusual.
Perhaps she would remember him.
But the result was the same as before.
The moment his magic left his body, it dissipated.
Gone.
Completely ineffective.
The limitation remained absolute.
Margaery offered a polite smile.
“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Ser William.” Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Perfectly composed.
William sighed inwardly.
Looks like I’ll need physical contact.
If touching Valyrian steel works, then holding her hand should too.
His gaze drifted briefly toward her fingers.
Should I just grab her hand?
A pause.
No.
Garlan would definitely kill me.
I’ll need another opportunity.
Reluctantly, he abandoned the thought.
After the introductions continued, William conversed politely with the other women, offering compliments and exchanging pleasant words, before finally raising his goblet once more.
“To the beauty and happiness of all the ladies present.” The toast was met with smiles and approval.
Mission accomplished.
He withdrew with dignity intact.
Back at his seat, Sam wore the expression of someone thoroughly entertained.
He suddenly raised his cup dramatically.
“To love!” Laughter erupted around the table.
William considered correcting him, then reconsidered.
Let them misunderstand.
It helps more than it hurts.
Smiling, he lifted his goblet.
“To love.” The cups met, wine splashed, and across the hall, beneath countless candles, the Rose of Highgarden continued to bloom, completely unaware she had just become the centerpiece of William Whent’s newest scheme.