CATELYN
She entered the tent where Ruyan was detained, her hands still trembling from the night before. The modest quarters were barely adequate for a princess, let alone a queen, but that seemed the least of their concerns now. The memory of what she'd witnessed kept flashing behind her eyes—that impossible shadow, that face she knew too well twisted in supernatural darkness.
Stannis. It had been Stannis.
But would anyone believe her? Would they think her mad, a grieving mother driven to see phantoms in the night? The thought made her stomach clench with fresh anxiety.
Ruyan sat calmly sipping tea, as composed as ever. Her serenity only added to Catelyn's growing desperation. How could she remain so untroubled when accused of regicide? When Catelyn herself could barely keep her voice steady?
"Loras is not right in his mind," she said, trying to project more confidence than she felt. "He's hell-bent on seeing you punished."
"Grief and anger," Ruyan replied with that maddening calm. "Not a good combination."
Catelyn's composure cracked slightly. "We cannot fight them! Even if your guards are skilled, that would only prove your guilt in their eyes!"
She pressed her palms together, trying to steady herself. What she had seen defied everything she understood about the world, about the Seven's divine order. Shadows didn't have faces. Men didn't kill from leagues away through dark sorcery. Yet she had seen it with her own eyes—beyond what her faith could explain.
"What about Lady Tarth?" Ruyan asked. "She was with us."
Catelyn sighed, feeling the weight of their impossible situation. "She has agreed to speak beside me. But what good will it do when even I can barely comprehend what I witnessed?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "How does one explain that Stannis could kill with... with..."
The words died in her throat. Sorcery. Shadow magic. Things that belonged in Old Nan's tales, not in the world of lords and politics she understood.
"Red priests," Ruyan said quietly. "Followers of the fire god. They're common in Essos—more so in the Shadowlands, near Asshai. I know the magic."
The casual way she said it made Catelyn's skin crawl. As if her fate was not in the gods' hands.. As if the impossible was merely foreign, not unholy.
"You should ask for trial by combat," she suggested, grasping for familiar ground. "As Robb's wife, it's your right under the laws of gods and men."
"If I ask for it, Ser Loras will name himself champion." Ruyan set down her cup with deliberate precision. "I will fight him myself."
"You can't possibly be serious!" The words burst from Catelyn before she could stop them. The image of this slight woman facing a knight of Loras's skill seemed like madness—yet she had seen Ruyan kill before, had watched her hold her own against the Kingslayer himself.
"I don't plan on losing, Lady Stark."
Catelyn stared at her—this foreign girl who spoke of shadow magic and trial by combat with equal composure. Part of her still recoiled from the unnatural abilities, the birds that followed wherever she went, the way she seemed to know things she shouldn't. But another part, the pragmatic Tully part that had learned to survive in a world of men, recognized that Ruyan might be their only hope.
She thought of her prayers last night, kneeling before the Seven's altar in her tent, begging for guidance. But the gods had been silent, offering no wisdom for a world where shadows could kill and foreign princesses wielded powers beyond understanding.
"The lords will think us both mad," she said quietly, more to herself than to Ruyan. "Women claiming to have seen shadow magic, witnessed a man kill from leagues away through sorcery."
"Perhaps," Ruyan agreed. "But Lady Brienne saw it too. And the Tyrells know their own minds—they'll weigh our words carefully, even if they don't wish to believe them."
Catelyn closed her eyes, trying to center herself through prayer. Father above, grant me wisdom. Mother above, grant me strength. But even her familiar prayers felt hollow in the face of what she'd witnessed. How did one pray about shadows with faces?
She could only hope that her reputation for piety and honesty would lend weight to testimony that sounded like the ravings of a madwoman. That Brienne's loyalty to Renly would make her words believable. That somehow, in this tent surrounded by hostile lords, truth would prevail over the convenient lie of Ruyan's guilt.
But as she looked at the young woman across from her—calm, composed, already planning her next move—Catelyn wondered if she truly understood who she was trying to save. Or what powers she was asking the gods to protect.
MARGAERY
"Loras, you must see how foolish this is. Lady Stark and Brienne herself testified to what they saw—who truly killed Renly," Garlan said, his voice carefully controlled.
Margaery watched her brothers—Garlan's eyes kept flicking toward their father. Pleading, though he'd never admit it. But Father only shifted uncomfortably in his chair, saying nothing. When Mace Tyrell went quiet, it meant he was calculating—weighing options, measuring costs. Never a good sign.
"It's her! Her or her guards! They're the only ones who could pull off a trick like that!" Loras snapped, pacing like a caged wolf.
Look at him, she thought with a mixture of pity and fear. Beautiful, perfect Loras, unraveling thread by thread. She'd never seen him like this—unshaven, wild-eyed, sleepless. The grief had broken something in him that she wasn't sure could be mended.
"You're being unreasonable, brother," she said gently, trying the tone that usually soothed him "They came here seeking alliance. That princess isn't foolish enough to make more enemies for her husband."
But even as she spoke, doubt gnawed at her. Isn't she? What did any of them really know about the foreign princess? What was foolish in Westeros might be perfectly logical wherever she came from.
"She's foreign! We don't know what she thinks!" Loras's voice cracked. "She killed him because Renly refused them! So they killed him!"
Oh, Loras. The pain in his voice made her chest tight, but she couldn't let emotion cloud her judgment. Not now. Someone in this family had to think clearly.
She turned to Garlan, looking for steadier ground. He caught her eye and nodded once—small, but she understood. Even Brienne had sworn to the same vision. A shadow. A face. Not the girl in the tent.
But no one wanted to say it aloud. Not in front of the court. Not when speaking of magic would make them all sound mad.
Because the moment we admit it was sorcery, she realized with cold clarity, we have to admit we have no defense against it.
She folded her hands in her lap and glanced across the hall, where Petyr Baelish stood far too still for a man who claimed to grieve. His eyes flicked toward her—and away.
He smiles too easily when he wants something.
When he's quiet, it means he already took it.
Her eyes returned to her brother.
This wasn't justice anymore. It was grief dressed in armor.
"Princess Ruyan," the herald announced.
Margaery straightened as they brought the foreign woman forward. Bound like a common criminal, yet she moved with such poise it might have been a coronation procession. Every inch the imperial princess, even in chains.
That's the problem, Margaery thought as she studied the woman's composed features. She's not afraid. She should be terrified—accused of regicide, facing hostile lords, far from home and allies. Instead, she looks like she's exactly where she planned to be.
"You stand accused of kingslaying—of murdering Renly Baratheon, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. How do you plead?" the herald asked.
The proceedings unfolded with grim predictability. Loras's accusations, delivered through tears and rage. The testimonies that sounded like madness but carried the ring of truth. And through it all, the princess remained perfectly calm.
"I have two witnesses supporting my statement about the shadow magic, one even a member of the late king's guard."
Lady Stark and Lady Tarth were brought forward and gave their testimonies. In the eyes of the lords, Ruyan's claims are hardly believable and Lady Tarth whilst loyal to Renly. The lords are divided as to whether they believe the latter or not.
"Off course Lady Stark will speak for her! Her testimony shouldn't count!" Loras cried.
"Then, It's Lady Tarth's words against yours. A stalemate then. Consider my intentions the next phase. His grace's death doesn't help my husband's cause" Margaery noted her tone shifted from diplomatic to militaristic.
"You killed him because he refused to ally with you!" Loras cried.
Then came the moment that made Margaery's blood run cold.
"Lord Baelish offered queenship to Lady Margaery when she weds Joffrey," the princess said, her voice carrying clearly through the pavilion. "Offering to be a queen of another king whilst the other lived, meant the one offering considered already eliminated."
How? The question hammered in Margaery's mind. How could she possibly know about that offer? It had been made in private, to her father alone.
Baelish deflected smoothly, calling himself merely a messenger, but Margaery wasn't fooled. The princess had just exposed information that should have been impossible for her to obtain.
The princess sighed, still expressionless. "Enough. This is going nowhere. Let your gods determine my guilt."
She paused and looked at Loras. "I demand a trial by combat."
Murmurs rose. Mace already calculating, Margaery and Garlan looked at each other.
Before they can even say a thing. Loras already named himself as Renly's champion.
Ser Garlan then asked the princess who her champion was. The princess only nodded at the female body guard.
"The Grand Princess Royal," Lihua announced. "Ruyan of Yi Ti, eldest daughter of the Azure Emperor Tianlong and Empress Feiyan."
This is a trap, Margaery thought—too late.
And the court erupted.
"Her titles mean nothing!" Loras shouted above the noise. "She is still a kingslayer!"
His voice cracked with fury. "No crown can wash the blood from her hands."
Ruyan didn't move. She simply returned his stare.
Not defiant. Not submissive. Still.
Garlan stepped forward, trying to cut through the chaos.
"Enough," he said, his tone cutting across the chaos. "Let us reconvene tomorrow. Let the Reach not be remembered for unjust haste."
Catelyn Stark seized the moment.
"Then I request, as her kin, that Princess Ruyan remain under the watch of her own men until the trial. She is a princess and Lady of Winterfell. It would not reflect well if harm came to her while she was in your custody."
A pause. Mace Tyrell gave a single nod.
The princess was escorted out—still bound, but flanked now by her own. The moment she passed through the tent flaps, the room exhaled.
Garlan turned to the guards. "See that Ser Loras is attended to."
The tent cleared.
Only Mace, Garlan, and Margaery remained. The doors were shut. The silence felt heavier here—calculating.
Mace seated himself without a word. Garlan poured wine, but didn't drink.
Margaery didn't sit.
"She knew about the offer," she said quietly.
Garlan glanced at her. "What offer?"
"Baelish's offer. That I wed Joffrey. He made it while Renly still lived."
She crossed her arms. "And now Ruyan throws that in our faces—in open court?"
Garlan's mouth thinned. "Loose words from Baelish."
"No," she said. "That wasn't loose. That was precise. She knew. Which means she has eyes in this camp—or near it."
Mace finally spoke, calm but cold. "Then she has more reach than we gave her credit for."
"She's not a witch. She's worse. She's trained. She doesn't panic. She doesn't lash out. She speaks like someone used to commanding—used to getting what she wants without ever raising her voice."
"And if she believes we're already aligned with the Lannisters…"
Garlan said nothing for a beat. "We may already be enemies. And we haven't noticed."
Mace's voice was quiet, but firm.
"We'll let the gods decide. If she survives Ser Loras, then we consider how we treat a foreign queen who's willing to bleed for her crown."
Margaery turned her gaze to the fire.
She doesn't fear death.
That's the problem.
She fears nothing. And that means she might win.