Margaery, despite understanding the strange circumstances surrounding Jon, hadn't realized that she herself was falling into the trap she often set for others: she was intrigued by the unknown, fearful of the unexplainable, and even a little worshipful.
Her blatant provocation just now—asking if Anya loved Jon—was likely fueled by these complex, subconscious feelings.
As her gaze shifted back to her newfound rival, she saw that Jon was already tugging at the red-haired girl's arm, clearly trying to drag her away from the scene to avoid further escalation.
But this clumsy attempt at damage control only sparked Margaery's competitive spirit.
Before the Highgarden Rose could make her next move, the stubborn redhead who was being dragged away suddenly stomped hard on Jon's boot. Using the momentary distraction, she broke free and stormed right back in front of Margaery.
"It's not 'love'. It's 'fiancée'!"
When she said this, the red fox tilted her chin up slightly. That perfect, defiant arc was aimed at Margaery like the ram of a warship.
Dropping this bombshell wasn't enough. Before Margaery could even react, Lady Anya launched a flurry of verbal attacks.
"Perhaps Lady Margaery isn't aware, but my 'fiancé' here loves me to the point of madness. In fact, just to possess my body, he spent a fortune rigging a gambling game to steal me away from my pathetic father! And after that? He beats me three times a day and starves me..."
As she spewed these outrageous lies, Anya's face showed zero shame. She sounded exactly like a fishmonger in a market, aggressively haggling over the price of cod.
Seeing the elegant noble lady's jaw drop in shock, the red fox felt victory was within reach.
"Of course, aside from these 'painful' expressions of love, he also handed over his entire fortune for me to manage. This includes, but is not limited to, all trade rights in Tampa and our contacts across the Narrow Sea. I only blame my lowly status; no matter how hard I work, I can't generate enough wealth for him. I'm sure to the rich and bountiful Highgarden, my efforts must seem laughable."
After this ferocious, rapid-fire monologue, not only was Margaery stunned into silence, but Jon also closed his eyes in despair, unsure of what to do next.
The transmigrator desperately tried to summon the System, hoping to activate some kind of "Auto-Pilot Mode" to escape this social suicide.
But no matter how much he screamed internally, the System—usually so chatty and eager to watch drama—was eerily silent, clearly enjoying the show too much to intervene.
Unfortunately, the nightmare wasn't over.
Just as Jon thought Anya was finally grabbing him to leave, the red fox stopped again, turned around, and delivered the killing blow.
"Because of all this, we are nothing but humble dust compared to Highgarden. So, might I ask Lady Margaery to stop hovering around my fiancé? I wouldn't want him to develop any unrealistic fantasies!"
Hearing this, Jon's heart didn't just sink; it died. He fought the urge to draw his sword and end his suffering right there as the red fox dragged him all the way back to his quarters.
The heavy thud of the door slamming shut echoed in the silent moonlight, finally snapping Margaery out of her trance.
But even after such rough treatment, the stiffness on the Highgarden Rose's face lasted less than a second. It was quickly replaced by a flicker of an inexplicable, burning flame in her eyes.
---
Back in the room.
As Jon was dragged inside, the guards in the hall took one look at the couple and scrambled to flee, clearly traumatized by previous encounters.
When they were finally alone, the red fox dropped her aggressive facade. She marched to the far end of the table, sat down with her cheeks puffed out in anger, and started chugging a pitcher of honey water.
Obviously, after that performance, it wasn't just Jon who felt socially dead. Lady Anya, the instigator, was likely dying of embarrassment too.
Jon, however, lacked experience in this kind of feminine warfare.
Even with two lifetimes of memories, most of his "wisdom" regarding women came from dealing with the volatile Cersei Lannister.
But a seasoned, bitter queen and a fiery teenage girl are two entirely different species.
So, seeing Lady Anya sitting there fuming, the only feedback Jon could offer was confusion. Feeling equally parched, he sat down and started chugging honey water alongside her.
They drank until their bellies were full, but the awkward silence remained unbroken.
Unlike the clueless Jon, Lady Anya's mind was a storm of thoughts.
Her fierce counterattack just now had been an impulsive burst of anger.
To this proud girl, even if she was just a "prize" Jon had won through trickery, she was still his fiancée, recognized by the Seven.
Sure, the name on the paper was "Wolf Liantang," but the man was undoubtedly Jon Stark.
So, from any angle, she should be ranked first among the Baron's women—assuming he actually had any others.
But judging from their past interactions, this supposedly clever Baron was a total goose when it came to romance. He had zero game. He was probably worse than his blacksmith squire.
At least that crafty, big brute Gendry was willing to swallow his pride and visit a brothel to "become a man."
But this newly minted noble? He clearly wouldn't lower himself to lose his virginity to a common streetwalker.
Thinking of this, Anya's resentment faded slightly, replaced by a grudging appreciation for her "fiancé's" chastity.
Still, she felt indignant.
The moment she saw Margaery, she realized a hard truth: just as she (a merchant's daughter) and Jon (a noble) were an unlikely match, Jon and Margaery (a Great House daughter) were equally impossible.
Ultimately, Anya knew her path likely led to being his secret mistress. Even if she one day earned the title of "Lady," it would be Lady Liantang, not Lady Stark.
Understanding this unbridgeable gap, seeing Margaery's confident smile had shattered the fragile confidence Anya had built through hard work. That insecurity had transformed into a sharp attack, vented entirely on the Highgarden Rose favored by the gods.
But now that the adrenaline had faded, Anya was regretting it. She didn't dare hope for Jon's forgiveness.
After calming down, her intelligence returned. She realized Jon's conversation with Margaery was likely just polite noble etiquette, devoid of any romantic entanglement. She had just made a massive scene over nothing.
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