𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 || 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍

Chapter Three

The afternoon sun hung high over Highgarden, its golden light streaming through the tall windows as Hyacinth moved through the halls, her skirts brushing softly against the polished stone floors. Every step she took was accompanied by the gentle rustle of fabric and the distant echo of her footsteps, a quiet reminder of the solitude that lay beneath the castle's splendour.

The air was redolent with the heady aroma of jasmine and lemon verbena, scents that seemed to cling to the warm breeze drifting in through the open archways. This delicate perfume mingled with the ancient, timeworn stone of the corridors, creating an atmosphere that was both enchanting and melancholic-a fitting backdrop for the silent storm that raged within her. Despite the pleasantness of the day, a quiet weight had settled upon her shoulders, an almost imperceptible unease that refused to be dispelled. It was the lingering echo of her embroidery lesson with the Septa-a session filled with whispered wisdom and subtle warnings, the lessons of which now reverberated in her thoughts like an unspoken prophecy.

As she navigated the labyrinthine corridors of her ancestral home, Hyacinth's mind was a tangle of conflicted emotions. The meticulous patterns she had attempted to stitch in the quiet hours of the morning now danced behind her eyes, a constant reminder of the expectations placed upon her by tradition and duty. Each embroidered thread had seemed to carry with it a burden-a silent declaration of the life she was meant to lead, one carefully woven by the hands of those long before her. The beauty of the art was undeniable, yet it also imprisoned her in a tapestry of predetermined roles and responsibilities, leaving her to wonder if her own desires might ever find their voice.

Before she could lose herself entirely in these heavy thoughts, a soft interruption broke the spell. A young servant, a boy with wide, earnest brown eyes and a hesitant bow, stepped forward into her path. His presence was a sudden jolt-a reminder that the day's routine, however polished and unyielding, could not be entirely escaped. "My lady, your lord father requests your presence in his solar," he said quietly, his words both respectful and laden with the weight of duty.

At his words, Hyacinth paused, the conflicting currents of her heart momentarily stilling. The request carried with it all the implications of her predetermined future-a reminder of the structured path laid out for her by her father's command. In that brief moment, as she looked into the boy's sincere eyes, she felt the pull of obligation tighten around her. Yet, within that pull, there flickered a subtle defiance-a spark that had been nurtured by the lessons of the Septa and the rebellious patterns of her embroidery. With a deep, measured breath, she steadied herself for the inevitable confrontation with the expectations of Highgarden, even as the lingering taste of jasmine and verbena, mixed with the faint remnants of her own inner dissent, accompanied her toward her destiny.

She nodded, smoothing the folds of her gown. "Thank you. I shall go at once."

The walk to her father's solar felt longer than usual, though she knew it was only her own hesitation stretching the moments. The corridors of Highgarden were filled with warm light, the murals of flowers and vines upon the walls standing in contrast to the turmoil swirling within her.

When she reached the door, she paused, exhaling softly before knocking.

"Enter," came her father's deep voice.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, she stepped inside. The solar was a space of quiet authority, its walls lined with shelves of ancient tomes and maps rolled into neat bundles. The scent of parchment and ink mixed with the faintest trace of aged oak. Lord Lyonel Tyrell stood by the large window, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out over the gardens below.

"Hyacinth," he said without turning, his tone calm but firm. "Come, sit."

She obeyed, sinking into the cushioned chair opposite his desk. A deep silence lingered between them before he finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable.