Margaery nodded slowly and flipped through a poetry book. "Even so, I shall endeavor not to keep them occupied long." They weren't hers to keep in the long run, after all.

But she grew weary of the books soon enough and set the poetry book down to move on towards the tub. Her fingers ran along the golden rim. Such extravagance. Even in Highgarden the tubs were not made of gold. She glanced up to Hannibal, unsure that he intended to have the tub moved, wondering if he intended for her to bathe here.

"Is the bath ready?" More so she meant 'safe'. She too was worried that Ramsay may have poisoned the water, or put some terrible acid in it to mar her fair skin.