Olenna led the group to a private sitting room. As Roose sat down and spoke, Olenna paid him no mind, she was too focused on her granddaughter. "How long has it been since they fed you, dear? Have you been mistreated in any way?" Before Margaery could answer - and the poor girl did try, Olenna snapped her fingers at a servant. "You there! Bring Lady Margaery's favorite mint tea and honey cakes."

"Grandmother, really, I'm fine. No one's mistreated me in Winterfell," Margaery chimed in.

"Except for the bastard," Olenna rolled her eyes. Only then did she look to Roose. "Where that runt gets his nerve is beyond me, Bolton. He comes charging in here, takes my poor granddaughter and has likely terrorized her gods only know how!"

"He hasn't grandmother," Margaery squeezed Olenna's arm. "My betrothed has protected me, I promise."

"Your betrothed, that's another matter!" Olenna glared at Roose. "You had no business arranging such a marriage with Mace Tyrell. Make no mistake, I am head of House Tyrell. Margaery will be wed to whom I say she will be wed. Now tell me, why would I allow her to marry a northman whose clan still honors the horrid first night ritual? And don't bother denying it. I know that's damn well how your bastard was conceived. It explains a lot, really."

Margaery looked distressed for a moment, but knew her grandmother was not in a mood to listen to her. Nothing she said would do any good.

"Why would I marry Margaery to a Bolton? Margaery was born and bred to be Queen. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not some icy stretch of land in the North." Olenna kept her ominous look as the servant brought the tea and cakes.

Mortified, Margaery took a honey cake and nervously nibbled at it. Her father was sweating bullets beside Olenna. She was going to get everyone in Highgarden killed.