Margaery knew the skin would matter little to Cersei. She loved Jaime. She would burn the world for Jaime. If they sent her Jaime's hide or Jaime's head, she would react. She would mourn bitterly. She would break.

The way Jaime's expression faltered and how he was clearly scrambling for something to use or say, it was incredibly satisfying. Margaery glanced to the babies to make sure they were safe. Then she looked up again to observe Jaime.

Hannibal was toying with him, playing the game as an expert player. Margaery was ready to swoon. Truly she had married a man with power and wit enough to bring the world to its knees. He would give her anything she wanted at her whims. And she loved him for it. He was her King, now more than ever.