A Royal Appointment

"Queen Margaery," you say reverently, as you kneel before her.

"Be at ease John," she says, "this will not need to be an extensive discussion."

You quickly rise to your feet, your eyes drinking in the sight of Margaery standing there. While still not in quite the best of royal fineries, her low-cut red gown and crown still made her appear much more regal than that night you had found her in the snow, in a flimsy white slip.

"You wished for me to grant you some royal appointment, correct?"

"Yes, my queen."

"Very well," she replies, sitting back down at the desk, "where do you wish to serve the crown?"