A servant had come running to let the queen know who was in her garden. The poor man had all but collapsed when Aeria had burst out laughing. Her loathing of the Tyrells was common enough knowledge, though she'd never publicly slighted them or shown disfavor.
Aeria wore a cloak as well, a brilliant blue lambswool to set off her eyes. Her gown beneath was gold, trimmed in black in deference to her widowhood. It was not a Dornish custom to do such but she found it a strange sort of comfort to acknowledge her sorrow. She thanked the gods every day that her son was not lost, though at the moment she wouldn't have minded strangling him herself. No one ever mentioned that one could both love and want to murder one's child, yet she'd seen enough of the other ladies at court to know she wasn't alone.
Aeria greeted Selester with a smile. "This is one flower my garden never expected to see again. I shall offer my thanks to the Mother that your Maesters were wrong when they wrote of your illness." She came to stand near him with a look of polite concern. "How are you, Lord Selester?"