Blood Upon The Snow ||| Cregan Stark

twenty-one

Jacaera was amused by her tent. They really must have thought she was helpless. It was massive, countless candles already burning when she arrived. Warm, at least.

They'd even given her a bloody desk. Chair and all. Room to put her things, she guessed. She was surprised the bed wasn't the one she'd found in the Guest House. It was made of tightly wound hay and linens. Truly, they'd tried to make her comfortable.

She appreciated it.

It was warm enough, with the ground cleared and covered by fabric, for Jacaera to take her cloak and most of her outerwear off. She was swathed only in a fur-lined robe. A gift.

With her heavy clothing off, Jacaera sat at the desk and began to undo the braids in her hair. She'd always warn it like that; braided like Visenya. Sometimes it was one braid and sometimes it was a bigger one and some smaller braids.

Part of it was to hide the curl of her hair that came from her father. Braided, no one could tell. But other than that, Jacaera had felt her autonomy taken by Aegon. Her hair had never been something he could take.

When the braids were out, Jacaera ran her hands through the waves, ridding her hair of the knots. She'd have to braid it again in the morning.

Just as she was done with her hair, Jacaera heard the flap of her tent rustling. Startled, Jacaera stood from the desk, her head shooting towards it.

Had someone really had the nerve to try and sleep with her? One of the men from the fire?

When the person appeared, Jacaera felt her heart speed just a little bit.

"Lord Cregan," she said, watching as he ducked inside the tent and closed the flap behind himself.

He turned to face her and fuck. He'd never seen her hair down. Wavy and sitting around her head and shoulders like a cloud. He wanted to run his hands through it and pull it—

"I apologize for the intrusion, princess." He had to speak before she thought he was a creep. Because she was wearing the least she'd ever worn in front of him and fuck. "And for the way my men spoke to you. I do not wish for them to have soured your experience in the North."

She knew that wasn't the true reason he'd come. Despite his best efforts, she could see it. Jacaera, if she was willing to take it, finally had the chance to have what she wanted.

"There is no need for apology. My experience has been entirely pleasant, I assure you." Jacaera closed the distance in the small space, standing before the Lord of Winterfell. That tension sat between them, palpable.

She looked up at him. "Will you show me?"

He was confused for a moment. Was he reading signals wrong? "Show you what, princess?"

Her eyes. He could see them. Moving from his eyes to his lips. Back and forth. "How you keep warm."

No. He hadn't been reading them wrong. And no longer could he keep himself from her.

Fuck it.

Gloves off first. Needed to feel her without a barrier. And then his hand went to the back of her head, caressing her hair, pulling her to him.