Women are supposed to be soft-spoken proper and homemakers and Rhaella Lopez was everything but she was fierce, loud, blunt and deadly. Her family had never been able to accept her but the FBI loved her it was her home, the only place other than the...
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The morning after the coronation, many had left to return to their homes, while others had returned to their lodgings or properties in the city. Sansa, however, was residing in the palace. The newly minted Martell princess was determined to explore the gardens and talk with her sister. She turned to her husband and smiled. Trystane was an attractive man; they were happily married and safe. She was pleased that she had not married Joffrey. She moved a few loose curls off his face and smiled as she placed a soft kiss on his lips before sitting up and making her way out of bed.
She pulled the rope to call a servant and was surprised when a girl entered the room. The girl was small, quiet, yet healthy—a stark contrast to the Baratheon-Lannister rule under Robert and Cersei, and Daenerys' new regime. "Good morning. Can you heat up some water for a bath for us, please?" The girl smiled and nodded before moving to fulfill the request. Sansa turned back to the bed to find Trystane staring at her with a small smile.
She walked over to him and crawled back into bed. The man pulled her close and placed a kiss on her neck. "My Winter Rose, what do you plan to do today?" Sansa smiled and leaned into his touch. "Arya and I are going for a walk in the gardens to talk. We haven't seen each other in a long time, and apparently, she needs my opinion."
Trystane hummed, his lips still pressed to her neck, his hands wrapping around her waist. "How much time do we have before that little maid returns?" Sansa glanced toward where the maid had left and smiled. "Not long." There was a disappointed sigh as he peppered more kisses on her neck before she gently tapped his shoulder. "She's back." The couple untangled themselves and exited the bed. When the maid entered, Trystane paused, pulling Sansa gently behind him.
"Did my uncle send you?" he asked the girl, who immediately bowed. "No, Your Highness. I was unaware it would be your room."
Sansa glanced at the girl, and a wave of recognition struck her. "You're the handmaiden that helped me on the day of our wedding, aren't you? The shadow for Prince Doran?" Her confusion was evident, but the maid just bowed and rushed out of the room.
The two shared a look before undressing and getting into the bath. "Even under Targaryen rule, we are not safe," Trystane murmured, pulling Sansa closer to him. The silence that followed was oddly comforting, but also tinged with wariness.
Arya sat in her room, sipping tea while carefully reading the reports, when someone knocked on her door. "Enter." The heavy steps approached her, and Arya did not look up. "Aegon, I can hear your awkwardness from here." The man sighed and threw himself into a chair, his dark hair framing his face as he chuckled softly.
"You can still call me Jon, you know," he said.
Arya paused, glancing briefly at him. "No, I cannot, as that is not your name." The man sighed and stared at her. She was 16, and growing into a beautiful woman, but he couldn't bring himself to say that to her. After all, she was his cousin.
