❝Each time you happen to me all over again.❞
Robb Stark, the King of the North, is forced to marry the mysterious and courageous Princess Minerva of House Baratheon, a political pawn meant to strengthen his kingdom's alliances against the Westeros...
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Robb had his eyes set on the young woman who stood in front of him with her chin held up. His nostrils could pick up the scent of oak trees and ash, confirming her travel from the South. He intently watched his father pass the death sentence for the deserter of the Night's Watch. He thought it was the right fate for him. If they stab you in the back once, then don't give them a chance to do it twice.
"Forgive me, lord..." The man pleaded as he was forced onto the wooden block by the stark knights. His body shivered as the sound of the sword clicked when Lord Ned pulled it close to his chest.
His eyes were shut as he recited the words carefully, "In the name of Robert of House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men..."
Robb shifted his gaze to Minerva who visibly tensed up at the sight in front. Her red braided hair swung around in the wind, as it roared across the clearing, making goosebumps appear on their cloaked bodies. Minerva, he repeated her name in his mind as it rang a few bells for him. He knew he had heard her name before, but where exactly he couldn't remember.
Behind him stood a very distraught Bran, his eyes and lips quivered with fear at the scene in front of him. "Don't look away," Jon, the dark-haired boy that stood beside him warned as he stepped closer. Robb took a glance at his younger brother who looked almost as if he was sick.
"Father will know if you do," Jon added, getting yet again no response from Bran. The young Stark stared at the scene before him with dark eyes.
Minerva felt her heart sink into her chest as Ned got ready to swing the sword. She had been trained for battle, but she had never seen a man getting beheaded before. On that note, she hadn't ever seen someone fatally injured either. And that took a toll on her. Without realizing it, she had retreated back a few steps, walking right into Robb.
His eyes darted towards Minerva, who quickly turned around composing herself. A little smirk crept up on his face when it finally dawned on him. She was scared to watch the execution. He had assumed she wasn't the brightest of her kind. But being scared of witnessing an execution was too much even for her, he thought.
"It's alright not to look, Baratheon," Robb whispered lowly into her ear almost like it was a challenge. A huff escaped her lips letting him know that he had hit her with his words right in the gut.
"I am not a coward, Stark." Minerva seethed as her jaw clenched. Her eyes were now glued to Ned, as he swung his sword cutting off the man's head. A sudden feeling of disgust formed in the pit of her stomach and she clenched her hands into fists to prevent herself from throwing up. Unable to see the blood ooze out and run down the grass, she turned around just for her eyes to meet Robb's.
