❝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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The pure black of the night engulfed the light of the moon and the stars. It was particularly dark that night, making the kingdom appear like barren abyss. Thick clouds graced the horizon, alarming the coming of a storm. Months had passed since Bran's fall, and days were getting shorter. Wolves howled outside her window, as Minerva leaned against it, listening to the calm of the night. The cold wind gently caressed her face, blowing her red braided hair in all directions.
Minerva had her window opened so that she could stare at the world below her tower. A thing that she found herself doing often lately. Star-gazing brought a sense of tranquility to her, as it was the only thing that was the same as her home. Her chamber was dimly-lit by candles, while a fire blazed in her hearth providing her warmth from the chill of the night. She had dressed herself in a thin silk gown, that hugged her frame gently. The neckline was broad around the shoulders, resting right below her collarbones.
"M'lady you need to get some rest," Liana spoke slowly walking up to her lady and sitting beside her on the floor. Minerva looked at her, and a smile spread across her face. She had now grown fond of her handmaiden, who spent most of her time with Minerva than anyone else on the castle.
She looked back out at the sky, that did not let a single ray of moonlight pass through its veil of clouds. "I will." She replied shortly, before getting lost in her trail of thoughts. Many things had been on her mind lately.
"What is bothering you, My lady?" Liana asked noticing the worrisome look on her face. She could tell when her lady was upset. And now as she observed Minerva silently staring into space, she could not help but ask it away.
Minerva shook her head, "Lady Catelyn has not left her room since the tragic accident." She heaved out, running her hand over her face. "And as much as I grief the fall too, I think it is about time she got back at other things," the frustration was apparent in her voice.
"She needs to take care of Bran," the handmaiden tried to reason. But her reason was not good enough for Minerva.
"She needs to take care of Rickon. He's only six," She thwarted annoyed, pulling a few strands of hair behind her ear. "He follows me around all day, clutching my leg, crying because he doesn't know what's wrong." Minerva breathed out hurriedly, a ping of sorrow spreading across her chest.
Over the time, she grew relish and care for the youngest Stark. And she couldn't have stopped herself from it, even if she tried to. The little boy never seemed to want to be away from her. She carried him around her chest sometimes, and he would always sob, which broke her heart in a million pieces. It made her wonder, if that was what it felt like to have a kid. To have someone, to look after and care for.
She was brought out of her trail of thoughts, as Liana jolted up with a mask of horror over her face. She followed her stare, and her eyes fell upon the flames swelling in the distance. Minerva could feel her heart thundering against her chest, as she stood and watched the fire expanding over the barns.
