Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 18

She took a step forward, then another, just as Cannibal launched into the sky with a thunderous beat of his wings, snow swirling in his wake. Only then did she finally allow Lord Stark to approach.

He was taller than she imagined—broad-shouldered, every inch a man born of harsh winters and iron will. His eyes, a deep, storm-gray, held a quiet intensity that seemed to strip away every layer of pretense. His face was carved in stern lines, yet softened by the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you, my lord. And thank you for having me," she said, forcing her voice into steady politeness as she extended her hand.

She expected his touch to be as cold as the air around them—frigid and unyielding. But when his hand met hers, it was warm. Steady. Almost... reassuring.

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. There was something about the way he looked at her—unflinching, direct, yet not unkind. Aenyra felt the flutter of nerves twist into something lighter, warmer. It unsettled her more than she let on.

"Welcome to Winterfell, Princess," Lord Cregan said, his voice a low rumble beneath the wind. "I've heard tales of your beauty. Not just in appearance, but in name—the Realm's Beauty. And now that I've seen you with my own eyes, I must admit—it suits you."

Before she could respond, he lifted her hand with unexpected gentleness and pressed a respectful kiss to her knuckles.

Aenyra blushed at the compliment and couldn't help but feel flattered by his words and generosity.

Then Cregan turned and gestured for her to follow.

The snow crunched softly beneath their boots as they moved toward the looming gates of Winterfell. Aenyra cast one last glance toward the sky where Cannibal had vanished, then turned her gaze forward. Lord Cregan led her across the snow-covered courtyard, his steady gait guiding her through Winterfell's towering gates. The icy wind nipped at her cheeks and tugged at her cloak, but as they stepped into the great hall, a wave of warmth washed over her.

The crackling of a roaring fire echoed off stone walls, its golden glow dancing across ancient timber beams. The scent of spiced cider and mulled wine lingered in the air, mingling with faint notes of pine and hearth smoke. Aenyra blinked in surprise—it was cozier than she ever imagined a fortress in the North could be. Welcoming, even.

As they walked further into the grand chamber, several men and women rose to greet them. Cregan introduced a handful of his advisors and heads of minor northern houses, their mannerisms respectful, if a touch reserved. Their eyes lingered on her, curious but polite—this dragon-riding princess from the South, now in their frozen domain.

After a few moments of formalities, Cregan turned to a young woman standing just off to the side. "This is Sara Snow," he said. "She'll be attending to you during your stay."

Sara, a petite girl with pale skin and a braid of wheat-colored hair, gave a quick curtsy. "If you need anything, Princess, please don't hesitate to ask. I'm at your service."

"Thank you, Sara," Aenyra replied with a tired smile. "Though truthfully, I could use some sleep. The flight was... a long one."

"Of course, Princess," Sara said quickly. "The maids prepared a warm bath upon your arrival. I'll have your things brought up right away. Let me know if there's anything else you require."

Aenyra paused, then gave the girl a reassuring smile. "You don't need to call me 'Princess' when it's just the two of us. Aenyra is fine."

Sara blinked, clearly startled by the offer, but then nodded, a small, grateful smile blooming on her lips. "Thank you... Aenyra."