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THESUN dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the campsite as the fire crackled to life, its warm glow pushing back the encroaching darkness. A chill hung in the air, whispering of the night to come. The camp was alive with the sound of soldiers settling in for the evening, the scent of wood smoke and roasted meat mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest. Maelys Targaryen surveyed the area with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, her heart racing at the prospect of the journey ahead, but uncertainty clouded her thoughts.
As the last remnants of daylight faded, Maelys felt a growing sense of anticipation mingled with apprehension. She had always been a creature of the fire, preferring the warmth of her family's hearth to the cold, rugged outdoors. The camp was an extension of the court, a world where bonds were tested, and alliances forged. But tonight, it felt as if the air was thick with unspoken tension, and she was about to step into the unknown.
"Princess." Cregan Stark's voice broke through her reverie, pulling her from her thoughts. He stood a few paces away, his dark silhouette framed by the flickering light of the fire. His presence was imposing, yet there was something decidedly distant about him, as if he was a world apart from the chaos of the camp around them.
"What is it?" she asked, trying to mask her nerves with bravado.
"Come on," he motioned, his tone flat and devoid of any inflection that might suggest enthusiasm. "We need to set up your tent."
A knot twisted in her stomach. "My tent? I thought I'd be in a tent with the others."
Cregan's expression remained impassive. "The arrangements have changed. You'll be sharing with me tonight."
The revelation hung in the air between them, an unspoken tension crackling like the fire. She felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks, not from the fire but from the sudden awareness of proximity to him. "Sharing a tent?" she echoed, forcing a lightness into her voice that belied her racing heart.
"Yes." Cregan began to gather supplies, his movements methodical and efficient, as if he were dismantling a strategy rather than preparing for an intimate night in the wilderness. "It's practical. There aren't enough tents for everyone, and it's safer for you this way."
"Safer?" she replied, her tone betraying a hint of disbelief. The very idea of being alone in close quarters with Cregan Stark was enough to set her nerves on edge. He was distant, often shrouded in an aura of seriousness, and she could hardly fathom how the two of them would navigate the delicate balance of shared space without it turning into an awkward silence.
As they approached the tent, the fabric loomed large, a stark contrast to the night sky. The dark blue canvas fluttered in the light breeze, as if beckoning them into a world where secrets could be shared, but that thought was swallowed by her insecurities.
"Here," Cregan gestured toward the entrance, his voice as steady as the ground beneath them. "You first."
Maelys hesitated, her heart racing as she stepped inside. The interior was cramped, the space barely accommodating both of them. She turned, and Cregan followed her, the flap closing behind them with a soft rustle. The scent of leather and pine enveloped her, but she could also detect an undertone of him—a mix of earthy musk and the faintest hint of something clean, like fresh linen.
