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Taryn's room was precisely how she remembered it. She had last been in Winterfell a moon before her eleventh name day, her trip cut short by her mother's insistence that her daughter should come back home. Winterfell had enchanted Taryn since the first day she arrived. The castle felt far more homely to Taryn than the Red Keep or Casterly Rock did. But what Taryn truly held envy for was the Stark family. They were far more tight-knit and loyal to their blood than Taryn's family had ever been. She held such love for her siblings, sweet Myrcella, little Tommen, even Joffrey — despite his wretched ways, he was still her little brother. Taryn knew her parents held no love for each other, she would have had to be blind or stupid to not see it. The only bonds Taryn possessed that could be akin to the familial bonds that were so strained and lacklustre in her own family, were the friendships she had with her ladies in waiting — four girls Taryn had known since girlhood, four girls Taryn trusted with her life.
When Robb left her to get settled, his presence was quickly replaced by Taryn's ladies. Taryn had been surrounded by Erielle Lannisterand Alyssa Baratheon, young cousins of her parents' families, since her siblings had been born. Then came Lana Tyrell, a grandniece of Olenna Tyrell, and Jeyne Westerling, whose family were Lannister bannermen. They busied around her now, helping to unpack Taryn's trunks. They were there to serve her, Taryn's mother had drilled that into her, but Taryn valued her ladies far more than that.
There were still hours until the welcome feast by the time Erielle finished slipping pins into Taryn's carefully made updo. Lana stood behind Taryn, tying the corset threads of her gold dress securely before sweeping furs over the Princess's shoulders.
Alyssa took Taryn's hands. "Let's explore. It has been half of summer since we've last seen snow."
Taryn grinned. "That's a wonderful idea."
The Princess felt ten years old again, chasing around the old stone castle. Last time she visited, her company was far smaller, but now every corridor in Winterfell was flooded with rushing servants and marching guards. It made the castle feel like a grey and colder mirror of the Red Keep, not the northern wonderland she remembered from being a child.
They found their way to the courtyard. Outside, under more eyes, Taryn tensed her shoulders. As far as she enjoyed being girlish and running about giggling, Gods forbid Taryn's family — or worse, the Starks — saw her acting childish. She had already let her heart guide her the way North, but the time to play was passing. Taryn had been betrothed to Robb Stark since she was ten years old; she would be Lady of Winterfell one day. (It felt far more real now she was standing back in the castle's wall. At home, in King's Landing, she could almost forget her fate.) There was a time to be the girl Taryn longed to be, and there was time to be the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms — it was an easy balance to maintain, as long as Taryn remained focused.
