Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 38

Aenyra's  gaze softened as Aemond reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Yes," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper, trembling with tenderness. "Yes, I'll marry you. I couldn't imagine ever marrying anyone but you."

Aemond's face lit with something rare, and pure that seemed like completely unguarded joy. Relief washed over his features, and in the next breath, he pulled her into a fierce embrace, arms tightening around her as if afraid she might slip away.

"Your mother is going to have me murdered," Aenyra teased, lifting Aemond's hand to her lips and pressing a soft kiss to his palm. "And my father will plot your demise that is if he isn't already."

Aemond chuckled, "Actually, I spoke to my mother last night—after the ball." He paused, watching her face. "I told her I have no intention of wedding any of Lord Baratheon's daughters, or anyone for that matter unless it's you."

Aenyra's eyes went wide. "You're serious?" she breathed, the question little more than a whisper.

"More than I've ever been." he answered, threading his fingers through hers. His thumb brushed slowly over the back of her hand.

Aenyra's cheeks flushed at his words, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. A storm of excitement and fear churned within her as she thought of what lay ahead.

"But what about our families?" she asked softly, her voice laced with worry. "After everything that happened at Driftmark...I highly doubt they will just let us be together so easily."

Aemond's expression didn't change. "I'm willing to fight for us," he said with gentle firmness. "No matter what." Leaning in, his nose barely brushing against hers, his gaze intense and unwavering. "But the question is... are you?"

For a heartbeat, the world was still. Then Aenyra, breathless but sure, gave a small nod. Her voice trembled with conviction as she whispered, "Always."

————-

Aenyra descended the stone steps to the front of the castle the next morning, the early sun shining bright and warmly over the courtyard. A soft breeze blew in her braid flowing over her shoulder as she walked, her thoughts restless.

A maid had informed her that the northern men were preparing to depart—and that Lord Stark himself was nearly ready to ride.

Her heart clenched.

She spotted Cregan by his horse, fastening a worn satchel to the saddle with practiced hands. Aenyra quickened her pace, calling out, "Leaving without even a goodbye?"

Cregan paused, his broad shoulders stiffening at the sound of her voice. Slowly, he turned, and his features softened with surprise. "Princess," he said, his tone warm though his expression was tinged with saddness. "Yes... I must return to the North. Winter is approaching, and Sara and Rickon are waiting for me."

Aenyra nodded, though it did little to ease the ache building in her chest. "I understand," she murmured, her eyes meeting his. "You have your duties in the North, and as a father, you're needed there. But still... it pains me to watch you leave so soon."

"Come here," Cregan said gently, drawing Aenyra into a firm, warm embrace. She sank into his arms, the scent of pine and leather surrounding her like the North itself. His hold lingered, protective and sincere—an unspoken goodbye.

As he lifted his gaze, his eyes caught Aemond standing at the top of the steps, arms crossed, eye unreadable as he observed them in silence.

Cregan didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the top of Aenyra's head. "I'm truly grateful for the moments we shared," he murmured near her ear. "You'll always have a place in the North, Princess."