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chapter twenty six. the boltons
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𝕽OOSE Bolton and his bastard son Ramsey, rode towards the castle in Stormsland. The weather wasn't what it was like in the North, no snow, all rain. Storms.
"Father? What if that girl isn't here? If some lucky bastard already killed her?" Ramsey questioned as he rode horseback with his father, with a rather large army.
"Then we go home, she was not with child which is safe, her and the wolf's marriage ended much before she could ever have an heir."
Ramsey frowned but nodded, as they came to a stop at the gates of the castle that was large.
—— ୨୧ ——
𝕿HE silken curtains of Princess Taliana Baratheon's bedchamber fluttered in the early morning breeze, the scent of salt and smoke thick in the air. Beyond her window, the stone-grey sprawl of Lorath lay quiet—too quiet.
For months now, Taliana had found a fragile peace here, far from Westeros and the bloodstained memory of the Red Wedding. But peace was a dream that never lasted long for someone like her.
Shouts echoed from the lower courtyards.
Steel clashed against steel.
Cries rose—panicked, guttural. Not in Lorathi, but in a rough Northern dialect she hadn't heard in months. They'd found her.
Taliana turned away from the window, heart hammering in her chest.
Ser Aeron was already at her side, tense and alert. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.
"You gave me your word," she whispered, voice shaking. "You promised me you would not fight."
A heavy knock slammed against her chamber door.
"Open, in the name of Lord Roose Bolton!"
Neither of them moved. The knock came again—louder, more violent. Then the door splintered inward, wood cracking like bone.
