SWEET CREATURE [ Ramsay Bolton ]

CHAPTER FIVE

     "Is there anything I can help you with?" she asks, as she lets down her hair. They are in Katherine's chambers after all, and she makes a point to look as comfortable as she usually is in her private sleeping quarters. If the girl is attempting to intimidate her, she will leave unsuccessfully. Reclining in the chair before the looking glass, Katherine says conversationally, "If you're looking for Ramsay, he just left to return to his bedchambers. Though I must warn you, he isn't feeling very well." Picking up her brush, she begins to run it through her hair as she smiles at Myranda in the reflection. "You do know how he can get."

     The comment infuriates Myranda even further. Katherine can hear the girl's heart begin to race as her face grows red. Perhaps Myranda would have been more delicate with the confrontation but she had already allowed things to progress too far. It's time Esme for Ambrose to learn her place at the Dreadfort.

"Stay away from him," she starts lowly. There are many ideas floating in her head that she plans to use in order to scare Esme away. It shouldn't take much; the lady looks as fragile as one of the southern daisies. Since the day she arrived, Esme looked out of place. It comes as a surprise to no one that she doesn't fit in, not like Myranda who prospers in the brutal environment. She grew up around dangerous beasts, learned how to take care of herself, and she is perfect for Ramsay.

Esme, Katherine, straightens in her seat and cocks her head to the side. "Pardon me?" she asks as if she perhaps misheard. Except, she heard everything. She heard the girl's breath hitch, heard her steady pulse thrumming, heard her hands rustle against her skirts, probably as she tightened them into fists.

"I said to stay away from him," Myranda repeats, more firmly this time. It's always been so easy to get her point across to anyone who considered themselves a rival. Absolutely nothing is different about this one, she thinks. It's just another highborn bitch with romantic fantasies. Surely Ramsay will be bored with Esme Ambrose soon enough anyway. Myranda knows how he is; he always simply loved the chase which always ends too soon.

"Ramsay..." It's not a question from Katherine, but a curious statement. She hadn't realized that the lord's bastard has such popularity amongst the maidservants. Myranda definitely seems to suffer from fierce jealousy. It's quite sweet though Katherine doesn't look forward to such distractions for the rest of her stay. It can quickly become irritating; Myranda will have to be swiftly dealt with.

"You're very lucky that he's in love with me," Myranda tells her proudly. Her eyes light up as she explains, "I'm the only one who can give him what he wants. He would eat you alive."

Katherine doesn't look afraid at her threatening words. Myranda thinks she might even see a smile in the reflection of the looking glass.

"Somehow I doubt that." Her voice sounds teasing as she calmly smoothes down the skirts of her dress. How she misses the prettier silks of the south. How soft they had felt against the skin. A sigh leaves her lips.

"You don't know him like I do," Myranda warningly insists, catching Katherine's drifting attention once again.

"No, I don't," Katherine easily admits as she turns in her seat to face her. "But I'd like to."

      Her gaze is unnerving but Myranda doesn't shirk from it. It only drives her to speak more harshly. "Do you think your family will want you back? Once Ramsay's finished with you, I mean. You'll be worthless and unwanted, just like all the other whores he entertains. They've come and gone with the rain. I am the one who stays."

     For all her taunting, the foolish lady appears unfazed. She stands from her seat and begins to gracefully make her way towards Myranda. Suddenly, her gaze is caught and she remains frozen as the lady brings up a hand to gently brush a lock of hair away from Myranda's face. The fingers are so soft, a stark contrast from Myranda's rougher hands, a product from her time wielding a bow.