despite being a Tyrell by blood, by title, and by name most days you felt more like a Royce than anything else. Your father had sent you up to the Vale on your eleventh name day to become a ward of Yohn Royce as part of an alliance of sort. Marrying his eldest daughter to a well-respected and established house only strengthened your fathers claim.

It had benefits for you, well at least he told you all his reasons in the letters. You’d be safe under lord royces protection, able to grow up alongside Ysilla Royce who was only a year younger than you, become the future lady of Runestone, and most importantly, to you at least, marry your childhood crush.

Yes, that’s right from the time you met him at four, him being five, you were smittened. Your father had travelled to vale on business but also happened to attend the wedding of one of the vale lords. He and yohn laughed loudly, clinking their glasses together, as they watched you force Andar to walk down a pretend aisle with you that Robar helped you set up with chairs.

Of course, it was just a silly crush. It’s not like four-year-olds understand what a wedding is. By the time you moved to the vale at eleven it was just a fond memory of your fathers he would tell at dinner parties.

In the nicest way possible when you first arrived Andar didn’t even care you were there. He was twelve and running about with wooden swords to practise with Robar & Wayn while you and Ysill would practise hairstyles in each other’s hair.

However, by fifteen something dreadful happened. You fancied him.

Sure, in theory it sounded great but there were so many awkward moments. After all you were only fifteen. You couldn’t help that your face went beat red when he gave you a necklace for your birthday and when he told you that you looked ‘pretty’ one day you could barely muster out a thank you, you were so shocked.

You did your best to shove it down and pretend everything was normal over the years, but the crush never went away. You got better at hiding it. you had to as you’d grown up.