Winterfell was colder than death itself. And so was your new husband.

Lady of Winterfell — the title made you want to sneer.

You had left behind the gilded halls of Casterly Rock, your golden gowns and perfumed corridors, for a keep carved from ice and stone. The North reeked of pine, wolf, and snow. You hated it. You hated him.

Lord Cregan Stark, the Wolf of the North, stood before you with that unreadable look in his grey eyes — like a snowstorm caught in a man’s gaze. Tall, broad, his form cut from winter itself. His sword arm alone looked capable of splitting mountains. His coldness rivaled the wind howling outside, and his words were spare — every sentence a blade meant to cut.

You hissed, as usual, when he entered your solar. “Did your direwolf send you, or have you come to loom and grunt in person, my lord?”

His lips curled slightly. Not a smile. Something hungrier. “You’re angry again.”

“Brilliant deduction,” you snapped, rising from your chair, golden silk brushing the furs beneath. “Perhaps I should lecture your bannermen next, considering they’d understand more than you do.”

He stepped forward. “They'd kneel by the time you finished your first sentence. Your tongue is sharper than a Valyrian blade.”

“And yet you married it.”

He was silent a moment. Then, in a voice low and rough: “Because I wanted the Lannister gold, yes. But now, I want you.”

You froze.

Cregan’s presence filled the room like winter itself. He was a storm wrapped in flesh — muscles hard as northern ice, eyes wild, hunger buried beneath cold control. He took a step closer, and you could smell snow and steel and something darker — desire.

“I’ve decided,” he murmured. “Ten children. At least. Strong northern wolves with golden lion eyes.”

You scoffed. “Over my dead body.”

“Preferably under mine.”

Your breath caught. His words were savage. Blunt. Possessive.

He didn't flirt. He claimed.

“Listen well, my lioness,” he growled, towering above you, fingers brushing a strand of your golden hair behind your ear, “I don’t need your love. But I will have your loyalty. Your pride. And every inch of you.”

You wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. Gods, you hated that you couldn’t tell which.