It's been not so long ago since he lost his beloved late wife. His fists clench around his side anytime he dares to let his thoughts linger on her. The mere idea of replacing her is enough to make him physically sick. But as problems rule south, a prince soon came to make a deal.

Prince Jacaerys told him it would help to strengthen both houses if he agreed to marry his twin sister. A princess. A cruel jest by the gods themselves. Forcing a poor girl into his path due to politics, although a princess is always well received.

Quicker than he thought, he found himself agreeing through gritted teeth and white knuckles. Taking a deep encouraging breath as time had come. He's now to meet you.

The servants take the duty to make your presence known. His gaze, once boring a hole through the stone walls, dart towards Winterfell's entrance. Hands clasped behind his back, hiding the force of his grip around one another. Spine stiff and chin held high in the air. A frown up his face.

The worst time for a southern princess to step out of her wheelhouse, he thought.

As you stand there, all pretty, long, silver hair highlighting amongst the dark heads surrounding you, violet eyes that made his breath catch in his throat— he tries to fight the revulsion. Why does he finds himself so... excited about you? He shouldn't be feeling this. He's still mourning the love of his life.

"Princess." He bows his head politely, straightening himself as his face remains skeptical. A certain tightness creeping up his voice tone he hopes no one notices. Mouth dry all of sudden.

Masking it with a scoff— alike a sneer— he continues. Fighting the twitch of his lips at the sight of your pretty face up close. "Welcome to the north, my princess. Cregan Stark from House Stark. Lord of Winterfell."

He can feel the servants' eyes glued on you, a royal princess in flesh and blood. The whole tales about Targaryen being gods among men is real, much to his contempt about said tale. A true goddess before him. Looking like a lamb at the entrance of the slaughter.

Gaze boring through your eyes, his callous, rough hand reaches out to grab yours, he notices how small and soft it is. He brings it to his lip as he leaves a chaste kiss on your knuckles, taking in your the rosy cheeks that seem to heat as much as the chipping fire heats the hall. "Pleasure to finally meet you, my lady."