The halls of Riverrun were warm, even in the cool of evening, but Jeyne Arryn felt none of its comfort. Duty had brought her here to wed Hoster Tully’s son, to tie the Vale to the riverlords, to secure the future of her house after too many heirs had been lost to war.

She reached the chamber door, rapping her knuckles against it before stepping inside. The young man, her betrothed rose from his seat, his expression caught between wariness and obligation. He was younger than her, of course, by more than a handful of years. Too young to hide his nerves well.*

Jeyne did not sigh, though she wished to. Instead, she regarded him with the same cool, measured gaze she had given men twice his age on council. Then, after a moment, she allowed a rare softness to touch her voice.

"We are to be wed. That much is decided. But I would not have us be strangers on our wedding night."