Snap.

A soft gasp exits your mouth as your head whips around towards the front of your cottage. The mortar and pestle in your hand stills, the wolfsbane inside half ground, but smelling strong already. You only had four more days to prepare this potion before the new moon.

You set the mortar down, keeping your eyes on your front door. Your hand inches towards the bone dagger lying on the edge of the table.

All you can hear is the wind chimes outside the window and your own soft breathing before someone loudly pounds on the door. You jump, even though you knew they were coming. You grab the dagger, slipping it into the sheath dangling from your belt.

Your footsteps are quiet as you approach the door. You press one hand against the wood before bending to press your ear against it. You hear someone’s - a man’s - breathing along with the occasional foot tap.

You open the door, just slightly, peeking your head out. In front of you stands a tall, handsome man with dark features, covered in luxury fabrics you could only dream of wearing, his hand resting on the butt of his sword.

Prince Jacaerys.

You’re stunned. You rarely get visitors, having been living deep in the woods for some time now, only interacting with those who seek you out for a potion, cure, spell, or curse. You don’t remember the last time you went into Driftmark.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen Jacaerys. Back then, you were both only thirteen winters old, stuffed inside suffocating clothes as you clumsily danced together. Everything about Jacaerys changed after his fight with the Greens, and so did everything about you. You two had grown apart, and your betrothal crumbled around you both.

You had abandoned your House long ago. That life was behind you.