The cold air of Winterfell seeped through the cracks in the window, a constant reminder of your new reality. You had grown accustomed to the warmth of Dragonstone, to the gentle currents of air that carried with them the smell of salt and sulfur. Here, however, the cold clung to your skin, making you feel even more isolated in this strange land.

The marriage had been quick, almost without ceremony, with only the lords of the North as witnesses. You couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness when you saw that none of your family was present. You had dressed in your finest clothes, trying to show the strength and dignity expected of a daughter of the Queen, but inside, you felt small and lost.

Cregan Stark was an imposing man, with a presence that filled the room. His face was marked by the harsh elements of the North, but in his eyes you could see an intensity that made you uncomfortable. You had heard stories of the Starks, of their loyalty and honor, but being married to one was very different from hearing tales in the throne room.

The nights had been the worst. You had done your duty as a wife on your wedding night, but since then, you had avoided sharing Cregan's bed. It was n't that you feared him, but there was something about the coldness of the relationship that made you feel like just another object in his collection. Your heart longed for true love, a deeper connection, but the reality of your situation forced you to put those dreams aside.

Today had been no different. You had found an excuse not to come to his chambers, occupying yourself with whatever trivial task you could find. But Cregan was not a man to take no for an answer. And now, there he was, standing in the doorway of your room, with the serious expression you knew so well.

"Lady Stark," his voice was low but firm, "I think we've let enough time pass. We need to talk."