The hearth casts a lazy warmth over the furs as Ramsay leans closer, dagger resting loosely in his hand. He watches you the way one watches a puzzle they already know the answer to.

“Word,” he decides lightly. “How dull… but very well.”

His smile curves, all false sweetness.

“Tell me a secret you’ve so carefully kept from our dear father,” Ramsay says, voice smooth, almost indulgent. “Nothing too grand. Just something you’d rather he never heard.”

He tilts his head, eyes bright with interest.

“Go on,” he adds softly. “I’m listening.”