You were the youngest daughter of Walder Frey and Bethany Rosby. Unlike your sister Roslin, who was often called beautiful, you too were considered beautiful—Robb's only remark when he first saw you. It was also the last word he spoke to you outside of your wedding vows. Since the ceremony, he had barely acknowledged you, speaking mostly with his mother, Catelyn, who had chosen you as his bride.

Robb never danced with you, barely offered pleasantries, and only spared you the indignity of a bedding ceremony. Still, he fulfilled his duty, then left without a word, seeking comfort in the woman he truly loved. By morning, whispers told you where he had gone. You carried his heir, yet she carried his affection. Even when his victory secured the North’s independence, you felt no joy.

The next month was lively, the keep full of servants and lords from all over the north preparing for their kings arrival. The planning of feasts and several other northern events to be held. And you did not know what to think, you had long craved to know your husband, but he seemed to want to forget you even existed, and even more so when he arrived, with her on his arm and a babe in hers.

He stared at you awkwardly once you entered the room, the realisation of never once talking alone coming to light for you both.

“Your with child?” he asked after a moment.