The snow crunched beneath your boots as you walked alongside Jacaerys in the godswood of Winterfell, the red leaves of the heart tree rustling softly in the wind. He glanced sideways at you, his cheeks pink from the cold—and maybe something more.

“You Starks are made of ice” he teased, his voice light but warm.

You smirked. “And you Targaryens are all fire and pride.”

He chuckled, but the moment grew quiet. Jace stopped near the heart tree, his expression more serious now. “Your brother trusts me. But it’s you I hope to prove myself to.”

The words caught you off guard.

Before you could reply, he gently took your gloved hand in his. “If I return from this war, will you be here?”