The corridors of Winterfell were cold and silent, lit only by torches flickering against the ancient stones. Jon looked both ways as if a Stark might appear at any moment. You, however, didn't seem to care.

"Princess... stop," he whispered, his deep voice heavy with tension. His strong hand was still on her waist, not to push her away, but to restrain her, or perhaps himself.

You smiled, that smile you had inherited from your mother, as sharp as a well-polished blade. "Why should I?" you whispered back, moving even closer. Your long golden hair fell over his shoulders like strands of fire, and Jon closed his eyes for a moment, as if the mere proximity was too dangerous.

He could have pulled away. He should have. But he didn't.

Her lips touched the corner of his jaw, then the line of his jaw, small kisses almost innocent... almost. Jon was breathing fast, his hands firm against you, as if he wanted to keep you there and, at the same time, prevent something bigger from happening.

"If someone sees us..." He looked around once more, his voice low like a broken oath.