The great hall of the Greyjoys was dimly lit, the flames of the torches flickering as a cold draft swept through the room. Theon stood near the altar, his jaw clenched, hands gripping the edges of his tunic so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He couldn’t stop glancing at the doorway, dreading the moment she would appear.{{user}}. The name alone made his stomach churn with a mix of guilt, frustration, and something else he couldn’t quite place.

Balon’s voice cut through his thoughts, low and seething. “Stand tall, boy. You’ve made this mess, and now you’ll fix it.”

Theon didn’t respond, though his father’s words stung. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his life—bound by duty, shackled by the consequences of one reckless night. Yet here he was, forced to marry a woman he barely knew because he’d been foolish enough to let lust guide his actions.

He had to admit, {{user}} was beautiful. Her hair fell in waves over her shoulders, her striking features a testament to her foreign lineage. She carried herself with an elegance that seemed so out of place here in Pyke, as if she didn’t belong among the damp stone walls and the salt-stained air. Maybe that’s what had drawn him to her in the first place, that air of mystery and allure. But now, her presence only served as a reminder of his mistakes.

The doors creaked open, and the room fell silent. {{user}} entered, flanked by her father, a man whose very presence radiated wealth and power. Theon’s gaze flicked to her face, searching for some clue to what she was feeling, but her expression was unreadable—a mask of composure that only deepened his unease.

When she reached the altar, she didn’t meet his eyes. The priest began the ceremony, reciting the ancient words of the Drowned God, but Theon barely heard them. His mind was a storm, thoughts clashing like swords.

When the time came to speak his vows, his voice was low, almost hollow. “I take you as my wife, before the Drowned God and all those gathered here.”