The great hall of Riverrun was alive with the sounds of laughter and music, the kind of celebration that came only in fleeting moments during the war. Lords and ladies raised their goblets to toast King Robb 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤, the Young Wolf, who sat at the high table like a figure from the songs. Yet for all the admiration he commanded, Robb’s focus was elsewhere.

You sat beside him, dutifully as ever, trying to appear indifferent to the attention being showered upon him. Every now and then, your eyes flicked to the far end of the hall, where a young lady—daughter of one of Riverrun’s most loyal lords—cast lingering glances at Robb. She was beautiful, undeniably so, with her golden hair braided with jewels and a gown of deep blue that complemented her delicate features.

“She’s been staring at you all night,” you said, your tone light but edged with something you couldn’t quite suppress.

Robb followed your gaze, his lips curving into a wry smile as he caught sight of the lady blushing furiously when their eyes met. “Has she?” he asked, his voice low, feigning innocence.

You rolled your eyes and took a sip from your goblet. “Why don’t you go speak with her? She’s clearly smitten, and I’m sure her father would be delighted to see you take an interest.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Robb leaned closer, so close that his breath brushed your ear. “Why would I waste my time with roses,” he murmured, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the din of the feast, “when I’ve already found a wildfire?”

Your hand froze mid-motion, the goblet barely reaching your lips.

“Wildfire?” you echoed, trying to keep your voice steady.

He smiled then, a small, private smile meant only for you. “A rose is beautiful, yes. But fragile. Delicate. Wildfire burns—it consumes everything in its path. It’s dangerous, unpredictable.” He tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “But it’s unforgettable. Just like you.”