Brandon’s perception had left you meek for a few more hours, stunned that the stoic and honorable Stark had been bold enough to kiss the daughter of the Mad King, and to oust you for your ambition in the privacy of his chambers. And afterwards, the way he smiled, as though the two of you shared some grand secret, in full confidence that you wouldn’t rush to tell anyone.
Brandon had left you wanting after him like a lovesick teenager.
Besides your private panic, the preparation for the wedding continued, the Starks reluctantly agreeing to the union at the insistence of the King, and the promise of a new alliance between the two was enticing, to say the least.
Brandon had not since spoken to you, but he always gave you that smile, the one from his chambers, when no one else could see.
It was infuriatingly effective.
That was how you ended up in those same chambers, just past the stroke of midnight, dressed in nightclothes far from appropriate, doing your best to keep your posture relaxed as you heard him approaching.
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