The great hall of Winterfell.
The welcome feast for the king was in full swing, and everyone in Winterfell had turned out.
On the high platform sat Lord and Lady Stark with the king and queen.
The princes, princess, and Stark children sat a little lower down. Sansa kept the Crown Prince company, Arya sat with Prince Tommen, Robb accompanied Princess Myrcella, and Bran looked after his three-year-old brother Rickon.
As for Jon, the bastard, Lady Catelyn would not let him disgrace the royal family. She had him sit with the young attendants at the back of the hall.
The king laughed loudly. "Ned, what did you think? Made quite an entrance today, didn't I? Gods, that felt good! 'King's Landing'—what a name! My son came up with it!"
Hearing Robert use his nickname, Eddard managed a strained smile for his old friend and king.
His conversation with the king in the Crypts that afternoon had left Eddard troubled.
The Hand of the King bore immense responsibility. He would issue orders in the king's name, wield his authority, command his armies, and administer justice. If the king was absent, ill, or caught in some other emergency, he might even sit on the Iron Throne and rule the realm himself.
By comparison, Eddard much preferred being Lord of Winterfell.
But the brother he had grown up and fought beside had asked for his help. It was also an appointment from the king. How could he refuse?
The king had even proposed a betrothal between Sansa and Prince Joffrey.
Eddard had much to consider.
Joffrey quietly watched Lord and Lady Stark.
A great deal rested on this visit to Winterfell. Which path he could take in the future depended on where House Stark stood.
So far, things were going well. Eddard Stark had not refused to go south on the spot, and that meant there was a chance.
Some hesitation led to a no. Other hesitation was as good as a yes.
The next step was winning over the next generation of House Stark. If he could win over the Little Wolves, The North would be a secure rear for at least the next few years.
Joffrey glanced at the Little Wolves around him.
Robb worked to keep his every movement composed and courteous. Arya could barely sit still. Bran listened to the knights' stories below while looking after little Rickon.
Whenever Sansa's eyes met his, they darted away. Her feelings were written all over her face.
Joffrey tossed his golden hair, letting the warm firelight show Sansa his face to its best advantage.
"Sansa, it's too hot in here. I'd love to see more of this ancient, magnificent castle. Would you show me around?"
Sansa scarcely registered what the prince had said. "I'd love to."
Her dream had come true.
Joffrey took care to help Sansa to her feet, then guided her slowly through the crowded, lively aisle toward the doors.
Many people noticed them leaving the high platform. Eddard Stark's lips moved, but everyone else offered only teasing looks and good-natured smiles.
Jon wondered what Joffrey was really after.
Just as the two were about to pass through the doors, Jon heard the Crown Prince speak.
"There's a place for you in King's Landing."
Those few words brought Jon back to his conversation with the Crown Prince that afternoon.
King's Landing. Could I go to King's Landing? Were most men of the Night's Watch really scoundrels? What would I do there?
His uncle Benjen Stark nudged him with an elbow.
"Jon, what's on your mind?"
Jon hesitated. He had decided earlier to tell his uncle he wanted to join the Night's Watch, but now...
"Nothing, Uncle."
Ghost gently gnawed at his hand. Jon stroked the direwolf's fluffy fur and ate no more.
Winterfell was unusually quiet now.
A pair of doors seemed to divide two worlds: warmth and bustle within, cold solitude without.
What a dark, lonely castle.
Sansa shivered slightly and breathed out. Her breath turned to white mist in the cold air before fading away.
Joffrey thoughtfully undid his woolen cloak and draped it around her.
The golden cloak bearing the Crowned Stag covered her direwolf-emblazoned cloak, almost like the solemn exchange of cloaks at a wedding.
Wrapped in warmth and a waking dream, Sansa was entranced.
The moment felt right. Joffrey held the dazed girl close, and they huddled together against the snowy cold.
After who knew how long, Sansa came to herself, blushing.
"Joffrey..."
She wanted to push him away, but feared her prince might misunderstand.
"We should go back to the hall. It's so dark out here, and I can't see a thing. It's frightening."
Joffrey had no wish to waste time at the feast.
He picked up a torch and drew Sansa against him with his other arm. "Don't be afraid. I'm here, and no strange creature will come near you. With no one else around, we can speak from the heart."
He could say with certainty that he was genuinely fond of Sansa.
A beautiful girl who adored him, innocent and guileless, with the ancient and powerful House Stark behind her—who could say he did not love Sansa?
The two walked slowly through the castle at night.
Snow crunched in a steady rhythm beneath their feet. The torch crackled, lighting a small circle a few yards across.
In the silence and darkness, each felt the other's presence more keenly.
Sansa had the strange sense that the whole world was no larger than that circle, with only two people in it, deeply in love. If only this walk could last longer.
They stopped in a sheltered corner by a wall.
The faint scent of Sansa's auburn hair soon filled the air around them.
Joffrey gazed into the girl's clear blue eyes.
"Sansa, the moment I saw you, I thought you looked like a beautiful, noble princess. The North shouldn't have you all to itself. You should be queen of the Seven Kingdoms and let the whole world see true beauty."
Sansa's cheeks glowed red. Her eyes shone like clear pools, and she felt as though she were dreaming.
Joffrey gently stroked her long hair.
"The Gods have blessed us. My beautiful princess, our fathers have decided to betroth us. Nothing could make me happier."
"Sansa, the queen of love and beauty in my heart, will you be my wife?"
How could a girl who dreamed of love refuse?
"Gods! Joffrey, my prince, of course I will!"
Their eyes met, then shyly slipped away.
They leaned closer and closer.
Sansa felt the prince's warm breath and the ardor of his love.
This could only be a beautiful dream.
The prince's lips met hers. A tingling shock swept through Sansa, scattering every thought except the sensation of his kiss.
Sansa lost all strength in an instant.
Before her knees could give way, the prince's strong arms closed around her, and then came a fiercer rush of feeling.
She tasted the prince: rich and fervent, full of life, with the breath of flame, the tang of steel, and the mysterious, tempting warmth of flesh that threatened to draw her down into hell.
It was a captivating feeling beyond anything she had ever dreamed.
This was no dream.
Even as her thoughts blurred, she knew that beyond all doubt. Wild joy was all she felt.
Gods, be kind.
Let this moment last forever.
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