HONEYMOON

The duke stood before you smiling, his head tilted to his left waiting. You trembled, suddenly your dress felt tight,your free hand moved to tug uselessly on your bodice. Tears welling in your eyes. Still the duke watched, looking at you with a patient longing, yet below that was a satisfaction.

"N-no" you stuttered takeing a step back and removjng yoh hand from his quickly, just asmhis hand began to tighten

"Pardon?" He purred whilst blinking at you. Surely he was mistaken. Yoh wouldt deny him; he was a duke, powerful, rich the kings best friend and handsome! He was everything a woman wanted in a husband and he was even known about the court as a good fuck!

"No, i cant im sorry im flatered but i just... i cannot accept" you said entwining youf fingers resting your hands low o the torso as if it would protect you and keep your breaths even. His jaw tightened and he snarled, a low wordless sound that shook you to your core. He was angered, nevwr had you seen him angered to this degree and so quickly. It was frightening.

He chuckled looking to the sky taking a second to inhale a deep breath before locking his gaze witn you once more. This time his fury was tampered, hidden beneath the stromy blue gaze with a promise. He would not forget this slight.

"You will accept" he spoke puffing his xhest and standing taller, trying to seem imposing in his resolute certainty. He spoke candidly, with an ease as though he were stating fact.

"I do not-" you began arguing feeling more alarmed at his quickly shifting mood. He seemed almost manic in his mood changes. Anger should not fade so quickly.

"Im not here to ask girl. Im here to inform you that it is done. Therefore you will accept me for you have no choice, did you honestly think id leave this to chance? Up to you? That i would allowmy future to be decided by a woman barely cut from here mothers apron strings?" He scoffed, belittling you. All traces of tthe kind man that had asked for your hand momentts ago were gone. His patience had run dry, he was now a duke. Spoiled and unused to hearing the word no. Charles stepping forward dwarfing you quickly and one hand shot out grasping your arm and tugging you forward harshly.

"your mine" he growled lower and more savage then before.

"Then why ask for my hand?" You asked eyeing him carfully whislt trying to make a plan of escape. Not just in the present moment but how you were going to run from this so called arranged marriage.

"I wanted to let you believe in your silly notion of choice. It would be easier letting you think you had a say in the matter, when in actual fact you do not. You are already mine" he hummed craning his head down to yours smirking victoriously. He reveled in the fear that crept,along your face. The colour drainign from your face. He was willing to let you live a lie? And now he was gojng to trap you into an unwanted marriage? It was cruel, barbaric even!

"I could mount you here and now like a two pence whore and there would be no consequence" he added his evil smirk stretching to a grin. You gasped at hxim, his was how hw would speak to his bride to be? He was a cad!

"What? No my father would never force me- he would consult me on my match-" youd uttered shaking your head as hiis eyes bored jnto yours with a deep penetrative gaze. He was searching for something. Something beneath the surface.

"Your father has already handed me half of your dowery, it is sitting in my home as we speak" he purred stepping closer, pressing you against him in an unsightly display of intimacy. His feet now tucked below your skirt, almost stepping on your toes. He groaned as your hands rose pushing against him trying to fend him off but to no avail.

"No-no i wont do it! I dont know you, and what ive heard is-" you yelped and began thrashing harder not worried about causing a scene or drawing attention. But the duke laughed in your face, tipping hos head down to youqrs pinching your chin in a painfull holsd forcing you to look up to him. See his dark eyes gleaming with a violent delight. He liked your struggle. It made him bigger and bader, more powerfull. A hunter with its trapped prey.

"What you hear of me means very little pet. You are my betrothed, and i suggest your learn to like it. For we shall become very close, very quickly. Now take my arm i wish to take you around the court." He growled moving his arm for you to take. It was a sobering moment for you. He released you entirely but his eyes held you captive. There was a darkness there. One of which youd not seen before. It prkmies retribution should you foght him.

"I dont- i wish to speak to my father" you added stepping back a few inches but charles did not relent, he followed your meager movements. Clearly ready to chase yoh should you run.

"He is far too busy" he laughed shaking his head as if trying to explain the ways of the world to a child. It was a humourless laugh, full of disappointment and vindictive undertones.

"He is never to busy for me-" ou began trying to give the false sense of self confidence even thought you were w reck inside. How could this happen?! Why? Why was this duke goingmto claim you?!

"Oh but he is especially busy. I made sure of it" charles interupted ominously making your stomach drop, instantly fearing for your father.

"You? What have you done?!"

"I gave him everything his greedy heart desires. A title, lands, livestock a small fortune to count! Just enough shiney things to keep him occupied untill our ceremony. He will never know he traded shiney coins for a truly spectacular jewel" his words made you feel sick to your stomach. Money. The root of all evil! Yet it was the means to have anything you desire! With enouh money oh can ourchase anything, even a bride. Your father had unknowingly sold you like cattle. He'd lead you to the wolves den! Only this particular wolfs den was a large estate.

"Now hurry, i wish to parade my new little trinket around court" chalresmuttered twisting the words, makjng the ache in your heart deepen and throdpb tightly. You could barely catch your breath as his menacing yet cheerful disposition washed over you like youdd been plunged in to a foul bog of freezing water.

"You are cruel, i will never love you" you sobbed but raised a hand to his arm knwoing you had no choice, atleast untill you managed to talk sense into your father.

Charlse preened, smiling wider as you stood beside him looking straight aghead, tears rolling down your cheeks as you avoicpded looking at him. He was victorious. His victory gave way to his next few coocky words.

"No, but you will moisten, beg, plead, gush, wail, kneel and bend over for me. As you should for i am your husnabd, lord and master." He laughed embarassing you further, yoh couldnt help feel the degradation was punishment for your refusal. But he did not stop his next remark was even more of a blow.

"Be a dear and make peace with that soon. Alright? I dont want to have to find a switch or purchase a cane. The bruises would leave you uncomfortable when i fuck and breed you. Wife." The comment had the desired effect. You gasped snapping yoh head to him forgoing your imposed ignorance you yelp at him.

"Youd beat me?!" Your cry was of true fear. You didnt want to feel this powerful mans strength in such a fashion.

Winterfell was covered in snow when you’d arrived. The journey was long, stuck in a carriage to keep from freezing. All you’d wanted was to see the kingdom which would now be your own, feel the ground beneath your boots, breathe the crisp, cool air, but your mother had forbidden you from stepping out into the chill. “No man wants a stupid, frostbitten wife, be reasonable.” 

The fresh snow crunched under your foot when you were finally released into the courtyard. Despite the cold, the old stone walls, the hardened faces of the northmen lined up to greet your family, you smiled at your surroundings. The afternoon sun glistened on the ice, creating a soft glow that lit up the castle walls. You took your father’s arm, stepping forward until you were face to face with your husband-to-be. 

Man. 

That was the first word that came to you when you saw him. Tall, broad-shouldered, face clearly hardened by years of cold weather but no less handsome. A greatsword, longer than you were tall, strapped across his back. You were certain he knew how to use it. Cregan did not smile, but he took your hand when you offered it, holding it gently in his larger, callused one and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

Few words were exchanged before the wedding; a simple affair, by southern standards, vows before the heart tree on an evening so cold you could barely feel your fingers. Cregan’s hands had been warm in yours, the only thing grounding you to your present fate. Ale and laughter had echoed through the great hall, though your now-husband had not asked you to dance. You hadn’t really expected to, though a part of you had hoped he might take you up in his arms and spin you across the floor. He’d sat beside you on the dias, solemnly greeting guests and nodding thanks at their pleasantries. 

You had tried to give your thanks as well, but most of the northerners were only confused by you. Thin, pretty gowns, no good for the harsh cold. Heart and embroidery, poetry and song, lessons you’d spent years perfecting were suddenly all you had to entertain yourself. 

If not for a little boy tugging on your sleeve, you may have spiralled into hot embarrassment. Luckily, little Rickon Stark was all too eager to speak with his new stepmother. A spitting image of his father, the young boy had come from Cregan’s first marriage, though he’d hardly remembered his mother. Instead, you were there. A strange southerner, a new delight in the neverending plane of snow and ice. 

He instantly captivated you, distracting you from your husband who had tried little to gain your favor, it seemed. Lord Stark was a silent type, appearing to listen to your words but giving you little in return. Often you felt he was irritated, or maybe even bored with you, it was difficult to read his stoic demeanor. 

Instead, you threw yourself into entertaining the younger Stark. Soon, he’d all but lodged himself into your heart. Rickon had no problem conversing with you, or laughing loudly, or chasing you down the battlements. It was a pleasant distraction from your current problem, which was of course that, despite everything, there was no hiding the way your heart leapt whenever Cregan was near. 

You’d tried, oh had you tried, to make him feel the same. You ordered dinners you knew he favored, laid out his clothes, kissed his cheek when you left in the mornings, but he always gave you the same hard look, or nodded down at you in what you hoped was a thanks. 

Any small affection you kept close. Once, in a game of hide and seek with the boy, you’d found yourself out in the cold longer than you’d planned. A quick peek out was all you meant, but soon you were wandering though the godswood looking for a pair of little boots poking out from behind a tree. You’d rubbed your hands together, desperate to get some heat back into your fingers, when a deep voice pulled you from your search.

“You shouldn’t be out here like that, little bird.” 

You’d spun, coming face to face with your husband. He did not look amused by your current state, in fact, his face was pulled into a deep frown as he scanned your poorly dressed body. 

Cregan tugged at the fingers of his gloves, pulling them off his hands before thrusting them toward you in a fist. Your hands brushed as you took them, gratefully, and it almost seemed like he shuddered at the touch. Almost immediately, he was back to his  usual stiffness. He watched you intently as you stuck your hands in his almost comically large gloves. You thanked him softly, wiggling your fingers at him with a smile, but he only nodded, giving you a short bow before stalking off gods knew where. 

Obviously, you knew Cregan wasn’t really in need of an heir. He had Rickon, who was growing every day, and loved nothing more than pretending to be his father. It warmed your heart to see him, marching along after Cregan like a duckling, pretending to swing a stick like it was ice, screwing up his face like he was responsible for the Northern realm. It did not stop you from picturing a baby of your own. Not a replacement, but a companion, a new addition, someone to raise and dote on and love. 

Cregan did not appear to share your sentiment. You’d laid together, it was true, your wedding night, and many times after, but he had never told you he wanted another. Each moon, your spirit dimmed a little, at the notion of never getting a child of your own. 

In a moment of desperation, you had found yourself in the Godswood, knees against the ice, begging gods you could not name for a gift you knew they could not give you. 

“My southern gods have forsaken me, I do not know where else to turn. There is but one thing I ask of you.”

You could hear the begging in your voice, the desperate whine of a woman losing her mind. “I know you cannot make my husband love me, I have tried fruitlessly to no avail. It has broken my heart, but I cannot change his will to fit my own,” You let out a shuddering sigh, eyes brimming with tears, “All I ask for, all I want, is for him to give me a baby.” 

A choked sob left your mouth as the tears began to fall. You pressed a hand to the cold bark of the weirwood, the red eyes of the forest looking down on you.

“I have come to love little Rickon as my own; he is my boy in everything but blood. It would make him so happy to have a sibling, I know it. Someone to play with, to teach, run through the halls together.” Your voice was softer now, thinking of the little brunet boy who still clung to your hand when you walked together. You smiled at the image, but you weren't finished. Not yet.

“Please, I beg of you; give me someone to put my heart into, someone I can love, who will love me back without cause. I cannot live in heartbreak any longer.” 

You hung your head, exhaustion hitting you as your tears slipped down into the snow. You watched the little pockmarks form in the white as the droplets fell on the untouched blanket. 

A crack in the ice sounded behind you.

Your head whipped around, frantically wiping tears from your cheeks at the sight of the man looming just steps from you. Even in your embarrassment, your grief, your shame, Cregan looked every bit as handsome as the day you met him. Snow dusted in his dark hair, and across the fur around his shoulders. He said nothing at first, staring down at you with an expression you couldn't read. You made to stand, to run, hand gripping the low branch to pull yourself up, but he was on you before you could rise. 

Cregan took a knee, close enough to feel the heat of him and effectively caging you against the weirwood. Your eyes widened, fresh tears welling as you stumbled back, your spine hitting the solid wood.

“Husband, I- I did not think- I assumed I was alone, you see-” 

He raised a hand, slow enough not to startle you, and cupped your damp cheek. 

“You shouldn’t cry out here, little bird, can’t have the tears frozen on your face.” His voice had the usual rough edge that only comes from taciturnity. A thumb brushed across your cheekbone, slick with saltwater. 

You shook your head.

“Cregan, my lord, I- please do not think-” 

The winter storm in his grey eyes stopped you. He leaned closer, forehead pressing against yours. A low, wolfish sound left his throat. 

“My wife is cold.” 

He did not wait for a response- not that you thought you could make one. Instead, he tugged the cloak from his shoulders, wrapping it around your frame with the practiced care of a man with purpose. 

You were overwhelmed by the feeling of him; the smell of leather, sweat, and pine from the fur, still warm from his body, enveloped your frame as he scooped you up into his arms. He wasted little time carrying you through the wood, a determined clip to his step. You hadn’t even realized how cold you were until the warmth of his hand touched you, and now tucked against his body, feeling began to return to your fingertips. Cregan did not speak, but you caught him looking down at you several times, a smouldering thing that made your heart flutter and your stomach ache. 

Cregan took you to his chambers. 

The room was dim from the dying sun in the window, and wasted no time setting you before the hearth. He went to work coaxing a flame, throwing a log on the growing fire and stoking the embers. You watched his hands shift as he tugged his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing forearms corded with muscle. It was hard not to stare when he was so close, the rise and fall of his chest, the slope of his nose, the stern draw of his brow. 

The golden glow of the fire began to warm you, and you shuffled the heavy cloak from your shoulders. You startled when Cregan leaned in, reaching around you to lay the wolf pelt out flat, before his fingers found the lacing of your gown. It took you a moment to realize what he was doing, distracted by the determination on his long face, before you batted his hand away. 

“Cregan, my lord, what in the seven hells are you doing?” 

He tilted his head at your question. 

“You asked the gods for a babe, I am only giving you what you want.” 

Cregan went for your back again before your hands grabbed his shoulders. 

“What- no, I did not mean-” You huffed. He nodded for you to continue, and you took a deep breath before finishing:

“I was just upset, surely you know I would not want you to give me a child against your will.” 

Cregan looked properly confused now. An arm came around your back, pulling you closer until you were flush against his chest, all but perched in his lap. One of his hands pet the back of your hair, before wrapping around the back of your neck. Your heart raced; what was he doing? You hadn’t been so close since your wedding night, why now? 

“You cannot think I would not wish to see you with my babe in your belly. I have thought of little else since the day you arrived.” 

It was hard to put your thoughts together at his admission. You went back through time: his watchful gaze as you skated across the frozen pond, Rickon’s little hand in yours; dinners favoring southern tastes, so different from the simple meals of the North; all the times he mumbled “Put some gloves on,” or “That’s not warm enough.” 

You struggled to come up with a response. 

“But, but you’ve never said anything! Never tried to- how was I to know you cared for me?” 

Cregan growled.

A low sound, deep in his throat, and you suddenly knew why the Starks had chosen a wolf as their sigil. 

“I am of the North, I do not have the frilly words you southerners use,” He leaned forward, forehead against your temple, and took a deep sniff against your cheekbone, “But make no mistake, little bird. You have affected me in ways you cannot imagine.” 

You frantically searched his gaze for a jest, a cruel lie to get under your skirts, but all you saw was the heated, stormy need from under his heavy brow. 

“Let me give you what we both so desperately desire, do right by the gods.” 

Courage got the best of you at his words, and your hands came up to his neck. Cregan followed your lead, pressing his lips against yours with a force that took your breath away. He was so warm, all around you, arms and lips and thighs, it was almost too much to bear. You clumsily followed his lead, tentatively stroking his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue. His teeth scraped against the muscle before slicking his own tongue out against yours. A gasp left you against his mouth, but his hand on the back of your head kept you firmly close. 

Cregan used his other hand to grip the collar of your gown, tugging down with a harsh tear that rang out across the otherwise quiet chamber. He let you pull back then, if only to grip the fabric with both hands and separate the panels. You let him, eyes dazed and a mix of your spit on your chin. His eyes scanned down your chest, your exposed breasts, taut nipples, softness of your stomach, before he grabbed at the shoulders of the ruined gown. 

In a moment, he had you naked, back against his cloak, chest heaving. Cregan looked you up and down again, hands on your knees to spread your legs. You could feel the cool air on the warm slick of your cunt, and moved to gently close your thighs, but Cregan stopped you.

“No, wife. I will see you.” 

Reluctantly, you let him stare. He blinked a few times, pupils blown wide at the sight. He sniffed the air, and you almost died of embarrassment before he lunged forward to press his long nose between your folds. You could feel him smelling you, nuzzling against the dampness of your core.

“Cregan-” 

You grabbed at his shoulders. A knot was forming in your stomach, tense but not at all unpleasant. He sensed you growing restless, and crawled up your body until he was once again at eye level. Your hands found his hair, tugging him down to kiss you again, and he gave you a rare smile against your lips. You wiggled against him, hips canting up against his clothed thigh. 

“Sweet girl, I have you now, no need for that.” Cregan mumbled against your lips. He pushed himself up on an elbow, looking down at your soft body below his. His fingertips graced against your cheek, then your throat, before sliding down to paw at your breasts. Your eyes shut at his shamelessness as he gripped the flesh in his hand, rubbing his palm flat down against your chest, gently jiggling the swell, pinching at the hardened nipple. His eyes bounced from his work to your face, watching the movement of your brows and the way your lips flew open when he twisted the peak. Mewling groans left you, a sound you’d never heard made from your throat. 

Cregan looked every bit the predator watching his prey, toying with it before devouring every last bite. Slowly, he leaned forward, mouth parting to lave his tongue against the pulse at your neck. 

A startled sob left you, head tilting back involuntarily to expose more skin. He gladly accepted, teeth combing down against your flesh and sinking deep enough to bruise. Your hips were moving again, thrusting up to bump against the hardness at the front of his pants. Your fingers twisted in his hair again, unsure if you wanted to push his canines away, or drag him even closer. Cregan trailed slippy kisses down across your clavicle, nipping and sucking as he made his way down your body. He paused at your breasts, wrapping his lips around a nipple as he fondled your other tit. You yipped when he bit down, edging delicately from pleasure to pain, and he let out a low chuckle. His tongue gently circled the nub in apology, and he kissed it softly before continuing down to his prize. 

Your thighs strained to accommodate the bulk of his shoulders. Cregan wedged himself between them, spreading your legs and opening the petals of your pussy for him. He breathed you in again, musk of your arousal coating his nostrils. 

Shock, confusion, shame, pleasure; the feelings bounced around your skull when he pressed a smoldering kiss to your opening. Cregan got to work, slicking his tongue through your folds and wrapping his lips around your clit. You could hear how wet you were, a slurping coming from between your legs as he ate you. Involuntarily, you thrust your hips up, begging for purchase on his tongue. 

“None of that. Let me care for you.”

The vibrations went straight to your clit, and his large hand came to meet your next thrust, pressing down on your lower stomach to keep you still. Cregan’s other hand crept up to your cunt, spreading the folds with his fingers to give his tongue more room. There was no room for embarrassment; in truth, you could hardly think of anything at all, except maybe gripping his hair to angle him closer. He gladly obliged, sucking on your clit and rubbing the sensitive little nub with the tip of muscle. His shoulders tensed when you whispered, a wanton sound that found him prodding your opening with a finger.

Cregan slid one into the knuckle, curling the digit before thrusting again. You shrieked out, holding on to him for dear life as he picked up the pace. Your thighs quivered around his head, and he added a second finger; the delicious arc of the thrust touching a spot you hardly knew. 

“Cregan please, I need-” 

As if he could read your thoughts, he continued his movement, languidly rolling your clit with his tongue. You came with a shout of his name, entirely undignified but without shame. Your spine tingled, a new feeling, only heightening with his mouth on you. 

Slowly, unwillingly even, Cregan pulled his fingers from deep in your cunt. Immediately, the slid past his lips, and he sighed at the taste. Before you could speak, his mouth was on your heat again. Only this time, it was to tenderly lick the dribbling juices away. Your breath was caught in your throat, a fish out of water, gasping for air as he touched your sensitive body. 

When he rose, a gleam of slick coated his face from nose to jaw. He kissed you again, taste of you on his lips. Your fingers fumbled clumsily at the clasps of his doublet, trembling so much you could barely grasp the metal. Cregan chuckled, sitting up enough to undress. 

“My wife wants to see me, then?” 

You nodded frantically, reaching up to run your fingers over newly exposed skin. He was even more impressive bare; hard muscle of his arms and shoulders, bulge of his chest, dark hair traveling over his stomach and under his waistband. 

A waistband he was presently unlacing, tugging down to expose the hard length of his cock. Cregan didn’t bother removing his pants all the way, settling for shoving them to his knees before his hands were on you again. He slid his palms up your legs, gripping the fat of your thighs in his paws before hooking behind a knee. 

You gasped as he flipped you onto your stomach. How exposed you felt, somehow more vulnerable then when he’d pulled your legs apart. Entirely at his mercy under him. Reverently, he ran a hand flat down your spine, stopping to grab at your bottom and slap at the swell of flesh. You relaxed as he settled above you, the warmth of his chest entirely covering your back and his body surrounding you on the floor. 

“I will not stop until my seed takes, little bird. You are mine.”

Cregan gripped his dripping cock in hand, nudging your cheeks apart until he could notch himself in the opening of your cunt. A growl left him as he mounted you, sliding his thick shaft into the hilt. You gripped the fur beneath you, desperate for a hold as you struggled to take him. He began to rock his hips, sharp thrusts that had you crying out softly with each one. The urge to move your pelvis, to meet his movements with your own, was overpowering, but he kept you pinned so thoroughly beneath you; all you could do was lie under him and take it. 

You felt his warm breath on your neck as he tucked chin over your shoulder. 

“Mine, wife. Mine to keep warm, mine to feed, mine to fill with babes- fuck-” He paused when you clenched around him, so affected by the rumble of his words, “As many as you want, fill the castle with them.” 

This may have been the most words you’d heard him speak in one sitting. It was hard to say, focusing on anything but the bully of his cock was difficult. A wet, slobbering noise filled the room, his heavy balls slapping against your clit. With each thrust, a sweet moan would leave your lips. 

Sweat beaded between your bodies, the heat of the fire mixing with the exertion, and of course, the overwhelming warmth that radiated from his body. Slippery, but the weight of him kept you firmly pressed against his chest. Your stomach twisted, a dull aching growing low and gradually rising with each pound. 

“I think I might- oh gods, Cregan.” 

He buried his head against your hair at the desperation in your voice. 

“I’ve got you, sweet girl.” 

Cregan managed to wedge a hand underneath your body, fingers finding your clit, small circles rubbing against the oversensitive nub. You writhed underneath him, body arching with the little room you had. He somehow pressed down even closer, needy with desire to be close. His other hand came up to grip yours, threading his long fingers through your smaller ones. 

Words were gone from both of you know, grunting and moaning the only communication as you reached your peak again. A flood of wetness coated his cock, intensifying the squelching of your bodies joining. Cregan’s hips didn't stop, chasing his own orgasm as your walls clenched down around him. 

Teeth sunk into your shoulder as he came, unloading his balls into your quivering hole. His thrusts stuttered as he shot his spend, slowing gradually until he buried himself fully. 

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, rapid as your own. Cregan kissed your neck and shoulder lazily. His mouth open against where you’d surely have a bruise come morning. 

Carefully, Cregan began to extract himself from you. He rose up on his hands, slowly canting his hips back to draw his softening length from your warmth. 

The sound was obscene.

You barely had time to react to the fact, as your husband’s fingers began pushing the leaking come back inside. You choked out what sounded like his name, and he leaned forward to kiss your head. 

“Shhhh, no need to fuss. Can’t let any of it go to waste, now.” The low timbre of his voice settled you, and the feeling of his free hand petting your side calmed you as he shoved his fingers into your swollen pussy. 

Cregan licked his fingers greedily before lying down beside you, arms coming round to pull you against his broadness. He cupped your cheek, whipping away a few stray tears that had managed to escape. 

“You will tell me, little bird, if you feel this way again. I will not have my wife think I do not care for her.” 

You nodded slowly, head rubbing against his chest. The exhaustion of the evening finally catching up. The reaction satisfied him, and he tilted your chin with his finger to leave a lingering kiss on your mouth. He tasted of your joint sex, but underneath was something you were beginning to recognize as just him. Wild, canine, the very essence of the North. 

You drifted off, warm and sated in his arms. Cregan stayed up a while longer, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, rubbing your back as he thought of what a southern Stark might look like.  

His horse was saddled and waiting for him by the time he arrived at the stables.

A brief thanks and farewell were all he tossed behind him, spurring his horse into a gallop before even clearing the city's main gates.

Charles had never been so grateful the estate you'd chosen for your lying-in hadn't been too far outside the city of London. He arrived home within the hour, leaping from his lathered, labored horse.

A stable hand took the poor beast's reins without a word as Charles rushed inside. He couldn't be certain he thanked the lad, but he would no doubt do so after checking upon you and his child.

The familiar halls did little to slow him down nor the servants who'd been busy with their daily duties. It was only at the door to your bedchamber that he was met with some resistance. The midwife didn't tarry him long though, merely gaining his word he'd take care of you and the babe. With his word, she stepped aside and let him into your rooms.

Upon seeing you sitting up and appearing quite well despite your ordeal, Charles felt his knees weaken. The fear of losing one's wife during childbirth was a reality that every man, high or low, had to face with each new pregnancy visited upon said wife. He could only hope at that moment that the birth hadn't been too rough on you and that any others would see you through safely and healthy. To lose you would be to lose a part of himself, a part he never wanted to see gone.

"You are well?" he asked, swallowing down his deepest gratitude and fear.

You, the earthly angel that was his wife, smiled wide as you caught sight of him. "A little tired, but yes, I am well, Your Grace."

He matched your smile.

The bundle in your arms wiggled at that moment, earning a soft chuckle from you. Your gaze dipped to the babe within though Charles couldn't discern any features beyond the tiny hand that reached out wildly. You quickly caught it and brought it to your lips for a kiss.

When you finally turned your attention back to your husband, your smile reflected the love already flowing through you for this new addition.

"Would you like to meet your son, my love?"

Charles's knees did buckle then, but he recovered quickly enough.

"I have a son?"

"You do."

It took him another moment to recall how to walk before he slowly made his way towards the bed's side. With each step, he tried to see more of his son, but the bundle surrounding the tiny boy proved too disguising. It was only as he stood next to the bed and leaned towards you that he caught his first ever glimpse of his son.

To say he forgot how to breathe would be a disservice to such a highly notable man of the English realm.

But he surely did. At least for a moment or two.

So in awe of the miniature image of himself, it took him another minute to see the minute differences. His son's hair was a shade or two lighter than his own but would no doubt be as thick or thicker. When his son blinked, he could make out eyes far bluer than his and far more knowing than Charles could ever dare to be.

Before he could think better of it, Charles reached out for the tiny babe and pulled his son from the bundle, eager to see the rest of him. Not that he doubted you'd done a fine job, but he wanted the honor and privilege to count fingers and toes as you'd done before his arrival. He wanted to feel his son in his arms without the burden of the bundle bedding around him. His own fur would be enough to keep the chill from touching his son while he got this time to himself.

"You are pleased, my love?" you asked after some time had passed.

Charles smiled with no little amount of fondness at his son, then at you. "I am beyond pleased, sweet wife."

You settled deeper into the pillows placed behind you, your eyes starting to droop. It was clear that your ordeal was quickly catching up to you, but you fought it. That spirit of yours was what had drawn Charles to you in the first place. You wanted this time between you as much as he did.

"What shall we call him?"

Charles chanced another glance at his content and sleeping son. "I'd like to call him Henry after the King. What do you think, sweet wife?"

"If it pleases you, Your Grace," you smiled, then worked to cover a yawn, "but I am biased towards Charles myself. He is your almost your spitting image."

You drifted off soon after, leaving the name debate unsettled.

Either way, it didn't matter to Charles as he continued to sit within your room, holding his son. He would never forget this shared moment even long after other children have come and all have grown to have children of their own.

No, this was a moment that would replay often even in gray hairs. It was a reminder of all he held dear and all he could've ever dared to hope for in his younger days. Those days prior to becoming a duke and to meeting you. To becoming a father. They'd all led him to the life he was destined to live, all the happier for having you in it.

All thoughts are being thoroughly fucked right out of your head, the only ones staying behind are those keeping your legs wrapped around his waist and hand on his arm as they hold onto the edge of the desk above you.

The sound is lewd, where his balls hit your ass and the whimpers you're trying to suppress. A set of footsteps can be heard on the other side of the door just a few feet away. But Cregan does not falter, your back is pushed into the desk again and again. His hips pick up speed, the desk letting out a slight whine in distress.

He comes with a stutter in his thrusts, head burrowing into the crook of your neck where his lips meet your racing pulse. He stays inside of you while the two of you catch your breath. You turn your head to pepper kisses along his temple and into his hair while his hands slowly let go of the edge of the desk and trails down to your waist.

Quickies are usually not something you or your husband divulge in but the stress and midday hour led to such things here and there. He is quick to find a cloth and wipe your inner thighs before helping you down from the desk. You watch him as he adjust the length of your skirt, the sight makes your chest tight and you have to hold yourself back from taking him again.

"You undo me, women. Truly." You chuckle at his husky voice. Sounds like the rendezvous was much needed, your wifely duty accomplished.

"Oh hush, you enjoyed it. Do not deny it."

"I would never deny being between your legs." He is always so blunt. At first his compliments or mere statements surprised you. A life of court training you to speak in tongues, like a snake slithering amongst the weeds. You've grown to love it, love him.

"You can be between them again tonight, husband." Your fingers tread through his hair, fixing the few rogue strands of hair while he finishes arranging your skirts back in order and standing back up to his full height.

His chuckle is deep, resonating from deep in his chest below the leather and furs. You know he was petitions soon, thats why he took you quick and hard, no time to bring you to your own peak of pleasure.

"I will be sure to return the favor tonight, wife."

You stretch onto the tips of your toes and craddle his face within your hands. "Not a favor husband, a wish." You press a soft kiss against his lips, fleeing before he can deepen it and be late for petitions.

You make sure you are in order before you reach for the door to carry on with your day. There were fur pelts to be distributed amongst guards, hand maidens to led, and kitchens to visit before nightfall.

Cregan's promise of tonight leaves you buzzing, like a fire is beneath your skin that not even the cold winds of the north could blow out. It's a few hours while you are walking up the steps to the battlements that you feel the dull ache in your lower back. You're quick to blow it off, your moon blood must be soon.

The ache grows as the hour goes, and you find the pain to strike as you bend to kneel in the Gods wood and as you walk towards your chambers now. The handmaids have set up a warm bath swirling with oils and dried herbs, they have aways been able to know. Maybe the tell tale signs of a hand on your back and a slight hitch on the first step of the stairs gave way to your maids and you can't help but thank the old Gods for them.

You're thanking them as you lower yourself into the tub, a deep sigh escaping your mouth. The heat is perfect on your back and with the roaring fire in the hearth a few feet away you feel like you could fall asleep right there. You shake the thought away and grab the grab, slather it in soap and start by running it down your arms.

Theres the sound of heavy footsteps down the hall, you know its him. You could tell him by the sound of his breathing if need be. They stop in front of the door and you feel the urge to sink deeper into the water. He takes up the whole doorway while walking in and his stoic face breaks into a slight smirk at the sight of you up to your chin in steaming water.

He's slow to take off his cloak and boots but the ambient noise of it is soothing. "I called to have dinner served here in our chambers if that is alright with you, wife."

"That's perfect."

Cregan makes his way towards the tub and keels by your side, one of his hands dipping into the water to feel it. His fingers follow of the line of your arm up to your shoulder before following down your back. You tip forward and arch your back to give him space to continue his track but you flinch at the spike of pain in your lower back.

His hand freezes and his face twists into one of concern. "Are you alright?" You're quick to nod and move to kiss him but he leans back. Some of his hair falls into his eyes and you reach out a hand from the water to tuck it behind his ear. "I am alright, Cregan. I promise."

Your reassurances don't do much to ease the look on his face and his eyes continue to trail over your face. He drops down to both knees from his kneeling position and trails his hand down your back. His eyes follow his hand, no doubt looking for what ails you.

When he gets to the middle of your back his fingers prod at your skin, delicate but firm. It's almost like a massage of sorts and your eyes slowly drift shut. As soon as his fingers prod at the space of your lower back, some space above the swell of your ass you hiss. It makes you open up you eyes. Cregan still has that look on his face, steel eyes meeting yours and you know that look and fight to roll your eyes.

Before you can blink back at him he grabs your waist with both hands, not caring for how the sleeves at his elbows dip into the water. His hands twist you so your back faces him and tries to pull you up til you're up on your knees in the water.

The cold air of the room hits you and you gasp at both the movement and the chill. Your ass is all but in his face at this point and the thought of one of your maids walking in or a servant bringing dinner makes heat rush up your back and neck.

"You're bruised."

You try to turn your head over you shoulder, trying to get a look but you can't. His fingers are light as they trace a portion of skin where he had prodded before. His fingers disappear before you feel his lips. You feel them again and again over the expanse of where you're guessing this bruise is. "It doesn't hurt, at least not as much as you think." The bruise can't be that bad, you think. Just some slight soreness and you start to rack your brain from where you could've possibly got it from.

"Does not matter. It was from my own doing." His voice is quieter than his previous words. Confusion now overtakes your body and you turn your head enough to be able to look over your shoulder and at your husband who's eyes are glued to your lower back.

"The desk and your back. It was my own roughness that caused this."

You reach out to grab one of his wrists, tight enough for him to let you go enough to turn around. "You mean my doing then." His eyes turn up to meet yours and you're quick to cup his face. "It was my need that drove us onto that desk, husband. As much as you would like to think it is yours." You press a chaste kiss to his lips before pressing another onto each cheek. "I am fine."

The look in your eyes is enough for him to shut him up but he soon joins you in the tub. He helps you soap up your legs and back, taking extra time where he thought you would feel the most pain. You believed that was the end of it.

You woke up the next morning to a cold bed and a small tin of ointment left by the maester at Cregan's demand. He stopped by your solar, the kitchen, the Gods wood. Everywhere you were, he was too. You had to all but tell him you could climb the stairs on your own and pull out your own chair. Then there were the touches, too light to be anything really and even the kisses were cut short.

Cregan didn't see you as some helpless women but the second he draped his cloak over your shoulders in front of the old Gods, you were his to protect. Whether it was the winds, beasts, or man. Nothing would harm you or dare to touch you. When he saw that bruise something in his chest sank. He took pride in keeping you warm, happy and safe. To know his lust overshadowed your safety made him feel like a shit husband and an even worse warden of the north.

You didn't think there was anything to make up for it but then flowers started showing up. It wasn't that your husband didn't gift you flowers, he had, but you knew flowers weren't a big thing in the north. The weather only allowed for the bare necessities to grow so you knew the flowers on your bed side were intentional.

Then came your favorite sweets. A new painting of the both of you commissioned for his solar. A new saddle for your horse. New oils for the bath. You had lost count at that point.

It took a lot for you to muster up the courage to speak your mind. The gifts had to stop, the cautiousness had to stop. You missed your husband, your Cregan.