for jon snow (tooktheblack)

[oncefuturequeen]

Ravens had been dispatched, messages sent, and replies received. The Princess of Carhaise, one Guinevere of House Leodegrance, had been offered as bride to the new King in the North, Jon Snow of House Stark. Bastard though he might have been by birth, the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had seemingly done the impossible: he'd rallied all of the northern lords and the Wildlings from beyond the Wall to his banner, earned their support despite his lowborn heritage, and even now prepared the North for the Long Night hovering just beyond the horizon.

And Guinevere, only daughter of King Leodegrance and thus far bystander to the turmoil that had plagued Westeros these past several years, was to be his Queen. She'd been bitterly pleased to note, however, that this "marriage", such as it was, was costing her horrible father five thousand of his best cavalrymen, their horses and weapons, as well as several tons of wheat and grain, for the King in the North had to feed his people during the coming winter, did he not? Seemed a fair compensation for a wife he undoubtedly neither needed nor wanted.

Guinevere certainly felt the Northmen were getting the better part of the bargain, herself.

Regardless of her thoughts on the matter - her father had been adamant, as he despised both Cersei and this foolish Targaryan upstart - that when Carhaise could no longer remain neutral in the Westerosi disasters, old Leo had made the surprising choice to side with Jon Snow and the Northmen. Mainly, as far as Guinevere remembered, out of some lingering fond memory for the Stark family; Eddard, Benjen, and their poor father, slain by the Mad King not long enough to fade into memory. So it was that Carhaise packed up its Princess and her crotchety father and spent several weeks on the road, traveling with the promised dowries towards Winterfell.

The main entourage arrived one fine wintry morning, the King's carriage rolling beneath Winterfell's portcullis on the heels of four splendid horses, all stamping and steaming their breath in the chill air. Not waiting for the door to be opened, Leodegrance flung it open himself, still spry at the ripe age of sixty, but already a hard youth and old war wounds had begun to take their toll. Nevertheless, the old man's eyes were sharp and bright as he surveyed the courtyard, waving away porters and courtiers alike.

"Find my daughter," was all he commanded, and his servants bowed away to do just that, but before any of them could send the word down the line, the Princess cantered into Winterfell's courtyard, her grey gelding prancing prettily beneath her skilled hand. She'd left her long locks unbound and unbraided; they streamed over her dark cloak in a scarlet river. Rather than be gowned as a southern highborn lady, she instead wore a comfortable riding dress of thick wool and cashmere, adorned with only a jewel or two. Leo sniffed as he appraised his only child and bartering chip, but knew better than to bother; she'd inherited her bold way of speaking from him, and her temper from her mother.

She knew his disapproval; it was evident in her own sly smirk as she dismounted and joined her patron, ironically dipping a small curtsy as she approached, but he only huffed and rolled his eyes, thanking all the Old Gods and the New that she'd soon be someone else's headache!

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[oncefuturequeen]

Guinevere heard her father respond to the greetings, no doubt with a few carefully, subtly veiled insults sprinkled in - because the old man had issues admitting that anyone, anywhere could ever hold a higher eminence than he - but she let him dig his own grave, because she was arrested by her first true look at her soon-to-be husband. Dark hair, dark eyes, like most Northmen she'd seen thus far, not overly tall - hardly a giant, thank the gods - and of a decent size, also; she'd heard of his prowess with a sword and didn't doubt too many of the wild tales.

But she didn't believe he'd ever wrestled one-handed with a giant nor ridden a mammoth into battle north of the Wall, no matter how entertaining the fireside tales sometimes became. Good natured stories, really. Nevertheless, she wasn't one to fade into the background and let others speak for her, so she gathered her skirts, took a few steps forward, and bowed her head, dropping into a graceful curtsy.

"Thank you for your kind welcome, Your Grace, Lady Sansa. It is our honor to accept your hospitality, gladly will we share in the warmth from your hearth, and offer our own assistance in the hard winter yet to come."

Pleasantries offered, Guinevere lifted her head, rose back to her feet, and leveled a warm smile at her intended - better she unleash what charm she possessed before they were shackled to each other; life might be much more unpleasant otherwise.

[tooktheblack]

Jon isn't good at this part. He'd never thought himself to be in a position to marry a fine lady, much less a princess, and now he's a king looking to do that very thing. He remembers playing with Robb in the yard using practice swords and pretending that he was Aemon the Dragonknight.

"You can't be Aemon," Robb had shouted. "You're a bastard, Jon. Aemon was a prince." Robb had been his best friend and these jabs were few and far between unlike those from Sansa and her lady mother but perhaps that's why they hurt even more. He looks at his future wife and tries not to shy away from her. They ought to at least like one another before marrying.

"Let's go inside. It's too cold to be out here in the bailey, even if I was born here in the North." Sansa cuts him a glance and Jon offers his arm to Guinevere to escort her inside Winterfell proper.

[oncefuturequeen]

One of Guinevere's eyebrows arched up slightly, but she took the offered arm nevertheless. So, a skilled swordsman and fighter, but woefully inept when it came to social niceties and courtesies. Not too surprising, given the circumstances. And while she wasn't entirely thrilled at being bartered off to a barbarian, the Princess of Carhaise, was, despite her personal inclinations, determined to Do Her Duty, if only to silence those wagging tongues who had always gossiped amongst themselves that she would grow old and die a spinster, unwed and alone.

Damn them all.

Winterfell was indeed a fortress, Guinevere realized as she entered the large hall. While Carhaise was constructed of light stone and marble, this place was built for defense and to remain standing no matter what might come crashing against its walls. Nevertheless, there was a beauty in its steadfastness, and a feeling of security that she suspected most might feel, safe behind these bulwarks.

"Your home is lovely," she told her intended as everyone trooped inside. "Silhouetted by the falling snow, it was a magnificent sight from the lower road." She managed a light little laugh. "I'd never seen snow before coming North, it's truly a wondrous thing." Then she tugged her cloak a little tighter across her shoulders. "Though I do imagine it becomes dreadfully cold here, at times."

[tooktheblack]

"You're a southern girl, that's right," Jon says. It hangs stark in the air between them and he feels stupid for having said it. He wishes he could take the words back but there's nothing to do for it now. He has to push forward, though, and hope that his betrothed isn't going to hold his inability to speak well against him.

He's good with a sword. He's no good with words. Sansa is the one who does speeches, who writes letters and she's the one who negotiates. She'd negotiated the entire alliance with Leodegrance on his behalf and Jon had merely had to agree to terms in the very end of it.

"You'll see plenty of snow before winter's done, I'm afraid. We even have snow in the summers here at Winterfell. Summer snows are nice, though, and only last an afternoon or so before they melt away. They're nothing like a proper winter snow is. You'll be dealing with the cold for a while."

[oncefuturequeen]

Hearing that, Guinevere brought up short, and simply stared at this...king. Her lips thinned, and her eyes narrowed, a truly dangerous warning for anyone else, but before she could summon a truly scathing retort, she inhaled a quiet deep breath, and let it out just as silently.

And pasted an entirely false, brittle smile on her face, saying in response, "Then I suppose I'm quite lucky that I brought enough clothes to keep me warm, Your Grace." She did, however, withdraw her arm from his and take a pointed step back. "Since I'm just a mere southern girl too frail to survive without summer sunshine and ocean breezes."

Guinevere felt her temper rising, but had to rein it back; this was hardly the time or the place to launch the nearest crockery at her fiance's oafish, uncivilized head, regardless of title or eminence. Still, she couldn't help what came off of her tongue afterwards, tone bitterly pleasant, but no less sharp. "With Your Grace's leave, do my father and I have quarters prepared, or shall we simply take residence on the battlements, perhaps to toughen our tender constitutions to your harsh northern climate?"

[tooktheblack]

Jon doesn't quite know what to do with this rapid shift in personality and he looks helpless. Of course he doesn't intend for the king or his daughter to sleep on the battlements and he'd only been speaking of how different and how difficult northern winters were. It hadn't been any offense. Before he can get anything out, Sansa comes and nods her head slightly in deference to Guinevere.

"Forgive my brother, Princess. He's very good with a sword and bow and very dim when it comes to navigating the waters of a conversation. He's kind and you'll never find a man more loyal but the subtle arts are best left to us. In the North, it's often a point of pride that we've survived our winters and made the best of them. The words of House Stark are Winter is Coming, after all. Since you, too, will become part of House Stark the moment we have the wedding, we'll be accepting you under our banners and with our words."

Jon doesn't think he's ever put that much thought behind Winter is Coming, snow or the thoughts of winter. He's not really certain how Sansa manages these things and he doesn't know what he's going to do when he and Guinevere are alone. It isn't as if Sansa can be in the room when he consummates this marriage to keep him from saying something stupid.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he adds softly. "I'm not so good with talking about things, not really. I'm better at doing things, if that makes sense?"

[oncefuturequeen]

On cue, the Lady Stark stepped up and spoke, thankfully diverting Guinevere's ire and helping diffuse the skyrocketing tension that had suddenly leaped nearly out of control. Realizing this, Guinevere eased down a fraction, inclining her head to Lady Sansa's apology and accepting it with courtly grace.

"...my apologies, Lady Sansa. Your Grace." She touched fingertips to her forehead, forcing her lips to curve slightly. "It's been...quite the long journey, I'm afraid, and being overtired sometimes loosens my tongue more than I'd like." The smile she gave to Sansa, however, was sincere, and she again nodded her thanks. Then, a little daring, she reached out and took Jon's hand in hers, gripping his calloused fingers lightly.

"Nor did I," she said for his ears alone. "But we'll have to learn how to get along with each other, yes?" Guinevere gently ran her thumb across the back of his hand. "And it makes perfect sense. I was just...surprised, that's all."

[tooktheblack]

When she reaches for his hand, Jon doesn't expect it. He supposes he ought to - she's going to be his wife within a few days - but he doesn't expect it at all. He curls his fingers around hers and holds them close squeezing her hand in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. He doesn't want to start his marriage off on the wrong foot.

"I would never want to insult you," Jon assures her. "I've never been married but I want to treat you well and I want to keep you safe. You have nothing to fear from me. I swear it."

Perhaps Leodegrance doesn't care who he's bartering his daughter off to but Jon cares about how he treats his wife. He wants to do well by her and, hopefully, come to love her.

[oncefuturequeen]

Well, that was comforting to hear. Surprising, but comforting all the same. Guinevere gave Jon's hand one final grasp then Lady Sansa was inviting her to follow, saying she would show her to her quarters so that she might bathe and rest before rejoining everyone in the Hall for supper.

Once she was finally alone, the quarters provided for her clean, well-furnished, and above all, warm, the Princess let herself be undressed, undone, and then immersed to her ears in a steaming tub of hot water, then it was back on the stool to be dressed for her first meal here at her new home. Rather than arrive dripping regality, as she would have done back in Carhaise, Guinevere kept her jewelry understated but elegant, her gown a deep forest green with wide sleeves, a tapered waist, and long flowing skirts, and let her maid arrange her long scarlet hair into a semblance of a Northern woman's braids, a style she would be adopting all too soon.

Still, she was pleased enough with the finished product once it was done, and she was just draping on her warm outer cloak when a knock echoed on the other side of the door.

[tooktheblack]

Jon had thought that coming to escort Guinevere to the hall for dinner would be a way to make amends. He'd blundered earlier, horribly so, and he needs to assure her that he'll try his best to be a good husband to her. He's aware that political marriages aren't always good ones and that often they aren't loving ones. Having never been married, Jon wants to have both - he wants the political alliance and he also wants love someday.

Guinevere is dressed in a deep forest green dress but otherwise she's dressed herself plainly. It makes her less intimidating, to be sure, and he's glad she's seemed to take Northern austerity to heart. It's something Sansa would notice straightaway and Jon wonders if he's not picking up on some of these things.

"You look lovely," Jon says softly. "I thought you might want an escort to the great hall?"

[oncefuturequeen]

She was surprised indeed to see the King on the other side of the door, and it showed in the rising of her eyebrows and the two soft touches of color, high on her cheeks. "Your Grace." Guinevere dipped into a curtsy, saying as she carefully tucked a wayward lock of long hair back over her shoulder, "thank you kindly." She let a smile touch her lips, and she reached out to gently take his arm. "For both the compliment and the escort. Winterfell is so large, I'd have probably gotten lost in no time at all."

Maybe they could start over. Make something out of this alliance. Guinevere did know that her father's cavalrymen weren't going to take orders from these Northmen very well at the outset. Thankfully they did respect and revere their Princess, as she could ride a horse and fire a bow as well as any of them. But as those skills weren't very prudent for ladies of the southern kingdoms, it wasn't customarily advertised amongst the nobility.

She thought of something to say as they walked, and lit upon a curiosity she'd heard several times before. "I've heard, Your Grace, that you have a direwolf as a companion. A beast white as snow, and fiercely loyal to you. Is he here at Winterfell with you?"

[tooktheblack]

"Ghost? Aye, he is. He's a direwolf, though, so they're not content to be kept as pets. He's probably in the Wolfswood hunting or doing whatever it is when wolves don't want to be indoors. I wish I could be with him, honestly."

It's something Jon always wishes. He doesn't like being a king for the most part. He's good at the battle bit, when it comes to that, but he's not so good at the tedium of ruling. He doesn't know how much food they need to winter a thousand people and he doesn't know how to settle squabbles between lords. It was different at Castle Black - there's no names at the Wall, no inheritance. Everything is names and inheritance when it comes to these Northern lords.

That's not even bringing the Vale into it. Sansa has the Vale through her connections with Baelish but Jon doesn't like the man. He doesn't like the calculating look in his eyes or the way he follows Sansa's every step. It's not something he can do anything about considering he needs the men but he can certainly dislike it in private. For now, though, he has the task of making his future wife like him even if it's only a little.

"You're going to have to forgive me. I'm not very good with women. I went to the Wall years ago and I'd never been with a woman or considered it before I left. The idea of marriage is something I've never had to consider and it's been thrown at me unexpectedly."

[oncefuturequeen]

"Ghost," Guinevere mused thoughtfully. "What an appropriate name." She then wondered if the wolf would appear soon; she'd never before seen a direwolf, only in etchings, although it was the sigil of House Stark. But then her intended was once more reiterating the fact that he believed himself less than worthy when it came to...mostly everything, and Guinevere slowed her steps, pulling him around to look at her.

"I'm not very good with men, Jon Snow," she told him, one eyebrow aloft. "Most of the men I've known growing up were either cruel, ambitious pettymongers, like my father, or stupid as stumps with not a brain between the lot of them. So I believe we're both woefully out of our depth, aren't we?" She had to chuckle at Fate's irony.

"If it makes you feel any better," she added, a sly little smirk curving her lips, "I wasn't entirely thrilled with the prospect of marrying you, either." Her tone was gentle this time, however. "So I'll make a little deal with you, Jon Snow: stop apologizing, stop treating me as if I'll break, or as if your every breath offends me." She placed a slim hand to his bearded cheek and took a step closer. "I'm a woman, not an obligation, and I promise to be a good wife to you. I'll do everything I can to help you, however I can."

Green eyes gazed directly into brown; they were an even height, making their connection that much more intense. "Will that work for you, King in the North?"

[tooktheblack]

It's a bit shocking that she'd draw up so close but she's to be his wife before the week's end and he'll have to get used to doing more than just touching if he intends to marry and father heirs. This seems like a chance to start over, at least, and he's grateful for it. He hadn't liked being at cross purposes with Guinevere and knowing that she wants to try and make the marriage work makes it feel as though the yoke isn't quite as heavy. He turns his head a bit so he can kiss her palm.

"All right, Queen in the North. I'll stop apologizing and stop thinking I've offended you every time I speak. You'll find I hate being in public and being called upon to say something and that people are always asking me to do it. I'm not good at saying things. I'm good at doing things - or at least good enough that they keep asking me to do them. I'm happier on my own than I am in a room full of people but being a husband means I have to let you into that space and grow comfortable with it. I'm willing to do that. I don't want you to think I'm standoffish and cold."

Sansa is still going to help them, after all, and Jon thinks Guinevere will have valuable experience to add as well. Jon thinks that he needs more than one voice to help him rule and someone southern will be even better; how are they going to keep the North independent from the South if they don't know how they think? You have to know your enemy, even if Leodegrance isn't exactly his enemy he fights the same way.

"At least the Gods saw fit to send me a lucky wife," Jon says. "You're kissed by fire."

[oncefuturequeen]

The slight rasp of his scruff against her hand was...thrilling, Guinevere was surprised to realize. The soft kiss against her palm sent a rush of heat beneath her skin, settling upwards along her throat and reaching to her cheeks. A little flustered, she lowered her head and slowly withdrew her hand, but had to smile at Jon's response. At last, it seemed they were finally seeing each other for themselves, not as the titles others had heaped on their shoulders.

"I understand," she said, voice quiet in the hallway. "But you seem a good man, Jon Snow, and that's more important than a crown or land or title." She reached out for him again, this time threading her fingers with his. "I won't prod or pry into that space, but I am glad you're willing to share it. I'll promise to do the same, and we'll learn...together, yes?"

His latter words were a little puzzling, until understanding dawned. Then Guinevere laughed, a true laugh this time, and she gave her fiance an arch little look. "Ah, I see. Favor those girls with red hair, do you?" She smirked and wound both of her arms around his, resuming their trek to the downstairs Hall. "Well, then. You're welcome to run your fingers through it whenever you wish, Your Grace."

[tooktheblack]

Jon is glad he can grow a beard now because he's fairly certain he's blushing like a maiden. It's stupid to be blushing over something a girl has said but he feels like a boy in Winterfell all over again, seeing the daughters of lords come to court Robb and sneaking him glances as if they were sad indeed to see that the bastard son had more of the look of House Stark than the heir.

He exhales softly and tries to compose himself. She's teasing him because presumably she likes him and so he tries to endure it with a modicum of grace. It's not something that comes easy, fast words between man and woman, and he finds himself with nothing to say for several long moments. When he does have something to say, it's not nearly as eloquent as what Guinevere had said.

"It's...the Free Folk say that red hair is lucky," Jon says, mumbling his way through it. "And I've always liked it. Red hair, that is. I've always liked girls with red hair."

[oncefuturequeen]

"You'll have to teach me more about the Free Folk," Guinevere invited as they rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm looking forward to learning all I can about the North and its King." She gave him another small impish grin, but then they were stepping into the Hall, where the smell of roasting meat and fragrant pine already filled the air, and Guinevere nodded a polite greeting to her future sister-by-law, allowing Jon to hand her up the step to the high table.

Leodegrance, dripping jewels, finery, and raiment, eyed his only daughter throughout the feast, but Guinevere spared him not the first glance, choosing instead to converse with Sansa about Winterfell, already intent on learning everything she could about her new home. The lords present were a boisterous lot, but seemed good-natured, more or less; it was definitely louder here than it was back at Carhaise, but then, this was an entirely different world up here, wasn't it?

But halfway through dessert - spiced rum cake that was delicious - the future Queen of the North reached for her coming spouse's hand beneath the trestle table and gave it a light tug. Let's go elsewhere, her raised eyebrows seemed to suggest. Quieter, perhaps?

[tooktheblack]

The idea of escaping the crowded hall (and Tormund's loud praises of him, at that) is appealing to Jon. The last thing he wants is to be called attention to and everyone is looking and he and Guinevere just now. He doesn't want to seem as if he doesn't like to be with his people but sometimes they can just be exhausting. There's also the fact that his soon to be father by law seems to have some tension with his daughter that Jon cannot seem to unravel; do they dislike one another, perhaps? Jon knows what it's like to be disliked by someone in your own family, though his had been a stepmother.

He says his goodbyes to Sansa, who is happy enough to hold court at the high table, and follows Guinevere out of the hall. It's not exactly what he should do, as a king, but they were to be married within the week and if it seemed as if they liked one another the Northmen would be hopeful of an heir soon. That's something to be happy about, at least. Once they're out of earshot, Jon lifts her hands to his lips to kiss.

"Thank you. I was going to go insane in there. I don't like it when everyone's staring at me like that. Sansa's much better at handling it, I think."

[oncefuturequeen]

Guinevere accepted the affection gracefully, giving his hands in hers a soft squeeze and accepting his kiss across her knuckles. "You're welcome. I did say I was going to help you however I could, hm?" She twinkled at him a moment more, then companionably linked her arm with his as they strolled along the corridor.

"Your sister seems quite the diplomat. She's very skilled with turn of phrase and political subtleties," Guinevere mused. "Although I suppose living in King's Landing for as long as she did helped with that." Her nose wrinkled at the mention of the capital, and she shook her head in resignation. "She's a strong woman," the Princess added. "Definitely someone to be admired."

They walked along quietly for a few minutes, then Guinevere glanced at Jon and said, "So. Tell me something about Jon Snow. The man, not the King. And then I'll tell you something about me, not the Princess. A little game, if you like."

[tooktheblack]

Talking about himself is even worse than talking about Winterfell, really, but at least they're alone. It's easier when it's only one person and Jon is aware of the fact that he cannot marry Guinevere and not actually have a conversation with her. That's not how marriages work and while some lords might have marriages like that, it's not what Jon wants. If it has to be a political marriage, he at least wants to try and make it be a real marriage too.

He walks a little way along the corridor while he thinks of something to tell her. Most of his stories involve battle and bloodshed and he doesn't want to talk of that. Neither does he want to talk of his time with Ygritte; it seems poor form to tell his betrothed about his relationship with a woman he loved before she came into his life. In the end, it's a story from childhood he decides to tell.

"I used to lie about things so my sisters wouldn't get punished," Jon says. "They're clever, so they might have figured it out, but I couldn't bear to see Arya or Sansa get punished for anything. I used to take the blame for everything. Lady Catelyn already hated me. It was just as well I did everything wrong. Any time something got broken or stolen, I covered it up. Even the time Sansa broke into the kitchens and ate a whole tray of lemoncakes. I said it was me."

[oncefuturequeen]

While she'd meant her little game as a lighthearted way to break further ice between them, Guinevere felt her heart grow heavy and even a bit sad at Jon's recollection. She paused, turning to just stare at him for a long moment, before taking his hand in hers and this time pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

"You're a wonderful brother, Jon Snow." Guinevere held his hand to her cheek briefly, before turning to continue on down the corridor. "I can't think of many siblings who would do such a thing for their own." She had none, just cousins by the score, alas, but although it was disheartening to imagine Lady Stark holding his very existence against him, Guinevere thought she could understand why. "It must have been hard for you," she observed quietly, "growing up here."

[tooktheblack]

"Yes, it was, but in other ways it was happy. I loved my brothers and sisters so much and we had so many happy memories here. When Robb and I were boys, we scared Sansa, Arya and Bran in the crypts. We'd put flour on our faces and pretended to be ghosts."

Jon laughs at the memory, remembers how Sansa had screamed and cried and how Arya had punched him for scaring Bran. It'd been a good memory, especially when they'd all raced one another to go play in the light summer snow. He wishes to have that kind of life again, really, and hopes they can approach it together even with winter on their heels.

"I probably should have led with that story. My sister Arya punched me and Sansa cried. We all made up in the yard with a snowball fight."

[oncefuturequeen]

Ah, that was a much better tale. "Yes," Guinevere agreed, a smile touching her mouth, "you should have." But the memory sounded like a happy one, and she had little trouble imaging Jon and Sansa as children, with an older brother and younger brothers and sisters, gallivanting all around Winterfell. Perhaps it wasn't such a horrible thing, to have siblings. She'd never know. Not entirely.

"Who won the snowball fight? Do you remember?" They fetched up near the stairwell of the inner keep, the heat from the torches enough to at least offer some warmth. The skies were clear tonight, full of stars, and Guinevere shivered, clutching her thick cloak a little tighter. "Now I realize why all of Winterfell's hearths are so large and spacious. You said before that you sometimes even had snow during the summer?"

[tooktheblack]

"Aye, we have summer snows. They're light, though, and melt when the snow is high. It's nice to have them, I think. It reminds you that the winter isn't always so terrible. As to who won the snowball fight? I like to think I did."

In the end, it'd been he and Robb against a horde of siblings but Jon, for his part, had let his sisters win. He thinks that memory is his favorite, especially since they'd all gone inside rosy cheeked and happy.

"Sansa might have a different version of the story, though. We played all sorts of games here. I want it to be like that again. I want it to be full of children again."

[oncefuturequeen]

"Snow during the summer." It sounded a marvelous thing, and she someday hoped to see it. She'd never even seen snow before yesterday, when they'd crossed into Winterfell's barony lands. Guinevere leaned against the balustrade, gazing at the softly falling flakes, even on such a clear night. "It's so beautiful here..."

Then the rest of his words reached her ears, and the Princess couldn't help a slow flush that crept her throat and settled warm in her cheeks. "Well," she heard herself say after a moment or two, "it's part of my duty to give you an heir, Your Grace, but there's no law against providing only one, is there?"

She'd not hailed from a large family as had he; her mother had succumbed to fever when Guinevere had been just a small child, and her father, much older, had been aloof and distant, far too preoccupied with his crown and his kingdom to raise a daughter.