Can we get a sneakpeak at heir and the wolf?🌚🌚👀👀
sure!! i don't remember what i've shared about the next chap so far, but anyways, have a snippet!
“Lord Cregan Stark?”
The question comes from behind them — from someone who no doubt heard Cerwin’s indecent suggestion, no less. Cregan glares at Rodrick, who only shrugs smugly in reply as they both turn to greet their inquirer. “Yes?”
The lord who called his name out is a bit shorter than him, with curly, flaming red hair — a Tully, no doubt — with the same smile of a fox. He holds out his hand, which Cregan takes, “Lord Oscar Tully — a pleasure to finally meet the Warden of the North. You’re not too fond of ceremonies, are you? I’ve never seen you around here.”
The Stark’s nose crinkles — who does he think he is, the Golden Cloak of party attendances? “Well, there’s a lot to do up in the North,” he manages, not the best at formal gatherings, “I suppose you come here for the festive days often, then?”
Oscar nods gleefully, letting go of his hand, “Oh, I do. I’m a close friend of the princess.” he looks around for you, “She’s yet to arrive — she’s always had a flair for late entries, I’m afraid.” he smiles again — Cregan’s never seen someone smile so much in less than five minutes, also because there’s not much to smile about in the North. “You were one of her personal guests, she told me?”
The man raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” it’s weird for a princess to write one invite, let alone a few. He’s not the only one you wrote to?
Oscar feignes surprise, “But of course! There’s a list of selected people — either friends or the most prominent lords and ladies — that had a private invite. One written by the princess.”
Cregan’s eye twitches. Does that mean… that his wasn’t the only letter you sent out personally? He hasn’t slept for days thinking about how he could be able to avoid a princess who explicitly invited him, and you’ve sent multiple of those letters? Tully pats his shoulder, seeing his zoned out stare, “Don’t be so distraught, Lord Stark!” he adds gleefully, “You’re still one of the most eminent guests! I’m sure you’ll have time to thank the princess for inviting you and maybe ask her to consider an union, if you show her enough interest.”
He is absolutely not worried about talking to you. He’s worried about all the hours of sleep he lost, thinking he was one in a million. As Lord Tully gives them his excuses and goes toward his table, Cregan stays unblinkingly still under Cerwyn’s worried gaze. “Are you okay?” he whispers, “If you want, my sister’s the lady in waiting for the princess. She could probably get you an audience with her. If you suddenly changed your mind about rejecting her, you know… like any sane man would.”
“Shut it, Cerwin,” Cregan replies, inexplicably bitter, “I’m mourning my sleep.” and also the weirdly pleasing sensation of being the only one the princess wrote the letter to. Sure, he doesn’t want to marry you, but he was still flattered — he is but a man, after all. He couldn’t help it.
His friend raises his hands in surrender and tries to hide his snickering.
Lord Stark is approached by quite a number of lords and ladies alike after the encounter with Lord Tully, and everyone who talks to him ends up wondering what could have possibly provoked such a foul mood from such a well-known to be just lord. Cregan is downright sulking, he has to admit, and he doesn’t even know why — he’s technically grown out of the sulking phase by, at least, twenty years. That doesn’t deter him from continuing to do so, unfortunately.
“Why do you seem so upset about it?” Cerwyn teases him, and Cregan swears his jaw never looked more punchable than now. “You kept insisting on rejecting her earlier — do not tell me that now that you know that there could be competitors for her hand you’ve had a change of heart!”
Cregan takes a sip of his wine and can’t help but think that he loathes southern beverages, and misses his northern ale. “Rodrick, we’ve been friends for how long?”
Cerwyn settles in his chair like he’s waiting for a hurricane. “Over a decade, my lord.”
The latter puts two fingers between his neck and the dark blue doublet he’s wearing, trying to ease the pressure being put against his scruff. “One would think you would’ve learned when to shut up in favour of not fouling my mood even more in such a large period of time.”