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———
She wore a dark, hooded cloak pulled low over her face, trying to be unseen.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Tytan caught a glimpse of Ubba, one of his most trusted personal guards, standing outside.
The big Northman bodyguard gave Tytan a quick, knowing grin before the door closed fully, leaving Tytan alone with his guest. Clearly, Ubba knew exactly who he was letting through.
The woman pushed back her hood, letting it fall onto her shoulders. A cascade of fiery red hair tumbled free, framing a face that was both beautiful and sharp with intelligence.
A playful smirk danced on her lips as she dipped into a graceful curtsy, her eyes, dark and full of hidden fire, looking up at the completely naked Crown Prince.
"Hello, my Prince," she said, her voice a low, husky murmur that always made Tytan's pulse quicken just a little.
Tytan relaxed his grip on the sword, letting the blade slide silently back into its sheath. He felt a wave of surprise wash over him, followed quickly by amusement.
"Ros?" he said, his voice still holding a note of disbelief. "You're actually here… already?"
"A very sharp observation, Your Grace," Ros replied, her smirk widening. She took a step closer, her eyes sweeping over him boldly, making no attempt to hide her appreciation.
She bit her upper lip in a teasing way, making her eyes look wide and almost innocent, a look Tytan knew was anything but. "Though, I can always turn around and leave if my timing is bad?"
"No," Tytan answered instantly, a wide grin spreading across his own face now. He started walking towards her, completely unbothered by the fact that he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. Why bother? It was just Ros.
"Definitely don't leave. I'm just… surprised you managed to get inside the Keep so easily. I figured I'd have to sneak you past the Stark guards later tonight."
Ros just shrugged, a casual movement that sent her dark cloak sliding off her shoulders to pool silently on the wooden floorboards.
Underneath, she wasn't wearing a fancy dress or servant's clothes. Instead, she wore simple traveler's clothes sturdy leather breeches tucked into worn boots, and a plain linen shirt. Practical gear for someone moving unseen.
"I have a few… helpful friends in the Winterfell household," she answered vaguely, a hint of mystery in her smile. "Besides," she added, stepping right up to him, "you did invite me to stay with you while you were here, remember?"
And that was true. Before leaving King's Landing, during one of their last private meetings, he had asked her if she'd be willing to make the long, uncomfortable journey north.
He'd wanted her company during what he expected to be a rather boring and politically annoying visit. Ros, a high-end whore from the capital known for her beauty, wit, and discretion, had happily agreed.
Surprisingly, she hadn't even talked about money or named a price for dedicating weeks of her time solely to him.
She'd just smiled that knowing smile and said they could figure out the "details" later, seeming content just to live in the moment and enjoy the thrill of being the secret companion of the Crown Prince.
"That I did," Tytan confirmed, his grin matching hers. He reached her, his left hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking softly against her skin. His right arm wrapped firmly around her waist, pulling her close against his bare body.
"Mmm, it's only been a few hours since you arrived, and you missed me this much already?" Ros teased, leaning into his touch. She placed both her hands flat on his bare hips, her fingers cool against his skin.
Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she deliberately pressed herself closer, letting him feel the hardness growing against her belly. "Perhaps I really shouldstart charging you properly for my time, Prince Tytan."
"And spoil all the fun?" Tytan murmured back, lowering his head. He leaned in and captured her lips in a deep kiss, hungry and demanding.
All thoughts of the upcoming feast, the fancy clothes waiting to be put on, the political games downstairs all of it just vanished from his mind for now.
He felt Ros melt against him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him even closer. She let out a delighted little squeak of surprise as he effortlessly scooped her up into his arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
He turned and carried her the few steps towards the large, fur-covered bed, the welcoming feast completely forgotten in favor of a much more immediate, private celebration.
….
Later, in the Great Hall of Winterfell:
Downstairs, the welcoming feast for King Robert and his royal court was now in full swing. The Great Hall of Winterfell, a massive chamber built for such gatherings, buzzed with noise and activity.
Long, heavy wooden tables stretched the length of the hall, groaning under the sheer weight of the food and drink piled high upon them.
Servants hurried back and forth, carrying platters heaped with roasted meats entire pigs turning on spits over the huge hearths at either end of the hall, joints of beef dripping with fat, chickens, ducks, and pies filled with game.
Jugs of dark northern ale and pitchers of rich southern wine flowed freely, filling tankards and goblets as fast as they could be emptied.
The hall itself was packed to the absolute limit. Every bench was crammed full, and people stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the stone walls, eager faces illuminated by the flickering light of dozens of torches set in iron sconces.
Lords and ladies from nearby northern houses rubbed elbows with Winterfell's own household knights, guardsmen, and servants.
Everyone wanted to be here, not just for the free food and drink (though that was certainly part of it), but also for the rare chance to see the King and his family up close.
Royalty hadn't ventured this far north in decades, and the excitement was thick in the air, mingling with the smell of woodsmoke, roast meat, and spilled ale.
As was tradition for any grand feast, the seating arrangement strictly followed rank. At the far end of the hall, raised slightly on a wooden platform or dais, sat the high table.
Here, in the seats of honor, were the most important people: King Robert Baratheon, looking flushed and already loud; Queen Cersei Lannister, looking regal but bored; Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark, hosting with quiet northern dignity.
Flanking them were the royal children Joffrey, looking sulky, Tommen looking wide-eyed at the chaos, and Myrcella sitting politely.
The Stark children Robb, Sansa, Bran, and even little Rickon (Arya was likely darting around somewhere) were also seated at the high table, representing the hosts.
Everyone else in the hall looked up towards this raised platform, the clear center of power and attention for the night.
——
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