Chapter Text
You’ve been awake for quite a while as the sun crests over the horizon and enters through the large window covered by thin curtains. You had already spent most of the morning staring out at the large expansive city that seems to grow out of the base of Price’s castle like roots from a tree.
I guess it was your castle now too, and the people waking up with the first glimpse of the sun were your subjects as well. You would be responsible for their well-being, just as you had cared for the Northerners who would give their life for yours if asked of them.
You doubted these people would do the same.
The doors to your room open with little fanfare and you try not to startle at the handmaidens that make their way inside after the three knights from last night. Only one of them enters your rooms this morning, the other two standing tall on either side of your door outside, and you try to ignore the clever little smirk on their faces as they realize you are still in your wedding dress.
“Your Grace, did your guards not inform you of the cord you may use to call for us?” The young handmaiden to your side asks, somewhat pale at the sight of the corset still binding your stomach.
And alas there it is, a cord with a gold tassel leading between the brick to the servant's chambers to alert them to your need for them. You quirk an eyebrow as your mouth drops open in disbelief.
No, they hadn’t.
She takes your hand and quickly moves you behind the privacy screen dividing a corner of the room, snapping at the other girl to grab a dress from your wardrobe as she makes practiced work of your dress.
“No, in fact, they were most unhelpful last night,” you growl, holding the taller one's gaze with contempt through the holes in the screen. He just smirks back, not that you can tell cause he still has that stupid helm on, the bastard.
The handmaiden looks between you both curiously before hurriedly removing the lacing on your back and stripping the multiple layers off of your marred skin. You can’t hold back the gasp as you can finally breathe freely again, her hands massaging out the indentations on your skin.
You’re not used to having servants help you in and out of your clothes every morning, but as she carefully pulls a red and gold gown over your chest you don’t feel as timid as you thought you would. It's a simple enough thing, and you note the care with which she helps you when you struggle on your own.
It was comfortable enough of a morning, only to be broken by the King’s loud and purposeful steps into your chambers.
“I apologize, my lady, I did not know you were still indecent,” Price averts his eyes with a quick bow as he realizes you are still being laced into the new dress that feels so unlike the tunics and coats you wore in the North.
It’s not as if you had any objection to dresses, preferring ones that went to your knees and allowed for boots and pants underneath, but the long intricate gowns they adorned you in for a day in the castle annoyed you.
Yet another aspect of your life you had no choice in these days.
Though, you admit, the dresses befitted the trophy of the Crown, instead of the military commander you were in your home country. You would not need to be prepared to fight at a moment's notice now that they were intent on you spending your days sewing and reading. Deciding that you would spend your time on more feminine attributes.
“It matters not whether I am clothed or not in the eyes of my new Husband,” You scoff, aware of the lack of authority you held in this new role. He could order you to strip down and walk the city square if it pleased him so.
Gods you hoped he wouldn’t. Escape wouldn’t be on your mind if he asked it of you, no you’d only wonder if the fall from your window would kill you or just maim you.
You make your way around the screen and stand before him, allowing him to step close and sweetly grasp your cheek and place a simple kiss there.
“It does to me Your Grace,” Price spoke seriously, hand gently toying with the embroidery running down your sleeves. “I bear you no ill will my Queen, I speak truly when I promise you no harm shall come to you.”
The doubt is clear in your eyes as you look from him to the three men behind him.
“By my hand or my guards when I am absent from your side,” He urges, as if sensing your apprehension.
You wish you could believe him, but you had already seen the value of his word and would not be played for a fool again.
“Thank you, Your Grace, I will sleep better knowing that I am so well guarded in your halls,” You laugh, knowing the true reason his guards would follow you so closely as they had since you were handed over to them in the North. The risk of your escape was highest in these first few weeks, when the ink was still wet on the treaty between your Houses.
Price just grits his teeth at your lack of trust, not pushing the issue further while you were still so displeased with him, instead turning to introduce you to his guards that you had already decided to loathe just as much as you did him.
Simon, John, and Garrick were their God-given names.
Though they piped up with equally ridiculous nicknames and titles that had been placed upon them in their time at war, conquering lands in the King’s name. They demanded they call you by those instead of the god-fearing names they were given by their mothers.
You had not decided whether you would grant them that request, or to call them by name at all.
For all their grand titles and stature, you had only heard whispers of one; The Ghost.
You were convinced he was a fable, meant to scare your men as they slept before the eve of battle, but as he stood before you in his dark menacing armor, you could see a bit of truth in it. He was a tall bastard with a deep voice who wore his helm even in the King and Queen's presence, showing a total lack of propriety.
Not that you expected much when the King allowed them all to speak freely when not around the civility of the court it seemed. Your company was not deemed enough to warrant respectful decorum, but as such you decided they would receive much of the same while acting as your shadows day in and day out.
The other two seemed just as pleasant as the first, joking with their King as he boasted of their exploits both on the field and off. Even with their impressive list of achievements you were sure you could cut them down like carving a cake, if you had been forced to meet on the field of battle.
Thankfully they would survive another day as Price had ensured your Father’s surrender through less honorable means.
Ghost, Soap, and Gaz; Price’s three most trusted generals tasked with ‘protecting his prize’. You should feel honored that Price would go so far to keep his unpleasant new Queen within his walls, but you were essential to the tumultuous peace that had been arranged between the Crown.
If something were to happen to you, death or escape, there would be nothing stopping your Father from marching on the city for vengeance, before Price’s banners could be raised in defense.
The thought crossed your mind every time you picked up a knife to cut your braised meat during dinner with your new Husband or as you passed by the balconies on your numerous walks through the courtyard. How swift could you be in that suffocating dress, and how sure you were that your Father would rally his forces at first light instead of drowning himself in his sorrows.
Either way, with your shadows watching your every movement, you doubted you would be successful in your endeavor.
They follow you everywhere, usually two of them at a time flanking you on either side as you explored the castle, learning your way around its unfamiliar twists and turns as they offer no help navigating it. You learned how to live with their curious stares on your back all day, wondering silently where you were intending to go as they followed dutifully.
The Gods hadn’t abandoned you in these great halls it would seem, as Price had decided not to force you into his bed that first night nor the next three, leaving you to lay alone under your soft blankets pondering when it would happen.
As Queen, that was the only thing expected of you, the only way you could serve the realm since your days of fighting were over. They had taken your blade and bow, and you anticipated a hearty rejection if you asked for some sort of lesson or practice in any form.
So you spent your time in the library, or in the gardens, completely breathless at the grandeur of the castle, the extravagance of the carved stone and carefully tended plants lining the path as it wound around the back of the castle. Your handmaidens were not lying; the library was one of the finest in the realm, with walls lined with books that were more than you could possibly read in one lifetime.
There were two levels to it, a showcase of knowledge that made your dark small crowded library at home seem insignificant. The books in Winterfell were held solely for the intention of preserving history and familial lines, nothing about lands across the Narrow Sea or imagined tales of female knights and legendary beasts.
It was hard to pull yourself away at times, but you never felt truly comfortable, sitting in a corner with Price’s knights watching you turn the page every minute or so without so much as a sound. They made no attempt to befriend you, to be civil towards you, so you made no move to do the same.
And when you were asked to sit next to the King in the throne room when he held court to the common folk, you were silent again. No one looked to you for guidance or asked your opinion on matters as trivial as replacing a man’s herd of sheep that had been taken by the Crown while at war against you.
But you listened, took note of how this King dealt with such common matters, allowing his subjects to go with grace back to their homes after making such a long journey for the chance at an audience with him. It was minutes to him, but days for the small folk who walked or rode to stand before him asking for his kindness to solve their problems.
Nevertheless, it seemed you were expected to sit and stare at them as they handled the business of the crown. You nodded when expected but were not consulted for any accounts, fate or small.
Dinners with your Husband were an even duller affair. Sitting on either side of a long table with candelabras between you, as you did nothing besides eat. The talk of the day was arduous, with little attention given to how you spent the hours with the sun in the sky, no care for how you stared out the library window wishing for his death. For all their deaths.
Your appetite had returned much to Price’s surprise, assuming you were going to try starving yourself in his halls in a weak attempt at control.
You would never weaken yourself in such a ridiculous display, knowing he held no care for you if you starved or thrived. You would not resign yourself to captivity so easily, looking for any opportunity while escorted to every room by his two most annoying guards.
And as you sit at dinner across from Price every night, you realize you have no one here. None of the people at court who bow as you walk by are from the North, your guards are only loyal to your dear Husband, and even your handmaidens are not your own.
They hadn’t allowed you to take your handmaidens from the North with you, too fearful you would be tempted to flee with them probably. That you would use them to send and receive secret messages about overthrowing the crown.
You smirk to yourself. Smart of them really, your handmaidens probably would have given their lives trying to smuggle you from this castle and back to where you belonged. At least they were smart enough to keep you alone, Northerners were a loyal bunch, and the fealty they felt for your father, the Warden of the North, went just as deep as the hatred they felt for this False King.
It would be up to you alone to find your escape, waiting for an opening to present itself, a forgetful servant or an easily excused tragedy to befall Price’s loyal guards, one by one until they were replaced with a more submissive type. Ones you could manipulate with ease.
It would take a while, but if you were careful and waited patiently to exploit a known weak spot in this huge fortress, you were sure you could gain the upper hand. Looking for patterns and the lapse in the staff would be the best place to start, knowing there were weaknesses to be exploited.
You’d just have to wait for it-
“You’re plotting something, Princess.”
Ghost’s rough voice interrupts your internal plotting from where he was seated across from you in the otherwise empty library. “It's as plain as the freckles on your face.”
You startle from your spot at the table by the bay window you’ve claimed as your own the numerous days you’ve spent employed here, your current book sitting unread in front of you.
Your eyes focus on him as you bite the inside of your cheek, quirking an eyebrow at him coyly.
“Well go on, how would ya do it?” He asks, crossing his arms causing his armor to groan, and you wonder why he insists on wearing it when all you do is sit and read, with the rare walk through the gardens to break up your monotonous days.
“Do what?”
“Kill me?”
You freeze, instinctually thinking up any excuse for the murderous look in your eyes, but you bite your tongue. There’s no reason to lie.
You’re the Queen they cannot punish you so flippantly, Price has shown to be somewhat decent, without a selfless drive for blood. And if he did, it was better to find that out now.
You smirk and you can see him straighten up just slightly like the deer in the North do right before bolting, but you were much quicker than them. And these Southern men were no different.
You relax in your chair, tilting your head as you toyed with him. Raking your eyes up all the gorgeous polished armor he insists on wearing.
“Probably use all that clunky armor ya got on against ya, maybe push you down the stairs and hope it crushes you,” You say flippantly, with a thread of venom running through it as he realizes you aren’t joking.
“Or I could save myself the trouble and just order Price to kill you and be done with all this bother, he’d do anything to please me right now,” You run your tongue over your teeth as his gaze hardens behind that blank helm of his.
He’s worn it every day since you stepped into the King’s Capital, and every day it irked you to no end. Maybe once his neck snapped on his unlucky tumble down the grand stairs leading to the throne room you would remove it to finally see his face of shock.
“Not anything Luv,” He grumbled, standing from his usual spot where he could see both the door and your table, and taking a turn about the room.
You rolled your eyes, feeling quite good about yourself for the first time since your wedding. They really couldn’t touch you, the guards, your Husband. You were the Queen, and for all intents and purposes, you were intransgressible.
“Maybe, but it’s worth a shot,” You smile, looking back out to the window and the bustling streets below you.
Ghost just stood to the side, watching you appraisingly as you continued to stare as your mind plotted his demise. He couldn’t help the sly smirk that blessed his lips as he watched you, increasingly aware of the fire beneath your skin that was beginning to grow once again.