Jocelyn interrupts outraged

Torchlight danced across Jocelyn's features as she jerked her head up from Jon's side, green eyes sparking like embers caught in a gust. Golden curls spilled around her cheeks, ignited in fiery halos by the flames overhead.

She leaned forward, voice cutting through the hall's murmur like a whipcrack. "No."

The Princess's body angled across him, shoulders tense, fixing her mother with a stare that could scorch stone. "He should come with me instead—the feasts barely started. Let him walk me to my chambers."

The Queen's own emerald gaze sharpened as it fixed on her daughter, the warmth she'd held for Jon cooling into unyielding resolve.

Drawing in a deep breathe Cersei spoke, her voice slicing clean through the air. "Jocelyn, I will not have my daughter lose her maidenhead before she is wed. You are a princess—act like one."

A low chuckle rolled from Jaime's post behind them, easing the knot of tension like a blade through taut rope. Her white cloak whispered as she leaned forward, the sound laced with teasing warmth. "Listen to your mother, little lion. Some things are worth the wait."

Jocelyn's cheeks grew heated as they flushed a pleasing red that somehow only made her even more beautiful, her body going rigid as she pulled herself taller, fingers digging into Jon's knee beneath the tablecloth.

Defiance sparked in the Princess' eyes as she turned toward him, the declaration bursting free with unshakeable brightness. "Then I can just marry Jon. That solves it, doesn't it?"

Shame washed over him like cold water from the hot springs, his stomach twisting as he looked at Jocelyn's adoring face. This devotion, so fierce and unwavering, wasn't born from her heart—it was the chain he'd forged with careless words, bending her will into something that craved him beyond reason. The guilt clawed deeper, a bastard's burden heavier than any crown, knowing he'd stolen her choices and cloaked them in false affection.

Yet the power's veil held firm; around them, the hall's roar continued unchecked, lords guffawing over ale, minstrels strumming louder, no one sparing a glance at the high table where a princess spoke of marriage as if it were a settled thing. No whispers stirred, no brows furrowed—his earlier command had woven the night so tightly that their words and touches vanished into the clamour like smoke in wind.

This love—the fierce, unyielding devotion shining in her eyes—wasn't real; it was the chain he'd forged with his words, twisting her into something that craved him above all else.

He felt the weight of it press down, a bastard's guilt sharper than any blade, knowing he'd stolen her will and dressed it up as affection,

An eyebrow arched as Cersei tightened her fingers around Jon's hand under the tablecloth, her nails pressing into his skin. "Marriage? Bold, daughter, but unwise. The throne demands alliances, not whims"

Jocelyn thrust her chin forward, nails biting deeper into his knee through the fabric. "It's not a whim, Mother. Jon's worth more than any fat lord or scheming cousin you could parade before me."

The sound of Jaime's chuckle softened behind them as she leaned in, the murmur carrying a hint of mirth. "Let the girl dream a little. The night's young."

"I understand your love for him, Jocelyn—it's plain as day in your eyes. But I doubt the 'noble' Eddard Stark would ever stoop to dishonour you by letting a princess wed his bastard, no matter how worthy Jon proves himself."

Jocelyn's fingers clenched tighter on his knee, her posture straightening like a bowstring drawn taut. "Then I'll get Father to knight him—land him properly. That solves everything."

A sigh escaped Cersei, heavy with exasperation, her thumb circling Jon's palm in absent reassurance as she shook her head. "You're worth more than scraping together scraps for him, daughter. Focus on what you deserve—convince Robert to grant you holdings of real power, a seat with repute and strength. So even if Jon brings nothing of physical substance aside form himself to the match; you can carry it all."

Jon **** down the lump clogging his throat, heat from the hall pressing in like a smothering blanket, yet his tone held firm. "This isn't the place for such talk."

At hearing his words, the Queens eyes softened as they returned to Jon, her thumb stroking his palm in hidden reassurance. "No, it's not. Come, love—I tire of these boorish festivities, but if you enjoy them, I will bear them solely for your sake."