Well it is rather obvious

"Princess," Jon murmured, guiding Jocelyn and Sandra past the armoury’s weathered stone and around the guest house toward the godswood gate.

"Yes, Jon?" Her reply carried a warmth that invited him to continue.

He chose his words carefully, tempering the simmering **** within. "Why did you speak to my brother with such an edge?"

"Of course." Jocelyn waved it off lightly, as if it were trivial. "Simple—he takes after his mother, Lady Stark."

The connection teased at Jon's thoughts, but he needed more. "What ties her to this?"

Breathy laughter escaped the pair, Sandra's edging into a sharp snort. She cut in before the princess could. "Those stares she shoots your way, Jon—we've all seen them. Pure venom in her eyes."

"And Robb?" Jon pressed, the link to her motherhood hanging unspoken.

"He's her son," Jocelyn said evenly. "Your trueborn brother—and in Lady Stark's eyes, overshadowed by you."

Old memories surfaced as the three of them walked: Lady Stark's disdain for him, leading to the Princesses ire since she favoured him.

The trails wound under skeletal limbs for about five minutes, drawing them near the heart tree but stopping short in a secluded glade. Jocelyn halted firmly. "This will do."

Questions swirled in Jon's mind about the spot's purpose, but a sharp memory cut through: among the women from last night, only the princess remained untouched by him.

Heat radiated from her gaze and stance, a clear signal of hunger. Yet her intact maidenhead complicated things—claim it now, or use his ability later to mend it seamlessly?

The glade's isolation enveloped them. Jocelyn closed in, her lips brushing his in a swift kiss. "Fuck me until I can't stand," she breathed against his skin.

Jon eased back slightly under the weight of Jocelyn's advance, warmth from her exhale brushing his cheek while the godswood's crisp breeze pricked at their bare skin. Overhead, branches stirred with a faint scrape, as if the old trees murmured disapproval.

A short distance away, Sandra held position, her gaze steady and unblinking in shades of slate. Clad in plate that caught flecks of filtered sun, she stood motionless, offering no objection to the unfolding scene.

Fingers fumbled with the laces on Jon's jerkin, Jocelyn's nails grazing the leather in sharp tugs that split it wide, laying bare the ashen silk tunic clinging underneath.

Her gown came away in abrupt jerks, emerald material cascading from shoulders to gather around ankles, uncovering skin-tinged red with eagerness, rounded swells lifting and dropping in rapid rhythm, centres puckering into firm buds under the brisk draft.

Palms met in the haste as Jon yanked tunic and breeches clear, his length uncoiling rigid and insistent, the nip of winter air raising chills along his flesh.

Undergarments dropped last when Jocelyn slid free of them, figure unveiled—trim lines softened by tempting contours, inner thighs shifting open to expose the sheen of wetness collecting there, primed for contact.

Jon's hands cradled Jocelyn's face, halting any pull downward, as Jon's voice fell to a deep growl, heat racing through his veins with the rising ****.

"Your maidenhead remains whole during and after," he commanded, words sinking into her core like invisible bonds, guaranteeing her form stayed pristine.

Her eyes flashed wide for an instant, then hooded with fierce desire, Jocelyn's frame tightening as the order stirred a wild instinct.

With a playful shove from the princess, Jon allowed himself to be propelled backward against the heart tree's rough bark, the white wood biting into his skin as she eagerly ascended his body. Her legs encircled his waist securely, her moist sex gliding along his erection in frantic, teasing shifts.

Jon clamped onto her thighs, holding her steady and elevated, yielding to her as she slammed downward with brutal intensity. Her virgin sheath enclosed him like scorching metal, the squeeze nearing torment, every inch claimed through his laboured huff.

Her breath hitched sharply, head snapping back as golden locks thrashed wildly. Around Jon, Jocelyn's walls spasmed in firm holds, pulsing draws luring him deeper, her soft tissues undulating with persistent yanks that demanded complete union.

Jon took control, driving their hips upward in relentless plunges that sent shocks rippling between them, commanding the pace with unyielding ****. Her warm insides expanded and contracted through each motion, the wet glide intensifying to a searing heat that tore a moan from her throat, her fingertips carving red lines across his spine.

Demand pulsed in every clasp of the Princess' depths along his contours, squeezing with voracious pulls while legs trembled, core signalling a plea for escalated rhythm and depth.

A twist reversed their positions, pressing Jocelyn's spine to the trunk where crimson resin streaked across her flesh. Jon drove forward in brutal surges, sinking fully into her constricting warmth with each impact, flesh meeting in damp echoes that reverberated across the clearing like muffled beats.

The moans from Jocelyn built from soft whimpers to raw shrieks, ankles hooking tight behind his hips, heels digging in to yank him closer. Walls pulsed in even waves around Jon, wrapping him in snug grasps that dragged harsh breaths from his lungs, droplets of sweat flinging free in the wild clash of thrusting bodies driven by sheer lust.

It was Jocelyn who reached her climax first, inner walls throbbing in savage grips that pinned Jon fast, liquid warmth flooding his shaft amid violent shudders through her body, nails gouging his shoulders deep, cries slicing the air without break.

A guttural sound tore from Jon's chest as he his own climax peaked amid the Princess’ own contractions, his hot white seed erupting in heavy pulses that surged within her, filling the Princesses womb up, her loins contracting hungrily to draw out every last bit of Jon’s seed leaving their breaths ragged in the silent grove where forms remained entwined.

"I wish you were my husband," Jocelyn whispered between gasps, her voice raw and earnest as she pressed her forehead to his. "Then I could love you openly, without shadows or secrets—claim you before the world, not just in hidden groves like this." Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his back, the words hanging heavy in the quiet, stirring something deep within Jon as the power within seemed eager to have him make it so.