Sansa

The moon hung heavy in the inky darkness of the northern sky, casting long, haunting shadows over the fallen fortress of Winterfell. Its somber glow fell upon the lord's chambers, where Prince Aelar had taken residence, the room now tainted with an aura of foreboding grandeur that matched its new occupant.

In the adjoining room, Sansa Stark was summoned. Fear and confusion knotted her stomach as she adjusted the heavy gown she'd been given to wear for the occasion. It was a sea-green dress, beautifully embroidered with seashells and pearls, more extravagant than anything she’d ever worn.

With a deep breath, she stepped into the chambers, finding Aelar lounging on a chaise, sipping from a goblet of Arbor gold. The room was richly decorated, the hearth crackling with a warm fire, making the shadows dance across Aelar's face. His eyes sparkled as he saw her, a semblance of a soft smile playing at his lips.

"Lady Sansa," he greeted, his tone unusually gentle. "Come, sit." He motioned to a plush seat next to him. Swallowing her fear, Sansa complied, her posture ramrod straight as she perched on the edge of the seat.

"Your beauty outshines the moon tonight," Aelar said, his voice lowered to a soft whisper, almost intimate. His gaze traced the delicate curve of her neck, lingering at the emerald locket that rested against her collarbone. "You are a vision, Sansa."

Sansa’s breath hitched, and she looked away. But Aelar continued, "I wish to make you an offer, Sansa. A promise."

She turned back to face him, her eyes wide. He raised her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles in a parody of chivalry. "I've fallen for your beauty, Lady Sansa. I wish to wed you. To make you my queen.”

His words hung heavy in the room, like a noose tightening around Sansa's neck. Yet, she found her voice. "Why?" she asked, her eyes searching his, looking for any hint of sincerity. "Why me?"

Aelar held her gaze, his eyes mirroring an honesty that she almost believed. "You are strong, Sansa. Stronger than you realize. You’ve borne witness to the destruction of your home, your family under my control, yet here you stand. There's a bravery in that, which I find... compelling."

His words were a silken trap, and Sansa, in her youthful naivety, found herself ensnared. Her heart pounded in her chest. Could he be sincere? Could she sway him to release her family if she agreed?

"Promise me," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Promise me that if I wed you, you will not harm my family."

"I promise," he said instantly, the lie coated in honey. His eyes burned into hers, holding her captive.

As Sansa stared into the eyes of the prince, her heart filled with hope, the moonlight illuminating her pained expression. She could not foresee the dark storm that was yet to come, nor the depth of the deceit that had unfolded this night.