Construction on the Great Sept begins within the week. With Catelyn's help, a letter to Stannis Baratheon is written and sent off days later. I don't say Talisa's name aloud after my conversation with Lady Catelyn, and Lord Edmure never mentions her again. The next time I check, she's gone from Winterfell, and I know better than to bother with the details. I've probably made a new enemy of her now, and that should probably bother me, but I just don't give a fuck at this point. There's too much to be done, too much to worry about, too much to count and sketch and oversee. A log of ironwood got loose and rolled over one of my Glen stonemasons, okay? Trust me—I've got bigger problems.

I'm inclined to call this period the Era of Animals, because I get up close and personal with a lot of them. The first of them is a horse.

A whole load of wild horses is found wondering through the woods one morning. They're taken to get broken in, epic news for the keep, of course. Ser Holland presents me with one of them, this one that's pure white and extremely pretty and—unfortunately—just as wild. I name him Phillip, and then later discover that Phillip is a girl, but I stick with the name anyways because by the time I find out why I can't offer her up as a stud I'm too used to calling her Phil to change the name. I suppose I could call her Philippa, but by this point I'm already distracted with the second animal intervention.

Among the wild horses, we find a baby direwolf, trying it's best to tag along on its tiny little newborn baby legs. I was half ready to toss that thing into the stream, but Lady Catelyn thought it might be a sign.

"Robb and his brothers found their wolves alone in the woods," she had said. "Helpless and small, just like this little one. It might be wiser to keep it."

So now I'm stuck with this little mutt in my bedroom. I confess—he's cute. But he's so loud and all he does is whine and bitch. Excuse me, you little fur ball? Your bowl of milk didn't get here fast enough? Well, why don't you try constructing barracks and I'll try lying around on my non-furry ass waiting for someone to feed me and we'll see how hard you whine and bitch then?

So the thing grows. It grows fast. It seems like every time that I look at him, he's gotten bigger. He's fun to have around as he gets bigger. Less of a nuisance and more of a cuddly buddy. He follows me around while I'm inspecting the construction. He's always close enough to be touching some part of my gown as I move through the palace. He grows on me. Like Phillip, he's still kind of wild. He growls at people who get too close no matter how well he knows them. It takes him a while to get used to strangers around me, which is why it's usually smarter to keep him in my bedchambers. Except he doesn't like being holed up in there because it makes him antsy. He tore up three layers of fur covers in frustration the first time and so we start to let him loose through the woods every day. I've tasked one of the stable boys—Lukas is his name—with taking him out to the woods every single day. Lukas is the only one that he actually listens to. The wolf's got a pure white underbelly, but his topcoat is as black as my hair. And the really freakish part is his eyes—they match mine. I'm not fucking about. Same shade of gray. Except on a direwolf, they look a lot more intimidating then they do on a teenage girl. He's like my own little demon, a reflection of me in the form of a vicious wild animal. And that's the story of how he came to be called Demon.

Now the thing I notice once the wolf's grown enough to walk on his own is how rarely I catch people staring at me. People seem to be engrossed in everything except my presence as I move past them, only pausing to bow and throw out the respectful 'Your Grace' before they turn away. At first I thought it was because of the progress we've made with the Great Sept—the dark blue and creamy beige floors have already been assembled—and I allowed myself to feel smug. But then after the wolf started to spend its days with Lukas, the stares returned. They were only gone when I had the fur coat of a direwolf touching my gown, following me along.

"It's the dog's eyes," Catelyn tells me when I mention it to her. "They seem to pierce right through your soul sometimes. It's a bit unnerving. I suppose his temperament doesn't help any."

True, true. The mutt's got a nasty disposition. He growls at stranger and friend alike. The only person whom he never greets with a nasty growl through bared teeth is—lucky, lucky—me. He doesn't hurt anyone, though—at least he hasn't yet. But he's fond of throwing his weight around, getting everyone thinking that he'll snap on them in a second. He seems to be frightening them into obedience in the way that I wish I could but unfortunately cannot. He really is my demon. Funny how he morphs into a little housecat when we're alone in my chambers and he's curling up next to me. But I don't have much time to see the humor in it, because by that point animal intervention number three has come along.

The third animal intervention takes the form of a falcon that lands in a coop with a wounded wing, causing a stir among some poor farmer's chickens. This is the only creature that I actually choose to keep. Because this thing is beautiful. He's got the most amazing silver wings. His body is speckled pale brown. No, his eyes don't match mine. He drives Demon absolutely mad. You'll never see two animals so eager to kill each other. I take Phillip out for a ride one day, and Demon and Silver come along with me and I'm stuck negotiating the terms of a cease fire for the first time since I left the Twins—and Reina and Aradel—behind. I can't say I don't miss it, because I do. It reminds me of home, managing these three things. And Phillip just sits there watching them try to kill each other and I swear I can hear her laughing through those weird noises she makes.

So Silver's wing heals, but he decides to stay. He likes to perch himself on my windowsill and shit on Ser Garret's head, which of course made him my de facto favorite from the get-go. Now that my bedroom is no longer an escape from the miserable stares, I find solace in the woods trying to keep a direwolf and a falcon from murdering each other with a wild horse as my audience. Even among a bunch of misfit fucking animals I'm still stuck playing a diplomat. When will I ever be able to take a break from being the Queen?

So because Demon has such a profound effect on people's behavior at court, I've taken to bringing him along with me more often. He stops the stares, but he can't fight the undercurrent.

"Did you see the falcon?" asks Ser Garret one day. I have to duck behind a pillar. Demon is nowhere in sight today, gone to the woods with Lukas to run wild and sponge the thirst for destruction from his system. "I swear, if I have to wipe bird ship out of my hair one more time—"

"I didn't mind the king's wolf," Stonemaster Edmund says back to him. "But she hasn't the slightest clue how to control hers. Someone is going to be eaten alive one day."

"I can't wait until Robb gets back," Ser Garret says. "And stops this Frey girl before she turns Winterfell into an animal house."

And that is how I encounter animals number four and five. The only difference between them and the wolf, the horse and the falcon is that if we're ever under siege, I won't be using the wild ones as shields.

Demon is standing right over my face one chilly morning. Mira is a few feet behind him, tugging on his tail, trying to get him off of me so I can get up. I push his face away from me and climb off the bed, settling into my bath.

"It is early?" I ask.

"It is, your Grace," Julia replies. But they're both dressed. "We let you sleep in as long as we could."

"For what?" I ask. "What's happening?"

"It's the King," Mira says. "He's arrived early."

"Robb is here?" I ask, and the alarm in my voice makes it a lot louder than I intended.

Oh, come on. I was just getting used to things. Like not having to work up a sweat every night before failing to fall asleep. Does this mean I have to start waxing my legs again? Shit.

So waxing takes a while. By a while I mean an hour at least. By that point, I can see the horses in the distance from my window. Fucking perfect.

Robb rides in looking every bit as tragically handsome as he did the first time I saw him. I wasn't too eager then, either, if I recall correctly. With him back in Winterfell, the nerves have returned and my fingers feel icy and my stomach is churning anxiously all over again. Just when I was finally easing into things. Robb greets his mother, his great uncle, his men and friends. By the time he reaches me, I'm counting the stones on the courtyard floor waiting to get my ass back inside before I die of frostbite.

He takes my hand when he reaches me, kissing my gloved knuckle. "You look stunning, Madame," he says to me.

I smile. "Welcome home, Your Grace." I lean forward and kiss his cheek. Hurry this up, gingersnap. You can't get any action from an icicle, and an icicle is what you'll be sleeping with tonight if we don't get back inside.

Later in the darker hours of the night, Robb curls up beside me and falls asleep. He's missed me terribly and I'm amazed at how clearly he can say that without actually talking. Well—he used his mouth, anyways. I'm irritated. I had grown accustomed to having some brief moments of reprieve, of not being queen. But now that he's back those precious few moments are gone, taking any chance I had of peace with them. Now I can't spend my nights lying awake, unable to sleep, thinking of how to kill Ser Garret and Stonemaster Edmund and every other miserable sod that smiles to my face and glares behind my back because now I'm spending my nights lying awake, unable to sleep because Robb Stark has just climbed off of me before he sinks into a happy, peaceful slumber. Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? Is this what I'm in for? Oh, what fun. Someone point me towards the nearest cliff to throw myself from.