Rhaegar stared at Lyanna Stark constantly, barely even aware that he was doing it until Arthur would subtly break his trance. Valyrians were said to be the epitome of beauty, the Maiden's features reflected, yet even his betrothed paled to Lyanna's piercing gaze and tumbling dark tresses. Rhaenys was lovely, a striking, devastatingly delicate woman, yet she reminded him of his mother, Queen Rhaella. Both were women who were prideful of their Valyrian roots, of the blood of the dragon that flowed in their veins, but the Doom had happened hundreds of years before, they were Westerosi now, despite any arguments against it and his father's attempts at reintroducing the old ways with a Baelerys bride.

Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to Lyanna, the polar opposite of what was expected as the next Queen of the seven kingdoms, the wild, northern woman who ensnared him just as Betha Blackwood charmed her way into Aegon the Unlikely's heart. "Which would be worse, a broken betrothal or two fulfilled?" He pondered outloud to his Kingsguard and best friend, the Star of the Morning.

Ser Dayne did not seemed amused by the question, for he stiffened at his perch by the closed door to the prince's bedchambers in Winterfell, blocking anyone from entering. "If your father catches wind of this…" He purposely trailed off, allowing the words to sink in before he continued, "Or Lady Rhaenys, for that matter. I pray we never find out which would have the more violent reaction."

"Surely she would understand, would it not be better to have a bride from Westeros as well as one from Illyria? The people expected a Tully bride for my grandfather and Lord Lannister all but threw his daughter at my feet! The people of Westeros wish for a Westerosi bride." Rhaegar reasoned, though his friend's face revealed the flaws in his logic.

"The people have spoken, eh? Or perhaps your cock has." Arthur was always the blunt one, an honest man who spoke with reason rather than emotion. He had a sharp tongue, one he knew when to hold and when to unleash, causing him to earn Rhaegar's favor. "Lady Rhaenys is quite pretty, she has features I thought Shaena would one day possess." A crackle passed through the air, the room suddenly stuffy as Rhaegar's dead sister was mentioned. Perhaps that was why he was so loathsome to allow himself to feel romantic intentions towards Rhaenys, she was a replacement for the sister who was supposed to be his wife. Shaera died as a small child, barely a girl, but even then she was a budding beauty.

Rhaegar knew that every man had a woman he prefered, some preferred a slip of a thing, others more robust women, some liked redheads and others blonds. What was it his father had once said, a sly remark made to embarrass his mother? 'A man marries a woman of his family's choice and warms his bed with the women of his preference, an ugly wife does not make for an ugly bedmate.' Queen Rhaella had bristled in shame at the comments, made before the entire royal court when the king was deep into his cups. Surely it was better to have two brides and prefer one over the other, than to have a loveless marriage with a beloved mistress.

"I should have never agreed to journey the kingdoms." Rhaegar lamented, he had been so eager to please Rhaenys, to make her believe that he was happy to have her as his, smitten even, but it blew up in his face.

"If it were not Lady Stark now, it would be a lady from another house, one of the Tully sisters perhaps. You cannot mask a problem with another." Arthur pointed out, "Your father arranged a betrothal to a lady of noble blood, who is expected to become Queen after your lady mother. The last time a betrothal in the royal family was broken, half the continent was turned against the Targaryens, had Princess Rhaelle not agreed to become Lady Baratheon, your family might very well have lost their throne." Steffon Baratheon had always been quick to call the king his cousin, despite them being second cousins and not first. Should he fail to produce a son of his own, the Stags would swoop upon the throne swiftly, he had no doubt.

"Lady Rhaenys is…" Rhaegar could not seem to vocalize his thoughts. She was delicate upon the eyes, but fierce as flame itself, with a lost look about her eyes that made him wonder what made her so melancholy.

"Too much your mirror?" Arthur questioned, causing Rhaegar to sit up from his perch by the window and face the knight fully. He stared at him for a long moment, prince to servant, before a knock sounded at the door.

The Sword of the Morning moved to open it, yet the look upon his face revealed who it was without him saying so aloud. His simmering anger and hidden resentment revealing the Lady of house Stark with ease. "Your grace." She curtsied deeply, though it looked strange as she was wearing riding clothes, a long shirt giving her the illusion of feminine dress despite the pants she wore, which hugged her budding figure nicely. "The men you collected from the Neck and beyond are eager to reach their destination." Her smile was flirty, as she glanced at Arthur as if silently asking for him to be dismissed.

Rhaegar had run into a wandering crow on his journey north, who asked to join the royal caravan as they progressed, hoping the allure of travelling with royalty would bring more men to his cause. The Northern lords had all barked of his generosity, making the simple acquiesce to the request have a heavy gain despite the little effort on his part. Rhaenys had wished to travel to the Wall from the beginning, to see the untamed lands peaking beyond the land of eternal snow. The maiden had never seen snow in the flesh before, and her look of wonder would stay with him forever. She wished to look out over the top of the wall, "be the tallest woman in the world, if just for a moment." She had told him, "We stand above all, after all."

He cared for the girl, he honestly did, but could he love her? He lusted after Lyanna Stark, with her wild Northern sensibilities and her tight, leather pants, simply because he had never seen a woman so free before. But the wolf girl could not be the queen Rhaenys would be, the last daughter of Belaerys had been groomed for a crown since birth.

"Your grace?" Lyanna asked again, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Of course, Lady Lyanna." He spoke quickly, before his wandering mind was realized. "We shall leave in two days hence, to give time for preparations to be made." His eyes skimmed her figure, the trail of hair against her face, loose from the braid, the dire wolf snarling from the sigil on her breast. It was a man's shirt, he realized with a touch of humor, that was why it was long on her, perhaps her brother Ned's from before he left for the Eyrie, or stolen from Brandon's chambers. "Are you going riding?"

"Yes your grace." Her words were nonchalant, though her grey eyes held a spark of hope. "I can have a horse saddled for you, the Wolfswood is quite lovely...Rhaegar." She seemed reluctant to call him by name, no doubt due to the fact that his betrothed had quite a negative reaction to such informalities between the two.

Arthur seemed to mirror Rhaenys's sentiments, for his eyes flickered with displeasure though he said nothing, simply watched the exchange silently. "His grace has promised to dine with the lords Umber and Stark, Lord Umber has travelled south from Last Hearth to escort the prince and his party back to Umber lands and beyond."

"Of course." Lyanna replied, though her gaze never wavered from his. She took another step forward and when she moved to fidget her hands he grasped them, smiling indulgently at her, causing her to beam.

"There is time before the evening feast, a short ride would do me good." Rhaegar informed them, much to Arthur's visible displeasure. "Would you be our escort, Ser Arthur?" Surely he would be more trustworthy than the household guard, no doubt overtly protective of their lady.

The knight nodded, and Rhaegar looped his arm with Lyanna's as they left his chambers, unaware of the honey brown eyes that kept a sharp watch on them as they moved through the castle.