For three months, he keeps me in the tower. As the weeks came and passed with passionate lovemaking occurring nearly everyday, I grew attached to Rhaegar—and as the weeks passed, I realized he became attached to me as well. I would go out for a walk or step outside read on the soft sand at the base of the Red Mountains, and Prince Rhaegar was never too far behind.

He had managed to find me a new gown to wear that was bought from a neighboring village. It's simple and easy to dress in, and I discovered, the night he bought it, that the reason he bought it was because it unstraps in the front and came with no undergarments, giving him even easier access to my body whenever the moment arises, which is quite often. Though, I am not complaining.

However, my stomach grows as the weeks pass. I wonder if it is the food, but when Rhaegar notices one night while we lay in bed, dread falls over me like a bucket of freezing cold water.

"You are with child," he breathes, holding my slightly round stomach in his hands as though he's holding a miracle.

I stare at him, wide-eyed. "How is this possible?"

Hie eyebrows rise, amused. "Shall I show you . . . again?"

I slap his wandering hands away, a hot streak of panic rushing through my veins. "No. This cannot be."

He takes my face in his hands. "Hush, love. All is as it should be. Do not worry yourself, this babe is a gift."

I stare at him, stunned to find him so accepting of this. "You want a babe, even though you have two with your wife?"

He nods.

"But . . . the babe will be a bastard," I whisper in fear, a tear falls from my eye.

"No, my little wolf." His thumb swipes across my cheek, erasing the lone tear. "I will not allow that to happen."

"You have a wife, you have heirs. This . . . This cannot happen!" I'm going into hysterics, I can feel my hands shaking with fear. Father will disown me. I am worse than Robert Baratheon.

"Hush, little wolf," he coos, taking me against his chest. "Your child will be a true born son. I promise."

"But . . . how? You are married already." I remind him, repeating, "You have heirs."

"The Targaryens are known for taking more than one wife and producing multiple heirs," he says gently. It's as if he already had this speech planned out, prepared to be spoken aloud. "Our child will be recognized."

I pull away from him to stare into his eyes, horror and amazement evident on my face. "Do you mean . . . ?"

"Yes, little wolf." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, caressing my cheek with his thumb. "I will marry you."

. . .

The ceremony is held a week later, after Rhaegar calls for the services of a septon from the neighboring village, who meets us a little ways beyond the tower. After Rhaegar wraps me in his heavy, blood red cloak, the septon speaks the words, binding our souls together with a silk rope.

He steps back and gestures to us. "Look upon one another and say the words."

I turn to Rhaegar as he turns to me. Our eyes meet and he smiles as we speak as one, "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger."

A small flutter of happiness flits through my stomach as I say, "I am his and he is mine," at the same time he says, "I am hers and she is mine." Together, we continue, "From this day until the end of my days."

He pulls me into a passionate kiss. As we pull apart, I smile wide.

This is really happening.

That night, as we lay in bed basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking, I curl into his side, tangling our legs together. "I have thought of a name for our tower," I say as I trace patterns into his rippled stomach.

"Let's hear it, then."

I prop my chin on top of his chest, saying softly, "Tower of Joy."

He looks at me, eyes softening as he cups my cheek. "How did you come by this name?"

"You," I sigh, holding his eyes with my own, lilac against brown. "You bring me joy, Your Grace. A joy I've never known and wish to never part with."

His face brightens as a smile tugs at his lips. "You will never have to, my love."

I smile, pressing my lips to his chest, trailing up until our mouths met, starting a new fire in my stomach as he rolls me to my back, our honeymoon yet to end.