Hey there! Here's another chapter for you, probably the last one in June. (sorry, exams) I hope you like it! Please review!

Robb's POV

Robb, Sansa and his mother were seated at a dining table full of delicious plates. Robb had to admit that if there was one thing better about King's Landing than about Winterfell, it was the food. There was an abundance of fruits and different kinds of meat, a welcome change from his years on the road. But he knew he'd eventually start missing Old Nan's pies and soups.

Robb eyed his mother, ever so composed and graceful, who made an effort to stop wearing black. Sansa sat beside her, seemingly absent, trailing her finger across the table. She had been reluctant to dine with them tonight, but had not told them why. Nevertheless, she had sighed and chosen to do her duty. She wore a purple silk brocade, off-the-shoulder gown. Robb wasn't accustomed to this new style, only used to the heavy and warm dresses he remembered her to wear back in Winterfell many years ago. He knew he had to accept that she'd grown up, but she was his little sister. His only little sister, now.

"Robb, we've been waiting for an hour now. Did your note say when we expected our guests?" Catelyn asked.

"It just said 'dinner'," Robb said with a shrug.

Catelyn sighed. "Dornishmen dine later than we do. You should've been more precise."

His mother had urged him to invite the Dornish as soon as possible. They had ignored them the day of their arrival, and to do so a day longer would be an insult. Robb was tired, and he knew Sansa had other things bothering her, but they eventually did what their mother told them.

"Sansa, I've finally found men to be your constant guards. They're good men, northerners and trustworthy," Robb declared to break the silence.

Sansa looked up, looking lost. She processed the information. "Guards?"

"Yes. Or sworn swords, whatever you want to call them."

"I don't care how they're called. I don't want them."

Catelyn put her hand on her daughter's. "Don't be ridiculous, Sansa, you can't wander around these halls unprotected. You're the princess now."

"Yes, that's what the Lannisters said too when they stationed guards at my door every waking minute of the day. They followed me around like dogs to 'protect' me. They were just protecting a valuable hostage. A prisoner. I won't be a prisoner again."

"You're the princ-" Robb intervened, but got cut off by the doors opening. Their guests had finally arrived and Robb, Sansa and Catelyn stood, postponing the discussion they were having.

Arianne and Oberyn Martell were truly magnificent. They breathed royalty with every step they took. Oberyn's doublet was half open and he had an intriguing smirk on his face. Arianne's dress was even more revealing than Margaery's usual attire. The dress was backless, sleeveless, made of flowing orange material, and had a deep neckline. She certainly wasn't finding the climate too cold. The color suited her brown skin perfectly and her dark eyes pierced right through everything she looked at as her long, dark curls fell freely over her shoulders. She wore golden bracelets on her upper arms and a magnificent golden belt. In a room with the new royal family of Westeros, the Dornish princes looked more regal than they did.

"Welcome, princess Arianne and prince Oberyn," Robb said, approaching them, not intimidated by their appearance.

Arianne Martell curtsied with a mischievous smile, her eyes never leaving his. Oberyn approached Catelyn.

"My lady, I am very sorry for your losses," he said. "And very happy to see your family here."

Catelyn smiled a polite smile and went to greet Arianne.

Robb looked over at his sister. Oberyn approached Sansa, standing slightly closer to her than accustomed. "Lady Sansa," he said, tasting her name. "Forgive me, I meant princess!" he laughed. His eyes went up and down, admiring her in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable. "I believe the gods meant for you to be a princess all along."

Sansa just smiled a polite smile, crossed eyes with Robb, and repeated words her Septa had once taught her. Robb was satisfied, trusting her. Her troubles would not get in the way of this dinner. She was a master at etiquette. He knew this dinner had a lot at stake and it absolutely had to go well.

They all sat down and the servants put the plates on the table. Arianne had found her way next to Robb, and Sansa found herself between Oberyn and her mother.

Robb spoke first. "I am very sorry for our poor reception yesterday. We were expecting you in the morning. But you weren't there, and we had to proceed. As you may have seen, we were quite busy."

Oberyn smiled a malicious smile. "Yes, we have seen."

"You swing swords quite well," Arianne said with a flirtatious chuckle.

"Tell me, your grace, where did all the Lannisters disappear to? We've only just arrived."

Robb felt some sort of threat in the Viper's voice. Was he unhappy that Robb didn't let him kill his enemies? "Lord Tyrion is in his chambers, I believe."

"Yes, I've heard… And why is that?" Oberyn asked, playing with his cup of wine and trailing his finger along his stubble.

"You missed the trial. Let's just say lord Tyrion is of more use to me alive than dead."

Oberyn started counting. "Cersei's dead, Joffrey's dead. I've heard troubling tales, so I guess that's good riddance. Your sister's Kingslayer is in the black cells…"

Sansa cleared her troath and uncomfortably shifted on her seat. She locked eyes with her mother, seemingly growing worried at the direction this dinner was heading.

"And what happened to dear old Tywin?" asked Oberyn.

"He died. He succumbed to an arrow wound from the battle."

Oberyn seemed disappointed. "It seems our enemies died before I could get to them."

Silence was safer, but it quickly grew awkward. So Sansa took the lead.

"Mother, look at the princess' gown! The fabric is magnificent."

Arianne smiled. "Thank you, my princess. It's a new fabric our merchants found in Qarth. Yet there, the women wear it with one breast exposed." She chuckled and Sansa joined. "I fear Westeros is much too pious for that."

"How is your father, princess Arianne?" Catelyn asked.

"Surprisingly well, thank you," she said with a smile. "He was recently ill, but he's not bedridden anymore." She turned to Robb. "And you, your grace? I've heard you were terribly wounded during the battle."

"It's a large wound, but not that deep," he said, brushing it off as nothing.

"Is this the scar?" Arianne's hand went straight to Robb's neck and trailed her finger along the line. "It looks fresh."

Robb froze, shocked by her manners, and cleared his throat. "Uhm… It… Yes. That's the one."

"You must fight bravely," she said, dropping her elegant hand to his arm. "I've heard many stories about the Young Wolf on the battlefield! If only half of them are true…"

Robb chuckled nervously. "They say many things, princess Arianne."

"I've heard you can't be killed," Oberyn said, amused at the sight of Robb overwhelmed by Arianne, carelessly eating grapes and bread with his hands.

"I'm only a man," Robb said.

"In a thousand years the songs will call you a god," Arianne said, leaning back into her chair and finally taking her hand away from Robb. He exhaled happily. This dinner was supposed to be diplomatic.

"They don't only tell tales of you," Oberyn said with a smile. "They tell tales of you too, princess Sansa."

"They do?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Tales of your beauty don't do you justice, my princess," he said, raising his cup towards her. Sansa blushed, taken by surprise. "I've travelled far, but I haven't seen many women as remarkable as you."

Sansa smiled, painfully aware of how close he was. She felt his breath in her neck and she knew he enjoyed her camouflaged discomfort. "You are too kind, prince Oberyn."

"I've heard more troubling tales as well," he said, leaning closer towards her with a mischievous smile. "Tales of poison, enchantments, seduction. They're not all fit to discuss here," he said with a grin.

"Prince Oberyn," Robb intervened, annoyed by the man's audacity. "Do you enjoy the wine?"

Oberyn backed away and smiled at the king. "It tastes like water to us Dornishmen. But it is good enough."

"My lady, I've been wondering, how's Myrcella doing?" Ariane asked Catelyn to stop the tension from building.

Sansa let out a relieved breath. It seemed the crownprincess was their ally, only the Red Viper enjoyed making everyone uncomfortable.

"I don't know her very well," Catelyn said.

"It's been quite a few difficult days for her," Sansa declared. "I haven't had the chance to speak with her yet. Maybe it's best that we stay out of her way, for a while."

Robb shifted on his seat and Sansa eyed him curiously.

"And, if it's not too bold to ask, what do you plan on doing with her?" asked Arianne.

Robb cleared his throat. "We figured you might want a say in that."

"And why's that?" Oberyn snickered.

Arianne looked at him disapprovingly and turned to Robb to rectify Oberyn's answer. "That's very considerate of you, my king."

"She's betrothed to Trystane Martell," said Robb, ignoring the Red Viper.

Arianne sighed and Oberyn laughed. "Not anymore," he declared.

"Excuse me?"

Oberyn finally sat properly and put his cup down. His face turned serious. "She's a bastard now."

"She has been since her birth."

"Ah, but she was a bastard with a Baratheon name. When the king sends you his sister, you do not refuse, no matter what the rumours say."

Arianne sighed. "She was a Lannister in all but name. Still, she's a sweet girl. But we can't take her home to marry Trystane. What a disgrace it would be for my brother to marry the bastard daughter of the queen and the Kingslayer."

"Indeed, my dearest brother explicitly urged us to annul the betrothal," Oberyn said as he bit in an apple. "You're free to do whatever you want with the Lannister bastards. Myrcella, thought sweet as she is, is not our concern anymore. We will not have a Dornish prince marry a bastard girl, especially not that one."

Robb was speechless, but neither his mother nor his sister seemed surprised. It was a politically logical move, of course. The Dornish did not despise bastards, but even Oberyn hadn't married his bastard lover. A prince could simply not lower himself to that standard.

"Well," Sansa said, interrupting the silence, "it is what it is."

When Robb returned to his room after dinner, he sat down in the seat in front of the open window that looked over the palace gardens and the sea. It was a welcome change from the view in his work room, where he had to look over the entire city and be reminded of the weight on his shoulders. He poured himself a cup of wine and leaned back in the comfortable seat, listening to the soft sound of the waves. Grey Wind appeared, silent as a ghost, and laid down next to Robb. His nose went up to his master's hand and he licked the fingers. Robb smiled and scratched him between the ears.

His mind wondered off to the council meeting in the morning. When he was younger, still a boy in Winterfell, his father rarely ever talked about his marriage prospects. He had mentioned a couple of names once, but never anything concrete. Marriage had never been something Ned had pressured him with. So Robb had just figured that, when the time came, he'd marry some shy and proper northern lady and grow to love her like his parents had. And he had been fine with that. And then, when he had reached the Twins, he had made peace with the fact that he'd marry a Frey girl eventually. Even though the tales about the Frey girls weren't very positive, he had figured his intended couldn't be that bad. The plan had been in the far-off future, one after the war, one that was impossible to imagine. And now, he was King of the Seven Kingdoms and multiple high-born girls were swung at him. And he had to make a decision.

Robb didn't like the pressure. He had never thought of marriage as some political move, but he should've known better. His parents' marriage was a political move, even though they ended up loving each other. Every alliance made by nobility was a political move and this particular one would have repercussions, no matter which choice he made.

Would he end up marrying the Frey girl, like he had vowed to? It was the most honorable thing to do, after all, the girl was coming south, expecting to marry the king. Maybe she wasn't ugly. Maybe she was kind and honorable, and maybe he could fall in love with her.

But the realm cared little of whether Robb could love his wife. Only Robb did. He knew that if he talked about this to anyone, they'd just tell him to suck it up and wed and bed whatever was thrown at him. And if he didn't like his wife, he could just have someone he liked better to visit at night. But Robb wasn't raised that way. He had to be loyal to his wife, like she'd be loyal to him. He couldn't forsake his honor like that.

The realm wanted him to choose a queen, and all he wanted to choose was a wife. A partner, a lover, the mother to his children. The choice mattered to him, and he never thought he'd have to make it so quickly.

Maybe he'd marry Margaery Tyrell, the rose of Highgarden. He had barely talked to her, he only knew what they told him about her. Sansa was mostly positive about her, she said that Margaery was kind and had been her only friend in King's Landing. But Catelyn was more skeptical of the girl's true motives. The girl was beautiful, he had to admit it, with her brown curls and chestnut eyes. She was enchanting, elegant and graceful, everything a lady should be, and kind to the commoners. On top of that, she brought food to King's Landing's tables. But he had observed her when she wasn't looking. She was cunning, he could see it. Every move was calculated, every word carefully monitored. She pretended to be played while she played others. She could be a good queen. Maybe she was the best candidate for that position; it was a role she could play, a burden she could carry. Robb knew he could use a wife who was truly queen, who would share the weight put on him. But he wondered if Margaery could truly be a wife to him, a trustworthy ally, someone he'd grow to love.

And then there was Arianne Martell. She was truly incredible. Mesmerizing, confident, intelligent. The way she had trailed her fingers across his neck had sent shivers down his spine. But he wondered if she was just playing a game. She looked like she enjoyed the challenge of seduction, one that would put a crown on her head. Why did she even need one? She was destined to wear Dorne's crown already. Marrying her would unify the Kingdoms with the autonomous Dorne, would make them less independent to the realm. It was a smart move, one his advisors would encourage him to do. The northerners would like it less. If they had their way, Robb would just marry a northern lady. The princess of Dorne was far too foreign, too southern. But how honest was Arianne? What did she truly want? She was unreadable, which made him uncomfortable.

Grey Wind got up and placed himself in front of Robb. He looked straight into his eyes, a piercing yellow stare. Maybe Robb just had to choose the wife that Grey Wind liked best. It would make the choice much easier. Grey Wind looked uneasy, restless. Robb knew he should take him hunting, the direwolf was young and needed to unleash his energy. He had missed the battlefield. Robb sighed, another task added to his long list. He would've never guessed how heavy the burned would be for a king. And it was only the beginning. He knew he desperately needed a Hand. Or maybe just a queen.

The guards knocked on the door and announced Petyr Baelish. Robb rose, annoyed that he was disturbed at night, during his precious time alone. Littlefinger entered and bowed.

"My king, forgive me for intruding."

Robb did not forgive him. "What do you want, lord Baelish? What is so urgent?"

Littlefinger approached, looking weary of Grey Wind. The wolf was weary in return. "Your grace, I have information you might like to know."

"Tell me."

"Lord Varys might be the lord of whispers, but I have eyes and ears everywhere as well. I think the lord of whispers might have missed this particular piece of information."

"Try me," Robb said, skeptical of Littlefinger knowing anything lord Varys hadn't told him. Robb was weary of the man. He liked the eunuch much better, and he knew the two of them were enemies. Rivals.

Littlefinger smirked. "Do you keep an eye on your sister, your grace?"

"Excuse me?" Robb said with a menacing tone.

"Oh no," Littlefinger quickly said. "I'm not having her followed. She just happened to be somewhere my eyes and ears were as well." He looked over through the window, ignoring the king's demanding eyes. "You see… She went to the West Barracks. Where they treat the wounded."

"The barracks?" Robb asked, confused. "Oh yes, I remember. She told me that."

"Did she tell you what she was doing there as well?"

"She went to uplift the soldiers' moral, to show our support."

"A thoughtful act of the princess. But, she was… seen doing more than that."

Robb calmed Grey Wind down, who was starting to show his teeth. He trailed his finger in between the wolf's ears as he looked at the Littlefinger's back, observing the view.

The man turned around. "I believe she was talking to a certain wounded man. Holding his hand, whispering."

"Who is this man?" Robb demanded.

Littlefinger smirked, enjoying his knowledge. "Ser Tobias Lance. It's not the first time he's seen in the princess' slightly too familiar company. I remember he gave her his favor at a tourney. And a pair of my eyes also saw them together once, alone in deserted palace halls."

Baelish bowed and walked towards the door. "Your sister should be more careful, my king. Preserving the gift the Kingslayer granted her is of utmost importance."

Robb wanted to ask how Littlefinger knew what was said at the small council, how he knew that the Kingslayer hadn't touched his sister, but the words got stuck in his throat.

Littlefinger sighed and opened the door. Just before he left, he turned around and said: "It would be… such a shame if the princess were to forsake her honor."