On the last leg of the trip, they stay on a small inn, a day's ride away from Winterfell. It's close to sundown when they decide to rest for the night.
Cerelle shares a room with Lalia, both girls exhausted after travelling for the whole day.
"One night before I can be Cerelle again." Cerelle smiles, flopping down on the bed she had claimed as hers for the night.
"Oh, Relle, one day before you meet Robb Stark." The fifteen years old smiles back at her cousin.
"And three weeks since I last saw my family."
Her family, who had said their goodbyes in the courtyard as they waited for the horses to be ready. Tommen had cried when he had hugged her, while Myrcella had looked a little teary eyed herself. Her mother had said, again, how much she had tried to stop it, that she didn't want her daughter married off to some stranger. Father had hugged her, lifting her feet off the ground, and said he hoped she could be happy.
She knew, deep down, that her father would break off the engagement if she wished it. He and her mother wouldn't put her in the same kind of marriage they had.
Joffrey had kissed her cheek and said, 'Safe travel, sweet sister', but she knew it was not really sincere.
"Do you not miss your family, Lalia?" the princess asked, watching as her cousin let herself fall on her own bed.
"I have been your companion for far too long, Relle." Lalia puts her hand up, looking at her nails in the candle's light. "My father died so long ago I can't even remember him clearly, and I barely see my mother. I'll miss Tyrek, since I saw him constantly while he was your father's squire, but…" Lalia looks at her, lowering her hand and smiling. "You are the closest thing I have to family, Relle."
"You are family to me, too."
The next morning, she puts on her own riding dress. She and the girls didn't travel with many, seeing as they were all southerners. Instead, they saw fit to buy more when they arrived in Winterfell.
They had had them all washed a few days ago at an inn before putting them all in a few trucks that travelled in a cart one of the Kingsguard's horses pulled.
"Cerelle." Dala knocks on their door, stepping inside as she closes the door behind her. "Your necklace." She offered it, helping the princess to hang it around her neck.
"Finally, I'm me." She laughs, twirling around.
"I must admit I'll miss being a princess," Dala says as she sits on Lalia's bed, the Lannister girl fixing her hair in front of a small mirror. "I won't miss being you just so you don't get killed, though."
"Oh, please, Dala, we were surrounded by Kingsguards, the only way you could have gotten killed would have been with an arrow...which...was the most possible way to get killed on the road...I'll shut up," Cerelle says, sitting beside Dala and resting her head in her shoulder. "I'm going to miss you."
"I'll miss you too, Relle." Dala laughs, patting her head.
"You're going back to the Reach, right?" Lalia asks, straightening herself. Her hair is up in a southerner way, the last time she would wear it like that in a long time, according to her.
"Yes. I'm going to miss the sea." Dala closes her eyes, like listening to the waves of the Blackwater Bay. Her hair falls down her back, straight and free, unlike Cerelle's hair, wavy and with half of it up in twin braids in the crown of her head.
"Me too." Cerelle sighs, letting herself fall back. She'll miss the way the sand felt between her toes and the water as it licked up her calves, the laughter of Myrcella and Tommen as they bathed with her and the way the wind messed up her hair.
A knock in the door makes them all look up.
"Princess?" a voice asks. "Is Lady Dala in here with you?"
"Come in, Ser Barristan," she calls, standing from the bed and fixing quickly her dress.
"Your Grace," he says, bowing his head to her. "Lady Dala, Lady Lalia. We're ready whenever you are, Your Grace."
"Thank you, ser. We'll be there shortly." She smiles and the man nods before shutting the door as he leaves.
"Well, girls. It's time."
"How long till we there?" Cerelle asks in a high voice, letting her mare fall into step with Lalia's and Dala's. "My ass is numb!" she whispers, although not very subtly, if Ser Barristan's raised eyebrow is anything to go by.
"That castle you see there, Your Grace, is Winterfell."
"Finally! Ladies...race you there!" She laughs as she kicks her mare.
"Cerelle, you cheater!"
They stop a good few meters away from the Castle, the Kingsguards not far behind them.
"Jenne would have beaten us all," Lalia says, patting the neck of her mare with a smile.
"Yeah, lucky you she's not here." Dala laughs, placing herself beside Cerelle. "Are you nervous?"
"Very." She let out a nervous laugh, closing her eyes. "Do I look good?"
"Come closer," Lalia says, leaning over to brush back some hair. "There. You look like a princess."
"Ha-ha."
"Your Grace, they're opening the gates," someone says from behind her.
"Alright, well, I can do this." She takes a deep breath before straightening herself and making her mare move forward.
For fifteen years, turned a week before she had left King's Landing, Cerelle had been a princess. It never stopped surprising her, though, the effect royalty had in people. What probably is the entirety of Winterfell kneels the moment she passes before them, including the Stark family.
She gets down her mare with the help of Ser Barristan and walks towards the kneeling family until she stops in front of the Head of the House.
"Please," she says, clasping her hands in front of her and not rising her voice. "Stand. I am but a guest here."
Slowly, first the family and then everyone else, they stand and look at her. It takes a lot for her not to start fidgeting, but she manages to control herself, just like she had to do at court.
"Lord Stark." She smiles, offering her hand for him to kiss.
"Your Grace," he starts. "May I present you my family? This is my wife, Catelyn, and my youngest boy, Rickon."
"My princess." A red-haired woman curtsies to her, her entire face showing a kind and calm expression.
"Lady Stark," she answers, bowing her head in return.
When she looks to the boy, he's half hidden behind his mother's skirt, so she just waves at him with what she hopes is a friendly face.
"My son, Robb," Lord Stark continues and the man on his right takes her hand then.
And he's...perfect. Dark auburn hair, clear blue eyes and the most beautiful smile she has ever seen.
"A pleasure, my princess." He smiles, kissing her gloveless, cold hand with soft, warm lips. She notices a northern accent and heat goes up her cheeks.
"My lord," she answers, and she wonders what a sight she is, after riding for good part of the day.
As she is introduced to Sansa, the eldest daughter, she can feel Robb's eyes on her.
And it was because he just couldn't stop looking at her. He had heard rumors of her mother's beauty, but he just was unable to imagine someone more beautiful than her, with her cheeks flushed in the northern air, her lips pink and the gentle curve of her neck.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Sansa," the princess says. The girl, a Tully from head to toe, smiles brightly and curtsies.
"Likewise, Your Grace," she says back, sweet in a way only innocence can be. Cerelle can only hope the girl never went to King's Landing. Sweetness rots in its heat.
"Is that a sword in the princess' horse?" She hears a whisper, and she look to the side of Sansa to see a small girl, with Stark eyes and hair.
"Yes, it is." She smiles, walking the short step it takes to be in front of her. "What's your name?"
"Arya," the girl answers. "How did you learn to use the sword?"
"Arya!" she hears Sansa.
"It's okay. The Master at Arms of the Red Keep taught me."
"And your mother let you?"
"She...didn't really knew about it at first." She lets out a small, nervous laugh and winks to her. Maybe she could teach the girl a trick or two. "And you?" She turns to the last boy, a cute kid of brown hair and brown eyes.
"I'm Bran," he says, giving her a wide smile.
She can't help but smile back.
"Hello, Bran."
There is a girl, older than her, who will be her handmaid from then on. Her name is Eline. She's the one who draws her bath after she's shown her chambers.
It's all in greys and browns, pale and dull compared to her chambers in the Red Keep, where she was used to greens and golds.
But it's not all that bad, compared to the inns they had stayed at while they were travelling.
Lalia and Dala appear a few hours later, after she has slept a little and bathed.
"Did any of you see the Stark's bastard brother?" Lalia asks as she does Cerelle's hair, braiding the top away from her face but letting the rest cascade down her back.
"He was standing behind them when they received us. They didn't introduce him, but the resemblance with Lord Stark is impressive," Cerelle answers. "Why?"
"Rumor has it that he's not allowed to be in the feast," Dala says from where she is looking at herself in the mirror. After Jenne, she was the best hearing the gossip.
"What?! Why?" Cerelle demands, frowning.
"Because he's a bastard, Cerelle, it could offend you," Lalia says, finishing her hair and swapping seats to let Cerelle do hers.
"This is offending me more," she mumbles. "Dala, could you do Lalia's hair? I'm going to speak with Lady Stark."
"Cerelle, don't—"
"No. I hate it when people do this," she says, opening the door and not listening anything else they had to say.
She had bastard brothers and sisters; she knew that very well. She had even met one, without the knowledge of her parents.
It wasn't even intentional, she can swear. She and her ladies had escaped the Red Keep one afternoon, wandering into the heart of King's Landing. They had gone far enough they had even reached Flea's Bottom.
She had seen a smithy and she couldn't help herself, considering she didn't even have her own sword, practicing with the ones in the castle.
It was weird, seeing the boy for the first time. He had her eyes and her hair, and she knew those were Baratheon traits, if not because people often said it, then because the boy looked far too similar to her uncle Renly. She had talked to him, and he was a simple boy, who didn't look at her in the eye when he talked. It had been Jon Arryn who had found them, her with a few coins less and him with a new project.
It hadn't taken long for her to figure it out. And it made sense, when she saw the way her father bedded half of the city's whores. Uncle Stannis was far too honorable, and Renly…well, she knew he didn't seek whores with tits.
She had gone back twice after that.
And she had not once treated him as less than he was. Of course, he never knew her name or who she was. He called him m'lady, knew she was raised in a castle and that she paid him more than what they asked for swords and knives, all behind the man he worked for.
She wouldn't risk him with knowing who she was.
A servant tells her Lady Stark is helping her youngest daughter get ready for the feast and directs her to the right room.
She walks to where the girl says Arya's chambers are, and she knocks on the door twice, lightly.
"Who is it?" Lady Stark asks.
"It's Princess Cerelle, my lady," she answers herself.
"Tell her to come in." She opens the door and steps inside, closing it behind her.
"Your Grace! I—I didn't—" She looks embarrassed, standing behind Arya.
"It's okay, Lady Stark. I'm here to talk about a matter that came to my attention not long ago."
"What is it? I'm sure we can solve it—"
"It's about Jon Snow."
"What about him? Is he okay? Mother—" Arya looks scared, looking between the older people on the room for answers.
"Rest assured, princess, he won't be—" Catelyn starts, but she interrupts her before she can keep going.
"I want him on the feast."
"Pardon me?" She blinks a few times, looking like she can't believe what the princess is staying.
"I want him present in there." When she sees Lady Stark open her mouth, she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. She's a princess, she has to remind herself, and if she doesn't try to change things, then no one would.
"Yes, Your Grace," Lady Stark says. Cerelle nods at her and turns to leave.
She hasn't made it very far before she hears her name called.
"Princess Cerelle!" Arya is running behind her, her hair only halfway done.
"Arya, what happened?"
"Thank you! Thank you!" the girl throws herself at her, hugging her around the waist. "Nobody ever did that. Thank you"
"You're welcome, Arya."