It's different, in Winterfell. Not only the castle itself is a far cry from the Red Keep, but the atmosphere that the feast creates is not anything she has ever lived.
It's not like the feasts in the gardens back home, where there were bards and dancers and fools. No, here, in the Great Hall of Winterfell, the music is more drums and catchy letters rather than the love songs from the south.
People wear darker colors, wools, linens and furs, not the bright colored silks and see-through fabrics from the South, and she can see them laughing as they speak, not engaging in the noses-turned-upwards conversations that always happened in the capital.
She sits by Lord Stark's right, having refused the central seat. They sit at a raised table, while the children of Winterfell sit below, eating and laughing with their companions.
Cerelle can see Sansa and her friend Jeyne Poole talk with Lalia and Dala, and not far, Arya, Bran and Rickon eating, sharing laughs and hits and shoves from time to time.
Closer to the edge of the table, she can see Theon, Jon and Robb, and while she knows they all grew up together like Dala, Lalia, Jenne and herself did, there is a distance between them, there is something that shows between the looks Jon and Theon give each other. She's not sure what is it, but she thinks it may have to do with being a bastard and a prisoner after the war raised alongside the future Lord of Winterfell.
From what she sees, Robb is laughing and clapping Jon's shoulder, and for the whole time she has been in Winterfell —which is not that much, honestly— she has only seen Robb treat them as friends.
And... well, she can understand that.
"Lord Stark," she says, bowing her head to the man. "If I may be excused, I would like to speak with your children."
"Please." He smiles, returning the bow of his head.
She walks over to the place where Sansa and her girls are sitting, thinking it wise to start talking with people she knows.
"Hello, girls." She smiles, sitting in the space Dala and Lalia make for her between themselves. She steals a piece of bread from Lalia's plate and munches on it as Lalia frowns at her.
"Princess!" Sansa bows her head, trying to stand. She swallows before she addresses the girl.
"Please, Sansa. Sit. I'm going to be staying here for quite a long time, so don't think you have to address me as that every time you see me. Cerelle is just fine." She places the piece back to Lalia's place, where the Lannister girl snatches it away from the princess' reach.
"She doesn't like people close to her calling her 'princess'," Lalia says, turning her attention to the younger girl. "And you could be sisters."
"Would you like that, Sansa?" Cerelle asks, reaching across the table to take the girl's hand in her own.
"Yes, Your—Cerelle. Very much."
"I think I would like it very much too." She returns Sansa's shy smile with one of her own before letting go of her hand.
The younger girl reminds her of Myrcella. Her sister is also a sweet, delicate thing and she misses her and Tommen the most.
"If you would excuse me, my ladies, I would like to have the opportunity to speak with all the Starks and there are quite a few."
"You just want to speak to one Robb Stark." Lalia laughs at her, speaking low enough so just her and Dala hear her.
"Shut it," she mumbles as she walks to where the younger Starks sit.
She stands beside Arya, just watching as the girl loads her spoon with food with no intentions of eating.
"I hope that doesn't land on your sister's face," she says, placing her hands on Arya's shoulders and leaning down to speak more closely. "If you don't throw it, I'll teach you how to use a bow."
Not exactly the easiest for her, but it's slightly more acceptable for a girl to learn how to use a bow than a sword. She is not exactly eager to insult the Lord and Lady of the House by pushing their youngest daughter towards unladylike activities.
"Sword." Aya frowns, turning her head to talk to her.
"Bow and then maybe sword."
"Fine." She turns back to her food, not trying to throw it this time.
Close to her, Bran is nodding off, Rickon sleeping with his head resting on the table.
"Hello, Bran," she says, crouching beside him.
"Princess!" He sits straighter, looking at her with still sleepy eyes.
"Can you walk? I'll take you both to your room, okay? You just need to tell me where it is."
The boy tries to refuse, but in the end, he gives in. She takes Rickon in her arms before she helps Bran stand and she has barely made it out of the door when she hears a voice calling for her.
"Your Grace, you shouldn't," Lord Robb says to her, stopping a few feet before her with Jon at his side. Both of them bow their heads at her.
"It's no trouble, really, and please, do not call me 'Your Grace', my lord. Neither you, Jon. I hope you enjoyed the feast." She has Rickon on her hip and Bran leaning against her other side, the arm not holding the youngest boy firmly placed around him.
"Very much, Your Grace."
"What did I just say? Cerelle is fine."
"Please, give us Rickon and Bran," Robb says, trying to take the boy from her arms. He's not happy about it though, and whimpers as he holds himself close to her neck.
"You'll wake him up if you take him. Just point me to their chambers, my lord."
"I'll take Bran, then," Jon says, walking towards the not-yet-asleep kid. He takes him in his arms easily and Bran does not protest, resting his head on his bastard brother's shoulder with ease.
The three of them walk in a comfortable silence through the castle, Robb leading the way to open Bran's door for Jon.
"Princess, this way," he says, leading her to a room a few doors down. "Rickon is the youngest, so he sleeps closer to our Father and Mother's chambers," he explains, stopping in front of a door.
"I understand. Tommen sleeps close to my Mother's chambers too."
Her parents had never shared chambers. They visited each other's when they had to do their duty, but it never went any further. Joffrey had his chambers close to Father's, the crown prince chambers. Rhaegar Targaryen himself had slept there while he was alive, as had dozens of Targaryen princes before.
She had the princess' chambers, where Elia Martell had slept and bore her children, feeding them from her own breast and not allowing any wet nurse near them.
It was the same room where she had been raped and killed along with her children.
Robb holds the furs on his bed open as she lays down the boy, taking off his boots and not daring to do anything it been Tommen or Myrcella, she would have stripped them to their small clothes so they would be more comfortable, but she has no trust to do that to Rickon.
She pushes away some hair from his forehead and smiles.
"Tommen used to be like this when he was younger, you know? Always falling asleep in feasts that lasted too long." She steps away from the bed and starts walking towards the door. She turns around for a second to see Robb kissing Rickon's forehead.
She hopes he would be as kind to their children if she ever did marry him.
"You must miss your family a lot," he says as he closes the door once they're out.
"More than I thought I would. I spend a month in Storm's End without missing them as I did in the road." She sighs.
"You were a small party, why did you come all the way from King's Landing by the King's Road instead of by ship?" He offers her his arm to lead the way back and she takes it without hesitation.
"Dala posed as me, and she gets sea-sick. Myrcella and I spent whole days in the open sea. It would have been a little suspicious if the princess suddenly got sick when she never had, and my mother wanted to make that I was as safe as possible."
"I'm sorry you couldn't spend more time with them." When she looks up, he really looks sorry. A bit guilty too, maybe.
"It's alright. I knew it was going to happen."
"Coming North?"
"Being married off." She realizes a little too late the way she phrased it. Cerelle freezes for a few seconds, stopping completely her walk before looking up to him. He doesn't look angry, more amused than anything. "My lord, I—"
"I hope I can make you feel it was worth it coming here."
"Me as well." She smiles a little, ducking her face to look at her feet.
"Shall we go back? I would love to have a dance with you." Robb squeezes the hand she has resting on the crook of his elbow with his own hand and she nods at him.
She thanks the Gods for the dance lessons she had as a child.
Dala sits beside Lalia, a cup of wine in her hand as well as Lalia's. She watches Cerelle being twirled around by the future Lord of Winterfell. Cerelle laughs and places her hand on Robb's, dancing more freely than she ever did back in King's Landing.
The princess had always been light on her feet. Since they were children, Cerelle had been light. Not really graceful nor delicate, not unless she tried, but there is a lightness to her feet, it's an effortless movement every time one of her feet leaves the ground. She had been quick to learn dances, too, remembering steps and twirls much easier than she, Jenne or Lalia had.
And she looks happy in Robb Stark's arms. He tells her something and she blushes, turning her eyes away from him and catching Dala's eyes. She smiles to the princess and the girl returns it happily.
"You'll take care of her, won't you?" she asks, without taking her eyes off the princess. She knows Lalia is listening. When you grow up in King's Landing, you learn to listen. She isn't as good as herself, and neither are even as close as Jenne is, but they know how to do it. The four of them do.
"Of course. Although this place is not nearly as dangerous as King's Landing." Lalia looks at her cousin too, taking her cup of wine and bringing it to her lips.
The girl is not much Lannister, if only her nose and maybe the curve of her lips. Cerelle and Dala, sharing no blood between them, look more alike than Lalia and the princess do. She knows she looks more like Myrcella, more like Tommen and Joffrey. It's a wonder, really, why they look so Lannister while having the same amount of that family blood as Cerelle, or why the other princes and princess do not look the Baratheon part.
It doesn't happen in the Stark family. While Robb and Sansa have the Tully looks, and Arya has the Stark ones, Bran and Rickon are a middle ground. The family is diverse and theirs. You look at them and you cannot deny they are Catelyn and Eddard Stark's children. Even with Sansa and her Southern looks, there is just a Northern air around her, though Lalia could tell Sansa tried to mask it.
"But that danger reaches everywhere in the world, doesn't it?" She sips from her cup and turns to look at Dala.
The dark-haired girl just nods.