"Why does Iona get to marry Prince Joffrey and not me?"
"Because she is older, Sansa. Besides, your father has not said yes yet, nor has he to being the King's Hand." Cat muttered, gently pulling a brush through her daughter's fire red hair.
"Why wouldn't he? It would mean that she would one day be Queen."
Frowning, she replied "It would also mean she would have to leave home, and leave me."

Sitting on Sansa's bed, Iona watched as her sister questioned her mother. Her little sister was jealous - though she had no reason to be... Joffrey was a monster, or so people supposed. Iona could handle that, Sansa could not. Her dear little sister was obsessed with the idea that many childhood stories had fed her; a Prince married a Lady and they lived happily ever after. She was not so exposed to the more political side of the world.
"Sansa, you would accompany me to Kings Landing. As would you Arya. Mayhaps, there you will meet some better."
Sansa pursed her lips at the comment.
"He is so handsome."
"Yes, he is, and I will be sure to tell him that you said that." Iona smirked at her sister's embarrassment.
"Please don't!" Sansa cried, her cheeks as red as her hair.
"I would never. I am not so cruel."
"Do take care of yourself, Iona."
"You know I will, mother."


The feast had been nothing but tedious. All Iona could do was sit there and smile at the Prince whenever she noticed him staring at her.
With Robb on the side furthest away from him, but still next to her, she had to be careful. She could not make it too obvious in fear of his tendency to be too over-protective.

She also made sure to check on her mother every so often. Her mother sat beside Queen Cersei, who had been done up beautifully. Iona was rather envious of her looks. Her heart went out to her as she watched the King grope and kiss several of the serving maids and bar mistresses.
When she next looked at her mother, her mothers eyes flashed - as if to signal her. Instantly she stood up and walked to the main table. In front of the Queen she curtsied.
"Good Evening, Your Grace."
"Iona, yes?"
She nodded politely.
"You're very beautiful, little dove."
"Thank you your grace, but I could not compare to you."
The Queen smiled, but it was forced. Iona knew all too well.
"Have you bled yet?"
"Yes, since I was three and ten, your Grace."
"You have not been married yet?"
"No. My mother wasn't ready to let me go."
"Well, mayhaps that was for the best, now you are to marry my son."
"It would seem so, your Grace."
"That is a lovely gown. Did you make it yourself?"
"No, unfortunately I am not talented in such things."
There conversation was interrupted by a scream of "Arya!" behind Iona.
Turning, she saw that her youngest sister had flung a spoonful of food at Sansa, and it had hit her directly on the side of her face.
With Robb unable to stop himself laughing, Iona took it upon herself to escort her sister to bed. Excusing herself, she grabbed Arya by her upper arm and gently pulled her away. On her way out, she scooped Rickon up into her free arm and called for Bran to follow. Like a goose with ducklings, they left the hall.

The first room they went to was Rickon's. The little boy had been yawning and rubbing his eyes the entire way.
Iona had ordered Arya and Bran to wait inside the room, by the door whilst she readied Rickon for bed. After changing him quickly, she put him in his small bed, bringing the furs up to his chin. She stroked his hair gently.
"Sleep well, little Rickon." With a kiss on his forehead, she bid him goodnight. As she neared the door she heard his little huffs of breath that meant he was asleep. Iona made sure to blow out the candles before she shut the door behind her.

Down the hall, they said goodnight to Bran, who was much more independent.

Finally, at Arya's room, Iona sat on the chair in the corner of the room and waited for her sister to get changed and get into bed.
"I want to talk with you Arya. We did not get the chance to talk today, and I know you are not tired."
"Are you really going to marry the Prince?" Arya asked, clambering into bed and pulling the covers up over her legs.
"I believe so, yes. You must not be so negative. If I do, we will travel to Kings Landing where I will convince father to get you fighting lessons yes?"
Her eyes lit up at that suggestion. "Really?"
"Of course. I am sure there are lots of different classes. I was not going to allow you to be in Kings Landing without anything to do." Iona patted her sisters shoulder.
"Sleep well. Tomorrow will be busy no doubt."
Arya nodded and shuffled into a lying position.
"And Arya?"
"Yes, Iona?"
"Please, try to be civil with the royal family - for my sake."
Arya scowled, not replying though in all fairness, Iona didn't expect one. Blowing out the candles she left the room and shut the door behind her.

She nearly jumped out her own skin when she turned to walk back down the corridor and nearly ran into the only and only Prince Joffrey.
She overplayed it, for his amusement. With her hand grasping at her chest she laughed nervously. She had to get him to fall for her, even if it meant playing afraid sometimes.
"Sorry, did I frighten you, my lady?"
"You did, my Prince. But that is no bother. Can I ask why you are up here, so far from the feast?"
"I came to find you, my lady. I feared you might get lonely." From leaning against the wall, he pushed himself up and walked closer towards her.
"That is very thoughtful of you, my Prince."
He smirked at the comment. "Allow me to escort you back."
"Of course."
Shadowing him was the infamous Hound, Sandor Clegane. The right side of his face was hideous scarred from severe burns. It made many people look away but it did not bother Iona.
Courteously, he held his arm out for her, and she graciously took it. She made sure to nod her head respectfully at the Hound.
She had heard many stories about the Hound, and he was meant to be a brilliant fighter which caused her to admire him. Although a trained in archery and sword-fighting, she would never be an accomplished fighter, not as a woman - but she used that to her advantage.
Iona made sure to note how Sandor Clegane looked rather taken aback by that action.

"I hear we are to share a bed one day." Joffrey announced, trying to elicit a response such as a blush or a stammer out of the girl on his arm. Unfortunately, he received neither.
"So do I, my prince. Does it please you?"
Iona was unaffected by his eyes raking her body. "I think it does."
His tone had a slightly malicious tone to it.
Iona really hoped all of the stories were true, because if so, they would get along perfectly.
She longed for the day in the near future where she revealed her true nature to the future king of Westeros.