Chapter 14

Robb marched toward his chamber, determination tightening his jaw. He hadn't had the chance to speak with Drin during dinner, but he was done waiting. He needed answers, he needed to understand the cause of her outburst that morning.

When he pushed open the door, he found her already there. She sat by the hearth, her figure silhouetted by the warm glow of the fire, dressed in a simple nightgown. As the door creaked, she turned to look at him, a warm smile softening her features.

"Hello," she greeted softly, rising gracefully to her feet. "Please, come and take a seat. You deserve to relax after such a long day."

He stared at her, caught off guard by her demeanor. For a moment, the anger and frustration he'd carried since morning faltered. Unsure of how to begin, he allowed her to take his hand and guide him to a chair by the fire. She poured him a goblet of wine and stepped behind him, her fingers working gently at the tension in his neck.

"You're so tense, husband," she murmured, her voice soothing. "I hope I can help, even just a little."

"Drin," he murmured, his tone serious. "We need to talk about this morning."

Her hands stilled for the briefest moment before resuming their gentle motion. "I apologize again," she said softly, the words careful. "Can you forgive me?"

He sighed, pushing the wine goblet aside as he stood. "This isn't about forgiveness," he said firmly, meeting her gaze. "It's about trust. What happened this morning?"

Drin's hands fell to her sides as she took a small step back, her eyes meeting his with a composed but guarded expression. "I lost my composure," she admitted softly. "It was unbecoming of me, and I am truly sorry."

Robb's jaw tightened, sensing the deflection in her words. "Drin," he said firmly, "that's not what I'm asking. Something upset you deeply, and you didn't trust me enough to tell me what it was. I need to understand."

She looked away, the flicker of emotion in her eyes betraying the calm façade she wore. "It was nothing, truly," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just nerves from… adjusting to everything."

"That's not the truth," Robb countered, stepping closer. "I saw the fear in your eyes. Whatever is troubling you, you don't have to face it alone. Let me help you."

Drin's lips parted as if to speak, but she hesitated, weighing her words carefully. "It's nothing important," she said finally, her voice trembling just enough to betray her inner turmoil.

"You're my wife," Robb said firmly. "Talk to me."

Her shoulders sagged slightly, and for a moment, Robb thought she might finally confide in him. But then she straightened, her smile returning like a shield. "You are very kind, Robb," she said softly. "Far kinder than I could have hoped for. But everything is fine."

He sighed, unable to mask his frustration. "Drin," he began firmly, stepping toward her. "This is not going to…"

The rest of his sentence died in his throat as he saw her shrink away, clearly bracing herself for a violent reaction.

Robb froze, his breath catching as he processed the moment. Drin stood before him, her body tense, her hands clenched at her sides, and her face composed except for her wide, wary eyes. The realization hit him like a blow.

"Drin," he said softly, taking a step back to give her space, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I would never hurt you. Ever."

She blinked, as if startled by his reaction, and straightened slowly, her mask slipping back into place. "Of course not," she replied quickly, though the slight shake in her voice betrayed her. "Forgive me, husband. I misunderstood your intent."

Robb shook his head, his heart aching as he tried to make sense of what he had just seen. "No," he said firmly. "This isn't something to brush aside. If someone has hurt you, if you've been made to feel like you have to expect that from me, or anyone, I need to know."

Drin's gaze dropped to the floor, and she clasped her hands tightly in front of her. "It's not your concern," she murmured. "The past is the past. I am here now, and you are a good man. That is all that matters."

"It matters if you're carrying this alone. I don't want you to feel unsafe, not with me, not here."

She looked at him then, her expression neutral. "You are kind, Robb," she repeated, her voice cracking slightly. "Please, let this rest."

Robb ran a hand through his hair, frustration warring with the sense of protectiveness welling up inside him. He stepped closer, slowly, carefully. "I won't press you now," he said after a moment. "But I need you to know, you're safe with me."

Drin nodded stiffly, her composure returning like armor. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Robb hesitated before reaching out, gently taking her hand in his. "If you ever want to talk," he said, "I'll be here. I mean it."

"You are too kind, husband," she murmured and paused for a moment before continuing. "Do you wish me to undress now?"

Robb's eyes widened in surprise at her question, and he quickly released her hand, taking a step back. "Drin, no," he said, his voice steady but tinged with shock. "That's not what I meant. I don't expect that from you."

She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable but guarded. "We are married," she said softly, almost matter-of-factly. "It is your right."

Robb felt a surge of frustration, not at her, but at the circumstances that had led her to this point. "It's not about rights," he said firmly, though his tone softened. "I'm not some kind of brute. I know you must still be sore after last night." He paused, stepping closer. "I have no intention of hurting you."

"Thank you," she said after a moment of silence. "You're very kind."

Robb let out a slow breath, his hands falling to his sides as he studied her. The tension in her posture, the overly formal tone of her words, it all pointed to the walls she had carefully built around herself. He wanted to say something that would chip away at those defenses, but he knew that trust wasn't something he could demand or rush.

"I don't want you to think kindness is something I offer out of pity or obligation," Robb said gently. "I want us to... find a way to understand each other. To be partners in this, not just strangers bound by vows."

Drin glanced at him, a flicker of something, perhaps curiosity or skepticism, in her eyes before she masked it with another polite smile. "That is a noble sentiment," she said softly.

"It's not just a sentiment," Robb replied, his voice firm but kind. "It's what I want."

She nodded slowly. "I understand." After a brief pause, she added, "Do you mind if I go to bed? It's been a long day."

"No, of course not," Robb murmured.

She gave him a small smile, stepping close to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight, husband."

"Goodnight," he replied.

He watched as she climbed onto her side of the bed, turning her back to him with deliberate grace. For a moment, he hesitated, then joined her, careful to keep to his side of the bed.

The room fell into a still, heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the quiet rustle of the bedcovers as Robb shifted to make himself comfortable. His mind churned with unspoken questions and lingering doubts, but he forced himself to respect her unspoken plea for space. Whatever burden she carried, she wasn't ready to share it, not yet.

"Please," Jon said, stepping aside to gesture for Larra to enter his chamber.

"Thank you, my lord," she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Despite his resolve, having her here unsettled him. It was for her protection, he reminded himself, though the situation felt odd. Amusingly enough, she was the first girl Jon had ever invited into his chamber. Larra stood near the door, her posture uncertain, as though waiting for instructions, or orders, from him.

"You don't have to stand there," he said, his tone gentler now. "Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable."

Larra hesitated, her eyes scanning the room before she carefully perched on the edge of a chair. Her hands folded neatly in her lap, betraying her unease despite her quiet composure.

Jon exhaled slowly, leaning against the table, his dark eyes steady as he studied her. He was here to help her, to shield her and her mistress from harm, but the weight of unanswered questions pressed heavily on him. Too much had happened for him to remain in the dark.

"Larra," he began, his voice calm and measured, "I know you're afraid, and I want you to know that you're safe here. But I need you to talk to me. Who is threatening you?"

Her face drained of color, terror flickering in her wide eyes.

"My lord, please…" she whispered, her voice trembling as she flinched back slightly when Jon took a cautious step toward her.

He stopped immediately, lifting his hands in a gesture of reassurance. "It's alright," he murmured gently. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Larra was trembling, her hands gripping the fabric of her skirt tightly as though it were her anchor. She didn't move as Jon knelt before her, putting himself on her level.

"You can trust me," he said softly, his voice steady and warm. "All I need is a name."

Her silence stretched, thick with fear. She lowered her gaze, her lips pressing into a tight line. The tremor in her hands betrayed her inner turmoil.

Jon's heart sank. He could press her, push harder, demand answers. But the sight of her trembling before him, her haunted eyes filled with unspoken terror, made his resolve falter. Tormenting a girl who was so clearly traumatized felt both cruel and beneath him.

Jon sighed, rising to his feet. "It's alright," he said, his tone steady yet kind. "I won't force you into anything."

Larra kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her shoulders tense as though bracing for something unseen. Her silence spoke volumes, her uncertainty lingering in the air like an unspoken question.

"You're safe here," Jon assured her, his voice softer now, the edge of tension easing from it. "You have my word."

"Thank you, my lord," she whispered, her words barely audible. She hesitated, her hands fidgeting nervously with the fabric of her skirt. "I… May I serve you some wine, or perhaps…"

Jon shook his head, interrupting her gently. "No," he said firmly but kindly. "You don't have to do anything." His expression softened as he added, "You're not here to serve me."

Larra's hands stilled, though her gaze remained fixed downward. "I don't know how else to be useful, my lord," she admitted, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Jon stepped back, giving her space, his arms crossing loosely as he leaned against the table once more. "You don't have to prove your worth here, Larra," he said gently. "Your safety is more important than anything else."

For a moment, silence filled the room, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. As Jon looked at Larra, he realized he wouldn't get any answers from her without pressing her too hard.

"Tell me something about yourself," he asked finally, hoping to ease her tension.

"There isn't much to tell, my lord," she replied quietly.

"Do you have family?"

She shivered slightly before shaking her head. "No, my lord."

"Not anyone?"

"I have my lady. She's always been kind to me."

Jon's expression softened as he watched the fear in Larra's eyes flicker like the firelight. "That speaks well of her," he said, his voice calm. "And you've been loyal to her, haven't you? It must mean a great deal to her to have someone she can trust."

Larra looked down at her hands, fidgeting nervously. "She saved me, my lord," she murmured. "When no one else would. I owe her everything."

Jon straightened slightly, intrigued. "Saved you?"

She hesitated, her lips pressing together as if unsure how much she could reveal. Finally, she nodded, her voice almost too quiet to hear. "From… a terrible place."

The weight of her words hung in the air, and Jon felt a pang of sympathy. Whatever this girl had endured, it had left deep scars.

"You're brave to speak of it," Jon said after a moment. "Not everyone could."

Larra's eyes widened slightly at his words, her surprise evident. "Brave?" she echoed, as though the idea had never occurred to her.

He gave a small, reassuring nod. "It's not easy to survive what you've been through, whatever it was. But you're here. That means something."

Her gaze softened slightly, though she still seemed unsure how to respond. "Thank you, my lord," she said quietly. "But it's my lady who deserves your praise. She has always been stronger than me."

Jon regarded her thoughtfully, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to take shape in his mind. "It sounds like the two of you have been through a lot together," he said. "That kind of bond isn't easily broken."

"No," Larra agreed, her voice steady for the first time. "It isn't."

Jon nodded, letting the conversation settle. He didn't push her further but filed away her words, knowing there was more to this story than she dared to share.

"Get some rest," he said finally, gesturing toward the bed. "You've had a long day."

Larra hesitated for a moment before replying, "I don't feel right forcing you out of your bed again, my lord. Please, allow me to sleep on the floor…"

"That's not going to happen," Jon cut in, his tone firm yet gentle. "You're my guest here. What kind of host would I be if I made you sleep on the floor?"

Larra's cheeks flushed, and she lowered her gaze. "You're very kind, my lord," she murmured. "Far kinder than I deserve."

Jon's brow furrowed. "You deserve kindness as much as anyone else," he said firmly. "And I'll hear no argument about it."

The firmness in his voice seemed to dissuade her from protesting further, and she nodded reluctantly. She glanced at the bed, clearly uneasy, before sitting tentatively on its edge.

"Thank you," she said again, her voice soft but sincere.

Jon stepped back, giving her space. "Rest well," he said, his tone lighter now. "I'll be here if you need anything."