Chapter 4

"Well, well, look at you," Ramsay drawled mockingly as Drin stepped out of her chamber. "Ready to please the highest bidder?"

"Yes," Drin replied simply, her polite smile unwavering.

"Hmm. I'm sure you'll make a fine broodmare for the high and mighty Lord Stark. Assuming, of course, he chooses to buy you."

"I'm sure you're right, brother," Drin said smoothly, her tone calm as ever. She knew Ramsay well enough to recognize how much it frustrated him when he failed to provoke a reaction from her.

"You think you're special now that Father legitimized you?" Ramsay sneered. "Oh, please. You're nothing more than livestock, to Father and to any man foolish enough to take you."

"Come along, Larra," Drin hummed softly as her maid emerged from the chamber behind her. "We mustn't keep Lord Stark waiting." She paused briefly, turning to Ramsay with another serene smile. "Please excuse me, brother."

Ramsay's smirk faltered briefly, a flicker of irritation passing over his face. Drin caught it, and though she didn't let her satisfaction show, it warmed her like a spark in the cold tension of their exchange. Ramsay hated being dismissed, especially by her.

"You'll slip, sister," Ramsay called after her, his tone laced with venom. "Father will see what a poor investment you are, and then you'll be begging me to take pity on you."

Drin didn't stop walking, but her smile sharpened just slightly at the edges. "Let us hope that day never comes, brother. I would hate to impose upon your kindness."

The sound of Ramsay's scoff echoed down the corridor, but Drin didn't look back. Beside her, Larra remained silent as always. The girl was sweet, but Drin hadn't allowed herself to grow attached. That would only put her in danger. Ramsay had always delighted in tormenting Drin by targeting those he believed she cared for, turning his cruelty into an endless, twisted game.

After her septa had "accidentally" fallen down the stairs and broken her neck, Drin had sworn never to show affection for anyone again. She had been naïve to think Ramsay wouldn't dare harm a septa, assuming their father might intervene. But Roose hadn't cared; maids and servants were disposable to him, even septas. The lesson had been painfully clear: affection was a vulnerability Ramsay would exploit without hesitation.

As they reached the winding staircase that led to the courtyard, Drin braced herself.

Descending the stairs, she allowed herself a single deep breath to steady her nerves. Drin had trained for moments like these, where her composure would be both her armor and her weapon. Ramsay's cruelty and her Father's expectations were nothing new, but Lord Stark's interest had shifted the stakes.

When they stepped into the open air of the courtyard, Drin saw Robb Stark waiting with his wolf at his side. His posture was relaxed, but the direwolf at his feet was anything but. The beast's golden eyes were alert, scanning its surroundings with an intensity that reminded her just how dangerous the North could be.

"Good morning, my lady," Robb greeted her, bowing slightly as she approached.

"My lord," Drin replied, curtsying with practiced grace. Her eyes flicked briefly to the direwolf, and she nodded toward it. "Your companion is quite impressive."

Robb chuckled, scratching the wolf behind the ears. "This is Grey Wind. He tends to make an impression."

"Indeed he does."

Robb offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

As she placed her hand lightly on his arm, her gaze flickered upward, catching a glimpse of her father watching from the keep above. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but Drin knew what it meant: failure would not be tolerated. This opportunity, a potential union with Eddard Stark's heir, was far more than her father had likely ever dreamed. For Drin, it was clear: she had to do everything in her power to please Robb Stark. The thought of what might happen if she failed was one she didn't dare entertain.

Drin walked beside Robb, her hand resting lightly on his arm. The weight of her father's expectations pressed heavily on her, but outwardly, she maintained her calm.

"I hope the morning finds you well, my lady," Robb said.

"It does, my lord. Thank you," Drin replied, her voice steady and composed. "And you? How are the preparations for your nameday?"

Robb smiled. "They seem to be coming along well."

"Are you looking forward to the feast?" Drin asked with a smile, her tone light but cautious.

"Well," Robb said, his smile broadening, "I am looking forward to hearing you sing again, my lady."

Drin lowered her gaze modestly. "You are too kind, my lord. It will be my honor to perform for your nameday."

She knew what was expected of her, to charm him without being too bold, to appear interested but not desperate. It was a delicate dance, one she had practiced countless times in her mind.

Grey Wind padded alongside them, his massive paws silent on the muddy ground. Drin could feel the direwolf's sharp eyes on her, almost as though he were assessing her as much as Robb was.

"He's very protective of you," Drin observed, gesturing toward Grey Wind.

Robb looked down at his companion, pride evident in his expression. "He is. We've been together since he was a pup. All the Stark children have direwolves, it's a bond unlike anything I've known."

"A remarkable bond, I'm sure," Drin replied. She was careful to keep her interest restrained, knowing it would intrigue him more than outright admiration.

Robb glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. "It must be very different at the Dreadfort. I imagine life there isn't quite the same as it is here in Winterfell."

Drin's heart skipped a beat, but her composure didn't waver. "It is...different, my lord. The North is vast, and every corner of it has its own character. Winterfell is...impressive."

Robb's gaze lingered on her, as though he were trying to read between the lines. Drin met his eyes, her expression calm and composed, her thoughts carefully guarded. Did he like what he had seen so far? Her appearance clearly pleased him, but for a man in his position, that would never be enough.

Fortunately, growing up in the Dreadfort had taught her adaptability. She could become whatever Robb Stark needed her to be. Her own desires had never mattered, and she had long since mastered the art of concealing them.

"So, what kinds of things do you enjoy, my lord?" Drin asked smoothly, steering the conversation back to him with practiced ease.

Robb seemed momentarily taken aback by her question, as though he hadn't expected her to direct the focus toward him. He gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, a boyish gesture that seemed at odds with his role as the heir to Winterfell.

"Well, there's not much time for leisure when you're preparing to lead," he admitted. "But when I can, I enjoy hunting and riding. The North has a way of humbling you, though. Every hunt feels like it's a contest with the wilderness itself."

Drin smiled faintly. "And does the wilderness often win, my lord?"

Robb chuckled. "More often than I'd like to admit. But that's part of the thrill, isn't it? There's no point in an easy victory."

His words struck a chord within her. An easy victory. Drin knew nothing of those. Her entire life had been one long battle for survival, each triumph won at great cost. But she couldn't let him see that.

"I imagine the wilderness doesn't stand a chance against you," she said, her voice light.

"Not when Grey Wind is with me," Robb replied, looking down at his direwolf with a grin.

Drin glanced at the beast again, its golden eyes locked on her. "A formidable ally indeed," she murmured.

"What about you, my lady?" Robb asked, his tone growing more curious. "Are you fond of riding or the hunt?"

Drin hesitated for a fraction of a second, careful to weigh her response. "I do enjoy riding. The open air, the freedom of it, it's refreshing."

"And the hunt?"

"It...depends on the company," she replied delicately, offering him a slight smile. The truth was, just the thought of hunting nauseated her. Ramsay had his own sadistic hunting games, where the prey were often young women. He had once forced Drin to watch as he shot an arrow through one of them.

Robb seemed satisfied with her answer, nodding as they continued walking. She could feel his gaze linger on her, and she knew she had his interest. But interest wasn't enough. She needed his admiration.

The path they walked wound through the courtyard, where Winterfell's towering walls seemed to embrace them in their shadow. Drin allowed herself a brief moment to take in the sight of the castle. It was both imposing and beautiful, a place steeped in history and power. If her father's plans succeeded, this might very well become her home.

"You seem to carry yourself well in these surroundings," Robb remarked, breaking the silence. "Winterfell suits you."

Drin turned her gaze to him, offering a demure smile. "That is kind of you to say, my lord. Winterfell is truly remarkable. Its people are fortunate to call it home."

"And if you were to call it home one day?" he asked, his voice soft but probing.

Drin's heart skipped again, though she showed no outward reaction. "That would depend entirely on the will of the gods...and the decisions of the lords."

Robb smiled at her answer, but she could see the wheels turning in his mind. As they rounded a corner and began to approach the end of their walk, Drin felt her father's invisible presence again, the weight of his expectations pressing against her back.

She would do what needed to be done. She always had.

For now, she allowed herself to look at Robb with a gentle, calculated warmth, the kind that invited him to wonder what lay beneath her polished surface.

"It's been a pleasure, my lord," she said as they reached the courtyard's edge. "Thank you for indulging me with your company."

"The pleasure has been mine, Lady Drin," Robb replied, bowing slightly.

As she turned to leave, her steps measured and graceful, she could only silently pray that her efforts had been enough. She couldn't afford to fail.