Book Two: Chapter 1

The day after the prince’s name day feast dawns cold and bright. Sakura lies awake in her bed, the covers pulled tight up to her chin, and watches the thin morning light slip through the cracks in her shutters, sending slants of brightness into the room. It cuts through the tapestry above her, gold and blue, with some of the richest embroidery Sakura has ever seen, and her eyes follow its path. She lies very still, upon her back, intensely aware of every movement of her body: the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes slowly, the twitch of her fingers against the covers, the flutter of her eyelashes when she blinks. The night before still lingers, if she shuts her eyes she can still feel Eunbi’s fingers against her waist, and cupping her cheek. She’s been kissed so many times before, too many to count if she really admits it, but the thought of Eunbi’s lips sits around her like a morning dew, soft and heavy with promise. She knows she will never again be able to walk into the godswood without thinking of their bodies pressed close, secrets and tender words whispered in the quiet of the night, fingers brushing, lips careening together as if they couldn’t stand to be apart. Now that she knows the taste of Eunbi’s lips, the lips of the queen in the north, she knows she will not rest properly until she can taste them again.

The thought brings a smile to her lips and a flutter of joy to her chest, and she turns, burying her face in the pillows and wrapping her hands around her body, squeezing tightly in hopes that she can imprint this feeling into her bones and never lose it. She is loose and free with possibility, drunk on a future with Eunbi at her side, and the knock on her door startles her upwards.

“Enter,” Her voice is hoarse, she clears and pushes herself up in the bed, a smile still playing on her lips as her guard for the night shows in a messenger.

“M’lady,” The guard offers her a slight bow, glancing at the messenger suspiciously. “This lad says ‘e ‘as a message for yer that can’t wait.”

“Really?” Sakura frowns, looking at the boy in surprise, “It’s barely sunrise.”

The boy steps closer and a slant of light from the window hits him. Sakura’s eyes widen when she recognises him as one of the bird boys, responsible for the ravens at Winterfell.

“Dario,” She slides from the bed, ignoring the way that the two men flush and fumble, and grabs the heavy robe cast carelessly over futon at its base to pull over her nightclothes. Pulling it closed, she moves towards them, looking at the boy closely. Something in his look sends a shiver running through her, a warning, like the sudden fluttering of a murder of crows at the sign of otherwise unseen danger.

Dario offers her a low bow, “My lady, apologies for waking you, but a raven came in the night.”

“It has come all the way from Highgarden?” Sakura takes the scroll he holds out, and it feels as if it will burn her hands.

Dario hesitates, “From Kings Landing, my lady.”

“Kings Landing?” Sakura’s eyes widen, and she turns the scroll in her hands to examine the seal. The sight of it makes her heart pound: a rose in green wax, the seal of her father, from whom she has heard nothing since her banishment to the north. Her fingers shake as she breaks it open, and the parchment rolls out to reveal the slanted, agitated handwriting of her mother.

As she reads, the world seems to drop away around her. The men before her become distant spectres, their voices unheard, and she doesn’t realise that her knees are weak until Dario appears at her side, his arms tucking around her to guide her gently back to the bed. Her eyes scan the same words over and over, hoping with a desperate ache that the ink will shift and change them. is dry, her stomach roiling, and her fingers grip the parchment so fiercely that it almost rips beneath her grip. She isn’t sure how long she sits there before Hyewon appears at her side, dressed in old hose and a hastily fastened jerkin, her eyes wide with concern. She crouches, and hands on her knees finally draw Sakura’s eyes away from the parchment. Hyewon is speaking, but Sakura can hear nothing but a low buzz in her ears.

“I have to see the queen,” She cuts through Hyewon’s words, her own voice distant, “I must meet with her, immediately.”

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Standing in the great hall, she feels very different to the girl who danced and drank and laughed here only the night before. Her hair falls in a limp braid down her back, and her dress is simple and plain. Her fingers still tremble where they hold the scroll in front of her, but when she looks up to see the Queen of the North seated upon her throne of iron and wood, her advisors in formation behind her, she clenches her jaw and forces her voice to remain steady.

“Lady Sakura of House Tyrell,” Though Eunbi sounds calm and even, Sakura can see the flicker of uncertainty running through her eyes. “Why did you request an official audience?”

She tries to stand tall, tries to remind herself that she is a Tyrell , the blood of her ancestors flows through her veins just as the blood of the north flows through Eunbi’s, but even the thought of her home and her family make her heart constrict.

“Your majesty, I have received word from Kings Landing that my father is grievously ill.” Her fingers run over the scroll, opening it, though she has read it so many times she fears she will never forget those words. “My mother writes that his ailment befell him very quickly, she fears he will not-” Here, her words break, and she swallows heavily, biting at her lip to stop her tears from falling. Regardless, her voice shakes when she continues. “Please, let me go to him. Let me be by his side if he dies.”

“Lord Tyrell,” Eunbi’s eyes are wide, boring into her with astonishment and grief, “I’m very sorry to hear this, my lady.”

A spark of hope flickers in Sakura’s soul. “I would return when he… whatever the outcome may be, I would return.”

“I’m sure you would,” Eunbi’s eyes flicker back, to her advisors, and her gaze hardens, like river water turning to ice. “But it isn’t possible.”

Her composure cracks. “Please, Eunbi please you have to let me.” She is trembling, her fingers still grasping the shred of parchment, knuckles white.

“You know I cannot,” Eunbi’s jaw is tense, her eyes dark and suddenly Sakura sees her how the rest of her people do: the Queen of the North, with ice in her veins, her throne rising high behind her and her crown sparkling on her head, a queen forged of blood and strength and fear. “The terms of our agreement were that you would stay here until further negotiations could be made.”

“He’s my father ,” She takes a staggering step forward, and on the dias  Lord Mormont’s hand settles on the pommel of his sword. “You know what it is to lose a father!” She sees Yujin’s expression twist with pain at the words.

“I do,” There is a trembling edge to Eunbi’s voice, and she can’t decide if it is anger or pity. “And I’m so terribly sorry for your loss.”

“He isn’t dead yet !” Her voice ricochets up, furiously. “But he could be dying while we sit here debating this.”

Eunbi’s jaw tenses, her gaze icy once again. “There is no debate, this is out of my hands Sakura.” She stands, waving a hand to a waiting handmaiden, “Please look after Lady Sakura, and ensure that she doesn’t do anything foolish in her grief.” Her eyes flicker to Sakura again and the Tyrell girl spots a crack of regret and sadness, shining through like the morning light through her shutters. “I am really awfully sorry, Sakura.”

“Your majesty, please !” Her knees crack hard against the stone slabbed floor, a sharp pain running through them and she can no longer bite back the tears edging . “I beg of you! I plead for your mercy-”

“Sakura, no!” Eunbi has crossed the space between them so rapidly that Sakura is startled by the sight of her shoes before her. “Please,” Eunbi’s hands touch at her hair and then she appears at eye level, abruptly kneeling beside her. A gasp runs through her attendants and Lord Mormont lumbers forwards.

“Your majesty!”

Eunbi waves him away impatiently, her hands cradling Sakura’s face close and lifting it. “You never have to prostrate yourself like this,” though her touch is gentle her words are firm. “Do you understand? I will never ask this of you. I will never be waiting for you to beg.”

“You have to let me go,” Her fingers brush against Eunbi’s, cling tightly. “Please, Eunbi.”

Eunbi looks abruptly young and turns to peer back at her advisors helplessly.

“Your majesty,” Maester Yunho steps forwards, his face frosty. “Though I never approved of the decision to accept Lady Sakura as a peace offering, I must advise against now allowing her to leave. The Lady is ours to keep, allowing her to go would be a sign of weakness.”

“But Lord Tyrell was one of our most loyal allies in the south, the most committed to peace between the north and south,” Chaewon argues vehemently, “If he dies Lady Sakura will be required to continue the Tyrell line, keeping her here will be seen as an act of war.”

The words pull a flinch from Sakura, and Eunbi’s fingers tighten around hers, comforting, before she pulls herself to her feet, helping Sakura up with her.

“Surely Lady Sakura’s presence in Winterfell was supposed to show unity and good will,” Yujin inputs, and when Sakura’s wet eyes swing to him, she finds that he’s edged closer, hesitating on the steps of the dias. “Keeping her here would completely undermine that.”

“The northern lords would see it as a sign of weakness to let her leave,” Yunho insists, and Eunbi shakes her head, holding up a hand. The argument halts immediately as everyone quietens. Eunbi’s eyes swing to Sakura’s, and they are as deep and green as the forests of the north, searching and earnest.

“You say you will return, Lady Sakura?” Though it is cool and detached, there is something to the slight tremble of her voice and the twitch of her lips which gives away her fear. Sakura feels tighten and her eyes do not leave Eunbi’s when she answers, soft and certain.

“Always. If it were not my father…”

“Hush,” Eunbi quietens her gently, her thumb rubbing a tender circle over the palm of her ha