CREGAN STARK

Winterfell had always belonged to the cold.

Snow blanketed the ancient castle walls, settled heavily across rooftops, and stretched beyond the gates until the North seemed swallowed beneath an endless sea of white. The wind carried the familiar bite of winter through the courtyard, sending loose flakes drifting through the air.

Cregan Stark had lived beneath those gray skies his entire life.

Yet lately, there was something else that kept drawing his attention whenever he looked outside.

Her.

His Targaryen wife.

Their marriage had once seemed like something born from politics—an agreement between the blood of the dragon and the blood of the First Men. She had come north with silver hair that stood out against Winterfell's darkness, carrying the unmistakable presence of House Targaryen into halls that had belonged to Starks for thousands of years.

But somewhere along the way, she had stopped feeling like a southern princess visiting his home.

She had become part of it.

And now she carried the next piece of their family with her.

Cregan stood near one of the windows overlooking the courtyard when he spotted her walking through the snow.

His attention immediately fixed upon her.

Her silver hair seemed almost luminous beneath the pale winter sky, contrasting against the heavy cloak wrapped around her. Pregnancy had changed her gradually over the passing months, and Cregan had noticed every little difference.

There was a softness about her now that hadn't been there when she'd first arrived at Winterfell. To him, she practically glowed.

But what caught his attention most was the unmistakable curve beneath her cloak.

Her belly had grown heavy with their child.

Cregan's brow furrowed.

Of course she was outside.

A quiet huff escaped him as he turned away from the window.

Within minutes, the great doors of Winterfell opened and the Lord of Winterfell stepped into the courtyard. His boots sank into the fresh snow as he crossed toward her, his heavy fur cloak shifting behind him with every long stride.

"Couldn't stay inside, could you?"

His deep voice carried through the otherwise quiet courtyard.

There wasn't true irritation behind the words. Cregan had discovered rather quickly that worrying over his wife tended to make him sound considerably gruffer than he intended.

He stopped beside her, towering over her as his gray eyes swept over her carefully.

His gaze eventually dropped toward her belly.

That familiar look crossed his face again.

A mixture of wonder and concern.

It still seemed almost impossible sometimes.

A Stark and a Targaryen.

Their child.

The thought had once sounded like something scribbled into a maester's history book rather than something that would become his life.

Cregan stepped behind her.

"Here."

His voice softened considerably.

His large hands carefully slipped beneath the weight of her belly, supporting it from underneath and gently lifting enough to take some of the pressure from her.

The gesture had become familiar over the last few weeks.

He'd noticed how much heavier she'd begun carrying herself as the child grew, and the first time he'd discovered that supporting her belly could offer her some relief, Cregan had remembered it.

Naturally, he never made much ceremony of it.

He simply did it.

"There."

Cregan remained close behind her, keeping his hands securely beneath her belly while ensuring he wasn't lifting too much. His expression softened as he glanced down.

The stern Lord of Winterfell—the man northern lords obeyed without hesitation—had become surprisingly gentle whenever it involved his wife or their unborn child.

A faint movement beneath his hands caught his attention.

Cregan immediately went still.

His eyes dropped.

Another small movement followed.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Restless little thing."

There was unmistakable affection beneath his words.

Cregan lowered his head slightly, his gaze lingering upon the curve of her belly.

"Must have your dragon blood."

A quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest.

Then his expression changed as another gust of winter wind swept across the courtyard.

Cregan's protective instincts immediately returned.

He shifted his cloak around her as much as possible without releasing the support beneath her belly.

"You've had your walk."

His voice carried that unmistakable Stark firmness again.

Cregan already knew better than to simply order his Targaryen wife around, however. He had married someone descended from kings, queens, and dragonriders.

Stubbornness apparently ran strongly through both their bloodlines.

His gray eyes moved toward the snowy landscape she had been admiring before returning to her.

For several moments, Cregan said nothing.

He simply stood there with her beneath the falling snow, his hands supporting the weight of their child while Winterfell stretched around them.

He'd spent most of his life believing duty would define him.

He hadn't expected this.

He hadn't expected to become so attached to the silver-haired woman who had come north.

And he certainly hadn't expected how fiercely the sight of her carrying his child would affect him.

Cregan's expression softened again.

"You've given the North something it has never seen before," he murmured. "A dragon growing beneath a Stark roof."

His thumb moved gently against the fabric covering her belly.

"Though if this little one inherits your taste for wandering through the snow when they ought to be somewhere warm, I'm holding you responsible."

The smallest hint of amusement appeared in his eyes.

Another flurry of snowflakes settled across her cloak.

Cregan finally shifted enough that he could look at her properly, though his hands remained beneath her belly, unwilling to remove the support while she still needed it.

"Five more minutes," he conceded quietly.

His gray eyes remained fixed upon her.

"Then I'm taking you back inside before my wife and child turn to ice."

His eyebrow lifted slightly as he waited for whatever response his Targaryen wife intended to give him.