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They had only planned to be at Winterfell for 2 weeks but they were still here 3 weeks later. Overstaying your welcome did not exist when you were the King and Queen of six kingdoms apparently. Every night there was a feast, and yet more Northern Lords appeared every week. Most recently they had been granted the presence of King Robb’s brother, the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch and Margaery had delighted in making him blush.
The two of them had skirted around the issue at first, the King in the North and the Queen of the South. They supped, and danced, and laughed, and spoke and never mentioned this thing that was happening between them. This thing that had been happening between them since the first time they had laid eyes on one another five years before. Five years before when he had been a conquering warrior and she a blushing bride.
They had pretended that it wasn’t there, hiding behind their courtesies for the last five years. They had denied it until it was too much for either of them to deny. Margaery had been writing letters in her bed chamber when Robb had burst in breathing heavily as though he had just run a foot race. Standing quickly she dipped her head in greeting, “Your Grace?” She asked her voice laced with worry.
He didn’t wait to speak, didn’t even check that the door was closed before he closed the space between them in five paces and buried his hands in her hair. He whispered something about how beautiful she was but Margaery didn’t hear him as she was surrounded by his presence. For just a moment they stood lost in each other blue eyes clashing with hazel.
For years they had played this game but it wasn’t fun, not like the other games Margaery played at court. This hurt. Every time he visited the Red Keep with his pretty little wife on his arm it felt like someone was sticking pins into Margaerys heart. Every time she caught her husband gazing at her brother with that faraway look in his eye she wanted to scream and shout at just how unfair it all was. Every day she heard the whispers, the names of the men of Westeros who desired her and not once did she hear her husbands name, but never had she heard the young wolfs name either.
Looking up into Robb Starks blue eyes she saw the life she could have had, a life full of love and desire and chubby little red headed children. Giving him no choice she stood on her tip toes and pressed her lips to his, slender fingers gripping at the fabric of his intricate doublet wondering absently whether his wife had stitched it for him. Pushing all thoughts away she pulled him down towards her.
It wasn’t until they stood together, foreheads resting against the others that the image of Robb Stark’s pregnant wife floated before her and she felt the stab of a cold emotion. Margaery didn’t know whether it was guilt or jealousy and she didn’t want to figure it out, not yet. Pulling him back down she smiled against his lips as she discovered the only way she could chase the feeling away was the feel of Robbs lips on hers.