The next morning, Rhaegar awoke to the sound of voices outside of his tent. He had gotten very little sleep the night before, but he somehow felt refreshed and more alive than he had in months. He yawned heartily before realizing that one of the booming voices outside of his tent happened to be that of his father, the king.

Aerys Targaryen had never been a gentle man and, as a result, had never uttered gentle words. He said something remotely dismissive to one of the prince's guards and entered the tent without warning. Rhaegar jumped slightly at his father's sudden presence, and could not help the small smile from springing to his lips at the sight of him. His fair skin was painted an angry shade of crimson, his violet eyes were slightly manic, and he was breathing through his mouth as though the task of inhaling was too laborious for the use of his nostrils.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, father?" Rhaegar said sarcastically, laying back gently in his bed as though he had no intention of rising to greet the king. Which he did not.

Aerys scoffed and approached the bed with impressive speed, "Where is she?"

Rhaegar felt the smile on his face loosen until he was not smiling at all. Instead, his face bore an emotionless expression that neither hinted nor dismissed the notion that he was afraid of his father's question, "Who?"

"Your wife," his father said angrily, "You insulted her in front of every important person in the seven kingdoms and then you do not even bed her in the days following. She is not happy, and now the Dornish are not happy because she has written of your stunt. Explain yourself."

Rhaegar blinked, "Are you suggesting that every noble marriage is composed of people who share a bed every single night? Especially at a tournament? Please, it is nothing out of the ordinary-"

"You do not have a 'noble marriage', you have a royal one. And Elia Martel is to be satisfied at all costs, less we lose good relations with her filthy family."

Rhaegar rolled his eyes slightly, "We are Targaryens, we shouldn't need an alliance with anyone. We should simply uphold them because we are more powerful when people are indebted to us. Besides, it isn't as though she even loves-"

Aerys cut off his words for a second time, "In a perfect world, we do not need them. And even now, we only make alliances to strengthen our house and nothing more. However, we cannot strengthen our house if the entire world sees you as some charming young prince who whores and drinks and crosses lines with other houses that are not to be crossed."

Rhaegar smiled slightly at the mention of his gift to Lyanna. His skin grew warm at the thought of her, "You are referring to the Stark girl."

"Yes, of course, unless you are flaunting a similar stupidity towards another house that I am unaware of," his father spat acidly, "It is ridiculous, the way you behave. You will be a disappointment as a son and a king if you do not learn to prioritize and control yourself. I do not care how pretty she is or how easily she will give herself to you. You have to keep your Dornish woman in good spirits. And, also, it is the responsibility of every Targaryen to keep the bloodlines as pure as possible. I cursed the gods for not giving you a sister to ensure the purity, though the Dornish royals must suffice. A bastard child would further make a mockery of us and everything our family has built surrounding this idea."

Rhaegar winced at the mention of a child with Lyanna. She had not given herself to him, and he doubted she was the type of woman who would do so without extreme care and persistence, both of which he would be willing to give to her. He swallowed hard, choosing his next words carefully, and looked straight into his father's eyes, "Is that all, your grace?"

Aerys sighed loudly, angrily, and stalked out of the tent as quickly as he had entered.

Lyanna longed for a walk to stretch her legs. She had always loved to walk in the North when the weather permitted. It was relaxing, and the act of removing oneself from the pressures of nobility for a while was extremely appealing. At least, that's what she had told herself had been her motivations the night before. She frowned. Of course, she hadn't known that the prince was going to be there, but he hadn't exactly been an unpleasant surprise. She liked to give him a harder time than she actually needed to and she could sense he liked it, too. There was something attractive about the idea of a run and chase dynamic between them.

And he had been beautifully naked in the moonlight. She could still picture every detail when she closed her eyes. She had seen men naked before, but never in such close proximity and never with as much confidence as Rhaegar had exhibited. Not to mention the daring thing he had done with his mouth, through the thin material of her night gown…

She stalked past the tents of her brothers, quietly praying to the Gods that they didn't hear her. It was broad daylight and it wasn't as though the circumstances were as indecent as the previous night, but she still wasn't in the mood to talk. Her father would be the only one of them who would understand this, for he, too, grew restless and silent when in need of a pensive walk. However, she wasn't confident in her ability to conceal her emotions around her father. They had always been close. Like Benjen, Rickard Stark exhibited the capacity to understand her and her position while remaining honest and enlightening. She adored him for it.

She sighed loudly and continued to walk in silence. However, her peace was quickly disrupted by the sudden feeling of a hand on her arm.

She gasped, startled, and spun around to face him. She was waiting for him to approach her that day to embarrass her more, though he hadn't yet disturbed her. When she laid eyes on the breaker of her peace, she was surprised to find anyone other than the prince there.

Robert Baratheon stood there, smiling at her like an idiot in love. She immediately flashed a shy smile. She'd always felt awkward and shy around Robert; he was like the comical friend that one could not help but love, like a puppy. She stared up at him and took in the sight before her. She couldn't deny that he was handsome. He was built like a mountain; all shoulders and muscles placed upon a tall frame. His hair was as black as night, as was hers, and his eyes were full of the purest affection that she had ever witnessed. The very sight of it made her chest tighten.

"I'm sorry, my lord, you startled me," she said with a small, forced laughed. Not only did she feel surprisingly disappointed that it wasn't Rhaegar, but she also realized that her walk was cut short.

"It's alright, my lady," he said, mocking her formal tone as if they weren't possibly going to be wed, "I suppose I can pardon your less than enthusiastic reaction."

"Oh, how very kind of you," Lyanna said, loosening up as she saw the genuine delight in his red cheeks, "How are you today, Robert?"

"I am doing well. Cannot complain. I've been drunk since the sun rose, praying to the seven it'll be over soon," he said, rolling his eyes as he gestured toward the entirety of the tournament.

Lyanna knitted her brows, though did not shed her smile, "I thought you enjoyed tournaments?"

"Oh, I do," Robert said, stifling a belch, "However, I do not enjoy Targaryens as much. All of their pride seems to taint the taste of the wine and the excitement of a good joust."

Lyanna sunk down, then. Her father felt the same. The entirety of the North felt the same. She searched for the words to say, "I…I couldn't agree more. They are a vain lot."

Robert shrugged, lifting an arm to her so that she could walk with him. He gave a dark chuckle and asked, "Where have your brothers run off to? Brandon owes me a drink for betting against Ser Jaime, the fool. Jaime Lannister is the finest knight in the seven kingdoms."

Lyanna shrugged slightly as she glanced around the tournament camp. They were approaching the stands, and she could see any number of lords and ladies seated and waiting for the games to begin for the day, "Oh, I have no idea. Off wooing his betrothed, perhaps. He's grown quite fond of her."

Robert laughed loudly, "She's fiery, that one. Got the Tully spirit, the Tully red hair. I hear she's been spending a lot of her time here with your brothers, so that probably doesn't help her grow more docile."

She nodded, ignoring his slightly chauvinistic comment, "She wants to learn the dynamic of Winterfell, says it will help her be a better Lady Stark."

Robert shrugged and raised his dark brows, "Perhaps she's got the right idea. Maybe you should consider visiting Storm's End when the tournament is over."

Her eyes widened at the hint, and she felt her cheeks go red. She could feel Robert's dark eyes on her, waiting for an answer or response of any kind. However, it was not Robert's gaze that struck her so strongly, but that of another, lighter set of eyes, that hid behind long silvery hair. She glanced up and saw him, then, the one she'd been expecting to see. The one who was wearing many more layers than the last time she'd seen him.

There was something so arrogant about him, though she found herself unable to hate that quality in him. It was a large part of his charm; his sense of absolute security in every circumstance was nothing if not alluring. He smirked at her, his violet eyes communicating with a single bat of his lashes that he knew she had been thinking about him. It drove her crazy.

She stared over at him discreetly, and after several moments of tension flowing between the prince and her, Lyanna turned back to Robert. She gave a sweet smile, as sweet as she had ever managed, and said, "It would be a delight. I've always wanted to see the Stormlands."

With that, she placed a chaste kiss on his recently shaven cheek, and turned to see that Rhaegar's coy smile had vanished without a trace. Good.

Once the day was coming to a close and Lyanna returned to her tent to dress for supper, she felt a great weight leave her chest. The tournament was growing torturous, though she was not sure whether she wanted it to end the next day or last a life time. In truth, she had never experienced excitement the way she did around Rhaegar Targaryen. She had never felt so adored or sought after. Even with Robert practically kissing her feet as she walked, she didn't feel the way she did when around the prince. It was like nothing she had ever imagined.

There was, of course, a feeling in the pit of her stomach that wanted to rid herself of any improprieties from there on out. It swelled up whenever she was not around him, whenever she was granted the peace that allowed her to overthink. The feeling was sharp, painful, and had a name: Elia Martel.

Lyanna sighed and walked over to her small bed. Despite not being there for long, she'd been provided with a featherbed for her tent, and the simple luxury seemed miraculous in moments such as that one. She plopped down on it, feeling her eyes begin to drift close regardless of the fact that she needed to change and leave for supper.

"Lyanna..." she imagined his sweet voice saying, though it seemed so real. She loved the way his mouth seemed to literally kiss her name as it left his lips.

She sighed, content, and snuggled against the cool surface of the bed, imagining his lean chest was under her cheek. She'd never thought about something so intimate in her life regarding a man.

"Lyanna," she heard again, though she was almost sure it wasn't her imagination. She squinted through dark lashes to see the prince's face level with hers.

She bolted up and stood from the bed, her face twisted in confusion and slight anger, "What in seven hells are you doing here?"

Rhaegar stood from where he had previously been seated, from where he had been able to hide himself from her initially. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his muscular chest, "I had to talk to you about what I saw at the joust earlier."

Lyanna shook her head in bewilderment, "What could you possibly be referring to?"

"You know," he said, taking a step toward the bed. His eyes glanced from her face to the mattress, and she felt her entire body go warm. Her dress suddenly felt heavy and her breathing became labored as she saw him so close to her bed.

"I-I do?"

"The kiss, Lyanna," Rhaegar said, shaking his head with false disappointment. Lyanna quickly caught on to his informal tone and humorous approach to the conversation, and relaxed her shoulders as he continued, "I was upset to see those lips touch another, as you were aware. You did it to elicit pain."

Lyanna then shook her head slowly, her voice taking on the same sarcastic tone, "W-why, my prince, that kiss meant no offense, truly. I kissed Robert in that moment without thinking much about it. I didn't expect you to feel anything from it, but it's clear you do." She couldn't stop her eyes from staring at his lips.

Rhaegar's eyes flickered over her body. She was so beautiful he could hardly stand it, and the way that she seemed to be dancing around him with words made him more excited than he should have been. He couldn't help himself around her.

The dress was too shapeless for him to be able to make out something of substance underneath, though he liked that about her. He liked that, just like him, none of the other men could see what she was hiding. He cursed himself at the same time, though, for desperately wanting to know, despite what his father had said.

He took another step toward the bed, "My father wants me to stay away from you."

"My entire family wants me to stay away from you," Lyanna said, feeling herself compelled to also step closer. Her feet moved on their own accord.

Rhaegar placed his knees on the mattress, then, and moved toward her slowly. Sensually. She caught her breath as he sat up right in front of her, his eyes level with her chest. She inhaled sharply at the fact, all thoughts of Elia and Robert completely gone. As usual.

He let a hand drift up and trace her collar bones lightly as he appreciated the rise and fall of her chest. Even through the modest clothing, he could see the slight outline of her chest. He wanted to grab the strings that were holding the upper portion of her day gown together and yanked them apart with his teeth. He, of course, refrained from doing so. He chuckled to himself, "Why is it that we seem to find it so difficult to obey rules?"

"We must enjoy the idea of punishment," she said, swallowing hard.

His brows shot up in surprise, though his face seemed unashamedly delighted by her reply, "Indeed we must."

He continued to stare up at her, mesmerized by the rhythmic breaths escaping her parted lips. He wanted to kiss them without fear or doubt. He wanted to show her how much he could make her feel if only she would allow him the pleasure.

Lyanna swallowed again as she looked down at him. His lips were perfect, and she couldn't help but remember how they'd felt through the nightgown the previous night. She had been replaying the scene over and over again in her head.

Without thinking, she took his face in her hands and tilted it up to meet her kiss. It was slow and searing; Rhaegar swore that the young lady of the North held just as much fire in his lips as any dragon that had ever lived. But there was something deeper than lust being passed between the two of them, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to explore that, as well. She was full of possibilities.

He slipped his tongue past her lips, and she stepped into the kiss even more. His hands flew up to rest on her hips, which initially shocked her, but eventually gave her a sense of comfort and longing. She had absolutely no desire to go to supper.

He wanted to touch her so badly, but he didn't want to frighten her. He continued to kiss her, varying pressure between light kisses and ones that visibly made her knees weak. He squeezed her hips, noting to himself that they were perfectly round and delicate at the same time. One hand flew up to cup her perfect breast, released a moan so deep in her throat he was surprised that it didn't echo throughout her entire body. Her chest was perfect, soft, fitting just right in his hand. He could picture himself using his tongue against the skin there, unlike the night before, eliciting noises of encouragement from her lips.

Gods, he wanted her. He wanted her to be screaming his name and finishing on top of him over and over until she couldn't walk straight the next day. He wanted her to tell him she wanted him, to show him she wanted him. He wanted her to be begging and smiling and crying out with pleasure. He wanted them to lay side by side, naked, and talk and make love and sleep together every night for the rest of the tournament.

But he knew she would never let any of that happen without proper effort. And as he kissed the space between her breasts through her day gown, he thought about how much he was willing to dedicate to make those thoughts of his a reality.

He pulled away from her and stood up without warning. She looked startled, then confused, then annoyed. Her dark eyes searched his face. "What?"

"I'm going to wait to make you mine until I'm sure it is what you want."

Her face turned absolutely red. She didn't know what she wanted in terms of that. It would be horribly scandalous for her to give herself, for the first time, to the married prince. She hadn't exactly thought of what the full consequences of that could be. Her body had just told her to consider how fun it might be, anyway. "And if I never want that?"

"Then nothing. I would never force it on you."

As many tricks as he had been playing with her, and as many times as she had prepared to resist, she had always managed to let him know she wasn't against the idea of him flirting with her in private. In public, in front of his wife and her family, was a little different. But she had never truly resisted his advances, so she found herself just as guilty as he was.

"Rhaegar?"

He stared into her face. They both thought about how beautiful the other was, "Yes?"

"What is this?" she asked, looking down at the inches of space between them on the bed. He smiled, as he always did, and used his free hand to tilt her chin upwards and look in her eyes.

"Simply put…I'm courting you, Lyanna Stark," he said with a glimmer in his eyes as though he believed every word of it. She, however, did not. It took her a moment to process what he had said and understand the weight of it. She didn't know what she had expected him to do to earn her undying consent to bind herself to him, but it wasn't that.

"You're married!" she cried a little more dramatically than she had intended to. She quickly straightened her posture and pouted. It was adorable and serious.

A wicked grin touched his face. She froze at the sight of it. There were very few things in the world she found more attractive than the way he looked in that moment, but she would never admit to that out loud.

Well, eventually, maybe she would. He was making her do all sorts of things that surprised herself and amused him as of late. He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged, "I'm courting you. I have never courted anyone in my life."

She swallowed. Elia and Rhaegar had been arranged by their fathers. And as far as she was aware, there were no serious things before his marriage. He probably wasn't lying to her. He had never had to truly woo someone, and the thought of that made her feel differently about the situation. She felt stupid but she felt enamored, also, "What do you plan to do, exactly?'

He sighed and crossed the room so that he could stand in front of her. She looked up at him, waiting for his answer. His fingers flew up to gently hold her chin. He leaned down, looking into her eyes until he was too close to do so, and kissed her heavily. Pulling away after a moment, leaving her breathless, he said, "Well, to start, I'm going to talk with Robert Baratheon tomorrow."