Invisible String - Cregan Stark

Eleven~ Scars

I kept my face neutral. Mostly. "I could say the same for you."

Her eyelids flicked, dramatic. "I don't stare."

"You did just now."

"I was defending myself. From your eyes."

My lip twitched—more than I meant it to. "You exaggerate."

"And you deflect."

I didn't respond, but my gaze returned to the path ahead, a faint heat brushing the back of my neck. She unsettled me in ways few could. Not with seduction or scandal, but with presence. With intelligence. With the knowledge that she saw more than she let on—and, worse, that she saw me.

I was about to steer the conversation elsewhere when her voice softened.

"Where did you get it?"

I looked at her, not understanding.

She gestured to the faint scar beneath my right eyebrow.

There it was again—that strange sensation. Not intrusion, not prying. But interest. Genuine, quiet curiosity. It disarmed me more than any sharpened blade.

I hesitated, not because I minded the question, but because I wasn't used to being asked. Most assumed. Few cared.

"Boar hunting," I said finally. "I was twelve, and far too confident. I tracked it alone against orders. Ice caught my boot, and I went down hard. Blood in my eye, blurred vision, yet I still made the kill."

She tilted her head slightly, examining the mark again.

"Stubborn," she said.

"Foolish," I corrected.

"Both."

A silence fell again, but it wasn't heavy. I noticed she was still looking—not just at the scar, but at me. Weighing me. Reading me like a page she'd kept folded too long.

And for the first time, I felt I could ask.

I'd wondered before, of course. Every time the light hit her just right, I noticed the faint curve of a scar just beneath her left temple. I hadn't asked—not because I didn't care, but because I respected how fiercely she guarded herself. She turned questions aside like a knight with a shield. But now, with her looking at me like this—open, curious—I dared.

"And yours?"

I watched her eyes shift ahead again. Her fingers tensed slightly on the reins.

For a moment, I regretted it. Thought I'd overstepped.

But then she sighed.

It wasn't an irritated sound. It was weary and old.

"Aemond," she said quietly. "After Aunt Laena's death."

The name landed like a stone in my chest. Aemond. I knew the story—or pieces of it. What gossip had twisted. But never this.

"We were angry," she said. "Baela, Rhaena, Jace, Luke and I. Children, still... but not naive. Vhagar belonged to Laena. And to her daughters. We all felt it. Aemond stole her while the wound was still fresh."

I remained quiet. The cold shifted, not from the wind—but from her voice.

"He said horrible things about us. Luke didn't understand—he was too young. But I did. I—" She paused. "I punched him. Just... reacted."

She looked at me then, eyes darker than usual. There was no shame. Just memory.

"He threw me down and my head struck a rock. I don't remember the pain—just the cold. The sound. Jace tackled him, and Luke... Luke took his eye for it."