Invisible String - Cregan Stark

Twelve~ Flattened

We checked the next trap, then the next. At each one, I watched him.

It was ridiculous, really, how sharply my mind recorded the details: the way his breath fogged gently in the cold air; the subtle twitch of his fingers as they hovered near the hilt of his blade; how he squinted at the snares with that furrowed line between his brows, like he was already cataloging ten ways to improve them.

There was a comfort in watching him like this.

People home were smoke and mirrors, slippery as eels and twice as venomous. But Cregan Stark? He meant what he said. He did what he meant.

It fascinated me. He fascinated me.

I was smiling to myself when he stopped to check another snare.

"Two more up ahead," he said, glancing back at me. "Then we circle round west."

I gave him a mock salute. "Aye, my lord."

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I caught the flicker of amusement before he turned.

Gods, I was enjoying this far too much.

My fingers itched with energy- or mischief. The snow was too soft. The forest too inviting. And I was not made for restraint, not forever.

I crouched and gathered a handful of snow, fingers working swiftly, instinctively. My brothers call me the best aim in Dragonstone—though that title had applied mostly to arrows.

I shaped the snow in my hands lightly and cleverly, pressing it into a compact ball.

And then my eyes locked onto a tree just ahead.

Child's play.

I stepped lightly, lifted my arm, and threw.

But the wind curved it. Or perhaps my aim was off. Or perhaps fate simply had a twisted sense of humor.

The snowball missed the tree entirely and smacked Cregan square between the shoulders with a loud smack.

He stilled — utterly still. Then, slowly, slowly, he straightened and turned his head over his shoulder.

I stood rooted in place, hands hanging loosely by my sides, mouth parted slightly in alarm.

The look on his face was unreadable, that Stark calm that could mean anything from mild amusement to run now while you still can.

I bit my lip, warmth rushing to my face despite the cold. "I was aiming for the tree," I said, a poor defense that sounded even worse aloud.

He raised an eyebrow. "Were you now?"

"Yes," I insisted, though a smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. "The tree moved."

His gaze narrowed faintly, though the corner of his mouth twitched — just barely. "Is that so?"

I took a careful step backward. "It's true."

He bent down, gathering snow into his hand without breaking eye contact.

Oh no. My heart skipped. "My lord—"

He stood and launched.

I turned to flee just as the snowball struck my shoulder, a thump that sent a burst of powder up my neck.

The laugh that burst from me was loud, sudden, real—so real it startled me. It was unpolished, wide-open, and it escaped before I could pretend to be composed.

It was a joyful sound that belonged to some younger version of myself who hadn't been seen in years.

I gasped, ducked, and grabbed more snow. "You dare assault the crown's envoy?"