When Jon Snow entered the bedroom, he took his betrothed in his arms with a light movement. The girl was a little surprised, and although she was about to be married, no one spoke against her sharing a bedroom with Jon Snow. Ryella's eyes seemed to water at the glow of the candle flames lit in front of the clan chest.
- When will you make me yours?
- You are mine now!
Jon Snow stepped up to her, stopped in front of her, and touched her untouched groin. As one of the beacon flames flickered, a shimmering shadow crossed her face, then glanced down at the desirable nub beneath her thick wolf fur. Jon Snow felt blood rush to his groin, pulsing and flaming. He touched her cheek softly. Ryella's snow-white, naked body was both covered and uncovered by the fur coat that lay over her.
- Ryella, Jon Snow repeated, hoping he had pronounced the impossibly foreign-sounding name correctly. - It's a strange name.
- The name Frey, Ryella said wonderingly, and Frey names are strange. There's nothing to compare them with.
- What does it mean? What is the power of this name?
- 'It means that it is beautiful,' said Ryella, after some waiting. - At least, that's what my father said.
- Do you rule the Starks with your beauty or your wit?
Ryella looked up, and a strange shadow flickered in her eyes.
- It is my duty to bear a child, Jon Snow. I desire no other man but you, and if you will...,
Jon Snow smiled. A single, blood-red jewel hung in her hair. Ryella removed it as she unbraided her hair.
- I'm willing to do it," Ryella said as she spread her legs and sat on the bed. - I want to be with you, Jon Snow. And after this, I want to be only with you! I hope it won't hurt... much...
Jon Snow felt her taut breasts press against his coat through the fur. He wanted them together, wanted them to have sons. Now he looked straight at her, and her irises glistened like sapphire. Ryella's heart was in her throat. Not a word was spoken. When she was a brown-haired child, running through the courtyard of Winterfell's palace, they had laughed merrily and looked upon Jon Snow as good friends. But the memory of that now faded in this moment. That childhood was suddenly very, very far away. Other times had come. And those other times suddenly converged here in the bedroom. The wedding night, for which she had waited almost twelve years, had now arrived. And at this moment, nothing else mattered to Jon Snow. He threw off his boots and his fur coat on the bearskin. There he stood, naked as a young Stark. Ryella's breath caught, she couldn't look away, all she could see was the man's genitals, their thick fur. She raised her hand to her own, involuntarily. She used one to protect her breasts, the other to protect her crotch... But for now, only his gaze scanned her barely concealed body. She was so excited that a blush came to her cheeks. Jon Snow laughed at the double move. He didn't say anything this time, and he suspected they weren't going to talk. Why should they? This is not a night for words. He resolutely blew out all three candles on one of the holders. A semi-darkness remained in the wake of the movement, spilling into every corner. Ryella was still sitting on the edge of the bed, not seeing the white sheets of it beckoning her. She felt a little dizzy. The sight of the naked man blowing out the candle... and then approaching... She would have cried out, but no sound came from her throat. Jon Snow walked around the bed, picked up the other candlestick, blew out two flames. Only the third was still lit, dimly. Just so they could see each other. Ryella closed her eyes. She felt him coming closer. Then she felt him touch her. The touch was strong, perhaps even a little rough, as Jon Snow pulled the wolf fur off her and pulled her to him. The movement was at once that of the possessive man, but also of the shy, loving woman. As if she didn't yet dare to believe that this moment had come. Because for Jon Snow, Ryella would not be a casual lover who came in the evening, left at dawn, paid her off and never heard from again. Ryella shivered all over. Jon Snow felt it. He pulled her even tighter against him. He pressed her face to his naked breast, gently, protectively.
- Do not fear, for I am your beloved, and what is to happen is ordained by the laws of the God of the Seven.
The hugging gesture expressed this, Ryella understood. Then a minute later they were on the bed. Jon Snow was in control, Ryella left him half still, letting things take their course. She didn't make a move. It was only when she felt him pull the fur covering her crotch off her that she felt the strong fingers touch her there. In places no one, not even the maids, ever touched when she was bathed. She wanted to cry out. But then everything happened quickly. Jon Snow was gentle - he was dealing with a princess who would become queen tonight! - and he treated his former friend nicely. He used no force, but there was no resistance. Ryella dared not do anything, even if she wanted to please him. She didn't really know what to do, so she just let herself go. Jon Snow therefore did his job calmly. Ryella was horrified at the pain that was growing in her groin, she didn't know what it was, she just suspected. But she had no time to cry out, when suddenly, as if something in her body cracked. The pain shot through her, and she could no longer hold back her cries. She moaned, which made her cry out in shock. The pain eased for a moment, and above her, the man's movements slowed. "Is this how it happens?" she thought. The pain cut into her once more, then she groaned less. Then she felt no more pain, only a warm secretion flowing in her groin. That was what the nanny in the bonnet was talking about, trying to explain to her what was going to happen on her wedding night instead of her mother. Later Jon Snow fell asleep, tired and well. Even now Ryella dared not move. She felt a slight lustfulness, which the women in the palace sometimes whispered that they sometimes got some of that pleasure. But certainly not for the first time. All she really remembered now was the pain. It was so foreign. A man asleep beside her, with the right to wake her at any moment, to crush her under him again and again. As they say, "to take her". Ryella thought there might be many more nights like this, for they were husband and wife. Jon Snow would soon be thirty-nine, and she eighteen. Who knows how long he'll want me?" she asked, and then, as if ashamed, tried to put the thought out of her mind. But there was a tiny Targaryen dragon lurking there, crying into her soul, "You'll love this man and the nights you'll spend with him!" but she didn't want to hear that, not now.