The moment the words left his mouth, Roslin froze. Her hands, which had been neatly arranging the food on the platter, suddenly stopped. The easy comfort they had shared on the ride vanished, replaced by an anxiety at the mention of her family's name.
She wrung her hands together, her eyes darting nervously around the tent before looking back at him.
"What..." she muttered, her voice trembling slightly. "What will I have to do, my lord?"
Seeing the genuine panic bubbling up in her, Alaric's stern face broke into a faint, amused smile. Instead of answering right away, he reached out and playfully grabbed her by the wrist.
Before Roslin could react, he gave a firm, sudden pull. She let out a small gasp as she lost her footing, tumbling forward directly into him. Alaric immediately caught her, wrapping his strong arms tightly around her waist and locking his hands together to hold her flush against his chest.
He leaned forward, resting his head heavily over her shoulder.
"What do you mean by 'what will I have to do?'" he asked, his voice a low, teasing rumble right next to her ear.
Roslin stiffened slightly against him, her hands coming up to rest tentatively on his thick forearms. Her heart was beating fast, thumping like a trapped bird against his chest.
"I just..." she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what my father's reaction will be when he sees me with... with a man. Specially riding in with a Northern army." She swallowed hard, her fingers nervously picking at the fabric of his sleeve. "So that is why I asked. What will I have to do? Should I... should I hide in the back of the camp?"
Alaric didn't answer her immediately. Instead, he shifted his head slightly, his lips brushing against her skin, and caught the soft lobe of her ear between his teeth. He gave it a gentle, teasing bite.
Roslin let out a sudden, breathless moan, her spine arching slightly as a hot shiver ran down her neck. Her hands instinctively gripped his arms tighter as a deep blush spread across her cheeks.
"Hide?" Alaric murmured right against her skin, the low vibration of his voice sending another tremor through her. "Who cares about your father's reaction?"
He pulled back just enough to look at the side of her flushed face, a amused glint in his eyes. He tightened his grip around her waist, securing her even more firmly against him.
"Tell me, Rose," he said, his tone dropping into a dangerous, confident drawl. "Do you really think I am that weak? Do you think I am scared of Walder Frey and his little toll bridge?"
Roslin's eyes widened, and she quickly turned her head to look at him..
"No!" she said quickly, her voice breathless and frantic. "No, that's... that is not what I meant, Alaric. I know you are not weak. It's just..."
She trailed off, her dark eyes searching his face as she struggled to explain the fear her family had drilled into her. "My father is cruel. Spiteful. If he sees me sitting beside you, he will insult you… or try to use me to trap you."
Alaric listened without interrupting. When she finished, he spoke at last, his voice calm and even.
"I want you to become the head of House Frey."
Silence filled the tent.
Roslin blinked, the rest of her words dying on her tongue. She stared at him, lips parted, her thoughts slipping away as the weight of what he had said settled in. It took her several seconds to understand that he meant it.
Her? The head of House Frey? The Lady of the Crossing?
It wasn't just unlikely; it was impossible. It was a thought so foreign to her reality that she hadn't even dared to dream it. Her father had dozens of sons, trueborn and bastard alike, and grandsons stacked upon grandsons. A daughter—a small, quiet daughter at the bottom of the pile—was nothing more than a bargaining chip to be traded for a minor alliance or a handful of gold.
"I..." she started, her voice faltering immediately. "Alaric... I..."
She fumbled for words, her face pale as her mind raced through the sheer terror of what that would mean. The bloodbath. The cruelty. The absolute impossibility of it.
She looked down, her hands clenching tightly into fists against his arms. Her voice came out small and defeated.
"If... if that is what you want me to do," she whispered. "Then I will try. I will do whatever you ask. But... it is not that easy."
Alaric didn't let her finish. He tightened his hold on her, pulling her back so her head rested against his chest.
"I know it's not easy," he said, his voice losing its sharp edge and turning into something smoother, more reassuring. "But I'm not asking you to lead a charge into the Westerlands or manage the grain stores of the Trident personally. I just need you to be the name on the door. The face of the Crossing. You stay by my side, and the power of the Twins stays in your hands."
He felt the tension in her shoulders, the way she was still vibrating with the shock of the suggestion. He decided to shift the mood before she spiraled further into a panic.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear again, but this time he didn't bite. He just whispered with a playful, mocking lilt.
"Besides, Rose... what happened to all that fire from ten minutes ago?"
Roslin blinked, her breath hitching as she looked up at him through her lashes. "What?"
"The girl who was just promising to give me as many babies as I wanted after the war... where did she go?" He smiled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Now she's making this terrified face, looking like I've asked her to jump off the Wall. Are you telling me you're brave enough to carry a dozen little Alarics, but too scared to tell a few weasels in gray cloaks what to do?"