GOT: My Secret Lover is sansa - Chapter 174 Timeskip

Chapter 174: Chapter 174 Timeskip

She slid off his lap and stepped onto the marble floor. She didn’t look the least bit embarrassed by her nakedness as she walked over to the wooden chest and pulled out her heavy, dark Northern dress. She pulled it over her head, tying the laces with practiced, efficient movements.

When she reached the heavy oak door, she paused. Sansa rested her hand on the iron handle and cast one last, heated look over her shoulder at him.

“Tonight, Alaric,” she promised, her voice dropping a fraction. “Rest while you can.”

She pushed the door open and slipped out into the hallway, the heavy wood clicking shut behind her.

Alaric sat on the edge of the bed for a moment longer, a highly satisfied smirk on his face. He stood up, grabbed his dark tunic, and pulled it over his head. He buckled his heavy leather sword belt around his waist, adjusting the weight of the Red Eclipse at his hip.

He walked past the bed and stepped right up to the transparent crystal wall of the bedchamber.

The view was absolutely beautiful. The Blackwater Rush glittered under the morning sun, completely clear of burning ships.

The city was waking up, the smoke was gone, and thousands of his men patrolled the perimeter below.

Alaric pulled himself away from the sweeping view of the city. He walked over to the heavy wooden chair, grabbed his dark leather boots, and pulled them on. He adjusted the heavy sword belt around his waist, the familiar, grounding weight of the Red Eclipse resting against his hip.

He didn’t bother waiting for the maids. He pushed the heavy oak doors of the master bedchamber open and stepped out into the pristine, sunlit corridors of the Ivory Cloud Palace.

The localized suppression field of the palace kept the halls completely silent, but Alaric’s heightened senses picked up movement before he even turned the corner into the grand gallery.

He rounded the wide marble pillar and stopped.

It wasn’t a guard or one of the Black Night Maids. It was Roslin.

She was walking down the long corridor, wearing a simple, loose-fitting dress. The moment she spotted him, her face lit up.

“Husband!” Roslin called out cheerfully, her voice echoing lightly in the quiet hall.

She closed the distance between them with quick, eager steps. She didn’t bother with courtly manners or curtsies.

She simply wrapped both of her arms tight around his thick forearm, leaned up on her toes, and pressed a warm, firm kiss directly to his cheek.

“You’re finally out of that room,” she said, giving his arm a persistent pull. “Come with me. It is entirely too warm today to stay inside the halls.”

Alaric let out a low hum of amusement. He didn’t resist, simply letting her drag him down the corridor and push open a set of heavy glass doors.

They stepped out into the enclosed palace gardens. The space was massive, heated by the same subterranean magic that fed the bathhouse.

Green vines and thick ferns grew along the white marble walls, thriving in the warm, humid air.

The garden was completely empty. Alaric had ordered the perimeter locked down, meaning there were no guards, no lords, and no servants walking the paths. It was just the two of them.

Roslin pulled him over to a wide stone bench sitting next to a quiet, trickling fountain. She sat down and immediately pulled him down right next to her.

She didn’t let go of his arm. She shifted her weight, leaning her side flush against his chest and resting her head on his shoulder with a highly contented sigh.

For a few minutes, they just sat there in the comfortable silence, listening to the water hit the stone.

Roslin rested a hand on her lower stomach, her fingers lightly brushing the fabric of her dress.

“I keep expecting to feel miserable,” she murmured, watching the water. “Sansa said she was irritable all the time, and Margaery complains about dizzy spells. But I don’t feel sick at all. I feel fine.”

She tilted her head back to look at him, her expression entirely at ease. “I used to sit at the Twins, terrified of whoever my father would sell me to. Now I’m here, untouchable.”

Leaning closer, she pressed her cheek against his tunic. “And I’m carrying your child,” she said, a genuine smile breaking across her face. “I hope it’s a boy, Alaric. Someone who looks just like you.”

Alaric smiled. The image of a son running through the Ivory Cloud Palace—backed by the sheer power of the System—was an easy one to picture. He reached up, gently brushing his thumb across her cheek.

“A strong boy,” Alaric agreed softly. “He’ll have the North and the Twins at his feet before he can even walk.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. It wasn’t the fierce, consuming kiss he usually gave Sansa, nor the, fiery exchange he shared with Margaery.

It was slow, deep, and incredibly tender. Roslin melted against him instantly.

She let out a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering shut as her hands slid up his chest to grip the thick fabric of his tunic. She kissed him back with a sweet, eager devotion, completely surrendering to the overwhelming warmth of his body.

When Alaric finally pulled back, Roslin’s face was completely flushed. Her brown eyes were slightly glazed, and her breathing had hitched, coming a little faster than before.

She kept her hands tightly fisted in his tunic, biting her lower lip as she looked up at him.

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