GOT: My Secret Lover is sansa - Chapter 175 Roslin

Chapter 175: Chapter 175 Roslin

The heavy glass doors leading into the enclosed garden clicked open.

One of the Black Night Maids approached the fountain. She wore the flawless, elegant dark dress of a highborn handmaiden, her face an unreadable mask of absolute professionalism. She carried a silver tray holding a steaming porcelain teapot and two delicate cups.

She didn’t bat an eye at Roslin’s completely flushed face or the way the girl was still tightly gripping Alaric’s tunic.

The maid simply set the silver tray down on the edge of the stone bench, offered a perfectly executed curtsy, and turned on her heel.

She vanished back down the path as silently as she had arrived, the heavy glass doors clicking shut behind her.

Roslin let out a shaky breath, her face burning an even deeper shade of red. She quickly let go of Alaric’s tunic and sat back, smoothing the front of her dress with nervous hands. She reached for one of the porcelain cups, the ceramic rattling slightly against the saucer.

Alaric just smirked, picking up his own cup. He took a sip of the dark, bitter tea, letting the silence stretch as Roslin forced her heart rate back down.

“It’s just…” Roslin started, her voice a little breathless as she stared into her tea. “Now that Margaery and I are with child… we won’t be able to keep up with you. Not the way we have been.”

Alaric lowered his cup, his dark eyes resting on her. “You don’t need to worry about that, Roslin.”

“I know,” she said quickly, taking a nervous sip. “And Margaery knows it too. She actually thought of something to help. She said she was arranging a—”

Roslin snapped her mouth shut so fast her teeth clicked. Her eyes went wide, and she quickly hid her face behind the rim of her teacup, looking like a deer caught in a hunter’s snare.

“A what?” Alaric asked, his voice dropping into a slow, measured drawl.

“Nothing,” Roslin mumbled into her cup. She lowered it, offering him a terrible, completely transparent smile. “I forgot. She explicitly told me not to say a word. It’s supposed to be a gift.”

Alaric let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t even want to know what you women are planning behind my back.”

“It’s a good plan!” Roslin defended weakly, though she wisely refused to elaborate.

They sat in the quiet warmth of the garden for a few more minutes, finishing the hot tea. The tension of her near-slip faded, replaced by the comfortable, easy trust she had built with him over the long march from the Twins.

Roslin set her empty cup down on the silver tray. She leaned back against the stone, her brown eyes watching the water cascade into the fountain.

“Did you sleep with her?” she asked.

The question was so casual, so entirely devoid of jealousy or anger, that it almost caught him off guard.

“Sleep with who?” Alaric asked, setting his own cup down.

“Myrcella Lannister,” Roslin replied, turning her head to look at him. She wasn’t glaring; she just looked genuinely curious.

Alaric looked at the young woman sitting next to him. There was no trap in her eyes, no hidden test. She had accepted the reality of their arrangement weeks ago.

“No,” Alaric said flatly. “I didn’t.”

Roslin blinked, slightly surprised. “You didn’t? But she’s been with us for days.”

“She was terrified and exhausted,” Alaric replied, leaning his forearms on his knees. “I took her out of the cells and we went for a ride. I kissed her…”

Roslin watched him for a long moment, a soft, understanding smile slowly breaking across her face. “Just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss,” Alaric confirmed. “For now.”

Alaric let a slow smirk spread across his face. He leaned closer, bumping his shoulder gently against hers. “Why do you ask, Roslin? Did you want me to do more than kiss her?”

Roslin’s face flushed a deep pink, but she didn’t look away. “I just… I know how you are,” she murmured, tracing the rim of her empty teacup. “Sansa told me she is exhausted. With Margaery and I both expecting, she can’t keep up with you all by herself. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if you gave the Lannister girl some attention.”

Alaric hummed, leaning back against the cold stone of the fountain. She wasn’t wrong.

Beyond his physical needs, he had an empire to secure. The System had given him The Lion’s Pride quest weeks ago. Claiming Myrcella meant a payout of Monarch Points and a direct upgrade to his blessing.

He had drained a huge chunk of his reserves building the Ivory Cloud Palace and summoning the Black Night Maids. He needed more points to unlock new summons if Tywin or Stannis tried anything desperate.

It was time to finish what he had started on that hill.

Before he could voice the thought, the heavy glass doors to the garden pushed open again.

Margaery walked down the stone path, her emerald green dress sweeping the marble. She carried a stack of small parchment scrolls in one hand. She didn’t look tired, but her usual graceful walk was just a fraction slower, a quiet sign of her own pregnancy setting in.

She reached the fountain, handed the scrolls to Alaric without a word, and smoothly sat down on his other side. She leaned her weight against his shoulder with a heavy sigh.

“I need a break,” Margaery declared. “Your Black Night Maids are entirely too efficient. They bring me reports faster than I can read them.”

Alaric unrolled the top scroll, his eyes scanning the neat handwriting. “What’s the latest?”

“The city is completely secure,” Margaery said, resting her hand on his thigh. “The dockmasters finished clearing the Blackwater yesterday. The merchant galleys from the Reach are finally unloading grain directly into the city silos. The smallfolk have stopped rioting because they actually have bread in their bellies now.”

She picked up one of the delicate cups from the silver tray and took a sip of the leftover tea.

“And Stannis?” Alaric asked, flipping to the next parchment.

“Still sitting in the dirt,” Margaery replied, shaking her head. “My father’s outriders report that Stannis has dug trenches across the Kingsroad near Storm’s End. He knows he can’t breach this new palace, especially with those giant stone gargoyles watching the skies. He is bleeding coin trying to keep his sellswords from abandoning his camp, but he refuses to march forward or retreat.”

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