Some of the servants were apparently amused with her failure to realize Jon was king. He spied a few hiding their grins behind their hands and frowned at them in return. She hadn't seemed to notice. He hadn't thought much about how he'd appear, but given he wasn't elaborately dressed, in leather that was no different than the Master at Arms, he could see how she might mistake him. Perhaps he should have worn something nicer, but it seemed pointless. They were to be married soon as it was and he'd only be hiding his preference in an attempt to please a stranger.

Jon glanced from her to one of the nearby servants. A young girl stepped forward and curtsied to Inara. "If you please, milady, I'll show you to your rooms?"

He cleared his throat, still uncertain and awkward. No matter how many years passed, he was still the bastard boy of Winterfell, playing at a title that was not really his. "Anything you need or want is at your disposal." That was how this was supposed to go, wasn't it? He formally handed over control of the keep to her? Was this what his father said to Lady Catelyn.

"Alys," he looked back over at the maid. "See the lady is well taken care of."

"Yes, your grace."