Zokla | Theon Greyjoy

Chapter 11

It became easier for her to wander outside of the castle.

Ramsay had no reason to confine her, what with her proving she was making no attempts to escape. The air was good for her and for Minisa, whenever it wasn't storming. The snow grew heavier and heavier, soon to make it difficult to step into the courtyard without great difficulty seeing. She never strayed too far from his sight, reaching the treeline and sitting for long whiles to talk to her daughter about her home.

Each time Myranda wasn't around, she slipped more and more chamomile to the dogs, progressing to the point where they recognized her voice and smell. Each time she entered the kennels, they were quiet, waiting to see what she would offer. And each time she went to fetch the meat, she ensured daffodil was being added into the food of Myranda, to ensure she would be too sick to her stomach to be available for Ramsay. With any luck, he'd think her pregnant and lose his interest, further alienating her.

(Most days, she saw Myranda watching her from the gates, never invited to come along to her walks, and certainly not asked to draw her any more baths. Ramsay had not wanted them out at the same time– either Myranda was hunting with the dogs or Lyarra was enjoying the snow with Minisa. She even noticed that as of late, Ramsay didn't speak with Myranda much. She was sure he was truly growing bored now and it only meant Myranda's anger was growing. Soon, she expected, Myranda would make a move against her. She had to be ready for it.)

She had her best idea after the first month of marriage. She'd been in the kennels, trying her hand at touching the dogs. One of them had sniffed her hand, another had let her tap it over the head. When she'd been close to the bars, it had nudged its head against her belly, reminding her what Nana used to do when she was pregnant with Minisa.

Of course. If she'd faked bleeds before, how much harder could it be to pretend they'd stopped? To feign being pregnant even if it was not true?

She planned it out over a week, once she'd been allowed for her first walk-hunt with the dogs trailing around, not bothering her at all. She would have Anni gather extra bed sheets and keep the bloodied ones, if any blood persisted after she dosed herself with hibiscus, to minimize the bleeding.

And if her plan was going to work, she would need those bloody sheets later on.

"You were different tonight," said Ramsay, sliding his trousers back on as she laid on her side, staring wistfully at the window, the snow raging outside. "Less... energetic. I was growing used to that."

"Lately, my energy is low," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder. "It can occur if one is pregnant."

He stopped what he was doing. "Pregnant?"

"I'm not sure yet. But I recall the sensations I felt when I realized I was pregnant with Minisa. It is familiar. My breasts, they are tender. My energy, it is low. My appetite is high. And I did not bleed this past month." She sat up, furrowing her brows in fake worry. "Are... are you upset with me?"

"Upset?" He seemed confused, as if he didn't know what he felt. "No. It is what we expected. You would come to be with child soon."

"A son," she said. "Our son. Our heir." She smiled, then changed the subject. Recent news had been interesting– Walda had told her that the Queens Margaery and Cersei were imprisoned, and that Daenerys Targaryen was perhaps going to be wed as she was now Queen of Mereen. "Tell me, is it true that Stannis is riding for Winterfell?"

"It is," said Ramsay. He pondered aloud, "He's a respected commander. His troops are loyal and battle-tested. He's hired thousands of foreign sellswords to bolster his army. But this storm is a stroke of luck for us Northerners. Our people are used to fighting in the frost. His army is out there now, suffering in the snow."