NOVEL NEXT Chapter 7
The next morning, the cold air of the North bit at Joffrey's skin as he made his way to the sparring yard. Robb Stark, Jon Snow, and Theon Greyjoy were already there, readying themselves for the morning's sparring session. The air was filled with camaraderie, but also a competitive edge that Joffrey found exhilarating. He could feel the tension, the unspoken challenge that hung between them, and it stirred something within him—a desire to prove himself, to show them that he was more than just a pampered prince from the south.
The fights began soon after, and the clanging of swords filled the air. Joffrey held his own, trading blows with Robb and Jon, winning a few bouts, losing a few. Sweat dripped down his brow despite the chill in the air, his muscles burning with exertion. He fought with determination, his body moving with the precision and agility he'd honed over the past months. Each strike, each block, was a testament to his skill, his dedication. He could see the respect in Robb's eyes, the approval in Jon's nods, and it fueled him, pushed him to fight harder, better.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of strikes and blocks, Joffrey and Robb stood panting, their swords raised but neither moving to strike. The weight of the North's heavy winter clothing hung on them like a burden, the furs and leathers meant to keep out the cold now serving only to weigh them down, to restrict their movements.
"One more bout," Joffrey suggested, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He could see the fatigue in Robb's eyes, the slight slump of his shoulders, and he knew he had the advantage. He was tired too, but he was driven, determined to prove himself, to come out on top.
Robb laughed, shaking his head. "I'm spent, Your Grace. I'll not have you showing me up again."
Joffrey grinned, looking down at the layers of furs and leather they were both wearing. "It's the clothes. Too much for this kind of fight. What do you say we take them off? Fight without them, see who's really got the strength?"
The suggestion earned a round of laughter from the others. Theon grinned, always one to encourage a bit of madness, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Now that's a challenge I can get behind," he said, already beginning to strip off his own layers.
Jon, however, raised an eyebrow in silent warning. "You'll catch the winter chill if you're not careful," he muttered, his voice serious despite the playful tone of the gathering. But Joffrey could see the spark of interest in his eyes, the hint of excitement at the prospect of such a reckless challenge.
But Joffrey, ever the bold one, shrugged it off. "We'll be warm enough once the fight starts," he said, his voice confident, his gaze steady. He knew the risks, knew the dangers, but he also knew the thrill, the exhilaration that came from pushing the boundaries, from testing the limits.
Robb, grinning, shrugged and began stripping off his layers. The others followed suit, tossing their heavy furs and leathers aside until they stood bare-chested in the freezing air, their breath coming out in visible puffs. Joffrey, too, removed his shirt, exposing the lean, sculpted muscle he'd worked so hard to build. The cold air hit his skin like knives, but he relished the challenge, the thrill of doing something reckless, something dangerous.
As they circled each other, swords in hand, Joffrey's gaze flicked upward. Arya and Sansa stood on the second-floor balcony of the keep, watching the spectacle below with wide eyes. Sansa's gaze lingered on his bare chest, her lips parted in something that looked like hunger, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and admiration. Arya, on the other hand, watched with open curiosity, her eyes gleaming with interest and excitement.
Joffrey smirked, winking at them, knowing full well the effect his body was having. He could see the blush on Sansa's cheeks, the way her eyes lingered on his muscles, and he felt a surge of satisfaction, of pride. He turned his attention back to Robb, his sword raised, his body ready.
The fight began again, this time faster, more intense. The cold bit at their skin, but they ignored it, the thrill of battle driving them forward. Joffrey moved with speed and precision, striking at Robb's defenses with everything he had. Each clash of their swords sent a jolt of exhilaration through him, each block a testament to his skill, his strength. He could see the determination in Robb's eyes, the refusal to back down, to give in, and it spurred him on, pushed him to fight harder, better.
But just as he was about to make another move, a sharp blow came from the side. Jon Snow had swung in from nowhere, his sword catching Joffrey squarely in the chest. The force of it sent Joffrey sprawling forward, face-first into the cold, hard ground. The snow crunched beneath him, the cold seeping into his skin, shock and pain radiating through his body.
Laughter erupted around him, Robb's booming chuckle the loudest of all. Joffrey lay there for a moment, stunned, the taste of snow and dirt filling his mouth, the cold seeping into his bones. He could feel the humiliation burning in his chest, the sting of defeat, but he also felt something else—a fire, a determination that refused to be extinguished.
He pushed himself up, wiping the snow from his face, his eyes locked onto Jon. There was a challenge in his gaze, a promise of retribution, of revenge. He would not be beaten so easily, would not be taken down without a fight.
He glanced up at the balcony to see Arya smirking, her eyes gleaming with amusement and approval. Sansa, on the other hand, looked shocked, her eyes wide with concern and surprise. He grinned at them, the taste of humiliation bitter on his tongue, but the fire of determination still burning in his chest.
The North was no easy conquest, he knew that now. It was wild and untamed, filled with challenges and dangers that he had never faced before. But that only made it all the more tantalizing, all the more exciting. He would not back down, would not be defeated. He would face whatever came his way, whatever stood in his path, and he would come out on top. That was his promise, his vow. And he would not break it, not for anyone, not for anything.
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