Sansa awoke in an unfamiliar room, sweat pouring down her face. She could feel a sharp pain her abdomen.

"Ah, you're finally awake..."

Anya approached her, a rag in her hand, a bucket of water in the other. Sansa frowned. "Where I am? How did I get here? What happened?" Anya set the bucket down and sighed as she dipped the rag in it. She squeezed it and gently wiped Sansa's face.

"Well, you're in the king's room..."

Sansa looked around and her fists clenched. She was in the king's room. Four poster bed, gloomy atmosphere, black and red everywhere. She panicked. Why didn't the king have her brought back to her room? Why his? As if reading her mind, Anya said "The king wanted you brought here because... Well, because you and the king will... Fornicate."

Sansa frowned, her heart beginning to pound. "B-but why?"

"Well, you've had your first blood."

"Oh..."

This wasn't good. She wasn't ready to have a child, she wasn't sure if she would ever be ready. She didn't want to bear him children, never. But I have no choice... She thought despairingly. "You seem unhappy..." Anya said. Surely the young woman should be delighted, he wouldn't, couldn't harm her once she was with child. Unless... Unless she truly loathes his majesty...

"I... I'm not exactly... Overjoyed."

Anya didn't ask why. She already knew the answer. She sighed, setting the rag down on her lap. She held Sansa's hand. "Everything will be alright, milady." Sansa nodded, then forced a smile onto her face. "Yes, of course." Anya stood up and carried the bucket. "I must go, milady. I will prepare your bath."

"Are you sure you want to marry the little bird?"

Joffrey sighed, annoyed as he glared at his mother. How many times did he have to say yes? That he wouldn't change his mind? That his decision was final?

"I told you many times, mother." Joffrey growled. "My decision hasn't changed."

The queen gave an exaggerated sigh. "But her father is a traitor, dear. You want to marry a traitor's daughter?"

Joffrey clenched his fists. "He was a traitor, mother." He said through gritted teeth. "She had nothing to do with her father's plans, his actions. What he did does not concern her. Now stop pestering me about her dead father's crimes. He's already gone. Whatever he did does not involve her."

Cersei nodded. "You seem... taken with her." She stared at him, an eyebrow raised. "Are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" He scoffed. "I'm simply marrying her because she is loyal, and she would make a faithful wife, an obedient queen." He stood up, and glared at his mother once more. "Just go back to planning our wedding, will you? Stop bothering me."

Ridiculous... How could she say that? Joffrey thought as he stormed through the halls. I'm marrying the girl out of convenience... He frowned in disgust as he opened the door to his room. Love was for weak people, fools. He halted at the sound of a girl sobbing.

He stepped inside and saw Sansa sobbing on his bed, her face buried in her hands. He felt strange as he watched her cry, it didn't make him feel good, like it did when he was about to take her life with his bow and arrow. He frowned. What was the matter with him?

He took a step towards her.

She didn't seem to notice him, and sobbed harder. Joffrey gritted his teeth, irritated with himself and with her. "Why the hell are you crying?"

Sansa's head snapped up and her eyes widened at the sight of him. She immediately stopped crying and quickly wiped away her tears. Then she just stared at him.

"I asked you a question."

"I-I... My stomach hurts, your grace."

Joffrey nodded, that was reasonable excuse. His mother explain to him that Sansa would be in pain once she experienced her first blood. "Well, go and take your bath..." He ordered, then a wicked smile appeared on his face. "For tonight..."

Sansa turned red and nodded. "Yes, your grace." She stood up and rushed out of the room.

"Will it be... painful, Anya?"

Anya was washing Sansa's hair while she sat in the wooden tub, washing her arms and legs. "Yes... But only for a while..." She smiled as Sansa paled. "Only for a while, milady... It won't last..."

Sansa frowned. "Why will it hurt?"

"Well, that's because -"

"Will you two hurry up?"

Both Sansa and Anya faced the door. Cersei stood by the door, an irritated expression on her face. "You don't want to keep the king waiting, little bird." She eyed Anya. "As for you, well, you should be punished for keeping the little bird away from her king for so long..."

Sansa panicked. "No!" Cersei looked at her, an eyebrow raised. Sansa blushed. "I mean, it's not her fault. It's mine. I was asking too many questions..."

Cersei scoffed. "Of course you did... Just hurry up." She left. Anya sighed as Sansa stood up and covered herself with a towel. "You didn't have to do that, milady. It was my fault, after all." The young woman shook her head. "Of course not... It was my fault... Me and my mouth."

Anya sighed. "Well, thank you, milady. Now, we must get you dressed."

Sansa felt nervous as she approached the king's room. She was dressed in a red gown, with a gold collar and cuffs. She was made to wear silk slippers, her hair down and her lips painted red. She didn't know why she had to wear such clothing.

She took in a deep breath as she opened the door. She stepped inside and saw the king sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in gold and black. He looked at her, and she could see lust begin to cloud his eyes. She gulped as she approached him.

He took her shaking hands in his, and she was surprised he wasn't irritated by them. She blushed as she smirked.

"Are you ready, my queen?"