Sansa was bored. Her father was in a small council meeting for the morning, Arya was wherever Arya felt like being, and Jeyne was off in the company of some friends. I could go visit Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, she thought without enthusiasm. She was of an age with the prince but did not enjoy his company. He was arrogant, willful, and prone to hiding behind his parents' titles when he didn't get his way. Sansa was no longer distracted by his handsome face though she enjoyed the way he whirled her around during a dance and would sometimes accompany him on rides through the countryside. He could be pleasing when he wanted to play the gallant but his company generally required a level of effort that Sansa didn't feel like expending today.

Unlike her older brother, Myrcella was consistently lovely and pleasant. She and Sansa shared a love of music, singing, and dancing but Myrcella was betrothed to Willas Tyrell and much in his company. Seeing Myrcella and Willas so happy together made a warm feeling of joy for her friend spread within Sansa but it was tinged by a slight ache at the loss of her company. Myrcella and Willas politely extended invitations to Sansa to join them on their outings but she often felt like she was intruding. Now that their wedding was just a few days away, they were busier than ever and Sansa, reconsidering, thought it was probably best not to call on Myrcella just now.

That left Tommen, who was, of course, adorable. He was shedding his baby fat and growing more handsome by the day. His considerable energy made him a better companion for Arya and the two of them often went riding together. Sometimes Sansa went with them but they preferred to ride faster, farther, and longer than she usually cared to and one day out with them often left her tired for the next two. Wishing for calmer companionship, she decided to visit Tommen another day.

So Sansa was all alone when the prickles along the back of her neck made her slide her eyes to the side. Her back straightened and she tried to look discreetly over her shoulder. All she saw was the hem of a cloak disappear around a corner. Just a servant, she thought, though she'd never felt such a ripple from the presence of a servant before. She'd been surrounded by them her whole life, after all. Find something to do, she told herself. You're imagining things!

So she did. She walked the battlements, had tea with Septa Mordane, visited with her father in his solar, and attended another fitting for the gown she'd wear to the wedding, but the feeling that someone had been looking at her wouldn't stop nagging at the edges of her mind.

The next morning there was a knock at her door. She opened it and filling the frame was the Hound, Joffrey's sworn shield. Sandor Clegane was big, burned, often rough-tongued, and more than often drenched in too much wine. At first she'd found his scarred visage fearsome but soon learned his bark was worse than his bite. In the two years she'd known him, he'd simply become another face in the castle.

His derisive gaze swept over her. "Prince Joffrey would like you to join him as he breaks his fast."

I'm invited to watch him eat but not to dine myself? Sansa prevented herself from wrinkling her nose. "I'd be delighted."

The Hound offered his arm, which Sansa felt obliged to accept, though she maintained as much of a distance from him as she could since everyone knew Margaery Tyrell was lately favoring him with her attention and she had no desire to provoke Margaery's displeasure. Clegane was heavily favored to win the upcoming tourney in honor of Myrcella's wedding. Ladies swooning over warriors was nothing new, with favor increasing with each fallen opponent. It was a paltry kind of attention and Sansa was surprised Clegane fell for it, though she supposed his scars and gruff personality must generally prevent much attention from coming his way.

Margaery, on the other hand, was a flirt with a penchant for spreading gossip, though she was careful to perform many acts of charity and was steadfast in her loyalty to her family. There had been talk of a match between she and Joffrey but Sansa knew her father had advised King Robert against it and, eventually, King Robert had relented. The Myrcella/Willas match had satisfied the desire for an alliance between both families and the young couple's delight in one another was not likely to be repeated between Joffrey and Margaery.

This was not to say that Joffrey had not noticed his soon-to-be good sister; he certainly had, and she, him, but each preferred to be the center of attention and therefore were more rivals than lovers, though each knew that, together, they made an eye-catching pair.

Joffrey was not the only male to notice Margaery, of course. Her arrival at court had caused a stir. Her beautiful face, lithe figure, and teasing manners had attracted knights to her like flies to horse manure. Women drew close in hopes of sharing in her flirtations and, if possible, collecting her cast-off suitors. Sansa quickly drew her notice and, at first, she'd enjoyed Margaery's lively company. Soon, though, after Margaery kept pressing her to kiss Tommen for sport, Sansa decided her carelessness with the feelings of others did her no credit and she allowed their association to dwindle. If Sandor Clegane knew Margaery's true nature and still found her attractive, well, it was no business of Sansa's.

"You're quiet this morning, little bird."

Sansa hated when he called her that. She'd merely been courteous to him when she'd first arrived in King's Landing and he'd accused her of falseness, equating her to a bird who thoughtlessly chirped back whatever words it had been taught.

"As are you, ser," she said, knowing he despised the honorific.

"The prince likes it when you're sweet," he reminded pointedly.

I like it when you're silent, she thought. She dropped her hand from his arm and was irritated when he chuckled. "I can walk the rest of the way myself. I'm sure you must be busy." She doubted he was busy. He was favored by the entire royal family, and not unjustly if she felt like being fair about it, but her patience with his familiar manners ended when he, who was so often crass and crude, began giving her pointers on conduct.

He grabbed her hand and tucked it back under his arm, pinning her wrist to his side. "I was told to escort you. If you want me to carry you to the prince over my shoulder, I will."

"I don't doubt it."

He gave her a sidelong look and all but dragged her to Joffrey's solar, his long legs forcing her to stumble along beside him.

"Just wait until the tourney, Lady Sansa," Joffrey said again with a smirk.

He'd spent the entire meal regaling her with promises of exceptional performance and a sure victory, despite the field being populated with men like Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Garlan Tyrell, and, she thought grudgingly, Sandor Clegane. Joffrey's joust, his first, was not likely to be the stuff of song but she smiled and nodded and said what he wanted to hear. Ugh, she thought, pulling in a corner of her mouth. Clegane might be right. I am a little bird.

Clegane wore his own smirk behind the prince. His eyes were often on her and she knew he must be having similar thoughts. She looked away and resolved to pay him no more attention. To her dismay, Joffrey forced her to with his very next words.

"Dog, you can take Lady Sansa back her room," Joffrey said when he was done eating.

Once again Clegane offered Sansa his arm and, once again, she barely rested her hand on his bicep.

"Do you want to go somewhere besides your room?" he asked in his rough voice once they were in the corridor.

The day had just begun and she had no intention of spending it inside. The weather was fine and there were men practicing for the tourney on the green. "I'm going to walk the grounds, thank you." She dropped his arm and walked toward the stairs. When she reached them, she saw that he was where she'd left him and he was eyeing her with a frown. What's gotten into him? she wondered.