“Not bad for a southern wedding, was it?” you smirked at your new bride upon entering your chambers and noticed how oddly she was laying on the bed. The redhead looked stiff as a board, centered in the middle of the fine fur blankets.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve been waiting so we…can lay as married people do,” she admitted, shifting nervously to prop herself up on her elbows.
“You look like you’re about to jump out of your own skin. I’m not going to force myself on you, dear Sansa.”
“Don’t you want me?” she asked uncertainly.
“Of course I do, I’d have to be blind if I didn’t.” Sansa frowned as you chuckled, obviously drunk off wine and the atmosphere of the reception feast. “But, I’m well aware of your…reserved nature and also of the fact that this marriage is all politics.”
“You don’t have to share my bed, but you can if you desire. If not, I’ll simply spend my nights elsewhere,” you shrugged off your wedding garb and poured yourself a goblet of wine. “Try to decide soon, though. I’ve been described as…insatiable.”
Toad's Cave 