Prince Jon Targaryen arranged marriage au
Princess - she was a Princess now, Sansa thought as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her mother normally brushed out her hair at night, counting the passing of the bristles each time as they glide through the silky auburn river. Sansa had lost count of her brushstrokes, or she hadn’t even started - she wasn’t sure. She was too lost in the act of staring at the image of Princess Sansa Targaryen - a maid wedded and not yet bedded.
Her hands trembled like the rustling of leaves in a breeze as she set the boar-bristle brush down upon her vanity. Her mother had warned her this morning as she was twisting pins of pearls into her braids to expect some pain, but if her husband is good to her, the discomfort will not be the lasting memory of this night. She so dearly hoped that Jon would be good to her.
Sansa closed her eyes, shutting off all distractions apart from the pop and crackle of the fire in the hearth. She focused on her deep intakes of air and her slow releasing breaths until her heart seemed to give up its quest to break free from the cage of her ribs.
However, the loud clunk of the door being barred behind her reignited the galloping in her chest.
“I’ll not touch you if you don’t want me to” her new husband rasped, his voice cracking like delicate eggshells.
Sansa wasn’t quite sure what she wanted. She stayed seated and watched him behind her in the mirror.
“If you want to-” Jon’s eyes flitted to the large bed and then returned to the back of Sansa’s head “or if not, we can just sleep…..whatever you want…we’ll do whatever you want.”
Sansa rose from her stuffed stool and turned to face her husband. Twisting her hands together was not helping at all but she couldn’t seem to stop - that is, until she noticed the way Jon struggled not to draw attention with his storm grey eyes to her exposed calves and the low neckline of her shift. Something warm bloomed from within. She is a woman now, she is a wife - a wanted one if Jon’s laboured rising and falling chest was any indication. Her fidgeting suddenly became manageable. She straightened her spine and wet her lips.
“I want you to be good to me, Jon.”