The maid was halfway back to the bedchamber door before Sansa realized what she had said. “But he can wait outside,” she added. The girl gave her a quizzical look, but curtsied nonetheless.
Sansa took her time donning her best night robes and plaiting her hair smoothly along the crown of her head. It had its intended effect, for when she opened the door leading from her anteroom into the hallway, Jon was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, which he had always done when ill at ease.
“My lord,” she said, and Jon almost tripped over one foot as he turned to face her.
“Sansa,” he breathed, and he sounded relieved despite the worry etched into his forehead. Sansa raised one eyebrow at that, for Jon had called her nothing but “my lady” since their wedding day.
“May I come in?” he added, and she replied with the coolest stare she could muster.
“You’ve never shown any interest in coming to my chambers before, my lord,” she replied, and Jon’s face flushed pink. Sansa thought belatedly of how much gossip would fill the servants’ chambers that night when word spread of the queen making her husband stand in the hall to talk to her; but they were gossiping already about Jon’s infidelities, and if she could endure that, she could certainly endure the rest.