Sansa caught where his gaze was directed, the clear appreciation in his grey eyes.

She frowned.

As much as she wanted to stamp her feet and pull her hair out even Sansa could not deny Arianne's beauty. But what concerned her most was that Arianne was the opposite of Sansa.

Where Arianne was golden coffee Sansa was cream. Short glossy raven tresses to her own long silken fire. Glittering black eyes to Sansa's deep sapphire.

Her frown deepened.

Whilst being Alayne had allowed Sansa to become bolder and embrace part of the wolf in her she was still a lady whereas Arianne was bold, brave, outspoken and not afraid to do just as she pleased with no regard for the whispers of others.

Before she realised how it had happened she found herself next to Sandor, arms folded across her chest.

'You like to look upon her.' It was not a question, they both knew it.

Sandor's mouth twitched, his hand tightening upon his sword before he answered. If Sansa was asked she would have said it was in irritation.

'Aye, girl. There's not a man here who does not'

'You have heard the rumours of her. She beds men and women alike using them only for her pleasure.'

He turned his head to her before answering. 'It is rare to come upon a woman who knows what she wants and how to get it.'

Sansa's eyes flashed as she suppressed her rage. She wanted to scream but it would not be becoming of the lady of Winterfell.

Arianne would scream, the part of her mind that used to belong to Alayne told her. She would even stamp her feet too, if she wanted.

His twisted lips twitched again as he smirked, but again she interpreted irritation.

Barely containing her fury, Sansa bit her cheeks inside her mouth. 'Mayhaps you shall be sat together at tonight's meal.'

With that she turned on her heel and strode off, her red hair blowing in the wind behind her. Sandor thought it reminiscent of a blazing sunset as he struggled to tear his eyes away from it.

He chuckled to himself. There was no denying he had been caught watching the Dornish princess and the way her lithe body moved as she trained with her throwing stars, but the little bird's poorly contained jealousy had amused him.

True to her word, later that night when they sat down to eat Sandor found himself up on the dais of Winterfell's newly rebuild great hall with the Dornish princess to his right and Sansa sat opposite four seats down.

Sandor grunted, his eyes flashing in anger to Sansa who smiled back and nodded in encouragement. He had no intention of conversing with the dark haired princess and instead took a large swig of the arbor gold in his cup.

Throughout the meal he did, begrudgingly, exchange a few words with the dark princess and couldn't help but respect her for the way she looked upon him as if his scars were not there and spoke without fear of incurring his notorious wrath. At times she even teased and cajoled him. When the final plate was taken from the table Sandor felt the girl's fingers run down his arm and shot a sharp glance her way. It did not deter her as she looked up at him with her sparkling dark eyes which clearly showed the question her lips did not have to ask.

It was then that he caught Sansa's eye. Frozen in position as she eyed the hand and on his arm, her eyes were hard and cold, unlike he had seen them in many moons.

Sansa graciously excused herself and was across the hall and out of the door before Sandor could react.

He felt the hand move from his arm.

'Ah, I fear you have other...matters which occupy your attention.' Arianne stated knowingly, with a kind smile. 'When Sansa told me you had expressed interest in supping with me tonight I had found it strange. Observing the two of you together your devotion to each other is clear, but Sansa assured me the bond you share was only due to what you had both been through during the retaking of Winterfell and the hard winter months that followed. And of course I was very interested in getting more intimate with the infamous Hound. I have heard many a story in Kings Landing of your...generosity when it comes to pleasure. But now I see, the dog is loyal only to his master.' She signed dramatically 'Things are so much less complex in Dorne. We three would all share a bed and share each other's pleasure.'

Unknowing what to say Sandor remained silent and stormy feeling his rage grow.

'Go...attend your lady. I fear she may have need of you.' Arianne dismissively waved her hand in the direction Sansa had fled.

Sandor was across the hall in a few huge strides. Almost ripping the door from its hinges as he opened it Sandor growled at the guards. 'Where did she go?'

'The library, my Lord.'

The anger grew. The library had not yet been touched and still had holes and deep sections of wall missing. It was unsafe, unguarded and icy cold, entirely unfit for her in the blue silk and lace dress she was wearing.

Wrenching open the door Sandor did not even wait until he was through the doorway before he began bellowing. 'What is the meaning of this?'

Sansa dropped her book in surprise at the interruption of the peaceful silence, standing to observe his presence. 'My lord, you should be enjoying the feast. Although the food has finished there is plenty of wine and music and dancing.'

He heard the door swing shut behind him as he cross the room to stand before her, his fingers below her jaw, gently tilting her head up to meet his eyes. He didn't remember when the need to force her to look at him had ceased and she had done so of her own volition. The habit had remained, though all these years.

Ignoring her speech he repeated his question, quieter, more calm. More dangerous.

'The meaning, my Lord? I simply needed some quiet for a few moments, away from all the people...my banner men. They wish to see me married to their heirs-'

He interrupted her. He knew this, it had been the same way since her return two years ago. She had managed to avoid the subject and decision making all that time, there was no reason why it should suddenly trouble her now.

'Seating me next to Arianne.'

Her brows knit. 'My Lord, we discussed it earlier today...I...'

She trailed off as she noticed they were so close she could feel his warm breath across her face.

'I do not want her.'

Her chest heaved with her breathing. They both felt it.

'My apologies...I just thought...I thought I might help you find a match.'

'I do not want anyone.' His voice was sharp, rough and deep and dangerous. It made her shiver. His eyes were deep and intense and yet she couldn't detect what he really wished to say.

'Not even me?' Sansa was horrified her thoughts had slipped out. She reddened and cursed, blaming Alayne, blaming Peter for making her be Alayne. Blaming the hound for not rescuing her. 'My Lord I am sorry, I did not mean to...it just slipped out, but please, let's forget it. Let's get back to the dancing.'

His hand travelled from her chin to her hair, wrapping a lock around his fingers, marvelling at the softness, the shimmering colour in the candle light of the room.

She turned pink as she realised she was practically panting, her breathing was so deep. So close to him that their toes touched.

'I am not worthy of you Sansa. I never will be.' His voice was thick with emotion and she though his eyes looked sad, but she couldn't be sure.

She held his gaze, searching those steel eyes. She decided he was not ready to hear it. Not yet. She raised a hand to his scarred cheek and held it there, smiling sadly at him. 'One day,' she promised. 'And until that day I reserve the right to be jealous of every woman that you speak to or look upon. Come now, we should get back to the guests.'

She dropped her arm and his gaze, not quite dropping the spell he held her under.

Sandor smirked. 'I'd be careful around those Dornish guests, little bird. One of them invited you and me both into their bed tonight.'