He glared at the heavy oak door as if willing it to burst out in flames. Light chattering could be heard from behind the old wood, too quiet to understand the words but with a warm atmosphere intermittent by joyous laughter. He felt sick.

His grandmas lady consorts sounded much the same earlier this morning, when he passed them by to answer Olennas summons. She had asked him how he was becoming in Kingslanding, if his suite accommodated him, if he enjoyed the passings of the days and all these bloody things he didn't care about because Renly was dead and he had loved him.

And then the Queen of Thorns calmly told him that he was to marry Sansa Stark within the next Moon and he felt like he was dying again.

Olennas face was stern and her eyes missing the merry twinkle that filled them but a mere second ago. This is cannot be real, he thought. Please, don't let this be real, and Renly. Renly. Renly.
But the relentless look he was bestowed with bore no room for opposition.

He should have given her an answer, which was courtly, but he could give no response.

His teeth pressing together so tightly he couldn't part his lips at all. He would not let those hot tears fall that threatened to spill.

A sharp intake of breath "Of course, grandma." and he stormed out of the room wishing himself alone and away.

Later Margaery had come to his chambers and talked to him in her comforting and sensible manner. And somehow here he found himself, in front of Lady Sansas door, about to ask her to accompany him for a walk in the garden.

How often had he stood in front of Renlys threshold like this? His lips curled. Not often. There had been no hesitation with his handsome king. He should have been king.

Sansa Stark was no king. Would never be king. She was not Renly.

Loras put a fake smile on his face and lifted his hand to rap on the door. A handmaiden opened and he forced his smile to become brighter.

"I'm here to accompany the Lady Sansa."

A breathy "Ser Loras." emitted from the other end of the room and he shifted his attention to it's owner.

Sansa Stark looked lovely. She was dressed in a gown he hadn't seen her wearing before. The colour a soft fern wood green that drew attention to the red glow of her hair falling in gentle waves down her back. It also highlighted a similar hue appearing on her cheeks.

He prayed the blush wouldn't get stronger. She would look like a tomato on its stem. Ripe for picking. He almost sneered.

"Is my Lady ready?" he asked.

The blush deepened.

"I- Yes Ser Loras. I was pleased by your invitation." A soft voice. Brave eyes. Her gaze never wavering. Studying him. "You look lovely." she whispered.

His eyes glazed over. You look lovely, Renly said, when he hovered above him, staring down at his eyes, caressing his cheek in a gentle brush.

He swallowed and took her arm to led her through the hallway.

"My Lady is too kind.", then added "And beautiful."

Was that perfume? Renly would have never worn it.
Loras was finding it difficult to walk and talk and think at the moment.
The light touch of her hand burning his skin.

Renlys touch had been firmer. Fingers digging into his flesh with possessiveness. Imprinting themselves on him. Loras still felt those hands ghosting over his body at night.
Feeling, fondling, probing...

A firm pressure on the base of his thighs, caressing upwards, determined. Pressure building deep inside him. A biting sting, teeth sinking, breaking tissue so very close to his loins. Lips sucking at the bristling bruise, soothing the burn with longing licks. A cool breath giving him shivers.

He could feel his cock stirring.

Suddenly brash pristine nails tore into his flesh and the vision shattered. He shuddered.

"Forgive me, Ser Loras." Sansa stammered appalled.

She had staggered, Loras realised. Her hold of him tighter than it had been before. She was trying to get back some sort of composure.

Without his notice they had made it outside. The deep hanging autumn sun hot on his face.
Dark green shadows cast a captivating illumination on her features, changing the colour of her eyes from ice, to storm grey, to black, to green.

Why must she always be reddening so? He unconsciously brought her body closer urging her in the direction of one of the more secluded areas.
It would be embarrassing to be seen with her when she appeared so flushed.

The silence between them as heavy as the thick green branches hanging low above.
Soon the trees would be changing colours.

There was a cool breeze in the air and he enjoyed how the wind stroke his hair. From the corner of his eyes he could see Sansa, her free hand tucking some unbinding red streaks behind her ear.

He wondered if the leaves would turn the same shade of colour as her locks.

"How do you feel about this?" he had the sudden need to know.
Her steady warmth leaving him when he turned towards her, guiding her shoulders to face him.
He bend his face to meet her shy gaze. Cerulean. Like a bright summer days sky at Highgarden.

He need not clarify what this was. Both of them too conscious of the affair.

"I'm very pleased that my Lord is blessing me with his favour." She responded a bit startled.

His eyes narrowed.

"Even though I know I'm not worthy of it." Words stumbled over her lips.

He gave her a puzzled smile. She didn't see. Busy avoiding his eyes and playing with the hem of her sleeves. She was trying to hide from him now.

Her shoulders tensed under his hands when he gave them a gentle squeeze.

"Sansa."

"I- I'm a traitors daughter. My mother is a traitor and my brother is a traitor as well. I will stain you, my Lord. I am not worthy of your attention." she blurted and tried to take a step out of his arms.
He wouldn't let her. His grip on her tightened and his palms glided down her arms taking her nervous hands in his, cupping them firmly.

She looked up at him then. And at this moment he couldn't compare her to Renly even if he had wanted to try.

"You were supposed to be queen before." he told her. "In your veins flows the blood of first men. The blood of kings."

And for a brief second he imagines her - A regal queen, sitting on a throne of gold. Blinding. Dressed in finest silk, embroidered with golden roses. Cerulean eyes shining bright. Her pale skin exposing a rosy hue on her cheeks. Plump lips curling into a knowing smile. Hair framing her face in a halo of molten copper - and something stirs.

"You should be queen." he whispers, closer to her now then he stood before. "If anything it is I who does not deserve admiration."

Her eyes transfixed on his, focusing, searching. "Margaery will be queen."
Her breathing is shallow now. His own breathe sucking her airy puffs deep in.

"You speak treason." She murmurs ashamed.

"I would go to war for you." and he almost believed it. Blurring lines when at another time at another place similar words had been said.

He is falling, he knows it. Falling and drowning in this moment. Lured by the gentle breeze whispering alluringly sweet that this is right. Enchanted by her demure posture. The light of the shadows. Seduced by the slight sheen of sweat on her skin produced by the smouldering heat of the day, glazing her in a mysterious shine. Looking like glittering snow.

He is falling he realizes, and he wants to. He wants to.

His lips sweep upon her in a reckless tumble. His fingers insistent, curling in her hair at the base of her neck.

He must be mad. Kissing her like this. But he cannot stop, the pressure building. He moves his lips over hers. Guiding, building. And she responds.

His mouth opening, closing her own mimicking his movements lured into his dance. And when his tongue licks across her lips begging for entrance she gives. And he delves into her depths, conquering.

There is a wet sucking sound when he tears his lips away from hers, ghosting peppering kisses down her neck.

"People will love you" he breathes into the hollow of her neck, caressing her with his lips and then he is sucking on her flesh until it bruises.

"They will love to serve you for your kindness" a kiss behind her ear, lips engulfing her earlobe.

"They all want to be near you." He bites. Dragging the flesh with his teeth.

She is helpless in his onslaught, he knows. Her vulnerable sighs and gasps far too telling. But he needs her to know. Needs her to understand, so he forces himself away from her alluring arousal and waits until the mist in her eyes cleared and she is seeing him again.

His hands cradling her face, holding it at just the right angle. She cannot look anywhere but him.

He holds all of her attention.

"But it will be me beside you." He growls "Inside you."

And he crushes her body to his in a desperate embrace.

Sansa Stark would be his queen. He would make it so.

Queen of love and beauty.

This time he would make it right.