Chapter 7

Sansa paused when she heard a faint knock on her door. "Come in," she said, tying the sash of her silk robe securely around her waist. The serving girls had drawn Sansa a bath and insisted that she apply a sweet-smelling oil. After looking through the little glass vials, Sansa had chosen a herbal lemon scent from the far-off city of Lys. The smell reminded her that there was still beauty in the world, despite her circumstances.

Sansa turned to see Margaery, Joffrey's new bride, closing the door softly behind her. Margaery walked over to Sansa and picked up her hands.

"Sansa, you must be terribly excited for the feast!" Margaery said with a crooked smile that only made her more beautiful. "I heard that my betrothed got you a marvelous new gown. Let's put it on, shall we?" She said, brushing a stay curl from Sansa's face.

"Yes, Lady Margaery, it is a great honor to wear such a gown," Sansa said to Margaery's back as she got the dress from the closet. Margaery herself wore gold silk embroidered with tiny green roses. The bodice appeared to be gold itself, caging her ribs and accentuating her tiny waist. The only girl any man would be looking at tonight would be the future queen, just as Margaery intended.

Margaery returned with the gown and waited as the servants removed her dressing gown. In the looking glass Sansa could see Margaery eyeing her scars, a look of pity pinching her dainty features. Sansa stepped into the crimson gown and closed her eyes as Margaery laced the bodice. With every tug Sansa's breath got shorter and shorter as the Lannister fabric trapped her inside.

"You can look now, dear Sansa," Margaery whispered kindly, stepping back.

Sansa hesitantly opened her eyes, only to be shocked by her reflection. The crimson silk made her pale skin appear almost white, staining her with blood. The front of the gown exposed her shoulders and more of her chest than even Margaery would consider flaunting. Turning around, Sansa saw that the back dipped down to the small of her back. Sansa gasped when she realized—the gown showed every scar, every moment of torture that Joffrey had inflicted.

That's why he gave me this gown, to show everyone that I belong to him. Every person at that feast will see these scars, but none would dare say speak out against the King.

Sensing that she was upset, Margaery turned Sansa around to face her, cupping her face. "Please do not cry, sweet Sansa. No one will notice, I promise. The only thing they will see is your beauty, nothing else." Margaery wiped a tear from Sansa's eye before giving her a hug. She then released her to make her way to the door.

"You are so brave, sweet girl. Never forget that," she said, before swinging the door closed.

After Margaery had left, the servants continued to get Sansa ready, applying a light coat of makeup to her cheeks and lips. When Sansa began braiding her long auburn hair so that it covered her back, a girl gently pulled away her hand.

"No, I'm sorry m'lady. The king has given orders that you wear it up tonight," she said quietly, proceeding to pin and braid the curls in an elaborate updo. Sansa sighed, knowing that there was nothing she could do to cover herself. She couldn't force the girl to oblige, that would only end in pain for both parties. If Joffrey could act like he did around a lady from a great house, there was no telling what he would do to the poor serving girl.

When the servants deemed her presentable, a guard came to escort her to the feast. The great hall looked like a fairytale—not that those existed anymore. The royal table was set high above the others, golden and laden with every delicacy imaginable. Every seat in the hall was filled with the regular court-goers, Sansa couldn't imagine what the place would look like when houses form across Westeros arrived.

Once Sansa was inside she heard the great oak door slam behind her, causing every eye to turn, every instrument and singer to fall silent. Embarrassment flooded her face, causing her cheeks to flame darker than the crimson silk she wore. As she stood there, frozen in front of the doors, Sansa could see Cersei up at her table, glaring. The rest of the royal party simply stared, some grinning at her embarrassment. After glancing at his father, Lord Tyrion made a small gesture, first at the orchestra and then at Sansa, encouraging her to join them. The music immediately began to swell, signaling for the feast to resume.