Ramsay woke at the sound of Myranda coming to tend the fire.

Shit

Her eyes scanned the bed and met his, betrayal evident. He watched her in silence and removed his arm from where is had come to lie, draped over Sansa. He smirked, slipping from the bed.

"Come now Myranda " he smirked pressing his lips to her forehead as she pushed him away,

"You beat me, took off on your hunt without so much as an apology and then…this."

"I thought you liked it rough" He smirked

"On my terms!"

"Where is the fun in that?"

"Your wife is waiting for you" she turned to the fire but he stopped her.

Sansa had woken to the sound of Myranda's shrill voice but lay still, listening.

"We spoke about your, jealousy" Ramsay said, as though he were talking to a petulant child.

"You used to care about my, jealously. You hunted Tansy for me and I wasn't even jealous of her" she glowered at him as he grasped her harder pushing her to the wall behind her.

"What would you have me do, Flay my wife?"

"That would be nice, yes. The servants are talking, they said you…made love to her last night" She was goading him and clearly not expecting the response she got.

"I did"

"You…" Myranda's voice faltered and Ramsay was clearly losing patience.

"I said I would have plenty of time for you Myranda, not that I would torture my wife to make you happy. She behaved well, she was rewarded."

Sansa shuddered again hearing him refer to himself as a reward.

"Stop calling her that" Myranda hissed

"Calling her my wife? That's what she is Myranda."

"You didn't want to marry her"

"…and that doesn't make it any less real."

Myranda sneered "You're underestimating that wolf."

"She's no wolf, a fox with ambition at best"

Myranda smirked as she pushed her way past him and to the door, he did not try to stop her, her eyes watched him as she disappeared through the door "Beware the wolf in sheep's clothing Ramsay" and with that she was gone. Sansa smiled to herself, he'd been warned and he still wouldn't believe it, she had to admit she was a little shocked that Myranda was the only one to truly see her.

For a brief second Sansa allowed herself to wonder if Ramsay would remain as gentle as he had been last night. In the weeks that followed she was proved wrong, he returned to their regular, rough encounters but thankfully made them brief. He gave a list of excuses, each more plausible than the last for why this was, Sansa wondered if they were true, or if he'd simply found somebody else to play with in her place. Every few days Myranda would turn up with fresh bruises and wore them like a badge of honour. Proof that Ramsay preferred her to his own wife. It made her sick that Myranda indulged in the same pleasures as her husband.

Almost three weeks had passed and Sansa sat at the breakfast table in the hall. Roose announced that he would be visiting the Dreadfort to meet with the war council urgently. Reports had reached Winterfell that Stannis was moving his army toward the outlands of the North. War was imminent and Ramsay was wound tight, impatient, a man with such insatiable blood lust never could wait for war. Sansa sensed his apprehension at the table, waiting for his father to demand his presence at the dreadfort but Roose said nothing.

One glance exchanged at the wrong moment between Walda and Roose set Sansa's intuition on fire, she knew what was happening. This was Kings Landing all over again only the women were uglier.

"Apologies Lord Bolton, I fear I must excuse myself, I suddenly feel nauseas" Sansa stood, swaying slightly for effect and holding her fingers to her lip.

Roose nodded approvingly "Let's hope an heir is the cause"

Ramsay watched his wife with vague interest and mild irritation for his father's obvious slight in not requiring him at the Dreadfort. Sansa didn't look sickly, he thought as he watched her.

"I'll accompany you" Ramsay rose from his chair but she motioned for him to stop.

"No, surely your father requires you here Lord husband, if you are to ride to the Dreadfort shortly. War is more pressing than a passing sickness."

Sansa watched curiously as Roose tensed over his plate.

"Ramsay will not be coming with me, someone must stay here to guard Winterfell." His words were as cold and firm as Sansa had ever heard and she could feel anger rising from Ramsay. Shockingly it rose inside of her also. The war council was made of all the Northern lords, not least to mention Walda's father Lord Frey. Whose daughter was now expecting Roose's Son. Sansa had seen the beginnings of enough conspiracies to recognise one and the way that Walda dipped her usually eager eyes away from the table confirmed her fears. It didn't make sense. She could imagine Lord Frey's disgust when Roose legitimised Ramsay, Lord Frey would undoubtedly believe his daughters child to be the Bolton heir. Sansa had expected that but Roose knew the weight of the Stark blood, what was he doing? Sansa couldn't read Roose, even little finger had struggled and that worried her. It made her uneasy.

"How…peculiar" she stood from the table and made to leave but Roose's voice stopped her.

"How so Lady Sansa?" his tone warned her to be careful.

"It's nothing my Lord, Its just Lord Baelish told me…." She lowered her eyes and pretended to stop herself "Forgive me, I shouldn't repeat his words."

Roose's intrigue peaked at the mention of Baelish. What had that old fox said to the girl? Baelish had his fingers in pies Roose had never glimpsed.

"Lady Sansa, we are family now. You must share your concern." His strong stare fixed on her as Ramsay watched the scene unfold.

"Well its just that Lord Baelish told me. 'Ramsay Bolton is a name spoken in whisper as far as Kings landing, the bloody siege of Moat Cailin is told over ale and wine as far as Dorn. Roose is cunning no doubt but Ramsay is a bloodthirsty beast of a warrior with a reputation that proceeds him. I assure you that will compensate his questionable parentage in this match. When Ramsay and Roose's stand side by side, words of war will ring out across the seven kingdoms. Trust me my dear Sansa, the North will be yours for many years to come."

There was silence at the table as she finished her speech "Perhaps he was wrong, I only hope that Ramsay's absence won't lead to false reports of the Bolton house being weak." She didn't need to look at Ramsay to see his wide grin or at Roose to see the conflicted scowl. Baelish was never wrong; Roose knew it.

"Only a fool would think you to be a Warrior Ramsay but a bloodthirsty beast you are indeed" Roose raised his hand to the man waiting by the door. "Tell the men to ready our horses, Ramsay rides with me to the Dreadfort."

Ramsay watched Sansa excuse herself from the table. He waited just long enough for her to think herself alone before he followed her, cornering her only as she reached the end of the corridor, steadied herself against a beam and gulped in breaths of cold fresh air. Her heart was pounding in her chest, it was exhilarating.

"What was that?" he asked, she jumped realising she was not alone.

"You had to go to the Dreadfort"

"My father would have taken me"

Sansa sucked the frosty air, "No he wouldn't, he gave you legitimacy Ramsay and he can take it away just as easily."

"The King gave me legitimacy and nobody can take that away!" Ramsay seethed, closing in on her and pressing her to the wall.

"King Tommen? Have you ever met him Ramsay?"

Ramsay's cruel eyes flamed

"I haven't had the pleasure."

"Allow me to fill you in. Tommen is a soft, weak boy who was never intended for the Iron Throne and has no chance of keeping it. You have no legitimacy Ramsay, you only have what you take. I was helping you in there!"

"and why would you help me?"

Sansa tried to control her ragged breaths as anger boiled inside her. "They betrothed me the inbred, they gifted me to the half man…they can't marry me to a bastard as well. I'm Sansa Stark and you will be Lord Bolton, Warden of the North, else everything I've been through is for nothing."