Wedding Night (Sansa Stark fic)

Chapter One

Ramsay pov

Her hair was red, but not enough like blood to please him. She was pretty, with her mouth in a carefully neutral line, her pale blue eyes betraying her fear. She knew he was cruel, and she was afraid.

Good. He liked the look of fear in the eyes of his victims.

He smiled what he knew was a manic smile, lifting a hand to brush her face. Her breath trembled on his palm, and she watched him like a rabbit keeping its eye on the hunter's dogs through the brush. She didn't blush at his familiar touch, or look away demurely.

"Are you really a virgin?" He asked. She was still, as if moving would set him off. "Yes, my lord." She said, and he smiled at the title.

Ah. So it was truly fear which kept her from acting like the maiden she was.

She was a rabbit in the brush.

He knew several kinds of fear. Savored all of them. Some begged and whimpered like a beaten dog. Others fought wildly like a rabid beast. And some were still and quiet, keeping their eyes on him, and trying to keep his eyes off them. Like a rabbit in the brush.

He found this was boring him.

Ramsay liked fear, but he liked betrayal more. He liked to hunt his whores in the woods, watch their faces as they realized he was about to kill them. That the pleasure they gave him was not enough. He liked to make someone relax, make them feel safe, and take that away from them, strip away their hope. He liked to shock people.

But Sansa was already afraid, and she already knew he was a monster.

And Ramsay was bored.

He could rip her dress off, bend her over the bed, and fuck her like a dog fucked a bitch, but what would be the point? She was a rabbit in the brush. She wouldn't beg, she wouldn't fight. She'd act as if it was fine, and keep her eyes on him, the hunter's dog.

He was no dog. He was a lord.

He could be gentle, sweet.

He could shock her.

He could be a considerate, kind lover, and when he turned on her one day, she'd definately be shocked. He'd get that feeling of  betrayal he wanted from her.

"My lord?" She asked tentatively. Her brows furrowed slightly, the only sign of her distress, the polite composed lady as always.

He smiled, this time his fake, sweet smile he used to put women at ease. "My lady wife. Would you like a drink?" He asked. She nodded. "If it would please my lord." Smart girl. But he didn't think she'd need the wine to get through the night after all.

At least, not this night. He smiled and obligingly poured her drink. He handed it to her, and was amused when she gulped it down, as if it were her lifeline. She thought it was, he supposed. It was a wonder she didn't get drunk at the wedding, but she was a rabbit in the brush, and she wished to stay alert.

Her fear must be weighing on her if she wanted to get drunk now and forget what was happening.

He smiled. Banishing fear was a new challenge for him.