The watered-wine tasted bitter on my tongue as Ser Lyle announced Sansa entering the room.

  I wasn’t at my solar anymore. The meeting with Kevan had been pure business where I’d wanted to approach him from a position of power. With Sansa, I’d have to go a little personal. I didn’t want to have her sitting across from me, with a king’s desk creating a gulf between us.

  So instead, I was sitting on a stately chair next to the plush red sofa in my drawing room. The same one I had my private meeting with Melisandre a few weeks past, though I didn’t envision my conversation with Sansa going the same way.

  The Sansa Stark in King’s Landing today was not the naive child who once ran to tell Cersei of her father’s plan, but she hadn’t turned into the jaded abuse-survivor she was after Ramsey’s tender care either. And for my plans for the North and the Reach to work, I would need her cooperation. Her trust.

  That, or I would have to break her even worse than Ramsey did. But that was a tasteless solution, and it was more likely to see a knife on my back than to fulfill its function. It was the difference between honey and vinegar, as they say, and I was counting on this little fly having a sweet tooth after all the vinegar she’d been handed by the people around her.

  Putting down my goblet on the center table next to the pitcher, I watched as Sansa scurried into the room like a prisoner facing death row, uncertainty on her every step. She flinched as the door closed behind her, leaving the two of us alone. That’s when she noticed me. She quickly straightened her posture, her brows set into a small frown.

  With a kind smile on my face, I crossed the room to stand in front of her. She had a thick brown cloak around her shoulders that went all the way down to her ankles, but with the hood not being up, it did little to hide her beauty. With auburn hair, striking blue eyes, and the sharp cheekbones of an aristocrat, she looked like a disney princess come to life. She was taller than Margaery, and a couple of years older than this Tommen too, I knew, though she didn’t particularly look like her actress.

  What stood out the most to me, however, was that despite the tough image she was trying very hard to give, there were bags underneath her eyes, a worry to her lips, and she kept nervously tugging the cloak closer to her while we stood across from each other.

  We had never spent long in the company of each other during her time in the capital, and I realized she was afraid I would be like Joffrey.

  We couldn’t have that.

  Noticing the silence had gone on a moment too long, I cleared my throat. “Lady Sansa forgive me, I was a bit confused,” I said. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a moment.”

  As if realizing her own faux-pass, she hurriedly dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grace,” she greeted, her voice trying to stay flat and unfeeling, but she was a few years too young to mask her insecurities from me.

  Before she could curtsy herself into the ground, I led her back to the couches. “Please, let us talk for a moment. Would you like something to drink?” I asked as she sat.

  She smoothed the skirt of her dress and her mouth opened to answer, but I’d already served and placed a goblet of wine in front of her. “Uhm, thank you,” she said, reaching for her drink.

  Taking a sip of my own, I turned to her. “My lady, I know these past few days must have been horrible for you,” I started. “And I apologize for what happened at the inn. I understand you were quite hurt after a fall?”

  She looked at me for a moment, as if trying to decide how to go about this, then finally stuck her chin out in defiance. “I am well, Your Grace,” she said, blue eyes boring into mine. “But I thank you for your gracious concern.”

  She was doubling down on that attitude, then. It was cute, but it wouldn’t work out on me. I smiled again. “I am just glad you are safe now,” I told her. “After I found out what Petyr Baelish had done here in King’s Landing, and was planning to do in the North with you, I had to intervene.”

  A scowl was quick to darken her pretty face. “Safe? I was safe. Safer than I’d ever been here with your brother having me beaten by his kingsguard,” she bit out. “I am not safe here, nor will I ever be. The North is my home, my only home, and Petyr was taking me there. For all the liar that he was, he was doing what was best for me.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I couldn’t help giving her a pitiful look. I didn’t even have to fake it. “You are fooling yourself if you think Littlefinger had your best interests in mind, my lady, given he was the one who turned on your father in the first place,” I told her, and I could see the words had an immediate effect on her. The angry mask slipped right off her face to show the little girl beneath. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, and it’s clear we’ve both changed a lot. I like to believe you are not the same silly girl you were when you first stepped into this city, so I will treat you accordingly and tell you the truth. Littlefinger betrayed your father during his time as Hand, and he was going to betray you as well. He planned on selling you to Roose Bolton’s bastard son, someone who is a known rapist and torturer, to give legitimacy to his claim to the North. You were a pawn to him, no more and no less, just as you were to my mother and to Joffrey after her.”

  Sansa was looking down at her lap, her hands so tight on her cloak her knuckles had turned white. “And what? Now that I’m here you would have me believe I will not be a pawn for you? Or for Lord Tywin?” She swallowed, pale throat bobbing with a sob she tried to swallow and failed. “Will you tell me you saved me out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “No, I won’t tell you that,” I allowed, watching as Sansa struggled not to cry in front of me. It wasn’t as easy to act tough when I put it all down in front of her like that. “Part of the reason I decided to help you is purely selfish. I have plans for the North—plans you fit into as the last living Stark.” Rising to my feet, I moved to stand before her. Sansa glanced up, her face wet with tears, and she flinched when I reached into my pocket. Instead of hitting her, as I suspect she expected of Joffrey’s brother, I brought out a pale green handkerchief and gave it to her. “But I am also not my brother, thank the gods, and my family has done enough harm to yours.”

  Hesitantly, she took the kerchief and dabbed the cloth against her tear-stricken face. “Why should I help you with your plans?” she said, voice barely above a whisper. But when she looked up into my eyes again, there was a fire there. “You said it yourself, all your family has ever brought to mine was grief. Why should I go along with this and help you?”

  With practiced ease, I swallowed the part of me that wanted to say she should do it because I’d kill her slowly if she didn’t.

  “Because it’s in your best interest,” I said out loud, sitting down next to her on the sofa. “I am in contact with a few houses from the North, houses that are unsatisfied with Bolton rule just as I am. Houses whose sons died at the Red Wedding just as your own family did. With their help, and your name, we can install you as the Lady Paramount of the North.”

  She snorted wetly, eyes still downcast. “To rule until Tyrion puts a son in me?”

  I shook my head. “The North would never accept a Lannister ruler, even if his better half was Stark. I will dissolve your marriage to Tyrion, even if Lord Tywin comes after my head for it.”

  Sansa didn’t say anything, but the sideways glance she shot my way was enough to show she didn’t believe me.

  I sighed. “I know you don’t trust me. But I understand what it feels like to be alone. I can sympathize with your situation, and if this can help both of us at the same time, I don’t see why I shouldn’t do it.”

  Glaring eyes flashed at me. “You don’t know what it's like. Your family—”

  “Is dead or gone,” I cut her off, and her eyes widened in surprise at my voice almost breaking. I looked to the side for a moment, as if gathering my thoughts before turning back with a deep exhale. “It’s true, my family was not taken away quite as yours, Sansa Stark, but I am alone as well. My parents are both dead, my brother is dead, and my sister is away at Dorne. I doubt I will see her again for many years.”

  “But you have Lord Tywin,” she said, and it was funny how it almost sounded like she was trying to comfort me now. “And you’ll soon marry Lady Margaery too. I remember she is beautiful and kind.”

  It was my turn to snort. “If you remember her, then you will remember how court was as well. They are all hounds, Sansa, hounds sniffing for blood in the air. Lord Tywin, the Tyrells, my bannermen and knights and advisors and attendants, all of them want a piece of me. A piece of the new king, young and inexperienced and awfully alone.” I scratched the back of my neck. “I was never meant for the throne. Never trained for it, never schooled in the finer points of governance and ruling. Father never spared a moment away from his whores to speak to us, and mother always favored Joffrey. But that doesn’t mean I’m not trying my best to see the broken remains of Seven Kingdoms I was given united and prospering again; and that includes the North, Sansa, with a Stark ruling at Winterfell.” I turned to look into her eyes. “Will you help me?”

  After staring at me for nearly a full minute and taking a deep breath, Sansa nodded, and I smiled at her.

  Another few minutes of frivolous conversation and I was escorting her back the way she came. When the door to the room closed behind her, my smile dropped from my face. Despite my best efforts, and her own pitiful work to sell it to me, I knew Sansa wasn’t convinced of my sincerity yet. She’d been beaten down too many times for it to work as easily as this, but it was a start.

  I had time to think on this pet project later, however, as I still had one other lady to try and convince into joining me tonight. “Ser Lyle,” I called out, loud enough he would be able to hear me from the other side of the door. “Send for the Lady Brienne of Tarth.”