It was night when he approached her, sitting awkwardly on her bed as Sansa pretended not to notice his discomfort. To acknowledge it would be rude, and Sansa was never rude. She was a queen but she was also a lady, and ladies did not take notice of their husband’s rather endearing gracelessness. So she waited for him, sitting next to him and smiling gently.
Finally, the king spoke.
“My lady,” Stannis said carefully, every word always the most forward one possible. His fingers were curled tightly around something in his hands. “It has been a year since we wed.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Sansa said politely. Only a year ago she had been a scorned widow, he a widower king with hundreds of women clamoring for a place beside him. For a year, that place had been hers. For a year, the king had been hers. “I know that well.”
Stannis frowned, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he glanced at her on the bed beside him. His hard eyes seemed softer when they were alone, almost bewildered by her constant presence. They reminded her of Rickon’s eyes the day he’d quietly asked, “Are you going away again?”
Stannis cleared his throat.
“We’ve had a prosperous marriage despite the financial mess my brother and the war have left us.” Stannis scowled and she touched his hand. He glanced at her and his mouth twitched sideways. “It seems appropriate to gift you something for it.”
A gift? “Was this Ser Davos’s idea?”
“Indeed,” Stannis grumbled. Sansa bit back a laugh. “The man is sentimental and believes you should be rewarded for attending your wifely duties.”
“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Sansa said. Stannis frowned.
“What else does this sort of thing mean? It’s another farce, a token to buy affections I do not need.”
A year ago, such blunt words would have hurt Sansa’s feelings. “Yet you bring me one anyway.”
Stannis glanced down, embarrassed.
“Ser Davos spoke truth, inane truth as it is,” he grudgingly muttered. “You have been a good queen to the people and have served Westoros well. And…” He flinched, looking away. “You have been a good mother to Shireen.”
“And you?” Sansa asked gently. Stannis raised an eyebrow.
“I hope you do not presume to believe you are my mother,” he said. Sansa laughed. “You have been a good wife to me. You have been more than dutiful, and your judgment is fair. For all of this, I thank you.” He held up the thing in his hands, a plain wooden box. “Accept this as a token of my appreciation.” Gentle as it was, it was still a command. Rough as it was, it was still a gift.
“What is it?” Sansa asked, smiling. Likely, Ser Davos had picked her something pretty from Essos. Stannis handed her the box and she opened it to find a delicate necklace, spun with thin threads of silver and perfect white pearls hanging at each end.