HĀRE

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HĀRE



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SANSA WAS GRINNING.

Ser Loras and she were sitting at the edge of the pond in the garden filled with pearl-coloured water lilies and wild pink hibiscuses that floated effortlessly on the glistening surface of the water. Sansa dipped her dainty hands in the water and wafted it, making a few droplets splash here and there.

She had complimented his brooch which was carved into a pretty golden rose with its metallic and thorny stems protruding into three directions. The little showering of sweet nothings made Ser Loras smile with just the right touch of shyness that it made unexpected warmth rushed through Sansa.

Ser Loras' amber eyes captured the sunlight and melted into golden rays, circling into their own eclipse. Sansa tilted her head and darted her sapphire eyes at him, watching him in sheer admiration. How couldn't she? He was perhaps the most charming man she'd ever encountered, with his divine appearances, Sansa was simply enthralled.

"I am very happy about us," Sansa claimed. In fact, she was so happy that she couldn't refrain herself from smiling like an absolute fool. Her cheeks began to ache because she was smiling so much. She withdrew her hand which was previously pacing back and forth on the water's surface and folded them neatly on her lap.

"Yes, yes, me as well." Ser Loras imposed, his golden curls falling on his forehead. Somehow, deep in the pit of her heart, she could feel that he was less excited about the marriage or the simple thought of it. He seemed stoic and as if he was being extorted into it because of the feelings that she harboured for him.

"All of this - is like dream come true!" Sansa added enthusiasm to cheer up Ser Loras but failed miserably. He still seemed to pull a fake smile on his face.

"Yes, definitely. Ever since childhood, I always wanted to have a wedding with luxurious delicacies, valorous tournaments. . ." Ser Loras' gaze matched with Sansa's and he appeared as if he'd realised something, "and the bride, of course. The bride is very. . . important. I always imagined my bride in a lovely gown of golden and green brocade and fringed sleeves." At his descriptive and vivid imagination, Sansa cast a dazzling smile as she envisioned herself in a similar outfit.

"Have you ever been to Highgarden, m'Lady?"

"Had she been there, Loras, she would've fallen in love." A husky voice sliced through the pregnant silence and Sansa turned around, her extensive auburn tresses whipping against her soft cheeks.

A lean, muscular and a fairly tall man stood in front of her. Sansa raised her head in order to attain a clear vision of his face.

Cedrick Baratheon.

She had sat with him the previous night for the dinner which went rather, pleasant. After her witnessing his dry wit and quirky comment about the king, Sansa had been charmed. The singular look that had grimaced Joffrey's features after hearing the comment about himself was enough to make her sleep peacefully and wake up to an exhilarating morning.

Cedrick Baratheon somehow always smelled like pine and everything nice. If that had a smell, that is. It was, in truth, absolutely intoxicating. Her own blue eyes bored deep in his jade ones and she watched him wink at her.

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