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Sansa Stark, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Sometimes, she has to pinch herself to prove that everything is not a dream. All she ever wanted, her entire life, was to be where she is.
Except it's not really how she wanted.
The Targaryen king, this mad husband of hers, is insanely jealous. His word is law as everyone both fears and loves him, so Sansa can never really complain or question his decisions.
Only women may attend to her, except the Kingsguard. Not even Grand Maester Pycelle can see to her, with his hungry eyes and wandering hands. He says this all as if he's protecting her from those around her, trying to preserve her innocence.
Another one of his rules is that no one can touch the queen. Sansa never truly understands why.
Her first son is born when she is six and ten, a chubby little boy with dark gray hair and clear Tully eyes. Maegal looks like the king’s second son, the bastard and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. His mother was a Stark, like her, so no one questions. He will sit on the Iron Throne one day.
A daughter comes next with silver hair and violet eyes, almost inhumanly beautiful. Sansa falls in love at first sight, her entire days spent by her side. Shaera is hers, like her brother can never be.
“Our children are beautiful,” their father says, entering her chambers at the hour of the wolf, when no one can hear them. “You’ve made me the happiest man on land.”
“Come here,” she answers, tugging on the laces of his white breeches, “Give me another pup, Jon.”
No one can touch her, but Sansa always makes an exception for Jaehaerys Snow.