Just then, the door to the reception room opened.
A tall figure walked in, closely followed by a woman who was also clad in armor and cut a striking, valiant figure. Sansa's gaze was immediately drawn to the man in front.
He had the silver hair and purple eyes characteristic of Valyrians, and those purple eyes were as deep as the purest gemstones. There was not a trace of madness in them; instead, they held a composure and authority beyond his years.
His features were as finely sculpted as a statue. He wore black-and-red Valyrian steel armor beneath a golden cloak, upon which the Three-Headed Fire Dragon sigil seemed to come alive in the light, lending him both majesty and splendor.
Was he Viserys Targaryen? Was this the man Arya had mentioned in her letter, the man she had prayed to for an entire month? He was so handsome, Sansa could not help telling herself, much more handsome than Joffrey.
Viserys walked up to them and stopped. His gaze passed over Sansa's and Jeyne's faces before settling on Sansa.
Sansa's heart skipped a beat. She instinctively tightened her grip on Jeyne's hand, her body tensing slightly. She could see that Viserys's attention was focused mainly on her.
His gaze seemed so calm and deep, as though he could see every fear and uncertainty in her heart. It also swept away all the doubts Sansa had previously harbored about him.
"Lady Sansa Stark?" Viserys spoke, his voice low and resonant to Sansa's ears, carrying the bearing of a born king.
Sansa bent her knees in a slight curtsy, the southern court courtesy she had learned in King's Landing, though her movements were rather stiff now. She struggled to keep her voice steady as she said, "Yes, Your Grace. I am Sansa