"Your Majesty," Sansa began, her voice still slightly nasal. She lowered her head a little, looking at the delicate embroidery on her gauzy dress. "May I ask you a question?"
The setting sun stretched her shadow across the garden, casting it diagonally over the gravel path. The faint scents of roses and earth lingered in the air.
Though Viserys wondered what Sansa might ask, his gaze fixed on her slightly flushed cheeks and tightly pressed lips, he softened his tone. "Go ahead."
"Why... exactly are you so good to House Stark and to us?" Sansa looked straight at Viserys with her gray eyes. They held a young girl's earnestness, even a hint of stubbornness, as though she wanted to pierce his calm exterior and see the truth. "Is it only because Arya is your friend? Or is there some other reason?"
The question left Viserys silent for a moment. He could hardly say that he had crossed over from another world and treated them well simply because of his urge to collect them. But now he had to give Sansa an answer she could believe.
He noticed her eyelashes trembling gently, as though she, too, was waiting nervously for his response. Even her breathing had grown quiet, as if she feared disturbing his thoughts.
"Because House Stark deserves it," Viserys said at last, his voice carrying what seemed like an unshakable conviction. "Your house has protected the North for thousands of years. It has always had a good reputation and is deeply loved by the people of the North."
He paused, his gaze softening as it settled on Sansa's fair cheek. "And there is another reason. I have selfish intentions toward you, too. I want to keep you by my side forever."
"All right." With that, Viserys withdrew the hand