Another stupid party, another ridiculously tight corset.

Sitting down was a challenge, rising was an ordeal, behind your brave face your ribs felt like they were meeting in the middle.

You also hadn't missed how Joffrey's deserter hound looked at you every time you stood or sat, making you think you weren't being as surreptitious as you thought you were.

During a lull in greeting noble guests you slipped out of the great hall by a side door, the construction on your chest now too much to bare.

Fingers scrabbling helplessly for the laces hidden under your clothes you began to panic when a shadow swallowed you whole, freezing you in place.

"Stay still little lamb," a soft rumble in your ear sent chills over your body.

Gauntlet clad hands ripped the back of your dress open, making you reach out and plant a hand on the wall in front of you to steady yourself.

The cold kiss of steel met the base of your back, sharpest tip making light work of the satin lacing holding your breath hostage.

As soon as you could breathe again, you turned around, clutching your dress to your modesty, looking up at the hound.

"Better?" Sandor asked, raising his brows.