Up until recently, the Hound had been living a 'normal' (by his standards) life.

He got up in the mornings, guarded the prince, killed when killing was necessary, eat his supper, shy away from his hearth, and do it all over again when the sun rose.

But during the past several months, a new thorn in his side had appeared.

You.

Your family had insisted on finding you a betrothed in the capital, and Sandor was the unlucky bastard who had made the cut. You weren't ugly, or nasty, or even afraid of him when he thought you should be.

You were just, in his opinion, a fool.

A sweet little fool who came to court bright-eyed and longing for sickly sweet love that he had never wanted to give anyone. Sandor had never courted anyone, but you were insistent on him being around you.

Strolls through the gardens, to the markets, eating your supper with him even when he ate much later than you did, kissing his cheek when you passed him in the halls. It was all so sickening to him, but it stirred up something deep inside.

The Hound enjoyed your frequent petting, and your kisses, and the way you squished your chest against his arm when you walked, or when you would rest your chin against him and look up at him. Attention was the thing you seemed to be best at giving. As well as taking for yourself.

It made him twitch with need in his breeches, but you were far too sweet to know that.

He had found you waiting in the gardens, a little puppy in your lap while you sat on a stone bench. He wasn't unfamiliar with the tiny beast- a gift from your father to keep you company. But Sandor did not like its yapping. Though in many ways, you were like a puppy yourself. Always yapping at him, tugging his arm to show him something, your eyes wide when you longed for something from him. A hypocrite, he was.

"Good day." You smiled up at him, petting the puppy's soft coat. Softer than Sandor. He wanted to be jealous, but it was hard.

Sandor just grunted in response to your greeting. His hand went and grabbed the pup by the scruff, taking her from your lap and off to the ground. You opened your mouth to squeak out a protest but he stopped you.

"Damn thing will piss and ruin your pretty little gown." A poor excuse.

"Must you always be so crude?" You pouted, standing up and linking your arm in his routinely before beginning to walk. "You know, I am afraid of visiting home after the wedding. It is such a long ride and..." Sandor began to tune you out after a while.

He focused on the way your bodice enhanced your chest, how it pushed against his arm. How you were excited about whatever it was you were talking about. It might have been food this time, you often went on about your little cravings. And then that damn little dog was at your heels.

"Sandor? Are you listening?" You whined. Looking up at him. Poor thing, he thought. Being betrothed to a man as ugly as he was, as scary as he was.

"No, I'm not." The Hound growled out, he wanted you to hate him perhaps. So you would run back home and never bother him again. But, Gods... he needed you like air without even realizing it.

Utterly trapped in love with a beast, you were.