The concept of a "bedding" wasn't an unfamiliar one; he'd been born in Westeros, after all. But there was no way in all hells Daemon Baratheon was going to allow a mob of leering less-than-noble aristocrats to gawk and jeer while he fucked his wife for the first time. Coarse and barbaric he might have been, but he also had his dignity, and so did his new Queen.

"Do you want me to haul you over a shoulder and carry you off to be like some trussed prize, Sansa?" he inquired a little dryly, eyebrow arching in wry amusement over his ale tankard. "Seems a little undignified to me, but if that's what you want..." He trailed off, shrugging one shoulder, but a spark of mischief glinted in his eye.