Since he knew that Sansa had made the dress with her own hands, Daemon didn't offer to assist since his patience with laces was more or less nil. So he settled to watch, not judging, not expecting. This was only the first hurdle, and she'd have to get over it, one way or the other.

"Get out of it and come to me." It was a low command, purred in Daemon's smooth baritone. Time to see if she remembered her lessons.