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“Well done, My Sweet Boy.” Alicent pressed a gentle kiss to Aemond’s forehead, unable to help but smile at the way his small chest puffed with pride and he grinned at her from ear to ear.
Gods be good, he looked so much like Rhaenyra at that moment.
And it wasn’t simply because they shared the same Valyrian silver hair and purple eyes. Aemond’s broad smile, the proud yet mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the way he was at once both cocksure of himself yet still desiring Alicent’s approval . . .
She sighed inwardly, wishing that her wife was here with them now, that Rhaenyra had been able to witness the way Aemond’s whole face had brightened upon being presented with his first practice sword, that Rhaenyra had been able to watch as their little boy—just turned four this very day—declared himself Helaena’s sworn shield and chased Aegon around the garden after deciding that his elder brother was a brigand.
Gods be good, he was so much like his muña.
Rhaenyra had often declared herself Alicent’s sworn protector as well, when they were girls together. Her wife had even managed to steal Dark Sister from Prince Daemon for a whole afternoon before the prince had found them and taken it back.
Aegon, limping dramatically, staggered over to where Alicent was sitting and practically threw himself at her feet. “Did I do well, too, Mother?”
Alicent laughed, leaning down to ruffle her elder son’s hair, as Rhaenyra so oft did. “You did very well, Aegon. Your death at Ser Aemond’s hands was quite entertaining.”
From his place splayed out on the ground, Aegon beamed up at her.
And even though her son was smiling and looking utterly pleased with himself, Alicent couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt that he’d had to actually ask for her praise. I should have congratulated both of them. Her wife would have known to do that. Her wife would have done so without thought.
But then, Rhaenyra had always been better with the children.
And her wife had a special talent for loving Aegon that Alicent simply could not seem to match.
Alicent tried with her eldest child, truly she did, but when she looked at him . . .
Rhaenyra had always been better with Aegon.
“The golden sea approaches, Mother.” Helaena had suddenly appeared by her side, silent as a shadow and nearly causing Alicent to fall off the bench in startled fright.
Gods be good, when had her daughter become so stealthy?
Unsure how to respond to Helaena’s queer declaration—her daughter had been uttering strange riddles since she’d learned to speak—Alicent simply nodded and reached out to pat her shoulder.
Helaena flinched away from her touch, eyes briefly stretching wide before she turned and scampered away.
Alicent watched her go, heart suddenly heavy. She didn’t know what she’d done to make her daughter despise her touch so. She couldn’t recall ever being rough with her, not even in those early days when she’d been entirely alone and in a near constant state of frustrated exhaustion.
Her only comfort was that Helaena seemed to dislike Rhaenyra’s touch as well, so perhaps it was something to do with their daughter, rather than Alicent herself.
Guilt gnawed at her for oft praying that this was so.
Forcing aside her gloomy thoughts, she turned her attention back to her older sons, who were both watching her with Rhaenyra’s violet eyes. “Are you hungry? I asked the cooks to make some tarts, which should be—”
Neither boy remained to hear her finish, instead leaping to their feet and racing from the garden in the direction of the kitchens.
Alicent could only shake her head and laugh.
They were most certainly Rhaenyra’s sons.
∞
When Alicent returned to her bedchamber that evening, she immediately went to the small side table where a carafe of wine was waiting for her. Gods be good, she was exhausted. Pleased that Aemond had seemed to enjoy his nameday celebrations—of course—but exhausted all the same.
Everything was so much harder without Rhaenyra by her side.
Her wife would have actually played with their boys this afternoon rather than merely being a spectator. Her wife would have known what to say to Helaena. Her wife would not have stared blankly at the nursemaid when asked if she wished to hold little Daeron for a while.
But Rhaenyra was not here.
Nor had she been for four weeks now.
Alicent sighed as she poured herself a glass of wine. She knew that she’d been drinking more of late—not as much as she had during her and Rhaenyra’s estrangement, to be sure, but more than she had been since their reconciliation and wedding.
Gods be good, she missed her wife.
When Rhaenyra had told her that she was with child some five moons ago, Alicent hadn’t known what to say. She’d known what she was supposed to say, of course, had known that she ought to be pleased by the news that the Princess of Dragonstone would soon have an heir of her own. It had been four years since her wife’s wedding to Laenor, after all, and the whole of the Seven Kingdoms had been growing more and more impatient.
That impatience was why Rhaenyra was not at home with Alicent now.
The Small Council had thought it best, once Rhaenyra’s belly had become visibly swollen, for the princess and her husband to go on a royal progress, as the Old King and Good Queen once had. The Council thought it would do the realm good to see that the heir was growing round with child, that the succession was even more secure now than it had been before.
Alicent had recognized the wisdom of this plan, just as she had recognized that Rhaenyra’s unborn babe—their unborn babe—was a blessing.
And yet . . .
When Rhaenyra had told her that she was with child, all Alicent had been able to think about was the sight of Queen Aemma after Prince Baelon’s birth, of the kind queen lying in a bed of blood with her gentle face forever frozen and contorted into an expression of fear and anguish. Alicent had only caught a brief glimpse of the queen that day, having been more focused on dragging Rhaenyra back to her chambers, but she’d never been able to forget the horrific sight of Queen Aemma’s sliced open stomach.
It was the image that had haunted her each time she’d found herself with child, and it was that image that haunted her now whenever she thought about her wife’s inevitable battle in the birthing bed.
Rhaenyra was strong, Alicent knew, but Queen Aemma had been strong. Princess Alyssa—the king’s mother—had been strong. But they had still died all the same.
“My Sweet Alicent, I understand this fear as well. I have felt it every time you were brought to the birthing bed. But I am not as old as my mother was when she tried to birth Baelon. Nor am I as young as my Grandmother Daella was when she died giving birth to my mother. I know I cannot ease all of your fears in this, but I can promise you that I will do all in my power to stay here with you. And our children.”
Her wife’s words from that day in the godswood, just before she’d left for her tour, were all that Alicent had had to cling to these past four weeks.
Her wife’s words . . . and the remembered feeling of her soft lips and warm hands and gentle tongue.
Rhaenyra had been so sweet with her their last night together, as tender as she’d been on their wedding night.
Alicent had not been sweet in return.
She’d been desperate, needy, and demanding, but Rhaenyra had cried out her name all the same, had praised her for giving her such wonderful pleasure, had stroked her hair and kissed her face afterwards.
When Alicent had apologized for the marks that she’d left on her wife’s breasts, Rhaenyra had only laughed and assured her that she appreciated the “fire in her belly.”
Finishing her wine, Alicent set the goblet aside and walked over to her bed.
Kneeling down on the floor, she reached beneath her bed and fumbled blindly until her fingers brushed against smooth wood.
She withdrew a small ebony chest a moment later, the polished surface gleaming in the candlelight of her bedchamber. The chest had been a nameday gift, given to her by one of her cousins shortly before her father had brought her to King’s Landing. At the time, she’d thought of the pretty black box as a reminder of home. But now . . .
Now, it was a reminder of so much more.
Rising to her feet, she carried the little chest over to her writing desk. Sinking down into her chair, she raised the rounded lid to reveal the rather eclectic assortment of items housed within: stones, ribbons, pressed flowers, a lock of hair, little pieces of parchment, a scrap of cloth, three feathers, and—most treasured of all—a well-worn page folded into neat quarters.
Alicent knew it was foolish to hoard all of the silly little trinkets that her wife had given her over the years, but each was a precious memory that she could not bear to part with.
As she had every night since Rhaenyra left, Alicent reached first for the page.
The paper was soft and creased beneath her fingers from years of being folded and refolded more times than Alicent could count or remember. Some of the vibrant ink had faded over the past eight years, rubbed away by her own fingers as she’d traced them over the words and illustration until the subtle textures of the page had become as familiar to her as the feeling of her own heartbeat.
There were water marks on the page as well, left behind by her own tears during her and Rhaenyra’s estrangement. Gods be good, how many times had she held this page and wept? Gazed down upon it and mourned for the loss of her dearest friend, the only person she’d ever loved. How many times had she wished that she could go back to that day in the godswood and accept Rhaenyra’s offer to fly away with her on dragonback and eat only cake?
“What are you doing?”
“So you remember.”
Alicent had never forgotten.
But for three years, she’d thought that Rhaenyra had.
The day of their reconciliation, the day that she had cleaved—a faint blush crept into Alicent’s cheeks at the memory of Rhaenyra’s kiss—she had taken this page from where she’d hidden it away within one of her other books and added it to her chest of keepsakes.
A soft sigh escaped her lips as she ran her fingers over the familiar words recounting Princess Nymeria’s flight across the Narrow Sea to Dorne.
Perhaps one day—
The door to Alicent’s bedchamber flew open.
Alicent screamed.
“Alicent!”
Her scream cut off when she realized that the person who had barged into her bedchamber was none other than her wife.
Before she could utter a word, Rhaenyra had somehow crossed the room and was connecting their lips in a fierce kiss.
Alicent’s eyes fluttered shut, warmth blooming in her chest and swiftly wiping away her lingering fright.
Rhaenyra was home.
Her arms came up to loop around her wife’s neck, pulling her impossibly closer.
It had been but a moon’s turn since they’d last kissed, and yet Alicent felt as if she’d been deprived of her wife’s sweet lips for over a lifetime.
The softness, the warmth, the love, the adoration.
Gods, how she had missed this.
A hand rose to cradle her cheek, tender and sweet.
Alicent happily leaned into the touch.
When they were forced to part for breath, Alicent rose to her feet so that she could keep her arms looped around her wife’s neck. She sighed contentedly when she felt Rhaenyra’s own arms wrap around her waist in turn, pulling her as close as her wife’s swollen belly allowed.
Rhaenyra gave her a gentle squeeze. “Hello, My Love.”
Alicent pecked her lips. “Hello, My Love.”
For a moment, she allowed herself to simply become lost in the depths of her darling wife’s captivating eyes.
Gods be good, she had missed her so.
She had missed having her by her side during the day, had missed sleeping in her arms at night. She had missed the loving smiles she would receive when breaking their fast together with their children, had missed the comforting touches following a moment of distress. She had missed hearing her wife’s laugh and seeing her joy, had missed watching her play with their children.
Her nose wrinkled slightly when she finally noticed the stench of dragon still clinging to her wife’s riding leathers.
She had not missed the smell of Syrax.
Rhaenyra’s eyes glimmered. “Something the matter, My Alicent?”
“You stink of dragon.”
Her wife chuckled, somehow pulling her even closer in response.
Alicent squirmed in her arms. “Let me go, Nyra. You reek.”
“But I’ve missed you so much, My Sweet Alicent.”
And that simply wasn’t fair at all. Her wife knew how much Alicent enjoyed that particular endearment.
She lightly swatted at her arm, a pout forming on her lips. It was unqueenly, she knew, but in Rhaenyra’s arms, she didn’t have to be a queen. She could simply be Alicent. “You scared me half to death with the way you barged in here.”
Rhaenyra at least had the decency to look sheepish at that. “I’m sorry for that, Ali. Truly I am. Laenor and I only just returned, and I could wait no longer to have you in my arms again.”
And how was Alicent to remain vexed with her wife when she said such sweet things as that? Leaning in, she kissed her softly. “You’re lucky I love you,” she murmured when she drew back.
Rhaenyra grinned, a foolish, lopsided grin that looked just like the one Aemond had given Alicent earlier that day. “I know I am.” She tilted her head and brushed the tip of her nose against Alicent’s. “Have the children already gone to bed?”
“I’m afraid so.” Alicent knew that her wife must have been hoping otherwise, that she must have been hoping to wish Aemond a happy nameday. “Aemond will be so pleased to see his muña on the morrow though. You can surprise him when we break our fast.” She had no doubt that their children would appreciate Rhaenyra rudely barging into the room far more than Alicent had just now.
This seemed to mollify her wife somewhat, whose disappointed expression eased a fraction. “I am glad I caught you before you retired.”
“As am I, though a knock certainly would have been appreciated.” Alicent gave her a pointed look. “You’re lucky Ser Steffon didn’t come rushing in with the way you made me scream.”
Rhaenyra grinned wolfishly. “You needn’t worry about that, My Love. Ser Harrold stands guard outside your chambers now.” She leaned in to purr in her ear. “You may scream as much as you wish.”
Alicent shivered at the warm promise of her wife’s voice. “I’d rather we not traumatize Ser Harrold.” Though it did comfort her to know that it was him outside the door. While no words had ever been spoken between the three of them on the matter, both she and Rhaenyra were certain that Ser Harrold knew the truth of their relationship.
“You spoil my fun.” But Rhaenyra kissed her softly all the same. “May I stay the night, My Love?”
The foolish question almost made Alicent snort. “If you did not, I would never forgive you.”
Rhaenyra chuckled softly.
“You’ll need to bathe first though,” Alicent added, her nose wrinkling once more. “I’ll not have you in my bed smelling of dragon.”
Rhaenyra opened her mouth to respond, but then paused, her eyes focusing on something over Alicent’s shoulder. “What is that?”
Realizing at once what had caught her wife’s attention, Alicent hastily tried to escape her embrace so that she might hide the page and her other keepsakes. Her wife needn’t be privy to her foolish sentimentality. “It’s nothing, Nyra. You should return to your chambers and bathe. You can—”
But Rhaenyra wasn’t listening, having unwound her arms from around Alicent’s waist so that she could walk over to the desk and pick up the page. “Oh, Ali.” Her voice was soft, almost breathless. Not at all teasing as Alicent might have feared. “Is this . . ?” She looked over at her, eyes shining and almost wet. “You kept it? All this time?”
Alicent knew that her entire face must be bright red, but she could hardly deny the question when her wife held the very proof in her hand. “I couldn’t bear to be rid of it,” she admitted quietly. She’d had every intention of returning both the book and page to Septa Marlow after that day in the godswood, but when she’d gone to do so, she’d found herself unable to part with the page.
So she’d kept it.
Hidden it away.
For over eight years.
A warm, reverent smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips. “You kept it,” she repeated, something akin to awe in her voice. It was surprisingly similar to the tone that she’d had the first time she’d held Aemond, as if she couldn’t quite believe that Alicent was allowing her to handle something so precious.
“I would,” Alicent could feel the heat of her blush beginning to spread down her neck, “during our estrangement, I found myself looking at it often.” Every night, to be precise, especially after being summoned to the king’s bed.
A pained expression flashed across her wife’s face. “I’m so sorry, Ali,” she whispered. “That you were so alone for all that time. That I left you so alone for all that time.”
Alicent walked over to Rhaenyra and leaned against her side, resting her head on her shoulder. “You’ve more than made up for it, My Love.”
Rhaenyra simply hummed, her thumb brushing over the page. “Why were you looking at this tonight, Ali?”
A fresh blush stained her cheeks as she turned her head slightly to bury her face in her wife’s shoulder, despite it stinking of dragon. “I missed you,” she admitted. “I . . . we’ve not been apart for so long since we reconciled.” And even before then, the longest they’d been parted was when the king had arranged for Rhaenyra to travel the Kingdoms in search of a husband.
“My Darling Alicent.” Rhaenyra coaxed Alicent’s face from her shoulder so that she could press a sweet kiss to her lips. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Alicent melted at the words, at the sweetness of them, the tenderness.
“May I ask, My Darling Wife, what of those other things?” Rhaenyra pointed to the small chest.
Resisting the urge to hide her face once more, Alicent held her wife’s gaze. “Gifts. From you. Tokens of . . . of your affections, I suppose, for me.”
A bright, beaming smile split Rhaenyra’s face at that. “Truly?”
Alicent nodded.
“May I?”
Suddenly realizing that her wife—her wife who was six moons with child—had been on her feet since her arrival, Alicent swiftly ushered her to sit down on the desk chair. “You should have sat sooner,” she tsked.
Rhaenyra chuckled, catching Alicent’s hand and kissing the back. “I was more than content to stand if it meant having you in my arms, My Sweet Alicent.”
Shaking her head with exasperation, Alicent hurried across the room to grab a different chair so that she could sit beside her wife. Under different circumstances, she might have settled herself on Rhaenyra’s lap, but her wife’s swollen belly made that impossible.
When she returned to the desk, she saw that Rhaenyra had carefully removed each of the little keepsakes from the chest and arranged them in a surprisingly orderly fashion. “Do you remember any of these?” Alicent asked as she sat down.
“A few.” Rhaenyra’s fingers brushed over one of the pressed flowers—the lily—a wistful smile on her lips. “Is this where you keep your ring,” she nodded to the ebony chest, “when you aren’t wearing it?”
Alicent glanced down at her hand, at the emerald set in gold that Rhaenyra had given her when they were three and ten. Alongside the page, it was the token she’d clung to most fervently during their estrangement. “I would think you’d have realized by now that I never take it off.” Just as she’d realized years ago that Rhaenyra never took off her matching ruby ring.
Rhaenyra smiled slightly. “So I have.” Her eyes scanned over the various keepsakes. “I’m afraid I don’t remember most of these,” she confessed. “Could you remind me?”
Leaning over, Alicent pressed a sweet kiss to her wife’s cheek. “I can.”
Lily (Five Years Old)
Alicent picked nervously at her fingers as she followed her mother through the Red Keep’s western garden. She’d arrived at the castle barely more than an hour ago, and already she was being presented to the new princess. Her father had warned her to remember her courtesies and not dishonor the family. Her mother had smiled and told her that she was certain Alicent and the princess would become the best of friends.
But what if the princess disliked her?
Her father said the Princess Rhaenyra was a wild thing with no sense of decorum.
Alicent was not a wild thing. She did not know how to be.
What if the princess found her dull?
What if she decided Alicent was simply beneath her?
What if—?
Her thoughts were interrupted by an ear-splitting shriek, and before Alicent could even understand what was happening, a blur of silver and red came charging towards her, seemingly from nowhere.
Alicent screamed, darting behind her mother and clinging to her skirts, shaking and trembling in a way that she knew was unbecoming of a lady, but unable to compose herself.
What was that thing?
“Rhaenyra!”
The sound of a woman’s voice caused Alicent to hesitantly peek out from behind her mother’s skirts, and it was then that she saw the terrifying blur was in fact a young girl about her own age.
The girl’s silver hair was in wild disarray, her violet eyes were frighteningly bright, and there was some mud on her gown and cheek, but she did not seem so terrible otherwise.
“Gods be good, Rhaenyra, what were you thinking?” A woman closer to Alicent’s mother’s age was coming towards them, her movements seemingly torn between a desire to run and a desire to maintain decorum. Behind her strode a man in shining armor and a billowing, white cloak.
The queen.
Alicent gulped nervously.
The girl—Princess Rhaenyra—was staring at Alicent with wide eyes.
Alicent blushed, ducking her head. The princess must think her a terrible coward. She’ll surely decide she wants nothing to do with me now.
The queen had almost reached them when the princess suddenly darted away, earning an exasperated sigh from her mother. “Rhaenyra, for—”
But Princess Rhaenyra returned as swiftly as she’d fled. Clutched in her fist was a freshly plucked lily. She approached Alicent slowly, her expression almost . . . nervous?
Alicent watched her warily, teeth worrying her bottom lip, unsure what the wild princess intended.
Princess Rhaenyra stopped, holding the flower out in front of herself in offering. “I’m sorry for frightening you, My Lady.”
The queen made a startled sound.
Alicent’s blush brightened.
Princess Rhaenyra’s gaze didn’t waver.
Tentatively, Alicent stepped out from behind her mother, who gave her an encouraging smile. “I—it’s all right, My Princess.” Reaching for the lily, she hesitated, uncertain if it was polite to accept a gift from a princess, but Princess Rhaenyra was offering, so surely it would be rude to refuse.
As soon as Alicent had taken the lily, Princess Rhaenyra snatched up her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I won’t frighten you again,” she promised, eyes wide and earnest, “and I won’t let anyone else frighten you either. Not ever.”
Alicent’s eyes darted from their clasped hands to the princess’ sincere expression to the lily and back again. Somehow, despite Princess Rhaenyra’s earlier display, she found that she believed the princess’ sweet promises. “Th-Thank you, My Princess.”
Princess Rhaenyra’s beaming smile was almost blinding.
Cloth (Six Years Old)
“Fear not, My Lady!” Rhaenyra cried, charging forward with the wooden sword that she’d snuck from the training yard and placing herself between Alicent and Ser Harrold, who was brandishing his own wooden sword.
The seasoned knight of the Kingsguard looked quite silly wielding a practice sword plainly meant for a child rather than a man grown, but his expression was fierce and determined as he faced off against the little princess.
Alicent stifled a giggle from where she sat in her “carriage,” knowing that a lady being set upon by bandits was not meant to giggle when confronted by such danger. “Oh, please take care, Ser Rhaenyra,” she cried instead, “I could not bear to lose my sworn protector!”
“Never you fear, My Lady,” Rhaenyra called over her shoulder. “I’ll make quick work of this cur.”
With that, Rhaenyra rushed towards Ser Harrold, raising her sword high and striking it against the knight’s armored leg. The top of the princess’ head barely reached her sworn shield’s waist, and her blows could not have been very strong, yet Ser Harrold cried out in pain all the same and fell to one knee.
Alicent covered her mouth with her hands as she watched Rhaenyra beat poor Ser Harrold about the shoulders with her wooden sword, the knight offering only a few token parries with his own blade. I must convince her to let us play something else on the morrow.
They’d spent the past week playing Knights and Maidens in the godswood, with Ser Harrold always being cast as the villain. While Alicent knew that her princess was not causing Ser Harrold any true harm, the knight must surely be growing weary of having a girl of six strike him with a wooden sword.
When Ser Harrold at last collapsed with a heavy clang of armor, he tossed his sword aside and held up his hands. “Mercy, Good Ser,” he cried. “I beg of you, mercy!”
Rhaenyra kept her wooden sword pointed at his neck as she turned her head to look at Alicent. “What would you have me do with him, My Lady?”
Rising to her feet, Alicent stepped out of her “carriage” and walked over to where Rhaenyra stood above Ser Harrold. She placed a hand on her princess’ arm, only just hiding her smile at the feeling of heavy, woolen fabric beneath her fingers. Ser Harrold, in his infinite kindness, had had one of his old white cloaks remade to fit Rhaenyra, so that she could better play at being Alicent’s sworn shield.
“I would have you spare him, Ser.” Alicent gave her princess’ arm a gentle squeeze. “He has begged mercy, and I would grant it.”
Rhaenyra sighed, having no doubt hoped that—for once—Alicent would allow her to actually “slay” one of her pretend foes. “As you wish, My Good Lady.” Sheathing her sword, she stepped away from Ser Harrold. “Be gone with you, Brigand, and be grateful for My Gentle Lady’s mercy.”
Ser Harrold hauled himself to his feet, armor clanking with each movement. He bowed low to Alicent. “My humble thanks, My Lady.”
Alicent’s response was cut off by a sudden, brisk wind sweeping through the godswood, rattling the trees and making her shiver. Gods be good, surely it was still too early for a true winter chill.
Rhaenyra frowned worriedly. “My Lady is cold.” Reaching up to her own throat, she swiftly undid the clasp and pulled off her cloak.
Before Alicent could utter a word of protest, Rhaenyra had draped the white cloak over her shoulders and fastened the silver clasp. Alicent couldn’t help but sigh happily upon being cocooned in the warm fabric, which smelled of Rhaenyra’s favored lavender oil. Shaking her head a bit to regain her senses, she gave her princess an admonishing look. “You’ll become cold yourself, Nyra.”
“No I won’t.” Rhaenyra’s chest puffed up with pride. “I’m the Blood of the Dragon. We do not get cold.”
As if to prove her point, another chilly wind swept over them, and the princess did not flinch.
Alicent rolled her eyes. “Well I do, so mayhap we can return inside?”
“Of course.” Rhaenyra immediately offered her arm, still playing the gallant knight even though their game had ended.
Not bothering to hide her smile now, Alicent settled her hand in the crook of her friend’s elbow, noting that the princess was, indeed, quite warm.
Red Feather (Seven Years Old)
“Ser Harrold?” Alicent stared up at the tall man, eyes wide and fretful.
The knight looked down at her, his stern expression softening—as it always did for her and Rhaenyra. “Is something the matter, Lady Alicent?”
Alicent simply pointed up at the sky, where her princess had disappeared some time ago. “Will she be all right, Ser?” Rhaenyra had been so excited to ride Syrax for the first time, so eager to take to the skies as her ancestors had, but Alicent was terrified that something might happen to her so high up.
What if one of the straps securing her to the saddle came loose?
What if Syrax misbehaved and tried to throw Rhaenyra from her back?
What if Rhaenyra fell and was hurt?
What if Rhaenyra fell and died?
Her dear friend had chuckled when Alicent had expressed these fears, assuring her that she was the Blood of the Dragon. “Syrax will keep me safe, Alicent.”
But how could an oversized fire-breathing lizard be trusted to keep her precious Rhaenyra safe?
Ser Harrold sighed, his own gaze turning skyward. “She’s a Targaryen, Lady Alicent. They were born to ride dragons as you or I were born to ride horses.”
Alicent had never been fond of riding horses either.
A thunderous roar suddenly shook the heavens, making Alicent jump a little.
Ser Harrold gently steadied her.
Golden scales and beating wings and flashing claws suddenly filled Alicent’s vision as Syrax descended into the Dragon Pit. The enormous beast bellowed once more as she landed on the shifting sands, looking remarkably pleased with herself.
Alicent held her breath.
Rhaenyra’s exhilarated laughter rang out a moment later, and Alicent breathed a sigh of relief.
Part of her longed to run to her friend’s side, to take her by the arms and see for herself that she was alive and whole, but that would require approaching Syrax, and Alicent was not brave enough for that.
So she watched as Rhaenyra slid down from Syrax’s back, watched as Rhaenyra gave her dragon affectionate strokes and cooed to her in High Valyrian, watched as Rhaenyra bid her golden beast farewell.
And she smiled when Rhaenyra came bounding over to her.
“Oh, Ali, it was so wonderful! The most wondrous thing ever!” Rhaenyra grabbed her hands, squeezing gently. Her eyes were bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “One day, when Syrax is big enough, I shall take you flying. You’ll love the skies, Ali. I know you will.”
Alicent could imagine nothing more terrifying than climbing atop Rhaenyra’s ferocious mount, but she would not say as much now, not when Rhaenyra was so happy. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Nyra.”
“I did. And one day, you will as well.” Releasing her hands, Rhaenyra reached into the small pocket of her riding dress and pulled out a scarlet feather. Beaming proudly, she presented it to Alicent with a flourish. “For you, My Lady.”
Alicent wondered briefly where in the world such a feather could have come from, but she swiftly dismissed the thought, deciding that she didn’t wish to know.
The feather was from Rhaenyra. That was all that mattered.
Accepting the little token, she held it close to her chest. “Thank you, Nyra. It’s beautiful.”
Stones (Eight Years Old)
Alicent startled when she heard something clatter on the floor of her bedchamber. Closing her book, her eyes swiftly scanned the room in search of where the noise had come from.
Nothing seemed out of place.
How odd.
Another clatter, followed by a flew clinks that sounded almost like—
Ah. There it was.
Frowning, Alicent rose to her feet and walked over to the small red stone. It was little more than a pebble, in truth, and not far from it was an orange stone that must have been what made the first clattering noise.
But where had they come from?
Picking up the stones, she turned just in time to see a third come sailing through her window.
It landed several steps from where she stood, bouncing a few times before rolling to a stop at her feet.
This pebble was a pretty blue color.
Scooping up the third stone, Alicent carried all of them over to her window, praying that she wasn’t about to be struck in the head. “Hello?” she called, not quite daring to place her face in front of the window until she could be certain that whoever was throwing rocks would not hurl a fourth at her.
“Alicent!?”
Shaking her head, Alicent peered out the window and looked down to see Rhaenyra and Ser Harrold standing below.
Ser Harrold held about a dozen small stones in his armored hand.
Oh, Nyra. She could only just imagine the conversation that must have taken place when her princess demanded that Ser Harrold throw stones at Alicent’s window. “What do you want?” she called down. “Aside from striking me in the head.”
Rhaenyra’s eyes stretched wide. “Were you hurt?” She turned to Ser Harrold. “I thought you were being careful!”
“I’m all right, Nyra,” Alicent assured her quickly. Gods be good, the last thing Ser Harrold deserved was to be scolded for Rhaenyra’s own silliness. “But what do you want?”
“For you to come down.” Rhaenyra said the words as if they were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve been cooped up inside since dawn. I haven’t been able to see you at all today.”
Alicent knew that Rhaenyra’s petulant tone probably should have irritated her, but she couldn’t help but be pleased to learn that her princess apparently could not go even half a day without seeing her. “I’ll be down in a moment,” she promised. “Please. No more stones?”
Rhaenyra beamed, practically wriggling in excitement.
It wasn’t at all proper.
But Alicent couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
Lock of Hair (Nine Years Old)
Alicent stared down at the proffered lock of silver-gold hair in Rhaenyra’s hand, which was tied together with a tiny blue ribbon. “Why are you giving me your hair?”
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “You know why, Ali. Because you’re leaving me.” Her lower lip jutted out in an adorable pout. “I must give you something to remember me by.”
Leaving her? “Nyra, I’ll be gone but a week.” Only long enough to travel with her mother to visit the dying Lady Rosby, who apparently had no close family of her own to stay with her in her final days. “I’m sure you’ll hardly even notice my absence.”
The way Rhaenyra shook her head in response was almost frightening in its vehemence. “I’ll notice,” she vowed. “I’ll notice every day. Every hour. Every minute. Until you return to me.” She pressed the lock of her hair into Alicent’s hand, gently tucking her fingers around it so that Alicent held it tight. “So please, accept this lock of mine own hair as a token of my devotion to you.”
Those were the same kinds of silly words Rhaenyra always said to her when they were playing Knights and Maidens, but they weren’t playing at the moment. Were they? And her friend sounded so sincere . . .
Alicent’s fingers tightened around the silky lock of hair as she raised her hand to hold it close to her chest. She’d always loved the feeling of Rhaenyra’s pretty silver hair slipping through her fingers, and now she would have a piece of it always.
Perhaps it was silly. Perhaps they were simply playing a game and Rhaenyra had forgotten to tell her. Perhaps she was being foolish.
But she smiled softly all the same and intertwined the fingers of her free hand with Rhaenyra’s. “Thank you, Nyra. I shall treasure it until the end of my days.” She paused, offering a shy smile and hoping that she wasn’t spoiling whatever her friend was playing at. “May I give you a lock of my hair as well?”
She couldn’t remember if both maidens and knights were supposed to give each other locks of their hair, or if it was meant to be a token given only by one of them, but she supposed that she and Rhaenyra were not a usual knight and maiden.
Rhaenyra grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Oh? Would you? I would love that, Ali.”
Ducking her head to hide her blush, Alicent hurried over to where she kept her embroidery supplies in search of her pair of small scissors. She also grabbed a loose bit of ribbon to bind the lock with. “Will you cut it for me?” she asked once she’d found the scissors.
“If you don’t mind.” Rhaenyra accepted the scissors and ribbon from her, motioning for Alicent to turn around.
Alicent heard the soft snip as the tiny blades sliced through her hair. And by the time she turned around, Rhaenyra had already secured the ribbon.
Rhaenyra grinned at her, pressing a brief kiss to the lock of hair. “Thank you, My Lady. I shall treasure it always.”
This time, Alicent couldn’t hide her blush.
Green Ribbon (Ten Years Old)
“Ali, is something the matter?”
Alicent huffed in frustration, utterly vexed with herself. How could she have been so careless? She’d set her place marker down for but a moment, but it seemed the wind or perhaps some animal had run off with it.
She should have known better than to allow Rhaenyra to convince her that reading outside in the godswood was a good idea.
“I cannot find my book marker,” she sighed, resisting the urge to run her fingers back through her hair. Her mother had spent nearly an hour arranging it this morning, and she did not wish to muss her careful work.
Rhaenyra walked over to where Alicent was searching through the grass beneath the great weirwood and knelt down beside her. “Have you searched among the roots?”
“I’ve searched everywhere, Nyra. I simply cannot find it.” She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the tears from welling in her eyes. She loved that marker. Her mother had given it to her for her nameday last year. It was pretty and green and had a little Hightower painted in one corner and a little three-headed dragon in the other.
A frown stole across Rhaenyra’s face as she wrapped her arms around Alicent’s shoulders. “Please don’t be sad, Ali. We’ll find it. And if not . . .” She trailed off, head swiveling around as if what she wished to say might be found somewhere in the space around them.
Alicent leaned into her friend’s embrace, finding comfort in it even though she knew they’d never find her book marker.
“Oh!” Rhaenyra’s arms suddenly disappeared, making Alicent pout.
“What are you—?”
“Here.” Rhaenyra finished removing one of her hair ribbons—the green one—from her silver-gold braid and offered it to her. “You can use this to mark your place. Until we find your old marker, or get you a new one.”
Her princess’ eyes were so bright, so pleased with herself.
Alicent’s heart fluttered as she accepted the ribbon. It was still warm from where it had been nestled in Rhaenyra’s hair. “Thank you, Nyra.” Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her princess’ cheek.
It was no different from the many other little kisses they’d shared over the years.
And yet . . .
Something warm and pleasant spread throughout Alicent’s entire body as her lips brushed against Rhaenyra’s cheek, and the affection and delight shining in her princess’ violet eyes made her think that her friend felt it as well.
Little Notes (One and Ten Years Old)
Her father was giving her a strange look, eyebrows drawn together. “You seem quite . . . pleased this morning, Daughter.”
Her mother smiled at her, understanding better than her father why Alicent was grinning. “Has the princess left you another note, Alicent?”
A flush crept into Alicent’s cheeks as she nodded.
For the past week, Rhaenyra had somehow been sneaking into her chambers and leaving small slips of paper behind on her pillow.
Most were little bits of nonsense such as, “I saw a bird when I was flying on Syrax,” or “I’m happy supper pleased you last evening.” Others were sweet compliments, the sort Rhaenyra oft seemed to enjoy bestowing upon her: “You have such a comely smile, Ali,” or “Your hair was glowing in the godswood today.” A few were entreaties: “Please come riding with me one day,” or “Surely we can simply not attend Septa Marlow’s boring class this afternoon.”
Regardless of the words themselves, Alicent loved each little note, always folding them neatly and placing them in her chest of keepsakes.
“Why would the princess be leaving you notes?” Her father looked more perplexed than Alicent could ever remember seeing him.
Her mother chuckled, patting his hand. “It is simply the language of girls, My Dear. You needn’t concern yourself.”
Her father frowned slightly, but said no more on the matter as he continued his meal.
Favors (Two and Ten Years Old)
“He had no right,” Rhaenyra fumed, pacing in front of the weirwood and looking as if she wished to mount Syrax and burn Riverrun to the ground simply because one of Lord Tully’s sons had made the foolish mistake of asking for Alicent’s favor at the tourney. “You’ve not even flowered yet! It was completely inappropriate for him to demand your favor!”
Alicent hummed noncommittally as she carefully wove another bellflower into the wreath she’d been crafting since Rhaenyra had dragged her out to the godswood some half an hour ago following the tourney.
“And did you see how he was staring at you!” Rhaenyra huffed, her cheeks becoming redder with each word she spoke. “He looked as if he wished to have far more than simply your favor sliding down upon his lance.”
Alicent’s head snapped up at that, lips forming a scowl even as a blush suffused her cheeks. “Rhaenyra.” Complaining about a knight was one thing, but there was no reason for her friend to say something so horrid and . . . and vulgar. And about me.
Surely Rhaenyra had more care for her than that. Her mother had told her once that to speak so coarsely about a lady was the utmost demonstration of disrespect. She’s been spending too much time with her uncle. Prince Daemon had no sense of propriety around his niece, oft speaking to Rhaenyra as if they were both men in a pleasure house or somewhere of equal ill-repute.
Rhaenyra froze midstride, expression instantly becoming chastened as she stared down at her feet. “Please forgive me, Ali. I shouldn’t have spoken about you so crudely.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Alicent agreed tersely, but she could see that her friend was repentant, so she beckoned to her. “Come here, My Grumpy Dragon.”
It was a testament to how contrite her princess was that she did not protest being called “grumpy.”
Once Rhaenyra was seated beside her, Alicent offered her the wreath that she’d finally finished. It was a pretty thing, she liked to think, black and red with hints of blue and green woven in as well. Their colors. “For you, My Princess.”
Rhaenyra gasped, awe and delight shining in her eyes as she carefully accepted Alicent’s creation, holding it as delicately as she would a newborn babe. “You made this for me? You’re giving me your favor?”
“Yes, Silly.” Alicent patted her knee. “You will always have my favor, Nyra. Even if I must give tokens to others.”
Beaming, Rhaenyra carefully set the favor aside before practically launching herself at Alicent, tumbling them both onto the ground so that Alicent was pinned beneath her. “My Alicent.” She kissed her cheek. “I will treasure your favor always.”
Alicent blushed, squirming beneath her friend. “Please, Nyra, you’re crushing me.”
Rhaenyra made an affronted sound, though she sat up all the same. “Are you saying I’m fat?”
“I am saying that you’ve grown heavier from all those dragon rider muscles of yours.” Alicent sat up, catching her breath and gently prodding her princess’ flat stomach. “You haven’t a spare bit of fat on you, My Nyra.”
The princess preened in response. “My Lady is very kind.” She took Alicent’s hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back before leaping to her feet and rushing over to the nearest hibiscus. “I’m going to make you a proper flower crown, Ali,” she promised over her shoulder, “for you are the only Queen of Love and Beauty I shall ever bend the knee to.”
Alicent blushed at her friend’s sweet, silly words. “My Good Knight is too kind.”
And even though Rhaenyra’s back was to her, Alicent knew that her princess’ chest was puffing with pride.
Rings (Three and Ten Years Old)
It was a beautiful ring: elegant yet simple.
Exactly the sort of ring Alicent would have chosen for herself.
Which was why she now realized that she’d made a dreadful mistake in choosing it for Rhaenyra. Her princess would not wish for simple. She would wish for ornate and intricate, for a ring as bold and bright as she was herself.
But when Alicent had seen the pretty gold band set with an ovular ruby, it had called to her, practically whispered to her that it was perfect for her princess.
I should have known better than to heed a piece of jewelry.
And now it was too late.
Steeling herself, Alicent approached the weirwood where she knew that Rhaenyra would be waiting for her. It is but a silly thing, in any case, she assured herself. She and Rhaenyra had agreed to exchange small gifts with each other to celebrate their years of friendship. One of her princess’ more recent whims that Alicent had been powerless to deny.
Not that she would wish to.
Rhaenyra grinned when she saw her, practically bounding over to her in a way that was not at all proper for a princess of three and ten. They would soon be maidens flowered, and it was probably time for the princess to begin leaving behind some of her more girlish behaviors.
But oh, if Alicent did not adore how silly and foolish her Rhaenyra continued to be, even as they grew older and their mothers began to expect them to behave as proper ladies.
“Ali.” Rhaenyra pulled her into a tight hug, kissing her cheek before releasing her.
Alicent returned the hug, savoring her princess’ warmth. Autumn was well upon them, and winter was coming, but they both adored the godswood, so they’d decided here would be the perfect place to exchange their gifts.
Drawing back, Rhaenyra presented a small box to Alicent with a flourish. “For you, My Good Lady.”
Blushing, Alicent accepted the box and offered her own in turn. “And for you, My Dear Princess.”
Taking the box, Rhaenyra wasted no time in raising the lid, and when she saw the ring inside, a laugh burst from her throat, filling the godswood.
Alicent’s shoulders slumped with shame as she ducked her head. She’d realized that Rhaenyra would not love the ring, but she had not expected her friend to be so cruel. Foolishly, she could feel tears beginning to prick the corners of her eyes.
“Oh, Ali, no! Please don’t cry. I did not mean to offend you.” Rhaenyra’s warm hands were suddenly on her cheeks, cradling her face as she urged Alicent to raise her head. “I’m sorry, Ali. I was not laughing because I dislike the ring or think it silly. I only,” she shrugged, “open your gift. You will see.”
Confused, but feeling reassured that Rhaenyra was at least not mocking her, Alicent carefully lifted the lid to reveal a ring exactly matching the one she’d given Rhaenyra, save that the gemstone was an emerald rather than a ruby.
A laugh bubbled from her chest, and she made no effort to contain it.
Rhaenyra’s musical laughter soon twined with Alicent’s own, and her princess wrapped her arms around her as they swayed and laughed together.
Once they’d calmed enough so that their hands no longer shook, Rhaenyra slid the emerald ring onto Alicent’s finger, and Alicent slid the ruby ring onto Rhaenyra’s.
Alicent grinned like a fool as she looked down at her new ring. “It’s beautiful, Nyra.”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
Alicent stiffened slightly.
Rhaenyra had been paying her compliments for years, but there was something in her tone that made these words feel . . . different.
“Ali,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice strangely hoarse.
Slowly, Alicent turned to face her friend, surprised yet not by the intensity of her violet gaze. “Nyra,” she breathed, her own voice sounding rough to her ears. Her heart was thundering in her chest, heat rising in her cheeks, an unfamiliar yet pleasant warmth spreading throughout her body.
Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked down to Alicent’s mouth—to her lips.
Alicent had no idea which of them moved first, but suddenly her mouth was on Rhaenyra’s and Rhaenyra’s mouth was on hers.
Gods be good, Rhaenyra’s lips were so soft, so sweet.
She felt warm hands grasping her waist and pulling her close.
She was distantly aware of her own arms looping around Rhaenyra’s neck.
It was terrifying.
The way her blood roared in her ears.
The way her heart stuttered in her chest.
The way her head spun, much as it had the first time that she’d accidentally drunk too much at a feast.
It was terrifying.
But all she wanted was more.
More of her princess’ soft lips.
More of her princess’ warm hands.
More of Rhaenyra.
Alicent never wished for this to end.
Page (Four and Ten Years Old)
The sun was warm overhead, but a cool breeze was blowing through the godswood, making the red leaves of the great weirwood rustle quietly overhead.
As ever, Rhaenyra was sprawled out on her back, her head resting comfortably in Alicent’s lap. She was playing with a bit of grass that she’d pulled up from the ground, shedding the slender green blade between her fingers.
Alicent sat cross-legged beside her, a heavy tome detailing the history of Princess Nymeria and the Rhoynar balanced on the leg not occupied by the princess’ head. She glanced over at her friend, who had been quiet and distracted for much of the day. “Did you read it?”
“Of course, I read it.”
While she had her doubts, Alicent nonetheless turned her attention to the book, eyes briefly scanning over the words before asking, “When Princess Nymeria arrived in Dorne, who did she take to husband?”
Rhaenyra answered without hesitation. “A man.”
“What was his name?” Alicent prompted, though she knew that her words were wasted. Even if Rhaenyra had done the reading, the princess was plainly in no mood to give a proper answer.
“Lord Something.”
Alicent suppressed a sigh. “If you answer with ‘Lord Something,’ Septa Marlow will be furious.”
“She’s funny when she’s furious.”
She turned to look at Rhaenyra then, noting the slight furrow of her brow, the way her lips were pressed into a thin line to stop herself from frowning. “You’re always like this when you’re worried.”
“Like what?” Rhaenyra flicked away the remains of the grass that she’d been destroying and tilted her head back to look at Alicent’s face.
“Disagreeable.”
Rhaenyra’s indignant violet eyes met Alicent’s.
Alicent arched her eyebrows in silent challenge and received a huff in response. “You’re worried your father is about to overshadow you with a son,” she guessed, having heard from Rhaenyra all about the king’s conviction that the babe in Queen Aemma’s belly would be a healthy boy.
“I only worry for my mother.” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed for a moment as she began twisting her ruby ring around her finger. “I hope for my father that he gets a son.” She paused, expression turning somber. “As long as I can recall, it’s all he’s wanted.”
“You want him to have a son?” Even as she asked the question, Alicent knew it was a foolish one. She knew her princess did not particularly care one way or the other whether the babe was a boy or girl. She knew that her princess worried only for her parents.
For Queen Aemma, who had been so tired and pale these past moons, who had left her chambers but rarely and who had been confined to her bed far sooner than was expected.
And for King Viserys, who was even now planning a grand tournament to celebrate the birth of his heir, who would surely be devastated were he to lose yet another child as he had lost so many before.
“I want to fly with you on dragon back, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake,” Rhaenyra replied simply, as if it was the most obvious and reasonable desire in the world.
Alicent quickly turned her head away to hide her blush, her voice sharper than she intended when she said, “I’m being serious.”
“I never jest about cake,” Rhaenyra assured her.
“You aren’t worried about your position?” It certainly seemed as if everyone else in the realm was. The positions of Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, and the unborn babe were all her father ever spoke about of late.
“I like this position. It’s quite comfortable.”
With an exasperated huff, Alicent slammed the book closed and rose to her feet.
“Where are you going?” Rhaenyra called after her.
“Home. The hour has grown late.” The hour had not, actually, grown late, but Alicent knew that this was the only way to determine for certain whether or not Rhaenyra had read the history as she was supposed to. Alicent did not wish for Septa Marlow to become cross with her friend on the morrow, not when Rhaenyra had so many other cares at present.
She watched as Rhaenyra rose to her feet, loosely clasped her hands behind her back, and began reciting as she approached her, “Princess Nymeria led her Rhoynar across the Narrow Sea on ten thousand ships to flee their Valyrian pursuers.”
Alicent swiftly reopened the book and began flipping through the pages to find the passage that she’d been consulting before.
Rhaenyra came to a halt in front of her as she continued, “She took Lord Mors Martell of Dorne to husband and burned her own fleet off Sunspear to show her people that they were finished running.”
A proud smile was just beginning to curl Alicent’s lips when Rhaenyra suddenly reached forward and tore out the page that Alicent was consulting. “What are you doing?” she cried, horrified almost beyond words that Rhaenyra would treat a book so terribly.
But Rhaenyra only smiled as she dropped the torn page back onto the book. “So you remember.”
Alicent immediately began trying to slide the page back into place, as if she could somehow will the torn paper to repair itself. “If-If the Septa sees this book, then—”
“Fuck the Septa.”
“Rhaenyra!”
Present
Alicent carefully placed the precious page back into the chest with her other tokens and keepsakes from over the years, shivering a little when she felt her wife’s warm breath against her neck.
“You are a marvel, My Sweet Alicent.” Rhaenyra pressed a gentle kiss to the sensitive skin of her neck, nearly causing Alicent to whine aloud.
Gods be good, it had been so long since her wife had last touched her.
“For hoarding so many useless things?” she managed, her words sounding breathless and eager even to her own ears.
“Not useless,” Rhaenyra chided, one hand sliding up to gently cradle Alicent’s breast through her gown. “Each of these is a treasure. And it warms my heart to know that you have kept them all these years.”
Alicent knew that her face was flushed, could feel how her nipples had hardened in response to her wife’s sweet touch. “You,” she swallowed a little, “you still stink of dragon, Nyra.”
“And?” Rhaenyra squeezed her breast as she began pressing wet kisses to her neck.
Seven Hells, her wife was insatiable. “And I refuse to be bedded by you when you reek.” She swatted Rhaenyra’s hand away from her breast, earning a petulant whine.
While a part of Alicent was sorely tempted to allow her wife to have her way with her here and now, she knew that if she did, her bed would smell of dragon for weeks. Even discounting how much she personally disliked the odor, it would not do for any of the servants to catch a whiff.
Rhaenyra huffed, giving Alicent’s side a playful poke. “One of these days, you’re going to awake and realize that you’ve grown to love the scent of dragon.”
“And when that day comes, then you may forgo a bath after riding Syrax. But until then, I expect you to bathe before coming to my bed.” Alicent rose to feet before helping Rhaenyra to do the same. “Now go. And be quick about it. Otherwise,” she pressed a lingering kiss to her wife’s cheek, “I may be forced to find my peak without you. I’ve been very lonely these past weeks.”
Rhaenyra hastened from the bedchamber far more swiftly than any woman six moons with child had a right to move.