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Alicent remembered being terrified when she learned that she was with child for the first time.
Little more than a moon after wedding Viserys—not even a full year after Queen Aemma’s horrific death—she’d awoken feeling horribly nauseous and with a slight headache.
While some part of her had known at once what the sickness meant, she’d still waited a few more weeks before saying anything to anyone—including her father. She’d waited until her moon’s blood failed to come a second time, until it became nigh impossible to hide her nausea from her handmaidens.
She still shuddered to remember the feeling of Grand Maester Mellos’ cold hands upon her when she’d finally sent for him to confirm what she already knew. She remembered that he’d smiled at her—the same sort of smile one might give an especially bright child—when he’d told her that she would soon “bring forth the king’s heir.”
She remembered wanting to tell him that Rhaenyra was the king’s heir, but she hadn’t been brave enough.
Nor had she been brave enough to correct her father when he’d gently touched her cheek and told her that soon she would give the king a son and “proper heir.”
When she’d told Viserys, something that she now recognized as fear had flashed in his eyes. Fear for her, or fear for himself, to this day, she did not know. But she remembered that it was gone in an instant, replaced by a beaming smile as he’d taken her face between his hands and pressed a dry kiss to her forehead.
She’d known that she was supposed to be happy to be carrying the king’s child in her belly. She’d known that the coming moons of discomfort were how she was meant to serve the realm, as Queen Aemma had once said. She’d known that she should have been pleased to have done her duty to her husband, to her father, and to the Seven Kingdoms.
But all she’d felt was icy terror.
How she’d longed to run to Rhaenyra that day. How she’d longed to feel Rhaenyra’s arms around her, hugging her close and refusing to release her. How she’d longed to hear Rhaenyra’s gentle voice whispering words of comfort and assurance in her ear.
But Rhaenyra had not wished to speak with her back then—had barely been able to look at her.
When the king had announced her condition to the court a moon’s turn later, the look of fury and betrayal that flashed across Rhaenyra’s face had almost brought Alicent to her knees.
Memories of Queen Aemma had haunted her those long and lonely moons.
Memories of the queen’s gentle smile and kind words, of her calming presence and rare moments of mischief, of the way that she had helped soothe the ache brought on by Alicent’s own mother’s passing.
Memories of seeing the queen lying bloody and broken on the birthing bed, of her face forever frozen in a horrifying expression of pain and terror, of her belly sliced open in order to free the babe who’d survived his mother no more than a day.
Alicent had been grateful beyond words when the king did not summon her to his bed during the moons that she grew heavy with his child. She did not think that she could have handled wearing Queen Aemma’s robes while memories of the other woman haunted her dreams and waking hours.
After Aegon’s birth, a foolish and selfish part of her had hoped that she’d done enough, that she’d given the king the son he’d so long desired and would now be permitted to rest.
He’d allowed her a few moons to heal from her labors, but then he’d begun summoning her once more, determined to put another babe in her belly.
Neither the king nor her father had been well-pleased with her when she’d failed to become with child a second time for over a year.
Her father had frowned at her and ordered her to do better.
The king had summoned her to his bed more often.
Even before she was born, Helaena had been a fussy babe. Alicent remembered that her nausea had been much worse with Helaena, remembered that Helaena had kicked her often and never allowed her a full night’s rest after quickening.
Yet she hadn’t been as frightened the second time.
She hadn’t been much of anything, the second time.
She’d felt hollow and empty, as if she was watching herself from a great distance. Foods lost their taste during those moons, colors their brightness, and even the brief moment when Rhaenyra had looked at her with something other than disgust had not brought her the joy that it should have.
She’d still smiled though. Despite the gaping chasm within her, she’d still forced herself to laugh and speak politely when spoken to, to engage with the court and behave as a proper queen ought. She’d still gossiped with the other ladies, listened quietly when her husband spoke to her, and offered what words she could when he wished them of her. She’d still sought out Rhaenyra and attempted to mend what was broken between them.
She’d hoped that her mood would improve once the babe was born, and it had—somewhat. Yet when she’d looked at Helaena for the first time, when she’d held her beautiful little girl in her arms . . . she’d felt nothing.
Perhaps that was why her daughter despised her so.
Perhaps that was why Helaena had always cried when she’d held her as a babe.
Perhaps that was why Helaena continued to shy away from her touch and refused to look at her now.
Aemond had been so very different.
She’d realized that she was once more with child a week after her and Rhaenyra’s reconciliation, and she’d been petrified by the thought of her beloved princess spurning her once more when she learned that Alicent was carrying yet another babe who might one day pose a threat to her claim.
Alicent had attempted to conceal her condition—a task made easier without her father’s looming presence—but with Rhaenyra sneaking into her chambers most nights, her deception had survived no more than another week.
She’d expected displeasure, censure, perhaps even disgust. She’d expected Rhaenyra’s lips to purse and her violet eyes to flash. She’d expected her to stiffen and push Alicent away once more.
Rhaenyra had kissed her instead.
Gently cradling her face in her hands, her sweet Rhaenyra had lavished warm and loving kisses upon her, whispering kind and comforting words all the while.
“Your babe will be beautiful, My Alicent.”
“I love you so much, My Sweet.”
“I’ll not leave you again. I swear it by all the gods.”
“I’m here, Ali. Always.”
“Whatever you need of me, I’m here.”
Alicent had wept, but the tears had been ones of relief rather than sorrow.
Rhaenyra’s arms had wrapped around her, hugging her close and refusing to release her.
Rhaenyra’s gentle voice had continued whispering words of comfort and assurance in her ear until Alicent at last calmed.
While some of her fears had still lingered after that day—flaring bright when her belly began to swell—her Rhaenyra had always been swift to reassure her and comfort her, to promise her that she still loved her, that she would always love her.
And then Rhaenyra had wed her.
Even now, the memory of their wedding on Dragonstone still filled her with a deep sense of warmth and contentment.
Despite the king’s child growing in Alicent’s belly, despite Rhaenyra herself having wed Laenor but two weeks earlier, Rhaenyra had still taken her to wife, had still bound them together by blood and fire in the ways of Old Valyria
Her wife had rarely left her side during those moons that she’d grown heavy with Aemond, and it was only then that Alicent had truly understood how alone she’d been before. When her labors began, she remembered clinging to her wife and begging her to stay, even though she’d already known that Rhaenyra would not leave her, that even during their estrangement, Rhaenyra had not abandoned her to face the birthing bed alone.
Rhaenyra hadn’t been able to kiss her because of the midwives and maesters flooding into her bedchamber, but she’d squeezed Alicent’s hand and promised to remain by her side. And when Grand Maester Mellos had made a half-hearted attempt to usher Rhaenyra from the room—something he’d apparently also tried to do during Helaena’s birth—her wife had smiled with the ferocity of a dragon and told him that if he didn’t shut his mouth and focus on the queen, that she would personally geld him and feed him to Syrax.
Alicent had barely managed to stifle her laugh.
Unlike his elder siblings, Aemond truly came quickly and without fuss. And when Alicent held him for the first time, she’d felt a sense of calm wash over her that she simply hadn’t experienced with her first two children.
Something that still haunted her and gnawed at her insides.
It had been almost three years since Aemond’s birth, and while the king still summoned her to his bed several times each moon, he’d also begun ordering her to leave once he’d spent himself inside her.
She’d been distraught the first time—confused and hurt and guilt-ridden and unable to understand what she’d done wrong to deserve such disfavor—but her wife had comforted her, as she always did. Rhaenyra had bathed her and held her and stroked her hair and kissed her softly. And in the time since that first humiliating night, Alicent had come to appreciate the king’s dismissal, since it allowed her to spend those nights in her wife’s bed, safely held in her wife’s arms.
Both for Rhaenyra’s sake and for her own, Alicent always bathed after Viserys finished with her, which she supposed was why it had taken so long for her to become with child once more.
The grand maester was smiling at her now.
It was that same smile he’d given her nearly seven years ago when he’d confirmed that she was with child the first time.
“Congratulations, Your Grace. What a blessing this is for the realm.”
Alicent nodded, echoing his words as she knew that she must.
Another babe.
Would Rhaenyra be pleased?
Of course she’ll be pleased. She adores all of the children.
And her wife was such a wonderful mother to them as well, a far better mother than Alicent herself, she knew.
Rhaenyra would love this babe as fiercely as she loved Aemond, Helaena, and Aegon.
But why now?
The timing was most inopportune.
Despite having been wed to Laenor for over three years, her wife had yet to become with child—even after Joffrey had begun helping . . . prepare Laenor to perform his duties over a year ago.
Rhaenyra needed heirs of her own to strengthen her position.
Alicent announcing that she was once more with child would do little to quiet the rumblings that the king’s daughter was not a fit successor.
“Shall I inform His Grace?”
Blinking owlishly, Alicent quickly shook her head. “No, thank you. I shall tell him myself.”
Mellos simply nodded before returning his attention to whatever he’d been working on prior to Alicent’s entry.
Resisting the urge to frown at his discourteous behavior, Alicent left the grand maester’s study and went at once to find her wife.
It was almost noon, which meant that Rhaenyra would be with the children.
Ser Harrold smiled at her—warm and fatherly—as she approached the door leading into the nursery. “Queen Alicent,” he greeted with a polite bow of his head.
Alicent returned his smile, and, for a moment, she felt as if she was a young girl again simply coming to visit her beloved friend.
The feeling passed quickly.
She had not been that young girl for many years.
Not since Queen Aemma had died and her father had sent her to comfort the king.
Ser Harrold knocked once on the door before opening it for her. Since the nursery was technically Alicent’s domain and Rhaenyra was no more than a visiting sister, there was no need to announce her.
Alicent found her wife lying flat on her back in the middle of the main room, grinning and laughing like a fool and looking not at all like the Princess of Dragonstone. Aegon had a wooden sword pressed against her stomach, and he was beaming with pride. Aemond had draped himself across Rhaenyra’s chest, and Helaena was perched on her legs.
When he saw Alicent, Aegon immediately dropped his sword and charged towards her.
Forcing herself not to stiffen or back away, Alicent did her best to smile at her son and ignore the familiar sense of disquiet that so oft gripped her whenever he was near.
It wasn’t fair of her, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t motherly, but every time she looked at him, she couldn’t help but remember the grief and betrayal and rage that she’d seen in Rhaenyra’s glistening violet eyes that day in the Small Council chamber. She couldn’t help but remember Viserys crying out Queen Aemma’s name as he took her maidenhead on their wedding night. She couldn’t help but remember the dread that had gripped her for nine moons. She couldn’t help but remember how terrified and alone she’d felt laboring to bring him into the world.
She knew that she was dreadful.
She knew that Aegon was to blame for none of this.
And yet—
“Mother, did you see! We killed the beast!” Aegon proudly pointed to Rhaenyra, who offered Alicent a small wave and a lopsided grin.
Relaxing somewhat in response to her wife’s easy smile, Alicent reached down to gently ruffle her son’s silver hair. “Well done, Aegon. I’m sure it was a battle well fought.”
His little chest puffed up with pride, and, for a moment, she was reminded of how Rhaenyra had always puffed and preened after “defeating” Ser Harrold during one of their games of Knights and Maidens.
Crouching down as she’d seen Rhaenyra do countless times so that she was eyelevel with their son, she placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Aegon, why don’t you see to your brother and sister for me, hmm? I need to speak with your muña.”
Aegon’s brow scrunched as he nodded seriously. “I’ll watch them, Mother.”
Alicent smiled at him as she straightened and waited for her wife to be set free.
After taking a moment to scoop their sons into her arms for a crushing hug and to whisper something to Helaena, who didn’t respond, Rhaenyra crossed the room to stand in front of Alicent. “Hello, Ābrazȳrys.” She leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to Alicent’s cheek.
Warmth spread throughout Alicent’s body in response. She cleared her throat a little before grabbing her wife’s hand and leading her into one of the other rooms, though she left the door slightly ajar so that they could still hear the children. “Nyra, I—I need to tell you something.”
The playful glimmer in her wife’s eyes immediately extinguished, her expression becoming serious. “What is it, My Love? Has something happened?”
Alicent hesitated, startling slightly when she felt warm hands close around her own. Looking down, she saw that there was blood beginning to well beside her thumbnail.
She hadn’t even realized that she was picking her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. She’d been better about not hurting herself of late. Ever since her father had been dismissed as Hand three years ago, she’d been picking less, but sometimes, she still made herself bleed without meaning to.
She knew that it distressed her wife.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” Rhaenyra kissed her fingers—soft and sweet. “Tell me what troubles you, Ali.”
She won’t be displeased with me.
Wetting her lips, Alicent steeled herself and met her wife’s eyes. “I’m with child.”
For a moment, Rhaenyra only stared at her, and Alicent’s heart sank, but then her wife smiled and claimed her lips in a warm and loving kiss.
Alicent’s eyes slipped shut as she allowed herself to become lost in the kiss, allowed herself to be pulled closer by familiar arms wrapping around her waist, allowed her mind to quiet as Rhaenyra’s scent and body enveloped her. Some part of her knew that Rhaenyra couldn’t be entirely pleased to hear that Alicent was once again carrying the king’s babe in her belly, but she shoved that knowledge aside so that she could simply bask in Rhaenyra’s affection.
Her wife loved her.
That was all that mattered.
When they were forced to part for breath, Rhaenyra pressed her forehead against Alicent’s. “Does anyone else know?”
“Mellos,” Alicent whispered, her words breathy even to her own ears. “He confirmed it.”
Rhaenyra grumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “I should feed that bloated old toad of a man to Syrax.”
Alicent smiled slightly, but it dimmed when she remembered her other reason for coming here. “My Love, I—I am sorry for the poor timing.”
Drawing back, Rhaenyra peered at her curiously. “What do you mean?”
“It—I know that it does not benefit you for me to be with child now. Not when you have yet—” Alicent’s jaw tightened as she tried to force her stomach to settle. “I think perhaps you should begin spending more nights with Laenor.” The words burned in her throat and scorched her tongue. The mere thought of his hands on her wife made her feel more ill than the babe in her belly ever could. But she knew that it must needs be done.
Rhaenyra scoffed. “No.”
“No?” Alicent stared at her with wide eyes. Her wife very rarely told her “no,” save for when she was teasing her in bed. “What do you mean ‘no?’”
“Is there another meaning of the word?” Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow. “Ali, you just told me you’re with child. I’ve no intention of abandoning our bed in the near future.” One of her hands rose to cradle Alicent’s cheek. “You’re mine, Ābrazȳrys. And for the next nine moons, I shall have you all to myself. I’ve no intention of wasting a single one of those nights with Laenor.”
“But—”
“I will have an heir one day, My Love. You needn’t fret about that. My father is . . .” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed, violet eyes flashing with purple fire for a brief moment. “He is not like to die tomorrow. There is still plenty of time yet.” Her thumb brushed over the delicate skin beneath Alicent’s eye. “If you do not wish me to share your bed, Ali, then of course I won’t, but I know you sleep better in my arms, and I find myself rarely able to find sleep without you near.”
Alicent knew that she should protest further, remind her wife of her duty to the realm and to House Targaryen, but how could she? When Rhaenyra was gazing at her with such warmth and adoration? When her wife’s gentle hand was caressing her cheek so tenderly? When the words that she spoke were as sweet as they were true? Neither of them slept well without the other anymore.
Reaching up, she covered Rhaenyra’s hand with her own. “All right. I, I’ll see you tonight then?”
Soft lips pressed against her forehead. “Of course, My Love.” Rhaenyra smiled at her—love and devotion shining in her eyes. “You should know by now that I’ll always come when you call.”
Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s chest as she leaned in to capture her wife’s lips.
∞
When Rhaenyra slipped into Alicent’s bedchamber that evening, she found her wife seated in front of the windows with a pensive expression on her beautiful face. Her first instinct was to go to her side at once, but she hesitated.
“I’m with child.”
Three simple words.
The same three words that Alicent had spoken to her when she’d told her about Aemond a few weeks after their reconciliation.
Her Sweet Alicent had looked so frightened that day—face pale, hands trembling, eyes already beginning to glisten with unshed tears. There had been blood on her fingers as well, bright and red and threatening to drip onto the floor.
Rhaenyra had known that Alicent feared her contempt, feared that she would berate her as she had that day in the godswood after her father announced the betrothal, feared that she would abandon her once again.
So Rhaenyra had kissed her.
She’d kissed her and held her and stroked her hair as Alicent clung to her and wept tears of relief.
And for the next nine moons, Rhaenyra had forced herself to make what peace she could—despite knowing that there was none to be truly had—because that was what Alicent needed from her, and because she herself would likely have gone mad otherwise.
By the time Aemond was born, she’d resolved to love him just as she did Helaena and Aegon.
She could do the same again with this new babe.
This new babe.
Seven bleeding Hells.
While not entirely unexpected, considering how oft her father demanded that Alicent come to his chambers—the mere thought of which made her want to rage and retch in equal measure—it had been nearly three years, and Rhaenyra had hoped . . .
Alicent had brought three healthy children into the world before she’d even celebrated her nineteenth nameday—Aemond’s nameday fell but a week before hers—and two of them had been the sons. Just as her father had always wanted.
They should have been enough.
Why were none of them ever enough?
Why could her father have not left Alicent be after Aemond?
You know why.
She did.
Much as she wished that she didn’t.
Much as it made her stomach roil with disgust.
Her Alicent was precious.
Her Alicent was gentle and good and smart and sweet.
Her Alicent was meant to be hugged and kissed and cherished and loved.
She was not meant to be used like some whore in a pleasure house.
Not by anyone.
“My Love?”
Shaking her head to clear it, Rhaenyra focused her attention on her beloved wife, on her darling Alicent. “Yes, Ali?”
Alicent reached for her, beckoning.
Rhaenyra was by her side in an instant, catching her wife’s hand and bringing to her lips for a gentle kiss. “Tell me what you need, Ali.”
“I,” Alicent hesitated, looking away from her, “I need you to tell me if you’re actually pleased.”
“What do you—?”
“I know you, Nyra.” Alicent still wouldn’t look at her. “I know when you’re happy, or sad, or frustrated, or angry, or hurt, or guilty. And I know when you’re trying to hide those things from me. I should have—I didn’t see it three years ago. I didn’t—I didn’t want to see it, but I realize now that you weren’t pleased about Aemond, that you were pretending because—”
“I love Aemond, Alicent.” Reaching out with her free hand, Rhaenyra cupped her wife’s cheek and gently turned her head so their eyes met. “He is your son. He is my son. Of course I love—”
“I know that you love him, Rhaenyra.” Alicent’s eyes were glistening. “But that doesn’t mean you were pleased about him.”
Rhaenyra sucked in a breath, wishing that she could tell Alicent that she was wrong, wishing she could assure her wife that of course she was pleased about Aemond, that of course she was pleased about this new babe as well.
But she couldn’t.
“Ali.” Rhaenyra expelled a heavy breath, not certain how she was supposed to put all of the twisting and churning emotions that had plagued her since their reconciliation into words. “I love our children. I love them so much it hurts. There is nothing that I would not do for them, or for you.” She hesitated, hating herself for what she was about to say, but knowing that Alicent would be displeased if she lied. “But with Aemond . . . No. I wasn’t pleased. And I’m . . . I’m not pleased about this one either.”
Alicent wilted, her hands moving to cover her stomach.
“But that has nothing to do with Aemond, or the new babe,” Rhaenyra rushed out, hating the pain that she could see in her wife’s eyes, hating herself for being the cause. “I don’t . . .” She sighed. “Alicent, I hate seeing you distressed, and I hate seeing you hurt. When my f—when the king summons you, I see both. I . . . I do my best not to dwell on the matter, in truth. Because when I allow myself to think—” Her jaw tightened as images of her father’s hands on Alicent flashed through her mind. “If I could spare you all the discomfort and heartache and loneliness that you’ve suffered these past seven years, I would. Without hesitation.”
“The children . . .”
“Are your children, Alicent. And that makes them mine as well.” Rhaenyra reached down to gently cover Alicent’s hands with one of her own. “I will never be pleased about the . . . circumstances of how they came to be,” she kissed her wife’s forehead, “but that doesn’t mean the children themselves displease me. I love Aegon’s foolish japes and high spirits, and I love Helaena’s sweetness, and I love Aemond’s curiosity.”
Alicent wet her lips, eyes darting from their joined hands on her stomach to Rhaenyra’s face and back again. “You love them,” her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, “but you were not pleased about them.”
Rhaenyra didn’t know what Alicent wanted to hear, didn’t know what she needed to hear, and gods, she wished that she did. Her throat felt tight, her heart was clenching in her chest, and there was a horrible knot in her stomach, but she knew that she couldn’t remain silent. “Whether I’m pleased or not doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I love them. That I choose to love them.” Her thumb brushed over the soft skin of her Alicent’s cheek. “You are my wife. Your children are my children. Nothing else matters but that. And I will love this new babe as I love all the others.”
For a long moment, Alicent was silent.
Then, a horrible, keening whine ripped from her throat as she burst into tears.
Rhaenyra’s eyes widened with horror. “No, Ali, no. Please don’t cry, My Love, please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll, I’ll do better. I promise.” Tears stinging her own eyes, she swiftly wrapped her arms around her trembling wife and held her tight as Alicent buried her face in her neck and sobbed. “Please don’t cry, Ali. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t,” Alicent choked out. “Please don’t, don’t tell me that you didn’t mean, that you didn’t mean what you said.” She clutched at Rhaenyra’s back, fisting the fabric of her nightgown. “I, I needed—that was what I needed.”
Fighting the urge to pull away so that she could see her wife’s face, Rhaenyra’s arms tightened around her instead. “Truly?”
Alicent nodded, her sobs quieting as she began taking deep, shuddering breaths. “It’s . . . it’s so hard for me sometimes. I look at Aegon, and all I can think . . .” She sniffled loudly. “You’ve always been better with the children than me.”
“Ali—”
“You are, and I love you for it. They deserve a mother who—” Alicent drew back from her, wiping roughly at her reddened eyes. “I try to love them. I do, but sometimes . . .”
“It’s difficult,” Rhaenyra finished gently, the knot in her stomach at last beginning to uncoil. Hearing her wife say such thoughts aloud probably shouldn’t be a comfort, but it was.
Sniffling, Alicent nodded once more. “I wish it wasn’t,” she mumbled.
Rhaenyra caressed her wife’s wet cheek, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “I know, My Love. I do as well.”
Alicent’s eyes closed as she leaned into Rhaenyra’s touch, nuzzling her palm. Her breathing was steadier now, and she was no longer shaking. She seemed almost—
“My Sweet Alicent,” Rhaenyra murmured, the sound of her voice making her wife’s eyes flutter open. “I think it time we retire to bed, hmm?”
She received a stifled yawn in response.
Her heart feeling lighter than it had since Alicent had told her that she was with child, Rhaenyra carefully scooped her wife up into her arms. Thankfully, Alicent was dressed for bed, so she needn’t concern herself with undressing and then redressing her already half-asleep wife.
Carrying Alicent over to her side of their bed, Rhaenyra laid her down with all of the reverence that her darling wife deserved. “I love you, Ābrazȳrys.”
When she tried to step away from the bed, a hand grabbed her wrist. “Please stay.”
“I’m not going far, My Love,” she promised, “but I assume you don’t wish for me to crawl over you to reach my side of the bed.”
Alicent released her wrist, expression sheepish and sleepy. “Oh.”
Gods, she adored her wife.
After giving Alicent another kiss on the forehead, Rhaenyra hurried to her side of the bed and slipped beneath the covers.
Alicent was settled in her arms moments later, her head tucked beneath Rhaenyra’s chin and one arm wrapped loosely around her waist.
Rhaenyra hugged her tight, kissing her forehead. “I love you, Ali.”
“I love you, too, Nyra.” Alicent yawned, snuggling impossibly closer.
They would need to speak more on the morrow, she knew, and in the coming moons as well, but those were troubles for another time.
For now, Rhaenyra was more than content to simply hold her wife in her arms.
Nine Moons Later
Rhaenyra had been terrified the first time that Alicent was brought to the birthing bed.
She’d been so terrified that all she’d needed to hear from Ser Harrold was that Alicent had called out for her, and she’d gone running. She’d gone running and burst into Alicent’s bedchamber—her mother’s old bedchamber—and found her beloved screaming and struggling to bring forth Aegon.
Those first labors had seemingly lasted a lifetime, and Alicent had been so delirious from pain and exhaustion by the end that she hadn’t even remembered Rhaenyra’s presence.
Rhaenyra remembered thinking that Alicent had looked so small in that great bed, which not even a year ago had been soaked in her mother’s blood. She remembered thinking that Alicent had looked terrifyingly small and that her swollen belly had seemed monstrously large.
Barely more than two years later, when Alicent had given birth to Helaena, Rhaenyra had thought much the same. While her Sweet Alicent had never been frail, she was naturally slender, and both Aegon and Helaena—she now knew—had been rather large babes.
Alicent’s labors with Helaena had been almost as harrowing as those with Aegon. And yet even as Alicent had screamed and pushed, Rhaenyra remembered sensing that something was off. There had been an almost . . . listlessness to Alicent that day. Her eyes had seemed distant and unfocused, and not simply because of the pain. Her cries had been rough and hoarse, but without the same panic that Rhaenyra had remembered from her first time in the birthing bed.
It had not been until after their reconciliation that Alicent had explained to her how empty and adrift she’d felt when carrying Helaena and for several moons afterwards.
“Many of my memories from that time seem almost dreamlike. And I can’t quite recall much of anything from Helaena’s actual birth.”
Aemond’s birth had been different.
Alicent had remained awake and aware throughout, clinging to Rhaenyra’s hand and quietly begging her not to leave. Rhaenyra had held her as best she could and promised her sweet wife that she would never be alone again.
It was a promise that Rhaenyra had kept these past three years.
And it was a promise she would continue to keep now.
Rhaenyra gently tucked a lock of Alicent’s pretty auburn hair behind her ear, suppressing a wince when Alicent responded by squeezing her hand so hard that Rhaenyra swore she heard something crack. “You’re doing so well, Ali.” Gods, how she wanted to kiss her wife, to cradle her cheek with her free hand and tell her how much she loved her.
But they were surrounded by a flurry of midwives, and Grand Maester Orwyle was but a few feet away futzing with his instruments.
Instruments that would come nowhere near her precious Alicent if Rhaenyra had any say in the matter.
At least that wretched old toad Mellos isn’t here.
The previous grand maester had passed some four moons ago after taking a terrible fall down the serpentine steps that had shattered his legs and broken one of his arms. She’d later overheard Orwyle whisper to one of his fellows that it was a miracle Mellos’ head hadn’t cracked open like an egg. And the few times that Mellos had regained consciousness, he’d bellowed in pain like a wounded bull until more milk of the poppy was forced down his throat.
Old Mellos had lingered for another three weeks after his fall—in utter agony, according to those assigned to watch over him.
Rhaenyra still considered it a kinder fate than he deserved.
For the condescending way that he’d always treated Alicent when she was with child, for how he’d watched so coldly and almost contemptuously each time Alicent screamed and struggled to bring a new babe into the world, for butchering her mother and leaving her to bleed out on the birthing bed, he’d deserved far worse than a few weeks of poppy-muddled suffering.
Alicent’s pained cry immediately drew Rhaenyra’s attention back to her wife. “Nyra,” she whimpered.
“I’m here, Ali.” She reached out and lovingly cradled her wife’s cheek. “I’m right here. You’re not alone.”
Alicent shuddered. “I lo—thank you, Nyra,” she panted.
Rhaenyra glanced over at Orwyle with an annoyed frown. “Grand Maester—”
The door flew open with a thunderous bang, causing everyone save for Alicent to startle.
Alicent groaned.
“Grand Maester!” The servant who had burst into the room rushed over to Orwyle. “You must come quickly.”
Rhaenyra practically snarled at the man. “Can you not see that the grand maester is occupied? The queen’s labors—”
“My apologies, Princess, but His Grace is in need of the grand maester’s services.”
At that, Rhaenyra’s anger briefly faltered. “Has something happened to my father?”
The servant hesitated a moment before answering. “It is his arm, Princess.”
His arm.
She assumed it must be the arm that had seemingly been rotting for years now.
“Nyra,” Alicent rasped.
Rhaenyra turned to her wife. “Yes?”
“Let him go,” she whispered, low enough so that no one else would hear.
As if we could actually keep him here.
But she appreciated her wife’s words all the same, since she now wouldn’t need to waste her time or breath arguing with the servant or grand maester.
And indeed, Orwyle was already bustling towards the door, though he was courteous enough to offer her and Alicent a brief bow from the threshold. “My apologies, Your Grace, Princess. I shall return as swiftly as I can.”
Rhaenyra doubted that he would return in time for the afterbirth, but she nodded to acknowledge his words.
Once the grand maester was gone, the midwives surrounded Alicent.
As they worked, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but notice how differently they treated her wife compared to how Mellos and Orwyle had treated her. They were brisk, but not cruel—firm, but not without gentleness.
And they actually spoke to Alicent rather than simply barking orders at her.
Rhaenyra liked them.
In a rare show of mercy, Alicent’s Seven allowed her fourth babe to be born even more swiftly than Aemond.
As Alicent collapsed back onto the bed, one of the midwives scooped the new babe into her arms.
Rhaenyra held her breath.
Having attended the births of their first three children, she knew well what to expect, and yet her heart still clenched as she waited.
And waited.
At last, a high, thin wail split the air, and everyone in the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.
The midwife holding their new babe beamed. “A boy, Your Grace, My Princess.”
Alicent stirred, lifting her head a little. “A boy?”
“Yes, Ali.” Rhaenyra smiled at her, gently dabbing her wife’s sweat-slicked brow with a cool cloth. “W—You have another son.”
The exhausted smile that Alicent offered in response said everything that words could not in that moment.
Gods, how she wanted to kiss her wife.
Later, she promised herself.
Once the midwives and servants were gone.
When the new babe was placed in Alicent’s arms, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at the way her wife’s face softened.
Yes. She would love this new child of theirs.
Just as she did Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond.
Regardless of the circumstances of how he’d come to be, he was Alicent’s son, and for that alone, Rhaenyra would always choose to love him.
And I shall have reasons to love him for his own sake soon enough.
“What shall you name him, Ali?” she murmured.
They both knew that there was no sense in waiting to consult the king on this matter.
Alicent was silent for a moment as she studied their new babe. Then, she looked up at Rhaenyra. “What about Daeron?”
Rhaenyra smiled, barely resisting the desire to lean down and claim her wife’s lips in a gentle kiss. “It’s perfect, Ali.”
As are you.