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Alicent Hightower entered her stepdaughter’s wedding with a call to war. The beacon on the Hightower in Oldtown glowed a deep green. A call for her banners to assemble, a reminder of her power and her heritage. She was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and she would fight for the place of her child on the Iron Throne.
The King did not look happy to be interrupted, but right at that moment, Alicent did not care. She strode forward in her green gown, passing faces unknown and familiar. Amidst their ranks were the supporters of her son’s claim to the throne. When all eyes had turned to her and all in the hall had stood up, she had passed half of the hall. All eyes were on her. After all this time, she owned it. Alicent had learned to stare back. Do not avert their gaze. Hold the head straight. Eyes to the front. Do not let them get to you.
She arrived at the head of the dining hall, facing the bride.
“Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you.”
The words felt dry and hollow on her tongue. As if the sound of the words themselves had been forged in the Dornish wastelands. As if she had swallowed a pound of sand, and all the remaining grains on her tongue were a reminder of everything she could never be. She was a lady of her word, but nothing she had said in the past had ever felt farther from the truth.
Alicent knew that her eyes betrayed the authenticity of her congratulations. Rhaenyra had reminded her a million times that her eyes glowed a certain shade when a lie spilled from her lips. Alicent wasn’t sure if the glow in her eyes now came from that old habit or if it were the tears shimmering beneath the surface. She would never release them, though. A Queen’s tears were reserved for the privacy of the bedchamber, never to be released in the presence of the Court and the guests.
It felt wrong to address Rhaenyra as her stepdaughter. Friend, lover, betrothed, wife. Those were the words she wished to utter. The words she had wished to utter one day. Feelings that had been buried deep beneath the flesh of her heart years ago, in the confinement of a dungeon with metal bars, where no one would be able to reach them but her. Feelings that had turned to anger just recently. The shadow of betrayal tainted her heart in deep Targaryen crimson. Fury mixed itself with melancholy right then and there.
The bride looked right back at her. After all this time, just this once, Alicent could not read the other’s expression. And she didn’t know if she even wanted to. Instead, she turned towards her husband and gave an apology with a quick kiss to the cheek. The beard felt wrong against her lips. There should have been smooth skin underneath it instead. Some part of her had learned to love her husband and her life as the Queen, but nothing would ever touch her like Rhaenyra Targaryen.