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“ This one was particularly easy to kill.” Rhaenyra thinks. She caresses her bow, her hands weaker for all the years she spent sowing, taking in the activities of a lady of the court.
Queen Alicent Hightower is sleeping soundly in the Great Bedchamber, beside her, her Lady of the Bedchamber, Rosalin Tyrell, to guard the queen’s dreams. Both of them are unaware of the assassin that had just entered. They came at least a week and were very sloppy, almost as if they wanted to get killed, which made no sense.
In the Privy Chamber—the last rampart between the royal bed and the outside world—the assassin looks over her shoulder. Sir Criston Cole had returned to his post outside, unaware of the threat that had stolen while he was elsewhere. Unaware of Rhaenyra concealed in the rafters, watching the assassin touch the door that would lead her to the queen.
When the lock turns, she jumps from the beam above her, feet light over the marble, covers her mouth and draws a blade between her ribs. She is careful to not let blood stain her and lays her quietly, watching her girlish face, barely a woman . She doesn’t recognize her.
She was a nobody.
Rhanerya kisses her brow and leaves her on the marble floor. When she hears the first scream, she is already dashing into the darkness .
**
Rhanerya doesn't like the Queen. Rhanerya doesn't like the queendom of Inys. She dreams for the day a ship comes into Ascalon, and takes her to her home in Lasia, with her sworn blood sisters.
Queen Alicent Hightower is… offputing. To say the least. She is very polite but when she thinks nobody is looking, she starts picking at the skin on her thumbs, her ladies of the bedchambers always stopping her, but not even them can’t help the fact that sometimes the Queen sports bloody cuticles, nails bitten until there’s nothing left.
Rhaenyra always does her same routine, to be predictable is to be safe.
Today her duties were to help dress a skittish maid of honor, who often looked fraught and scared. She was the daughter of a powerful Lord and it was unpleasant how she had been presenting lately so Rhaenyra was sent to deal with her.
After dressing the unwilling girl, she encounters the Mother of Maids, who gives her a nod.
“Misstress Targaryen.” She says her name like if it were a curse. Inysh hated her because she was a Southern born outside the Virtduom. “How is the Baratheon girl? I wish that girl would eat, she has not had an appetite lately. ”
“How long has she not had an appetite?”
“Since the Feast of the Early Spring.”
Oliva tossed her a disdainful glance. “Make her look well. Her father will be angry if he thinks the child is being underfed.”
“She is not sick?”
“I know the signs of sickness, mistress.”
Rhaenyra smiled a little. “Lovesickness, then?”
Oliva pursed her lips. “She is a maid of honor. And I will have no gossip in the Coffer Chamber.”
“Your pardon, my lady. It was a jest.”
“You are Queen Alicent’s lady-in-waiting, not her fool.”
With a sniff, Oliva took the gown from the press and handed it over. Rhaenyra curtsied and retreated.
Her very soul abhorred that woman. The four years she had spent as a maid of honor had been the most miserable of her life. Even after her public conversion to the Seven Gods, still her loyalty to the House of Hightower had been questioned.
She remembered lying on her hard bed in the Coffer Chamber, footsore, listening to the other girls titter about her Southern accent and speculate on the sort of heresy she must have practiced in the Ersyr. Oliva had never said a word to stop them. In her heart, Rhaenyra had known that it would pass, but it had hurt her pride to be ridiculed. When a vacancy had opened in the Privy Chamber, the Mother of the Maids had been only too happy to be rid of her. Rhanerya had gone from dancing for the queen to emptying her washbasins and tidying the royal apartments. She had her own room and a better wage now.
***
The House of Hightower , like most royal houses, had seen its fair share of premature deaths. Visenya the First had drunk from a poisoned cup of wine. Rhea the Third had ruled for only a year before being stabbed in the heart by one of her own servants. Alicent’s own mother, Lynesse the Fourth, had been slain by a gown laced with basilisk venom. Nobody knew how the garment had entered the Privy Wardrobe, but foul play was suspected.
Rhaenyra’s attending court. Myrcella’s father, the girl Rhaenyra had to dress, had come back from his trip from Mentendon.
Cleodeon Baratheon stands proudly. “Though I am rejoicing to see my dearest daughter, that’s not the only reason I am here.”
Queen Alicent looks at him.
Cleodeon clears his throat. “His royal Highness Aubrecht the Second, High Prince of the Free State of Mentendon, has long admired Your Majesty. He has heard tell of your courage, your beauty, and your stalwart devotion to the Seven Gods . Now his late grand-uncle has been entombed, he craves a firmer alliance between our countries.”
“And how does His Royal Highness mean to forge such an alliance?” Alicent asks.
“Through marriage, Your Majesty.”
Every head turned toward the throne.
There was always a period of fragility before a Hightower sovereign got with child. Theirs was a house of daughters, one daughter for each queen. Their subjects called it proof of their sainthood. It was expected of each Queen of Inys to marry and get with child as soon as possible, lest she die with no true heir. This would be dangerous in any country, since it would pitch the realm into civil war, but according to Inysh belief, the collapse of the House of Hightower would also cause the Nameless One to rise again and lay waste to the world.
Yet Alicent had so far declined every offer of marriage.
The queen reclined into her throne, studying Cleodon . Her face, as ever, betrayed nothing.
“My dear Cleodon ,” she says. “Flattered as we are, we seem to remember that you are already wed.”
The court fell about laughing. Cleodon had looked nervous, but now he grins.
“Sovereign lady!” he says, chuckling. “It is my master who seeks your hand.”
“Pray continue,” Alicent says , with the faintest shadow of a smile.”
He goes on to explain how a marriage between them would be beneficial for both of them and Rhaenyra tries to suppress her smile. Queen Alicent won’t marry him. This was her way. She strung her suitors along like fish on a line, accepting gifts and flattery, but never surrendered her hand.
***
“A suitor,,” Linora said as they walked down the corridor, out of earshot of the rest of the court. “And from Prince Aubrecht! I had thought him far too devout to be wed.”
“No prince is too devout to marry the Queen of Inys,” Rhaenyra says . “It is she who is too devout to wed.”
“But the realm must have a princess.”
“Linora,” Margret said tightly, “a little temperance, if you please.”
“Well, it must.”
“Queen Alicent is not yet thirty. She has plenty of time.”
***
When she shunned the Banqueting House, which was often, the Queen of Inys supped in her Privy Chamber. Tonight, Rhaenyra and Linora had been invited to break bread with her, an honor customarily reserved for her three bedfellows.
“Mistress Targaryen, what do you think of him?” Alicent asked her. Rhanerya was petrified, for all her years in the court the Queen had so rarely spoken directly to her.
“Your majesty, you are asking me for my opinion?”
“Unless there is another Mistress Targaryen present.”
Rhaenyra looks at him in the miniture . Honestly, he looks like a little rat. He has red hair and tiny eyes that make him look like a rodent.
“He is comely enough,” she concluded.
“Faint praise indeed.” Alicent sipped from her goblet. “You are a harder judge than my other ladies, Mistress Targaryen. Are the men of the Ersyr more attractive than the prince?”
“They are different, Your Majesty.” Rhanerya pauses, then added, “Less like dormice.”
The queen gazes at her, expressionless. For a moment, Rhaenyra wondered if she had been too bold. A stricken look from Katryen only served to feed her misgiving.
“You have a quick tongue as well as light feet.” The Queen of Inys reclines in her chair. “We have not spoken often since your coming to court. A long time has passed—six years, I think.”
“Eight, Your Majesty.”
Roslain shots her a warning glance. One did not correct the descendant of the Saint.
“They must tell tales of my ancestors in the Ersyr,” Sabran says instead, letting go of Rhaenyra’s remarks. “Of the Damsel, especially.”
“Yes, madam. She is remembered in the South as the most rightwise and selfless woman of her time.”
Cleolind Onjenyu was also remembered in the South as the greatest warrior of her time, but the Inysh would never believe that. They believed that she had needed to be saved.
To Rhaenyra , Cleolind was not the Damsel.
She was the Mother.
“Lady Oliva tells me that Mistress Targaryen is a born storyteller,” Roslain says, giving her a cool look. “Will you not tell us the tale of the Saint and the Damsel as you were taught it in the South, mistress?”
Rhaenyra sensed a trap. The Inysh seldom enjoyed hearing anything from a new perspective, let alone their most sacred tale. Roslain was expecting her to put a foot wrong.
“My lady,” Rhaenyra says, “it cannot be told better than it is by the Sanctarian. In any case, we will hear it tomor—”
“We will hear it now,” Alicent orders. “As more wyrms stir, the story will comfort my ladies.”
The fire crackled. Looking at Alicent, Rhaenyra felt a strange tension, as if there were a thread between them. Finally, she rose to take the chair beside the hearth. The place of the storyteller.
“As you wish.” She smoothed her skirts. “Where shall I begin?”
“With the birth of the Nameless One,” Alicent said. “When the great fiend came from the Dreadmount.”
Rhaenyra tells them the butchered story. How the deceiver, Sir Otto Hightower, had bravely slayed the Nameless one. Rhaenyra knew this was a lie. The slayer had been Cleolind Onjenyu and the deceiver had fooled everyone and stole her glory. He then had gone and built the fake religion of the Seven Gods. Although the Priority didn’t know if the House Hightower were truly descendants of Cleolind Onjenyu, it could be true that she could have had a daughter with Otto, who then began to be the Queens of Inys. And the myth said that only a Hightower on the Throne would keep the Nameless One away and that’s why Rhanerya was sent to the court when she was only eighteen years old. To protect Alicent from a presumption neither of them knew if it was true or not.
“Sir Otto had heard of the terror that now abided in Lasia, and he wished to offer his services to Selinu. He carried a sword of extraordinary beauty; its name was Ascalon. When he was close to the outskirts of Yikala, he saw a damsel weeping in the shadow of the trees, and he asked why she was so afeared. Good knight, Cleolind answered, thou art kind of heart, but for thine own sake, leave me to my prayers, for a wyrm doth come to claim my life.”
It sickened Rhaenyra to speak of the Mother in this way, as if she were some swooning waif.
“The knight,” she pressed on, “was moved by her tears. Sweet lady, he said, I should sooner plunge my sword into my own heart than see thy blood water the earth. If thy people will give their souls to the Virtues of Knighthood, and if thou giveth me thy hand in marriage, I will drive this fell beast from these lands. This was his promise.”
Rhaenyra paused to gather her breath. And suddenly, an unexpected taste entered her mouth.
The taste of the truth.
“Cleolind told the knight to leave, insulted by his terms,” she found herself saying, “but Sir Otto would not be deterred. Determined to win glory for himself, he—”
“No,” Alicent cut in. “Cleolind agreed to his terms, and was grateful for his offer.”
“This is as I heard it in the South.” Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows, even as her heartbeat stumbled. “Lady Roslain asked me to—”
“And now your queen commands you otherwise. Tell the rest as the Sanctarian does.”
“Yes, madam.”
So she does.
“Lady Oliva was right,” the queen said eventually. “You do have the tongue of a storyteller—but I suspect you have heard too many stories, and not quite enough truth. I bid you listen well at sanctuary.” She set down her goblet. “I am tired. Goodnight, ladies.”
Rhaenyra rose, as did Linora. They curtsied and left.
“Her Majesty was displeased,” Linora said crossly when they were out of earshot. “You told the story ever so beautifully at first. Why in the world did you say that the Damsel rejected the Saint? No sanctarian has ever said that. What a notion!”
“If Her Majesty was displeased, I am sorry for it.”
“Now she might not invite us to sup with her again.” Linora huffed. “You should have apologized, at least. Perhaps you should pray more often to the Knight of Courtesy.”
Rhaenyra doesn’t say anything else. If they want to believe their false gods and their false stories and false religions, she doesn’t care. She’s only here for orders of the Prioress.
***
The Baratheon girl intercepts her. “Meet me under the stairs.”
Rhaenyra looks at her unblinking.
“Or I’ll tell the majesty about your letters.”
Her letters sent home. Her letter detailing her true intentions. The were written in the language of the South, but if they were brought to court no doubt the Queen could order an interpreter.
The Mother may curse this child. “I’ll see you there.”
When she meets her, she speaks nosense. About the wyrms and the East.
“The are not beasts. They are dragons .”
Rhaenyra always has found the beasts intriguing and the ways of the East interesting enough to look up forbidden books about them. The people of the East ride the wyrms and Rhaenyra had always wondered how that would feel like. But it is a blasphemous line of thought so she tried to tamper it down.
“The Nameless One is coming. The only way to save us is to strike up an alliance with the East.”
She looks at her desperately. “You are from the South. You must understand.”
“The queendom of Inys would never accept the East and you know it.”
“In the face of a threat they would not have other option.” The Baratheon girl says. “I found a prophecy–“
“That was why you were acting so strange?”
Rhaenyra scoffed at herself. She had merely thought the maid was with child. She should not have understimated the girl that easy.
“No word to anyone about this.” She says and the girl slowly nods.
***
She is assigned to taste the Queen’s food today.
“I thought Kateryn was going to serve me tonight.”
“Kateryn was sick, your majesty.”
Queen Alicent merely scoffs. “Kateryn slept by my side yesterday. I would have known if she were sick.”
Rhaenyra doesn’t like to spend more time than the absolutely necessary with her but Kateryn had ordered her and she wasn’t going to suddenly start acting impolite . She had to play the selfless maid part well.
She notices the breast of the Queen rising and falling steadily, picturing calm, but the square set of her jaw was betraying it in what was clear anger.
“Majesty, this may be bold but you do not seem to be in high spirits today.“
“It is far too bold. Keep to your work. You are only here to see that my food is not poisoned.”
“Forgive me.” Rhaenyra says, in an apology she doesn’t feel.
“ I have been too forgiving. You oath to pray more to the Knight of Courtesy, Mistress Targaryen.” She scoffs. ”Now my Ladies of the Chambers avoid me too. Rosaline is too busy with her daughter to attend to me, Ollena is sick and now Kateryn is pretending to be sick.”
Rhanyra suppresses the urge to throw wine over the Queen’s head. All the Ladies of the Bedchamber were very devoted to their Queen and Lady Ollena was seventy years old for the Mother’s sake. Queen Alicent may be angry but that didn’t justify how she spoke of
them.
“Are you faithful to the religion of the Seven Gods?” The Queen is glaring at her. “Perhaps all you do is serve me while in secret you worship your false religion.”
Rhaenyra is not stupid. She knows when she is in danger.
“Your Majesty, Queen Cleolind, your ancestor, was a crown princess of Lasia.”
“There is no need for you to remind me of that. Do you think me a halfwit?”
“I meant no such insult,” Rhaenyra says. Alicent sets her prayer book to one side. When retired to her bedchambers, one could surely always find her reading her Faith books. “Queen Cleolind was noble and good of heart. It was through no fault of hers that she knew nothing of the Six Virtues when she was born. I may be naïve, but rather than punishing them, surely we should pity those in ignorance and lead them to the light.”
“Indeed,” Alicent says dryly. “The light of the pyre.”
“If you mean to put me to the stake, madam, then I am sorry for it. I hear we Ersyris make very poor kindling. We are like sand, too used to the sun to burn.”
Queen Alicent glares at her. Rhaenyra feels as if the Queen wants to slap her but doesn’t dare to. What’s stopping her?
Myrcella shows up with the others Ladies in Waiting to bring the food, Queen Alicent quickly dismisses them which is odd because she usually likes to listen to the gossip of the ladies. Rhaenyra goes to stand once she tastes the food but the Queen orders her, “Not you, mistress Targaryen. You stay.”
So she does.
“Lady Baratheon seems distracted of late.” Alicent says, looking at the door
Rhaenyra chuckles, hiding her fear. If the Queen finds Myrcella's behavior too off putting she may question her and that wouldn’t end up well. “She may be love sick, as it is common with ladies her age.”
Alicent turns to look at her.
“You cannot be that old to be speaking in those ways. How old are you?”
“Six and twenty, Your Majesty.”
“You are not much younger than myself.”
Queen Alicent is eight and twenty years old. “Are you sick in love, as young maids often are?”
It might have sounded mocking on different lips, but those eyes were as cold as the emeralds at her throat.
“I fear an Inysh citizen would find it hard to love someone who was once sworn to another faith,” Rhaenyra says at the end.
“No sense.” Alicent scoffs. “I heard you were close to Lord Laenor Valeryon. I know you two have exchanged gifts in each Feast of Fellowship.”
Rhaenyra wants to raise a brow but that’s too much insolence. She couldn’t have imagined that Queen Alicent was paying that much attention to her private affairs.
“Between me and Lord Valeryon there is nothing more than friendship.” It is true. Laenor was easy to be around, him and his sister, Laena, were the only people in the court of Iyns that Rhaenyra knew she could count with. She had truly grown fond of both of them, they didn’t care that she was from the South and had other religion. Of course, they didn’t know the real truth but Rhanyra had an inkling that even if they were to find out, they wouldn’t kill her.
It helped her to not feel as lonely.
“Besides,” she adds, as if in an afterthought, “Lord Valeryon prefers the company of men.”
“And whose company do you prefer?” Alicent drinks from her goblet of wine. Rhaenyra notices a single drop of wine, running down her throat.
“I prefer no one’s company. My duty is to serve faithfully to the Queen.”
“Very well.” Alicent folds her hands in her middle. Her face had softened. “So you are not in love.”
“Perhaps,” she continued, “you would care to walk with me in the Privy Garden tomorrow, if Lady Ollena is still indisposed, that is.”
“If that is what you wish, Majesty.” Rhaenyra says.
***
The heat at the Privy Garden is unbearable. Rhaenyra had prayed to the Mother that Lady Ollena would recover but the Mother hadn't heard her prayers, so now she was walking arm in arm with the Queen who was surprisingly cold.
“His Excellency told me that your mother was not from the Ersyr,” Alicent said.
“No. She was born in Lasia.”
“What was her name?”
“Aemma.”
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, madam,” Rhaenyra says. “It was a long time ago.”
No matter the differences between them, they both knew what it was to lose a mother.
As the clock tower struck eleven, Alicent stops beside her private aviary. She unlatchs the door, and a tiny green bird hoppes onto her wrist.
“These birds are from the Uluma Mountains,” she says. Sunlight danced in the emeralds around her neck.
“They often spend their winters there.”
“Have you ever been to Lasia, Majesty?” It seemed unlikely with how the Iyns despised everyone that didn’t share their faith.
“I have not. I will not step a foot out of Virtudom”
Rhaenyra wants to roll her eyes. Of course.
“In Inys, this bird is called the lovejay,” the Queen says. The bird on her wrist gave a merry chirp. “They take only one partner all their lives, and will know their song even after many years apart. That is why the lovejay was sacred to the Knight of Fellowship. These birds embody her desire for every soul to be joined in companionship.”
“I know them well,” Rhaenyra said. The bird pecked up the seeds. “In the South, they are called peach-faced mimics.”
“Peach-faced.”
“A peach is a sweet orange fruit, madam, with a stone at its core. It grows in the Ersyr and some parts of the East.”
Alicent watched the bird eat. “Let us not speak of the East,” she said, and returned it to its perch.
“Do you smell smoke Mistress Targaryen?” She says after a while of silence. “Today two sinners were burned in Marian Square. What do you think of it?”
“It is a cruel death.” Rhaenyra says after a while.
“Those sinners don’t care about Inys. They rather see the Nameless One take over the city in flames. It was what they deserved. Lady Igrain says that we must do to our enemies what they would do to us. ”
“Did the Saint also said this madam?” Rhaenyra feigns ignorance. “I’m still learning the faith of the Seven Gods, after all.”
“The Knight of Courage commands us to defend the faith.”
“Yet you accepted a gift from Prince Aubrecht of Mentendon, who trades with the East. He even gave you an Eastern pearl,” Rhaenyra said. “One might say that he is funding heresy.”
It was out before she could stop it. Alicent gave her a glacial look.
“I am not a sanctarian, responsible for teaching you the complexities of the Seven Gods ,” she said. “If you wish to dispute those complexities, Mistress Targaryen, I advise you to look elsewhere. In the Dearn Tower, perhaps, with others who question my judgment—which comes, as I am sure I need not remind you, from the Saint himself.” She turned away. “Good morrow.”
She left Rhaenyra alone in the garden, guards trailing behind her. When she is out of sight, Rhanyra curses herself. The heat is making her irritable, she reasons. So she splashes her face with water and sits by the fountain. Some drops trickle down her neck.
Eight years she had spent at the court of Alicent Hightower. In all that time, she had never said anything to nettle her. Now she was like a viper, unable to keep her tongue in her mouth. Something made her want to rile the Queen of Inys.
She had to cut that something out, or this court would eat her whole.
At night, she prayed.
Mother, I beg you, guide me in the land of the Deceiver. Mother, I implore you, let me comport myself with dignity in the presence of this woman who calls herself your descendant, who I have sworn to guard. Mother, I pray you, give me courage worthy of my cloak.
***
The castle is in a chaos. Fyredel, the right hand of the Nameless One, had awoken form her long hundred years of slumber. And now she was at the castle, spitting blue fire and demanding for Alicent. She landed at the top of the Dern Tower, her horns glistening in the dark.
Rhanyra runs for her longbow, hoping she will be fast enough.
“ALICENT QUEEN.”
“SEED OF THE SHIELDHEART.” All of the city could hear Frydel with how her roars parted the sky. “COME FORTH AND FACE YOUR ENEMY OF OLD, OR WATCH YOUR CITY BURN”
Surely, Kateryn and Roslin would keep her safe. Surely, Criston Cole would convince her of not going, advising to stay underground and safe. Surely—
“I am here, abomination.” Alicent’s firm voice resounded.
Rhaenyra froze.
The fool. The utter fool. Alicent had signed her own death by coming to meet the wyrm.
She won’t reach her longbow now. But she looks at the Tower of Time, she has other option.
“Why have you come beast?”
“I am giving you the chance to swear fidelity to me. You can be the Flesh Queen of Iyns. My master is about to wake up. The thousand years have almost passed now.”
“My people neither I will ever swear fidelity to you,wyrm”
“You claim your bloodline shields this realm,” Fýredel says , “and yet you have stepped out to meet me.” Her teeth burned red-hot in her mouth. “Do you not fear my flame?”
“The Saint will protect me.”
Even the most religious devoted fool couldn’t believe that Sir Otto Hightower was going to extend his hand from heaven and protect them from the wrath of a wyrm.
“You speak to one who knows the weakness of the flesh. I slew Margaery the Ambitious on the first day of the Grief. Your Saint,” Fyredel says, mouth smoking, “did not protect her. Bow to me, and I will spare you the same end. Refuse, and you will join her now.”
Whatever Alicent said, Rhaenyra couldn’t hear her anymore. The guards keep shooting arrows at the wrym but it was useless.
Alicent would keep goading Fyredel until the beast torched her. The blockhead must really think the wretched Saint would protect her. The imbecile.
Finally she makes it to the royal library, cursing the weight of her gowns. Had she been wearing her pants, this would have been quicker. She weaves through the shelves until she is in the entrance of the clock tower.
From here, Alicent looks diminute beneath the Wrym. Still, she did not balk. Rhaenyra notices that she is holding the ceremonial blade that represents Ascalon, the True Sword.
“Leave this city, and harm no soul,” she called, “or I swear by the Saint whose blood I carry, you will face a defeat beyond any the House of Hightower has ever exacted on your kind.” Fyredel bared his teeth again, but Alicent dared to take another step. “Before I leave this world, I will see your kind thrown down, sealed forever in the chasm in the mountain.”
Fýredel reared up and opened her wings.
The wyrm had bloodlust in his eyes. They burned as hot as the fire in his belly. Rhaenyra knew she had moments to decide what to do next.
It would have to be a wind-warding. Wardings like this used a great deal of siden, and she had so very little left—but perhaps, if she poured her last store of it into the effort, she could work one upon Alicent.
She held her hand toward the Alabastrine Tower, cast her siden outward, and twisted it into a wreath around the Queen of Inys.
As Fýredel unleashed his fire, so Rhaenyra broke the chains on her long-dormant power. Flame collided with ancient stone. Sabran vanished into light and smoke. Rhaenyra was distantly aware of Myrcella coming into the belfry, but it was too late to hide what she was doing.
Her senses closed in on Alicent. She felt the strain on her braids of protection around the queen, the fire clawing for dominance, the pain in her own body as the warding gulped away her siden. Sweat soaked her corset. Her arm shook with the effort of keeping her hand turned outward.
When Fýredel closed his jaws, all was silent. Black vapors billowed from the tower, clearing slowly. Rhaenyra waited, heart tight as a drum, until she saw the figure in the smoke.
Alicent Hightower was unscathed.
“It is my turn to give you a warning. A warning from my forebear,” she said breathlessly, “that if you make war against Virtudom, this hallowed blood will quench your fire. And it will not return.”
Fýredel did not acknowledge her. Not this time. She was looking at the blackened stone, and the spotless circle around Alicent.
A perfect circle.
Her nostrils flared. Her pupils thinned to slits. She had seen a warding before. Rhaenyra stood like a statue as his merciless gaze roved, searching for her, while Alicent remained still. When he looked toward the belfry, he sniffed, and Rhaenyra knew that she had caught her scent. She stepped out of the shadows beneath the clock face.
“Here I am,” she said softly. “Here I am.”
The High Western let out a scream of rage. With a push of her hind legs, she launched herself off the Dearn Tower, taking part of the spire and most of its east-facing wall with her. Rhaenyra threw herself behind a pillar as a fireball exploded against the clock tower.
The cadence of her wings faded away. Rhaenyra lurched back to the balustrade. Alicent was still on the balcony, in her circle of pale stone. The sword had fallen from her hand. She had not looked toward the clock tower, or seen Rhaenyra watching her. When Combe reached her, she collapsed against him, and he carried her back into the Alabastrine Tower.
“What did you do?” came a quaking voice from behind Rhaenyra. Myrcella. “I saw you. What did you do?”
Rhaenyra slid to the floor of the belfry, head lolling. Great shudders pushed through her body.
The essence in her blood was spent. Her bones felt hollow, her skin as raw as if she had been flayed. She needed the–
“You are a witch.” Myrcella stepped away, ashen-faced. “Witch. You practice sorcery. I saw it—”
“You saw nothing.”
“It was aëromancy,” Myrcella whispered. “Now I know your secret, and it reeks far worse than mine. Let us see how far you can pursue Triam from the pyre.”
She whirled toward the stair. Rhaenyra threw her knife.
Even in this state, she struck true. Myrcella was pulled back with a strangled gasp, pinned by her cloak to the doorpost. Before she could escape, Rhaenyra was in front of her.
“My duty is to slay the servants of the Nameless One. I will also kill all those who threaten the House of Hightower ,” she breathed. “If you mean to accuse me of sorcery before the Virtues Council, I bid you find some way to prove it—and find it quickly, before I make poppets of you and your lover and stab them in the heart. Do you think that because Triam Sulyard is in the East, I cannot smite him where he stands?”
Myrcella breathed hard through her teeth.
“If you lay a finger on him,” she whispered, “I will see you burn in Marian Square.”
“Fire has no power over me.”
She pulled the knife free. Myrcella crumpled against the wall, panting, one hand at her throat.
Rhaenyra turned to the door. Her breath came swift and hot, and her ears rang.
She took one step before she fell.
***
Rhaenyra could hear the voices.
“Where in the Virtudom did you find her?”
“In the belfry, my lady.”
“Saint, it’s mistress Targaryen. Send word to your majesty. And fetch a healer.” It’s Laena. She sounds worried.
She dreams. Of the Priory. Of tasting the fruit again.
When she wakes, Laena is beside her.
“Laena.” She calls out.
“Rhaenyra!” She kisses her brow. “You had us so worrried. “You’ve been asleep for days. The physicians said you had an ague, then the sweat, then the pestilence.” She counts with her fingers.
“Alicent.” She says in a quiet voice, raspy. “Is Alicent well?”
“You should worry about yourself first, Rheanyra.” Laena checked her forehead, then her neck.
“I am perfectly fine.”
“Do you have anything to drink?”
Laena gives her the typical drink of Iyns. It tastes like horse shit but they think it helps with all diseases so she can’t refuse. Besides, it helps her throat not feel like sand.
“You were in the belfry.” Laena repeats. “Why?”
“I got lost in the library. I took a wrong turn and then found the clock tower and thought to explore but then the beast came and I was stuck there.” She looks at Laena. “Now, tell me if Alicent is well.”
Laena smiles, petulantly. “Queen Alicent is as fine as she could be. She has Sainthood to protect her. Every folk in Iyns knows now that Fyredel’s fire couldn’t touch her.”
A knock at the door.
“Where’s the wrym now?”
“Gone. There was no death but she set fire to some storehouses. Thankfully the people of Iyns didn't know that what they saw was the right hand of the nameless one, so we hid all tapestries featuring her and her demonic kind. ”
“A lot of wryms are waking up now.”
“Well,” Laena clutches her hands. “ As long as the House Hightower is still standing, the nameless one cannot return.”
Rhaenyra was doubting that more and more each time.
Another knock. This time, when Laena opened it, she fell into a curtsy.
“Leave us a moment, Laeana.”
Queen Alicent goes to sit beside her. Her riding habit was the dark green of holly.
“Call if you have need of us, Majesty,” said a gruff voice from outside.
“I do not think a bedbound woman poses too great a danger to my person, Sir Cole, but thank you.”
“Rhaenyra. You have been gone from my lodgings from far too long.” There is a flush to her checks. “I see you are at least awake.”
The door closes. Rhaenyra tries to sit, having an irrational wish of looking presentable for the queen.
“You were in the clock tower the day the wyrm came. I would like to know why.”
“Madam?”
“The Royal Librarian found you there. Lady Oliva Marchyn tells me that some courtiers and servants use the tower for . . . venery.”
“I have no lover, Majesty.”
“I will no tolerate any lewdness in this palace. Confess, and the Knight of Courtesy may show mercy.”
Rhaenyra senses Alicent will not believe the story about getting lost.“I went up to the belfry . . . to see if I could distract the beast from Your Majesty.” She wished she had the strength to speak with more conviction. “But I need not have feared for you.”
It was the truth, stripped of its vital parts.
“I trust that Ambassador uq-Ispad would not ask for a person of loose morals to be accepted into my Upper Household,” Alicent concluded, “but do not let me hear of you visiting the clock tower again.”
“Of course, madam.”
“Majesty,” Rhaenyra said, “may I ask why you went out to face the wyrm?” A clement breeze floated in from outside. “Had Fýredel slain you, all would have been lost.”
Alicent did not reply for a time.
“He threatened my people,” she murmured. “I had stepped out before I had considered what else might be done.” She looked back at Rhaenyra . “I have received another report about you. Lady Myrcella Baratheon has been telling my courtiers that you are a sorceress.”
Damn that red-haired gurnet. Rhaenyra almost admired her
mettle, ignoring the threat of a curse.
“Madam, I know nothing of sorcery,” she said, tinging her words with a hint of scorn.
Sorcery was not a word the Prioress much liked.
“Doubtless,” Alicent said, “but Lady Baratheon has a notion that it was you who protected me from Fýredel. She claims she saw you in the clock tower, casting a spell toward me.”
This time Rhaenyra was silent. There was no possible argument against the accusation.
“Of course,” the queen said, “she is a liar.”
Rhaenyra dared not speak.
“It was the Saint that drove back the wyrm. He held forth his heavenly shield to protect me from the fire. To imply that it was cheap sorcery comes very close to treason,” Alicent stated, her voice flat. “I have half a mind to send her to the Dearn Tower.”
All the tension rushed out of Rhaenyra. A laugh of relief bubbled in her, threatening to brim over.
“She is only young, Your Majesty,” she said, forcing it down. “With youth comes folly.”
“She is old enough to accuse you falsely,” Alicent pointed out. “Do you not crave vengeance?”
“I prefer the taste of mercy. It lets me sleep at night.”
Those stone-cold eyes ran her through. “Perhaps you imply that I should show mercy more often.”
Rhaenyra was too exhausted to fear that look. “No. Only that I doubt Lady Baratheon meant insult to Your Majesty. More likely she has a grudge against me, since I was promoted to a position she desires.”
Alicent lifted her chin.
“You will return to your duties in three days. I will have the Royal Physician take care of you until then,” she said. Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows. “I need you well,”
Alicent continued, rising to leave. “Once the announcement is made, I will need all my ladies by my side.”
“Announcement, madam?”
Alicent had turned her back to her, but Rhaenyra saw her shoulders tense.
“The announcement,” she said, “of my betrothal to Aubrecht Lievelyn, High Prince of the Free State of Mentendon.”
She was smiling when she said it but Rhaenyra coukd see the bloody cuticles, the nails run into nothing.
***
***
The Queen had been paying more attention to Rhaenyra since her fever. She had often asked her to stay to play cards and asked for her opinions.
Like right now, she is asking her what she thinks of the Red Prince, now that he has come. “He is less of a dormouse than we thought.” Alicent says, amused.
Rhaenyra can feel Roslain looking at her.
“He was polite and handsome . If he’s a mouse, then we can surely say he is the prince of the mice.”
Queen Alicent laughs. A rare sound. Rhaenyra feels proud of herself for making the Queen laugh.
“Indeed. But we have yet to seen if he will make me a Good consort.”
“You should do as you see fit. You are the one wearing the crown despite everyone else telling you what to do, let His Royal Highness prove himself to you.”
Alicent studies her.
“You do speak sweet words. I wonder if you mean them.”
“All my words came from my heart. The court can be surrounded by deceivers but I like to believe that I am honest when I speak.”
“Are you implying that our words do not come from our heart, Mistress Targaryen?”
“Roslain, I was not speaking to you.” Queen Alicent says and Roslain retreats, as if struck.
***
Their engagement was celebrated with a huge feast. That meant people came from all places. That means, Chaessar, would come.
“I don't think Queen Alicent will marry him.” She tells Laena, later, when there is no prying ears.
“Why?”
“Until there is a ring on her finger, I think there is a chance that the Queen will refuse him. An engagement can always be broken.”
Laena merely laughs. “Court has made you cynical, Rhaenyra. We might be about to witness a romance to rival that of Sansa Stark and Daenerys Stormborn.”
Rhaenyra does not think so.
***
When Chaessar finally summons her, he tells her that the prioress died and has been replaced by the new one. And this new one prioress wants her to come back
“Rhaenyra.” He tells her, when they finally have time alone. “It is time for you to come home.”
“What will you tell Queen Alicent? She will find it suspicious.”
“I will tell her that one of your family in Essyr is dying.”
It was all she dreamed about for years and yet—
“Doesn’t the new prioress believe the story of The Mother having a daughter with the Usurper?”
“She’s more adverse to it than the old one.”
“Even if it weren’t true, we can leave the Queendom of Iyns unprotected. The most powerful nation of the West falling wouldn’t do us any well.”
“Worry not. I have brought one of your younger sisters to replace you at court. Queen Alicent won’t be unprotected.”
She would come back home, with her sisters. All she had ever dreamed of since she stepped foot in Inys.
And still she couldn’t help worrying. When Chaessar sees her face, he worried too.
“Rhaenyra. Do not tell me you have harbored affection for the Queen of Iyns now.”
“That’s not it.” She quickly replies. “She’s odd, and off-puting and self centered but if I go now all my years at court would be wasted. Queen Alicent is finally trusting me.”
“Please, Chaessar, convince the Prioress to let me stay until Queen Alicent has her heir. It will not be long now, as she is soon to marry. If the myth is true then the House Hightower will keep the nameless one away. Just let me protect her until her daughter is born.”
“Very well.” Chaessar said. “But if i can't convince her you will have to return.”
“I understand.”
“My child, it’s time for you to leave this court of blasphemy and pray to the Mother. But if you want to stay I’ll speak to the Prioress.”
“Thank you, Chaessar.”
“Just remember, Rhaenyra. Let the Mother be the one that guides you and not the Queen of Iyns.”
“What am I doing?” She thinks to herself.
*^*
“I have a sense,” Criston Cole says in one of the dances that are held to celebrate the engagement , “that you do not think well of me, Mistress Targaryen.”
“I do not think of you often enough to have formed any opinion of you, Your Grace.”
The corner of his mouth flinched. “A fine hit.”
She made no apology.
“Either way i just wanted to tell you that you have a friend in me at court. Others may spread rumors about you but I see that Her Majesty values your counsel. As she does mine.”
Sir Cole keeps an eye on her back. Rhaenyra is sure he suspects her , though she is not sure what does he suspect her of.
And now with Cole on her shadow, Rhaenyra finds it difficult to enjoy herself.
She retires early, to prepare the bedchamber for Alicent. She throws coal into the fire and when she turns she is faced with Queen Alicent.
“My Queen.” She curtsies. “I did not expect you to retire to your bedchambers so early.”
“I am tired. I have slept ill of late. ”
She wore a sleeveless rail over her nightgown, and a green sash around her waist. Rhanyra had never seen her with so little clothing.
“Does something trouble you, My Queen?”
“I have had bad dreams. “
“There’s no need to worry then majesty. They will go away eventually. Everyone has bad dreams.”
“Not like mine.“ Alicent studies her. Rhanyra helps her into the bed, easing her into her nigth gown. “I never tell these things to my Ladies of the Bedchambers but you are made of firmer stuff. I have had dreams where im laying on the birthing bed and my daughter is trying to fight its way out of me but I cannot let her be born because behind me is the Nameles One, jaw open, waiting to devour my daughter. So I know I’m crushing her with my weight but I cannot let her get out of me. I cannot also stop thinking of what Frydel said to me, she said the thousands years were almost up.”
For the first time in all her eight years at Court, Rhanyra saw tears on the Queen’s eyes.
“Wyrms like to play with the mind.”
“Well, she was successful. Because now I will wed. For Iyns.”
“Do you not wish to wed, Madam?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want. I have a duty to fulfill.”
Rhaenyra knew a chamberer did not have leave to touch the royal person. And yet, seeing that drawn face, she found herself reaching for Alicent and clasping one of her hands between her own.
“You are Queen of Inys,” she said. “All your life, you have known that you would one day wear the crown.” Alicent watched her face. “You fear for your people, but cannot show it to your court. You wear so much armor by daylight that, by night, you can carry it no longer. By night, you are only flesh. And even the flesh of a queen is prone to fear”
“More of your wise words. I like them Rhaenyra Targaryen.”
Rhaenyra squeezes her hand. Glass shattering into pieces, that’s how Alicent’s eyes look to her.
The ladies of the bedchamber barged into the room, Rhaenyra quickly retreated her hands into place before they could see.
Lady Orllena comes, tears on her eyes and Alicent wipes them with her hands. “Do not weep Lady ordella. You know that I can’t bear it.”
Rhaenyra heads out. When she goes to stand her guard and fuse into the night to watch out for any assassins tonight, Roslain corners her.
“I do not know what are your intentions with Alicent.”
“I only want to serve her.”
“You clearly want her favor. Perhaps I shouldn’t judge you that harshly but let me be clear Misstress Targaryen. If you have ill intentions towards the Queen, I will find it out.” Rosaline says with a fiercity Rhaenyra knows she means it
As soon as she says that, a sound is heard from the Royal Bedchamber. Rosaline freezes and She takes the keys from her hands cursing to herself. How did someone go past her ? That was impossible. Her sidon is low but that doesn’t render her useless.
When she opens the door, Roslain behind her, the Queen of Iyns is hilding onto Ornella’s hand.
“She is not waking up. “
Roslain goes to hug her.
Rhaenyra checks her pulse. She looks at the Queen, sorrow on her face.
“She has passed away, your Majesty.”
Alicent lets out a mellow sound. Roslain hugs her harder. “I promised her she would see my wedding. I promised her.”
***
The wedding takes place in autumn.
Alicent is without jewels and Rhaenyra can’t help but think she looks more handsome like this. Inys folks thought jewels made their beauty better but in the case of Alicent it didn’t do anything but hide it.
They don’t kiss. In normal weddings they may but royalty didn’t. When Alicent grabs his hand, her hand shaking a bit, accepting the Red Prince as her companion, Rhaenyra’s chest hurts a little.
“Are you well?“ Laena asks.
She nods, the sensation in her chest already going away but leaving a woeful feeling behind.
When the ceremony ends, she and the other ladies of the Bedchamber go to prepare Alicent’s room. Laena goes to dance with the Lady she has been fancying for a while and that leaves Rhanyra and Linora alone but she tells her to join the feast and Linora doesn’t need too much convincing.
Finally alone, and after preparing the chamber for Queen Alicent, Rhaenyra nyra debates if leaving the rose she cut that afternoon is a good idea. Ultimately, she decides on hiding it behind the Queen’ pillow, the green flame embroidered on it. It is a special rose, it helps to calm one’s mind and gives you a letarge feeling.
Alicent deserves to have sweet dreams, even if it’s only for tonight.
The wardings rang with a footstep Rhaenyra recognized. A shadow appeared in the doorway, and Roslain Tyrell surveyed the room, her chin pinched.
A thread of hair had escaped her heart-shaped coiffure. She looked around the chamber as if it were unfamiliar to her, and not where she had slept beside her queen on countless occasions.
“My lady.” Rhaenyra curtsied. “Are you well?”
“Yes.” Roslain let out a breath through her nose. “Her Majesty requests your presence, Rhaenyra.”
This was unexpected. “Surely only the Ladies of the Bedchamber can disrobe her on—”
“As I said,” Roslain interrupted, “she has asked for you. And you appear to have completed your duties in here.” With a last glance at the room, she returned to the corridor, and Rhaenyra followed her. “A chamberer is not permitted to touch the royal person, as you know, but I will overlook it tonight. In so far as is necessary.”
“Of course.”
The Withdrawing Chamber, where Alicent was washed and dressed each day, was a square room with an ornate plaster ceiling, the smallest in her royal apartments. Its curtains were shut.
Alicent stood barefoot beside the fire, gazing into the flames as she took off her earrings. Her gown had doubtless been locked away in the Privy Wardrobe, leaving her in her shift. Katryen was removing the padded roll from about her waist.
Rhaenyra went to the queen and moved her hair aside to reach her nape, where her carcanet was clasped.
“Rhaenyra,” Alicent said. “Did you enjoy the ceremony?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. You looked magnificent.”
“Do I not still?”
She asked it lightly, but Rhaenyra heard the trace of doubt in her voice.
“You are always beautiful, madam.” Rhaenyra worked the hook free and slipped the jewels from about her throat. “But in my eyes . . . never more so than you are now.”
Alicent looked at her.
“Do you suppose,” she said, “that Prince Aubrecht will find me so?”
“His Royal Highness is mad or a fool if he does not.”
Their gazes pulled apart when Roslain returned to the chamber. She approached Alicent and set about unlacing her corset.
“Rhaenyra,” she said, “the nightgown.”
“Yes, my lady.”
While Rhaenyra found a pan to warm the garment, Alicent raised her arms, allowing Roslain to slip her shift over her head. The two Ladies of the Bedchamber took their queen to the washbasin, where they cleaned her from head to toe. As she smoothed the nightgown,
Rhaenyra stole a glance.
Divested of her regalia, Alicent Hightower did not look like the scion of any saint, false or true. She was mortal. Still imposing, still graceful, but softer, somehow.
Her body was a sandglass. Round hips, a small waist, and full breasts, the nipples whetted. Long legs, strong from riding. When she saw the dusk between them, a chill flickered through Rhaenyra.
She wrenched her attention back to her task. The Inysh were squeamish about nakedness. “She had not seen a disrobed body that was not her own in years.
“Ros,” Alicent said, “will it hurt?”
Roslain patted her skin dry with clean linen. “It can a little, at first,” she said, “but not for long. And not if His Royal Highness is . . . attentive.”
Alicent stared into the room without seeming to see it. She turned her love-knot ring.
“What if I cannot conceive?”
In the silence that followed that question, a mouse could not have breathed unheard.
“Alicwnr,” Katryen said gently, taking her arm, “of course you will.”
Rhaenyra kept quiet. This seemed like a conversation only for the intimates, but no one had ordered her to leave.
“My grandmother could not for many years,” Sabran murmured. “High Westerns are on the wing. Yscalin has betrayed me. If Fýredel and Sigoso invade Inys and I have no heir—”
“You will have an heir. Queen Jillian gave birth to a beautiful daughter, your lady mother. And soon enough, you will be a mother, too.” Roslain rested her chin on Alicent’s shoulder. “After it is done, lie still for a time, and sleep on your back.”
Alicent leaned into her.
“I wish Leanor had been here,” she said. “He was to be my giver. I promised him.” Now the powder was gone, the bruise-like marks under her eyes had never looked starker. “Now he is . . . lost. Somewhere in Cárscaro. And I am powerless to reach him.”
“Leanor will be all right. I have faith that he will come home soon.” Roslain held her closer. “And when he does, he will bring news of your lord father.”
“
Another missing face. Leanor and Father . . . and Bella, too. Loyal Bella, who served three queens.” Alicent closed her eyes. “It bodes ill that she died so near to this day. In the bed where—”
“Alicent ,” Roslain said, “this is your wedding night. You must not have these dark thoughts, or they will taint the seed.”
Rhaenyra emptied the pan back into the hearth. She wondered if the Inysh knew anything useful about fertility.
Alicent laid a hand on his head. “Good Sir Tharian,” she said, “the Knight of Courtesy smiles on you.”
He stood, and he and his knights bowed to her. As they left, Katryen took the key from Roslain and opened the doors.
At the foot of the bed, the Arch Sanctarian stood with a prayer book in hand, murmuring. Aubrecht Lievelyn waited with his Grooms of the Inner Chamber. His nightshirt, edged with blackwork, fell open to show his collarbones.
“Your Majesty,” he said. In the firelight, his eyes were inkwells.
Alicent gave just the barest dip of her head. “Your Royal Highness.”
The Arch Sanctarian made the sign of the sword.
“The Saint blesses this bed. Let it bear the fruit of his unending vine.” He closed his prayer book. “And now it is time for friends to take their leave, so that these new friends might come to know each other. Saint give us all goodnight, for he watches us in darkness.”
“He watches us in darkness,” came the echo. Rhaenyra did not say it with the others.
The ladies and the grooms all curtsied. As Roslain straightened, Alicent whispered, “Ros.”
Roslain looked her in the eye. “Out of sight of the men, she grasped Alicent so tightly by the hand that both their fingers blanched.
Katryen led Roslain out. As Rhaenyra followed them back through the door, she looked back at the queen, and their gazes touched.
For the first time, she saw Alicent Hightower for who she was beneath the mask: a young and fragile woman who carried a thousand-year legacy on her shoulders. A queen whose power was absolute only so long as she could produce a daughter. The fool in Rhaenyra wanted to take her by the hand and get her away from this room, but that fool was too much of a coward to act. She left Alicent alone, like all the others had.
Margret and Linora were waiting. The five of them gathered in the dark.
“Did she seem all right?” Margret asked softly.
Roslain ran her hands down the front of her gown. “I don’t know.” She paced back and forth. “For the first time in my life, I cannot tell.”
“It is natural for her to be nervous.” Katryen spoke in a whisper. “How did you feel with Cal?”
“That was different. Cal and I were betrothed as children. He was not a stranger,” Roslain said. “And the fate of nations did not rest upon the fruit of our union.”
“They kept their vigil, ears pricked for any changes in the Royal Bedchamber. When quarter of an hour had passed, Katryen pressed her ear to the doors.
“He is talking about Brygstad.”
“Let them talk,” Rhaenyra said, keeping her voice low.
“They hardly know one another.”
“But what will we do if the union is not consummated?”
“Alicent will see it done.” Roslain looked into nothing.
“She knows it is her bounden duty.”
The waiting continued for some time. Linora, who had settled on the floor, dozed off against the wall. Finally, Roslain, who had been still as stone, began to pace again.
“What if—” She wrung her fingers. “What if he is a monster?”
Katryen stepped toward her. “Ros—”
“You know, my lady mother told me that Sabran the Eighth was ill-used by her companion. He drank and whored and said cruel things to her. She never told anyone. Not even her ladies-in-waiting. Then, one night”—she pressed a hand flat to her stomacher—“the despicable knave struck her. Cracked her cheekbone and broke her wrist—”
“And he was executed for it.” Katryen gathered her close. “Listen, now. Nothing is going to happen to Alicent.”
“I have seen how Lievelyn is with his sisters. He has the heart of a lambkin.”
“He might be the very picture of a lambkin,” Rhaenyra said, “but monsters often have soft faces. They know how to mask themselves.” She looked them both in the eye. “We will watch her. We will listen well. Remember why we wear blades as well as jewels.”
Roslain held her gaze, and slowly she nodded. A moment later, so did Katryen. Rhaenyra saw then that they would do anything for Alicent. They would take a life, or lay down theirs. Anything.
At the turn of the hour, something changed in the Royal Bedchamber. Linora stirred awake and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Rhaenyra moved closer to the door. Thick as it was, she could hear enough to understand well what was happening within. When it was over, she nodded to the Ladies of the Bedchamber.
Alicent had done her duty.
In the morning, Lievelyn left the Royal Bedchamber at just past nine of the clock. Only when the Little Door had closed behind him could the ladies-in-waiting go to their queen.
Alicent lay in bed, the sheets gathered over her breasts. She or Lievelyn had opened the curtains, but the sky was overcast, offering scant light.
She looked over her shoulder when they entered. Roslain rushed to her side.
“Are you well, Majesty?”
“Yes.” Alicent sounded tired. “I believe I am, Ros.”
Roslain pressed a kiss to her hand.
When Alicent rose, Katryen was there at once with a mantle. While Rhaenyra stepped toward the bed with Margret and Linora, the two Ladies of the Bedchamber guided Alicent to the chair beside the fire.
“Today, I will keep to my apartments.” Alicent tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have a hankering for fruit.”
“Lady Linora,” Katryen said, “fetch Her Majesty some blackberries and pears. And a cup of caudle, if you please.”
Linora left, looking peeved to be dismissed. As soon as the door shut, Roslain knelt in front of Alicent, making her skirts puff around her.
“Oh, Ali, I was so—” She shook her head. “Was everything well with His Royal Highness?”
“Perfectly,” Alicent said.
“Truly?”
“Truly. It felt strange, but His Royal Highness was . . . attentive.” She placed a hand on her belly. “Might I be with child already?”
A pregnancy was unlikely from one night, but the Inysh knew little of the body and its workings. “You must wait until the usual time of your courses,” Roslain said as she rose, always forbearing. “If no blood comes, you are with child.”
“Not necessarily,” Rhaenyra said. When Sabran and both Ladies of the Bedchamber looked at her, she bobbed a curtsy. “Sometimes the body is a trickster, Majesty. They call it a false pregnancy.” Margret nodded at this. “It is hard to be sure until the child quickens.”
“But of course,” Katryen added, “we have every faith that you will be with child very soon.”
Alicent held the arms of her chair.
“Then I should lie with Aubrecht again,” she said. “Until I am sure.”
“A child will come when the time is right.” Roslain dropped a kiss on her head. “For now, you must think only to make your marriage a happy one. Perhaps you and Prince Aubrecht could take a honey month. Glowan Castle is lovely at this time of year.”
“I cannot leave the capital,” Alicent said. “Not with a High Western on the wing.”
“Let us not speak of High Westerns.” Roslain smoothed her hair. “Not now.”
Margret rose to the occasion. “Since we are seeking a new subject,” she said, a teasing sparkle in her eye, “will you tell us about your wedding night, Ros?”
Katryen tittered, and Roslain smiled a little as Sabran gave her a knowing look.
Linora returned with the fruit as Roslain recounted her marriage to Lord Calidor Stillwater. When the bed was made, they all moved to the Withdrawing Chamber, where Alicent sat beside the washbasin. She was silent while Katryen worked creamgrail into her hair and gave her rosewater to rinse her mouth. At her request, Margret played the virginals.
“Mistress Targaryen,” Katryen said, “help rinse Her Majesty’s hair, if you please. I must go to the Lord Chamberlain.”
“Of course.”
Katryen scooped up the wicker basket and left. Rhaenyra, in the meantime, joined Roslain at the washbasin.
She poured water from the ewer, washing away the sweet-smelling lather. As she reached for the linen,Alicent caught her wrist.
Rhaenyra grew very still. An Ordinary Chamberer did not have leave to touch the queen, and this time Roslain had made no promises to overlook it.
“The rose smelled beautiful, Mistress Targaryen.”
Alicent slid her fingers between hers. Thinking she meant to say more, Rhaenyra leaned down to hear—but instead, Alicent Hightower kissed her on the cheek.
Her lips were soft as swansdown. Gooseflesh whispered all over Rhaenyra, and she fought the need to let out all her breath.
“Thank you,” Alicent said. “It was generous.”
Rhaenyra glanced at Roslain, who looked stricken.
“It was my pleasure, madam,” she said.
Outside, the grounds were wreathed in mist. Rain slithered down the clouded windows of the Withdrawing Chamber. The queen reclined into her seat as if it were her throne.
“Ros,” she said, “when Kate returns, bid her go back to the Lord Chamberlain. She will tell him that Mistress Rhaenyra Targaryen has been raised to the position of Lady of the Bedchamber.”