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Rhaenyra herself helped Alicent ready for the wedding. She hadn’t wanted to, but her father would be displeased with her if she refused. And she’d already grown exhausted with the constant conflict. It had been simpler to agree, despite the tumult of her own feelings.
So there she stood, in that dim room, with her former friend who was to marry her father. They stood in an awkward silence that was only broken by the crackle of the fire and the soft rustle of cloth as Alicent undressed, piece by piece, all of it reflected in the full-length mirror before them.
It was a strange sort of intimacy, more because of how incomplete it was. How changed things were between them. Rhaenyra’s own hands were tucked behind her back, because she didn’t know what to do with them, but also to keep from touching her. They were only a few paces apart, but the gulf might as well have been an ocean.
“Are you only here to watch me, then?” Alicent said without looking up, half lightly. But there was a catch in her voice, an uncertainty.
Rhaenyra sighed and stepped forward. She helped her shed the plain blue surcoat, then her simple gown, the movements methodical.
She was careful not to look too closely now, eyes fixed on a far point in the room. But her gaze still flickered over the pale column of Alicent’s neck, and she couldn’t keep herself from noticing how her brilliant red hair spilled down her back, or the wounded, plaintive look in her eyes, willing Rhaenyra to meet her gaze in the mirror.
Rhaenyra ignored this. The underskirt was next, then her stockings, and then her shift. Perhaps she didn’t need to help with this, but habit took over. Her fingers accidentally grazed Alicent’s skin, and they both jumped as if burned. Rhaenyra turned away, busying herself with putting away the discarded clothes. Absurdly, she pictured Alicent herself being neatly folded away with them.
“Rhaenyra,” Alicent said, her voice weak, trailing off.
She didn’t respond, only stared at the bridal attire laid out, ready to be worn. It was intricate and beautiful, fit for a queen, of course. The wedding still didn’t seem real.
Alicent was to be queen. She was marrying Rhaenyra’s father. The most stunning betrayal possible from either of them.
It was worse because Alicent hadn’t told her, in all the time this had apparently been brewing. Which meant she knew it would hurt her, which meant she knew she was doing something that needed to be hidden. The very thought was a constant simmering heat in Rhaenyra’s chest, one that had been threatening to boil over since she first heard the news.
Rhaenyra pasted on a smile when Alicent finally turned and said something to her. She barely heard it, only held up the heavy embroidered bridal shift and tried not to watch too closely as Alicent dressed.
“Rhaenyra, please,” Alicent tried again, a pleading look on her face that Rhaenyra pretended not to see.
Rhaenyra was keeping her distance now, hesitant to accidentally touch her again, only stepping forward to help her into the gown itself, creamy pale, exquisitely made. It was awkward work though, as her hair had already been prepared and the crown already pinned to her head. Alicent attempted to readjust it, though there was no need. Her hands were raw. She had been picking at her nails again. She did it again now, seeming almost not to notice when she drew blood.
Rhaenyra reached out instinctively, catching Alicent’s hand before she could think twice. Her grip was tighter than it needed to be, likely even a little painful. She felt Alicent tense before attempting to pull back. Rhaenyra didn’t let her.
“Don’t do that,” she snapped, voice cracking despite herself. She willed herself to loosen her grip. She smoothed her thumb over the broken skin, wishing she could undo it with a touch. She pictured making it worse, digging her own nails in.
Alicent stared at their joined hands, and then slowly lifted her gaze to meet Rhaenyra’s. There was a vulnerability there, a flicker of something close to apology. “It’s a terrible habit,” she conceded. “Would you please speak to me?”
She let go of Alicent’s hand reluctantly and smoothed a wrinkle on the sleeve of her gown. “There’s nothing to speak of,” she said briskly.
“Isn’t there?”
“No. All is well.”
Alicent breathed out a soft laugh—so faint it was more an exhalation of breath. “Well then, it must be so.”
Rhaenyra sniffed. “You didn’t tell me,” she said finally, trying to keep the hurt from her voice. She didn’t quite succeed.
The words hung between them for a moment. Alicent’s fingers twisted together, her gaze falling to the floor. “I didn’t know how to,” she murmured, barely audible.
“You were keeping it a secret.”
“I knew that it would be difficult for you, after the loss of your lady mother, the Queen.”
“So you only meant to spare my feelings,” she said acidly, shaking her head. “How considerate.”
“I’m sorry.”
Rhaenyra searched her face, for what she wasn’t sure. “Do you even want this?”
Alicent seemed to balk at that. “What do you mean?”
Her throat felt dry, but she had to say it, even if it was late, and ridiculous and it made her look pathetic. “You don’t have to marry him.”
Alicent gave a shaky little laugh. “The wedding is today.”
“Must it be?”
“There’s no more time.” She took a breath, steadying herself. “Your father is… he’s a good man, a good king.”
Sharp jealousy flared in Rhaenyra’s chest, but she tamped it down. “And you care for him?”
“I’m… fond of him…”
“So, you truly want to marry him?”
“Yes,” she insisted.
“Then say it.”
Alicent flushed. “I want to marry him.”
Rhaenyra folded her arms. “Do you believe that yourself? I don’t."
“I do,” she said, more firmly now, as if willing herself to believe it. Her voice took on a rote quality, as if she were reciting words well memorized, “This is… what I’m meant to do. I have a duty to—”
“So it’s your father’s wish.”
Alicent’s jaw tightened. “What would you have me say?” she asked, her voice strained.
“The truth.”
She took a deep breath, turning away from her to face the mirror again. She busied herself with smoothing out her skirts, and arranging her sleeves, all the while studiously avoiding Rhaenyra’s eyes. “I’m very… fortunate to have earned the King’s regard. He has been very good to me.”
“You don’t have to lie,” Rhaenyra said softly. The anger drained from her voice, leaving only exhaustion, an ache too deep for words.
“This is what’s best—for my family, for the realm.”
“Was that why you were my friend?” She hadn’t meant to say it, and was mortified that she had. Her face flushed.
Alicent’s gaze finally snapped to hers, she stared at her as if stricken. “What?”
“To get closer to the crown?”
Her mouth opened, her face a mix of shock and hurt. “No, of course not.”
Rhaenyra’s throat tightened. “Are we still friends then?” She placed her hands on Alicent’s shoulders, feeling the warmth of her skin through the gown, the tension beneath her fingers. She wasn’t sure if she was testing her, or taunting her. Or desperate for some indication that how she’d cared for her before was real.
They’d never discussed what it was between them. They’d called it friendship, but Rhaenyra remembered the feel of Alicent’s lips against hers. How they’d practiced with each other how a knight might kiss his lady, acting out what the stories told of great romances. She pressed her lips to the base of Alicent’s neck now, where the skin was exposed.
Her breath hitched, and for a heartbeat, Rhaenyra thought she might pull away. But she didn’t; she stood still, almost frozen, her hands hovering uncertainly at her sides. A flash of emotion rippled over her face, too quick to read. Finally, she reached up, as if to touch Rhaenyra’s hands where they rested on her shoulders, but stopped halfway, her fingers trembling. “So, you mean to torment me.”
Rhaenyra’s hands tightened slightly, her lips lingering against the warmth of Alicent’s skin; she didn’t deny it. She could feel the unsteady beat of Alicent’s pulse beneath her lips, the closeness that felt both familiar and utterly foreign now. She pressed closer, one hand sliding up the side of Alicent’s neck, fingers threading into her perfectly coiled hair, mussing it. A frisson of helpless possessiveness went through her. “Were you lying to me all this time?” she asked instead, her voice less steady than she wanted it. “Did you ever truly care for me? Or were you always your father’s dutiful daughter?”
“I did care,” she breathed, her voice breaking. “I do care. More than I should.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice carrying a quiet desperation.
“Then show me,” Rhaenyra whispered, almost daring, her lips brushing Alicent’s jaw. “Show me that this wasn’t a lie.”
Alicent’s resolve fractured, and she twisted around. Her hands slid up Rhaenyra’s back, fingers threading into her hair as she closed the distance between them, her lips meeting Rhaenyra’s in a sort of desperation.
For a moment, all her anger was forgotten, leaving only a miserable longing. Her fingers tightened in Alicent’s hair, pulling her closer, feeling her tremble under her touch. Again she was struck with that helpless feeling. She wanted Alicent to be hers and no one else’s, and again she had to face where exactly they were, and why.
And with that unwelcome reminder returned the same bitterness and hurt she couldn’t rid herself of. Rhaenyra pulled back. “And, here you are, marrying my father,” she whispered.
“You’ll hate me for this, then?”
“Not if you don’t go through with it.”
“You cannot expect me to call it off on an impulse.”
“We could run away together, on Syrax, like in the songs,” she said reckless, nearly believing it.
Alicent’s gaze was indulgent, too reasonable. “And where would we go, precisely?”
“Anywhere.”
“Anywhere isn’t a place.”
“And what of it?”
“We both have our duties here,” she said gently. “You cannot abandon your position anymore than I can.”
Rhaenyra looked away. She was right. There was no way out of it now. Perhaps there never had been.
“However,” she began, then broke off, flushing.
Rhaenyra turned back to her. “However… what?”
“I… would be wed anyway,” she said slowly. “My father would want to arrange a good match for me, and,” she swallowed, smiling, though it looked brittle on her face, “this may be the best one in the realm. And if I may offer my… husband the King some comfort then I’m glad of it. Don’t–” she broke off, reaching for Rhaenyra’s arm when she tried to leave. “Please.”
“I don’t want to listen to another word of this.”
“Only a few more words: this way, I won’t have to leave court. If I were to wed some great lord in a few years, I would have to go with him to his lands—wherever they may be. But now, I wouldn’t have to leave the Red Keep at all.” Her fingers tightened on Rhaenyra’s wrist. “I wouldn’t have to leave you.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “If it were anyone but my father. As long as you share his bed, no.”
Alicent closed her eyes, then opened them again. When she looked at Rhaenyra, her gaze was heavy with resignation, but she kept her chin high. “Then there’s nothing to be done about it.” Her hands fell to her sides, fingers curling tightly, digging into the palm.
In the silence that followed, Rhaenyra stepped back. “I suppose not.” She felt an ache settle deep in her chest, sharp and hollow. “If there’s nothing else,” she said hoarsely, “I should go.”
“Wait—”
“You do look the part of a queen.” The words came out in a rush. Alicent called after her, but Rhaenyra had already slipped out the door.