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Summary
Alicent does not greet him, does not call him father, nor husband. She does not run to him to throw her arms around him, for him to let her hold her in a tight embrace, and kiss the crown of her head. His daughter does not yearn for him to cup her face in his hands, to wipe away the tears, for him to reassure her that everything will be fine.
Because it will not. Because his daughter belongs to her father just like her own mother did.
“You look even more like her underneath the pale glow of the moon,” Otto says thickly, voice rough with desire, not daring to say his daughter’s mother’s name because he already knows she’s thinking of her. Because she’s her own mother’s replacement. “Alicent, look at me,” he commands, his cock aching, ready to take, ready to sink inside his daughter’s small body, like a sword sliding into a sheathe, into its home.
She keeps her eyes averted, her lip trembling. He should run to her, stroke over hair, soothe her sadness, let her sob in his arms, but she must learn her place, fulfill her duty as his daughter, his pretty obedient little wife.