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Summary
If Rhaenyra had started with her manners then it was likely they would already be ensconced in some private room somewhere, Alicent doing whatever else Rhaenyra asked of her. The years had done precious little to shore her defences; if anything, they had grown weaker, what with the new methods Rhaenyra wielded to test her resolve—filthy promises made with looks and words. This relentless stroking of her palm.
When Rhaenyra says please, Alicent doesn't want to say no.