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Alicent Hightower looks at the girl in the mirror.
She'll leave her chambers as a maid and never return. Instead, she is meant to hold her head up high and embrace the prospect of becoming a queen – and most likely bearing Viserys another child.
The thought gives her an odd chill. It's not that she doesn't like the king — he's always been kind and gentle to her when she's visited him. The way he holds her hand and looks at her with warmth – it's making her feel things she's never felt with anyone before. Not even the impressive Daemon… Alicent shudders at the indecent thoughts roaming her mind. She had always dreamed of marrying someone her own age, or at least someone not as old as her father. Yet Viserys is not that old, and he might be loving in bed too.
“You look lovely.”
Alicent is pulled out of her reverie by the matter-of-fact voice and jumps, spinning around to face her best friend and soon-to-be stepdaughter – her sisterly love from their youth.
“Rhaenyra!” Alicent pants. “I didn't...”
“I know.” The princess steps forward and takes the young bride's hand. “Your father planned it well, I must admit.”
“But I do like your father.”
It's not a lie, and Rhaenyra believes her. Yet she can also see the confusion in Alicent's eyes. 'Father likes you too. You were there for him when I wasn't. You won his heart. You deserve to be treated like a queen, and... well...”
Alicent glances at their clasped hands and lowers her voice. “It's not what I was striving for...”
“No, but it comes in handy for your family.”
“Rhaenyra, I wish... Will we... Will we still be friends after...?”
The plea in Alicent's voice is heartbreaking, and Rhaenyra squeezes her hand.
“I will certainly not call you mother.”