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Summary
Rhaenyra’s chuckle is thin, reedy. Her next kiss against Alicent’s hair has something desperate. There’s a thread between them, close to snapping.
Alicent, who is a problem-solver and also (still fascinating, that) the brave one between them, raises her head. She looks into Rhaenyra’s face. Fireworks up ahead again: blue-green-red-yellow, jewel-tones. Laena’s laugh, Rhaenyra’s eyes blown wide, the greyish purple of steel, of chrome, and, absurdly, of pigeon-breasts.