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Summary
“There is nothing 'supposed' about my children.” she went on, each word gaining weight, “They are the future of this house. Written in law. Written in dragonfire. You may hate that. You may taste bile every time you say their titles. You may kneel at your bedside and whisper other names into your pillow. I do not care.”
“Rhaenyra,” Viserys breathed, worn and pleading.
A muscle jumped in Alicent’s cheek. “You think I wanted—”
“I think you wanted exactly what you have,” Rhaenyra cut in. “Rooms in my father’s Keep. A seat at his side. A crown that never sits right on your hair because you know you came to it on your knees.”