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“The time is coming, Alicent. Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.”
Her father’s words echoed in her ears, repeating over and over again as she marched through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast. She’d watched from her balcony as her husband and Rhaenyra had returned from Driftmark, no doubt with a betrothal pact to Laenor Velaryon. She’d watched as Viserys had collapsed, and though she knew that her duty as a wife meant that she should have rushed down to the courtyard to help, her feet had refused to move.
“The very same night your father was dismissed, the Grand Maester delivered a tea to the Princess’ chambers.”
Lord Larys’ words, sickly sweet and so deceptively mild. Did he truly think her so foolish that she was wholly unaware of his designs? Her father may not have taught her much about the ugly game he played, but she knew that such information as Lord Larys had given never came without a cost. She knew that such information was never offered without some motive. And she knew better than to blindly trust such information.
If it was true, if Grand Maester Mellos had brought Rhaenyra moon tea that night, then Rhaenyra had lied to her. On her own mother’s memory, she had lied to her. And in so doing, she had made Alicent herself a liar. A liar and an accomplice to her own father’s downfall. Such a betrayal . . . it made her stomach roil with an unfamiliar and seething anger.
“Daemon did not bed me. I swear this to you upon the memory of my mother.”
But what if it was Lord Larys who had lied? She’d been clinging to that possibility since their conversation in the garden. She had no reason to trust his silken words. But she did have reason to trust Rhaenyra’s. Rhaenyra, who she had missed so deeply these past three years. Rhaenyra, who had been her dearest friend since childhood. Rhaenyra, who had always brought her such joy and comfort. How could she blindly trust the word of a man like Larys Strong over that of her beloved Rhaenyra?
She couldn’t.
Which was why she was now marching towards her friend’s chambers. She would have answers.
“Prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.”
A shiver ran down her spine as her father’s words echoed through her head once more. “Cleave to Rhaenyra.” No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but remember the last time her father had ordered her to “cleave” to another.
It had been the day of her wedding, just before the ceremony. She and her father had been traveling through the city in a wheelhouse towards the Grand Sept. She’d been desperately trying not to pick at her fingers, knowing it would earn her a scolding and a disapproving scowl. She’d known that she should be happy, pleased to be marrying the king. Viserys Targaryen was a kind man. And she’d known well that she could have done much worse for a husband. And yet all she’d been able to think about was Rhaenyra’s face that day in the Small Council Chamber. The betrayal and anguish she’d seen in her friend’s beautiful violet eyes.
Her father had cleared his throat to draw her attention, his expression somewhere between pleased and critical. “Smile, Alicent,” he’d ordered her gruffly. “Today you will become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Any other maiden would be beaming.”
She’d done her best, but she’d seen in her father’s eyes that it was not enough.
He’d reached for her hands then, pulling them away from each other to stop her from picking at the dried scab she’d torn off the night before. His touch had been rough with frustration, so different from the gentle way Rhaenyra would clasp her hands at times like this. “Calm yourself, Daughter. You will walk into the Grand Sept, the envy of every maiden in the Seven Kingdoms, and you will wed the king. You will smile and blush and wave at the crowds. You will sit serenely and beautifully at Viserys’ side tonight at your wedding feast. You will keep your dignity during the bedding ceremony. And tonight, you will do your duty and cleave to your husband.”
She’d nodded, doing her best to ignore the knot of dread forming in her stomach at the mere thought of doing her duty.
Alicent swallowed, shoving away the memories as best she could. She’d done as her father bid that night and cleaved to her husband, just as she had every night since whenever he summoned her to his bed. Somehow, it had never become any easier.
“Cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.”
Her father had not meant those words as he had the words on her wedding day. She knew that. And yet, a small, treacherous part of her mind could not help but think of them in the same way. She had cleaved to Viserys and become his queen. If she cleaved to Rhaenyra . . .
Enough, she scolded herself. Such sinful thoughts were unbefitting of a Hightower, of a queen. Had she not learned that long ago? Had she not learned after her mother—gods rest her soul—caught her kissing Rhaenyra? The mere thought of that day filled her with equal parts shame and longing. The memory of Rhaenyra’s soft lips and gentle hands was forever at odds with the memory of her mother’s cold disapproval and harsh rebuke. Her mother had promised not to inform her father, but only so long as she swore to never do something so “disgraceful” ever again. Alicent had sworn on the Seven Pointed Star that she would obey her mother’s wishes.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally found herself standing outside the door leading into Rhaenyra’s chambers. This door was as familiar to her as the sun in the sky.
Ser Criston stood guard, his presence assuring her that Rhaenyra was somewhere within. “Your Grace,” he greeted, inclining his head.
“Ser Criston.” She forced her voice to remain steady and her hands by her sides even as her insides began to twist at what she knew was to come. What she knew must come if she were to have any peace moving forward. “Is the princess within?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Without need of further prompting, the knight knocked once on the door. “Her Grace Queen Alicent to see you, Princess,” he called.
Rhaenyra’s muffled, “Let her in,” had barely reached Alicent’s ears before the door was being opened and her feet were carrying her inside without her leave.
Alicent heard the door close behind her, but she barely registered the sound. The sight before her was far too engrossing.
Rhaenyra stood before her open wardrobe, back to Alicent, dressed in only a thin shift. Her travel clothes, no doubt heavy with salty sea spray, had been tossed aside haphazardly, as was the princess’ wont. Her lovely silver hair flowed freely down her back, a bit wavier than usual, which told Alicent that her friend had only recently released it from its customary braid. Thin as the shift was, it was nigh transparent in the afternoon sun streaming in through the open windows.
Alicent’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she had to force her gaze to remain on the back of Rhaenyra’s head rather than drifting lower. “Rhaenyra,” she finally managed to choke out.
It was a mistake, for saying her name caused the princess to turn and face her, which meant Alicent was now being given a nearly unobstructed view of her friend’s breasts. Gods be good. Why did she allow me in here when she’s practically naked?
Completely oblivious to Alicent’s racing thoughts, or perhaps fully aware and simply wishing to torment her, Rhaenyra beamed and swiftly crossed the room to greet her with a hug. “Alicent, I’ve missed you.”
Alicent gulped at the feeling of Rhaenyra’s breasts pressing against her own. Even through the shift and the layers of her own gown and undergarments, she could still feel the heat that always radiated off of Rhaenyra. When was the last time she hugged me like this? she wondered. Before her marriage, surely.
Rhaenyra drew back, eyebrows drawing together slightly. “Are you all right, Ali? You seem rather flushed.”
Ali. Oh, how she had missed hearing that nickname on the princess’ tongue, an endearment only Rhaenyra was allowed. It had been so long. Too long.
“The time is coming, Alicent. Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.”
Her father’s words were like a whipcrack reminding her of why she was here, why she mustn’t allow herself to become distracted by Rhaenyra’s mesmerizing violet eyes and soft touches, by her sweet voice and—No. Focus, Alicent. “I’m fine,” she assured her, forcing a smile. “It’s been rather warm today, and not all of us are as immune to the heat as you, Rhaenyra.”
Seeming to accept that answer, Rhaenyra simply shrugged and stepped away from her.
Alicent forced herself not to chase the warmth that she already missed. “There is something I must speak with you about.”
Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Unable to hold her gaze, Alicent made a show of slowly walking around the room to collect the princess’ discarded travel clothes. It was a task far beneath her, but it gave her an excuse to say her piece without having to see her friend’s expression. Foolish, perhaps, since how else was she to discern truth from lie, but she could not bring herself to stare into Rhaenyra’s eyes as she leveled accusations at her. Not again. “I fear I must question you on a delicate matter, Rhae—Princess.” Yes. Best to keep this formal. She was not Alicent questioning her dear friend Rhaenyra. She was the queen questioning her . . . questioning the Heir to the Iron Throne. This was her duty.
Though unable to see Rhaenyra’s face, Alicent could still hear the change in her voice, hear the sudden lack of warmth. “And what matter is that, Your Grace?”
The words stung, even though she knew she was the cause of this shift. The first time Rhaenyra had called her ‘Your Grace,’ the words had been hurled with such venom that they’d almost brought Alicent to her knees. Now though, they were cold and detached, which was somehow worse. Rhaenyra’s walls were up. Perhaps I was mistaken in my approach. It was too late to change course now though. She must have answers.
“It, it concerns the night of Prince Daemon’s return. Of, well, of the reported lapse of morals—”
“Gods, Alicent, this again?” Rhaenyra huffed, marching over to her, grabbing her by the shoulders, and forcing her to look her in the eye. “I thought we settled this.”
“And I thought you were being truthful,” she snapped.
Rhaenyra flinched as if she’d been struck, hands falling from Alicent’s shoulders as she took a step back. “You as well then?” The question was soft, bitter, hurt. “Not enough that my own father did not believe me, or perhaps simply did not care to, but you—”
“What do you mean your father did not believe you?” Now it was Alicent’s turn to be caught off guard. Of course Viserys had believed Rhaenyra. Why else had he dismissed her father?
Instead of answering, Rhaenyra stalked over to the small table in the corner of her room and snatched up a small, round flask. For a brief moment, she looked as if she might hurl it at Alicent, but instead she carried it back over and shoved it into her hands. “This was delivered the night after your father accused me of fucking Daemon in a pleasure house,” she spat.
Despite invoking her father’s name, Alicent immediately recognized the words as her own, and a flush of shame crept up her neck. She should never have spoken that way to Rhaenyra, regardless of the truth. She’d allowed her temper to take control of her tongue in that moment.
Slowly lifting the flask, she carefully removed the stopper, noting at once that the vessel was filled with liquid. Her nose wrinkled when the strong scent of tansy reached it, and she swiftly replaced the stopper. So Lord Larys hadn’t been lying about the tea. Or that the king had sent it. And yet, Rhaenyra’s expression, her hurt, the fact that she clearly hadn’t actually drunk the tea . . .
“To rid me of any unwanted consequences.” Rhaenyra’s harsh voice cut through her thoughts. “That was what Mellos told me when he brought it.” Her lips twisted. “I thought my father believed me, but clearly not.” She glared at Alicent, but it was tempered by the wounded expression lurking just beneath the surface of her scowl. “I thought you believed me.”
“I, I did,” she finally managed. “I do . . . but, the tea—”
“I haven’t drunk the damn tea,” Rhaenyra snapped. “Seven Hells, Alicent, do you truly believe I would lie to you on the soul of my own mother?”
No. Or at least, she didn’t want to believe such a thing. Rhaenyra had sworn to her that she had not bedded Daemon, and was this undrunk moon tea not proof of that? Or was it proof that Rhaenyra was willing to risk everything to maintain a lie? Her friend would wed Ser Laenor soon, of that she was certain. If the wedding came in time, perhaps Rhaenyra hoped to pretend Daemon’s bastard was Laenor’s trueborn child. But why bother? Viserys sending Rhaenyra moon tea proved that he had no intention of letting his daughter suffer the consequences of her supposed actions. It also proves that he believed Daemon over Rhaenyra. She wished she could be surprised by that, but her husband had always been blind to his brother's faults. And to his daughter's, her father’s voice seemed to whisper in her ear.
Setting the flask aside, Alicent clasped her hands together. “I want to believe you, Rhaenyra. I do, but—”
“But what? But my father doesn’t? But your father doesn’t? Alicent, for once can’t you think for yourself instead of letting our fathers think for you?”
That stung. For a brief moment, she wondered bitterly why Rhaenyra seemed able to understand now the power their fathers wielded over her, when she couldn’t seem to understand three years ago. “Can’t you see that’s what I’m trying to do?” Her hands suddenly grasped Rhaenyra’s shoulders, and she just barely resisted to urge to give her a shake. “I came to you, Rhaenyra. I’m asking these questions of you. Not your father. Not my father, who you had dismissed. You.”
“Then why won’t you listen to what I’m telling you?” Rhaenyra pulled away from her, beginning to pace restlessly. “What will it take for you to believe me, Alicent? Daemon recanting his confession? Because he won’t. My father apologizing for sending me that tea? Because he won’t either. Your father admitting that he’s a scheming snake? Because gods know he won’t.” She suddenly stopped, spinning to face her. Without a word, she reached down and began tugging her shift up and off of her body.
Alicent’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?” she squeaked.
“Offering you proof.” Throwing her shift aside, Rhaenyra marched over to her bed and sat down on the edge, spreading her legs. “Go on then, see for yourself if I still have my maidenhead.”
Cheeks flaming, Alicent looked down at the floor. She didn’t dare raise her eyes, not when Rhaenyra was naked before her, legs spread like some . . . Gods, why had she even come here? Her heart was hammering in her chest, blood rushing in her ears, and all she wanted to do was look, but she knew she couldn’t. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t proper.
“I’ve heard septas sometimes examine maidens this way,” Rhaenyra’s tone had become almost conversational, so at odds with her vulgar display, “and gods know you behave as a septa often enough. So come, Alicent, see for yourself that no man has ever put his cock in my cunt.”
Alicent flinched at the crude words, cheeks burning brighter. “You, you know I can’t do that,” she sputtered, desperately trying to cling to whatever dignity and indignation she could to conceal how much she yearned to do as the princess bid and just touch her, even for only a moment. How often had she dreamed of doing as much? How often had she awoken shamefully flushed after an impious dream? How often had she caught herself wishing that it was another silver-haired Targaryen moving above her while she performed her wifely duties?
“Can’t, or won’t?” Rhaenyra was staring at her intently, Alicent could feel it, even as she kept her eyes fixed on the floor. What did Rhaenyra hope to see? Whatever it was, the sound of bare feet hitting the stone floor soon reached her ears. And when Rhaenyra spoke, her earlier anger and hurt had all but faded from her voice, replaced with something mischievous and daring and, and downright lewd. “Alicent.”
A shiver ran down Alicent’s spine at the way her friend practically purred her name. Heat was coiling in her gut, the sort of heat only Rhaenyra had ever managed to stir in her, no matter how hard she’d tried over the years to summon it when Viserys bedded her.
Rhaenyra was suddenly standing before her, gently taking her face in her warm hands and forcing her eyes up from the floor. “My Alicent,” she murmured. Gone were the hurt and anger from before, gone was the sultry tone from mere moments ago. In their place were an adoration and sweetness she had not heard in years. “I haven’t forgotten our first kiss, have you?”
She wanted to lie, to say that of course she had. That what they had shared that day had been nothing but a youthful indiscretion. That they were women grown now and far too old for such things. But she couldn’t. Not when Rhaenyra was gazing into her eyes with some peculiar mixture of soft longing and unabashed lust. “No,” she breathed, “I haven’t.”
The words had barely left her mouth before soft lips were crashing into hers, desperate and hungry, yet somehow achingly gentle. The memories of their first kiss were a pale shadow of the current reality. The intoxicating feeling of Rhaenyra’s lips moving against hers was making her head spin and her knees shake. She felt one of Rhaenyra’s hands slide from her cheek to firmly grip the back of her neck, pulling her closer and drawing an undignified whimper from her throat. She felt Rhaenyra’s tongue swipe against her lower lip, and she couldn’t contain the moan that ripped from her mouth. She suddenly realized that her own hands had found purchase on Rhaenyra’s bare hips, gripping them hard in an effort to keep herself upright. The softness of her Rhaenyra’s flesh, the warmth, the smoothness, so different from Viserys.
At the thought of her husband, reality came crashing back, and Alicent shoved Rhaenyra away, the force of it causing her to stagger backwards as well. Her breaths were coming out in harsh pants, and she knew that if she looked at herself in the mirror that her entire face would be bright red. Her body was uncomfortably hot, and when she moved, she felt an unfamiliar dampness between her legs. Different from her moon’s blood, for which it was far too early, in any case.
Rhaenyra was panting as well, violet eyes about two shades darker as she gazed at Alicent with the sort of hunger she’d never imagined seeing in another person’s eyes. Not for her, at least. The princess’ lips were kiss-swollen, and her naked breasts heaved with each sharp inhale and exhale, and Alicent couldn’t help but notice how her nipples had hardened to pink points. “Alicent?” she rasped, voice rough.
“I, I’m sorry.” Alicent covered her mouth with her hands, dawning realization at what she’d just done making her whole body tremble. She’d just kissed Rhaenyra. Again. But this time was so much worse. She knew better what it meant now, to be kissed. And to be kissed as Rhaenyra had just kissed her. Rhaenyra was a woman. Women were not meant to kiss like that. Worse still, Rhaenyra was her husband’s daughter. Gods be good, what had she done? What had she done!? Her head was spinning, and she felt herself stagger, tripping over nothing.
“Ali! Ali? Ali, look at me.”
Strong hands were suddenly grasping her waist, supporting her weight and keeping her from collapsing. Gods, had Rhaenyra always been this strong? A soft whine escaped her lips as the familiar scent of her dearest friend enveloped her once more, making her feel almost drunk. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and become lost in Rhaenyra again, but she knew that she couldn’t. She’d come here to determine Rhaenyra’s virtue, to quiet the clamoring voices of doubt in her head once and for all, and yet here she was, leading Rhaenyra into that very temptation. She was married. Rhaenyra was betrothed. What had she done?
“Alicent. My Love. Breathe for me, please?”
My Love? Had Rhaenyra truly just said that? Gasping, a little, she did her best to steady her breathing, though the task was made no easier by Rhaenyra’s proximity. Her very close, still very naked proximity. But Rhaenyra had asked her to breathe, and she’d never been very good at denying her princess anything.
Finally catching her breath, Alicent didn’t know where to focus her gaze. If she looked down, she was like to find herself staring at Rhaenyra’s breasts, but if she looked directly at her friend, she might do something even more foolish. She finally settled for keeping her eyes squeezed shut, as if she could will the last few minutes out of existence. “Gods, Rhaenyra, I, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” Rhaenyra snorted. “Whatever for? Alicent, I’ve been longing to kiss again since, well, since the first time you let me kiss you.” A warm hand cupped her cheek, silently urging her to open her eyes, but Alicent couldn’t bring herself to. “Ali, you have nothing to apologize for. I,” she paused, “I love you, Alicent. Always have.”
Alicent’s eyes flew open, and when they met Rhaenyra’s, she saw nothing but open sincerity and warmth. “You, you love me?” This must be a dream. Surely. How else could she explain the fact that a naked Rhaenyra was holding her and professing her love?
Rhaenyra made a slightly offended noise, but then her face fell. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t believe me. How could you? After the last three years?” She wet her lips, eyes darting everywhere but Alicent’s face. “I shouldn’t have abandoned you after . . . after your wedding. I’m so sorry, Ali. I was hurt and angry and,” she cleared her throat a little, “and jealous, but I should never have taken that out on you.”
Tears pricked the corners of Alicent’s eyes at hearing the words she’d so longed for finally spoken aloud. “I never meant to betray you, Rhaenyra. I swear I didn’t. I just, I didn’t know how to tell you.” And she didn’t know how to go against her father, or the king’s will, for that matter, but speaking of either of their father’s seemed very wrong in this moment.
“I know, My Love.” Rhaenyra kissed her softly, chastely, and too swiftly for Alicent to even consider turning her head away. But when she leaned forward for another kiss, Alicent stopped her.
“We can’t.”
“Why not?” And Rhaenyra looked so utterly bemused that Alicent would have laughed under any other circumstances.
“You’re to be wed.” And I’m already wed. “And, and you must go to your wedding night a maiden.” She tried to extricate herself from Rhaenyra’s grip, but the arms holding her only tightened. “Please, Rhaenyra,” she pleaded, “let me go.”
“I will. I promise.” Rhaenyra gave her a gentle squeeze. “I would never force you to do anything you don’t want, Ali. But please, listen to me first?”
And how could she deny her such a request? So Alicent nodded, silently praying for the strength to walk out of this room once Rhaenyra said whatever she needed to say.
“I love you, Alicent. Only you. No one else matters. Not Daemon, not Laenor, not,” Rhaenyra’s lips twisted slightly, “not my father. Only you. If you want me, if you’ll have me, we’ll find a way. I promise.” She smiled gently, lovingly, as one of her hands left Alicent’s waist to come up and cradle her cheek. “Whatever you decide, know this. I swear by all the gods, even your Seven, that I’ll never let any harm come to you.” She paused. “You or your children.”
“Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.”
Her father had said those words thinking that he was presenting her with a choice. But he’d been wrong. It had never been a matter of choosing. And even if it had, with those options, there had only ever been one answer.
Turning her head, she pressed a soft kiss to Rhaenyra’s palm. “I’ve never wanted anyone else, Rhaenyra. Surely you know that.”
Beaming bright as Syrax’s scales, Rhaenyra leaned forward to kiss her, and this time, Alicent didn’t stop her.