Chapter Text
The Company doesn’t give Alicent much; a plane ticket, an address, a driver.
They say they’ve assigned her a partner, and the only message they give her the day she leaves is:
Please pack light.
She doesn’t ask questions, but they wouldn’t answer anyway.
When she's dropped off in a Company car by a Company driver who says absolutely nothing to her, she walks up the driveway and just…looks for a minute. The townhouse is waiting and it’s a sprawling, pristine, beautiful two-storey home that opens up with a touch of her thumb, and the air inside smells like fresh paint and nothingness, and her partner is already here, and she walks in, and—
And her partner is a woman.
Alicent stops in her tracks.
The woman is sitting at the kitchen counter, absorbed in her laptop, legs crossed, posture lazy, confidently sprawling, almost, wearing an expensive-looking silk blouse that hangs open at the collar. She doesn’t look up in a display of indifference, likely meant to intimidate, and Alicent hopes she’s just some higher-up with The Company, but she knows— in her gut, she knows.
Alicent hesitates. “Hello.”
The woman barely glances up— bored, uninterested. But it doesn’t matter, because she takes up the space like she owns it. Exudes this rich kind of authority even just while sitting down. She turns back to her laptop; Alicent vaguely wonders if maybe she’s a higher-up with The Company, here to orient her before introducing her to her actual and also male partner, and there’s this little part of her that knows, who this person is supposed to be, but it can’t be, it can’t—
“…Hello, darling,” the woman says, finishing whatever it is she was doing on her laptop before shutting it, sarcasm dripping from her dulcet voice. “Long day at work?”
Alicent stares. “You’re the— are you my partner?”
The woman finally looks at her, eyes scanning her face without a hint of surprise or any semblance of a reaction.
Of course. Of course he’d do this to me.
“…Rhaenyra Targaryen,” the woman says, extending a hand. She doesn’t get up. Alicent reaches forward, takes it, shakes it— feels deeply, wildly dismayed, but tries not to show it.
“Alicent. Florent. Alicent Florent,” she says, stepping back.
“Right.” Rhaenyra takes a breath, raises her eyebrows. “I’ve already claimed the biggest room, so.” She gets up from the stool, rolls out her shoulders, jerks her chin to the left. “Guest room is down that hallway. First assignment’s tomorrow. See you in the morning.”
“I —” Alicent watches, mouth still open, as Rhaenyra saunters down the opposite hallway. “You— that’s it?”
Rhaenyra turns, brow quirked. “What?”
“I mean —” Alicent stops. “Never mind.”
Rhaenyra watches her for a second longer, and she’s very clearly amused and very clearly unimpressed.
“Did you want some kind of formal welcome?” Rhaenyra asks.
“No,” Alicent says, petulant without meaning to be, and Rhaenyra just watches her for a moment longer, still amused and unimpressed and stop staring at me why are you staring at me and why does it make me feel—
Rhaenyra clears her throat and puts on a faux-grandiose tone.
“Welcome to The Company, Alicent.” She waves dismissively, before stopping and glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll show you around in the morning, yes?”
Alicent stares as Rhaenyra doesn’t wait for a response before she keeps walking.
She scoffs lightly, picks her bag back up, and goes down the other hall.
Name?
Alicent Hightower.
You’ll have to go as Alicent Florent, according to your father.
…Right.
Alicent Florent— do you understand that, by taking on this role, you’ll be expected to fully separate yourself from your life as you know it?
I do.
Do you understand that you’ll be partnered with an agent of The Company’s choosing?
I do.
Do you understand that this partnership is binding?
…I do.
Do you have any questions for The Company?
Um. Yes. Can I ask— may I ask what kinds of assignments I’d be sent on?
No, you may not.
…Right. Then, no. No further questions.
Alicent closes the bedroom door behind her and drops her bag at the foot of the bed.
The room is much like the rest of the the townhouse, in that it looks expensive— marble floors and solid wood furniture and cold lighting. Meant to impress and not at all built or designed for comfort.
She doesn’t bother unpacking because she knows that most everything will be provided for her: her clothes, her toiletries, her shoes, her electronics— including a laptop that The Company has given her.
Alicent opens it up and clicks the chat log open, where there’s a message waiting for her.
> PLEASE CONFIRM ARRIVAL.
Confirmed.
> REVIEW ATTACHED FILE. FIRST MISSION BEGINS AT 0600.
Alicent clicks the attachment. A dossier loads— minimal formatting, stamped with The Company’s insignia.
They’re to pick up a box in the west under the name Stone and deliver said box to an address in the east. Simple as that.
It’s a straightforward job, it seems— far too straightforward, in that way where it’s blatantly obvious that the package is something wildly important, and Alicent’s nothing if not nosy— wonders if she’ll have a chance to open it up before they deliver it.
Alicent’s fingers hover over the keyboard, considers typing something—asking a clarifying question, requesting more information—but she knows better.
She closes the laptop instead, glances at the clock.
Five hours until briefing.
Outside her door, the townhouse is silent; Alicent goes into the walk-in closet to see that it’s completely empty and frowns; The Company was supposed to provide all of that for them. Still, she turns off the light of the closet, goes to her bag and pulls out a set of her own pyjamas that she’d packed just in case.
After that, Alicent gingerly gets underneath the rather tightly-made covers of the bed, and she sets an alarm for 5. She lies down with the assumption that she won’t be able to fall asleep, but her eyes are closing and she’s drifting off before she knows it.
***
In her dreams, she sees Gwayne.
The colour blue.
***
It feels like her alarm goes off the literal moment she falls asleep.
Alicent rubs her eyes, stretches, and heads to the ensuite to shower, anxiety deep in her bones— which is then rather effectively and efficiently helped by the fact that there’s a fucking rain shower in the ensuite. She turns up the water as hot as it goes before it hurts too much, showers the evening off, wraps a towel around herself, and steps out—
Only to startle when she sees Rhaenyra in her room, rifling through her fucking bag.
“…What the fuck?” Alicent asks, striding towards Rhaenyra, snatching her bag away.
Rhaenyra just shrugs like she doesn’t seem to understand the utter fucking audacity of the moment. She looks like she was halfway through getting ready before she got in here; she’s wearing a white tank-top that shows off toned muscles, a few scars here and there— there’s one on the front of her right shoulder that looks like it was a bullet wound, and Alicent wants to ask about it before she absolutely, absolutely positively does not fucking notice the fact that Rhaenyra’s not wearing a bra underneath the tank top—
“Just checking for anything suspicious,” Rhaenyra says.
Alicent tightens her grip on the bag. “You— this is my room?”
“This is our house.” Rhaenyra leans against the dresser, completely unbothered, eyes sparkling with mischief, like a child.
Alicent stares at her, incredulous. “It’s— that’s not how privacy works — this is incredibly rude of you—”
“Privacy’s a luxury in this field,” Rhaenyra says, tilting her head before she shrugs again. “Not a right.”
Alicent resists the urge to throw the bag at her. “Do you make a habit of going through your partner’s things, or is this just a me thing—”
“It’s a new partner thing.”
Alicent scoffs, pulling the zipper closed. “What could possibly be in my bag that would be deemed as suspicious?”
“You’re a light packer,” Rhaenyra remarks, ignoring the question entirely.
“…I was told to pack light?”
“Ah.” Rhaenyra pauses. “So they’ve sent me an obedient wife. Wonderful.”
Alicent flushes. “Excuse me—?”
“Well— technically, you are Mrs. Targaryen,” Rhaenyra says, pushing off the dresser, stepping past her. Alicent watches her move— lazy, careless, the air of someone who thinks that Alicent is just some fucking inconvenience for her.
“…I was told this was a partnership,” Alicent says stiffly.
“It is,” Rhaenyra says, stopping in the doorway, glancing over her (very toned) shoulder. “Just not an equal one.”
“And, what— you think you’re in charge?”
“No.” Rhaenyra taps the doorframe once, twice, grins. “I know I am. Seniority, and all.”
“You —”
“Get dressed, darling. We’ve plans today.”
Then Rhaenyra’s gone, leaving nothing but silence and a deep sense of irritation in her wake. Alicent stands there in her towel for a moment, scowling at the empty doorway, before she slams the door shut.
There’s a lingering scent that Rhaenyra’s left behind. Something woodsy and floral.
Alicent shuts her eyes, leans her forehead against the door, breathes in deep.
What have I signed up for?
***
Rhaenyra takes her through the townhouse with that bored affect again, acts like she’s lived here for years and not just a few hours longer than Alicent has.
“All standard,” Rhaenyra says, leading her through the living room. She glances back every now and then to make sure Alicent’s following, which makes her feel a little like a child. “Surveillance console’s here. You’ll have access to outside feeds. Kitchen island has backup firearms underneath, biometric-locked.”
Alicent crosses her arms, watching as Rhaenyra taps a panel under the countertop. A quiet click, and a small drawer pops open, revealing two compact pistols and four neatly stacked magazines.
“Oh— also.” Rhaenyra goes to another drawer and opens it, pulls out a small envelope, taps her other palm with it twice before handing it to Alicent. “Your ring.”
“...My ring,” Alicent repeats, frowning. She opens the envelope— a really fucking stupidly-expensive-looking gold diamond ring falls out.
“Your wedding ring, of course,” Rhaenyra says, grinning. She holds up her left, wiggles her fingers. “Already wearing mine, darling.”
Alicent stares at it— gingerly fits it on her fourth finger, and it fits perfectly, but it feels all wrong, and—
“Anyway.” Rhaenyra gestures lazily. “Panic room’s through the guest bathroom mirror. Weapons cache in the closet of the master bedroom, and yours.”
“…Where in my closet?”
“Behind the jackets.”
Alicent frowns, wonders if she missed a manual somewhere already going through all of this, which would be the only explanation for—
“How do you know all of this already?”
Rhaenyra doesn’t pause. “Unlike you, this isn’t my first day.”
Alicent follows her into the hall. “This is your first time here, though.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rhaenyra says. She pushes open another door—a storage closet, half-stocked with additional gear. “All houses for The Company are built the same. Same layouts, same resources— same places to hide a body if necessary.” She glances at Alicent, amused. “Not that you’d need to worry about that. Since you follow orders, and all.”
“...And you don’t?”
Rhaenyra snorts. “I do when they make sense. There’s a wine cellar in the basement— I put little stickers on the ones you can’t touch.”
“A wine cellar —” Alicent stops. “You— what?”
“The Company aren’t complete psychos,” Rhaenyra says simply, and scoffs. “As if we could get through this job without a drink or two.”
She moves on before Alicent can respond, making her way toward the staircase. Alicent watches her for a second before following, unease curling at the edges of her stomach. She doesn’t know a lot about The Company; only what she’s been told directly. And Rhaenyra is being the furthest from direct.
“Why do —” Alicent has to speed-walk briefly to catch up. “Why do we get paired? Do you know?”
Rhaenyra doesn’t look back.
“People are noticed less in pairs.” She pauses. “You’re also less likely to defect if you’re relying on a partner. Or if a partner’s relying on you.”
“…Defect.”
Rhaenyra hums. “Old KGB tactic.”
Alicent processes that in silence as they reach the top of the staircase.
Rhaenyra keeps walking. She doesn’t bother opening any of the upstairs doors—just gestures vaguely as she passes them.
“Your office, my office, shared armoury. Not much else up here—”
“So that’s why they pair us? So we don’t run?”
Rhaenyra finally looks at her, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
“Planning on running already, are we?”
Alicent glares. “No.”
“…Then don’t worry about it.” Rhaenyra shrugs, turning away again. “It’s just —” she waves dismissively. “How they do things.”
“I don’t understand why we have to be married.”
Rhaenyra sighs. “Integration. Married couples draw less attention than two single people living together in a house like this.”
“I don’t— couldn’t we just have posed as roommates?”
Rhaenyra lets out a chuckle. “Sure. If you want to explain to every single nosy neighbour, every houseguest, every vendor why two professional women in their early thirties who could easily afford separate places are choosing to live together.”
“…Maybe we’re just— maybe one of us, or both of us are— closeted?”
Rhaenyra snorts. “Are you asking me, or telling me?”
Alicent pauses, feels herself flush. “I— what—?”
Rhaenyra keeps going like Alicent didn’t say a thing.
“People would start speculating. Speculation gets people looking too closely.”
Alicent frowns but doesn’t interrupt, so Rhaenyra keeps going.
“A married couple, on the other hand, fits right into the mold. People assume they know the story already. Newlyweds, professionals— working long hours but still making it work, blah, blah, blah.” She gestures vaguely.
Alicent absorbs this for a second before crossing her arms. “And the accounts? The paperwork? Everything’s shared?”
“Of course,” Rhaenyra says, like it’s obvious. “That’s the whole point. We need assets that can move between us seamlessly. A sudden influx of money or resources looks suspicious if you don’t have the right explanation. But if it’s a gift? A shared account? A transfer between spouses?” She shrugs. “Perfectly normal.”
Alicent just stares; Rhaenyra’s one of those people who seem like they’re brimming with intelligence, which makes her cocky— and Alicent’s never liked cocky people.
“You’ve been doing this for a while,” Alicent says, testing.
Rhaenyra just hums again, noncommittal.
“How long?”
“Long enough.”
Alicent waits for more. It doesn’t come.
“What does that mean?”
Rhaenyra stops in front of the last door at the end of the hall, finally turning fully to face her. “You ask a lot of questions.”
Alicent crosses her arms. “You don’t ask enough.”
“Because I already know the answers.”
Alicent studies her— tries to figure out if it’s arrogance or truth before deciding that it’s both. She opens her mouth to push, to test further— but Rhaenyra goes first.
“What’s your deal?” Rhaenyra asks, crossing her arms, leaning against the doorframe, studying Alicent in a way that feels uncomfortably like Rhaenyra’s actually studying her— like noticing her scabbed-over thumbs, maybe, or her hair being a little out of place, maybe, or maybe she thinks Alicent picked a weird outfit, maybe— a cream blouse with slacks. Either way, Alicent doesn’t like it. She shifts uncomfortably.
“What’s my deal.”
“Yes. You show up all— stiff, clueless, following orders like a good little soldier—” her eyes look over Alicent again, lingering, assessing, “—and you ask a lot of questions. It’s interesting.”
Alicent forces herself to hold her ground. “…Wanting to know how things work is interesting?”
“Most people who make it this far already know.”
“The Company didn’t tell me very much.”
“I mean,” Rhaenyra says, “It’s black ops. Learn as you go. That’s what most people do.”
Rhaenyra tilts her head, looks at Alicent appraisingly again. Pauses, like she’s thinking about what she’s going to say next— which is what makes it all the more offensive when she says—
“The competent ones, at least.”
What the fuck—
Alicent stiffens at this. “Beg pardon?”
“Just an observation.”
“And how would you know anything of my competency.”
Rhaenyra lifts her hands in mock surrender.
“Alright, alright. Don’t get all defensive, Mrs. Targaryen.”
Alicent fights the urge to snap— years, years of trying to practice controlling her temper, controlling her reactions, and here Rhaenyra Targaryen stands— getting under her skin after all of six hours.
Rhaenyra waits a second longer, like she’s expecting Alicent to say something else— then, she shrugs and taps the doorframe once.
“Got the dossier?”
“…Yes,” Alicent says shortly.
“Good. Ready to go?”
“I —” Alicent frowns. “I thought you might — do you know? What it is?”
“What what is.”
“For the love of— the assignment.” Alicent scoffs. “Is it going to be like pulling teeth with you every time—”
“Maybe.”
Alicent stares and waits for an elaboration that doesn’t come, and it dawns on her then and there that Rhaenyra’s been assigned as her fucking partner, which means Alicent might have to deal with this for as long as she’s working for The Company, and fuck my fucking life this is not what I wanted and I can’t fucking very well go back and say nevermind can I—
Alicent takes a deep breath in through her nose. “So you don’t know.”
“I know what I need to know,” Rhaenyra says with a shrug. “We’re picking up a package.”
“I looked up the address,” Alicent says. “It’s a bakery.”
“…Okay,” Rhaenyra says. “So— we pick up a package at a bakery. We drop it off. If something goes wrong, we deal with it.”
Alicent frowns. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Alicent watches her carefully, trying to gauge if she’s lying or if she’s withholding something, but Rhaenyra’s face gives away nothing.
“That doesn’t seem—” Alicent hesitates, considering her words. “Detailed?”
Rhaenyra snorts.
“Welcome to The Company. You’ll figure it out,” Rhaenyra says, stepping away from the doorframe. “Just… don’t hesitate.”
“What?”
Rhaenyra meets her eyes, and there’s something that isn’t mirth or annoyance in them for once. It’s something else— something Alicent can’t quite get a read on before it’s gone.
“Whatever happens— don’t hesitate.”
“That —”
Rhaenyra’s heading back down the stairs before Alicent can say another word.
Right, she thinks to herself, gritting her teeth. Didn’t like that.
***
“…They didn’t tell you you’d be paired with a woman, did they?”
Alicent looks to Rhaenyra from the passenger’s seat— she’s still a little annoyed, actually, that Rhaenyra decidedly went to the driver’s seat without so much as asking if Alicent wanted to be the one to drive.
“…Pardon?”
“The Company.” Rhaenyra turns on her signal to go left, shoulder checks. “They didn’t tell you.”
Alicent doesn’t answer immediately, because the question itself pisses her off, because the assumption behind it pisses her off, and Rhaenyra fucking pisses her off.
“Does it matter?”
Rhaenyra hums, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “Not to me, personally.”
Alicent glances at her, searching for something—mockery, condescension— but nothing. She turns back toward the window.
“…It doesn’t matter,” Alicent says again, more firmly this time.
A long silence. Alicent assumes Rhaenyra's let it go.
Then, Rhaenyra speaks again. “…So it does.”
And her voice sounds like it’s coming from a smiling mouth, which pisses Alicent off, so she turns and glares again, and she was right— Rhaenyra’s got that shit-eating grin on her face again.
“No, they didn’t tell me,” she says. “They also didn’t tell me I’d be paired with a person so unapologetically —” fucking annoying and a fucking asshole— “Smug.”
“A woman who’s unapologetically smug,” Rhaenyra corrects with a drawl. She breathes out. “We’re supposed to be married, you know.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?” Rhaenyra grins.
“It’s a cover.”
Rhaenyra hums. “You do realize covers have to be convincing, hm?”
“Meaning?”
“It means—” Rhaenyra glances at her, amusement clear on her face. “—that you’re a little stiff for someone who’s supposed to be a blushing newlywed. People are going to think you married me under duress.”
Alicent scoffs. “We’ve been married for less than twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, we have— and you already regret it.” Rhaenyra shakes her head, faux-wistful. “Gods. And here I was, hoping for a honeymoon phase—”
“Could you— could you please stop talking.”
“But we’re having so much fun.”
“I’m not.”
Rhaenyra shrugs, unbothered.
“It’s just fascinating. I’ve never seen someone look so genuinely distressed by the idea of pretending to be married to me.”
“Forgive me if I don’t swoon at the prospect.”
“That’s fine,” Rhaenyra says. “You don’t have to swoon. You just have to be believable.”
Alicent frowns. “I can be believable.”
Rhaenyra huffs out a laugh. “You can’t look this uncomfortable when we have to interact with other people, you know.”
“I’m comfortable.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” Rhaenyra shrugs, turns the corners of her lips down for a moment. “It’s just that you seem uncomfortable.”
“I’m not.”
“Uh-huh.”
There’s a silence, finally— but it only lasts about the length of some fucking hardware store ad before—
“Have you ever actually been with a woman, Alicent?
Alicent stiffens. “You— can you stop asking me inane questions so we can focus on the assignment.”
“I mean, I can tell you haven’t, obviously. But— I figured I’d give you the benefit of the doubt.”
Alicent turns fully toward her, feeling her skin prickle all of a sudden.
“You can te— you can tell,” Alicent scoffs in bewilderment— if it’s a little louder than it needs to be, that’s neither here nor there. “How does one tell whether or not someone is —” she gestures vaguely towards Rhaenyra— “Has— your proclivities —”
Rhaenyra barks out a laugh. “Proclivities? Holy gods, this is going to be a fucking riot —”
“This isn’t funny.”
Rhaenyra’s laughter fills the car, rich and genuinely entertained, which somehow makes it worse. Alicent’s grip tightens on her crossed arms— she considers reaching over, unbuckling Rhaenyra’s seatbelt, and slamming the emergency brake up to throw Rhaenyra through the windshield.
“It’s hilarious.” Rhaenyra swipes at her eye in a dramatic show of laughter, still grinning. “Proclivities. Like I’m some sort of—what? Deviant?”
“That’s not what I meant—” Alicent splutters. “I don’t— just because I’ve never— doesn’t mean —”
Rhaenyra glances at her, lips twitching. “Doesn’t mean what.”
Alicent reddens and turns toward the window, not dignifying that with a response, because the answer is no— she hasn’t been with a woman— but she also has only been with two men in her life so far because she’s enough on her plate without worrying about all of that.
“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s irrelevant.”
“It’s entirely relevant,” Rhaenyra says. “If you’ve never been with a woman before, how exactly do you plan on selling this marriage?”
Alicent stiffens. “I don’t see how that is at all relevant to the assignment— get your hands off of me —!" Alicent slaps Rhaenyra’s hand when she reaches it out to touch her knee— Rhaenyra brings it back to the wheel, shaking her head and scoffing, looking like she’s just proven something.
“See? Far too jumpy,” Rhaenyra says, shaking her head.
Alicent glares. “Sorry that I don’t appreciate being manhandled while I’m trying to focus on the mission —”
“Manhandled—” Rhaenyra lets out a huff of laughter. “I touched your knee— lightly, for a second —”
“For what reason, exactly —”
“To see how you’d react.” Rhaenyra shrugs. “If that’s going to be your reaction, we’re going to have a very hard time selling this marriage—”
“I’ll be fine —”
“What’s your plan for when we have to be affectionate in public?”
“We don’t have to be affectionate in public.”
“Gods, you are delusional,” Rhaenyra says, shaking her head. “How many married couples do you know who stand two feet apart at all times and refuse to make eye contact—”
“We don’t have to be obnoxious about it.”
“No, but we have to be believable.”
“I can be believable.”
“Mm. Debatable.”
Alicent rubs her forehead in frustration. “What exactly are you suggesting.”
“Practice.”
Alicent looks at her, horrified. “Absolutely not.”
“Hold my hand.”
“No.”
“Alicent.” Rhaenyra stops, pulls over— they’ve presumably arrived wherever it is they need to be to pick up the package— and she sighs. She reaches out her hand. “Just hold my hand.”
“Don’t be childish— this is ridiculous—”
“I’m not the one being ridiculous right now. Hold my hand.”
“No.”
Rhaenyra lets out a bewildered scoff. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Alicent feels her temper rising again to a boiling point, and she should just get out of the car or perhaps smash Rhaenyra’s head through the windshield and tell The Company they’ve gotten into a fatal car accident—
— But Rhaenyra keeps going.
“I’m beginning to think they’ve sent you here to deliberately to sabotage me— we’re fucked if you can’t even hold my hand — did they recruit you straight out of a finishing school, because this is fucking embarrassing for you —”
And the last thing Alicent thinks is fuck this before she acts.
She pulls Rhaenyra in and kisses her hard, pulls back just as fast— see? I can sell it, I can sell this stupid cover, now shut the fuck up—
“— There,” Alicent says, breath short, face warm. “Enough practice for you?
Rhaenyra stares— for the first time since they’ve met, she actually looks speechless.
And then—
Then she smirks.
“Father above,” Rhaenyra says, blinking, voice thick with amusement. “Oh— this is going to be fun, isn’t it?”
Alicent makes a sound of utter disgust, throws open the car door, and storms out.
Rhaenyra’s laugh follows her the whole way.
Harwin— wake up— oh, fuck, no, please— Harwin, please— say something— please, no, please, please—
***
Rhaenyra doesn’t think she’s had this much fun on the job since her and Harwin dressed up as Russian oligarchs and convinced an arms dealer they were in the market for a private submarine. Too much vodka, a tense standoff, and Harwin nearly getting shot because he couldn’t stop laughing, and this is almost better.
New Partner Alicent seems like she’s wound so tight that she might literally, actually snap in half if someone so much as looks at her wrong, which Rhaenyra’s been doing on purpose for the past few hours, because it’s fun. She’s having fun.
And, sure — The Company has almost certainly sent Rhaenyra a patsy in the form of this little worked-up clenched fist of a woman to fuck her over for good— but it’s fine. Rhaenyra’s always been someone who knows how to play with the cards she’s given.
It doesn’t change anything.
It doesn’t change her plan.
***
They go into the bakery, and it looks like a normal bakery, but it’s not a normal bakery.
(Well— it is, in the sense that it’s fully operational— but it’s also the kind of bakery The Company would send their agents to in order to pick up some mysterious package, and there’s no way of knowing whether or not the people working here are in on it or not.)
“Picking up for Stone, please,” Rhaenyra says at the counter; there’s a friendly-looking older woman who smiles at her.
“There you are, my dear,” she says, handing over a box. “Now— be careful with that. Don’t want to jostle it too much.”
“Wouldn’t dare it,” Rhaenyra says, smiling back. She looks back at Alicent, who looks like she’s standing in the middle of a slaughterhouse and isn’t entirely sure whether she’s the butcher or the pig.
Father above.
“…Ready, darling?” Rhaenyra asks.
Alicent blinks, nods.
Rhaenyra thanks the woman and takes the box, cradling it carefully. She turns back toward Alicent, whose expression is doing an impressively good job at making her look incredibly fucking suspicious.
Rhaenyra leans in, lowering her voice.
“Try not to look like you’re about to be executed?”
“I don’t—” Alicent stops herself. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I am fine.”
Rhaenyra sighs, shifting the box in her arms. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
Alicent glares. “Are we leaving or not.”
Rhaenyra presses a hand to the small of Alicent’s back as she steers them toward the door. “Ready whenever you are, darling.”
Alicent stiffens but doesn’t shove her away—progress. They step outside, and Rhaenyra catches the way Alicent glances over her shoulder, eyes roaming back to the staff inside.
“They’re civilians,” Rhaenyra says, amused. “Probably.”
Alicent looks at her, doubtful. “Probably?”
Rhaenyra shrugs, already making her way toward the car. “The Company’s not in the habit of employing bakers.”
“They were very comfortable handing you an unmarked package.”
“They were very comfortable handing a customer an unmarked package.” Rhaenyra gives her a look. “That’s how covers work.”
Alicent scoffs, lips pressing together as she follows Rhaenyra back to the car. Rhaenyra waits for Alicent to get in the passenger’s seat and buckle herself in before passing her to box— Alicent places her hands on top of it gingerly, and Rhaenyra gets into the driver’s seat.
“You don’t even know what’s in it,” Alicent says.
“Nope.”
“And that doesn’t concern you?”
Rhaenyra pulls out of their parking spot. “Not my job to be concerned.”
Alicent stares at her. “You’re not concerned?”
“I’m always concerned,” Rhaenyra says, grinning. “I just don’t get paid to be. Mind plugging in the address for drop-off?”
“I don’t want to move.”
“What?”
“This— the box. I don’t want to move— what if I jostle it and it— explodes, or something —”
“Right,” Rhaenyra drawls. “The classic C4 fondant trick. Gods above.”
“Just because you’ve decided to be careless doesn’t mean I want to be,” Alicent retorts. “They’ve found all sorts of new ways to disguise explosives and detonate them.”
Rhaenyra chuckles; she looks to Alicent to see that she’s all wound-up again, fuming, a little, and has an idea—
Time to have some more fun.
At their next turn, Rhaenyra jerks the wheel so hard that Alicent lets out a loud gasp, clutching the box tighter as the car swerves.
“What the fuck —”
Rhaenyra steadies them easily, grinning wide.
“Good reflexes.” Rhaenyra looks over again— Alicent looks like she wants to launch the box at her head. She floors it through a yellow light, just for fun, and Alicent stiffens and gasps aloud again.
“This is not funny— you’re not funny —”
“Plug in the address—”
“Fine!!! Fine— I hope this thing actually explodes —”
Alicent squeals when Rhaenyra does a sudden brake check.
***
They get to the address— it’s a house situated in the suburbs, in a wealthy area of the city.
“…What now?” Alicent asks.
Rhaenyra sighs and puts the car in park, leans back in the seat.
“We deliver the package.” She looks around the general area; there isn’t anyone around to see, let alone be able to identify their faces. She leans back in her seat. “Go on.”
“…Go on?”
“Drop it off,” Rhaenyra says, nodding towards the house. It’s just a regular house— a regular front step, a regular stone pathway— Rhaenyra’s somewhat curious about it, but not nearly enough to give it much more thought.
“…Do I have to— should I —” Alicent gestures towards the firearm tucked under her jacket.
“Yes, Alicent,” Rhaenyra says, glaring. “Approach the nice suburban house with a drawn firearm in broad daylight. Go right ahead.”
“Piss off,” Alicent mutters before opening the car door and heading away. Rhaenyra keeps the ignition on, just in case, but otherwise stays put in the driver’s seat and watches as Alicent makes her way towards the house. Shoulders tight, posture stiff, like she’s expecting the fucking mailbox to pull a gun on her.
Father above.
Rhaenyra drums her fingers against the steering wheel, rolling her eyes when Alicent hesitates on the porch.
It’s a fucking door, not a landmine—
And Rhaenyra swears under her breath when Alicent glances back at the car, as if for reassurance— which is not Rhaenyra’s job— and she places the package down carefully.
Alicent turns back, brushing imaginary dust off her hands like she’s just accomplished something meaningful. Like she just successfully defused a bomb instead of delivering a fucking box.
Alicent slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door, looking at Rhaenyra expectantly.
“…Now what?”
“Now, we go home,” Rhaenyra says, shifting the car into drive.
Alicent doesn’t say anything.
Rhaenyra sighs, already feeling the headache creeping in. “What.”
“Shouldn’t we wait? See who picks it up?”
Rhaenyra furrows her brows, giving her an incredulous look. “Why?”
“It might be useful.”
“That’s not the job.” Rhaenyra feels irritation rising fast and starting to eclipse the faint amusement, fast. “Put on your seatbelt.”
“…No.”
Rhaenyra scoffs, grips the gearshift. “Suit yourself. We’re leaving.” She pauses. “No promises I won’t do another brake check.”
She puts her hands on the wheel to start steering— only for Alicent to suddenly whip her hand out and grip it to keep it still.
Rhaenyra blinks, turns her head slowly.
“What the fuck are you doing.”
Alicent doesn’t look at her— just looks over at the house, again. “Just—wait.”
“No,” Rhaenyra says. “Let go of the wheel.”
Alicent’s grip only tightens.
Rhaenyra lets out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“Alicent—”
“We don’t know what we just delivered.”
“And we’re not supposed to,” Rhaenyra says. “That’s how The Company works—”
“Just wait a second.”
“No,” Rhaenyra snaps. “We do not sit outside the drop site— now let go of the fucking wheel.”
Alicent doesn’t.
Rhaenyra narrows her eyes.
Fine.
She reaches for Alicent’s wrist, but the second she does, Alicent moves, shifting her weight, twisting to keep her grip firm. Rhaenyra shoves against her forearm, trying to force her hand off the wheel, but Alicent resists.
She resists somewhat easily.
Huh.
Rhaenyra hadn’t thought much about it before—Alicent is lean, compact, doesn’t seem to have the build of someone who should be giving her much resistance. But the moment she actively tries to pry Alicent off the wheel, she realizes—
Fuck— is she actually stronger than I thought she’d be?
There’s a brief second where neither of them seem like they’re quite sure how they ended up in a full-fledged grapple, but it’s happening before they realize it.
Rhaenyra twists in her seat, using her body weight to try to shove Alicent off, but Alicent holds, face going a little pink with the effort. She’s braced hard against the wheel, barely giving an inch.
Rhaenyra growls under her breath, adjusting her grip, trying to pry Alicent’s fingers away. “This is—insane—”
“I just—” Alicent hisses, using her shoulder to block Rhaenyra’s attempt at leverage. “—want to see—”
“We are not—” Rhaenyra grits her teeth, pushing forward. “—fucking waiting—”
They’re full-on wrestling now, both of them half-turned in their seats, locked in a ridiculous fucking struggle and Rhaenyra’s no idea how she’s gotten here, and she’s never dealt with someone like this before, and she’s half-considering slapping Alicent or grabbing at her hair to get her to stop when suddenly—
The world feels like it shatters, and everything goes white for a moment, and the explosion is instant—
A thunderous roar, a shockwave that slams into the car like a freight train. Rhaenyra barely registers the way they lurch, how the entire vehicle lifts slightly off the ground before slamming back down.
Alicent is thrown forward, Rhaenyra’s hand snatching at her jacket on instinct, keeping her from completely smacking into the dash. The fire is blinding— a shock of heat licking at the now-very-cracked windshield.
And all Rhaenyra can think is—
Holy— fucking shit, fuck, fuck—
Smoke, fire, debris—shattered glass everywhere.
It takes a few seconds before Rhaenyra then registers that the house is almost completely fucking gone.
Rhaenyra coughs, hands still locked around the wheel.
Alicent is breathing hard beside her, eyes wide.
Rhaenyra doesn’t give herself time to think—she slams the car into drive, flooring the gas.
“…Seatbelt,” she says, and her voice sounds a lot more monotonous than she’d expected it to be when it comes out.
Alicent doesn’t move.
“Alicent.”
Alicent still doesn’t move— just stares at the rubble—
“FUCKING SEATBELT!!!” Rhaenyra roars, whipping her head toward her. “Fucking now, Alicent! Fuck!!!”
Alicent blinks like she’s been snapped out of a trance, fumbling for the seatbelt with shaking fingers, clicking it into place just as Rhaenyra takes a hard turn.
Silence stretches between them, save for the ringing in Rhaenyra’s ears and the sound of the engine gunning it.
Alicent lets in a sharp breath after a long while.
“Holy fucking— we almost—”
“Yes,” Rhaenyra snaps. “We almost. And do you know why?”
Alicent doesn’t answer.
“Because you fucking froze! What the fuck did I say before we left— don’t fucking hesitate— fuck’s sake!”
Rhaenyra slams a hand against the wheel. Alicent flinches, just barely, and Rhaenyra almost feels bad—but fuck that, because they could be dead right now.
She takes another turn, hard. Her heart is still hammering, adrenaline surging through her veins like a live wire.
The Company won’t be fucking happy about this.
Alicent, stiff beside her, is staring out the window. She hasn’t said anything, and Rhaenyra doesn’t know if that’s because she’s shell-shocked or if she just doesn’t care enough to acknowledge that she fucked up. Both— likely both.
There’s another long silence as they drive away; Rhaenyra hears the distant sound of sirens and hopes and prays to the fucking gods that the windows of this car are tinted enough that their faces aren’t visible to anyone who passes by.
Rhaenyra takes a deep breath at an attempt to steady herself as they keep driving.
“You do not sit outside a drop site, ever. You do not fuck around with unknown packages, ever. And you definitely do not hesitate when I tell you to move.”
Alicent’s fingers curl against her lap. She looks like she wants to argue, but—thankfully—she doesn’t.
The silence between them stretches, tense and crackling.
Rhaenyra finally chances a glance at her.
“…You alright?” she asks, a little softer.
Alicent blinks, looks like she’s only now just coming back to planet earth before she looks back at Rhaenyra and scoffs. “We just almost died. What do you think?”
Rhaenyra stares. Yep, she's fine. “I think it's a yes or no question.”
Alicent lets out a shaky exhale, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead.
“I’m— I’m fine.”
The drive back to the house is absolutely silent. When they get into the garage and get out of the car, Rhaenyra surveys the vehicle— it’s damaged. Very damaged. She sighs, throws the keys into the driver’s seat. Alicent waits at the entrance to the house, arms crossed, frowning.
“Why are you doing that?” Alicent asks.
“The Company is going to come get it,” Rhaenyra says dully.
“Shouldn’t we— clean it up? I don’t know— hide it?”
Rhaenyra snorts, shaking her head.
“They already know.” She taps her temple. “And if they didn’t before, they do now— plus, the car’s probably been seen by a fucking army of civilians driving away from an explosion?”
Alicent just stares before she rubs at her face.
She looks exhausted, frayed at the edges, and Rhaenyra—who should feel the same, who does feel the same—finds herself mostly irritated.
She brushes past Alicent into the house, kicking off her boots in the entryway. Alicent follows a second later, hesitant, arms still crossed.
“…Are they going to pull us in, do you think?”
“They’ll message us if they want to,” Rhaenyra says, heading straight for the kitchen. She grabs a bottle of beer, cracks it open, takes a long drink. She winces slightly from the cold, sets it down, looks over to Alicent. “If The Company really wants something from you— they don’t ask.”
“Are we— I mean— are we in trouble?”
Rhaenyra stares at her for a moment, and Alicent looks genuinely stressed out, and she doesn’t fucking belong here. Alicent’s the kind of woman who should be somewhere else—somewhere clean, somewhere structured, somewhere that doesn’t involve delivering bombs in broad daylight. She’s too pretty and proper for this.
What are you doing here?
Rhaenyra rolls the bottle between her palms, considering.
“Yeah,” she finally says, shrugging. “Probably.”
Alicent nods slowly. Runs a hand through tousled hair.
“I don’t— I didn’t know,” she says quietly.
“Didn’t know what.”
“That it would be— that we’d be —”
Rhaenyra frowns. “What? Killing people?”
Alicent doesn’t respond to this.
Rhaenyra watches her, tilting her head. “Seriously?”
Alicent doesn’t answer right away. Her arms are still crossed, but it’s not defensive anymore—it’s like she’s barely holding herself together.
Rhaenyra scoffs, shaking her head. “You got recruited by The Company, Alicent. What the fuck did you think we did?”
“I thought—” Alicent stops, like she doesn’t even know how to finish the sentence. “I don’t know! I thought it would be— extractions, or— or covert operations, or intelligence gathering—something tactical, something that didn’t involve—” She gestures vaguely, exasperated. “Blowing up a house without knowing who was inside?”
Rhaenyra watches her for a beat, fingers still idly rolling the beer bottle against the countertop before she has another sip. In fairness, Rhaenyra hasn’t been put on a showy ‘sending a message’ elimination assignment like this in a while; Alicent’s just had the misfortune of this being her very first assignment.
(Rhaenyra’s first assignment was intelligence gathering, a stakeout at a restaurant; she’d liked Harwin right off the bat, all kind eyes and charm. He’d ordered the most expensive things on the menu. It’s on The Company, he’d said. They killed their mark— an arms dealer responsible for the deaths of hundreds— with rat poison about an hour later, and had champagne to celebrate.)
“…Well,” Rhaenyra says, because she’s no interest in being Alicent’s minder or therapist or the one who tells her everything’s going to be alright. “Now you know.”
Alicent looks like she might actually physically explode as well.
For a second, Rhaenyra wonders if she’s going to quit. If she’s going to grab her shit and walk out the door and leave Rhaenyra to deal with the fallout alone— it wouldn’t be the first time she’s been assigned a partner who couldn’t handle it.
Alicent doesn’t move, though. She just stands there, looking tense and uncomfortable and stubborn, so fucking stubborn.
Rhaenyra sighs, rubbing at her temple.
“Look. Just —don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll brief The Company— I won’t rat you out, or anything. I’ll just… state the facts. Go take a shower. Or a nap. Or both. You look like you need it—”
“We don’t know anything about them,” Alicent says.
“…The Company?”
“N— well, yes,” Alicent says. “But, no. I mean whoever it is we’ve just blown to pieces. We don’t know.”
Rhaenyra stares. “No. We don’t.”
“What if it was— Rhaenyra, we don’t know what kind of people they were— what if they were— what if it was someone who hasn’t even done anything to deserve death, or something?”
“Okay. Alicent.”
Rhaenyra sets her beer down again, goes to stand in front of Alicent, who steps back slightly, which— kind of stings, actually, that Alicent seems to think Rhaenyra might hurt her— so Rhaenyra just lifts her hands before slowly dropping them.
“I’m going to ask you something, in earnest, so please don’t be offended.”
“You? Offend me?” Alicent scoffs, rolling her eyes before looking off to the side somewhere. “What a — what a concept —”
“Why did you sign up for this job?”
Alicent’s eyes snap to Rhaenyra’s.
“What do you mean.”
“I don’t think I could clarify it much further.”
Alicent shakes her head, scoffs. “I signed up because—”
She stops, looking irritated with herself. Like she’s debating how much to say.
Rhaenyra waits— because the thing is, Alicent isn’t stupid. Naïve, maybe. A little idealistic in a way that shouldn’t exist in this field. But she’s not stupid.
It feels like she was thrown in here without much more context than you’re going to be working on black-ops shit with guns and stuff good luck bye; and Alicent seems like someone who thrives on being given more information than that. Anyone else and Rhaenyra’s first assumption would be that she’s some kind of international spy— perhaps the world’s most incompetent— here to dismantle The Company from the inside out.
(If that were the case, Rhaenyra would probably say— Nice. Can I help?)
But Rhaenyra’s always prided herself in her ability to read people. And Alicent is not easy to read; she's someone where it's easy to see what it is she's feeling, but everything else — it's shrouded.
So Rhaenyra wants to know—what the fuck is she doing here?
Alicent crosses her arms tighter, jaw clenching. “I just— had my reasons.”
“Uh-huh.” Rhaenyra tilts her head. “And those reasons didn’t involve killing people?”
“Not like that.”
“Right— because there’s a right way to kill people?”
Alicent glares at her. “I just—I thought we were taking down threats. You know. Criminals.”
“You don’t know that whoever we blew up wasn’t a criminal.”
“We also don’t know that if they were an innocent. I mean— usually, you’d get a dossier of who the target is— but with this one, nothing! How is that not bothering you more?”
Rhaenyra stares at her for a moment before laughing again, shaking her head.
“Alicent. You’ve signed up to work for a black-ops group that explains nothing and answers no questions. If you thought this was going to be a group of— of moral arbiters, or a place for you to go on a justice-fuelled crusade, you should’ve joined fucking MI5.”
“I already tried!” Alicent exclaims— and then, she shuts her mouth quickly like she absolutely did not mean to say that.
“…What?”
“Nothing.”
“No— what?” Rhaenyra says, stepping closer.
Alicent doesn’t step back, this time; she holds her ground, stares at Rhaenyra straight in the eyes. Progress, again.
“What do you mean, you tried to join MI5?”
“I don’t think I could clarify it much further,” Alicent says mockingly.
Rhaenyra just scoffs at the attitude before she nods slowly.
She goes through it in her head—
Alicent seems physically qualified to join, and she’s also certainly thorough enough to pass the written tests, which means—
Rhaenyra smiles, slowly. “…You failed the psych eval, didn’t you?”
Alicent scoffs, reddens.
There we go.
“I— no, I didn’t — never mind, anyway— I’m going to— to bed—”
She storms past Rhaenyra and goes down the hall to her bedroom and slams the door.
“…Huh,” Rhaenyra says to herself, going back to the counter and having a long sip of her beer before opening up her laptop.
There’s a message from The Company, as expected.
> PLEASE CONFIRM STATUS OF ASSIGNMENT UPON RETURN.
Rhaenyra sighs, sets down the beer, and starts typing.
Assignment completed. Package detonated upon drop-off. No casualties on our end. Unfortunately, we were in the path of the explosion. There’s been damage to the vehicle— functional, visibly compromised. Minor body damage. and we were likely seen leaving the scene. Details unknown.
She hovers her finger over the ENTER button and takes a deep breath before hitting send.
They answer instantly.
> RECEIVED. VEHICLE REPLACEMENT EN ROUTE. REMAIN ON STANDBY.
Rhaenyra stares at the screen, waits for some kind of reprimand or demand for an explanation. She remembers the first time her and Harwin fucked up an assignment; the fallout had been immediate. A direct order to report to an offsite facility. An interrogation that lasted hours, picking apart every last detail of what went wrong. A firm reminder that failure wasn’t tolerated.
But this— not even a slap on the wrist.
Rhaenyra lets out a huff, rolls her shoulders back.
They’re not concerned— which means either they knew this was a possibility, or they truly don’t give a shit who was in that house, unlike Alicent, who seems positively fucking tortured at the idea it was some innocent.
Alicent.
Rhaenyra has no clue what to make of her. The hesitation, the uncertainty. Rhaenyra’s seen all types in this job. Sociopaths, sadists, people who live for the thrill, people who think they’re doing something noble. Alicent doesn’t seem to fit any of that, and Rhaenyra certainly doesn’t have a hope of even beginning to guess why she would fail a psych eval.
The adrenaline is fading now, leaving something cold and unsettled in its place.
She sighs, clicks out of the chat with The Company, and— despite her better judgement— Rhaenyra looks up the address of where they just were.
Alicent spends a long while in the shower; long enough that her skin turns pink and her fingers prune. The sound of the water and her still-slightly-ringing-ears are her only companions.
She feels ridiculous. She feels humiliated, and stupid, and naive, and all the rest— because she should have expected this. She should have expected that she’d be put through the world’s most fiery baptism-by-fire without a single word of encouragement or preparation, without a single way for her to actually prepare herself.
He set me up for failure, because he expects me to fail. He wants me to fail. He wants to punish me.
When her legs start getting a little tired from standing in the shower, Alicent steps out, wraps a towel around herself, and steps out of the bathroom; the first thing she sees is a folded piece of paper that’s been slid under her door. She glares at it for a moment before she goes to pick it up— wonders if it’s some crass drawing or a prank— and then, when she unfolds it, there’s a memo pad stuck to the top right corner that says—
Figured you’d want to know. He was a human trafficker. Hope that eases your conscience. R
Alicent stares at the scrawl for a moment before reading through the document. The man was some kind of investment strategist to the public, and a known facilitator of human trafficking networks in private— a broker of “specialized” acquisitions. Confirmed connections to multiple high-profile disappearances, including those of children.
It doesn’t make her feel better, exactly, but it makes something inside her shift. Loosen. She sighs, rubbing at her face, and doesn’t know what to make of any of it.
Rhaenyra must have dug for this; must have gone out of her way to find it— or maybe she already knew. Either way, it means something; something that Alicent appreciates. An olive branch, so it seems. A concession.
Alicent isn’t sure if it’s meant to be reassurance, or if it’s just Rhaenyra’s way of getting her to stop moping about it. Maybe both. She sets the paper down, and she’s about to just get dressed in what she was wearing today when she notices something in the crack of the walk-in closet; it looks like there’s something hanging there. A few somethings.
She steps over; she wouldn’t be shocked if Rhaenyra was waiting in there to fucking jump-scare her or something. But then, when she opens it, her jaw drops.
It’s completely full of clothes. Everything is new— brand-new, tags still attached, sizes and styles she doesn’t remember selecting— but The Company doesn’t ask. The Company provides.
And it’s an unsettling thought; that they were in here while her and Rhaenyra were gone, and they’d meticulously put all of this in here.
(The Company doesn’t ask. The Company provides.)
Alicent runs her fingers along the racks of shirts, blouses, jackets, tailored suits. Shoes lined up in neat rows, still pristine. Lingerie folded in the drawers, some of it standard and practical, some of it— not.
She quickly shuts that drawer, and keeps looking around; gets dressed in a pair of silk pyjamas that feel like they’re nothing on her skin.
Well. Can’t say I want to complain.
Alicent puts on some lotion and goes to the laptop, opens it to see that there’s a message waiting—
> CHAT REQUESTED. PLEASE CONFIRM IDENTITY TO OPEN.
Alicent frowns; she places her finger on the sensor on her keyboard, waits for the chat to register it.
Once it does, there’s a little ding noise.
> CHAT OPENED WITH: OTTO HIGHTOWER
Alicent sighs, waits for him to message her first. She wonders if Otto's ever done this with anyone else at The Company; if anyone's ever had the misfortune of seeing a message request from the owner of the business on their screen. Though— Alicent doesn't know if anyone at The Company even knows the name Otto Hightower. He’d told her to never mention him by name with anyone at The Company, especially when it came to his leadership there.
A message appears.
> What is this about you being in the path of an explosion?
I’m fine.
> That’s not what I asked.
> Why were you still there when it detonated? Was it your partner?
No.
And it would have been nice to know that we were delivering an explosive.
> The details are not for you to concern yourself with.
> You are expected to handle yourself with obedience and care.
> This was beyond sloppy.
I know. I’m sorry.
> I shouldn’t have to contact you, Alicent. Ensure that this is the last time.
I will.
> What of your partner?
What of her?
And why is she a woman?
> What does it matter?
It wasn’t what I expected.
> Neither was the explosion. Now, what of your partner? Anything of note?
Alicent rolls her eyes, already regretting asking.
She’s competent.
> That remains to be seen.
Alicent frowns.
Meaning?
And you still haven’t answered my question. Why was I paired with a woman?
> It’s what’s been decided for you.
I don’t understand.
> Don’t let me down again.
> I’ve let you inside at a great personal cost. Your reputation is not the only one at stake.
> Don’t make me regret it.
Alicent’s in the middle of typing “I won’t” when the box disappears, and a new, automated message pops up.
> CHAT CLOSED. CLEARING IN 30 SECONDS. 29. 28.
Alicent watches as the numbers go down; looks through the messages with her father again for no good reason before it auto-clears, the text vanishing line by line until the screen is blank again.
***
The next morning, Alicent wakes up, and she goes to her laptop; there isn’t anything waiting for her there. No assignments today.
A relief, really; means Alicent can take the day to orient herself fully, considering her partner seems to think orientation means the bare fucking minimum.
She stretches, gets ready for the day— dresses in slacks, a blouse, even if she’s going to be spending the day at home, because she refuses to let Rhaenyra see her slouching around in sleepwear like this is some casual living arrangement.
The house still has that sterile, untouched quality, but there’s something missing this morning. A presence.
It takes her a moment to realize—Rhaenyra isn’t here.
She checks the kitchen first, because that’s where she last saw her last night, scrolling through her laptop and drinking another beer like nothing had happened, like they hadn’t just nearly gotten themselves killed.
There’s a note on the counter, written in looping, careless script:
Gone to get groceries. Don’t burn the house down.
Alicent scoffs. She taps her fingers on the counter, debating.
She should leave it alone.
She really, really should leave it alone.
Instead, she turns on her heel and makes her way to Rhaenyra’s room.
Alicent’s just evening out the playing field; after all, Rhaenyra’s the one who took it upon herself to snoop through her fucking bag while Alicent was in the shower.
Rhaenyra’s room is more or less what she expected; messier than hers. A few shirts draped over a chair, the bed unmade, laptop charger left plugged in at the wall.
The closet door is cracked open, and Alicent walks in and her first thought is that it’s completely unfair that Rhaenyra gets the bigger room and the bigger closet. Her second thought is that she should just take a quick look.
She starts with the nightstand.
There’s a pack of cigarettes tucked into the drawer. A lighter. A roll of breath mints shoved carelessly into the back. Some loose cash, a pen. Nothing interesting.
The dresser, then.
Alicent opens the top drawer, expecting shirts or socks—finds, instead, something tucked beneath a folded sweater. A polaroid. She picks it up, squinting; it’s a photo of Rhaenyra and a man with a beard, curly brown hair. It’s a selfie; he’s got an arm slung around Rhaenyra’s shoulders and is kissing the top of her head. Rhaenyra, for her part, is mid-laugh, eyes crinkled, looking happier than Alicent’s seen her in the short time they’ve been forced into each other’s company.
She looks quite… pretty like this.
Alicent swallows, feeling something unsettled work its way into her chest, before setting the polaroid back exactly where she found it and shutting the drawer.
I should stop. I should definitely, absolutely stop.
She doesn’t.
Alicent moves to the closet, pulls open the door all the way, scanning quickly. There’s a locked safe, which she doesn’t have the time or tools to mess with. A duffel bag shoved to the side. Jackets, boots, a shelf stacked with more rolled-up cash.
And a box.
Plain, black, tucked neatly into the corner.
Alicent pulls it down, flips the lid open—
And immediately shuts it again.
Her face goes warm.
She stares at the box for a second longer, fingers still pushing against the lid like if she lets go, it’ll spring open again.
Then, cautiously, begrudgingly, she lifts the lid just enough to peek inside again, and—
That’s a bullet vibrator. And—
A dildo. Holy fucking gods.
Alicent makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat and slams the lid shut again.
What the fuck— why did I do this to myself— and what business does she have bringing shit like this into this townhouse—
Alicent opens it again. It’s purple. Lengthy. There’s a black harness folded neatly beside it.
Her face is still burning as she stares down at it, and she wonders— this part of her wonders— if Rhaenyra brought it expecting her new wife to perform some— wifely duties, or something obscene like that.
And Alicent’s disgusted by the thought of it for a moment before she’s—
She’s suddenly… not.
Not fully, at least. And Alicent wonders— briefly, fleetingly, too quickly to be anything meaningful— what it would be like if Rhaenyra had.
And Alicent’s doing it before she realizes she’s doing it; she’s running a finger along the length of it.
It’s smooth. It’s not like she hasn’t seen these before— it’s just that she’s never seen them like this. Never in a place that makes her think of them being used, worn, put to purpose. And Alicent wonders what it would be like to have Rhaenyra wearing it; if it would just feel like any other time Alicent’s gotten fucked a man, which is to say not much.
Then, she’s gently picking up the bullet vibrator beside it, and there’s this fucking— feeling in her chest— like something’s swelling inside of it, maybe— her ex hadn’t liked it when she’d used one of these, because he was convinced he could do a better job.
(He couldn’t.)
There’s this feeling of wonder that she doesn’t have the wherewithal to push down right now as she looks down at it, a feeling of wondering, a feeling of wondering how Rhaenyra would use it on herself, and —
What in the absolute Seven fucking Hells am I doing—
Alicent shuts the box again, heart thudding, expecting Rhaenyra to walk in at any moment; but she doesn’t. Looks down at it— at the evidence of something she should absolutely not know about Rhaenyra— and she forces herself to shove it back where she found it.
I need to leave, right now, immediately, at this very exact moment.
Alicent stands quickly, smooths down her blouse, strides out as if she didn’t just spend the past five minutes invading Rhaenyra’s privacy. Back in the kitchen, she pours herself a glass of water that she drinks too fast— it does nothing to erase any lingering heat in her cheeks or chest.
The townhouse is silent. Still.
She wanders through the rest of it while Rhaenyra’s gone; the console in the kitchen, the living, where there’s a too-big television, their offices— which are just massive rooms with a desk and a wall full of all kinds of books.
Alicent then goes into one of the closets in the hallway; behind the doors, there’s a biometric authenticator that she uses to get into the armoury. There are rows of firearms, neatly arranged. Tactical knives, scopes, ammunition. This, at least, is familiar ground; orderly, predictable, functional.
There’s a book of inventory in the corner, along with addresses for Company-sanctioned shooting ranges.
Well, she thinks, looking at those addresses. I know what I’m doing today.
Alicent gets dressed and goes to the garage; the car that got fucked by the explosion is gone, replaced with another Range Rover; the second one isn’t there, presumably taken by Rhaenyra for her grocery run. The keys are hanging along a little row of hooks by the door. She settles in the driver’s seat. Tries her best to get it all out of her head— what she’s just seen in Rhaenyra’s closet—
Out of sight, out of mind—
(It doesn’t work.)
***
Alicent gets back a few hours later, feeling far better than she did when she left, because she’s always, always had killer fucking marksmanship— it’s always been second nature.
Feet planted. Squared shoulders. Distance, wind, posture— all of it is taken into account. Line up. Focus. Fire. Adjust. Repeat. Group.
She takes a long breath when she sees that the second Range Rover is back.
After hanging up the car keys, she walks in and goes upstairs to see Rhaenyra sitting on the couch— she’s not watching television, though. Her face is neutral, mouth in a line.
“…Hey,” Alicent says warily.
Rhaenyra doesn’t respond.
Alicent frowns. “What’s —”
“What were you doing in my room?” Rhaenyra doesn’t look at her until she’s asked the question; but once she does, she stands, crosses her arms, stares at Alicent. Alicent doesn't try to cover it; knows that she likely didn't leave things exactly the way she found them, especially after finding that box of—
She stops in her tracks, schools herself. “…Same thing you were doing in mine.”
Rhaenyra hums. “Find anything interesting?”
Alicent swallows— feels like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar.
Very suddenly and unintentionally thinks about the dildo again.
“No.”
“Really?” Rhaenyra steps forward, slowly. “Not one interesting thing.”
Alicent keeps her posture straight even though she can feel her pulse picking up.
“No,” she says again, steadily.
Rhaenyra hums. “I don’t believe you.”
“That’s not my problem,” Alicent says.
“I could make it yours.”
Alicent scoffs. “Wow. So fucking chilling.”
Rhaenyra takes another step closer. Alicent doesn’t budge.
“How’d you fail the MI5 psych eval?”
Alicent lifts her chin to meet Rhaenyra’s eyes. “I never said that I failed.”
“You didn’t have to.” Rhaenyra steps forward so that they’re only about a foot away from each other now. “You’re certainly not a sociopath— I’ve met enough of those. So— what was it? Are you suicidal? Unstable?” Rhaenyra pauses, gasps. “Both?”
“Enough.”
“Come on, my devoted little wife. Give me something to work with.”
Alicent refuses to take a step back. Her embarrassment is quickly turning into shame, which is quickly turning into what it always does— sheer anger.
“Fuck you," she hisses.
“…Do you know what I think, Alicent?” Rhaenyra asks, tilting her head. “I think you’re completely out of your depth.”
“Is that so?”
Rhaenyra nods. “I think that it couldn’t be any more obvious that you’ve no idea what you’ve signed up for, and you’re scared, and you’re trying really fucking hard to pretend you’re not.”
Alicent feels something hot curling in her gut. “I think you should stop talking.”
Rhaenyra smiles— and it’s not condescending, it’s pleased, which almost feels worse, because it’s like she’s enjoying this, and Alicent hates it.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
Alicent lifts her chin. “No.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely positive.”
Rhaenyra steps even closer. Close enough that if Alicent so much as breathed wrong, they’d touch.
A test.
Alicent still doesn’t move. Feels it bubbling in her chest— the anger. The kind she has the most trouble controlling.
Rhaenyra’s head tilts. “You’ve got a tell, you know.”
Alicent doesn’t take the bait.
Rhaenyra hums, lifts a finger and taps just below her eye. “Little muscle right here. Ticks when you lie—”
And that’s enough— Alicent whips her hand up and grabs Rhaenyra’s wrist to pull it away, hard. Rhaenyra stills. It’s not a flinch, necessarily— Alicent doesn’t know if Rhaenyra even knows how to do that— but it’s a pause, a brief moment of surprise.
Alicent tightens her grip, just to make a point. Grits her teeth.
Rhaenyra’s lips part slightly, tilts her head, looks like she’s simply considering Alicent, which only makes Alicent more angry.
Alicent doesn’t let go. “You enjoy hearing yourself talk, don’t you?” Alicent growls. “Enjoy your fanciful notions of having everyone figured out?”
“More or less.”
“I think you’re full of shit.”
Rhaenyra’s eyes glimmer. “I think I like you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Maybe not.” Rhaenyra looks down at their hands, then back up. “But I know what makes people like you tick.”
“And what’s that.”
Rhaenyra shrugs.
“…Control.”
Alicent barely has time to register the shift in weight before Rhaenyra moves fast— one moment, she’s standing still, studying her, and the next she’s twisted herself out of Alicent’s grip, gripping her wrist instead, yanking forward hard enough to throw her balance. Alicent grits her teeth, adjusting— she’s good at this, too, she knows how to counter, knows how to use someone’s momentum against them— but Rhaenyra is strong, and she’s gotten the element of surprise over Alicent.
Alicent tries to pivot, but Rhaenyra anticipates it, steps into her space instead of away, presses in, hooks a leg behind Alicent’s knee, and then—
Alicent lands hard on her back.
The breath punches out of her in a sharp gasp, her spine colliding with the carpet before she even realizes she’s been taken down. Rhaenyra’s on top of her before she can recover— Alicent bucks her hips, tries to twist out, but Rhaenyra moves fast, fluid— her thigh presses form against Alicent’s to keep her pinned, hands bracketing either side of Alicent’s arms to prevent her from getting leverage.
“What in the hells is wrong with you —” Alicent gasps.
“Just practicing self-defence,” Rhaenyra says, her voice strained with the effort of pinning Alicent down.
With a snarl, Alicent tries to use her weight to roll them and briefly succeeds— she twists, uses the force of her hips and shoulders, reverses their positions.
And then, she’s on top—pressing Rhaenyra down, one forearm across her throat, the other gripping her wrist. Rhaenyra’s eyes flash, her lips parting as she exhales sharply, surprised but still grinning like she enjoys this too fucking much.
Alicent leans in, pressing her weight into the hold.
“Not so smug now, are you?” Alicent hisses.
Rhaenyra’s expression doesn’t falter. If anything, her grin widens.
“Well played.”
Alicent tightens her grip, her thigh pressing down harder against Rhaenyra’s, pinning her the way she should have from the start. She thinks she’s got her—thinks this is the moment she finally wins—
But then Rhaenyra moves.
She shifts her weight suddenly, like a snake slipping through fingers—using the angle of Alicent’s hold against her, twisting just enough to loosen the tension on her wrist before yanking free—
And then—
Alicent is flipped onto her back again.
This time, Rhaenyra doesn’t waste a second.
She straddles Alicent fully, knees pushing against her hips, one hand grabbing both of Alicent’s wrists and pressing them above her head, hard into the carpet.
Alicent bucks again, teeth bared, trying to throw her off, but Rhaenyra just laughs—breathless and triumphant.
“Almost had me,”Rhaenyra she teases, looking like she’s actually impressed.
“Fuck you,” Alicent growls, struggling against the hold.
“Are you done.”
Alicent glares.
“Take that as a yes?” Rhaenyra asks.
Alicent doesn’t move— Rhaenyra doesn’t move, either.
This close, Alicent smells that sandalwood and florals again, along with something faintly metallic— gun oil, maybe, or just the residual scent of whatever the fuck this woman is. Their breaths are mingling. It’s too close.
Rhaenyra shifts slightly, pressing down just a fraction harder, like she’s testing something.
Alicent refuses to react with any semblance of pain or discomfort.
“Get off of me,” Alicent mutters.
“Say please.”
“Fuck you.”
Rhaenyra laughs, genuine this time, eyes bright with amusement. Then, and only then, does she let go. She pushes off the floor with easy, lazy grace, rising to her feet like none of that just happened.
Alicent stays where she is for half a second longer, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to will the heat out of her face.
Then, she takes a deep breath, presses her palms to the floor, and sits up.
Rhaenyra’s already walking away, stretching her arms above her head, looking so fucking pleased with herself it makes something simmer in Alicent’s chest.
And then—
“…You hungry?”
Alicent balks. “Excuse me?”
“I got groceries,” Rhaenyra says, bending over and looking through the fridge.
Alicent blinks, still catching her breath, still feeling the press of Rhaenyra’s weight even though it’s gone.
“You— you’ve just jumped me and now you’re making dinner?”
“You started it,” Rhaenyra points out, turning just enough to glance at her, eyebrow raised.
Alicent scoffs. “The fuck I did—”
Rhaenyra smirks. “You put your hands on me first.”
Alicent bristles, stepping forward before she stops herself, realizing that’s exactly what Rhaenyra wants, feels like there’s Rhaenyra-shaped static still clinging to her skin.
“You baited me.”
“You took it.”
Rhaenyra is still rummaging in the fridge, humming softly to herself, like she didn’t just straddle Alicent into the fucking floor.
“Any allergies?” Rhaenyra asks, starting to pull a few things out— a block of cheese, a bundle of fresh herbs.
“I’m not eating anything you make.”
“I’m allergic to penicillin, personally,” Rhaenyra remarks, closing the fridge and rummaging through the cupboards.
“…Great,” Alicent says. “I’ll put it in your water tomorrow.”
“Not subtle enough. I’d probably smell it.” Rhaenyra gets a bag of dry pasta out. “Seriously, though. Any allergies?”
Alicent stares. “…No.”
Rhaenyra hums. Alicent watches as Rhaenyra sets a cutting board on the counter, moving with the same effortless ease she had when pinning her to the ground. Like this is just another routine, like fighting and cooking are two sides of the same coin.
She flicks on the stove. “Wouldn’t be very strategic of me, by the way.”
“What wouldn’t be.”
“Poisoning you,” Rhaenyra says. “You dying would raise way too many questions. Plus, it would be a waste. I’m making carbonara.”
Alicent crosses her arms, stares. “You cook?”
“Obviously.”
“You don’t... seem like the type.”
Rhaenyra frowns, amused. “What does that even mean? The type to cook, that is.”
“I don’t know. You just—” Alicent gestures vaguely, as if that explains everything. “Seem like the type to live off takeout and expensive wine.”
“Well. Here we are." Rhaenyra lifts the knife, twirls it once between her fingers, then sets it down and picks up a bunch of parsley.
Alicent rolls her eyes at the show of skill.
Rhaenyra smirks. “Should I be flattered that you’re staying, or are you just too stubborn to walk away first?”
Alicent crosses her arms. “You’re not that interesting.”
Rhaenyra hums, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.
“Sure.” She starts chopping.
Alicent watches, arms still folded, still feeling the lingering heat of irritation in her chest. “Is this just something you do?"
Rhaenyra doesn’t look up. “What?"
“Act like everything is a game.”
Finally, Rhaenyra glances at her, something glinting in her expression. “You ever hear the phrase ‘play stupid games, win stupid prizes’?”
Alicent scoffs. “Obviously.”
Rhaenyra smirks, returning to chopping. “Well. I never play stupid games.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I don’t waste time on things that don’t matter.”
Alicent shifts her weight, crossing her arms tighter. “And what does matter, then?”
Rhaenyra finishes with the parsley, slides it aside with the flat of her knife. She doesn’t answer. Alicent waits.
“Mind grabbing a bottle from the wine cellar?” Rhaenyra asks, not looking up. “A nice rosé would pair well with this one, I think.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on.” Rhaenyra looks up, rolls her eyes. “Truce. Just for the next, like— hour and a half.”
“No.”
Rhaenyra sets the knife down. “Truce, or I keep finding all the different ways to piss you off.”
“I’ve a feeling you’re going to do that regardless of a truce.”
“Scout’s honour.”
Alicent glares before she whirls around and stops down to the wine cellar.
Bet the food is going to be shit, too.
***
The carbonara is delicious.
The wine pairs well with it, too.
All it does is piss Alicent off even more.
She pushes her finished plate away slowly, leaning back in her chair, watching Rhaenyra. But Rhaenyra is completely at ease, taking her last bite bite without a care in the world, and it’s almost— charming. Rhaenyra is charming, and she knows it, and it’s fucking awful, is what it is.
Alicent considers doing something like leaving the table without a word, but she knows that Rhaenyra’s just looking for another reason to prove that she's uncomfortable, that Rhaenyra’s winning.
“Thank you,” she says instead. “This was— it was good.” Alicent pauses. “And thanks for looking into the house that— that we blew up.”
Rhaenyra stills before she sets her fork down, wipes her mouth, nods.
“You’re welcome.” She pauses. “I did put some light arsenic in the food, though. You should be feeling it shortly.”
Alicent just glares. Rhaenyra grins.
Rhaenyra picks up her wine glass, takes a slow sip, watching Alicent over the rim with that same infuriating amusement. Like she’s waiting to see how Alicent will react, waiting for her to flinch.
Alicent doesn’t. She crosses her arms instead, leans back in her chair.
“You should’ve used something slower-acting,” she says, deadpan. “Would’ve made it less obvious.”
Rhaenyra hums, tilting her head like she’s actually considering it.
“Good point. I’ll adjust next time. Assuming you don’t keel over in…3…2…1.” Rhaenyra pauses. Sighs. “Ah. Bloody hell.”
Then, to Alicent’s own fucking horror, she almost laughs. It’s there, bubbling in her chest, catching in her throat before she swallows it down. And Rhaenyra sees it. Her eyes light up, lips twitching, like she’s won something.
Alicent clenches her jaw, reaching for her wine just to give herself something to do.
Rhaenyra leans forward slightly, resting her elbow on the table, chin on her hand. “You’re really quite tolerable when you’re not scowling.”
Alicent takes a long sip, swallows. “I take it back. Food was mediocre.”
Rhaenyra chuckles. “Too late. You already admitted I’m a good cook. I’m keeping that.”
Alicent shakes her head, setting her glass down. “So, what now? We just… play house?”
Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow. “You’ve a better idea?”
“I suppose not.” Alicent shrugs. “We can just…stay out of each other’s way. Between missions.”
Rhaenyra lets out a thoughtful hum, tapping her fingers against the table. “Sounds boring.”
Alicent scoffs, stands up, picks up her plate, then Rhaenyra’s. “I don’t care if you’re bored.”
She moves to the sink, rinses off her dish, then Rhaenyra’s, before setting them in the dishwasher.. She can feel Rhaenyra’s eyes on her the whole time, that attention, like she’s trying to figure her out— or, like she already has and is just waiting for Alicent to catch up.
The silence stretches, and just when Alicent thinks Rhaenyra might let it go, she hears—
“We should probably learn a few things about each other.”
Alicent glances over her shoulder, frowning. “Why?”
Rhaenyra leans back in her chair, spinning her empty wine glass between her fingers. “Because we’re married, darling.”
Alicent glares. “Stop calling me that.”
Rhaenyra smirks. “That’s going to make things difficult when we have to act like a loving couple.”
Alicent clenches her teeth, turns back to the sink. “We’ll manage.”
Rhaenyra hums. “Fine. No pet names. But we should still learn the basics. It’d be embarrassing if we got questioned and you couldn’t even say what my favourite colour is.”
Alicent rolls her eyes. “I’ll make something up.”
“You’d guess wrong.” Rhaenyra shrugs, sighs. “Look— I’m sure you’re not in the mood for twenty questions after the scuffle we’ve had tonight, but we’ll have to do it eventually.”
Alicent wipes her hands on a dish towel, hangs it neatly. She doesn’t say anything else, turns around and watches Rhaenyra instead, and Rhaenyra’s watching her closely in turn.
After a moment, Rhaenyra stretches lazily in her chair and stands. Alicent watches as she clears the rest of the table without prompting, rinses her own glass, places it beside the sink.
“If you ever want to borrow them,” she murmurs, smirking. “All you’ve to do is ask.”
“…Borrow what?” Alicent asks, frowning.
“The accoutrements in my closet, of course. Any time.”
Alicent blanches, feels herself stiffen immediately, ready to deny, deny, deny— but Rhaenyra’s already moving away and walking towards her end of the hallway, humming some fucking tune.
She watches her go the whole way.