Chapter Text
The campus is a whirlwind of anxious freshmen lugging book bags twice their size, faces still filled with innocent excitement, in contrast to the upperclassmen striding through like it's second nature. Everyone’s the heart of the first semester, counting down the days until the school year’s first break.
And then there’s Alicent … marching through it all with a murder in her eyes, heart beating frantically against her ribs as she burns in disbelief.
She’s so pissed off.
At her circumstances.
The universe.
At god's creation of man …
Scratch that - just men in general and their damn fucking egos but most importantly, she's pissed at herself.
Seeing Criston hold court surrounded by his adoring admirers a month after their breakup is just so - he’s so - “unbelievable,” the low growl she’s been suppressing for the better half of the day finally escapes into the air.
He’s standing at the base of the Student Union staircase like he owns them with his stupid, muscular arm slung around a girl she recognizes from the volleyball team, laughing. Full blown, deep belly chuckling like someone’s told him the funniest joke known to man, and he doesn't have a care in the world!
Alicent wants to punch him in the face.
Was this the same guy who sobbed on her bedroom floor, begging her not to break up with him?
Couldn’t be … and yet, sour rage rolls through her so potent, winding so tightly in her stomach she almost feels sick, because yeah, that was him! Why am I like this? She shouldn’t be mad at a guy she chose to break up with.
So why is she upset when she knows for a fact he hadn't been faithful, and was such an attention whore at best, narcissist at worst because he craved attention like a plant sprouting in the sun. Maybe, in the deep, dark recesses of her mind she hoped ending things would finally show him what he’s really losing and he’d get his shit together.
For fucks sake!
She’s cheer captain, head of her sorority and is on track for her top choice in law school.
He should be begging -crawling back to her - but he clearly doesn't care and would probably get worse, if he had any say.
She’s fine. I’m fine. “Everything’s fine.” She tells herself over and over again just as the stupid jerk face catches her eye and smirks.
Scratch that.
Fuck him! The curse screeches internally, and she resists the urge to stomp her foot like a child not getting their way. If that’s the game he wants to play, she’ll show him.
She can move on.
She’s been moved on, and there will be no tears about it. Her gaze sweeps across the quad searching for a prop in this pathetic charade when she spots her tucked into a quiet corner, sitting under a sprawling oak tree. She looks tall and lean, dressed in dark jeans and a faded gray hoodie that’s two sizes too big, folded into herself as if she’s attempting to take up less space. Her choppy hair is tied back in a half bun, a pair of thick black frames sit perched on top of her nose.
Alicent’s decision is crystal clear as Criston dares to peek over the shoulder of the volleyball player again, challenging her to make a scene as if it’ll prove she made a mistake dumping him.
Like he’s won and is just waiting for Alicent to realize it.
Alicent growls again (she’s been doing that a lot lately) and turns back to the girl under the tree.
She looks quiet, and shy. Different.
Exactly what she needs to counter Criston's dumb bullheadedness.
She’s perfect.
That’s all Alicent needs, abandoning her spot and moves before either can blink. Her heartbeat kicks into overdrive, drumming with the undiluted outrage of seeing his stupidly cocky face. She doesn't care about that or how she can feel him staring a hole in her back.
Good. She hopes he watches every last second.
Stopping in front of the stranger, she briefly notes how striking and sharp her features are as a gust of wind rustles the leaves overhead and warm cedarwood underlines the smell of fresh laundry detergent drifting up Alicent’s nose, surprising her by the undercut of her pulse. It’s unassuming, the almost withdrawn posture suggests otherwise but as Alicent inhales again, the dominant scent radiates from her in faint waves leaving no room for mistake.
She's an alpha.
And when she looks up, bright blue eyes blink in mild surprise behind her glasses. “Can I help-”
Alicent drops into a squat beside her, looping her fingers around the drawstring of the stranger’s hoodie and gives a sharp tug, pulling her forward and crushes their lips together.
It’s not a good kiss.
It’s the stiffest, lame duck kiss Alicent has ever been a part of. Their teeth knock against each other, the girl’s lips are sealed tight and Alicent’s lip gloss is staining the poor girl's chin. She’s rigid, frozen under the brunette as her hands hover at her sides, phone slipping to the grass unnoticed as she grunts against Alicent’s mouth.
Thankfully, she breaks the kiss as suddenly as she initiated it, pulling back breathlessly as her lungs scream for air, and feels the weight of a dozen stares but the only one that matters is looking straight at her stunned.
Mission accomplished.
She could pat herself on the back, and maybe she will just for the heck of it.
Except the girl is staring at her, probably waiting for an explanation as to why Alicent chose to assault her. Which is completely fair. Alicent sighs looking down at the blonde as she adjusts her glasses that have been knocked askew by the sudden impact, her mouth and chin smudged in lip gloss that doesn't belong to her.
“What,” she finally manages after catching her breath, “was that?”
Alicent’s bravado quickly evaporates, replaced by the cold, sinking wash of shame. Her distressed scent floods the space between them, dampening the smell of cedar. “I am so, so sorry,” she whispers.
Bending to retrieve her phone, she wipes grass and dirt from the screen with the edge of her sleeve, and gawks at Alicent. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”
“Call me Ali.” She says quickly, peeking over her shoulder towards the Union. “But do you see that guy, the big one with the stupidly coiffed hair?” When the girl nods, Alicent turns back to her. “He’s my ex. And you looked like a safe option so …”
“Safe?” She echoes, pushing her glasses up again. “Do you normally ambush people who look safe?”
“It wasn’t an ambush! I was being … strategic.” She realizes how unhinged she sounds but Criston is still watching so it’s either make out with a random stranger or let him think she’s hightailing it because she can’t handle seeing him. Over my dead body! She clutches the worn oversized sleeve. “Just play along for a few minutes. Pretend you know me. Pretend we’re … something.”
The girl looks at Alicent then back to the guy glaring across the quad. She definitely shouldn't get mixed up in whatever lover’s quarrel these two have going on, and yet ...
“To be clear,” her voice drops, nerves edging out into something more serious, “you’re not in any actual danger with him, are you?”
Alicent sucks her teeth, rolling her eyes so harshly she thinks they might get stuck. Criston is a dick, but he’s not an abusive dick. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just letting him know I moved on too.”
“Oh. Okay…” The girl seems to weigh her limited, awkward options and glances back at the approaching storm cloud that is her ex. “…well, do you want to know my name before you use me again, or..?”
Alicent nods, half listening as she dares Criston to make a decision from across the yard. Either stay where he is, and pretend or confront her. God she hopes he chooses the latter. “Um, sure. Yeah. Sounds good.”
“Rhaenyra,” the girl says, nervously introducing herself. “Senior. Managerial Economics.”
The name finally pulls Alicent’s attention away and finds the striking blue of the blonde’s eyes beneath her as she pushes up her glasses. Econ, huh? Alicent gives her a proper assessment, deciding it suits her.
“Alicent. Senior. Political Science. Nice to meet you,” she says, although pleasantries at this stage kind of seem absurd given the circumstances.
“S-Same … I think,” Rhaenyra stammers, her brief moment of composure starting to slip away as Criston is suddenly a few feet away. “Um, your ex is almost here.”
In a race to get them to look like a couple, Alicent grips Rhaenyra by the shoulders, giving her a little shake. “I promise I’ll owe you one,” and slides off her lap, sits beside her on the grass and drapes Rhaenyra’s arm around her waist, pulling her close just as he arrives.
Old leather and spice hits her nose overpoweringly like he’s physically shoving her back. The curve of his jaw ticks as his glare falls to Alicent. “What the hell, Ali?” The words leave his lips in a growl only meant for the brunette to hear, not even registering the blonde’s existence and Alicent feigns nonchalance, looking past him as if the building sitting across the path is much more interesting.
“What do you want, Criston? Actually, more importantly, where's your girlfriend?”
“She’s not-” his cheeks billow out as he takes a second to breathe, running a hand through his hair. “You’re my girlfriend.”
“I’m your ex,” she corrects sharply, drawing herself up in Rhaenyra’s arms. “You know we’re done, that we’ve been done since the moment you thought it was perfectly acceptable to parade all those girls around while we were still together.”
“Jesus Christ, Ali! I wasn’t parading anyone around!” He argues, for what feels like the umpteenth time, drawing glances from passerby's. “I’m the fucking captain of the football team. Attention … fans … come with the territory! You need to get your jealousy in check. I wasn’t cheating on you!”
Her - ? Her jealousy!
Alicent nearly jumps up but feels an arm tighten around her waist. “You’re a cheater and a liar,” Alicent fires back, cracking under the weight of his audacity. “I saw you with your tongue down Sansa’s throat - what the hell do you call that? And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the first time. In fact I know it wasn't the first time!”
“So I kissed her, I was drunk and it was an accident. It’s not like it mattered!” He shouts, and a small circle of students stall to watch much like Rhaenyra, who sits like a statue in the middle of a storm.
“It matters to me!” Alicent’s voice breaks, as if it should be obvious. To him. To Sansa. To everyone who’s witnessed their relationship from the beginning. “And besides,” she says, forcing steel into her tone and meets his gaze defiantly. “I’ve moved on.”
To emphasize her point, she interlaces Rhaenyra’s fingers with hers and lays them in her lap as if they’re meant to be there and holds on tight. A short, disbelieving bark of laughter escapes Criston, dismissing the move.
“Moved on? Really? You expect me to believe that when you’ve been pining for me since freshman year, and suddenly you’re moved on? With her?” He shouts, finally acknowledging the blonde.
The growing resentment nearly blinds her, thumping through her veins as his smug, infuriating tone drips so sure of himself -
Alicent grinds her teeth so hard, she could chip them.
“You want proof?” She hisses, shaking. “You want to see how little you matter to me now? Fine. I’ll give you proof.”
Turning in her arms, Alicent cups her face with both hands and leans in again.
It’s a little better than their first collision.
Slower, and more deliberate.
A performance for an audience of one, calculated to wound egos and prove that Alicent is doing just fine!
But the girl pressed against her is unyielding even as Alicent pours every ounce of artificial passion into the act. She softens the kiss, gliding her lips over the blonde’s, tugging lightly at her bottom lip and dives back in but still nothing, only muffled grunts answer back as her hands hover awkwardly over Alicent’s waist, unsure of what they’re supposed to do in this bizarre, staged intimacy. When Alicent breaks the kiss, she pulls back to find Rhaenyra wide eyed behind steamed lenses, her mouth a disaster zone of pink lip gloss and an adorable flush paints her cheeks as she nervously flickers from Alicent’s face to over her shoulder.
Alicent smiles satisfied with her work and turns around.
Criston is staring, lips pressed into a thin, furious line and Alicent can see the spite simmering under his skin. The cockiness is gone, completely evaporated and replaced by disbelief and this is way more satisfying than she could ever imagine. With a final glare that promises this isn't over, he shoves past a group of freshmen without a word.
Good.
Rhaenyra looks entirely uprooted as if the reality of what they’d done has fully come crashing down all at once.
“Again, I am so sorry,” Alicent whispers, cheeks burning from forcing a stranger into her mess, and brushes her curls over her shoulder. “And thanks for not freaking out.”
Rhaenyra blinks, slowly rebooting. “I … I’m pretty sure I am freaking out. At least a little,” she admits softly, looking at the empty patch of grass where Criston stood, adjusting her glasses in a tic Alicent is becoming familiar with. “Are we … Are you good now? Is it over?”
“Yeah …” Alicent says in a single relieved exhale, unsteadily getting to her feet and brushes grass from her jeans. “Seriously, thank you.” She reiterates, scanning the quad for her ex and his goon squad and thankfully, they've disappeared. “I owe you coffee. Or lunch. Possibly a plaque for a job well done.”
“No,” Rhaenyra shakes herself out of the daze she keeps slipping into and stands up. “No, um, that’s-that’s okay. Really. Um, happy to help.” It sounds automatic, like a polite script she’s been reciting as her brain catches up.
Alicent smiles, shoving hands in her pockets and looks around the bustling campus, the scene of her crime returning to normal. “Next time I see you, coffee’s on me,” she insists.
“Okay,” Rhaenyra stutters faintly, pulling at the strings of her hoodie.
“Okay.”
Silence hangs between them briefly, filled by distant sounds of laughter and conversations from students when hesitant humor spills from the blonde. “So … is this like, a typical thing you and your guy do? Break up to make up and involve random people to get back at each other?”
A choked laugh escapes Alicent, morphing into a pitiful sigh as she tilts her chin toward the sun. If only it were that easy. At least she would feel better about the situation instead of loathing a human being she once planned to build a future with.
“Oh my god, no. I’m usually much more … sane but desperate times call for desperate and slightly unhinged measures. I suppose.”
Rhaenyra’s lips twitch, “fair enough.” An alarm blares from her phone and she fumbles to silence it. “Crap. Okay.” She starts gathering her things, slinging her backpack on. “Well, um, good luck with … that. I hope everything works out.”
Alicent nods. “I think I should be good now. Can’t imagine his ego will allow him to come sleuthing back a second time.” She states, giving a little two finger salute and wink; performative confidence slipping securely back in place as all feels right in the world.
Pointing vaguely towards a faded brown building down the walkway, she says, “um, I have class. P-Public policy.” Wincing briefly, from stating the obvious but Alicent pays her no mind.
“Yeah, I figured.” Alicent softly laughs easier now, less strained. “Thanks again, Econ. Couldn't have done it without you.” Blue eyes stare directly into hers, almost doubting the statement before she tucks her chin and silently says goodbye.
“Y-yeah. I’ll - I’ll see you … um, around.”
One last curious glance and she’s gone, weaving into the ceaseless current of students.
. . .
The sun beams down on Alicent, haloing her entrance as she pushes through the heavy oak doors of the Baelish College of Governance, Commerce & Public Affairs, juggling her stainless steel canteen in one hand and her designer tote bag in the other. Stares hit her from every corner all at once as she enters, both students and staff alike gawk at her presence as they split down the middle, giving her space to breeze by on her way to class.
Her hair is curled perfectly, makeup natural and flawless, her body toned with curves in all the right places from years of grueling cheerleading and the lavender yoga set she’s wearing looks painted on. The reaction from the crowd isn't unusual, hasn't been since she discovered the power of her presentation in the later years of high school and now as a senior in college, the Basileus of her sorority and head cheerleader she’s rightfully the most popular girl in school.
And it’s great. Really.
Who wouldn't want a population constantly looking to impress you, desperately circling your orbit for just a millisecond of attention. And if they’re lucky, invited to legendary parties hosted by the most beloved, most popular sorority on the entire campus that everyone talks about for days.
Being friends with her is the equivalent of fame on the hierarchy food chain ...
Yeah. When the public loves you, they love you but one screaming match in the courtyard and all those good deeds are flushed down the toilet. Pair that with news of her and Criston’s breakup spreading like wildfire and Alicent isn’t so sure they’re staring for the same reason.
Not that she cares, or that they really do either.
What the public likes is the carefully curated image they’ve designed of her in their mind. They see the short skirts, manicured nails and how she previously hung on their star quarterback’s arm and came to their own conclusions.
Never mind her genuine kindness towards anyone brave enough to approach her or how she spends time volunteering outside of sorority obligation, and is constantly working her ass off to maintain her GPA. Because to the casual observer, she’s just a privileged pretty face and as the days pass, her real truth feels more like a fragile shell cracking under the scrutiny especially as a grating voice slices through the building’s noisiness and her exhaustion.
“Alicent. Hey, Ali - wait, wait up!”
She doesn’t break her stride when a mop of fluffy brown hair cuts through the crowd.
After a week of ignoring his calls and declining every flower delivery to her doorstep, he’s finally managed to track her down, which is kind of surprising considering their practices align with one another and she expected him to accost her outside the gymnasium at some point, but Laena was always there, leering in the background and she and Criston have never particularly gotten along. He’s steered clear, taking this opportunity to corner her outside of class, which is funny because he hardly attends his own, and until she dumped him - didn't really care about hers either, but here he is, in the flesh. Dick. He’s such a f’n dick!
“Alicent!”
She huffs loudly, “what do you want?” She sidesteps him but he blocks her path, broad shoulders filling up space in the narrow hallway.
“Why are you being like this?” His cockiness strips away quietly in privacy between the two. He isn’t the quarterback when it's just them, and that’s what she’s tired of. This persona he feels like he has to put on. The one that allows him to cheat and be a totally different person than the one she fell for. “I mean, you’ve been acting out and pulling stunts, and what the hell, Ali.” He sounds upset that he can't figure her out.
Irritation prickles her skin like ants and her grip tightens around her Stanley. “It wasn’t a stunt. I’m not acting out and for the last time we’re over.” Alicent shoves him aside, tensing when he grips her wrist. “Would you stop!”
“You’re really going to end four years and our plans because of an omega I don't even care about?”
“Me?! I didn't ruin anything!” She yells, uncaring by the crowd stopping to listen.
Criston smiles politely at curious spectators, and Alicent stomps on his foot to get him to let her go, wondering how she ever found him attractive, repulsed with herself because she used to feel a little buzz anytime he introduced her as his girlfriend.
Now - she’s pretty sure she’s going to throw up her breakfast.
“I know you’re not actually with that loser,” it doesn't take him long to catch up, his long legs easily out pace her, and dropping his voice to not attract anymore unwanted attention, shifts into magnanimous pity and that’s even more insulting. “And I forgive you for your little tantrum. Let’s just move past this, please.”
The bottle flies through the air and connects with his temple with a satisfying thwack ...
… and for a brief, glorious moment Alicent considers doing it for real, over and over again until he’s a whimpering heap on the floor.
“For your information,” she says, dangerously low as the image of kicking his ass loops in her brain for his sake, and informs him with a fortitude her presentation doesn't typically allow, poking him squarely in the chest. “Rhaenyra and I are dating.”
His scowl returns deeper. “You’re lying.” As if the blonde could ever score someone as hot as Alicent in this life or any conceivable reality.
Alicent shoves him and walks away, holding her middle finger up high in the air for Criston and everyone else to see. She doesn't owe this jackass any further explanation.
“Believe it.”
He shouts after her, but Alicent keeps her back straight and doesn't pay him further notice as she disappears inside the classroom.
“I have a proposition for you,” Alicent announces, cutting through the hum of the Union’s nook. She stands poised at the edge of the table, elegant amidst the bland university furniture. “A completely insane one.”
Rhaenyra looks up from her textbook, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose, eyes widening in recognition before clouding over in confusion as they land on the impeccably dressed girl who accosted her a week ago. She says nothing, her expression a blank slate and Alicent takes her silence as permission to proceed. She drops her bag on the table and slides smoothly into the chair across from her as Rhaenyra looks around the secluded corner she specifically chose because it was out of the way, and surprised Alicent not only remembers her but has sought her out.
“I need you to be my girlfriend.” Alicent rushes to explain, and Rhaenyra’s eyes grow impossibly wider. “Or at least, my fake girlfriend for a couple of weeks, maybe a month. Just long for my ex to get it through his thick, entitled skull that we’re done.”
The blonde remains, unblinking so Alicent pushes on, speeding through her reasoning.
“I need us to be seen together a few times so it looks convincing. Afterwards, we can have a totally amicable breakup. We could even say you broke up with me.”
Rhaenyra stares at Alicent like she’s suggesting she drop out and enroll in clown college, and now she doesn’t seem to be breathing properly.
Alicent softly snaps her fingers a few inches away from the blonde and she finally blinks, the dryness in her eyes melting away. “Say something,” Alicent urges, confidence wavering under the weight of her incoherence. “Anything.”
“No one,” Rhaenyra’s voice shakes in a disbelieving whisper, “is ever going to believe we’re dating.” She gestures between Alicent’s pristine athleisure wear and her faded Weezer shirt as if their wardrobe is reason enough.
“Yes, they will.” Alicent argues, leaning her elbows on the table, devoid of any humor.
The doubt stretching across Rhaenyra’s face is palpable at best.
“They will,” Alicent insists and the air shifts around them. The sweetness she greeted Rhaenyra with evaporates, replaced by unshakable authority. It’s the tone of a Head of House bringing prospects into the sacred, polished grounds of her sorority. One that orchestrates, commands attention and draws masses of people searching for a slither of her undeniable social power.
It’s not a request. “They will because I said they will.” It’s a declaration.
Rhaenyra gulps, feeling thoroughly backed into a corner by her insistence, the sheer gravity she exerts is devastating.
“If I say yes-” she hesitantly begins, searching for an escape route she knows doesn’t exist.
“I’ll owe you,” Alicent interjects, leaning forward with a hopeful predatory grin. Her manicured hands clasps together on the table like she’s praying at the altar.
A soft, unexpected snort escapes the blonde, “you already owe me coffee. From, you know … before.”
“Well, make it two,” Alicent counters without missing a beat, “plus a pastry.”
Rhaenyra gulps. “If I say yes … what are the - what details should I know? I mean, do we have, like, a backstory?“
Alicent’s heart leaps proactively in her chest. This is it. “You’ll do it?” She asks, needing verbal confirmation to seal the deal.
Rhaenyra’s eyes flick to the wall before landing shyly on Alicent, searching for the inner workings of this contract she’s blindly signing off on. “One condition.”
“Anything,” Alicent promises, leaning further forward she’s practically laying on the table.
“You won’t actually owe me anything.” She says, startling innocent. She may actually be too sweet for my world, Alicent thinks, as a pang of guilt blends with her desperation.
But after running into Criston, she can't really risk being caught in a lie.
This needs to work.
“Sure,” Alicent agrees, softer than she intends.
“Yeah?” Rhaenyra double checks, surprised.
A less manic grin graces the cheerleader’s features. “I’m still going to buy you a coffee though,” she informs and when Rhaenyra tries to refuse, she presses on. “As your fake girlfriend, think of it as a kindness. No strings.” She marks an ‘x’ over her heart. “Promise.”
Briefly excusing herself after taking Rhaenyra’s order, Alicent returns as soon as the barista places the steaming cup in her hand and feels oddly exposed returning to the corner removed from the protective shield of a crowd. Rhaenyra takes a deep, steady breath, willing herself to become an active participant in Alicent’s scheme and not just a hostage.
“Okay,” she finally says, pushing her glasses up. “Are there - should we come up with ground rules? For your … arrangement?” That word sounds dirty and slightly dangerous to her ears.
Alicent nods, immensely grateful for Rhaenyra’s need for guidelines and structure. “Ground rules. Yes.” She nods assuredly as the idea solidifies. “Yes. Of course. That’s smart.”
“D- Do you have any?” Rhaenyra asks, deferring back to her.
Yes, this was her idea after all, she should start. Right.
“Physical contact. Hand holding, casual touches … kissing …” she lists, watching Rhaenyra stiffen up. “It’s all for show.” She emphasizes firmly. “Nothing heavy. No … expectations. This is simply one person helping out another.”
“Of course,” Rhaenyra readily agrees, cheeks tinged pink as she hides behind the lip of her cup.
“We’ll appear in public together a few times, nothing crazy but maybe you can attend a party?” Rhaenyra makes a face, wincing slightly and a real, unguarded smile cracks Alicent. “Just one. I promise. It’ll help with our credibility.”
“... okay.”
“Thank you,” Alicent says sincerely, she’s asking a lot of this quiet stranger. “Do you have any rules?”
“Um,” Rhaenyra sits up straighter in her seat. “Can I tell my friends? They’re my roommates and I’m not great at lying to them or lying in general. And they'll definitely notice if I suddenly have a … a you.”
Alicent wants to say no, wants to keep this contained but if this is what’ll take - “can they keep a secret?”
“With their life,” Rhaenyra affirms.
“My reputation is riding on this,” Alicent warns, “and I prefer not being labeled as a joke.”
“Understood.” Rhaenyra swallows loudly. “Um, boundaries? Do you have any?”
“Besides what we already talked about. Not really. You?”
Rhaenyra sips her flat white, then sets the cup down with a soft click and looks Alicent dead in the eye. “Well, um, politely I’d ask you not to fall in love with me ...”
The serious delivery of the request throws Alicent completely off balance. Her mouth opens, looking for the joke but Rhaenyra shows no sign and she closes her mouth.
"Don't worry," Alicent finally says. "I’m pretty sure we’re safe on that front."
Rhaenyra nods, a thoughtful crease forms between her eyebrows as she takes in the brunette and it feels like they're in a stalemate until her gaze drops to the scratched wooden surface.
“So … how did we meet?”
Alicent bites her lip, a catalog of plausible scenarios starting to race through her mind.
Their worlds don’t naturally cross.
She doubts Rhaenyra has ever set foot inside the Kappa Epsilon Eta house or any frat, at least she hasn't seen her. And although the stadiums constantly fill up during basketball and football seasons with countless faces, Alicent doesn't recognize her as one of the regular diehards.
She thinks back trying to place where or if she’s ever come across the blonde before, when a vague memory from last semester pops up.
“We could say we met at the library,” she suggests, her idea gaining traction. “You go to the library often, right? I think I’ve seen you once or twice in one of the rooms. The one by the window that overlooks the school botanical garden.”
A smile appears on Rhaenyra’s lips, “yeah … it has the best view for studying.” Impressed Alicent noticed. “Okay. The library. One afternoon you wandered into my reserved room by accident, and stayed even though I was knee deep in International Relations law.”
Alicent adds to the fabrication. “One study session turned into two until …”
“We realized we share a class, Organizational Behavior, and one of us, me, is struggling immensely."
“That sounds kind of hard to believe,” Alicent leans her chin on her hand. “You look like the type to have their shit together.”
Rhaenyra nervously straightens her already straight glasses. “Trust me, that couldn't be further from the truth. Festinger’s philosophy and I don't mix, like at all, and was almost the death of me. Thankfully, you stepped in right on time and saved me with your brilliance, and thoroughly detailed notes.”
Alicent blinks, momentarily thrown. “I sound smart in your scenario.”
“Aren’t you?” Rhaenyra asks curiously, tapping her fingers along the table. “I see your name on the Dean’s list all the time. It’s posted right outside her office. Alicent Hightower. Political Science. It’s kinda hard to miss.”
She’s almost too stunned to speak.
No one outside her family and best friends know or care that she’s consistently made the list since her freshman year, and she embarrassingly heats up at the discovery a stranger knows her academic secret.
“Well, uh yeah but …” Alicent trails off, unused to people seeing past her facade so quickly. “So,” she clears the frog from her throat, steering them back to the task. “I helped you with cognitive dissonance theory, then what?”
“We kept running into each other on campus, eventually grabbing lunch but nothing ever happened because of your boyfriend.” Rhaenyra finishes, surprising the brunette with how easy and convincingly she’s able to weave their tale. “Until it did. After your breakup.”
It’s detailed. It’s plausible.
It’s believable.
“You’re scarily good at this,” Alicent observes.
“My minor is in business,” Rhaenyra supplies as if that explains her storytelling ability. “Crafting compelling narratives to sell is what they teach in seventy percent of the coursework.”
Alicent studies her, checking for signs of deception. She might’ve misjudged the blonde that day in the courtyard but the cedarwood smell doesn’t waver. It’s steady, calm, muted and weaker than what she typically smells in alphas, but still, she feels … safe.
Everything that opposes Criston’s impulsive, possessive, overwhelmingly spicy scent.
“This is a lot to ask of a stranger,” Alicent reminds her softly, checking to see if she’s still fully on board. “You understand that, right?”
Rhaenyra meets her clearly and directly. “I know,” she says simply. “But as far as everyone else is concerned, we’re not strangers anymore. I’m your dutiful girlfriend, here to make your ex regret his recent life choices.”
The delivery is so perfectly dry, Alicent can't tell if she’s joking or not. She sits further back in her chair when Rhaenyra doesn't falter.
“We have a deal then?” Alicent asks, feeling momentous as the official start of their charade.
“If that's what you want? Then sure, we have a strictly professional, platonic deal.”
Alicent extends her hand across the table, looking to seal their agreement.
Rhaenyra looks at it for a second, then reaches out and shakes it. Her calloused grip is firm and warm against Alicent’s.
This is just a business deal. That’s all. Alicent tells herself, ignoring the flutter she feels shooting from her palm to her stomach. It’s anxious nerves from the unknown.
Nothing more.
When Alicent pushes through the ornately carved doors of the Kappa Epsilon Eta house, the scent of fabric softener and expensive perfume wash over her. It smells like the last three years of her life, of home, of law and order over her carefully constructed life. She comes to a standstill in the empty foyer, ears pounding with the realization she’s returned with three newly acquired aspects to her life.
One. A fake girlfriend.
Never in her life has she had to fake romantic interest with anyone. For better or worse, it was real even when it was messy. The absurdity of it all strikes her at once and her laughter echoes in the grand foyer and bouncing off the high ceilings and framed photos of perfect, smiling sisters from decades past and the present.
The second is Rhaenyra Targaryen’s number.
It feels like she’s holding a live connection to the unpredictable borders outside her world.
And three, and perhaps the most daunting, is a date.
A scheduled event is now carved into her calendar labeled: "study date" at Espressology, the school’s popular coffee house on the edge of campus. It’s swarming with people who know her, who know Criston and who will absolutely, without a doubt, be watching. She’s halfway up the grand staircase, lost in the logistics of her scheme when a voice floats down from the second floor.
“There you are. I’ve been texting you for an hour. We need to finalize the theme for the fall formal. Lys is being a bitch about the budget again. She says we can’t host more than 300 unless we “find additional revenue streams”.”
Her Anti-Basileus and ΚΕΗ’s Social Chair, stands at the top of the stairs holding a binder crammed with spreadsheets against her hip.
Alicent offers a tired smile, continuing her ascent. “Sorry, Marge. I was in a meeting.” The half truth feels strange on her tongue, “and forgot my phone was on silent but I’m here now. How can I help?”