The Silver Queen and the Lady in Green

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/45225823.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/F
Fandoms: House of the Dragon (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A
Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Relationships: Alicent Hightower/Rhaenyra Targaryen, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Characters: Alicent Hightower, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Margaery Tyrell, Sansa Stark,
Aemma Arryn, Harrold Westerling, Criston Cole, Sabitha Vypren, Alicent
Hightower's Mother, So many original female characters running around,
Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon, Daenerys Targaryen, Viserys I Targaryen
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Domestic Violence, Past Child
Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Falling In Love, Angst with a Happy
Ending, Gay Panic, Everyone Is Gay, Criston Cole is a monster in this (more
so than usual), Genderbending, Rhaenicent Endgame, Alicent gets actual
therapy from a trained professional!, Whump in Alicent’s backstory, Happy
Ending, Lesbian Alicent Hightower, Repressed Alicent Hightower, Soft
Rhaenyra Targaryen, Obscene amount of world-building and lore…, Specific
trigger warnings provided in chapter notes, Alicent has a Praise Kink
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-02-21 Updated: 2024-03-03 Words: 589,856 Chapters: 59/?
 The Silver Queen and the Lady in Green
by WanderingFan

Summary

Welcome to most AU to ever AU (some weird bastard hybrid of high fantasy and sci-fi).

Alicent comes from the most patriarchal nonsense world imaginable, and her planet (Westeros)
began a war with Rhaenyra's planet (Valyria) because Criston Cole is a homophobic ass.
Following the war's end, Rhaenyra realizes during treaty negotiations that Alicent (Cole's fourth
wife) is living her worst married life, and so demands that Alicent remain on Valyria as a sign of
goodwill.
Alicent is scared out of her mind (Rhaenyra gained a terrifying reputation during the war) and
traumatized beyond belief.
Rhaenyra is determined to show Alicent that she isn't a threat (while also dealing with her own
baggage on the side).

In short, this is a hurt/comfort, eventual romance slow burn wherein Alicent finally gets some
therapy and Rhaenyra just wants to hug her and wrap her up in a warm blanket (as do we all).

They will eventually fall in love.

Or:
Rhaenicent set on a world I've spent the past 16+ years building because I have no life or chill.

Notes

This is an experimental piece of me taking ASOIAF characters, plunking them into a world of my
own design, and seeing what happens.

Canon has been thrown out the window, including with regards to a lot of character
relationships/family ties. The main setting, while named Valyria, has next to nothing in common
with canon Valyria. I've created a planet populated entirely by women, hence the "genderbending"
and "everyone is gay" tags.

The beginning is a lot of setup and exposition, so please bear with me. If there's interest, more
chapters will be posted in the future.

Also, ages are . . . weird here due to the worldbuilding. It gets explained eventually.

Disclaimer: I do not own or purport to own House of the Dragon or any related IP. I do not make
any money from the writing of this story.

See the end of the work for more notes

 The Price of Peace
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 1:

– Alicent Hightower, Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire

Trigger Warning: Mentions of domestic abuse.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Warm Moon/1,000,121 Visenya VI

Alicent curled her toes in her shoes and flexed her calf muscles in a desperate attempt to prevent
her legs from losing any more feeling. While she knew that moving too much might draw
unwanted attention, she also knew that shamelessly collapsing in an ungainly heap would most
certainly cause a stir. Her back and legs still ached from the beating that she’d received the night
before, and the last thing she wanted was to anger her husband and earn another one.

At present, she stood in the shadows behind her husband, his sons, and her sister-wives—
completely unobserved and forgotten, which was how she preferred it. The very air itself seemed to
crackle with tension, even more so than it had during the first day of treaty negotiations when she
and her sister-wives had been marched into the council chamber of Dragon Ridge, briefly presented
to the Valyrian delegation, and then ordered to the back of the room.

She hadn’t paid much attention to anything that day. Her mind had still been muddled with pain
from the night before when her husband had decided to punish her for all of the weeks that she’d
escaped his wroth during her and her sister-wives’ captivity following Penrhyn. In truth, she
remembered little save the suffocating tension that had nearly choked her.

Despite the beating that she’d received the night before, she was more alert today, more aware of
her surroundings. She was able to actually focus on her husband, who seated at a large, round table
in the middle of the room. She was able to focus on his eldest sons, who flanked him on either side.
And she was able to focus on his younger sons, who stood in a neat line behind their father and
elder brothers.

The men of her family all wore the same stormy expressions—as was to be expected—furious at
being forced to draw up a treaty of surrender to a group of mere women.

Women who gazed at them from across the table with cold and unyielding expressions. Women
who spoke to them as if they were equals. Women who would never lower their eyes or bow their
heads to them as was proper.

Although there were only eight of them—a small number in comparison to her husband and his
twelve sons—these women carried themselves with an innate confidence and authority that belied
their number and their sex. That all eight of them were occasionally flashing their pointed fangs—
which looked like they belonged in the mouth of a large carnivore rather than a person—only added
to their powerful presence.

Before coming to Valyria, she’d never seen a woman project any air of authority in the presence of
men. A woman’s power was subtle, and meant to be wielded as such. It came from soft words and
gentle coaxing and meek deference, not insolent eyes and cold visages and forceful tones. Women
could influence, but they never commanded.

She doubted the Valyrians even knew the meaning of subtle power.

The Valyrian women all wore crisp uniforms that consisted of white pants, a white jacket over a
white shirt, and black boots. It seemed to be too much white, in her opinion, though their choice of
color for their uniforms was far less queer than their decision to wear breeches. Despite having
spent several weeks surrounded by uniformed women, the sight of women displaying their legs in
pants remained a strange one.

Each of the eight women was distinguished by an engraved nameplate pinned to her right breast,
the emblem embroidered over her heart, and the different colored epaulette-shaped badges on their
sleeves and shoulders. Seven of the women’s badges were marked by a pentagon formation of five
seven-pointed stars beneath a silver crown. Of those seven badges, five were red and displayed a
pair of swords and a shield above the crown and stars, the sixth was blue and had an anchor above
the crown and stars, and the seventh badge was grey badge with wings.

She’d determined during her captivity that women marked with red badges belonged to the army,
those with blue badges were part of the navy, and grey badged women served in the air force. The
different emblems over their hearts—she was fairly certain—designated from which Queendom
each woman hailed. There was a golden rose, a trident, a volcano, an eagle-like bird, a pine tree, a
crystal formation, and a unicorn.

The eighth woman had a golden dragon embroidered over her heart, and the badges on her sleeves
and shoulders lacked a branch insignia and color. Rather they were four-colored—light blue, grey,
red, and dark blue—and displayed a silver crown beneath a purple dragon and blue orb that were
themselves beneath a golden seven-pointed star.

Even before the introductions on that first day, Alicent had known that this woman was the
Imperator of the Valyrian Forces. Visenya One-Eye, her people called her, presumably on account
of the white eye patch covering her left eye. Her remaining eye was hard and cold as she apprised
the men in front of her, and her words remained short and clipped each time she spoke.

While all of the Valyrians were intimidating, Alicent’s eyes were persistently drawn to the woman
sitting at the Imperator’s right hand. She was a tall, stately creature, with eyes like amethysts—
cold, hard, and unforgiving—and silver hair that was pulled back into a severe braid that fell to the
small of her back.

Although she appeared to be in her mid-seven thousands, that hardly meant anything given how
differently Valyrians aged. She was strikingly beautiful—with smooth, fair skin like marble,
defined cheekbones that looked as if they’d been carved by a master sculptor, and a jawline sharp
enough to cut glass—but that wasn’t why Alicent was unable to help but stare at her. No, what had
so captured her attention was the chilling knowledge of who and what this woman was.

The Firestorm.
The scourge of her people.

The reason the Valyrians had won the war.

According to the reports that she’d overheard, the Firestorm had been off-planet during the first
eighteen months of the war. Alicent had no idea why, and it hardly mattered now. What did matter
was that, upon her return, the Firestorm had cut a bloody swath through the Westerosi Armed
Forces.

Alicent still remembered that night—the night the Firestorm had returned to Valyria and announced
her arrival in the bloodiest way possible. She still remembered the fear and horror in the voices of
the messengers who had brought her husband the news of the raids. She still remembered the pain
of having her back flayed open by a whip as her husband excised his rage over what this one
woman had done.

Using the reports she’d overheard that night, the things her husband had screamed while whipping
her, and the gossip that had passed between her sister-wives, she’d more or less been able to piece
together what exactly the Firestorm had done the night of her return.

After organizing a series of planet-wide attacks, the Firestorm had used a combination of surprise
and vicious guerilla tactics to lay waste to hundreds of Westerosi camps. These attacks—now
known collectively as the Battles of Blackfire because of the Firestorm’s signature black flames—
had marked the Valyrians’ first true victory. That night, the Firestorm had issued an ultimatum and
ordered the Westerosi to leave Valyria or else she and the other Valyrians would blaze through the
Westerosi Armed Forces like a firestorm until they surrendered.

Her promise had been well kept.

From what Alicent understood, the Valyrian military had been laughably ineffective and easily
crushed before the Firestorm’s arrival. Given the maps she’d seen in her husband’s war room of the
Westerosi Armed Forces’ ever-increasing territorial conquests, she’d been inclined to agree. But the
Firestorm had proven that all her people had needed was a capable commander who truly knew the
art of war. She’d transformed her people into a fearsome and brutally efficient fighting force and
led them to a series of victories that had eventually brought the war to an effective stalemate.

Alicent wore a record of every one of the Firestorm’s victories on her body. Her husband had made
a habit of beating her into unconsciousness whenever he received news that the Firestorm had won
a battle. She’d taken a twisted sort of comfort in knowing that at least these beatings weren’t
entirely her fault. At least not directly. Everything her husband did to her was her fault to some
extent. If she were a better wife, if she didn’t fail and shame him with every breath she took, he
wouldn’t have to waste his energies chastising her.

She had six jagged scars running down her right side as a result of the Battle of Lochlain. She
remembered that day as clearly as she remembered the night the Firestorm had returned to Valyria.
It had been another turning point in the war: the final turning point. Single-handedly, without the
aid of a single soldier, the Firestorm had decimated an army of fifty thousand men. That victory had
galvanized the Valyrians and marked the beginning of the end for her people’s military forces.

Yet as terrifying as she had been on the battlefield, the most gruesome stories about the Firestorm
had little to do with her actions as a commander. Not long after the Battles of Blackfire, rumors had
begun circulating about the Firestorm creating some sort of laboratory where she conducted ghastly
experiments on the captured soldiers.
The horrific stories about the Firestorm’s lab had spread faster than the stories about her brutality in
battle, and it hadn’t taken long for the men of the Armed Forces to realize that dying in battle
would be a far better fate than falling into the hands of the Firestorm. Her sister-wives—Arilla,
Sabina, and Vesna—had taken great delight in telling her every terrible and ghastly tale they heard,
and many of their words had kept her awake at night and shaped her nightmares.

Seeing the Firestorm, Alicent found it difficult to reconcile the elegant and dignified woman sitting
at her imperator’s side with the silver-haired, purple-eyed demon spoken about in hushed tones
around the dying embers of campfires. This woman didn’t look much like a demon, though the
thought of being anywhere near her did make the fine hairs on the back of Alicent’s neck stand on
end.

Rhaenyra immediately felt it when a new set of eyes fell upon her, but she kept her focus on the
men sitting in front of her. This was an official meeting with a foreign delegation after all, and no
matter how much she personally despised the delegates, she was not one to forget her manners.

Not now anyway.

Under normal circumstances, given her position as Dowager Empress of Valyria and Queen of
Kastrell, she would be wearing the Flower Crown or at least the Crown of Kastrell to meet with the
representatives of another planet, but these were not normal circumstances.

This was the end of a war.

It was the end of a war that had lasted three years and caused unprecedented amounts of damage
and devastation to her peaceful home world. It was the end of a war that had started when the
Westerosi attacked them without provocation with the intention of destroying them. It was the end
of a war that had gained her two new sobriquets, both of which she would have been quite happy
without. Her people hailed her as the Dragon of the East. The Westerosi cursed her as the
Firestorm.

Both names were quite poetic.

And both tasted like ash in her mouth.

She’d been off-planet taking a Wander Century when the War began, which had meant no
communication back home, so she hadn’t known when Westerosi starships had descended from the
skies and landed in Farnier. She hadn’t known when those same ships had released hordes of
invaders who weren’t interested in non-hostile dialogues. She hadn’t known when the Valyrian
Military had been mobilized for the first time in the planet’s billion-years-long history.

Her people were peaceful, but they weren’t fools. While the Empire lacked an official standing
army, every woman received basic military training and a rank so that if war ever did break out,
they could all be conscripted to defend Valyria. While the women of Saevara served as the planet’s
navy and the Avenians made up the air force, the bulk of the population—the women of the Dragon
Court, Kastrell, Farnier, Norden, Gelt, and Bellmar—served in the army. The Queen of Saevara
was named grand admiral, the Queen of the Avenian Isles became the wind warden, the other five
queens held the rank of commander over their respective forces, and the empress commanded the
entire military.
Her people had fought back against the invaders, but they’d been outnumbered over one hundred to
one and utterly unprepared for a war against a species that was unaffected by magic. On the most
fundamental of levels, Valyrians were creatures of magic. It flowed through their veins, was
concentrated in their core, and served as their primary defense and weapon.

The fact that the Westerosi had proven utterly unaffected by it was how they’d defeated the
Valyrian Military so easily during the first half of the War. Every battle plan her people had, every
offensive and defensive formation they’d practiced, all the wartime preparations they’d made, had
relied on and assumed the use of magic. With their magic rendered null, their military strategy had
shattered. If not for their immortality, she suspected her people would have been wiped out.

After the Battles of Blackfire, after she’d been named the Dragon of the East by her people and the
Firestorm by the Westerosi, she’d devoted as much time as she could to discovering the source of
the Westerosi’s immunity to magic.

During her various travels to distant and foreign worlds, she’d encountered several kinds of people
who were immune to magic. Each form of immunity had been different, and each one had come
with some sort of weakness. She’d reasoned that if she could discover the source of the Westerosi’s
immunity then she could formulate better strategies to combat them.

So she’d created a lab in the expansive network of tunnels that ran beneath the Imperial City of
Valeria and given orders that any captured Westerosi be turned over to her so she could study them.
She’d run countless experiments on her captives and done things that still kept her awake at night.

She’d hated it.

No matter how humane she’d attempted to be with her test subjects, there had been plenty of times
when heartless treatment had been a necessary evil. She’d hated every moment of those long
months she’d spent underground experimenting on captured Westerosi.

While she’d done what she’d had to do in order to win the War and save her people, she’d garnered
no pleasure from the task. She could have delegated the responsibility of discovering the source of
Westerosi immunity to magisters or lotuses, but she hadn’t wanted to force that burden upon them.
They were innocent in that regard, to the murky horrors of wartime experimentation. She’d already
had so much blood on her hands, what was a little more?

No matter her moral qualms, she couldn’t regret her actions, not when they had led to her discovery
that Westerosi weren’t innately immune to magic. Rather, their immunity came from nth metal,
which she’d discovered through interrogation was the most abundant metal on Westeros. The
Westerosi themselves called it sytarrium, but it had the exact same properties as Thanagarian nth
metal. It was a superconductor, it negated gravity, it accelerated healing, it increased a wearer’s
strength and protected them from extreme temperatures by regulating their body temperature, and
—most importantly—it had anti-magical properties.

The Westerosi had discovered nearly all of these unique qualities over the course of millions of
years of study, but they hadn’t known about nth metal’s ability to disrupt magical energies. And
why would they? They’d never encountered magic before coming to Valyria.

She’d learned from her prisoners that nth metal was infused into every part of Westerosi society,
from their starships to their weapons to their communication devices to their very clothes. The
Westerosi wove tiny flecks of nth metal into their clothes because of its temperature regulating
properties, and in so doing, they’d unknowingly made themselves immune to magical attacks.
Once she’d discovered the source of their immunity, it had been rather simple to devise a solution.
She’d crafted specialized arrows capable of penetrating nth metal-enforced clothing and attached a
simple combustion enchantment interwoven with a replication spell that would only activate once
the shaft of the arrow touched Westerosi flesh.

At Lochlain, she’d unleashed those arrows on an army of fifty thousand men. The reinforced
arrowheads had breached the nth metal shields and allowed the combustion enchantments to
detonate, which had in turn killed the targeted soldiers and converted their remains into shrapnel.
The replication spell had reproduced the combustion enchantment and attached it to the small
pieces of bone, brain, and muscle sent flying by the initial explosion. The moment any of those
fragments met living flesh, the secondary combustion enchantments had triggered, creating a
cascade effect.

It had been a bloody massacre.

It had been a turning point.

It had been the beginning of the end.

It was what had led them here to this moment, to this meeting between the defeated Westerosi and
the victorious Valyrians. It was why she now sat at the silverwood table that was usually used by
the Empress and her Inner Circle for their daily meetings and occasionally by the Imperial Council
when it was convened.

It was why she was now surrounded by all seven of her daughters. It was why Visenya—her
youngest, the Empress of Valyria and the Imperator of the Valyrian Military—now sat on her left. It
was why Lucerya, Jaehaera, and Helaena now sat on her right. It was why Jacaerya, Aelora, and
Vaella now sat on Visenya’s left. It was why the air was thick with barely-restrained aggression
pheromones that the Westerosi couldn’t even detect because of how comparatively weak their sense
of smell was.

It was why she was now staring into the snake-like eyes of High Lord Criston of the House of Cole
—the Westerosi’s Lord of War and their current Lord of Lords—as he spoke with barely concealed
disgust and unconcealed frustration. He was taking care to only speak to Visenya, though, to not
make eye contact with the rest of them.

Specifically, he was taking care not to look at her. He knew who she was and what she was. All the
Westerosi assembled before her knew who she was. Lord Cole’s sons, who were all wearing black
dress uniforms with various medals glinting over their hearts and either sat beside their father or
stood behind him, knew who she was. Three of Lord Cole’s wives, who wore matching black
dresses and stood in a neat row farther back from the men, knew who she was.

And, evidently, Lord Cole’s fourth wife, who stood apart from the other wives and seemed to be
ignored by both the men and the other women of her family, knew who she was.

Rhaenyra finally allowed her eyes to shift away from Lord Cole and focus on the woman who’d
been staring at her for the past five minutes. Despite the fact that she was clearly trying to melt into
the shadows and become invisible, Rhaenyra could still discern some of her features. She could see
the wavy, auburn hair that fell past the Westerosi woman’s shoulders. She could see the pale skin
that was mottled with black, purple, and yellow bruises. She could see the arresting brown eyes that
stared back at her from a hollow-cheeked and horribly battered face.
Though not hunched or wrinkled, this woman carried herself like a decrepit crone. Rhaenyra also
noted that she was far too thin, as if she hadn’t been eating properly for years. She seemed reduced
somehow, like the shadow of a real woman just waiting and wanting to fade into nothing.

There was such hopeless resignation in those brown eyes that Rhaenyra’s heart broke, but there was
something else, too. There was something else in those deep pools of brown that she couldn’t quite
name. It wasn’t defiance, not by any means, but it certainly wasn’t defeat either. There was strength
buried beneath all that pain and suffering. Rhaenyra could sense it even without the use of her
empathy.

And it intrigued her.

Alicent’s knees nearly gave out from under her when she realized that the Firestorm was looking
directly at her. Strong Sytarr. Why did I even glance at her? Biting her lip to keep herself from
making a sound, she quickly averted her eyes and refocused her attention on what was happening at
the table.

Her husband was now speaking heatedly with Imperator Visenya, contesting some new provision
that he disagreed with. He was speaking in High Valyrian, and the foreign language falling from his
lips still sounded strange to her ears. Everything sounded much harsher coming from his mouth
than it did coming from a Valyrian’s, though perhaps that was because his voice was so much more
masculine.

Or perhaps it was because his accented words made clear that he was neither a native nor a learned
speaker. His ability to converse with the Valyrians in their own tongue had nothing to do with him
taking the time to learn their language and everything to do with being given a drink that allowed
him to speak and understand High Valyrian.

She herself had been given the same drink several weeks ago when the Valyrians had won the
Battle of Penrhyn and captured her people’s last basecamp. The woman who’d been placed in
charge of the female captives—Brigadier Medora Allyrion—had given this drink to all of the
prisoners in her charge to facilitate conversation by negating the need for a translator or the trouble
of trying to communicate nonverbally.

Alicent had been shocked the first time that she’d heard a sentence in High Valyrian and
understood it, and she’d been even more stunned when her lips and tongue had instinctively formed
the correct sounds and syllables to respond in the same language. Everything about the drink and its
properties fascinated her, and she wished that she knew how exactly it functioned.

She worried her lower lip between her teeth as she watched her husband argue with the Imperator.
His barely restrained fury was plain to see—at least to her. She could see it in the set of his jaw and
his rigid posture, the way his fingers flexed as if wanting to form a fist.

The treaty negotiations had been dragging on for weeks now, and she knew that he was growing
more frustrated and wroth by the hour. She also knew that she’d bear the brunt of his anger again
tonight, just as she had last night and the night before. Her hand unconsciously stole to the fresh
bruises on her cheeks, a new layer over the old ones that had just begun to yellow.

The Imperator’s expression didn’t waver, and her eyes remained cold as she listened. Alicent
couldn’t help but cringe at such insolence. Any Westerosi woman in the Imperator’s place would be
lowering her eyes with deference in the face of such anger.

I suppose Valyrians don’t know how to show respect to men since they have none of their own.

Even after three years, she could still hardly comprehend a world without men. How could women
possibly fulfill all of the roles men were meant to hold? How had these women created proper
governments, societies, families, and even a military without men to lead?

Perhaps the lack of men was why Valyrian society had remained so primitive. According to her
sister-wives, Valyrian soldiers still fought with such antiquated weapons as swords, shields, spears,
and bows and arrows. She’d seen some of these weapons for herself after she was taken prisoner,
and since coming to Dragon Ridge, she’d encountered countless antique devices and apparatuses.

She’d climbed up staircases instead of riding an elevator, she’d walked through doors that had to be
opened by hand rather than sliding open automatically, she’d been locked in a room with a door
that used a key instead of a biometric scanner, she’d drunk from glasses that rested directly on a
tray instead of hovering over it with anti-gravity discs, she’d been beaten on a bed that lacked both
microbeads and an adaptive and responsive matrix, she’d helped stow her sister-wives possessions
in heavy wooden trunks instead of neat and compact storage cubes, she’d looked out windows that
lacked holographic projectors, she’d used a lavatory equipped with faucets the likes of which her
people had not used in millions of years, and she’d drawn baths for her sister-wives rather than
simply inputting their desired shower settings.

It had been over four weeks since she’d seen a service bot—or any form of robot or AI, for that
matter—since she’d had electric lights, since she’d had any electricity at all. For weeks now, she’d
been surrounded by polished stone rather than gleaming metal, she’d been fed strange foods that
she was still learning the names of, she’d witnessed interactions between Valyrians that seemed to
rely almost entirely on silent social cues. She’d seen women casually transform into foreign
animals, she’d seen women conjure fires with their hands and summon water and wind, she’d seen
a woman drag a chair across the room with the power of her mind, and she’d seen countless
displays of what could only be described as magic.

In this very room, nine elderly women were using some kind of magic to write down every word
exchanged between her husband and his sons and the Valyrians. The nine crones—each dressed in
long robes of varying colors—were seated behind their uniformed commanders at a long,
rectangular table. Opened before them were nine, thick tomes that seemed to be filled with blank
pages. Hovering above each book and scribbling feverishly was a feathered quill pen that danced
across the blank pages, filling them with inky, black text. Aside from when they’d whispered a few
words to their quills this morning when the day’s negotiations had begun, none of the old women
had touched those quills.

A small, treacherous part of her wished that she could have the time to study the Valyrians and their
strange ways, but she knew that was pure foolishness. It would be a relief to finally escape this
peculiar planet and return home to where things were normal. Home. She sighed inwardly, and the
scar curled around her wrist began to throb. The journey home was going to be exhausting, she
knew, what with how dark her husband’s mood was sure to be. Her sister-wives would no doubt
join him in his tempers as well.

A shiver ran down her spine as her eyes darted to check her sister-wives’ position. They stood
several feet in front of her, and their backs were still turned to her. Thankfully, it seemed none of
them had noticed her continued lapses in attention. While she certainly feared her husband’s wroth
more than theirs, she knew that the three of them were not only capable of reporting to their
husband, but also concocting their own forms of torment. They all took a strange delight in making
her life more miserable than it already was, and it had been much worse during the war. With their
husband so often occupied with strategizing and leading the war efforts, the three of them had
increased their own torments to make up for his absence.

After twenty-three years of marriage, she was used to such treatment, resigned to it. It was her own
fault after all. She was barren stock and of no use to anyone. If she’d had sons, things would have
been different. Those sons would have helped carry on their father’s line, and brought honor to
their House. They would have made her worth something in the eyes of Sytarr and her people.
Even if she’d only had daughters, at least they could have been used to bind her House to those of
other important lords.

But no, she was incapable of producing children, something her husband and sister-wives reminded
her of often. A barren woman was a cursed woman. A barren woman was an abomination. A barren
woman by all rights could simply be killed so as not to drain family resources. Her husband hadn’t
killed her though. He’d found much worse ways to punish her for her crimes, and she knew she
deserved everything he gave her.

Yet even though she knew she deserved every taunt, lash, burn, cut, kick, and strike she received,
she couldn’t help but hate them and resent her husband for giving them. She knew such thoughts
were merely further proof of why her husband had to discipline her. Sytarr did not abide willful
women, and she’d always been so horribly willful. Her mother had tried to beat it out of her, but it
hadn’t taken back then. And even after all these years as a married woman with a husband who
made a concentrated effort to correct her many failings, the lessons she should have learned long
ago still hadn’t taken. She truly was a hopeless waste.

Shaking her head a little, she pushed those thoughts away and buried them in the darkest recesses
of her mind, where all her unpleasant feelings and memories eventually went. They would be back
of course—truth never stayed buried—but she preferred to stave off the inevitable. It was what
she’d been doing for almost twenty-three years now, and she was quite good at it.

She considered trying to pay attention to the negotiations again, but then decided there was no
point. She couldn’t really follow much of what was being said anyhow. She was far too stupid for
that. Pulling her old cloak more tightly around herself, she tried to make herself even smaller as she
let the voices filling the room wash over her. They quickly faded away into a low background hum
as she focused on the room itself and all the visual stimuli it had to offer.

The chamber they stood in was rounded and had a domed ceiling. The stone gleamed in the
sunlight allowed to stream in through the large, dragon-shaped windows lining the walls and
dotting the ceiling. There were two friezes, one where the roof met the walls and one several feet
below it. The upper frieze has dragons carved into it while the lower one was decorated with
winged wolves.

Evenly spaced pedestals built between the friezes ringed the room, and upon each pedestal sat a
small animal statue. There were twelve in all: a deer, a spider, a raven, a turtle, a crocodile, an owl,
a falcon, a jackal, a lion, a dragon, a tiger, and a serpent. She wondered if these animals held some
sort of significance or if the architect had simply found them pleasing to the eye.

Above their heads was a mural depicting seven women in a forest who were being watched over by
a shining light. One of the women was dressed in a long, blue robe and held the hand of a young
maiden wearing a simple, green dress as they made their way across a river. Beside them was a
much taller woman with blood-red armor covering her entire body and face. She had one hand
extended towards the maiden, clearly prepared to catch her if she stumbled.

On the other side of the bank and past several trees sat an aged crone with a purple cloak wrapped
around her shoulders. She held a lantern aloft in the direction of the other three women, as if to
light their way. In the light of that lantern, a fifth woman wearing orange robes was strumming
some sort of stringed instrument. Standing at the crone’s shoulder was a blindfolded woman
carrying a set of scales. And beyond them all, in the most shadowed section of the mural, was a
dark figure cloaked in black and holding a sickle.

Alicent had gleaned enough about the Valyrians over the past three years to deduce that these
women were the faces of the goddess they worshipped. The idea of having a single deity with
several aspects was such a strange concept. Sytarr was one god who ruled over everything. He did
not need to divide himself because he was everything all at once. It seemed far simpler than this
belief in seven faces.

Strange religious beliefs aside, she was truly in awe of this magnificent room as well as the palace
that housed it. She’d been fascinated by Valyrian architecture since they’d landed because it was so
elaborate and grand. She was used to seeing towering, rectangular buildings made of organic metals
and glass that were efficient, utilitarian, and not meant to be aesthetically pleasing.

In contrast, Valyrians clearly favored stone, diverse architectural patterns, and stunning designs that
were very pleasing to the eye. She remembered her husband saying that Valyrians were primitive
heathens—wild beasts—and while it was true that their architecture reminded her of the buildings
that had once dominated Westeros long before the technological age, the grandeur of Valyrian
palaces hardly seemed primitive to her.

The word beasts lingered in her mind as she considered the Valyrians she’d encountered since the
Battle of Penrhyn. She thought of Brigadier Medora and the other officers charged with overseeing
the captive women after Penrhyn. They’d been her first chance to actually observe the women her
husband had been fighting for the last three years. She remembered that Brigadier Medora had been
stern and rather abrupt, but certainly kind enough—at least to her.

The Valyrian woman had taken one look at her thin frame that first evening and immediately
ordered her women to prepare a meal for the prisoners. That had been her first hot meal in weeks,
so she’d been more than a little grateful at the time. After she’d finished eating, a Valyrian medic
had drawn her aside and offered to heal her visible cuts and bruises. She’d been sorely tempted to
accept, but she’d known that her sister-wives would be quick to undo any Valyrian healing she
received, so she’d politely declined.

She hadn’t forgotten the offer though, no more than she’d forgotten the hot meal.

Wild beasts, her husband had called them, but that wasn’t entirely correct. While the Valyrians did
have a penchant for growling, snarling, and flashing their fangs at each other—and she
remembered overhearing one woman grumbling about “the reek of aggression pheromones”—more
oft than not, they behaved like perfectly civilized people.

Some of their behaviors were strange, to be sure, but that was to be expected of a foreign culture.
She had been surprised the first time she’d seen one of the colonels suddenly shrink her teeth so
that they were normal sized. The colonel had noticed her surprise and explained with a shrug that
they usually kept their fangs retracted. In reality, apparently, Valyrians had canines akin to those of
her own people.

Whether or not that was true, she couldn’t help but recall all the stories she’d heard from her sister-
wives about Valyrian warriors using those wickedly sharp teeth to rip out the throats of their
enemies. The women of this world were far stronger than her own people—even the highborn—
faster and more durable as well, and their senses were frighteningly heightened. Once they’d begun
employing more effective battle strategies, they’d cut through her people’s soldiers like an ion
blade through stone.

Grimacing at the thought, she allowed her attention to drift back to the treaty negotiations just in
time to hear a series of loud, shocked gasps. Something had happened. The gasps and mutterings
were coming from both sides of the table. Shaking herself from her stupor, Alicent tried to focus on
what was being said.

“You cannot be serious.” Her husband’s deep voice was infused with barely contained rage, and he
was on his feet now and glaring furiously at the Valyrians.

Her husband’s eldest son folded his arms across his broad chest, speaking through clenched teeth.
“This is outrageous.”

“You expect us to—”

“I fail to see why you are so incensed,” the Firestorm interrupted, her voice like a whipcrack and
cold as ice. She was also standing, and her expression was unreadable. “From what I understand,
Westerosi are not strangers to the act of trading hostages.”

“You are not suggesting a hostage swap,” her husband snapped. “You are demanding that I leave
one of my wives here!”

The Firestorm’s expression didn’t waver in the face of his outrage. “As I said, a custom not unheard
of on Westeros.”

The words sliced through the room like a photon beam directed straight at Alicent’s heart. She
knew the Firestorm was correct. Surrendering a wife or daughter to an enemy was a familiar
custom on Westeros. It was meant to be a sign of good faith, a silent promise that aggression would
truly cease since to attack an old enemy would be to attack kin.

She knew without a doubt that she would be the wife her husband surrendered. She had nothing to
bind her to the family, no children of any sort. The sons of Arilla, Sabina, and Vesna would not
fight to keep the mother they reviled. Arilla, Sabina, and Vesna would not defend the sister-wife for
whom they had nothing but contempt. And her husband would not risk annihilation for the sake of
the wife who did nothing but fail and shame him time and again.

The room seemed to blur around her as sweat beaded on her brow and the blood chilled in her
veins. She felt lightheaded and wondered if she was about to embarrass her family one final time
by fainting. Terror held her spine in a vise-like grip though, so perhaps she could managed to
retreat from the room before collapsing.

Against her will, against all logic and sanity, her gaze traveled across the chamber so that she could
lock eyes with the woman who had just declared that, in exchange for peace, she was as good as
dead.
Chapter End Notes

Thoughts? Worth continuing?

 Author's Note and Quick Lore Things

Author's Note

Hello My Dear Readers,

First off, thank you so much for all your kind comments! This story will definitely be continuing
now thanks to your enthusiasm.

Second off, apologies that this isn't a real chapter. Chapter 2 will be posted later today though, so
stay tuned.

Lore Dump

For your reference (because I don't remember whether I ever specifically explicate these things),
and without spoilers, please enjoy this lore dump.

General World Information:

Valyria is a unified planetary Empire ruled by House Targaryen

The world is divided into eight constituent regions: the Dragon Court and the Seven
Queendoms (no kings=no kingdoms).
The Queendoms are ruled by the current empress' six elder sisters and her mother—the
current dowager empress—while she rules the empire itself from the Dragon Court
Each Queendom has its own Great House, which administers roughly half the realm and rules
from its own province
In addition to the Great House, each Queendom also has seven Clans
Each empress' youngest (seventh) daughter inherits the throne so we've got an unbroken line
of seventh daughters of seventh daughters ruling this empire

Governmental Information

Valyrian Empire
Current empress: Visenya VI, called One-Eye
Great House: House Targaryen of Dragon Ridge
Kastrell
Current queen: Rhaenyra VII, called the Dragon of the East and the Firestorm, among
other things
Great House: House Tyrell of Highgarden
Saevara
Current queen: Lucerya VI (Valyrian counterpart of Lucerys)
Great House: House Tully of Riverrun
Farnier
Current queen: Jaehaera II (Valyrian counterpart of Joffrey)
 Great House: House Martell of Sunspear
Avenian Isles
Current queen: Helaena VI
Great House: House Arryn of the Eyrie
Norden
Current queen: Jacaerya IV (Valyrian counterpart Jacaerys)
Great House: House Stark of Winterfell
Gelt
Current queen: Aelora II (Valyrian counterpart Aegon the Younger)
Great House: House Lannister of Casterly Rock (not total buttheads in this universe)
Bellmar
Current queen: Vaella II (Valyrian counterpart Viserys II)
Great House: House Baratheon of Storm's End

A Few Other Things:

Ages are just numbers in the most literal sense possible in this fic because the Valyrians are
immortal and can shift between ages, and the Westerosi have their own wonky aging process
We're looking at Emma's Rhaenyra and Olivia's Alicent in this fic
In a few chapters, I think it's noted that, technically, Alicent has been alive for 48ish
years (wed at 25, married for 23 years), but the Westerosi basically stop aging for
several millennia once they hit 25
Canon family relationships are going to be played fast and loose in this, so buckle up (don't
worry, Sansaery shall never be tampered with though, they're together forever ... literally in
this world)

Again, Chapter 2 will be out later. Please don't come at me with pitchforks for this fake chapter!
 The Treaty of Valeria
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 2:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Jaehaera Targaryen, 250th Queen of Farnier (Valyrian counterpart of Joffrey)
– Visenya Targaryen, 250th Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Criston Cole, High Lord of Asana and Lord of Lord of the Westerosi Confederation

As promised! Here is the actual Chapter 2.

Also, because I forgot to include this in my lore dump:

Saevarans are mermaids. The entire Queendom is underwater, and said water is enchanted so
once you're fully submerged, your legs merge into a fish tail. Such was the desire of the
founders. Don't question it.
Also, Avenians have wings growing from their backs.
In both cases, the founders did some magic-science genetic engineering nonsense in order to
achieve these particular anatomical structures. The why isn't important to the story, but just so
you know.

Trigger Warnings: Depicted domestic abuse and brief allusion to suicide.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Warm Moon/1,000,121 Visenya VI

Upon realizing that she’d been caught staring, the Westerosi woman quickly averted her eyes.
Rhaenyra allowed her own gaze to return to Lord Cole, but her mind was elsewhere. Sending out a
thread of magic, she tapped on her daughter’s mental wards. “Jaehaera.”

Jaehaera—well trained in decorum as she was—didn’t react outwardly at all, even as her mental
wards lowered. “Yes, Mother?”

Rhaenyra kept her eyes on Lord Cole and about half her focus on the verbal conversation as she
held her mental one. “That woman in the back, behind the other three, do you know who she is?”
Considering that she was one of Lord Cole’s wives, Jaehaera was the one most likely to know
something about her.

During the Battle of Penrhyn, which she herself had led along with Visenya, Lord Cole had been
captured, along with most of his sons and almost the entirety of the Westerosi high command. After
the battle, she, Visenya, and most of the other high-ranking military officers had returned to Dragon
Ridge to prepare for the War’s inevitable end, while Jaehaera remained in Farnier to begin
overseeing reconstruction. Hers was the Queendom most ravaged by the War, and it had long been
under Westerosi occupation.
“Lady Alicent. Lord Cole’s fourth wife. The youngest, too, I believe. Brigadier Medora Allyrion—I
appointed her to oversee the captured women at the Penrhyn basecamp—reported that she didn’t
speak much and seemed rather isolated. Behaved as a terrified mouse according to one report.
Evidently, the other wives don’t seem very fond of her.”

As Rhaenyra mulled over this new information, she nodded inwardly. Jaehaera’s description, brief
as it was, supported the conclusions she’d been drawing about this Lady Alicent. This was a
woman uncared for and unloved, a woman whose husband plainly abused her regularly. Her lips
pursed with displeasure at the thought, even as her heart clenched uncomfortably.

How could she leave this poor woman in the hands of Lord Cole? How could she allow her
suffering to continue when there was surely a way to intervene? How could she abandon her to
what was assuredly an early death at her husband’s hands?

Shaking off her thoughts, Rhaenyra returned her full focus to the conversation between Visenya
and Lord Cole. Both of them were speaking with chilling formality—the hatred palpable between
them—as they discussed the terms for the Westerosi leaving and never returning.

Perfect. Without waiting for Lord Cole to finish his sentence, she loudly cleared her throat and
leaned forward to place her folded hands on the table. “Imperator, if I might add in a stipulation?”

Visenya looked over at her sharply, a question glinting in her lavender eye, but she couldn’t afford
to ask it now, couldn’t afford to show any doubt in the presence of Lord Cole. Besides, she was a
filial daughter and knew full well that Rhaenyra was the reason they’d won this war, so she inclined
her head. “As you will, Commander.”

Rhaenyra turned to address Lord Cole, keeping her voice perfectly level and neutral, as if what she
was suggesting were no great matter. “We are all here for the sake of peace, are we not?”

Finally forced to look at her directly, Lord Cole nodded stiffly. “Of course.”

“And considering your people attacked Valyria without warning or provocation three years ago, I
think it perfectly reasonable that we should fear the possibility of such unprovoked attacks in the
future. After all, what is to prevent you from deciding to invade in a few centuries or millennia?
Once the sting of this defeat had faded, of course.” She allowed the corner of her mouth to curl
upwards as she said the last part.

Low mutters of indignation sounded from Lord Cole’s sons, and her own daughters were
exchanging looks as they wondered at her intentions.

Lord Cole held up a hand to quiet his sons as he kept his eyes locked with hers. “We have no
intention of attacking again.”

Rhaenyra continued to regard him coolly. Do go on, My Lord. Become agitated. “Pardon my
skepticism, Lord Cole, but I would prefer an assurance beyond your mere word.”

“You will have this treaty!” Lord Cole roared, finally losing his patience after all these weeks of
tedious negotiations and slamming his fist down on the table as he stood from his chair.

“But treaties are so easily broken.” Rhaenyra pushed her chair back and slowly rose to her feet. She
could sense that Visenya wanted to interject but was holding her tongue to avoid the appearance of
disunity. Instead, her daughter gave her a pointed look that clearly said they would be having a long
discussion later. That was acceptable, so long as she was allowed to speak now.

Lord Cole’s hands fisted at his sides. “So what do you want then?”

“A proper assurance.” Her eyes shifted to the four women standing behind Lord Cole’s sons. “I
wish to add in the stipulation that one of your wives shall remain here on Valyria to act as a
guarantee that there will be no further or future acts of aggression.”

Her daughters gasped loudly, and Lord Cole’s sons rumbled furiously.

“You cannot be serious.” Lord Cole’s voice vibrated with rage, and he was breathing furiously
through clenched teeth.

“This is outrageous,” one of the older sons spat as he folded his arms across his chest.

“You expect us to—”

“I fail to see why you are so incensed,” Rhaenyra interrupted. “From what I understand, Westerosi
are not strangers to the act of trading hostages.”

“You are not suggesting a hostage swap,” Lord Cole retorted. “You are demanding that I leave one
of my wives here!”

“As I said, a custom not unheard of on Westeros.” It was one of the many things she’d learned from
her time studying captured Westerosi. She raised an eyebrow. “Do you accept this condition?”

Lord Cole glared at her furiously, but he wasn’t fool enough to reject her outright. “If you will
allow me a moment to confer with my sons,” he responded through clenched teeth.

Visenya spoke before Rhaenyra had the chance. “Of course, Lord Cole. We would not deny you the
time necessary for such a decision.” She stood from her chair. “Let us adjourn for a short time, shall
we?”

Giving her a tight nod, Lord Cole spun on his heel and marched towards the small side chamber
that had been allocated to him and his family beforehand. His sons stood and quickly fell in step
behind him, grumbling amongst themselves. His wives brought up the rear, the fourth one glancing
fearfully over her shoulder at Rhaenyra.

Without needing to be told, the nine archmagisters seated behind them rose to their feet and quickly
filed out of the room, taking their books and enchanted quills with them.

As soon as the chamber was emptied of prying ears, Visenya rounded on her. “What in the name of
all that’s good and holy was that?” she snarled.

“Have you gone mad?” Lucerya cried.

“We aren’t barbarians,” Aelora added.

“We don’t barter in flesh,” Vaella spat in disgust.

“Making those poor women into property—” Helaena began.

“They’re already property,” Rhaenyra interrupted.

Her daughters simply stared at her.

“I beg your pardon?” Jacaerya sputtered.

Rhaenyra stepped away from the table to give herself space to breathe—her daughters’ scents were
sharp with anger and heavy with confusion—as well as to collect her own raging thoughts. She’d
expected their outrage, of course. Slavery was an anathema, and she herself had instigated and
waged a brief, independent, unsanctioned, and one-sided war during her imperial reign to shatter a
slaving empire. But this was not a matter of slavery. It was a matter of ensuring an innocent woman
was not murdered by her husband.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she turned to address her daughters. “We can all agree that
Westeros’ appallingly patriarchal culture offends all of our sensibilities, can we not?”

“Of course it offends us,” Visenya snapped. “So why are you perpetuating one of the most
atrocious aspects of that Relle-forsaken society by making one of those women a hostage to be
traded?”

Rhaenyra expelled a heavy breath. She’d done many terrible things during her long life, and she’d
done many terrible things over the past year and a half. This was but one more unpleasant
necessity. She would not stand idly by whilst that wretched man brutalized the Lady Alicent, and
while she was loath to place the other women into the position of being traded, the situation
required that she speak in terms Lord Cole would understand.

She turned her attention to Visenya, but her words were directed towards all seven of her daughters.
“I’ll not defend my actions, but they must needs be done.”

Visenya was practically vibrating with anger. “Why?”

“Did you see the woman in the back? Her name is Lady Alicent.”

Her other daughters frowned in confusion, but Jaehaera’s eyes widened. “That was why you were
asking about her? Because you—What?—intend to trade for her?”

“To save her life, yes.”

Visenya pinched the bridge of her nose and slumped back into her chair, motioning for her sisters to
do the same. “Very well, Mother,” she sighed, the anger leaching out of her voice. “Explain your
reasoning.” She flashed a look at her sisters. “We’ll not interrupt.”

Rhaenyra spread her hands, needing them to understand why she was doing this. If nothing else,
she needed to make certain they wouldn’t interfere. She’d also like to avoid having all seven of her
daughters hate her, but ensuring they didn’t interfere with her negotiations was the more important
matter at the moment. “You all saw the Lady Alicent. She’s little more than skin and bones and
covered in bruises and Relle knows what other injuries we cannot see. None of the other wives
appear so wounded. Lord Cole abuses her and her alone. I wish for her to remain here on Valyria
where she’ll be safe.”

“Seven Hells.” Visenya stared at her, incredulity lighting in her eye. “You’ve added this insane
stipulation—one that flies in the face of everything we believe in—in order to save a battered
wife?”

Rhaenyra lifted an eyebrow, voice flat. “Well I can’t simply kill Lord Cole now, can I?”

“Grave pity you can’t,” Aelora muttered.

“Visenya, if I saw any other way—”

“You can’t be certain that Lord Cole will choose her. He has three other wives. Who is to say he’ll
not choose one of them?”

“Can you think of any reason that he would? You saw the way the other wives stood apart from her,
and I can feel nothing but contempt for her coming off of them whenever they look her way.”

“It’s because she hasn’t given him any children,” Jaehaera explained. “Evidently, her barrenness is
excuse enough for him to treat her most cruelly, and her sister-wives appear to be party to her abuse
as well.”

Helaena made a disgusted noise. “Then they’re the worst kind of women.”

Aelora nodded in agreement. “We cannot leave Lady Alicent with them.”

Lucerya looked at her sisters incredulously. “You’re supporting this madness?”

“How can we stand by and allow this woman to suffer?” Aelora demanded. “If it is within our
power to help, then we must do so. Are we not all daughters of the same Mother?”

Jaehaera turned to Visenya. “This woman needs our help, Sister, and we cannot simply turn our
backs on her. As Empress Cassiana once said, ‘the woman who turns her back on her sisters does
more harm than any man.’”

Lucerya scowled at her. “Helping her by making her property?”

“Mother isn’t wrong in saying that the Westerosi already view her as property,” Jaehaera reasoned.
“We’re merely using terms that they will understand. ‘When trying to communicate with a dog, it’s
far more sensible to bark than sing.’ I agree that it’s distasteful, but the ends justify the means.”

Rhaenyra gave her youngest daughter an expectant look. “Visenya?”

Visenya dragged a hand down her face. “Seven Hells,” she muttered. “I understand your reasoning,
Mother, but . . . but this feels utterly wrong.”

Vaella reached over and settled her hand on her sister’s arm, squeezing gently. “We can’t very well
change course now, Sister. We would appear weak and disunited.”

“Have we considered Lady Alicent’s wishes?” Jacaerya asked, raising an eyebrow. “We’re all
assuming that she desires rescue.”

Rhaenyra barked a harsh laugh. “Say as much to any member of the First Generation, Jacaerya.
How do you suppose they will answer?”

Jacaerya lowered her head, knowing full well that the members of the First Generation would be
incensed by the mere implication that a battered woman didn’t in some way long for escape and
freedom.

Aelora cleared her throat. “Jacaerya’s words are not without merit. Lady Alicent has no reason to
trust us or think of us as her saviors. We were on opposite sides of the battlefield not so long ago,
and now we’re taking her as a hostage. What if she doesn’t wish to stay?” She paused, looking at
Rhaenyra. “You’re not intending to . . . exercise your rights, are you, Mother?”

“Do you truly believe that I would do such a thing?” She might have expected such a question from
her mother, but that her daughter would think her a monster as well—

“No, no, of course not,” Aelora assured her. “I know you’ve no ill-intentions, Mother, but what will
you do if she doesn’t wish to remain here?”

“I’ll help her settle wherever her fancy takes her.” Rhaenyra looked around at her daughters, who
she could sense were thawing. “I want her safe and well cared for. That’s all. If she wishes to leave,
I’ll let her leave. If she wishes to stay, she can stay. She’ll be free to do whatever she desires.”

Jaehaera hummed approvingly. “That seems reasonable.”

“Even if it wasn’t, it would hardly matter now,” Visenya sighed heavily. “As Vaella said, we can’t
take back Mother’s proposition without appearing weak.” She turned to Rhaenyra. “Lady Alicent is
your responsibility, Mother. You understand that, yes?”

Rhaenyra nodded. “I expected nothing less.”

Alicent sat in the corner of the room that had been given to her family for their private meetings,
not paying attention as her husband and his sons talked. They were speaking Westerosi now that
they were alone, and their words sounded even harsher now than when they’d been speaking High
Valyrian. She knew that whatever they were saying was nothing but form. Her husband would soon
be giving her to the Valyrians for Sytarr knew what, of that she was certain.

She rubbed anxiously at the scar on her wrist, taking morbid comfort in the feeling of the familiar
ridges of raised flesh beneath her fingers. This was probably the worst of her scars, discounting the
ones on her back. A long, ugly thing, it extended from the crook of her elbow and down to her wrist
where it wrapped around like a macabre bracelet.

Arilla, Sabina, and Vesna were serene as they watched their husband and sons, not at all concerned
that they would be given to the Valyrians. They knew as well as she did that their husband would
never offer any of the wives who had given him sons when he had a barren one to barter with.

Vesna looked over at her, a smirk curling her lips as she turned back to her sister-wives and
pretended to address them while speaking loudly enough to ensure Alicent heard every word.
«What do you think they’re planning to do with her?»

«The Firestorm was the one to ask for her,» Sabina mused. «She probably wishes to ensure that she
still has a Westerosi to play with once the rest of us have departed.»

«She may find herself disappointed then, once she realizes how high Alicent’s pain tolerance has
grown.» Arilla turned to look at her, eyes cold. «You should be grateful for all that our husband has
done for you. It may help you survive longer.»
Knowing that she would be punished if she didn’t respond, Alicent bowed her head low. «I am
always grateful whenever our husband sees fit to pay me any attention. I know that I’m not worth
the trouble.»

«No, you’re not,» Arilla agreed before returning her attention to Sabina and Vesna.

Shrinking beneath the flimsy protection of her cloak, Alicent hugged her knees up to her chest and
wished that the ground would swallow her. Of course, the ground beneath her was Valyrian ground,
so that wouldn’t do her much good. She would still be trapped on this foreign planet with women
who had every right and reason to despise her. Vesna’s question echoed in her mind as she
contemplated the merits of being swallowed by the earth. What was the Firestorm planning to do
with her? She shuddered at the possibilities.

Her husband finally turned away from his sons and came over to stand in front of them. Arilla,
Sabina, and Vesna all rose together and curtsied respectfully. Alicent scrambled to her feet, but her
earlier position had trapped her legs and she stumbled, knocking into Vesna. Clumsy, she chided
herself, always so stupidly clumsy.

Her husband’s lip curled in disgust as he watched her right herself. «Worthless bitch.» He
punctuated the words by backhanding her across the face.

Alicent’s head snapped to the side, and tears sprang to her eyes as a red handprint bloomed on her
cheek. Biting her tongue to remain silent, she managed a quick curtsy then shuffled back as much
as she dared. Why couldn’t she ever do anything right?

«You all heard what the Firestorm wants.» Her husband’s eyes never left her face even though he
was ostensibly addressing all of them. «She desires for one of my wives to remain here as a gesture
of good will.»

Arilla tilted her head, as if genuinely curious. «You will honor the request then, My Lord
Husband?»

Her husband glanced at his first wife, giving her a small nod. «I will. We don’t have much of a
choice given how badly the war has gone.» His eyes burned furiously as he admitted the last part.

«Which of us have you chosen to remain here?» Vesna simpered.

«After much deliberation, I have concluded that Alicent must be the one to stay.»

Even though she hadn’t been expecting anything different, the words still felt like a blow. While
Alicent managed to remain on her feet, her legs shook, and she knew that everyone could see the
fear in her eyes.

Her husband raised an eyebrow. «Aren’t you pleased to be making such a noble sacrifice, Wife? It
will be the first useful thing you’ve ever done for this family.»

Alicent felt as if her tongue had shriveled up in her mouth and that her throat was made of sand.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, her husband reached out and gripped her already bruised jaw with
iron fingers. «Well?»
«It’s, it’s an h-honor to serve Westeros and you, My Lord Husband,» she stammered, praying that
the answer would appease him.

A smirk curled his lips, cold and cruel. «I suppose I should be grateful that you’re so worthless.
You made this decision much easier.» He released her chin and suddenly grabbed her wrist, roughly
pulling her wedding ring off of her finger before tossing her hand aside like a used napkin. «Once
we return home, I’ll have our marriage formally annulled. I doubt it will be that difficult.»

Looking down at her now-naked ring finger, Alicent couldn’t help but agree. A marriage was
supposed to be binding for all eternity, even beyond death, but under extraordinary circumstances,
it could be annulled. She had no children to bind her to the House of Cole, and she’d failed her
husband in every way imaginable, which meant that securing an annulment was well within her
husband’s rights. The fact that the current Lord of Religion was Arilla’s brother only ensured that
her soon-to-be former husband’s petition would be approved.

Her eyes lingered on the thin, white scar that encircled her ring finger like a cruel mockery of the
wedding band that had always concealed it from sight before now. It had been over twenty-two
years since she’d received this scar, and she still remembered that night in vivid detail. She still
remembered the burning pain of cold steel slicing into her skin. She still remembered the horrifying
sound of her bone cleaving beneath the blade. She still remembered the sight of her own blood
pooling onto the table.

And she still remembered her husband’s cold eyes and the callous smile he’d worn while severing
her finger.

She didn’t remember fainting, though she knew that she must have. By the time she’d regained
consciousness, Dr. Larys Gnorts had already reattached her finger. «You’ll have a scar by your lord
husband’s will,» he’d told her, «but nothing else. My reattachment was flawless.» She remembered
turning her head away, not wanting to see his smug smile or the way that his eyes focused on her
breasts rather than her face. No matter how minor the procedure, whenever Dr. Gnorts worked on
her, he always insisted on dressing her in a thin, nearly transparent gown with a plunging neckline.

Her husband had slapped her for looking away. Then he’d grabbed her chin and forced her to meet
Dr. Gnorts’ beady eyes as she thanked him for his impeccable work.

Alicent startled when a sharp jab against her side pulled her from her memories.

Arilla was scowling at her, lip curled with irritation. «My husband should have cut off your ears for
all that you use them.»

My husband. Not our husband. How easily they detached themselves from her. She could still
remember the first time she met Arilla, the warm smile the older woman had offered her, the way
she’d futzed with her wedding dress in a way that could only be called motherly. That had all been
hundreds of beatings, slaps, and scoldings ago. She lowered her eyes and took a small step
backwards. «I beg your pardon, Sister.»

«Don’t call me that,» Arilla snapped. «You’ve never been my sister.»

«Arilla.» Her husband beckoned to his first wife, and she went to him, taking her position in front
of Sabina and Vesna. Turning towards the door, he squared his shoulders and expelled an irritated
breath. «Come then. Let us be done with it.»
As Alicent fell in line behind her husband’s sons and her sister-wives, head hanging low, she
contemplated how hard it would be to throw herself from one of the many towers that Valyrian
architects seemed so fond of including.

When they reentered the council chamber, she noted that the Valyrians were in the exact same
positions as when they’d left: the Imperator and the Firestorm stood side by side, while the
commanders remained seated in their chairs. She wondered if they’d even moved, even batted an
eye at the Firestorm’s proposal. Probably not, she thought grimly. I’m only a Westerosi after all.
Why would they care about me? They’ve sent plenty of my people into the arms of death without a
qualm.

She supposed that she deserved this, just as she deserved every other misery that befell her. After
all, her husband hadn’t been wrong when he’d said that this was the first useful thing she’d ever
done for the family. What sort of wife was she, that she couldn’t do a single thing right in twenty-
three years?

What sort of daughter destroys her mother’s womb merely to come into the world, a cruel voice
taunted, making her shrink even farther beneath her cloak. You’ve been a blight since the day you
were born, it continued viciously, first to the family that birthed you, then to the one that married
you. Of course Sytarr is punishing you with the Firestorm.

I hate hearing your voice in my head, Mother. As soon as the thought formed in her mind, she
instantly felt guilty. I shouldn’t think such things. Why am I such a terrible daughter? Her fingers
closed unthinkingly around her scarred wrist and began rubbing back and forth as she watched her
husband and his sons reassemble on their side of the table, though none of them retook their seats
since the Imperator and Firestorm were still standing.

Her husband cleared his throat, making a show of feigning reluctance and regret as he looked at
Imperator Visenya and addressed the Firestorm. “After much deliberation, I have concluded with
great grief that it shall be my fourth wife, Lady Alicent of the House of Hightower, who shall
remain here. If you will have her,” he added, a challenge glinting in his eyes.

The House of Hightower, she thought numbly, my birth house. She was still his wife until Arilla’s
brother officially annulled their marriage, so he should have said she was of the House of Cole.
He’s already severing whatever frail ties I had with his family.

Her eyes flicked downwards to the scar on her finger, and she realized that she was wrong. He
severed our marriage when he severed my ring finger. A symbolic act: that was what it had been.
She’d refused to admit as much to herself for over twenty-two years, but there was no denying it
now.

Imperator Visenya’s expression and tone were dispassionate as she responded. “Very well then. The
stipulation shall be added.” She retook her seat, waited for everyone else to do the same, and then
picked up a silver quill pen from the inkwell that sat beside the treaty laid out on the table. “Shall
we write everything down then and seal our peace?”

Her husband nodded. “We shall.”

By the time that the treaty was at last completed and signed, the sun was hanging low in the sky
outside. The golden light filtering in through the windows added to the feeling of surrealism
Alicent had been experiencing since the Firestorm had announced her additional condition. She felt
strangely disconnected from what was happening in front of her, watching without seeing as
Imperator Visenya and her husband—she wondered if perhaps it would be more appropriate to call
him Lord Cole now—signed their respective copies of the treaty.

Her husband and his sons pushed their chairs back and rose to their feet, as did the Valyrian
delegation. They faced each other for a long moment before collectively stepping away from the
table and reassembling beside it. They stood with about two yards of space in between them, the
Valyrians creating a line while her husband and his sons formed a wedge.

Her husband looked over his shoulder at her. “Alicent.”

The sharp command finally broke her from her stupor, which she thought was rather unfortunate.
She would have preferred to remain in a numb haze. Feeling as if she was walking to her own
execution—which she supposed she was—she shuffled forward until she stood behind her
husband’s shoulder. “My Lord.”

Grabbing her elbow, he gave her a hard push towards the Valyrian delegation. “As per the treaty.”

Stumbling from the force of the shove and the weakness of her own legs, Alicent nearly fell to the
floor before a hand shot out to catch her. The grip on her arm was strong yet almost gentle as she
was steadied. Looking up, her blood chilled when she found herself staring into the amethyst eyes
of the Firestorm.

“Steady there, My Lady.” Even after issuing the command, the Firestorm did not release her arm
until she seemed satisfied that Alicent would actually obey.

Alicent gulped and backed away from the Firestorm as much as she dared before dropping her gaze
to the floor.

Her husband watched the exchange with a barely concealed smirk before his eyes shifted towards
Imperator Visenya. “What exactly are your intentions towards her? She was my wife after all,” he
added, as if to justify his curiosity.

Imperator Visenya didn’t take her eye off him as she responded levelly, “That is for Commander
Rhaenyra to decide. The Lady Alicent is her responsibility.”

Any hope that Alicent had been harboring of being given to anyone other than in the Firestorm’s
clutches crumbled to dust.

Her husband’s lips had formed a thin line, and to anyone else, it might seem as if he was trying to
conceal his rage at his former wife’s predicament. But she knew better. She knew that he was just
barely managing to conceal his glee at the prospect of her future suffering. “I see.” He inclined his
head to the Imperator, then nodded to the Firestorm. “Do take care of her, Commander.”

The Firestorm’s response was a stony expression.

Imperator Visenya cleared her throat. “Lord Cole, an escort has been prepared to take you from the
city to where your starships are waiting.” She looked towards the chamber’s main door, which
immediately opened to reveal a tall woman with a pair of black wings growing from her back. She
wore pale blue armor that was engraved with white cloud patterns, and under her arm was a helm
that looked like a bird’s head. Imperator Visenya nodded to her. “Vora Elvaena will show you out
of the palace.”

Alicent couldn’t help but stare at the woman standing in the doorway. While it was hard to say
exactly how large Vora Elvaena’s wings were, since they were folded against her back, the tops of
them rose several inches above her head, and the tips brushed the ground. The woman herself was
probably a few inches under five and a half feet tall. She’d overheard reports about women with
wings who lived on the mountainous islands in the southeast, but this was the first time she’d laid
eyes on one.

Her husband—Lord Cole—grimaced slightly at the sight of the winged woman before stiffly
inclining his head to the Imperator again. “Our thanks, Imperator.” He motioned for his sons and
wives to follow him as he started for the door.

Alicent watched silently as her former family left the room without so much as a glance her way,
never mind a final farewell. Goodbye, Lord Cole. Goodbye . . . Criston. It felt strange to refer to
him by his first name, even in her own mind. He’d ordered her never to address him as such
twenty-three years ago. He’d told her that hearing his name on her tongue offended him, but
perhaps she should begin thinking of him as Criston. After all, she supposed that she was no longer
bound by his orders since she didn’t belong to him anymore. She belonged to the Firestorm now.

The thought sent a chill racing down her spine.

The room descended into silence after the door clicked shut. The Valyrians remained in their line,
eyes fixed on the door. Alicent wondered what they were waiting for, but then she remembered that
Valyrian hearing was much sharper than her own. They were probably waiting until her husband—
Lord Cole—was out of their earshot to ensure that they were out of his.

She was both unnerved and impressed by how long the silence lasted. She’d known Valyrian
hearing was good, but it wasn’t until now that she’d realized just how good it truly was. That was
more than a little unsettling. Remaining silent and invisible had been one of her only defenses back
home, but if the Firestorm could hear this well, it likely wouldn’t matter how quiet she was. Even if
she was perfectly silent and didn’t move a muscle, the Firestorm would still be able to hear her
heart beating.

Her husband—Lord Cole—Criston—had often grown angry if she moved too much because the
rustling of her clothing disturbed him. What if the Firestorm decided that she didn’t like the sound
of her heartbeat? She could control her movements. She could even control her breathing. But she
couldn’t very well make her heart stop beating.

After what seemed like an eternity, the silence finally broke.

“Thank Relle that’s finally over.” The woman with the wings insignia on her uniform stepped out
of the line and put a good six feet of space between herself and the others. Rolling her shoulders,
she arched her back and unfurled an enormous pair of wings that Alicent could have sworn weren’t
there before. They were slate-grey with tawny speckles, and they somehow managed to
complement the woman’s white hair. After giving her wings a few brief flaps, the woman folded
them against her back and turned to the Imperator. “If I’d known you were going to introduce them
to Vora Elvaena, I wouldn’t have bothered hiding my wings.”

“It was just as well that you did. There was no need for them to be visible.”
“I beg to differ. They’re a part of me, and I don’t like hiding them.”

The woman with an anchor on her uniform snorted. “You Avenians are positively obsessed with
your wings. Don’t they become tiresome after a time?”

“I don’t know, Lucerya, do you Saevarans ever become tired of your fish tails?”

“Those are necessary, and you know it.” Even though the woman’s—Lucerya’s—tone was sharp,
her brown eyes were glittering with mirth.

“Calm yourselves,” the other brown-haired commander chided playfully. “You can bicker about the
merits of tails versus wings another day.”

“Mayhap in a few centuries, when we’ve all had time to forget the last time you had this debate,”
the one of the silver-haired commanders put in.

As Alicent listened to the Valyrians’ casual bickering and bantering, she couldn’t help but think
how normal they sounded. The cold formality that had infused their voices during the treaty
negotiations had completely disappeared and been replaced by warm affection. In this moment,
they certainly didn’t seem like the wild beasts Lord Cole—Criston—had described. Even their
fangs had been retracted.

She was drawn from her musings when she heard the Imperator ask, “Mother, will you be returning
to Stone Garden tonight?”

“Yes.” The Firestorm moved so she was standing directly beside Alicent, though she didn’t lay a
hand on her. “It will be nice to finally sleep in my own bed again.”

“The real work begins tomorrow,” one of the other commanders sighed. She, too, had the
Firestorm’s hair and eyes, but she was probably a good five inches shorter than the other woman.

“I’d happily rebuild every city, town, and village on the planet if it meant I never had to strategize
for another battle,” the black-haired commander declared fervently.

Alicent easily detached herself from the conversation and allowed her mind to wander. She was
very good at it after twenty-three years of practice. Stone Garden. That’s where I’m being taken.
She wondered what her prison would look like. She’d seen immeasurable beauty during her time
on Valyria, and she had no doubt that the Firestorm’s home would be a lovely sight to behold. At
least I’ll die somewhere pretty, she thought mordantly.

If Stone Garden was anything like Dragon Ridge, it was sure to be magnificent. The Valyrians’
imperial palace was enormous and rose high into the sky above the City of Valeria. It had been built
into the face of a towering mountain and consisted of soaring and stout towers and elegant edifices
that were interconnected by halls, covered walkways, and arching bridges.

The only way to reach the front gates was by flying or managing to scale the nearly vertical
staircase winding up from the ground. She and her family had been carried up in a large basket,
which had been truly terrifying. She’d been unable to identify any sort of mechanism that could
explain how the basket was flying, and the woven thing had felt far less steady than any hovercraft
she’d ever ridden in back home.
The basket had deposited them on a stone veranda that led to the palace’s main doors. Designed to
look like a pair of cupped dragon feet, the curved claws served as the veranda’s parapet. The
entrance of Dragon Ridge was guarded by two great stone dragons sitting back on their haunches
with their wings spread. Their heads were tipped backwards, and they breathed out twin streams of
fire that met at a point and formed an archway.

The tallest and largest of the palace’s towers, which lay at the heart of the complex, had been
designed to look as if an enormous dragon was wrapped around it. Carved from pure white stone,
the dragon’s tail and lower body were coiled around the length of the tower, while its front feet
gripped the tower’s parapet. Its head and neck rose up beyond the top of the tower, and its wings
were open and spread. There were rounded turrets with domed roofs attached to each of the tower’s
seven corners, supported from below by dragon-shaped corbels. The chamber in which she now
stood was housed inside the turret built closest to the dragon’s right foot.

From what she’d seen thus far, Dragon Ridge had evidently been named because of its copious
draconic designs, or perhaps the designs had been included as a result of the chosen name. All of
the sconces she’d seen were shaped like dragon feet, and most of the windows were designed to
look like dragon silhouettes. Dragon statues guarded all of the doorways she’d walked through, and
even the staircases were formed by dragon carved tails.

Practically every tower of the palace complex had a dragon statue either sitting atop it or coiled
around it, and its seven outermost towers had somehow been shaped into the likeness of dragons in
flight. She couldn’t imagine how the builders had managed the feat, for there seemed to be neither
seams between the stones nor any indication of mortar holding the structures together. Those seven
towers, like many of the other architectural designs she’d seen, were so complicated and ornate that
they didn’t seem possible given the laws of physics.

A number of the palace’s mighty towers were now in ruin, and further evidence that Dragon Ridge
had suffered heavy aerial bombardment was plain to see in the scorched stone walls and crumbling
edifices. It was clear that the Valyrians had gone to great lengths to protect their imperial palace,
and it was clear that their efforts had not been wholly successful.

She suspected the other palaces would be in similar states. From what she’d seen of the city since
her arrival, the buildings and homes lying in the shadow of the mountains had fared even worse.
She’d seen places where all that remained were piles of rubble, she’d seen places where only a few
broken homes were left standing, and she’d seen places that had clearly been obliterated by
firebombs.

“Lady Alicent, are you prepared to depart?”

Alicent nearly jumped out of her skin when she registered that a question was being directed at her,
and considering the tone, this probably wasn’t the first time it had been asked. Stupid. Stupid.
Stupid. You should have been paying attention to her. How many times did Lord Cole—Criston—
have to beat you because you were so inattentive? Imbecile. She looked up at the Firestorm
fearfully, praying that she would be lenient for this first infraction. “P-Pardon?”

“Would you care to leave?” the Firestorm repeated, eyes boring into her.

Yes, she’d most certainly care to leave, but she knew the other woman wasn’t referring to Valyria.
She ducked her head to hide any inappropriate expressions she might be making. Lord Cole—
Criston—had often whipped her for making insolent facial expressions without meaning to. “Yes,
My Lady.”
 There was a long pause before the Firestorm finally said, “Very well then.”

As she was guided out of Dragon Ridge, Alicent knew deep in her bones that whatever life she’d
thought remained to her was no more. She didn’t know what horrors awaited her at Stone Garden,
but she comforted herself with the knowledge that there would eventually be an escape. It was well
known that few survived long in the Firestorm’s clutches, so whatever hell the other woman had
planned for her, she could only hope that it would result in a swift end to her suffering.

Chapter End Notes

Alicent's not having a good day. 😞

Also, yes, the Valyrians did indeed name both their planet and their imperial city the same
thing with slightly different spellings (Valyria vs Valeria). The First Generation founders all
have their own tragic backstories, so go easy on them. There were a lot of things to name in
the beginning!

Next Chapter: Alicent arrives at Stone Garden.

 Welcome to Stone Garden
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 4:

– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Hylda Westerling, Shadow Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Gelt
(Valyrian counterpart of Ser Harrold)
– Sabitha Vypren, Lily Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Saevara

Here be a world map!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Warm Moon/1,000,121 Visenya VI

After escorting her out of Dragon Ridge and down the mountain, the Firestorm led Alicent to a
large carriage drawn by a trio of pretty dapple-grey mares. The carriage’s exterior was light purple
with green enamel vines as decoration, and the roof and windows were bordered by gold trim.
Seven gilded tree branches framed the roof, which supported a series of flower statuettes. A
heptagonal shield bearing a golden rose was emblazoned on the back of the carriage, a three-headed
red dragon decorated the front, and a normal silver dragon was painted on the door facing them. A
pair of powerful stallions was saddled and waiting near the front of the carriage, and Alicent noted
with some curiosity that the driver’s bench was empty.

Two women dressed in full plate armor stood guard beside the carriage’s door. The fading sunlight
reflected off of the polished metal to create an ethereal halo around the pair. They both saluted
when the Firestorm drew near, the clang of shifting metal echoing loudly in Alicent’s ears.

Although neither woman batted an eye at the sight of her, she could sense that both of them were
inspecting her closely. Memorizing my features, most likely. The taller of the two women—she
stood well over six and a half feet—wore armor as smooth, polished, and black as obsidian. The
only color was a single red teardrop above her heart. The shorter woman’s armor was gold and had
an enormous lily emblazoned on the breastplate.

The Firestorm swept her hand out towards the woman dressed in black armor. “Lady Alicent, this is
Vora Hylda, my Shadow Knight.” Her arm moved to indicate the woman in gold. “And this is Vora
Sabitha, my Lily Knight.”

Alicent swallowed nervously, offering a polite curtsy more due to instinct than anything else. She’d
heard stories about the so-called Valyrian “knights,” which were evidently a special corps of
warrior women.

Warrior women.

Even now, the mere thought of women fighting still left her baffled. Women weren’t meant to fight.
They had no stomach for war. A woman’s battle was in the birthing bed. And yet, according to all
reports, knights were vicious fighters and well-versed in martial activities. Apparently, they’d been
among the few Valyrians who had actually seemed to know how to fight with something other than
magic during the first part of the war.

Her eyes flicked towards the swords resting at the knights’ hips, and she suppressed a shudder.
Swords, bows and arrows, spears, halberds, maces, war hammers, war fans even—they were such
primitive weapons, and yet they’d been used to slaughter thousands of her people.

“Vora Hylda, Vora Sabitha, this is Lady Alicent of the House of Hightower. She will be returning
with us to Stone Garden.”

Vora Sabitha’s eyebrows lifted slightly at the Firestorm’s words, but she remained silent. Vora
Hylda merely tapped an armored fist to her heart before opening the carriage door and helping the
Firestorm inside. The two shared a few hushed words, and then Vora Hylda was ushering Alicent
up into the carriage. The feeling of the knight’s armored hand on her back was chilling, but at least
it didn’t wander.

The carriage’s interior was lavishly decorated, and it seemed far larger than the exterior had
indicated. Jade-green satin embroidered with golden roses lined the walls, and there seemed to be
some sort of padding beneath fabric. Likely for comfort and to muffle the sounds from outside. The
little midnight-blue curtains in front of the glass windows were drawn back and held in place by
golden cords, allowing orangey-red light to bathe the interior. The padded seats were upholstered
with deep purple damask, and the floor of the carriage was polished black wood.

And yet, as lavish as it was, she couldn’t help but consider the carriage archaic. Land vehicles such
as this had become a thing of the ancient past millions of years ago on her planet, before the
signing of the Charter, even. She’d grown up with hovercrafts of every shape and size that swiftly
shuttled people to their destination. She could count on her fingers the number of times that her feet
had touched solid ground when she was traveling from one location to another. Carriages like the
one she was in now were relics from a primitive time before combustion and electricity and motors
and transmatter portals, before her people had learned to develop real technology.

The Firestorm was already seated on the bench facing the back of the carriage, and she motioned
for Alicent to sit across from her. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” Her voice was . . . mild,
almost deceptively gentle. Nothing like how it had been before during negotiations.

“Thank you.” The words came automatically, and she quickly ducked her head to avoid eye contact
as she sat down. She instinctively pressed herself against the far wall and tried to make herself
small, barely suppressing a wince as Vora Hylda shut the door with a heavy thud. Peeking out the
window, she watched as the knights mounted their horses and urged them into a brisk trot. Even
though the driver’s bench was empty, the three carriage horses immediately fell in step with the
knights.

Alicent dug her fingers into the padded seat to steady herself as the carriage began moving, silently
cursing the inelegance of her reaction. Her eyes darted nervously to the Firestorm, wondering if she
would be reprimanded, but the other woman’s eyes were gazing intently out the window. If I’m
lucky, she’ll continue to ignore me until we reach her home.

It was a pity she’d never been lucky.

Much to her surprise, their journey from Valeria to Osmera was fairly short. Too short. She’d seen
enough maps of this massive continent to know that a carriage ride from the imperial capital to
Kastrell’s royal capital should have taken months rather than mere hours. Given how quiet and
seemingly distracted the Firestorm had been the whole time, she suspected that magic was
somehow involved in making their journey shorter. She didn’t dare ask though.

While she would have preferred to sleep during the carriage ride—utterly exhausted as she was—
she hadn’t been given permission. Besides, no matter how great her exhaustion, she doubted that
she would have been able to find sleep in the Firestorm’s presence.

As the carriage rolled closer to its final destination, she couldn’t help but peer out the window at
her new surroundings. Built on the finger of a massive lake, the City of Osmera was enormous and
sprawling. Unlike the cities of her home world though, this city’s sprawl was due to all of the
gardens, orchards, groves, and farmland that resided within its walls rather than the number of
inhabitants. The wall enclosing the city was pale purple stone, and it rose well over a hundred feet
into the air. Immediately inside the wall were miles and miles of farmland, pastures, and orchards,
which all encircled the city’s residential area.
Even before entering the city through what the Firestorm had called the West Gate, they had been
following the path of a large river, which, rather than veering or curving at the wall, instead
continued its course through the middle of the city. The carriage had leisurely rolled along the well-
trodden path winding through acres and acres of farmland before eventually arriving at the city
proper.

And even here, there were large tracts of undeveloped land in between the buildings, which the
residents evidently used to maintain extensive gardens, small groves of fruit trees, and copses of
what she assumed were ornamental trees. Despite the clear devastation her people had wrought
upon this city, the air still smelled of life and growing things and reminded her of the gardens from
her childhood.

The houses, shops, and public buildings they passed had been built in a neat and orderly fashion,
and all of them had sustained considerable damage as a result of the war. Some areas had been
reduced to rubble or ash. There were a few women milling about the streets, and all of them paused
at the sight of the Firestorm’s carriage rolling past.

She watched and listened as the women cheered the Firestorm—Queen Rhaenyra they called her—
both surprised and not by their adulation. While unsurprised that they revered the woman who had
turned the tide of the war, she couldn’t help but notice the sincere affection in their voices as they
called the Firestorm’s name and wished her good health. These women genuinely loved their
queen.

Not that that means anything, she reminded herself. Being loved by her own people doesn’t tell me
anything about how she’ll treat me once we reach her home. And she was certainly expecting the
worst. While the Firestorm hadn’t been anything but polite thus far—she hadn’t even reprimanded
her for not responding immediately to her question about leaving—she knew the horrors would
begin soon enough. After all, Lord—Criston—had been polite once too, in the beginning. She’d
learned through harsh experience not to be drawn in by a smiling face and pleasant words.

Her gloomy thoughts stuttered to a halt when Stone Garden finally came into full view, and a gasp
escaped her lips at the sight. She’d been catching glimpses of gleaming towers since before they’d
entered the city proper, but it wasn’t until now that she’d been able to see the palace in all its glory.
Given the majesty of Dragon Ridge and the splendor of all the Valyrian architecture she’d already
seen thus far, she’d expected the palace to be stunning, and what she saw before her did not
disappoint.

Where Dragon Ridge was towering and imposing and undoubtedly magnificent, Stone Garden was
an explosion of vibrant colors and rustic beauty and natural elegance. Built upon a broad, verdant
hill that overlooked the river, and surrounded by open meadows, orchards, and gardens, the palace
grounds seemed as sprawling as Osmera itself.

There was an elegant, crenelated curtain wall separating Stone Garden from the rest of the city, and
while it rose high enough to offer the palace inhabitants privacy, it was not so tall as to seem
forbidding. The wall itself was made from green marble, and the carriage was swiftly approaching
the silver gates, which had bars that were wrought to resemble creeping vines and finials that
looked like roses.

Although the wall partially obstructed her view, she could see that the palace was an elaborate
complex of stout edifices that tended to be wider than they were tall, and soaring towers that were
rounded and slender and had either steepled or flat roofs enclosed by parapets. Most of the towers
were made from lustrous white stone and had been set ablaze by the fading sunlight.

Open colonnades and covered walkways connected the palace to several additional buildings,
including one with a shining, silver spire that rose high into the sky and was surmounted by a star
that she knew had seven points. One of their holy temples, she thought. I wonder if the Firestorm
prays often. Not far from the front gates was a large building that seemed oddly disconnected from
the rest of the palace complex. It was long and rectangular and had countless high, narrow
windows, and she couldn’t see any colonnades or walkways attached to it, though those may have
been hidden behind the wall.

If Dragon Ridge had been so named because of its many draconic motifs, Stone Garden had likely
been named for its abundance of greenery. The walls of every structure that she could see, as well
as the numerous balcony rails, were covered in plants of all kinds, and flower boxes seemed to sit
beneath every window.

She recognized some of the plants wending their way up the walls—like the wisterias and climbing
roses and trumpet vines—but most of them were foreign to her. She spotted what looked like water
features in various locations, which she guessed were fed by the river. She could also make out
numerous statues, most of which had some sort of plant glowing up, around, or over them.

Flying above the palace was a purple flag emblazoned with the same golden rose that marked the
Firestorm’s carriage and uniform. She noted with curiosity that there was a second flag being raised
as the carriage approached the silver gates, which swung open on silent hinges. This flag was
nearly identical to the one already flying, except it had an ornate border of smaller golden flowers
and curling green vines.

What surprised her the most about the palace was the complete lack of visible damage. How is that
possible? She quite clearly remembered overhearing Lord C—Criston—giving orders for the aerial
regiments to bomb Stone Garden and Osmera. How had the palace been left unscathed?

“Welcome to Stone Garden, My Lady.”

Alicent gulped, turning slightly towards the Firestorm but taking care not to make eye contact. She
bobbed her head a little in acknowledgement, unsure if she was expected to give a verbal response.

Just after the carriage rolled to a stop, she heard the sound of feet hitting the ground as the knights
dismounted. A moment later, Vora Hylda—the Shadow Knight—opened the door and offered her
hand to the Firestorm. Alicent watched as the Firestorm elegantly stepped down from the carriage,
moving with far more grace than she would have expected from a ruthless general. Queen
Rhaenyra, her people had called her. She supposed that meant the Firestorm was expected to
behave as a lady when she wasn’t slaughtering armies or experimenting on prisoners.

Queen was a term she was only vaguely familiar with, for Westeros had long ago done away with
kings and kingdoms. Her world was divided into forty Lordships ruled over by high lords like her
father and Lord Cole. The Lordships were in turn subdivided into provinces, which were ruled by
low lords who swore fealty to their high lord.

All forty Lordships were united by the Charter, and each high lord had a place on the Council of
Lords. The council—and by extension the planet—was ruled by the Lord of Lords, who was
elected every fifty years by the high lords from among their own members. During wartime, the
Lord of War automatically became the Lord of Lords.
Assuming that a queen was the Valyrian equivalent of a high lord, she supposed the Firestorm’s
grace was logical.

“My Lady?”

Alicent blinked a few times as her mind came back from its wanderings and she found herself
staring at the Shadow Knight’s offered hand. She wondered when she would begin receiving
beatings for her constantly wandering attention. Soon, no doubt. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, as she
hesitantly took the armored glove and allowed herself to be helped down.

The sound of her feet striking solid stone echoed loudly in her ears, though no one else seemed to
notice. The flagstones of the courtyard she was standing in were silver-veined marble, and she was
surprised to see that huge chunks were missing.

Looking up, her eyes widened as she took in the sight of broken towers high above her head and
crumbling stone all around her feet. Rubble and ash had been piled up near the walls in an attempt
to clear the courtyard, though debris and the remains of dead plants were still scattered everywhere.
She could see scraps and shards of broken metal littering the flagstones, which provided evidence
of the bombs that had been dropped.

It was an illusion. The Stone Garden she’d seen from the carriage had been nothing more than a
magical artifice, likely of what the palace had looked like before the bombardments. She wondered
suddenly if perhaps the damage to Dragon Ridge and Valeria had been far more extensive than it
had appeared.

Had the Valyrians used their magic to conceal most of the destruction so Lord—Criston—wouldn’t
see weakness? But then why not use a complete illusion like Stone Garden? Perhaps because it
would have seemed suspicious. Her people knew that Valeria and Dragon Ridge had been targeted
for mass bombings, so it would have seemed strange if there had been no evidence of those attacks.

Now that the outer wall was no longer obstructing her view, she could see that the large building
she’d noticed earlier—the one that had seemed oddly separate from the rest of the palace—was
indeed disconnected from the main complex of towers and edifices. Large portions of the roof were
missing, and all of the windows had been broken or shattered. The walls were scorched and
blackened, and the foundation was encircled by a wide band of ash. That ash was probably a
flowerbed once.

Looking past the broken building, she noticed a dense hedge of thorns and briars that had
previously been hidden by the curtain wall. The hedge rose some ten feet into the air and extended
in both directions before curving to encircle the palace proper. A wall within a wall, she thought.
Stone Garden has a concentric defensive structure.

She remembered reading in a historical annal about how ancient warlords had built their fortresses
in a similar manner. But why would Valyrian architects bother with a concentric defensive structure
when they can shapeshift? Walls were all well and good to protect against forces that were bound to
the ground, but what use were high walls against enemies who could transform into birds?

The Firestorm strode up to her side, a grave expression on her face as she surveyed her ruined
home. “Thankfully, very little damage was done to the interiors of the buildings. Those that
survived, anyhow. I suspect it won’t be too long before we’ve restored the exteriors and rebuilt
what was destroyed. Then I can finally remove that foolish illusion.”
Am I expected to respond to that? She hadn’t the slightest idea how. Should she apologize for what
her people had done? Should she denounce them? Or was she merely expected to agree with
sympathy?

She was saved from having to respond when the Firestorm continued, “Where we’re standing now
is called the outer ward, and you’ll find that it consists almost entirely of gardens, arbors, and
courtyards. The northern, eastern, and western gardens are located in this ward’s corresponding
quadrants, and they’re usually open to the public during the day. The throne room, stables, carriage
houses, a few workshops, and so forth are housed here in the southern quadrant, which has only a
small garden in addition to this courtyard.”

The Firestorm pointed to the large rectangular building that was missing parts of its roof. “So
you’re aware, that building is the throne room, though I don’t expect you’ll have much cause to
visit. Over there,” she gestured towards a pair of crumbling buildings that were little more than
broken beams and fractured stone, “are the stables and carriage house.”

Why are you telling me any of this? Would she even be allowed back out into this area of the palace
once she stepped beyond the hedge wall?

Upon receiving no reply to her statements, the Firestorm tilted her head slightly. “Shall I show you
to your chambers?”

Do I actually have a choice? Keeping her eyes down, she gave a small nod and followed the
Firestorm towards the wall of briars, aware of the knights falling in step behind them. She
wondered absently why the Firestorm required such guards. From everything she had heard, the
woman walking beside her was far more deadly than the two walking behind.

When they reached the dense hedge encircling the palace itself, the thorny tendrils and briars parted
like a curtain to allow them to pass through. She shivered a little as she looked at the wickedly
sharp thorns, which seemed poised to lash out at her. How much would it hurt to have those thorns
wrapped around me and piercing my flesh? She could imagine the Firestorm pushing her into the
obviously magical hedge and encasing her in its thorns, leaving her there for hours or days as her
skin was slowly torn from her body. She shuddered and prayed that that wasn’t something the
Firestorm had planned.

“This is the inner ward,” the Firestorm declared, “the private domain of my court.” Behind them,
the thorny tendrils of the hedge swiftly rewove themselves to seal the briefly formed opening. “The
briar wall we just walked through is enchanted to only grant access to courtiers, staff, and those
specifically invited inside.”

That explained why there didn’t seem to be any gaps or openings in the hedge encircling the inner
ward. There’s no way out, she thought with a shudder, icy fear creeping down her spine. Her legs
felt like pillars of stone as she followed the Firestorm along the winding path that led from the briar
wall to what she assumed were the main doors of the palace. An enormous rose was carved into
those ornate double doors, one of which looked ready to fall off its hinges, and the short flight of
stairs leading up to them bore scorch marks.

As the Firestorm ushered her through the great doors, she continued her running commentary about
the palace. “This is the Queen’s Keep. It’s where I and the other residents of Stone Garden actually
live.”
The Queen’s Keep. The innermost stronghold where the Firestorm and her court reside. Stone
Garden truly was built with the same concentric defensive structure as the ancient fortresses of her
home world: an outer wall as the first line of defense, an outer bailey to house ancillary buildings
and offer additional protection, and an inner wall to separate the two baileys and further fortify the
inner bailey at the heart of the palace.

She wondered if the other royal palaces were built in a similar manner. Or do they rely on natural
fortifications as Dragon Ridge does? She supposed that it didn’t actually matter to her situation.
Either way, she was trapped. At Dragon Ridge, she would have been imprisoned by a sheer cliff
face and a plummeting fall. Here, she was imprisoned by stone walls and an impassable briar
hedge.

“The library, the kitchens, and the Stone Garden Temple are all individual buildings, but they’re
connected to the Keep by galleries and colonnades,” the Firestorm was saying as they made their
way through the halls. “Similarly to the outer ward, you’ll find that gardens, arbors, and courtyards
dominate the inner ward as well. We have a rainbow garden, two water gardens, a winter garden, a
rose garden, a knot garden, and so forth here, which are collectively referred to as the Queen’s
Gardens in order to distinguish them from the northern, eastern, and western gardens of the outer
ward.”

Alicent nodded and did her best to make amenable sounds in response to everything the Firestorm
was saying, knowing that she needed to tread carefully until she determined what exactly provoked
the Firestorm’s wroth. If there was one thing she’d learned from her decades of marriage, it was
that everyone had different reasons for becoming incensed.

What angered Lord—Criston—had been different from what angered Arilla, and what had angered
Arilla had been different from what angered Sabina, who in turn had been angered by different
mistakes than Vesna. Of course, there had been plenty of times when she’d been punished for no
reason that she could discern, though she was certain reason had existed.

She wondered if the Firestorm would be like that, if she would offer any reason or justification for
why she hurt her, or if she would hurt her simply to sate her own lust for cruelty and violence. Did
it even matter?

A little, she decided. If she was to be punished, humiliated, and maimed at the Firestorm’s hands,
she at least wished to know why. She knew that the Firestorm was Sytarr’s ultimate retribution
upon her, his final judgment for all her sins and failings, but the Firestorm didn’t believe in Sytarr,
so surely she would have her own reasons for why her actions were justified.

Perhaps she’ll say that it’s vengeance for the war. That would make sense. Lord—Criston—had
always somehow connected his punishments to her barrenness. While every beating, cutting,
burning, whipping, or sharing had usually been preceded by a specific infraction such as her
clumsiness or stupidity or willfulness, all of her suffering ultimately resulted from her inability to
give him children.

She was pulled from her thoughts by a hand on the small of her back gently steering her in a new
direction. She stiffened when she registered that it was the Firestorm, and she realized a moment
later that she must have begun walking in the wrong direction while lost in her own thoughts. You
must remain focused. You must remain alert. Stop being such a fool.

She didn’t know why she was having such a hard time focusing. Usually, she was hyperaware of
everything happening around her, of every little twitch and clench and frown of the people in her
vicinity. It was the only way to survive. She needed to be able to anticipate the people around her,
to know what they wanted or were going to do before they themselves even knew. She’d grown
quite good at anticipating her former husband and his wives. Perhaps that’s the problem. I don’t
know the Firestorm well enough yet to properly anticipate her. She would need to learn quickly.

Determined to pay more attention, she diligently studied each new hallway the Firestorm led her
down, each new set of stairs she encountered, trying to catalogue all of the twists and turns. It soon
proved useless though, and she wondered sadly if it would even matter. Would she even be allowed
out of whatever prison the Firestorm placed her in?

“We’re almost there,” the Firestorm informed her. “My apologies for the long walk, My Lady. You
must be exhausted.”

She was, but she was also accustomed to feeling exhausted and as if she was on the verge of
collapse. What she was less familiar with was someone commenting on it in a way that wasn’t
openly critical or derisive. Why was the Firestorm bothering with false courtesies?

She didn’t have long to dwell on the question though, because soon enough they came to a thick,
wooden door. She watched as the Firestorm briefly checked the handle before pulling it open.
When a hand beckoned to her, she took several cautious steps forward, but then froze in the
doorway. It was dark beyond the threshold—impossibly so—and she felt the fine hairs on the back
of her neck stand on end.

Not the dark. Please, please don’t lock me away in the dark.

Fingers scrabbling against cold, unyielding metal.

Split skin and broken nails making them ache.

Blood dripping down her back.

Pain, so much pain it hurt to move, hurt to breathe.

Can’t breathe. No. Need to breathe. Don’t break now. Don’t break now.

The Firestorm frowned slightly, and Alicent squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for a blow,
but it never came. Instead, she felt the other woman slip past her into the room. Cautiously opening
her eyes, she watched as half-a-dozen orbs of light materialized in the air a moment later. The
Firestorm looked back at her. “Better?”

Fool! You just revealed to her that you’re afraid of the dark. Alicent nodded meekly, taking a few
shuffling steps into the room. The first thing she noticed was that there was no bed, but then she
took note of all the chairs, tables, and settees and the door on the other side of the room. An outer
room, perhaps? She’d had a room like this back home, too. It was meant to be where she
entertained her guests, but she’d never been allowed to have any.

Her eyes flicked upwards to the strange orbs of light hovering in the air above her. She’d seen their
like before, both during her captivity and while staying at Dragon Ridge. Slightly smaller than a
ripe watermelon, they were perfectly spherical and gave off a soft, white light. Despite the
brightness of the light they emitted, she was able to look at them directly without seeing spots in
her vision, as if there was a shade between her eyes and the actual light.
These orbs seemed to serve the same function that arc-lights and ion-lamps did back home,
providing artificial light when the sun was unavailable or insufficient. She wondered if Valyrians
ever made use of torches or candles. That was what she would have expected before coming here,
given Lord—Criston’s—tirades about their primitiveness. Her own people had relied on such
things for millennia until they’d learned to harness electricity.

The Firestorm ushered her through the outer room and into another, smaller one beyond it. While
this room also had several chairs, there was only one table, so it was plainly meant for more
intimate gatherings. “The bedchamber is through here.” The Firestorm walked over to the door
across from where they’d come in and settled her hand on the lever handle. “That door there,” she
indicated the second door on the left wall of the room, “leads into the study.” Opening the
bedchamber door, she quickly conjured a few glowing orbs before stepping inside.

Once inside the bedroom, Alicent allowed her eyes to rove everywhere so as to familiarize herself
with what she assumed was to be her new prison. The walls were whitewashed stone, and there
were various shelves likely meant for baubles and other such items. A large fireplace with a marble
mantel dominated the wall closest to the four-poster bed.

Above the mantel was an exquisite painting of a seascape that seemed so real she could almost
smell the salt in the air. There was a tall clock standing in the corner, the pendulum swinging
steadily back and forth. Plush chairs, a settee, and a small divan provided seating, and there were a
few small tables strewn about that appeared easy enough to rearrange.

High windows overlooked an extensive garden that would have been in full bloom if not for the
bombs. Only a few patches of color had survived, and they stood out starkly against the trampled
flowerbeds and charred tree trunks. There were several potted plants sitting on the floor, and these
flowers were in far better shape. She had noticed on the way here that the Keep was filled with
flowers and greenery, which infused the halls and rooms with their sweet perfume.

A beautiful tapestry depicting a pair of women sitting in front of a lake at sunset hung beside the
bed. The vibrant colors and masterful weaving reminded her of the antique tapestries that had
decorated her father’s study. She glanced at the open door on the other side of the bed, catching a
glimpse of what was possibly a bathtub. The lavatory then.

The Firestorm tilted her head slightly as she looked at her. “Will this do?”

Rubbing her wrist nervously, Alicent searched for the right words to respond. She had no idea what
the other woman wanted her to say. The Firestorm’s expression was calm and politely curious, the
face of a person genuinely wishing to know if the offered accommodations were satisfactory. There
was nothing to indicate that her question wasn’t sincere, though perhaps that was simply because
she was better at hiding her intentions than Lord—Criston.

Eventually, Alicent settled for nodding and giving a noncommittal response. “They’re very nice
rooms.”

“So you don’t mind staying here?” the Firestorm pressed.

Wondering why she even bothered asking, Alicent shook her head. “I don’t mind.” So this was to
be her prison. I can suffer this. It’s nothing I haven’t endured before.

She was accustomed to gilded cages, and non-gilded cages as well, for that matter. Sometimes,
when he was feeling particularly cruel, Lord—Criston—had locked her inside a cage meant for a
hound. That particular punishment had always been so much worse than a mere beating or
whipping. The cage had been so small that she couldn’t move, never mind stand up.

Even curled into a tiny ball, the metal bars had bitten into her flesh and torn at her back. The first
time he’d locked her inside had been when she’d finally broken. Having been claustrophobic since
she was a child, being trapped like that had utterly shattered her. She’d screamed and wept and
begged him to let her out, but he’d only laughed.

Most of the time though, she’d dwelled in nicely furnished rooms that, on the surface, were
perfectly appropriate for the wife of a high lord. It was only when Lord—Criston—or his friends
were present that those rooms had become a prison.

She wondered if these chambers would be the same.

“Lady Alicent?”

Damn it. Why couldn’t she remain focused? She blamed her sudden inability to concentrate on a
combination of having spent over two decades training herself to detach in stressful situations and
the fact that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.

Hoping that the Firestorm hadn’t been trying to gain her attention for too long, she glanced up
timidly. “Yes?” She took care not to look into her eyes directly, remembering how that had always
upset Lord—Criston. Instead, she focused on her hair. She’d never seen silver hair before coming
to Valyria.

The Firestorm released an irritated sigh. “You’re afraid of me.”

Of course I am, she wanted to say, but thankfully, she wasn’t a complete idiot and kept her mouth
shut. Not knowing how to respond, she said nothing as the Firestorm continued to stare at her. The
longer it went on, the more her nerves began to fray. Her breathing was beginning to become
uneven, and she could feel her legs trembling beneath her. Don’t faint. Don’t faint. Don’t faint.

Finally, the Firestorm turned away from her and walked over to the divan by the edge of the room.
She seated herself gracefully and then beckoned to her. “Join me?”

Moving on shaking legs, Alicent managed to make it to the divan without tripping over her own
feet. Her hand gripped the armrest to steady herself, but she didn’t dare sit down without
permission. She wasn’t even sure that she wanted to. Sytarr, was she expected to seat herself right
beside the Firestorm?

Her eyes flicked to the chairs scattered around the room, wondering if she’d feel less intimidated
sitting in a chair across from the other woman. At least this way I don’t have to look at her. And if
we’re sitting, she won’t be looming over me. She’d always hated it when Lord—Criston—had
loomed over her. It had made her feel small and trapped, which she supposed was the point.

“You’re allowed to sit down, My Lady.”

Why did she keep calling her “lady”? Why was she speaking to her at all? Why hadn’t she simply
locked her away in some cell? She’s playing with me. That’s why. Just as Criston did. It doesn’t
matter how kindly she’s acting now. She’s still the Firestorm. She’s still the same woman who
butchered thousands of my people.
Gulping around the lump in her throat, she sat down on the plush seat, careful to put as much space
between herself and the Firestorm as she could. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep
them from shaking.

The Firestorm folded her own hands in her lap as well and angled her body so she was facing
Alicent without staring directly at her. “Lady Alicent, will you answer a question for me?
Honestly?”

She nodded woodenly. “Yes, My Lady.”

“You may call me Rhaenyra. You needn’t worry about titles.”

Then why do you keep calling me “lady”? She clamped her mouth shut, knowing that such an
impertinent remark would not be received kindly. Her insolence and inability to simply keep her
head down and do as told had always gotten her into trouble back home. Neither her mother nor
Lord—Criston—had ever succeeded in fully beating it out of her. Though Sytarr knows they tried.

As if she somehow knew what she was thinking, the Firestorm omitted her title when she asked,
“Alicent, what exactly is it that you think I’m going to do with you?”

Oh Sytarr, does she want me to offer ideas? Lord—Criston—had done that sometimes, forced her
to choose her own punishments. Her eyes flicked fearfully to the Firestorm’s face, but there was
nothing ingenuine about the other woman’s expression. Of course she knows how to conceal her
emotions and project an appropriate façade. She’s a ruler and a lady. She likely received the same
training I did. Except the Firestorm had clearly been a more studious pupil.

Realizing that the Firestorm was actually expecting an answer, Alicent took a breath to brace
herself for the worst. “You,” she swallowed, “you’re the Firestorm. And, and you own me now.”
The words were acid on her tongue. “You may do whatever you wish.”

The Firestorm’s lips pursed with displeasure.

Alicent flinched, instinctively drawing back and pressing herself against the divan’s arm.

Smoothing her features instantly, the Firestorm steepled her fingers together, appraising her for a
long moment. “Alicent, I feel that I must explain a few things to you.”

Oh, thank Sytarr. She’s actually going to tell me exactly what sort of hell she has planned for me.
Though perhaps they should not have, the Firestorm’s words brought with them a tremendous sense
of relief. At least now she would finally know what to expect and could mentally prepare herself.
That was a courtesy Lord—Criston—had never extended.

“I’d like to begin by apologizing for how this has all come about. Making you a part of the treaty
was wrong. It was atrocious and inexcusable, and I doubt you’ll ever understand how remorseful I
am that I had to do that. I only hope that one day you can forgive me.”

Alicent stared at her uncomprehendingly. She heard and understood the Firestorm’s words, but she
couldn’t make sense of them. Why was she apologizing? Why was she saying all those things about
being in the wrong? Swapping hostages wasn’t wrong. It was a common practice. The other woman
had said as much herself during the negotiations.
“My people do not condone slavery,” the Firestorm continued, “and we certainly do not abide the
mistreatment of women. You are not property, Alicent, and I do not own you. You’re a free woman,
as much as I or anyone else on this planet.” She paused, shifting slightly in an attempt to catch her
eye. “Alicent, please look at me.”

Alicent forced herself to meet those terrifying and captivating purple eyes, mind spinning as she
tried to process everything that she was hearing. If Valyrians didn’t believe in slavery, if they didn’t
believe in swapping hostages, then why had the Firestorm done so? Why had the Imperator and the
other high-ranking officers allowed it? The Firestorm must be lying. All of her silken words must
be part of some twisted game. Perhaps they were meant to lull her into a false sense of security.

“You are not property,” the Firestorm repeated. “And I am not going to harm you. Ever. That
applies to everyone else here as well. You’re safe now, Alicent. If you need or want anything, all
you have to do is ask.”

Lies. Lies. Lies. They couldn’t be anything else. The Firestorm had demanded her. Lord—Criston—
had relinquished her. It was simple. It was understandable. Why was the Firestorm tormenting her
like this? “If, if you don’t believe . . . why?” She couldn’t force her mind to summon any more
words, let alone string them together into something more comprehensible.

Yet the Firestorm seemed to understand her all the same. “I did this to set you free.”

Alicent shook her head, forehead scrunching. “I don’t understand.”

“When I looked across that room today, do you know what I saw? I saw a battered woman unloved
and uncared for by her so-called family.” The Firestorm’s gaze turned piercing, as if she could see
every inch of Alicent’s soul. “I saw your bruises and scars. It’s plain enough who gave them to
you.”

Alicent lowered her eyes, the shaking from her hands and legs slowly spreading. She needed this to
stop. She needed time to think and process. This was all too much. “I deserved it.”

“No one deserves that,” the Firestorm snapped, making Alicent flinch. “What he did was malicious
and cruel. He had no right to hurt you. No one has a right to hurt another person like that.”

“So says the woman who performed ungodly experiments on my people,” she retorted. The
moment the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. You damned fool! The blood drained
from her face, and she practically threw herself from the divan and onto the floor. Scrambling onto
her knees, she placed her head at the Firestorm’s feet. “I, I’m so s-s-sorry. I didn’t mean . . . Please
forgive me . . .”

Hands immediately reached down and dragged her to her feet. Those same hands lingered on her
shoulders for an extra moment, silently ordering her to remain standing, before disappearing.
“Please don’t do that, Alicent.”

Alicent stared at her with unconcealed terror, her mind already overwhelmed by all of the possible
things the Firestorm could do to her in retaliation for her insolence. Lord—Criston—had beaten her
bloody countless times for far less. “I’m s-s-sorry,” she stammered again. “I, I speak without
thinking. It’s one of my worst faults. Please, please forgive me, or, or . . .” She gulped, eyes
squeezing shut as she braced herself. She knew what she needed to say. “Punish me as you see fit,”
she whispered.
“Alicent,” the Firestorm sighed, “I told you that I’m not going to harm you.” She gently urged her
to sit back down on the divan before joining her, and this time there was less space between them.
“Besides, you’re not entirely wrong.”

Alicent gaped at her, confusion slowly beginning to merge with her fear. She couldn’t even
remember the last time someone had told her that she wasn’t wrong. Why? Why? Why? “You,
you’re not angry with me?”

The Firestorm lifted an eyebrow. “Why would I be angry?” The corner of her mouth tugged
upwards in a slight smile. “You spoke your mind. That’s not something you should ever fear
doing.” She laced her fingers together and settled her hands in her lap once more. “I know that I did
terrible things during the War to your people, Alicent, and you have every right to hate me on their
behalf.” She paused. “There’s a difference between what I did to them and what Lord Cole did to
you, though.” She leaned to the side and twisted her head slightly to catch her eye. “You’re an
innocent, Alicent. The Westerosi I experimented on were men who attacked my people and home
without cause.”

There was nothing she could really say to that. She knew that she wasn’t an innocent, and she knew
that the Firestorm was correct about the attack being unprovoked. She’d listened to all of Lord—
Criston’s—speeches about the Valyrians in the years before the war. So she knew full well that he’d
been motivated only by righteous fury against their sinful nature rather than any of their specific
actions.

“You said just now that you deserved what he did to you. Why did you deserve it?”

She knew this game. She glanced at the Firestorm out of the corner of her eye, trying to keep her
voice from trembling. “I’m barren, and a barren wife is a cursed wife.”

The Firestorm’s lips pursed. “How old are you, Alicent?”

Her brow furrowed with confusion at the sudden topic change. “I, I’m forty-eight.”

“When was your birthday?”

Alicent didn’t know how to answer that. The days were shorter here, but there were more days in
both the months and the year. “I’m, well, I’m not certain of the Valyrian date.” She waited for the
mockery and sneering at her ignorance, but it never came. Wetting her lips, she added, “It was
about a week and a half before Penrhyn.”

The Firestorm hummed in acknowledgement. “And when were you married?”

That, at least, she could answer easily. “About a month after my twenty-fifth birthday.”

“So a twenty-three-year marriage.” The Firestorm raised an eyebrow. “And how long has Lord
Cole been hurting you?”

“I—” She gulped, shifting uncomfortably. She shouldn’t be discussing such things with the
Firestorm. She wondered if perhaps she should remain silent. Would that be what Lord—Criston—
wanted her to do? Surely it would be a show of loyalty to Westeros if she said nothing. Yet . . . she
belonged to the Firestorm now. No matter what the other woman said. The treaty made it official.
Didn’t that mean it was her duty to answer the Firestorm’s questions?
“You don’t have to answer,” the Firestorm decided, as if sensing her anxiety. “Either way, he’s been
hurting you for a long time for no other reason than that you’re infertile. How can that be right? A
husband should not treat his wife in such a way.”

She wondered how the Firestorm could sit there and say what was and was not proper husbandly
behavior. The Valyrians were an all-female species. They didn’t have husbands. It was one of the
reasons Lord—Criston—had begun his crusade against them. “A husband may do as he wishes
with his wife on Westeros,” she said slowly, hoping the rather judicious answer would be
acceptable.

“I suppose that is true enough,” the Firestorm conceded with a sigh and a shake of her head. “The
power men wield on your world . . . that was why I added the stipulation as I did. It was the only
way I could see to remove you from his control.”

But why did you want that? She bit her tongue to hold back the question, instead saying, “You
couldn’t have known that he’d choose me.”

The Firestorm let out a humorless laugh. “Yes I could. You stood apart from everyone else, even
the other wives, and none of them had bruises or scars. It was plain just by looking at you that you
were ill-favored. I wasn’t gambling when I added that stipulation. I knew he’d relinquish you rather
than one of the other three.”

“And now you have me.” The words slipped out unbidden. She winced a little, shoulders stiffening.

“I told you before, Alicent, I don’t own you. You’re free to do as you please.”

Free. It was a word she knew the meaning of, but she couldn’t truly grasp it. Freedom had always
been a foreign concept to her, something reserved for men. She’d never been free to follow her own
petty desires or foolish wants and whims.

“If you wish to stay here,” the Firestorm continued, “you may. You would be my honored guest for
as long as you desired. If you wish to return to Westeros, that’s an option as well. I can magically
alter your appearance so that you may begin a new life, or if you wish to return to your family, that
can also be arranged.”

Alicent paled at the very thought of being returned. She couldn’t begin to imagine how Lord—
Criston—would react to that. “Lord Cole would never accept me back.”

“I can alter his memories and those of the other people in the household,” the Firestorm said
simply. “It will be as if that part of the treaty never happened.” She paused, something flickering in
her purple eyes. “You may return to your old life, if you wish, Alicent. I’ll not keep you prisoner
here.”

Her old life: a life of beatings, whippings, cages, hunger, pain, scorn, and fear. As terrified as she
was of the Firestorm, she suddenly realized that she feared her former family more. Whatever sick
plans the Firestorm had for her, surely they couldn’t be any worse than what Lord—Criston—had
already inflicted upon her. She knew how to endure pain and humiliation and torture. Her back
alone was testament to that. “I don’t wish to go back,” she whispered, wondering if she was
proving herself a complete fool. Most likely.

The Firestorm inclined her head. “As you will. Just know that the option remains available, should
you change your mind. And if you decide that you don’t want to stay here or return to Westeros,
you may go anywhere else you wish. Name a planet, and I’ll help you establish a life there.” She
reached out as if to take Alicent’s hand, but stopped suddenly and instead flipped her own over and
held it out in offering.

Alicent stared at the offered hand, knowing that she was expected to take it, yet terrified of what
would happen when she did. Feeling as if she was giving her hand to a feral beast—and perhaps
she was—she placed her hand in the Firestorm’s. She forced herself not to recoil from the feeling
of fingers closing in around her hand, and it wasn’t until she finally calmed her racing heart that she
realized the Firestorm’s hand wasn’t the monstrous paw that she had imagined it to be. It was soft
and smooth and very warm, the fingers long and slender.

“Your life is yours, Alicent, no one else’s. You can do whatever you wish. Simply inform me of
your desires, and I’ll help however I can.” The Firestorm’s purple eyes were soft and earnest as she
spoke, and for a brief moment, Alicent almost allowed herself to believe what she was hearing. “I
didn’t ask for you to remain here so that you could be a slave or a lab rat or whatever it is you’re
afraid I’m going to do with you. I wanted you here so you could have a chance at a real life.”

Alicent swallowed, completely overwhelmed. She had no idea what she was feeling at the moment.
She’d been vacillating between terror and confusion so much that all of her emotions were in a
twisted knot. This must all be some sort of bizarre dream: the Firestorm holding her hand and
offering her anything she wanted. “What if . . . what if I’m not certain what I want?”

“Take all the time you need.” The Firestorm released her hand. “If you choose to remain here for a
couple of decades and then decide one day that you want to go elsewhere, you need only inform
me, and I will do all I can to aid you. There are no time limits on your decision-making.”

“Why are you doing this for me?” That was the most pressing question. What possible reason could
the Firestorm have for doing any of this? None. Which is why I know that this is all some sort of
elaborate ploy. Though she couldn’t begin to fathom its purpose.

The Firestorm tilted her head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She almost snorted. “Because I’m a Westerosi.” Which is more than enough reason for you to want
to skin me alive.

The Firestorm appraised her for a long moment. “When I look at you, I don’t see a Westerosi. I see
a woman who was in grave need of help. I could offer that help. So I did. Any decent person would
have done the same.”

Alicent highly doubted that. Besides, why would she want to help me? I’m not worth helping. I’ve
never been worth anything to anyone. She’d learned that lesson long ago. There were no such
things as saviors or kindly helpers, just those with the strength to take what they wanted and those
so weak that they had no choice but to allow them. And I’ve always been weak.

“It doesn’t matter to me where you come from, Alicent,” the Firestorm was saying. “What matters
is that you’re safe and happy.” She slowly rose to her feet. “You have free rein of Stone Garden if
you wish.” She cocked her head. “Will you be staying the night?”

Alicent had assumed that she would spend the rest of her life—however short that was—here in
these chambers. Why is she even bothering to pretend that I have a choice in any of this? Part of her
was tempted to say no, simply to see how the Firestorm would react, but she was exhausted and
didn’t think that she could handle a punishment tonight.
 If she wants to play the benevolent hostess, I should enjoy the reprieve while I can. Even so, she
would remember her manners and remain deferential. Keeping her head obediently lowered and her
eyes modestly averted, she responded with all the demure submissiveness that her mother had
trained into her. “I don’t wish to be a burden.”

The Firestorm waved dismissively. “Having you here is not a burden, Alicent. And where you sleep
is your decision. If you dislike these rooms, I can arrange for something else. You have but to ask.”
Her lips twitched slightly into something resembling a sad smile. “I’m not going to issue orders to
you, Alicent. You’re my guest and will be treated as such. Until you decide otherwise, please
consider Stone Garden your home as much as it is mine.” She started for the door, but stopped and
looked back at her and the tattered dress she wore. “I’ll send someone to you with some proper
nightclothes as soon as I’m able.”

Alicent watched her go, her mind overwhelmed by all of the day’s events. She winced at the sound
of the door closing, but she noted that no key was turned in the lock. She looked around the room—
her room now—and felt very small and very alone.

Chapter End Notes

Well, you can't say Rhaenyra didn't try to put Alicent at ease.

I did it! I added a map!

P.S. Japanese war fans were a real historical thing, and I love them.

Next Chapter: Alicent's first night continues and we get to meet some new people.
 First Night at Stone Garden
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 5:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Hylda Westerling, Shadow Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Gelt
(Valyrian counterpart of Ser Harrold)
– Sabitha Vypren, Lily Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Saevara
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Ygritte Mormont, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Aly Blackwood, one of Queen Rhaenyra's attendants, from Saevara

Trigger Warnings: Thoughts about past abuse and brief contemplation of suicide.

Enjoy this map of Kastrell!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Warm Moon/1,000,121 Visenya VI

Hylda and Sabitha were waiting for Rhaenyra when she left Lady Alicent’s apartments, having
remained posted beside the outer door like she’d asked. They immediately fell into step behind her
as she started off down the hall, neither saying a word. After guarding her for over nine million
years, they both knew her well enough to recognize her current mood.

As soon as she was far enough down the hall that she knew Lady Alicent couldn’t hear her,
Rhaenyra stopped. Bracing one hand against the wall, she heaved for breath, gagging and coughing
in order to rid her nose and lungs of the fear stench that had been pouring off of Lady Alicent in
suffocating waves. The room had been choked with it, and it had been all she could do not to retch
the entire time they’d been talking. The carriage ride had been even less bearable because of the
close quarters. While she’d long ago grown accustomed to the pungent reek of fear, it was always
somehow worse when the terrified person truly had no reason to be afraid.

Don’t be an idiot. Of course she has reason to be afraid. She’s in the clutches of the thrice-damned
Firestorm now. You butchered her people, and she knows it. She’s probably heard all sorts of horror
stories about you. Most of them true. Gritting her teeth, Rhaenyra shoved those thoughts away. She
wasn’t going to harm the Lady Alicent. Never. All she desired was for the other woman to feel safe.
And happy. So I must do all within my power to ensure that happiness.

Inhaling a shuddering breath, she dropped her hand from the wall, straightened, and composed
herself. She was aware of Hylda and Sabitha watching her like hawks, but thankfully, neither of
them commented on her dry heaving. She had no doubt that they would later, but at the moment,
she was far more focused on Lady Alicent. She’d interacted with and helped many terrified and
abused women during her lifetimes. She could do so again now.

Firstly, Lady Alicent needed something warm to eat.

Given how terrified the other woman was of her, she knew that it would be best to minimize their
contact and interactions as much as possible. Lady Alicent required someone who would not cause
her to panic, someone who would be gentle and kind and sympathetic, someone who would
genuinely care about who she was and not merely see her as a Westerosi.

There was truly only one woman fit for such a task.

Rhaenyra found Aemma organizing and assigning tasks to a group of about two-dozen women in
the great hall. Those gathered didn’t represent even a fraction of Stone Garden’s usual residents,
but they were the only ones who had returned to the palace thus far. When the War had begun,
everyone had been recalled to their home Queendom so they could be placed in their prearranged
military units. Despite all of its other failings, the Valyrian Military was very efficient with regards
to its overarching organization.

While the military was officially disbanded now that the War was over, women were expected to
remain in their native Queendoms—and more specifically their familial provinces—to aid in the
rebuilding and environmental restoration efforts. The result was that a majority of Stone Garden’s
staff and courtiers were elsewhere at the moment, and out of her seven Garden Knights, only Hylda
and Sabitha had come home.
Considering her Lily Knight was Saevaran, she hadn’t been surprised when Sabitha had arrived at
Dragon Ridge shortly after Penrhyn. The underwater Queendom of Saevara was the only one that
hadn’t been attacked during the War, so she expected that the Saevarans of her court would be the
first to return.

Hylda’s arrival mere hours after Sabitha’s had been more of a surprise considering Gelt had
suffered plenty of damage during the War. She’d assumed that her Shadow Knight would be away
for quite some time, though, in retrospect, that had been a rather foolish assumption. Hylda’s duty
as her Shadow Knight was to be by her side at all times, and it was a responsibility that she took
very seriously.

She predicted that most of her court would return over the next couple of years, and for now, they
would make do with the women available. She had no doubt that Aemma—who had been a fixture
in her life for even longer than Hylda and Sabitha—would be more than a match for the task.

Watching her now from the doorway, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at the familiar sight of
Aemma doling out assignments with practiced efficiency. The sight was made all the better by the
fact that Aemma actually looked like Aemma again.

During the War, everyone had deaged to the prime of their life—if they weren’t there already—so
Aemma had gone from appearing to be in her late six thousands to her early three thousands. Since
Rhaenyra had returned to Valyria, the few times that she’d encountered Aemma had been akin to
seeing a stranger. Her Aemma had always been soft and plump and grandmotherly, not hard and
muscled and unwrinkled.

Seeing her old heart friend now returned to her normal form provided a tangible reminder that the
War was indeed over.

Aemma looked over her shoulder when she scented her, making a ‘one moment’ gesture before
turning back to the others. “Oria, finish up here.” After receiving an affirmative, she left the other
women and came over to where Rhaenyra was standing. “Is something the matter?”

“No, but I need a favor of you.”

“All right.”

Rhaenyra smiled slightly at the complete lack of hesitation. “You haven’t even asked what it is
yet.”

Aemma snorted in a way that said she knew exactly what the favor was without needing to be told.
“I’m assuming it has something to do with that Westerosi woman.”

“Her name is Alicent.”

“Lady Alicent then.” Aemma raised an eyebrow. “So what of her?”

Rhaenyra glanced over at the gaggle of women, who were all doing their best to look as if they
weren’t eavesdropping. “Walk with me.” She strode out of the great hall, Aemma easily falling in
step with her while Hylda and Sabitha followed behind. They walked in silence for a long while
until they were out of earshot. “The Lady Alicent is terrified of me,” she explained quietly, “rightly
so, considering all that I did during the War, but she needs someone who can help her settle in.”
“Will she be staying long?” There was no judgment in Aemma’s voice, merely curiosity.

“That’s her decision to make.” Rhaenyra paused, turning to look at her old heart friend. “I was
hoping that you would be willing to attend her. I know that you have other duties, but with the
reduced staff and so few courtiers—”

“Of course I’ll watch over her, Rhaenyra.” Aemma smiled warmly. “It’s been too long since we’ve
had a proper guest.”

Rhaenyra returned the smile, thankful, as she always was, for Aemma being such a Relle-send.
“Have the chefs prepare something for her as soon as they’re able. She needs a hot meal more than
anything else tonight. She’s much too thin.” She was certain that that thinness came from being
underfed, but she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on the matter at present, knowing that it would
only infuriate her. “She’ll also need something to sleep in, and perhaps a bath if she wants one. Oh,
and we’ll need to see about finding her clothes that she can don and remove unassisted.”

“Food, nightclothes, a hot bath, garments she won’t require assistance putting on, and keeping an
eye on our new guest,” Aemma listed before giving Rhaenyra a wink. “I think I can manage all of
that.”

“Thank you.” She turned to go, but Aemma’s voice stopped her.

“Which chambers did you place her in?”

Blast it. Somehow, a foolish part of her had been hoping to avoid this conversation tonight. Though
I can hardly see how, considering she needs to know where Lady Alicent is in order to attend to her.
Bloody fool. She didn’t turn to face Aemma when she responded. “Alaura’s former apartments.”

Aemma made a noise of disapproval behind her. “Rhaenyra—”

She held up a hand to forestall her. “Don’t, Aemma. Please. Just don’t. I do not wish to argue with
you right now, and I also do not require a lecture.”

There was a moment of silence, then, “Very well, but only if you tell me why. Why put her in those
apartments? There are plenty of guest quarters available, both elsewhere in the Rose Tower and
throughout the Keep.”

“None of those quarters are near enough to mine for comfort. She must remain close, Aemma.”
And now she did turn to face her old heart friend, needing her to see the sincerity in her eyes,
needing her to understand. She’d spent the entire carriage ride from Valeria to Osmera debating
about where to house her new guest. “I won’t risk her harming or killing herself, and I need to be
close enough to her so that I can sense if she becomes overwrought.”

Aemma’s disapproving expression immediately melted into one of sympathy. “Is she truly in such a
dire state?”

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” Rhaenyra’s own expression darkened as she thought about
the bruises and scars marring Lady Alicent’s skin, about the terror that shone in her brown eyes and
the way she flinched whenever someone made a move towards her. “She’s suffered more than
anyone ever ought, and I worry that being here, at the moment, may push her to do something
foolish.” And it was not as if she could monitor the Lady Alicent by mirror. All of the apartments
within the Keep—rightfully so—were shielded to prevent such flagrant invasions of privacy.
Aemma nodded her understanding. “I see.” She rubbed her forehead and let out a heavy sigh. “Well
then, I’d best go see to her.”

Alicent paced anxiously around the great bedchamber, her mind whirring as she worked to deduce
the Firestorm’s plans. Obviously, all of that talk earlier about freedom and safety was merely for
show, but she couldn’t fathom the purpose behind such tantalizing words. Perhaps the Firestorm
was attempting to lull her into a false sense of security, but that seemed foolish. Surely the
Firestorm knew that she would never lower her guard on this planet. She wasn’t that stupid.

She wondered if perhaps she should have said that she wanted to return to Westeros, simply to learn
what would happen if she accepted one of the Firestorm’s offers. But had the Firestorm actually
acquiesced . . . She couldn’t face Lord—Criston—again after what had transpired this day. Though,
perhaps it would have been better to remain with him?

After twenty-three years of marriage, she knew well his games and his provocations. She knew
what expressions and phrases usually preceded a beating or a whipping. She knew the glint in his
eyes that always came before a night with the knives. She knew the cruel smile that curled his lips
on days that he intended to share her.

She didn’t know anything about the Firestorm aside from her war history, and that was terrifying
enough. But perhaps it would be easier to endure the Firestorm’s tortures. Perhaps being trapped
here was somehow better.

At least that was what she kept telling herself.

I’ve been cut before. I’ve been burned. I’ve been choked. I’ve been beaten and whipped with all
manner of implements. I’ve been starved. I’ve had my nails ripped off. Nearly all of my bones have
been broken at least once. What can the Firestorm possibly do to me that Lord—Criston—hasn’t?

She didn’t know, which she supposed was rather alarming in and of itself. She wasn’t certain that
she even wanted to know what was worse than all that had already been done to her.

Her eyes closed when the floor suddenly seemed to dip in front of her. She immediately stopped
pacing and grabbed the nearest solid object to steady herself. Sytarr, she was exhausted. All she
wanted to do was sleep and forget everything that was happening, but she didn’t feel that she
should be sitting on anything given her current state. While she wasn’t dirty per se, it had been a
while since she’d had a proper shower or bath.

She slowly inhaled several shaking breaths as her eyes scanned the room for the hundredth time. It
was large. Far larger than she’d been expecting. And spacious too, not overcrowded or cluttered.
There was so much space. Open space. Yes. Plenty of open space. She knew that she should be
thanking Sytarr for being given so much space. The mere thought of being trapped somewhere dark
and cramped made her heartbeat quicken and sweat bead on her forehead.

Gulping a little, she hurried over to the nearest window and threw it open, desperately needing to
feel fresh air on her face. The windows were a precious luxury that she’d been denied back home.
Sometimes, she’d gone for months without feeling the sun on her face or the wind in her hair. Once
Lord—Criston—had realized that she was claustrophobic, he’d delighted in locking her away in
windowless rooms where she couldn’t see the sun.
Bracing her hands on the sill, she leaned forward until she could feel the breeze against her
overheated cheeks. As she stared down at the ground far below, she wondered absently exactly how
high up she was. While she’d lost count of the many flights of stairs that she’d ascended, she
estimated that her room was at least twelve stories above the ground. Certainly high enough to kill
me if I jumped, she mused. It would be so easy, too. Simply climb up onto the sill and . . . let myself
fall.

Just as she was contemplating whether or not the Firestorm would have devised some way to
prevent her from jumping, a knock jarred her from her thoughts. Heart thundering in her chest, she
whirled to face the door. When was the last time someone knocked before coming into my rooms?
She couldn’t remember.

Clasping her hands together to prevent them from shaking, she took a deep breath to steady herself.
“Come in.” She was very pleased by the lack of a tremor in her voice.

The door opened, and a plump, older woman bustled into the room. Her silvery-white hair was
pulled back into a neat bun, and her face was lined and warm. Small bags hung beneath her eyes,
and there was a mark on her neck, a faint scar where her neck met her shoulder. It looked like a bite
mark. Alicent had seen such marks on a number of Valyrians, though she couldn’t fathom what
they meant. But the strange scar on the older woman’s neck was swiftly forgotten when Alicent
saw what was in her hands.

A silver tray, polished to the point of shining in the light of the orbs floating in the air. Neatly
arranged on its flat surface was a steaming bowl of what she now recognized as soup, a slice of
thick bread, and a glass of what could be wine or fruit juice. The soup’s broth looked rich and thick,
and small bits of meat were floating among the vegetables and noodles. The bread had seeds baked
into the crust, and the inside lightly buttered.

Alicent’s mouth watered at the sight, and her stomach grumbled loudly. She wished there was a
way for her to silence it, but it had been so long since she’d last eaten. And while she’d grown
accustomed to enduring long periods without food, she’d never managed to master her stomach
enough to prevent it from complaining about its deprivation, or from making its desires known
when food was nearby.

“Good evening, My Lady.” The woman offered her a warm smile and a brief curtsy.

Alicent stared at her dumbly, unsure what to make of the greeting. The servants in Lord—Criston’s
—household had ceased showing her deference over two decades ago, and even the service bots
had been programmed to treat her with derision. “Um, good evening.” «A lady does not say um.»
Her mother’s harsh voice echoed in her ears, and she automatically bit her tongue.

The plump woman’s smile didn’t waver, and Alicent couldn’t help but think that she looked just
like a kindly old grandmother. “My name is Aemma Arryn, Lady Alicent. I am the seneschal of
Stone Garden, and you may feel free to call me Aemma.”

Years of training in the art of decorum had Alicent saying, “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” even as her
mind raced to determine what this new development meant. Why had the Firestorm sent this
woman to her?

Seneschal Aemma went over to one of the tables and carefully set the food down. “I’m afraid we
can’t offer you much more at present. Nearly the entire kitchen staff is still elsewhere, and this was
all prepared rather quickly for those of us who have come home. I hope you’re not allergic to
chicken and noodles.”

“I don’t have any allergies,” Alicent replied distractedly, unable to tear her eyes away from the
food, but unwilling to go anywhere near it without express permission. She knew better. Whatever
game the Firestorm was playing, in this at least, she knew better.

Seneschal Aemma watched her, as if waiting for something.

Alicent remained where she was.

Seneschal Aemma lightly prodded the soup bowl. “Are you hungry?”

The question made her freeze even as she breathed an internal sigh of relief. And so the game
begins. Whether she’d meant to or not, Seneschal Aemma had just given herself away. Now Alicent
knew for certain that this was all some sort of elaborate ruse the Firestorm had concocted to
unbalance her. But I already know this game. Lord—Criston blast it—had often asked her if she
was hungry when the mood struck him, and she’d quickly learned that there was no correct answer.

The first time, she’d said “yes,” and he’d taken great delight in eating in front of her and then
making a show of throwing away the scraps. The second time, she’d tried saying “no,” and he’d
beaten her bloody and then starved her for a week. By the third time, she’d realized that there was
no answer that wouldn’t result in some sort of punishment. More oft than not, she’d said “yes”
when asked if she was hungry, having decided that being taunted was better than a beating and
starvation.

But what answer was the Firestorm expecting her to give? What punishments did she have planned
for each answer? And was Seneschal Aemma to administer them? Or was she simply a piece of the
game?

Alicent began to tremble as the different possibilities swirled around in her mind.

“Lady Alicent, I can see that you’re hungry,” Seneschal Aemma said gently.

Then why bother asking the question? This was the part that she hated most, when she was taunted
and tempted into saying something that would earn her a punishment.

Sighing, the seneschal came over and began herding her towards the table. “You need to eat
something, My Lady. You’re practically skin and bones.”

Alicent wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended by the statement. She knew that she was thin, but
recently, she’d actually been eating more than usual. Somewhat. Brigadier Medora had provided
her and her fellow captives with three meals each day, which was two more than she had grown
accustomed to back home.

Of course, eventually, she and her sister-wives had been escorted to Dragon Ridge and returned to
Criston—yes, good—who had been quick to withhold all food from her after Arilla reported how
much she’d been fed by the Valyrians. She supposed that whatever bit of weight she’d gained in
captivity had been quickly shed once she was back with her former husband.

She suddenly found herself sitting in front of the tray of food without even realizing she’d sat
down. A spoon was placed in her hand, and she stiffened when Seneschal Aemma patted her back.
“Eat up, My Lady. And make sure to drink a little. The juice will allow you to speak and
understand Kastrellan.”

It was an order. It may have been given in a tone of gentle encouragement, but it was an order all
the same. Surely that meant she was actually allowed to eat. Surely it meant that she wouldn’t be
punished for doing so.

Her stomach decided for her, because she found herself tentatively dipping the spoon into the
waiting soup. She fished out a small bit of “chicken” with some noodles and broth, not taking her
eyes off of Seneschal Aemma in case she tried to stop her. As soon as the soup touched her tongue,
her eyes closed in delight. The meat and noodles tasted delicious, and the warm broth went straight
to her empty stomach. She’d never had soup before coming to Valyria, though she’d read about it in
a historical archive once when she was younger.

She instinctively began devouring the meal, knowing from harsh experience that simply because
food had been given didn’t mean that it couldn’t be taken away.

“My Lady,” Seneschal Aemma squawked, and then her hand was around Alicent’s wrist to stop her
from gulping down another spoonful of soup.

Alicent’s arm instantly went limp in her grasp, the spoon and its contents falling from her hand. She
dropped her head, waiting for the blow or the screaming.

Seneschal Aemma quickly released her and took a step back. “My apologies, Lady Alicent. I
shouldn’t have grabbed you.”

Alicent bit her lip, wishing that Seneschal Aemma would just scream at her. She could handle
screaming, but she hated being toyed with.

“You need to eat slowly,” Seneschal Aemma continued. “You’ll make yourself sick otherwise.” She
telekinetically picked up the spoon and placed it back in Alicent’s hand. “There’s no need to rush.”

As Alicent resumed eating, she made sure to take her time. She watched the seneschal out of the
corner of her eye, relaxing a little when she saw an approving nod. Deciding that the Firestorm
must have given orders to fatten her up or some such, she allowed herself to enjoy the food. This
grace period would inevitably end, so she ought to enjoy the luxuries while she could.

As she continued eating, Seneschal Aemma bustled away from her and began inspecting the room.
“Hmm, I’ll need to assign someone to give this place a proper dusting. No one has used these
apartments since Dowager Queen Viserra’s reign.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ve been
assigned to you for the time being because most of our staff is elsewhere helping with the
rebuilding and restoration, and those who are here are busy with other duties. If you so choose,
someone else can be assigned to you, but probably not for a while yet.”

Alicent looked over at her, fingers picking nervously at the bread. She decided that she probably
ought to try and play along with whatever game the Firestorm had concocted. It might give her
some insight into the woman. She knew that Seneschal Aemma and the meal were meant to
confuse her, but she still didn’t know the ultimate goal. “So, you’re here to help me?”

“Anything you need.” Seneschal Aemma spread her arms. “I am at your disposal.”

“The Fire—err, Commander Rhaenyra assigned you?”

“Her Majesty did indeed.”

Majesty. That was her title. She tucked that bit of information away for later. She looked at the
seneschal for a long moment before quietly asking, “Has Her Majesty said what she . . . intends for
me?” What was the harm in asking? She didn’t expect a real answer, or even a truthful one, but any
answer would provide her with potentially valuable information about the Firestorm’s intentions.
Lies could reveal as much as truth, in some instances.

Seneschal Aemma cocked her head. “I would have thought that she had told you herself. You are to
be her guest here for as long as you desire.”

Alicent took a deep breath, deciding to gamble. “But . . . I mean . . . if I ever angered her . . .”

The seneschal’s smile dropped.

Alicent flinched.

“Oh dear,” she sighed. Seneschal Aemma approached her, reaching out with one hand, but letting it
fall when she saw Alicent recoil. “You poor thing. Rhaenyra is not going to hurt you, Lady Alicent.
She doesn’t harm the innocent.”

There was no way for her to respond without sounding impertinent, so she remained silent.

Seneschal Aemma sighed again, shaking her head. “When you’re finished with supper, would you
care for a bath, My Lady? We should still have soaps and shampoos squirreled away somewhere.”

Alicent stiffened, the spoon nearly falling from her hand again. The thought of being naked in front
of this stranger made her want to retch. She’d had more than enough of that back home. While she
didn’t think that Seneschal Aemma would leer at her or grope her the way Lo—Criston’s—friends
always did, she didn’t want anyone seeing the hideous wreck of her body. Scars marred every part
of her from the neck down—her back was almost entirely scar tissue—and she still had fresh
bruises from the beating Criston had given her the night before.

“No thank you,” she mumbled, praying that the seneschal hadn’t been instructed to punish her for
refusing a bath.

Seneschal Aemma’s eyebrows drew together, but she made no move to raise her hand. “How about
this? I’ll go and draw you a bath, and then you can wash when you’re ready. I can also leave the
room if you wish, if it’s privacy that has you concerned.”

Alicent hesitated. It had been so long since she’d properly bathed or showered, but the thought of
being naked in this strange place unnerved her. What if Seneschal Aemma’s offer was merely a part
of some elaborate ruse so that the Firestorm could catch her at her most vulnerable? Perhaps the
Firestorm desired her naked so that she could properly examine her newest specimen. Perhaps she
found it amusing to have the specimen do the disrobing itself. Or perhaps the Firestorm simply
wished to humiliate her by forcing her to display herself to a stranger. As if I need reminding of how
hideous I am to look upon.

But what if Seneschal Aemma’s offer wasn’t merely some ploy? What if it was simply another way
for the Firestorm to lull her into a false sense of safety so that when the torture began, it would be
all the more terrible? Perhaps it’s not as satisfying to torture a half-starved and dirty specimen. She
could be trying to raise me to a certain level of health before she begins. While she’d never been to
any of the meat farms back home, she’d read enough about the process to know that any sensible
producer made sure to keep the animals healthy and to fatten them up before slaughtering them.
And what am I, if not a sacrificial beast?

She groaned inwardly. She could feel the beginnings of a headache, but she resisted the urge to
massage her temples. She would not show weakness in front of Seneschal Aemma. The other
woman may look like a kindly old grandmother, but she was the Firestorm’s creature. I’m so tired
of this. It was exhausting. The constant vigilance, the perpetual necessity of suspecting every word
and action of others, it was draining, and it was wearing on her. Perhaps that’s the Firestorm’s
game. A war of attrition.

If that were the case, could she afford to turn away from every false gesture made to her? I should
enjoy the luxuries while I can.

Decision made, she gave the seneschal a small nod. “All right then.”

Seneschal Aemma beamed and clapped her hands together. “Wonderful.” She turned and started
walking towards the open door on the other side of the bed, but paused to look at her over her
shoulder. “Why don’t you finish eating while I prepare your bath?”

Alicent nodded obediently, watching as the seneschal disappeared into the dark room that she’d
earlier suspected was the lavatory. The darkness evaporated a moment later, replaced by soft, off-
white light. She must have created another of those orbs.

As she finished eating her soup, her eyes continued to wander back to the orbs that hovered all
around the room. She’d been intrigued by them from the moment she first saw a Valyrian sergeant
conjure one. Each orb was identical to all of the others, and they had remained completely
stationary since the Firestorm had created them.

She wondered if there was a way to dim them at night, the way she could the lights back home. If
there is, it probably requires magic. While the thought of sleeping in a well-lit bedchamber wasn’t
terribly appealing, it was certainly preferable to the alternative. Better too much light than too little.
Besides, I probably shouldn’t be trying to sleep anyway. Sleep brought with it nightmares.

She looked over at the doorway leading into the lavatory, her ears detecting the faint sound of
running water. Her eyes returned to the orbs of light, settling on one that was low enough to be
level with her head if she stood on the tips of her toes.

I should wait here until Seneschal Aemma fetches me. Just stay still. Stay still. The orbs aren’t even
that interesting. They’re just a collection of photons. Nothing special. I know all that I need to know
about them. Just stay still. Stay still. A lady is calm and poised. A lady knows when to remain silent
and still. Her inability to remain still had always gotten her into trouble when she was a child, and
she knew that it was going to lead her into trouble now as well.

Eventually, her curiosity overcame her. Rising from the chair, she slowly padded over to the low-
floating orb, careful to keep her steps as light and quiet as possible. Once she was standing in front
of it, she tilted her head back to better inspect the strange light. I wonder how the Valyrians make
them. It must involve somehow condensing the photons into a discrete shape, or perhaps it’s not
photons at all. Perhaps it’s pure magical energy. Did that even exist?

Tentatively, she extended her hand until it was hovering about half an inch from the orb’s surface.
She’d expected to feel heat radiating from the strange sphere of light, but there was nothing.
Hoping that she wasn’t about to burn her hand, she closed the distance between the tips of her
fingers and the orb.

Her eyes widened with surprise when she encountered a smooth, solid surface. The orb wasn’t hot
to the touch, or even particularly warm, but it wasn’t cold either. How can there be no heat? She
knew that it was possible to make light without heat through a chemiluminescent reaction, but this
orb didn’t resemble any sort of chemiluminescent reaction she’d ever seen before.

The feeling of the orb beneath her fingers reminded her of the time she’d been allowed to touch the
smooth, convex glass of an antique light bulb. When she applied a little more pressure to the orb,
she gasped in surprise as her fingers sank into the light. Jerking her hand back, she carefully
inspected her fingers for any signs of damage, but there was nothing. No marks. No pain. Nothing
at all. How is that possible?

She reached up again to rest her palm against the orb’s smooth surface. Pressing a little harder, she
watched as her hand disappeared into the light. When she flexed her fingers inside the orb, the light
didn’t so much as waver in response. A feeling of childish delight was quickly overtaking her as
she marveled at the fact that she was touching light. The strange sensation reminded her of swiping
her hand through a pool of water. There was enough resistance that she could feel a slight drag on
her skin, but not enough to actually impede her hand’s movement.

“Eh-hem. My Lady?”

Whirling around, Alicent gulped when she saw Seneschal Aemma standing in the lavatory’s
doorway. “I, I’m sorry,” she stuttered, shrinking into herself. I should have remained sitting. I
shouldn’t have moved. A lady knows when to remain silent and still.

The seneschal only responded with a gentle smile that was almost indulgent. “There’s no need to
apologize, Lady Alicent. I’ve found that most of Her Majesty’s guests can’t help but be drawn to
the light-orbs. They’re fascinating, no?”

Alicent offered a small nod, eyes flicking warily from Seneschal Aemma’s face to her hands. She’d
learned long ago to always watch a person’s hands. Of course, she’s capable of sending me flying
across the room with her mind, so perhaps I need to reconsider that approach.

“Personally, I’ve long been of the opinion that light-orbs are among the greatest magical
innovations ever devised. Second—perhaps third—only to the mirror and teleportation spells.”

Mirror spells? Teleportation spells? Before she could voice the question aloud, she was suddenly
struck by a memory of seeing a Valyrian corporal looking down at a hand mirror and talking to it.
She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but it now occurred to her that perhaps the other woman
had actually been communicating with someone rather than simply speaking aloud to herself.

“Anyhow, you’ll have plenty of time to study the light-orbs more closely later.” Seneschal Aemma
swept her arm out to indicate the lavatory behind her. “Your bath is prepared and waiting for you
whenever you’re ready, My Lady. I’d advise not dallying too long though, or the water will grow
cold.”

With that, the seneschal bobbed a brief curtsy before making her way to the door that led out of the
bedchamber. “Enjoy your bath, My Lady. I’ll return in the morning with breakfast.” She paused at
the door, hand hovering over the handle. “If there is anything you need before then, pull that cord.”
She pointed to a long, elegantly woven rope of purple and blue fabric that hung beside the bed,
partially obscured by the drawn curtains of the canopy.

“Thank you, Seneschal.” Alicent kept her eyes lowered until she heard the door open and close
again. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, she shook out her shoulders and then hurried into the
lavatory, determined to enjoy the warm bath while she still could.

The quiet hum of voices filled the small supper hall and Margaery’s ears as they all waited for
Aemma to arrive. The seneschal had summoned them for a meeting several minutes ago, but she
had yet to appear. From her seat at one of the long tables, Margaery glanced around the room at the
two-dozen or so women milling about or sitting at tables and talking. Nigh all of them were
Kastrellan or from the Dragon Court. The only exceptions were Ygritte Mormont and Aly
Blackwood. While Ygritte was currently the only Nord and Aly the only Saevaran present, she
suspected that wouldn’t be true for more than six months.

With the exception of Saevara, Norden had suffered the least during the War because the Westerosi
had been reluctant to invade the frozen northern continent. She’d heard that their reluctance was
due to the fact that Westeros was much warmer than Valyria, but who really knew what went on in
the minds of insane males who decided to invade a planet of immortals. Though given their
immunity to magic, perhaps they weren’t entirely insane.

She shook her head. Whatever the Westerosi were, they were gone now. Well, except for one. She
couldn’t for the life of her fathom why Queen Rhaenyra had brought a Westerosi woman to Stone
Garden, though she assumed there had to be a good reason. As eccentric as the Queen could be, she
never did anything without reason.

“She’s gone mad,” Adela declared loudly, drawing the attention of nearly every woman in the
room. She was standing between the two largest tables in the middle of the supper hall, hands on
her hips.

Lilia, one of Queen Rhaenyra’s attendants, frowned slightly. “Who?”

“The Queen.” Adela’s eyes sparked with challenge. “She’s gone completely mad, allowing that
Westerosi to stay here.”

“You shouldn’t speak of Her Majesty that way,” Nimreth chided. She was one of the oldest women
in the room at the moment, and she let her age show in the lines on her face.

“Has Queen Rhaenyra not oft told us that we may criticize her as we wish so long as we do not plot
her murder?”

Aly, who was sitting across from Margaery, rolled her eyes. “I believe she’s being sarcastic.”

Adela harrumphed. “That doesn’t change the fact that she’s completely mad to let that thing stay
here.”

Oria was nodding slowly, lips pursing. “I can’t say that I wholly disagree. Why would the Queen
bring an enemy to the heart of Kastrell?”
“Exactly.” Venom dripped from Adela’s words, and Margaery was suddenly reminded that the seat
of Adela’s Clan had been all but obliterated by one of the Westerosi’s aerial bombardments. It was
really a wonder that she was here rather than helping to rebuild Goldengrove. “The woman is a
Westerosi. Her people tried to destroy us. Three years—”

“Are nothing in the grand scheme of things,” Ygritte interrupted loudly. “It was an infinitesimal
speck of time.”

“You would say that, seeing as how so little of your Queendom was damaged.”

“Don’t you dare imply that my people suffered less than yours,” Ygritte snapped. “We had just as
many women on the battlefields as you southerners. My sisters bled beside yours to protect your
homes.”

At Ygritte’s words, Margaery’s hand unthinkingly drifted up to the mate mark on her neck. Sansa
had been grievously injured while fighting in Wythers Province, and she was still recovering from
her wounds. Hence why she hadn’t returned to Stone Garden with her.

“Enough.” Nimreth was on her feet and thumping her hand on the table. “Bringing the Westerosi
woman here was Her Majesty’s decision. It is not for us to pick it apart like a carcass.”

Adela scowled, shaking her head. “I simply do not understand why she would give sanctuary to a
Westerosi.”

“She’s not giving sanctuary to a Westerosi.” Aemma strode into the supper hall, drawing
everyone’s attention.

Margaery wondered how none of them had scented or heard her coming. Too distracted, I suppose.

Adela’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, Aemma walked over to the hearth that dominated one wall. She used her
telekinesis to lift herself about a meter into the air so she could reach the mirror that hung above the
mantel. Pressing her fingers against the glass, she muttered a quick spell before returning to the
ground. "From earlier this very evening," was all she offered by way of explanation.

Margaery, along with all the other gathered women, watched as the reflection in the mirror became
obscured by swirling mist. The mist dissipated a moment later to reveal one of the halls leading
towards the Rose Tower, judging the potted plumerias and one of the broken stained-glass
windows. Their Queen was striding purposefully down the hall, but at a much slower pace than was
usual for her.

Trailing in her wake was a young woman wrapped in a tattered black cloak. Her head was bowed,
and a curtain of auburn hair obscured her face. She held one of her own wrists in a white-knuckled
grip, and she flinched every time the Queen glanced back at her. When she quickened her pace to
catch up with Queen Rhaenyra, her cloak parted just enough to reveal too-thin arms covered in a
myriad of scars and bruises both old and new.

Margaery’s horrified gasp was echoed by every woman in the hall.

Aemma held up a finger. “Wait.”

The auburn-haired woman finally lifted her head to respond to something Queen Rhaenyra had
asked, and in so doing, she revealed a battered face that was an ugly patchwork of purple and
yellow. Her red-rimmed eyes were wide and frightened, and her hands trembled even as she plainly
made a valiant effort to conceal her terror and answer the Queen.

“Seven Hells,” Margaery swore, knowing her sentiments were shared by all of the women around
her as they were given their first look at their Queen’s guest.

Nimreth made the sign of the star, and Margaery knew it wasn’t in response to her curse.

Aemma folded her arms as she looked at them, expression stern. “Her Majesty isn’t giving
sanctuary to a Westerosi. She’s giving sanctuary to a woman in desperate need of our help.” Her
eyes scorched over them, focusing on Adela. “Would you dare deny her that?”

Adela lowered her head shamefully. “I didn’t know.”

“Obviously.”

“Did her husband do that?” Margaery’s cheeks were hot with fury at the mere thought.

“Yes.”

Low snarls and growls rumbled in the women’s throats.

Ygritte, her canines lengthened to deadly points, looked as if she had half a mind to teleport to
Westeros right that moment and tear out Lord Cole’s throat. “That thrice-damned bastard.”

“May Relle Darklight curse his soul,” Lilia agreed.

“As well as the rest of him,” Margaery growled. Merciful Mother. She’d known the Westerosi had a
disgustingly patriarchal society, so she supposed that she wasn’t entirely surprised, but seeing the
state of this poor woman made her blood boil. Males are such beasts.

“Her Majesty has invited Lady Alicent to stay here for as long as she desires,” Aemma continued.
“We are all to be at her disposal. Is that understood?”

“Of course.” Nimreth’s expression was soft with sadness. “Poor thing.”

“Will we be able to see her?” Adela asked, her earlier hostility completely vanished.

Aemma shrugged. “Her Majesty has given Lady Alicent free rein of Stone Garden. Whether she
decides to use it is her decision. We are all to be polite and solicitous should we encounter her.”

“Of course we will,” Nimreth promised. “After the horrors that poor woman has been through, the
least we can do is show her a little kindness.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Aemma smiled. “Good. Then this meeting is concluded.”

∞
Alicent wandered aimlessly around her room, still unable to settle or relax. It was over four hours
past midnight, and she was exhausted, but she didn’t dare seek sleep. Sleep was almost always
accompanied by nightmares, and her nightmares sometimes ended with her waking up screaming.
Back home, her disruptions had, at best, earned her brutal beatings from Criston and withholding of
food from Arilla, and, at worst, time in the cage.

She didn’t know how the Firestorm would react, but she was petrified at the thought of finding out.
For now, the Firestorm seemed content to maintain the façade of benevolent savior, but Alicent had
no idea how long that part of the game would continue. Besides, the Firestorm didn’t know about
her nightmares. If she awoke screaming, it might well be enough to make the Firestorm abandon
the act and reveal the monster that lay beneath the kind smiles and gentle promises.

She’d already explored all of her rooms, but aside from the fact that her chambers reminded her of
something out of an ancient history book or a child’s tale, there hadn’t been much of interest or
worry. The one oddity she’d come across was a locked door on the right side of the bedchamber.
Curious about what lay behind it, she’d searched the room until she found a silver key with a rose
stamped into the metal. The key had fit perfectly into the lock, but when she’d unlocked and
opened the door, she’d been faced with a second locked door. The key hadn’t worked on that one.

After that, she’d returned to the low hovering light-orb to conduct a proper examination. However,
while she’d spent a good two hours scrutinizing the magical orb as extensively and meticulously as
she could, she hadn’t been able to ascertain much beyond what her senses could tell her. She still
couldn’t fathom how the Valyrians managed to condense photons into discrete and tangible matter
that also maintained the ability to emit light, nor could she determine why the orb didn’t radiate
heat. She’d finally abandoned her unsuccessful investigation about three hours ago.

With nothing else to do, she’d been reduced to pacing in an attempt to remain awake. She’d briefly
contemplated the window again, but she suddenly found herself oddly reluctant to jump. As she
made what had to be her thousandth circuit around the room, her eyes lingered on the bookshelf.
How long had it been since she’d been able to sit and enjoy a bit of reading? She had no idea. She
liked reading, and while she’d been allowed to read at home, she hadn’t been able to bring anything
from her personal library with her to Valyria.

Going over to the bookcase, she couldn’t help but reach out and brush her fingers along the bound
spines. Printed books like these were rare and sometimes-treasured antiques back home. Normal
reading materials were all digitized and housed in electronic archives or holo-crystals. The contents
of this entire bookcase would hardly take up any room at all on a single archival crystal.

Her eyes skimmed over the titles, searching for something interesting: The Beginning of the Golden
Age, Daenerys’ Trial, The Queen’s Rose, The Sacred Twelve and Reviled Seven, Blackbird’s Bluff, A
Long Ride to Osla, Daughters of the Moon, The Last Curse, Twelve Dancing Princesses, The Silver
Crown, Heart’s Soul, Blood of Raella, Voyage of the Blood Rose. Reaching out, she removed The
Sacred Twelve and Reviled Seven from its place nestled between Harmony’s Rising and The Last
Storm Lady.

Retreating to one of the chairs beneath a window, she sat down and opened the book. It was written
by a woman named Matriarch Alestera Tyrell. The name sounded familiar, and she was almost
certain that Alestera Tyrell was the same woman who had decimated the battalions fighting on
Bloom Island. Opening to the introduction, she realized with surprise that this was a book about
Valyrian ethics.
 The Sacred Codex of Relle teaches us that there are Seven Great Virtues and Seven Great
Vices. In alphabetical order, the Virtues are Ambition, Compassion, Honor, Intelligence,
Justice, Loyalty, and Wisdom. The Vices of Laziness, Cruelty, Cowardice, Ignorance, Malice,
Treachery, and Arrogance are their respective opposites. In addition to the Seven Great
Virtues, there are also the Five Lesser Virtues of Unity, Truth, Cunning, Passion, and Courage.
In this book, we shall explore the intricacies of each of the Twelve Virtues and Seven Vices.

Realizing that this book could provide valuable insight into the psyches of the women who now
surrounded her, she quickly finished the introduction and continued on to the body of the text. In
addition to being well written, it was surprisingly engrossing. She read about how each Great
Virtue had a corresponding Vice, how Valyrians differentiated intelligence and wisdom, how justice
must be tempered by compassion, how justice and vengeance were synonymous with each other yet
markedly distinct from malice and cruelty. The chapter explaining the differences between
vengeance, malice, and cruelty was particularly interesting.

For many, understanding the inherent distinctions between Vengeance, Malice, and Cruelty
can be difficult because all three are very closely related and exist on a sort of spectrum.
However, where Vengeance is directly linked to the virtue of Justice, Malice and Cruelty are
among the worst of the Vices. It is essential that a woman be able to distinguish between the
three of them, so we shall begin by elucidating the definitions of all three.

Vengeance, also called revenge or retribution, is a time-honored and respected practice in our
society that is defined as causing harm to another in direct response to that person’s wrongful
actions. The harm a woman inflicts on another must be of equal measure to the harm inflicted
upon her, otherwise the action is Malice rather than Vengeance. Vengeance is socially
acceptable because it is assumed that the person a woman exacts Vengeance upon has done
something to deserve it.

Malice, in contrast to Vengeance, is the act of causing harm without a good or just reason.
This lack of justification is the primary difference between Vengeance and Malice, and it is
why Malice is among the Vices. However, the line between the two can oft be very thin, and
Vengeance can easily become Malice if taken too far. Following the law of equivalence is key
here, which is to say that the punishment must fit the crime. Anything beyond that is
considered Malice and thus immoral. More oft than not, Malice manifests as disproportionate
Vengeance.

Cruelty, like Malice, is among the Great Vices. It lies on the far end of this spectrum and is in
many ways worse than Malice because of the wicked intent behind it. Cruelty is linked with
sadism in that a cruel person delights in the suffering of others, whether they are the direct
cause of such suffering or if they are merely observing it. In contrast, while Malice does not
require the malicious person to enjoy the harm they are inflicting, it does require that they be
the ones perpetrating the torment upon the other person. Cruelty can also refer to a person’s
indifference to another’s suffering, and whether this latter manifestation is worse than the
more conventional one or not is an oft-debated topic.
Alicent stared down at the book, her mind churning as she tried to analyze everything she’d just
read. Criston had always justified his actions as reactionary and appropriate given her failings, but
she wondered if Valyrians would agree, or if they would consider what he’d done malicious. As
soon as the thought occurred to her, she knew that she already had the answer. “What he did was
malicious and cruel.” The Firestorm’s words echoed in her mind.

After what she’d just read, those words took on an entirely new meaning. Had the Firestorm truly
meant them? Could Alicent perhaps expect some sort of restraint from the other woman based on
Valyrian ethics? But what would the Firestorm consider appropriate retribution for everything
Alicent’s people had done? Her eyes flicked back down to the page, rereading the sentence that had
especially caught her attention the first time.

Following the law of equivalence is key here, which is to say that the punishment must fit the
crime.

What punishment could possibly fit all of the crimes her people had committed against the
Valyrians over the past three years? Would the Firestorm consider it appropriate to inflict all of
those punishments upon her? Or would that somehow be considered malice? A different chapter
had noted that justice—and by extension, she supposed, vengeance—must be tempered by
compassion.

Perhaps that was why the Firestorm had been treating her so kindly thus far. She was tempering her
future vengeance with compassion now. Or perhaps Alicent was overthinking all of this. Did any of
these ethical considerations she was reading about even apply to her given that she was a
Westerosi?

Rubbing her forehead in an attempt to alleviate the headache she could feel coming on, she
refocused on the book in her lap and continued reading.

Rhaenyra’s whole body was tense with worry as she stood outside Lady Alicent’s bedchamber the
next morning. She felt like such an idiot. Of all the things she’d done the night before to ensure
Lady Alicent’s health and safety, enchanting the windows to prevent her guest from trying to
commit suicide by jumping hadn’t been one of them. Last night, she’d lain awake for hours as Lady
Alicent paced around her room, but then her guest’s anxiety had lessened enough that she’d been
able to find her own fitful sleep.

Unbeknownst to Lady Alicent, she had placed her in apartments adjacent to her own so that, should
anything happen during the night, she’d be able to respond quickly. There was a pair of doors
connecting their rooms, but each one was shielded and could only be unlocked from its respective
side. Even if she were to unlock her own door, she’d still be faced with Lady Alicent’s, and vice
versa.

Despite all of that, this morning, she’d woken in a terror that perhaps Lady Alicent had done
something foolish during the night, which was why she now stood outside her bedchamber door.
She closed her eyes and listened for Lady Alicent’s heartbeat, but the door had been designed
specifically to muffle noises and offer the occupant privacy.
Shaking her head, she raised her fist and rapped lightly.

No response.

“Lady Alicent?” she called, keeping her voice level and not so loud that it might startle her.

No response.

Seven Hells. She tested the handle and found it unlatched. Pushing the door open, she stepped into
Lady Alicent’s bedchamber and was greeted by the sight of the other woman sound asleep in a
chair by an open window. Her chest rose and fell steadily, and she appeared perfectly peaceful.
Given the way she was positioned, it was plain that she hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the chair.

Rhaenyra breathed a sigh of relief even as she felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of her stomach for
intruding. I’ll be gone as soon as I’ve enchanted the windows. Then she’ll never have to see me
again if she doesn’t want to. Nodding to herself, she floated a few centimeters into the air so she
could cross the room without the risk of disturbing Lady Alicent’s slumber with her footfalls.

She began with the windows farthest from where Lady Alicent slept, casting spells so that, if Lady
Alicent were to jump, she would immediately be caught by a cushion of air and Rhaenyra would be
alerted. As she swiftly moved from window to window, she couldn’t help but steal glances at Lady
Alicent from the corner of her eye. This was probably the only chance she’d ever have to see Lady
Alicent without terror and sadness in her eyes, or to be near her without the sharp tang of fear
wreathing her.

Once she was finished with the windows, she stood in the middle of the room and appraised the
space in search of any additional potential hazards. Against her will, her eyes kept returning to
Lady Alicent and lingering.

You’re being a terrible person.

I know that. Do you think I don’t know that?

You should just leave.

I know.

But her feet refused to move.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The strong, steady rhythm of Lady Alicent’s heartbeat reached her ears,
making her sigh contentedly. Merciful Mother, what is wrong with me? Gritting her teeth, she
finally stopped fighting and allowed her eyes to remain on the other woman, despite the guilt and
discomfort clawing at her stomach. I’ll never lay eyes on her again after this. I’ll leave her be and
never enter her chambers again.

You’re still a bloody fool.

Perhaps she was, but she was also exhausted. Her sleep the night before, when it had finally come,
had been fitful, just as it had been since returning home to fight the Westerosi. She was tired of
fighting. This is simply a moment’s indulgence. Nothing more. One tiny moment of selfishness.
Surely she was allowed that every few millennia.
 Her eyes swept over Lady Alicent, memorizing her features. She was a lovely woman. How could
she not be? With her slender frame, fair skin, auburn hair, and large brown eyes? True, she was
rather skinny at present, but that would change once she began eating properly. The bruises that
marred her face and arms and the scars that were visible because the nightgown lacked sleeves
made Rhaenyra’s blood boil. Were Lord Cole—no, Criston, she would not dignify him with a title,
not even in her own mind—not protected by the treaty, she would teleport to Westeros this instant
and tear out his heart: magic or no magic.

Or perhaps I wouldn’t. Lady Alicent does not strike me as the sort of woman desiring that bloody
vengeance be done on her behalf. She almost snorted aloud at the thought. What did she know of
the sort of woman Alicent Hightower was? Who was she to say what Lady Alicent would or
wouldn’t want? Their brief conversations could hardly be called insightful with regards to Lady
Alicent’s morality.

Her nose twitched slightly as she sniffed the air, catching Lady Alicent’s scent. It had been
impossible to discern what it was the day before with the reek of fear that had shrouded her. Her
eyes closed as the smell of freshly baked bread reached her nose. It was a soft, gentle scent, warm
and inviting and comforting. Almost like concentrated calming pheromones. It made some of the
tension that she’d been holding for over a year now leach away, and a quiet sigh escaped her lips.
Lady Alicent’s scent was . . . enthralling, and she began moving towards it without thinking.

Realizing what she was doing, her eyes snapped open and she retreated back a few steps. What the
Seven Hells was that? She’d never been so dazed by anyone’s scent before. One would almost think
. . . No. It’s not that. Anything but that. Shaking her head, she turned to leave, but suddenly found
herself frozen in place.

A tiny little smile was now gracing Lady Alicent’s lips, an almost imperceptible upturning of one
side of her mouth.

Mother Relle and All Her Faces.

She’d been alive for over nine million years, had visited countless other worlds and seen
immeasurable beauty in all of its forms, and yet . . .

None of it could compare to the small smile curling Lady Alicent’s lips.

Merciful Mother, control yourself. Tearing her eyes away from Lady Alicent’s face, she finally
noticed that The Sacred Twelve and Reviled Seven was lying open on her lap, and Rhaenyra
couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She’s taking an interest in our culture. Perhaps that means
she’ll stay for a while. She knew that Lady Alicent would eventually leave, that her justifiable fear
of Valyrians would eventually lead her to seek refuge elsewhere, but until then, she was content to
have the Westerosi woman under her roof.

Even if I never get to see her.

Chapter End Notes

In case it wasn't clear, Aemma is not Rhaenyra's mother by blood in this universe, but she is
her mother in all the ways that matter. The reasons for this change will become clearer in
following chapters.

Next Chapter: A day in the life of Rhaenyra (after a lore dump "chapter").
 Author's Note and Lore Dump (Part II)

Author's Note II

Hello My Dear Readers,

Once again, thank you for all of your lovely comments, and apologies for this second fake chapter.

To anyone who read Chapter 6 before the posting of this chapter (so anytime before 10:00 am EST
on March 2, 2023), I rewrote part of a scene in order to make it (1) less invasive, (2) remove some
unfortunate implications, and (3) comport with other established rules of my world.

The rewritten section begins at the paragraph starting with "Instead of answering, Aemma walked
over to the hearth that dominated one wall," and ends when Margaery says, "Seven Hells."

I also added a sentence (see below in bold) to make clear the fact that, while Valyrians can use
mirrors to communicate long-distance and view things in other places, there are limits and ways to
prevent unwanted intrusions on privacy.

“She’s suffered more than anyone ever ought, and I worry that being here, at the moment, may push
her to do something foolish.” And it was not as if she could monitor the Lady Alicent by
mirror. All of the apartments within the Keep—rightfully so—were shielded to prevent such
flagrant invasions of privacy.

Lore Dump II

Now please accept this humble offering of lore.

General Information:

Valyria is larger than Earth, but only has a population of 9,410,504 women (not yet counting
Alicent)
Due to the small population, there are only eight cities (the imperial and royal capitals)
Each Queendom has its own language, but everyone is also expected to learn the planetary
language of High Valyrian, which is the primary language for Dragon Courters
Valyrians' male counterparts are called Kervanites, who live on the neighboring planet
Valyrians and Kervanites originate from a planet only referred to as the Old World (more on
that in-story)
Valyrians believe that their society is held up by the Four Pillars of the Dragon Throne, the
Syvenic Temple, the Order of Magisters, and the Order of the Lotus
The Dragon Throne and the imperial government it represents governs the people
Represented as a whole by House Targaryen and, more specifically, the current
empress
The Temple ministers to their spiritual needs
The Prelate of the Syvenic Temple is the highest religious authority on the planet,
though still subject to the empress
 The magisters teach them
The Grand Magister leads the order, and the position has been held since the
Founding by Matriarch Alestera Tyrell
The lotuses heal them
The Mother Lotus leads the order, and unlike the grand magister, there have been
multiple mother lotuses since the Founding
Every four million years or so, the current set of rulers abdicate and are succeeded by the
crown princesses (with the exception of the Queen of Kastrell, who is succeeded by the
abdicating empress)
Houses are ruled by matriarchs, who are addressed as Lady [Surname] while other members
are addressed as Lady [First Name]
Clans are ruled by matrons, who are addressed as Mistress [Surname] while other members
are addressed as Mistress [First Name]
While there are only Eight Houses and Fifty-Six Clans, there are numerous bloodlines within
each Clan, so just because people have the same surname does not necessarily mean they are
related

Religious Information:

Valyrians worship the goddess Relle Lightbringer, who has seven aspects, or faces
The Mother, Relle Lifegiver:
Symbol: chalice
Color: blue
The Maiden, Relle Springheart:
Symbol: bow and arrow
Color: green
The Crone, Relle Wiseone:
Symbol: lantern
Color: purple
The Artist, Relle Songcrafter:
Symbol: Tools of the Artist (anything from theatre props to a potter’s wheel to paint
brushes to sheet music)
Color: primarily orange
The Judge, Relle Scaleholder:
Symbol: scales
Colors: black and white
The Warrior, Relle Shieldbreaker:
Symbol: shield
Color: red
The Reaper, Relle Darklight:
Symbol: sickle
Color: black

Time Information:

A Valyrian day is twenty-four hours, same as on Earth

A Valyrian week is seven days
A Valyrian month is thirty-five days (five weeks of seven days)
A Valyrian year is twelve months, or four hundred and twenty days
The months are named as follows:
Moon of New Spring (Spring Moon) (equivalent to March in the northern hemisphere)
Moon of Fresh Buds (Bud Moon) (equivalent to April)
Moon of Blooming Flowers (Flower Moon) (equivalent to May)
Moon of New Summer (Summer Moon) (equivalent to June)
Moon of Warm Days (Warm Moon) (equivalent to July)
Moon of Bright Sun (Bright Moon) (equivalent to August)
Moon of New Autumn (Autumn Moon (equivalent to September)
Moon of Golden Wheat (Wheat Moon) (equivalent to October)
Moon of Last Harvest (Harvest Moon) (equivalent to November)
Moon of New Winter (Winter Moon) (equivalent to December)
Moon of White Frost (Frost Moon) (equivalent to January)
Moon of Hard Snow (Snow Moon) (equivalent to February)
 Duties of a Queen
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 7:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Hylda Westerling, Shadow Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Gelt
(Valyrian counterpart of Ser Harrold)
– Sabitha Vypren, Lily Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Saevara
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar
– Corla Velaryon, Mistress of Laws, from the Dragon Court (Valyrian counterpart of Lord
Corlys)
– Elysara Stokeworth, Royal Magister, from the Dragon Court (Valyrian counterpart of Grand
Maester Elysar)
– Lymna Beesbury, Mistress of Resources, from Kastrell (Valyrian counterpart of Lord
Lyman)
– Gerarda Baratheon, Royal Lotus, from Bellmar (Valyrian counterpart of Maester Gerardys)
– Bartima Celtigar, Mistress of Coin, from the Dragon Court (Valyrian counterpart of Lord
Bartimos)
– Lemore Rowan, Prelatic Legate, from Kastrell

Enjoy the artwork of the Crown of Kastrell.

Modeled off of the original artwork by Regicollis on Deviant Art.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Winter Moon/1,000,121 Visenya VI

Rhaenyra harrumphed impatiently as the spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose slid down
again. This was the fifth time in the past ten minutes. Perhaps they’re trying to tell me something.
Stifling another yawn, she finally removed them from her face and set them aside. The
enchantments attached to the lenses had done their job of helping her eyes remain focused on her
work and preventing bothersome eyestrain, but now the spectacles themselves were becoming a
nuisance.
Her fingers drummed on the polished surface of her desk as she returned to reading the latest
missive to arrive from Farnier requesting aid. Other papers were strewn all across the dark wood,
and she made a mental note to herself to reorganize them later. A pot of cold tea stared at her from
where it sat near the corner of her desk, its rotund body dwarfing the dry, empty teacup still waiting
to be filled. She didn’t even remember sending for tea. Aemma probably brought it in before
retiring for the evening.

Setting aside the missive, she leaned back in her chair and glanced out the window, sighing loudly.
She hadn’t needed to check her clock or the windows to know that sunrise was only a few hours
away, but she’d been hoping that she was wrong about the time. Another sleepless night. She
laughed dryly. Nothing new. Even including the nights that she did manage to sleep, it had been
over two years since she’d slept past dawn, and she suspected that it would be at least five more
before she was comfortable doing so again. There was far too much to be done to waste time with
sleep, especially when she didn’t strictly need it.

“‘Ruling is not a privilege,’” she recited under her breath. “‘It’s a duty and a burden. It’s sacrifice
and compromise and putting your people before yourself: again and again. It’s giving everything
that you have and more.’” She couldn’t even remember when she’d memorized those words. It felt
as if she’d always known them, as if she’d been born knowing them. Perhaps she had been. It
wouldn’t surprise her at all to learn that her mother had spoken those words to her at least once a
day while she was still in her egg. Mother said much the same thing to me once. It had been during
one of her many scolding lectures.

“Ruling is not about pleasure or indulgence,” her mother had snapped. “It is not about exerting
your own selfish will over others for venal reasons. Ruling is a duty and an obligation, a burden
and a curse. It’s sleepless nights and endless days. It’s giving everything to your people no matter
the cost. It’s protecting them and caring for them as if each and every one of them was your own
blood. You do not rule for yourself. Your rule for them.”

Sleepless nights and endless days. I’m certainly doing well in that respect. Lifting her arms above
her head, she stretched and arched her back to work out some of the stiffness that had set in as dusk
gave way to night, which was now in turn waiting to give way to dawn. She could feel a crick in
her neck, which she would need to rectify at some point. As her arms dropped back down, she
expelled a heavy sigh, eyes darting once more to the missive on her desk. Perhaps it is time to send
more aid. Relle knows Farnier needs it. It was something she would discuss with her Small Council
later.

Rising from her desk, she rolled her neck once before leaving her study. She closed the door behind
herself with her telekinesis as she crossed her privy chamber and entered her bedchamber. Once
inside, she brightened the light-orbs floating overhead with an absent wave of her hand and walked
over to her wardrobe. Pulling open the beautifully carved oaken doors, she quickly located an old
grey tunic and a pair of worn breeches to wear for her morning run. As she removed her clothes
from the day before and replaced them with the tunic and breeches, she tugged on the mental link
connecting her to Hylda.

“Your Majesty?”

“Will you be ready for our run in a minute?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Will we run the perimeter of the inner ward or the outer ward this morning?”

“Inner ward.”
“As you will.”

After closing her wardrobe doors and laying yesterday’s gown and undergarments out for the
laundresses to find later, she went over to her vanity and removed the pins that still held her hair in
place from the day before. A pleased sigh escaped her lips as her hair tumbled down around her
shoulders, and she gently massaged her scalp. I’ll need to style my hair less ornately today if I want
to avoid a headache before noon. After grabbing one of the hairbands neatly stacked beside her
bobby pins, she returned to the door that connected her bedchamber to her privy chamber.

Opening the door, she found Hylda waiting for her and dressed similarly to her in an old tunic and
breeches. Her Shadow Knight’s hair was pulled back in a tight braid, and none of her weapons were
in sight. Hylda frowned slightly when she saw her. “You didn’t sleep last night.” It wasn’t a
question.

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow. “And?”

“And you need sleep, Rhaenyra.”

She waved dismissively while at the same time telekinetic fingers began weaving her hair into a
simple braid. “It’s a trifling matter, Hylda, and I have many more important matters to attend at
present.”

Hylda’s scowl darkened. “Sleep is not a trifle.”

“Isn’t it?” Stepping into her privy chamber, she telekinetically shut the door behind herself and
started walking towards the door that connected to her presence chamber. “And how much sleep
did you get during the War?”

“As you just said, that was during a war,” Hylda retorted, opening the door for her as they left her
apartments behind and began making their way downstairs and out of the Queen’s Keep. “We’re
not at war now, Rhaenyra.”

“The knife may have been lowered from our necks, but it still managed to cut deep. That wound
remains open, Hylda, and it’s my duty to heal it.” She looked up at her old heart friend, eyes hard
and voice frosty. “Ensuring that my subjects recover is far more important than mere sleep. A
queen belongs to her people, not to herself.”

Hylda wasn’t cowed in the least. “You cannot help anyone if you collapse from exhaustion.”

“I know my own limits, Vora.” Not giving her a chance to respond, she pushed open the door that
led out into the inner ward and strode outside.

The predawn air was brisk and rather nippy, reminding them that winter was here. The moon still
hung overhead, low in the western sky as it prepared to set. The nearby trees had dropped their
leaves, and their bare branches resembled fingers reaching towards the heavens. The blooms of
spring and summer had died back several weeks ago, leaving large swaths of bare ground. A few of
the winter flowers were just beginning to sprout in their place—those that had survived the
bombardments or been replanted by a gardener in her spare time.

Pricking her ears, she could hear a wolf howling in the distance, beyond the city walls and likely
somewhere in the Heartland Woods to the northeast. I should eventually make time to run in the
woods. Perhaps in a year or two, when my days are less full.
The wolf’s mournful howl was still echoing in her ears as she and Hylda began running around the
perimeter of the inner ward, following the path and curve of the briar hedge that separated them
from the outer ward. Having been running partners for over nine million years now, their
movements synchronized almost immediately. The steady thumps of their feet striking the ground
were as lulling and rhythmic as a heartbeat. Small clouds formed in front of their faces with each
warm breath they expelled into the chilled air. The concerns and worries that plagued her almost
constantly steadily fell away one by one, like droplets of water off of a duck’s back.

When her mother had instructed her to begin training with her Varg Knights, the first thing Hylda
had had her do was run laps around the grounds of Dragon Wood. Her Wolf Knight had been
relentless in her insistence that she run at least two hours a day, no matter what else might be
happening. “Discipline requires perseverance,” Hylda had told her when she’d asked why she
must run until she was near collapse, “and any technique I teach you requires discipline.”

At least five hours of hard exercise every day—that was Hylda’s own regiment, and the regiment
she imposed upon the knights under her command. Rhaenyra herself followed it as closely as her
schedule allowed, though there were plenty of days when her morning run was all she had time for.

Her eyes flicked to the side towards her Shadow Knight, surveying her relaxed expression. She and
Hylda never spoke aloud during their runs because it would be a waste of breath and interfere with
their breathing rhythms, but that hardly meant they couldn’t maintain a conversation. I was too
short with her before. She sighed inwardly. She knew that Hylda was only trying to help, that her
heart friend’s concern was genuine and well-meaning.

“Hylda?”

“Yes?”

“Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”

Hylda’s eyebrows drew together for a brief moment as she translated. “Who guards the
guardians?”

“The phrase refuses to leave my mind.” She’d been mulling over it since the start of winter when
everyone had begun to slow for the cold months. “Winter is a time for reflection, and now that the
War is over, everyone is going to have quite a lot to reflect upon.”

“You’re worried about women’s mental health?”

Rhaenyra smiled slightly, pleased, as she always was, by Hylda’s immediate understanding. Aside
from Aemma, there was no one in Stone Garden with whom she was closer. Hylda had been her
constant companion for nearly her entire life, and the woman was loyal to a fault. She could still
remember the first time she’d laid eyes on her, could still remember Aemma whispering in her ear
and telling her about Hylda’s lineage.

While certainly impressive, that wasn’t why she’d been so taken with the tall shield sister. The way
Hylda had moved during the tournament—with all the grace of a dancer and all the power of a
storm—had been unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Watching her had been like watching a
living fire: beautiful and deadly all at once. She’d known immediately that she wanted Hylda as her
Wolf Knight, and, thankfully, that particular decision was among the few on which she and her
mother had been in agreement.
“Every blue lotus with psychological and psychiatric training has been called upon, and I know
that they’re spread thin, which is of course concerning. What concerns me even more though is the
matter of who is caring for them? Who do they turn to, to process their own trauma and all of the
secondhand trauma they must hear about?” The last thing they could afford at present was the
Empire’s population of mental health professionals having a collective nervous breakdown.

“Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”

“Exactly.” Rhaenyra sighed aloud, causing an especially large cloud to form in front of her face.
“Something to discuss with my daughters during our next meeting, I suppose.” She hoped that
Vaella, at least, had been considering ways they could ensure the mental health of their
psychologists and psychiatrists. Extended breaks and a decent amount of time for them to properly
process everything they’d experienced during the War, as well as everything they were hearing
about from their patients, would be best, but would it be detrimental to those they were treating?

“Have you been in contact with Dr. Alfadora?” Hylda asked. “She might be able to offer some
additional insights as to how she and her colleagues are faring.”

“Perhaps.” The only contact she’d had with her personal psychologist in the past five months were
two brief correspondences shortly after the end of the War. She’d asked her when she intended to
return to court, and Dr. Alfadora had replied that she would be remaining in Wythers Province for
the time being to aid her kinswomen. Rhaenyra had purposefully avoided further contact since then
because she wasn’t yet ready to discuss with anyone all that she’d done during the War. She might
never be. What are a few more secrets to keep?

She’d been seeing Alfadora Wythers since before she ascended to the Dragon Throne. She’d been
sharing fractions and slivers of her guilt with the other woman for over five million years now.
What right did she have to foist yet more of her guilt onto her? None at all. Dr. Alfadora didn’t
deserve to have such a weight placed upon her shoulders, not when Rhaenyra was perfectly capable
of bearing her own guilt alone. All that weighed on her soul was her burden to bear, and hers alone.
She was a monarch. It was her duty to protect her people. Even from herself. Especially from
herself.

The War was simply the most recent reminder of what she owed to those under her care. She’d
done terrible things since coming home, things that would haunt her for all of the foreseeable
future. There was blood on her hands. So, so much blood. If she forced Dr. Alfadora to listen to her
recount all of her many failures and wrongdoings, she knew that her psychologist would remind her
that she’d done what was necessary to save Valyria and her people. She knew that Dr. Alfadora
would likely point out that some of the blood now staining her hands need not even be there, and
she would be forced to bite her tongue to keep herself from arguing.

Because Dr. Alfadora would be wrong in that regard: the blood did need to be there. She’d
performed countless tasks during the War that—strictly speaking—others could have done in her
stead, but she’d known that such duties would leave whoever carried them out guilt-ridden. Why
force others to bear guilt that she herself could assume? Being a ruler meant doing what needed to
be done without complaint. It meant shouldering burdens alone and shielding her people in any
way she could. Sometimes, she wondered if Dr. Alfadora properly appreciated that fact.

“You haven’t spoken with Dr. Alfadora at all since she told you that she was staying in Wythers
Province, have you?”
The sound of Hylda’s mental voice drew Rhaenyra from her thoughts, and she noted that, even in
her mind, there was nothing accusatory or disapproving in her Shadow Knight’s tone. It was merely
knowing and perhaps a little sad. She wanted to tell Hylda that she needn’t feel sad for her, but
instead she asked, “Have you been speaking with anyone?” Every shield sister on the planet had
placed herself on the frontlines during the War. Part of it had been due to their philosophy that they
—as a collective—were the shield of the Empire, and part of it was because they were the only
women on the planet exclusively trained in non-magical combat.

“Dr. Orlinda Belmore, actually. One of my cousins recommended her.”

Rhaenyra was both surprised and genuinely pleased to hear that. “Has it been helpful?”

“The nightmares are less severe now,” Hylda replied matter-of-factly.

Following her morning run, Rhaenyra returned to her chambers to bathe and dress. She selected a
simple gown of lightweight black cotton, one that would be easy to wash later after it was
inevitably dirtied. As she slipped on her shoes, she checked the clock: it wasn’t even six. Good.
Hopefully Aemma won’t be awake yet.

Three minutes later, when she entered the kitchens, she let out an exasperated sigh. I should have
known better. Her seneschal was in the middle of a whirlwind of bowls, whisks, knives, bags of
oats, spoons, and fruits. When Aemma saw her, she smiled pleasantly, to which Rhaenyra
responded by rolling her eyes and saying, “You’re going to exhaust yourself doing all of that at
once.”

“Says the woman who’s been doing the same for over five months now.”

“I’m stronger than you.” To prove her point, Rhaenyra easily wrested telekinetic control of the
various foods and kitchen implements from Aemma. The knife that had been chopping strawberries
quickened until it was a near blur, and the whisks began making an almost mechanical whirring
sound. Another three cook fires ignited, and five more pots emerged from their cupboards to join
the others already warming on the stoves. The bottles of milk that had been hovering near Aemma’s
head followed the new pots and began pouring their contents into the polished copper as soon as
the pots were settled over the fires. At the same time, the bags of oats were floating over and
settling themselves onto the granite countertop until it was time for them to be added.

As Aemma watched all of this, her hands settled onto her hips. “You do know that this is why we
have a kitchen staff, yes?”

“Most of the kitchen staff is currently elsewhere,” Rhaenyra replied, not missing a beat as she
began cracking eggs and whisking them in a bowl. “Besides, Chef Gilly is still away in Farnier, and
we both know that the kitchens never run as smoothly when the chief chef is away.”

Aemma’s answer came just as swiftly as she grabbed a mortar and pestle from the air to begin
grinding down more oats by hand. “Something tells me that the remaining staff is still capable of
preparing oatmeal and eggs for the palace residents.”

“Their focus must needs be on preparing luncheon for the women working on city repairs. None of
them have time at present to pause and cook breakfast.”
“And you would know all about skipping meals, wouldn’t you?”

Rhaenyra didn’t need to turn her head to know that her old heart friend was giving her a pointed
look. Aemma had been chiding her about overexerting herself for months now. I know my own
limits. She was the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath. It would be wrong of her to do
anything less than pour all of her considerable magic into the rebuilding and restoration efforts.

Whether that meant transmogrifying mass amounts debris and other destroyed remnants into usable
materials, holding up several thousand tons of wreckage so the ground beneath could be cleared,
summoning rains and winds to nurture the fields and regrow vegetation, cleansing pollutants from
waterways, rebuilding several dozen homes and shops from scratch and by herself, removing ash
and debris to allow for reforestation, relocating displaced animals, or simply cooking enough food
before dawn so that her kitchen staffers could focus their energies on feeding the rest of the city,
she would do it.

“First and foremost, above all else, an empress is a mother. A mother to her people. And mothers
always put their children first.”

The words of Empress Daenerys the Silver had guided empresses and queens for over a billion
years, and she intended to continue heeding them now, just as she had all her life. In times of
trouble, a mother did not simply leave her daughters to fend for themselves. In times of trouble, a
mother shouldered as many burdens and responsibilities as she could to spare others. In times of
trouble, a mother worked her fingers to the bone to ensure the safety and well-being of those under
her care, and she did so without complaint.

She might be tempted to say that Aemma didn’t understand because her old heart friend had yet to
mother children of her own, but that would be unfair. Aemma had always been more of a mother to
her than her own mother. And she was certainly a better mother to me than I was to my daughters.
She loved her daughters, but she hadn’t raised them. They’d been raised by grandaunts and a great-
grandmother far from Dragon Ridge, as was customary. An empress did not have time to raise
children when she had an entire Empire of daughters to mother.

“Simply because we are mothers to the Empire, must that mean we cannot also be proper mothers
to the daughters of our own flesh?” she had once asked.

Her mother’s lips had twisted in a way that made clear she considered such a question the most
foolish thing she’d ever had the displeasure of hearing. “Of course it does. We saw with Mother
Maegelle what happens when an empress allows sentiment to take precedence over duty. A
generation of queens with only an academic knowledge of their Queendoms and people gleaned
from books, anecdotes, and brief visits. An empress over-reliant on counsel who only became a
proper ruler near the end of her imperial reign. Our people deserve better than that.”

Empress Mother Maegelle had been the first and only empress to raise her daughters at Dragon
Ridge rather than sending them away following their Choosing Ceremony. When confronted by the
objections of her sisters, mother, and councilors, she’d justified her decision with the assertion that,
“We empresses claim to be the mothers of our people, and yet we do not even mother our own
daughters.” While perhaps an understandable sentiment, it had ultimately proven a foolish one.
The crown princesses were sent away from Dragon Ridge for pragmatic reasons. They were sent
away for the sake of the Empire. It was as simple as that.

The imperial princess needed to learn the art of ruling independently and outside of her mother’s
looming shadow, so she was sent to Dragon Wood to rule over her own little principality. As for the
royal princesses, they needed to live among the women who would one day become their subjects.
They needed to immerse themselves in the cultures of their future Queendoms and become more
Saevaran, Farnish, Avenian, Nordish, Geltic, or Bellmaran than Dragon Courter. None of the
empress’ heirs could achieve those objectives if they remained forever at their mother’s breast. A
daughter did not become a mother by remaining a child.

She’d learned the lessons of imperial motherhood long ago. Aemma knew this. Aemma knew that
her words were wasted, and yet they continued to have this discussion every other day it seemed.
Her own motherly worry for my well-being, I suppose. It was sweet, which was why she continued
to allow it. She knew that she could order Aemma to abandon the subject at any time and that her
seneschal would obey, but it was nice to know that Aemma cared.

Perhaps I’ll allow her to convince me not to teleport to every Garden Court Clan seat this
afternoon to help with repairs. Her lips pursed slightly at the thought. No. She couldn’t do that.
She’d told Mistress Fossoway that she would craft new dragon-stone for Cider Hall’s North Tower
today. She couldn’t well rescind the offer at the last minute.

I can’t allow Aemma to convince me to rest for a few hours this morning either. I still need to
reform the channels flowing from Lake Halinor to Aenara’s Garden, in addition to rebuilding the
Green Grass Inn and inspecting Spring Song Hospital. This evening? No. She would be with the
Small Council then, and she suspected that tonight’s meeting would run longer than usual. Not
today then. Perhaps another day.

Rhaenyra reached up to adjust her crown one final time, ensuring that it was properly situated atop
her head. The Crown of Kastrell was, in her opinion, the least comfortable of her three crowns.
Unfortunately, it was also the one that she wore most often, especially of late. Tradition dictated
that she wear it when meeting with her Small Council, holding court, visiting other courts, and all
other official business.

She was able to wear her personal dragon crown, which had been specifically crafted for her head,
at all other times. As for the ceremonial Flower Crown, she’d only ever donned it three times: when
she’d taken the Rose Throne, and when she’d attended the first and second Binding Summits with
Kervan. She’d eventually wear it four more times: at the three remaining Binding Summits and
when she abdicated.

Once satisfied that she was presentably immaculate, she slightly turned her head and gave Sabitha a
short nod.

Sabitha immediately opened the ornate double doors leading into the Small Council chamber and
announced, “Her Majesty the Queen.”

Rhaenyra strode into the room, listening to the familiar sound of wooden chair legs scraping
against stone as the seven members of her Small Council rose to their feet for her. She always made
sure that she was the last woman to arrive to these meetings, even though it sometimes meant
having to start a minute or two later than scheduled. Her Great-Grandmother Alysanne had always
emphasized the importance of subtle displays of authority. “Arriving last means they must rise
when you enter. It reminds them of your station as well as theirs.”

The Small Council chamber was beautifully furnished with both luxurious adornments and elegant
floral arrangements. Nordish carpets covered the silver-veined marble floor, and a latticed screen
from Tyrell Province stood in one corner. The screen’s ebony wood had been polished until it shone
like onyx, and it had been painted with dancing red dragons and golden roses. Tapestries from
Marbrand Province, Estren Province, and Crakehall Province hung on the walls, each woven with
threads as bright and vibrant as gemstones. A pair of winged tigers flanked the doorway, their
sapphire eyes gleaming in orange-and-black-striped marble faces.

The silverwood table in the middle of the room was long and rectangular, with a gilded rose carved
into its center. Eight chairs were arranged around the table: a small throne at the head, an ornate
chair at the foot, and three comfortably upholstered chairs on either of the two long sides.

Their respective places at the table were denoted by painted flowers, and lying beside seven of
those flowers was an elegant key, each of which glowed softly in recognition of the flower to which
it was attuned. The great keys of office—given to the members of her Small Council upon their
appointment and only ever removed from around their necks for meetings—were both the symbols
and verifications of each woman’s position.

Anyone who saw one of those keys would immediately recognize and accept the authority of the
woman wielding it, and each key could in turn only be held by either the queen or the woman to
whom it had been bestowed. In addition to being magically linked to a Small Council member,
each key was also attuned to the flower that marked her place at this table. They glowed only when
placed beside the correct flower, and then only if their owner was the one doing the placement.

Hylda, who had followed her into the chamber on silent feet, swiftly crossed the room and
unsheathed her Valyrian steel stiletto from its scabbard. While not an official member of her Small
Council, as Shadow Knight, Hylda accompanied her wherever she went, including Small Council
meetings. As such, she’d been presented with a Valyrian steel dagger upon her appointment, which
served the same functions as the great keys of office.

Laying the stiletto down beside the red rose marking Rhaenyra’s place at the head of the table,
Hylda waited for the carving to shine in acknowledgement. The rose flared a moment later, and the
smokey-grey metal of the stiletto’s blade glowed softly in response, like a coal in a recently banked
fire. After resheathing the thin blade, Hylda pulled Rhaenyra’s throne out for her and then took up a
position behind her right shoulder.

After seating herself, Rhaenyra motioned for the others to sit back down. Even without inspecting
their faces, she knew that they were tired. She was as well. Every woman on the planet is
exhausted. Rebuilding, restoration, and relief efforts had commenced the day after the Treaty of
Valeria was signed, and they hadn’t paused since.

She’d met with her Small Council more during these past five months than she had throughout the
past century. The War’s end necessitated multiple daily meetings to discuss everything from where
to focus rebuilding and restoration efforts to how much aid they could afford to send abroad to
which fields she needed to visit so the rains could be summoned.

Folding her hands on the table in front of herself, she arched an eyebrow. “My Lady, Gentlewomen,
shall we begin?”

While the question was directed at all of them, her focus was on Archmagister Elysara Stokeworth.
Spread before the old woman was a blank scroll, a small inkpot, and her enchanted quill. With two
thin fingers, the archmagister gently picked up her quill and whispered softly to awaken it. The
white feather immediately flew from her hand to carefully dip its sharpened tip into the inkpot
before going to hover over the fresh scroll, waiting to begin the official record of the Small Council
meeting.

After receiving the expected assent from her councilors and shielding the chamber from intruding
eyes or ears, Rhaenyra cleared her throat to begin. “I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Seventh of My
Name, Queen of Kastrell, hereby call this meeting to order. Archmagister, please proceed with
opening declarations and attendance.”

The words Elysara spoke next were so familiar by now that every woman in this room could likely
recite them in her sleep. “On this, the Seventh Day of the Moon of New Winter in the 1,000,121st
Year of the Reign of Empress Visenya the Sixth, called One-Eye, the Queen’s Small Council of
Kastrell gathers to discuss matters both great and small regarding the welfare of Her Majesty’s
subjects and Queendom.

“I, Archmagister Elysara Stokeworth, being present in my capacity as Royal Magister of Kastrell,
shall now ascertain the presence or absence of each member of this Small Council.” She paused a
moment to allow her quill to catch up. “Does the moonflower bloom this day?”

At the other end of the table, her Hand nodded even as she spoke so that the quill could record her
words. “It does. I, Rhaenys Targaryen, am present in my capacity as Hand of the Queen of
Kastrell.”

“Does the tiger lily bloom this day?”

“It does. I, Bartima Celtigar, am present in my capacity as Mistress of Coin of Kastrell.”

“Does the peony bloom this day?”

“It does. I, Lymna Beesbury, am present in my capacity as Mistress of Resources of Kastrell.”

“Does the white lotus bloom this day?”

“It does. I, Gerarda Baratheon, am present in my capacity as Royal Lotus of Kastrell.”

“Does the black-eyed Susan bloom this day?”

“It does. I, Corla Velaryon, am present in my capacity as Mistress of Laws of Kastrell.”

“Does the starflower bloom this day?”

“It does. I, Lemore Rowan, am present in my capacity as Prelatic Legate of Kastrell.”

“Does the Queen’s Shadow stand in attendance?”

“She does. I, Hylda Westerling, am present in my capacity as Shadow Knight of Kastrell’s Garden
Knights.”

With a satisfied hum, Elysara concluded, “Then, in the warm light of Mother Relle, this meeting
may commence.”

“Very good then.” Rhaenyra turned to her aunt. “My Lady Hand?”
Rhaenys quickly shuffled through the papers stacked in front of her until she found what she was
looking for. “Our first order of business is naturally to discuss crop yields. After which, we ought to
turn our attention to the deployment of additional aid. Now that winter has come, we can afford to
be more generous than we have been thus far.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from around the table, and Rhaenyra didn’t miss the relieved
expressions that flashed across the faces of her mistress of laws, mistress of coin, royal lotus, and
royal magister. The four of them weren’t Kastrellan by birth, and she knew that they’d all been
feeling at least somewhat guilty for returning to Stone Garden rather than remaining in their home
Queendoms. A necessary sacrifice. Kastrell needs them more than the Dragon Court and Bellmar,
and the Empire needs Kastrell.

Her Queendom was Valyria’s breadbasket, and over the last five months, women had descended in
droves upon the neglected fields and orchards to coax crops back to life in preparation for the
coming winter. The War had depleted food stores across the globe, making her people’s labor all
the more vital. Said agrarian labor had been in addition to clearing all of the rubble left behind by
Westerosi bombs, and to rebuilding destroyed homes, shops, and services.

Ensuring that her subjects had roofs over their heads and that the world had food for the winter had
been important enough that she and her Small Council had withheld nearly all of their personnel
aid from the other Queendoms without guilt.

Rhaenyra turned to her mistress of resources. “Were we able to produce enough before the frosts
set in?”

“By my calculations, yes, but just barely.” Lymna was consulting various reports as she spoke, a
crease between her eyebrows. “We were able to quintuple production as a result of utilizing our
fallow fields and your assistance with the rains, sun, and wind, but, under normal circumstances,
our crops are supplemented primarily by those from the Dragon Court, Farnier, and Bellmar.”

And we all know that they haven’t been able to work their fields and orchards. Of all the
Queendoms, Farnier had suffered the most extensive and severe damage during the War. As a
result, all of their energies were now directed towards clearing, rebuilding, and restoring. The other
Queendoms and the Dragon Court had been sending aid to their sisters in the west since the War
had first ended, and what little aid her own people could spare had gone to them as well.

The Dragon Court had also sustained heavy damage, since the Westerosi had concentrated a
number of attacks there once they’d realized that it was where the imperial capital was located. As
for Bellmar, the Westerosi had bombarded the Queendom with incendiary bombs for months in an
effort to destroy their medical supplies.

“Everyone will need to exercise restraint this winter,” Lymna continued. “A thirty percent reduction
in individual food consumption should see us through, though a forty percent reduction would be
even better. And we will need to resume planting again as soon as spring arrives.”

“Perhaps the time has come to establish new fields,” Elysara suggested. “The last new fields were
created three reigns ago, and such action would increase production substantially.” She paused. “Or
we could end winter a touch early, as Queen Alera the Eighth did following a particularly bad
harvest year. An early spring would extend the planting season as well as the number of times we
can sow the fields that we have.”
Rhaenyra shook her head at the second suggestion. “I dare not interfere with the seasons,
Archmagister, especially since we were forced to make use of all our fallow fields. This winter is
the only rest those fields will receive, and it would likely do more harm than good to shorten it.
That being said, I’m not opposed to creating new fields come spring.”

She looked over at Lymna, who was scribbling down notes. “Mistress Lymna, in the coming week,
I want you and anyone else you deem helpful to begin assessing locations for new fields. I expect
to have a preliminary report in hand a week from today. If, for some reason, it seems likely that
we’ll need to fell any trees or encroach on other natural geography, I want to be informed
immediately so I can open a correspondence with the Environmental Commission.”

Lymna lifted her head just long enough to offer a polite incline before returning to her notes. “Yes,
Your Majesty.”

Rhaenyra made a mental note to instruct her mistress of resources to take an extended vacation
once everything had settled. Lymna had always been a hard worker—it was why she had appointed
her—but these past five months had tested her limits.

“Will we have enough seed for planting come spring?” Mother Lemore asked. “I don’t imagine
there was much we could afford to set aside after harvest.”

“You’re correct in that.” Lymna flipped open one of her ledgers. “We were only able to retain about
twenty percent of the harvest seed, but transmogrified seed will more than make up the difference.”
Her lips twisted slightly. “One benefit of all the waste the Westerosi left behind, I suppose.”

Rhaenys cleared her throat. “Speaking of seeds for planting, we should also resume fiber
production as soon as possible this spring. I acknowledge the necessity of prioritizing food, but
clothes and blankets are still sorely needed in many provinces both here and abroad.”

Gerarda nodded in agreement. “Immune systems have grown compromised these past years due to
less nutritious eating, lack of sleep, injuries, and general mental and physical exhaustion. My sisters
at the Alcazar have been reporting increases in minor maladies already, and winter has not even
fully set in. We need to ensure our people remain warm once the cold truly arrives.”

Rhaenyra looked between her Hand and royal lotus. “Will women here be able to make do this
winter with the warm clothes and blankets we have?”

Rhaenys hesitated a moment, glancing over at Lymna before nodding. “They should. Some of our
southern provinces have been sending their excess wool clothing and blankets north for us, and
neighbors are sharing what they have.”

“Anything we can spare will be sent to Norden.” She’d been communicating with Jacaerya for
several weeks now as winter drew closer, and she knew that her daughter was concerned about her
people staying warm in the frozen north. Heating spells and simple fires would stave off the worst
of the cold, but insulation enchantments always worked best when attached to something naturally
warm such as a blanket or sweater. “Queen Jaehaera has been sending long-smallclothes, pants,
cloaks, shirts, and boots north, but Farns have few of such items to begin with.”

“I doubt we’ll have much to spare,” Lymna warned.

“We’ll give whatever we can without hurting ourselves.” She turned back to Rhaenys. “By the end
of this week, I want an edict on my desk that directs every woman in the Queendom to spend at
least one month of her time this winter knitting, sewing, or quilting. Women without fabric or yarn
to spare are to submit their names to their local leaders, and those with more materials than they
can reasonably handle are expected to donate them. The excess materials will be distributed to the
women who are listed as lacking to ensure maximum productivity.”

Rhaenys nodded as she quickly scribbled notes. “As you will, Your Majesty.”

“Blankets are the priority, but we’ll also need socks, gloves, mittens, scarves, and hats.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Children under the age of two hundred are exempt from this duty, unless their mothers think their
telekinesis is honed enough that they can make serviceable knitted or sewn goods. Any items made
by these children must be inspected by a village elder, town councilor, or city councilor before
distribution.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes swept over her Small Council. “Anything to add?”

“The one month of time will be in sum, yes?” Bartima checked.

“Of course. I don’t expect anyone to be knitting and sewing continuously for thirty-five days
straight.” She could think of a number of professions that would make such a task unfeasible, her
own included. “Women who think that their occupations won’t allow for compliance may submit a
written explanation to their local leaders, to whom I’ll grant discretion in deciding the matter.”

“And what will happen to women who fail to comply?” Rhaenys asked.

“If a woman fails to comply because she lacked her own materials or because she received donated
materials too late, she’ll be excused. Women who can offer some other reasonable explanation for
their failure may also be excused. All others will be fined on a sliding scale based on their current
income, and fines may not exceed one crown.” Rhaenyra waited a moment to see if anyone would
say more. When no one did, she said, “Let’s move on to aid then. Now that winter is here, it’s time
we begin sending at least a few teams of women abroad.”

“Construction can continue in the snow and cold,” Lymna pointed out. “We shouldn’t send away
too many women.”

“But we should send away some.” Corla leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. “The
eastern provinces suffered marginally less damage than the central and western provinces. Surely
we can afford to send a few hundred Wytherses, Beesburys, and Fossoways abroad to aid our
sisters.”

“I agree with Corla.” Rhaenys’ support came just slowly enough that one could almost believe that
she and her mate hadn’t already discussed the matter prior to the meeting. She pulled a small sheaf
of papers from her stack and slid it across the table to Rhaenyra, using her telekinesis to keep the
individual pages from scattering. “I’ve taken the liberty of gathering the names of some
volunteers.”

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow as she briefly scanned over the names her aunt had proffered. Women
from all seven Clans and House Tyrell had come forward to volunteer. “They’re all willing to leave
Kastrell?”

“Willing and ready.”

She knew that Lymna was correct about construction still being possible in the snow, but she also
knew that everything tended to slow once the cold set in. She had no issue with her subjects being a
little idle this winter—they’d all earned a rest—but if these women were willing to render aid to
their sisters in the north, south, and west, who was she to deny them?

She glanced over her shoulder at Hylda, who had remained silent this entire time, as was her way.
Her Shadow Knight had never liked Small Council meetings, just as she’d never liked Inner Circle
or Advisory meetings. “My place is guarding your back, not interfering with policy.”

Knowing that she was expected to offer some input, Hylda expelled a slow breath and said, “If
we’re sending aid abroad, perhaps it is time to recall the other Garden Knights.”

Rhaenyra gave her old heart friend an apologetic look as she shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t ask
that of my daughters at present.”

Jonquil, Sarmelle, Casilda, and Lorenna had returned to Stone Garden several months ago, but
she’d sent them away again almost immediately. She’d decided that her other knights would be
more useful taking part in the relief efforts rather than guarding her, so Jonquil and Casilda had
returned home to the Dragon Court, while Sarmelle had been sent home to Farnier with Lorenna.
Melina was the only one of her knights who hadn’t returned at all, and that was because she’d been
captured during the War. One of Melina’s cousins had sent word that she was remaining in Norden
to receive psychological and psychiatric treatment and assistance.

Hylda merely shrugged, evidently expecting her answer. “As you will.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile inwardly at Hylda’s decisively stoic expression. She knew that
the primary reason her heart friend wanted the other Garden Knights to return was because she
worried about her safety. Hylda had always fretted about her, despite the fact that she was far
deadlier than all seven of her knights combined. She also knew that the secondary reason was that
Hylda simply missed her mate. She and Jonquil had been separated for nearly the entirety of the
War, after all.

Turning back to address the rest of the table, she declared, “Relief efforts will continue to be
concentrated in Farnier, but I think we can spare some women for the Dragon Court and Bellmar as
well.”

Elysara cleared her throat to draw her attention. “Your Majesty, I would like to ask that you send a
few chroniclers along with the volunteers. Lady Tyrell has been requesting as many accounts from
the War as possible.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “Can she not wait until everything is more settled?”

Elysara shrugged. “Strike while the iron is hot, as the smiths say.”

While tempted to say no, she knew as well as anyone how seriously Lady Tyrell took the magisters’
sacred duty of recording the planet’s history. Better they depart now so they can return in the spring
for planting. “Very well. You may oversee the organization of that.”
Elysara dipped her head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Rhaenyra dipped her head in return before addressing her aunt. “I would have you coordinate the
logistics of our relief efforts, My Lady Hand.” Even if Rhaenys were not her Hand, this task would
still have fallen to her. For of all her councilors, her aunt was by far the best equipped to manage
such things simply because she’d once been a queen herself.

Rhaenys smiled. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” She looked over at Bartima. “Dare I ask how our treasury is faring?”

Bartima immediately began shuffling through her papers. “Better than I suspect most treasuries
would be faring after a war. The agrarian work performed this summer and autumn was almost
entirely on a voluntary basis, since everyone needs to eat, and most of the reconstruction being
done now is voluntary as well given that everyone’s homes and businesses were damaged. Barter
has been proliferating in recent months, as it was during the War itself.”

“We should eventually compensate everyone for their work in some fashion, including the courtiers
who are now serving as staff.” Rhaenyra drummed her fingers on the table. “Do you have any
suggestions how we might go about doing that without causing massive inflation?”

“I was considering a series of compensation plans that can be implemented all at once so women
have options.” Bartima handed a small stack of papers to Elysara, who in turn passed them to
Rhaenyra. “Tax exemptions, annuities, and lump sums would form the backbone, though I’ve also
noted a few other mechanisms that you may wish to implement. Women can decide on an
individual basis how they wish to receive retroactive wages. We should encourage annuities and tax
exemptions, since those will have the least detrimental effect on inflation rates, but I’ve also
already begun calculating the necessary funds we’ll need to set aside in the event that everyone
requests a lump sum.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes scanned over the first three pages summarizing the essentials of Bartima’s plans.
“How flexible were you thinking of making the annuities?”

“As flexible as possible to encourage women to select that option. My staff has already begun
drawing up different plans for women to choose from, but they aren’t yet comprehensive by any
means. The total amount to which an individual is entitled is, of course, fixed, but when and how
she wishes to receive her installments will be left almost entirely up to her. If she wishes to request
a larger sum one year and a smaller one the next, we can make that work. If she needs to make two
requests back to back but then decides to halt payment for a few decades, we can accommodate that
as well.”

Rhaenyra nodded thoughtfully. While she’d never personally had much interest in taxation or tax
policy, she knew that Bartima lived for it, so she trusted that the other woman’s plans were sound.
“Interest?”

“Only to account for any possible inflation.”

“Good.” She added Bartima’s papers to the growing stack of her own. “I want a comprehensive
plan as soon as possible, but don’t rush through or skimp on necessary details. We can wait a few
years before implementation, I should think.”

Bartima dipped her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Rhaenyra turned to her prelatic legate. “Can we afford to curtail some of the New Year’s and
equinox celebrations this spring? I want to decrease impediments to the resumption of agrarian
work as much as possible.”

Mother Lemore hesitated a moment before answering. “We can afford some curtailing, I suppose,
but we should take care. Holidays are good for morale, and I think we’re all looking forward to
bidding farewell to the final year of the War.”

“Of course,” Rhaenyra agreed, “and whatever reductions we make won’t infringe on the religious
aspects of the holidays.”

Mother Lemore smiled her satisfaction. “And what of Yule? Will we be curbing those celebrations
as well?”

“No more so than strictly necessary. As you said, holidays are good for morale, and Yule doesn’t
overlap with the planting season.” Rhaenyra personally wasn’t convinced that the celebrations
would be all that lively, in any event, given that everyone was still recovering from the trauma of
the War. Or perhaps that will make them want to celebrate all the more.

Four hours later, Rhaenyra was finally able to call the meeting to a close. Once her Hand finished
making a few final remarks, she thanked her and dismissed everyone except for Hylda. She
remained straight-backed and regal as her Small Council left the chamber, only allowing herself to
slump on her throne once Hylda had closed the door. Her eyes closed as she massaged her forehead
to stave off the headache that she could feel coming on.

Hylda cleared her throat, drawing Rhaenyra’s attention to her. “Your Majesty, Sabitha says Aemma
is here to see you.”

Rhaenyra opened her eyes and rolled her neck a few times before sitting up straight again. “Send
her in.”

Sabitha opened the door a moment later to allow Aemma entry before closing it.

Aemma strode in and bobbed a quick curtsy. “Do you have a moment?”

“I always do for you.” She motioned for her to take a seat. “Is something the matter?”

“Not exactly.” Aemma laced her fingers together and settled her clasped hands on the table. “I
wanted to discuss the Lady Alicent.”

Rhaenyra was immediately on alert and leaning forward. She frowned worriedly and resisted the
urge to grip the table. “Is she all right? Has something happened?”

“She’s perfectly fine,” Aemma soothed. “You don’t need to fret about her disappearing in the night
or jumping out of a window.”

Not that she could, though, thankfully, the Lady Alicent had yet to actually try.

Feeling foolish for her clear overreaction, Rhaenyra leaned back in her chair. While she wouldn’t
admit it to Aemma, it had been an effort to stay away from Lady Alicent these past months. She
wanted to visit her and ensure that she was settling in well, but she also knew that such visits would
only upset or frighten the other woman. She didn’t ever want to be the cause of Lady Alicent’s
grief, so she restricted herself to receiving occasional words from Aemma and empathically
soothing her nightmares when she sensed them, which was often.

She’d discovered that Lady Alicent was plagued by bad dreams two days after her arrival, which
wasn’t at all surprising, considering her history. She’d been returning to her own chambers for the
night when she’d passed by Lady Alicent’s door and immediately sensed her distress. Not wishing
to simply barge in to ascertain the problem, she’d instead reached out with her empathy and
realized that Lady Alicent was having a nightmare. Almost without conscious intent, she’d sent
soothing thoughts into the Lady Alicent’s troubled mind until she’d calmed and begun sleeping
peacefully.

Since then, whenever she sensed Lady Alicent tossing and turning at night on the other side of the
wall that separated their bedchambers, she would soothe the other woman’s distressed mind to help
her sleep. Some mornings, she awoke with the sour taste of fear in her mouth, and there had been a
number of times when she’d been awakened during the night by Lady Alicent’s feelings of terror.

She hadn’t told Aemma about any of that though, nor did she intend to.

“So she’s doing well then?” she checked.

Aemma hesitated. “I’m honestly not certain most of the time,” she admitted. “I suppose she’s doing
as well as can be expected, but the woman is a conundrum. She still seems anxious more oft than
not—understandably so—and she’s guarded. Her walls are as high and thick as those surrounding
the city, I would say.”

“Over two decades of abuse will do that to a person,” Rhaenyra pointed out dryly, though it
troubled her that Lady Alicent remained so closed off when faced with Aemma’s unending
kindness and compassion.

“Yes, and I understand that. What I mean is that, most of the time, she’s like a cornered animal:
afraid and suspicious of everything. But, at the same time, she’s starved for connection. You can
see it in her eyes, and it’s heartbreaking, truth be told.” Aemma’s own eyes were soft with
sympathy. “She’s desperate for companionship of some kind, but she’s so traumatized that she
doesn’t trust me when I try to offer it.

“Half of the time, she doesn’t seem to even know how to react to a simple kindness. It’s as if the
very notion were foreign to her. And asking her desires or opinions on anything seems to send her
into a near panic. A few weeks ago, I asked if there was a particular color of dress she might prefer,
and the poor thing looked ready to faint. I must have spent a good hour talking around the issue
before she finally admitted that she likes the color green.

“Mind you, I’m doing all that I can to help her settle here. She reads voraciously, so I bring her new
books when I notice that she’s read everything currently on her shelves. When she asked if there
was anything that she could do to aid our rebuilding efforts, I began bringing her ruined clothes and
blankets that needed mending. Her sewing is excellent, by the way, and she’s been a great help. I
think she’s even working on a quilt at present.”

Aemma frowned slightly at her own tangent, tsking at herself before resuming. “Anyhow, I’ve also
tried simply sitting and talking with her. She seems to have a genuine curiosity about us, and I
answer any question she poses. But every time I think she’s beginning to grow more comfortable
around me, she withdraws again.”
Her seneschal leaned forward, her words somehow managing to become even more pointed. “The
fact that she has yet to even consider leaving her apartments is troubling, and it’s not healthy for her
to be such a recluse. Isolation takes a toll on the soul and psyche.” She paused, squaring her
shoulders a little as she locked their gazes. “I believe that it was a mistake to allow her to remain
shut away in her apartments for so long. She needs to come out and interact with others.”

Rhaenyra disagreed. Lady Alicent’s current behavior made perfect sense to her. She’d seen it a
hundred times in a hundred different survivors. Lady Alicent had spent the last twenty-three years
in an isolated environment, completely cut off from anyone who wasn’t one of her abusers. Of
course she yearned for some form of positive personal connection. Alas, the previous decades had
taught her to be distrustful of, well, everyone. The poor woman didn’t know how to accept or even
fully comprehend genuine kindness because it had been so utterly lacking in her life.

It was only natural that Lady Alicent would choose to sequester herself in her apartments rather
than risk venturing into the unknown that was Stone Garden. Being alone was familiar, and here,
she didn’t have to worry about Criston and his family. Only the Firestorm, which is why I must
remain away from her.

Lady Alicent was simply exerting a modicum of control over her own circumstances for the first
time in over twenty-three years, and there was nothing wrong with that. Who am I—or Aemma, for
that matter—to decide when her self-imposed isolation comes to an end?

Rather than delving into the nuances of complex trauma, she simply said, “Lady Alicent is nesting.
You know as well as I do that it’s not healthy to interrupt a nester. We should let her be.”

“Lady Alicent isn’t Valyrian,” Aemma countered, “so she doesn’t nest. Besides, I’ve seen no
evidence of her using blankets, pillows, or other such things to build herself a nest in order to feel
more comfortable and secure.”

“Nesting is a reaction to being overly stressed, sad, or unhappy,” Rhaenyra argued. “Other species
might not call it nesting or exhibit the same behaviors that we do, but withdrawing isn’t an
uncommon reaction to feeling overwhelmed. We shouldn’t force her out of her apartments if she
isn’t ready.”

“Valyrian or otherwise, five months of nesting is too long. She doesn’t seem interested in leaving
Valyria, and if she is to live with us, she ought to actually live with us.” Aemma spread her hands.
“Left to her own devices, she’ll likely never leave her apartments. It will be best for her if—”

“No.” Rhaenyra shook her head firmly. “Lady Alicent knows what is in her own best interests. Not
us.”

“Rhaenyra—”

“I’ll not tell her what to do, Aemma. I am, unfortunately, very familiar with domestic abuse and the
sorts of personalities involved. I’m well aware of the kind of mindset abusers foster in their victims
and what sorts of tactics they use to keep them afraid and in their thrall. How many people do you
think have been making decisions for Lady Alicent since the day she was born because they
supposedly knew better? How many people do you think have told her that she doesn’t know what
she needs and that it’s their right and responsibility to make decisions for her? How many people
do you think have told her that she’s too stupid or weak or unknowledgeable to know what is best
for her?” She glowered at Aemma. “I refuse to be one more person presuming to know what is in
her best interests.”
Had this been anyone else, her glower would have been more than sufficient to end the
conversation. But this wasn’t just anyone. This was Aemma, who had known her all of her life and
endured far more serious displays of displeasure than a mere glower.

“You’ve already presumed to know what is in her best interests,” Aemma retorted. “You presumed
the moment that you decided to make her part of the treaty without consulting her first.”

Rhaenyra winced, shame coloring her cheeks. She would never forgive herself for that particular
action. It was repugnant, regardless of her intentions. And yet, she couldn’t help but instinctively
defend herself. “I gave her the choice to return to Westeros.”

“Do you think she actually believed your offer was genuine?”

No. And that was something that haunted her. Wars always brought out the worst in people, and
she’d been no exception. She’d fought in countless wars and conflicts on other planets, and she
supposed that a part of her had hoped that she’d be able to better restrain herself as a result, but the
things she’d done during the War . . . They had all been in the name of her people, of course, but
that justification only did so much to help her sleep at night. She’d been plagued by nightmares
long before she was called home to fight the Westerosi, but now those nightmares had even more
fodder.

Aemma’s expression softened, and sweet calming pheromones began to suffuse the air. “Rhaenyra,
how is what you’re doing now, refusing to address the issue of her leaving her rooms, not also
deciding what is best for her?”

Rhaenyra expelled a heavy breath and slumped in her chair. Her eyes closed for a moment as she
breathed in her heart friend’s soothing scent. “I can’t make the decision for her, Aemma. If she
wishes to remain in her rooms, I can’t very well drag her out and force her to talk to people.”

“Mayhap she isn’t ready to come out and explore Stone Garden,” Aemma conceded, “but if she
won’t come out, perhaps the time has come for you to go in.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Have you
even considered visiting her since that first night?”

Many, many times, but she didn’t wish to make Lady Alicent uncomfortable or frighten her. All she
wanted was for her to feel safe here. “She’s terrified of me, Aemma. I told you that first night, it’s
best if I give her space. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near the Firestorm, and I can’t fault her
for that.”

Aemma was silent for a long moment, and she shared a brief look with Hylda over Rhaenyra’s
shoulder. “I’ve been talking about you to her. Did you know that?”

Rhaenyra frowned slightly. “What have you been saying?”

“I’ve only told her a few stories about your younger days. I’ve been trying to make her see that
you’re not a monster.”

“I am a monster though,” she muttered. The screams that had echoed throughout those thrice-
damned caverns still haunted her, mingling with the more distant screams of her past into a
deafening cacophony.

Aemma tsked. “You’re not a monster, Rhaenyra. You never have been, and you never will be. You
protect those you love, no matter the personal cost to yourself. You sacrifice and always put the
needs of your people before your own. You do the best that you can using every skill you have at
your disposal, which is all anyone can ever ask for.”

“You saved Valyria,” Hylda put in, finally speaking for the first time. “You single-handedly turned
the tide of the War.”

“And I butchered thousands of Lady Alicent’s people to do it.” Rhaenyra glared down at her hands,
remembering the sight and feeling of Westerosi blood dripping from her fingers. “Do you think
she’s going to forget that so easily?”

“Do you think she’s ever going to see you as anything other than the Firestorm unless you show her
who you really are?” Aemma slapped her hand against the table. “Words are wind, Rhaenyra.
Actions are stone. She’s heard all sorts of stories about the Firestorm, and I’ve been telling her
stories about Rhaenyra, but only you can make the final impression. You did what was necessary
during the War, and now is your chance to show her the other side of yourself.”

Rising from her chair, Aemma came around the table to stand in front of Rhaenyra. She reached out
and took her hands, squeezing gently. “I understand that you don’t wish to upset her, but if she’s
going to remain at Stone Garden, she needs to learn to no longer fear you. That can’t happen if you
never interact with her.”

“I—”

“I’m not saying force your company upon her,” Aemma interrupted, “but at least find some way to
show her that you’re not a threat beyond simply leaving her alone.” She smiled gently, giving her
hands another squeeze. “Consider it, please?”

Rhaenyra sighed, shoulders slumping. Perhaps Aemma was correct and she should visit Lady
Alicent. But what if I only make things worse? The thought of causing Lady Alicent any more
distress than she already had made her stomach churn. It’s me that she’s afraid of, though. If I can
show her that I’m not a threat, perhaps she’ll feel comfortable enough to leave her rooms and make
those connections she so desperately desires. And needs. “I’ll consider it,” she conceded.

Aemma’s smile wasn’t triumphant, or even particularly satisfied, but it was approving. “Good.”

Before she could respond, Rhaenyra felt a gentle tap on her mental wards. Recognizing the feeling
of Aemma’s magic, she lowered her wards just enough to form a mental link. “Is there a reason
you felt the need to exclude Hylda?”

“What I’m about to tell you isn’t something she needs to hear.”

She frowned slightly, disliking both Aemma’s mental tone and the implication behind her words.
Aemma knew better than anyone that there were very few things to which her Shadow Knight was
not privy. “Is it something I need to know, Aemma?” She was almost certain that it had to do with
Lady Alicent, and while she was pleased by the thought that Lady Alicent was willing to speak
candidly with Aemma, she disliked the idea that Aemma might be playing the spy. Anything Lady
Alicent tells her in confidence ought to stay that way. Something that she had thought she’d made
clear. She’d sent Aemma to Lady Alicent to help her, not to spy on her and report back.

“If you intend to visit the Lady Alicent within the next few days, then I feel it prudent to warn you
that she’s ovulating at present.”
Rhaenyra’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “Aemma!” She didn’t know what she’d been
expecting, but Merciful Mother, it hadn’t been that.

Hylda glanced between her and Aemma, but she didn’t comment on them having a mental
conversation without her.

“This is why I wanted to have this conversation telepathically.” Aemma’s exasperation was as easy
to hear in her thoughts as it would have been had she spoken aloud. “I noticed the change in her
scent as soon as it started, and I know you’ll be able to smell it as well if you visit her.”

And were you worried that I would remark on it, or something more base? She grimaced at the very
thought. She knew that Aemma didn’t think so little of her, and yet the words rattled around in her
mind, thankfully private because they weren’t shared through their link. You’re not a slave to your
instincts, she assured herself. She never had been. She couldn’t afford to be. She had far too much
power running through her veins and roiling in her core to be anything less than in complete control
of herself. She’d seen twice before what happened when her control slipped, and she would never
let that happen again.

And yet, much to her own displeasure, she couldn’t help but remember how drawn to Lady
Alicent’s scent she’d been that morning after her arrival, how swiftly it had invaded her senses and
enthralled her. She quickly pushed the memory away, resisting the urge to dig her nails into the
flesh of her forearm to ground herself. It was a habit Aemma and Hylda had never approved of, and
she wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

Lady Alicent’s scent was alluring, she could admit that, but it certainly wasn’t enough to make her
lose control or forget the lessons instilled in every Valyrian child about the sacrosanct nature of
consent. She’d been unprepared for Lady Alicent’s scent that first morning, and even then, she’d
only taken two steps before regaining her senses.

She was prepared now. Such a minor slip wouldn’t happen again. I will never do anything to harm
her or make her more afraid of me than she already is. For she knew in her bones that—no matter
how enticing Lady Alicent’s scent might be—she would never lay a finger on her unless she had
permission. The very thought of doing so was enough to turn her stomach and assure her that she
would remain in control of her own actions while in the other woman’s presence.

Refocusing on Aemma, she asked, “How much longer do you think her ovulation will last?”

Aemma made no comment on her long mental silence, saying simply, “I’m not certain. It’s been
going on for about five months now.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows rose again. “Five months?”

“My current theory is that her cycle follows a similar schedule to ours: six months of ova
maturation, five months of ovulation, about three weeks of ova breakdown and nutrient recycling, a
week for menstruation, then a week of rest before the start of a new cycle.” Aemma shrugged. “It’s
only a theory, of course. We won’t know for certain until next year.”

What sort of fool was she that she hadn’t even considered Lady Alicent’s cycle and what she might
need for it? Idiot. You bloody idiot. She was a terrible hostess. She should have thought of this.
What if Lady Alicent’s cycle had been monthly instead of annually? What then? She was almost
certain that the poor woman wouldn’t have felt comfortable asking for what she needed. Thrice-
damned idiot.
 “Rhaenyra,” Aemma’s mental voice scythed through her own thoughts, far too loud for comfort, “I
might not be able to hear what you’re thinking, but I know that you’re castigating yourself. Stop it.
It’s hardly your fault for forgetting. Lady Alicent is barren, so for all you knew, she didn’t
menstruate. And you’ve hardly had reason to consider the issue yourself. You haven’t cycled since
conceiving Empress Visenya, and you’ve certainly had no reason to think about Westerosi cycling
seeing as how all of the Westerosi you studied were male.”

None of that justified her idiocy and lack of consideration, but now wasn’t the time to argue. “If
Lady Alicent’s cycle is similar to ours, then she’ll begin menstruating in a few weeks. We’ll need to
make sure she has everything she needs.” Her lips pursed. “Perhaps we should offer her moon
tea.” It would certainly be the most convenient solution, assuming Lady Alicent was amenable to
ceasing her cycle entirely for the time being. “I should contact the Alcazar to ensure that she can
drink moon tea without it hurting her.”

Aemma nodded in agreement. “In the meantime, I can ask her what she needs.”

Rhaenyra’s cheeks flushed at the very thought of such a conversation, but she nodded. Thank Relle
for Aemma. “Thank you, Aemma.”

“Of course.” Aemma bobbed a curtsy and turned to leave, but Rhaenyra called her back.

“Aemma, please see to it that Lady Alicent’s chambers remain well-heated this winter. I doubt that
she’s accustomed to the cold considering Westeros’ climate and that she’s spent the last three
winters in Farnier.” And the fact that she’s spent her life wearing nth metal clothes. Among the
metal’s many remarkable properties, it regulated internal body temperatures. While she didn’t know
the exact degree to which the Westerosi had used their nth metal clothes to handle Valyria’s colder
climates, she suspected that Lady Alicent would feel Kastrell’s lower temperatures much more
acutely now that she was no longer shielded.

Aemma dipped her head in acquiescence. “I’ll make sure additional warm air is directed to her
apartments,” she promised. She cocked her head slightly. “Shall I provide her with flint and steel as
well?”

“Yes. And have you already given her long-smallclothes and winter nightdresses?”

Amusement briefly glinted in Aemma’s amber eyes, and Rhaenyra knew immediately that her old
heart friend thought that she was fussing. “I’ve given her several sets of long-smallclothes and five
winter nightgowns,” she assured her. “The Lady Alicent will remain quite warm this winter.”

Rhaenyra hoped that was true. The last thing she wanted was for Lady Alicent to be miserable
because of the weather. She offered her heart friend a grateful smile as she repeated, “Thank you,
Aemma.”

Chapter End Notes

Hylda: Your Majesty, you need sleep.

Rhaenyra: Sleep is for wimps.
Aemma: Your Majesty, you need to take breaks.
Rhaenyra: Breaks are also for wimps. I'll rest in a few decades. It's fiiiiinnnneee.
Narrator: It was perhaps 60% fine.

Sorry that this chapter was rather light on plot and heavy on governing logistics post-war
(GRRM once posed the question of "What was Aragorn's tax policy?" Well, here is
Rhaenyra's). Next chapter we'll be returning to Alicent and seeing how she's been settling in
these past five months.

Also, a note on moon tea in this AU. It's still a contraceptive, but it's a contraceptive that
works by halting the menstrual cycle entirely until the counteractive tea is drunk. Valyrian
medical scientists have had millennia to perfect and improve it, so none of the canon issues
related to moon tea exist here. It's also not an abortifacient here.
 Safety
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 8:

– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Hylda Westerling, Shadow Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Gelt
(Valyrian counterpart of Ser Harrold)
– Sabitha Vypren, Lily Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Saevara

This chapter is also a long one because bemynewobsession convinced me that recombining
my split chapters back into one was a good idea. So if you have a problem with the length,
take it up with them.

Trigger Warning: Mentions of marital rape.

Also, please enjoy the artwork of Rhaenyra's personal crown.

Modeled off of the original artwork by Leoninia on Deviant Art.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Winter Moon/1,000,121 Visenya VI

Alicent had spent months fretting about the coming winter, dreading the bitter cold that she’d
known would accompany the—admittedly—pretty snows. Despite Aemma’s repeated assurances
that Stone Garden—and the Queen’s Keep especially—was well heated and remained warm even
in wintertime, she’d still fretted. A Valyrian’s idea of warmth was very different from hers, she
knew, and she’d always hated the cold. Even the autumn months here had been a little too chilling
for her, and she’d had to stop leaving her windows open not even halfway through the season.

Her life had prepared her to endure many hardships on this strange planet, but it had not prepared
her to endure the cold. Winters back home were little more than minor decreases in temperature
with perhaps a rare snow flurry every few decades. And while there had been some Lordships
where the winter weather was more severe, even the harshest winter in the coldest Lordship
couldn’t compare to the early winter conditions of Kastrell. Here, despite keeping her windows
closed, latched tight, and covered by the heavy curtains, she still felt the cold.

Upon noticing her shivers three weeks before, Aemma had brought her extra blankets and quilts, in
addition to the long-smallclothes and winter nightgowns she’d already provided. Alicent had then
spent the next several hours chastising herself for showing such weakness, for giving the Firestorm
yet another way to break her.

The following day, Aemma had given her some flint and steel—and shown her how to use them—
so that she could build fires in the various hearths throughout her chambers.

She hadn’t dared touch them for weeks, certain that they were some form of trap. Criston had
sometimes played that game with her, giving her something that she needed only to punish her the
moment she dared try and use it. Alas, much to her own shame, she’d broken and used the
primitive fire starters the night before, compelled by a sharp drop in temperature.

She was still awaiting the consequences of that foolishness.

While the winter thus far was perhaps not quite as terrible as she’d been expecting, this was but the
first month. She knew that it would only grow colder. At least I haven’t been forced outside yet. The
mere thought made her grimace, and she was terrified that that was how the Firestorm would
decide to punish her for using the flint and steel. Within the walls of the Queen’s Keep, she was
able to remain reasonably warm, but she was certain that she would go into hypothermic shock the
moment she stepped outside, no matter how many layers she bundled herself in.

The sound of someone lightly knocking on her study door startled her from her thoughts. Even after
five months here, she still hadn’t grown accustomed to the knocking. “Come in.” She assumed that
it was Aemma coming to bring her, her noon meal, or “luncheon,” as the Valyrians called it.

The old seneschal made a habit of visiting her several times a day to ask if she had everything that
she needed or wanted, and sometimes, they would simply sit and talk for a while. Or rather,
Aemma would talk, and she would listen and store the information away so that she could properly
analyze it later.

She liked those visits the best. She liked having the chance to question Aemma about Valyria,
though she knew better than to blindly accept anything the other woman told her. When she could,
she always compared Aemma’s answers to the information in her books. That was how she’d first
determined that Aemma wasn’t being completely false with her.
Unfortunately, she had many questions whose answers could not be found in a book, meaning that
it was impossible for her to determine for certain whether or not Aemma was lying. But she knew
that the best lies always contained a kernel of truth, and it was those kernels that she desperately
sought and hoarded away. For Aemma contained information that her books did not: she knew the
Firestorm better than perhaps anyone else alive.

When Aemma had first begun telling her stories about the Firestorm’s youth, she’d been skeptical.
She’d known by then that Aemma had practically raised the Firestorm, making her even more of
the Firestorm’s creature than she’d first assumed. She’d suspected that the stories were biased at
best, pure fabrication at worst.

In either case, she’d known that they were meant to further the Firestorm’s plan of putting her at
ease before striking. She’d initially been prepared to dismiss them in their entirety, but then she’d
realized that even Aemma’s skewed accounts could hold valuable insight into the Firestorm: insight
that could help her survive. So she listened attentively whenever Aemma spoke of her former
charge, filing away every word so that she could pick it apart later.

It still surprised her, sometimes, how innocuous all of Aemma’s stories were. And even though she
knew the purpose behind them, she still found herself having to catch a laugh before it could
escape, or suppress a smile every now and then. It was impossible to reconcile Aemma’s stories
with the ones she’d heard during the war, which was itself telling of just how slanted Aemma’s
view of the Firestorm was. Or perhaps it was simply evidence of Aemma’s genuine love for the
woman who was plainly something of a surrogate daughter to her.

Alicent didn’t know which was the truth, and she wasn’t sure that it actually mattered.

By some miracle, she hadn’t seen the Firestorm since her first night here. She couldn’t fathom why
the other woman was offering her this reprieve, which she knew was merely delaying the
inevitable, but she would gladly accept what peace she could. It was why she hadn’t ventured
beyond her outermost chamber, despite Aemma repeatedly assuring her that she could. She didn’t
dare risk encountering the Firestorm and provoking the other woman into beginning whatever
horrid plans she had for her. Besides, she’d grown used to isolation during her marriage. She’d
learned to savor it, in fact, because it meant that she was as safe as she could be.

Being alone was far preferable to being in pain.

But it also grew rather dull after a time.

At first, she’d filled her days with reading, which had been enjoyable as well as informative, but
after a few weeks, she’d begun to feel guilty for her idleness. She’d never been idle back home, and
her hands had begun to yearn for something productive to do. She knew from Aemma that efforts
to rebuild and repair the city and its surrounding areas were well underway, so she’d asked if there
was anything she might do to help. Deliveries of damaged and worn clothing and blankets had
begun arriving the following morning, so she’d started spending several hours each day sewing and
mending and putting some of the skills her mothers had taught her to use.

Then, almost two weeks ago now, the Firestorm had issued an edict calling upon her subjects to
spend at least some of their time this winter knitting warm clothes and sewing quilts. She’d told
Aemma that she knew how to knit and sew, and Aemma had begun bringing her yarn, old clothes,
scrap fabric, and old blankets the very next day. Since then, she’d knitted almost two dozen pairs of
socks, ten scarves, four hats, three pairs of mittens, a pair of gloves, and she was now working on a
second patchwork quilt.
In the rare moments that she allowed herself to reflect on the fact that she was actively helping the
Firestorm’s people, she rationalized it as a vain attempt to ingratiate herself.

Her ruminations halted when the door swung open on silent hinges and Aemma stepped into the
room.

Alicent noticed at once that something was wrong.

While Aemma was smiling as she always did, it looked practiced and rather brittle. Her wings—
which she’d only recently revealed after Alicent had asked about Avenians—almost looked as if
they were drooping. Faint shadows marred the skin beneath her eyes, and even the way that she
was walking seemed off. The whites of her eyes gleamed with a hint of silver, which Alicent was
fairly certain meant that they were bloodshot. Unlike her own people, Valyrians had blood
resembling liquid silver. She vaguely remembered the first time that she’d seen Criston return from
battle practically covered in the strange blood, and she vividly remembered the broken arm and
dislocated shoulder she’d received that night as he’d growled about silver stains on his black
uniform.

She instinctively opened her mouth to ask Aemma if something was the matter, but then she
quickly closed it. It was not her place to ask after such things. And besides, did she actually expect
Aemma to be honest with her if she was troubled? Hardly. Aemma might be acting as her caretaker
at present, but she was still a piece of the Firestorm’s game. Alicent knew that. She knew that
Aemma’s behavior was all part of some long-term scheme the Firestorm had concocted. She knew
that the other woman was only here to be the Firestorm’s eyes and ears. Strong Sytarr, for all she
knew, Aemma’s strange behavior at this very moment could be a ploy of some sort.

And yet the urge to ask her what was troubling her remained.

Most days Alicent had to actively prevent herself from lowering her guard around the
grandmotherly woman. It was far more difficult than it should have been. Aemma was simply so
. . . kind. Unendingly so. She always spoke gently to her, had never once raised her voice, and was
constantly assuring her that she was safe and welcome to ask for anything. Alicent could almost be
forgiven for thinking that Aemma actually cared about her, but she knew better. As much as she
would have liked to believe that Aemma was genuinely fond of her, she knew better than to trust a
smiling face.

Criston had smiled at her once. Arilla, Sabina, and Vesna as well. She knew all too well that smiles
could turn cruel in an instant.

“Good afternoon, Lady Alicent.” Aemma’s tone was light and airy, and her pitch was about a
quarter octave higher than normal.

Overcompensation. “Hello, Lady Aemma.” She rose from her chair to help the other woman lay the
food that she’d brought with her out on the table. As expected, her noon meal for today consisted of
a salad with some sort of diced meat sprinkled in amongst the vegetables, a small bowl of
winterberries, a slice of bread, and a glass of juice.

As Aemma was transferring the glass of juice from the tray to the table, Alicent noticed a fading
splotch of wetness of Aemma’s sleeve, as if the other woman had been dabbing at her eyes or
cheeks earlier. Hold your tongue.

“Will you be needing anything else, My Lady?” Aemma’s eyes didn’t quite meet hers as she spoke.
“No, thank you.” It wasn’t unusual for Aemma to need to leave immediately after delivering her
meals, but coupled with everything else . . .

Aemma had her hand on the door lever when Alicent suddenly called her name. Her hand still
hovering over the curved metal, the old seneschal turned back to face her. “Yes, My Lady?”

You’re an idiot. You’re going to regret this. You stupid, stupid girl. “Is something the matter? I don’t
mean to pry, but you seem . . . sad.” When Aemma just stared at her, she rushed to add, “I’m sorry.
I know it’s not my place, but . . . I’ve been told that I’m a good listener.” No one had ever actually
told her that. Her mother had rarely overlooked an opportunity to chastise her for never minding
her. But I’ve spent my whole life listening to what other people have to say. Surely that counts for
something.

The silence engulfing the room was deafening, and it seemed to stretch on for hours, but then
Aemma nodded slightly and stepped away from the door. She walked over to the table where
Alicent was sitting and telekinetically pulled up another chair. As she sank down onto the
cushioned seat, she expelled a heavy breath that turned into a wry chuckle. “And here I thought that
I was concealing my mood quite well.”

“I’m sure you were,” Alicent assured her, picking up her fork and prodding at her salad as an
excuse not to make eye contact. Why did I have to open my stupid mouth? I should have simply let
her leave. I’m certain she has friends she can speak with if she’s troubled. Women who aren’t
prisoners and who actually know how to comfort her. “I only . . . I noticed a few things. I’m sorry. I
shouldn’t have pried. It was rude.”

“It was kind,” Aemma countered. “When born from a place of genuine concern, such questions are
kind.” She tilted her head slightly. “Did you mean it? Or were you simply being polite?”

“I meant it.” The words were out of her mouth before she could properly consider them. “You don’t
have to tell me anything, of course,” she added quickly, “but I’m happy to listen.” Shut up and
actually let her speak. You’ve never known when to just keep your damn mouth shut.

One of Aemma’s hands absently wandered to the silver bracelet encircling her right wrist, twisting
it around in a slow circle. “It’s rather silly, in the grand scheme of things. I received word about half
an hour ago that my,” she paused for a split second, “sister won’t be returning home for at least
another month. She’s still convalescing from injuries she sustained during the War.”

Alicent forced herself not to flinch, and she swallowed her questions about how grievous Aemma’s
sister’s injuries were and how she’d managed to sustain them given her immortality. “I’m sorry to
hear that,” she said instead.

“Thank you.” Aemma sighed. “As I said, it’s rather silly in the grand scheme of things. She’ll
return to me soon enough. I simply have to be patient.”

“You miss her.” Alicent slowly reached out to tentatively pat Aemma’s hand, hoping that she
wasn’t overstepping. You’ll be lucky not to lose that hand, You Fool. “There’s nothing wrong with
missing a sister.”

Aemma hummed in agreement, eyes briefly flicking down to where Alicent’s hand was touching
her own. “I just hate to think of her in pain. I hate that I’m not there with her.”
“I’m sure anyone in your situation would feel the same.” She remembered when her youngest
sister, Mara, had fallen ill when they were children. She’d hated not being able to see her and
comfort her, knowing that she was sick and scared. She assumed that feeling must not go away for
sisters who were able to see each other as adults.

Aemma tilted her head slightly to one side. “Is that how you feel, My Lady? Do you miss your
sisters?”

Alicent stiffened. Idiot. You Sytarr-damned idiot. How could she have been so blind? The mere fact
that Aemma had paused—short as that pause had been—before saying “sister” should have been
more than enough to tell her that the other woman was lying. She was trying to lull you into saying
something incriminating, something the Firestorm could use as an excuse to punish you. She’d
known that everything Aemma did was part of a grander scheme. How could she have been so
stupid as to forget that, even for a moment? You’re a fool who deserves whatever happens to you.

“My apologies,” Aemma said, interrupting Alicent’s raging thoughts. “That was insensitive of me.
Of course you miss your sisters.”

Don’t put words in my mouth, she wanted to snap, but she knew that that would only make her
situation infinitely worse.

A sudden pain shot through her wrist, and when she looked down to find the source, she saw that
her own nails were digging into her scarred flesh. She hadn’t even realized that she’d wrapped her
fingers around her wrist. Why didn’t I notice that? I should have noticed what my own hand was
doing.

Evidently deciding that she had what she wanted, Aemma rose to her feet. “Thank you for listening
to an old woman fret, My Lady.” She was smiling, and this time, the smile reached her eyes.

Of course she’s happy. She succeeded in leading me to all but say that I miss my natal family. She
had no doubt that the Firestorm would somehow twist the sentiment to prove that she was still loyal
to Westeros, loyal to the point of perhaps plotting against the Valyrian Empire. She didn’t know
why the Firestorm felt the need to manufacture a reason to punish her—didn’t her people’s actions
during the war provide enough fodder?—but it was clear that that was what this whole interaction
had been leading to.

Perhaps she’s trying to ensure that she remains within the bounds of her people’s moral code. The
Sacred Twelve and Reviled Seven had been quite clear in explaining how Valyrians conceptualized
justice and revenge and malice and cruelty. Perhaps the Firestorm considered it malicious to punish
her for her people’s actions during the war since she’d been a noncombatant. Or perhaps signing
that treaty means that she’s no longer allowed to seek further retribution for what my people did
during the war.

That made sense.

One of the treaty’s stipulations was the complete cessation of all hostilities. She supposed that
harming her after the treaty was signed could fall within the category of hostilities. In which case
the Firestorm would need to find a reason completely separate from the war to hurt me. That must
be why the Firestorm had left her be for so long, why she’d been allowed to live peacefully within
the Keep for so many months. The Firestorm had merely been waiting for an opportunity to present
itself so that she’d have justification to punish her.
And like a fool I just gave it to her.

Rhaenyra’s nose wrinkled slightly when she noticed that something was off about Aemma’s scent.
The other woman had just entered her office, and she knew without glancing up that her seneschal
was carrying a sheaf of papers in her hands. It was eight minutes past twelve, which was when
Aemma always came to deliver midday reports. Why her seneschal didn’t come at exactly noon or
even fifteen past, she couldn’t say for certain, though she privately suspected that Aemma simply
enjoyed exhibiting her punctuality by choosing unusual times. Evening reports always arrived
twenty-six minutes past nine, and morning reports were always on her desk forty-one minutes past
eight.

Looking up from her work, she frowned when she saw the fading silver in the whites of Aemma’s
eyes. Under normal circumstances, she might attribute her heart friend’s slightly bloodshot eyes to
lack of sleep, but Aemma’s eyes had been fine this morning, and lack of sleep wouldn’t explain her
scent. Setting her quill aside, she focused her attention on her. “Is something the matter, Aemma?”

Aemma shook her head, but it wasn’t in denial. “Was it my appearance, my scent, or your empathy
that gave me away? I’m personally inclined to assume it must be my appearance. You’re the second
woman in less than an hour to ask me if something was wrong.”

She noted that Aemma’s tone was light, but not in a forced or practiced way. Whatever is bothering
her, it’s bothering her less than it was before. “Your scent has lingering hints of sadness,” she said
simply, motioning for her heart friend to take a seat. “Do you wish to speak about it?”

“It’s nothing you should be concerning yourself with.” Leaning forward, Aemma began carefully
shuffling books, quills, notes, parchments, and scrolls around to make room for the stack of papers
she’d been carrying. “You have more than enough to occupy your mind at present.”

“My mind is more than capable of handling my duties as well as whatever it is that has you upset.”
She reached forward and stilled Aemma’s hands by covering them with one of her own. “Tell me
your troubles, Aemma. I’ll give you the stars.”

Aemma hesitated a moment longer before sighing. “It’s Luwina. Her doctor called today to inform
me that she won’t be able to return home for at least another month. As I said, it’s nothing to
concern yourself with. I need only be patient.” Her eyes fell onto the bonding bracelet glinting on
her wrist. “I miss her is all. I can’t remember the last time we’ve been separated for this long.”

Rhaenyra squeezed Aemma’s hand sympathetically. She hadn’t realized that Luwina’s wounds
were so severe. And how would I have known? Luwina Glover was a Nord, so she’d been under
Jacaerya’s command during the War. Whatever information she’d received about Aemma’s mate’s
activities had all been secondhand at best. “Did the doctor say what injuries were keeping her
bedridden?”

“Internal injuries, mostly. My understanding was that during her last battle, she was nearly torn
apart by one of the Westerosi’s particle beam weapons.” Aemma’s lips twisted slightly, and her
scent suddenly became sharp and bitter. “The weapon was destroyed, but Luwina took nth metal
shrapnel to nearly every part of her body, including her head, which made healing her far more
complicated than it should have been.”
Rhaenyra expelled a heavy breath laden with calming pheromones, and she also sent out a wave of
comfort to augment it. “I know that you’re under an incredible amount of stress at present, Aemma,
and I’m so sorry to hear about Luwina.” She might not be as close to Luwina as she was to
Aemma, but the old archmagister had been as much a fixture in her life as her seneschal. The two
women had been mated since long before she herself was born, and they’d applied for staff
positions within her grandmother’s imperial court as a unit. “Is there anything I can do to help? You
may take as much time off—”

“No.” Aemma shook her head firmly. “I’m needed here.” She swallowed a little, spine
straightening. “None of my under seneschals have returned yet, and while I know that you could
handle performing my duties as well as your own, you shouldn’t have to. You recently finished
carrying a war effort on your shoulders. Besides, despite what you seem to think, you do need to
sleep once in a while.”

A small, nostalgic smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips at Aemma’s tone. It was the same mixture of
exasperation, chiding, and decisiveness that the older woman had used while serving as her
governess. She held up her hands in surrender. “As you will. I won’t force you to take a leave of
absence.” She paused. “What is the name of Luwina’s doctor?”

Aemma eyed her curiously even as she answered. “Dr. Vellene Glover. Her mother’s name is
Vanyanka, I believe.”

“Thank you.” Rhaenyra quickly scribbled the names down before refocusing on Aemma. “May I
have your permission to call Dr. Vellene and find out if it would be feasible to have Luwina
transferred to Spring Song for the duration of her recovery?”

Rather than verbally answering, Aemma rose from her chair and swiftly rounded the desk to pull
Rhaenyra into a tight hug. “Thank you, Rhaenyra.”

“It’s the absolute least that I can do for you, Aemma.” Rhaenyra gave her a gentle squeeze. “I don’t
know why you didn’t ask before now.”

Aemma unwound her arms and took a small step back, waving her hand dismissively. “It would
have been pointless for her to leave Glover Province before now with how busy I’ve been. Besides,
as I said earlier, my loneliness wasn’t worth troubling you over.”

“Your happiness is always worth troubling me over,” she countered. And Laena says I’m self-
sacrificing. She honestly couldn’t say whether that particular trait came more from her mother’s
constant lessons about putting her people’s needs before her own, or simply from Aemma. “I’ll call
Spring Song and Dr. Vellene as soon as I’m done reviewing these reports. Hopefully, we can have
Luwina teleported here by tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Rhaenyra,” Aemma repeated, warm affection and gratitude lighting her amber eyes.

“Of course.” She cocked her head to one side, suddenly remembering something Aemma had
mentioned earlier. “You said that I was the second woman in less than an hour to ask you if
something was wrong. Who was the first?”

Aemma smiled slightly, and now something new was glinting in her eyes. “The Lady Alicent. I was
bringing her luncheon, and she seemed to notice almost immediately. She’s a very perceptive young
woman, I must say. And she didn’t have the benefit of being able to notice the change in my scent.”
It’s not surprising that she’d be naturally intuitive. The skill was likely learned or honed as a
survival mechanism.

“The poor dear seemed almost afraid to ask me if something was troubling me,” Aemma continued,
a concerned crease forming between her eyebrows. “It gives you the impression that her husband
didn’t appreciate her natural empathy and concern for others.”

“I have no doubt that he hardly appreciated anything about her.” She quickly smothered the anger
threatening to rise up at the mere thought of Criston Cole and his treatment of Lady Alicent. This
was exactly why she actively avoided thinking about the Westerosi woman. “Did you tell her what
was bothering you?” If she talked to Lady Alicent, it would explain her lighter tone earlier. A
receptive, sympathetic ear was often the most useful salve in situations such as this.

“Yes,” Aemma paused, “in a manner of speaking. I told her that it was my sister who was injured,
rather than my mate.”

“Thank you.” She wondered absently how Lady Alicent would have reacted if Aemma had
divulged that Luwina was actually her mate rather than her sister. Would she have even known
what it meant to be someone’s mate? Perhaps not. If she’d made the connection that Aemma and
Luwina are in a romantic relationship though . . .

She preferred not to dwell on the issue. She knew what sort of bigoted rhetoric Criston Cole had
been spitting about them during the War, one of his many justifications for attacking them. There
was little doubt in her mind that Lady Alicent would—at best—be discomfited by the notion of two
women loving each other.

“Have you given any more thought to when you might visit her?”

“I have, actually.” And every time she’d found an excuse to delay. She was busy enough that it
wasn’t at all hard to justify why she hadn’t had an opportunity to visit her guest. Lady Alicent
deserved space, and time, as much as she needed. It’s not my place to meddle with her life any more
than I already have.

Aemma raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And you know as well as I do that my schedule leaves me with little enough time to sleep, never
mind visit Lady Alicent.” Not that she’d actually been sleeping much. Most nights she worked.
When she did try to sleep, it usually ended with a nightmare. Too many cares, her mother would
have said, but it wasn’t as if she could dismiss any of them. She was a queen. Having too many
cares was simply a part of that. Her mother had certainly had too many cares, her grandmother as
well, and back and back and back. She wondered how many of their cares were steeped in guilt and
self-loathing.

“I also know that you’re exceptionally adept at carving out time when it’s for something that
matters.” Aemma leaned forward, amber eyes intent. “I was under the impression that Lady Alicent
mattered to you.”

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened. “Watch yourself, Aemma. While few, there are certain lines that
you should take care not to cross.”

Aemma held up her hands in surrender. “I meant no offense.”

Reaching across her desk, she drew the midday reports closer so that she could begin reading
through them. “If there’s nothing else, you have my permission to withdraw.”

Sighing, Aemma stepped away from her desk and dipped a curtsy. “I will see you this evening,
Your Majesty, if not before.” She’d almost reached the door when she paused. “Lady Alicent’s
heart was beating quite fast when I left, and her scent was bitter with fear. I also noticed that she
was gripping her wrist quite hard. The scarred one.”

Rhaenyra’s head snapped up, concern wrinkling her brow. “What? Why?” She couldn’t think of
anything that Aemma might have done to frighten Lady Alicent, not with what Aemma had told her
about their conversation. “She was gripping her wrist quite hard.” She remembered noticing Lady
Alicent rubbing at a scar that looped around her wrist like a twisted version of a bonding bracelet.
She’d suspected, at the time, that it was some sort of nervous habit, and now she was certain.
“What happened?”

“I asked her if she missed her sisters.” Aemma shrugged, the worry glinting in her eyes belying her
unconcerned tone. “She was comforting me, sympathizing with me, and I wanted to return the
favor, so I asked if she missed her sisters.” She shook her head. “She stiffened at once. I thought
that perhaps my words were insensitive, but even after I apologized, I could see that her thoughts
were whirring. I excused myself, hoping that placing distance between us might calm her, but her
fear only seemed to grow worse.”

This could not be allowed to stand. The entire reason that she’d been staying away was to avoid
causing Lady Alicent distress. It was why she’d sent Aemma to her. Why would asking about her
sisters frighten her? She should do something, but what? If I visit her now, it will likely only make
her anxiety worse. But there must be something that she could do to soothe these new fears of Lady
Alicent’s. I’ll need to act quickly, if I act at all.

Expelling a heavy breath, she forced her eyes back down to the reports in her hands. “I’ll inform
you as soon as I’ve secured Luwina’s transfer to Spring Song.”

She could practically hear Aemma shaking her head as she opened the door and walked out.

Alicent was expecting the knock when it came. Her stomach had been in knots since Aemma had
left her that afternoon, and she’d been unable to keep her noon meal down for longer than fifteen
minutes after finally forcing herself to eat it. When dinner had arrived a few hours ago, she’d
hardly touched it. Aemma had asked her what was wrong, but she’d studiously kept her mouth
shut, not wanting to give the Firestorm more imprudent words to use against her. Aemma had left
wearing a worried expression on her face, and Alicent had barely been able to hide her bitterness.
How dare Aemma still pretend to care? Why did she even bother?

She’d known that the Firestorm would come for her tonight. In her bones, she’d known. And yet,
when the door opened and the Firestorm stepped into her bedchamber, the blood still drained from
her face. She could feel herself beginning to shake, and she was aware of the fine hairs on the back
of her neck standing on end. She’d known since her first night here that this day was coming, that
she was living on borrowed time. And yet, despite knowing this, now that the moment had finally
come, she was nearly paralyzed with terror.

The last time she’d seen the Firestorm, the woman had been dressed in a crisp, white military
uniform. She’d looked like a general, like a commander. Tonight, she looked like a queen. She was
wearing a gown of sable-black fabric with rich violet underskirts. Red dragons were embroidered
onto the bodice, and rubies sparkled in her ears and around her throat. Gracing her head was a
golden crown with four spikes and a black infill that looked as if it was made from velvet. Shining
emeralds and lustrous pearls gleamed in the crown’s circlet, and the spikes were inlaid with
amethysts that matched her eyes and red enamel dragons.

One thing that remained unchanged was her regal and aloof air, the way that she exuded power and
grace.

Scrambling to rise from her chair, Alicent forgot about the book on her lap, which was then sent
tumbling onto the floor. She winced at the heavy thud, but quickly covered it by sweeping a deep
and elegant curtsy with which even her mother wouldn’t have been able to find fault. She didn’t
rise back up though, fear keeping her rooted in place. The horrors would soon begin, and she could
only pray that the Firestorm would offer her a modicum of kindness this first time. Please let it be
something simple tonight. Only a beating or a whipping. “Good evening, Your Majesty.” There was
only a slight tremor in her voice.

“Good evening, Alicent.” The Firestorm quickly crossed the room and motioned for her to rise.
“There’s no need for that.”

Now that the grace period was over, Alicent didn’t dare contradict her.

The Firestorm looked over at the stacks of mended and knitted clothing sitting on Alicent’s desk.
“Aemma mentioned that you were sewing and knitting for us.” She shook her head with what
seemed to be wonder. “Helping the people your kinsmen fought against,” she mused. “Wonder of
wonders.” Her purple eyes refocused on Alicent, boring into her. “You haven’t left your apartments
since you’ve been here. No interest in exploring Stone Garden, or at the very least the Queen’s
Keep?”

“I, I didn’t wish to be under foot.” And I didn’t want to risk encountering you. She’d also been
afraid of what might happen if someone had misinterpreted her exploration as an escape attempt. I
suppose I shouldn’t have bothered worrying. The Firestorm was going to find an excuse to punish
me no matter what I did.

“I see.” The Firestorm scrutinized her nightgown and the braid draped over her left shoulder. Her
eyes briefly lingered on the scars that peeked over the neckline of her nightdress, perhaps
considering where she would place new ones. “You’re preparing for bed then?”

Alicent gave a tiny nod, legs shaking. Her scarred wrist was beginning to throb, and the place
where her finger had been severed was starting to prickle. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Rhaenyra,” the Firestorm corrected sharply. But then a small smile curled her lips, and the
expression completely transformed her face from cold and regal to warm and gentle. It was
startling, almost unnerving. An interesting trick, clever even, had Alicent not known what was
coming. “You may feel free to use my actual name.” She stooped down to pick up the book that had
fallen to the floor, pausing for a long moment as her fingers drummed on the cover. “Seven Hells,”
she finally muttered.

Alicent tensed. Sytarr preserve me. This was the moment when the façade of kindness finally
ended. “I, I’m sorry,” she offered meekly.
“Sorry?” The Firestorm straightened and reached around her to place the book on the nearby table.
“Why are you sorry?”

Thank Sytarr. She nearly collapsed in relief. She knew this game. Criston had often forced her to
list her own defects for him. It had given him satisfaction to watch her degrade herself and know
that every word she spoke was true. With him though, she’d known what to say. He’d liked it when
she’d denounced herself as a clumsy, disobedient, and barren whore. But what did the Firestorm
want to hear? She wet her lips, suddenly nervous once more. “I, I’m sorry for being a Westerosi?”
she ventured. “I’m sorry for being part of the filthy species that attacked yours? I’m sorry for
thinking about my family?”

The Firestorm’s eyebrows rose.

Was that a good sign? Gulping, she began to babble in the hopes that something she said would be
satisfactory. “I’m sorry for stealing Aemma’s time away from her real duties. I’m, I’m sorry that I
eat so-so much. I’m sorry for being a b-b-burden, and, and useless and stupid and clumsy and—”

A finger pressed against her lips to silence her.

The Firestorm was looking at her with something that almost seemed like dismay. “Alicent, you
have nothing to apologize for, least of all any of the things you just listed.” She looked down at
Alicent’s mouth, as if just realizing where her finger was. She quickly let her hand drop and took a
hasty step backwards.

Do I really disgust her so? Alicent wondered, though she couldn’t fathom why she should care.
Perhaps because it’s yet more proof of what an abomination I am. Apparently, not even the
Firestorm—a woman who had experimented on countless captive Westerosi and no doubt had had
physical contact with them in the process—could bear to touch her.

And why would anyone want to touch a filthy abomination like you? Even the Firestorm knows that
you’re tainted.

She forced herself not to flinch at the sound of her mother’s voice in her head. It had been
tormenting her ever since she’d learned that she couldn’t have children. On some level, she knew
that it was her own mental voice simply taking on her mother’s persona, but it certainly felt as if
her mother was the one whispering those cruel things to her. During her nights with Criston, her
mother’s voice had often whispered in her ear. It had taunted her for her failure to perform her
wifely duty and chided her for bringing such suffering upon herself.

Shrinking away from the Firestorm, she hung her head. “I just . . . I don’t know what I did wrong,”
she mumbled helplessly.

“Nothing.” The Firestorm craned her neck slightly to catch her eye. “You did nothing wrong,
Alicent.”

Why must you continue to toy with me like this? She suddenly realized that a part of her had
actually been relieved at the prospect that the Firestorm’s mind games were finally at an end. In a
way, psychological torture was even more exhausting than physical torture. Whippings and
beatings were straightforward. She could retreat inwards and dissociate herself from what was
happening to her body. What the Firestorm was doing though, forcing her to question everything, it
was mentally and emotionally draining.
“I came here tonight so that we might talk, but perhaps . . .” The Firestorm sighed. “Words are
wind. Actions are stone,” she muttered under her breath before squaring her shoulders. “Alicent,
there is something I would like to do for you, if you’ll allow me.”

As if she actually had a choice. She nodded obediently, inwardly bracing herself.

“Would you please go and sit on the edge of the bed?”

Alicent went stiff. Why did the Firestorm want her on the bed? Sytarr above, perhaps she wanted
. . . but no, surely not. She was a woman . . . «These heathens not only spurn the natural order by
refusing the company and lordship of men, they break Sytarr’s sacred laws by lying together like
bitches in heat.» Criston’s furious words echoed in her mind, and bile rose in her throat. Perhaps
this was what the Firestorm had wanted her for all along, not to experiment on or to torture, but to
sate her carnal desires.

She wasn’t sure which was worse.

She couldn’t . . . not with her, nor any woman. It was wrong. A grievous sin. Even to think such
things was to invite Sytarr’s wrath. She would do anything else. Gladly. Even the dark would be
preferable to being forced to . . . She wasn’t exactly certain of the mechanics of the act, but she
knew that it was a vile thing. Please not that. Anything but that. I can’t—

“Alicent? Are you all right?” The Firestorm’s voice broke through her panicked thoughts. She was
frowning slightly, and suddenly she raised her hand.

Alicent couldn’t stop the terrified whimper that escaped her.

The Firestorm lowered her hand, expression expectant.

White-faced and trembling, but recognizing the threat for what it was, Alicent turned and hurried
over to the bed on wooden legs. There would be no escaping what the Firestorm intended for her.
That much was clear. Tears stung her eyes, and she hoped that the Firestorm would find them
pleasing rather than irritating. Some nights, Criston had relished when she wept, others he’d roared
at her to cease her blubbering. Sin or no, surely this can be no worse than what I have already
suffered, she tried to assure herself. I can endure whatever she intends to do.

Criston had always been brutal when he’d bedded her, and his friends had been much the same
when they’d been allowed to have her. What could the Firestorm do to her that Criston and his
friends hadn’t done hundreds of times already? I can go away inside, as I’ve always done.

She clambered up onto the bed and perched on the edge, feet dangling above the floor. She watched
as the Firestorm disappeared into the lavatory before emerging a moment later with a shallow basin
and a towel in her hands. Several bottles and a small scrub floated in the air around her, and
Alicent’s eyes widened.

She’d seen Valyrian magic scythe through Westerosi soldiers, she’d seen several displays of power
when she’d been a prisoner after the war’s end, and she’d briefly lived with magical orbs of light
for a day before they’d been replaced with glowing, orange crystals, but this was somehow
different. She couldn’t fathom why, but it felt different.

The Firestorm’s eyes narrowed when she noticed Alicent’s tears.

Alicent flinched, swiftly wiping them away as she realized that they were an irritation rather than a
delight.

Something flashed across the Firestorm’s face, but Alicent couldn’t begin to fathom what it might
be.

She did her best to blink away her fresh tears as the Firestorm set the basin and bottles on the floor
before pulling over a low stool and sitting down. Alicent quickly jerked her feet out of the way
when she realized that they were level with the Firestorm’s lap and would have been resting on it
had she not moved them.

Ignoring her sudden movement, the Firestorm swirled her hand in the air, and a miniature cloud
formed above the basin and began raining water down into it.

Despite her terror, Alicent couldn’t help but stare at the strange little cloud in wonder, and she
realized a moment later that she was unconsciously leaning forward to better examine it. Decades
ago, her father had taken her and her siblings to a weather chamber for a meteorology lesson.
They’d spent the day performing painstakingly precise calculations and making meticulous
calibrations to the various machines that controlled the chamber’s internal climate, and together,
they’d created rain, thunder, lightning, blizzards, and tornadoes.

What the Firestorm had done just now had seemed completely effortless, nothing at all like the time
and work she and her siblings had needed to invest. Is it because magic is simply easier to perform,
or did she actually run all of the calculations in her head as she twirled her hand? Perhaps it was a
little of both.

She realized, with great relief, that she was no longer on the verge of new tears.

Once the basin was almost full, the Firestorm snapped her fingers, and the cloud disappeared. Then,
with a flick of her wrists, flames ignited above her palms.

Alicent recoiled in terror, every one of her instincts screaming at her to curl into a protective ball
and try to cover as much of her vulnerable flesh as possible. Fire. Black fire. It was the Firestorm’s
signature weapon, what she’d used to slaughter thousands. Oh Sytarr.

“It’s all right,” the Firestorm assured her, her voice low and soothing, as if she were addressing a
frightened animal. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only heating the water.” She turned her hands so
the flames encased the sides of the bowl, heating the water within. “See? Harmless.”

Fear had frozen Alicent’s tongue and made her incapable of forming coherent thoughts. But she
almost gasped aloud when she suddenly felt a wave of calm push towards her, and she knew
instinctively that it was not her own emotion, but rather the Firestorm’s. She’s trying to manipulate
my emotions, but how does she know that I can feel what she feels?

Ever since she was a little girl, she’d been able to . . . sense other people’s emotions. Not all the
time, only when she was unclothed. As a child, it had been overwhelming and made her dislike
undressing even more than she would have out of natural shyness. She’d never told anyone,
knowing that it would mark her as an aberration. Instead, she’d learned to change clothes quickly
and to block out other people’s emotions during those brief intervals of nakedness.

After her marriage, her affliction had become significantly worse because she’d no longer had
control over whether or not she was naked. Whenever Criston had ordered her to strip in the
evenings or torn her clothes off himself, she’d been immediately struck by the hatred and disgust
and sadistic pleasure that emanated from him in dark waves. In the early days, it had overwhelmed
her and made it easy to retreat inward. It had taken her years to work out how to block his
emotions, but then he’d begun bringing new men into her bedchamber, and she’d had to begin the
process all over again.

Ever since coming to Stone Garden, her ability to sense other people’s emotions had been running
unchecked. It didn’t matter if she was dressed or not. She was constantly being flooded by
emotions that weren’t her own. It was yet another of the many reasons why she refused to leave the
safety of her chambers. The walls and rooms separating her from the outside world helped block
out the cacophony of feelings.

I’ve never told anyone about what I can do, so how does the Firestorm know to exploit it? The
question rattled around in her head, making it easier to block out the calming waves radiating from
the other woman.

The Firestorm’s head suddenly snapped up, her eyes sparking as they focused on her.

Alicent shuddered, folding further in on herself. Please don’t ask me. Please don’t ask me. Please
don’t ask me.

After what felt like an eternity, the Firestorm returned her attention to heating the water in the
basin. Evidently satisfied with the water’s temperature, she extinguished the flames. She then
dabbled her fingers in the water, frowning slightly before picking the bowl up and offering it to
Alicent. “Too warm? Too cold?”

Why is she doing this? Why is she doing any of this? Not daring to do otherwise, Alicent tentatively
dipped her fingers into the water. It was a bit hot, but certainly not scalding. It would probably be
comfortable bathing water. Criston has poured boiling water on me before. I can certainly handle
this. “It seems fine?”

The Firestorm hummed in what almost sounded like approval. “Good. It’s hard for me to judge
temperature sometimes.” She set the basin down on her lap. “Alicent?”

“Yes?” she squeaked. By Sytarr I sound pathetic. But perhaps the Firestorm would prefer that.

“May I have your feet?” The Firestorm nodded to where she had carefully pulled her knees up to
her chest to prevent her feet from touching the Firestorm’s lap.

“Why?” The question burst from her mouth before she could yank it back. Her eyes squeezed shut
as she prepared for the inevitable rage and the rain of blows. If there was one thing Criston had
hated, it was being questioned.

But the Firestorm didn’t even raise her voice. “So I can wash them.”

Alicent’s eyes snapped open in shock, terrified thoughts screeching to a halt as she tried to
understand what she’d just heard. “W-What?” Of all the responses she’d considered, that hadn’t
even entered the realm of possibility. The Firestorm wanted to . . . wash her feet? The Queen of
Kastrell, the Firestorm, the scourge of her people, wanted to wash her feet? What sort of twisted
psychological game was this?
“It’s a Valyrian custom to wash our feet every night before bed,” the Firestorm explained. Her
voice had taken on a soothing and gentle affectation. “In addition to various health benefits and
simply being relaxing, it also serves to foster connection.” Her eyes flicked up to meet hers for a
brief moment. “I was hoping that you would allow me to do this for you tonight.”

Now that she’d had a moment to collect her raging thoughts, Alicent recalled reading about foot
washing several books ago, recalled reading about the historical, cultural, and societal significance
of the act. She never would have imagined that the Firestorm would want to share such a thing with
her. She doesn’t know that I know what foot washing means.

Did she dare? When she’d first begun speaking with Aemma, she’d tested her honesty by asking
her questions to which she already knew the answers. Dare she do the same with the Firestorm
now?

She’s going to do whatever she wants with me no matter what I do. I might as well determine if
she’s a liar as well as a monster. She wet her lips, wondering when she’d become such a gambler.
“Why,” she hesitated, gauging the Firestorm’s reaction, “why do you wash your feet every night?”
As she asked the question, she untucked her feet and tentatively offered them to the other woman.

The Firestorm smiled slightly, and once again it transformed her face into something warm and
welcoming. Her smile faltered when she saw the scars crisscrossing Alicent’s skin, but she quickly
smoothed her expression. Alicent squeezed her eyes shut as the Firestorm drew her feet down and
settled them into the warm water. Admittedly, it did feel nice on her somewhat aching feet.

“My people are not originally from Valyria,” the Firestorm explained as she allowed her feet to
soak. “My ancestors come from a planet whose name is no longer spoken, so it’s now referred to
simply as the Old World.”

Yes. Alicent remembered reading about the Old World and its destruction, which had led the
refugees to seek a new home and eventually settle on Valyria.

“The men of the Old World destroyed the planet in a cataclysmic event now known as the Doom.
Empress Daenerys the Silver led those who survived the Doom from the Old World to Valyria,
which was little more than a barren rock floating in space when the refugees first arrived. The
women of the First Generation—my ancient ancestors—used magic and elementalism to terraform
this planet into what you see today.

“We call that time in which the First Generation spent searching for a new home the Long Travels.”
The Firestorm glanced up at her as if to make sure that she was following, which she was. “The
Long Travels lasted seven hundred and seventy-seven years, and though my ancestors voyaged in
relatively well-provisioned starships, amenities such as water and soaps had to be carefully rationed
because they had no idea how long their journey would last.

“Certain body parts were of course prioritized when it came to washing, and feet were one of them.
While most washing had to occur in private, foot washing became a communal affair. Every night
—or near enough—women would gather in common areas on the starships and wash each other’s
feet.”

She remembered reading all of this. “Why didn’t they wash their own feet?”

“Because cleanliness was only one aspect. The true purpose was creating personal connections
between women who had been traumatized in countless ways. Allowing another to touch you like
this,” the Firestorm dipped her hand into the water and gently gripped Alicent’s right ankle, “it
means being vulnerable. Not overly so, mind you, but trusting another with your hygiene, trusting
them to touch you, even if only to wash your feet clean, it helps create a foundation for the future.”

Alicent sensed that those final words were specifically for her. The Firestorm had yet to tell her a
single lie, and she didn’t know what to make of that. If this peculiar interaction was merely a
furtherance of the Firestorm’s war of attrition, it seemed bizarrely elaborate. Her eyes flicked down
to where the Firestorm held her ankle, suddenly realizing that this was the first time she’d been
touched by anyone in months. Aemma hasn’t laid a hand on me since that first night, when she
grabbed my wrist to stop me from eating too quickly. How had she not noticed the lack of physical
contact until now? Back home, she’d been lucky to experience three full hours without being struck
or grabbed.

As the Firestorm lifted her right foot out of the basin and began scrubbing it clean with a bar of
scented soap, Alicent was shocked by her gentleness. When was the last time someone touched me
softly? She was stunned to realize that the last time was when the Firestorm had squeezed her hand
that first night. Before that . . . it had certainly been well over two decades. Touch was not
something people casually engaged in back home, so even when she’d been living with her natal
family, physical contact and affection had been rare. Once she’d been married, she’d grown used to
frequent physical contact that left her gritting her teeth so as not to cry out in pain.

“We wash our feet each night in remembrance of the Long Travels and the First Generation’s
suffering and courage,” the Firestorm continued, as she placed Alicent’s right foot back in the water
before proceeding to give her left foot the same treatment. “Sisters who are of an age usually wash
each other’s feet before bed. Mothers wash their daughters’ feet until they’re old enough to do it for
themselves. Young girls spending the night together will often wash each other’s feet as a way to
facilitate becoming heart friends.”

“Heart friends?” The words sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t remember ever reading an
explanation of the term.

“Those with whom you’ve forged a deep emotional bond. The term can be applied to blood kin as
well as those you’ve chosen to take into your heart.” Something like wistfulness seemed to creep
into the Firestorm’s voice for a brief moment, but it was gone before Alicent could be certain.

She watched wordlessly—still suspicious yet also intrigued, despite herself—as the Firestorm
rinsed the remaining suds from her feet before removing them from the basin. As the Firestorm
patted her feet dry with the towel, the basin was telekinetically lifted from her lap and set aside.
Once she was finished drying her feet, the Firestorm telekinetically spread the towel out on her lap,
and then began guiding Alicent’s feet back down.

Alicent let out a mortified squeak when she realized that her feet were about to be settled on the
Firestorm’s lap. She tried to pull away, but the warm hands on her ankles held her in place. “I, I
don’t—” She swiftly snapped her mouth shut, realizing she’d been dangerously close to telling the
Firestorm something akin to “no.”

The Firestorm’s grip on her ankles instantly loosened, and something almost like hesitance flashed
across her face. “I’ll stop if you wish, but there is one more step, if you’ll allow me.” She nodded to
the little bottles sitting beside her stool.

“I, I only, your lap . . .” She wasn’t even certain how to articulate what she wanted to say, but she
knew that it would be improper to have her feet on the Firestorm’s lap.
There was suddenly a twinkle in the Firestorm’s amethyst eyes, and she flashed a peculiar smile at
her. “It’s not as if your feet are dirty, My Lady.”

Alicent bit her lip. “I’ll stop if you wish.” She yearned to believe that the Firestorm actually meant
those words, but she knew better. Even if I told her “stop” a hundred times over, she wouldn’t heed
me. No one ever has before. Resigning herself to embarrassment, she forced the muscles in her legs
to relax and gave the Firestorm a small nod.

The Firestorm settled her feet on her lap, and Alicent could feel the warmth radiating from her.
Humming quietly now, the Firestorm selected one of the little bottles and squeezed some lotion
onto her hand. She then gently grasped Alicent’s right foot and began massaging the lotion into her
skin.

Alicent made a surprised sound, shocked by how nice it felt to have her foot rubbed and kneaded.

“Are you all right?” The Firestorm’s hands stilled.

“Y-Yes,” she managed. Her reaction was likely the result of being unused to nonviolent physical
contact. Yes. That must be it.

“If this is uncomfortable for you, I can stop.”

Without even meaning to, she shook her head. “I’m fine.” She didn’t stutter this time, and after
giving her a final, searching look, the Firestorm resumed rubbing her foot. It felt nice. Surprisingly
so. The Firestorm’s hands were strong yet gentle, and she seemed to know exactly where to press
her fingers to uncoil the knots Alicent hadn’t even known existed.

As the Firestorm continued massaging her right foot and eventually moved on to the left, Alicent
found her eyelids starting to droop. Had she been this tired when the Firestorm began? She
certainly hadn’t been this relaxed. Her legs felt like liquid in the best way possible, and she was
barely managing to remain sitting up. How was it that a mere foot massage could calm her so? It
must be because I’ve never been touched like this before. It was all she could think of to explain
why she was reacting this way.

But, no. Surely there must be more to it than that. But what—?

Safe, she suddenly realized with amazement. In this moment, for the first time in a long time, she
felt safe. With the butcher of her people sitting in front of her and kneading her feet, she felt safe.

By Sytarr, what is wrong with me?

She suddenly became aware of the sweet, floral scent of roses infusing the air, and a faint smile
curled her lips. She realized a moment later that the Firestorm was the source of the scent. I
suppose it is not entirely surprising that she favors rose perfume. Even in the brief moments that
she’d had to inspect the grounds of Stone Garden as she was escorted to her rooms, she’d seen the
abundance of roses. They must be a favored flower. But how had she not noticed the perfume until
now?

When the Firestorm finished with her feet, she gathered up her supplies and rose gracefully from
the stool. After returning the basin, towel, and lotions to where she’d found them, she came back
over to the bed and dipped her head politely. “Sleep well, Alicent. May Relle Songcrafter fashion
you pleasant dreams.”
Alicent nodded dumbly, her mind still a little hazy from the pleasant tingling in her feet and ankles.
“May Relle Songcrafter fashion you pleasant dreams,” she echoed.

A smile flitted across the Firestorm’s lips. “Thank you.”

Alicent watched her leave the room, the smell of roses lingering in her wake. She was thoroughly
confused. Her feet felt wonderful, but the rest of her body was now a coiled spring of tension. At
best, she’d expected to fall asleep tonight—assuming she was even allowed the luxury of sweet
oblivion—with blood drying on her skin and fresh lash marks all across her body. Instead, the
Firestorm had left her with clean, relaxed feet and the strangest sense of contentment that she’d
ever experienced in her life.

What was Queen Rhaenyra playing at?

After leaving Lady Alicent’s apartments, Rhaenyra immediately went in search of Aemma. She
could feel the questioning gazes of her Shadow Knight and Lily Knight on her back as they made
their way through the halls, but she didn’t want to explain what had happened twice. Besides, there
were several matters she was still trying to wrap her own head around.

Alicent was an empath.

It shouldn’t be possible.

Westerosi didn’t have empathic abilities.

By Relle, most Valyrians didn’t have empathic abilities.

The ability to sense, influence, and control the emotions of others was such an exceedingly rare gift
that only about one in one hundred thousand women were so blessed. She herself was an empath,
and using her gift to calm the fears and soothe the tempers of those around her had become almost
second nature over her long lifetime. Her attempt to calm Lady Alicent after so foolishly
frightening her with her fire had been an almost instinctive reaction in response to the other
woman’s fear scent and increased heart rate.

Truth be told, she probably wouldn’t have even realized what she was doing had she not been
almost immediately blocked by a hastily constructed emotional ward.

It shouldn’t have been possible.

Westerosi were not inherently immune to magic, and Lady Alicent’s nightgown was Valyrian-
made. She shouldn’t have been able to block Rhaenyra’s gift.

And yet she had.

A few subsequent, gentle presses against Lady Alicent’s ward had revealed that—for all its hasty
and rather clumsy construction—it was quite strong. And while Rhaenyra could have easily
shattered it, had she so chosen, that hadn’t been her purpose. Lady Alicent’s ward was very
reminiscent of those constructed by young and inexperienced empaths still learning to wield their
gift. A true reactionary ward—hastily built to protect herself from a foreign emotion.
More like than not, Lady Alicent’s nth metal clothing had shielded and protected her from
experiencing the emotions of others for most of her life. Now, however, she was without that
protection and exposed to a deluge of emotions that were not her own.

Not now of course, but eventually, she would need to speak with Lady Alicent about this. An
untrained empath could be very dangerous, especially if she ever decided to come out of her
apartments. Plenty of time then.

After about ten minutes of searching—she could have simply contacted Aemma telepathically, but
she wanted time to put her thoughts in order—she found Aemma down in the lower supper hall.
Her seneschal was designating repair assignments for the next day in addition to general upkeep
tasks needed to prevent the undamaged sections of the palace from languishing in uncleanliness.

“Aemma, I need to speak with you.”

Aemma glanced over her shoulder, nodding quickly. “Nimreth, please finish figuring out who’s
taking the morning shift tomorrow.” After receiving acquiescence, she followed Rhaenyra out of
the supper hall and into the corridor. “How was your visit?”

“Not here.” Rhaenyra began leading them back up to her own chambers, well aware of the quiet
conversation going on behind her.

“What happened?” Aemma whispered, this time not addressing Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra heard the soft shifting of armor as Hylda shrugged. “I have no idea. She wouldn’t say
anything to us either.”

“It couldn’t have gone that badly,” Sabitha murmured. “She’d be in a much worse state if it had.”

Rhaenyra snorted. She knew that they knew that she could hear every word they were saying. She
kept silent though until they were inside her study and had three closed doors between them and the
rest of the Keep. She sat down behind her desk and motioned for them to sit as well.

Aemma spread her hands. “So, how is she? You didn’t terrify her too badly, I assume.”

“She didn’t faint from fright at any point,” Rhaenyra deadpanned. Although she did cry. The sight
of Lady Alicent’s tears had nearly sent her fleeing from the room, and her obvious terror had made
her instinctively wish to retreat. It wasn’t right, remaining in a woman’s presence when one was so
clearly unwanted.

Aemma pretended not to notice her tone. “Excellent.”

Was it? With a heavy sigh, she explained everything that had happened from the moment she’d
walked into Lady Alicent’s bedchamber: from the dropped book to deciding to wash her feet to the
tears to explaining the history of the tradition to bidding her goodnight. Aemma, Hylda, and
Sabitha listened quietly the whole time and, surprisingly, managed not to interrupt. While all three
women were always respectful and conscious of their positions, they’d also known her long enough
that they usually took certain liberties, which she didn’t mind.

Aemma was the first to speak after she’d finished, a smile curling her lips. “It sounds as if it went
well, Rhaenyra. All things considered. It certainly would have been better had you not made her
cry, of course, but the Lady Alicent does tend to cry rather easily, so perhaps that was
unavoidable.”

Was that supposed to somehow make it better?

Hylda’s lips pursed. “Perhaps you could have avoided her tears had you told her what you planned
to do rather than simply acting first and explaining later.”

Rhaenyra had been thinking much the same. At the time, she’d been focused too much on her own
nerves and not enough on Lady Alicent’s. Dreadful. Your behavior was dreadful.

“But she was content by the end?” Sabitha asked.

“It seemed so.” The slightly dazed smile that had curled Lady Alicent’s lips had been as beautiful
as it was reassuring.

Aemma frowned suddenly. “You didn’t influence her emotions, did you?”

While somewhat offended that Aemma would even ask, that had been the question she was waiting
for. “When I used my fire to heat the water, it terrified her. I shouldn’t have done it that way, but I
wasn’t thinking.” She paused. “But when I tried to calm her, I encountered a ward. Not a mental
one, she was specifically blocking my emotions.”

There was a brief silence as Aemma, Hylda, and Sabitha grasped the implications of her words,
and, almost simultaneously, their eyes widened.

“She’s an empath.” While the statement was likely unnecessary, part of her needed to say the words
aloud, to hear the truth in them.

Aemma dragged a hand down her face. “How did I never realize that?” she muttered.

“How would you? You always have your own wards in place, and I’m assuming you never tried to
pry into what she was feeling.” She wasn’t even certain that Aemma would have been able to detect
the subtle differences between a general mental ward and a specifically emotional ward, given that
she wasn’t an empath herself.

Still, she understood her old heart friend’s chagrin. She hadn’t noticed until today either, and she’d
been soothing Lady Alicent’s nightmares for months. If she had to guess, she’d say that Lady
Alicent only knew how to build reactive wards rather than persistent ones. And since she could
only block other people’s emotions when conscious, she was completely vulnerable to outside
influence when asleep.

Sabitha cocked her head. “Have you encountered Westerosi empathy before, Rhaenyra?”

“No. I never had any issues influencing their emotions during the War.” Being able to calm the
captive Westerosi and giving them a sense of security had been integral in keeping her own sanity,
as well as making her experiments marginally more humane.

Over the course of her research, she’d discovered a number of surprising anatomical and
physiological similarities between Westerosi and Valyrians, but she’d never come across anything
to indicate that Westerosi could wield any form of magic, never mind empathy. Perhaps I should
send those DNA samples I still have to the Alcazar. She’d never had the chance to properly analyze
 them—or even have them sequenced—because she’d made her nth metal discovery before having
the opportunity or need to do so.

Hylda rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “If it’s anything like Valyrian empathy, it’s probably rare
among her people.” She laughed wryly. “What are the odds that the woman you decided to save
also happens to be an empath?”

“It almost seems like a sign from Relle,” Sabitha agreed.

“But a sign of what?” Rhaenyra wasn’t expecting an answer, and she certainly wasn’t expecting to
see Aemma, Hylda, and Sabitha all exchange a brief, positively knowing look. “What?”

Aemma shook her head. “You’re not ready to hear what we’re thinking.”

Had it been anyone else, she would have demanded an answer, but given who the three of them
were, she decided not to press. “I see.” Leaning back in her chair, she wondered if perhaps, in the
future, she should lower her emotional wards around Lady Alicent so that she could sense what she
was feeling. Perhaps that would help put her at ease.

Well, that was a question for another day.

Chapter End Notes

Thus ends Arc 1.

Don't come at me in the comments for the foot washing. I wrote that scene waaaayyyy before
Episode 9 and Creepy Larys.

Also, yes, I know, if Alicent were being really paranoid she would assume that the information
in the books Aemma has been bringing her is also all a lie/fabrication, but the poor woman
just needs something that she can believe to be true.

Next Chapter: Laena is going to show up on page! Yay!

Final note, I just realized that I forgot to put the "date" on Chapter 7. Oops. Good thing the
date was given during the Small Council meeting. That error has been rectified now.
 A Few Inquiries
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 9:

– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Laena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Bellmar
– Nesryn Estermont, a Yellow Lotus geneticist, residing at the Alcazar

Welcome to what I kindly refer to as my Bridge Chapter between Arc 1 (Alicent in perpetual
fear for her life and safety) and Arc 2 (Alicent in slightly less perpetual fear for her life and
safety). As many noted in the comments of the last chapter, Alicent is making progress. 😁

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Winter Moon/1,000,121 Visenya VI

Alicent stifled a yawn as she turned the page of her book, shaking her head a little to clear the
lingering vestiges of sleep. She should have slept longer. She could have slept longer, in truth. But
the sun had been peeking through the clouds when she first opened her eyes this morning, and she
knew better than to waste a rare winter sun. Aside from the cold, of course, the lack of proper
sunlight was what she despised most about this dreadful season.

And so she’d climbed out of bed and swiftly bathed herself before dressing in one of the warm,
heavy gowns that Aemma had given her at the beginning of winter—one of the many small
kindnesses Aemma had been plying her with since her arrival. She’d briefly considered working on
her sewing, but she didn’t trust her fingers when she could still hear the soft croons of sleep calling
to her. So she’d decided to read instead, promising herself that she would sew after breakfast, once
she’d had more of a chance to properly awaken.

The book she’d chosen for her morning reading was a slim volume about Kastrellan weather
patterns. Considering her lack of knowledge about what Valyrians referred to as “temperate”
climates, she considered the information invaluable since she was to remain here. More
importantly, the subject was entirely innocuous—she hoped—and thus unlikely to earn her a
punishment when Aemma, or whoever was responsible for monitoring her reading materials, made
her report to the Queen.

Her eyes flicked from her book to the banked fireplace, wondering if it was too early to light her
daily fire. She glanced over at the clock and saw that it wasn’t even yet eight. Later. In a few hours
perhaps. She did not wish to waste the firewood that Aemma had brought her. While the old
seneschal had assured her that she could have as much wood and tinder as she required to remain
warm, she was wary of burning too much at a time and needing to request more.

Closing her book, she rose from her chair to fetch one of the quilts folded at the foot of her bed.
Her footfalls barely made a sound, muffled by the thick brown rug covering most of the floor and
the two layers of knitted socks encasing her feet. She could have made do with only a single pair,
but Aemma had insisted that she keep at least two. “You made them, after all,” she’d said with a
grandmotherly smile. “It is only right, and you’ve already provided so many pairs for our relief
efforts.”

And yet, despite Aemma’s words, she still felt a twinge of guilt whenever she slipped on the second
pair of socks in the mornings. While grateful for the additional layer of warmth for her feet, it did
not seem right that she’d been allowed two sets of winter socks.

She’d only just returned to her reading chair with the quilt in hand when someone knocked on the
door. “Come in,” she called, already knowing who it was.

The door to her bedchamber swung open on silent hinges, and Aemma stepped into her room,
carrying a silver tray. “Good morning, My Lady.”

“Good morning, Aemma.” She couldn’t help the small, tentative smile that tugged at her lips at the
sight of the seneschal. Despite her fearful certainty that Aemma had meant to condemn her that day
Queen Rhaenyra had washed her feet, she’d since been making a concentrated effort to be less
fearful of the seneschal. While she knew that Aemma was reporting every conversation they had to
her Queen, she was working to convince herself that Aemma herself would not raise a hand to her.

She knew that this decision was more like than not a terrible mistake and miscalculation, but
remaining constantly vigilant in the face of the grandmotherly woman’s kindness was utterly
exhausting. She was just so tired of being always afraid, so tired of always wondering if her next
words would earn her the Firestorm’s wroth.

Most days, she was able to justify her new strategy as mere practicality. She was still attempting to
determine exactly what sort of game Queen Rhaenyra was playing with her, and Aemma was her
only possible source of information at present.

After setting her book aside and refolding the quilt, she crossed the room to help Aemma lay her
breakfast out on the small table in front of the windows, which had become her preferred eating
place during the past months. Her breakfast this morning consisted of a bowl of oatmeal, a slice of
toasted bread, a strip of bacon, and a glass of cold water.

This was the same meal that she’d been eating nearly every morning since her arrival at Stone
Garden. Occasionally, the oatmeal was replaced by scrambled eggs, and sometimes the bacon was
ham instead, but each morning always began with food that was plainly meant to nourish her and
sate her stomach until the noon meal.
She assumed that the lack of variety was because non-essential foodstuffs had become scarce
during the war and no one had the time to indulge in making elaborate breakfasts while rebuilding.
One of the many disadvantages of not having service bots, or any form of AI or automaton.

A crease formed between her eyebrows when she saw that—in addition to her normal oatmeal,
bread, bacon, and water—there was something new on the tray. Her eyes narrowed warily as she
tried to examine it without being too conspicuous and drawing Aemma’s attention.

The new food appeared to be a pastry of some sort, which immediately kindled her misgivings. The
last time she’d eaten anything sweet had been almost twenty-three years ago, the day before
Criston had learned that she was barren. After that, he’d had Arilla restrict her diet to the bare
minimum, assuming she was allowed to eat at all. He hadn’t wanted her to grow fat.

Once everything had been transferred from Aemma’s tray onto the table, she sat down and picked
up her spoon. As she idly stirred her warm oatmeal, she finally allowed herself to look directly at
the strange little pastry.

It was small and circular, with a flat bottom and a somewhat rounded top that was swirled almost
like a cinnamon bun. She assumed that it was meant to be eaten with one hand, and it seemed to be
filled with some sort of creamy icing. She’d never seen anything exactly like it, which was hardly a
surprise. Practically all Valyrian foods looked and tasted foreign to her, though she’d grown
accustomed to the things that she was fed on a daily basis.

“What is that?” she asked lightly, pleased that there wasn’t even a hint of her suspicion in her voice.

Aemma followed her eyes and smiled slightly. “It’s called a sweet cake. This one is filled with
pastry cream, which is the usual, but some are filled with fruits or sugared candies.” She glanced at
her out of the corner of her eye. “If you find that you dislike it, you needn’t feel obliged to finish
it.”

Alicent quickly spooned some oatmeal into her mouth to hide her frown. She detested the very
notion of wasting food, and she certainly didn’t want to give Aemma or Queen Rhaenyra any
reason to think that she wasn’t grateful for how much they were feeding her—lest they decide to
begin reducing her meals. She would also be lying if she claimed that she wasn’t eager to taste
something sweet again after all these years. She’d always had a fondness for sweets, even as a
child. It was one of the many things her mother had disliked about her.

But why now? Why today? It had been almost a week since the night of Queen Rhaenyra’s
unexpected visit, and she’d been waiting every day since then for something more to happen. She
still couldn’t understand why the Queen had finally decided to call on her, no more than she could
make sense of why the other woman had decided to wash her feet. While she knew that there was
more to the Queen’s actions than what she’d claimed—just as she knew that there was more to this
“sweet cake”—she couldn’t fathom what.

“Is there a reason breakfast includes a dessert this morning?” she asked cautiously.

Rather surprisingly, Aemma nodded. “It’s Immortalem Day. Normally we’d celebrate with a proper
feast, but that would be unwise this year with our winter stores being what they are. Still, Her
Majesty thought it inappropriate to allow the day to go completely unobserved, so she baked
several hundred sweet cakes this morning to serve with break—”
Alicent nearly choked on her oatmeal, her spoon falling from her hand and onto the table as she
struggled to properly swallow. “I beg your pardon?” she rasped.

Aemma looked at her worriedly. “Is something the matter, My Lady?”

A lump was swiftly forming in her throat as dread coiled in her stomach. She stared down at the
sweet cake, not even able to properly conceal her apprehension. “Queen Rhaenyra made this?”

If Aemma noticed her fear, she gave no sign of it. “Of course. Her Majesty made all of your food.
She’s been preparing breakfast for everyone in the palace for months now.” She tsked, exasperation
coloring her voice. “I’ve been telling her that we have kitchen staff for that, actual culinary
professionals, but she insists on making breakfast so that they can focus their energies on cooking
luncheon and supper for the women living in the city. She insists that it’s somehow more efficient.”

Alicent hardly heard a word after “Her Majesty made all of your food.” All of her food. She’d been
eating breakfast cooked and prepared by the Firestorm for months now, and she hadn’t even
realized it. Surely if she meant to poison me, I would have felt the effects by now. Probably not
poison then. And perhaps, if it was truly as Aemma claimed and the Queen was simply making
breakfast for everyone in Stone Garden, perhaps there was nothing nefarious behind the meal.

She stared down at her oatmeal, trying to imagine Queen Rhaenyra cooking down the oats and
adding milk and sugar and whatever else went into it. Service bots had done almost all of the food
preparation back home, and what food they didn’t prepare was cooked by servants. Her mother had
told her once that cooking was work best done by the houseless and service bots, not by lords and
ladies. She was fairly certain that her mother had never once set foot in the kitchens of Tamworth
Palace. So why would Queen Rhaenyra?

Shaking her head, she filed the question away for later as yet one more piece in the every-growing
puzzle.

Suddenly becoming aware of Aemma picking up the tray in preparation to leave, she quickly
turned in her chair. “Aemma?”

Aemma paused, the tray hovering less than a foot above the table. “Yes?”

“What is Immortalem Day?” It was the question she’d originally planned to ask before Aemma had
revealed that Queen Rhaenyra was the one who’d baked the sweet cake.

Aemma was silent for a moment as she considered the question. “Would you prefer a detailed
answer, or a short answer? I have time for both,” she added, preempting Alicent’s concern that she
was wasting Aemma’s time and keeping her from her duties.

She hadn’t been expecting Aemma to offer the option of a long and detailed answer. It was plain
enough that Immortalem Day was some sort of holiday, and she’d assumed that the answer to her
question would simply be telling her what the Valyrians were celebrating. She could be content
with a short answer, which would certainly be more convenient for Aemma. I’m sure there is a
book somewhere about holidays that I can request. And she would need to find such a book
anyway in order to confirm whatever Aemma told her. I should only ask for the short answer.

But there was something about hearing explanations of the things she’d read about from Aemma
that was so viscerally satisfying. Aemma breathed life into whatever topic or subject she was
describing, which Alicent supposed was to be expected when comparing a live, first person account
to the more detached and clinical explanations she usually found in books. But I shouldn’t be
troubling her with my curiosity, especially not on a holiday. Aemma probably had a full schedule,
and it would be wrong to keep her here. She did say that she had time, but what if she’s merely
being polite and actually wants me to ask for the short answer?

An indulgent smile curled Aemma’s lips as Alicent continued her internal debate. “I can see that
you want a full explanation, Lady Alicent.” Setting the tray back on the table, she motioned for her
to continue eating before she telekinetically pulled a chair over from across the room and sat down.
“What do you know about our immortality, My Lady?”

Alicent swiftly shoved another spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth to allow herself time to consider
an appropriate response. She knew the definition of immortality, of course, and she knew that the
Valyrians’ immortality was the only reason Criston hadn’t managed to wipe them out during the
war. But she doubted that either of those were the sort of answer Aemma wanted. “Not much,” she
finally admitted, deciding that the simplest of truths was probably her best option.

Aemma nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “Our immortality is the sort that means we simply
cannot die. However, we can still fall ill, and we can still be injured, though it’s fairly difficult,
given our biology. We also still age, in a manner of speaking, and we can still sustain would-be
fatal wounds that cause our bodies to become dormant for a time. What you need to know for the
purposes of this explanation, though, is that we were not always immortal.”

Alicent almost dropped her spoon again in surprise. Stop that, she chided herself. Mother would be
horrified to see how easily you allow your calm to slip. And yet she couldn’t help the way her eyes
widened slightly or how her eyebrows rose. She hardly even remembered the night that she’d
learned the Valyrians were immortal, because Criston had chosen to express his rage by whipping
her into unconsciousness, forcing her awake with an injection of adrenaline, and then whipping her
back into unconsciousness. After that night, she’d actively avoided ruminating on Valyrian
immortality because it made her back hurt just thinking about it. So she’d never taken the time to
wonder how Valyrian immortality manifested or what its origins might be.

“You know about the Long Travels and the Old World, yes?”

Alicent nodded slowly. “I know that the Old World is where your people originated from, but it was
destroyed by the Doom. The Long Travels were the centuries the First Generation spent searching
for a new home.” And it was when the tradition of washing one’s feet before bed began.

“Exactly. Our Old World ancestors were mortal—very long-lived, mind you—but still mortal. Most
of them were wiped out during the Dark Times before the Doom, and many died during the Long
Travels. The women of the First Generation became immortal through the use of a spell created and
cast by Empress Daenerys the Silver.”

Alicent recognized the name. She knew that Empress Daenerys was the Empire’s first empress and
the current Matriarch of House Targaryen. She remembered noticing how, even in historical texts,
the supposedly objective authors had always written about Daenerys Targaryen with a tone of awe
and wonder. Now she knew why. Who wouldn’t be in awe of a woman who found a way to not only
become immortal herself, but to make every member of her species immortal?

She’d known that Valyrian magic was capable of astounding feats that rivaled even those of her
people’s most impressive technology, but this was beyond anything that she could have imagined.
Scientists back home had been working for several millennia to develop new methods of extending
a person’s lifespan, but most of them were still theoretical or in the early stages of clinical trials.
Even if the proposed genetic treatments and regenerative therapies became viable, they would, at
most, only double her people’s lifespan. For the highborn, that would mean a life expectancy of
about sixteen thousand years. And sixteen thousand years was nothing when compared to the four
million years a single Valyrian empress reigned.

“Only the All Mother herself knows why she began crafting a spell to immortalize the members of
the First Generation, though most believe that it was in response to the Black Fever.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together slightly. “The Black Fever?” She had yet to come across any
reference to such a thing, but that was hardly surprising. She’d only been here for five months, and
while she read voraciously, she wasn’t so foolish or hubristic as to believe that she’d even begun to
scratch the surface of learning about everything this strange world had to offer.

A shudder passed through Aemma’s body, and her eyes closed for a moment as she composed
herself. When she opened them, they seemed distant and far away. “The Black Fever was the single
worst plague to ever visit my people. It struck the First Generation not long before they reached
Valyria, and it killed well over sixty-six thousand women.” She shuddered again. “That was about
seventy percent of our total population at the time.”

Seventy percent. Alicent tried to think of any historical plagues that had had such a catastrophic
effect on her ancestors and found that she couldn’t. While plagues had certainly been common
enough on Westeros before scientists had effectively eradicated all known illnesses, none had been
so deadly as to kill more than half of the total population, never mind seventy percent. And there
had been a time—long, long ago—when the population was small enough that sixty-six thousand
people would have been at least half of the total population.

“There are currently Eight Great Houses and Fifty-Six Clans, which is how it has been since the
Founding.” Aemma paused, expression darkening. “Before the Fever came, there were an
additional thirty-nine family groups. All of those women now rest in the Graveyard of the Fallen on
the Hill of the Reaper.”

Alicent couldn’t even imagine how devastating such a loss must have been for the First Generation,
who had already survived the destruction of their home world and centuries of travel through the
vastness of space.

“Knowledge of the immortality spell is a closely guarded secret,” Aemma continued, her
expression clearing somewhat. “There are only ever two people in existence who know how to
perform the spell at any given time: the All Mother herself and the current empress.”

Alicent wondered how that was possible, but she decided now was not the time to ask.

“What we do know is that Mother Relle herself made a gift of her own immortal blood to Empress
Daenerys when she first cast the immortality spell.” Aemma’s amber eyes were shining now.
“Mother Relle’s gift of blood is why we bleed silver. Before the Immortalization, we bled red.” As
she spoke, her fingers absently stroked over the silvery veins of her wrist. “Our blood serves as a
tangible connection to our Heavenly Mother.”

Alicent wondered how it was that the Valyrians’ goddess had given some of her own blood to
Daenerys the Silver. Were it not for the fact that Criston himself had witnessed countless Valyrians
fail to die from what should have been fatal wounds, she might be tempted to dismiss Aemma’s
assertion as a quaint creation myth to explain why Valyrians bled silver. She could think of half-a-
dozen scientific explanations for why the First Generation’s blood color might have changed from
red to silver when they arrived on Valyria, but none of them also explained how Valyrians had
achieved immortality.

“Although our Old World ancestors predated Relle, by giving her blood to Empress Daenerys, she
became our creator, our Heavenly Mother. When the First Generation gained immortality, they
renounced their past identities as Old Worlders and became a new people distinct from their mortal
forebearers. They became Valyrians.” Aemma leaned forward, holding Alicent’s gaze. “We call
Empress Daenerys the Mother of Myriads and All Mother because she created and cast the
immortality spell. By Relle’s will and grace, she made us what we are now and is thus our temporal
mother. Today marks the anniversary of the Immortalization, of the day that the women of the First
Generation truly became Valyrians.”

There were so many more questions Alicent now wished to ask, but she didn’t dare. She’d taken
more than enough of Aemma’s time this morning, and she worried that if she asked for too much
information it might be misconstrued. Best to leave things be. “Thank you, Aemma. For the
detailed explanation.”

“Of course.” Aemma rose to her feet once more, picking up the tray and tucking it under her arm.
“I will see you this afternoon, My Lady.”

Alicent nodded, watching her leave and wishing that she’d been brave enough to ask for a book
about the Immortalization.

The City of Norengale was certainly a stunning sight to behold, Rhaenyra was not so proud that she
would not admit that. Located on the southwestern coast of Swann Province, Bellmar’s capital was
distinguished from all other cities by its sprawling layout across a series of three hundred and
twenty-seven islands. Famous for its canals, which served as natural water roads for traveling
through the city, Norengale was often referred to as the City of Rivers.

The islands were housed within the shallow waters of the Valaenan Lagoon and linked together by
arching dragon-stone bridges. The lagoon was located within a large gulf on the western coast of
Bellmar and was enclosed by the mouths of the River Drava and the River Sessera. The two rivers
provided an ample supply of freshwater to the city, and there were a few towns situated along their
extensive banks.

Since it was located on a series of islands and surrounded by the waters of the lagoon, Norengale
did not have a wall proper like the other cities. Rather, its borders were protected by the Guardian
of Norengale, the Hell Gates, rugged mountains, and dense forests. During the Founding, the First
Generation Bellmarans had raised a semi-circle of tall, mountainous islands to protect the city’s
ocean borders, and anyone entering the lagoon by water had to pass beneath the Guardian of
Norengale. As for the city’s mainland border, it was protected by the towering trees that covered
the outermost islands and also served as natural windbreaks during storms.

The Guardian of Norengale was an enormous stone fortress that was shaped like a rearing unicorn
and served as the city’s gatekeeper. The back hooves stood upon two separate islands, and each
hoof was hewn from one of the islands’ preexisting mountains. The tip of the unicorn’s tail rested
upon the southern mountain to provide the fortress with more foundational support. The Guardian’s
head rose one hundred and thirty meters above sea level, and it was made from the same white-grey
granite as the mountains and islands upon which it stood. The horn and mane were gilded and
shone golden in the sun, and the front hooves were covered in plates of gleaming steel. The
unicorn’s mouth was open so that it appeared to be bellowing, and the eyes burned with beacon
fires day and night to guide Norengaleans home.

Beyond the Guardian and surrounding mountainous islands were the Hell Gates, which served as
the city’s second line of defense. A series of smaller unicorn statues stood about one hundred
meters above the surface of the waters bordering the city, and running between them were nets that
usually hid beneath the water. In the event of an attack by land or sea, those nets could be raised up
and out of the water and pulled taut between the statues. They would then be ignited by fire
elementals to create an enormous wall of fire around the city. It was said that Queen Valaena
designed this fortification with Queen Aerysa’s help and input, hence why fire was used to protect a
city surrounded by water.

As Rhaenyra flew overhead into the city’s airspace, she felt a soft tingle of magic as she crossed
Norengale’s invisible aerial border. The city’s border spell would alert Vaella to her presence, just
as the Queendom’s border spell had done earlier in her journey when she’d entered Bellmar. Spell
or no spell, I’m certain someone relayed news of my approach to Healer’s Haven as soon as I was
spotted. Which would have been long before now.

She’d flown to the Bellmaran capital in her dragon form, and her immense body and wings were
already casting a shadow over the city and water below. Any woman who looked up would see the
gleam of her silver scales and likely the shine of her ruby horns. Even if they didn’t know it was
her, specifically, they’d know that a member of House Targaryen had come. When arriving by air, it
was customary for members of her family to come as dragons: both to alert the local population and
to subtly remind them of their power.

Her eyes were just beginning to scan the islands below for the Alcazar when an enormous shape
suddenly swooped down from the clouds. A smile—or the closest approximation a dragon’s mouth
could form—curled her scaly lips when she saw sky-blue scales and sapphire horns. While not
surprised that Vaella had sent someone to greet her, she hadn’t been expecting Laena. The last time
she’d seen her sister had been during the War, and their conversation had been little more than a
brief greeting before she’d been hastily escorted to the command center while Laena rushed off to
handle a medical emergency.

She and Laena began circling each other, flying in a wide, lazy circle so they could talk. Dragons
were not hovering creatures. When she felt a gentle tap on her mental wards, she immediately
granted her sister entry so they could form a telepathic link. Dragon voices were as great and
booming as their immense size suggested, so it was rare for her, or any of the members of her
family, to speak aloud when in this form. Even if they were to whisper, over half the city would be
able to hear their conversation down below.

“I was not expecting to see you today, Laena.”

Laena snorted, causing a gust of wind to smack into Rhaenyra’s tail. “Is that any way to greet your
favorite sister?”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, but responded indulgently, “My apologies. I am so very, very, very glad
to see you, My Dearest, Most Beloved Sister, that my heart is on the verge of bursting. I cannot even
begin to fathom how I’ve managed to go so long without looking upon your wondrous face.”

“Now was that so hard?”

“Immensely.”
Amusement twinkled in Laena’s blue eyes. “When you told Vaella that you were coming to visit the
Alcazar, she asked if I wanted to be the one to greet you, and I of course said yes. It has been too
long, and what better day for a reunion than Immortalem?”

Indeed. It truly was a pity that they would not be able to properly celebrate this year. Considering
their immortality was all that had saved them from extinction during the War, it seemed somehow
wrong not to commemorate the Immortalization with full festivities and revels. Perhaps next year,
once more rebuilding and restoration had been done.

“Is there anyone in particular you’re here for?” Laena asked, drawing her from her personal
thoughts.

“Dr. Nesryn Estermont.”

“A geneticist, hmm? And what, pray tell, could you possibly have to talk to her about?”

“Escort me to the Alcazar, and you’ll learn soon enough.”

A low hum rumbled in Laena’s chest, and it echoed in the air around them. “Come along then.”

The flight was short, which was to be expected considering how much ground a dragon could cover
with a single wing beat. Once they’d reached the airspace above the Alcazar, Rhaenyra spared a
moment to admire the complex.

The Alcazar of Medicinal Edification and Research was the largest building in the city and served
as the seat of the Order of the Lotus. Spread out across multiple islands in the southern part of the
lagoon, both its islands and various buildings were connected by stone bridges. From this far up, it
was easy to see how all of the buildings had been arranged to create a series of blooming lotuses.
Soaring towers of blue, green, yellow, and orange stone rose high into the air, and open-air
courtyards and herb gardens were spread out below. At the center of the complex was an enormous
building with five towers: one at each of the corners, and one rising up from the middle.

Most of the buildings down below were crafted from various types of yellow stone to designate
them as yellow lotus facilities. Nearly all of the world’s medical researchers and scientists made
their home in the Alcazar, though a few chose to set up labs elsewhere. The orange buildings were
where members of the Orange Lotus Sect lived and worked, teaching novices and determining their
curriculum. Among the largest buildings was the Alcazar’s hospital, which was built from blue
stone to represent the blue lotus doctors and nurses who worked within. The eastern part of the
complex was dominated by shops, several of which had green roofs to indicate that they were
owned by green lotus apothecaries.

While still high in the sky, she shapeshifted into a hawk while Laena shapeshifted into a falcon.
Both of them had the finesse to land while in dragon form without causing any damage, but the
winds created by the beats of their wings would have sprayed snow everywhere and possibly felled
a tree or two. Together, she and her sister swooped down and landed on the snow-covered grass in
front of the Alcazar’s main gate, resuming their natal forms when their feet touched the ground.

Rhaenyra immediately pulled her sister into a tight hug, earning a surprised squeak. “It truly is
good to see you again, Laena.”

Laena returned the hug just as fiercely. “You as well, Rhaenyra.” Drawing back, she lightly kissed
her cheek. “Speaking through a mirror simply isn’t the same, especially when the matters to be
discussed are so . . . complicated.”

Rhaenyra hummed in agreement, not quite meeting her sister’s eyes. Laena had been the first of her
sisters to call and demand an explanation once word of her treaty stipulation had spread. After
she’d explained Lady Alicent’s situation, Laena had gotten a strange look on her face before
sighing and shaking her head. While she still didn’t know what to make of that particular
expression, since then, Laena had been kind enough to only mention Lady Alicent a handful of
times. I’m sure she’ll have plenty to say about the Lady Alicent once she learns why I’m meeting
with Dr. Nesryn.

“Rhaenyra, are you still with me?” Laena lightly prodded her arm.

Shaking herself, she offered a brief smile. “My apologies. You know how I am with becoming lost
in my thoughts.”

“Mm-hmm. You’ve always held too much inside,” Laena tsked. “It’s not healthy, the amount that
you repress.”

“You sound like Dr. Alfadora.” Linking their arms together, Rhaenyra motioned for her sister to
lead the way.

Sighing, Laena began walking towards the open gates with her, snow crunching beneath their feet.
“Dr. Alfadora is an intelligent woman, and it doesn’t take a trained psychologist to see how much
you hold back. You really ought to tell her—”

“Tell her what?” Rhaenyra interrupted sharply. “Tell her about what happened when the stasis net
finally came off? I’m fairly certain that’s what she would call my ‘root trauma,’ but you and I both
know that I can’t tell her anything about it.”

“I’ve always been of the opinion that Mother placing that thrice-damned net over your core to
begin with was your root trauma,” Laena replied calmly. “You’ve talked with her about that,
haven’t you?”

“More or less.”

Laena gave her a look.

“Less,” she admitted.

“Rhaenyra—”

“Don’t ‘Rhaenyra’ me. I know. I know that what I’m doing isn’t helping myself, but there are
things that I’ve done that I can’t and won’t share with Dr. Alfadora.”

“Such as?”

Rhaenyra snorted. Sometimes she wondered if it wouldn’t be better to ask Laena to be her
psychologist. It was a pity that professional ethics wouldn’t allow such an arrangement. That, and
the fact that I don’t want to subject her to the knowledge of all the things that keep me awake at
night. Her sister deserved better than that. Shrugging, she said simply, “You know what most of
them are.”
“But not all of them.” Laena paused, her free hand coming up to absently adjust the blue medallion
hanging around her neck that marked her as a blue lotus. “Have you spoken with her about
Emalia?”

“No.” The word came out clipped and cold, and her tone was thankfully enough for Laena not to
press further. She didn’t talk about Emalia. She did her best not to even think about her. Thoughts
of Emalia brought bitter and bloody memories surging to the surface. Blood. There had been so
much blood. And wind. Freezing winds that had whipped her cheeks and stung her eyes and frozen
her tears.

It was so cold, but then so very hot as the frozen ground split open to reveal roiling magma. Snow
hissed as it turned to steam when met by her fire. Her fire that was everywhere, black as pitch and
all consuming. The stench of death surrounded her in a thick fog. Blood. There was so much blood.
It covered her, warm and sticky and pungent. Hellish screams and furious roars echoed in her ears.
Her throat felt raw. She could feel the flesh tearing beneath her fingers, her claws, her teeth, could
taste the blood filling her mouth. So much blood. And yet she craved more.

“Rhaenyra.” Hands were tightly gripping her arms. “Rhaenyra, I need you to focus on me. Focus
on the sound of my voice. Can you hear me?”

The screams suddenly grew fainter as the new voice filled her ears, calling to her, firm yet gentle.
The stench of death and blood receded as a familiar scent flooded her senses. It was tinged with
comforting warmth and soothing sweetness. Calming pheromones. That was what it was. Her heart,
which she hadn’t even realized was racing, began to slow. When had she closed her eyes? She
blinked a few times to clear her vision, bringing her sister’s concerned face into focus. Her nose
wrinkled slightly. There were others nearby. She could smell them. She could sense their worry.

“Rhaenyra, can you hear me?”

She nodded slowly as the memories faded, pushed back into the darkest depths of her mind. “I can
hear you.”

“Good. Can you describe your surroundings?” Laena’s blue eyes bored into her.

“We’re in a courtyard.” Her eyes swiftly scanned the area before settling once more on her sister.
“There’s a copse of leafless oak trees nearby, and bare juniper bushes. A broken fountain is on our
left. There’s snow on the ground. Icy snow. The gates are behind us. Three blue lotuses are
watching us.”

“Good. Now tell me five things you can smell.”

Closing her eyes, Rhaenyra inhaled deeply, banishing the last vestiges of remembered blood and
death. “Your calming pheromones, the Valaenan Lagoon, the stale scent of snow fox, the parsley
and thyme growing in one of the nearby gardens, and bread baking somewhere in the eastern part
of the Alcazar.”

“Good. Now tell me four things you can hear.”

“Your voice, your heartbeat, the three heartbeats of the physicians behind you, and the angry pine
siskin chirping at us from overhead.”

“Good. Now tell me three things you can feel.”

Rhaenyra sighed, causing a cloud to form in front of her face. She knew this calming technique
backwards and forwards. Her heartbeat had returned to its normal rhythm, she wasn’t experiencing
the flashback anymore, and she was fully aware of her surroundings. This is why you don’t think
about her, You Fool, she chastised herself. “Laena, I’m all right now. We don’t have to finish.”

Laena hesitated, and Rhaenyra could practically see the internal war her sister was waging with
herself. Listen to and respect the wishes of the person panicking, or complete the steps to ensure
proper grounding.

“Laena.”

Relenting, Laena released her arms. After swiftly reestablishing their mental link so that the three
physicians behind her wouldn’t overhear them, she said, “Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have asked
about her.”

“You’re forgiven.” Rhaenyra reached out to take her sister’s hand and gave it a soft squeeze.
“Thank you for pulling me back.”

“Eh-hem. Your Majesty, Dr. Laena?” One of the physicians had taken a tentative step forward.

Laena turned to face her, her smile only slightly forced. “Dr. Jessamine, it’s good to see you again.”

Dr. Jessamine’s responding smile was a little less practiced than Laena’s, but let it never be said
that doctors didn’t know how to smile in tense situations. “You as well.” Shifting her attention to
Rhaenyra, she swept a curtsy that was quickly copied by her companions. “Your Majesty, welcome
to the Alcazar.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” She caught and held Dr. Jessamine’s gaze for a moment before doing the
same with the other two women. All three were dressed in dark blue robes with silver braiding on
the sleeves, and each wore a blue pendant identical to Laena’s around her neck. The blue robes and
pendants identified them as physicians, and the darker shade marked them as doctors rather than
nurses. “I assume I can rely on your discretion.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” they replied quickly.

“Good.” She returned her attention fully to Dr. Jessamine. “I’m here to meet with Dr. Nesryn
Estermont. Please show me to her lab.”

“At once, Your Majesty.”

Dr. Nesryn’s lab was as neat and organized as one would expect of a fastidious researcher. One
look around the room told Rhaenyra that the lotuses had been hard at work with rebuilding since
the War ended, which was no small feat considering the amount of damage the Westerosi had
inflicted. She still distinctly remembered Vaella fretting about losing nearly the entire Alcazar after
a series of aerial bombardments. And yet, there was now almost no evidence that this lab—along
with the rest of the Alcazar—had suffered from substantial bombings less than half a year ago.

As for the woman she’d come to see, Dr. Nesryn Estermont was just as neat and tidy as her lab. She
was wearing a yellow lab coat over normal clothes rather than a yellow robe with gold braiding on
the sleeves, and her yellow lotus medallion had been pinned down to her shirt so it would remain
out of the way. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and a pair of rectangular
spectacles rested on the bridge of her nose. She looked to be in her mid-five thousands, with
wrinkles just beginning to form around her eyes and mouth.

Dr. Nesryn’s amber eyes brightened with excitement when Rhaenyra and Laena were shown in.
Bowing low at the waist, she clasped her hands together as she straightened. “Your Majesty, Dr.
Laena, welcome.” A pair of chairs slid across the floor and came to a halt behind them. “Please,
have a seat.”

Accepting the offered chair, Rhaenyra folded her hands in her lap as she waited for Dr. Nesryn to
take a seat herself. She could see the eagerness glittering in her eyes, and even without her
empathy, she could sense the excitement rolling off of the other woman in waves. “Thank you for
agreeing to meet with me, Doctor.”

Dr. Nesryn snorted, then looked mortified at her lack of manners. “Forgive my bluntness, Your
Majesty, but only a fool would have rejected your proposal. What you’ve asked me to do,” a wide
grin curled her lips, “this is something my colleagues would kill for.”

Laena looked between Rhaenyra and Dr. Nesryn, arching an eyebrow. “Rhaenyra, care to enlighten
me about why you’re seeking Dr. Nesryn’s services?”

Instead of responding directly, Rhaenyra teleported the veritable mountain of boxes that she’d
carefully packed and gathered together this morning before leaving Stone Garden. She’d left them
all neatly stacked beside the desk in her study so that she could easily locate them with her magic
and bring them to wherever in the Alcazar Dr. Nesryn’s lab was. She supposed that she could have
used her telekinesis to secure them to her back once she’d shifted into her dragon form, but this was
far easier.

Dr. Nesryn’s eyes gleamed when she saw the boxes, and her fingers twitched slightly as if she was
barely suppressing the urge to jump to her feet and begin examining their contents.

Rhaenyra turned to her sister. “Several days ago, I went to visit the Lady Alicent, and we spoke
briefly.” She had no intention of explaining that she’d washed the other woman’s feet before bed, at
least not with Dr. Nesryn listening. “When I noticed her becoming agitated, I tried to calm her with
my empathy.” She paused, taking measure of the curious expression on her sister’s face. There was
no judgment. Not yet, at least. “I encountered a ward. An emotional ward, to be precise. The sort
you would expect an untrained empath to quickly cobble together in response to a perceived
intrusion.”

Laena’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “You’re certain?”

“Very.” She’d gone over every moment of that interaction for nearly a week before calling Dr.
Nesryn, wanting to be sure that she’d sensed what she thought she had before wasting the other
woman’s time. “It was an empathic ward.”

Laena shook her head in consternation, wearing an expression similar to the one Rhaenyra was sure
had been on her own face when she’d explained what had happened to Hylda, Aemma, and
Sabitha. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.” She nodded to Dr. Nesryn. “That’s what I’m hoping she can find out and tell me.”
She placed her hand atop the lid of the nearest box, forcing herself not to shudder at the memories
its contents evoked. “These boxes contain my research from the War. There are hair, skin, blood,
tissue, nail, organ, and fluid samples, all carefully cataloged and dated. I also made small dossiers
on all my subjects: name, age, societal and military rank, a brief family history and lineage, a
physical description, any known health defects, and so forth.”

Her fingers drummed on the smooth wood, and she quickly shoved aside the memories of how
she’d acquired that information from the captured Westerosi that had been brought to her. “The
results of my tests and experiments are all in here, as are my field notes.” She turned to Dr. Nesryn.
“I also included several blood and tissue samples from myself and fellow empaths. I’m hoping
you’ll be able to determine from all of this how it is that Lady Alicent possesses a skill only a
handful of our own people possess.”

Even now, she was still having trouble fully processing the fact that, not only did Lady Alicent
possess empathic abilities, those abilities were shockingly similar to her own. She hadn’t come
across anything like it during the War, or at least she didn’t think that she had. Perhaps some of her
subjects had been empaths and she simply hadn’t noticed at the time because of the amount of
stress she was under, or because most of them had been wearing their nth metal armor and clothes
when she’d been working on them.

It seemed that her failure to fully sequence any of the DNA samples that she’d taken had been an
oversight. One that she hoped Dr. Nesryn would be able to rectify. Dr. Nesryn had been one of
several yellow lotuses who had practically begged to help her with her experiments during the War.
As a geneticist, she’d been eager to study a new species, to analyze a new genome and sequence its
DNA. Rhaenyra had refused her, just as she had all the others. She’d known the kinds of
experiments she might have to perform, and she hadn’t wanted to be responsible for sullying any
conscience but her own.

Dr. Nesryn cleared her throat delicately. “Your Majesty, is the Lady Alicent’s DNA among the
samples here?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “No.” She could have collected it, of course. It would have been
laughably easy to do. All she would have needed was to have Aemma retrieve a hair from her
brush, swab one of the forks or spoons she’d used to eat, prick her finger with a needle and pretend
it was an accident, dab sweat from her forehead under the guise of being courteous, or any other
number of innocuous actions. There were countless methods that she could have employed to
obtain DNA from her guest, but all of them would have left her feeling guilty. Taking samples from
unwilling participants during a war was one thing, but doing so to a guest? It would be a
horrendous violation of privacy.

Evidently understanding this, or perhaps simply unwilling to question a queen, Dr. Nesryn nodded.
“All right then.” She paused, hesitance creeping into her voice. “Not having any samples from a
confirmed Westerosi empath may prove a hindrance,” she warned.

“Something to discuss in the future. For now, see what you can glean from what I’ve given you.” If
necessary, she would put the issue to bed and find a way to smother her curiosity. Or perhaps one
day Lady Alicent will willingly allow you to sequence and study her DNA. She almost snorted aloud
at the mere thought. And perhaps the sun will rise in the west tomorrow morning. Rising to her feet
so that Dr. Nesryn could do the same, she extended her hand. “Thank you for doing this, Doctor.”

Dr. Nesryn shook her hand, eyes sparkling. “The pleasure and the honor are all mine, Your
Majesty.”
 In her periphery, she could see her sister’s eyes practically boring holes into her. The flight back to
the border is going to be . . . interesting.

Chapter End Notes

Show of hands. Anyone else beginning to think that maaayybeee Alicent needs just a wee bit
of therapy?

Assuming you said yes, you're in luck.

Next Chapter: Alicent gets a gods-damned therapist!

 Seeking Help
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 10:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Arwen Arryn, a Blue Lotus psychologist, from the Avenian Isles (name taken from Arwen
Upcliff, wife of King Alester II Arryn)

Trigger Warning: Discussions of marital rape in the second half of the chapter following
the "Three Weeks Later" break. The word "rape" is also used repeatedly throughout
this section.

Additional Disclaimer: I am not a trained mental health professional in any way, shape, or
form.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Spring Moon/1,000,122 Visenya VI

“She needs help.”

Rhaenyra looked up from her papers to see Aemma standing over her desk with her hands on her
hips. Looking past her seneschal, she saw Hylda hovering in the doorway. She gave her Shadow
Knight an accusatory look, but Hylda only smiled and shrugged before closing the door. She
wondered absently if she should have used the blood oath to compel Hylda to keep Aemma away
from her, but no, that would have created new problems. Never mind that it would also be a terrible
abuse of her power.

While she’d been endeavoring to avoid Aemma for nearly three months now because the other
woman continued hectoring her about summoning a therapist for Lady Alicent, Aemma was still
her seneschal, so complete avoidance was impossible. It was necessary for them to meet at least
once a day to review her schedule, and given how understaffed Stone Garden remained, Aemma
often needed to discuss matters pertaining to the upkeep of the palace. Relle knew there were a
thousand and one things still to do merely to return Stone Garden to its former glory, never mind
the rest of the city and the Queendom at large.

Leaning back in her chair, she set her quill down and looked up at Aemma. “We’ve had this
conversation before, Aemma.”

“And yet you haven’t sent for anyone.”

“She doesn’t yet desire that kind of help.”

“How do you know?”

Rhaenyra suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. This was the same song and dance they’d been
engaging in since the night that she’d visited Lady Alicent and washed her feet. “She still has yet to
leave her apartments because she isn’t comfortable around Valyrians. Do you honestly believe that
she would wish to bare her soul to and process her trauma with one?”

“Send for a non-Valyrian therapist then.”

“And who would you suggest?”

“Anyone is better than no one.” Aemma frowned at her. “Have you even mentioned therapy to
her?”

“You cannot force help upon someone who isn’t ready or doesn’t want it, Aemma. Lady Alicent
must be the one to reach out. Otherwise, it would be but one more instance of someone dictating to
her what they think is best rather than allowing her to make her own decisions.” She had no doubt
that Criston Cole had spent the past twenty-three years telling Lady Alicent that what he was doing
was somehow for her own good, or that he was only making decisions for her because she couldn’t
be trusted to exercise autonomy.

She refused to do the same.

“You also cannot offer help to someone who doesn’t even know that it’s an option,” Aemma
countered. “For all we know, Westeros doesn’t even have psychologists. It would hardly be
surprising, considering their barbaric culture. If Lady Alicent doesn’t know that help exists and is
available here, how is she supposed to ask for it?”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it. Idiot. You Thrice-Damned Idiot! You
should have thought of that. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t seem to think critically
about Lady Alicent’s situation?

While she’d been to visit Lady Alicent a few times since the night that she’d washed her feet, she
always kept her visits short and focused on answering any questions Lady Alicent might have for
her rather than offering unsolicited information. She’d been so focused on ensuring that Lady
Alicent did not feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable in her presence that she’d completely forgotten
to consider the possibility that the other woman was not even familiar with the concept of therapy.

Bloody fool. You gave her the option to leave, but you never told her what all was available to her
if she stayed.

I didn’t wish to pressure her into remaining, she thought defensively.

It’s been eight months. She’s plainly not planning to depart in the near future. Stop being a bloody
coward.

Sometimes, she truly detested her inner voice, which alternated between Aemma, Hylda, and her
mother’s voices. At the moment, it was all Aemma.

Expelling a heavy breath, she leaned forward and placed her clasped hands on her desk. “Who do
you suggest then? Dr. Alfadora?” Her personal psychologist had yet to return to Stone Garden due
to being needed elsewhere, but she was willing to order her back for Lady Alicent’s sake.
Thankfully, Aemma had the grace not to look smug at her victory. “Dr. Alfadora is good, but she
doesn’t have much experience with abuse survivors. Assuming you don’t decide to send for a non-
Valyrian psychologist, I would recommend Doctor Arwen Arryn.”

Rhaenyra lifted an eyebrow. “Your great-great-grandaunt? You want me to have a member of the
First Generation talk to Lady Alicent about her abusive husband?”

Every woman of the First Generation had endured centuries—if not millennia—of abuse at the
hands of the men in her life. Each of them had a harrowing tale to tell, and all of them had become
exceptionally misandristic as a result. She’d read Why Men Were Banished From Valyria, as had
every woman on the planet, so she certainly understood their hatred, but she wasn’t certain that
such vitriol—no matter how righteous and justified—would help Lady Alicent.

“Have you ever met Arwen Arryn?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Well, I can assure you from speaking with her myself that she is not like the other members of the
First Generation. Not anymore, at least. She’s traveled across the universes seeking to help women
in need of it, and during that time, she’s met males who aren’t monsters.” Aemma’s tone revealed
her skepticism about the final matter, but she continued without actual comment. “She still hates
the males of the Old World, to be sure, but she doesn’t share the rest of the First Generation’s
opinion that all males are irredeemable varks.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows arched slightly at the final word. Aemma usually refrained from such
language in her presence out of respect for the fact that she herself had made friends with various
men during her travels. She supposed that it was to be expected though, this increase in anti-male
sentiment. After all, the Westerosi had confirmed everything that the First Generation had ever
taught them about the inherent wickedness of men, and Lady Alicent’s circumstances provided yet
further confirmation.

“Apparently, she’s interacted with males who desired to and have helped the women in their lives,”
Aemma continued, “and even some who were abused themselves. She has a unique understanding
of abuse that I doubt anyone else on this planet possesses, and I honestly believe that she’s the best
person to help Lady Alicent. She has the experience, both personal and professional, to intimately
understand what Lady Alicent has suffered and devise a proper course of treatment.”

Rhaenyra was silent for a long time as she mulled over Aemma’s words. She herself had worked as
both a psychologist and psychiatrist on several occasions during her travels, so she knew that there
was something to be said for shared experiences between a patient and therapist. It strengthened the
connection—more oft than not—since the person attempting to help was not merely a stuffy
academic with no concept of the very condition they were treating. But such shared experiences
could also blur professional boundaries.

Of course, considering how long Dr. Arwen had been working in this field, she suspected that the
woman was well-practiced in maintaining healthy boundaries. And if Lady Alicent mislikes her,
hopefully enough progress will have been made by then that she’ll feel comfortable expressing her
desire for a different therapist. Relle willing.

Refocusing on Aemma, she gave her a nod. “I’ll speak with the Lady Alicent. If she agrees, please
put me in contact with Dr. Arwen.”
Aemma smiled slightly. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Alicent’s lips pursed as she continued flipping through and scanning over the seemingly endless
table of contents of the dense meteorological book that Aemma had brought her the day before.
She’d been hoping that this volume might provide some modicum of an explanation for the four
unnaturally-colored moons that appeared in the Valyrian night sky once a season. The blue moon’s
appearance the week before had reminded her unnervingly that she’d been meaning to research the
matter. She still wasn’t certain how she’d apparently missed seeing the golden moon last autumn.

The first time that she’d seen one of the abnormally colored moons had been during the first year of
the war. The night of what she now knew to be midsummer, she and every other Westerosi had
looked skyward and seen a blood-red moon staring down at them. Some of the men had begun to
panic, but Criston had swiftly brought them to heel, roaring orders that they would not allow
themselves to be unnerved by something as trifling as the color of the moon. A few nights later,
once the moon’s fullness had waned, it had returned to its normal, silvery-white color.

The red moon had come again the next year, but by then, they’d realized that strangely colored
moons were yet one more peculiar aspect of this planet. At the end of the first autumn of the war, a
golden moon had risen in the sky, a blue moon had heralded the end of winter, and a moon as green
as grass had appeared midspring. Every year, four of the twelve full moons rose a strange color, but
only for the nights of the full moon. Green midspring, red midsummer, gold at the end of autumn,
and blue at the end of winter. Some of the more astronomically minded of Criston’s scientists had
tried to offer explanations, but none had been particularly satisfying.

She looked up from her book at the sound of someone knocking on the door. She was currently
curled up on the comfiest chair in her study, which she’d decided some months ago was her favorite
room. While not the largest of her chambers, its size created a cozy atmosphere without being too
confining. There was a small hearth on one wall, three large windows across from it, a desk, four
chairs, a small table, and several shelves of books. A soft, cream-colored rug covered the stone
floor, and a lovely painting of a sunset hung behind the desk.

The scents of dozens of different flowers permeated the air, carried on the breezes that swept
through the opened windows and into her study. She’d been opening all of her apartments’
windows each morning for about a week now so that the fresh, spring air could dispel the winter
stuffiness. It had been a great relief when the cold had finally abated, though a part of her felt oddly
proud at having survived a Kastrellan winter.

“Come in,” she called, already reaching for her bookmark.

The door opened to reveal Queen Rhaenyra standing on the other side. She inclined her head in
greeting before asking, “May I still come in?”

After only a slight hesitation, Alicent nodded. While she knew that her acquiescence was
meaningless, in truth, she also knew that giving it would please the Queen. Quickly marking her
page, she closed her book and set it aside on the table. Her eyes tracked each of Queen Rhaenyra’s
movements as the other woman crossed the study towards her. Since that night when she had
washed her feet, the Queen had called on her exactly three times.

The first time Queen Rhaenyra had visited, Alicent had been so terrified that she could hardly
speak, certain that the Firestorm’s presence in her rooms must mean that she was to be punished for
some infraction. But the Queen had done no more than make innocuous small talk, and her visit
had lasted but fifteen minutes. There had been a few times during that visit that Alicent could have
sworn she’d sensed sincerity and genuine concern from the other woman, but she did not dare trust
them. Queen Rhaenyra somehow knew of her peculiar ability to sense emotions, which meant that
she could exploit that knowledge to her own advantage.

Upon her second visit, the Queen had brought her an offering of books covering a wide range of
subjects. Alicent hadn’t been able to stop herself from flinching when Queen Rhaenyra had tried to
hand them to her, and she well-remembered the flash of irritation that she’d seen in the Queen’s
purple eyes. Before she’d been able to apologize though, Queen Rhaenyra had placed the books
down on the nearest table and backed away from her, offering her own apology instead. Alicent had
been so bewildered by the actions that she’d forgotten herself enough to ask a few questions
without fainting from fright. The second visit had lasted almost half an hour.

During the most recent visit, which had occurred two weeks and four days ago, Alicent had forced
herself not to flinch when Queen Rhaenyra offered her a new book. For reasons that she hadn’t
been able to fathom at the time, her fear seemed to vex the Queen rather than excite her, so she’d
endeavored to offer a different reaction. The pleased smile that she’d received in response to not
flinching informed her that she’d made a wise decision. That day, the Queen had remained in her
chambers for nearly three quarters of an hour.

While Alicent still didn’t know what to make of these sporadic visits, she’d perhaps begun to
understand something of Queen Rhaenyra herself.

Or at least . . . she hoped that she had.

Initially, she’d spent a good month scrutinizing every detail of what had happened the night that the
Queen had washed her feet, trying to understand why she’d suddenly felt safe—even if only for a
moment—in the Firestorm’s presence. It made no sense. None at all. And her confusion had only
worsened when the Queen had begun her visits.

She’d realized soon enough that it was impossible to reconcile the woman who visited her with
what she knew about the Firestorm, just as it was impossible to reconcile Aemma’s stories with
those that she’d heard during the war.

The woman who visited her always spoke kindly and never so much as raised her voice; the
Firestorm had brutally and efficiently slaughtered thousands on the battlefield. The woman who
visited her was gentle and solicitous and always seemed pleased to answer what few questions
Alicent managed to pose; the Firestorm had coldly taken captured Westerosi soldiers apart piece by
piece in some twisted attempt to understand them. The woman who visited her backed away when
Alicent flinched; the Firestorm had reveled in becoming the thing of nightmares for the Westerosi.

Until the third visit, Alicent had simply been unable to make any sense of the perplexing dichotomy
that existed between Queen Rhaenyra and the Firestorm. But then the Queen had smiled at her
when she didn’t flinch.

It was then that she’d begun to understand that there were, in a manner of speaking, two entirely
different people sharing the same body: one presented a very real danger to her, the other perhaps
less so. The Queen—for whatever reason—did not wish to see her afraid and therefore seemed
disinclined to harm her. The Firestorm, she knew, would not hesitate to gut her alive and would
likely delight in the act.
For now, the Queen was in ascendance, which meant that Alicent must do everything she could to
ensure it remained so. Before, she’d endeavored to avoid the Firestorm’s wrath. Now, she
endeavored not to awaken the Firestorm.

A minor distinction, perhaps, but an important one.

It was a distinction that had eventually resulted in a particularly startling revelation the week
before.

She’d grown comfortable here.

Despite herself, and without even realizing it at first, she’d grown comfortable with her life here
within the Queen’s Keep. She’d grown comfortable with the strange Valyrian clothes that felt so
much lighter than what she’d worn back home. She’d grown comfortable with talking to Aemma—
albeit cautiously—about certain things that struck her fancy. She’d grown comfortable with the
doors that didn’t open on their own. She’d grown comfortable with falling asleep at night and
waking up in her now-familiar bedchamber. She’d grown comfortable with the soft, cozy mattress
of her bed that lacked both microbeads and an adaptive and responsive matrix.

She’d grown comfortable with the old-fashioned faucets and bath in her lavatory. She’d grown
comfortable with the glowing crystals that illuminated her apartments when the sun went down.
She’d grown comfortable with the lack of anti-gravity discs on her glasses. She’d grown
comfortable with doors that used keys instead of biometric scanners. She’d grown comfortable with
Valyrian food. She’d grown comfortable with opening a window whenever she desired. She’d
grown comfortable with being able to see the time at night because the numbers and hands of her
clock were inlaid with those same glowing crystals. She’d grown comfortable with the lack of bots
and AIs and electricity. She’d grown comfortable with her paper books and her sewing.

She’d grown so comfortable, in fact, that a small part of her had even begun to reevaluate the
veracity of the words she’d been told that first night: that she was safe.

So long as the Firestorm remained dormant.

Alicent watched as Queen Rhaenyra sat in the chair beside hers: as she always did. She’d noticed at
once that Queen Rhaenyra always took care not to loom over her, always choosing to stand or sit
next to her rather than directly in front of her. It meant that Alicent wasn’t forced to look at her if
she didn’t want to, and she greatly appreciated the gesture. Not that she would ever admit it. Doing
so would be showing weakness, and she’d already shown Queen Rhaenyra too many of her
weaknesses. No matter how courteous the Queen’s behavior at present, Alicent knew that the
Firestorm still lurked just beneath the surface.

If—when—that beast reemerged, she could not afford to provide it with any more ways to hurt her
than she already had. She must remember that.

Queen Rhaenyra folded her hands in her lap, her posture as perfect as it always was. “I was hoping
you would have time to speak with me.”

“Of course.” Alicent shifted in her chair so that she was facing her more. “Do you have a topic in
mind?” While she had yet to receive an affirmative answer to this particular query, she didn’t dare
fail to ask.
Much to her surprise, Queen Rhaenyra didn’t immediately shake her head and cede the
conversation to her. Instead, there was a long moment of silence as she seemed to consider her
words. Finally, she nodded a little, more to herself than to Alicent. “Does the word therapy mean
anything to you?”

Alicent’s lips pursed slightly as she considered. While she’d been given the ability to understand
and speak High Valyrian and Kastrellan, there were many words that simply lacked an exact
translation. “Do you mean psychological help?”

“Yes.”

“We had it on Westeros.” Long ago, in the early years of her marriage, she’d briefly wondered if
psychological help—therapy—was something that would benefit her, but then she’d realized that a
psychoanalyst would simply tell her the same things that Criston and her mother had always told
her: that she was worthless and cursed by Sytarr. Psychoanalysts treated actual problems, not the
maladies that naturally befell the defective.

“What did they help with?”

Alicent hesitated, her mind racing as she tried to determine what information she dared share. Why
does Queen Rhaenyra want to know about this? Surely there was no reason for her wanting this
information now. The war was over and done, a treaty signed and executed. Why would she wish to
know anything more about Westerosi than she’d already gleaned?

And yet, she dared not remain silent. “Trauma from battle,” she said finally, “depression after
losing a husband or son, addiction to harmful substances, treatable mental health problems, things
of that nature.”

“Abuse?”

A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she swiftly smoothed her expression. “Why would
you need a psychoanalyst for that?” Abuse was something that happened to things or animals, and
they certainly didn’t require psychological help. Such amenities were for people.

“Abuse is damaging both physically and emotionally.” Queen Rhaenyra was speaking slowly,
carefully, as if gauging her reaction. “It can result in low self-esteem, leave you scared or anxious
or sad or angry, cause depression or post-traumatic stress disorder or panic attacks, and things of
that nature. Therapy can help with all of that.”

“People can’t be abused.” Alicent snapped her mouth shut as soon as the words flew out, shrinking
back in her chair as she waited for the queenly mask to slip. Why can I never keep my damn mouth
shut? She’d had one, single, simple objective, and here she was jeopardizing everything with her
intolerable insolence. You’re a fool who deserves everything that has happened and will happen to
you.

Queen Rhaenyra was giving her a strange look, but she did not appear angry. “What do you mean
by people cannot be abused?”

Alicent bit her lip, fingers curling around her scarred wrist. Low self-esteem. Fear. Anxiety. Panic
attacks. She experienced all of these things, but it wasn’t because she’d been abused. As defective
as she was, she was still a person.
“Please, Alicent.” Queen Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes were soft, and her tone was gentle and coaxing.
“I want to understand what you mean. I promise I won’t be upset, whatever answer you give.”

Her expression was so earnest, and Alicent found her tongue loosening against her will. “I, well . . .
that is . . . abuse is something that happens to animals or inanimate objects.” She paused to assess
Queen Rhaenyra’s reaction. When she saw nothing but calm curiosity, she continued. “Children
abuse their toys because they don’t know any better. Animals can be abused because they’re
defenseless and can’t fight back. People aren’t like that.”

She swallowed as she thought about all of the times Criston had hurt her or Arilla had withheld
food. “People can be punished because they’ve done something wrong, but that’s not abuse. It’s,”
she perked up as she realized that she knew how to put this into terms Queen Rhaenyra would
understand, “it’s like vengeance. A punishment is doled out that befits the crime committed.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s lips pursed, and Alicent wondered fearfully if she’d somehow managed to
mangle the ethical concept. “I see.” The Queen tilted her head. “Animals can be abused because
they’re defenseless and can’t fight back?”

Alicent nodded, breathing an inward sign of relief. She’s still engaging. Perhaps I didn’t misspeak
—

But then Queen Rhaenyra continued, “Could you defend yourself? Could you fight back?”

Of course she couldn’t, but that didn’t mean she’d been abused. It didn’t put her on the same level
as an animal. Why is Queen Rhaenyra doing this? She gulped when she suddenly realized that this
could all be an elaborate way for the Queen to tell her that she considered her no better than a lowly
beast. Fool. You damn fool. Allowing yourself to grow complacent. She could feel her heart rate
beginning to increase, and it only became worse when she realized that Queen Rhaenyra was still
waiting for her to respond.

It doesn’t even matter what I say. She’ll do as she pleases regardless. As ever, the knowledge of her
lack of control over her own life was morbidly comforting. Resigning herself, she said, “It’s
different. I was being punished. I . . .” She swallowed, memories swirling through her mind and
causing her hands to begin shaking. She quickly fisted the skirts of her dress to hide the tremors.
The Queen did not wish to see her afraid, and if she showed too much fear, it might draw the
Firestorm out: like a shark to blood. “I deserved it.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

How was she supposed to answer that? How did the Queen want her to answer that? If she said
“yes,” surely it was tantamount to inviting a punishment, but if she said “no,” such insolence would
certainly earn her a punishment. She should answer yes, should she not? Because she did believe
that she’d deserved it . . . Didn’t she?

I suppose that I sometimes resented what he did to me. But that is merely further evidence of my
own failings. I deserved what was done to me. It was Sytarr’s punishment for all of my defects and
sins.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably, and her grip on her skirts tightened even further. She’d been a
complete and utter fool to think that, perhaps, the Firestorm would not harm her so long as the
Queen remained content with her behavior. Imbecile. It had been easier with Criston. With him,
she’d always known that any kindness he’d shown her was merely part of his games. With Queen
Rhaenyra . . . she simply did not understand her. Fool to think that you did.

“My apologies. I’ve upset you.” Queen Rhaenyra expelled a heavy breath. “I didn’t mean to do
that. I simply wanted to inform you that we have therapists—psychoanalysts—here who can help
you, if you so desire.”

“I don’t require a psychoanalyst.” The words slipped from her mouth before she could snatch them
back. Sytarr above, when did I become so careless? If the Firestorm was at last awakening, she was
giving her every reason to punish her.

“As you will.” A book suddenly appeared on Queen Rhaenyra’s lap. “Have you read Why Men
Were Banished From Valyria?”

Slightly disoriented from the sudden change of topic, it took a moment longer than it should have
for Alicent to properly process the question. But after inspecting the cover and title to confirm that
the book was an unfamiliar one, she shook her head. What is Queen Rhaenyra’s purpose with all of
this?

“This was written by the members of the First Generation,” Queen Rhaenyra explained, her fingers
lightly gliding over the cover. “Each and every one of them was abused, you see, by their husbands,
their fathers, their brothers, and even their own sons. They suffered in ways that most cannot even
imagine.” Her eyes flicked towards Alicent. “I think that you can imagine though.” She picked the
book up off of her lap and held it out to her. “This contains the personal accounts of every member
of the First Generation. They explain what was done to them, and in so doing, why men are not
permitted to live on Valyria.”

Alicent stared at the book for a long moment before slowly accepting it. Perhaps she’d been
mistaken in her earlier assumption that this conversation heralded the awakening of the Firestorm.
“Um, thank you.” «A lady does not say um.»

She wondered if this book would tell her what exactly had happened to the Valyrians’ male
ancestors. She’d only ever come across vague references to them, which had told little more than
that there were men who had survived the Doom and journeyed with the First Generation on the
Long Travels. What had happened to them once the refugees had reached Valyria remained unclear.
She assumed that they and their descendants were alive somewhere that wasn’t here, and this
book’s title certainly seemed to support her assumption. Unless “banished” somehow means
“eradicated.” She preferred to think that that wasn’t the case.

“You needn’t read it of course,” Queen Rhaenyra was saying, “and I will warn you that the content
is quite upsetting, but I think it might help you understand how my people view what happened to
you.”

She wasn’t sure that she wanted to understand how Valyrians viewed all that had happened during
her marriage. She knew what had happened, and she knew why it had happened. How would
knowing another culture’s perspective help her? But then she thought about her night terrors.

Thus far, she’d been lucky and hadn’t woken up screaming, but such luck would not hold out
forever. Eventually, her screams would disturb the Firestorm’s slumber, and when that happened
. . . She had no doubt that the Queen’s mask of civility would vanish in an instant. If a
psychoanalyst could prevent that from happening, perhaps it would be worth whatever peculiar
“treatment” the Valyrians thought appropriate.
Queen Rhaenyra offered her a small smile. “I’ll leave you to return to your other book. I only
wished for you to know that, if you decide you want to speak with a therapist, they’re available.”

She was surprised that the Queen wasn’t going to insist beyond offering her a book that she
supposedly had the option of not reading. The other woman clearly didn’t agree with her, but she
wasn’t trying to force her opinion either. She watched as Queen Rhaenyra rose to her feet and
strode out of the room, once again left baffled by her behavior.

Three Weeks Later

Alicent’s knee bounced nervously as she waited in her study for Dr. Arwen to arrive. In the three
weeks since Queen Rhaenyra had informed her that Valyrians had psychoanalysts—therapists—
available and that she was allowed to engage the services of one, her mind had refused to settle.
Psychological help was not meant for the likes of her, she knew this, but the Queen seemed to think
otherwise. And she was desperate to remain in the Queen’s good graces.

She’d eventually concluded that the potential benefits of meeting with a “therapist” outweighed the
inherent risks. While this Dr. Arwen was more like than not a spy to some degree, it seemed that
meeting with her would please the Queen. And, if nothing else, perhaps Dr. Arwen could help stave
off her nightmares. They’d been worse of late, no doubt due to reading—or rather, listening to—
Why Men Were Banished From Valyria.

She’d opened the book exactly one hour after the Queen had left her study—unable to resist the
temptation—and quickly realized that it was unlike any book she’d ever read before.

It had begun normally enough, with a long introduction penned by the author—Jacinta Yronwood
—that detailed the Dark Times. Evidently, the Doom of the Old World had been preceded by five
thousand years of devastating warfare.

During this period, magic was used in ways never before seen, and the world itself was torn
asunder. Even discounting the new, devastating spells men devised and deployed during the
Dark Times, untold amounts of destruction were wrought by powerful elementals. Throughout
the wars, fires raged, seas boiled, winds howled, and the earth quaked. Forests were burned,
mountains were razed, continents were shattered, and great tidal waves wiped out entire cities
in a twinkling. Magma was dredged up from the internal fires of the Old World and made to
rain down upon enemies, which served to destabilize the planet’s core.

Jacinta Yronwood had explained that these destructive wars had nearly eradicated the male
population, and while women had been forbidden from actually engaging in combat, so many were
killed as collateral damage—or by the men in their lives—that less than a hundred thousand female
survivors had escaped the dying planet. And of those survivors, Empress Daenerys and her six
sisters were the most powerful people left alive.

Before the Dark Times, the Old World had been home to some thirty billion souls. By the end . . .
barely more than a hundred thousand were still alive to flee. And then the Black Fever came and
killed another sixty-six thousand women. It was small wonder that Empress Daenerys the Silver had
seen fit to create an immortality spell. Her people must have seemed to be on the verge of
extinction.

Alicent had admittedly skipped ahead after that to the next section of the book, more curious about
the personal accounts than the history of a planet long dead—though she would certainly return to
that history in the future. She’d been expecting pages and pages of written testimonials, and she’d
been wrong.

The second half of the book wasn’t a written record at all, but rather an auditory and visual one.
Whenever she’d flipped to a new page, mist had risen from the paper and coalesced into a tiny,
three-dimensional woman who spoke with a clear and easy to hear voice as she told her story.
She’d listened to tales of beatings, whippings, burning, scarring, maiming, starvation, watching
children and siblings die, what the women had called “rapes,” and nigh every other horror
imaginable.

It had been alarming.

It had been eye opening.

It had been haunting her for weeks.

More times than she could count, she’d found herself nodding in agreement with something one of
the spectral women was saying, or remembering moments similar to what the women were
describing.

She’d never watched her sisters die or had a daughter ripped from her arms, and her father and
brothers had never laid hands upon her in anger—thank Sytarr—but she knew what it was to fear a
husband’s fury and a son’s cruelty. She knew what it was to dread falling asleep at night and
waking in the morning. She knew what it was to scream in pain until her throat was raw. She knew
what it was to stare into eyes that held naught but contempt and sadistic pleasure.

Many women of the First Generation had suffered as she had, and some had suffered in ways that
she had not. Nigh all had been beaten and starved and belittled and whipped. Their husbands had
been cruel and their sons arrogant. They’d lived in perpetual fear and done their best to avoid their
husbands’ wrath. They’d cleaved to the will men, and yet still resented what was happening. She
understood all of that. She’d lived most of it.

What she wasn’t able to understand was why it had happened. She’d suffered because she couldn’t
bear children and was an abomination in Sytarr’s eyes, because she was weak and clumsy and
useless, because she disgraced her family with every breath she took. The women of the First
Generation though . . . those wedded had not been barren, and given what all of them had said in
their testimonials, they’d done nothing to deserve what befell them. The men in their lives had hurt
them without justification.

That, she could admit, was abuse.

Reaching that conclusion had thrown her entire worldview into chaos for nearly a week as she’d
tried to adjust to her new understanding that abuse could, in fact, happen to people. She still didn’t
believe that what had happened to her qualified as abuse—there had been reasons behind it, after
all—but she now understood better why a Valyrian might consider it otherwise.
This latest revelation was what had finally tipped the scales in favor of accepting the Queen’s offer
of psychological help. The fact that the psychoanalyst chosen for her was also First Generation had
only furthered her desire to speak with her. Even considering that this could all still be part of some
elaborate mind game the Firestorm had concocted, she wanted to meet with this woman.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. “Come in.”

An old woman entered a moment later, and Alicent’s first thought was that she bore a striking
resemblance to Aemma. While Dr. Arwen looked noticeably older and had golden eyes rather than
amber, her hair color, the shape of her face, and the set of her eyes and mouth were the same as
Aemma’s. She was dressed in a blue robe with silver braiding on the sleeves, and a blue pendant
engraved with a lotus hung around her neck.

“Good morning, Lady Alicent.” Dr. Arwen offered her a warm smile before asking, “Would you
like the door opened or closed?”

Alicent stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. No one had ever asked her before whether
or not she wanted a door opened or closed. It had always been done for her without any
consultation. Her eyes darted to the still-open door. “Um, closed is fine.” «A lady does not say um.»

After shutting the door behind herself, Dr. Arwen strode across the room to where Alicent was
sitting. She dipped her head in greeting before touching the fingers of her right hand to the center of
her chest. “My name is Doctor Arwen Arryn. I was quite pleased when my niece called to say that
you wanted to meet with me.”

Rising to her feet, Alicent mimicked the older woman’s greeting and hoped that her response was
considered appropriate. “Seneschal Aemma is your niece then?”

“Indeed.” Dr. Arwen backed away a few steps and cocked her head in the direction of a nearby
chair. “If I sit there, will that create a comfortable sitting distance between us?”

Alicent glanced over at the chair, which was neither directly across from her own nor fully to one
side or the other. Rather, it was sitting somewhat diagonally to her. Was it too close to her chair? As
she mentally measured the distance, she suddenly thought about how Queen Rhaenyra always took
care to never loom over her and how she usually tried to sit beside her so that Alicent wouldn’t
have to look directly at her if she didn’t want to. Was that what Dr. Arwen was doing now?

“That chair is fine,” she finally decided, retaking her own seat as Dr. Arwen sat down. As she
watched her, she compared the image of Arwen Arryn that she’d seen in the book to the woman in
front of her. The only noticeable difference that she could detect—aside from her advanced age—
was in her eyes.

She’d looked into each First Generation woman’s eyes—including Arwen Arryn’s—as she’d
listened to them tell their stories, and she’d seen everything from rage to pain to grief to guilt to
fear. She didn’t see those things in Dr. Arwen’s eyes now. They were calm and peaceful, as if time
had somehow smoothed away the scars of her past.

Was that even possible?

She supposed that she would learn for herself soon enough.
Dr. Arwen folded her hands in her lap, offering a small smile. “So, what would you prefer to
discuss?”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together. “You don’t have any questions for me?”

“Oh, I do, but what you’ve survived is your story to tell. I’m sure that you’ll share when you’re
ready, and I can ask my questions then. Until that time comes,” Dr. Arwen spread her hands, “we
can speak about anything that strikes your fancy.”

She wondered if this was a procedure all psychoanalysts employed, or something unique to
Valyrian psychoanalysts. Perhaps it was simply a technique that Dr. Arwen herself preferred.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she asked, “Will you be reporting our conversations to
Queen Rhaenyra?” Having considered the various benefits and risks of speaking to a Valyrian
psychoanalyst for weeks now, she’d concluded that her first task must be ascertaining how much
she dared reveal to her. While she didn’t believe for a moment that Dr. Arwen would actually admit
to being an informant—if she even was—a lie could prove just as revealing as the truth.

Dr. Arwen leaned forward in her chair, eyes gentle and earnest. “Lady Alicent, as a psychologist, I
am bound by a strict code of confidentiality, and I mean that both ethically and magically. Nothing
you say to me during our sessions will ever leave this room, unless you give me explicit
permission, or I learn that you have imminent plans to harm yourself or others.” She arched an
eyebrow. “Is that something you can accept?”

While curious about the magical aspect of Dr. Arwen’s code of confidentiality, she decided to set
that question aside for another time. This session must be focused on ascertaining the truth of Dr.
Arwen’s claim that she was not acting as Queen Rhaenyra’s eyes and ears.

That would come later though. For now, she nodded. “I can accept that.”

“Good.” Dr. Arwen sat back in her chair, steepling her fingers together. “So, do you have anything
in particular you’d like to discuss? We can also remain sitting quietly, if you’d prefer. Sometimes,
silence is what is needed most in the moment.”

Perhaps in other contexts, but not now. She could not afford to waste time on silence, not when she
needed additional information and confirmation. “I recently finished reading Why Men Were
Banished From Valyria.” She waited, searching for any sort of negative reaction.

Dr. Arwen gave none. “And what were your thoughts?”

About this, at least, she would speak truthfully. “It was horrifying.” The words were an
understatement, but for now, they would suffice until she’d determined the extent of this woman’s
trustworthiness. Not that anyone can ever be fully trusted.

“The Old World was a horrifying place.” Dr. Arwen slowly pinched the sleeve of her robe and drew
it back to reveal a large scar running the length of her forearm. It reminded Alicent of the scar
marring her own arm, though Dr. Arwen’s did not loop around her wrist. “My late husband gave
me this shortly after my daughter was born. He was displeased that she was a girl.”

Alicent swallowed a little. Her own scar was the result of Criston deciding that he wished to play
with knives for the evening. She couldn’t even remember now what she’d done to earn the
punishment, but she remembered being tied down to her bed, and she remembered the feeling of
cold steel giving way to burning pain as he’d sliced through her flesh. She remembered losing
consciousness from blood loss and awakening hours later swathed in bandages and staring up into
Dr. Gnorts’ weasel-like face. She remembered the lascivious smile he’d given her as his eyes
roamed over her barely clothed body. She remembered the feeling of his fingers touching her cheek
in a mocking caress as he promised to take good care of her.

“I understand that you believe what happened to you was your fault.” Dr. Arwen’s voice was soft,
but still loud enough to pull Alicent back to the present. “I remember thinking that, if only I’d had a
son, he wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“Yes.” Alicent found herself nodding without meaning to.

“But you see, Alicent, men such as that, men like your former husband and mine, they do not need
a reason to inflict pain. Not in truth.” Dr. Arwen met her eyes and held them. “You could have been
a paragon wife, and Criston Cole would still have made you suffer.”

That isn’t true. Criston had never hurt Arilla, Sabina, or Vesna. Only her. Perhaps the men of the
Old World had inflicted pain without cause, but Criston had had his reasons.

“Such men justify their actions by claiming that we have somehow brought about our own
suffering,” Dr. Arwen continued. “They blame us for their cruelty, and after a while, how can we
not believe them?” She let her sleeve slide back into place. “But you were not at fault, Alicent. No
more than I, or any of my sisters. You did not deserve to suffer as you did. There is no infraction
that you could have committed to warrant something like that.” She pointed to the scar peeking out
from under Alicent’s sleeve.

Alicent quickly tugged her sleeve further down. “I no longer wish to speak about this.”

“As you will.” Dr. Arwen inclined her head, eyes soft with sympathy, which only made Alicent
more uncomfortable. She couldn’t afford to feel a kinship with this woman. Not yet. Not until she
knew more about her and could determine her intentions.

She’d allowed herself to become distracted. Idiot. You made a plan. Execute it. A few carefully
selected truths buried among a series of lies, that was her intention. Whichever pieces of
information made their way to the Firestorm’s ears would hopefully provide her with some insight
into this new part of the dance that she and the Queen had seemingly begun. “May we speak about
something else?”

Dr. Arwen nodded, spreading her hands in invitation. “The conversation is yours to direct, Alicent.”

She’d planned everything meticulously, had created mental lists of all that she would tell Dr. Arwen
to test her, but somehow, in that moment, all of those carefully laid plans deserted her and she
found herself asking, “Why did you and the other members of the First Generation call what your
husbands did to you ‘rape’?”

As soon as the words had escaped her mouth, she mentally slapped herself. You idiot. That is not
what you were meant to ask her. True, the question had been plaguing her, but it was one she’d
intended to ask later. Much later. Once she’d determined the sort of woman Dr. Arwen was.

Something chilling briefly flickered in Dr. Arwen’s golden eyes, but it was gone in an instant, and
when she spoke, her voice was perfectly calm. “Because ‘rape’ is the appropriate word for what
was done to us.”
Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. But . . . that couldn’t be right. Perhaps some
meaning had been lost in translation? Rape was not something that could occur within the bounds
of marriage.

Dr. Arwen cocked her head slightly. “Does the concept of rape exist on Westeros, Alicent? By
which I mean forcing another person to engage in sexual acts against their will or without their
explicit and freely-given consent.”

“Yes, but . . .” She bit her lip, shifting nervously in her chair. We shouldn’t be having this
conversation now. She didn’t yet know Dr. Arwen well enough, had no idea whether she would
become angry if Alicent dared to contradict her.

“But?” Dr. Arwen prompted.

A trap. This could be a trap. But it was also a question. Did she dare ignore a direct question? If
this were Aemma, she knew that she’d be granted the latitude to remain silent, but Dr. Arwen was
not her niece. Best to answer. It’s almost always best to answer. Criston had never tolerated any
indication that she might be ignoring him. “A husband cannot rape his own wife.” Her words were
not mumbled, but they were quiet, and were she speaking to a fellow Westerosi, they might have
had difficulty hearing her, but she knew that Dr. Arwen would hear.

The coldness that had previously flickered in Dr. Arwen’s eyes did not return as Alicent had
expected. Rather, the older woman merely looked . . . Sad? “And why is it that a husband cannot
rape his wife, Alicent? Because she belongs to him? Because her will is his? Because by consenting
to the marriage, she consents to submitting to all of his whims and wishes?”

Relief flooded through Alicent at hearing the reasons articulated. Dr. Arwen understood. “Yes.
Exactly.”

“So you consented to your marriage?”

Alicent hesitated. She hadn’t even been told that her father was negotiating a marriage contract
until after everything had been settled, but that was simply how such matters were conducted. Her
father had spoken for her back then. Her will was his. “My father consented.”

“Because, as a woman, you belonged first to your father and then to your husband?”

She nodded.

“So you never told your husband ‘no’ when he wished to bed you?”

She shook her head, cheeks flushing. Of course she hadn’t. That would have only enraged him.
She’d wept though—when he desired to hear her sobs—had occasionally even struggled—when he
desired a little “excitement.”

“Did you feel that you could have said ‘no’?”

Once more, she shook her head. A good wife did not deny her husband his desires.

“The Old World was the same.” Dr. Arwen sighed, but it did not seem to be in irritation or with
impatience.
Which only confused Alicent more. If the Old World had been the same—if husbands had enjoyed
the right to do as they wished with their wives—how could they have raped them? Dr. Arwen
herself had defined rape as bedding a woman without her consent, but wives—by their very nature
—always consented because they could not say “no.”

Yet the women of the First Generation believed that what their husbands had done was rape.

Dr. Arwen was watching her intently, golden eyes glinting in the sunlight streaming in through the
windows. “Alicent, you believe that a husband cannot rape his wife because wives, because
women, are property, yes?”

Alicent nodded slowly.

“We were taught much the same on the Old World. And for generations beyond counting, we
believed it. But that belief finally died during the Dark Times.” While Dr. Arwen’s tone remained
calm and no hint of anger flickered in her eyes, Alicent could still sense that every one of her words
was filled with the pain and rage of a woman who had had a very, very long time to ruminate on her
past sufferings. “Women are not inferior to the males of our species, Alicent. We are not property.
We are living, breathing, sapient beings with free will and the ability and right to exercise it. We are
people, and no one has the right to treat us as anything less.”

“My people do not condone slavery.” Queen Rhaenyra’s words from her first night at Stone Garden
echoed in her ears. “You are not property, Alicent, and I do not own you. You’re a free woman, as
much as I or anyone else on this planet.” Alicent was beginning to understand why there had been
so much force behind those words.

Sytarr’s will was that women submit and cleave to men. She could no more deny that than she
could deny that the Valyrian sky was blue. It was an irrefutable truth, and a simple edict to follow
for most. But not for me. I’ve always failed at obeying Sytarr’s will.

She wondered suddenly if her entire experience on Valyria was some sort of twisted, divine test.
Had Sytarr brought her here to tempt her? To test her faith and obedience? But Valyrians don’t
believe in Sytarr. They have their Mother Relle. Was Relle the only deity to hold sway over this
world? Now that she lived on Valyria, was her fate in Relle’s hands? Or can Sytarr still reach me
here?

She had no answer to that, and she doubted that Dr. Arwen would either. She was raised to believe
as I was, received the same lessons of female obedience and subservience that I did, and yet . . .
Something happened during the Dark Times that made her belief die. She stopped believing and . . .
suddenly everything was different. Was it truly so simple? But how could that be?

Perhaps it was merely a matter of timing. She’d suffered but twenty-three years, while the women
of the First Generation had suffered for centuries, if not millennia. Had she survived long enough in
her own marriage, would her belief in the lessons of her youth have died as well? Would she be as
the women of the First Generation were? Furious and bitter over what the men in their lives had
done to them?

She glanced at Dr. Arwen. Well, perhaps they are no longer so furious, but they most certainly were
when they created Why Men Were Banished From Valyria.

Could Dr. Arwen do for her what centuries and millennia of grief and misery had done for the First
Generation? Do I even want her to, if she can? Dr. Arwen had said that she hadn’t deserved to be
punished, that Criston had been wrong to do so. She’d said that his actions had not been her fault.

But if they weren’t my fault . . . if I didn’t deserve to be punished . . . She shied away from where
those wicked thoughts inevitably led. They were blasphemy of the highest order. They were
diametrically opposed to everything that she’d ever been taught . . . But what good have those
teachings ever brought me?

Guilt twisted her insides at the mere thought. Sytarr was a god who commanded. He did not
bargain with his worshippers. He did not promise them rewards for their fealty. He owed them
nothing, while they owed him everything. No wonder Sytarr damned me, if my mind is so easily
seduced. Her mother would never have had such immoral thoughts.

So then why was she cursed with having me for a daughter?

Her head was beginning to ache.

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that might somehow calm the storm raging in her mind. She’d had
a plan. She’d had a very clear and carefully considered plan. All she’d needed to do was follow that
plan. But she hadn’t. And now she was paying the price for her inability to heed even her own
commands.

But hadn’t a part of her wanted this? Hadn’t a part of her wanted to better understand the First
Generation? Hadn’t a part of her yearned for the very answers Dr. Arwen seemed willing to offer?

«Sytarr cursed you from the moment you were born.»

How many times had her mother said those words to her? Spat them at her with so much venom
that Alicent couldn’t help but wince. Perhaps her mother had been right. Perhaps Sytarr had cursed
her from the moment of her birth. It would certainly explain all that had befallen her.

But if Sytarr ruled her life still, then it was he who had brought her here. To this planet. To this
palace. To this very moment. And if she was somehow beyond Sytarr’s reach . . . if Relle now
controlled her fate . . .

Opening her eyes, she forced herself to meet Dr. Arwen’s. If I wasn’t damned before, I will be now.
“Why did your belief die?”

When Aemma had first contacted her, Arwen had been surprised. It had been nearly a full reign
since she and her great-great-grandniece had last spoken, something that could be laid at both of
their doorsteps. Her niece was a naturally busy woman, and even more so when the dowager
empress was traveling off-planet. It was only to be expected that she would forget to remain in
contact with more distant relatives. Arwen herself often failed to communicate with her family for
long periods when she became immersed in her work, and she’d been off-planet for several
millennia prior to the War.

Her initial surprise had increased thirtyfold when Aemma had told her that Queen Rhaenyra wished
to meet with her.

As was true of most women, she knew Queen Rhaenyra only by her reputation. She knew her as
Rhaenyra Flameborn, the first woman gifted with immunity to fire since the Betrayer. She knew her
as Rhaenyra of the Black Fire, the first Valyrian to ever wield Maegor’s black flames. She knew her
as the Iron Dragon of House Targaryen, the first woman to bear a dragon sobriquet or epithet since
the Targaryen Sisters.

She knew her as the Warrior Princess, the Black Rose, and the Flaming Rose. She knew her as the
Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath, a title she’d proven herself worthy of on multiple
occasions. She knew her as the Princess in the Tower, a sobriquet most considered best forgotten.
And she knew her as the Dragon of the East, the woman who had single-handedly turned the tide of
the War and saved their people and planet.

Having lived for over one billion years, having experienced and witnessed more than most sapient
beings could ever fathom, she was not a woman easily intimidated. She’d survived millennia of
torture at the hands of her father, brothers, husband, and sons. She’d survived the Doom of the Old
World. She’d survived the Long Travels. She’d survived the Dance. She’d lived through countless
wars since. She’d helped more women than she could count recover from their trauma. She’d heard
stories that would turn the strongest stomach and reduce the coldest person to tears.

And yet, a small part of her had been nervous when she’d received the Garden Queen’s summons.

Upon arriving at Stone Garden—she’d departed from the Eyrie immediately after the mirror had
gone dark—Aemma had greeted her warmly and taken her at once to the Queen’s office. When
she’d entered the room and laid eyes upon the dowager empress for the first time, she’d been struck
by the similarity between Rhaenyra Flameborn and Daenerys the Silver.

It wasn’t their features—though the Iron Dragon and All Mother did share the same silver hair—so
much as it was their bearing. While all of the empresses carried themselves with the grace, dignity,
and poise that one would expect from women belonging to a dynasty that had spanned over one
billion years, the very air around both the Iron Dragon and the Silver Dragon seemed to crackle
with an aura of gravitas that eclipsed all others. It was a gravitas born from old guilt and the burden
of responsibilities and secrets that even another empress would, more like than not, fail to
understand.

It had fascinated her, to be sure, but she hadn’t been summoned to Kastrell’s capital to discuss
Queen Rhaenyra’s psyche. No. She’d been summoned because the Queen wanted her to help the
battered former wife of the Westerosi’s Lord of Lords: the Lady Alicent Hightower. Having already
heard many of the rumors circulating the Empire about Queen Rhaenyra’s foreign guest, she hadn’t
required any persuasion to accept the Lady Alicent as her patient.

As Arwen made her way from Lady Alicent’s chambers back to her own, she reflected on the
information that she’d gleaned over the past few hours. As she’d expected, Lady Alicent was
guarded and distrusting. How could she not be, after all that she’d endured? Gaining her trust
would be paramount before they could hope to achieve much else.

That Lady Alicent still accepted her people’s patriarchal system and her own indoctrination was
unfortunate, but not unexpected. Arwen would need to break through that conditioning and
grooming before she could begin helping the other woman recover from her trauma. Lady Alicent
needed to understand that what had been done to her was wrong, that she hadn’t deserved any of
her suffering.

Easier said than done.

While she’d helped countless patients shed their shame and mistaken belief that they’d deserved
their partner’s abuse, most of those people had been able to recognize the fact that—conceptually at
least—it was wrong to physically, emotionally, or sexually abuse another person. They’d at least
known what abuse was.

Lady Alicent had yet to reach that understanding. She still needed to unlearn her beliefs that it
wasn’t possible for husbands to rape their wives, that men had the right to treat women as chattel,
that a husband’s will must always be obeyed. She needed to understand that she deserved better,
that she was worth so much more.

I suppose that I was lucky, in a way. At least my mother did not indoctrinate me as Lady Alicent’s
mother did. Her lips pursed with displeasure. While Lady Alicent had been unable to put words to
the matter, what few comments she’d offered about her mother made clear that Lady Hightower
had been her daughter’s first abuser, the first person to begin destroying her self-esteem and
teaching her that she deserved punishment for so much as breathing incorrectly.

“The woman who turns her back on her sisters does more harm than any man.” What kind of a
mother inflicted such cruelty upon her daughter? She sighed inwardly, able to think of far too many
examples in response to her own question. One of the many lessons that she’d learned over the last
billion years: mothers could be just as cruel and abusive as fathers.

Once she helped Lady Alicent understand that her mother and former husband’s behavior and
actions were abusive, then they could begin addressing her trauma. Her self-blame will likely be the
largest hurdle. She suspected that, even if Lady Alicent had come to her recognizing what abuse
was and that she was a victim of it, it would still have been a significant challenge to have her
understand that she wasn’t to blame for the actions of others.

She’s still trapped in the fear and shame phase. She never transitioned into anger. That was one
thing she’d omitted when explaining to Lady Alicent why she and her First Generation sisters had
stopped believing the toxic patriarchal teachings of the Old World. Over the course of millennia,
their fear and self-castigation had transformed into resentment about what was being done to them,
and from that resentment had been born righteous fury.

She would discuss anger with Lady Alicent in the future. At the moment, she didn’t wish to
frighten her with the prospect of eventually feeling angry. If she’s anything like we were, she’ll fear
her own rage. She’d be able to confirm her theory with a few more sessions.

Upon returning to her bedchamber, Arwen retrieved a blank journal from one of her trunks and
carried it over the small writing desk in the corner of her room. Waving her hand, she conjured a
trio of light-orbs overhead. Opening the journal to its first page, she began writing down the details
that she’d gleaned during today’s session, as well as her plan for treatment.

Patient displays classic signs of patriarchal indoctrination, including an inability to

acknowledge the fact that it is possible for a husband to rape his wife.

Patient displays the classic signs of an abused spouse. It seems to be mixed with signs of
childhood abuse as well.

Patient made allusions to possible PTSD symptoms.

 Patient may be prone to panic attacks and night terrors.

Patient displays mistrust in others, including myself.

Patient is willing to acknowledge that the travesties of the Old World were wrong—capitalize
on that understanding.

Patient’s mother is the likely source of her indoctrination, low self-esteem, and belief that she
deserves suffering. Mother likely abused her physically as well, prior to patient’s marriage.
Unclear if father was also party to the abuse.

Patient does not recognize that her former husband’s actions were unjustifiable, likely
connected to her maintained belief that women are the property of men.

Patient was previously unaware of the fact that people could be abused, seems to have a
muddled notion of revenge and justice and how it relates to her treatment.

Patient displays signs of guilt over what was done to her, all directed inward.

Patient displayed several nervous habits during the session, including rubbing and squeezing a
prominent scar on her left wrist.

Tentative Plan:

1. Help patient understand the concept of abuse and marital rape.

2. Help patient understand that spousal abuse and marital rape are wrong.

3. Work with patient to acknowledge that she was abused and raped.

4. Work with patient to understand that her abuse was not her fault and that she did not
deserve it.

5. Work with patient through her guilt and fear until she reaches anger.

6. Help patient understand what healthy anger looks like and appropriate ways to manage
it, including finding suitable outlets.

7. Determine the root trauma.

8. Work through individual traumas.

It was only the rough outline of a plan—a very rough outline—but it would serve for now. She
would be able to refine it over time as she came to know Lady Alicent better. Leaning back in her
chair, she expelled a heavy breath and made a mental note to contact Dr. Elsabetta and warn her
that they would need to meet for a session sometime in the near future. She was certain that helping
Lady Alicent with her past trauma was going to trigger some of her own.
Chapter End Notes

What's this? Alicent beginning to question crappy Westerosi teachings? Yay!

Next Chapter: Alicent awakens the Firestorm . . .

 The Firestorm Wakes
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 11:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole

A thank you to bemynewobsession for reading this over and assuring me that I haven't gone
off the rails.

Trigger Warnings: Depicted panic attack and semi-graphic violent thoughts.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Flower Moon/1,000,122 Visenya VI

Rhaenyra jerked awake, her body sitting up without her leave as she blinked rapidly in the
darkness, her sleepy mind laboring to determine what had pulled her from the first deep slumber
she’d found in months. The answer came a moment later when her ears registered frightened
screams and terror that was not her own slammed into her like a typhoon, nearly overwhelming her
senses with its intensity.

Furiously shaking her head to clear it, she bolted from her bed and teleported from her chambers to
outside Lady Alicent’s door down the hall. She was distantly aware of the clank of dragon-scale
armor as Hylda whirled around and began to approach. After a brief moment of clumsily fumbling
with the door handle in her haste, she finally opened the damn thing and hurried into Lady
Alicent’s apartments.

Yanking the door to Lady Alicent’s bedchamber open, she rushed inside and was immediately
struck by the overwhelmingly pungent reek of fear. The potent combination of emotion and scent
made her head spin, and her hand darted out to grab a hold of the nearest solid object to steady
herself. Mother Relle and All Her Faces. Focus. She needed to focus. Breathe in through the
mouth. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Her wards flared in response, abruptly halting the tidal waves of distress that had been buffeting
her. She couldn’t even remember the last time that she’d needed to actively fortify her wards
against an intrusion.

Another shrill scream made her wince and open her eyes. She didn’t even remember closing them.
She winced once more when she was met by the sight of Alicent thrashing and crying out in her
bed. She could hear the other woman’s heart thundering in her chest without even needing to focus
on it.

Despite her previous urgency, now that she was faced with Alicent herself, Rhaenyra’s body was
frozen with indecision. Help. Alicent needed help. But mere soothing thoughts would not be
sufficient here, that much was plain. I should wake her—No. No, I shouldn’t. Damn it. You know
that waking someone from a night terror can do more harm than good. But she could hardly stand
by and do nothing . . .

She growled softly in frustration. For all that she’d studied the Westerosi during the War, she hadn’t
the slightest idea how to handle this situation. It wasn’t as if she’d been particularly concerned with
or focused on whether any of the prisoners were experiencing nightmares from time to time. Few
species react the same way to similar stimuli. Westerosi were not Terrans or Strigari or Lorenites or
T’Zenorians or any of the other species that she’d actually learned to treat during her various times
as a psychologist. Perhaps . . . But what if she was wrong?

Alicent made a strangled noise, disrupting her frantic thoughts.

Wake her slowly. One decision made, she now faced the dilemma of how to wake her without
crossing one of the invisible boundaries that existed between them. Her eyes darted to the small
formation of glowing, Geltic crystals on Alicent’s bedside table, which were currently covered by a
heavy piece of fabric to mute their light while Alicent slept. She’d recognized Alicent’s
nyctophobia her first night here, and since her guest couldn’t conjure or control light-orbs without
magic, she’d had Aemma provide her with several sets of Geltic crystals to ensure that her
apartments were never entirely dark.

Perhaps more light will be enough?

Snapping her fingers, she created half-a-dozen dim light-orbs throughout the room, slowly
increasing their brightness until the bedchamber was flooded with their warm light.

Alicent’s only response was to curl into a tight ball.

Damn it.

Hurrying over to the bed, Rhaenyra reached out and tentatively touched her trembling shoulder.
“Alicent?”

Alicent shrieked and jerked away, arms beginning to flail once more as she attempted to escape
from invisible attackers. As she lurched to one side, Rhaenyra winced upon seeing the red nail
marks marring her cheeks.

Mother Relle, please forgive me. With little other choice, Rhaenyra steeled herself and climbed up
onto the bed. Part of her hoped that perhaps feeling the mattress dip and shift beneath her would
draw Alicent from her slumber, but she knew that it was a foolish hope even before Alicent’s
writhing became more frantic and she began clawing at her own flesh.

Sharp, accusatory guilt gnawed at her insides as Rhaenyra gently grasped Alicent’s wrists to still
her thrashing arms. She’d always taken such care to never even touch the other woman without her
permission, never mind grab her, but she could hardly allow Alicent to continue inflicting further
injury upon herself. “Alicent,” she called, soft and soothing, “it’s only a dream. You’re all right.
There is no one here who would harm you. You are safe.”

Alicent’s leg jerked. Her foot struck Rhaenyra’s stomach.

Hardly even noticing the kick, she kept a hold of Alicent’s wrists and carefully wrestled her onto
her lap, ever mindful of her own strength. “You’re all right, Alicent. Everything is all right. You’re
safe. Dreams and memories cannot hurt you here.”
Alicent let out a whimpering, choked sob, but she was no longer thrashing.

Rhaenyra hesitated a moment before slowly wrapping her arms around Alicent’s trembling body.
While she knew that the other woman was claustrophobic, she also knew that enveloping pressure
might help to ground her when she eventually woke. Praying that she wasn’t making a mistake, she
tightened her hold around Alicent as much as she dared.

Alicent awoke with a start, brown eyes wild with terror as she began struggling in Rhaenyra’s arms.

“Shh. It’s all right, Alicent. You’re safe.” Without thinking, she began releasing calming
pheromones into the air in an instinctive attempt to soothe the other woman’s nerves. She realized a
moment later that it was a wasted effort, since Alicent wouldn’t be able to detect them. But then,
what else could she do? She didn’t dare use her empathy for fear that Alicent would sense it as she
had before and become even more distressed.

Much to her own surprise, as her rose scent became warmer and sweeter, she could hear Alicent’s
heartbeat growing steadier and calmer in response, could at last detect the rich scent of freshly
baked bread beneath the acrid stench of fear. That shouldn’t be possible. She knew for a fact that
Westerosi didn’t have the olfactory structures needed to detect pheromones.

Setting aside the query for another time, she began slowly swaying from side to side while
continuing to speak softly into Alicent’s ear. “You’re safe here, Alicent. It was only a nightmare.”

“R-Rhaenyra?” Alicent’s voice was groggy and hoarse from sleep and screaming, but it was not
fearful.

For the first time since Rhaenyra had met her, she did not sound afraid. And while she knew that it
was only temporary until Alicent fully regained her senses, her heart swelled all the same.

“Yes. It’s me.” Rhaenyra craned her neck so that she could be better seen in the orb light, which
she’d dimmed considerably once Alicent had awakened so as not to hurt her eyes. “You were
having a night terror.”

Alicent paled, becoming stiff in her arms as her scent turned sharp and bitter once more. “D-Did I
wake you?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m sorry,” Alicent whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as she seemed to crumple in on herself. “I’m
sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, please, please . . . I didn’t mean to.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twisted into a frown before she could stop them, but thankfully, Alicent’s eyes were
still closed so she did not see it. Swiftly smoothing her expression, her mind immediately began
considering various explanations for Alicent’s panicked reaction.

She disliked all of them.

Loosening her hold on Alicent in the hopes of making her feel less confined, she gently rubbed her
arms with the same soothing motions that Laena would sometimes use on her when she was
panicking. Her instincts screamed at her to assuage Alicent’s distress however she could, but she
didn’t know what exactly the other woman needed from her. “You needn’t apologize, Alicent.” She
wanted to give her arms a comforting squeeze, but she didn’t dare. “I know that you’ve had
nightmares before—”

“But I’ve never woken you,” Alicent cried, her voice almost a wail.

Tumbling off of Rhaenyra’s lap, she scrambled on her hands and knees to properly face her,
expression twisted with a heartbreaking mixture of distress and pleading. Alicent’s breaths were
coming in shallow pants now, and yet words still spilled from her lips in a terrified rush, coming
even faster than before as her voice rose in pitch and she grew more and more frantic.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please believe me. Please. I’ve tried. I—
I’ve tried so hard to be quiet. Truly, I have. I can usually wake myself up. I can. I swear it. I know
that I shouldn’t disturb you. And with your hearing, I, I know . . . Please,” she begged, her voice
breaking as she continued to hyperventilate, “please don’t be angry with me. I’ll behave. I promise.
I can be good. I can. I will. I’ll be good for you. Please, please, please don’t put me—” Her mouth
suddenly snapped shut as she cowered away from her. A quiet, plaintive whine filled the space
between them.

Rhaenyra felt as if she might be sick. Even with her wards, she could still feel Alicent’s terror and
desperation and panic as if they were her own, and they made her stomach roil. That shouldn’t be
possible. I shouldn’t be able to feel—

No. She shoved the thought aside and refocused on Alicent: on her too wide eyes and her too rapid
breathing, on the tremors wracking her body and the sweat beading on her forehead. Damn it. This
wasn’t merely the vestiges of a night terror, or even her usual fear of retribution.

Alicent was having an actual panic attack.

“Alicent.” Her voice sounded rougher than she’d intended, and Alicent flinched in response.
“Alicent,” she repeated, softer this time. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not angry with
you. But I need you to calm your breathing. Just a little. Can—?”

“Please,” Alicent whimpered, not even seeming to hear her. “Please believe me. Please don’t lock
me away. I’ll be good. I’ll behave. I promise. Please.” The shaking only grew worse as she shrank
back even further and pulled her knees up against her chest, desperately trying to make herself
smaller. Tears were streaming down her cheeks now, and she was clutching her scarred wrist so
tightly that Rhaenyra feared she might draw blood.

Rhaenyra wanted to reach for her. She wanted to soothe and comfort her. She wanted to gather
Alicent into her arms and hold her tight and promise her that no one would ever again lay so much
as a finger on her in anger. She wanted . . . But she couldn’t. She knew that if she made a move
towards her now that Alicent would perceive it as a threat.

So she remained where she was, desperately searching for something to say that might hold
Alicent’s attention and give her something to focus on other than her own panic. She’d already tried
telling her that she wasn’t angry, assuring her that she’d done nothing wrong. What did Alicent
need to hear?

“Please believe me. Please. Please believe me.”

Exhaling a heavy breath laden with more calming pheromones, Rhaenyra offered a silent prayer to
Relle Lifegiver before saying, “I believe you, Alicent.”
By some miracle, those words seemed to finally reach her. Though still trembling like a leaf,
Alicent peeked up at her with tear-filled eyes.

“I believe you,” Rhaenyra repeated, encouraged—and relieved—that Alicent was at least

acknowledging her now. “I know that you didn’t mean to wake me. I know how hard you’ve been
trying. And I promise that I won’t ever lock you away.”

Alicent shuddered, covering her face with her hands, but this time, Rhaenyra was fairly certain that
it was a shudder of relief.

Once more, she flooded the room with her calming pheromones, hoping that they would work for a
second time. “Please take a few deep breaths for me, Alicent. Can you do that? Deep breath in.
Deep breath out. You’re safe here. All you need to do is focus on your breathing.”

Perhaps because she was simply used to obeying, or perhaps because Dr. Arwen had been teaching
her calming techniques, or perhaps because her lungs were simply in need of more air, Alicent did
as Rhaenyra asked. And with each breath she took, her tremors lessened, her heartbeat slowed, and
her body gradually began to relax.

Thank Relle.

After about five minutes, Alicent finally seemed to come back to herself. Blinking dazedly, she
slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, staring at Rhaenyra with something between
confusion and . . . gratitude?

No. That couldn’t be right.

Rhaenyra’s instincts were growling at her to ask if Alicent felt a little better now, but she didn’t
wish to startle or frighten her by speaking first, so she held her tongue.

The silence stretched longer and longer between them, but it seemed to be helping Alicent collect
her thoughts, so Rhaenyra didn’t mind. Much.

When Alicent finally spoke, her voice was quiet and timid, but no longer panicked. “Did, did you
mean what you said before?” Her thumb was brushing back and forth over the jagged scar
encircling her wrist, but she wasn’t squeezing. “You’re not angry with me?”

Once more, Rhaenyra had to force herself not to shuffle closer. “I would never be angry with you
over something like this, Alicent.” She caught her gaze and held it for a moment, hoping to
communicate her sincerity.

“Then why—?” Alicent closed her mouth, biting her lip.

Rhaenyra waited, misliking the silence, but unwilling to risk interrupting Alicent’s question.

After another moment, Alicent took a deep breath and asked, with only a slight tremor, “Why did
you come here then? If not to punish me for waking you?”

Rhaenyra was stunned, less so by the actual question than by the mere fact that Alicent had asked
such a question. She’d never dared before, too terrified of offending or angering her. It was all
Rhaenyra could do not to beam. Thank Relle Aemma hectored me into sending for Dr. Arwen.
Folding her hands in her lap, she smothered her elation and forced her voice to remain gentle and
calm. “I came because I was concerned, Alicent. I heard you screaming, and I wished to help.”

Alicent’s eyes warily searched her face, but she eventually gave a slow nod. Evidently, she was
willing to accept the answer.

Silence descended upon them again, and this time, Rhaenyra was the one to break it. “Alicent? May
I ask you something?” She prayed that she wasn’t about to send the poor woman into another panic,
but she needed to know. She needed to know how to best avoid another such incident in the future.

Confusion wrinkled Alicent’s brow, but she made a soft noise of acquiescence all the same.

“Why did the prospect of waking me frighten you so?” She’d never seen Alicent so terrified as
when she’d realized that her screams had woken her, not even during that first night when she’d
been convinced beyond reason that Rhaenyra would begin torturing her as soon as they entered the
Keep.

Alicent winced, clutching at her wrist as whatever meager confidence she’d mustered to ask her
question earlier drained away. “I . . . I know better than to wake people with my screaming.” She
exhaled a shaky breath. “Criston. He, he hated it when I woke him,” she whispered, her voice once
more meek and quivering. “He, he had a cage.” She shuddered, fresh tears welling in her eyes as
horror flashed across her face. “I can’t, I can’t stand small spaces.”

Unbidden, and without warning, an image—no, a memory, Alicent’s memory—flared to life in

Rhaenyra’s mind, horrifying in its visceral clarity. She saw Alicent trapped in a cage, screaming
and begging to be let out. Her eyes were wild with fear and wet with tears. Sweat slicked her skin
and matted her hair. She was naked and curled up as tightly as possible, yet still, she was too large
for the cage. The metal bars bit cruelly into her flesh and rubbed it raw as she thrashed as much as
her tight confines would allow. Crimson blood dripped down onto the floor from where her skin
had been split open.

A snarl attempted to tear itself from her throat, but Rhaenyra forced it back down, knowing that it
would only frighten Alicent. Her body trembled with the effort of restraining her temper as blood
pounded in her ears. Her magic roared within her, thrashing about and surging forward almost as
fiercely as it had when she’d shattered her mother’s stasis net. Her fingers curled slightly, warm in
the way that she knew meant her black flames were howling to be unleashed. She could feel her
canines lengthening and sharpening within her mouth, yearning to sink into Criston Cole’s throat
and tear it asunder.

How dare he? How dare he lock Alicent away in a cage as if she was some feral beast? How dare
he punish her for having night terrors that he himself had inflicted? How dare he terrorize her so
thoroughly that the mere thought of waking someone at night caused her to have a panic attack?
Visions of violence and bloody retribution began flashing through her mind, and this time, she
knew that they were all her own.

Criston with his heart torn out. Criston with his hands crushed while his feet burned. Criston hung
from the ceiling and whipped to death. Criston engulfed in black flames. Criston savaged and
mauled by wild beasts. Criston boiled alive in blistering oil. Criston with his nails ripped out and
the flesh of his face peeled away. Criston slowly submerged into a vat of acid. Criston flayed alive.
Criston having his intestines removed centimeter by centimeter to produce the greatest agony
possible. Criston crying out in terror and pain as each of his bones was broken one by one. Criston
with his eyes gouged out and his tongue split in two. Criston castrated and forced to eat his own
parts. Criston watching as his world burned, listening as his sons screamed.

The brutality of her own desires appalled her, and she swiftly banished those grisly thoughts from
her mind. What in the world is wrong with me? What had been done to Alicent was barbaric, but
her own thoughts had been equally as savage. I haven’t had such a reaction since . . . No. No. It
couldn’t be that. Relle was not a cruel goddess. Surely her Heavenly Mother would not curse her
so.

And yet . . . Alicent should not have been able to share that memory with her, not without Rhaenyra
lowering her mental wards first. I doubt that she even realizes that she showed me her memory.

The sudden increase of Alicent’s heart rate and the fresh fear scent pulled Rhaenyra from her own
thoughts. Blinking a few times, she saw with dismay that the other woman was shrinking away
from her again. Realizing that her face must have betrayed some of her inner fury, she instinctively
reached out to cup Alicent’s cheek and assure her that her ire was not directed towards her.

Alicent froze, alarm twisting her features.

Idiot. Thrice-Damned Idiot, what were you thinking!? Reaching for her face? Rhaenyra snatched
her hand back and shuffled towards the edge of the bed, away from Lady Alicent. “Please forgive
me, Alicent. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Though Alicent’s eyes remained wary, she no longer appeared terrified.

Small mercies. Part of her knew that she should leave now. Lady Alicent was awake. There was
nothing more for her to do here. She should leave. She should leave the other woman in peace. But
her body refused to obey, remaining stubbornly in place. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. She needed—

“Thank you.”

The soft words were spoken so quietly that, for a moment, Rhaenyra wondered if she had imagined
them. But Lady Alicent was looking at her now, brown eyes wide, plainly as surprised as Rhaenyra
herself.

“For, for not being angry with me,” Lady Alicent rushed out. A pretty blush was slowly spreading
over her cheeks. “For not . . . For not exacting retribution.”

Rhaenyra’s heart shattered, but she forced herself to speak around the lump forming in her throat.
“Alicent, I swear to you—upon the health and safety of my people—that I will never put you in a
cage or restrain you in such a way. You needn’t fear punishment from me. Not now. Not ever.” She
knew that those final words would mean little and less to her guest, but she felt compelled to say
them all the same.

Alicent was lacing and unlacing her fingers, searching Rhaenyra’s face once more. “Even if . . .
even if I do something to displease you?”

You could never displease me. She swallowed the words, saying instead, “Even then. I promised
that I would never harm you, Alicent, and I always keep my promises.” Granted, that was exactly
why she rarely made them, but that was beside the point. “I told you when you first came here that
all I wanted was for you to be safe and happy.”
Before she could say more, she suddenly sensed a clumsy, tentative tapping against her emotional
ward. Her gift must be even stronger than I thought, if she’s instinctively attempting to gauge my
truthfulness by probing my emotions.

Not giving herself time to reconsider, she lowered her ward and allowed Alicent to stumble inside.
While the feeling of Alicent’s inelegant exploration of her surface emotions was not the most
pleasant experience, it lasted but a few moments. Alicent’s gift lingered only long enough to sense
her genuine sincerity and lack of desire to harm her before retreating.

A crease had formed between Alicent’s eyebrows, more like than not the result of trying to analyze
emotions that were not her own and that she hadn’t even meant to sense. “I remember you telling
me that you did not wish me harm,” she said slowly, “but I . . .” She trailed off, eyes darting to the
side, something like embarrassment flashing across her face.

“But you didn’t believe me,” Rhaenyra finished for her. And why would you?

Alicent’s silence was answer enough.

Even though it was no less than she’d expected, the silent admission still hurt. More than it should
have. Stop wallowing and leave the poor woman in peace. Sighing inwardly, Rhaenyra rose from
the bed. “I should return to my chambers. May Relle Songcrafter fashion you pleasant dreams.”

“I’m sorry, Your—Rhaenyra, I—”

“Please do not apologize, Alicent.” She offered her a kind smile, swiftly burying her hurt where
Lady Alicent could not see it. “There is no need.” She had no right to be upset, after all. Lady
Alicent owed her nothing, least of all her trust. The other woman’s walls had been built long ago,
and for very good reasons. “I can hardly expect you to trust me after all that I’ve done.”

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me,” Alicent whispered, and whether she was trying to convince
Rhaenyra or herself, even Rhaenyra could not be certain.

“And before that, I butchered thousands of your people.” She didn’t look at Alicent as she spoke,
not wanting to see her fear or disgust. “I should hardly be rewarded for showing you simple
kindness and decency.” Only a monster would be unkind to you after all that you’ve suffered. And I
do not deserve your trust simply because I haven’t acted like a monster.

Alicent swallowed a little, tapping lightly at the scar on her wrist. “I, I understand that what you did
was because of the war.” Her lips twisted slightly—almost bitterly. “We attacked you without
warning, and Criston would have happily slaughtered you all, if not for your immortality.” Her
fingers curled around her wrist. “You were only defending yourselves.”

Rhaenyra wondered if Alicent actually believed those words, or if she was merely trying to placate
her. Does it matter? She supposed not. Not at this moment, anyhow. “My reasons do not remove
the Westerosi blood from my hands.” She forced herself to meet Alicent’s eyes. “Nor do they
change the fact you’re still afraid of the Firestorm.”

“But I’m not afraid of you.”

Rhaenyra stared at her incredulously. My presence caused you to have a panic attack not half an
hour ago, she wanted to say, but she held her tongue. Perhaps she meant to say “not anymore”?
But surely not even Dr. Arwen was so skilled as to have helped Alicent shed her terror of the
Firestorm in a mere two months. She fought the instinctive urge to probe Alicent’s emotions for the
truth. That’s the absolute last thing I should do. While she was capable of probing without being
detected, such an invasion of personal privacy was out of the question. Especially now.

Alicent shifted nervously beneath her gaze. “You . . . you have been very gentle with me,” she
murmured. “And more patient than I had any right to expect. And I . . . I do not fear you as I once
did.”

How Rhaenyra longed to believe her, but it was utterly impossible that Alicent could mean what
she’d said, not after everything that had happened during the War. But how lovely it would be, if she
did.

“Would you,” Alicent ducked her head, biting her lip, “if it’s not . . . I mean . . .”

“What can I do for you, Alicent?” She hadn’t the faintest idea what the other woman was
attempting to ask of her, but she knew that she would acquiesce to the request, whatever it was.

“I would, that is . . .” Alicent inhaled deeply through her nose, eyes closing before she said in a
rush, “Would you mind sitting with me? Until I find asleep again? I don’t, I don’t wish to be
alone.”

It was only her millennia of training and lessons in decorum that prevented Rhaenyra from gaping
in shock when she registered Alicent’s words. Her night terror must have been truly terrible if she’s
seeking comfort from me. She also couldn’t help but notice that Alicent seemed almost as surprised
by her own words as Rhaenyra herself felt. She cocked her head slightly, needing to be certain that
this was what Alicent truly desired. “You wish for me to remain here with you?”

“You needn’t, of course,” Alicent assured her hastily. “I’m sure you must be eager to return to your
own bed, after being so rudely awakened. I don’t wish to be more of a bother—”

“You are never a bother, Alicent, and I don’t mind sitting with you at all.” Her words came too
swiftly, too fervently, but she simply couldn’t smother her enthusiasm. Not entirely. Alicent asking
her to remain by her side until she fell asleep again was an astonishing display of trust and
vulnerability. And while she could not even begin to understand why Alicent suddenly desired her
presence, she certainly had no intention of denying her.

Using her telekinesis to pull a chair over to beside the bed, she fussed with its precise placement to
allow Alicent time to make herself comfortable without feeling as if she was being watched. Once
she heard the covers settle, she sat down facing the bed but not looking directly at Alicent, who was
now gazing up at the canopy above her bed.

Rhaenyra shifted slightly on the chair, feeling as if she ought to be doing more to help Alicent find
sleep than simply sitting in silence. She wanted to take Alicent’s hand in her own, perhaps give it a
gentle squeeze or rub soothing circles on the back with her thumb, but she didn’t dare without
permission, and she feared that if she asked, it might make Alicent uncomfortable or frighten her.
Something that doesn’t require physical contact then.

Suddenly, a memory from one of the lives that she’d lived beneath Hallow Hill flitted through her
mind—a memory of Lunella telling her that a few songs before bed usually helped her wife, who
had also suffered from nightmares, rest more easily. “Sable finds it comforting.”

But would Alicent find it comforting? Perhaps she was content with the silence.
As if in answer, Alicent began to shift restlessly, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

“Would you care for me to sing something?” The words flew from Rhaenyra’s mouth before she
could think better of them. She winced inwardly at her own inelegance. “To help you find sleep,”
she clarified.

Alicent turned her head to look at her, eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. “No one has ever sung
me to sleep before,” she murmured, as much to herself as to Rhaenyra.

“Your mothers never . . ?”

Alicent shook her head. “My mother,” she paused, “my mother did not much care for me. And my
other mothers had their own children to tend to.”

Even without her empathy, Rhaenyra could sense the old hurt lying just beneath the surface of
Alicent’s carefully neutral tone. Her first instinct was to offer words of comfort, but then she
thought that perhaps Alicent would prefer empathy to sympathy. “My mother does not much care
for me either.”

Curiosity sparked in Alicent’s eyes. “Oh?”

Rhaenyra suddenly realized that this was perhaps the first time that she’d shared something of a
personal nature with Alicent. Previously, she’d always diligently avoided such talk so as not to
burden Alicent with more than she could manage. Speak with care. You don’t know exactly why
Alicent’s mother disliked her. “I suppose it mostly has to do with the fact that my mother had very
specific expectations of me, and she’s always been rather disappointed with my failing to meet
them exactly.”

She half-expected Alicent to ask another question, but it seemed that the other woman had reached
the limit of how far she was willing to probe into Rhaenyra’s personal life. Even so, she waited
another moment to see if Alicent would say more, but all she received was a look that was
somewhere between expectant and nervous.

Realizing that this expression was as much of a request as Alicent felt comfortable giving,
Rhaenyra cleared her throat once, and then began to sing.

The song she chose was a short and simple lullaby, but it was one that every woman on Valyria
knew by heart.

Hush now.

Don’t be scared.

Through this tide of darkness,

Shadows may march,

Thunders may roar,

But peace will soon prevail.

Through our land,

This sacred land,

Nightmares spread confusion,

But stand your ground

Until you’ve found

The strength to light your way.

As the final notes faded away, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at the sound of the slow but steady
thrum of Alicent’s heartbeat, at her warm bread scent untainted by fear or anxiety, at the peaceful
expression on her face. A peaceful expression that Rhaenyra was determined to ensure remained
until morning.

While it had been quite some time since she’d last woven a dream, her dream weaving had always
been about three-parts instinct and one-part technical knowledge of the actual mechanics. She was
fairly certain that this instinctive affinity with and understanding of weaving dreams was why she’d
become a master dream weaver almost as soon as she’d been allowed to finally begin using her
magic.

She fondly remembered how surprised her great-grandmother had been when she’d displayed her
talent for dream weaving, a skill most considered difficult to learn and nearly impossible to master.
The vast majority of women only ever learned the mechanics, which was how empresses mastered
the Sixth Tier of Magic. According to Archmagister Alerie Tyrell—Valyria’s eldest master dream
weaver—only about one in a thousand women could actually dream weave, and only about one in a
million ever attained mastery of the art.

Her fingers danced through the air—mimicking the same movements as any weaver—as she
carefully plucked threads of thoughts and feelings and hopes and imaginings—most of them from
her own head, but a few from Alicent’s as well—and wove them together with tendrils of magic to
create a vivid dream.

“The mechanics are simple in theory, to be sure,” Grandmother Alysanne had explained when
Rhaenyra asked her why most women could not weave dreams as she did, “but the skill,
concentration, and magical strength required to gather together abstract thoughts and feelings and
construct them into a coherent dream is exceptionally difficult for most, myself included.”

Once satisfied with the dream that she’d crafted, Rhaenyra sent it gently floating into Alicent’s
mind. You’ll have no more nightmares tonight, she promised.

Rising from the chair, she retreated from Lady Alicent’s chambers and returned to her own,
promising Hylda that she would explain in the morning as she passed by her Shadow Knight. As
soon as she was safely ensconced within the privacy of her bedchamber, black fire ignited in her
hands. The flames surged around her, enveloping her and dancing across her skin, roaring and
howling to be fully and properly unleashed.
Criston Cole.

The snarl that she’d been restraining for what felt like hours finally ripped from her throat as her
canines lengthened and sharpened into deadly points. Her magic roiled within her, and dark
thoughts swirled through her mind. It would be so easy. So laughably easy. There and back in a
twinkling. His throat torn out before he had the chance to scream. His head cleaved from his body
before he could blink. His stomach sliced open and his viscera scattered before he even knew that
she was there.

That she would be surrounded by nth metal would hardly even pose much of a challenge. Once one
understood the exact magic-disrupting properties of the material, they were easy enough to bypass.
But such deaths would be too quick. Too clean. He doesn’t deserve that.

The memory of Alicent in that thrice-damned cage had her shifting into her wolf form so that she
could properly prowl around her bedchamber, ebony flames still wreathing her, but not even so
much as singeing her silver fur. He deserved to suffer. As he had made Alicent suffer. It must be
slow. Agonizing. Even if he never understood why.

She bounded towards the glass doors leading out onto her balcony, unlatching and pushing them
open with her telekinesis as she leapt through the air to cross the final meters separating her from
the stone balustrade. Landing without a sound on nimble paws, she sat back on her haunches and
stared up at the darkness overhead, at the twinkling stars that spangled the midnight sky. Her eyes
narrowed dangerously, another growl rumbling in her chest.

Fire and Blood.

When Alicent awoke the next morning, she was alone. The remnants of a pleasant dream called out
to her, urging her to return to the warm embrace of slumber, but she knew that she couldn’t.
Sunlight was streaming in through her partially opened curtains, and she was fairly certain that she
could hear birds singing outside her windows. A new day had dawned, and she could not very well
waste it abed.

She knew that there were spring breezes tapping at her windows, eagerly awaiting the moment that
she allowed them to enter her chambers and sweep away the stale air from the previous night. She
knew that Aemma would be arriving in the next hour or so with her breakfast. She knew that she
should rise from her bed and dress herself before then. Perhaps a bath first though. She could feel
the vestiges of dried sweat still clinging to her skin.

And yet, she made no move to even push herself up into a sitting position. Her mind was far too
consumed by thoughts of the night before.

Since her very first night within the Queen’s Keep, she’d feared what punishment would befall her
when one of her night terrors inevitably disturbed the Firestorm’s sleep. She’d known what
punishments to expect back home, but the Firestorm was not Criston, nor was she any of his wives.

For months, she’d been terrified of the grisly retribution that the Firestorm would inflict upon her
for the infraction of disturbing her. More recently, she’d become terrified that Queen Rhaenyra’s
kind veneer would shatter the moment that she was dragged from a peaceful slumber by frightened
screams.
The night before had been the fulfillment of her worst fears.

But it had also been a refutation of those same fears.

And once more, Queen Rhaenyra’s actions had left her utterly bewildered.

She expelled a heavy breath as she began scrutinizing all that had happened after she’d awoken in
the Queen’s arms, searching for anything that might help her understand why Queen Rhaenyra had
behaved as she did. While she’d concluded some two months ago that the Queen—unlike the
Firestorm—did not wish to see her afraid, she knew there must be something more. For were that
her only motivation, then surely she would have simply left Alicent to suffer her night terror alone.
Coming into her chambers as she had . . .

“I came because I was concerned, Alicent. I heard you screaming, and I wished to help.”

But why had she wished to help? Surely even Valyrians with their sacred hospitality rite did not
place an expectation on hosts to soothe the nightmares of their guests. That would be ridiculous.
The Queen owed her nothing, had already offered her far more than she deserved or would have
ever requested, so why had she chosen to offer help?

“When I look at you, I don’t see a Westerosi. I see a woman who was in grave need of help. I could
offer that help. So I did.”

Surely it could not be so simple. Such simplicity was not the way of the world. Or, at least, not her
world. But this isn’t my world, is it?

Rolling onto her side, she stared at the glowing orange crystals that Aemma had given her to
replace the light-orbs. A small kindness, so that she would never have to suffer the dark. A
kindness unasked for and certainly unearned.

Her gaze shifted to the chair that remained beside her bed, and when she breathed in through her
nose, she could detect the faint, lingering scent of roses. But for these tangible pieces of evidence
that Queen Rhaenyra had been here the night before, she might be tempted to dismiss the entire
encounter as some outlandish dream. At least then I would be able to make sense of it. But she
rarely remembered any of her dreams once she woke from them. A small mercy. The only one
Sytarr had ever shown her.

She did not remember the night terror that had brought the Queen to her bedchamber, but she did
remember awakening from it. She remembered the feeling of strong arms wrapped securely around
her, secure and yet somehow not confining. She remembered the warm, sweet scent of roses filling
her nose and calming her racing heart. She remembered hearing a gentle voice murmuring soft
assurances in her ear, promising her that she was safe.

And she remembered believing the voice. She remembered indeed feeling safe, even if only for a
brief moment.

Because then she had recognized the voice, had realized that it was Queen Rhaenyra holding her,
had realized what the Queen’s presence meant . . . had realized that she’d awakened the Firestorm
from her slumber.

That was when the panic had seized her, squeezing her chest so tightly that it was almost
impossible to draw breath. The knowledge, the certainty, that the Firestorm was about to inflict the
most gruesome of tortures upon her had sent her tumbling away from the comforting warmth of the
Queen’s lap, had loosened her tongue just enough that she could apologize and beg in a vain
attempt to avoid her fate.

Some distant part of her had recognized that she was having a panic attack—she’d experienced
them so often over the years that she was something of an expert—but she hadn’t been able to think
through the haze of terror, hadn’t been able to remember any of the techniques that Dr. Arwen had
been teaching her to calm and ground herself. Her body had reacted of its own accord, her mouth
had poured forth words on instinct, begging, apologizing, promising—all of the things that she’d
done back home when Criston had stormed into her bedchamber and slapped or kicked her awake
from a night terror.

He had delighted in her begging, had reveled in her fear.

But Queen Rhaenyra had not reveled in her fear, nor had she even seemed displeased by it. She had
not snapped at her to cease her whining, had not grabbed her by the shoulders and shaken her until
she quieted, had not scolded her for her pathetic display. No. Instead, she’d spoken gently to her,
had helped her focus, had reminded her to breathe. Had grounded her.

“I believe you, Alicent.”

No one had ever said those words to her before.

She’d never before recovered from a panic attack as swiftly as she had last night.

And even once she was no longer hyperventilating from fear, Queen Rhaenyra had not left her, had
instead wanted to know the cause of her panic. Alicent had almost lied in response, but she’d been
so exhausted, and a part of her had feared what might happen if her lie was discovered.

The flash of fury that had ignited the Queen’s amethyst eyes when she’d told her about the cage
had been as terrifying as Alicent had always feared. And she’d been certain that the benevolent
veneer was about to shatter to reveal the Firestorm, had been certain that she’d made a terrible,
foolish mistake in telling the truth. But then Queen Rhaenyra had seemed to recover herself, and
she had been so quick to apologize, so gentle in assuring her that she hadn’t meant to frighten her,
so fervent in her promise to never lock her away.

And Alicent . . . Alicent had felt the sincerity when Queen Rhaenyra had promised to never punish
her with a cage, even if displeased with her. The sensation had been different from the night when
the Queen had washed her feet. The emotions hadn’t been pushing towards her, but rather . . . she’d
been reaching towards them. While she didn’t fully understand the distinction, she knew that it was
important. That it meant . . . something.

She’d still been mulling over the matter when Queen Rhaenyra had bid her pleasant dreams and
risen from her bed. And in that moment, Alicent had been struck by . . . not panic, but by the
sudden desire to not be alone. She still couldn’t explain it, could not even begin to comprehend
what had induced her to ask the Queen to sit with her. No more than she could understand why
Queen Rhaenyra had agreed, why she’d seemed almost . . . pleased by the request.

Had she been thinking more clearly, had she not been so utterly exhausted from her night terror and
panic attack, she might have suspected that the Firestorm simply wished to have her in a vulnerable
position, but that thought hadn’t even entered her mind last night. All she’d been thinking about
were the strange, fleeting moments of safety that Queen Rhaenyra somehow offered her. She’d
been desperate for another such moment, desperate to not fear closing her eyes again. Back home,
she’d never returned to sleep after a night terror.

And Queen Rhaenyra had given her that unfamiliar yet intoxicating feeling once more the moment
that she’d begun to sing.

Alicent rolled onto her back again with a huff, feeling no closer to understanding the Queen’s
motivations than she’d been earlier. I woke her, but she wasn’t angry. She was gentle. She was kind.
She was concerned. About me. She heard my screams . . . and she wanted to help. To comfort me.
To hold me. The phantom sensation of Queen Rhaenyra’s arms wrapped around her—holding her—
haunted her more than anything else that had happened last night, even more than the Queen’s
ethereal voice.

No one had ever held her like that before. No one had ever held her at all. Not her mother or father,
certainly, nor any of her other mothers either. Even her sisters, though they’d loved her well, had
never held her, had never offered her comfort through touch. Nor would she have ever expected
such from them. She was the eldest sister. It was for her to offer them comfort, to hold them tight
and rock them in her arms and whisper soothing words in their ears. She’d held them when they’d
cried, comforted and calmed them when their own mothers were otherwise occupied. But no one
had ever held her.

No one except for Rhaenyra.

But did holding her and offering her comfort actually mean that she was truly safe? Or were those
actions merely the result of Queen Rhaenyra valuing sleep less than Criston did? Aemma had
mentioned on several occasions that the Queen would often forgo sleep. But even if Queen
Rhaenyra’s lack of ire was because she didn’t care about being disturbed in the middle of the night,
that hardly explained her gentleness in grounding her. It hardly explained her willingness to remain
at her bedside until she fell asleep, or her offer to sing to her.

Alicent’s eyes squeezed shut as she tried to make sense of it all, both the Queen’s actions and her
own. Dr. Arwen had been encouraging her to focus on actions, on what people actually did rather
than what she feared they might do. She disliked that advice. Being able to anticipate the future
actions of others was how she’d survived back home.

“But you’re no longer on Westeros, are you, Alicent? Have you considered that perhaps the thought
patterns that served you before no longer serve you now?

She’d considered it.

And then she’d dismissed it.

But perhaps she’d been too hasty in her dismissal?

She hadn’t been lying when she’d said that Queen Rhaenyra had been nothing but kind to her since
she’d arrived. Always speaking gently. Never raising her voice. Barely ever touching her. Taking
care not to loom. Maintaining a respectful distance between them. Never truly demanding anything
of her. Offering her anything that she needed or wanted.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Her own words echoed in her ears, over and over again. Queen Rhaenyra
had given her a disbelieving look in response, but she hadn’t scolded her or called her a liar. And,
for the briefest of moments, there had been something almost . . . hopeful in her eyes.
 “I do not fear you as I once did.” That statement, she supposed, was the more accurate of the two.

Over the past two months, the combination of her sessions with Dr. Arwen and Queen Rhaenyra’s
continued sporadic visits had done much to alleviate her fears of the Queen, but she simply could
not shed her visceral terror of the Firestorm. She doubted that she ever would. And while she’d
tried to separate the two sides of Rhaenyra Targaryen in her mind, last night had also reminded her
that the Queen and the Firestorm were, in truth, one and the same.

The rage that she’d seen in those amethyst eyes had belonged to the Firestorm, but the swift
apology that had followed was the Queen’s. It was the Queen who had held her so warmly and
soothed her so gently, who had sat with her and sung to her.

The Firestorm could never be capable of such kindness.

Groaning, she covered her face with her hands. Her thoughts were going around in circles, which
wasn’t helpful. She wondered if this was something that she should discuss with Dr. Arwen during
their session later today. I’m certain that she would have insights to offer. But did she dare share all
of the details? While she’d concluded about four weeks after they’d begun meeting that the Queen
wasn’t receiving reports of their sessions, she still remained wary of sharing too much. Perhaps I
should wait until I’ve determined for myself what all of this means. Yes, that seemed like the best
option.

With a decision made and a plan in place, Alicent pushed back the covers and rose from her bed.
She needed to bathe and dress herself before Aemma arrived.

Chapter End Notes

I know that being able to speak during an actual panic attack is not particularly common since
shortness of breath and/or being unable to breathe are standard symptoms, but Alicent isn't
human here, this is my fic, and I'm saying that word vomiting is one of her symptoms, at least
in this instance.

Next Chapter: The on-page Sansaery that was promised. Also, Alicent gets some friends?

Additional Disclaimer: The lullaby lyrics are not mine. They are from a song entitled "The
Strength to Light Our Way" written by George Kallis for the movie Albion: The Enchanted
Stallion. Have I actually watched movie? No. It doesn't seem particularly good, but Jennifer
Morrison of Once Upon a Time sings this song, so I gave it a listen and greatly enjoyed it.
 Companions
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 12:

– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden

Side Note: Alicent is going to list out all thirty-one of her siblings in this chapter. Don't bother
trying to remember them. None of them particularly matter to the story at large.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains a Sansaery smut scene at the very end, which will be
marked by double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over it.
Is the smut necessary to understand anything that is happening? No. Did I just want to write
Margaery and Sansa having sex because they can and this is a planet of lesbians? Yes.
Also, Rhaenicent are moving at a snail's pace and will continue to do so for a while as Alicent
works through her trauma. So here is some sapphic Sansaery to tide you over.

A special thanks to beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading the smut section.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Warm Moon/1,000,122 Visenya VI

Alicent sighed quietly as she stared out the open window at the rainbow garden, which was now in
full bloom and most undoubtedly proving the truth of its name. Of late, she’d taken to spending her
early mornings sitting beside this particular window in her bedchamber and simply enjoying the
breathtaking tapestry of reds, blues, golds, whites, purples, greens, pinks, oranges, blacks, and
some colors for which she had no name.

She was of the private opinion that the residents of Stone Garden had prioritized restoring the
palace’s numerous gardens and orchards before nigh everything else, save perhaps the roofs. While
certainly not what she or her own people would have done in their place—both her father and
Criston would surely have scoffed at the mere suggestion—she must admit that she appreciated the
resulting beauty, even if she could only see a small fraction of it from her rooms.

Warm sunlight kissed her cheeks, and a gentle breeze ruffled her hair, drawing a small smile to her
lips. Even now, simply being able to open a window whenever she wished to feel the sun on her
face and the wind in her hair felt like a precious luxury. There had been so many times throughout
her marriage when she’d been denied such silly comforts. She knew better than to take them for
granted—even if some part of her was perhaps beginning to believe that these little pleasures would
not be snatched away from her the moment that she misbehaved.

Down below in the garden, she noticed a pair of women strolling along one of the stone paths that
wound between the seas of colorful blossoms, arm-in-arm. She couldn’t see them all that well from
so high up, and she certainly couldn’t hear whatever it was they were saying to each other, but they
seemed happy. Content. Relaxed in a way that she suspected they had not been for quite some time.

It must feel to them as if life is finally beginning to return to normal. She folded her arms on the
windowsill and pillowed her chin on them, eyes drifting upwards to watch the fluffy white clouds
slowly making their way across the bright blue sky. It was a pretty sight. Everything here was so
very pretty. She remembered well the beauty that her own world had offered, but it had been so
very different from what existed here.

Back home, there had always been a feeling of . . . crowdedness. Narrow streets down which the
houseless could only walk single-file, towering buildings designed to house as many people as
possible while occupying as little ground space as the architects could manage. The air dense with
hovercrafts, and the sky above somehow seeming so much more distant and foreign. But she
supposed that such was to be expected on a planet of fifty-eight-point-two billion people.

While Valyria was much smaller than Westeros, their population also had yet to even exceed ten
million. Every woman on this planet would hardly fill even a small city back home. And because
the world was so very sparsely populated, the vast majority had been left completely untouched
following the initial terraforming during the Founding.

As a result, there existed here a wild sort of beauty that had been completely lacking back home. Or
rather, not lacking, so much as unseen. Her people understood well the necessity of striking a
careful balance between development and ecological stewardship, which had led to an almost
complete separation of the two. Nature was permitted to flourish where it would, so long as it was
out of sight and out of the way of the cities.

Valyrians seemed to take both a similar yet opposite approach: allowing their ecosystems to
flourish, but also immersing, rather than separating themselves. She wondered if it was because of
their ability to shapeshift, if it provided them with a connection to nature that her own people
simply lacked. Criston had often called them wild beasts—savage and barbaric and more animal
than anything else—but that was not true.

At least . . . not now that the war was over.

Alicent herself had always had a special fondness for nature—plants, in particular—which her
mother had criticized as peculiar and unladylike. But only ever in private. For her fifth mother,
Lora, had shared her affection for growing things, and her mother would have never been so
impolite as to insult the harmless diversions favored by one of her sister-wives.

At least not to her face.

It was to Lora that Alicent had often gone when she needed to feel something green and alive
beneath her fingers, and she liked to think that her fifth mother had enjoyed her company well
enough.

Her eyes returned to the women meandering through the rainbow garden, a part of her wishing that
she could join them. Not to speak with them, of course, or to intrude on their conversation, or even
to be anywhere near them, in truth. She simply desired to be among the flowers, to smell their
sweet scents and feel their soft petals. Aemma was kind enough to bring her fresh bouquets once a
week, but it was hardly the same.
She watched as one of the women suddenly waved her hand, causing a tendril of water to appear in
the air and strike the arm of her companion. The other woman retaliated a moment later with what
must have been a gust of wind, for the first woman was sent staggering back several steps.

Alicent tensed, fearful that she was witnessing the beginnings of an altercation and unsure of what
she ought to do, but then she realized that neither woman seemed angry. While it was impossible to
be certain from their distance, nothing in their postures indicated aggression. Rather, they seemed
. . . jovial.

It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps such little displays of what Aemma referred to as
“elementalism” were normal among Valyrians—the equivalent of brothers shoving each other to
the ground only to jump up a moment later and laugh together.

Normal.

Such a strange word.

One she’d been mulling over rather often of later.

She’d realized some time ago that she was no longer certain what that word actually meant to her
anymore. The question of “what is normal?” had been plaguing her for months, but she had yet to
find an answer. And she doubted very much that anyone would be able to provide her with a
satisfactory answer, even if she were to ask.

As she watched the women disappear from view, leaning against each other and perhaps laughing
together, she wondered if they were among those who had only recently returned to the palace.
Aemma had informed her a few months ago that women were “at last” beginning to return to Stone
Garden now that the final repairs had been made to the Queen’s Keep. And indeed, she’d noticed
over the past weeks that the old seneschal seemed busier now than she had a year ago, when
Alicent had first come to Stone Garden.

She knew that these women were returning because they were no longer needed elsewhere, because
the rebuilding and restoration efforts were finally approaching a point where every set of hands was
no longer essential, because the time to move forward from the devastation of the war had finally
come.

At least for the Valyrians.

Alicent found that she couldn’t help but admire the swiftness of the global rebuilding and
restoration endeavors. Given the level of technology Valyrians possessed, she would have expected
reconstruction to require far more time, if for no other reason than because Valyrians had to
actually build their houses rather than growing them with organic metals, crystals, and glass. The
benefits of magic, telekinesis, and elementalism, I suppose.

Four weeks ago, the Valyrians had celebrated the anniversary of the Battle of Penrhyn—the last
major battle of the war. She’d watched from her windows as large crowds of women took to the
streets in celebration, as droves of them flocked to the Flowering Temple to give thanks to their
Mother Relle, as throngs of them gathered outside of Stone Garden and even inside the outer ward
to cheer their queen who had turned the tide of the war.

She’d watched from her windows as women performed impressive displays of telekinesis and
elementalism. She’d watched as water dragons soared through the air and rock dancers twirled
across the grass, as whirlwinds scooped up fallen petals and showered them down on women’s
heads and colorful fire roared across the night sky. She’d watched it all from her windows . . .

And she’d silently prayed that none within the Keep would remember that there was a Westerosi
amongst them.

Eleven days before the anniversary celebrations, she’d quietly marked the passing of her forty-
ninth birthday. She would have forgotten it entirely if not for the calendar in her study, so she’d
been more than a little surprised when Aemma had come to her chambers that morning with a tray
of sweet cakes and wished her a happy birthday. However, her surprise had been somewhat easily
forgotten in favor of her delight about the sweet cakes, for they had swiftly become her favorite
dessert in the months since Immortalem Day.

Aemma had also offered her a hug that morning, which she had tentatively accepted. It had been
the first hug she’d received in . . . she didn’t even know how long. Over twenty-three years, she
was certain. Unless she considered the times when she awoke from a night terror with Queen
Rhaenyra’s arms wrapped securely around her, which she didn’t. Those embraces were not truly
hugs, after all, merely flesh and bone restraints. Strangely comforting restraints, to be sure, but still
restraints.

In the four months since she’d begun therapy with Dr. Arwen, her night terrors had become far
more frequent. She’d had four since that first one two months ago, and each one always left her
feeling hollow and exhausted, especially since she’d managed not to have any prior to beginning
her daily sessions with Dr. Arwen. The other woman assured that the increase in nightmares and
night terrors was normal, that it was all a part of what she called “the healing process.”
“Confronting past trauma opens old wounds, Alicent. It is only to be expected that some will rear
their heads while you sleep.”

All the same, she hated it. She hated waking with tears on her cheeks and her body shaking so
much that her teeth rattled. She hated the lingering anxiety and fear that would remain with her for
sometimes hours after. She hated feeling phantom hands pawing at her body and hearing
remembered voices whispering cruel taunts in her ears.

Were it not for the fact that she’d been feeling less anxious during her waking hours since she’d
begun meeting with Dr. Arwen, she certainly would have requested an end to the sessions.

That’s not the only reason, a traitorous voice in her mind crooned.

Alicent grimaced, though she knew well the truth of those words. She despised the night terrors, of
that there could be no question, but what always followed afterwards . . . she despised it less. Only
because every time that she doesn’t punish me for waking her helps me to better understand her,
she assured herself. Besides, had she punished me for the first time that I woke her, surely it would
have meant an end to seeing Dr. Arwen. Or anyone else, for that matter.

A shudder ran down her spine at the very thought.

But she hadn’t been punished, she reminded herself.

Not once.

She’d disturbed the Queen’s slumber five times over the span of two months, and she had yet to
receive so much as a scolding, never mind a strike or worse.
Each time, Queen Rhaenyra only ever offered her soft touches and warm embraces, soothing words
and gentle assurances, a kind ear and sweet lullabies. Alicent still didn’t fully understand what
exactly it meant that Queen Rhaenyra always came to her when she had a night terror. What it
meant that Queen Rhaenyra always took the time to comfort her and assuage her fears. And yet, it
was . . . nice—albeit bewildering—to know that the Queen cared.

Or at least, Alicent thought that she cared.

While a year had passed since she’d first come to Stone Garden, Queen Rhaenyra remained almost
as much of an enigma now as she’d been that first night. The Queen’s daytime visits remained
sporadic and infrequent, but she was always perfectly polite and pleasant during them. Aside from
that brief mention of her mother, Queen Rhaenyra had yet to share anything personal about herself,
but she also had yet to refuse to answer any other question Alicent had posed. She always came
without fail whenever Alicent had a night terror, yet she hadn’t once mentioned those encounters
during the light of day.

Dr. Arwen had been telling Alicent to pay heed to people’s actions, to focus on what they did rather
than what they might do. And Queen Rhaenyra’s actions . . .

“ You needn’t fear punishment from me. Not now. Not ever.”

From that very first night, Queen Rhaenyra had been gentle with her. Despite the many times that
her mind still wandered or that her insolent tongue managed to slip its leash, Queen Rhaenyra
remained patient and calm and kind. Despite her ignorance and many infractions, both that first
night and since, Queen Rhaenyra had yet to so much as raise her voice to her. And despite having
awakened her five times with her screams, Queen Rhaenyra continued to hold her on those nights
and whisper soothing words in her ear until the shaking and sobs subsided.

“You’re safe here, Alicent.”

“Rhaenyra is not going to hurt you, Lady Alicent. She doesn’t harm the innocent.”

“Your fears are valid, Alicent. Your feelings are valid, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they
are true.”

She was allowed to be afraid. She had the right to be afraid. Every grisly story that she’d heard
about the Firestorm during the war had given her reasons to fear.

But that had been a war.

Against men who had attacked without warning or provocation. Against men who had been trained
to fight and kill. Against men who she knew had intended a genocidal massacre.

The Firestorm, she had no doubt, could have killed them all.

But she hadn’t.

She had won the war for her people . . .

And then the Valyrians had offered peace.

She knew that Criston would not have given them the same courtesy.
Alicent had been a guest within the Queen’s Keep for a full Valyrian year—four hundred and
twenty solar days—and she had received not a single punishment or reprimand. She had not been
tortured or beaten or even spoken to harshly. She had been . . . cared for. Allowed to physically
heal. Provided with comforts that she had long ago stopped expecting.

Dr. Arwen had been telling her to focus on people’s actions, and Queen Rhaenyra’s actions this past
year—and especially these last two months . . .

They urged her to believe the Queen’s words from that first night.

That she was safe here.

And perhaps . . . perhaps those words hadn’t been a cruel lie. Perhaps all that Queen Rhaenyra had
done for her wasn’t part of some grand and elaborate mind game the Firestorm had concocted to
break her.

Perhaps . . .

She sighed as she continued to stare out the window at the gardens down below. Wouldn’t it be
lovely to take a walk through one of them? Wouldn’t it be lovely to visit the Keep’s library where
Aemma told her that thousands of books resided. Wouldn’t it be lovely to see the restored palace in
all its splendor?

“You have free rein of Stone Garden if you wish.”

And while she was perhaps now willing to believe that Queen Rhaenyra’s words had been sincere,
she did not dare set foot outside the safety of her chambers.

She thought about it often, to be sure. She imagined visiting the gardens that dominated the inner
ward. She imagined herself surrounded by the strange flowers that were native to Valyria and that
she’d only ever read about and seen sketches and paintings of. She imagined exploring the library
and seeing the vast collection of books that she knew Stone Garden had to offer. She imagined
venturing outside for the first time in over a year.

Since the beginning of summer, she’d often found herself standing in front of the door that led from
her outermost chamber to the hallway beyond. And every time, she’d lost her nerve and retreated
back to the safety of her study or bedchamber.

She knew that Aemma was fond of her, Dr. Arwen as well, and Queen Rhaenyra . . . Well, she
could at least acknowledge that Queen Rhaenyra did not intend her harm. But she could hardly say
the same for all of the other women living within the Keep.

Most would probably relish the chance to tear me limb from limb. And she could hardly begrudge
them the desire. She knew that every woman on this planet had a right to hate her for what her
people had tried to do and for what they’d actually done. She knew that at least some Valyrians still
desired blood—no matter what Aemma or Dr. Arwen or even Queen Rhaenyra said. And she knew
that there was nothing she could do or say to atone for her people’s actions.

Her people had brought war to this peaceful planet. Her people had rained down fire and
destruction. Her people had come with the intention of slaughtering every Valyrian in existence.
Her people had come for blood, this she knew. When Criston had decided to attack Valyria, he’d
justified it by claiming that they were bringing Sytarr’s cleansing fire to a world of sin and
abominations. She still didn’t know whether he had actually believed his own rhetoric, or if he’d
merely been stoking religious fervor in order to gain more support.

Whatever his true motivations, they hardly mattered now. The war may be over, but the wounds
had yet to scar, some had yet to even heal. She had no idea what sorts of grudges still existed or
how much resentment might be waiting for her outside the safety of her rooms. What she did know
was what would befall her if a hostile Valyrian found her while she was alone. Even discounting
their magic and other abilities, they were still so much stronger and faster than her. She knew that
she wouldn’t even have the chance to scream before her neck was snapped.

So she remained in her chambers.

She remained where it was safe.

She no longer yearned for death, and if the price of living was remaining within these apartments,
so be it.

After a year spent within these rooms, she’d developed a routine. A routine that she enjoyed. It was
predictable. Enjoyable. Safe.

But could she call it “normal”?

No. She didn’t think that she could. And she certainly couldn’t call the Keep home. She would
never be more than a guest here. Guest. She almost laughed aloud at the word. She never would
have considered herself a guest a year ago, not even for a moment. Valyria is changing me. And . . .
and I don’t think I mind.

She smiled slightly, but that smile quickly withered when her mother’s cruel voice whispered,
Traitor. How easily you forget yourself. How easily you forget your blood. Is it any wonder that
Sytarr cursed such a faithless woman?

Alicent’s jaw clenched as she pushed the voice back down into the darkness where it belonged.
Don’t think like that. Dr. Arwen says those kinds of thoughts only exacerbate my anxiety. But what
if the voice spoke true? Was she forgetting herself? Her true self? But who even was her true self?
Was her true self the child that she’d been before her marriage to Criston? Or was it the woman that
she’d become under his hand?

Was her true self the dutiful and obedient daughter who hadn’t said one word in protest when her
father had told her that she was to be wed to a man only two years his junior? Was her true self the
meek and submissive wife who had quietly and resignedly accepted all of her husband’s abuse?

Or was her true self the woman that she was becoming now? A woman that she knew her mothers
and father and sisters and brothers wouldn’t recognize? A woman that her family—both natal and
by marriage—would spit upon and call a traitor and worse?

Who was she now?

Once, a lifetime ago now, she had simply been the Lady Alicent Hightower, eldest daughter of
High Lord Otto Hightower and his first wife, High Lady Clarissa. Back then, home had been living
surrounded by her siblings and her mothers and father. While she hadn’t gotten on well with all of
her brothers and sisters, there had been so many of them that she’d hardly had to interact at all with
the ones that she wasn’t fond of.
Can I even remember all of their names? She had often recited them to herself on the nights that
Criston locked her away someplace as punishment. She’d used the slow, steady rhythm of those
names to ground herself, to distract herself from how trapped she felt. Sometimes she’d listed them
in birth order, other times by mother, and sometimes by reverse birth order. Anything to stave off
the panic for a moment longer.

Her eyes slid shut as she began murmuring their names, trying to conjure a memory of each of their
faces.

“Gwayne, Skye, Azar, Anaru, Gwil, and Luka.” Her mother’s sons. The brothers with whom she
shared all of her blood. They’d all been auburn-haired and brown-eyed like her and their mother,
but almost all of them had inherited their father’s broad shoulders and imposing height. All except
for Gwil, who had been a head shorter than his brothers and naturally lean. She could still
remember the feeling of riding on Gwayne’s shoulders, could remember delighting in how high up
she was. If she tried hard enough, she could almost hear his rich laugh echoing in her ears. As their
father’s eldest son and heir, he could have easily dismissed all of them, but he never had.

He’d always been her favorite brother because of that.

“Komen, Weslan, Navarre, Leo, Otto, Nico, and Gorm.” Adah’s sons, and the banes of her own
mother’s existence. Where her mother had only presented her father with six sons, Adah had given
him seven. A terrible blow to her mother’s status within the family, as well as one of the many
reasons why her mother loathed her so. Hers had been a violent and bloody birth, and it had left her
mother incapable of bearing any more children. She’d never spent much time around Adah’s sons,
knowing that it would upset her mother, but she vaguely recalled that the twins, Komen and
Weslan, had taken great delight in confusing people by pretending to be each other.

“Bleddyn, Ryn, Rhys, and Tovin.” Roka’s sons, who had all been born decades and centuries before
her. Her father had married Roka a few centuries after Gwil’s birth, most likely because he’d
thought that he would soon be in need of another wife. Highborn women were only allowed to bear
ten children, or seven sons, whichever came first, and Gwil had been her mother’s fifth son. She
remembered that Roka’s sons had been kind enough to her, but even Tovin had been over five
decades her senior, so she’d been of little interest to them.

“Cyril, Cleon, Min, and Twill.” Zelma’s children. Zelma had been her second favorite mother.
She’d always been calm, no matter what storm happened to be raging at the moment. All of the
children had been drawn to her quiet presence, and she’d done her best to make time for them. Her
father had married Zelma three centuries after Ryn and Rhys had been born, and she’d given him
two sons before Alicent’s own birth. Alicent had been four when Min was born, and that birth was
the first she remembered with any actual clarity. By the time Zelma had birthed Twill, Alicent had
been eighteen, and she could still remember the feeling of her little sister’s silky black hair slipping
between her fingers as she braided it for bed.

“Willa, Faolan, Elwyn, Felix, and Orsk.” Lora’s children. Lora had been the mother to give her
father his second daughter, birthing Willa a mere eighteen months after Alicent herself was born.
Her father had married Lora shortly after her mother was declared barren, and Adah had eventually
told her that her father married Lora to replace her own mother. «Your father wanted more sons,
and because of you, your mother was unable to give him what he wanted. So he married someone
who could.» She remembered playing with Faolan when they were younger, before he’d grown old
enough to realize that boys must become men and that the world of men was separate from that of
women.
She’d been eight when Elwyn was born, and she remembered her birth more vividly than any that
had come before. The doctors had known Lora was carrying a girl, and Alicent had been thrilled by
the prospect of another sister. She remembered her mother offering Lora a half-hearted prayer that
the birth would be an easy one, and she remembered wincing at the underlying anger she’d been
able to detect in her mother’s voice. She could still remember what it had felt like to hold her sister
for the first time, how she was fairly certain that that moment was when she’d first begun to
imagine having children of her own.

“Liam, Bay, Glyn, Dalen, and Mara.” Pella’s children. Her father’s last wife had joined the family a
year after Lora. Her father’s decision, according to her mother, had been spurred by Willa’s birth
and her father’s disappointment that his fifth wife hadn’t immediately given him a new son. Pella
had been the one to give her father his last child, and sixth daughter. Little Mara had been five
years old when Alicent married Criston, and she recalled with perfect clarity the crystalline tears
that had fallen from her little sister’s eyes as she bid her farewell. Alicent had raised her youngest
sister as much as their mothers had, and she’d always known that Mara liked her best.

Sytarr, Mara will be twenty-nine this year. The chubby little girl of her memories was undoubtedly
a wife and mother by now. Please let her marriage be kinder than mine.

Alicent had been happy with her natal family. Despite her mother’s disdain and her father’s
indifference, she’d been happy. Aside from Adah, her other mothers had been kind to her, and she’d
loved her siblings—even those that she didn’t particularly like. She’d always been proud to call
herself a member of the House of Hightower.

There had been warmth in her father’s home, if one knew where to look.

Her eyes flew open at the sound of someone knocking on her door. Looking over at the clock, she
saw with confusion that it was nowhere near time for her session with Dr. Arwen, nor was it time
for supper. Aemma had told her the day before that she wouldn’t be able to come by today for
anything more than meals. It must be Queen Rhaenyra then.

Turning so that she was facing the door, she called, “Come in.”

The door opened, and a group of seven women entered. They were led by a woman with a
confident smile, soft brown curls, and piercing blue eyes, who dipped an elegant curtsy. “Good day,
Lady Alicent.”

Alicent swallowed nervously, all of her fears about the other women residing in the Queen’s Keep
surging to the surface. She hadn’t been confronted with this many Valyrians at once since the treaty
negotiations. “Good day,” she finally managed, pleased that her voice did not waver.

“My name is Margaery Tyrell.” Lady Margaery swept her arm out to indicate the other six women
with her. The movement caused the light to catch on and reflect off of the silver bracelet encircling
her wrist. “These are Sansa Stark, Ygritte Mormont, Talya Umber, Dyana Darry, Hella Vypren, and
Valindra Mallister.”

Alicent repeated the family names in her head as she tried to place them. Over the past month or so,
she’d been learning and memorizing the names and sigils of Valyria’s various Houses and Clans, as
well as to which Queendom they belonged. Tyrell, Stark, Mormont, Umber, Darry, Vypren, and
Mallister. Two House names, five Clan names—

“We’re to be your new attendants,” Lady Margaery continued.

“A-Attendants?” she stuttered, thoughts scattering. “Why—?”

“Her Majesty requested it of us. As seneschal, Lady Aemma has other duties to which she must
attend now that normalcy is at last beginning to return.”

“Thank Relle for that,” one of the women—Valindra Mallister perhaps—muttered under her breath.

Tyrell. Stark, Mormont, Umber. Darry, Vypren, Mallister. She’d recognized at once the Great House
names of Tyrell and Stark, and now that she’d had a moment to recollect her thoughts, she
remembered that Mormont and Umber were both Nordish Clans, while Darry, Vypren, and
Mallister were Saevaran. Meaning that, with the exception of Lady Margaery, all of them hail from
the two Queendoms least affected by the war.

Queen Rhaenyra had assigned her attendants who had the least reason to hate her and her people.
Alicent wondered if she should interpret this as confirmation of her fears about there being negative
sentiments towards her. The last thing she wanted was to be surrounded by women who would
prefer to see her dead or gone.

Folding her hands in her lap to prevent herself from fidgeting, she addressed Lady Margaery, who it
seemed had taken the lead of this interaction. “While I am very appreciative of Her Majesty’s
thoughtfulness, none of you needs be here if you do not wish it. I’m certain Queen Rhaenyra would
understand.”

“We are well aware that none of us needs be here, Lady Alicent,” Lady Margaery informed her
briskly. “Queen Rhaenyra requested volunteers, and so here we are. None of us are acting under
orders. We’re choosing to help you.”

Help. Not serve. Alicent was quietly relieved that the distinction had been made. She didn’t even
want to contemplate the idea of giving orders to these women whose home her people had nearly
destroyed.

“We’re here to render whatever assistance you may require or desire,” Lady Margaery was saying.
“Whether that means helping you dress in the mornings and undress in the evenings, drawing your
baths, reading or sewing with you, taking walks, teaching you Valyrian games and songs, or merely
answering any questions that you may have. We are at your disposal. If you need anything, ask one
of us. We can escort you until you learn to navigate the Queen’s Keep and Stone Garden on your
own, and we can help you explore the city. Whatever strikes your fancy.” She paused. “Assuming
it’s nothing that endangers you, of course.”

Even in her imaginings, Alicent had never gone beyond the outer walls of Stone Garden. Sytarr,
she’d rarely even gone beyond the briar barrier. The thought of exploring Osmera was at once
exhilarating and terrifying. What she’d seen of the city from the window of Queen Rhaenyra’s
carriage had been beautiful, but all of her fears about Valyrian resentment would be increased a
hundredfold beyond the palace gates.

Would venturing out into Osmera in the company of these women alleviate that, or would it simply
force a confrontation? She didn’t wish to be at the center of that.

Lady Margaery’s eyes were fixed on her, unapologetic in their appraisal. After a moment, she
snapped her fingers at the others. “Give us the room.”
The shorter of the two red-haired women—Ygritte Mormont, Alicent was fairly certain—arched an
eyebrow. “Was I absent when someone named you chief attendant?”

“Not at all, Ygritte. But I have seniority. I’ve been back the longest. I was here the night that Lady
Alicent arrived at Stone Garden. And I’m willing to pull rank if I must.” Somehow, Lady
Margaery’s expression was at once perfectly pleasant and perfectly impassive.

Mistress Ygritte snorted. “As I recall, I was also here the night that Lady Alicent arrived, and you
can’t pull rank on Sansa.” Her lips curled into a wry smirk. “At least not outside—”

“Ygritte,” Lady Margaery interrupted sharply, though there seemed to be no need, for Mistress
Ygritte had snapped her own mouth shut already, as if realizing that she’d been about to say
something she shouldn’t.

Alicent shifted nervously as she resisted the urge to rub her scarred wrist. She did not wish to
witness an argument, and she certainly did not wish to be its cause.

The taller red-haired woman—Lady Sansa Stark—clapped her hands together. “Well then, I
suppose we should give the two of you the room.” With that, she turned and began ushering the
other women towards the door. She herself paused at the threshold, however, to give Lady
Margaery a stern look. “Be kind.”

“Aren’t I always?” Lady Margaery offered her a cheerful smile before shooing her out and closing
the door. She then strode over to Alicent, coming to a halt beside her chair.

Alicent eyed her warily, unused to having a Valyrian in such close proximity—save for Queen
Rhaenyra after a night terror. This close, she could see that there was a scar on Lady Margaery’s
neck. It was the same sort of bite mark that she’d seen on Aemma’s neck and the necks of some of
the women who’d overseen her and her former sister-wives after they’d been taken prisoner
following Penrhyn.

Lady Margaery gracefully lowered herself so that they were eyelevel. “I understand that you’re
wary of Valyrians, Lady Alicent. You’re likely thinking that most of us want you dead, or at least
not living here amongst us.”

Are my thoughts truly so transparent?

“I’ll admit that those of us who were here the night Her Majesty brought you to Stone Garden were
confounded at first, but then Lady Aemma explained your situation.” Lady Margaery’s eyes flicked
down to the scar encircling Alicent’s wrist. “We have no tolerance for abusers, Lady Alicent,
especially when they’re male.” Something akin to a growl began to rumble in her chest, but it was
swiftly smothered. “Regardless of what planet you had the misfortune of being born upon, you are
a woman in need of sanctuary. We’ll not deny you that simply because the males of your species
are savages.”

Alicent wanted to believe her, but how could she? Perhaps some Valyrians—like Queen Rhaenyra
and Aemma and Dr. Arwen—were able to look at her and not see a Westerosi first, but all of them?
Surely not.

“No harm will come to you, My Lady,” Lady Margaery assured her. “Not from us. We are not
barbarians, despite what you’ve probably heard.” She caught Alicent’s eyes and held them. “I
suspect that you would have a much easier time settling here if you would only believe that.”
“But how can I?” It was a bold question, she knew. One that she would have never dared give voice
to a few months ago. But it was also one that required an answer. She’d learned long ago that she
must protect and guard herself. Whatever conclusions she may have reached regarding Aemma, Dr.
Arwen, and Queen Rhaenyra, she did not know Lady Margaery. She had no reason to trust her
words, even if she had been sent by the Queen.

Lady Margaery arched an eyebrow. “Have any of us here done anything to make you think us
liars?”

No, but that was perhaps because she had not offered them the chance.

“You consider leaving your chambers something of a gamble. I understand this. But you will never
actually know whether or not other Valyrians mislike you until you emerge from your seclusion.”
Lady Margaery slowly rose to her feet, her voice sweet and coaxing. “Perhaps you’d care to take a
stroll through one of the gardens tomorrow? Or I could show you the palace library? We wouldn’t
even have to leave the inner ward.”

Alicent bit her lip, rubbing a little at the scar on her wrist. How had Lady Margaery known exactly
which things to tempt her with? While she adored all of her windows and being able to open them
as she pleased, they were not the same as actually being outside, and she knew that. And seeing the
library . . . The last time that she’d had a night terror and Queen Rhaenyra had sung her to sleep,
she’d had the most pleasant dream about exploring the library afterwards.

“I’ll consider the matter,” she said slowly. Perhaps after I’ve come to know you all better.

Lady Margaery’s expression was skeptical, and suddenly her hands were on her hips. “Lady
Alicent, if you will allow me to be blunt?”

Alicent just stared at her, unsure how to respond, but she supposed a nod was expected, so she gave
it.

“You cannot spend the rest of your life in these apartments. Lovely as they are, that is no life at all.
There exists a difference between merely surviving and actually living. You have survived horrors
most of us, thankfully, cannot even begin to fathom. But now you have the chance to live. You
should not squander it simply because you are afraid.”

Alicent couldn’t help the way that her eyes widened with shock. Lady Margaery’s words were
brusque, but not cold, and there was nothing unkind about her tone, and yet . . .

Aemma had never spoken to her in such a way, preferring to gently cajole when she gave her
opinion that Alicent should take some time to explore the Keep. Queen Rhaenyra had never spoken
to her with such a tone either, always taking care to make clear that Alicent had a choice in all
matters. Always making an effort not to frighten her. And Dr. Arwen was always impeccably calm
and mild when she spoke.

She had no idea what to make of Lady Margaery’s tone, no more than she did her words.

“I shall see you in the morning, if not later today,” Lady Margaery declared, sweeping a brief curtsy
before walking out of the room.

Alicent watched as the door closed behind her, mind already churning as she began scrutinizing
each moment of this latest interaction in order to make sense of it.
 ∞

After leaving the Lady Alicent’s chambers, Margaery swiftly made her way back to her own
apartments in the east wing. While she could have simply teleported there, she enjoyed stretching
her legs. Besides, the walk gave her time to gently tug on the mental link connecting her to her
mate so that she could tell Sansa to meet her in their rooms.

Upon entering their bedchamber, she was pleased to find that Sansa was indeed waiting for her.
Margaery immediately went over and pulled Sansa into a tight hug, burying her nose in the crook
of her mate’s neck and breathing in her comforting, snowy scent. A pleased purr rumbled in her
chest when she felt Sansa’s arms loop around her waist and pulled her even closer.

Her sweet wolf had returned to Stone Garden only a few months ago, and Margaery was still
feeling the instinctive need to assure herself that her mate was safe and whole and here with her.
She hadn’t been there when Sansa was wounded, but she’d been there to see the gruesome
aftermath. The sight of her mate so broken and in so much pain still haunted her nightmares, still
made her blood boil every time she thought about it.

Sansa nuzzled her cheek, humming contentedly. “I assume our presence here means that Lady
Alicent did not accept your offer to leave her apartments?”

“She will.” Margaery began walking Sansa backwards until they all but tumbled down onto their
favorite overstuffed chair. As they sank into the seat cushion, she swiftly maneuvered herself so
that she was comfortably lounging on her mate’s lap. Sansa’s arms immediately wrapped around
her waist and hugged her close.

A quiet sigh escaped Margaery’s lips as she rested her head on her mate’s shoulder, her eyes
instinctively drawn to Sansa’s mate mark. She felt the familiar tingle in her teeth as her canines
fought to extend, yearning to sink into the tender flesh for a claiming bite. It had been quite some
time since that particular instinct had reared its head, and she wasn’t entirely certain it was worth
denying.

Swiftly setting the thought aside, she returned her focus to the matter at hand. “Lady Alicent is
understandably fearful of how she’ll be received by others, but you can see in her eyes how much
she yearns to leave her chambers and actually experience some of our world. I believe she’ll resist
perhaps a week longer before she allows us to escort her somewhere.”

“Mm. Someone is feeling confident,” Sansa teased. She tilted her head to press an affectionate kiss
to Margaery’s temple. “Perhaps you should apply a soft touch in this situation, Sæta.”

“Aemma has been applying a soft touch for over a year now, and Lady Alicent has remained a
recluse. She evidently requires a little push.”

“Take care not to push too much,” Sansa warned, expression becoming serious. “Relle knows she’s
had enough of that to last a thousand lifetimes.”

They both lapsed into silence then, thinking about Lady Alicent’s history. Margaery still vividly
remembered her first night here, remembered seeing her scars and bruises in the mirror. What kind
of monster would choose to inflict such brutality on a woman? Such behavior should have died
long ago on the Old World.
Other binary societies have not yet reached that inevitable conclusion, she reminded herself. They
still cling to the foolish notion that true equality and harmony between the sexes is possible. She
almost snorted aloud at the preposterousness of such a belief. How many must suffer before they
realize the truth? Lady Alicent’s body provides all the evidence that anyone should ever require to
understand what comes from women and males living together. Especially when the males are
dominant.

Tiling her head back, she looked up at Sansa. “Lady Alicent seems to me like a woman in great
need of friends. My hope is that we can be that for her.”

Sansa’s eyes were warm with affection as she gazed back at her. “You’re such a softie, Margie.”

Margaery made an offended sound and began to pull away, but Sansa merely tightened her hold on
her waist. Relenting, she grumbled, “I am not.”

“Yes you are.” A purr rumbled in Sansa’s chest as she leaned in to brush the tip of her nose against
Margaery’s neck, which immediately caused heat to coil in her lower belly. “You’re a beautiful,
soft, kindhearted woman with a delightfully sarcastic streak and an occasionally sharp tongue.” Her
eyes twinkled. “But your words are much sharper than your teeth, Sæta.”

“Is that so?” Margaery gently pushed Sansa back against the chair so that she could trail kisses
down the smooth column of her mate’s throat. She smiled to herself when she heard Sansa’s breath
hitch and her heart rate increase. When she reached Sansa’s mate mark, she allowed her sharpened
canines to graze over the scar, earning a strangled moan and bucking hips.

Bringing one of her hands up, she slipped it behind Sansa’s neck and pulled her even closer. Her
lips brushed against her mate’s ear, and she delighted in the full-body shudder that she received in
response. “Perhaps I should show you exactly how sharp my teeth can be, Sweet Girl,” she cooed.

Sansa growled in response, pulling away and easily breaking Margaery’s loose hold on the back of
her neck. Her pupils were dilated, the black almost swallowing her sky-blue irises, and her scent
was now laced with the heady spice of arousal. “Bed. Now.”

Margaery was quick to obey.

∞∞

Sansa pounced on her mere seconds after Margaery had climbed onto their bed, swiftly rolling her
onto her back and straddling her stomach. Margaery grinned as she looked up at her mate, admiring
the way that her red hair was set ablaze by the sun streaming in through the windows. Mother
Relle, Sansa was a vision. One that Margaery would never tire of no matter how many millennia
passed.

Reaching up, she lightly tugged on her mate’s sleeve. “May I?” As soon as she received an
acquiescing nod, she snapped her fingers and rid them of their gowns, undergarments, and
smallclothes. Their clothes reappeared a moment later in two crumpled piles near the armoire.

Sansa tsked at the untidiness. “Margaery.”

“What?” Rather than giving her the chance to actually respond, Margaery slid her hand down
between Sansa’s legs to cup her dripping cunt, feeling with her fingers the wetness that had already
been soaking her stomach. She smirked up at her. “Don’t pretend as if you would have done any
differently.”

Groaning, Sansa rocked her hips against Margaery’s hand, searching for friction Margaery was not
yet ready to grant her. “You could have—” Her words dissolved into a series of sweet moans as
Margaery began playing with her clit, using her telekinesis to lift her mate up just enough so that
her hand had enough room to comfortably maneuver. She circled the sensitive bud with two
fingers, tapping occasionally and drinking in the breathy whimpers and whines spilling from
Sansa’s lips.

While she adored everything about her mate, there had always been something especially delightful
about hearing her sweet Sansa lose control of herself and moan so wantonly. “You’re so wet for me,
Sweet Girl,” she purred, abandoning her mate’s clit to begin teasing her entrance. The feeling of
Sansa’s wetness sliding down her fingers made her own cunt ache with longing. “All from a few
neck kisses, hmm?”

Sansa was panting above her, face beautifully flushed as her body trembled. “As if,” she gasped,
bucking her hips as she chased after Margaery’s fingers, “you would be any less wet.” Evidently
wishing to prove her point, she leaned down and began attacking Margaery’s neck with her teeth
and tongue.

Margaery’s back arched off of the bed at the contrasting sensations of Sansa’s harsh bites followed
immediately by her soothing licks. Shockwaves of pleasure emanated downwards from the
sensitive flesh of her neck, traveling directly between her legs and causing her cunt to clench
around nothing, desperate for attention. She could feel her clit throbbing and was acutely aware of
the fresh arousal soaking her inner thighs and the sheets beneath her.

Gritting her teeth, she continued working her hand between Sansa’s legs, smiling to herself every
time that her mate had to pause in her assault on her neck to whimper and moan for her. The slick,
swollen folds of her mate’s cunt clung to her fingers, demanding that she enter, but she refused. She
wished to hear Sansa beg for it. Her mate always sounded so sweet when she begged.

Sansa soon abandoned her neck to claim her lips in a searing kiss, although she did have the
courtesy to reach up with one hand and continue stroking Margaery’s throat.

Margaery moaned against Sansa’s mouth, tilting her head as much as she could without breaking
their kiss to offer her better access. Sansa had yet to even tease the ache between her legs, making
her desperate to chase the pleasure being given to her neck.

A growl rumbled in Sansa’s chest as she suddenly drew back, nipping harshly at Margaery’s lower
lip as she did so. “I want you inside me,” she panted, pressing their foreheads together as she
spoke. Her lovely eyes were dark with desire, her voice rough with command.

Margaery smiled slightly, fingers lightly dancing over Sansa’s quivering lower lips. She knew that
her mate was more than ready to take her fingers, knew that she was aching for them. But not yet.
She wished to tease a little longer. There was nothing in the world so enticing as the sight of Sansa
eager, desperate, and needy for pleasure that only Margaery could provide.

“That’s not what I want to hear from you, My Darling,” she chided lightly.

“Please, Margaery.” Sansa tried to roll her hips, but Margaery stilled them at once, holding them in
place with telekinetic hands. Whining with frustration, Sansa glared at her. “Sæta, I need your
fingers inside me now. Please.”

“What exactly do you want my fingers to do, Sweet Girl?” Margaery began teasing her entrance
once more, lightly stroking, but never dipping inside. The longer she teased, the more Sansa’s
wetness slid down her fingers to pool in her palm. Merciful Mother, her hand was so deliciously
soaked with her mate’s arousal. She was eager to taste it, eager to taste exactly how much Sansa
wanted her. She knew from the way that Sansa was trembling above her that her mate was about to
break. “Tell me, Sansa,” she crooned. “Tell me what you want me to do.” Her hand began to retreat
from her mate’s cunt.

“Fuck me,” Sansa snarled, grabbing her wrist and shoving her hand back in place. “Fuck me so I
can feel you for days.”

Grinning, Margaery rolled them over so Sansa was lying flat on her back. “Good girl.” Despite
Sansa giving her what she wanted, she couldn’t help but delay a moment longer so that she could
admire the beauty that was her mate. Sunlight danced across her fair skin, creating an ethereal glow
around her. Her eyes were almost black with desire, creating such a lovely contrast to their normal
blue. And her heaving breasts—

Suddenly realizing that she had yet to offer her mate’s lovely breasts the attention they deserved,
Margaery leaned down and captured one of Sansa’s hardened nipples in her mouth. She rolled her
tongue over the pebbled flesh, sucking harshly and earning a desperate moan. The sound of her
mate’s pleasure caused her own hips to buck, and she was sorely tempted to reach between her legs
and soothe the ache. But no. Not yet. Sansa first.

Sansa, who was writhing beneath her so beautifully. “Margie, please, I want—Seven fucking
Hells!” she screamed as Margaery slammed into her with two fingers, knowing that her mate would
desire the stretch after so much teasing. “Yes,” she keened, “don’t you dare stop.”

Nipping lightly as Sansa’s nipple, Margaery obeyed, fucking her hard and fast. Her fingers curled
each time she withdrew, and her sweet Sansa was soon reduced to a moaning, whimpering mess.
Each new noise sounded like a plea, and Margaery reveled in all of them. Her darling mate was
always so wet and willing for her, so eager to accept everything that she gave her. Beautifully vocal
in her pleasure, selfish almost, once she’d been teased long enough. Mother Relle could not have
granted me a more perfect mate.

Margaery loved the way that Sansa’s walls clung to her fingers, desperate to keep them inside. She
loved the feeling of those same walls quivering in pleasure the closer Sansa drew to her peak. But
most of all, she simply loved Sansa.

As she pressed warm kisses to the swells of Sansa’s breasts, Margaery’s free hand came up to
stroke her mate’s neck, paying particular attention to the hollow of her throat where she was most
sensitive. Her teeth ached with the desire to bite. Later, she promised herself. She wished to see
Sansa come undone first.

And she knew that her mate was close, knew by the fluttering of her walls and her erratic breaths,
by the fact that she hadn’t managed to utter a single syllable in several minutes. When she felt
Sansa’s walls begin to clench around her fingers, she swiftly withdrew her hand, earning the most
deliciously plaintive whine.

Sansa stared up at her, eyes wide and dazed and almost watery. She looked on the verge of
frustrated tears. “Why?” was all she could manage, the word little more than a broken whimper.
Margaery leaned down to give her a reassuring kiss. “I want to taste you, My Sweet Girl.” Not
giving Sansa a chance to respond—fairly certain her mate wouldn’t be able to even if she had—
Margaery slid down the length of her body and settled between her legs. Her eyes drank in the
exquisite sight of Sansa’s soaked and twitching cunt as she breathed in the dizzying scent of her
mate’s arousal. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, one hand coming up to caress her hip.

Sansa’s only response was to tangle her fingers in Margaery’s hair and tug her forward.

Chuckling, Margaery heeded the silent demand and extended her tongue. All thoughts of further
teasing fled her mind at the first taste of her mate’s wetness. While she’d never been able to
properly describe the unique flavor of her mate’s arousal, it was far more addicting than any wine
or sweet that had ever passed her lips. The warm slick danced across her tongue and flooded her
senses, leaving her with little save the desire for more.

She lapped eagerly at Sansa’s cunt, her tongue gliding easily through smooth, soaking folds as she
licked up the length of her cunt. When she reached Sansa’s clit, she took the swollen bud between
her lips and suckled gently, knowing that her mate was more sensitive to her mouth than to her
fingers. The tip of her tongue lightly flicked over Sansa’s clit, earning a high pitched wail and a
fresh flood of wetness that soaked her chin.

Margaery drew back slightly to lick her lips, savoring the flavor that danced on her tongue. She
briefly wondered how irritated her mate would be if she took the time to gather the wetness now
sliding down her neck and between her breasts so as not to waste it.

Her answer came a moment later when Sansa’s grip on her hair tightened to the point of pain and
her mate dragged her mouth back to her cunt.

Despite her wince, Margaery didn’t mind the rough handling. Sansa was usually so kind and gentle
that it always delighted her whenever she made her mate forget her courtesies. Besides, the mild
discomfort was easily ignored when she had Sansa’s bucking hips and breathy moans to distract
her. Sliding her tongue into Sansa’s silken heat, she curled it upwards to stroke the spot that would
make her sweet wolf howl.

Above her, Sansa suddenly stiffened.

Margaery smiled to herself when she felt Sansa’s walls spasming around her tongue, when she felt
Sansa’s legs attempt to snap closed around her head, when she heard Sansa scream her name. Fresh
slick gushed from her mate’s cunt, and Margaery eagerly drank it down. Sansa’s climax always had
an additional tartness to it, and each lick caused Margaery’s own desire to increase tenfold.

Merciful Mother, she was desperate to be touched. She was tempted to do so now, while Sansa’s
eyes were squeezed shut from the overwhelming sensations of her climax, while her lips were
parted in a silent scream, while her breasts heaved as she fought for breath. Margaery knew that she
would find her peak in seconds with such a vision before her, but she also knew that finding release
using her own fingers would displease her mate.

Sansa could be so delightfully possessive of Margaery’s pleasure.

As she continued lapping gently at Sansa’s quivering folds to help bring her down, a purr rumbled
in Margaery’s chest when the hands that had been tangled in her hair began to lovingly pet her
head.
“You,” Sansa panted, “are spectacular.”

Pride surged through her at having pleased her mate, and Margaery raised her head to offer her a
smug grin in response. “So I’ve been told.”

Rolling her eyes, Sansa beckoned to her.

Crawling up the length of her mate’s body, Margaery settled down beside her, one hand tracing
absent patterns on Sansa’s stomach. Her own cunt was almost unbearably wet and needy, longing
for her mate’s touch, but she could be patient.

For a time.

She could see the desire still shining in Sansa’s eyes, could smell it in the air. Not long, she assured
herself, though she couldn’t help but squeeze her thighs together in a vain attempt to relieve some
of the pressure that had been building from the moment Sansa had first touched her neck earlier.

When Sansa finally pounced on her, Margaery rolled easily onto her back, happy to accept the
warm, comforting weight of her mate atop her. Her eyes squeezed shut when long, slender fingers
gently parted her folds. The sensation of finally being touched was nearly overwhelming, but she
was still desperate for more. “Please don’t tease, Sansa,” she panted. “I’m already so close.”

“I ought to tease you.” Sansa’s fingers harshly rubbed her clit as she spoke, sending jolts of
pleasure throughout Margaery’s body and making her toes curl. “I ought to tease you until you’re
delirious and then make you beg until words lose all meaning.” Sansa’s lips curled into a wicked
smile. “It’s what you deserve, Sæta, for teasing me so.”

The taunting smile curling her mate’s lips might have given Margaery more pause had she not also
seen the hunger burning in Sansa’s darkened eyes. Her mate would not be able to deny her, not
when it would mean denying herself as well. “But?” she prompted.

“But,” Sansa leaned in to nip at her bottom lip, “I’m far too eager to see the expression of ecstasy
twisting your lovely face as you reach your peak.” Her second bite was harsher. “Lucky you.”

“Very lucky,” Margaery agreed, meaning every word. Before she could say more, Sansa lightly
pinched her clit and then swiftly slid two fingers inside her soaked cunt. The feeling of her mate
finally filling her tore a keening moan from her throat, so loud that anyone passing by their
chambers must have surely heard it.

Not that she cared.

The whole Keep was more than welcome to hear how well Sansa pleased her. They were more than
welcome to know exactly how much she desired her mate’s touch, how much she enjoyed being
fucked senseless by her. Merciful Mother, Sansa’s fingers filled her so well, stretching her
deliciously, and at last beginning to sate the aching need between her legs.

Margaery quaked beneath her, hips bucking to meet each thrust, desperate for more friction,
desperate for Sansa’s fingers to begin curling and spreading within her the way that her mate knew
she loved. The feeling of a warm hand on her neck made her eyes roll back in her head as fresh
waves of pleasure crashed over her. A needy whine escaped her lips when telekinetic hands began
playing with her breasts and teasing her nipples.
 It was all at once too much and not enough. “More,” she begged. “Please, Sansa. I need more!”

Sansa cocked her head slightly. “More what, Margie? More fingers? More force? More attention to
your clit? Your neck?”

“Yes,” she gasped, nodding frantically. The mere thought of another finger stretching her open
made her cunt clench, and she longed to feel her mate’s teeth on her neck. “All of it. Everything.”

“You’re such a needy little thing, Sæta,” Sansa cooed as she added a third finger. Her hand
quickened between Margaery’s legs, all three fingers curling and spreading in turns with each
rough thrust. “Is this what you wanted, Margie?”

“Yes!” The stretch of three fingers bordered on uncomfortable, but Margaery had never minded a
little pain mixed with her pleasure, and Sansa was always so good about giving her what she
needed. “Don’t stop. Please, Sansa, My Sweet Mate. Please don’t stop. Fuck!”

Sansa leaned down to purr in her ear. “Does it feel good, Margie? My fingers inside your tight
cunt? Stretching you. Fucking you.”

Margaery’s back arched, and her hands clawed at the sheets as her cunt tightened around Sansa’s
fingers. Mother Relle and All Her Faces. She adored when Sansa spoke to her like that. Her mate
only ever cursed in bed, and even then, usually only with coaxing. “Yes!” she cried. “Yes. Yes. I
love the way you fuck me, Sansa. Please, keep—Fucking Hells!” Her words dissolved into a
garbled shriek when Sansa suddenly bit down hard on her mate mark.

Waves of pleasure crashed over her as her hips bucked and her body writhed. The coiled tension in
her stomach snapped as her inner walls clamped down around Sansa’s fingers, forcing them to still.
Her canines instinctively lengthened and sharpened, and she eagerly sank them into the sweet flesh
of Sansa’s neck in a claiming bite. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Above her, Sansa went stiff, moaning softly as she reached her peak for a second time from the bite
alone.

They were both still trembling as they slowly came down from their peaks, Sansa all but collapsing
atop her. Margaery immediately wrapped her arms and legs around her mate, holding her tight the
way that she knew Sansa preferred after a good fuck. Unfastening her teeth from Sansa’s neck, she
gently lapped at her mate mark.

Sansa whined softly. “Sensitive,” she grumbled.

Margaery’s tongue stilled, and she reluctantly moved her mouth away from her mate’s neck. Her
hands began running up and down the length of Sansa’s back as she basked in the afterglow. She
felt deliciously boneless, and she had every intention of spending the next hour or so simply
enjoying the feeling of Sansa’s skin pressed against her own. “I love you, Safa.”

While Sansa didn’t respond verbally, her scent became sweeter still, wrapping around them in a
warm cloud.

Chapter End Notes

Alicent: Even though therapy is giving me more frequent night terrors, I keep going for my
mental health. That's the only reason. It has nothing to do with the fact that I get cuddles every
time I have a nightmare.
Everyone and Their Blind Cat: Sure, Honey, whatever you say.

Look at Alicent's progress!

Side note to those who read the smut, don't come after me for the intimate anatomy being
identical to a human's. I barely understand human sex organs. Don't ask me to come up with
alien ones.

Next Chapter: Alicent finally leaves her chambers! Any guesses where she’ll want to go first?
 Alicent Emerges
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 13:

– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Arwen Arryn, a Blue Lotus psychologist, from the Avenian Isles
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Ygritte Mormont, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar
– Luwina Glover, Chief Librarian of Stone Garden, from Norden (name taken from Maester
Luwin)

We're speeding up a bit, Folks! Next few chapters will be Alicent exploring Valyria and
growing more comfortable with her new surroundings.

Also, please enjoy this map of Kastrell and the sigil of the Order of Magisters.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Warm Moon/1,000,122 Visenya VI

Alicent knew that she was fidgeting. She knew that she was tapping nervously on her scarred wrist,
but she wasn’t squeezing, and she wasn’t digging her nails into her flesh, so it was all right. Dr.
Arwen assured her that a few nervous habits were perfectly fine so long as they did not cause her
harm.

“Releasing your anxiety is a good thing, Alicent. So long as you’re not hurting yourself or others,
and so long as they are not negatively impacting your quality of life, a bit of fidgeting can help
alleviate anxiety.”

In the five days since Lady Margaery, Lady Sansa, and the other Valyrian women had offered their
help as her attendants, Alicent’s anxiety had been progressively increasing to levels that she had not
felt since her early months at Stone Garden. And she didn’t understand why.

Lady Margaery and the others were always perfectly polite to her, and Lady Sansa was always
swift to usher everyone from her chambers when it became clear that their presence was
overwhelming her. They’d done nothing to upset her or make her afraid, and yet the mere thought
of seeing them again made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

Queen Rhaenyra had visited her again three days past. Not for very long—she’d had a Small
Council meeting to attend—but long enough to apologize for not informing Alicent of her intent to
provide her with companions to replace Aemma. Alicent had accepted the apology, of course, but
then the Queen had asked her if she was pleased with her new companions. Alicent hadn’t known
how to answer, so she’d simply nodded. Queen Rhaenyra had given her a searching look, but she
had not pressed for more information, and for that, Alicent was grateful.
When she’d awoken the night before with a pounding heart, tear-stained cheeks, and trembling
hands, Queen Rhaenyra had been there, cooing softly in her ear and holding her tight. When one of
the Queen’s warm hands had begun rubbing soothing circles on her back, Alicent had found herself
leaning into the touch without meaning to, desperate for more and not knowing why. She’d never
felt the need for a comforting touch before, but Queen Rhaenyra made her . . . she made her want.

And it terrified her.

That fear was in part why she’d finally tried to explain some of her anxiety surrounding Lady
Margaery and the others. Alicent knew that she was becoming overwhelmed again, and she hoped
that her therapist could perhaps help her understand and overcome her nervousness around her new
. . . “attendants.”

“Alicent?”

Sytarr damn me. The least she could do was pay proper attention when Dr. Arwen was attempting
to help her. Why did she allow herself to become so easily distracted? Why was her mind such a
scattered mess? Why was she such a useless—? No. She was supposed to be having fewer intrusive
thoughts. She was supposed to be improving. She was supposed to be . . .

“I, I’m sorry.” Alicent slumped back in her chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I’m sorry. I don’t
know why . . . I know that I should be better. I know that, but . . .”

“Alicent, will you please look at me?”

Not wanting to, but knowing that she should, Alicent forced herself to meet Dr. Arwen’s golden
eyes.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Alicent. All right? What we’re doing here together? It’s a
process. A very, very long process. Healing takes time, and it isn’t linear by any means. You’re
going to have good days and bad days, and that’s perfectly normal. New situations create anxiety
for everyone, and what you’re feeling now in no way reflects poorly upon you.” Dr. Arwen’s voice
was as gentle as always, but it was also firm in the way it usually was when she was trying to
ensure that Alicent truly heard her.

Rubbing nervously at her scarred wrist, Alicent gave a small nod. “I understand.” And she did.
Intellectually. She just . . . it was hard to remember.

Dr. Arwen folded her hands in her lap. “All right, why don’t we start from the beginning, hmm?”

Alicent nodded again, taking care to focus all of her attention on Dr. Arwen this time.

“Can you tell me in one word what you felt when Lady Margaery offered to escort you from your
chambers?”

Terrified was the first word that came to mind, but it had been more than that. She’d been fearful, to
be sure, but she’d also been . . . eager, in a way. She’d felt a deep sense of longing, of yearning.
She’d . . . she’d wanted to accept the offer, but she simply couldn’t.

Perhaps it was the wanting? It had been so long since she’d truly allowed herself to want anything.
She remembered what it was to want though. She remembered what it was to desire little things
like not being struck for her impertinence, or not being screamed at for doing something wrong.
During the early years of her marriage, she’d often caught herself wanting Criston not to use certain
implements when he beat her, wanting him not to allow certain men to take her when he shared her.
She’d caught herself wanting to simply be left in peace after a particularly rough night.

Her wants had never mattered though, not even to her natal family.

Regardless of any foolish personal desires that she may have secretly harbored, she’d always
known that they would make no matter. She’d always known that those around her would do as
they wished.

But here . . .

Queen Rhaenyra had asked her what she wanted that first night, and Alicent was finally willing to
believe that those words had not been empty. Had she asked for something . . . Alicent was almost
certain that Queen Rhaenyra would have acquiesced, that she would have tried to give her what she
wanted.

Her wants . . . they mattered here. They mattered to someone other than herself. Those around her
actually attempted to . . . to fulfill them.

It was . . .

“Overwhelming,” she finally said. “When Lady Margaery asked if I would like to go to the gardens
or the library, I felt overwhelmed.”

Dr. Arwen gave her an approving nod. “And what about her offer did you find overwhelming?”

“I,” she hesitated, biting her lower lip, “I think . . . I think it was the fact that she actually meant it.
If, if I’d said yes, she would have taken me wherever I wished to go.” Such freedom . . . it was
foreign to her. Strong Sytarr she was still growing used to being able to open a window when she
wished. Leaving her chambers presented so many possibilities—lovely possibilities, to be sure—
but if she left her chambers, she might encounter hostile Valyrians. And freedom had never been
worth her life.

“And does that prospect frighten you, Alicent? Being able to go where you wish?”

Alicent shook her head slowly. “I . . . No. That isn’t what frightens me.”

“Then what is it you fear?”

Nails dug into the flesh of her scarred wrist, causing pain to lance up her arm, but she welcomed it.
She welcomed the familiarity.

“Alicent,” Dr. Arwen murmured.

Swallowing, she forced herself to release her wrist and lace her fingers together instead. She
shouldn’t hurt herself when feeling anxious. She knew that. But it was what she was used to doing.
She looked down at her hands. “Sorry.”

“You needn’t apologize, Alicent.” Dr. Arwen’s voice was achingly gentle, reminding Alicent of the
way she’d spoken to her during their early weeks together. “But can you tell me why the prospect
of leaving your chambers frightens you so?”
Would Dr. Arwen take offense if she told the truth? No. Surely not. Her fears were justifiable,
surely. And they’re valid. Even if she doesn’t think they’re true, she will tell me that they are valid.
Eyes closing, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I’m afraid of other Valyrians,” she
confessed quietly.

Dr. Arwen cocked her head slightly. “Are you afraid that someone will hurt you?”

Alicent nodded, fingers clenching. “My people committed horrible atrocities against yours. I can
hardly blame anyone who desires retribution.” She looked up then, needing Dr. Arwen to
understand that she truly had considered this matter, that she was not acting purely on emotion and
fear. “And I know you will tell me that I ought to focus on what people have done, not on what they
might do, but what they might do is snap my neck before I can scream.”

And then nothing would matter anymore. What had been done could not be undone. Focusing on
actions rather than possibilities had served her well enough with Queen Rhaenyra, but when the
possibilities were lethal? Surely it was best to err on the side of caution.

Dr. Arwen was silent for a long moment as she seemed to consider her words. Finally, she nodded.
“I understand your fear, Alicent, so why don’t we walk through it? Assuming your assumption is
correct, let’s determine together the logical conclusion of this scenario.”

A small smile tugged at Alicent’s lips as she nodded and sat up straighter. This was her preferred
method for analyzing her anxieties, but Dr. Arwen usually avoided employing it because Alicent
tended to spiral. One of her many failings that she was endeavoring to correct.

“Very well.” Dr. Arwen steepled her fingers together. “Now, our primary assumption is that there
are Valyrians living within the Queen’s Keep who wish you harm and would injure or perhaps even
kill you if given the opportunity. Yes?”

“Yes.” And it would be so easy for them to do so. Alicent grimaced, shoving the thought aside.
Don’t spiral.

“And the secondary assumption is that secluding yourself within your apartments keeps you safe.
Yes?”

Alicent hesitated. Why would that be an assumption? Unless . . . Dread began to coil in her
stomach. Strong Sytarr, how could she have been so stupid? What were doors against magic? What
were doors against women who could transform into insects and easily slip beneath them? What
were doors against telekinesis and the raging elements?

Her fear must have shown on her face, because Dr. Arwen’s own expression softened as she leaned
forward. “Alicent, you implied before that you could not consider what people have actually done
because they haven’t had the chance. But perhaps . . .”

Alicent’s ears were ringing. She couldn’t hear. And her chest felt tight. Too tight. It was becoming
harder to breathe. Sytarr, how could she have been so naïve? Idiot. You Sytarr-damned idiot.
Aemma had told her once that the doors of her apartments were shielded, but shields could be
broken, according to what she’d read, if the sorceress was strong enough. And she—

She couldn’t breathe.

“Alicent.” Dr. Arwen’s voice sliced through her rising panic. “I need you to focus on your
breathing. In and out. Deep breaths. You’re safe here, Alicent. No one will harm you.”

But they could.

“But they haven’t.”

Oh. She must have spoken aloud. She hadn’t realized . . . Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to
focus on her breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. The
Queen does not wish you harmed—

Alicent’s eyes snapped open as she gasped for breath, nails digging into the arms of her chair as she
fought to inhale enough air for her screaming lungs. Breathe in. Breathe out. In and out. You’re
safe. The Queen does not wish to see you afraid. Queen Rhaenyra did not wish to harm her, which
surely meant that she did not want others to harm her either.

She was under the Queen’s protection. As she should have been under Criston’s protection during
their marriage. Had Queen Rhaenyra not told her as much that first night? “I am not going to harm
you. Ever. That applies to everyone else here as well. You’re safe now, Alicent.”

She was safe. The Queen would not allow her to be harmed.

But Queen Rhaenyra is hardly by my side every hour of the day . . .

Expelling a shuddering breath, she was relieved to realize that her heart was no longer thundering
in her chest. Her hands were no longer shaky, her ears were no longer ringing, and she could
breathe again. She slumped back in her chair, a familiar sense of exhaustion washing over her.

Dr. Arwen was watching her worriedly. “Please forgive me, Alicent. I should have chosen my
words with more care.”

Alicent personally didn’t think there was any way Dr. Arwen could have told her that her doors
offered her no true protection without sending her into a panic. When she said as much aloud, she
realized guiltily that her words were probably not especially comforting.

But Dr. Arwen evidently decided not to dwell on the matter. “Would you like to end our session for
the day? I know that panic attacks are oft draining.”

Alicent shook her head. If they ended their session now, she would have to wait until the morrow
for any hope of resolving her anxiety about Lady Margaery and the others. She did not wish for any
unnecessary delays. “Please. I wish to continue.”

Dr. Arwen nodded slowly. “Very well then.” She briefly drummed her fingers on her thigh as she
considered her next words. “Do we agree that a Valyrian intent on harming you, more like than not,
could have done so by now?”

Alicent nodded, grimacing. While she felt incredibly stupid for not realizing as much before now,
for allowing herself the foolish delusion that a few closed doors could keep her safe, she recognized
that that delusion was likely the only reason she hadn’t thrown herself from one of her windows.
That, and the fact that her fears had been focused on the Firestorm rather than any of the other
Keep residents.
“So, if we focus on actions rather than possibilities, do you agree that those actions speak to a lack
of malicious intent?”

Alicent hesitated. That was one possibility, she supposed, but there was also another. “Those
actions could simply speak to a desire not to anger Queen Rhaenyra, who does not wish to see me
harmed.” And she wasn’t certain if she dared stake her life on a Valyrian’s desire not to anger her
queen.

Dr. Arwen’s lips pursed in response, which Alicent knew meant that her therapist disagreed. But
rather than saying so aloud, she simply nodded. “All right. We’ll make that another secondary
assumption. Now, if you were to leave your chambers, you would be accompanied by your
attendants, yes?”

Alicent nodded. She would surely become lost in minutes, otherwise.

“So let us posit that you and your attendants visit one of the gardens and encounter a woman so
enraged by the sight of you that she attacks without considering Queen Rhaenyra’s wishes
regarding your safety. What would be the logical outcome?”

“I would be dead in seconds.” She half-expected to be chided for hyperbole, even though she knew
that her words were true.

But Dr. Arwen merely tilted her head. “What of your attendants?”

Alicent’s brow furrowed slightly. “What about them?”

“Well, would they not intervene? If not for your sake, then surely for the Queen’s. You said
yourself that Queen Rhaenyra does not desire for anyone to harm you. Would that not oblige your
attendants to defend you against an attacker?”

Would it? Would Queen Rhaenyra actually take action against members of her own court if they
did nothing to help her in such a situation? Surely she was not so important to the Queen. Every
woman residing in the Keep has likely known Queen Rhaenyra for millennia. What am I to her? No
more than a guest—

Alicent’s eyes widened with realization. She was a guest. The Queen’s guest. And under the
Valyrian laws of sacred hospitality, she could not be harmed while under Queen Rhaenyra’s roof.
Archmagister Karlora Stark had made that quite clear in her treatise on Old World customs that had
survived the Doom. “The rite of sacred hospitality is inviolable, and breaking this sacred trust is
among the worst moral offenses a woman can commit.”

It didn’t matter whether she as an individual was important to Queen Rhaenyra. She was a guest,
which meant that any harm done to her by a resident of the Keep would violate the rite of sacred
hospitality. If Queen Rhaenyra allowed such a violation to go unpunished, it would make her look
weak, in addition to the moral implications.

Shaking her head in wonder, Alicent looked up to meet Dr. Arwen’s eyes. “I suppose they would be
obliged to defend me, yes.” And while she greatly disliked the idea of anyone putting themselves in
harm’s way on her behalf, she would be lying if she said that the knowledge did not bring her some
comfort.
Dr. Arwen did not smile, but Alicent knew by the glint in her eyes that her therapist was pleased by
her answer. “And two of your attendants are Lady Margaery Tyrell and Lady Sansa Stark, yes?”

Alicent nodded.

“Both of them are scions of Great Houses, direct descendants of their respective matriarchs.” Dr.
Arwen leaned forward. “Which means that they are two of the most powerful sorceresses at court,
arguably second only to Her Majesty and Lady Rhaenys. Lady Sansa’s blood is the blood of
emperors, you see. Before the Doom, her ancestors ruled over the Nørsk Empire. And before they
were conquered by House Targaryen and enfolded into the Lyrian Empire, Lady Margaery’s
ancestors ruled one of the largest Empires that the Old World had ever known.”

Alicent couldn’t help but blanch upon hearing all of that. While she’d been learning the names of
the Valyrian Empire’s Houses and Clans, she’d done precious little reading on their individual
histories. She’d deduced for herself that the Eight Great Houses had become such on account of
their magical strength, but she hadn’t even considered that those bloodlines would have most
assuredly wielded similar political power on the Old World.

Lady Margaery and Lady Sansa were the descendants of Old World monarchs. And they wished to
be her attendants? No highborn Westerosi woman would ever consider waiting upon another, and
they certainly would never lower themselves to attend to a foreign guest beyond the expected duties
of a hostess.

And yet Lady Margaery had claimed that they’d volunteered. But why? Why would they do such a
thing? Why would two women from such powerful Houses, from such powerful bloodlines, choose
to spend any of their time in her presence?

Why does Queen Rhaenyra deign to comfort you every time you have a nightmare?

Strong Sytarr, Alicent could feel the beginnings of a headache. Why must Valyrians be so
mystifying? Why must all of their actions be so . . . nonsensical?

“Alicent.” Dr. Arwen waited until she was focused on her once more. “I am not telling you this to
discomfit you. I am telling you this to assure you that Lady Margaery and Lady Sansa alone, never
mind together, would provide you with more than enough protection, in a scenario where someone
actually attempted to hurt you.”

Alicent blinked owlishly. She’d almost forgotten about their exercise.

“Then there is Mistress Ygritte Mormont to consider,” Dr. Arwen continued. “Given that she served
as Shadow Knight to Queen Baelora the Second of Norden during Dowager Queen Viserra’s
imperial reign, one would assume that she is also a very able protector.” She arched an eyebrow.
“So I shall pose the question again, Alicent. In a scenario that assumes there are Valyrians who
would wish you harm, if such a woman were to attack you, what would be the logical outcome?”

The answer was obvious enough, and yet it still felt strange to even have such a thought, never
mind speak it aloud.

“I,” Alicent swallowed, “I would be protected.” Protected. By Valyrians. No one back home had
ever offered her protection of any kind. As her husband, Criston should have protected her from
certain indignities, but he’d instead delighted in inflicting them upon her.
Dr. Arwen nodded in agreement. “I should think, in the event of such a scenario, that Lady
Margaery and Lady Sansa would be able to dispatch your attacker quite swiftly, while one of your
other attendants went to fetch Her Majesty. And once Queen Rhaenyra arrived, the situation would
be handled in its entirety. Would it not?”

Handled in its entirety. Alicent thought back to the first time that she’d had a night terror, to the
flash of fury that she’d seen in Queen Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes when she’d told her about the
cage. If a Valyrian were to attack her, would such fury flash in her eyes once more?

Perhaps.

If not for me, then certainly for the violation of guest rite. She found the thought strangely soothing.
Knowing that Queen Rhaenyra would be bound by a sense of duty to ensure that no harm came to
her, it was comforting. She did not understand why the Queen always came to her when she had a
night terror, but she understood duty and what it meant to be bound by it. In this, at least, she could
perhaps understand Queen Rhaenyra’s actions.

“There exists a difference between merely surviving and actually living. You have survived horrors
most of us, thankfully, cannot even begin to fathom. But now you have the chance to live. You
should not squander it simply because you are afraid.”

Lady Margaery’s words from the other day echoed in her ears. Rather blunt, to be sure, but not
unkind.

And perhaps . . . perhaps they were true as well.

Alicent felt nauseous.

Her left ring finger was throbbing, and her scarred wrist ached. This had been a terrible idea. She
was a fool. A Sytarr-damned idiot. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Strong Sytarr, what had she
been thinking? Why had she allowed herself to be deluded into believing that this was a good idea?

I should return to my bedchamber. Or to my study. There’s a new book Aemma brought me recently.
I should read—

“Lady Alicent?”

Alicent nearly leapt out of her skin at the sound of Lady Margaery’s voice. Strong Sytarr, how had
she forgotten that the other woman was standing there? She blinked a few times, suddenly
becoming aware of her surroundings again. Her right eye twitched slightly as she pushed against
the foreign emotions that she could feel attempting to wash over her. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Focusing her attention on the door looming in front of her helped her to block out the emotions of
the seven women hovering a few feet away. How many times had she come to this door since the
start of summer? How many times had she retreated from it? Beyond this door lay the corridor that
she’d not stepped foot in since her fight night here, when Queen Rhaenyra had escorted her to these
rooms and kindly asked if they were acceptable.

She gulped nervously.

“Lady Alicent, if you’re not yet ready, we can return to your presence chamber,” Lady Sansa
offered gently. “We could teach you how to play Agricola or black cat.”

Alicent gave her a small smile, grateful for the offer. And while part of her yearned to accept it . . .

“But now you have the chance to live. You should not squander it simply because you are afraid.”

She could do this. All would be well. She could do this.

Taking a deep breath, she seized the door handle, gave it a sharp pull, and opened the door.

The heavy wood swung inwards on silent hinges to reveal the corridor beyond. An entirely
unremarkable sight, but also the first new one that she’d had in over a year. Her breath caught in
her throat, and she yearned to retreat back into the safety of her chambers.

This was a terrible idea.

Lady Margaery swept her arm out. “Shall we?”

Alicent managed one small step forward before freezing. What if she’d been wrong? What if she’d
been wrong about everything? What if all of this had been an elaborate, twisted game? The
Firestorm was immortal. Time likely meant little and less to her. What if—?

No.

She shoved those thoughts from her mind, instead focusing on her breathing, focusing on blocking
out the other women’s emotions, focusing on her memories of the aftermath of her most recent
night terror. Queen Rhaenyra had been so tender with her, so sweet. Surely that could not have been
mere manipulation.

Alicent forced herself to take another step.

Then another.

Then another.

Then another.

She’d done it! She was outside of her apartments. Her eyes swiftly scanned the corridor in search
of signs that there might be others nearby. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she glanced over her
shoulder to see that Lady Margaery, Lady Sansa, and the others had followed her out into the
hallway.

Lady Margaery was giving her a bright smile. “If you’ll follow me, Lady Alicent.”

Alicent easily fell in step behind the other woman and soon found herself flanked by Lady Sansa
and Mistress Ygritte. Mere months ago, she would have found such a position confining, would
have felt as if she was being purposefully surrounded because she was a prisoner, but now . . .

Now she felt strangely comforted, as if she was being shielded.

“Margaery was planning to show you the rainbow garden,” Lady Sansa told her. “Is that all right?
We thought it perhaps best to begin with somewhere you’re familiar with, and you can see the
rainbow garden from your chambers.”

Alicent honesty hadn’t given much thought to which of the Queen’s Gardens she was to visit. All
she’d been thinking about when she’d accepted Lady Margaery’s offer was how wonderful it would
be to set foot outside. She wanted to feel living plants beneath her fingers again. She wanted to feel
sunlight bathing her entire body. She wanted to feel the breezes ticking her ankles.

“The rainbow garden sounds lovely.” She offered Lady Sansa a smile that she hoped wasn’t too
strained. While she’d been growing more accustomed to blocking out the emotions of her new
companions, it remained something of an exertion. Her hope was that it would continue to grow
easier with time, as it had back home with Criston’s friends.

“Is there a particular sort of flower you favor, Lady Alicent?” Mistress Ygritte asked suddenly.

Alicent hesitated, unsure how to answer. Back home, she’d favored loranils, but she doubted that
those grew here. While reading through various botanical guides, she’d come across a type of
flower called an orchid. The illustrations she’d seen made them out to be quite lovely. “I’m not
certain,” she admitted. “I, I think I like orchids though.”

“The rainbow garden has a wide selection of orchids,” Lady Margaery said over her shoulder.
“We’ll visit those first, if you’d like.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Alicent found herself nodding even though Lady Margaery’s back was to her.

“You’re in very good hands,” Lady Sansa murmured, her voice low, as if sharing a secret, though
Alicent was certain that all of the other women could hear everything Lady Sansa was saying.
“Margie is a Tyrell, so she lives and breathes plants. You couldn’t ask for a better guide.”

Lady Margaery paused to turn and give Lady Sansa a fond smile, blue eyes practically shining.
“Flatterer.”

“It isn’t flattery if it’s true,” Lady Sansa responded, flashing her an equally fond smile.

Alicent glanced between them, wondering at the familiarity with which they spoke to one another
and the warmth in their eyes as they looked at each other. She supposed that such closeness was
only to be expected after millennia of friendship. Or perhaps all friendships were thus. She’d never
had any friends back home, so what did she know?

On her other side, Mistress Ygritte was rolling her eyes.

Hmm. So perhaps Lady Margaery and Lady Sansa’s closeness was something of note for friends
after all. A deeper sort of friendship. Valyrians had a special term for it, if she recalled.

“Heart friends are those with whom you’ve forged a deep emotional bond.”

Heart friends. Yes. That was it. Lady Margaery and Lady Sansa must be heart friends.

As Lady Margaery led them down the winding steps of what Lady Sansa told her was the Rose
Tower, Alicent did her best to maintain a steady conversation with her companions, but it was
difficult. She was no longer used to such physical exertion, and by the time they reached the ground
floor, she was feeling rather breathless.
“Do you need to rest, Lady Alicent?” Lady Sansa was eyeing her worriedly, but she made no move
to touch her. None of her companions had tried to touch her after she’d flinched the first time that
Lady Margaery had reached for her hand.

“I’m all right.” Alicent forced her breathing to steady, managing a small smile. “I’d very much like
to see the rainbow garden. Please.” She was so close. Soon she would be outside. Soon she would
feel the sunlight fully on her face. Soon she would feel the wind whispering over her skin.

Lady Margaery nodded. “All right then.”

When they at last came to the door that led outside of the Queen’s Keep, Alicent did not hesitate.
This time, she stepped almost confidently outside onto the gravel path that led from the door into
the rainbow garden.

As soon as she was no longer within the shadow of the Keep, she stopped and closed her eyes,
tipping her head back and relishing the warm sunlight shining down on her. Strong Sytarr, she’d
missed this. The summer breeze seemed to sing in her ears as it swirled around her, beckoning her
further away from the Keep and down the garden path. She could hear birds chirping in the
distance, could smell the life growing all around her. Sytarr, she could practically smell the dirt,
and it filled her with a sort of warmth that she had not felt since childhood.

Opening her eyes, she eagerly drank in all of the sights and sounds and smells as she continued
down the path into the rainbow garden. This garden was very different from those of her childhood,
and yet somehow so similar that it made her heart ache. Great Sytarr, Lora would have loved it
here. Alicent had never seen so many different colored flowers all in one place before, and she
knew that she hadn’t seen even a fraction of what the expansive garden had to offer.

Without thinking, she reached out to gently stroke the petals of the nearest flower—an iris, she
believed. The silken surface felt almost foreign beneath her fingers, it had been so long since she’d
touched a flower whose stem had not been cut. A foolish part of her was tempted to gather a
bouquet for herself—the first of her own choosing since she was a child—but that would be rude
without permission. So instead, she leaned down and inhaled deeply, happily becoming lost in the
sweet scents.

Memories of her time spent in Lora’s gardens flashed through her mind, bringing a wistful smile to
her face. She remembered the feeling of Lora patting her shoulder as she praised her for
memorizing all of the flower names she’d taught her. She remembered the sight of watching Mara
as she frolicked among the blooms, remembered seeing the delight shining in her little sister’s eyes.
She remembered the excitement that she’d felt the first time Lora had allowed her to plant a flower
of her very own—a loranil, of course—as a gift for her sixth birthday.

Surreptitiously, Alicent’s hand drifted lower so that she could run her fingers through the damp soil
in which the irises had been planted. It was unladylike, she knew, and her mother would have
scolded her harshly—likely slapped her as well—for dirtying her hands. But there had always been
something strangely comforting to her about the feeling of warm earth beneath her fingers, and
she’d missed it.

Strong Sytarr, she’d missed all of this. The sun, the soil, the fresh air, the scents and sounds of life.
How had she gone so long without? How had she chosen to go so long without? Back home, when
she’d been denied her outdoor privileges, it had always been as a punishment. But here . . .

“You have free rein of Stone Garden if you wish.”

If only she’d been able to believe Queen Rhaenyra sooner.

Alicent shook her head to banish the useless thought. There was no sense dwelling on the matter.
She would make up for lost time now.

Turning her head, she finally noticed that her companions had caught up with her. Cheeks flushing
as she realized that they’d seen her with her hand in the dirt, she hastily rose to her feet and began
fumbling for a handkerchief to clean her fingers. Idiot. You shouldn’t have forgotten yourself. What
will they think—?

Lady Margaery’s amused chuckle broke through her reproving thoughts, and Alicent stiffened until
she realized that there was no cruelty or mockery in the other woman’s laugh.

Still smiling, Lady Margaery offered her, her own handkerchief, which had already been lightly
dampened. “There’s no need for embarrassment, Lady Alicent. Ask any woman raised in Kastrell.
No childhood is complete without a bit of dirt beneath your nails.”

Mistress Ygritte snorted. “It isn’t only women in Kastrell. Ask any woman anywhere.” She looked
over at Alicent, her tone wry as she said, “Kastrellans like to pretend that they’re the only Valyrians
with an appreciation for growing things.”

“We don’t think we’re the only ones with an appreciation. We simply know that we have the most
appreciation.” Lady Margaery’s cheerful grin was just shy of smug.

Alicent cleared her throat a little, hoping to forestall an argument. “Could we perhaps see the
orchids? Please?”

“Of course.” Lady Margaery gave her a warm smile. “We’ll be happy to show you everything, My
Lady. There is plenty of time.”

Plenty of time. Alicent’s eyes swept around the garden, somewhat surprised when she suddenly
realized that there was no one else in sight. That was odd. She knew for a fact that this time of day
there were usually a few women wandering about. Perhaps they are simply in other sections of the
garden. The rainbow garden was rather expansive, after all.

Well, it hardly mattered, she supposed.

Returning Lady Margaery’s smile, she said, “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

Rhaenyra’s head turned when the scent of freshly baked bread reached her nose. It was faint, nearly
hidden beneath all of the floral scents carried up from the garden on the winds, but it was there all
the same. Leaning closer to the stone balustrade encircling the balcony, she scanned the rainbow
garden down below.

Ah. There. A gaggle of eight women was making their way towards the orchids section of the
garden. She was half-tempted to shift her eyes to those of a dragon so that she could better see
them, but that would be too much of an invasion of privacy. From what she could see with her natal
eyes, the Lady Alicent seemed content, and that was more than enough.

This explains why Margaery asked to have the rainbow garden emptied.
Rhaenyra was absurdly pleased both by how well Lady Alicent seemed to be getting on with her
new attendants and by the fact that she had at last decided to emerge from her chambers. Perhaps I
should visit her later today. Ask how she enjoyed the gardens.

Her lips pursed as she quickly dismissed the thought. No. It would be best to wait a little longer. If
she visited today, Lady Alicent might think that she was being spied upon or that her movements
were being reported. And that wouldn’t do. Rhaenyra wanted Lady Alicent to feel comfortable
exploring Stone Garden at her leisure.

“Rhaenyra.”

The sound of her aunt’s voice pulled Rhaenyra from her thoughts, and she turned to see Rhaenys
standing in the doorway that led out onto the balcony. “Good afternoon, Aunt.” She motioned to the
chair across the table from her. “Please, join me.”

Rhaenys strode over and sat down, folding her hands on the table. “It’s been a while since you’ve
eaten luncheon outside.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve eaten luncheon at all,” Rhaenyra quipped. Since the Treaty signing,
she’d spent the majority of her days aiding in rebuilding and restoration efforts across the
Queendom. She’d soon determined that pausing to eat was an inefficient use of her time, so she’d
been making do with only breakfast and supper for over a year now. The only reason she was
eating luncheon today was because Aemma had threatened to stop bringing her daily reports if she
didn’t take a small break.

So she’d gathered up some of her paperwork and taken it outside to the rainbow garden, intending
to work while eating, only to learn a few minutes later that Lady Margaery Tyrell had issued orders
for everyone to vacate the garden for the rest of the afternoon. While she could have ignored the
order, she’d decided that it would be easier to simply retreat to one of the balconies overlooking the
rainbow garden.

Amusement flashed in Rhaenys’ lilac eyes as she looked at the stacks of paper scattered about the
table and the barely-touched meal that had been shoved to one side. “Did Lady Aemma threaten
you into taking a break for luncheon?”

“Naturally.” Rhaenyra clicked her tongue. “The woman is a menace.”

“A menace who cares for your health.”

“You care for my health, do you not, Dear Aunt? And you’ve never threatened me into eating
meals.”

Rhaenys smiled wryly. “Only because I know you would ignore me.”

Rhaenyra made a sound of mock offense, pressing a hand to her chest. “You are my Hand. I would
never ignore your sage advice.”

“If that were true, it would not have required myself, Vora Hylda, and Lady Aemma to convince
you that your insane edict requiring mates to ‘refrain from certain displays of affection in the Lady
Alicent’s presence’ was a terrible idea.”

Rhaenyra harrumphed, making a point of returning her attention to her papers.

It had seemed a reasonable enough plan at the time. The ranting speeches that their spies had
overheard Criston Cole spew during the War had made quite plain that Westerosi considered
women sharing sexual intimacies with each other an abomination, and the few conversations she’d
had with her prisoners had provided ample corroboration.

With such intolerance in mind, she’d thought it best to slowly ease Lady Alicent into this particular
aspect of their culture as gently as possible, so as not to overwhelm her. Perhaps a year or two of
ignorance, followed by several years of subtle indications to slowly acclimate her to the notion of
two women having relations, and then, eventually, forthrightness.

Rhaenys had called her plan idiotic.

Hylda had questioned how it would be realistically implemented.

Aemma had warned her that it would only breed resentment towards Lady Alicent.

At best.

Rhaenyra had immediately abandoned her plan.

“Your Majesty, if I may?”

Reluctantly, Rhaenyra raised her head, realizing now that Rhaenys had come here as her Hand,
rather than her aunt. It was times such as this that she wondered if perhaps she should have heeded
the advice of others and named nigh anyone else as her Hand.

When she’d first ascended to the Rose Throne and appointed her aunt, many had questioned her
decision—her mother and all six of her sisters among them. Rhaenys had been serving the Empire
for nearly twelve million years by then: first as Bellmar’s crown princess, then as its queen, and
most recently as its dowager queen. Most Monarchs of the Blood were eager for a period of
retirement after their reigns. It was considered both expected and deserved.

But Rhaenyra had known that she would require a Hand who could also be a queen. She’d resisted
her instinctive need to wander for the entirety of her imperial reign, and she’d known that she
would not be able to do the same throughout her royal reign. So she had asked her aunt to serve as
her Hand, and Rhaenys had agreed.

Magisters the world over agreed that Rhaenys the Seventh of Bellmar was among the finest queens
in the history of the Empire, and Rhaenyra was of the opinion that her people deserved nothing
less. If she must leave them for long stretches of time to wander, then she wanted them to have a
capable ruler.

And while her aunt had more than proven herself the finest Hand that Rhaenyra could have
appointed, she did sometimes long for the days when they were simply able to be aunt and niece.
Ah well. Once Visenya abdicates and after I’ve served as dowager queen.

Deciding that she might as well eat a little while her aunt made her report, Rhaenyra leaned back in
her chair and telekinetically drew her abandoned luncheon over to where she sat. “I’m listening,
My Lady Hand.”

Rhaenys, as ever, did not mince words. “Another chemical contamination has been discovered.
This one in Florent Province.”
Rhaenyra immediately set her meal aside, straightening in her chair. “How close to the coast?”
Damn Westerosi and their chemicals.

Since the War’s end, they’d been finding dozens upon dozens of polluted areas both great and small
all across the Queendom. It seemed that the Westerosi did not understand the meaning of proper
waste disposal and management. Or perhaps they did and had simply wished to cause further
damage to Valyria’s ecosystems. Both possibilities were equally probable.

“This one is inland,” Rhaenys assured her. “It’s about eight hundred and sixty-two kilometers
northeast of Brightwater Keep, nearing the border of Meadows Province.”

Inland. That was something at least. A small mercy. The last thing they needed was a Westerosi
contaminant reaching the Bitter Sea or beyond. Pollutants were so much harder to manage once
they reached open water, and while the sea serpents had been willing to aid them during the War by
attacking the Westerosi naval ships foolish enough to sail out into the oceans, she knew that they
would not appreciate foreign chemicals in their home.

No more than the ruks on the Isles appreciated having so many of their eyries bombed.

“Is it anywhere near the Calsidren?” Rhaenyra was fairly certain it must not be, otherwise they
would have discovered it earlier. The River Calsidren flowed through the middle of the city, after
all, and Aenara’s Garden would surely be dead by now if that water was contaminated.

Her Hand shook her head. “No, but if we delay much longer, the local magisters fear that the
chemicals may leach into the water table.”

“Then we mustn’t delay.” Rhaenyra rose to her feet, luncheon forgotten. “Walk with me. You have
until we reach the palace gates, then I’ll be teleporting to the site.”

Rhaenys stood with her, easily falling in step by her side as they departed the balcony. “The
coordinates first then.”

Four Weeks Later

(Bright Moon/1,000,122 Visenya VI)

Alicent’s eyes swept over the great double doors that led into Stone Garden’s library, impressed by
the intricate carvings and detailed designs. The doors were cream-colored and bordered by golden
scrollwork, and emblazoned on their topmost panels was the sigil of the Order of Magisters. The
heptagonal field was divided into four quarters: one blue, one brown, one purple, and one yellow.
There was a scroll on the upper right blue quarter, a pair of crossed quills on the adjacent brown
quarter, a raven on the purple quarter beneath the quills, and an owl on the lower right yellow
quarter.

The owl, she knew, represented Matriarch Alestera Tyrell, while the raven represented Lady Alerie
Tyrell. The two sisters were the oldest Valyrians in existence, and they’d founded the Order of
Magisters on the Old World some two millennia before the Doom.

The quills and scroll symbolized the magisters’ sacred duties of recording the Empire’s history and
accumulating and documenting new knowledge as it was discovered. In addition to being Valyria’s
historians, she’d learned that the magisters were the Empire’s intellectuals—the scholars and
philosophers, the scientists and engineers, the educators and academics—and that a rather sizable
number of professions fell within their sphere.

When she’d first come across a reference to the Order of Magisters, her interest had been piqued.
When she’d realized that the magisters were Valyria’s intellectuals, she’d immediately begun
searching for more books and information about them. As her natal Lordship of Sayda was the
capital of academia on Westeros, she’d spent her childhood surrounded by antique books,
databanks, holo-crystals, scholars, and intellectuals of every field. Some of the world’s most
prestigious libraries had been within a minute’s hover of Tamworth Palace, and she had many
pleasant memories of visiting them with her siblings to work on assignments.

While girls were not permitted to attend academy with their brothers—they were only required to
learn the domestic arts from their mothers—her father had seen to it that all of his children were
given the highest caliber of instruction. As the Lord of Education, anything less than thirty-two
well-read and erudite children would have been an embarrassment to him.

And so she and her sisters had lacked for nothing academically. They’d been given the most
sophisticated interfaces and learning materials, as well as provided with some of the best tutors
Westeros could offer. She still remembered her history tutor with great fondness. He’d been so old
that she had often thought that he’d probably lived through most of the history he was teaching her.

Beside her, Margaery cleared her throat. “Do you intend to admire the doors all day, Alicent, or
shall we enter sometime before luncheon?”

Alicent couldn’t help but smile slightly, less ruffled by Margaery’s tone now than she had been a
month ago. Over the past four weeks, she’d actually grown rather fond of the other woman, who
had unapologetically made herself her chief companion—with Sansa acting as her willing second,
it seemed.

Margaery Tyrell was a very . . . decisive woman. Never cruel or impolite or even particularly
impatient in her words or actions, but she was also a very stubborn and determined woman with
regards to attaining what she wanted.

And, at present, what she wanted was for Alicent to visit every part of the Queen’s Keep.

Since that day when Alicent had first ventured outside to the rainbow garden and not been accosted
—the one gardener they’d met had simply offered her a polite smile and welcomed her to Stone
Garden—she’d allowed Margaery and her other companions to escort her to more new places every
few days or so. She’d decided to trust that Margaery would take care not to overwhelm her, and
thus far, Margaery had proven worthy of that trust.

Per her own request, they’d been restricting their outdoor excursions to the inner ward of the
Queen’s Keep. For while all of the women that she’d come in contact with during the last month
had been polite and considerate, she was still wary of causing upset by her mere presence.

Margaery had suggested on several occasions venturing beyond the briar hedge to the outer ward,
but Alicent always balked. The strange, magical hedge continued to unnerve her, even though
Queen Rhaenyra had assured her long ago that she’d be able to pass through it as easily as any
other Keep resident.

And so they remained within the Keep and went no further than its inner ward.
While most of their outings had simply been to different gardens, she’d also visited the kitchens,
several different towers to help her learn the layout of the Keep, and various corridors lined with
elaborate tapestries and masterfully done paintings. The day that they’d gone to the kitchens,
Ygritte had proudly introduced her to Gilly Cassel, the Chief Chef of Stone Garden, who had
returned about four months ago.

She remembered being surprised at first by the way Ygritte had wrapped her arm around Chef
Gilly’s waist—she hadn’t been able to recall Ygritte being so tactile with anyone else—but then
she’d remembered that Margaery and Sansa would often exchange such casual touches and
affections as well. So she’d concluded that such . . . demonstrativeness must simply be normal
behavior between heart friends.

Valyrians seemed to have many queer customs surrounding touch.

But for all the exploration that she’d done thus far, there was one place in particular that she’d not
dared venture.

The Stone Garden library.

While Margaery had suggested visiting the library the first day that they’d met, it had still taken
Alicent weeks to finally muster the courage to accept the offer. Though she’d yearned to explore
the library for over a year, she’d been terrified that the librarians would turn her away, that they
wouldn’t want a Westerosi contaminating their sanctuary of learning.

Margaery had scoffed when she’d told her all of this, but she hadn’t pressured her to visit before
she was ready.

This morning, when Margaery and the others had arrived to help her prepare for the day, Alicent
had quietly told her that she was ready. Margaery had simply nodded and assured her that she
would be welcome.

Strong Sytarr, she hoped that was true.

Squaring her shoulders, Alicent took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves. “I’m ready.”

While Margaery had the courtesy to refrain from saying “finally” aloud, the expression on her face
made plain that she was thinking it. Stepping past her, she pushed against the right door leading
into the library.

The large door swung open on silent hinges, and Alicent was almost immediately met by the warm,
rich scent of old books. It was woody and earthy, almost smoky, with an underlying hint of vanilla
and almond. The smell reminded her of her father’s collection of antique tomes that he’d kept in his
office back home. She’d always loved the smell of books. It was so different from the sterile,
almost too clean scent of computers and databanks and holo-crystals and AI projectors.

Margaery ushered her inside, Sansa following close behind, and Alicent froze almost immediately,
eyes widening with awe at the sheer size of the library.

From the outside, the library had always appeared quite large, but from the inside, it was enormous.
There had to be at least fifteen floors above them—which seemed impossible given the building’s
exterior architecture and dimensions—and Sansa had told her that there were seven subterranean
floors beneath the ground level.
High above their heads, skylights allowed the sun to stream in and illuminate the countless books
that surrounded them. There were numerous windows as well, both on this floor and, presumably,
on the floors above them. Dozens of light-orbs hovered in the air, but they were barely shining at
the moment.

Hundreds of bookcases marched across the floor in neat lines, so close together that only small
aisles remained between them to squeeze through. All of the walls had been hollowed out and
carved to create additional shelves that extended upwards from the floor to the ceiling.

A grand, spiral staircase rose up from the middle of the room, and the space around it had been
cleared so that visitors would be able to easily access the floors above and below. An enormous
globe was perched on a three-legged stand not far from the stairs, and the detail was so life-like that
it almost appeared as if the ocean waters were moving.

“Hello?” a voice called from beyond the stacks, slightly muffled by all of the books and shelves.
“Did I hear someone come in?”

“You did,” Margaery shouted back. “You have a new visitor, Archmagister.”

A few moments later, an elderly woman emerged from between a pair of bookshelves. She looked
to be around Aemma’s age, with the warm and wrinkled face of a doting grandmother. Her hair was
so blonde that it was almost white, contrasting with the dark azure of her eyes. She was dressed in
layered, ankle-length robes dyed bright scarlet, and the capelet draped over her shoulders was
silver.

Silver gauntlets were embroidered on the hem of her robes, and blue snowflakes bordered her
capelet. The order’s sigil was emblazoned on the center of the capelet, likely to denote her
membership. There was also a silver bracelet on her wrist, the same sort of bracelet that Alicent had
seen on many other women’s wrists around Stone Garden. A pair of circular, wire-rimmed glasses
rested on the bridge of her nose, though Alicent doubted that she actually needed them to see.

The old archmagister’s pale eyebrows rose high at the sight of her, and a delighted smile curled her
lips.

Alicent winced a little when she felt a sudden surge of excitement pulse through her. Realizing that
what she was feeling wasn’t her own excitement, she hastily erected her walls before she could be
bombarded by any more foreign emotions. Her ability to block out the emotions of others had been
improving of late, for the time that she spent with Margaery and her other companions provided
ample opportunities to practice.

The librarian quickened her step, moving much faster and more smoothly than anyone who looked
her age had a right to. As soon as she was standing in front of Alicent, she held her hands out,
palms up, and bent forward at the waist. “Lady Alicent Hightower, I presume?”

Alicent nodded, but then realized the archmagister wasn’t looking at her. “Yes. I am.” Unsure of
how she was supposed to respond to the other woman’s greeting—it was noticeably different from
the way Dr. Arwen had first greeted her—she decided to mimic the gestures. Extending her hands
so that her palms were facing up, she bowed at the waist. I need to research the different ways
Valyrians greet each other.

Although she straightened in response to Alicent’s bow, the archmagister continued to hold out her
hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, My Lady. Your frequent requests for new books have saved me
and my sister librarians from boredom.” Her head swiveled towards Margaery, and she made a
tsking sound. “No one else has nearly enough interest in the books we have here.”

Margaery smiled wryly. “We all have our duties, Archmagister, which do not always allow for
spare time to read.”

Sansa gently prodded Alicent’s side. “Touch palms with her so she may lower her hands.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Alicent’s cheeks were red as she followed Sansa’s instructions.

“It’s no trouble.” The archmagister gave Alicent’s hands a brief squeeze before releasing them.
“My name is Luwina Glover. I’m the Chief Librarian of Stone Garden.” Still smiling broadly, she
spun around and swept her arms out in a grand gesture. “Welcome to the palace library, Lady
Alicent.” She twisted her head to look at Alicent over her shoulder. “Would you care for a tour?”

Alicent nodded eagerly. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

But before Archmagister Luwina could respond, Queen Rhaenyra suddenly appeared in their midst.

“Luwina, I need you to gather every book, scroll, and other writing we have on—” The Queen
broke off, head slowly swiveling to look at Alicent, Margaery, and Sansa.

Alicent’s heart was thundering in her chest, and she’d nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste
to back away when Queen Rhaenyra had abruptly materialized seemingly from thin air. Strong
Sytarr. She’d known—intellectually—that Valyrians could use their magic to teleport, but knowing
something and actually seeing it were two vastly different things.

Queen Rhaenyra had just appeared. There had been no flash of light, no puff of smoke, no sound or
sight or smell or anything at all to herald her coming. The space where she now stood had simply
been empty one moment and then occupied the next.

I wonder if Valyrians ever accidentally teleport themselves into solid objects. Strong Sytarr, what
would happen if they teleported themselves into living objects? A shudder passed through her body
at the implications.

“Please forgive me, Lady Alicent.” Queen Rhaenyra was gazing at her with round eyes that seemed
almost . . . anxious? “I did not realize you would be visiting the library today, else I would have
come through the door.”

Alicent gulped, trying to force her heartbeat to calm as she offered what she hoped was a reassuring
smile. Sytarr above. How was it that she was attempting to reassure the Queen? “You needn’t
apologize, Your Majesty. I was a little startled, but it’s nothing to worry over.”

Queen Rhaenyra hesitated a moment, but then she seemed to remember whatever business it was
that had brought her to the library. After giving Alicent a brisk nod, she turned to Archmagister
Luwina. “Walk with me. We haven’t time to dawdle.” With that, she swept towards the grand
staircase, the archmagister hurrying after her.

As Alicent watched them go, she suddenly realized that she was clutching her wrist. Uncurling her
fingers, she looked between Margaery and Sansa. “Perhaps we should return another day?”
 Margaery waved dismissively. “Nonsense. Simply because Luwina cannot offer you a tour is no
reason for us not to remain. You wished to see the library, and so you shall.” She reached out and
interlaced her fingers with Sansa’s. “Besides, Sansa knows the library almost as well as the
librarians, so she is more than capable of showing you where everything is.” A proud, beaming
smile curled Margaery’s lips. “She’s a magister as well, you know.”

Alicent looked at Sansa in surprise. “You are?” But she doesn’t dress as other magisters do.
Granted, she only had the magisters who had been present during the treaty negotiations and
Archmagister Luwina as a comparison, but all of them wore robes that seemed to correspond to
their Clan colors.

“I was,” Sansa corrected, giving Margaery an exasperated look. “I trained as a magister to study
xenology, but I haven’t been an active member of the Order in nearly a reign.”

“By which she means that she hasn’t taken the latest examinations.” Margaery patted Sansa’s arm.
“But she’s still one of the smartest people I know.”

“Margaery doesn’t actually know that many people.”

Alicent couldn’t help but laugh at the affronted expression on Margaery’s face.

Margaery’s head snapped around to look at her. “You dare laugh? After seeing how cruelly she
treats me?”

Half a year ago, Alicent would have cowered in response to having such a tone directed at her, but
now she recognized that Margaery’s indignation was feigned, that her irritation was merely part of
the jest. “I’ve seen nothing of the sort, I’m afraid. Sansa’s words seemed quite kind to me.”

Her response wasn’t witty. She knew that it wasn’t.

Yet Margaery and Sansa both laughed as if what she’d said was actually amusing. And even though
Alicent knew that their chuckles were false and merely a show of politeness, she appreciated them
all the same. She appreciated that neither Margaery nor Sansa were taunting her for her inability to
respond with something clever.

Perhaps one day, she’d be able to think of some jest worthy of earning a real laugh.

Chapter End Notes

Poor repressed Alicent is over here gal pal-ing Sansaery so hard. Meanwhile, Margaery and
Sansa are just barely managing to remember that they probably shouldn't start making out in
front of the repressed lesbian who barely has any concept of homosexuality just quite yet.

Also, gasp, this version of Otto did a semi-decent thing by giving his daughters a top tier
education! Sure it was for his own vanity, but still. What is the world coming to!?

Next Chapter: Guess who's going to dinner!

 Alicent's First Supper
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 14:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar

Please enjoy the artwork of the Royal Coat of Arms of Kastrell.

Also, the green dress described in this chapter is that green dress, yes. This may be Olivia
Cooke's Alicent, but I dare anyone to argue that Emily Carey did not look amazing in her
Hightower call to war.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Autumn Moon/1,000,122 Visenya VI

“At least allow Chef Gilly to make a single cake, Rhaenyra. If for no other reason than because
she’s been wanting to bake more.”

“I’ve already said ‘no,’ Aemma.” Rhaenyra didn’t look up the accounting reports that Mistress
Bartima had left on her desk the evening before, though she was sorely tempted to do so. Arguing
with Aemma about birthday celebrations was a far more appealing prospect than staring at endless
strings of indecipherable numbers until her vision blurred. Merciful Mother, she could have sworn
that she’d told her mistress of coin to begin including summaries.

“You refused to allow any celebrations last year—”

“We were recovering from a war.”

“—which was understandable. But for this year, you ought to allow a little pageantry, Rhaenyra.
Your people want to celebrate you.”

“There was more than enough of that on Victory Day,” she muttered. And while a small, vain part
of her had relished the cheering crowds and thankful throngs that had gathered on the anniversary
of Penrhyn, she’d mostly been left with a gnawing yet somehow hollow sense of guilt. She didn’t
deserve praise simply for doing her duty and protecting her people. Especially given that I wasn’t
even present for the first half of the War. Had she been, perhaps she could have spared everyone a
year and a half of suffering.

She sometimes found herself wondering if her people would cheer half so loudly were she to tell
them exactly what all she’d done in those tunnels.

More like than not, their cheers would only grow louder. Most women were demanding complete
annihilation, as I recall.

And that thought made her stomach roil.

As did her own hypocrisy on the matter of bloodlust, considering the vengeance she’d enacted
against Criston Cole for all that he’d done to Lady Alicent.

He deserves to suffer far worse.

Aemma cleared her throat, drawing Rhaenyra from her dark thoughts. “Rhaenyra, I understand
your aversion to celebrations, but perhaps—”

“This matter is closed, Aemma.” She looked up then, needing her seneschal to know that she was
serious. “If Chef Gilly wishes to bake more, then by all means, she is free to do so. I’m certain
Lady Alicent would appreciate a few additional sweet cakes in the coming months. But I’ll not
have birthday festivities under my roof. The women of Osmera may do as they like, but the women
of Stone Garden shall heed my wishes on this.”

Aemma sighed, at last dipping her head in acquiescence. “As you will, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Aemma.” Rhaenyra beckoned her closer and held up the sheet of paper that she’d
been staring at for the past ten minutes. “Now, perhaps you can make sense of Bartima’s scribbles.
Does this look to be a five or a nine to you?”

All will be well, Alicent repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, fingers squeezing her
scarred wrist. Margaery would not have suggested this if she thought it would overwhelm me. And
her ability to block out the emotions of others was even better now than it had been a month ago.
She could handle being in a room full of women for a few hours. And they won’t harm you, she
reminded herself, pleased when she realized that she actually believed the words.

In the two months since she’d begun venturing out of her chambers, she’d yet to receive so much as
a hostile glare from any of the Keep’s other residents. Most merely offered her polite smiles or a
curious look when she encountered them, and a few women even seemed . . . pleased to make her
acquaintance, though she couldn’t fathom why.

This lack of open hostility had allowed her to finally muster the courage to ask Margaery if she
might perhaps take her dinner with the other women residing in the Queen’s Keep the next time
that everyone dined in the great hall. When she’d made her request, she’d expected that it would
not be honored for at least a few weeks.
She knew from her current book on the building of Stone Garden that the great hall was the largest
room in the Queen’s Keep, designed to seat every woman living in the palace as well as several
hundred potential guests. And she knew from Aemma that it was only ever used on special
occasions. Apparently, staff usually took their meals in the lower supper hall, while courtiers
tended to eat in their own chambers or in one of the smaller dining halls scattered throughout the
Keep.

With this in mind, Alicent had assumed that Margaery would simply nod and assure her that it
could be arranged when next the court dined in the great hall. She’d thought that she would have at
least until the Feast of Saint Safina in twenty days’ time.

But Margaery had instead grinned in response to her query, telling her that everyone would be
supping in the great hall this very evening. “Today is Her Majesty’s birthday,” she’d explained,
“which is good, as it means that everyone will be focused on her rather than you.”

But instead of providing comfort, those words had only increased Alicent’s anxiety. While a part of
her was fairly certain that the Queen would not be displeased by her presence, she recognized that
there was a difference between Queen Rhaenyra choosing to visit her chambers when it was
convenient, and Alicent presuming to enter the Queen’s domain without her leave.

When she had nervously wondered if Queen Rhaenyra would consider her attendance an intrusion
on her birthday celebrations, Margaery had shaken her head and waved dismissively. “The Queen
couldn’t care less that today is her birthday. She’s actually spent the past few weeks insisting to
Lady Aemma that there be no festivities of any kind.”

Alicent had been about to ask why, but then she’d realized that Queen Rhaenyra had probably
stopped celebrating her birthdays long ago. She knew from secondhand experience that, after a
while, birthdays ceased having any meaning beyond marking the passage of time. Her own people
usually only celebrated their first one hundred birthdays.

While she didn’t know Queen Rhaenyra’s exact age, she’d read that empresses tended to rule for
about four million years before abdicating, so the Queen must be at least over five million years
old.

With Margaery’s assurance that the Queen would not mind, and her own growing belief that Queen
Rhaenyra did not mislike her presence, Alicent had agreed that this would be a good evening to
take her dinner in the great hall with the other women who lived in the Keep.

She’d then proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon fretting over what to wear. This would be
her first true public appearance, and she did not wish to shame herself. It had been so much simpler
back home. On the rare occasions when she’d been allowed out of her rooms for official dinners or
holidays, Criston had always decided what clothes she would wear, usually selecting gowns that
were a little too tight for her comfort.

The one time that she’d made the mistake of mentioning this, Arilla had slapped her for her
ingratitude and withheld meals for a week.

After nearly four hours of staring into her wardrobe at the various gowns she’d been given since
coming to Stone Garden, she’d eventually settled on an emerald dress with pretty gold lacework on
the inner sleeves. She’d always favored the color green, which was why she’d never been allowed
to wear it back home.
When Margaery and—surprisingly—Aemma had come to escort her down to dinner, they’d both
complimented her choice of gown, leaving Alicent flustered and unsure how to respond as they’d
ushered her from her rooms and down the winding steps of the Rose Tower.

Upon arriving outside the double doors that led into the great hall, Alicent had initially paused
simply to admire the craftsmanship.

The massive oak doors gleamed golden in the waning sunlight that streamed in through the
windows, smooth and polished as metal. Intricate carvings of rolling fields, blooming gardens, and
ripe orchards adorned the doors’ rectangular panels, and around the borders were painted golden
roses and green vines. The three wrought iron strap hinges that stretched halfway across each
door’s face were as elaborate and ornate as the woodcarvings. Forged in the shape of rose leaves
with curling, thorny vines, but for their color and size, she might have believed them real.

Despite having only planned to delay for a few moments to appreciate the artistry of the doors,
Alicent now found that her feet had frozen in place and refused to carry her any further.

All will be well.

“Alicent, perhaps you’d prefer to return to your chambers?” Aemma asked gently.

Alicent bit her lip, shaking her head. She wanted to enter the great hall. She wanted to share a meal
with others. She wanted to feel as if, as if . . .

It had been so long since she’d shared a pleasant meal with another person.

“We’re still awaiting the return of a good many courtiers and staff,” Aemma assured her, “so it
shouldn’t be too crowded.”

“And you can of course sit wherever you wish,” Margaery added. “With myself and your other
companions, perhaps? Or we could find where Archmagister Luwina or Ambassador Tully are
sitting, if you would prefer?”

Alicent’s grip on her wrist tightened nervously at the thought of seeking out either of those women.

Catelyn Tully of Riverrun was the first woman she’d officially met after emerging from her
chambers, having encountered her while touring the northern knot garden. The Sea Court
Ambassador had seemed almost . . . delighted to meet her, or at the very least fascinated. Alicent
still hadn’t determined why. Whatever the reason, she had no wish to impose upon Ambassador
Tully, who was no doubt enjoying her meal with women that she considered friends.

She also hesitated to trouble Archmagister Luwina with her presence, worried that the chief
librarian might decide to restrict her library access if she became a nuisance. While the old
archmagister had been very patient with and kind to her these past months, Alicent did not yet
know her well enough to determine whether her behavior was mere politeness.

That’s that then. Forcing her shoulders to relax, Alicent released her wrist as she said to Margaery,
“I’d prefer to dine with you and the others.”

Margaery grinned. “Wonderful. Sansa was hoping that you’d decide to sup with us.”
Alicent wondered if that was Margaery’s way of saying that Margaery had been hoping that she
would eat with them, or if Margaery’s satisfaction truly was simply because she knew that Alicent’s
presence would please Sansa. Considering the closeness that she’d observed between the two
women, either interpretation was just as likely.

Aemma tilted her head towards the waiting double doors. “Shall we, My Lady?”

Alicent gave a small nod, managing what she hoped was something approaching a smile. All will
be well. She could do this. And if need be, she could simply leave, could she not? All will be well.

Neither Margaery nor Aemma lifted so much as a finger, and yet the left door eased open all the
same—slowly enough that those within would hopefully not notice—pushed by invisible,
telekinetic hands.

Ah. She’d been wondering if that was how these doors were opened and closed, for they seemed far
too large and heavy to be easily moved even by a Valyrian’s considerable strength. But their
telekinetic strength depends on the strength of their magical cores, not their actual muscles. And
both Margaery and Aemma belonged to Great Houses.

All will be well.

Taking a deep breath to steal her nerves, Alicent strode forward.

Rhaenyra had plainly told Aemma that she did not wish for any fuss, feasts, frolics, or festivities to
mark her birthday, and she’d foolishly thought that her old heart friend would actually heed her in
this. She supposed that it was her own fault for not anticipating that Aemma would find a way
around her orders.

Having served three successive empresses, Aemma Arryn had learned long ago the art of
disobeying while still obeying.

Throughout the day, no one had made any fuss—or even so much as a comment—about it being
her birthday. Supper this evening was nothing to scoff at—the quality of meals had increased
considerably since Chef Gilly’s return—but it was not so grand as to be considered a feast. And she
had yet to witness any unusual frolics or festivities.

Yet the fact that the court was supping in the great hall this evening made plain to all that tonight
was a “special occasion.”

And Aemma didn’t even have the decency to arrive to supper early—as she oft did—so that
Rhaenyra could glare at her without the entire court bearing witness.

A light tapping on her mental wards drew Rhaenyra from her thoughts and back to the great hall.
Recognizing her aunt’s magic, she immediately lowered her wards enough to create a link. “Yes?”

“You ought to at least pretend to listen to Lymna and Bartima bicker about road construction.” Her
aunt’s amusement was as evident in her thoughts as it would have been had she spoken aloud.

“Considering they’ve both been making the exact same arguments for over a year now, I believe I
shall survive without listening to every word of this iteration.” The one benefit of supping in the
great hall was that protocol required her Small Council to sit with her at the high table, meaning
they could continue conducting business during the meal. Unfortunately, the past ten minutes had
been nothing but Lymna and Bartima arguing over whether it was wise, feasible, or necessary to
begin laying down new roads to replace those damaged during the War.

“It’s almost as if they forget that all of our roads are dragon-stone,” Rhaenys mused. “What with
the way Bartima goes on about costs.”

“To be fair to her, dragon-stone roads still require procuring base stone for melting and reshaping,
and that can be costly.” The actual forging of the roads, however, was not. It could be time
consuming for whichever member of their family was tasked with using her magic and dragon fire
to liquify, fuse, and reshape the base stone into dragon-stone, but no woman of House Targaryen
ever accepted more than a modest fee for those services, assuming she accepted payment at all.

“I’ll not sit here and be insulted by you, Lymna,” Bartima snapped, her voice loud and strident
enough to cause both Rhaenyra and Rhaenys to look over at her.

“By all means, stand if you wish,” Lymna retorted.

Rhaenyra rapped her knuckles on the table. “Enough. Both of you. Now is neither the time nor
place for you to be bickering so loudly.”

The two councilors both had the decency to offer her sheepish expressions and quiet apologies
before they returned their attention to their meals.

Rhaenyra resisted the urge to massage her temples, instead tugging on the mental link still
connecting her to her aunt. “You would think that mates who have been bonded as long as those
two would have found better ways of sorting out disagreements.”

Rhaenys chuckled aloud as she picked up her wine glass. “I’m fairly certain that Bartima and
Lymna’s preferred method of conflict resolution involves far less clothing and even louder
shouting.”

Before Rhaenyra could formulate a response, she noticed the scent of freshly baked bread in the air.

Without thought, she immediately redirected her attention to the back of the great hall in time to see
the Lady Alicent enter.

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat.

Mother Relle and All Her Faces.

Lady Alicent was a vision.

Dressed in a gown of green brocade, she shone as bright and striking as an emerald. The inner
sleeves of the dress hugged her slender arms, while the trailing outer sleeves were so long they
almost brushed the floor. The elegant, golden lacework encircling each of her arms just above the
elbow drew the eye to the lighter green lining of the outer sleeves, while also complementing the
gold stitching decorating the gown’s inner sleeves.

Relle above, she looks exquisite in green.

And yet, for all its beauty, it was not the gown that most captivated Rhaenyra, nor was it the way
that Lady Alicent’s lovely auburn hair flowed freely down her back in thick waves, nor was it even
the pretty blush that stained her fair cheeks.

No, what riveted Rhaenyra most of all was the delight shining in Lady Alicent’s achingly
expressive brown eyes as she gazed around the great hall.

Rhaenyra had only been gifted with the sight of that delighted twinkle once before, and it was even
more breathtaking now than it had been the first time.

Warmth bloomed in her chest at the sight of Lady Alicent’s pleasure, and her magic was practically
purring in response to the contentment that washed over her. Merciful Mother, what she would not
do to see Lady Alicent this pleased every moment of the day, what she would not do to forever
banish the shadows from her gentle eyes.

Stunning. Simply stunning.

“Rhaenyra.”

Fighting the urge to growl, Rhaenyra reluctantly dragged her eyes away from Lady Alicent and
refocused her attention on her aunt. “What?”

An amused smirk was curling Rhaenys’ lips as she swirled her wine around in her goblet. “Did
Grandmother Alysanne never teach you that it is impolite to stare?”

Had she been staring? Oh. Seven bloody Hells. She had been staring, hadn’t she? Rhaenyra’s
earlier contentment vanished in an instant as she realized that, more like than not, she had made the
Lady Alicent uncomfortable. Thrice-damned idiot. Her first instinct was to look back at her, to see
for herself if Lady Alicent seemed discomfited, but she didn’t dare. Not now.

Rhaenys’ smirk grew a fraction as she made a point of casting her gaze towards the back of the
hall. “So, this is your mysterious Westerosi guest? The Lady Alicent Hightower emerged at long
last.” She tilted her head slightly, expression thoughtful. “She’s a pretty little thing. Green suits
her.”

“It complements her hair,” Corla agreed from her place seated on Rhaenys’ right. “I suspect that
she would be equally lovely in blue.”

Rhaenyra frowned slightly, misliking the cavalier manner in which her Hand and mistress of laws
were assessing Lady Alicent’s appearance. “Dear Aunt, did Great-Grandaunt Ameera never teach
you that it is impolite to comment on a woman’s appearance behind her back?”

Rhaenys chuckled in response, exchanging a brief smile with her mate—and no doubt an entire
telepathic conversation—before addressing Rhaenyra. “You plainly do not know Grandaunt
Ameera very well. The woman is a gossip without equal.”

Expelling an irritated sigh, Rhaenyra rapped her knuckles on the table once more to draw the
attention of her other councilors. “Mother Lemore, I believe you mentioned earlier that you wished
to discuss preparations for the Feast of Saint Safina?” She could hear her aunt and Corla sharing a
laugh with each other, but she ignored them.
Mother Lemore stared at her in confusion for a brief moment before swiftly regaining her
composure. “Ah. Yes. I was hoping we might consider hiring an acting troupe to reenact the
founding of the Temple this year, as we oft did before the War.”

As Mother Lemore launched into a lecture on the importance of remembering the works of Saint
Septima Targaryen and her Seven Saints, Rhaenyra’s eyes swiftly scanned the lower table in search
of Lady Alicent. Upon finding her, she was relieved to see that Lady Alicent was engaged in what
seemed to be a lively conversation with Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark.

Good. Perhaps my impropriety has not entirely spoiled her evening.

When Alicent entered the great hall, her steps faltered once more as her eyes swept over the
massive, cavernous room. Strong Sytarr, it was magnificent. She’s read descriptions and even found
a few illustrations, but words and paintings could not properly capture the grandeur of the great
hall.

The walls were pale blue marble with golden veins wending and branching throughout like little
rivers of sunlight. The vaulted ceiling high, high above her head was decorated with an enchanted
mural depicting the progression of the seasons. Fresh, pink buds emerged from the soil to greet the
sun, green grasses grew high and swayed with the breezes, crisp leaves swirled in a whirlwind of
reds, oranges, yellows, and browns, and cold snows fell and blanketed the ground before melting
away so the flowers could return.

Dozens of multi-leveled chandeliers crafted from sparkling white crystal floated in midair
overhead, each bearing over a dozen light orbs to illuminate the hall. The wall to her right was
dominated by a window overlooking one of the gardens, while the wall to her left was hung with a
dozen banners.

The banner closest to the front of the hall displayed Kastrell’s golden rose, and closest to the
entryway was a banner bearing the Syvenic Temple’s silver septagram. Hanging between them, she
recognized the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, the red and gold rose of House Tyrell, the
flowers of Clan Meadows, the golden tree of Clan Rowan, the yellow beehives of Clan Beesbury,
the red fox of Clan Florent, the grape cluster of Clan Redwyne, the grey squirrel of Clan Wythers,
and the red apple of Clan Fossoway. The twelfth banner was emblazoned with a roaring silver
dragon.

Long rows of evenly-spaced trestle tables ran from the front of the hall to the back, and hundreds of
women were already seated, their amiable chatter punctuated by the occasional laugh. Gleaming
silverware clinked softly against plates and bowls as the women ate, and the evening sunlight
streaming in through the window glinted off of crystal drinking glasses.

The rich aroma of cooked meats suffused the air, accompanied by the earthy smell of steamed
vegetables and the sweeter scents of fresh fruits. The hall’s warmth seemed to envelop her, as if
attempting to coax her further into the room.

At the front of the hall was a raised dais with seven steps leading up to the high table where the
Queen and her Small Council sat. Behind them hung an exquisite tapestry displaying the coat of
arms of Kastrell. The mantle was deep purple with golden fringe, while the inner lining was
ermine. Two rose stems formed the wreath, and the crest was a stylized version of Queen
Rhaenyra’s official crown. At the center of the mantle was Kastrell’s golden rose on purple, and
affixed to the rose stems framing the mantle were the Queendom’s eight provincial sigils.

“Alicent.”

Alicent nearly leapt out of her skin at the sound of Margaery’s voice, but before she could utter a
word, she suddenly realized that someone was watching her.

Head swiveling slightly, she gulped when she met Queen Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes, instinctively
shrinking back in fear of a reprimand, even though some part of her knew that she wouldn’t be
scolded.

The Queen continued to hold her gaze for a moment longer—a small smile forming on her lips—
before returning to her previous conversation with the woman seated on her right.

Expelling a relieved sigh, Alicent turned to see Margaery giving her an expectant look. “Pardon?”

Margaery smiled wryly. “I asked if we might find our seats soon. You’ve been standing in the
doorway for nearly five minutes.”

Eyes widening as she was told just how long she’d been gawking like a fool, Alicent quickly
shuffled to the side so that she was at least no longer blocking the entrance of the great hall.
Perhaps that was why Queen Rhaenyra was looking at me. She was wondering why I was being so
rude. “I’m sorry.”

“Apologies.”

“What?” Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion at the strange response.

Margaery’s lips pursed for a moment as she exchanged a swift look with Aemma, who simply
shrugged. “I probably should have said something earlier,” Margaery began slowly, “but it was
harmless enough when you were only speaking with us.”

Sytarr above, what have I botched now?

“Now that you’re interacting with more people,” Margaery continued, “you ought to know that we
don’t use the word ‘sorry’ as an apology. It’s an expression of sympathy, not repentance. You’re
sorry about something that’s happened, not for something you did. We say, ‘apologies,’ or ‘my
apologies,’ or ‘please forgive me’ when expressing contrition. Oh, and it’s always ‘please forgive
me,’ never simply ‘forgive me.’ You’re asking for something, not demanding it.”

Alicent blinked owlishly, suddenly remembering all of the times that she had said “sorry” to the
Queen and never once been corrected. “Queen Rhaenyra never mentioned . . .”

“Rhaenyra has visited many worlds where ‘sorry,’ or its equivalent, is used as a phrase of
contrition,” Aemma explained quickly, her smile gentle and reassuring. “She’s always known what
you meant, so she likely didn’t see a need to correct you when you first arrived.”

Margaery nodded in agreement. “Anyone you speak with could figure out what you mean by the
context, but why freeze when there’s a fire?”

Why indeed? So why did Queen Rhaenyra not follow that same logic? While Alicent could
understand the Queen’s initial reticence to correct her, surely she must have known that someone
would eventually inform her that she was using “sorry” incorrectly. If she wished to spare me
feeling foolish, why would she have not corrected me during one of her more recent visits? Sighing
inwardly, Alicent added this new information to the growing list of Queen Rhaenyra’s actions that
she would have to puzzle out later.

Before she could dwell on the matter any longer, Margaery was herding her towards one of the
trestle tables to the right of the central aisle, while Aemma wished her well and then left them to
take her seat at the high table.

As she and Margaery made their way through the great hall, relief washed over Alicent when she
realized that, as Margaery had predicted, few women seemed to have taken notice of her presence.

Upon reaching the table where her other companions had already seated themselves and begun
their meal, Alicent was welcomed with polite smiles and greetings, which she returned almost
without thought.

Sansa’s hand darted out and grabbed Margaery’s arm as soon as the other woman was close
enough, tugging her down to sit on the chair beside her. Margaery laughed good-naturedly, giving
Sansa a playful shove, which earned them both an annoyed grumble from Dyana Darry, who was
sitting on Sansa’s other side.

Alicent herself soon found herself seated between Margaery and Ygritte, an empty plate, bowl, and
glass neatly arranged before her. The silverware glinted in the orb light, looking as if it had been
freshly polished.

Various dishes and drinks were spread out along the length of the table, but the only things within
easy reach were a plate of sliced ham and a decanter of what she was fairly certain was golden-
white wine. While Alicent wasn’t opposed to having ham for dinner, she didn’t dare partake in
alcohol, for fear that it might make her do or say something foolish. She saw that there was a
pitcher of water a little ways beyond Sansa, but she hesitated to bother her since Sansa had only
just resumed her earlier conversation with Dyana.

Before Alicent could begin debating with herself whether or not possible tipsiness was worth
troubling Sansa, Margaery suddenly called out, “Roast chicken on the move!”

A moment later, a silver platter bearing a carved chicken rose up from its place nearly at the other
end of the long table and flew through the air towards them.

Alicent jerked back instinctively as the chicken sailed past her before gliding to an easy stop in
front of where Margaery was sitting and settling down onto the table.

Everyone around her was completely unruffled by the display.

None of the conversations had even faltered.

As Margaery selected a cut of the chicken and put it on her plate, she glanced over at Alicent.
“Would you care for some chicken, Alicent?”

Alicent shook her head, heart still thundering in her chest. Strong Sytarr. “No, thank you.” The
words came automatically as she scrambled to collect her thoughts and attempted to organize them
into something coherent. What Margaery had just done, it must be considered normal. Why else
would no one remark on it? And that was hardly the first casual display of telekinesis I’ve seen
since coming here.

Queen Rhaenyra always used her telekinesis to retrieve what had become her customary chair from
wherever it was in the bedchamber on those nights when Alicent had night terrors. And Alicent had
seen plenty of women using their minds to open doors or carry additional items when their arms
were otherwise full or occupied. But she’d always assumed that Valyrians only employed their
telekinesis when their hands alone were insufficient.

Why hadn’t Margaery simply asked someone closer to the chicken to pass it down to her? That was
what her people did back home, or they had a service bot fetch it.

When she asked the question aloud, Margaery chuckled. “Passing food to someone by hand, or
needing food passed to you that way, is infantilizing.”

Alicent was suddenly very glad that she hadn’t had the chance to ask Sansa to pass her the water
pitcher. “Why?”

“Because only infants younger than five are incapable of using their telekinesis to retrieve items
within their line of sight.” To demonstrate, Margaery’s tableware rose into the air and began
rotating in a lazy circle. “Picking things up and pulling them closer are among the first lessons
we’re taught as babes.”

“Babes,” Alicent repeated, eyebrows rising slightly. How was it that she’d never before taken the
time to consider how Valyrians aged? She knew from her reading that they were an old species,
older even than her own, so the fact that their mental and physical developments were no longer
synchronized was hardly a surprise. Nigh any species whose lifespan exceeded a thousand years
eventually evolved to have some form of asynchronous mental and physical development.

“Considering we spend centuries trapped in our infant and toddler bodies, I suspect that we’d all go
mad if not for our telekinesis.” Margaery set her dinnerware back down on the table and then called
out, “Water on the move!” The water pitcher on the other side of Sansa slid across the table and
into Margaery’s waiting hand. She poured herself a glass then offered the pitcher to Alicent.

As she accepted it, Alicent couldn’t help but ask, “Exactly how slowly do you age?”

“Mentally or physically?” Margaery didn’t miss a beat as she began slicing up her chicken.

“Both.”

“Our mental development is rather rapid, actually, which is why our centuries of infancy are so
interminable. Intellectually, most of us have reached adulthood by our second decade. It’s our
physical aging that is ‘slow,’ if you will.” Margaery was silent for a moment as she considered. “I
believe it is usually easier to explain by comparison.” She set her knife down to reach for her glass.
“How swiftly or slowly do Westerosi age?”

Alicent fell silent herself as she pondered how exactly she might answer that question. Aging
meant something different to nearly every species, and she suddenly understood why Margaery had
asked her to explain Westerosi aging first. But without some sort of common reference point for
comparison, it would be nearly impossible to explain how swiftly or slowly her people aged,
especially since she knew that her own conception of time was vastly different from a Valyrians’.
On Margaery’s other side, Sansa suddenly cleared her throat, leaning forward. “I don’t mean to
eavesdrop, but if I might join in?”

“Please do.” Alicent was fairly certain that Sansa’s background in xenology made her better
equipped than either herself or Margaery to explain comparative aging.

Margaery immediately shifted to one side so that she was only occupying about half of her chair.
“Here.”

Sansa smiled as she slid from her own chair onto Margaery’s, practically seating herself on
Margaery’s lap. “Thank you, Margie.” She turned her attention to Alicent. “Have you read anything
about Terrans? They’re also referred to as Earthlings, Tellans, Tellurians, or Hairless Apes.”

Alicent couldn’t help but laugh at the last name even as she shook her head. “I haven’t come across
any mentions of them, no.”

“Well, they’re a young and primitive species—by any metric—so their mental and physical aging
processes are still synchronous, as well as being rapid and continuous. I’ve found that this makes
them a good control group for comparison.” Sansa paused, clicking her tongue sympathetically.
“The brevity of their lifespan is actually rather sad, in truth. They age and die in a twinkling.”

“Define a ‘twinkling.’” Considering she’d once heard Archmagister Luwina refer to a few million
years as “a short time ago,” Alicent was fairly certain that a Valyrian would consider her own life
expectancy to be a mere “twinkling,” as well. Never mind the even shorter life expectancies of
Lowborn and houseless Westerosi.

“Very few humans live beyond a century, and most die in their eighties or nineties,” Sansa
explained, her words taking on a detached and clinical tone. “Even those that manage to achieve a
‘long life,’ tend to be sad and decrepit creatures, with failing bodies and deteriorating minds. As
with most young and lesser-evolved species, human aging is a relentless process, and each year
takes a harsh toll on their bodies and minds.” Her lips twisted slightly. “Depending on their living
conditions, most are lucky if they don’t see their first wrinkle before their fourth decade.

Alicent’s eyes widened at the thought of developing wrinkles at such an appallingly young age. Her
father had been six thousand seven hundred and fifty-three when she’d married out, and his face
had been as smooth and youthful as her own. How young must this species be, if they still have only
centurial lifespans and such rapid aging? Her own ancient ancestors had once aged and died at a
similar rate, but that had been over a billion years ago.

Sansa cocked her head. “Does this help you with explaining your own aging process?”

Alicent nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” She took a moment to select a slice of ham from the large
platter in front of her and transfer it to her plate, using the time to organize her thoughts.

“During our childhood and adolescence, my people age similarly to Terrans. Our mental and
physical development remain synchronous until we reach maturity at around twenty-five. After
that, our physically aging essentially halts until we reach the final millennium of our life
expectancy. For Highborn Westerosi, we usually live for about eight thousand years, so I don’t
expect to begin developing wrinkles until my seven thousands.”

Well, she wouldn’t have expected to develop wrinkles until her seven thousands. She was fairly
certain that Criston had shortened her lifespan by at least a millennium. “If we take proper care of
ourselves, the highborn can maintain a robust constitution until the day we die.” She stabbed a
piece of her ham. “Lowborn Westerosi only live for about four thousand years, and the houseless
barely even half of that.”

Margaery and Sansa exchanged a brief look then, and it seemed to Alicent that they were having an
entire silent conversation with each other.

Perhaps they were.

She’d read that Valyrians could use their magic to read each other’s minds and exchange thoughts,
though Margaery had assured her that they only did so with permission. “Using telepathy on
someone who is unwilling or unknowing is a form of assault, and it violates both the Golden Laws
and our Ethical Code.”

When Margaery returned her attention to Alicent, there was a slight crease between her eyebrows.
“Have you had a chance to read anything about the Immortalization?”

Alicent shook her head. “No, but Aemma explained to me last winter that Empress Daenerys the
Silver used magic to grant the First Generation immortality.”

Despite being fascinated to learn that Valyrians hadn’t always been immortal, she’d initially
hesitated to seek out any additional information for fear that her reading materials were being
monitored. She’d been terrified that she would be accused of investigating Valyrian weaknesses
and punished accordingly. And while that fear had been more or less banished by Queen Rhaenyra
soothing her night terrors and her daily sessions with Dr. Arwen, she’d yet to make time to research
the Immortalization.

Apparently satisfied with her basic understanding of Valyrian immortality, Margaery explained,
“Before the Immortalization, our Old World ancestors’ average life expectancy was usually
between eight thousand and ten thousand years.”

Alicent couldn’t help but be impressed by how old the Valyrian species must be if they’d been that
long lived before becoming immortal over one billion years ago. She suspected that there were few
species that could claim to have existed for longer.

“And while we’re no longer able to die,” Margaery continued, “we still age as our ancestors did for
the first ten millennia of our lives.”

“What happens after your first ten millennia?” It was plain enough simply by looking around the
great hall that Valyrians did not age indefinitely. And eternal life is nothing but a curse if not
coupled with eternal youth.

“Once we reach our ten thousandth birthday, we can choose to appear as any age that strikes our
fancy. The Immortalization granted us two gifts, you see: our inability to die, and our ability to
regress to any age that we’ve already lived.” Margaery grimaced, her next words echoing Alicent’s
own thoughts. “If not for that second gift, we’d all be little more than sapient piles of dust.”

Sansa nodded in agreement. “We allow ourselves to age normally to the upper bound of our
ancestors’ life expectancy so that we can take full advantage of our ability to shift between ages.”

Alicent suddenly wondered if regressing to a certain age also meant regressing to the exact same
physical condition a Valyrian was in at that particular time. If a woman had a broken arm when she
was two hundred and three and then regressed back to that age, would her arm still be broken?

Margaery gently tapped Sansa’s hip, waiting until the other woman was no longer half on her lap to
say to Alicent, “Unlike your people, our physical aging is continuous, but it’s also considerably
slower.”

Before Alicent could ask what exactly “considerably slower” meant, Margaery suddenly began . . .
shrinking?

In less than a minute, Alicent found herself staring wide-eyed at Margaery as she must have
appeared when little more than a toddler.

Margaery’s dress had not shrunken with her, and she was now practically drowning in the excess
fabric.

“You couldn’t have chosen a slightly older age?” Sansa teased as she scooped Margaery up and
placed her on her lap.

“How old would you say I am, Alicent?”

Alicent nearly fell off of her chair in shock at hearing Margaery’s adult voice coming from a
toddler’s mouth.

Sansa’s shoulders were nearly trembling with the force of her laughter. “My apologies, Alicent, but
you look as if an aschine just emerged from your bath.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Alicent replied distractedly, having already become absorbed with studying
Margaery to determine her age. “I would guess that you’re around two years old,” she finally
decided.

“Hmm.” Margaery tilted her head back to address Sansa. “Help me?”

“Of course.” Sansa gently maneuvered Margaery’s little arms so that they were inside her dress’
sleeves. “Good?”

In response, Margaery began growing, her baby fat giving way to more defined features until she
resembled a slightly younger version of the woman that Alicent had come to know. “Now how old
would you say I am?”

Alicent’s eyes swept over her, noting how the dress fit her almost perfectly save for in a few places.
“Mid-twenties.”

Seemingly satisfied with her demonstration, Margaery returned to her usual appearance, though she
remained perched on Sansa’s lap. “The ages I just showed you were two hundred and twenty-five
hundred.”

Alicent’s first thought was that Margaery actually showing her different ages was much more
effective than a verbal explanation. Her second was determining that “considerably slower”
evidently meant that for every century a Valyrian lived, their bodies only seemed to age about a
year. Well, a year by her people’s standards, prior to when they ceased visibly aging.

Remembering what Margaery had said about Valyrians reaching intellectual adulthood before their
twentieth birthday, Alicent barely managed not to shudder. Being a mental adult trapped within the
body of a babe sounded torturous.

“Honing our telekinesis is essential because it grants us a modicum of independence during those
long centuries of physical infancy,” Margaery was saying. “Most of us are able to perform basic
feats such as pulling or pushing items within our line of sight before our first birthday, though it’s
usually wise not to allow babes to begin telekinetically moving food and drink about until they’re
two or three. Their mental dexterity is much improved by then.”

Margaery paused, absently drumming her fingers on Sansa’s arm. “What I said before about
passing food by hand being infantilizing may have been rather oversimplified. We do pass things
by hand at more intimate meals, but in situations such as this,” she waved to indicate the long
tables filling the great hall, “telekinesis is simply easier.”

Sansa leaned around Margaery to offer Alicent a kind smile. “That said, since you don’t have
telekinesis, you shouldn’t ever feel that you cannot ask us—or whoever you’re supping with—to
pass you something if it’s out of reach.”

Alicent’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “I don’t want to be a bother—”

“And we don’t want you to starve,” Margaery interrupted briskly. “Alicent, accepting help from
others, when you need it, is an honor, not a shame.”

“And we’re happy to help,” Sansa added.

Alicent bit her bottom lip as she looked between the two of them before her eyes shifted to the
other women seated around her. They all offered similar smiles, making her realize that they’d
likely been listening to the entirety of her conversation with Margaery and Sansa.

She suddenly felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth in her chest when she realized that the smiles being
offered—that the help being offered—was not mere politeness. Her companions genuinely simply
wished to ease her burdens. And for no particular reason that she could discern save perhaps . . .
Fondness? Care? Could this possibly mean that we’re becoming . . . friends?

Friends.

Such a strange word. Foreign, in truth. She wasn’t actually certain what it meant to have “friends,”
was not even particularly familiar with the concept of friendship. Long ago, there had been
Adelaide, but—

No. She could not allow herself to remember Adelaide.

“Accepting help from others, when you need it, is an honor, not a shame.”

That certainly wasn’t what she’d been taught as a child. But then, she’d been taught many things as
a child that she was coming to understand had not been very good lessons. So perhaps there truly
was nothing wrong with asking for assistance once in a while.

Perhaps there was nothing wrong with asking a . . . “friend” for help.

Fighting the instinctive urge to duck her head, Alicent forced herself to maintain eye contact with
Margaery as she asked, “Would you mind passing me the strawberries? Please?”

Margaery grinned. “Strawberries on the move!”

 ∞

“Lady Alicent?”

Alicent froze at the sound of Queen Rhaenyra’s voice behind her.

She, Margaery, and Sansa had walked out of the great hall but moments ago, and she could have
sworn that, when they’d left, the Queen had still been seated at the high table and speaking with a
silver-haired woman whom Margaery had referred to as her “hand.”

Turning to face the Queen, Alicent swept a polite curtsy, seeing out of the corner of her eye that
Margaery and Sansa were doing the same.

“Your Majesty,” they greeted.

“Your Majesty,” Alicent echoed, quietly relieved. Though the Queen continued assuring her that
she was free to address her by name, it still felt wrong to do so. Sometimes, she would forget
herself on the nights when Queen Rhaenyra comforted her, but to call the Queen by her given name
in the presence of others was simply not proper.

Besides, she addressed me as “Lady Alicent,” so perhaps she only wishes me to use her name when
we are alone. That would make sense. With that thought, it suddenly occurred to her that—with the
exception of Queen Rhaenyra’s sudden appearance in the library last month—this was the first time
that she’d interacted with the Queen in a public setting since the treaty signing at Dragon Ridge
over a year ago.

Queen Rhaenyra politely returned Margaery and Sansa’s greetings, but her amethyst gaze never
wavered from Alicent, and there was a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she
addressed her. “My Lady, I was hoping that you might allow me the honor of accompanying you
back to your chambers?”

For a moment, Alicent could only stare at her dumbly.

Then her mind began to churn.

She knew that the polite response was to simply smile and nod. She knew that the proper response
was to say that the honor would be hers. She knew that the desired response was to acquiesce and
allow Queen Rhaenyra to escort her to her rooms.

But she also knew—with nearly complete certainty—that if she declined, the Queen would not
scowl at her and scold her. That the Queen would not call her ungrateful and punish her for her
insolence. That the Queen would not disregard her refusal and force her company upon her anyway.

She knew that the Queen’s current smile would not falter, that she would simply nod and take her
leave.

She knew that the Queen did not wish to see her afraid.

But she also somehow knew that the light she could now see glinting in the Queen’s purple eyes
would dim if she said “no.”

She ought to say “yes.” It was Queen Rhaenyra’s birthday, after all. Surely it would be rude to deny
her generous hostess such a simple and harmless request on her birthday. And, if Alicent was being
honest with herself, part of her wanted to say “yes.”

But another part of her was nervous. If she said “yes,” that would mean walking by Queen
Rhaenyra’s side all the way back to her chambers. And while Alicent had grown accustomed to the
Queen’s presence during her sporadic visits to her apartments over the past nine months, this would
be different.

This would be the first time that they had been alone together outside of her chambers in over a
year. And this would be the first time that she had been in such close proximity to the Queen since
her first night within the Queen’s Keep—with the exception of when Queen Rhaenyra had washed
her feet and when she offered comfort following a night terror.

Queen Rhaenyra always took care to maintain a respectful distance between them, but it would
hardly be sensible for them to walk back to Alicent’s chambers on opposite sides of the hallway.

Then, of course, there was the matter of why the Queen wished to accompany her to her chambers.
For surely there must be a reason. Why else seek her out after dinner instead of simply visiting her
rooms on the morrow? But what reason could the Queen possibly have?

She must have been silent for too long, because Queen Rhaenyra’s eyes dimmed as she inclined her
head. “Please forgive me, Lady Alicent. It was rude of me to ambush you as I did. Perhaps—”

“Yes.”

It required every ounce of resolve that Alicent possessed not to slap her hand over her mouth in
mortification. Strong Sytarr, she’d just interrupted Queen Rhaenyra.

«You are a rude, undisciplined, and utterly improper creature, Alicent.» Her mother’s words
echoed in her ears, as strident now as they had been then. She could not even recall what she’d
done to deserve them, but she remembered the coldness of her mother’s eyes, the contempt in her
voice. «I pity the man who must one day take you to wife. He will have to spend every day
correcting you for your loose tongue.»

Her mother would have slapped her until she tasted blood had Alicent dared interrupt her in the
presence of others. Her mother had slapped her until she tasted blood when Alicent had
accidentally interrupted her during a dinner her father was hosting. Criston would have given her to
his friends for the evening to teach her “better uses for her mouth” had Alicent dared interrupt him
in the presence of others. He had always taken a special delight in those nights, in the soreness of
her jaw that would linger for days afterwards.

Alicent bit the inside of her cheek, focusing on her breathing in an attempt to calm herself. She was
being foolish. She knew that. Queen Rhaenyra is not Mother. Nor is she Criston. She does not wish
to see me afraid.

In fact, Queen Rhaenyra did not seem at all vexed by the interruption, merely confused. “Yes
what?”

Feeling her heartbeat slow somewhat in response to the lack of anger or annoyance in the Queen’s
voice, Alicent managed what she hoped was a pleasant smile. “Yes. I would be happy for you to
accompany me back to my chambers.”
The Queen’s confused expression shifted to one of dubiousness. “I don’t wish to impose on you,
Lady Alicent.”

“It’s no imposition,” Alicent assured her. And it truly wasn’t. She didn’t dislike the thought of the
Queen’s company. She was simply nervous. As I am about most things.

Queen Rhaenyra continued to study her face for a moment longer before finally nodding, the smile
returning to her lips. “Very well then. If you’re certain.”

“I am.” Almost entirely, in fact.

Margaery cleared her throat a little. “Shall Sansa and I retire then?”

The Queen didn’t respond, instead looking to Alicent.

Oh. She hadn’t realized that Margaery and Sansa remaining was an option. And while a part of her
was tempted to ask them to stay, she found herself nodding. “Yes. I believe Queen Rhaenyra will
see me safely back to my chambers.”

Margaery and Sansa exchanged a brief look before nodding and wishing Alicent a good evening.
And after offering Queen Rhaenyra the same wishes, as well as two elegant curtsies, Margaery
linked her arm with Sansa’s, and the two of them departed.

Queen Rhaenyra did not offer her arm, but the smile on her face was warm. “Shall we?”

Alicent nodded, falling in step beside the Queen and noticing almost as once that the other woman
seemed to radiate heat. How had she never noticed before? This close, she also couldn’t help but
breathe in the Queen’s rose perfume every time she inhaled, not that she minded. She’d grown
rather fond of the scent over the past nine months.

Not unexpectedly, it was Queen Rhaenyra who broke the silence. “My thanks for allowing me to
walk with you, Alicent.”

She was about to say that it would have been rude of her to refuse, but then she realized that those
words would make it seem as if she’d felt obliged to acquiesce. Alicent had realized a few months
ago that Queen Rhaenyra seemed to dislike when she agreed to things simply because she felt that
she had no choice. But I know that I had a choice here. “You make for pleasant company.” She bit
her tongue to stop herself from using the Queen’s title.

“Do I?” Queen Rhaenyra’s lips pursed slightly before she cleared her throat. “I never did apologize
to you properly, Alicent, for frightening you as I did in the library last month.” Her tone sounded
almost sheepish. “I’ve been meaning to, but it’s been rather difficult to find a spare moment of
late.”

Alicent had honestly nearly forgotten about that encounter. “It was of no consequence,” she assured
her.

The Queen’s expression made plain that she disagreed, but she did not say as much. “All the same,
I apologize for startling you. Truth be told, teleporting about the Keep is not something we oft do,
but,” she paused, “matters were rather pressing.”
Alicent was tempted to inquire about the nature of these “pressing matters,” but she knew better.
Whatever the issue had been was more like than not connected to important Queendom business,
and she knew that she had no right to pry into that. “I hope that Archmagister Luwina was able to
help you find what you needed.”

“She was.” Queen Rhaenyra smiled slightly. “I can’t ever remember a time when she’s been unable
to find a piece of information that I required.” She shook her head a bit. “That isn’t what I wished
to speak with you about though.”

Ah. So there was a reason behind the Queen’s desire to escort her to her chambers. “What is it you
wish to discuss?”

“I have a book that I’ve been meaning to lend you.”

Alicent’s ears pricked up at that, and she couldn’t conceal the excitement in her voice as she looked
at Queen Rhaenyra. “A book?” She knew by now that any book the Queen saw fit to offer her was
certain to be exquisite. Even beyond the precious information contained within their pages, all of
the books from the Queen’s personal collection were beautifully illuminated, each a work of art
unto itself. She oft spent just as much time admiring them as she did reading them.

The warm smile that bloomed on Queen Rhaenyra’s face made Alicent think of the time that she’d
been allowed to spend an entire day with Lora in the gardens. “Yes. It’s Archmagister Aliandra
Martell’s chronicle on teleportation spells. I personally consider it the most digestible analysis and
explanation of the spells’ history and development. Her writing is clear and concise, and she also
provides copious details on the mechanics of the spells.” She glanced over at Alicent. “I hope that,
perhaps, if you better understand how the spells work, they might seem less . . . disquieting.”

Alicent knew that she was grinning like a fool, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care. She’d
been searching for a book about the teleportation spells, but the ones Archmagister Luwina had
offered tended to confuse her more than anything. Her own fault, she knew, but perhaps
Archmagister Aliandra’s chronicle would be different. “Thank you, Your—Rhaenyra. I would very
much appreciate reading that book.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s smile somehow brightened even further. “Then you shall have it.” She suddenly
came to a halt, and Alicent realized that they’d reached the door leading into her chambers.

Oh.

The Queen turned to fully face her for the first time since they’d begun their walk. “Perhaps I could
call on you tomorrow?”

Alicent nodded without hesitation. “Yes, I,” she could feel heat rising in her cheeks, but she forced
herself not to lower her head, “I would like that. Thank you.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s hand lifted slightly, but then fell back to her side. “I hope you sleep well,
Alicent. May Relle Songcrafter fashion you pleasant dreams.”

Alicent echoed her words, but as the Queen turned to leave, she could not stop herself from blurting
out, “Happy Birthday.” She winced, mentally slapping herself. Idiot. Margaery told you that Queen
Rhaenyra doesn’t desire any fuss.
 Something flickered in Queen Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes, but then she was smiling again. “Thank
you, Alicent.”

As Alicent watched her go, she couldn’t help but be pleased that the Queen’s thanks had sounded
truly genuine rather than like a mere courtesy.

Chapter End Notes

Rhaenys and Corla are trolls, and I love them for that. They high-key spent the rest of that
evening telepathically making fun of Rhaenyra together (a la the tourney scene in Episode 1).

Alicent continues to gal pal until the reader's head spins.

Rhaenyra just really wants to give Alicent a hug and make her laugh.

Next Chapter: Alicent starts to get a handle on her empathic abilities.

 Lessons in Empathy
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 15:

– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden

This one ended up being long . . . Oops. Blame Alicent for having no control over her
repressed gayness.

A special thanks to Octavas for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harvest Moon/1,000,122 Visenya VI

Alicent could feel herself trembling, but for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t from fear.

At least, not entirely.

Rising before her, as lovely now as they had been when she’d first laid eyes upon them over a year
ago, were the elegant silver gates that separated the grounds of Stone Garden from the City of
Osmera. The rose-shaped finials gleamed in the morning sunlight, and the bars wrought to
resemble creeping vines looked as if they’d been freshly polished.

Nerves twisted her stomach, and yet, there was anticipation as well, fluttering both gently and
impatiently within her chest. She was excited for her first foray into the city, excited to meet the
women who resided in Osmera and perhaps come to know some them as she had been coming to
know some of the other women who lived in the Queen’s Keep.

The past months had done much to assuage her fears that the other Valyrians hated her for being a
Westerosi, and she liked to think that she was possibly even beginning to form bonds with some of
them. Just last week, Ambassador Catelyn Tully had invited her to afternoon tea, and she’d been
growing more and more comfortable around Archmagister Luwina during all of her time spent in
the library.

She sometimes liked to think that the old librarian might even be developing a sort of fondness for
her.

That Archmagister Luwina did not find her presence in the library a nuisance was a particular
relief. Aside from the gardens—depending on the day and weather—the library was her favorite
part of the palace. She could spend hours curled up on the old, plush chair that she’d found deep in
the third floor history section. It was peaceful in the library, quiet and calm, and yet not isolated.
And while most of the women living in the Queen’s Keep were still little more than vague faces
and names, she found that she enjoyed spending her days among them. She enjoyed asking them
questions and learning more about Valyria from sources other than books. And she enjoyed simply
being around people that she knew—or was fairly certain—would not harm her.

These past months had made her realize—much to her own surprise—that she’d previously been
starved for company and companionship.

It had been a rather peculiar realization, for she’d long thought of herself as a person preferring the
peacefulness of solitude to the noisy company of others. Criston had isolated her for twenty-three
years, and she’d swiftly learned to savor the times when she was left entirely alone in her rooms.

It was Dr. Arwen, during one of their sessions a few weeks ago, who had pointed out that learning
to favor solitude because it was preferable to the alternative was not the same as actually enjoying
solitude. Alicent had grown up surrounded by thirty-one siblings, six mothers, her father, and all of
the various men, women, and children who had also lived and worked in Tamworth Palace, after
all. Loneliness was not something she’d truly experienced until her marriage.

“Learning to prefer solitude did not erase your natural inclination towards seeking companionship,
Alicent. It merely made it easier for you to retreat to the safety of seclusion when you first arrived.”

Being around people again—people she wasn’t terrified of—had given her back a piece of herself
that she hadn’t even realized was missing. Alicent knew that she could have survived being alone
for the rest of her life, but she also now knew that she wouldn’t have been truly living.

“There exists a difference between merely surviving and actually living,” Margaery had told her the
day they’d met, and Dr. Arwen had oft emphasized the significant difference between living and
merely surviving. But it hadn’t been until she’d begun exploring the Queen’s Keep and interacting
with the courtiers and staff that Alicent had fully comprehended what they meant.

Last month, Margaery and Sansa had persuaded her to finally venture into the outer ward. When
she’d approached the imposing briar hedge for the first time since coming to Stone Garden, a small
part of her had worried that it wouldn’t open for her, that it would remain as unmoving as ever and
prove that she was indeed still a prisoner.

But the thorny tendrils hadn’t hesitated to create a doorway once she was close enough, nor had
they attempted to close around her as she passed through them.

In the weeks that followed, she’d become quite familiar with the northern, eastern, and western
gardens, oft spending hours at a time outside among their flowers, orchards, and water features.
Always wrapped in a cloak to ward against the autumn winds. Her companions had also shown her
around what Ygritte referred to as the “southern ward,” which housed the throne room, stables, and
training yard, among other things.

When Margaery had suggested leaving the palace grounds and venturing out into the city, Alicent
had initially balked. She’d never much considered exploring Osmera, disliking the thought of being
so exposed and vulnerable. The prospect of being surrounded by so many new sights, sounds, and
smells—to say nothing of all the new people and their emotions—had left her staring blankly at
Margaery for a good five minutes.

Sytarr above, she was still learning her way around the Queen’s Keep and Stone Garden, and the
possibility of becoming lost in Osmera had terrified her.
“You won’t become lost,” Margaery had assured her. “We’ll all be with you, and even if you were
somehow separated from us, finding you again by scent or with magic would be but a small
matter.”

Not so long ago, Alicent would have been alarmed to learn how nigh impossible it would be to
escape from a Valyrian pursuer. But Margaery’s words the other day had instead given her a
peculiar sense of comfort. Her companions would not lose her. She would not be abandoned among
strange and unfamiliar surroundings, surrounded by strange and unfamiliar women.

Margaery’s words had also prompted Alicent to ask her what she meant when she said they could
“find her by scent.”

“Smell is the most acute of our senses,” Margaery had replied with a shrug. “Everyone has a
unique scent, and nine times out of ten, we’ll scent someone long before we hear them, never mind
see them.”

“Our strong sense of smell is what allows us to communicate and signal with pheromones,” Sansa
had added, evidently not realizing that Alicent hadn’t known Valyrians could perceive and
communicate with pheromones.

Curiosity piqued, Alicent had made a mental note to research the issue at a later date.

Now, standing before Stone Garden’s silver gates, Alicent reminded herself once more that she
would not become lost in the city, that she would not be abandoned by her companions, that all
would be well.

Beside her, Margaery cleared her throat to draw her attention. “Are you ready to depart, Alicent?”

Taking another deep breath to steady her nerves, she gave a small nod. “Yes.”

The gates swung open on silent hinges, offering Alicent an unobstructed view of the smooth, stone
pathway that led from the palace gates down to the River Calsidren. Stone Garden had been built
atop a broad, verdant hill overlooking the mighty river, which flowed through the city from east to
west. Small purple and yellow flowers bordered the stone path, and to the right, she could see the
outermost trees of an apple orchard.

There was a small barge waiting near the river’s edge, watched over by Ygritte and Talya, and held
in place by either their telekinesis or water elementalism. Both women waved when they saw the
gates open.

All will be well. I won’t become lost. Margaery and the others will take care with me. All will be
well.

It had been over twenty-four years since she’d last truly been out in public, since she’d been
allowed to venture beyond the grounds of her current residence. Criston had confined her to Wasran
Palace once he’d learned that she was barren, and even before then, he’d been loath to allow her too
much freedom during the early months of their marriage. At the time, she’d foolishly thought that it
was because he cared.

During the long starship journey from Westeros to Valyria, she’d been sequestered with Arilla,
Sabina, and Vesna, which had been its own form of torture. During the war, Criston had locked her
away in a small, windowless room within the Penrhyn military fortress, but at least she’d been
alone more oft than not.

No one will harm me. I remain the Queen’s guest, even if not physically beneath her roof. She could
do this. It was no different from when she’d left her rooms for the first time. One step forward. And
then another. She could do this.

She wanted to do this.

Rather foolishly, Alicent was surprised when she didn’t detect any noticeable difference upon
finally walking through the silver gates and leaving the palace grounds. The stone beneath her feet
felt as smooth and solid outside the gates as it had inside. The morning sun overhead warmed her
just the same. The cool, autumn breeze tickling her cheeks felt just as crisp. The birdsong sounded
just as sweet. The grass of the open meadows on either side of the path looked just as green.

Feeling somewhat more relaxed now, she followed Margaery and Sansa down the hill to where
Talya and Ygritte were waiting, her other companions close behind.

Alicent’s eyes swept over the barge, which was painted dark red and bore the name Lady Wanderer
in black letters. The long, flat-bottomed boat had fourteen wooden bench seats evenly spaced
between the bow and stern, and a purple canopy protected the five backmost benches from the sun.
She didn’t see any signs of oars or oarlocks.

As Margaery helped her aboard, Alicent noted that the barge didn’t shift at all under her added
weight. Once onboard, she selected one of the benches near the bow, wanting to feel the sun on her
face. Margaery and Sansa sat down beside her, while Dyana and Hella took the bench directly
behind them. Valindra retreated to a bench beneath the canopy, and Alicent was fairly certain that
she heard the Nordish woman mutter something about the “southern sun” under her breath.

Ygritte climbed into the front of the boat and Talya the back, but neither sat down. Alicent watched
curiously as Ygritte raised her arms and began moving her hands in a gentle push and pull motion
that resembled the movement of a wave.

The barge shifted in response, angling away from the bank and beginning its westward journey
down the river. It glided over the water as smoothly as any hovercraft back home, and Alicent
could almost forget that she was sitting in a boat at all. Twisting around, she saw that Talya was
making the same wave-like motions as Ygritte.

Margaery sighed contentedly as she tilted her head back, evidently enjoying the bracing breeze that
flowed past them. “It shouldn’t take us long to reach Aenara’s Garden,” she said. “Ygritte and
Talya used to race gondolas back in Norden.”

“And we always won,” Ygritte declared proudly, not taking her eyes off of the river. “Speed of the
voyage, smoothness of the glide, and control over the craft. We always scored top marks in all
three.”

“You boat race in Norden?” Alicent wouldn’t have thought that the frozen tundra would be
conducive to such maritime activities. She gave Sansa a questioning look. “Aren’t your rivers
frozen?”

“Technically.” Sansa leaned to one side and extended one of her hands out over the water. “Ice
float,” she warned. The second word was barely out of her mouth before her arm swooped upwards
and about five square feet of water froze out in front of them.

The barge didn’t waver for an instant, easily dodging the ice.

“Shifting water between its three states is one of the first things water elementals learn to do once
we’ve mastered the basics,” Sansa explained, blue eyes glinting. “Back home, it was simply a
matter of finding a river, unfreezing it, and ensuring that it remained liquid until the end of the
race.”

“The possibility that parts of the river might refreeze mid-race is half the fun,” Talya called from
behind them. “Ice dodging is a time-honored tradition in my Clan.”

Alicent couldn’t help but shudder at those words. She remembered reading stories about ancient
ships running aground on hidden rocks and sinking after their hulls were penetrated by some
unseen obstacle concealed beneath the waves. She imagined that striking an iceberg would have
similarly disastrous results. Perhaps it’s less daunting for them because they cannot die in the
freezing water.

Not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like, to not fear death.

Alicent swiftly shut the door behind herself—nearly slamming it closed—and slumped back
against the heavy wood with a ragged sigh. Her stomach roiled, and she could feel the beginnings
of a headache threatening to further exacerbate her dizziness. Emotions that were not her own
somehow continued crashing over her in unforgiving waves, making her groan aloud.

Venturing out into the city had been a mistake.

But she’d been practicing blocking out multiple people’s emotions for months now, had managed
well enough during Queen Rhaenyra’s birthday dinner in the great hall, and she’d thought that she
would be strong enough to handle an hour or so surrounded by the women of Osmera.

Fool. Wretched, arrogant fool.

Sytarr, she’d been such an idiot.

When she’d felt the first flicker of someone else’s emotions—curiosity, so nothing too terrible—
she’d immediately focused on blocking it out, but then more emotions had begun battering against
her, and her walls had crumbled. The devastating cacophony had swiftly overwhelmed her, had
nearly forced her to her knees, and she’d begged Margaery to take her back to the Queen’s Keep,
claiming a sudden illness. Margaery had plainly been startled and bemused by the abrupt request,
but she’d done as Alicent asked nonetheless.

Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, Alicent struggled to bring her breathing back
under control. In and out. In and out. In and out. She was no longer drowning in a sea of other
people’s emotions. She was alone now. She was safe behind thick stone walls and multiple rooms.
In and out. In and out. In and out.

Strong Sytarr, she’d known that it would be a mistake to surround herself with so many new women
and their emotions. She’d known that. But she’d allowed her own foolish yearning to explore
Osmera and immerse herself in the city that she’d only ever caught glimpses of to prevail over her
good sense. She’d stupidly convinced herself that she’d be able to cope, that her ability to block out
ambient emotions was only becoming better.

Idiot. Her fingers curled tightly around her scarred wrist.

You never should have tried to behave as one of them, her mother’s voice sneered. Alicent clenched
her jaw and attempted to banish the voice, but it only seemed to laugh at her pathetic efforts. You’re
an outsider. They’ll never accept you, and you know it. You can’t even leave the palace grounds
without collapsing. You’re trapped in a gilded cage, Alicent. Again. You’ve never actually been
free. Today was merely a reminder of the truth you’ve worked so hard to deny.

“Stop it,” she gritted out. “I’m not trapped. Not anymore.” She hadn’t been since coming to Stone
Garden.

“Alicent?” The sound of Queen Rhaenyra’s muffled voice coming through the door made her jump,
though she thankfully did not make any embarrassing noises. “Alicent, may I please come in?”

Oh, Sytarr, why now? She was tempted to deny the Queen’s request, but that would be poor
manners, and Queen Rhaenyra sounded . . . almost anxious. I shouldn’t cause her unnecessary
stress. Running her hands back through her hair, Alicent closed her eyes for a moment to collect
herself. All will be well. It’s only Queen Rhaenyra. I’ve never had trouble blocking her emotions.

Opening her eyes and stepping back from the door, she called out, “You may come in.”

The door swung open, and Queen Rhaenyra entered. Concern creased her forehead as she looked
Alicent up and down. “Lady Margaery told me you are feeling unwell. Should I send for a
physician? Dr. Gerarda is away at present, but most of Spring Song Hospital’s staff has returned.”

The genuine worry in Queen Rhaenyra’s voice caused a strange warmth to bloom in Alicent’s
chest, though she quickly smothered it and forced a smile onto her face. “That is very kind, but
unnecessary. It seems I was suffering only from nerves, not an actual illness.”

Queen Rhaenyra peered at her, expression turning thoughtful. “Nerves,” she repeated slowly.

Something about the new tone of her voice made Alicent’s anxiety flare, and she had to resist the
instinctive urge to back away. Queen Rhaenyra won’t harm me. And she does not wish to see me
afraid.

The Queen cocked her head slightly. “Do you mind if we sit?”

Shaking her head, Alicent quickly retreated to the nearest settee and sat down. She knew that the
Queen would sit beside her, which meant that Alicent wouldn’t have to look at her or try to avoid
her eyes. That was good. For reasons she couldn’t explain, it tended to be easier to block out
emotions when she wasn’t looking the person in the eyes. Lacing her fingers together, she folded
her hands in her lap as she waited for Queen Rhaenyra to join her.

As always, Queen Rhaenyra left plenty of space between them.

Alicent allowed herself to steal a swift glance to the side, just long enough to see that the Queen
wore a pensive expression, just long enough to see that the other woman was carefully weighing
her next words. Damn it.
“Alicent, may I ask you something?”

She forced herself not to wince, forced her voice to remain steady. “Of course.” Her answer didn’t
actually matter. She knew that. The question to come was inevitable. Ever since the night when the
Queen had washed her feet, Alicent had known that, eventually, this question would come. Even if
she’d said “no,” she would only be delaying the inevitable. If the Queen did not ask now, then she
would simply wait and ask later. Might as well be now.

Alicent could feel Queen Rhaenyra’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn her head
and meet the other woman’s gaze. I should have said, “no.” She wasn’t ready. Not for this. Not for
—

“How long have you been able to sense other people’s emotions, Alicent?”

The question was spoken softly, gently.

And Alicent felt as if she might actually be ill.

Eleven months. Two weeks. Three days.

That was how long she’d been dreading this question.

She still wasn’t certain how the Queen had learned of her affliction, and she supposed that it didn’t
much matter. Queen Rhaenyra knew. And Queen Rhaenyra had decided that now was the time to
confront her about it.

Back home, Alicent would have been denounced as an abomination, as an affront to Sytarr. Had her
mother or Criston or anyone else ever learned of her affliction, she would have been killed
immediately.

But here . . .

Queen Rhaenyra does not wish to see me afraid.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Alicent steeled her nerves and slowly turned so that she was properly
facing the Queen, who was watching her intently. She won’t be angry with me. I didn’t choose to be
born with this curse. She doesn’t wish to see me afraid. Yet the words did little to soothe her. How
could they, when fear of discovery had held her by the throat for nearly five decades?

“I,” she swallowed a little, fingers curling tighter around her wrist, “ever since I was young. I don’t
. . . I don’t know why I’m so afflicted—”

“Afflicted?” Something flashed in Queen Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes, but it wasn’t anger or upset.
“You consider your gift an affliction?”

Alicent stared at the Queen, her earlier anxiety beginning to give way to confusion. Gift? No.
Surely she had misheard. Or perhaps whatever magic allowed her to understand Valyrian was
suddenly failing. Is that even possible?

But then Queen Rhaenyra shook her head. “My apologies, Alicent. That was a foolish question. Of
course you would consider it an affliction, under your circumstances.” She paused. “It needn’t be
though.”
“What do you mean?” Could it be that the Valyrians had some cure for her affliction? She couldn’t
imagine why or how they would have created such a thing, but that hardly mattered. If there was a
way to permanently remove her queer ability—

“If you learn to control your gift, it won’t overwhelm you as it has been.”

She says that as if it is but a simple matter. But . . . the Queen’s voice, her gentle expression . . . it
was almost as if she understood. Perhaps she did? Alicent knew precious little about Queen
Rhaenyra, save for what Aemma had told her and what she herself had observed. The Queen
usually seemed disinclined to answer questions about herself when they spoke, so Alicent refrained
from asking. “How do you know this?”

“Because your gift—what you can do, it’s a rare thing, to be sure, but not unheard of.” Queen
Rhaenyra paused again. “Not here, at least.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat. No. Surely she could not mean—

“We call it empathy, the ability to sense and influence the emotions of others. Only about one in
every one hundred thousand Valyrians is born an empath.”

One in every one hundred thousand.

Something between an incredulous laugh and a wracking sob burst from her, and Alicent
instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing tight as her body began rocking back and
forth. Great Sytarr. Of course. Of course she’d somehow been cursed with an ability that Valyrians
apparently possessed as well. And only a small handful, at that. How was that even possible?

It couldn’t be . . .

It shouldn’t be . . .

And yet . . .

Her throat felt tight, her eyes beginning to sting. I could almost be forgiven for thinking Sytarr
made a mistake with me.

Her heart thundered in her chest, her blood roaring in her ears. Perhaps I was never meant to be a
Westerosi. Sytarr knows I’ve always been a rather wretched one.

Her stomach twisted and clenched in response to the blasphemous thought, her breaths becoming
more and more ragged. Sytarr doesn’t make mistakes. He only inflicts punishment upon those who
violate his laws.

This . . . “empathy” was simply another punishment.

“Alicent.”

A choked, wheezing whine escaped her lips as she struggled for breath. She couldn’t breathe.
Sytarr, why couldn’t she breathe? She needed to breathe. Needed more air. Focus. Focus. Focus. In
and out. In and out. All is well. All is well.

“Alicent, can you hear me?”

She whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as she desperately tried to focus on her own heartbeat, tried to
remember what Dr. Arwen had said about grounding herself. Sytarr, she was exhausted, still
drained from trying to block out so many emotions earlier. Not now. Not now. Not now. She never
should have let Queen Rhaenyra into her chambers.

“My apologies.”

The words were so far away.

But suddenly Alicent gasped when she felt herself being lifted up from the settee only to be set
back down a moment later.

Warm.

She was seated on something warm.

Strong arms wrapped around her, hugging her tight and drawing her closer to the warmth.

The sweet scent of roses washed over her, saturating her senses and somehow relaxing muscles that
she hadn’t even realized were coiled with tension.

“Breathe with me, Alicent. Feel the rise and fall of my chest. Listen to the sound of my heartbeat.
You can do it.”

Exhaling shakily, Alicent tried to obey, tried to focus on the steady thrum of the Queen’s heartbeat.
She gulped when she felt a gentle hand guide her head so that her ear was pressed against the
Queen’s chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. She could feel the steady inhales and exhales beneath her
cheek, tried to match her own with them. In and out. In and out. In and out.

“Good, Alicent, good.” One of the Queen’s hands began gently stroking her back in the way that
Alicent had come to find comforting over the past six months. “A few more deep breaths now. Very
good. That’s right. Just like that. You’re doing so well, Alicent.”

“You’re doing so well, Alicent.”

Sytarr above. She’d heard those words from Dr. Arwen many times during their sessions, but
hearing them from Rhaenyra . . . hearing them spoken in her low, soothing voice . . .

Warmth spread through her, warmth . . . and a sense of calm that Alicent was almost certain wasn’t
actually her own. But she didn’t care. She was so, so tired. She didn’t have the strength to try and
block out whatever foreign emotions might be seeping into her, nor did she even particularly want
to, not when they were helping to steady her breathing and ease the tightness in her chest.

The Queen drew her impossibly closer, and Alicent willingly sank into her embrace, soaking in the
strange, comforting sense of safety that the other woman had been providing her all these months
each time that Alicent woke from a night terror.

In and out. In and out. In and out. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. The Queen does not wish
me harmed.

...
Even after the panic at last receded, even after Alicent went limp in her arms as familiar waves of
exhaustion washed over her, Queen Rhaenyra continued to hold her and rub her back, continued to
murmur gentle assurances and quiet praise in her ears.

It was so strange and yet so familiar, all at once.

How many nights had she awoken enveloped by Queen Rhaenyra’s warmth? How many nights had
she awoken feeling strong arms wrapped securely around her? How many nights had she awoken
breathing in the sweet scent of roses? How many nights had she awoken hearing the rich timbre of
Queen Rhaenyra’s voice in her ears?

She’d lost count.

But this was the first time that Queen Rhaenyra had comforted her during the daylight hours.

As the haze of panic cleared from Alicent’s mind, she suddenly remembered what the Queen had
said when describing “empathy.”

“The ability to sense and influence the emotions of others.”

Alicent thought back to the night when Queen Rhaenyra had washed her feet, remembered the
wave of tranquility that the Queen had tried to push towards her. She’d known then that Queen
Rhaenyra was attempting to manipulate her emotions, but she’d assumed that the calm being
projected was simply the Queen’s own. Now . . .

“You’re an empath, aren’t you?” Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears, but that wasn’t why
she winced. She knew that Queen Rhaenyra misliked answering questions about herself. She knew
that. She shouldn’t have . . . But perhaps she won’t mind in this instance?

After all, Alicent was still wrapped in Queen Rhaenyra’s arms, still curled on her lap. The Queen
was still stroking her back and had offered no indication that she wished for Alicent to remove
herself.

The hand on her back paused for a split second before resuming its rhythmic motions. “Yes. I am.
So I do understand how overwhelming our gift can be.”

“Our gift.”

Alicent was struck by a peculiar sense of pleasure upon hearing those words. Our gift. She’d spent
so long believing that she was alone, believing that her queer ability made her an abomination.
Knowing well the inevitable consequences of discovery, she’d lived in terror of someone somehow
realizing what she was, realizing what she could do. And while she hadn’t often allowed herself to
dwell on the cold reality of her situation, she knew that she’d been living under the threat of death
long before she’d been married to Criston.

“Our gift.”

But she wasn’t alone. Not here. Not on Valyria. Queen Rhaenyra had said that about one in every
one hundred thousand Valyrians was born an empath. If she was correctly recalling a population
figure she’d seen several months past, that meant there were at least ninety-four other Valyrian
empaths somewhere on the planet, including the Queen. Rare, but not unheard of.
“Our gift.”

She’d been wrong about being alone. So perhaps . . . perhaps she’d been wrong about the other
matter as well? Perhaps her ability did not make her such an abomination?

She knew what Sytarr’s Scriptures would have to say about such blasphemy. She knew what her
mother would have said about such despicable thoughts. She knew what Criston would have said
about such wicked ideas. They all would have told her that she was wrong, that she was a fool for
even considering the possibility that her ability made her anything less than damned in Sytarr’s
eyes.

Her people would have called her so-called “empathy” a curse.

But Queen Rhaenyra had called it a gift.

“Our gift.”

Queen Rhaenyra had always been so kind to her, so gentle.

Her mother had hated her from the day she was born.

Criston had hated her from the moment he’d learned she was barren.

Sytarr, it seemed, had hated her even before she’d come into existence.

Alicent understood now that her people had been wrong about a great many things.

Perhaps they were wrong about her strange ability as well?

“If you learn to control your gift, it won’t overwhelm you as it has been.”

If she learned to control it.

“So I do understand how overwhelming our gift can be.”

Can be. Implying that it needn’t always be.

Slowly lifting her head from where it was resting on Queen Rhaenyra’s chest, Alicent waited until
the other woman noticed and looked at her. “You said . . . I mean, you implied that I can learn to
control my affl—my gift?”

Something that almost seemed like relief flashed across the Queen’s face as she nodded. “You can,”
she assured her. “Actually, I know for a fact that you’ve already figured out how to reactively block
emotions, which is very good, and quite impressive, considering you’re entirely untrained.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s praise caused the strange warmth from before to return, stronger this time, and
Alicent quickly ducked her head again to hide the blush that she could feel spreading across her
cheeks. “It was, um, rather a matter of necessity.”

«A lady does not say um.»

“I would imagine so,” Queen Rhaenyra murmured, her tone soft and sympathetic. “On Westeros,
you would have been shielded from your own ability by the nth metal in your clothes, but here,”
she sighed, “it must have been devastating.”

Nth metal.

Of course. Sytarr above, Alicent felt like such a fool.

She’d deduced from whispered conversations regarding the war that “nth metal” was what
Valyrians called sytarrium. This blessed gift from Sytarr had raised her people from the depths of
savagery, allowing them to defy gravity, heal wounds, shield against extreme temperatures, create
countless technologies, and—apparently—deflect magical attacks.

Long ago, her ancestors had begun weaving flecks of refined sytarrium into their clothes as a way
to protect themselves from harsh weather conditions and to facilitate the accelerated healing of
potential wounds. From what she’d gathered, this practice was what had made her people immune
to traditional Valyrian attacks during the first half of the war.

That’s why I could only sense people’s emotions when I was naked before coming here, because I
was unshielded. Strong Sytarr. How could she have not made the obvious connection earlier? How
could she have not realized that her clothing was what had protected her back home?

“If you’d like,” Queen Rhaenyra paused a moment, shifting slightly beneath Alicent, “I can teach
you how to control your gift. You’ve already taught yourself to create reactive wards, of course, but
I can teach you how to create persistent wards.”

Wards?

“A persistent ward will prevent other people’s emotions from overwhelming you as they did
today,” the Queen hastened to explain, evidently seeing her confusion. “Assuming you still desire
to be among large crowds.”

For a brief moment, Alicent allowed herself a bright, hopeful smile at the prospect of being able to
once again move freely among people without needing to constantly fear being overwhelmed by
their emotions. But then she remembered that Queen Rhaenyra had far more important duties to
attend to than training her, and her smile withered. “I don’t wish to be a burden—”

“You wouldn’t be.” Queen Rhaenyra waved away her concern with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
“I’m well aware of how much free time I have in my day, Alicent. Helping you won’t be any
trouble at all.”

That simply couldn’t be true. Alicent knew how busy Aemma had become since more and more
women had begun returning to Stone Garden. And she knew from her companions that the Queen
apparently made a habit of refusing to delegate. She knew that Queen Rhaenyra had more
important matters to attend to than her and her silly comforts.

She knew that she wasn’t worth the Queen’s time.

I already inconvenience her every time I have a night terror. How can I begin stealing her daylight
hours as well?

It would be selfish of her to accept Queen Rhaenyra’s offer, much as she yearned to.

And yet . . .
Surely the Queen would not offer if she truly lacked the time?

She’s merely being polite. Nothing more.

But all of Queen Rhaenyra’s previous offers had been genuine, had they not?

Queen Rhaenyra had come to her chambers out of . . . concern for her and her well-being. Queen
Rhaenyra was herself an empath and understood how overwhelming their ability could be. Queen
Rhaenyra was gazing at her with such a kind expression . . .

If I say “no,” will I be forever trapped within the walls of Stone Garden?

But if I say “yes,” perhaps the Queen will grow vexed with my presence. Perhaps she will grow to
resent me for wasting so much of her time.

Alicent shied away from the mere thought of Queen Rhaenyra’s displeasure.

The Queen gave her back a gentle pat. “You needn’t decide now, Alicent. I only wanted you to
know that it will be no trouble at all for me to teach you.”

By sheer force of will, Alicent managed a smile that was almost entirely free of anxiety. “Thank
you for your offer, Your—Rhaenyra. I will consider it duly.”

As previously discussed in Chapter 2, of the five sensory functions, smell is both the strongest
and—arguably—the most integral. This is in part due to Valyrians’ reliance on pheromone
signaling for scent identification and basic communication.

Pheromones are chemical signals produced within the body that, once released and detected,
have the potential to affect the behavior or physiology of others. The most commonly
produced and well-understood of these chemical signals are dominance, submission,
aggression, calming, claiming, fear, contentment, and arousal pheromones.

The amount of influence a woman’s pheromones may have on another depends upon a variety
of factors, the most prevalent of which is pre-existing emotional connections. For example, an
anxious or frightened woman will respond far better to the calming pheromones of a close
friend or family member than she would to those of a complete stranger.

The type of pheromone being released also plays a role in its influence. For example,
dominance and submission pheromones will produce the same instinctive reactions in
strangers as they do in close friends or family. Arousal pheromones are similar, albeit with the
caveat that a mated woman’s arousal pheromones only ever call to her mate.

Pheromones can be divided into two broad categories: signals and releasers.

Aggression, claiming, contentment, and fear pheromones are classified as signals because
their primary purpose is informing those who detect them of a woman’s current emotional
state or condition. Claiming pheromones, it should be noted, differ from the others because
they indicate the condition of another woman rather than the woman producing them.

Dominance, submission, and calming pheromones are classified as releasers because they can
alter behavior by triggering the release of neurotransmitters in the brains of those who detect
 them. For example, calming pheromones relax those in distress by triggering the brain to
release calming neurotransmitters.

Arousal pheromones are classified as both a signal and a releaser. In addition to

communicating a woman’s present state of arousal, these pheromones have the ability to
trigger the release of norepinephrine and other sex-linked neurotransmitters in order to make
those who detect them more physically receptive to sex.

It should be noted and always remembered that while releaser pheromones produce instinctive
reactions and impulses, they in no way subjugate a woman’s free will, nor do they provide
justification for bad acts. For example, while an unmated woman’s arousal pheromones
naturally trigger the instinctive desire for sex, detecting such pheromones would never justify
rape.

Additionally, as with all other biological impulses, women can and ought to train themselves
to ignore and not act upon such instincts. For such is the nature of sapience.

Moreover, women can oft exercise varying levels of control over the release of their own
pheromones. While the production and secretion of pheromones is oft subconscious and
instinctive, once a woman becomes aware that she is pheromone signaling, she can usually
halt the subsequent release of those signals.

Alicent looked up from her book when she heard a knock on her study door, her head swiveling to
check the clock and her teeth sinking into her lower lip when she confirmed the time. I shouldn’t be
fretting so. Queen Rhaenyra would not have made her offer if she hadn’t meant it. So surely this
isn’t so great an inconvenience.

Surely.

Alicent had tried.

She’d tried to find some alternative method for learning to control her empathy that wouldn’t
require monopolizing Queen Rhaenyra’s precious time. She’d combed the library for books on
empaths and empathy, but her search had merely resulted in two days sequestered on the third floor
history section reading about the Enchantress Massacres on the Old World.

Apparently, long, long ago on the Old World, empaths—or enchantresses, as they’d been called
then—had been much more common. Comparatively speaking. The men of the Old World had
come to loathe such women for their apparent penchant for “bewitching men and using their
feminine wiles to bend them to their will.”

Following something called “Wyrd Fall,” the kings and great lords of the Old World had begun
hunting enchantresses mercilessly and slaughtering them by the thousands. Countless women
simply accused of being enchantresses had also been murdered. By the time the Massacres had
come to an end, every known enchantress and enchanter bloodline had been eradicated. And
afterwards, those born with empathic abilities had either learned to hide them well, or had honed
them to the point that they could use their gift without detection.

Similar to when she’d listened to the testimonies contained in Why Men Were Banished From
Valyria, as she’d read through Archmagister Alerie’s personal account of having to conceal her
empathy for the first nearly seven thousand years of her life, Alicent had often found herself
nodding in agreement or understanding with something Archmagister Alerie had written. The
mind-numbing fear of discovery, the exhaustion of constant vigilance, the endless yearning to
simply be rid of the ability—she’d experienced all of it.

It was Archmagister Alerie’s account that had finally prompted Alicent to accept Queen Rhaenyra’s
offer.

Hence the knock on her study door.

Alicent quickly marked her place and set her book aside before calling, “Come in.”

When Queen Rhaenyra entered the room, she greeted Alicent with a polite smile before her eyes
settled on the book Alicent had placed on the table beside her chair. “Magister Renora’s Biological
Anthologies.” She arched an eyebrow, cocking her head slightly. “Is there a particular trait that’s
caught your fancy?”

An embarrassed flush began to creep into Alicent’s cheeks as she suddenly wondered if Queen
Rhaenyra would consider it rude for her to be researching Valyrian physiology. “Margaery
mentioned the other day that Val—that your people are capable of perceiving pheromones. I was
curious.”

“I see.” Something akin to amusement flickered briefly in the Queen’s amethyst eyes. “Well, I
suppose it’s an appropriate topic, considering what we’ll be doing today.” As she crossed the room,
she telekinetically pulled one of the empty chairs over and placed it beside Alicent’s. “How far are
you into your research?”

“I’ve only just begun reading the overview.” Alicent paused, waiting until the Queen was seated to
tentatively ask, “What exactly is the difference between pheromone signaling and empathy?” From
what she’d read thus far, the two seemed to be strikingly similar.

“I suppose you could say it’s a difference in precision. Pheromone signaling only allows for
communicating basic, instinctive emotions such as fear or anger, whereas empaths can sense and
identify more nuanced emotions such as concern, elation, indecision, humiliation, affection, or
excitement.”

“So only empaths can sense higher order emotions?” It made sense, she supposed, that a mere
biological function would be less refined than . . . whatever empathy was. Is it considered a form of
magic? No. Surely not. Westerosi did not possess magic.

Queen Rhaenyra hesitated a moment before nodding. “Yes. In a manner of speaking. Magic can
replicate certain properties of empathy, but only to an inferior degree. You or I will always have
more finesse when influencing emotions than a woman using magic, and while magic can be used
to identify emotions, it doesn’t allow a sorceress to feel them as we do.” She smiled wryly. “Of
course, the price of our gift is that we must learn to shield ourselves so we do not become
overwhelmed by all of the emotions surrounding us. That is what I want us to focus on today.”

Thank Sytarr. In truth, Alicent did not much care for learning how to influence the emotions of
others or even to identify them. Such skills seemed like a dreadful invasion of privacy, but she
dared not say as much to Queen Rhaenyra. Not when she knew that the Queen had attempted to
influence her emotions the night that she’d washed her feet, not when Alicent was fairly certain that
the Queen had used her empathy to help calm her the other day.
“From what I’ve observed,” Queen Rhaenyra continued, “you are a very strong empath.”

Alicent stared at her incredulously. Her? Strong? No. Surely not. She’d never been strong by any
measure. “Why do you believe so?”

“Because of how swiftly and severely you become overwhelmed by the emotions of others. It’s
actually a very good indicator of the strength of your gift. Weak empaths oft require active effort to
fully perceive another person’s emotions and feel them as strongly as they would their own.”
Queen Rhaenyra gave her a sympathetic look. “You have the opposite problem. Your empathy is so
strong that you experience everything all at once and feel the emotions of others so intensely that
it’s debilitating.”

At those words, Alicent suddenly found herself wondering if perhaps the sytarrium in her clothes
hadn’t been as effective a shield as Queen Rhaenyra believed. While it was true that, back home,
she’d only ever been overwhelmed by other people’s emotions when unclothed, she’d always been
adept at discerning the emotions of those around her and using those insights to anticipate their
actions.

Her emotional intuition was something that she’d honed over the years as a necessary means of
survival, but perhaps there had been more to it. Perhaps she’d been subconsciously sensing
people’s emotions all her life, and her clothes had simply provided a sort of filter rather than a
complete shield.

“The reactive wards you’ve been instinctively crafting to protect yourself are very impressive
considering your lack of training, but they’re also unstable and ultimately untenable. A reactive
ward requires conscious effort to maintain, you see, so when the onslaught of foreign emotions
continues for too long, you eventually exhaust yourself trying to sustain it.”

Alicent remembered how swiftly she’d drained herself the other day when attempting to hold back
the endless waves of other people’s emotions. Her “ward” had held for less than five minutes
before crumbling, and she’d nearly collapsed from exhaustion afterwards.

Back home, the exhaustion that had always followed having to shield herself was one of the
reasons why she’d so easily slipped into unconsciousness during her nights with Criston. Escaping
into the welcoming darkness of oblivion had been a relief and a blessing back then. But here . . .

Here, she would prefer not to lose consciousness so often.

Alicent winced a little, glancing down and suddenly noticing that she’d been squeezing her wrist
too tightly and accidentally using her nails. Uncurling her fingers, her eyes darted to the Queen,
hoping that she hadn’t noticed. “You mentioned ‘persistent wards’ the other day. Will those prevent
me from feeling other people’s emotions without exhausting myself?”

Once more, Queen Rhaenyra hesitated before answering, her own eyes briefly flicking down to
Alicent’s wrist. “Yes. In a manner of speaking. You see, Alicent, strong empaths like us, we can
never entirely block out the emotions of others without active effort.”

“Oh.” Alicent forced her breathing to remain steady, forced herself not to dig her nails into her
scarred wrist again. Sytarr, perhaps she truly was cursed.

“But a persistent ward will help,” Queen Rhaenyra rushed to assure her. “At present, other people’s
emotions are overwhelming, yes? It’s as if they’re waves crashing over your head and threatening
to drown you?”

Alicent nodded, grimacing as she remembered how choked she’d felt the other day. Sytarr, it had
been so hard to breathe.

“The strength of your gift means that even a persistent ward can’t shield you from everything, but it
will shield you enough that you won’t become overwhelmed.” The Queen’s lips pursed, fingers
drumming on the arm of her chair in the way that Alicent had come to recognize as her attempting
to determine how she wished to explain something. “Consider your empathy as akin to your
hearing,” she finally said. “You’re always surrounded by countless sounds, but they don’t
overwhelm you because you’re able to ignore most of them, yes?”

“Yes.” Alicent squeezed her wrist, but she refrained from sinking her nails into her flesh.

“At present, everything is so ‘loud’ that you simply can’t ignore it, which is why you become
overwhelmed. A persistent ward will dampen all of that ‘ambient noise’ to something manageable,
to something that you can more easily ignore unless you actively choose to focus on some specific
sound. Now, sometimes you may still be caught off guard by a particularly strong emotion, similar
to how you might sometimes be startled by a loud noise. But when that happens, all you’ll need to
do is actively strengthen your ward, the same as how you might momentarily cover your ears.”

Alicent’s lips pursed as she considered the Queen’s words, her fingers loosening a little around her
wrist. “So even with a persistent ward, I’ll remain at least partially aware of . . . ambient emotions,
but they’ll be ‘dampened’ enough that they won’t overwhelm me?” It sounded as if it would be
similar to back home when she’d been protected by her sytarrium clothing. And that had certainly
been manageable enough.

The smile Queen Rhaenyra gave her in response could only be described as proud, and, for some
reason, it made Alicent’s stomach flutter. “Yes. Exactly. Wards essentially serve as a way to prevent
intrusions. Once your persistent ward is in place, other people’s emotions won’t be able to
overwhelm you, and it will also protect you from purposeful intrusions such as,” she paused,
expression suddenly becoming sheepish, “such as when I attempted to calm you the night I washed
your feet.”

Alicent’s eyebrows arched, surprised that Queen Rhaenyra was acknowledging what had happened
that night. She’d long ago concluded that the entire incident was simply one of the matters they
would never discuss or mention—just as they never spoke about the Queen visiting her chambers to
comfort her after one of her night terrors.

Her night terrors.

“Once your persistent ward is in place, it will also protect you from purposeful intrusions.”

Purposeful intrusions.

She thought back to the night when she’d first awoken the Queen, remembering how she’d felt the
sincerity of Queen Rhaenyra’s promise to never punish her with a cage, even if displeased with her.
Alicent remembered how the sensation from that night had differed from the night when Queen
Rhaenyra had washed her feet, how the Queen’s emotion hadn’t been pushing towards her, but
rather how she’d been reaching towards it.

At the time, she hadn’t entirely understood the distinction or what it meant.
Now she did.

But if Queen Rhaenyra’s own ward was in place that night—as it surely must have been—then I
shouldn’t have been able to sense her emotions at all.

Which meant . . .

Which meant that Queen Rhaenyra must have purposefully lowered her ward, that the reason
Alicent had been able to sense Queen Rhaenyra’s sincerity was because the Queen had allowed her.

But why?

Why would she render herself vulnerable? Even for a moment?

Queen Rhaenyra cleared her throat a little, drawing Alicent from her thoughts. She was twisting
one of the rings on her left hand, but her gaze never wavered from Alicent’s. “I owe you an apology
for what I did that night, Alicent. Emotional meddling is something of a grey area in our Ethical
Code, and I oft find myself instinctively using my empathy to calm those in distress.” Her lips
pursed slightly. “But I still shouldn’t have done that to you, not when you were unaware of my
gift.”

“You only meant to help me.” As you did when I was panicking the other day, she almost added,
but then thought better of it. “Thank you though, for the apology.”

The tense set of Queen Rhaenyra’s shoulders—which Alicent somehow hadn’t noticed until that
moment—visibly relaxed, and her hands stilled in her lap. “What you did that night though, the
way that you blocked my intrusion,” she grinned, “it was an exemplary reactive ward. You sensed
that I was attempting to influence your mood, and you instinctively prevented me from doing so. It
was quite impressive.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed, and she swiftly ducked her head, uncertain how she was meant to respond
to such praise.

Focus on the task at hand.

Yes. That would be best. And far simpler than attempting to muddle through accepting praise that
she didn’t deserve.

Though still daunting, in its own way.

Alicent briefly bit the inside of her cheek, but then forced her jaw to relax. She hadn’t the faintest
idea what constructing a persistent ward entailed, but she assumed that the tension she could
already feel coiling within her would be more hindrance than help. Calm yourself, she chided.
You’ve no reason to be fretting. “So . . . how exactly do I build a persistent ward?”

Queen Rhaenyra neatly folded her hands in her lap, her tone suddenly becoming that of an
instructor. “The process is not so very different from how I assume you’ve been crafting your
reactive wards. The same principles of creating a protective barrier around yourself remain the
same, but a persistent ward eventually becomes an integral part of your very being. The protective
matrix bonds and adheres to your autonomic nervous system so that maintaining the ward becomes
as instinctive as breathing or your heart continuing to beat.”
Alicent wondered if the ward would actually become a part of her nervous system, or if Queen
Rhaenyra was merely being metaphorical. From what little she understood about Valyrian magic, it
seemed to be as much a science as it was an artform, so the either explanation was equally
probable.

“While a persistent ward can be constructed however you desire—my own wards are rather
elaborate, I must admit—most women find it easiest to imagine themselves surrounded by an
impenetrable wall. I would recommend you do the same. At least for now.”

Surrounded by an impenetrable wall?

The thought made Alicent’s stomach clench as her mind flashed to the windowless rooms that
Criston used to confine her in, as she remembered when her mother had locked her away for—

No.

Don’t be foolish. Her ward would be nothing but an imaginary wall in her own mind. Nothing at all
like the actual walls that had once imprisoned her. Stop behaving like a pathetic child.

She could do this. She’d spent her entire life surrounded by unbreakable and inescapable walls.
Constructing one in her mind should be but a simple matter.

“Alicent?”

Focus. “Yes?”

“Are you ready to begin?”

Was she?

Did it matter?

She needed to learn to construct a persistent ward if she ever wished to set foot outside of Stone
Garden. I’m building an impenetrable wall around myself in order to not feel trapped . . . It seemed
incongruous, but then, many things about Valyria often seemed incongruous to her. What was one
more?

Praying that the twisting knot in her stomach would subside once they began, Alicent responded
with what she hoped was a confident nod. “I’m ready.”

“Very well then.” Queen Rhaenyra sounded about as certain as Alicent felt, but she nevertheless
motioned for Alicent to sit back in her chair. “Now, I want you to close your eyes and imagine a
wall around yourself. I recommend choosing a kind of wall that you know especially well,
something so effortlessly vivid in your mind that you can visualize it with little effort. Empathy
relies on instinct as much as anything else, so it responds best to that which is already intimately
familiar.”

Intimately familiar.

Alicent stiffened when the first thing to materialize in her mind’s eye were the walls of her
bedchamber in Wasran Palace.

No.
Not those.

She couldn’t bear having those walls become any more a part of her than they already were.

Fisting her skirts, she swiftly shattered those all-too-familiar walls and attempted to think of others.
Sytarr above, had she not spent her life surrounded by walls constructed from a blend of organic
crystal and metal to create a nigh impenetrable matrix composite? She ought to be able to think of a
single wall that she could use for a ward.

Her eyes squeezed shut even tighter as she struggled to envision a single set of walls that didn’t
make her feel breathless and trapped.

But Wasran Palace had always been a prison.

And while Tamworth Palace had not been a prison in the same way, the memories of her mother
made those walls feel just as suffocating.

Stone Garden then.

Surely the walls of her rooms here would serve.

But suddenly all she could think about was how trapped she’d felt her first night here, how certain
she’d been that these chambers would become her new cage.

“Alicent, do you see your wall?”

Alicent shook her head, fists clenching so hard that she could feel her nails digging into her palms
even through the fabric of her skirts. Why couldn’t she do this? She’d spent decades retreating into
her own mind. She knew that she had a vivid imagination, that she could create mental constructs
so real it was as if she could touch them. Just imagine a damn wall!

“Alicent, why don’t you try imagining a more generic wall? High stone rising up all around you.
Strong and sturdy. Able to protect—”

But when Alicent tried to follow the Queen’s suggestion, all she could envision were stone walls
closing in on her, the space around her growing smaller and smaller as she fought to breathe. “I, I
can’t—”

“Just imagine a wall—”

“I can’t!” Alicent’s eyes snapped open even as her mouth snapped shut, her shoulders hunching as
she shrank back in her chair. Sytarr above, what was wrong with her? Queen Rhaenyra was doing
her a kindness, and she had the audacity to snap at her? I need to apologize. I need to beg
forgiveness. But the words wouldn’t come. Her throat had closed, and her entire body felt
uncomfortably hot.

Queen Rhaenyra was staring at her, but she didn’t seem angry.

She ought to be angry with me. I was inexcusably rude. Part of Alicent wished that Queen
Rhaenyra would yell at her, that the Queen would scold for her ingratitude and incompetence. I
deserve her censure.
But instead of admonishing her, Queen Rhaenyra smacked her own forehead. “Merciful Mother,
I’m such a fool.”

Alicent stared at her in confusion. Why in the world was the Queen cross with herself? You’ve done
nothing wrong, she wanted to say, but she still couldn’t make herself speak. I’m the only one
deserving chastisement.

After muttering something else to herself under her breath, Queen Rhaenyra shook her head and
refocused on Alicent, expression immediately softening. “Please forgive me, Alicent. I should have
realized that the wall method wouldn’t work for you given your claustrophobia.” She clicked her
tongue, tsking at herself. “Most women—most Valyrians—find it easiest to imagine their wards as
walls, but you are not most women.”

Alicent winced, even though she knew that she deserved far worse condemnation.

“I don’t mean that as an insult,” Queen Rhaenyra assured her. “You are singular, Alicent, and
shame on me for forgetting that and for not taking your personal circumstances into account.” Her
fingers drummed on the arm of her chair as her lips pursed. “The problem with imagining a wall
was that it made you feel trapped, yes? Unsafe?”

Alicent managed a small nod, mind still churning as she tried to make sense of why the Queen
wasn’t upset with her, why she still wished to help her. She was kind to me, and I repaid her with
rudeness. She ought to leave me in my misery.

But Queen Rhaenyra had never been one to leave Alicent in her misery.

I don’t deserve her kindness.

The Queen suddenly snapped her fingers, eyes brightening. “How about this? Instead of imagining
a wall around yourself, let’s begin with imagining something that makes you feel safe. Anything at
all. A ward is first and foremost a means of protection, so a feeling of safety ought to be at its
core.”

Safe.

A hot flush of embarrassment spread throughout Alicent’s body when the first thing that came to
her mind was the feeling of Queen Rhaenyra holding her after a night terror.

Strong Sytarr, what is wrong with me? I can hardly make the Queen into my ward.

And yet . . .

“A ward is first and foremost a means of protection.”

Had Queen Rhaenyra not been protecting her in one manner or another since the day they had met?
Surely it was understandable that Alicent was beginning to associate her with a feeling of safety . . .

Enough nonsense. Focus on thinking of something actually useful.

Sytarr, her tutors would be wrapping her knuckles for such stupidity. Presumably. She’d never
actually had her knuckles wrapped by any of her tutors, but she’d seen her sisters punished for less.
“My sister, Laena, her first mental ward was a sea serpent.” Queen Rhaenyra’s eyes glinted with
amusement. “She envisioned it coiled around her, and every time an unwanted mental intrusion
attempted to reach her, the serpent would swallow it whole.”

So living creatures could be used as wards?

No.

There must be something else.

Alicent felt safe in the gardens, did she not? The library as well. Surely one of those would be
better.

And yet, when she closed her eyes and tried to envision herself in either location, her mind returned
again and again to the warmth and security that she always felt when Queen Rhaenyra’s arms were
wrapped around her.

Damn it.

“Have you thought of something, Alicent?”

Alicent bit her lip. She couldn’t very well answer truthfully, but considering the importance of what
they were doing, she didn’t dare lie.

Queen Rhaenyra cocked her head slightly, expression thoughtful. “Have you thought of something,
but do not wish to tell me what it is?”

Sytarr, why did she have to be so transparent?

“You needn’t tell me if you don’t wish to, Alicent. But have you thought of something?”

Alicent nodded, knowing that her face must be bright red by now.

“And it doesn’t make you feel restrained or confined?”

Alicent shook her head. For all that the Queen held her close and tight, she’d never once felt
trapped by her arms. There is something deeply wrong with me that I’m actually planning to use
Queen Rhaenyra as my ward.

It won’t be permanent, she assured herself. Once I have better control and understanding, I can
craft a different kind of ward.

“Good. That’s good.” Queen Rhaenyra steepled her fingers together. “Now, I want you to close
your eyes again and imagine your ward, whatever it is. If it’s a place, I want you to imagine that
place. If it is an animal or plant, imagine yourself beside it. If it’s some object, imagine it in your
hands.”

Closing her eyes, Alicent did as she was instructed, both unsurprised and dreadfully embarrassed
by how easy it was to imagine the Queen’s arms encircling her and holding her close. Of course it’s
easy. I’m drawing on memories, not simply my own imaginings.

Oh.
She suddenly understood why Queen Rhaenyra had recommended she choose something familiar
as her ward.

“Can you see it in your mind’s eye, Alicent?”

She could. She knew well by now the sight of Queen Rhaenyra’s gentle smile and soft expression
following a night terror.

“Can you touch it? Does it feel solid and strong beneath your fingers?”

Alicent could feel the flush spreading down her neck at the Queen’s words. In her mind, she
tentatively touched one of the arms secured around her waist, felt her imagined Queen Rhaenyra
briefly tense before relaxing and allowing the contact. “Yes,” she whispered, surprised to realize
that the tightness in her throat had vanished without her noticing.

“Good. Is your ward something you can smell? Something you can hear?”

Sweet roses. Gentle words crooned in her ears. She remembered the feeling of her cheek pressed
against Queen Rhaenyra’s chest the other day as she listened to the rhythmic thrum of her
heartbeat. “Yes.”

“And can you smell it? Hear it?”

Alicent shifted uncomfortably in her chair, suddenly wondering if perhaps she’d been wrong about
needing to explore the city. Stone Garden was beautiful and very spacious. She could simply
remain on its grounds and not concern herself with creating a persistent ward.

“Alicent?”

“Yes,” she squeaked. “I, I can smell it and hear it.” She suppressed a grimace at having to indirectly
refer to the Queen as “it.”

“Very good. And do you feel safe? Does whatever you’re envisioning provide you with a sense of
safety?”

Always. “Yes.”

“Wonderful. Now, I want you to take that feeling of safety and wrap it around yourself as you
would a favored cloak. It needn’t be tight or confining. Simply drape it over yourself.”

Considering that the sense of safety provided by her imagined Queen Rhaenyra’s presence was
already enveloping her, this instruction was no trouble to follow.

Alicent detected the change immediately, noticed at once the achingly familiar sense of quiet that
descended upon her. It was a quiet that she hadn’t experienced since losing her sytarrium clothing.
Does that mean the ward is in place?

“You can open your eyes now.”

When Alicent did as instructed, she was greeted by the sight of Queen Rhaenyra’s bright smile. She
blinked a few times, suddenly struck by the peculiar realization that, even though she could see the
flesh and blood Queen sitting not five feet in front of her, she was also still vaguely aware of her
mental version of Queen Rhaenyra pressed up against her back and holding her.
 I should have chosen a different form for my ward.

Shoving the thought aside, she focused her attention on the Queen Rhaenyra in front of her. “What
do I do now?”

“Your ward is still in place, yes? Even though your eyes are open.”

Alicent nodded, fighting the urge to cover her face to hide the fresh blush that she could feel
suffusing her cheeks.

“Excellent.” Queen Rhaenyra’s smile somehow brightened even further, causing a pair of dimples
to form. “Then for the rest of our time today, we’re going to discuss whatever strikes your fancy.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. How would that help her better control her
empathy? “May I ask why?”

“Because I don’t want you thinking about your ward. That’s the whole purpose of creating a
persistent ward, after all. We’re going to talk, you’re going to stop actively thinking about it, and
then I’ll be testing its strength at random.” Queen Rhaenyra spread her hands. “So, is there
anything in particular you’d like to discuss?”

Admittedly relieved that she was allowed to stop thinking about her ward, Alicent glanced at the
book that she’d been reading before Queen Rhaenyra’s arrival. Despite having only just begun the
overview, she already had a list of questions that she’d been planning to ask Margaery and Sansa
the next time she saw them. And while she normally wouldn’t trouble the Queen with such silly
curiosity, since their purpose was essentially idle chatter . . . “Would it be all right if I asked you a
few questions about pheromones?”

Queen Rhaenyra’s smile didn’t waver, and her amethyst eyes glinted. “Perfectly all right.”

Chapter End Notes

Hey, look, daytime cuddles! And Alicent is getting another reminder that there's nothing
wrong with her! Because she's never done a bad thing in her entire life! And she's continuing
to prove herself to be an absolutely repressed and useless lesbian!

Next Chapter: More therapy! (Warning in advance that the next chapter will include a
flashback involving Criston and thus on-page domestic violence).
 Don’t Fear the Anger
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 16:

– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Arwen Arryn, a Blue Lotus psychologist, from the Avenian Isles
– Criston Cole, High Lord of Asana and Lord of War of the Westerosi Confederation
(flashback)

Additional Disclaimer: I am not a trained mental health professional in any way, shape, or
form. I conducted research on trauma recovery, but am by no measure an expert. Please keep
that in mind as you read this chapter. That said, if anything I have written is blatantly wrong or
offensive, please let me know and I will try to rectify it. I have done my best to give this
sensitive subject the respect and care it deserves, but, again, I am not an expert or professional.

Trigger Warnings: On-page, graphic depictions and descriptions of domestic violence, a

rather detailed description of marital rape, and a panic attack.
Both Criston and Larys appear in a flashback.

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Frost Moon/1,000,122 Visenya VI

“How do you feel about some guided meditation today?” Dr. Arwen asked when she arrived in
Alicent’s chambers for their daily session.

Alicent bit the inside of her cheek and forced her expression to remain calm and placid as she gave
Dr. Arwen an acquiescing nod. Her fingers twitched slightly, longing to curl around her scarred
wrist and squeeze, but she forced her hands to remain neatly folded in her lap. Even though she
knew that harmless fidgeting was acceptable, she didn’t wish for Dr. Arwen to know that she was
anxious.

Not about this.

Strong Sytarr, how she detested guided meditation.

It had been almost a year since she’d begun meeting with Dr. Arwen, and in that time, her therapist
had primarily focused their sessions on education and management. When not teaching her
grounding techniques, breathing exercises, and other methods for managing her anxiety, Dr. Arwen
was educating her about domestic abuse, childhood neglect, marital rape, spousal abuse, child
abuse, and a plethora of other evils.
Dr. Arwen had been endlessly patient with Alicent’s ignorance, dedicating months to explaining
each new concept and spending long hours discussing with her how certain actions were inherently
wrong. Having always been a diligent pupil, Alicent had distracted herself from the feelings of
disquiet that Dr. Arwen’s lessons always left her with by focusing instead on the intellectual
challenge of learning and mastering a new subject matter.

By now, Alicent had a very well-rounded and well-developed academic understanding of abuse and
trauma, of which she was rather proud of herself.

But a few months ago, Dr. Arwen had decided it was time to transition away from “abuse in the
abstract,” as she’d called it, and begin focusing on applying those concepts to Alicent’s past
experiences.

Alicent was not at all fond of this shift in focus. While she knew full well that the true test of
learning and understanding was actual application, a part of her had hoped that she might be able to
avoid this inevitability. She was content enough with her academic understanding of abuse and
having learned various grounding techniques to help her cope throughout the day.

Application required introspection.

And introspection required examining everything that had happened to her.

Hence why Dr. Arwen had introduced guided meditation to their sessions.

Great Sytarr, how she detested guided meditation.

She understood the science behind the exercise. She’d studied enough neuroscience under Tutor
Harkwin to understand—intellectually—that the reason her traumatic memories were so
debilitating was because they’d been improperly processed and stored. She understood that the
“rational” part of her brain had never had the chance to analyze those events and make sense of
them. And she understood that mentally reliving those incidents—this time with the benefit of Dr.
Arwen’s guidance—would allow the rational side of her brain to access and process those events in
a way that it couldn’t before.

She understood the therapeutic purpose behind the exercise. Dr. Arwen had explained that her
improperly stored memories were akin to a splinter causing a wound to fester. She understood that
her anxiety and fear and night terrors and panic attacks were all “manifestations of her mental
wounds festering.” And she understood that guided meditation would help her remove the splinter
of her improperly stored memories so that she could begin “processing her trauma” and recovering.

She understood all of that.

Yet she still despised guided meditation.

She still despised having to relive and “reflect upon” moments of “core trauma.”

She still despised needing to direct half of her energy towards staving off a panic attack.

And she still despised how physically fatigued and emotionally exhausted she always felt
afterwards.
All she ever desired after a guided meditation session was to crawl into her bed, burrow beneath
her warmest blankets, and sleep for hours.

But she never dared.

For she knew that sleep would mean reliving those horrid memories yet again, save this time she
would be completely alone, with neither Dr. Arwen’s steady presence to ground her in the moment,
nor Queen Rhaenyra’s comforting warmth to soothe her afterwards.

It was the middle of the day, after all, and the Queen had much more important matters to concern
herself with than Alicent’s silly night terrors. Queen Rhaenyra was already sacrificing an hour or
more of her time each day to Alicent’s empathy lessons, and Alicent was certain that the last thing
the Queen desired was to receive reports about her Westerosi guest disturbing the peace with her
screams.

Sytarr above, how she detested guided meditation.

She endeavored nigh every waking moment of her life to not remember distressing events and
burying those memories in the deepest crevices of her mind when she failed. She’d spent decades
training herself to swiftly set aside unpleasant thoughts, and she’d become good at it. That
particular skill was all that had kept her sane these many years.

Yet Dr. Arwen insisted that reliving those memories would help her.

When all Alicent wished to do was forget.

“But you’re never going to forget, Alicent. What happened to you isn’t something that anyone
simply forgets, though Relle knows we might wish it otherwise.” That was what Dr. Arwen had told
her the day she’d first suggested guided meditation. “You’ve experienced more suffering than most
people can even begin to fathom, but it’s over now. You’re safe. You can’t change what was done to
you, Alicent, but you can learn to accept it and how to live with it. Recovery isn’t simply putting the
past behind you and ignoring it. It’s learning to embrace the fact that you survived your past. And
it’s recognizing that while you’ve been affected by trauma, that trauma does not define who you
are.”

Alicent still wasn’t certain if she actually believed those words.

But she knew that Dr. Arwen believed them, and, for now, she supposed that would have to be
sufficient.

Somehow already feeling exhausted, Alicent slowly rose from her chair. She still didn’t entirely
understand why they had to sit on the floor for guided meditation, no more than she understood
why Dr. Arwen thought guided meditation was a good idea at all. Thus far, it had done nothing but
worsen her night terrors.

But she knew better than to question Dr. Arwen’s methods. It wasn’t her place. Who was she to
dictate how Dr. Arwen—a trained and experienced psychologist—treated her “complex post-
traumatic stress disorder” and anxiety? Alicent knew that Dr. Arwen only wished to help her, and
she trusted her therapist to know what was best for her treatment.

As Alicent seated herself on the floor in what Dr. Arwen called the lotus pose, she tried to ignore
the knot of anxiety that she could feel forming in her stomach. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I can
do this. Dr. Arwen knows best. I can do this. I mustn’t be tense. Deep breaths.

Sitting across from her in the same lotus position, Dr. Arwen’s hands rested on her knees, her
expression perfectly composed and her shoulders enviously relaxed. “When you’re ready, Alicent,
we’ll begin.”

Alicent allowed herself several deep breaths, hoping that they would help settle her mind. You know
exactly what to expect. This would be their seventh such meditation session, and she’d memorized
the words and phrases that Dr. Arwen always used back during their first session. “I’m ready.” As
much as I can be.

“Very good. Now, if it’s acceptable to you, I’d like for us to walk through the memory of the first
time that Criston laid his hands on you in anger.”

Alicent’s mouth felt dry and her throat tight. Her stomach was uncomfortably clenched, and she
knew that her heart was beating faster than it should. Calm yourself. You must relax for this to
work. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I can do this. She settled her hands on her knees to mirror Dr.
Arwen and nodded. “That’s acceptable.”

“Then let us begin.” Dr. Arwen inhaled slowly and then exhaled as she closed her eyes. “You may
close your eyes if that helps you visualize, or you may focus on something here in the room.”

With a final, deep inhale and exhale, Alicent allowed her eyes to close. She’d determined during
the first meditation that keeping her eyes open only made the entire ordeal worse. Seeing her now-
familiar chambers while also reliving one of her old torments had made it impossible for her to find
sleep for nearly three nights afterwards.

She always closed her eyes now.

“As we sit, I ask that you focus on your breathing. Feel the air filling your lungs. Feel it leaving
through your nose or mouth.”

Focusing on her breathing was something that Alicent had grown quite adept at, since it was an
integral part of Dr. Arwen’s various grounding techniques. In and out. In and out. One steady
inhale, followed by one steady exhale. In and out. In and out. One steady inhale, followed by a
steady exhale. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. She could feel the measured expanding and
contracting of her diaphragm, could feel her chest rising and falling in time with her breaths.

“Listen to your own heartbeat. Can you hear its steady rhythm?”

Blessedly, Alicent could indeed hear that her heartbeat was growing steadier with each breath she
took. This was actually the one part of guided meditation that she enjoyed. It was comforting,
soothing, to be guided into a calm and empty state of mind. What Dr. Arwen referred to as a “blank
slate state.”

She could feel some of the tension seeping from her shoulders, but she was also becoming more
acutely aware of a slight tightness in her neck. Calm your mind. Let the thoughts slip away.

“You’re doing very well, Alicent.” Dr. Arwen’s voice was gentle and soothing, almost reminding
Alicent of Queen Rhaenyra’s voice when she comforted her after a night terror.

There were differences though.

Queen Rhaenyra’s voice was always achingly warm when she spoke to Alicent.

And while not cold, Dr. Arwen’s voice always maintained a certain professional detachment. “As
you continue your steady breathing, you may begin to feel your facial muscles relaxing. I ask you
to remember to maintain a posture that’s comfortable for you. You needn’t remain in lotus pose if
your muscles are straining.”

Alicent almost snorted aloud at the thought of her muscles straining simply from sitting in lotus
pose. She’d been forced to become quite flexible during marriage. Criston had enjoyed twisting her
body into painfully contorted positions and then ordering that she remain perfectly still for hours at
a time. Inevitably, she had always moved, and then he had punished her for disobeying—

No.

I mustn’t think about such things now. I’m supposed to be calming and clearing my mind.

“As you continue breathing, your mind may begin to wander. If that happens, I ask that you redirect
your focus towards your breathing or towards any bodily sensations you may be experiencing. If it
helps, you may also open your eyes and focus on a tangible object to anchor yourself.”

Alicent exhaled slowly, redirecting her focus to the feeling of air filling her lungs. In and out. In
and out. In and out. She could do this. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

The silence stretched on, but Alicent barely noticed as she sank deeper into her breathing.

She had no idea how much time passed before Dr. Arwen resumed speaking, which she supposed
was a good thing.

“How do you feel right now, Alicent?”

“Relaxed.” She paused, remembering that she was supposed to assess each part of her body before
answering. “There is a little tension in my neck,” she amended, eyes still closed.

“Do you believe that tension will fade if you continue as you are now for a little longer?”

Alicent hesitated, fully shifting her attention to the slight twinge in her neck. She was almost
certain that it was the result of having been staring down at a quilt for some three hours prior to Dr.
Arwen’s arrival. “I don’t believe so.”

“All right then. In that case, are you ready to begin remembering?”

No. “Yes.” She managed to force her voice to remain steady, but she could already feel new tension
beginning to gather in her shoulders and coil in her stomach. Damn it.

“Good. Now, focus on the sound of my voice. Do you remember the first time that Criston laid his
hands on you in anger?”

More clearly than she remembered her own mother’s face.

It had been the same day that Dr. Gnorts pronounced her barren.

A shiver ran down her spine at the mere thought of Larys Gnorts, who had always treated her
injuries after particularly rough nights, and who had always gleefully participated whenever Criston
saw fit to share her.

Focus.

Five months. Two weeks. Three days.

That was how long the family had spent impatiently waiting for her to become with child.

Newly wedded wives were expected to announce that they were with child within the first five
months of marriage, and it wasn’t at all uncommon for women to fall pregnant mere weeks after
losing their maidenhead, assuming they didn’t conceive during the first bedding. Weddings were
always scheduled to coincide with the precise onset of the bride’s ovulation so as to provide her
new husband with the full five months of her fertility window.

Having already done so thrice before, Criston had been confident that he would plant a child in
Alicent on their wedding night.

A shudder passed through her body as she remembered that night, remembered the feeling of
Criston’s hands gripping her hips to hold her still, remembered the feeling of his greedy tongue
pushing into her mouth to swallow her pained whimpers, remembered the feeling of his hot breath
in her face as he panted above her.

She remembered feeling suffocated by the weight of him atop her, remembered feeling his teeth
sink into the sensitive flesh of her breasts and neck. She remembered sensing his lust for her,
remembered sensing his desire to claim her and fill her with his child. She remembered the hunger
glinting in his eyes as he’d gazed down at her, remembered him demanding that she tell him how
much she enjoyed having him inside of her, how good he felt.

And she remembered the pain.

Her mothers had warned her that the first bedding would be uncomfortable—not that it would feel
as if she was being torn asunder. For even though Criston hadn’t been particularly rough with her
that first night, the stabbing pain of his cock tearing through her maidenhead had brought tears to
her eyes, which she’d only just managed to blink away before he took notice.

She remembered him grumbling something about her being dry, but to this day, she still didn’t
understand what he had meant. She remembered the burning sensation as he’d buried himself to the
hilt between her legs, forcing her body to accept his hardened length before he’d begun swiftly
thrusting in and out of her. And she remembered the inexplicable revulsion that she’d felt when
he’d reached the height of his pleasure and spilled his seed inside her.

With how many times he had filled her that night, she should have become with child at once.

In the weeks immediately following her wedding, Criston and his wives had greeted her each
morning with bright, expectant smiles. But as the weeks had lengthened into months, the eager
smiles had transformed into irritated scowls. The warm light in their eyes had darkened and turned
cold. And the teasing jests about her fruitfulness had sharpened into thinly veiled barbs.

By the end of the second month, Arilla, Sabina, and Vesna were reminding her several times each
day that it was her sacred duty to provide Criston with another child. By the middle of the third
month, they were demanding that she try harder and instructing her on how best to conceive.
«Make sure your legs are spread wide,» they’d said. «Remain unmoving on your back for at least
an hour after.» «Keep your pelvis elevated.» «Clench your inner muscles.» «Ensure our husband
finds enough pleasure inside you that he seeds you multiple times.»

As their voices echoed in her ears, Criston’s face flashed in her mind. She hadn’t noticed it at the
time, but his eyes had grown icier with each passing day.

Eyes like a snake. Merciless and cruel. No sympathy. No remorse. His eagerness to have her and
take her as he pleased had soon become impatience for her to announce that she was with child. His
impatience had rapidly shifted into irritation at her continued failure to do her duty. His irritation
had almost immediately ignited into burning anger. And that anger had easily transformed into
hate.

The change had happened so slowly and yet so swiftly that she somehow hadn’t noticed.

Why hadn’t she noticed?

Criston had given her one final week after the end of her ovulation cycle to announce that she was
with child. He’d come to her bed each night that week and taken her until she bled, had filled her
until her stomach was distended in a grotesque mockery of what he desired.

When she’d been unable to tell him what he wished to hear, he’d summoned Dr. Gnorts and
ordered a full examination. «What in Sytarr’s name is wrong with her?» he’d demanded. «I’ve been
fucking her nearly every night for five months!»

Alicent had winced, both at Criston’s tone and his words. That had been the first time he’d cursed
in front of her outside of her bedchamber.

“Do you remember what it felt like?” Dr. Arwen asked, her soft voice—ironically—briefly drawing
Alicent from her memories. “His hand connecting with your cheek?”

The force of the blow had sent her staggering.

«I have completed my examination,» Dr. Gnorts announced. His tone was cold, clinical, and yet
there was something else underlying it as well . . . Derision? Glee? Some twisted combination of
the two?

Alicent couldn’t bring herself to look at the man, not after he’d spent the past three hours
scrutinizing every inch of her body. She’d never been naked in front of any man other than her
husband, and the feeling of his eyes raking over her exposed flesh had made her skin crawl. The
feeling of his hands sliding over her body had made her feel ill. And when he’d pushed two fingers
inside of her—she still wasn’t certain why he’d done so—she’d nearly screamed.

Now, standing before Dr. Gnorts once more—albeit clothed—it was all she could do not to fidget
and shift from one foot to the other. She knew she mustn’t, that such was a childish and unladylike
habit. Were her mother here, she would surely strike her for such foolishness.

Alicent felt cold. So very, very cold. But she didn’t know why. There was no reason to feel cold.

Her eyes nervously darted towards her husband, who stood tall and unmoving beside her. His
expression was a thundercloud, and his jaw was clenched. She could see the tension coiled in his
muscles. He’d been so very tense of late, irritable as well. And it’s all my fault. I should be with
child by now. It was why her lord husband had summoned Dr. Gnorts to examine her. If I’d only
done my duty, he would not be so cross.

A few feet from her and her husband, her sister-wives stood in a close huddle. All three wore stony
expressions, so different from the warm smiles they’d given her when she’d first arrived at Wasran
Palace five months ago.

Dr. Gnorts clicked his tongue, sighing loudly as he addressed her husband. «It grieves me to inform
you, My Lord, that the wretched woman beside you is barren.»

His words hung in the air.

Silence choked the room.

Alicent’s knees almost buckled beneath her.

No.

She must have heard incorrectly.

Mother always said I was a terrible listener.

Dr. Gnorts must be mistaken.

She couldn’t be . . .

The world seemed to blur around her as spots danced before her eyes.

When had the room begun to spin?

Barren.

No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

She couldn’t be barren.

She couldn’t.

If she was barren . . .

What was she if she could not have children?

What sort of twisted, broken creature was she if she could not give her husband sons?

What—?

A sharp crack broke the silence.

Alicent staggered backwards, nearly falling to her knees.

And yet, she was so stunned that it took her a moment to even realize that she’d been struck.
“No!” Alicent gasped, eyes flying open as she desperately tried to banish the memory back into the
dark depths of her mind. She didn’t want to remember what happened next. She didn’t want to
relive the agony that she knew was to come.

Her left ring finger throbbed angrily.

“Let it play out,” Dr. Arwen instructed, eyes still closed, her voice calm and composed.

Burning pain bloomed in her cheek, wrenching a sharp cry from her throat that was immediately
cut off by another blow.

“I can’t,” Alicent panted, struggling to breathe through her rising panic. I can’t do this. Sweat was
beading on her brow and gathering between her shoulder blades. Her body trembled as the
memories continued to crash over her in unforgiving waves.

Criston had struck her face again and again and again, and when she’d finally crumpled onto the
floor, he’d begun kicking her just viciously—always aiming for her stomach.

That was the first time he’d beaten her into unconsciousness, all the while roaring curses and
profanities at her.

«You filthy abomination!»

«You fucking waste of a woman!»

«You worthless bitch!»

«You useless whore!»

«You Sytarr-cursed cunt!»

Over and over and over again.

Her skin had split beneath his fists.

Her eyes had grown swollen from the blows.

Blood.

There had been so much blood.

Her blood.

Spattered on the wall. Pooling on the floor. Soaking into her clothes. Dripping down her face.

And pain.

So much pain.
She’d tried to curl into a protective ball. She’d tried to make herself small. She tried to disappear.

Her sister-wives and Dr. Gnorts had watched without uttering a single word. But she could swear
that she remembered seeing Dr. Gnorts smile—

No!

No. She couldn’t do this. She needed it to stop.

“I can’t,” she whimpered.

“You can, Alicent.” Dr. Arwen’s eyes were now open. “You needn’t be frightened of a memory.
Accept what happened to you, but recognize that it is no longer happening. That ink has dried.
You’re not back there anymore. You’re right here. You’re safe.”

“I can’t do this.” Alicent pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, heart thundering in her
chest. She needed this to stop. “I can’t.”

Shame surged through her as she remembered her own pathetic cries, as she remembered the way
she’d begged him to stop. She remembered hearing her sister-wives snigger. And why shouldn’t
they? She’d been so small and feeble.

Pathetic.

Broken.

Weak.

I deserved it. I deserved all of it.

“No, Alicent,” Dr. Arwen countered, and Alicent realized that she must have spoken aloud, “you
didn’t deserve any of it. You did nothing wrong. Terrible things were done to you, but you did not
deserve them.”

Shaking her head, Alicent somehow managed to scramble to her feet. “I’m done for the day. I, I
can’t do this anymore.”

“Alicent—”

“No!” Alicent backed away from Dr. Arwen, her eyes darting from side to side. “You—You swore
that you would never make me do anything that I don’t want to do.” Her chest was so tight, and a
fist was squeezing her heart so hard that she knew it would soon be crushed.

Dr. Arwen slowly rose to her feet, but she made no move to come any closer. “Alicent, I hear what
you’re saying. We’re ending now. All right? We’re done. Thank you for telling me what you need.”

Alicent’s heart thundered in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t she breathe? Her vision
swam as the room tilted beneath her.

“Alicent, you’re having a panic attack. Do you remember what we talked about for when you’re
panicking?”

A panic attack.
She was having a panic attack.

That was why she couldn’t breathe. Why her chest felt so tight. I know what to do for this. I do. I
do.

The last time she’d had an attack, Queen Rhaenyra had calmed her.

But the Queen wasn’t here now.

I know what to do. This will pass. I’m all right. This will pass.

Alicent squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on her breathing the way Dr. Arwen had taught her,
but it was so erratic that she couldn’t concentrate. In and out. In and out. In and out. Breathe.
Breathe. Breathe. I’m all right. All is well. This will pass.

“Alicent, may I come closer?”

She managed a halting, jerky nod, forcing her eyes open as she tried to focus on an object to ground
herself. Her eyes fell on the blue medallion hanging around Dr. Arwen’s neck. Focus my attention.
Examine the details. Focus on that instead of the panic.

The medallion was swaying gently with every step Dr. Arwen took. Its light royal blue surface
glinted in the sunlight. A lotus was engraved into the metal, the teardrop-shaped petals plump and
round at the bottom and tapering upwards into fine points.

“Good, Alicent. You’re doing very well.” Dr. Arwen was standing directly in front of her now.
“Can you hear me?”

Alicent nodded again, distantly aware that her heartbeat was indeed beginning to slow. I can
breathe. In and out. In and out. “I, I can hear you.”

“Good. May I touch your hand?”

She hesitated, wetting her lips as she continued to stare at the lotus medallion. “I—yes. You may.”

Dr. Arwen’s fingers brushed against the back of her hand. “You’re safe, Alicent. There is no danger
here. The panic will pass. You’re all right.”

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

She was in the Queen’s Keep. Not Wasran Palace or Tamworth Palace. She was safe in Stone
Garden.

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

The Queen did not wish her harmed.

“Would you care to sit?”

Alicent forced herself to nod and allowed herself to be led back over to her chair. Her legs were
trembling. When had that started? How had she not noticed the weakness in her own legs?
Worthless, stupid fool. You can’t even pay attention to your own useless body.
Nearly collapsing from exhaustion, Alicent gratefully sank into the soft cushion, her fingers curling
around the arms of the chair and squeezing tight.

Dr. Arwen sat down across from her, expression creased with worry. “Please forgive me, Alicent.
We’ll not do any more guided meditation from now on. Not unless you decide otherwise.”

Disappointment.

Worthless.

Pathetic.

Failure.

Weak.

Some part of her knew that she shouldn’t be feeling such things. Some part of her knew that she’d
done nothing wrong. Some part of her knew that it wasn’t her fault she was so broken.

Intellectually, she understood all of this from her studies, and yet . . .

She simply couldn’t force herself to believe it to be true.

Resisting the urge to draw her knees up to her chest to make herself smaller, Alicent roughly wiped
away the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m sor—my apologies.” She swallowed a little,
attempting to rid herself of the lump in her throat.

Dr. Arwen sighed heavily. “Alicent, you have nothing to apologize for.”

But she did though. Dr. Arwen was doing all that she could to help her, and Alicent continued to
fail her over and over again.

She’d thought that she was getting better.

She’d thought that being able to venture out of her rooms meant she was getting better. She’d
thought that being able to interact with new people without panicking meant that she was getting
better. She’d thought that being able to feel safe in Queen Rhaenyra’s presence meant that she was
getting better.

But her panic attack just now had shown her exactly how wrong she was.

She should have been able to handle the memories. She should have been able to let them play out
as Dr. Arwen had instructed. She should have been able to complete the exercise.

But she hadn’t.

Because she was weak.

Against her will, Alicent found herself remembering the day that Dr. Arwen had first suggested
guided meditation, found herself remembering how she’d asked if the exercise would help cure her
trauma. Dr. Arwen had immediately shaken her head, had immediately told her that trauma was not
something to be “cured,” but rather something that a person healed and recovered from and
ultimately learned to live with.
Fool that she was, Alicent had deluded herself into hearing only Dr. Arwen’s kind words that day
and not the actual meaning behind them.

That delusion was now shattered.

She knew now the cold truth that Dr. Arwen had been too polite to say aloud.

Alicent was simply too weak to be cured.

Her shoulders slumped as her eyes fell to where her fingers were curled tightly around her scarred
wrist. She knew that she shouldn’t be squeezing her wrist so hard, but she couldn’t force her fingers
to loosen their grip.

Because I’m weak.

That was why Dr. Arwen didn’t think that she could be cured. Alicent had read medical journals
and studies back home about psychoanalysts who had fully cured their patients. Those men had had
far, far less experience and training than Dr. Arwen, and they’d been able to produce truly
recovered patients. And if Dr. Arwen didn’t think that she could fix her . . . then it must mean that
she was beyond fixing.

«A man of proper mental strength and determination is typically able to recover from a traumatic
event within two years, depending on the rigor of his curative regime.» Dr. Abner Abraxus had
been considered the most successful psychoanalyst of his time, and his methodologies were still
being taught in medical schools. He was even of the opinion that women, if they’re strong enough,
can make full recoveries if given enough time.

“Alicent?”

Dragging herself from what she knew would be considered “spiraling thoughts,” Alicent forced
herself to focus on Dr. Arwen. Her vision was still somewhat blurry, and she could feel the
beginnings of a headache, but she knew that she would only need to concentrate on Dr. Arwen for a
little while longer. They would be done soon. They always ended early when she had a panic
attack. They would be done soon.

Sytarr above, she was exhausted. All she desired was rest and sleep. But she knew better. She
couldn’t sleep. Not now. Not yet. I’ll retire to bed early tonight.

As she always did on guided meditation days.

They would be done soon.

Rhaenyra knew this was a mistake.

She knew that she was proving herself a fool.

She knew that she was about to cross a very necessary boundary that she’d set for herself.

And yet . . .

“I believe the Lady Alicent would appreciate some company.”

Dr. Arwen’s words had quite literally been spoken in passing.

Rhaenyra had been on her way to speak with her chief groundskeeper about planting a few more
emerald orchids come spring—Lady Margaery had mentioned Lady Alicent having taken a liking
to them—when Dr. Arwen had walked by her and said those blasted words.

Almost without thought, Rhaenyra had teleported herself to the kitchens, startling Chef Gilly and
the kitchen staff so badly that part of supper had likely been ruined. But she’d hardly noticed,
instead focusing only on the task at hand.

Half an hour later, she now stood in front of the door leading into Lady Alicent’s privy chamber.
She’d left Hylda and Sabitha—as well as their irritatingly smug and knowing smiles—out in the
hall. The warm, rich scent of freshly baked sweet cakes wreathed her, yet it wasn’t quite strong
enough to disguise the acrid stench of fear and distress that hung heavy in the air.

Merciful Mother, what had happened during Lady Alicent and Dr. Arwen’s session? Would that she
could ask Dr. Arwen directly, but the Seal of Confidentiality would cause any words that Dr. Arwen
might speak on the matter to die on her tongue before they could be uttered.

The fact that she was even able to tell me Lady Alicent might desire company was a minor feat in
and of itself.

This was a mistake.

She shouldn’t be here.

She ought to simply knock and leave the sweet cakes for Lady Alicent to find.

Surely that would be better.

“I believe the Lady Alicent would appreciate some company.”

But what if Dr. Arwen was wrong? What if what Lady Alicent desired was solitude in order to calm
herself and collect her thoughts?

What if my presence is naught but a distressing intrusion?

She did not wish to worsen Lady Alicent’s emotional state.

A part of her yearned to reach out with her empathy so that she might assess the Lady Alicent’s
disposition for herself, but that would be an appalling breach of privacy bordering on assault.
Besides, Lady Alicent’s ward had only grown stronger these past three months, much to Rhaenyra’s
personal delight. Lady Alicent was a brilliant pupil, as well as a strong and naturally gifted empath.

The sound of a quiet whimper caused Rhaenyra’s spine to stiffen, attention immediately returning
to the door in front of her.

Decision made, she raised her fist and rapped twice. “Alicent? May I come in?”

Silence.

Rhaenyra did not dare knock again, yet her instincts screamed for her to do something. She could
not simply remain standing outside while Alicent—
“You may.”

Thank Relle.

Upon entering the room at a far more sedate pace than she would have preferred, Rhaenyra’s eyes
swiftly swept over the chamber before settling on Lady Alicent.

Oh.

Lady Alicent was sitting in one of the more comfortable of her privy chamber chairs, a large book
open on her lap. A slightly frayed silk ribbon was draped on the arm of the chair, likely her place
marker. Her pretty auburn curls hung loose around her shoulders, practically glowing in the
afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows. The expression she wore was perfectly
composed, save for the small smile of greeting she offered Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra usually cherished all of Lady Alicent’s smiles, especially the rare few gifted specifically
to her.

But this smile did not reach Lady Alicent’s eyes, which were dull, slightly red, and rather puffy.

Her face was far too pale as well.

And there were red marks on her scarred wrist—the sort made by nails sinking into flesh.

Lady Alicent’s exhaustion was plain as day, and Rhaenyra wanted nothing so much as to scoop her
up and tuck her into bed so that she might find sleep.

Why is she not resting when she so clearly needs it?

Setting aside the question for now, Rhaenyra held out the silver tray piled with sweet cakes in
offering. “Would you care for one? They’re freshly baked.”

Evidently only just now noticing the desserts, a small sliver of light returned to Lady Alicent’s dull
eyes. “Oh, may I?”

Had it been anyone else, Rhaenyra would have quipped that she’d be offended if they didn’t, but
she knew better with Lady Alicent. “Of course you may.”

Moving more quickly than she probably ought—but not wishing to force Lady Alicent to rise from
her chair—Rhaenyra crossed the room to stand slightly to one side of where Lady Alicent sat,
taking care not to loom over her. She was tempted to lower herself so that they would be eyelevel
with each other, but that might cause Lady Alicent embarrassment, so she settled for merely
offering the tray again.

Lady Alicent eagerly snatched up one of the sweet cakes, practically cradling it in her trembling
hand. “Thank you, You—Rhaenyra.”

Merciful Mother, how she loved the way her name sounded on Lady Alicent’s lips. It was vain, she
knew, but Lady Alicent had such a lovely voice—

Stop that. You’re here to offer company and cakes. Nothing more.

Her grip tightened a fraction on the tray in her hands. Behave yourself. “May I sit?”
Lady Alicent’s eyes widened, a flush spreading across her too-pale cheeks as she quickly nodded.
“Yes, of course. I’m sor—please, forgive me.”

Rhaenyra forced herself not to wince at the brief flicker of panic that she saw flash in Lady
Alicent’s eyes. “Thank you, Alicent. And there is no need for apology.”

Once she was seated, Rhaenyra set the tray down on the small table between their chairs. She was
about to ask Lady Alicent about the book on her lap when she noticed the way Lady Alicent was
gazing down at the sweet cake in her hand with what could only be described as an expression of
longing.

Unsure whether it would be better to tell Lady Alicent that she was free to eat or to simply remain
silent, Rhaenyra compromised by plucking one of the little cakes from the tray and beginning to eat
it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Lady Alicent was now devouring her own cake. Each of
her bites was small and dainty, yet they came in such rapid succession that the sweet cake was gone
in a twinkling. The few times that Rhaenyra had seen Lady Alicent eat, she couldn’t recall her ever
seeming this ravenous. Perhaps she forgot to eat luncheon? Or perhaps her emotional exhaustion
is being translated into hunger?

Either was possible, she supposed.

Upon finishing her first cake, Lady Alicent began to reach for a second, but then her hand froze and
her eyes darted to Rhaenyra, as if needing to confirm that she wouldn’t be scolded.

Rhaenyra resisted the urge to frown at the display. It had been a while since Lady Alicent had
shown such hesitancy. Occasional regressions are perfectly normal, she reminded herself.
Whatever had happened during Lady Alicent’s session today must have been particularly
harrowing. Perhaps she should—

No. It wasn’t her place to meddle.

You meddle enough as it is.

Using her telekinesis, she carefully nudged the tray closer to Lady Alicent’s hovering hand. “I
certainly have no plans to eat all of these myself, so I do hope you’ll help me?” She wanted to tell
Lady Alicent that the cakes had been made especially for her, but that would lead to questions that
were best left unasked.

Lady Alicent’s shoulders visibly relaxed as she selected her second sweet cake and began eating it,
much more sedately this time around.

It wasn’t until Lady Alicent was biting into her fourth sweet cake that Rhaenyra finally noticed that
the book in her lap was upside down. Her lips pursed slightly, and she glanced over at Lady Alicent
in time to notice her yawning.

After finishing her fourth cake, Lady Alicent carefully cleaned her fingers before leaning back in
her chair. She appeared far more relaxed now, some of the shadows having left her eyes. “Thank
you, for the sweet cakes. They were very good.”
Rhaenyra resisted the urge to preen, warmth blooming her chest at the compliment, even though
she knew that Lady Alicent must assume that Chef Gilly had made the cakes. “I’m glad you
enjoyed them.”

Lady Alicent’s tentative smile faltered as she stifled a yawn. “My apologies. I find myself rather
. . . fatigued.”

I often find myself in need of rest after certain therapy sessions as well, she wanted to say, but she
knew that such words were more likely to make Lady Alicent feel self-conscious rather than
reassure her. So instead she asked, “May I inquire as to what you are reading? It seems that you
have a new book each day.”

A pretty blush stained Lady Alicent’s cheeks, but her small smile didn’t falter. “This one is not
particularly exciting,” she admitted, lifting the heavy tome from her lap so that Rhaenyra could
read the embossed title. The Emerald Compendium: A Botanical Guide Detailing the Terrestrial
Plants of Valyria and the Old World.

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but grimace at the sight. The Gemstone Compendiums were among the
many books that she’d been forced to read as part of her general studies, and of all seven of them,
The Emerald Compendium was by far the most dull.

“Ah. Yes. Archmagister Amarantha Rowan has never been known for her ability to engage her
readers.” Which hadn’t at all deterred her from writing thousands of books and treatises over the
millennia. Most children considered her the bane of their education.

“I’ve only just begun reading.” Lady Alicent’s fingers brushed absently over the cover. “Margaery
mentioned something about ‘undying trees’ the other day, and I was curious.”

That explained why Luwina must have recommended The Emerald Compendium. Dry as she was,
none could accuse Archmagister Amarantha of being unknowledgeable, and she’d taken special
care with her chapter on the undying trees.

“Perhaps it might be more interesting if read aloud by another?” Rhaenyra suggested. She knew for
a fact that it would not, but perhaps the ponderous tome would be enough to coax Lady Alicent into
resting her eyes for a while.

The poor woman already seemed half-asleep in her chair.

Lady Alicent hesitated, shrinking away as she began nervously rubbing her scarred wrist. “I should
not take more of your time than I already have. I’m certain you have more important matters to
attend to.”

“Not at present,” Rhaenyra assured her. “Aemma has been demanding that I take a break all day.”

Which was true. Her seneschal had been pestering her since before sunrise.

“Besides, it’s been some time since I’ve read The Emerald Compendium. Perhaps it is not as dull as
I remember.”

Although Lady Alicent hesitated a moment longer, she offered no further protest before handing
Rhaenyra the obscenely large book.
She must be even more exhausted than I thought. Flipping to the chapter on the seven undying tree
species, Rhaenyra waited until Lady Alicent had made herself comfortable to begin reading.

While technically not creatures of magic, all plants have innate mystical properties, hence why
they are such useful components. The greatest and most magical of all plants are the undying
trees, of which there are seven species, each with unique and distinctive wood, leaf, and sap
colors. These trees are called undying because they can live forever if left undisturbed. Their
numbers remain sustainable by the unique way in which they reproduce. The seed of an
undying tree will only germinate after exposure to fire and the immediate provision of blood,
not unlike the egg of a dragon.

In addition to their potential to live forever, undying trees are unique in that—even after being
cut down—their wood never rots. While spells have since been created to preserve all varieties
of wood by preventing rot, undying wood remains the kind most commonly used for ships,
furniture, doors, instruments, staffs, and other such items. The leaves, bark, inner wood, twigs,
sap, and so forth make for excellent components with regards to performing rituals and
brewing potions. Teas brewed from the leaves or bark of an undying tree naturally promote
good health even without an additional infusion of magic.

In alphabetical order, the seven undying tree species are thus: the bluewood, the greenwood,
the ivorywood, the plumwood, the rosewood, the sablewood, and the silverwood. Of these
species, the silverwood tree is the most important due to its status as the sacred tree of Mother
Relle.

Glancing up from the page, Rhaenyra smiled when she saw that Lady Alicent had fallen asleep. My
thanks, Archmagister.

Gently closing the book so as not to disturb Lady Alicent, Rhaenyra gingerly rose to her feet,
though she remained hovering a few centimeters in the air. She knew by now that Lady Alicent was
a deep sleeper, but that was no reason not to take care with her.

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed as she contemplated whether she ought to move Lady Alicent to her bed or
leave her in the chair and simply place a blanket over her. The chair was comfortable enough, she
supposed, but given the position in which Lady Alicent had fallen asleep, the other woman would
likely awaken with a few sore muscles and joints.

That would not do.

But picking her up and moving her would be improper, would it not? She hasn’t given me
permission to do so. And with the exception of when Lady Alicent had a night terror, Rhaenyra
always endeavored not to touch her without permission. Alicent will be far more comfortable
sleeping in her own bed though, surely . . .

I’ll not touch her physically, she decided, knowing that she was splitting hairs on the matter, but
setting aside the inevitable guilt for another day.

Lady Alicent was exhausted. She deserved to sleep wherever she would be most comfortable.
With the utmost care, Rhaenyra gently lifted Lady Alicent up from the chair and cradled her in
telekinetic arms. Lady Alicent didn’t stir. The thrum of her heartbeat remained steady, the gentle
rise and fall of her chest didn’t falter, and her warm bread scent held not a hint of worry or upset.

After carrying Lady Alicent into her bedchamber, Rhaenyra carefully laid her down on what she
knew to be Lady Alicent’s preferred side of the bed. Once she was settled, Rhaenyra grabbed one
of the quilts folded at the foot of the bed and spread it over her. Almost without conscious thought,
she ignited the logs in the hearth behind her to further warm the room.

Raising her hands, Rhaenyra’s fingers danced through the air as she began weaving a pleasant
dream about sailing on the ocean. Lady Alicent had mentioned a few weeks ago that she’d always
wished to see the ocean. Once her ward has fully bonded with her, she can—

Her fingers froze—the dream unraveling in an instant.

Alicent’s ward.

“I owe you an apology for what I did that night, Alicent. Emotional meddling is something of a
grey area in our Ethical Code.”

A grey area, yes.

Nearly everything having to do with empathy was a grey area, but dream weaving . . .

Most women—herself included—considered dream weaving merely an extension of empathy, but it

wasn’t, not truly.

And dreams are sent into the mind.

Rhaenyra’s arms fell to her sides, a sudden wave of nausea nearly causing her knees to buckle. You
idiot. You unthinking, thrice-damned idiot.

Merciful Mother, what had she nearly done?

Weaving dreams for Lady Alicent following a night terror was one matter. Those were meant to
soothe as much as they were meant to prevent any further nightmares. Those dreams could be
justified.

But weaving a dream for her now? As a preemptive strike?

Thrice-damned idiot.

There was no justification for that. No justification for invading Lady Alicent’s mind in such a way.

If Lady Alicent awoke from a night terror, Rhaenyra would soothe her and weave her a dream. But
until then . . .

I ought to leave.

But if she left, she wouldn’t be nearby if Lady Alicent needed her.

I can hardly remain by her bedside watching her sleep.

A soft growl of frustration rumbled in her chest. She couldn’t leave, but she dared not remain.

Lady Alicent’s comfort must needs come first.

Whatever had happened during her therapy session had plainly left her distressed as well as
exhausted. And that did not bode well for Lady Alicent’s sleep remaining undisturbed.

If she awakes from a night terror, she shouldn’t be alone.

Well, that was that then.

Rhaenyra strode out of Lady Alicent’s bedchamber and swiftly made her way through the privy and
presence chambers to the door that led out into the hallway.

Hylda and Sabitha both turned to look at her with matching, expectant expressions when she
opened the door. “Your Majesty?”

“Sabitha, please go to my office and fetch me the stack of papers sitting on the left corner of the
desk closest to the door.”

It wouldn’t be proper for Rhaenyra to remain in Lady Alicent’s bedchamber while she slept, but she
could work in Lady Alicent’s privy chamber or study until the other woman awoke, whether it was
from a night terror or on her own.

In either event, Lady Alicent would not be alone.

That was all that mattered.

One Week Later

Anger.

Rage.

Righteous fury.

That was what Dr. Arwen wished to discuss with her today.

And Alicent desired nothing so much as to flee from the room.

She did not wish to speak about anger. Strong Sytarr, she hardly even wished to think about that
cursed emotion. Anger was a terrible, dreadful thing that never brought anything but misery and
pain. It was wicked and harmful. It was inappropriate and unladylike.

How many times had her mother reprimanded her for expressing such negative emotions? «A lady
smiles politely and speaks only when spoken to. She does not throw fits or fly into rages. She does
not express anger in public. She is calm and content at all times. Anything else must be concealed.
Do you understand?»

Alicent had tried. All her life, she’d tried to heed her mother’s words. She’d tried so, so hard to
suppress and sublimate as her mother had taught her. Every day of her childhood, she had tried.
Every day of her marriage, she had tried.

And she’d succeeded, more oft than not.

While she now understood that many of her mother’s teachings had been wrong, she continued to
cling to her mother’s lessons on decorum and properly suppressing her anger.

Her mother had not been a kind woman, Alicent could admit that now. Her mother had been cold
and demanding and resentful towards her, but her mother had also been a perfect lady in every
other respect. She had always leashed her anger until they were in private, until there was no one to
see her lash out against and punish Alicent.

Dr. Arwen spoke about “excising” her anger so that she could “let it go,” but Alicent knew what it
meant to “excise” anger. She knew what it meant to succumb to that horrid emotion. Her mother
had oft “excised” her anger by striking her or telling her what a worthless daughter she was.
Criston had oft “excised” his anger by tormenting her.

She did not wish to be like them.

Not ever.

She had no desire to “excise” her anger by harming someone else.

It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t proper.

It wasn’t good.

Yet Dr. Arwen seemed convinced that she could not heal until she allowed herself to feel anger
towards her mother and Criston and all that they had done to her.

“Anger is a natural emotional response to oppression and abuse, but if you consistently suppress it,
it will continue to prevent you from healing.”

Alicent did not dispute that anger was a natural—perhaps even inescapable—emotion, but that was
no reason to allow herself to fall prey to it. While she remembered feeling flashes of anger over the
years when her mother or Criston had hurt her, but she’d always been quick to suppress them,
knowing that such wicked emotions would only bring her further misery.

Now, after all of Dr. Arwen’s lessons about abuse and trauma, Alicent knew with even greater
certainty that anger was harmful to herself and those around her.

Her mother and Criston had shown her exactly what came from succumbing to anger.

“Alicent?”

Reluctantly, Alicent dragged herself from her own thoughts to refocus her attention on Dr. Arwen,
who was watching her with gentle, patient eyes. “Yes?”

Dr. Arwen’s expression didn’t waver, though surely a part of her must have been vexed by how
Alicent had become lost in her own mind.
Yet she does not show it, because she knows it would upset me.

“I was saying that anger is a part of you, that it’s as much a valid emotion as joy or fear or
sadness.” Dr. Arwen spread her hands. “You’re allowed to be angry, Alicent. I understand that you
were raised to suppress and sublimate. My own mother taught me much the same. It was how we
survived, by making ourselves small and accommodating the men around us. But that survival
mechanism isn’t needed here. You’re no longer on Westeros. You’re no longer under the control of
your mother or Criston. You’re safe here. You’re allowed to be angry here.”

Alicent shook her head. Perhaps she was allowed to be angry, but that didn’t mean she wanted to
be. And hadn’t Dr. Arwen also been telling her that she was allowed to want things?

But what exactly was it she wanted?

It was a question that had been plaguing her for months. She’d never been allowed to want things
before, not truly. Her wants and whims and desires were of no consequence back home.

But here . . .

“Your life is yours, Alicent, no one else’s. You can do whatever you wish.”

She hadn’t believed those words when Queen Rhaenyra had first spoken them, but she had been
slowly coming to realize the truth of them.

She was allowed to want.

But what did she want?

Not to be angry and hateful as her mother and Criston were, certainly.

But she also wanted to not feel as she did now.

She didn’t want to feel miserable every time she spent too long dwelling on her past.

She didn’t want to flinch every time someone raised their voice, even if it wasn’t at her.

She didn’t want to panic every time she saw or heard or felt something that reminded her too much
of her mother or Criston.

“What he did was malicious and cruel. He had no right to hurt you. No one has a right to hurt
another person like that.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s words from Alicent’s first night in the Queen’s Keep echoed in her ears, making
her shift uncomfortably in her chair. The Queen had not sounded angry when she’d spoken, yet
there had been such conviction behind her words. . .

Alicent understood that what Criston and her mother had done was wrong. She could recognize
that. But why must she be angry about it? Why must she allow herself to succumb to the thing that
had only ever brought her pain?

But the members of the First Generation succumbed, did they not?
Dr. Arwen had spoken earlier about how millennia of fear and self-loathing had eventually
transformed into righteous fury, about how that anger had been necessary for the First Generation
to break free of their “patriarchal indoctrination.”

But surely . . .

She knew what it was to be angry. To feel flashes of that dreadful emotion.

Hadn’t some part of her always loathed when Criston had hurt her? If she truly allowed herself to
remember, she knew that it wasn’t only fear that had coiled tight in her belly on those nights
Criston had come to her bedchamber. There had been something else as well . . .

Something smoldering.

Something she’d tried so hard to smother because she knew that it was dangerous.

And her mother . . .

Hadn’t some part of her always loathed hearing her mother’s voice whisper cruel words in her ear
every time she did something wrong? Or something I was told was wrong?

Hadn’t some part of her always chafed at the way that her mother had never once praised her for
things that her other mothers had?

Lora had often complimented her gardening skills. Pella had always had a kind word to say about
her embroidery. Roka had enjoyed listening to her music. Zelma had often asked her to tell stories
to the little ones before bed because she «had a way with words.» Even Adah had once
congratulated her for doing well on a final examination.

But not her mother. Never her mother.

The most Alicent had ever been able to hope for from her mother was stony silence and a lack of
criticism.

She’d stopped praying for words of praise shortly after her fifth birthday.

The smoldering thing in the pit of her stomach—the thing that she’d become much more aware of
since beginning her sessions with Dr. Arwen—flared in response to her thoughts.

An ember waiting to ignite into a raging conflagration—

No!

She couldn’t allow that.

Digging her fingers into the fabric of her skirts to still her trembling hands, Alicent forced herself
to meet Dr. Arwen’s eyes. “With all due respect, Dr. Arwen, you’re wrong.” The words tasted like
ash in her mouth, but Dr. Arwen had been telling her for the past week that she was allowed to
disagree with her, that therapy required “proper communication between patient and therapist.”

Dr. Arwen cocked her head slightly. “About what?”

“I can’t . . . I can’t allow myself to be angry.”

“And why is that?” There was no judgment in Dr. Arwen’s tone. No censure. Merely gentle
encouragement.

She wanted Alicent to speak truthfully.

Alicent’s chest felt tight, her tongue felt thick and clumsy in her mouth. At the very least, she knew
the answer to this question. She only hoped that she’d be able to articulate it in a way Dr. Arwen
would understand. Once she understands, surely she will cease this particular method of treatment,
as she ceased the guided meditation.

Taking a deep breath, Alicent forced the words from her mouth, praying they were somewhat
coherent. “If I allow myself to feel angry . . . if I succumb as you wish me to, I don’t . . . I don’t
know if I’ll be able to stop feeling angry. And if that happens,” she swallowed in an attempt to
dislodge the lump in her throat, “then I’ll become no better than my mother and Criston.”

Dr. Arwen nodded thoughtfully. “I understand.”

Did she truly?

“You fear your own anger.”

Oh, thank Sytarr, perhaps she did understand.

“Because anger means lashing out and hurting someone else, the person you’ve decided to direct it
towards? Yes?”

Alicent nodded, shoulders sagging with relief. “Yes. Exactly.”

“Alicent, your fears are valid, but as we’ve discussed, that does not necessarily mean they are true.”
Dr. Arwen leaned forward. “You are correct that anger can be harmful, and your mother and
Criston’s anger was most certainly harmful. But,” she lifted a finger, waiting until she was certain
that she had Alicent’s full attention, “anger does not have to be harmful. In fact, it shouldn’t be
harmful.”

Alicent’s teeth sank into her bottom lip, her fingers curling around her scarred wrist. Her ring finger
was beginning to throb. How could some anger be harmful and some not? How could Dr. Arwen
claim that it shouldn’t be harmful? Anger caused people to scream and rage, to throw and hit things.
It caused them to inflict pain on others.

How could that be anything other than harmful?

“Anger is an emotion,” Dr. Arwen continued, “not a behavior. It’s not rational, and you cannot
control whether or not you feel it. Nor should you try. All emotions are valid, Alicent, because they
are a part of who we are and simply a consequence of living.” She paused. “That said, while you
can’t control whether or not you feel anger, you can control how you express it. You can choose to
express it in a way that does not harm others.”

Choose to express it in a way that does not harm others.

Surely it could not be so simple as that.

And how else can anger be expressed other than causing harm?
 But if Dr. Arwen was correct . . .

If Alicent could experience anger without harming anyone . . .

The smoldering thing in the pit of her stomach flared, but she swiftly smothered it.

No. Not yet, at least.

She needed to learn more. She needed to better understand.

Dr. Arwen snapped her fingers, and a slim volume appeared in her other hand, which she extended
towards Alicent. “This is a rather short treatise written by Dr. Xanthia Tyrell about the differences
between healthy expressions of anger and unhealthy expressions of anger. I know you prefer having
a proper academic grasp on a subject before we apply it, so I’d like for you to read this when you
have time.”

Alicent eagerly accepted the book, clutching it to her chest.

Yes. This was good. This was what she needed.

She could read and research and learn, and then, perhaps, she would be able to understand.

And perhaps I will be able to believe Dr. Arwen when she says that anger needn’t be harmful.

Chapter End Notes

Well . . . that was . . . rough. To say the least . . .

Next chapter will be much nicer! I promise!

 Cards and Callings
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 17:

– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Sabitha Vypren, Lily Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Saevara
– Aly Blackwood, one of Queen Rhaenyra's attendants, from Saevara
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Ygritte Mormont, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Gilly Cassel, Chief Chef of Stone Garden, from Norden

Trigger Warning: Mentions of marital rape.

A special thanks to Octavas for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Spring Moon/1,000,123 Visenya VI

Alicent huffed with annoyance when she was finally forced to admit that she was utterly lost.

What use is an eidetic memory if I cannot find my way around a single building?

Sprawling as the Queen’s Keep was, memorizing its various corridors and passageways should not
be taking her this long. Perhaps it was because she never paid proper attention to her surroundings
when she went places—her mind more occupied by her current conversation rather than
memorizing twists and turns.

I ought to remedy that.

Pressing her back against the nearest wall, her eyes closed as she tried to think.

Her desire had been simple enough: reach the western water garden to meet some of her
companions and learn a new card game called primera. Nothing more than that. The long months of
winter were finally over, and she was in desperate need of fresh air, warm sunlight, and the soft silk
of orchid petals beneath her fingers.

But somewhere along the way, she’d muddled the corridors, and now she had no idea where she
was. I should have simply allowed Margaery to escort me. But she’d wanted to prove to herself that
she’d finally learned her way around the Queen’s Keep—at least somewhat. And look how well
that’s gone.

Sighing, she opened her eyes and was just about to turn around to retrace her steps when she heard
the distinctive sound of shifting armor.

Oh.
Alicent swiftly stepped away from the wall and smoothed the skirts of her gown, hoping that she
hadn’t accidentally mussed her hair too badly while leaning against the wall.

Vora Sabitha rounded the corner a moment later, pausing at the sight of her. “Lady Alicent?”

“Good day, Vora Sabitha.” She held up her hand in greeting, feeling the familiar heat of
embarrassment rising in her cheeks. Sytarr above, she must look like such a fool—all alone and
plainly lost.

She waited, expecting to see Queen Rhaenyra with Vora Hylda appear, but the hallway remained
empty.

“Queen Rhaenyra isn’t with you?” She couldn’t remember ever seeing the Queen without both of
her knights. And while Vora Hylda and Vora Sabitha always waited outside the door when Queen
Rhaenyra used to visit and when she and the Queen met for empathy lessons, the knights were
never more than a shout away.

Vora Sabitha shook her head. “Jonquil finally returned today, so Hylda allowed me the afternoon.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed slightly at the unfamiliar name, fairly certain that she hadn’t heard it
mentioned before now. “Who is Jonquil?”

“The Orchid Knight.”

Which didn’t tell her much of anything, but Alicent nodded all the same, a strange sense of
disappointment settling over her.

When Vora Sabitha had come around the corner, she’d half-hoped to see the Queen as well. It had
been months since she’d last interacted with Queen Rhaenyra outside of her daily empathy lessons
—excepting the day of her last guided meditation session—and she found herself . . . missing those
moments of company when they’d simply talked with each other about nothing of import.

Vora Sabitha cocked her head. “Are you lost, My Lady?”

“Somewhat,” she admitted, forcing herself not to lower her head in shame. “I was on my way to the
western water garden, but I seem to have made a wrong turn.” Or several.

“Ah.” Vora Sabitha nodded in understanding. “Would you care for me to escort you? It’s on my
way.”

Alicent would rather not inconvenience the other woman, who plainly had matters of her own to
attend to, but she also knew that if she spent too much longer wandering aimlessly around the
corridors of the Keep that Margaery or Sansa would inevitably come searching for her.

If Sansa found her, Alicent knew that she’d receive a sympathetic smile, but if Margaery found her,
she knew that she’d be teased about her lack of navigational skills for at least a week. Which she
could handle—some part of her knew that it was probably good for her to become accustomed to
good-natured teasing—but she’d still prefer to avoid it.

Vora Sabitha would not offer if she did not truly mean the words, she reminded herself.

“If it isn’t too much trouble,” she finally said aloud.

“Not at all, My Lady.” Vora Sabitha resumed walking, and Alicent gratefully fell into step beside
the knight.

As the silence stretched on between them, Alicent found her mind returning again and again to the
question of who this Vora Jonquil might be. It had never occurred to her that Queen Rhaenyra
might have more than two knights, given that, since her arrival, she’d only ever seen or heard about
Vora Hylda and Vora Sabitha.

And while she knew that the matter of knights was something that she could—probably should—
research for herself, she enjoyed hearing verbal explanations from women who were themselves
sources of information. Some magisters and archmagisters could be rather . . . dull when explaining
a certain subject.

She glanced up at Vora Sabitha, wondering if she would take offense to being questioned about her
profession. While Alicent didn’t know the other woman well by any means, the Lily Knight had
always been polite and friendly towards her, so perhaps she would not mind? And even if she does
mind, surely she’ll do no more than refuse to answer?

Clearing her throat a little to draw the knight’s attention, Alicent forced herself to hold the other
woman’s eyes as she asked, “Vora Sabitha, may I ask you something?”

“You may ask me anything, My Lady.” Something akin to amusement flicked in Vora Sabitha’s
eyes. “But I may not give you an answer.”

For a moment, Alicent could only stare at her.

“You are free to ask me anything, Alicent, but I may not provide you an answer.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s eyes had been soft and gentle when she’d offered that response to Alicent asking
a similar question.

She wondered if those words were simply a standard Valyrian reply, or if the Queen had instructed
the members of her court to say them. Did it much matter? Perhaps. If she did instruct them, that
was kind of her. Though it did discomfit her somewhat—the thought of Queen Rhaenyra
instructing the women of her court to alter their behaviors simply for Alicent’s own sake.

I don’t wish them to think me more of a burden than I already am.

Swiftly setting aside the thought before it could consume her, she focused her attention on the
question at hand. “I didn’t realize Queen Rhaenyra had more than two knights, and I was
wondering how many of you there are, exactly.” She winced inwardly at how horridly she’d
articulated her question. Her speech tutor would have thoroughly chastised her for the poor
phrasing, and her mother would have slapped her for such an embarrassing display.

And Mother slapping me wouldn’t have been right. I wouldn’t have deserved it.

The thoughts made her stomach twist uncomfortably, but she was pleased with herself that she’d
had them, at least. Dr. Arwen had been encouraging her to actively remind herself that she hadn’t
deserved her mother and Criston’s abuse.

Vora Sabitha was silent for a moment as she considered the question. “When we’re at full force,
there are seven of us who guard Her Majesty. If you meant how many knights are there throughout
the Empire at any given time, the answer is seventy.”

Seventy. Alicent’s eyebrows drew together slightly at that. Assuming the empress and all seven
queens each had seven knights, that only amounted to fifty-six, and there was no clean way to
divide fourteen by eight.

“There are a total of ten knightly orders, My Lady,” Vora Sabitha explained, evidently seeing her
confusion. “The Varg Knights and Draconic Knights guard the imperial princess and empress,
respectively, while the Prelatic Knights serve as the honor guard for Her Holiness. The other seven
orders—the Garden Knights, Ocean Knights, Volcanic Knights, Avian Knights, Winter Knights,
Gem Knights, and Herb Knights—are collectively referred to as Royal Guards because we protect
the queens.”

Alicent nodded slowly, filing away the name of each order so that she could do further research on
a later day. Except for on the Prelatic Knights. She did her best to avoid anything having to do with
Valyrian religion—it was her understanding that the “prelate” was the Valyrian equivalent of the
Lord of Religion—because what little she did know about Syvenicism all seemed terribly
blasphemous.

“You called Vora Jonquil the ‘Orchid Knight’ earlier, and Queen Rhaenyra introduced you and Vora
Hylda to me as her Lily Knight and Shadow Knight.” She paused a moment, and once she received
a nod of confirmation, she asked, “Do those titles each carry specific meaning?”

“Yes and no. Every knight has an individual title, but these titles primarily serve simply as a way to
help others identify our order and to differentiate those of us within the same order. Any woman
across the Empire hearing my title would know that I belong to the Garden Knights, and any
woman within Stone Garden referring to ‘the Lily Knight’ would of course be speaking about me
rather than Hylda or Jonquil. But as a general rule, our titles don’t designate rank. An Orchid
Knight is no higher than a Lily Knight, nor is an Emerald Knight higher than a Topaz Knight.”

Alicent had—admittedly—been hoping for a more interesting explanation, but she supposed that
even Valyrians were permitted to have mundane reasons for some things.

“The exceptions are the empress’ Blood Knight, a queen’s Shadow Knight, the prelate’s Mother
Knight, and the imperial princess’ Wolf Knight,” Vora Sabitha continued. “Those four titles denote
the holder’s rank as the commander of her order, and aside from the Wolf Knight, each of these
women must swear the blood oath to her liege lady.”

Alicent stiffened, her steps faltering upon hearing those horrifyingly familiar words.

«As men bleed upon the battlefield, so must women bleed upon the bed.»

Her stomach twisted as memories of Criston’s leering face flashed through her mind, as his voice
echoed in her ears. «How fortunate I am to have a wife who bleeds like a maiden every time she’s
properly fucked.»

Her jaw clenched.

Even without those vile words being whispered in her ear whenever he’d pretended to be a warlord
of old publicly deflowering his enemy’s maiden daughter, she’d always been able to sense Criston’s
twisted delight upon seeing her blood staining the sheets after he’d finished with her.
The smoldering thing in the pit of her stomach flared at the memory of Criston’s friends clapping
and hollering the first time that he’d taken her in front of them.

“Lady Alicent?”

Sucking in a breath, Alicent swiftly shoved away the memories, burying them deep. She would
perhaps discuss them with Dr. Arwen tomorrow. “Yes?”

Vora Sabitha was giving her a concerned look. “Are you well, My Lady? You seem a little . . .
pale.”

Alicent hesitated, fairly certain that Vora Sabitha didn’t actually wish to know the reason for her
pallor. But she also didn’t know if Vora Sabitha was the sort of woman who would press her if she
attempted to avoid answering.

A partial answer then. Focus on the facts, not the memories.

“My apologies. I suppose my mind wandered when you mentioned,” her breath hitched slightly as
she forced the words out, “a blood oath.” Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into the flesh of
her palms. “We—my ancestors—used to seal treaties and pacts with blood oaths.” Long ago—
before unification under the Charter—when Westeros had still been ruled by belligerent and savage
warlords.

“I see.” Vora Sabitha’s expression had darkened, and Alicent had to fight the instinctive urge to
back away, even though she knew that the scowl wasn’t directed towards hers. “I feel very
confident, My Lady, that our blood oaths are nothing like those of your ancestors.”

Of that, Alicent had no doubt.

The warlords of ancient Westeros had sworn blood oaths by cutting their palms and exchanging
maiden daughters. The blood willingly spilled from the men’s hands was offered to Sytarr in place
of the blood that might otherwise be shed on the battlefield, while the blood spilled from the
daughters’ broken maidenheads as they were publicly deflowered was offered to sate each
warlord’s bloodlust.

“Could you,” Alicent swallowed past the lump forming in her throat, “could you tell me about
Valyrian blood oaths?” Perhaps having something else to associate that phrase with would help her
stave off the memories in the future.

Vora Sabitha nodded slowly, her words almost cautious as she spoke. “Our blood oaths are pledges
of fealty sealed by magic and blood. A blood oath binds two people together and can be used to
compel the subordinate person to obey any command, assuming the oath is deliberately invoked
when giving an order.”

Alicent grimaced. While undoubtedly less horrid than Westerosi blood oaths, what Vora Sabitha
described was certainly disturbing in its own way. Being magically compelled to obey someone’s
orders seemed somehow worse than mundane methods of coercion.

Queen Rhaenyra and Vora Hylda are bound by a blood oath.

The thought of the Queen using the oath to compel Vora Hylda’s obedience made Alicent’s wrist
throb. It didn’t seem right. Queen Rhaenyra had once told her that she considered Vora Hylda a
friend, and while Alicent might not know much about friendship, she was fairly certain that it
shouldn’t involve one friend being forced to obey the other’s every command.

“Why must the commanders swear a blood oath?” She’d been under the impression that Valyrians
valued consent and by extension personal autonomy above all else, and the blood oath seemed
completely antithetical to that.

Vora Sabitha’s lips pressed into a thin line, a shadow passing over her face as she resumed walking,
Alicent hurrying to keep pace with her. “Because the Draconic Knights were founded in response
to Aerysa’s Betrayal.”

That explains why Vora Sabitha’s expression and tone are so grim.

According to everything she’d read that so much as alluded to the Betrayal, Queen Aerysa the
Unburnt’s failed assassination and usurpation of Empress Daenerys the Silver was considered the
darkest moment in Valyrian history.

“All of Empress Daenerys’ Draconic Knights swore the blood oath to her,” Vora Sabitha was
saying. “Following the Betrayal, binding all seven of her sworn shields seemed reasonable to
ensure that none of them could ever plot treason against her.”

Alicent supposed that she could understand the logic behind the oath, but it still seemed wrong for
the empress, queens, and prelate to magically impose their will on the commander of their knights.

“After the Immortalization, it was decided that only the commander need swear the oath for
ceremonial purposes. Actually invoking the blood oath is considered an abuse of power unless the
liege lady has an exceptionally good reason.” Vora Sabitha glanced over at her. “Queen Rhaenyra
has never once used the oath on Hylda.”

The knot in Alicent’s stomach, which she hadn’t even noticed forming, immediately loosened upon
hearing those words.

Queen Rhaenyra didn’t use her magic to force her will on others. She was still the same woman
that Alicent liked to believe she was slowly coming to know.

Feeling more relaxed now, Alicent’s next question slipped from her mouth before she could think
better of it. “Vora, why did you decide to become a knight?”

“You certainly have no shortage of inquiries today, My Lady,” Vora Sabitha chuckled.

Alicent winced, cheeks flushing as she suddenly realized how rude her question might have been. I
should be asking a woman I barely know about personal matters. “I’m so—I mean, my apologies. I
didn’t intend to pry.”

“You aren’t prying, My Lady,” Vora Sabitha assured her, “and I don’t mind answering your
questions at all.” She smiled wryly. “You’ll find that few women take much of an interest in knights
and the Shield Sister Society. They simply cannot fathom why we would choose to use swords and
shields rather than magic.” The wry curl of her lips warmed into a genuine smile. “Your curiosity is
refreshing.”

Relieved that she hadn’t upset the other women, Alicent simply nodded.
“I suppose you could say that becoming a knight was my calling. I’ve always had a strong desire to
protect and defend others, you see. In large part because of my mother. I’m Two Hundred and
Fortieth Generation, but she’s First Generation.” Another shadow passed over Vora Sabitha’s face,
and her eyes sparked. “Most girls learn about the brutality of the Old World by reading Why Men
Were Banished From Valyria, but I grew up hearing those stories every night, and Mother took care
to remind me every day how she and her sisters suffered.”

Alicent couldn’t help but frown slightly as she thought about all of the horrific accounts she’d
listened to while “reading” Why Men Were Banished From Valyria. While she didn’t doubt the
value of imparting such information onto each subsequent generation, it seemed wrong for a child
to learn about such dreadful things so young.

“What happened to the First Generation was an atrocity.” Vora Sabitha’s lip curled back in the
beginnings of a snarl. “What happened to you was an atrocity, Lady Alicent. Such evils should have
died with the Old World, but they haven’t.” A growl rumbled in her chest. “And we’ve simply
allowed that rot to grow and spread. Some might call that unconscionable—having the power to
help yet choosing to do nothing.”

For reasons that Alicent couldn’t quite articulate, Vora Sabitha’s words discomfited her. It wasn’t
that she necessarily disagreed with them—at least not in principle—but the implication that
Valyrians had a duty—perhaps even a right—to interfere in the affairs of other worlds . . . it didn’t
sit well with her.

“But we’ve always been isolationists,” Vora Sabitha sighed, the anger draining from her voice.
“The fear has always been that if we begin interfering overmuch in the affairs of other worlds, we’ll
develop a taste for it. That we’ll seek to make ourselves gods.” She shook her head. “And while I
understand that reasoning, sequestering ourselves as we have still feels wrong to me. We could be
doing so much more for other peoples across the multiverse. We could be offering aid, guidance,
protection.”

Alicent’s fingers curled around her wrist as she suddenly realized why Vora Sabitha’s words
unsettled her. “What if they don’t desire your help?” she asked quietly, her mind flashing to the
negotiations at Dragon Ridge, to the moment when Queen Rhaenyra had demanded that she
become part of the treaty.

“ Westerosi are not strangers to the act of trading hostages.”

“Then we would of course respect that desire.” Vora Sabitha’s answer came without hesitation, and
there wasn’t even a hint of insincerity in her voice. “I would never suggest that we force our help
on anyone, but there is nothing wrong with offering, is there?” She shrugged in answer to her own
question. “Of course, that is neither here nor there.”

Isn’t it?

Surely Vora Sabitha realized that she was describing Alicent’s own situation. Queen Rhaenyra
decided that I needed help, but she never asked if I actually wanted it. Her lips pursed slightly, the
thought making the smoldering thing in her stomach flare again.

But then, had Queen Rhaenyra given me a choice, I would have certainly chosen wrong.

Her shoulders slumped.

She’d been so convinced that she deserved Criston’s abuse, so terrified of the Firestorm, that even
if Queen Rhaenyra had somehow found a way to ask her if she wished to escape and be free,
Alicent had no doubt that she would have said “no.”

And then what?

She understood that Queen Rhaenyra had helped her, that Queen Rhaenyra had saved her. Yet a
small, ungrateful part of her still had the audacity to dislike how she’d been so carelessly traded
about. Queen Rhaenyra did what was necessary to save me. And I know she feels guilty over how
everything came about.

That ought to be enough for her.

It was enough for her.

“Anyhow,” Vora Sabitha continued, drawing Alicent from her own swirling thoughts, “my desire to
protect was significantly greater than my magic,” her tone was far more matter-of-fact that Alicent
might have expected, “so I joined the Shield Sister Society.”

Ah. Alicent had been wondering about that, wondering why women capable of wielding magic,
manipulating the elements, transforming into any animal of their choosing, and moving objects
magnitudes greater than their own body weight with only their minds would ever deign to learn
such comparatively mundane skills as sword fighting, archery, and martial arts.

Of course, those “mundane” skills were perhaps one of the few reasons the Valyrians had been
able to hold their lines long enough for Queen Rhaenyra to return.

“I pledged myself to Relle Shieldbreaker on my sixteen hundredth birthday, and I’ve never
regretted that decision.” Vora Sabitha smiled, pride shining in her eyes. “I was the first initiate to
join the Society in almost a reign, and my enthusiasm must have impressed the Shield Council,
because they assigned Hylda as my primary mentor.” Her chest puffed slightly. “Being trained by
any Starshield would have been a great honor, of course, but by that time, Hylda had also already
served as the Maiden Knight for Prelate Diana the Third.”

Alicent’s eyebrows arched in surprise. She hadn’t realized that there was that much of an age
difference between the two knights. For while Vora Hylda certainly appeared older than Vora
Sabitha, that meant next to nothing considering their ability to shift between ages.

“What is a Starshield?” The almost reverent way that Vora Sabitha had said the word indicated that
it was more than merely a high rank within the Society.

“A member of the Starshield Cadet Branch of Clan Westerling—the most prestigious shield sister
bloodline on the planet. The Branch’s progenitor—Top Shield Artemisia Westerling—served as
Empress Daenerys’ Blood Knight and was among the Society’s seven founders. She’s also Hylda’s
great-great-great-grandmother.”

Alicent suddenly wondered if joining the Shield Sister Society and becoming a knight had been
Vora Hylda’s “calling,” or something she’d done out of a sense of duty.

A strangely distant and far-off expression had settled over Vora Sabitha’s face—the same sort of
expression that Alicent had often seen when Aemma was recalling a story about Queen Rhaenyra’s
childhood.
“I was a master shield sister for over seven reigns before seeking a knightly appointment. Eight
natal generations of empress and queens came to the Red Pagoda to select their knights, but none of
them ever . . . called to me.” A small smile curled Vora Sabitha’s lips. “Not until Queen Rhaenyra.”

Alicent could hear the warmth in the Lily Knight’s voice, could see the admiration shining in her
eyes, and she found herself wondering if Queen Rhaenyra fully appreciated the effect that she had
on others.

“The Queen was a rather serious child, almost melancholy, but her inner fire,” Vora Sabitha
chuckled, “there’s a reason she was known as Rhaenyra of the Blackfire, beyond simply the color
of her flames. The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew in my bones that this was the woman I wanted
to serve.”

Suddenly coming to a halt in front of a thick, oaken door, Vora Sabitha pushed it open and swept
her arm out. “And with that, we have arrived at your destination, My Lady.”

Alicent blinked at the sunlight pouring in through the open door. She’d nearly forgotten that Vora
Sabitha was guiding her to the western water garden. She almost invited the Lily Knight to join her
and her companions for cards, but then she remembered that Vora Sabitha had said that the garden
was “on her way.” She didn’t wish to interfere with whatever plans the knight had made for her
afternoon. “Thank you for escorting me, Vora Sabitha.”

Vora Sabitha inclined her head, offering a warm smile. “Of course, My Lady.”

When Sabitha entered her bedchamber, she was immediately pounced upon by a black cat the size
of a wolf. She easily caught the feline, laughing as it shifted into her mate. “Hello, Darling.”

Aly pecked her lips as she wrapped her arms and legs around her neck and waist, squeezing tight.
“You didn’t come back when you said you would.”

“My apologies, Sæta.” Sabitha leaned in to brush her nose against Aly’s cheek, breathing in her
mate’s woodsmoke scent, which was sharper than usual.

And I can hardly blame her for being disgruntled.

While both of them had been among the first women to return to Stone Garden, they’d hardly seen
each other at all since the War’s end. Sabitha had rarely left Rhaenyra’s side due to the other
knights being away, and Aly’s days and nights had been occupied by repairs, planting, and
harvesting.

This was the first afternoon they’d had all to themselves in nearly two years.

“I was on my way to you when I came across the Lady Alicent. She’d become lost on her way to
the western water garden,” Sabitha explained, hoping to soothe her mate’s temper.

Much to her relief, Aly’s scent calmed in response to her words.

“I see.” Aly unlooped her arms from Sabitha’s neck and unwound her legs from Sabitha’s waist
before slipping from her grasp. “So, naturally, you had to be the gallant knight and show her the
way.”
“Naturally,” Sabitha agreed, smiling slightly when Aly grabbed her hand and led her over to the
armor stand beside their wardrobe.

Even though Sabitha was perfectly capable of removing the entirety of her armor without
assistance, Aly had always insisted on doing it herself. Sabitha had protested the first few times,
feeling guilty for making the other woman perform such a task, but Aly had rolled her eyes and
assured her that she wanted to, claiming that she enjoyed the intimacy of the act.

And who was Sabitha to deny her mate’s wishes?

“You and your chivalrous nature,” Aly tsked, releasing Sabitha’s hand and stepping behind her to
begin undoing the buckles of her breastplate with practiced fingers.

“Don’t pretend as if my ‘chivalrous nature’ isn’t one of the things you love about me.” Sabitha
would have liked to turn her head so she could see her mate properly, but she knew that would earn
her an exasperated reprimand. Aly preferred that she remain perfectly still whilst being divested of
her armor, claiming that any movement made it more difficult to undo the buckles and ties.

Sabitha was fairly certain that Aly simply enjoyed ordering her around.

Not that she herself minded.

Aly simply harrumphed in response. “Arms up.”

Sabitha chucked as she raised her arms to make it easier for Aly to telekinetically remove her
backplate and breastplate once the final buckles were undone.

Regardless of her mate’s grumblings, she knew that Aly found her chivalry pleasing, if for no other
reason than it was how they’d met.

A soft smile curled her lips at the memory of their first encounter, at the memory of holding Aly in
her arms for the first time after catching her. Aly had chosen to set her hair loose from its
customary braid that day, so her ebony locks had been cascading over her shoulders and down her
back like a dark waterfall.

“What has you smiling so broadly, Sæta?” Aly’s voice cut through her reminiscing, making Sabitha
smile even wider.

“I was thinking about the day we met.”

“Hmm. Your unnecessary rescue?” Aly motioned for her to hold out her arms so she could begin
removing Sabitha’s gauntlets and vambraces.

Sabitha scoffed. “I saw a lovely woman about to fall flat on her face. I’d say my rescue was quite
necessary.”

“I’m certain that lovely woman could have easily caught herself with her telekinesis,” Aly pointed
out as she removed the left gauntlet and set it aside.

“So she said, after being so gallantly rescued.” Sabitha rolled her shoulders once both of her arms
were free, perhaps flexing her muscles more than necessary as she did so.

Aly’s eyes darkened, and her scent grew headier.

Sabitha didn’t bother to hide her smug smile.

Shaking her head a little, Aly knelt to remove Sabitha’s cuisses and greaves. “And how is the Lady
Alicent this day?”

“She seems in good spirits.” Aside from that moment when she’d gone frighteningly pale and still
after Sabitha had mentioned the blood oath. She’d had to say the other woman’s name thrice before
finally receiving a response, and she’d been on the verge of mentally summoning Rhaenyra.

But the Lady Alicent had recovered herself, and while Sabitha was certain that there was more to
Lady Alicent’s reaction than simply a wandering mind, she knew better than to prod at a
traumatized woman’s wounds.

“That’s good. Her Majesty was fretting just the other day about Lady Alicent’s mood. Apparently
Her Ladyship was ‘rather quiet’ during their empathy lesson earlier this week.” Aly snorted. “I
swear she grows more enamored by the day.”

Sabitha nodded in agreement. Anyone with eyes—even the blind—could see how taken Rhaenyra
was with Lady Alicent. “Well, you can report to Her Majesty that Lady Alicent seems to have
recovered from whatever was troubling her.”

Aly gave her an incredulous look. “Sabitha Vypren, do you truly care for my health so little?”

“Pardon?”

“Didn’t I tell you? The last time someone attempted to ‘report’ on Lady Alicent, Queen Rhaenyra
nearly incinerated her. ‘We’ll not have spies monitoring the Lady Alicent,’ she said. ‘We are not
Criston Cole.’”

Sabitha arched an eyebrow. Her mate most certainly hadn’t told her about this. “She used the
majestic plural?” She could count on one hand the number of times that Rhaenyra had done that
outside of official declarations and correspondences.

“Mm-hmm. Apparently, the Queendom will not tolerate Lady Alicent being spied upon either.”

Merciful Mother.

Sabitha understood Rhaenyra’s resistance towards the Lady Alicent. Truly she did. Given Lady
Alicent’s history, only a monster would treat her with anything less than the utmost care. But there
was treating a traumatized woman with care, and then there was whatever insane dance Rhaenyra
was engaged in.

It’s not for me to dictate how she manages her private affairs, she reminded herself. She would
leave that to Aemma.

As soon as her legs were free of their armor, Sabitha bent down and scooped Aly up from the floor,
one arm under her mate’s legs and the other supporting her back.

Aly let out a surprised squeak, but she swiftly melted into the embrace, reaching up to grab the
back of Sabitha’s neck and tug her down into a fierce kiss. A low purr rumbled in Sabitha’s chest as
she savored her mate’s lips. Aly always tasted sweet, as if she’d just eaten a honey cake. Heat was
coiling low in her belly as her mate’s fingers stroked her neck, not quite teasing her mate mark, but
dangerously close.

Breaking their kiss, Sabitha smiled down at her breathtaking mate, whose cheeks were deliciously
flushed. “I love you, Sæta.”

“I love you, too.” One of Aly’s hands slid from Sabitha’s neck to cradle her jaw. Despite the lust
darkening her eyes, the warm adoration was still plain to see. Warm adoration . . . and a twinkle of
mischief. “However, you did leave me alone for quite some time.”

No more than fifteen minutes at most, but Sabitha bowed her head contritely all the same. “Please
forgive me, Aly.”

“Hmm. I suppose I could be . . . persuaded to forgive you.” A sly smirk curled Aly’s lips as her
eyebrows arched suggestively.

Sabitha growled softly, and she could feel her canines lengthening and sharpening in her mouth.
“Name your desire, Aly, and it shall be yours.”

Aly giggled. “Careful, Vora. That’s a rather dangerous proposition.”

Sabitha shrugged as she carried her mate over to their bed and laid her down atop the covers. “I
know that I’m safe in your capable hands.”

Aly’s fingers fisted the fabric of her tunic and tugged. “Why don’t you remind me of how capable
your hands are?”

Never one to deny her mate, Sabitha swiftly climbed onto the bed and pounced.

Alicent bit the inside of her cheek as she stared down at her cards. She had two tens, which was
good, and a single face card—pillar card, she corrected herself, Valyrians call them pillar cards—
but the other four remaining cards in her hand were utterly unhelpful.

She glanced around the table at Margaery’s pleased smile, Sansa’s carefully blank face, Ygritte’s
smirk, and Gilly’s deceptively open expression. Ygritte had invited her heart friend to play cards
with them, and while Alicent could hardly claim to know the woman well, after three practice
hands and six actual hands, she knew not to trust the seemingly guileless face of Gilly Cassel.

I should have known better than to allow Margaery to persuade me to play a gambling game.

But in her defense, Sansa, Gilly, and Ygritte had all encouraged her folly. Sansa and Ygritte had
offered to lend her some money to wager with, and Gilly had insisted that learning to play primera
was an essential part of her cultural education. “It’s the most popular card game on the planet,”
she’d insisted, and her companions had all nodded in agreement.

Silly fool.

Knowing that she would be unlikely to win with only a single pair, when the time came for her to
either match the stake or fold, Alicent set her cards down on the table. “Fold.”

Sansa folded soon after.

After two more rounds of betting, Gilly finally called an end to it when she was the final person in
sequence.

Three hands were fanned out across the table, and Alicent leaned forward to inspect them. She saw
immediately that Ygritte had won, and by the way Margaery huffed and Gilly groaned, they
evidently saw it as well.

Gilly had managed to collect seven sequential cards, the highest of which was the mother lotus of
scrolls.

A pillar sequence.

Margaery’s hand was almost identical to Gilly’s, except her pillar card was the empress of thrones.

“When the pillar matches the suit, the card is worth three extra points,” Margaery had explained
while providing an overview of the various primera rules governing point values.

Just as each kind of pillar card corresponded to one of the Four Pillars of Valyria, so too did the
suits. Empress cards and thrones represented the imperial government, prelate cards and
septagrams represented the Temple, grand magister cards and scrolls represented the Order of
Magisters, and mother lotus cards and lotuses represented the Order of the Lotus.

Unfortunately for Margaery, a pillar sequence—even when the pillar card was a suit match—nigh
always lost to a full support hand.

And Ygritte’s full support not only included the empress of septagrams and mother lotus of thrones,
it also contained the prelate of septagrams and grand magister of scrolls.

Full support with two matched cards. There won’t be any need for calculating points.

Grinning broadly, Ygritte cheerfully collected her winnings from the middle of the table, using her
telekinesis to create neat stacks of silver and copper coins. “Better luck next time, Margaery.”

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Gloat as you like, Ygritte. The cards never favor one person for too
long.”

While Alicent would normally be inclined to agree—she knew well how fickle “luck” could be—
Ygritte had won the last three hands . . .

As Margaery snatched up the cards and began shuffling for the next hand, Sansa leaned over to
whisper to Alicent. “Are you certain I can’t lend you a few more pence?” Her eyes flicked down to
the dwindling number of coins in front of Alicent. “Or shillings, if you’d rather?”

Alicent quickly shook her head, heat rising in her cheeks.

It had been humiliating enough needing to accept a collection of shillings, pence, half pence, and
farthings from Sansa and Ygritte simply in order to play this game. And while she knew that her
friend meant well, the rather stark reminder that she didn’t actually have anything of her own with
which to wager had made her stomach clench and her fingers curl into fists.

She knew that being bothered by her lack of personal possessions was foolish. Nothing in her life
had ever truly been hers, after all. As a girl, everything from the clothes on her back to the bed in
which she slept had belonged to her father, and as a wife, what few items and trinkets that she
might have considered hers were in fact Criston’s.

So it really shouldn’t bother her that every dress she wore, that every flower she picked, that every
window she cherished, that every bite of food she ate was only “hers” by Queen Rhaenyra’s grace
and grant.

Yet it did.

Uncomfortably so.

Even if she didn’t actually know what it was to own something, she knew what it was to want
something of her own.

I should simply be grateful that I’m no longer the property of Criston or my father or anyone else.

That ought to be enough for her. She could claim to own herself now, and that was all that should
truly matter. What were coins and trinkets compared to personal autonomy?

“You can do whatever you wish. Simply inform me of your desires, and I’ll help however I can.”

Alicent could do as she pleased now.

That should be enough.

So long as Queen Rhaenyra allows it, her mother’s voice cooed.

Her jaw clenched as she swiftly smothered those poisonous words.

Sansa was giving her an odd look, but she thankfully did not press the issue of lending Alicent
more money.

“Alicent, I meant to ask earlier, did you have a pleasant talk with Vora Sabitha?”

Alicent’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she turned to Margaery. “How did you—?”

“There are traces of her scent on you.” Margaery shrugged as she began dealing the next hand.
“Besides, you were rather late in arriving, indicating you became lost. I assume Vora Sabitha
guided you to the gardens?”

Fresh embarrassment colored her cheeks, but she could hardly deny the truth of Margaery’s
inferences. “We had a very pleasant discussion about the knightly orders and why she wished to
become a knight.”

Ygritte grinned as she scooped up her cards. “What did she offer as her reason?”

“A desire to protect.” Alicent picked up her own cards, fanning them out to inspect them. She bit
her lip to hide her smile when she saw that she’d been dealt three pillar cards.

“Mm. Not surprising. Most knights have fierce protective instincts.”

“As you would certainly know, My Brave Knight,” Gilly teased, reaching over to poke Ygritte’s
side.
Rather than growling and batting the hand away—as she certainly would have had anyone else
poked her—Ygritte smiled indulgently and responded by rubbing Gilly’s arm. “We’re the shield
that guards the Empire.”

Alicent had almost forgotten that Ygritte was a former knight, that she’d served as the Shadow
Knight for one of Queen Rhaenyra’s aunts. “Is that why you joined the Shield Sister Society,
Ygritte? Your fierce protective instincts?”

“I joined in order to learn mundane methods of self-defense.” Ygritte shrugged as she slid two of
her cards to Margaery and waited to receive two new ones from the deck in exchange. “Being able
to protect yourself with something other than magic is useful to those of us who travel off-world.”
She looked over at Gilly. “Which reminds me, I’ve been thinking we might make a short visit to
Arcorun next reign? We can see if the locals finally developed faster-than-light travel.”

Gilly tapped her cards thoughtfully. “I was thinking Semporonil. Assuming their crystal falls
haven’t been destroyed, it’s much prettier. At least the southern hemisphere.” She turned her
attention back to Alicent. “Don’t believe Ygritte’s tales. She became a shield sister because it was
her calling. No one journeys to the Red Pagoda unless they have a deep desire to serve and
protect.”

Ygritte snorted. “Gilly is projecting. Simply because she was born knowing that she wanted to be a
chef, she assumes everyone has a calling of some sort.”

“I have to agree with Ygritte on this matter. Much as it pains me.” Margaery sighed miserably,
leaning her head on Sansa’s shoulder for support and receiving a few gentle caresses to her hair in
response. “One of the beauties of eternal life is being able to explore all of your interests to their
fullest extent. Callings are all well and good, but not everyone has them, nor do you need them.”

“Spending too long doing any one thing is a recipe for madness,” Sansa agreed. She rolled her
shoulder to dislodge Margaery’s head. “Stop peeking at my cards.”

“I would never,” Margaery cried, looking far too affronted to be believed.

“What do you think, Alicent?” Gilly cocked her head slightly. “Surely you had girlhood dreams and
aspirations for what you wished to do with your life.”

The table went dead silent, save for what sounded like Ygritte kicking Gilly’s leg.

Margaery and Sansa were exchanging worried looks.

Ygritte was scowling at Gilly.

Gilly’s face had gone pale.

Alicent almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of her ever being allowed to have anything so foolish
as “aspirations.” She’d only ever aspired to be a proper wife and a good mother—and she’d failed
miserably at both.

No. I didn’t fail.

It’s not my fault I’m barren. Criston had no right to treat me so.
But he never laid a hand on his other wives, her mother’s voice cooed softly, sickly and sweet.
Only you. The barren one.

Her jaw clenched. My inability to have children didn’t give him the right to hurt me.

Didn’t it?

A stab of pain traveled up her arm, and she was distantly aware of her nails digging into her palm.

She’d seen how her father had treated her mothers, had seen how he’d always heeded her mother’s
advice on legal matters. As a daughter of the House of Vidor, her mother had been learning the law
before she could crawl. And her father had never forbidden Roka from offering her ideas on new
architectural projects or Adah from suggesting better methods of intelligence gathering. In his own
way, he’d valued their opinions, had valued them.

Criston had been much the same. For all of his cruelty towards her, he’d recognized his other
wives’ expertise. He’d allowed Sabina to handle all of the family’s personal accounting because of
her skill with numbers and knowledge about finances, and he’d ceded to Arilla on nigh all matters
related to faith—even allowing her to personally select the family’s rectors.

Alicent had always considered her father’s behavior towards her mothers and Criston’s towards his
other wives to be further proof of her own defectiveness. Surely she must be the problem if she was
the only ill-treated wife.

But now . . .

“Women are worth far more than their ability to bear children,” Dr. Arwen had told her several
months ago. “Children are a blessing, to be sure, but your sole purpose in life is not to be a womb
with legs. You are your own person, Alicent. You’re an independent individual with your own needs
and desires. You’re allowed to want things from life.”

Allowed to want things.

“Surely you had girlhood dreams and aspirations for what you wished to do with your life.”

She hadn’t.

Not the way Gilly meant.

The path of her life had been set from the day she was born: daughter, wife, mother.

No more. No less.

To desire more was blasphemy.

Blasphemy she’d fallen prey to but once.

«You could have been a phenomenal physician, Lady Alicent.»

Even after all these years, the memory of Dr. Axton’s words still filled her with a strange and
uncomfortable combination of pride and guilt.

Guilt that she intellectually knew she needn’t feel.

“You’re allowed to want things from life.”

Prenden Axton hadn’t meant to make her want things, she knew, and yet he had.

Her childhood physician had always clucked sympathetically whenever she’d come to him with
bruises on her arms or a fresh slap mark on her cheek. He’d always given her kindly looks with his
warm eyes that had reminded her of the summer sky. And he’d always treated her gently when
tending to her injuries.

And while he’d never been so foolish as to criticize her mother’s actions aloud, she had sometimes
liked to think that he disapproved.

But none of that was why she’d grown so fond of him.

No. What had drawn her back to his office again and again—even when she wasn’t in need of
medical assistance—was his willingness to teach her. In his own way. Whenever he’d treated her,
he’d always taken the time to explain what he was doing, what medicines he was applying and
why, and how they worked. He’d never scoffed at her questions or chided her for her curiosity,
never told her that she was being insolent for wishing to know more.

As she’d grown older, he’d even begun granting her access to some of the medical texts, treatises,
articles, and research housed within his personal data crystals. She’d devoured each new piece of
information, memorized it, and then always returned to Dr. Axton within a week or so to recount
what she’d learned and ask him more questions.

«It’s such a pity that that eidetic memory of yours can never be put to good use,» he’d told her once
with a sigh. «If you were a man, no door in academia would be closed to you.» He’d gently patted
her arm, taking care to avoid the bruises marring her skin. «You could have been a phenomenal
physician, Lady Alicent.»

Dr. Axton was why she’d once allowed herself to hope that her father would wed her to the Lord of
Health. She’d known that Dr. Axton allowed his second wife to assist him because she had an
interest in medicine, and she’d thought that perhaps Lord Jyral might allow her the same privilege.
As Zelma’s brother, she’d had reason to believe Lord Jyral would be a kind man.

But even the kindest of men would not suffer a barren wife.

She was fairly certain though that Lord Jyral would have simply killed her upon learning that she
couldn’t give him sons or even daughters. That was what nigh any other husband would have done
—as would have been his right.

But Criston did not wish me dead.

There’s no fun to be had in torturing a corpse.

«You could have been a phenomenal physician, Lady Alicent.»

Would she have been, in truth? Perhaps. She would never know, so it hardly mattered.

“You’re allowed to want things from life.”

But even on Valyria, becoming a physician was a foolish desire. What Valyrian would ever want a
Westerosi treating them?
 Besides, she was fairly certain that blue lotus training spanned enough centuries that she’d be
nearing the end of her life by the time she was allowed to actually practice.

It was no more than a childish fancy. I can be more content without it.

She could.

Her life was good at present—better than she would have ever expected.

Perhaps she was allowed to want, but what else was there for her to want, in truth? She was safe
here. She was becoming friends with people. She could go where she pleased within Stone Garden,
and she was even beginning to contemplate attempting to venture out into the city once more.

Queen Rhaenyra was kind and generous to her—even if she had grown strangely distant these past
months.

I have everything I could want.

“Alicent?”

Shaking her head, Alicent met Margaery’s concerned eyes and offered her what she was fairly
certain was a reassuring smile. Her hand throbbed, but her fist was no longer clenched. She didn’t
even remember uncurling her fingers.

“My apologies. I became lost in thought.” She turned to Gilly. “I had an interest in medicine as a
child.”

The words fell quickly from her lips, spoken swiftly lest she think better of them.

Gilly’s eyes widened in surprise.

Margaery and Sansa nearly dropped their cards.

Ygritte just stared at her as if she’d grown a second head.

Alicent plucked several cards from her hand and slid them over to Margaery. “Three please.”

For a moment, Margaery didn’t move, but then she seemed to remember herself and swiftly
regained her composure. “Yes. Of course.” She snatched three cards from the top of the deck and
handed them to Alicent.

“Thank you.” Looking at her cards, Alicent couldn’t help but smile.

She’d been given an empress.

She had a full support.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry for the lack of Rhaenyra this chapter. She'll be back next chapter doing queen stuff and
looking very fancy (so Alicent can definitely not drool over her).

By the by, because I went through the trouble of creating an entire family tree and service
history for the Starshields, here's a rundown of the accomplishments of Hylda's immediate
family (this was originally part of the chapter, but I cut it for being too much of an info dump).

- Aelinor Westerling (elder sister) was Dowager Queen Viserra's Blood Knight, has served two
empresses and one prelate before that, and was previously First Shield of the Shield Sister
Society.

- Melnora Westerling (younger sister) is Queen Helaena's current Shadow Knight, and has
previously served four other queens.

- Ethylla Westerling (mother) has served sixteen different empresses as a Draconic Knight and
was previously First Shield.

- Aella Westerling (grandmother) was First Shield for twelve consecutive reigns, and has
served three empresses, five queens, and four prelates.

- Andromache Westerling (great-grandmother) served as a Draconic Knight for six

consecutive reigns, has served three other empresses and one prelate, and was previously First
Shield.

- Aresia Westerling (great-great-grandmother) has served the last twelve consecutive prelates,
served two empresses and six queens before that, and was previously First Shield.

- Artemisia Westerling (great-great-great-grandmother) was the first Blood Knight and

original First Shield, and has served seven other empresses and seven other prelates.

Next Chapter: We get some Rhaenicent interactions! Yay!

 Attending Open Court
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 18:

– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden

A special thanks to Octavas for beta reading this chapter.

Rhaenyra's necklace

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Warm Moon/1,000,123 Visenya VI

Alicent shifted nervously from foot to foot, fiddling with the edge of her cloak as she thought for
about the tenth time in as many minutes that she shouldn’t have allowed Margaery to persuade her
to attend open court. I could have simply visited the throne room when it wasn’t filled with a sea of
women. For she had—admittedly—been wishing to see the inside of Stone Garden’s throne room.

Second only to the great hall in terms of size, the architectural books that she’d been reading had all
assured her that the interior was a truly magnificent sight to behold. Before today, she’d only ever
seen the outside of the enormous edifice that housed the throne room, which had been built in the
southern ward so as to be accessible to the public. Once she’d begun venturing into the outer ward,
she’d oft passed it by.

The great doors leading into the long, rectangular building were over eight feet tall and made of
gilded rosewood and gleaming bronze. More times than she could count, she’d found herself
pausing on her way to the gardens simply to admire them. They’d been charred and blackened
when she’d first arrived, and she suspected that Queen Rhaenyra had likely delayed restoring the
throne room to its full glory until more pressing matters were settled.

She knew from reading Archmagister Ixora Beesbury’s book detailing the history of Stone
Garden’s construction and its architectural design that green and gold tiles formed geometric
patterns on the throne room’s floor, and that the walls were made of light blue marble.

She knew that massive columns and towering arches of dark red granite supported the chamber’s
vaulted ceiling, and that tall, thin windows lined the right wall to offer additional sunlight.

She knew that two long galleries dominated the left side of the throne room to provide courtiers a
place from which they could observe the proceedings, and that the lower gallery was accessible
from the ground floor, while women had to shapeshift and fly to reach the upper gallery.

But knowing those things and actually seeing them were two entirely different matters.

When she’d spoken to Margaery about visiting the throne room, her friend had grinned at her in a
way that Alicent should have realized meant trouble. She’d realized soon enough a moment later
when Margaery had suggested that she attend this month’s open court session.

“If you intend to venture out into the city again, you ought to first ensure that your ward is strong
enough to protect you against the emotions of that many women.”

Alas, Alicent had allowed herself to be convinced by those words. She wanted to explore the city,
to be sure, but she also well-remembered what had happened the last time that she’d mustered the
courage to do so.

But that was eight months ago, she reminded herself. And she’d been learning to control her
empathy with Queen Rhaenyra nigh every day since. Her ward was fully bonded to her now, as
much a part of her as her own hands and as steady and constant as her heartbeat.

She still needed to construct a new ward that wasn’t the likeness of Queen Rhaenyra, but that was a
task for a different time.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she decided that it couldn’t hurt to actively strengthen her ward just
a little. Court hadn’t even begun yet, and already there were well over a hundred women filling the
hall. The large, cavernous chamber was alive with their soft murmurs as they waited for Queen
Rhaenyra to arrive. And while their “ambient emotions” weren’t overwhelming her, she was still
cognizant of them—more so than she would have preferred.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as her mental Queen Rhaenyra hugged her closer, reminding her of a
few nights ago when she’d awoken from a night terror about the first time that Criston had given
her to another lord for the evening. Queen Rhaenyra’s hands had been so gentle as they’d stroked
her back and her hair, her voice so soft and low as she’d whispered that all was well and that no one
would ever harm her again.

Shaking her head to clear it, Alicent focused her attention on the women down below. She’d asked
Margaery and Sansa to help her up into the upper gallery because there was a small back door at
the far end. If necessary, she’d be able to quietly sneak out without causing a scene by leaving
through the main doors.

It had been quite some time since she’d seen so many women gathered together, and more were
entering through the great doors by the minute. She recognized some of the women as courtiers
who were simply in attendance to observe—as she was—but most of the faces were unfamiliar to
her. These women, she knew, were petitioners who had traveled from across the Queendom to seek
a brief audience with their queen.

According to Margaery, Queen Rhaenyra held open court once each month to allow her subjects the
chance to speak with her personally, and there had apparently been more petitioners in the past two
years than there had been in the past five centuries. “And that’s discounting the times when Her
Majesty was away wandering.”

Alicent had meant to ask when exactly Margaery meant by her last comment, but she’d become
distracted when Ygritte had appeared to remind her that her empathy lesson was in a few minutes.
By the time she’d finished with her lesson, all she’d wanted to do was curl up with a book and a hot
cup of tea.

Attending open court today would be the first time that she’d been around a large crowd since her
disastrous excursion out into Osmera. And it would hopefully prove that her ward was indeed
strong enough that she might be able to attempt venturing into the city again sometime in the
future.

All will be well.

Queen Rhaenyra had praised the strength of her ward just the other day, and no one would be
paying her any mind during open court. Their focus would be on the Queen, just as it had been
when she’d taken supper in the great hall. She would be all right. Her ward would hold. And she
would be all right.

Feeling herself somewhat relax, Alicent allowed her eyes to sweep over the enormous chamber
once more and simply admire its grandeur and beauty. Archmagister Ixora had been correct in
claiming that “Mere words can hardly begin to appropriately capture the majesty of Stone Garden’s
throne room.”

Admittedly, she’d become somewhat skeptical of the claim once she’d learned that it was
Archmagister Ixora’s sister—Valora Beesbury—who had designed Stone Garden.

But the archmagister has not been embellishing.

Directly across from the great doors was a semicircular apse occupied by a large dais crafted from
lavender marble. Overhead, purple crystal formed a dome that arched up to an oculus that allowed
sunlight to directly shine down upon the throne.

Forged from rose gold into the shape of a blooming rose, the Rose Throne of Kastrell gleamed
bright and elegant in the morning sun. The head of the rose formed the seat, back, and arms, while
the legs were designed to resemble giant thorns. The rose’s stem, which was carved from dark
green jade, coiled around the thorn legs to create a footrest. Upholstery the color of violets
cushioned the throne’s seat and back.

A series of twenty-seven steps led up from the green and gold floor to the top of the dais where the
Rose Throne sat. Flanking the stairs were balustrades of solid green marble that looked to be about
a foot thick in width and some three feet tall. They gently sloped upwards parallel to the incline of
the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, the balustrades leveled off to merge with the dais, while at the bottom, each
balustrade ended in a square-topped pedestal. An enormous silver dragon statue was perched atop
each of the pedestals, and their golden eyes glinted in the sunlight streaming in through the
windows.

Lord Jyral could never have designed something so lovely.

Alicent sucked in a small breath, but she managed not to wince at her own thought. It was rude, to
be sure, but not untrue. Westerosi architects had long ago discarded beauty and aesthetic in favor of
utilitarianism and minimalism.

The Valyrians had not.

And Alicent couldn’t help but find herself favoring Valyrian architectural designs far more than
those she’d been accustomed to back home.

Perhaps it was frivolous of her, but she appreciated the beauty.

Her eyes shifted from the long purple carpet with golden trim that ran the length of the throne room
—beginning at the entrance of the double doors and ending at the foot of the Rose Throne—and
swept over the banners hanging between the windows. Similar to the banners in the great hall, these
displayed the sigils of Kastrell, House Tyrell, and the Queendom’s seven Clans. Beneath the
banners and the window were padded benches for petitioners to sit on while they waited, as well as
a few tables with refreshments.

The members of the Queen’s Small Council were seated at a long, rectangular table just to the left
of the staircase that led up to the dais. The Hand of the Queen—who Sansa had told her was also
Queen Rhaenyra’s aunt—was exchanging quiet words with the mistress of laws—Corla Velaryon.
Lady Rhaenys’ lips were curled into a small, almost conspiratorial smile, and whatever she said
made Mistress Corla chuckle.

On Lady Rhaenys’ left, Archmagister Elysara Stokeworth fussed with different stacks of papers,
the sleeves of her green robe dragging across the table and threatening to overturn the inkwell that
she seemed to be sharing with the mistress of resources. Lymna Beesbury was slightly hunched
over as she scribbled notes in a leather-bound ledger, her lips pursed into a thin, thoughtful line.
Mistress of Coin Bartima Celtigar leaned over to whisper something to Mistress Lymna, which
resulted in the other woman batting her away. The exchange reminded Alicent of how Sansa often
swatted Margaery’s arm when her heart friend said something that she deemed “inappropriate for
public conversation.”

Mother Lemore Rowan futzed with the white gossamer of her veil as she waited, while High Lotus
Gerarda Baratheon absently tapped her finger on the blue lotus medallion hanging around her neck.

The eighth chair at the table was conspicuously empty.

A sudden hush fell over the throne room, broken only by the soft rustling of fabric as women
turned towards the great double doors and those who had been sitting swiftly rose to their feet.
Excitement and anticipation crackled in the air around her, and Alicent felt her own heart begin to
race in response.

Deep breaths.

My ward is strong.

All will be well.

Trumpets blared as a woman dressed in a pale green gown strode over to the double doors, halting
just to the right of the long purple carpet. Over her gown, she wore a purple tabard emblazoned
with Kastrell’s golden rose. Her voice rang out in the silent hall as she announced, “Presenting Her
Royal Majesty Rhaenyra Flameborn of the House Targaryen and the Rosedragon Branch, the
Seventh of Her Name, Queen of Kastrell, Keeper of the Fertile Fields, Most Generous and Good,
Queen of the Harvest, the Garden Queen, Protector of the Realm, Lady of the Garden Court, Lady
of Osmera, Lady of Stone Garden, and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire.”

Alicent’s eyebrows rose slightly upon hearing Queen Rhaenyra’s litany of titles. She’d always
thought that her own people had a propensity for formal styles and verbose introductions, but she
was fairly certain that no single lord had ever had so many appellations.

The doors swung open.

The Queen entered the throne room.

And Alicent’s heart stuttered in her chest.

Queen Rhaenyra was breathtaking.

Head held high in a way that drew the eye to her sharp jawline, a warm and benevolent smile
graced her lips. Her amethyst eyes glinted in the sunlight, which danced across her fair cheeks, and
her silver hair shone brighter than the polished metal. She moved with all of the grace and elegance
of a trained dancer, and yet the set of her shoulders and the sureness of her steps spoke to the steel
dwelling beneath her silken exterior.

She’s so beautiful.

Alicent blinked a few times, shaking her head to clear it of the queer thought.

Dressed for court as she was, the Queen’s clothes were quite striking.
The only other time she could ever remember seeing Queen Rhaenyra so richly attired was the
night when the other woman had washed her feet.

That night, Alicent had been far too terrified of the Firestorm to appreciate how exquisite Queen
Rhaenyra looked when dressed for court.

But she was no longer terrified.

Queen Rhaenyra’s silver hair was swept back into a neat bun contained within a golden hairnet
spangled with amethysts that matched her bright eyes. Ruby-red roses with snow-white inner petals
dangled from her ears and accentuated her sharp jawline. Rings glinted on her fingers, but Alicent
was too far away to discern more than flashes of gleaming gold and shining silver.

Gracing her throat was a beautiful necklace of rubies and pearls. The chain was adorned with two
dangling pearls and five square-cut rubies set in gold filigree and surrounded by smaller pearls. A
teardrop-shaped pendant set with a large ruby surrounded by small pearls rested just beneath her
collarbone, and hanging low from the bottom of the pendant was a third pearl.

The crown resting atop her head was a golden circlet inlaid with pale blue sapphires, rich red
rubies, and lustrous white pearls. Attached to the circlet were eight individual pearls, and eight
golden cinquefoils inset with alternating sapphires and rubies. The crown’s infill of purple velvet
was covered by a pearled net, and arcing over it were two golden arches. Both arches were
decorated with emeralds and pearls, and surmounting them and the net was a large golden rose atop
a purple globe inlaid with yet more pearls.

Embroidered three-headed red dragons swooped across her gown’s sable skirts, which were slashed
down the front to reveal silver brocade adorned with black flames. The bodice of her dress, which
was festooned with emeralds and yellow diamonds arranged into the shape of a blooming rose,
looked stiff and rather uncomfortable, but it certainly accentuated her slender waist.

Her long, trailing sleeves were split up to the crook of her elbow and floated freely behind her with
each elegant step she took. Silver braiding encircled her upper arms just above the elbow, drawing
the eye to her toned muscles. The neckline of her gown was trimmed with intricate black lace,
which starkly contrasted against her fair skin.

The Queen was a vision.

A vision of elegance.

A vision of radiance.

A vision of strength.

Alicent swallowed a little.

Queen Rhaenyra was nigh always regal and imposing—save for when she was holding Alicent
after a night terror—but today was different.

Her naturally commanding presence had somehow increased a hundredfold, and the very air around
her seemed to crackle with power. The confident way that she swept across the throne room was a
stark reminder that this was a woman whose authority and will had been nigh unquestioned for
millions of years
No one questioned her will two years ago at Dragon Ridge.

Not even Empress Visenya.

Alicent grimaced, disliking how those thoughts made her stomach twist uncomfortably. It was a
good thing that no one had questioned the Queen’s will or countermanded her desires.

The Queen did not wish me harmed.

Queen Rhaenyra’s wish had saved her life that day.

And Alicent should—would—be forever grateful for that.

Grateful that no one had dared deny the Queen.

“You are not suggesting a hostage swap. You are demanding that I leave one of my wives here!”

Alicent’s lips twisted. I suppose, in his own incensed and wrathful way, that he did try to question
Queen Rhaenyra’s will, that he did try to deny her. But Criston’s token protests had been no more
than his rage at having something that he considered his stolen from him. They’d certainly had
naught to do with concern for her well-being.

If he’d realized that Queen Rhaenyra didn’t intend to harm me, he would have protested more
vehemently.

She shivered at the thought of what might have happened had Criston actually refused to give her
to the Valyrians. Would Queen Rhaenyra have insisted more forcefully? Or would she have
accepted the denial with a clenched jaw and then simply forgotten about Alicent in a few centuries.

Alicent wasn’t certain which possibility upset her more.

It doesn’t matter what might have been.

Queen Rhaenyra had saved her.

Queen Rhaenyra had welcomed her into her home.

Queen Rhaenyra now saw fit to avoid her almost entirely . . .

Taking a deep breath, Alicent set such unpleasant thoughts aside and returned her focus down
below. She’d come here to attend open court. She ought to be attentive to the proceedings.

Walking a few steps behind their queen were Vora Hylda, Vora Sabitha, Vora Jonquil, and Vora
Sarmelle. Sarmelle Dayne—the Ivy Knight—had returned from Farnier a few weeks ago, which
Alicent knew was a relief for the other three knights, especially Vora Sabitha and Vora Hylda, who
had been guarding Queen Rhaenyra practically without rest since the war had ended. Sabitha had
mentioned to her the other day that she’d gotten more sleep these past few weeks than she had in
the past two years.

As Queen Rhaenyra gracefully ascended the stairs to her throne, Vora Jonquil and Vora Sarmelle
stationed themselves at the base of the staircase. They took positions in front of the pedestals that
flanked the stairs, the silver dragon statues looming over them. Vora Sabitha stopped about halfway
up the stairs, standing just to one side so that she could easily block anyone attempting to climb up
without permission. Vora Hylda followed her queen all the way up to the dais, waiting until Queen
Rhaenyra was seated on the Rose Throne before moving to stand on her right side.

The Queen’s posture was painfully perfect and radiated effortless poise without seeming rigid. And
when she spoke, her voice echoed throughout the cavernous chamber. “I have heard that twin
flames from the west have come to my court. Can this be so?”

Alicent watched as a pair of women was led forward by the herald. The taller of the two wore a
burgundy dress with a black and gold volcano embroidered into the bodice, while her companion
was dressed in an orange gown whose skirt had what looked like a series of red suns pierced by
golden spears stitched along the hem.

The taller woman was introduced as Ambassador Brenna Jordayne of the Fire Court, while her
shorter companion was presented as Ambassador Mella Uller of the Hearth Court. Both women
swept low, elegant curtsies as they were introduced.

Rising from her curtsy, Ambassador Jordayne loosely clasped her hand together before addressing
the Queen. “You have heard correctly, Your Majesty. Your western sisters send their regards, and I
can assure you that these flames have not come to harm the fields or gardens of your benevolent
court.”

“I am gladdened to hear that.” Queen Rhaenyra rose from her throne and descended the stairs,
coming to a halt in front of the two women. Raising her hands, she flipped them over to reveal her
palms. A split second later, she was holding a pair of bright red apples.

After giving an apple to each ambassador, she pressed her hands together and inclined her head.
“With these apples, I hereby welcome you into my halls and beneath my roof. Every respect shall
be accorded, every need shall be met, and every request shall be heard for as long as you remain
my guests.”

Once both ambassadors had taken a bite of their apples and finished chewing, they bowed low at
the waist, speaking in tandem. “With these apples, we hereby accept your generous hospitality. No
insult shall be given, no harm shall be inflicted, and no request that offends honor or decency shall
be uttered for as long as we remain your guests.”

Separating her hands, Queen Rhaenyra offered them to the ambassadors. “Ambassador Jordayne,
Ambassador Uller, it is with great pleasure that I welcome you back to the Garden Court.”

As the gathered women applauded, both ambassadors swept another curtsy, and this time, they each
kissed one of Queen Rhaenyra’s hands before rising.

Alicent wondered absently how she would have responded to the ceremonial invocation of the rite
of sacred hospitality, had it been offered her first night here. Not well, she suspected. If for no other
reason than she wouldn’t have understood what was happening, which she supposed was why
Queen Rhaenyra had simply ensured that she was fed. Providing a guest with food symbolically
invoked the rite, even if neither the host nor the guest actually recited the accompanying vows.

“Regardless of whether the official ceremonies are observed, the rules governing sacred hospitality
are always in place.” Archmagister Karlora had taken great care to emphasize this particular aspect
of the rite in her treatise on Old World customs that had survived the Doom.
Alicent’s eyebrows drew together when Queen Rhaenyra did not return to her throne once she’d
finished welcoming the ambassadors.

Rather, the Queen walked over to the table where her Small Council was already seated and
claimed the empty chair beside Lady Rhaenys. The moment she’d taken her seat, the table, all eight
chairs, and the women sitting upon them rose up into the air and shifted to the right to hover
directly over the purple carpet bisecting the throne room.

The legs of the chairs and table didn’t make a sound as they settled onto the carpet.

Alicent gave Sansa a questioning look, wondering why Queen Rhaenyra would choose to sit with
her Small Council at a table level with her petitioners rather than on her throne high above them.
Her father and Criston would never have done such a thing. They’d always been conscious of
appearing in command and above others—both literally and figuratively.

“Her Majesty never sits the Rose Throne during open court,” Sansa explained in a whisper. “She
says it makes her seem too distant. First and foremost, a queen is a mother to her people, and
mothers are meant to be approachable.”

Mother was anything but approachable.

Of course, her mother was hardly a paragon of maternal affection.

After receiving a brief nod from her queen, the herald began bringing the petitioners forward. She
announced each woman by name and place of origin, and, in most cases, offered the petitioner’s
reason for coming to court.

The first woman to curtsy before the Queen came bearing a request from her village for
infrastructure aid. Westerosi incendiaries had obliterated everything during the war. “We’ve rebuilt
our homes and shops,” she explained, “but our roads were dragon-stone.” She paused, her
expression almost apologetic. “Our elders considered simply using lesser materials, but—”

Queen Rhaenyra held up a hand to forestall her next words. “You need not explain further, Mistress
Tellura. A member of House Targaryen will be dispatched to your village at the end of the week.
When she arrives, your elders will be expected to have a complete plan for the work that needs to
be done so that she may begin immediately.” She arched an eyebrow. “Is this amenable to you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you, Your Majesty.” Mistress Tellura curtsied low before being led
away.

The next dozen or so petitions were all of a similar nature.

One woman came requesting aid in rerouting a river because the water and earth elementals in her
village weren’t strong enough to do it themselves. Another came seeking permission for her town
to create new fields by felling some nearby woodland. Their old fields needed rest after being
pushed to their limits over the last five years.

The seventh woman came seeking help in removing the dangerous toxins that had been recently
discovered in the soils in and around her town. The Westerosi bombardments had seeded the land
with some sort of slow-acting chemical agent that the magisters were still working to identify, and
it was beginning to poison animals and make women sick.
Alicent couldn’t help but wince each time that she heard another story about the kinds of
destruction her people had wrought. She wondered if she should tell Queen Rhaenyra that she was
fairly certain she knew which chemicals had been used to poison the seventh petitioner’s lands. Her
people tended to favor certain recipes when poisoning an enemy’s land or water supplies.

I’ll tell her after court, she decided. Speaking now would only draw unwanted attention to herself
and alert every woman here that there was a Westerosi amongst them.

As more petitioners came and went, she noticed that Queen Rhaenyra was the only person actually
speaking to them. The members of her Small Council seemed to be present mostly as a show of
support and strength, although both Archmagister Elysara and Mistress Lymna were taking copious
notes on each petition presented.

With every petitioner brought forward, Queen Rhaenyra took the time to engage with her and
properly understand her problem. She listened intently as each woman presented her request, asked
an occasional question, and then made her decision. More often than not, her response was to write
letters of instruction, promise aid, or suggest solutions that the locals could try themselves.

Alicent couldn’t help but marvel at the gracious and amiable way that Queen Rhaenyra interacted
with her subjects. While the awe and deference of every woman who entreated her was plain to see,
none seemed to actually fear her. Queen Rhaenyra spoke calmly and kindly to each petitioner, and
not once did her tone ever imply that the request or problem presented was beneath her or unworthy
of her time and attention. Her smiles were warm and given freely, and every woman who
approached always seemed to leave looking more at ease.

She’d never been permitted to watch her father or Criston speak with the various petitioners and
lobbyists who flocked to the capitals, but she couldn’t imagine either of them treating their subjects
with the same care and consideration as Queen Rhaenyra.

While her father was not a cruel or even a particularly cold man, he’d always been exceptionally
conscious of his station and the fact that everyone—save the other high lords—was his inferior.
He’d interacted with those of lower station only when required, and he’d never been the sort of
man to allow those with whom he was speaking to ever forget that he considered them lesser and
subordinate.

Lessons in class structure and the inherent superiority of the highborn were one of the few things
that he’d personally taken upon himself to teach her and her siblings. He hadn’t trusted any other
educator to convey the proper and appropriate message.

«The lowborn and the houseless are like the beasts our ancestors once used,» her father had
explained. «Their purpose in life is to serve and submit to our will. They require a firm, strong hand
to guide and control them. Otherwise, they’d turn on each other, descend into anarchy, and destroy
themselves. We save them from that fate. We see to it that they are fed and sheltered and even
educated. But that does not make them inherently worthwhile or worthy of our respect. Ancient
farmers cared for their beasts of burden, as masters must, but no farmer ever dined with his bull
and called it friend. The houseless, in particular, are so far beneath us that they are worth no more
concern than ensuring they earn the basic necessities. We are what matter. Not them. It’s very
simple, Alicent.»

But it hadn’t seemed simple to Alicent. Not then, and even less so now. «If the lowborn are no
better than beasts, why have you allowed me to befriend Adelaide?»
She could still remember the sound of her father’s exasperated sigh, though he hadn’t struck her for
not understanding. «There are different kinds of beasts, Alicent, different tiers. Consider the
houseless to be the beasts of burden. There are many of them, they’re less intelligent, and they are
at their best when obeying our orders and performing prescribed tasks. Above them are the more
intelligent beasts, like the hounds that once hunted with and guarded our ancestors. They’re more
valuable and, because of their higher intellect, are capable of a certain level of autonomy. That is
what the lowborn are to us. We can use them in ways that we cannot use the houseless, and we can
trust them with more important duties.»

He’d held up a finger then, expression stern. «However, while they are far more valuable than the
houseless, they are still far beneath us. Truly, Alicent, you need only look at what separates us from
them. Our senses are sharper, we’re stronger, faster, more durable, and much longer-lived. Even
before we developed regenerative gene therapies, our lifespans exceeded theirs by over a thousand
years. And now,» he’d chuckled, «now we live twice as long as the lowborn, and four times as long
as the houseless. What is that, if not Sytarr’s demonstration of our superiority? We were ordained
to rule, My Daughter.»

In a rare show of affection, he’d then reached out and patted her head. «Lady Adelaide and her
family are loyal servants, but they are servants all the same. Do you see me allowing your brothers
to befriend Lady Adelaide’s? No. Because the Axton sons are too far beneath them. A master
ensures the loyalty of his hounds however he must, but he does not befriend them. Lady Adelaide is
beneath you as well, of course, but for women, this matters somewhat less because all of you must
cleave to men. Your brothers and I do not have that burden, but it means that we must be even more
conscious of our station as a result.»

Alicent didn’t know who had taught Criston about class hierarchy, but it was clear that he’d
absorbed and internalized each and every one of those lessons.

It had taken her less than a week to notice that the men he called his friends behaved exactly as she
imagined a pack of personal hounds belonging to their ancient ancestors must have behaved. He’d
expected their loyalty and submission in exchange for his favor, and when he’d chosen to unleash
them on unsuspecting prey, he’d expected ferocity.

A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered exactly how ferocious those men could be. Even
now, she couldn’t say for certain how much of their cruelty had been the result of their own desires
and how much had been in service to their master. She’d always been able to sense their glee and
the way they’d relished hurting her, but sensing an emotion didn’t tell her its true source.

“First and foremost, a queen is a mother to her people.”

She couldn’t imagine a philosophy more at odds with the one she’d been taught.

She’d spent months listening to Dr. Arwen explain how Valyrians view motherhood and what they
consider proper motherly behavior, so she knew exactly what Sansa had meant.

A mother was supposed to love and nurture her children. She was supposed to protect them and
guide them and prepare them for the world. She was supposed to know when to use a firm hand
and when to use a gentle touch. She was supposed to know when to command respect and when to
offer it in return. She was supposed to be there for her daughters when they needed her.

Most importantly, she was supposed to know when to allow them to stand on their own.
“That is what truly matters, is it not?” Dr. Arwen had asked her, head slightly cocked. “Knowing
when to stand aside? Knowing when your daughter is strong enough to no longer need you, and
being strong enough yourself to do what is best for her? A mother who refuses to allow her
daughter to become her own woman has failed in her duty. She is no longer acting maternalistic,
but rather protectively paternalistic. And that helps no one. We raise our daughters not to need us.
We raise them to be strong and capable of caring for themselves. If they are unable to do so, then
we have failed them. If we forever treat them as if they are too foolish or young or delicate or weak
to be independent, then we have failed them.

“Of course,” she’d swiftly added, “there is no shame in any daughter—even a woman grown—
seeking help from her mother—or anyone else, for that matter—when she is in need. A good mother
raises her daughter to care for herself, yes, but she also raises her to know that there is no shame in
needing help from others. Seeking help is not a demonstration of weakness, but rather of strength.
It means you are confident in your own abilities but also know yourself well enough to
acknowledge your own limitations. It means setting aside your pride and admitting that you cannot
do everything alone. A woman who never asks for help is not someone to be admired. She is not
exceptional or worthy of praise. She is arrogant, a fool, or both.”

Her father had taught her that a lord must control his subjects and dictate to them, because they
could not be trusted to govern themselves and would only bring about their own ruin.

Valyrians believed that a queen should care for, protect, and nurture her subjects by giving them the
freedom to stand on their own, by trusting them to know when they needed help and to ask for it.

Not for the first time, Alicent wondered if the striking difference between her home and Valyria
was simply the result of one being ruled by men and the other by women, or if it was something
else, some inherent difference between Valyrians and Westerosi that had nothing to do with sex. Or
perhaps it has everything to do with sex. After all, men had ruled on the Old World, and according
to Why Men Were Banished From Valyria, they had been even worse than the men of her home
world.

Are women inherently better rulers? Or is it rather a matter of education? The First Generation
knew well what it was to be ruled by cruel men, so it wasn’t at all unbelievable that they would
take pains to behave in an opposite manner and ensure that their daughters did the same. Did
Empress Daenerys the Silver found a dynasty of benevolent empresses and queens simply by
teaching her daughters to value compassion over domination?

“Being a monarch does not mean being a tyrant.”

She remembered reading those words—a quote from Empress Daenerys—in a treatise written by
Lady Tyrell. Were Father and Criston tyrants? They had viewed their subjects as less than them,
but they’d never done anything particularly despotic such as slaughter them for no reason or force
them to work until they died of exhaustion. They’d taken care of them as ancient farmers had once
taken care of their cattle and oxen. Having a healthy population ensured a healthy economy and
Lordship.

«A proper lord is not needlessly cruel to his own subjects. Such behavior only brings trouble.»

That was perhaps the one tenet on which her people and the Valyrians would agree.

And yet, how good could any ruler be when he viewed his subjects as no better than beasts? While
she didn’t doubt that her father and Criston had—in their own way—valued the lowborn and the
houseless, she doubted that they had ever harbored compassion for them. They considered them
tools, and they treated them as such. One did not allow his tools to fall into disrepair, but that basic
maintenance did not translate into actual care.

Queen Rhaenyra has cared for me well.

Alicent wondered if it was because the Queen considered her a subject, a guest, or perhaps some
peculiar combination of the two.

The next woman to come forward was introduced as Mistress Merida Florent of Lorreth Village.
Alicent immediately noticed the stiffness of her stride and the tense set of her shoulders. If she
squinted, she could even see that the other woman’s eyes kept darting around the throne room
rather than focusing on her queen.

Why is she so nervous?

None of the other petitioners had seemed so nervous. Was she afraid of Queen Rhaenyra? But that
hardly made sense.

Mistress Merida curtsied low once she stood before the Queen, and she looked as if she might
begin wringing her hands at any moment once she’d straightened. “Your Majesty, I come with both
a warning and a plea from my village. There is a hurricane approaching the southern coast from the
direction of the Middle Sea. Our storm-scryer predicts that it will cross into the Bitter Sea and
make landfall within thirty-six hours.” She paused a moment, one hand tightening around the other
so much that her knuckles turned white. “It’s a Class IV now, but our storm-scryer expects it to
become a Class V by the time it strikes.”

Tension and worry immediately suffused the air in the throne room.

Alicent physically felt it for no more than a split second before her ward flared and blocked it out.

“A Class V hurricane is going to strike our coast in less than two days?” Queen Rhaenyra leaned
forward, a furrow forming on her brow. “Why am I only now being informed of this? A storm like
that must have been brewing and traveling towards us for at least a week.”

“Please forgive me, Your Majesty, but we didn’t know ourselves until this morning. Our storm-
scryer only just returned home, and the woman acting in her stead is untrained and lacks her
strength.”

“Does your storm-scryer know where exactly the hurricane will strike? Do I need to send warning
to Empress Visenya?”

Mistress Merida quickly shook her head. “No, Your Majesty. I was told that the storm would strike
the Florent peninsula first and then travel northeast along the coast and Water Lily Bay, likely dying
down while passing through the Silver Moon Channel.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s lips pursed as she drummed her fingers on the table. “What have your elders
done thus far to prepare? Aside from sending you to me?”

“Evacuation began as soon as we learned of the approaching hurricane, and our chief elder sent
word of it to our nearest neighbors by mirror. Our earth elementals have raised a few storm walls,
but they’re not expected to hold for long if the hurricane makes landfall at full force.”
Queen Rhaenyra steepled her fingers together, eyes closing for a brief moment before she turned to
address the women of her Small Council. “Archmagister Elysara, I want you to compile a list of
every town and village located near the southern coast of Florent Province immediately. My Lady
Hand, draw up evacuation orders for these towns and villages, and send word to Lady Tyrell that
her northern and western coasts may be in danger. Mistress Lymna, Mistress Bartima, prepare for
the possibility that the coastal villages and towns may need to be rebuilt again.”

She turned her attention back to Mistress Merida. “Inform your elders that I will be arriving at the
peninsula before nightfall. I expect your storm-scryer to be there to greet me so we can determine
the hurricane’s exact logistics.”

Mistress Merida’s entire body sagged with relief. “Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you, Your Majesty.
Relle bless you.”

Alicent lightly nudged Margaery’s arm to claim her attention. “Is it normal for the Queen to handle
such natural disasters herself?” Admittedly, she hadn’t the faintest idea about what duties Queen
Rhaenyra was expected to perform as queen, but she certainly hadn’t considered facing a hurricane
to be among them.

“Of course.” Margaery nodded towards Queen Rhaenyra, who was now speaking quietly to Lady
Rhaenys. “Our empress and our queens are the most powerful sorceresses on the planet. One of the
many ways that they protect and care for us is by managing the natural disasters that might
otherwise cause significant destruction.”

Sansa nodded in agreement. “A queen who does not protect her people is no true queen.”

And while Alicent supposed that made a sort of sense—it certainly aligned with the Valyrian view
of rulers as mothers—the thought of Queen Rhaenyra facing a hurricane alone made her stomach
clench. “Exactly how strong is a Class V hurricane?” She knew what a Category 5 hurricane was
for her people, but she assumed that Valyrians had their own scale for measuring the severity of
storms.

“Storm surges ten to twelve meters high, wind speeds between three hundred and three hundred and
forty-nine kilometers per hour, torrential rains and flooding, waves capable of crushing almost
anything in their path, and things of that nature,” Margaery listed.

As she converted the Valyrian measurements in her head, Alicent quickly concluded that a Class V
hurricane was the equivalent of a Category 6—perhaps even a Category 7—hurricane back home.
Such severe storms had caused millions of deaths and catastrophic amounts of destruction in the
eras before her people had learned to manage them. Hurricanes, tornados, fires, and other such
things were a necessary part of a planet’s ecology, but there was no reason that they had to cause
any kind of destruction to people or property.

“How will Queen Rhaenyra stop the hurricane?” Perhaps this was one of the benefits of managing
natural disasters with magic as opposed to technology. While her own people had developed ways
to harness energy from storms and use it for other purposes many millennia ago, storm controllers
always worked in teams to ensure that every step of the process was executed perfectly.

“She won’t. Not exactly,” Margaery hastily amended when she saw Alicent’s worried expression.
“While Her Majesty could certainly halt it with less effort than you or I use to chew our food, that
would deprive Kastrell of necessary winds, rains, and other ecological benefits.”
“Her Majesty could certainly halt it with less effort than you or I use to chew our food.” Alicent bit
her tongue to prevent herself from interrupting and asking Margaery to elaborate further.

While she’d certainly gleaned from Aemma’s stories about Queen Rhaenyra’s childhood that the
other woman’s magic was exceptionally strong, she didn’t know enough about Valyrian magic to
understand exactly what it meant to have “strong” or “weak” magic. However, she’d studied
enough meteorology to know well the strength and power of a hurricane—especially a Category 6
hurricane.

For her to be powerful enough to halt such a storm with so little effort . . .

She’d always known that the Firestorm would have slaughtered the entirety of Criston’s invasion
force if not for the sytarrium in their ships, clothes, and weapons, but she’d never considered just
how laughably easy it would have been for her.

“She’ll prevent the hurricane from striking us full force, but she won’t simply halt and dissipate it,”
Margaery was explaining. “Rather, she’ll primarily be redirecting its effects. When she arrives on
the coast, the first thing she’ll do is erect shields around the towns and villages to protect them
should something untoward happen. Then, from the shoreline, she’ll siphon off some of the storm’s
energy to weaken it before it makes landfall. Once its strength is sufficiently reduced, she’ll send
the rains and winds across the continent, which will further diminish them to manageable and
beneficial levels.”

“What does she do with the energy she siphons off?” Her own people used storm energy
predominantly in their power plants, but Valyrians didn’t seem to harvest or harness electricity at
all—even though some of them could command lightning.

“It depends on the situation. In this instance, considering how little time Her Majesty has to
prepare, I suspect that she’ll use the siphoned energy simply to hold the hurricane in place and
ensure it continues spinning while she determines how exactly to disperse it without wasting the
wind and rains.”

“How long will she need to manage the hurricane?” Storm controllers usually required a day or two
—at least—but she was almost certain that it would take Queen Rhaenyra significantly less time.

“Normally no more than a few hours, depending on the severity, but this one will likely take longer.
Queens are usually sent word of an approaching hurricane at least a week in advance so they have
time to properly prepare themselves both magically and mentally.” Margaery’s lips pursed. “But
because of how late Mistress Merida’s warning came, Her Majesty will need to determine almost
all of the calculations for taming and dispersing the hurricane on site.”

Great Sytarr.

Alicent remembered wondering the night that Queen Rhaenyra had washed her feet whether the
other woman had mentally performed all of the calculations necessary to create the little storm
cloud that she’d used to fill the water basin, and now she had her answer.

The mere fact that Queen Rhaenyra could mentally perform such complex calculations was itself
remarkable, but that she could make all of those calculations while also holding a hurricane at bay?

Sytarr above, the Queen was a wonder.

“Even considering all of those calculations gives me a headache,” Sansa muttered, “never mind the
elemental strength required to single-handedly control a hurricane of such strength.”

Admiration gleamed in Margaery’s eyes as she looked down to where Queen Rhaenyra was now
closing the open court session and instructing the petitioners who had been denied the chance to
speak with her to return in three days’ time. “Thankfully for us, Her Majesty is more than strong
enough to handle a Class V hurricane. Even with minimal preparation.”

“And she can always force the storm to halt and dissipate if she must,” Sansa added, “but it would
be unfortunate to waste so much rain.”

Rain.

Alicent suddenly found herself wondering whether any of that rain would reach Osmera. And will I
be awake to actually see it? It had been a year since she’d been able to sit by her windows on a
rainy day with her current book and a warm up of tea. She’d enjoyed watching the fat droplets of
water slide down the glass.

But for reasons that she had yet to determine, ever since she’d begun leaving her chambers, it had
only ever rained at night.

Perhaps Queen Rhaenyra—?

No.

That was a terribly foolish thought. Inexcusably prideful as well. The Queen wouldn’t use her
magic or elementalism to manipulate the weather in such a way. And she certainly would not do so
for me.

Sytarr above, when had she become so conceited?

As she watched the courtiers and petitioners begin to leave the throne room, she was half-tempted
to ask Margaery and Sansa to wait until more women had departed before they used their
telekinesis to lower her down from the upper gallery, but she didn’t think it fair to ask them to
linger simply for the sake of her pride.

To distract herself from what her mother would most certainly have described as “the indignity of
needing to be carried like a child,” she asked, “Are the queens always summoned whenever a
hurricane threatens the coast?”

Margaery shook her head. “A group of master wind and water elementals working in concert could
probably manage a Class I hurricane, perhaps even a Class II, depending on their number and each
woman’s strength, but anything stronger than a Class II requires a queen, preferably one whose
affinity lies in either water or air.”

A small crease formed between Alicent’s eyebrows at that. “I thought that Queen Rhaenyra’s
affinity was with fire.” Sytarr above, the Queen had at least three different monikers relating to her
association with fire—four if she counted the Dragon of the East.

“It is,” Margaery agreed, “but Her Majesty is the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath.”
Upon reaching the ground, Margaery unwound her arm from around Alicent’s waist as Sansa did
the same. “The strength of her elementalism is nigh unparalleled,” she continued. “Her water
elementalism is stronger than that of any water elemental empresses, and the only woman who can
claim stronger air elementalism is Empress Inara the Whirlwind.”

Alicent remembered reading that Empress Inara the Fourth, called the Whirlwind, had been able to
summon winds strong enough to uproot trees before she could walk. And by the time she was in
her four hundreds, she was creating tornadoes with wind speeds of over two hundred and twenty
miles per hour.

If Queen Rhaenyra was “the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath,” Alicent could only
imagine what feats she must have been performing at those ages. She was probably melting rocks
before she could crawl.

As she, Margaery, and Sansa made their way out of the throne room, she glanced back over her
shoulder to where Queen Rhaenyra was speaking quietly to the women of her Small Council.

What must it be like, she wondered, to command such power? She couldn’t even imagine it, and she
wondered briefly if Queen Rhaenyra had ever been frightened by her own magic, by all of its
destructive potential, but she swiftly dismissed the thought.

Queen Rhaenyra didn’t strike her as a woman who was easily frightened.

Rhaenyra expelled a heavy breath as she raised her first and rapped lightly on the door of Lady
Alicent’s privy chamber. I should have simply left her a note explaining my upcoming absence. It
certainly would have been the easiest solution. But it also would have been cowardly.

Rude as well.

And she did not wish to be rude to the Lady Alicent.

Then again, surely Lady Alicent would understand if she only left a note, considering that she’d
been in attendance at open court and heard what Mistress Merida had to say about the hurricane.

A small smile curled her lips at the memory of catching Lady Alicent’s scent when she’d entered
the throne room earlier that day. She’d nearly tripped over her own feet in surprise when she’d
detected the warm aroma of freshly baked bread. Thankfully, her steps had faltered so slightly that
only Hylda had noticed.

She’d been hoping that Lady Alicent’s confidence in her ward had grown enough that she might
attempt visiting Osmera once more. Relle willing, Lady Alicent’s decision to attend open court
today was her assessing her ward’s strength in a more controlled environment. She deserves to be
able to go wherever she wishes without fear of becoming overwhelmed by other women’s emotions.

Rhaenyra detested the thought of Lady Alicent ever feeling confined, even to somewhere as
spacious as the Queen’s Keep and Stone Garden. It was why she’d spent the past year ensuring that
the rains only came at night, so that Lady Alicent would always have the option of going outside
during the day if she so desired.

Hopefully rain won’t spoil any plans she might make while I’m in Florent Province.
She’d briefly contemplated asking her aunt to continue her work of staving off potential rain during
the day, but considering that Rhaenys had laughed at her for a good ten minutes when she’d
realized what Rhaenyra was doing and then teased her about it for a month, she’d decided against
that course of action.

Her second thought had been placing a weather binding spell over the city, but she’d swiftly
dismissed it. Should the need arise, the women of Osmera and Stone Garden—even working in
concert—wouldn’t be strong enough to break her binding spell. While she couldn’t think of any
particular situation wherein breaking her spell would be necessary, she would never risk her
people’s safety in such a way.

Besides, she’d only be gone three days at most.

When the door opened to reveal Lady Alicent, Rhaenyra’s heart stuttered.

Stop that, she chided it, as if such a command would do any good.

Lady Alicent’s hair was loose about her shoulders and cascading down her back in rich auburn
waves. A rather unusual sight, as she normally wore her hair at least partly up. Lovely all the same,
in any case, especially with the emerald orchid tucked behind her ear. The remnants of a smile still
graced her lips, and even though the smile was not directed at her, Rhaenyra was still warmed by
the sight.

Her eyes were bright as well, in that special way that Rhaenyra knew meant she’d been reading a
particularly engrossing book. Mother Relle, how she wanted to inquire about Lady Alicent’s
current reading, for she always enjoyed listening to her talk about whatever subject had most
recently captured her interest. Lady Alicent was so wonderfully inquisitive and intelligent. Her
mind was such a lovely thing, and the Westerosi had utterly wasted it for over four decades.

But her intellect did not waste away, despite never being properly nurtured.

Lady Alicent was a marvel.

“Your—Rhaenyra?” Lady Alicent’s eyebrows drew together as she leaned back to check her clock.

“My apologies for the unexpected intrusion.” She should have simply left a note. She’d been so
good about ensuring that she minimized their contact outside of Lady Alicent’s night terrors and
empathy lessons. Much as she desired otherwise, she dared not spend more time around the Lady
Alicent than was strictly necessary, lest the other woman realize how Rhaenyra yearned to take her
in her arms and hold her close until the stars went dark.

Rhaenyra knew that if Lady Alicent ever gleaned a hint of her true feelings that the other woman
would be horrified, most likely disgusted as well. I suffered enough heartbreak with Emalia. I do
not need to relive it with Alicent.

Besides, even if by some miracle Lady Alicent wasn’t horrified or disgusted, she was still
recovering from decades of abuse and indoctrination. Now was hardly the time for Rhaenyra to
foist her own emotions upon her. She deserves better than that.

Shoving aside those thoughts to focus on the task at hand, Rhaenyra smiled warmly, delighted
when she saw the set of Lady Alicent’s shoulders relax in response. “I wished to inform you that
I’ll be leaving for a few days. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a hurricane will be striking the
coast soon, and I must be there to manage it.”

Prior to coming to Lady Alicent’s apartments, she’d briefly considered simply telling her that she’d
noticed her during open court today, but she worried that Lady Alicent might interpret her words to
mean that she was being watched or monitored. And it certainly wasn’t as if Rhaenyra could tell
Lady Alicent that she’d noticed her presence simply because she was rather . . . attuned to her
scent.

So she’d decided that it was best to pretend that she simply hadn’t noticed her.

Lady Alicent’s head cocked slightly for a moment, something resembling hurt flashing in her eyes.
But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a polite smile as she nodded. “Of course. I understand.”

“I’ll return as soon as I’m able,” Rhaenyra assured her, not knowing what exactly she’d said to
upset Lady Alicent, but desperate to remedy the matter. “And while I’m away, you can continue
practicing your exercises, if you wish. You needn’t, of course,” she added hastily, not wanting Lady
Alicent to feel as if she was being ordered about.

“I’ll perform the exercises,” Lady Alicent promised. She hesitated, eyes falling to the floor as a
faint blush stained her cheeks. “You . . . you will take care? When managing your hurricane?”

Rhaenyra’s heart swelled, and her fingers curled into fists to prevent herself from reaching out to
gently tilt Lady Alicent’s chin up so their eyes might meet. Merciful Mother, how she longed to hug
her. Enough of that. You ought to depart now.

Clearing her throat, she offered a grateful smile, even though Lady Alicent wasn’t looking at her.
“I’ll take care. And thank you. For your concern.” There was so much more that she wished to say,
but she knew it would be foolish. “I’ll see you again in a few days, Alicent.”

Not allowing herself to linger any longer, she turned away and hastened from Lady Alicent’s
chambers.

Once she was safely out in the hall, she allowed her shoulders to slump, knowing that Hylda and
Jonquil would not comment on the display. I should ask Hylda to remain here while I’m gone. I’m
certain she and Jonquil would enjoy having some time to themselves. Despite her Orchid Knight
having returned four months ago, Hylda seemed content enough simply ensuring that her mate
spent several hours with her each day on duty.

Loyal fool, she thought fondly. Hylda was too devoted for her own good at times. Her old heart
friend deserved a holiday for herself and her mate. She knew that her Shadow Knight would never
accept actual time away from her duties, but perhaps Hylda and Jonquil would enjoy to a day out in
the city—

Out in the city.

Merciful Mother.

As soon as she returned, she would need to speak with Bartima regarding the funds set aside for
Lady Alicent’s annual upkeep. Considering Lady Alicent never asked for anything more than basic
necessities—she didn’t actually ask for basic necessities either, in truth—she never even
approached the annual “limit” that Bartima had—rather arbitrarily—set two years ago.
Relle above, all of Lady Alicent’s expenses since she’d first arrived combined wouldn’t approach
the official limit of her annual budget.

All the same, once Lady Alicent began spending more time in the city, she would surely find
herself wishing to make purchases. She ought to have her own pin money for such things. Which
begged the question of how much was a suitable amount.

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed as she entered her bedchamber and went to her wardrobe to select a few
tunics and trousers for her time away.

Two crowns a week seemed to her an appropriate allowance, but Bartima would likely have a
conniption if Rhaenyra suggested it, but anything less than thirty shillings was much too low. One
crown then, and if Bartima dislikes it, I’ll remind her that I’m using my own funds, not those of
Kastrell.

She smiled to herself, stifling a yawn. Perhaps, once she returned home, she would allow herself to
properly rest for a few hours. She couldn’t quite recall the last time that she’d slept. A few months
ago, I should think. Which was perfectly all right. Even if it had been five months since her last
proper sleep, she still had at least two more months before exhaustion would completely claim her.

Plenty of time.

As Alicent readied herself for bed that evening, she found that she couldn’t stop thinking about
Queen Rhaenyra’s visit that afternoon. It was the first time in months that the Queen had come to
her chambers for anything other than her daily empathy lessons. And while she was pleased that
Queen Rhaenyra had seen fit to inform her about her impending departure, she couldn’t help but
feel strangely hurt that she’d apparently been unnoticed during open court.

It was foolish, she knew.

Dreadfully vain and prideful as well.

Why should the Queen take notice of one face among so many?

Alicent knew that her feelings were silly—that doesn’t mean they’re invalid—but the worst part
was that she didn’t even understand why she felt hurt by Queen Rhaenyra not noticing her.

It made no sense.

The Queen did not owe her, her attention or notice.

Huffing out an exasperated sigh, Alicent’s eyes went to the window, hoping to distract herself with
the beauty of the moon, only to be reminded a moment later that it was midsummer.

Meaning the full moon was as red as blood.

A shiver ran down her spine at the unnatural sight.

While she’d grown somewhat accustomed to seeing the green, gold, and blue moons that appeared
once each year, the red moon continued to unnerve her. The fact that she’d never been able to find a
satisfactory explanation in any of her books for why the moons appeared strange colors four times a
year only made them all the more peculiar.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Alicent nearly jumped out of her skin, having forgotten that Margaery and Sansa were even there.
“Y-Yes,” she managed, “very beautiful.”

Margaery was giving her an amused look, while Sansa was polite enough to pretend that she hadn’t
noticed her being startled.

She might have been more embarrassed had she not realized that this was her opportunity to learn
the answer to one of the many questions that had plagued her about Valyria since her people had
first landed. “Why is it red?”

Margaery shrugged. “No one knows for certain.”

Well, that was disappointing.

“Some magisters theorize that it has to do with different particulates in the air during different
times of the year,” Sansa elaborated, elbowing Margaery in admonishment.

Her people’s scientists had said much the same during the war when Criston had demanded an
explanation for the strange moons, but that theory failed to explain the annual consistency of the
color changes, or why only the moons of the same four months were affected, or why only the full
moons were affected.

After swatting Sansa’s arm in retaliation, Margaery added, “The Temple teaches that these moons
are seasonal and annual manifestations of Relle’s presence in the temporal realm. Since no one has
been able to offer a better explanation, and since the colors and seasons of the Relle Moons
correspond almost perfectly with the cardinal stars and the Celestial Animals, most women are
inclined to accept the Temple’s belief.”

Cardinal stars and Celestial Animals.

While Alicent hadn’t delved too deeply into the subject, she remembered reading that the Celestial
Animals were the most important constellations in both Valyrian religion and astrology: the Golden
Dragon of the Center, the Ebony Turtle of the North, the Emerald Serpent of the East, the
Vermillion Falcon of the South, and the Pearl Tiger of the West.

Gold, emerald, and vermillion corresponded to the yellow autumn moon, the green spring moon,
and the red summer moon, but none of the animals’ colors matched the blue winter moon.

Blue.

Oh!

The blue star of the Ebony Turtle constellation.

That must be it.

“Magister Cendrillona Selmy has written several obnoxiously dense volumes about the Relle
Moons,” Margaery mused. “They’re extremely dry, so not many have read them in their entirety,
 but she’s considered the authority on the moons. Archmagister Luwina would probably be thrilled
to fetch them from whatever dusty corner they’ve been languishing in. And you’ve made plain that
dry reading doesn’t bother you.”

Alicent smiled in response, more to Margaery’s tone and offer than her actual words. “Thank you,
Margaery.”

Chapter End Notes

Next Chapter: Alicent has a therapeutic breakthrough that will close out this arc, afterwards
shall begin the friendship arc! Huzzah!

And don't worry, Alicent eventually went to Archmagister Elysara and told her about the
chemical compounds. It just slipped her mind after court because of the hurricane and her
surprise at Rhaenyra coming to her chambers.

Also, for anyone curious (and because I spent way too long looking up things like purchasing
power parity and figuring out excel formulas), the one crown a week that Rhaenyra decides to
offer Alicent as an allowance is equivalent to about $6,000 U.S. dollars. Also, mind you, day-
to-day expenses for items such as food and drink are purchased with copper coins (pence, half
pence, and farthings), while services like having a new dress made are paid for using shillings.
1 Crown=30 Shillings=1,200 pence.
 Embracing the Anger
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 19:

– Alicent Hightower, former Fourth Wife of High Lord Criston Cole
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Sabitha Vypren, Lily Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Saevara
– Arwen Arryn, a Blue Lotus psychologist, from the Avenian Isles

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Enjoy this art of Valyrian coinage!

For those curious, the gold coin is a sovereign, the heptagon is a crown, the star is a shilling,
the pentagon is a penny, the circle a half penny, and the oval a farthing.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Autumn Moon/1,000,123 Visenya VI

Alicent sighed inwardly as she looked from her cards to Ygritte’s confident smirk and back again.
Ygritte had just raised the stakes by a half penny, but putting that much in would drain the
remainder of her borrowed reserves.

In retrospect, she’d been a fool to suggest to her friends that they play primera today, but she’d
been hoping that the cards would favor her enough that she might be able to keep a penny or two
for herself after paying back whoever lent her money to wager with.

Since she intended to finally venture out into the city again on the morrow, she’d thought that it
might be . . . nice to have a coin or two that she could call her own.

A foolish desire, she now realized.

It wasn’t as if there was anything that she needed to purchase.

And the fact that she now faced penury or forfeit was a plain enough sign from Sytarr that she was
simply not meant to have money of her own.

Her hand of seven cards didn’t contain a single pillar card, and considering how swiftly and
vehemently Ygritte and Margaery had been tossing out coins, both almost certainly had hands that
would beat hers.

Sighing, Alicent collapsed her fanned cards and set them face down on the table. “Fold.”

Catelyn, Sansa, and Gilly soon followed in her decision to fold, leaving only Ygritte and Margaery
with cards still in their hands.

Margaery, of course, leaned forward and dropped a half penny onto the growing pile of coins in the
middle of the table, the round copper coin clinking merrily as it joined its pentagonal and ovular
friends. “Call it.”

With a grin and a flourish, Ygritte laid her cards down, revealing three empresses, a pair of mother
lotuses, a prelate, and a grand magister. “Full support favoring the throne.”

Impressed murmurs rose from Sansa, Gilly, and Catelyn, and Alicent couldn’t help but echo them.

Seemingly unconcerned by Ygritte’s excellent hand, Margaery laid her own cards down to display
three prelates, the other two mother lotuses, the final empress, and a grand magister. “Full support
favoring the Temple.”

No wonder my hand lacked any pillar cards. Card decks on this planet contained fifty-six cards,
sixteen of which were pillar cards, and between the two of them, Margaery and Ygritte had
managed to collect fourteen.

Ygritte frowned as she looked from her hand to Margaery’s and back again. “Why couldn’t you
have favored lotuses or magisters instead?” she huffed.

Margaery laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Since it would have ensured my victory without any irritating mathematical calculations, yes, I
certainly would.”
“The calculations aren’t that onerous,” Margaery scoffed. “We each receive forty additive points
for having full support favoring hands, thirty points for having full support hands, five for the
triples, and three for the pairs, for a total of seventy-eight additive points each. The only difference
is between our base points, which, unaltered, both equal eighty-four since pillar cards are all worth
twelve points.” A slow, pleased smile curled her lips. “Except for when the suit matches the pillar.”

Alicent leaned forward with the others to reexamine Margaery and Ygritte’s hands.

One of Ygritte’s empress cards was the empress of thrones, but that was her only suit and pillar
card match.

Margaery, on the other hand, had both the prelate of septagrams and the mother lotus of lotuses.

Ygritte scowled, looking as if she wanted to incinerate the two offending cards. “Three bloody
points,” she muttered. “Lost by three thrice-damned points.”

“Language,” Margaery chided lightly as she telekinetically gathered up her winnings and drew
them to her.

“You knew that you’d won the moment I laid my hand down,” Ygritte accused, redirecting her
scowl towards Margaery.

“Some of us are naturally gifted with sums,” Margaery simpered.

“Naturally gifted.” Ygritte snorted. “More like you spent the entirety of Her Majesty’s imperial
reign working as a bookkeeper for the Nordish mistress of coin.”

Alicent looked at Margaery curiously. “You worked as a bookkeeper?” How had she not known
that?

“I was a financial clerk. My days consisted almost entirely of running calculations in order to map
out projections and write allocation memorandums.” Margaery gave Ygritte a pointed look. “I’ve
always had a knack for numbers.”

Sansa nodded in agreement. “Margaery was outpacing her mathematics tutors so swiftly that Lady
Olenna considered simply sending to the Great Library until she completed her education.”

“I didn’t realize you’d had actual employment,” Alicent murmured, more to herself than to
Margaery.

Had she not been sitting at a table of Valyrians, her words would have gone unnoticed, or at the
very least not been understood.

Something akin to indignation briefly pinched Margaery’s face before her expression smoothed.
“All courtiers support themselves with personal savings earned before joining a court, so having a
prior profession is something of a necessity.”

Alicent had been wondering about the matter of courtiers’ personal finances for months now, but
she’d never felt comfortable asking.

“Women who decide to become courtiers, such as Ygritte, Sansa, and myself, will spend however
long is necessary working at our chosen vocation until we’ve earned what we deem to be sufficient
savings,” Margaery explained. “After that, we can send an official letter to a queen, matriarch, or
matron requesting the honor of joining her court.”

Alicent cocked her head slightly. “But not the empress?” The way Margaery described it, becoming
a courtier sounded rather similar to retirement back home. Houseless men and women were
allowed to withdraw from their work once they reached a certain age, but only if they had earned
enough money to properly support themselves. Or perhaps being a courtier is more akin to an
extended vacation.

Sansa shook her head vehemently. “You never send a courtier request to the empress.”

“It’s exceptionally discourteous,” Catelyn agreed. “The empress has the utmost discretion in
selecting her courtiers, and while letters of introduction and recommendation may be written and
sent on behalf of others, no one ever advocates for herself.”

“And there are no restrictions on who may become a courtier?” That, perhaps more than anything,
struck Alicent as odd, though it probably shouldn’t have. After all, despite the Great Houses
ostensibly being above the Clans in the social hierarchy, the majority of the courtiers she’d met
belonged to a Clan rather than a House. I suppose that’s what happens when there are only eight of
them.

Back home, only members of the Low Houses were allowed to serve as courtiers, and the exact
function of any individual courtier depended on the whims of whatever High House the person was
sworn to. Her father and Criston had always been surrounded by courtiers who served at their
pleasure, and her mothers and former sister-wives had all had their own female courtiers as well.

“So long as a woman has the means to support herself, she may make a courtier request.” Margaery
telekinetically gathered the cards that had been laying forgotten on the table and began shuffling
them. “And assuming she receives approval, she can remain at court for as long as she’s financially
able. Or until she’s dismissed, but the last dismissal was well over two hundred reigns ago.”

Alicent rubbed at her scarred wrist, fairly certain that she didn’t wish to know the answer to her
next question, but also unable to stop herself from asking, “What happens if the empress selects a
woman to join her court who doesn’t have sufficient savings?”

What happens when a queen decides to open her home to a destitute, long-term guest?

She’d only ever allowed herself to wonder about the expense of her upkeep on rare occasions,
because such musings always swiftly devolved to spirals of guilt and self-loathing. When she was a
child, she’d been told not to concern herself with such trivial matters, and once she’d married,
she’d only ever considered the cost of her upkeep when Criston had rebuked her for being a waste
of resources.

Margaery hesitated, exchanging a brief look with Sansa before finally answering. “If the empress
truly wants her, she can pay for that particular woman’s expenses from her own purse.”

Alicent’s fingers curled tightly around her wrist. She’d assumed as much, but having her suspicion
confirmed caused a knot to form in her stomach. Had she been a normal guest, she might have been
able to soothe herself with the knowledge that she’d eventually no longer be a burden, but she
wasn’t a normal guest.
Queen Rhaenyra seemed perfectly content to allow her to live in the Queen’s Keep until the day she
died.

And while the thought of remaining in Stone Garden was not unappealing, she worried about her
continuing presence becoming tiresome or more burdensome than it already was. Queen Rhaenyra
generously provided her with everything that she might need, and what had she given or done in
return? Interrupted her sleep with my night terrors, disrupted her days with my empathy lessons,
caused Sytarr knows how much strife with anyone who dislikes having a Westerosi living in the
Queen’s Keep.

No wonder she sees fit to avoid me.

Sansa reached out, but she didn’t touch her, simply allowed her hand to hover over Alicent’s arm.
“Alicent, whatever worries are plaguing you, they needn’t. Her Majesty knew well enough what
she was doing when she offered you a place here.”

The other women at the table nodded in agreement.

A flush spread across Alicent’s cheeks at her thoughts being so easily surmised. “I don’t want to
burden—”

“Queen Rhaenyra is one of the wealthiest women on the planet,” Margaery interrupted briskly as
she began to deal the next hand. “I’m quite certain that any expenses related to your upkeep are
negligible.”

Gilly raised an eyebrow. “Have you been allowed to look at the Queen’s accounts?” She sounded
more surprised than incredulous.

“Mistress Bartima extended me the professional courtesy. After receiving Her Majesty’s approval,
of course.” Margaery returned her gaze to Alicent. “So I can assure you, Alicent, that your being
here is not creating any sort of financial burden for Her Majesty.”

Alicent couldn’t detect a lie in Margaery’s words or face, but she knew full well that the truth could
be elastic at times. “Is her wealth actually her own, or does it belong to the Queendom?” She might
not have dedicated much of her studies to finances and economics, but she knew enough from
listening to Sabina that there was a difference between a lord’s personal coffers and those that
belonged to the Lordship. She assumed the same, or something similar, must be true here as well.

Amusement glinted in Margaery’s eyes, as well as approval. “A good question, to which my answer
remains the same. Her Majesty is an exceptionally wealthy woman in her own right. And
considering that you’ve never once asked for anything since arriving, I suspect that she could
support a few thousand of you and hardly notice a change in her ledgers.”

“Queen Rhaenyra was given one of the largest imperial pensions in history,” Catelyn added as she
scooped up her cards after receiving all seven, “and that’s in addition to her accrued savings from
imperial lands, her current revenues from royal lands, creator fees for her numerous books and
plays, and earnings from her travels across the multiverse.”

“And those are just her most lucrative streams of income,” Gilly chuckled.

Alicent knew that her friends were attempting to reassure and comfort her, so she offered them a
grateful smile.
They simply don’t understand. How could they?

After reaching adulthood, she doubted that they’d ever been as dependent upon another person as
she was upon Queen Rhaenyra.

How could they understand the peculiar combination of gratitude, discomfort, and upset currently
twisting her insides?

Expelling a heavy breath, she quickly gathered up her cards to inspect them. Hopefully, the next
few hands would distract her enough that her stomach could settle itself before her empathy lesson
with the Queen this afternoon.

Nervous as she already was about today’s lesson, she had neither wanted nor needed the reminder
about her dependence upon Queen Rhaenyra’s generosity—boundless though it was.

Alicent’s fingers danced anxiously on her scarred wrist, but they didn’t curl or squeeze. She won’t
be upset with me, she reminded herself. More like than not, she’ll be pleased. Her tutelage is
bearing fruit.

Some part of her knew that she was fretting over nothing, that she was being foolish for even
thinking that Queen Rhaenyra would begrudge her a single afternoon.

Yet guilt still gnawed at her.

Queen Rhaenyra had been sacrificing an hour or more of her day nigh every day for the past ten
months to teach her how to control her empathy, and here Alicent was about to ask if they might
forgo tomorrow’s lesson.

You are such an ungrateful little—

Her jaw clenched as she silenced her mother’s voice, shoving it back into the dark corner of her
mind where it belonged.

She wasn’t being ungrateful.

She wasn’t.

She simply . . .

She simply wished to visit the city.

“You’re allowed to want things.”

I’m allowed to want things.

And all that she wanted was to spend tomorrow afternoon admiring the fabled beauty of Aenara’s
Garden, which was the largest and most elaborate garden on the planet, having been built in honor
of the mother of Empress Daenerys the Silver and her sisters.

She’d only caught the barest glimpse of it before almost collapsing the last time she’d left the
palace.
She won’t be upset with me.

Queen Rhaenyra had never once expressed displeasure towards her.

Surely she would not do so now.

Despite how distant the Queen had become since they’d begun their daily empathy lessons, her
kindness had never wavered. During her lessons, Queen Rhaenyra was always quick to praise
Alicent whenever she did anything well, and her occasional corrections were always gentle and
reassuring, never cruel or exasperated. And even though Queen Rhaenyra was now making a
concentrated effort to avoid her during the daylight hours, she never failed to come to Alicent’s
chambers and comfort her after a night terror.

She won’t be upset with me.

I’m allowed to want things.

Steeling her nerves, Alicent cleared her throat. “Your—Rhaenyra?”

The Queen’s steps faltered—she’d been halfway to the door when Alicent had finally spoken—and
she immediately turned to face her. “Yes, Alicent?”

Alicent clasped her hands together and lifted her head slightly to properly meet Queen Rhaenyra’s
eyes, reminding herself that this was the same woman who, not even a week ago, had been stroking
her hair and whispering softly in her ear that no one would ever lay a finger on her again.

She won’t be upset with me.

“I was hoping . . . that is . . .” She huffed inwardly. She’d thought that she’d had everything she
wanted to say perfectly planned out in her head, but her tongue had decided to fail her.

Queen Rhaenyra remained silent, as infinitely patient with her as ever.

Expelling a heavy breath, Alicent closed her eyes for a moment to recollect her thoughts. I only
wish to forgo a single lesson. Queen Rhaenyra was gone for three days to manage that hurricane
two months ago. She’ll not be upset.

Perhaps she’ll even be pleased to avoid my company for an entire day.

Alicent opened her eyes. “Would it be all right if we did not meet for a lesson tomorrow? I was
hoping to visit the city.”

For a moment, Queen Rhaenyra only stared at her, but then a smile curled her lips and brightened
her entire expression. “I wouldn’t mind at all, Alicent. I’m very pleased to hear that you’ll be
visiting Osmera again.” She paused, eyes searching Alicent’s face for a moment. “I hope you know
that these lessons are entirely yours to dictate, Alicent. If you ever wish to forgo a lesson, pause
them for a time, or end them entirely, that is entirely your prerogative.”

“These lessons are entirely yours to dictate.”

Alicent almost snorted. Nothing in her life had ever been “entirely hers” to dictate, and she knew
that these lessons certainly weren’t either. If Queen Rhaenyra decides that she no longer has the
time or inclination to teach me, our lessons will end regardless of what I might want.
All the same, she knew that it was kind of the Queen to say such words, to pretend as if Alicent had
some modicum of control over anything, so she offered a small smile. “Thank you, Rhaenyra. I
know.”

If Queen Rhaenyra disbelieved her, she hid it well, her own bright smile not faltering for even a
moment. “I do hope you enjoy yourself tomorrow, Alicent.”

Alicent thanked her again, and she expected that would be the end of their conversation, that the
Queen would bid her farewell once more and then depart as she always did after their daily lessons
concluded.

But Queen Rhaenyra didn’t depart.

At least . . . not entirely.

Rather, the Queen rushed out of the room so swiftly that she was little more than a blur, only to
return barely a heartbeat later.

Alicent blinked owlishly, half-wondering if she’d somehow imagined Queen Rhaenyra’s

momentary departure, but she could see that several strands of the Queen’s silver hair had come
loose from her neat braid and that the ruby-red skirts of her dress were still settling back into place
around her legs.

“Apologies for that,” Queen Rhaenyra chuckled. “Apartments are shielded so that only the owner
can teleport herself or objects in and out.”

Oh. Alicent hadn’t realized that, though she supposed it made sense. It would certainly be odd if
Valyrians had never created a way to prevent someone from teleporting unannounced or uninvited
into another woman’s private space.

“Since you’ll be going out tomorrow, there is something that I’ve been meaning to give you.”
Queen Rhaenyra approached her slowly—as she always did—and held out her hand in offering.

Lying flat in her palm was a heptagonal silver coin struck with a dragon breathing fire.

Caladria Moonwing.

The Twenty-Seventh Queen of the Dragons, the first dragon queen of Valyria, and the greatest of
the First Dragons. According to the dragons themselves—Sytarr, it still stunned her that Valyria’s
dragons were apparently sapient and had their own society, culture, and history—Caladria
Moonwing was the direct descendant of the very first dragon to emerge from the First Fires of the
Old World. Her birth had marked the revival of the dragon species, which the men of the Old World
had hunted to extinction during the Dragon Purges.

According to Sansa, Caladria Moonwing was venerated almost as highly as Empress Daenerys the
Silver and her sisters, for her hatching had ended the Long Travels. “The First Generation was
guided by a prophecy foretelling that Queen Caladria’s egg would only hatch once they had found
their new home.”

That veneration was why the dragon queen’s likeness could be found on every silver crown that
had been minted since the Founding.
A silver crown.

Sytarr above, why in the world was Queen Rhaenyra offering her such a large amount of money?

“Crowns may be our base unit, but they’re only ever used for more sizable transactions such as
purchasing homes, horses, or carriages,” Margaery had told her when explaining Valyrian
currency. “Day-to-day expenses such as food or trinkets are purchased with copper coins, while
services such as having a new dress made are paid for using shillings.”

“I meant to discuss this matter with you when I returned from Florent Province,” Queen Rhaenyra
flashed her an apologetic smile, “but it slipped my mind.”

Alicent’s eyes shifted between the coin and the Queen and back again. “What matter?”

“You having some money of your own. For personal use.”

Alicent stiffened, briefly wondering if Queen Rhaenyra had been scanning her surface thoughts
earlier, but she immediately dismissed the foolish notion. The Queen wouldn’t do that to her.
Probing her mind without her consent or knowledge violated both the Valyrians’ Ethical Code and
their codified laws.

The Queen did not wish her harmed.

And according to Margaery, Valyrians considered nonconsensual mindreading a form of assault.

“Should anything catch your fancy, I want you to be able to purchase it.”

Alicent swallowed, stomach twisting as she stared down at the shining coin.

A kind gesture.

That was what this was.

A kind and generous gesture.

Just like everything else that Queen Rhaenyra had done for her since she’d come to Stone Garden.

And Alicent—wretched, ungrateful creature that she apparently was—didn’t want to accept it.

What is wrong with me?

The Queen was offering what Alicent was fairly certain was enough money to purchase a well-bred
horse, and she had the audacity to not want it?

She knew that she ought to accept the coin and thank the Queen profusely. It was the polite thing to
do, the proper thing to do. She knew that she ought to be warmed by the Queen’s kindness. She
knew that she ought to be grateful that the Queen was willing to provide her with such a sum
simply for personal spending on inessentials.

And she was grateful.

Of course she was.

And she was warmed.

Sytarr above, she’d be warmed simply by the bright and earnest smile currently gracing Queen
Rhaenyra’s lips.

The Queen did not wish her harmed, but more than that, the Queen wished for her to be happy.

Alicent wasn’t certain when exactly she’d realized this, but she knew it to be true.

Queen Rhaenyra desired her happiness, and it was plain enough that she was doing what she could
to ensure it.

Even if she has been avoiding me for nearly a year . . .

Alicent had been reminded that morning of just how reliant she was on Queen Rhaenyra’s
generosity, and here was yet another reminder.

She didn’t want it.

But she also couldn’t refuse.

Not when Queen Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes were shining so bright.

Not when Queen Rhaenyra’s expression was so sincere.

Not when Queen Rhaenyra’s intent was so kind.

Perhaps the Queen sensed her disquiet, because her smile began to dim.

Alicent swiftly snatched the coin from her hand. “Thank you, Rhaenyra.” The smile that she
offered was genuine, if a touch forced. “You’re far too kind.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s own smile brightened at once, though there was a faint shadow in her eyes that
hadn’t been there before. “I hope you enjoy your outing tomorrow, Alicent.” She reached out, as if
to pat her arm or touch her hand, but stopped suddenly and let her hand fall back to her side. “I
expect that the weather will be quite pleasant.”

Did she now?

The peculiar, foolish, prideful suspicion that Alicent had been harboring since she’d realized the
extent to which Queen Rhaenyra could manipulate the weather flared, but she swiftly buried it.

“Thank you, Rhaenyra,” she repeated, her fingers curling tightly around the coin, which was still
warm from the Queen’s hand.

The silver crown felt heavy in the pocket of Alicent’s gown, making it exasperatingly difficult to
forget that it was there. She’d briefly contemplated simply leaving it in her chambers that morning,
but she’d dismissed the idea as tantamount to a rejection of Queen Rhaenyra’s generosity. While
she had no intention of purchasing anything—considering a crown was worth twelve hundred
pence and most merchants only dealt in coppers, she couldn’t even be certain that she’d be able to
properly spend the coin—it had felt wrong to not at least take it with her.
Perhaps I should ask Margaery or Sansa if they might exchange the crown for smaller
denominations.

A question for another time.

Shaking her head and chiding herself for becoming distracted, she refocused on the city, which
never should have lost her attention in the first place.

Everything smelled so alive.

The cities of Westeros had been cramped and crowded, to be sure, but there hadn’t been orders of
any kind—pleasant or foul. Her ancestors had long ago created nanites to cleanse the air of such
vapors, so everything had always smelled almost unnervingly clean and sterile.

But here . . .

Everywhere that she looked, there was a garden or orchard or grove of ornamental trees, all of
which suffused the air with their sweet perfumes. It was almost overwhelming, but in the most
pleasant of ways.

She’d known since her first night here that Osmera was a city of agriculture and horticulture, and
she’d since learned that the poets had named it the City of Flowers, but being able to see it now—
restored to its full glory following the war—completely stole her breath away.

The last time that she’d visited the city, her mind had been occupied by blocking out the emotions
of others, but now she could experience the city properly, could become lost in the sights and
sounds and smells that engulfed her.

Sytarr above, there was so much to see.

The barge was slowly wending its way down the River Calsidren on its journey to Aenara’s
Garden, passing by numerous other barges as it went. While the river’s current seemed to naturally
flow from west to east, all of the barges that they’d passed were controlled by water elementals, so
the actual current mattered little and less to the direction in which the barges sailed.

Countless homes and shops lined the banks of the mighty river, and Alicent couldn’t help but notice
that she’d yet to see a single bridge spanning the Calsidren, despite having read that, in some places
within the city, the river was well over six hundred feet wide. She supposed that women who could
shapeshift found it easier to simply transform into a bird and fly across rather than build a bridge
and walk.

In the distance, she could see the shining spire of the Eastern Witch Tower, and if she squinted, she
could almost make out the green serpent that she knew was coiled around the spire. While she still
had much more to research about the Valyrians’ “League of Witches,” she knew that the Eastern
Witch Tower was one of the League’s headquarters, along with the Northern Witch Tower in
Norden, the Southern Witch Tower on the Avenian Isles, and the Western Witch Tower in Gelt. And
she knew that each of the towers corresponded to a Celestial Animal, hence why the Eastern Witch
Tower was constructed entirely from green granite to honor the Emerald Serpent of the East.

I’ll have to ask Margaery if I would be allowed to visit one day. She needn’t set foot inside the
tower, of course, but she was curious to see for herself the relief sculptures of different kinds of
serpents carved into the tower’s exterior and the “serpentine” windows that were apparently
decorated with molding shaped like serpent heads.

She’d always associated serpents with Criston, with his cold and unforgiving eyes. It would be nice
to have something else to associate them with.

As the barge approached Aenara’s Garden, Alicent became more and more aware of the eyes upon
her. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirts, and in her mind, her ward briefly flared in the
form of Queen Rhaenyra drawing her impossibly closer.

“Are you all right, Alicent?” Margaery had leaned over and was giving her a concerned look, no
doubt remembering how Alicent had nearly collapsed the last time they’d attempted to visit the
garden.

Alicent nodded. “I’m well.”

And she was—wonder of wonders.

Osmera—with all of its new sights and sounds and smells—was overwhelming, and yet she didn’t
feel overwhelmed.

When she’d first ventured out of her chambers, she’d still been terrified of what awaited her
beyond, but she didn’t feel terrified in this moment, or even particularly nervous. Her ward
remained strong and shielded her, and she was excited to see Aenara’s Garden.

And despite having seen not even a fraction of it, she was fairly certain that she liked the city.

A smile curled her lips as her fingers released the fabric of her skirts. “Is there a limit to how long
we’re allowed to linger at the garden?”

Margaery shook her head, chuckling as the set of her shoulders relaxed. “Aenara’s Garden is meant
to be admired and venerated as a monument to Empress Aenara the Ice Dragon—Relle bless her
soul. It would be a poor memorial indeed if visitors were only allowed to appreciate it for so long.”

Back home, there had always been strict limits on the amount of time an individual was allowed to
remain within the vicinity of a monument. The highborn were allowed more time than the lowborn,
who were allowed more time than the houseless, and whether someone was a man or a woman,
married or unmarried, a child or an adult also factored into their time allotment.

I suppose it wouldn’t make much sense to have such limits in a society where everyone is a woman
and determining actual age is nearly impossible without directly inquiring. And from what she
understood, Valyrians didn’t seem to practice marriage, which also made sense, given the lack of
men.

She didn’t say any of this to Margaery though, simply nodded in acknowledgment of her words.
She was fairly certain that no Valyrian had an interest in Westerosi culture and social practices, and
she could hardly blame them.

When the barge glided to a halt near the bank of the river, Margaery and Sansa helped her
disembark, while Ygritte and Talya froze the water around the barge to hold it in place.
Fascinating. She’d been wondering how Valyrians secured their watercrafts without the docks or
ropes that her ancient ancestors would have used.

Turning away from the river, a gasp flew from her throat.

Sytarr above.

The gardens of the Queen’s Keep had always struck her as sprawling and elaborate—because they
most certainly were—and while Aenara’s Garden was not necessarily as sprawling, it was certainly
taller than she would have ever imagined possible for a garden.

This so-called garden rose some one hundred feet high!

Alicent’s head tipped backwards as her eyes roved over the dozens of ascending tiers rising into the
sky to create an elegant mountain of flora. Each of the high stone terraces, which were supported
by elaborate columns, was planted with countless trees, shrubs, flowers, and other plants, while
vines and greenery flowed down the sides of the terraces like living waterfalls or coiled around the
columns.

From this distance, she could identify orchids, roses, plumerias, sundew, irises, oaks, ivy, tulips,
carnations, wisteria, lavender, moonflowers, honeysuckle, fireflowers, clematis, jasmine, golden
wattle, dahlias, amaryllis, lilies, maples, chrysanthemums, thistles, linneas, heilalas, jade vines,
violets, ratchaphruek, petunias, fireweeds, snapdragons, sunflowers, starflowers, proteas, cherry
blossom trees, lilacs, tansy, kadupuls, jacarandas, dragon’s breath, moonblooms, lotuses, lady’s
lace, poinsettias, trumpet vines, evening stars, crocuses, edelweiss, poincianas, blood blooms,
bellflowers, poppies, and dozens more that she didn’t have names for.

Her nose twitched slightly as she attempted to sort through the myriad of different scents,
wondering how Valyrians—with their enhanced sense of smell—could stand anywhere near the
garden and not simply collapse from the overwhelming number of scents.

“As lovely as you imagined?” Margaery teased.

Alicent could only nod as her feet carried her ever closer to the immense garden, her fingers
longing to touch some of the soft petals and leaves and inspect the different plants more closely.

Aenara’s Garden was everything that she could have ever imagined and yet so much more.

And in that moment, it was easy to forget about the heavy weight of the coin in her pocket.

One Month Later

(Wheat Moon/1,000,123 Visenya VI)

Sabitha’s nose twitched when she detected the faint smell of freshly baked bread approaching,
nearly masked by the myriad of floral scents that surrounded her. Blast it. She swiftly tugged on the
mental link connecting her to Hylda. “We may have a problem.”

“What is it?” Even in her own mind, Hylda’s voice was forever calm and collected.

“The Lady Alicent is approaching. Should I send her away?”

When Rhaenyra had retreated to the southwestern rose garden after open court this morning, she’d
given them strict orders that she was not to be disturbed save for an emergency. Sabitha doubted
that Alicent’s reason for coming to the garden constituted an emergency.

And yet, barring Alicent from the garden felt wrong as well, especially considering the Queen’s
other orders that Alicent be allowed to go anywhere she pleased without question or interference—
save for private places such as personal apartments.

Realizing that Hylda still hadn’t responded, Sabitha gently tugged on their link once more.
“Hylda?”

“I heard you. I was thinking.” Another pause. “Are any of her attendants with her?”

While almost certain that the answer was no, Sabitha still scented the air again before responding.
“She’s alone.” Which was unusual, but certainly not unwelcome. To her knowledge, this was the
first time that Alicent had gone anywhere without one of her attendants as a guide—save for that
time when Sabitha had found her wandering lost in the halls. It seems that she has not become lost
this time around.

“Let her pass then. But stay out of sight.”

“Why remain out of sight?” It had been some weeks since she and Alicent had been able to
properly speak with each other on account of Rhaenyra’s schedule, and she would have enjoyed
exchanging a few brief words with her.

“You know Lady Alicent better than I do. Do you think she’ll enter the garden if she sees you
standing guard? Even if you tell her that she can pass?”

No. Of course not. “As you say.”

Alicent inhaled deeply, letting the sweet scent of roses wash over her and relishing the crisp,
autumn breeze. A book of fables recommended to her by Luwina was tucked under her arm, and
the weight of it offered a lovely sense of comfort.

She’d come to the southwestern rose garden alone today, having assured Ygritte that she could
survive for a few hours on her own. The other woman had been concerned that Alicent would
become lost without a guide. Alicent had laughed and assured her that she could find her way to the
rose garden on her own, but Ygritte’s only response had been a disbelieving look.

Rather offended by Ygritte’s lack of faith in her navigational abilities—reasonable as it might have
been—Alicent had shooed the other woman out of her chambers and urged her to enjoy having the
afternoon to herself. Ygritte had certainly earned some time away from her after having been
shackled to her side for over a year.

Besides, all of her other companions were otherwise engaged in their own activities. Margaery and
Sansa had left early this morning to visit Sansa’s family in Norden, Hella was spending the day
with a friend who’d recently returned to Osmera, Talya had been summoned to Last Hearth by her
Clan Matron, Dyana was making a daytrip back home to Saevara, and Valindra had been whisked
away by a gaggle of visiting cousins.
It had seemed only fair that Ygritte be able to do something for herself as well, and Alicent
remembered overhearing her tell Gilly about wanting to have a picnic in the Heartland Woods
together. Alicent saw no reason why she should stand in the way of such a nice excursion, for the
last thing that she wanted was to be the cause of such close friends drifting apart from each other.
She might still be learning about friendship and what it meant to have friends, but she was almost
certain that bonding activities were an important component.

After sending Ygritte on her way, Alicent had briefly considered seeking out Catelyn or Luwina or
perhaps even Aemma, but everyone save for her had been quite occupied of late. She hadn’t seen
Queen Rhaenyra in a month—not even for empathy lessons—and unlike when the Queen had left
to manage the hurricane, Alicent had not been offered an explanation for the sudden absence.

At first, she’d feared that perhaps Queen Rhaenyra had finally decided that she no longer wished to
spend any time in Alicent’s presence at all, but then she’d learned from Margaery that several
pressing matters had suddenly arisen all at once and that the Queen was determined to personally
see to all of them.

That had soothed Alicent’s nerves, though a small part of her had remained . . . not particularly
pleased that Queen Rhaenyra had made the decision to temporarily suspend their daily lessons
without so much as a word of warning or explanation.

It seemed rather rude.

Not that Alicent would ever say so aloud, of course.

Queen Rhaenyra was a busy woman, and Alicent knew full well that her taking the time each day
to help Alicent control her empathy was a kindness that she needn’t extend.

Gratitude.

That was the only emotion she ought to be feeling towards the Queen.

Anything other than that would make her stomach twist with guilt.

As well as something even more unpleasant.

Shaking her head, Alicent set aside her muddled thoughts about Queen Rhaenyra in favor of
focusing on the beautiful day and the fact that she had a wonderfully thick and heavy book tucked
under her arm. While she could have curled up in her customary chair in the third floor history
section of the library, winter would be upon them soon, and she wished to enjoy the gardens before
cold winds and snow confined her to the Keep.

Because despite her best efforts, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face and the coolness of the
breeze on her skin still felt like a luxury. Being able to go outside whenever the fancy struck her
still felt like a luxury. Simply having what Dr. Arwen continually told her were simple, basic rights
still felt like a luxury.

Not as much as even a few months ago, to be sure, but she still sometimes found herself feeling
absurdly grateful whenever she opened a window or made a mistake that didn’t earn her a scolding
or a slap.
Perhaps one day she wouldn’t feel this way. Perhaps one day she’d be able to take these “simple
freedoms” for granted. Perhaps one day she’d be able to chuckle at the very idea of not being
allowed to so much as take a bite of food without express permission.

But she could hardly imagine such a day.

As Alicent rounded a corner on her way to the small gazebo in the western corner of the garden,
she froze at the sound of quiet muttering. While still too far away to decipher the soft and rapid
words being spoken, she certainly recognized the voice.

I should leave. I should leave well enough alone and simply go to a different part of the garden.

And yet her feet refused to heed her.

Instead, she found herself following the sound of Queen Rhaenyra’s voice—a voice that she hadn’t
heard in over a month.

She must know that I’m here and that I’m approaching. She must have heard me long before I ever
heard her. And she must have scented me long before she heard me. If she didn’t wish for me to
know that she was here, she would have fallen silent until I was out of earshot.

While the thoughts comforted her somewhat, a knot continued forming in her stomach as she drew
closer. Queen Rhaenyra abandoning their empathy lessons may have been due to matters of state,
but even before that, the Queen must have decided to begin avoiding Alicent for a reason.

I should leave.

The muttering was growing louder, and now she could distinguish a few of the words.

“New fields for planting . . . hawks need to breed . . . still awaiting new mirrors . . . flood the plains
. . . roads connecting . . . fly north . . . Queen Velsinnia Azurewing . . . no, no, not that . . . must
remember to . . .”

When Alicent finally came upon her, Queen Rhaenyra was pacing restlessly and looking for all the
world like a wild animal confined to a cage. Alicent shuddered at the thought, swiftly smothering
the first memory before it could even fully form.

She was safe here.

The Queen’s blue skirts swirled around her like stormy waves, and sunlight danced upon the seed
pearls stitched into her bodice. Her silver hair was swept up beneath a golden hairnet, but a few
strands had come loose and were whipping about her pale face. When she whirled around to begin
another circuit, Alicent saw that the other woman’s eyes were bloodshot, and the gleaming silver
that now surrounded her amethyst eyes was strangely beautiful.

That silly thought was quickly dismissed and replaced by concern when Alicent realized that the
Queen didn’t even seem aware of her presence. I’m close enough now that she should be able to
hear my heartbeat.

Surely this was yet another indication that she should retreat elsewhere and leave Queen Rhaenyra
to . . . whatever it was she was doing.
Yet how could she leave when the Queen’s agitation filled the air like choking smoke and battered
against her ward with its intensity?

And even without her empathy, it was plain enough that the Queen was in a manic state. The set of
her shoulders, the tightness of her jaw, her trembling hands, the way her eyes weren’t quite focused,
and the rather frightening pallor of her skin all spoke of exhaustion and anxiety.

I ought to leave.

Alicent cleared her throat to gain the Queen’s attention.

Queen Rhaenyra froze for a split second before whipping around to face her.

Alicent took an instinctive step backwards, more unnerved by the Queen than she had been in over
a year. She’d never seen Queen Rhaenyra in such a state, and she had no idea what to expect from
her.

This reaction seemed to shake Queen Rhaenyra from whatever haze had taken a hold of her.
Blinking rapidly, she held her hands up in a non-threatening gesture and offered a gentle—albeit
fatigued—smile. “Alicent, I—please forgive me, I wasn’t expecting to see any—you.”

Alicent noticed the slip. Of course she did. This is a public area for those living within the Keep. If
she didn’t expect to see anyone, she must have instructed her knights not to allow anyone else entry.

So why hadn’t she been stopped?

Before she could properly ponder the question, Queen Rhaenyra asked, “Can I do something for
you, Alicent?”

Alicent immediately shook her head. “I was on my way to the western gazebo when I heard you.”
She hesitated, wondering if she should approach more than she already had. “Are you all right?
You seem . . . troubled.”

She was overstepping.

She knew that she was overstepping.

Queen Rhaenyra detested being asked questions about herself.

Alicent had learned that during the months when the Queen had still been visiting her on occasion.
The few times that she’d attempted to inquire about the other woman’s past or mood, the Queen
had swiftly redirected the conversation.

She ought to leave.

It was quite clear that the Queen did not desire her presence.

When she desires my presence, she visits me. It’s not for me to intrude upon her.

Her lips twitched slightly in the beginnings of a frown at those thoughts.

Why did they bother her so?

They didn’t.

Of course they didn’t. She had no right to be bothered. Not now. Not in this moment. My concern
should be with her, not my own pettiness.

Far better to focus on Queen Rhaenyra than her own unkind thoughts.

The Queen continued to stare at her silently for a long moment, and the tension in her shoulders
was so pronounced that Alicent could practically see the lean muscles rippling beneath the blue
fabric of her gown.

Then, all at once, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, Queen Rhaenyra’s shoulders
slumped and she seemed to shrink before Alicent’s eyes.

Pressing a hand against her forehead, the Queen stifled a yawn before expelling a heavy breath. “I
should be working,” she muttered, “but Aemma insisted that I rest.” She stifled another yawn,
irritation sparking in her eyes. “She said some fresh air would help ‘clear my mind.’” She snorted
at the last part, as if the very idea was absurd.

Dark crescents hung beneath the Queen’s bleary eyes, and Alicent wondered when the last time
was that the other woman had slept. “Dr. Arwen says that it’s important to take time to relax once
in a while,” she offered, though she was fairly certain that the Queen wouldn’t particularly care
about what Dr. Arwen had to say on this matter.

And indeed, Queen Rhaenyra waved dismissively. “I can relax some other time. There is much to
be done. Much to be done. I haven’t time to rest. My people need me, and my duty is to them above
all else. My own trivial wants and whims don’t matter.”

Alicent’s lips pursed slightly. Sleep was not trivial. There’s a reason Criston saw fit to deprive me
of it as punishment. Her teeth sank into the flesh of her inner cheek, knowing that she could say
neither of those things to the Queen. Guard your tongue. Always guard your tongue. Even around
this woman who claimed that Alicent could always speak freely. “Surely a small break wouldn’t do
anyone any harm,” she said instead.

But Queen Rhaenyra didn’t seem to hear her. “‘The cares of all must always be the cares of one.’”
The words seemed to be directed more towards herself than towards Alicent, and the way she said
them gave the impression that they were a mantra of some sort. “My people’s needs are what
matter. Not mine. Sleepless nights are the price of ruling. Their burdens are mine, and I must
shoulder them.”

Must you? Alicent wanted to ask. She’d spoken with Aemma often enough to know that the
seneschal would happily do whatever she could to lessen the Queen’s cares, but it seemed that
Queen Rhaenyra was adamant about refusing to delegate and completely consumed by her duties.

Not that Alicent could know for certain, of course.

Not that it was even any of her concern.

If the Queen had wished for her to know, she would have visited.

If the Queen had wished for her to express concern, she would have visited.
But the Queen had decided to cease all contact outside of their daily lessons instead.

She’s made it abundantly clear that she does not wish for me to know her, not truly.

Alicent’s jaw clenched as something uncomfortably hot flared within her.

She smothered it once more.

She had no right to judge the Queen’s actions.

Queen Rhaenyra was a woman forever occupied by duties and burdened by cares that Alicent had
the luxury of not even fully comprehending. If the Queen no longer desired her company for
whatever reason, it was not Alicent’s place to complain.

Not when Queen Rhaenyra had already done so much for her.

As the Queen once again descended into muttering and resumed her pacing, Alicent could do little
more than watch, could do little more than struggle to silence the ungrateful thoughts that seemed
determined to well up within her.

Focus on Queen Rhaenyra.

The Queen was a good woman, a kind and gentle woman. An excellent ruler as well. Anyone with
eyes could see that.

Including Alicent, despite the uncharitable thoughts currently attempting to consume her. Queen
Rhaenyra’s dedication to her people and her duties was admirable. How could Alicent not be
impressed?

Her father had been committed to his subjects in his own way, but not like this. He’d often told her
that the health of the lord was the health of the Lordship. «I must look to my own health first, and to
that of my family. For what use are any of us to anyone if we are not at our best?» And while she
now understood that many of her father’s actions had been self-serving and egotistical, had he been
entirely wrong about the necessity of caring for his own health?

Wasn’t Aemma sending the Queen out to the gardens for a time a show of concern for the other
woman’s health?

A concern that Queen Rhaenyra apparently intends to dismiss.

If the Queen saw fit to ignore the words of the woman who was like a mother to her, what good
was it for Alicent to remain here a moment longer?

She ought to leave the Queen to her muttering and pacing. She ought to acknowledge the simple
fact that she didn’t belong here, that she wasn’t wanted here. She ought to recognize that there was
nothing she could do for the other woman. She ought to . . . she ought to . . . she ought to . . .

And yet she couldn’t bring herself to turn around and walk away.

Her eyes settled on the stone bench that stood in front of a wall of roses, the beginnings of a very
foolish plan slowly taking shape.

She ought to leave.

Clutching her book against her chest, Alicent slowly made her way over to the bench and sat down.
The natural chill of the hard stone beneath her had been tempered by the sun’s rays, which saved
her from having to wait for the bench to warm. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that
Queen Rhaenyra had paused in her pacing and was watching her curiously.

After settling the book on her lap, she tilted her head towards the place beside her. “Would you care
to join me?”

She’d never invited Queen Rhaenyra to sit.

She’d never invited her to do anything.

That was the Queen’s prerogative.

Not hers.

Never hers.

Sytarr above, she’d never even so much as approached the Queen before, never mind invited her to
sit.

Queen Rhaenyra hesitated, expression conflicted as her eyes shifted between the bench and
Alicent’s face half a dozen times before she finally took a small step forward. “Are you certain? I
can go elsewhere if you’d like to read here.”

I could go elsewhere as well, she almost pointed out, but held her tongue. While there was nothing
that she could do to soothe whatever worries plagued Queen Rhaenyra’s mind, surely she could at
least coax the other woman into physically relaxing for a moment. “I’m certain,” she assured her.

A part of her expected the Queen to simply turn away and leave, to continue avoiding her company
as she had been for a year—save for when Alicent had a night terror. A part of her expected the
Queen to scoff at her clumsy attempt to direct their current interaction.

But Queen Rhaenyra instead approached, and when she slowly sank down onto the bench beside
her, she offered a wry smile. “I must seem half mad. Muttering and pacing like that.”

Alicent shook her head, hoping that the motion would conceal her surprise at the Queen actually
choosing to sit with her. “Not mad,” she corrected, “burdened by cares.”

“A ruler unburdened is either dead, incompetent, or some form of tyrant.” The Queen clicked her
tongue. “Aemma knows this. Yet she insisted I come out here.” She blinked a few times. “As if
spending time among the flowers will somehow lessen my stress.” She snorted. “A waste of time,
as I told her. Now I will need to work longer into the night in order to complete the tasks that I
should be doing now.”

“Perhaps there is something I could do to help?” Alicent realized her own foolishness the moment
the words left her mouth. What in the world could she possibly do to ease the Queen’s burdens,
especially since the other woman was already surrounded by women many times more capable than
Alicent at handling any necessary tasks.

I’m her guest, not an advisor.

There was a reason that she was only ever allowed to see the Queen when the Queen herself so
desired.

Alicent’s jaw tightened, heat flaring within her.

A soft smile graced Queen Rhaenyra’s lips as she turned to look at her. “You’re very kind to offer,
Alicent, but my troubles are not so easily shared.”

Alicent was almost certain that that wasn’t true. At least, not entirely.

Perhaps there were many duties that only a Queen could perform—such as managing a hurricane—
but Aemma had told her that Queen Rhaenyra often chose simply not to delegate because such an
action would conflict with her rigid sense of duty. But didn’t Dr. Arwen say that a woman who
never asks for help is arrogant, a fool, or both?

“I do appreciate your offer. Truly. I hope you know that.” Queen Rhaenyra’s eyes closed for a
moment as she tipped her head back, sunlight dancing across her cheeks as she did so. A quiet,
almost wistful sigh escaped her lips before she said, “I’ve missed you, Alicent. I miss coming to
visit you.”

Alicent stared at her, the smoldering thing in the pit of her stomach roaring in response to the
Queen’s words—so hot and bright that she couldn’t smother it. Queen Rhaenyra had missed her?
She’s spent the past year avoiding me at every opportunity, but she has missed me?

That couldn’t be right.

Queen Rhaenyra had been avoiding her because she didn’t desire her company. That was the only
reasonable explanation for her behavior.

It was the explanation that Alicent had forced herself to accept.

But now Queen Rhaenyra was claiming that she’d missed her?

“Then why choose to abandon me?” she demanded.

Queen Rhaenyra’s eyes snapped open. “I beg your pardon?”

Shut your mouth. Shut your mouth this instance or beg forgiveness!

“You’ve been avoiding me for almost a year.” The words burned on her tongue, yet she couldn’t
snatch them back.

She didn’t want to snatch them back.

What was wrong with her?

“Alicent—”

“Ever since we began our lessons, you’ve stopped interacting with me. If you truly ‘miss me,’ why
shun me?” The smoldering thing flared brighter. Her pulse was racing, and her cheeks felt hot, but
not from embarrassment.

Queen Rhaenyra winced, looking away from her. “I thought it best—”

“But you didn’t ask!” Alicent’s skin was tingling, and blood roared in her ears. Memories were
flashing before her eyes, but she couldn’t make sense of them. “You didn’t ask. You didn’t explain.
You simply acted!”

Something sparked in the Queen’s amethyst eyes, and her voice tightened. “I have done my best,
Alicent. My apologies if I have offended you, but from the day we met—”

“You didn’t ask then either. You simply did what you thought was best.”

The venom of her own words should have shocked her—should have appalled her.

But her mind was churning so much that it made her head spin.

And it felt as if some feral beast was clawing at her insides.

Purple fire suddenly ignited in the Queen’s eyes as she leapt to her feet. “Do you think I don’t know
that!? Do you think I haven’t tried to make amends every thrice-damned day for what I did to you!?
Everything that I’ve done since that day has been for your comfort, Alicent!”

Alicent felt it the moment the words left Queen Rhaenyra’s mouth.

Despite her ward, despite her raging thoughts and roiling insides, she felt it.

The shock.

The horror.

The panic.

It all crashed into her so hard that she nearly fell off the bench.

Not her emotions.

The Queen’s.

Sudden clarity.

Sharp and stabbing.

Just enough to realize—

Oh.

Eyes wide, Alicent jumped to her feet and fled the garden.

“Alicent, wait!”

She didn’t.

Alicent hurled the plush toy at the wall, half-wishing that the sound of it hitting wasn’t muffled by
the enormous pillow that Dr. Arwen had set up to protect her hearth.
Snatching up another toy, she sent it flying across the room to join the ever-growing pile on the
floor.

I’m angry that I ran.

She grabbed a soft seven-pointed star and threw it at the wall.

I’m angry that I didn’t apologize.

I’m angry that I need to apologize.

A diamond-spangled ball struck the pillow.

The smoldering thing that she’d been smothering for so long . . . it had become a raging inferno by
the time she’d rushed into Dr. Arwen’s office. It had been bellowing and fighting to escape from
the confines of her body—clawing at her insides and roaring in her ears and burning and scorching
her throat.

Sytarr, how had she ever contained such a beast? How had she ever managed to suppress it all these
years?

When it had awakened in the garden, roaring to life with all the fury of a creature that had been
forced to lie dormant for almost fifty years, it had been all that she could do to prevent it from
escaping entirely from the prison of her own flesh and bone.

But she hadn’t succeeded.

Not truly.

What she’d said to Queen Rhaenyra . . .

“You didn’t ask then either. You simply did what you thought was best.”

Beneath the haze of fury clouding her mind, some part of her knew that wasn’t true. She knew that
the Queen had made the only choice she could that day.

Queen Rhaenyra hadn’t asked, but she hadn’t had the option to ask.

Not that day.

The Queen had done the only thing that she could do to save Alicent’s life.

But every day since then?

I’m angry that she didn’t ask if I wanted attendants.

Another plush toy slammed into the pillow.

She was grateful for her friends.

She cherished her friends.

But she hadn’t chosen them.

The Queen had chosen them for her.

I’m angry that she never asked if I wanted her to visit.

An eagle missed the pillow and smacked against the stone wall with a soft thud.

Not as pleasing as she’d been expecting.

Queen Rhaenyra had always dictated their interactions.

She’d visited when it pleased her.

She’d avoided her when it pleased her.

And the one time that Alicent had gathered the courage to seek out the Queen herself, Vora Hylda
had very politely and rather apologetically informed her that “Her Majesty is otherwise engaged.”

I’m angry that this incenses me so much.

The squid sailed through the air and hit the pillow almost before the penguin had fallen to the floor.

She would eventually need to apologize to Queen Rhaenyra for her words about their first meeting.
They’d been needlessly cruel. Needlessly provocative.

Sytarr above, the Queen had actually yelled at her.

It should have terrified her—seeing even a hint of the Firestorm’s wroth directed towards her.

But she’d barely noticed it at the time, too consumed by her own anger.

It had been Queen Rhaenyra’s shock and horror that had sliced through the red haze, that had sent
her running to Dr. Arwen in hopes that her therapist could help her quench the raging inferno that
she’d felt attempting to consume her from within.

She well-remembered seeing rage and loathing burning in Criston’s eyes whenever he’d hurt her.
She well-remembered seeing hatred and resentment burning in her mother’s eyes whenever she’d
slapped or reprimanded her. And she well-remembered seeing what she now knew had been
righteous fury burning in Queen Rhaenyra’s eyes when she’d learned about the cage.

“I’m angry that Criston beat me.”

The words were soft, barely more than a whisper as she hurled a red cube at the wall.

When she’d finally managed to articulate that she was angry, Dr. Arwen had been elated.

“I’m so proud of you, Alicent.”

But Alicent hadn’t felt proud in that moment. She’d felt sick and wrathful and twisted and
unnerved. And when she’d said as much, Dr. Arwen had smiled gently and used her magic to
summon a wooden crate filled with soft toys of various shapes and sizes.

“So why don’t we do something to excise your anger, hmm? You’re finally allowing yourself feel it,
now we can work on releasing it.”
Alicent had winced at the suggestion.

And then Dr. Arwen had thrown one of the soft toys at the wall and asked if she wanted to join her.

“I’m angry that being asked what I want still surprises me,” she muttered, snatching up a pyramid
and flinging it at the pillow.

Alicent had been so bewildered by Dr. Arwen’s strange behavior and request that she’d
momentarily forgotten her anger.

“We’re not harming anyone or anything if we throw these soft things at a wall protected by a large
cushion, are we?” Dr. Arwen had asked.

“No. I suppose we aren’t.”

Back home, she’d never been allowed to throw things of any sort at anything because it wasn’t
ladylike. Her mother had thrown a hairbrush at her once, but she had later told her in terse tones
that throwing the hairbrush had been inappropriate.

«Throwing things is an act of the houseless. It’s vulgar and crude. We must be above such ill-
manners.» Her mother had scowled at her then. «If you hadn’t been so insolent, I would not have
forgotten myself in such an uncouth way. Do you see any of your brothers causing me such grief?
Do you see any of your sisters testing their mothers so? Of course not. My sisters were blessed with
well-behaved daughters.»

“I’m angry that Mother always criticized me.”

She lobbed a winged-wolf at the wall.

Dr. Arwen had snapped her fingers then and given her one of the widest smiles that Alicent could
ever remember seeing on her face. “And that is why you are neither your mother nor Criston.
You’re allowing yourself to feel anger while still controlling your behavior. You’re making the
decision to release your anger in a way that isn’t hurting anyone.”

“I’m angry that they chose to hurt me.” Alicent didn’t whisper this time as she threw a tiger across
the room.

“It’s all right to be angry, Alicent, and it’s all right to find a release for your anger. The key is not to
let that anger control you or use it as an excuse to harm someone else. So what I’d like for you to
do is say something that makes you angry—aloud or in your head, whichever you prefer—and then
throw. All right?”

Alicent knew that she and Dr. Arwen would need to engage in a proper session once she’d calmed.

“Healthy anger demands reflection,” Dr. Xanthia Tyrell had written in her treatise. “It requires that
we take time and exert the effort to empower the rational mind to override the emotional mind. As
such, it calls on us to more fully embrace our capacities to reason and problem solve.”

Her mind hadn’t cleared enough to “fully embrace her capacities to reason,” and Dr. Arwen
understood that.

Alicent snatched up another plush toy.

 ∞

“I’m angry that Criston’s sons were so cruel.”

“I’m angry that he scarred me for the pleasure of it.”

“I’m angry that he locked me in a cage.”

“I’m angry that he gave me to his friends.”

“I’m angry that he always told me I was worthless.”

“I’m angry that Arilla starved me.”

“I’m angry that Sabina pushed me down the stairs.”

“I’m angry that Vesna belittled me.”

“I’m angry that Mother struck me.”

“I’m angry that she called me a blight on her life.”

“I’m angry that she hated me for being born.”

“I’m angry that she never loved me.”

“I’m angry that she made me hate myself.”

“I’m angry that no one has ever cared about what I thought.”

“I’m angry that no one has ever wanted my opinions.”

“I’m angry that every good thing in my life feels like charity.”

“I’m angry that I’m terrified it will all be taken away.”

“I’m angry that I feel selfish for wanting anything.”

“I’m angry that I’ve never had any control over my own life!”

Alicent’s words echoed in Arwen’s ears as she sat alone in her bedchamber later that evening. The
sun had set some time ago, and she could see the stars glittering overhead through her window. A
trio of light-orbs hovered over her desk, illuminating the opened journal that lay before her. Notes
written in her own hand littered the pages, nearly indecipherable to anyone but her. Some things
had been resolutely crossed out, a few key words were boldly circled, and a couple of additional
thoughts had been hastily scribbled in the margins.

Alicent’s throws had been slow and clumsy at first—almost as if she was trying to learn the
mechanics of it—but they’d swiftly gained force and speed. It had taken nearly twenty throws
before she had begun speaking aloud, and fifteen more before her words had been spoken with any
real conviction.

Ten throws later, and she’d been screaming.

 By the end, her words had been choked by sobs, and her face had been flushed bright red. But there
had been a light in her eyes. It was the same light that Arwen had seen ignited in the eyes of many
of her patients around this stage. Alicent hadn’t unburdened herself, not by any means, but perhaps
now she was finally ready to begin.

Chapter End Notes

Thus ends Arc 2.

Next Chapter: The Friendship Arc officially begins! Huzzah! You made it!

Also, yes, Aenara's Garden is based on the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

 Striking Up a Friendship
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 20:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Luwina Glover, Chief Librarian of Stone Garden, from Norden

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Fair warning, this chapter ended up being pretty long because Alicent and Rhaenyra are both
hot messes in their own way. Oops.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Winter Moon/1,000,123 Visenya VI

The winter wind was tugging at the edges of Rhaenyra’s cloak, but she barely noticed it as she
sighed and flipped to the next blank page in her sketchbook. Sketching when I ought to be
reviewing grain supplies, harvest figures, outstanding relief efforts, reforestation reports, Bartima’s
taxation summaries for last quarter, she grimaced at the final item. She also needed to consult with
the northern snow-scryers about the likelihood of any blizzards this coming winter.

There was no shortage of matters that she ought to be attending to instead of sitting in the western
winter garden with her sketchbook.

But Aemma had been pestering her to take a break for weeks now and had finally threatened to
begin burning her reports this morning if she didn’t spend some time outside doing something other
than working.

Rhaenyra harrumphed, icy snow crunching beneath her boots as she shifted slightly on the stone
bench to give herself a better view of the winter orchid that would be the subject of her next sketch.

Lady Alicent has a fondness for orchids.

She swiftly buried the thought, just as she had all of the others these past two months.

A mistake—she knew.

Yet another mistake.

She was angry with me for ignoring her, and now—

No. That wasn’t entirely correct. Lady Alicent hadn’t simply been angry with her for no longer
visiting, she’d been angry with Rhaenyra for not asking her whether she wanted the visits to
continue.
“You didn’t ask. You didn’t explain. You simply acted!”

A shudder rippled down her spine at the memory of Lady Alicent’s words, at the memory of the
rage that she’d seen burning in the other woman’s normally gentle eyes that day.

Merciful Mother.

Rhaenyra knew that Lady Alicent’s anger was a good thing, in truth.

Of course she knew.

Lady Alicent deserved to be angry. Mother Relle, if she did not, none of them did.

She knew that Lady Alicent allowing herself to feel anger was wonderful. She knew that it was a
part of the healing process. She knew that she ought to be pleased that Lady Alicent felt
comfortable enough to display a negative emotion in her presence. She knew that she ought to be
delighted by the progress that anger represented.

And yet . . .

She was happy for Lady Alicent, truly, but when she’d realized that she was the cause of Lady
Alicent’s anger . . .

Rhaenyra had nearly fallen to her knees begging for forgiveness.

Perhaps she should have.

The sight of Lady Alicent’s ire.

The fact that it was directed towards her.

Rhaenyra had been on the verge of a panic attack.

The wroth and censure in her eyes, the venom in her voice, it had all been too much like Emalia, to
similar to when—

But Rhaenyra hadn’t fallen to her knees and begged forgiveness.

She hadn’t succumbed to the panic that she’d felt rising within her and constricting her chest.

She’d tried to explain—not very well—but she’d tried.

“You didn’t ask then either. You simply did what you thought was best.”

She should have simply accepted those words in silence. Or she should have bowed her head and
acknowledged their truth. Or she should have pleaded for Lady Alicent’s pardon and promised to
make amends however Lady Alicent wished.

But what had she done instead?

She’d yelled at her.

Mother Relle and All Her Faces, she yelled at Lady Alicent.
And Lady Alicent had fled.

Of course she had.

Rhaenyra had lost her temper for a split second, and in doing so, she’d undone over a year and a
half’s worth of work to put Lady Alicent at ease around her.

She hadn’t meant to.

Relle forgive her, she hadn’t meant to.

But she’d been so exhausted . . .

Not that exhaustion excused her actions.

Eight months without sleep was no excuse for what she’d done.

Severe fatigue and a few possible hallucinations were no excuse for what she’d done.

Seven bleeding Hells, what was wrong with her?

“Everything that I’ve done since that day has been for your comfort, Alicent!”

She never should have raised her voice to Lady Alicent.

Not ever.

There was no excuse for such a thing.

Beastly.

Shameful.

Abhorrent.

She’d wanted to chase after Lady Alicent that day, to apologize and beg her forgiveness.

But she hadn’t.

One moment.

One split second.

She’d allowed her temper to flare for a single heartbeat . . .

And she’d become no better than Criston or Lady Alicent’s mother.

Merciful Mother, how could she have been so bloody stupid?

She’d yelled at Lady Alicent.

She’d loomed over her and yelled at her.

She was a monster.

Only a monster would dare raise their voice at a woman who had already suffered so much.

And I yelled at her for simply speaking the truth.

That somehow made it worse.

Some part of her knew that she needed to make amends, but how could she?

Seven Hells it had been nearly a month before she could even think about that day without feeling
her chest constrict with guilt-ridden panic.

And she barely even recalled the immediate aftermath.

Only flashes of Lady Alicent’s retreating back.

The sound of her swiftly fleeing footsteps.

The frantic beating of her heart.

Rhaenyra’s next clear memory was of awakening in her bedchamber over a day later. Aemma had
later explained that Hylda and Sabitha had found her collapsed in the garden.

She’d allowed sleep to claim her for much of the following week because oblivion was preferable
to remembering Lady Alicent’s fury. But even in her dreams, Lady Alicent’s deserved censure had
echoed in her ears.

Work was her only respite. So long as she focused her mind elsewhere, she could evade the
memories.

But now Aemma had insisted that she set her work aside.

The wind suddenly shifted, and Rhaenyra stiffened.

No.

Raising her head, she scented the air.

Freshly baked bread.

Warm and rich.

Home.

Lady Alicent shouldn’t be out here.

Relle above, it was winter. Lady Alicent did not leave the Queen’s Keep during the winter. The
cold disagreed with her.

So why is she here now?

Alicent shivered as she sat upon the stone bench, the winter sun overhead doing little more than
mocking her with its false promise of warmth. She knew that her cheeks and the tip of her nose
must be bright red, despite her heavy scarf. Before allowing herself to be dragged from the warmth
of the Queen’s Keep, she’d donned as many layers of clothing as physically possible in the
desperate hope that they would be enough to combat the bone-chilling cold that had settled over the
Queendom two weeks ago.

In addition to her heavy gown of thick wool blended with several other warm materials meant to
provide additional insulation, she was wearing two sets of long-smallclothes and half-a-dozen extra
layers of petticoats beneath her dress. Draped over her shoulders was a heavy cloak lined with thick
fur, and its equally fur-lined hood was pulled up to cover her head and protect her ears. Her feet
were encased in sturdy boots, and thick yet supple gloves hugged her hands.

Sansa had also been kind enough to attach insulation enchantments to all of her clothes.

And yet the cold found her all the same.

Perhaps it was simply a quirk of her Westerosi biology.

Or perhaps it was a sign from Sytarr that she simply wasn’t meant to come outside when it was
cold.

Either was equally possible.

Alicent’s nose wrinkled when she exhaled and saw her breath gathering in front of her face.

She’d never liked the cold.

Even back home, when she’d been protected from harsh temperatures by her sytarrium clothing,
she’d avoided leaving Tamworth Palace as a child when what she’d once considered “winter” fell
upon the Lordship. Some of her younger siblings had delighted in what they’d described as the
“bracing chill” of the colder months, but they were Pella’s children, and Pella had hailed from the
far north.

Her distaste for the winter weather was a source of endless amusement for her Nordish friends, who
had been born and raised in a land of eternal winter and snow and ice. Such a place sounded hellish
to Alicent—not that she’d ever told them so aloud.

There was a reason that she’d asked Aemma if she might have a few additional quilts well in
advance of the winter solstice. There was a reason that she’d spent the past two winters safely
ensconced within the warmth of the Queen’s Keep and the buildings connected to it. There was a
reason that she’d never dared to venture out into the freezing cold until today.

The chill slowly seeping into her bones was entirely Sansa’s fault.

Following the Valyrians’ customary three-day Winter Solstice celebrations to “welcome” the cold
season—Alicent still couldn’t fathom why anyone would wish to welcome this dreadful weather—
Sansa had begun encouraging her to visit one of the winter gardens this year.

Alicent had demurred at first.

Sansa had been surprisingly persistent.

Margaery—the traitor—had sided with her heart friend on the matter, despite her also having little
love for the winter.
When Alicent had made a point of reminding Margaery of this fact, Margaery had simply shrugged
and smiled. “Winters are dreary and dull, to be sure,” which had earned her a playful swat from
Sansa, “but there is no better time of year to enjoy a hot cup of tea and to cuddle with a ‘heart
friend’ in front of a fire.”

Alicent had swiftly redirected the conversation, not wishing to dwell on the admonishing look that
Sansa had given Margaery or the glint in Margaery’s eyes when she’d said “heart friend.”

What had finally swayed her to foolishly venture out into the snow and ice was Sansa informing
her that there were a number of flowers for her to see that only bloomed in winter. “Once the snows
blanket the soils and the temperatures fall low enough, that is the only time these flowers will
bloom.”

Sansa knew her too well.

Leaving the Queen’s Keep in winter had been nearly as nerve-wracking as leaving her apartments
for the first time.

Upon stepping foot outside, she’d immediately been greeted by a blast of cold air in her face, which
had stung her cheeks and swiftly reddened them. Fresh snow had fallen the night before, and the
world that she’d stepped into had been blanketed in white, which might have been pretty if not for
the bitter cold.

The sight of jagged, crystalline icicles hanging from the balconies and roofs and terraces had been
both beautiful and terrifying. Walking through the thick yet fluffy snow had reminded her of when
she’d waded into a small pool as a child and the water had tugged at her clothes and ankles.

She’d begun shivering immediately, and Sansa had promised her that the cold wouldn’t feel so
wretched once she grew used to it.

Over an hour later, and that promise had yet to prove true.

What had proven true was Sansa’s promise that Valyrian winter flowers were a truly lovely sight to
behold. Being from Norden, Sansa knew all about the hardy flowers and plants that managed to
thrive in the most hostile conditions.

Her friend had shown her winter roses, which only bloomed once frost coated the ground. The
petals were arctic-blue and smelled like a winter wind. What Sansa called the Yulemas rose didn’t
look much like a rose in Alicent’s opinion, with its seven petals that spread wide and resembled a
star. The ice rose, which was white at the bottom and slowly bled to ice-blue at the crown, looked
like a proper rose with its layers of petals that were neatly twisted in the center.

The winter-blooming camellia was an evergreen shrub that produced large blossoms ranging from
pink to burgundy to red, which created a lovely contrast to the white snow covering the green bush.
The ice pansies Sansa had shown her also came in a range of colors, from yellow to blue to red to
orange.

The winter aconite, with its bright yellow flowers nestled among feathery blue foliage, made her
think of the summer sun that she missed so much. The ornamental kale was blooms of white, pink,
and violet on ruffled rosette heads, and she personally thought those flowers looked more like roses
than the Yulemas rose. The snowdrops were delicate with their bowed heads and looked like they
couldn’t survive one night in the cold.
Sansa had also shown her winter orchids, which Alicent had decided were her second favorite
Valyrian flower after emerald orchids. The petals were as blue as a clear winter sky, and the stem
and leaves were the same gleaming silver as an emerald orchid’s. The petals were smooth and soft
to the touch, and, when speckled with ice crystals, glittered like diamonds.

The pretty winter flowers were the only reason that she had lingered this long outside rather than
returning to the warmth of the Queen’s Keep.

The pretty flowers . . .

And the desire to prove to herself that she could endure the cold, if she so chose.

After spending the past two winters in the Queen’s Keep, it was strangely comforting to know that
even the Kastrellan cold could not truly confine her if she did not wish it.

If she wanted to spend time outside, the weather need not impede her unless she allowed it.

I can endure the cold. At least for a time.

And I rather enjoy stepping outside when it rains.

Alicent’s lips pursed at that thought, her head beginning to turn so that she might look over her
shoulder, but she quickly stopped herself.

The first daytime rain in over a year had fallen three days after she’d snapped at Queen Rhaenyra in
the rose garden.

And despite being unable to receive confirmation from the Queen herself, Alicent had known what
that rain meant.

Queen Rhaenyra had been manipulating the weather for her.

And she stopped after I yelled at her for doing things for me without asking first.

Alicent sighed heavily, though whether it was in exasperation or sadness, even she couldn’t be
certain.

After her outburst that day, after she’d calmed herself, after her session with Dr. Arwen during
which they’d discussed her desire for—her right to—personal autonomy and her feelings that
Queen Rhaenyra wasn’t fully respecting that by continuing to make certain decisions for her
without asking, she’d gone in search of the Queen so that she might apologize.

Not for what she’d said about Queen Rhaenyra dictating all of their interactions in a manner that
suited her own needs or that she presumed was in Alicent’s best interests, but for what Alicent had
said about the day they’d met.

Those words, Alicent knew, had been uncalled for.

Cruel, even.

But Alicent hadn’t been able to locate the Queen that day.

Nor any day since.

Queen Rhaenyra had been completely avoiding her for two months now, and there was nothing
Alicent could do about it.

As ever.

A week after their quarrel, she’d received a very polite note explaining that the Queen believed she
was no longer the proper person to teach Alicent how to control her empathy and offering to find
her a different tutor at once.

Alicent hadn’t responded—simply crumpled up the note and thrown it against the nearest wall.

She’d then spent the majority of her session with Dr. Arwen that day hurling more soft toys against
a pillow.

During those early weeks, Alicent had been tempted to ask her friends—particularly Sabitha and
Aly—for their help in finding Queen Rhaenyra, but she didn’t wish to place them in a situation
where they had to choose between her and their queen.

Especially since she was almost certain that she knew where their loyalties would ultimately lie.

What truly confounded her about Queen Rhaenyra’s current behavior was that, even now, the other
woman continued comforting her after her night terrors. Without fail, whenever Alicent awoke
drenched in sweat and shaking so badly that her teeth hurt, Queen Rhaenyra was there to hold her
and soothe her and stroke her back and croon softly in her ear.

Despite their argument, despite otherwise avoiding her entirely, the Queen always came to her on
those nights. She always held Alicent close and whispered sweet assurances to her. She always
sang Alicent to sleep afterwards. And she always departed before Alicent woke the next morning.

When Alicent had startled awake from a night terror almost a month after their quarrel, she’d been
genuinely surprised to find herself wrapped in Queen Rhaenyra’s arms. Had she not still been
gripped by fear and in such desperate need of comfort, she might have pushed the other woman
away and demanded an explanation for her avoidance.

But she hadn’t.

Instead, Alicent had gratefully sunk into the familiar embrace and eagerly accepted the tender
touches and gentle words that the Queen had offered her.

But the following day, nothing had changed.

That was when Alicent had finally asked Aemma about Queen Rhaenyra’s vexing behavior—
taking care not to request the Queen’s actual location or how she might find her.

Aemma had sighed and shaken her head. “Rhaenyra needs time, I’m afraid. Your argument . . .
disquieted her.”

Alicent had had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from retorting that she found Queen
Rhaenyra’s insistence on avoiding her “disquieting” as well.

Perhaps seeing the displeasure on her face, the old seneschal had smiled sympathetically and
added, “It was good for you to say what you did, Alicent. Rhaenyra means well, but she has been a
ruler all her life. I’m not excusing her actions, but she was taught from birth to always act in the
best interests of others. Or what she believes to be the best interests of others. I’m afraid that she’s
been allowing that mentality to guide too many of her interactions with you.”

Alicent had mulled over those words for about a week before discussing them with Dr. Arwen.

“I have done my best, Alicent.”

Alicent believed her.

Of course she did.

She understood that Queen Rhaenyra desired her safety and happiness.

But the way that the Queen had chosen to go about ensuring both was . . . aggravating.

“When I look at you, I don’t see a Westerosi. I see a woman who was in grave need of help. I could
offer that help.”

And Alicent would be forever grateful for that.

Just as she was grateful that Queen Rhaenyra had allowed her time to herself when she’d first
arrived rather than attempting to force her company upon her. Alicent could acknowledge that,
during those early months, her terror of the Firestorm had made it impossible for the Queen to
actually ask her whether or not she desired her company.

And even during those initial visits, before Alicent had realized that Queen Rhaenyra did not wish
to see her afraid, had the Queen asked her whether or not she desired the visits to continue, Alicent
wouldn’t have given her a true answer. She would have simply said whatever she thought the other
woman wanted her to say.

Queen Rhaenyra offering her time to acclimate to Valyria and begin to understand that she was safe
here had been a kindness. It had been a decision that Alicent could recognize as one that had
necessarily been made on her behalf at a time when she’d still been learning that she had a right to
make decisions for herself.

But once she’d begun to learn?

Once she’d begun to understand that she wasn’t property and that no one—including the Queen—
had the right to dictate to her as if she was a child?

That was when Queen Rhaenyra should have begun consulting her rather than simply doing what
she thought was best for her. That was when Queen Rhaenyra should have stopped presuming to
know what Alicent needed or wanted.

“I’ve missed you, Alicent. I miss coming to visit you.”

Sytarr above, how those words had angered her when she’d heard them.

“I miss coming to visit you.”

Not, “I miss seeing you,” or “I miss speaking with you,” or even “I miss your company.”
While Alicent didn’t believe that Queen Rhaenyra had meant to be insensitive, her words had done
little more than underscore the unbalanced nature of every interaction they’d had since that day at
Dragon Ridge.

“You’re free to do as you please.”

There was no doubt in Alicent’s mind that Queen Rhaenyra had been perfectly sincere when she’d
said those words to her that first night. The Queen had never directly attempted to limit her
freedom by any means. She’d never locked her away or restricted her movements by forbidding her
from going where she pleased. She’d never scolded her or punished her for not obeying without
question or hesitation. She’d never made demands of her or expected anything in return for her
generosity.

The Queen had never tried to control her as her mother or Criston had.

But Alicent had since learned that there was more than one way a person could exert control over
another.

And while she didn’t believe that Queen Rhaenyra had done so intentionally, the other woman had
certainly been controlling her in subtle ways since the day they’d met.

“I’ve missed you, Alicent.”

A simple sentiment. Sweet, in truth. Exposing a sort of vulnerability that Alicent hadn’t known
Queen Rhaenyra was capable of.

Yet the words had angered her all the same. For how could the Queen claim to miss her when she’d
been the one to abandon Alicent? How could the Queen claim to miss her when it was well within
her power to simply resume visiting?

At the time, Alicent had only been aware of the anger those words had aroused, of the righteous
indignation that she’d felt when Queen Rhaenyra had dared claim to miss her when the Queen
herself was the very reason that they’d been seeing so little of each other.

It hadn’t been until later, after she’d calmed enough to be able to properly analyze and reflect upon
her anger, that Alicent had understood why the Queen’s words had incensed her so.

She’d been angry about Queen Rhaenyra controlling her, to be sure, but perhaps even more than
that, she’d been hurt about Queen Rhaenyra casting her aside.

From the moment she’d realized that the Queen did not wish her harm, Alicent had feared the day
when Queen Rhaenyra finally grew weary of her presence. She’d eventually convinced herself that
it was inevitable and that she ought to accept it, but she hadn’t fully realized exactly how much it
would hurt to be discarded by the Queen.

Her mother had wanted to discard her the moment that she was born.

Criston had discarded her with little more than token protests borne of his own wounded pride.

But they’d never cared about her.

Alicent had thought—perhaps foolishly—that Queen Rhaenyra might have been growing
somewhat fond of her. Why else comfort her after her night terrors? Why else allow her to borrow
books from her personal collection? Why else smile when Alicent had wished her a happy
birthday?

Being abandoned by someone she’d thought might actually care for her in some way had hurt far
more than being discarded by those she’d already known had hated her.

It had wounded something in her that Alicent hadn’t even known existed to be wounded.

It had created a tightness in her chest that had yet to fade.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Alicent tipped her head back just enough so that the hood of her cloak
shifted and she could feel the biting cold on the sides of her face.

Pella’s children had called the cold winds of winter bracing.

Alicent did not find them bracing, but they were certainly distracting.

Another shiver gripped her body, and when she shifted to draw her cloak more tightly around
herself, the faint scent of roses reached her nose.

Damn it.

She still didn’t know whether Sansa and Margaery had specifically chosen to bring her to the
western winter garden because they’d known that Queen Rhaenyra would be here as well, or if it
was simply some twist of fate that had brought them together.

She wasn’t much sure that it mattered.

Her steps had faltered and her chest had tightened when she’d entered the garden and caught sight
of the Queen sitting on a bench beside one of the frozen ponds. She’d briefly considered returning
inside, but she’d wanted to see the flowers, and Queen Rhaenyra hadn’t offered any sign that she
was even aware of Alicent’s presence, her focus remaining stubbornly fixed on the notebook in her
lap.

A month ago, Alicent would have approached her and attempted to finally put an end to the
Queen’s avoidance.

But she’d since settled on a different course of action and abandoned her efforts to find Queen
Rhaenyra and apologize for her cruel words that day in the rose garden. She’d done all that she
could to locate the Queen short of feigning a panic attack in the hopes that the other woman might
come to her aid.

If Queen Rhaenyra was so determined to avoid her, then so be it. Alicent would not continue to
chase after a woman who had no desire to be caught.

The Queen knows I’m in the garden. If she wishes to speak with me, she may approach me herself.

Just as she had always done.

And yet, despite her own determination to ignore Queen Rhaenyra, Alicent still found herself
glancing over her shoulder to steal a glimpse of the other woman.
She allowed herself no more than a flash of silver hair before redirecting her gaze to the edge of the
garden where the Queen’s Garden Knights were stationed.

Dressed in shining armor and flowing purple cloaks, the seven of them were quite the sight to
behold. Each woman’s armor was a different color and decorated with unique designs that
correlated to her knightly title, which had certainly made memorizing their respective titles easier
once the other five knights had begun returning to Stone Garden some nine months ago.

Vora Hylda looked as stern and imposing as ever in her night-black armor, the blood-red teardrop
above her heart the only source of color aside from her cloak. Sabitha gleamed golden in the
sunlight, and the white lily on her breastplate was particularly luminous. Vora Jonquil’s breastplate
was emblazoned with a purple orchid, which nicely complemented the wine-red color of her armor.

Vora Sarmelle’s armor was bright silver and filigreed with green vines of ivy, while Vora Lorenna’s
copper-colored armor bore a thistle-shaped rondel on each arm and an enamel thistle on the
breastplate. Vora Melina’s pine-green armor was inlaid with black enamel thorns, and Vora
Casilda’s sky-blue armor was ornamented with pink petals that seemed to be falling across the
metal.

Not metal, Alicent corrected herself, dragon-scale.

When Sabitha had first mentioned that she and other knights wore scale armor, Alicent had been
confused given that all of the armor she’d seen was quite clearly plate armor, but then her friend
had clarified that the scale she was referring to was dragon-scale.

“The scales of a dragon are nigh impenetrable, so they’ve been used for shields and armor since
the Magical Revolution on the Old World.”

Apparently, Old World armorers had been the first to develop spells that enabled them to forge
dragon scales by meticulously manipulating their molecular structure to make them just pliant
enough that they could be molded and shaped. And since dragon scales were naturally radiant and
came in numerous colors of various shades, those ancient armorers had been able to forge armor
that shone with the colors and brightness of well-faceted jewels.

As Sabitha had explained it, during the early centuries of Empress Daenerys’ reign, trade
agreements had been established between the First Generation and the nascent dragon population
so that smiths and armorers would be able to acquire shed dragon scales.

“Honed dragon-scale is one of the few materials that can easily lacerate Valyrian flesh, so you’ll
find that most scalpels are dragon-scale.”

Admittedly, Alicent found herself most intrigued by that particular piece of information, even
though it had been only tangentially related to her initial inquiry about Valyrian armor.

Sighing, she turned away from the Queen and her knights, knowing that she’d allowed her gaze to
linger overlong.

Perhaps I ought to return inside.

She absently tapped on her scarred wrist when her eyes fell upon a pretty snowdrop that she
somehow hadn’t noticed earlier.
In a moment.

Lady Alicent was a vision of ethereal beauty beneath the winter sun.

Utterly breathtaking and exquisite.

Her fair skin was practically glowing, which created a pleasing contrast to her flushed cheeks. The
rich brown of her eyes seemed sharper and brighter and even more captivating than usual, and the
locks of auburn hair spilling from the confines of her hood were set ablaze to wonderfully
complement the green fabric of her cloak. And even though she was dressed in what must be over a
dozen layers of clothing, she still moved with effortless grace and elegance.

That the sun was even visible at the moment was a rare thing indeed. During the winter, clouds
usually blanketed the sky and cast the world in pleasing shades of dove-grey and white, sometimes
with a few pretty traces of blue. It was always a pleasure whenever the sun appeared and the sky
was clear, when the snows on the ground turned blazing white and everything seemed even brighter
than it did in summer.

Even the sun cannot remain hidden in her presence.

Rhaenyra sighed wistfully as she returned her attention to the winter orchid that she was sketching.
She knew that she’d allowed her gaze to linger overlong, knew that she didn’t deserve to see the
small smile playing across Lady Alicent’s lips as she ran her gloved fingers over the petals of a
snowdrop, knew that she should have retreated from the garden the moment she’d detected Lady
Alicent’s scent.

But it had been so long since she’d last seen the other woman . . .

My own fault, entirely.

She hadn’t meant to upset the Lady Alicent.

Merciful Mother, she would sooner spend an endless reign in one of the Great Glass Prisons than
intentionally bring her further unhappiness.

Lady Alicent deserved nothing but endless joy and contentment.

And Rhaenyra had thought that she was doing everything within her power to offer that.

“You didn’t ask then either. You simply did what you thought was best.”

Mother Relle and All Her Faces, she’d been such a fool. A protectively paternalistic fool.

A protectively paternalistic thrice-damned ass.

Rhaenyra shook her head, disgusted by her own presumption. Why was it so hard for her to simply
speak with Lady Alicent?

“You didn’t ask then either. You simply did what you thought was best.”

A bitter laugh almost escaped her lips, but she swiftly swallowed it.
The garden was too quiet. If she laughed, Lady Alicent would hear it, and Rhaenyra didn’t wish to
disturb her.

Guilt.

It was always, always a matter of guilt, was it not?

Guilt about all that she had done to Lady Alicent’s people during the War.

Guilt about knowing that she would commit such atrocities again in a heartbeat for the sake of her
own people.

And, above all else, guilt about the barbaric way that she had treated the Lady Alicent during the
negotiations.

Everything that she’d done—both that day and since—she’d done with only the best of intentions,
but she knew full well that good intentions could cause the greatest of harms.

When she’d demanded that Lady Alicent be included as part of the Treaty, it was because she’d
seen no other way to protect her from Criston and save her life. She’d convinced herself that it was
a detestable but ultimately lesser evil necessary to prevent a much worse evil.

When she’d brought Lady Alicent to Stone Garden and promised to help her begin a new life
anywhere she so chose, she’d meant those words without reservation or caveat. Had Lady Alicent
asked to return to Westeros, Rhaenyra would have done as she wished—albeit regretfully.

When she’d first sent Aemma to Lady Alicent, she’d sincerely intended to eventually ask Lady
Alicent to select her own attendants once she’d grown more comfortable, but when the time had
come to do so, Rhaenyra had balked and instead requested volunteers.

When she’d comforted Lady Alicent after that first night terror, she hadn’t planned to do so again,
but how could she not? How could she remain in her own bed and listen to Lady Alicent’s screams
without acting? How could she close her eyes and pretend to be unaware of her suffering? How
could she do nothing when it was within her power to help? Surely the worse course of action
would be not soothing Lady Alicent’s night terrors.

Or so she told herself whenever she entered Lady Alicent’s chambers.

Even now, when Rhaenyra was avoiding her in all other respects, she still found herself bolting
from her bed and rushing into Lady Alicent’s bedchamber whenever she sensed her distress or
heard her cries.

And she couldn’t help but notice that Lady Alicent had never once locked her doors . . .

It would have been easier had Lady Alicent simply sent her away that first night, as Rhaenyra had
expected. But no, Lady Alicent had asked that she remain in her bedchamber and accepted
Rhaenyra’s offer to sing her to sleep.

Guilt gnawed at her belly as Rhaenyra remembered that first night terror, remembered the peaceful
expression that had graced Lady Alicent’s face once sleep reclaimed her, remembered the soothing
and steady thrum of her heartbeat, remembered the intoxicating warmth and comfort of her scent.
Those nights when she soothed Alicent—when she held her close and sang her to sleep and wove
her dreams—they were a dangerous, selfish indulgence. She knew that, but she was too weak to
stop herself.

When she’d offered to personally help Lady Alicent master her empathy rather than sending for a
tutor, she’d thought that Lady Alicent would prefer a teacher she knew—even if that teacher was
the Firestorm.

But I should have asked her whether she desired a different teacher instead of simply offering
myself and providing no alternative.

And I should have asked if my visits were discomfiting her.

And I should have asked when she wanted me to visit, if at all.

And I should have asked if she would prefer it not to rain during the day.

Seven Hells, how could she have treated Lady Alicent so poorly?

How could she not have realized that she was treating Lady Alicent so poorly?

Rhaenyra had been so pleased when Lady Alicent had finally decided to emerge from her
apartments, so pleased when she’d begun exploring the Queen’s Keep and Stone Garden, so
pleased when she’d befriended some of the other courtiers and staff.

Lady Alicent had bloomed this past year—smiling and laughing and even allowing Margaery and
Sansa to touch her arm or hand on occasion.

She was so different from the haggard and frightened creature that Rhaenyra had first brought to
the Queen’s Keep, and yet Lady Alicent remained as utterly captivating now as she had been that
day at Dragon Ridge, if not even more so.

And it wasn’t simply because Lady Alicent was the most comely woman that Rhaenyra had ever
had the pleasure of laying eyes upon. Though she most certainly was that—with her fair
complexion, her soft curves and slender waist, her pretty auburn curls that perfectly framed her
face, and her eyes . . .

Lady Alicent’s eyes were absolutely stunning.

The sort of eyes that it was easy to become lost in and simply spend hours gazing into.

And they’d been filled with such sadness two and a half years ago.

A bone-deep sadness.

The sort of sadness that Rhaenyra had ached to soothe.

“You didn’t ask then either. You simply did what you thought was best.”

So she had.

Her actions that day were reprehensible. She would never deny that.
Regardless of her good intentions, she’d treated Lady Alicent as property, however briefly. She’d
demanded that Lady Alicent be given to her as if she was no better than livestock. She’d terrorized
her that day. Unintentionally, to be sure, but she’d seen the horror in Lady Alicent’s eyes, had
scented her fear, had heard the thundering of her heart.

And Rhaenyra would do it all again without hesitation.

That was the worst part.

Knowing that she didn’t regret her actions in the slightest.

For while it pained her to know that she had caused Lady Alicent such distress, she would gladly
suffer that pain in exchange for the certainty that Criston Cole would never again lay hands on her.

Or anything else.

And prior to when she’d inexcusably yelled at Lady Alicent, this past year had done wonders to
ease some of Rhaenyra’s guilt, which had of course only made her feel guiltier. She knew that she
did not deserve absolution.

But how could she not be reassured that she’d done the right thing when she saw Lady Alicent
strolling through the gardens with Margaery and Sansa? How could she not be reassured when she
learned that Lady Alicent had decided to take tea with Ambassador Tully? How could she not be
reassured when overheard Luwina telling Aemma that she’d found Alicent curled up in a chair fast
asleep with a book on her lap in the library?

How could she not be reassured when Lady Alicent seemed happy?

“You didn’t ask then either. You simply did what you thought was best.”

But what else could she have done?

She supposed that she could have simply slaughtered Criston and his family before they could even
blink, but that would have certainly terrified Lady Alicent even more than she already was.

Or she supposed that she could have used her fire to burn away their nth metal clothing, frozen
them with her magic, and then sought Lady Alicent’s leave to help her, but surely that would have
terrified her as well.

Or she supposed that she could have nothing.

But that would have been the death of them both.

The ends justify the means. You don’t seek permission before saving a drowning woman.

But considering the situation, considering how she’d helped Lady Alicent . . .

Expelling a frustrated breath, Rhaenyra returned her attention to her winter orchid sketch, hoping to
distract herself—

Seven bleeding thrice-damned Hells!

She hadn’t even been looking at Lady Alicent for that long!
And yet, staring up at her from her sketchbook—beautiful even as it mocked her—was Lady
Alicent’s softly smiling face.

She hadn’t meant—

Seven Hells she hadn’t even realized—

Mother Relle, this was unseemly.

It was horrifically inappropriate as well.

And it was most certainly an invasion of privacy.

Merciful Mother, what is wrong with me?

This time, Rhaenyra couldn’t contain her bitter laugh.

She knew what was wrong with her.

She’d known for quite some time now—loath as she was to admit it, much as she’d desperately
tried to deny it.

She’d suspected that very first morning when she’d visited Lady Alicent’s chambers to enchant her
windows and found herself completely enthralled by the other woman’s scent.

Relle above, even the mere memory sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

She knew the signs better than anyone—save for the magisters who made it their life’s work to
study and understand the mysteries of the matebond—so she’d known what her reaction to Lady
Alicent’s scent meant.

But such knowledge was easily ignored when Lady Alicent had still been sequestered in her
chambers, and Rhaenyra had gratefully done exactly that for nearly a year.

And then Lady Alicent had her first night terror.

Rhaenyra had known for certain that night.

How could she not?

The way Lady Alicent had calmed in response to her pheromones, which she shouldn’t have been
able to detect.

The way Lady Alicent’s terror and panic had so effortlessly breached her emotional ward, which
was well beyond the strength of Lady Alicent’s gift.

The way Lady Alicent had inadvertently shown her a memory of that thrice-damned cage, which
Rhaenyra’s mental wards should have prevented.

And the way her magic had responded to Lady Alicent’s distress and that memory, the way it had
roared and surged and thrashed, the way it had hungered for Criston’s blood and the blood of all
those who had ever dared cause Lady Alicent harm.
She’d known.

Aemma’s scent reached her nose before the sound of her approaching footsteps, and Rhaenyra
briefly considered teleporting to a different garden, but that would have been childish. Besides,
hopefully this means my exile outside is at an end.

“Merciful Mother, Rhaenyra.” Aemma pointed to the sketchbook, which Rhaenyra had somehow
forgotten about. “You’re drawing her now? Without her knowledge?”

“It was an accident.” She hastily tore out the page, incinerated it, and summoned a breeze to scatter
the ashes. “I meant to draw a winter orchid.”

Aemma just stared at her for a long moment before shaking her head. “Rhaenyra, I understand that
you’ve needed time since your quarrel—”

“Since I yelled at her,” she corrected.

Aemma sighed. “Since the both of you yelled at each other, I understand why you’ve been burying
yourself in work—more than usual—and avoiding Alicent—more than usual—but you cannot
wallow in your own guilt forever.”

Rhaenyra frowned at that. “I’m not wallowing, Aemma.” She simply didn’t deserve to be in Lady
Alicent’s presence after treating her so poorly. Dictating to her, ignoring her, yelling at her.

Lady Alicent deserved far better than that.

Lady Alicent deserved far, far better than that.

Alicent Hightower was a marvel.

A captivating marvel.

Beautiful, to be sure, but also gentle and sweet and kind and compassionate and so very strong.

And intelligent.

Mother Relle, Lady Alicent was so wonderfully intelligent. So bright and inquisitive and always
eager to learn more about anything and everything.

It was as charming as it was admirable.

A mind such as hers—

“Rhaenyra?”

“Hmm?” Rhaenyra shook her head a little and returned her focus to Aemma. “Pardon?”

Aemma folded her arms across her chest and made a show of ruffling her silverly-white wings.
“You’re being ridiculous and behaving like a fool.”

I should have gone to a different garden.

“Thirty more staff members returned today.” Rhaenyra gave her a pointed look. “I should think that
you would have more important matters to occupy your time.” I most certainly do.

A deceptively pleasant smile curled her heart friend’s lips, her voice as sweet as honey when she
responded. “Among those thirty women were two of my under seneschals. And unlike you, I’m
actually capable of delegation.” With that, Aemma sat down beside Rhaenyra and waved a hand to
teleport her sketchbook away.

“That was rather ill-mannered.”

Aemma didn’t even bother feigning contrition. “Alicent’s presence is distraction enough, I should
think. I’m praying that you might actually listen to what I’m saying to you.”

“The hour grows late—”

“It’s not even midday yet.” Aemma grabbed her arm before Rhaenyra could even attempt to rise
from the bench. “Rhaenyra, I know that withdrawing when you’re feeling overwhelmed is simply
your way, and there is nothing wrong with taking the time that you need to collect your thoughts
and process. And there was certainly nothing wrong with you finally resting during that first week
after your quarrel. But it’s been two months now. And if you truly care for Alicent—as I know you
do—then you owe it to her and to yourself not to leave things as they are.”

“She fled, Aemma.” Rhaenyra stared down at her lap, the sound of Lady Alicent’s hastily retreating
footsteps echoing in her ears. “I raised my voice at her, and she fled.”

“And yet the very next day, she sought you out, did she not?”

Rhaenyra didn’t respond.

They both already knew the answer.

“Rhaenyra,” Aemma gently took one of her hands and squeezed, “do you think Luwina and I have
never quarreled? Do you think we’ve never screamed at each other and then regretted it
immediately after? Speak with any bonded woman, and she will tell you that quarrels are inevitable
so long as both mates have breath in their lungs. But quarreling with your mate does not mean that
you love her any less.”

“She’s not my mate, Aemma,” Rhaenyra sighed.

“But she could be, if you would only stop behaving like a fool and actually speak with her. You’ve
told me yourself that the signs are there—”

“Aemma—”

“The Oracle said that your mate is a woman not born of Valyria. Alicent certainly wasn’t born of
Valyria—”

“Neither was Emalia,” Rhaenyra snapped, her patience swiftly waning. She didn’t wish to speak
about this, as she had made quite clear to Aemma on multiple occasions.

Aemma’s exasperated expression immediately softened. “Emalia was different.”

“Was she?” Rhaenyra’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “The signs of the matebond were there with
her as well. The way that I was drawn to her . . .” She shook her head, canines aching as she fought
to prevent them from lengthening and sharpening. “I convinced myself that she was the one, but I
was wrong.”

So very, very wrong.

A black fog of painful memories surged forward, but she swiftly threw them back and buried them
deep.

“I’ll not make the same mistake with Alicent.”

At least with Emalia, there had been a thin sliver of hope that her feelings might one day be
reciprocated.

There was no such hope with Alicent.

Aemma shifted closer, stretching out her left wing to drape it over Rhaenyra’s shoulders. “Emalia
was different,” she repeated, “because she didn’t know your true self. She believed you to be Azlyn
of Northumbria. She thought you no more than an unaging Terran sorceress. She reacted poorly to
the truth—”

“She denounced me as a vile beast created by Satan and sent to seduce her.” Rhaenyra’s chest
tightened as Emalia’s furious words echoed in her ears. There had been such venom in them—not
unlike the venom dripping from Lady Alicent’s words two months ago. “She called me the Whore
of Babylon and told me to never come near her again.”

Her jaw tightened as she roughly wiped at her eyes.

She’d loved Emalia more than words could describe, and she’d had every intention of telling her
the truth, but that frost demon had eviscerated her before Rhaenyra had the chance—

No.

She couldn’t think about that.

Those memories always brought forth panic attacks.

Emalia had torn her heart from her chest and trampled it beneath her pretty foot.

She could not bear for Alicent to do the same.

Aemma reached up and gently brushed away one of the tears that Rhaenyra had missed. “Alicent
would never say such cruel things to you, Rhaenyra.”

I would deserve them if she did. “It doesn’t matter, Aemma. Regardless of my feelings, we both
know that the matebond requires reciprocity and commitment from both women to flourish into
anything more than an intense attraction.”

“The matebond is far more profound than mere attraction,” Aemma sputtered. “The biological and
emotional components alone—”

“My point being, I may be drawn to her because of the matebond, but actual love—”
“You expect me to believe that you haven’t fallen at least somewhat in love with her?” Aemma
snorted. “You were manipulating the weather for her convenience.”

“Empress Melinora Weather-Binder and Empress Visenya Stormwind manipulated the weather for
their mates quite often—”

“For their mates, yes.”

Rhaenyra harrumphed, waving away Aemma’s words. “As I was saying, regardless of what I may
or may not feel for Lady Alicent, she will never love me.”

“How can you be so certain?”

Rhaenyra stared at her incredulously. She could think of a thousand reasons for why Lady Alicent
would never love her, first among them being that Rhaenyra had screamed at her not even two
months ago, and before that, she’d been behaving like a protectively paternalistic ass towards her.

“Relle is not cruel, Rhaenyra. She gifted us with the matebond to ensure that each of her temporal
daughters finds that one woman who will perfectly supplement her. If you would—”

“Alicent is only fifty, Aemma. The matebond won’t manifest if one woman is significantly
younger, and our age difference is more than enough—”

“Don’t insult either of us with such a flimsy argument,” Aemma scoffed. “Firstly, you’ve been
experiencing signs, which means that the matebond is manifesting. And secondly, the bond age
only matters when one woman is a child and the other isn’t. Alicent is a woman grown, the same as
you. Westerosi age differently than us, and she’s certainly reached full maturity and adulthood.”

Rhaenyra gave her heart friend a pointed look. “Exactly. She’s a Westerosi, and they don’t have
mates.”

“Until recently, we didn’t think that Westerosi had empathic abilities either.” Aemma shrugged
before reaching out and taking Rhaenyra’s hand once more. “No mother purposefully sets her
daughter upon a path to failure. Are you accusing Relle of such?”

Not aloud.

Aemma smiled wryly, evidently knowing exactly what she was thinking. “As you said, Rhaenyra,
the matebond requires reciprocity to flourish. But as it stands, neither you nor Alicent truly knows
the other. You know about each other, but you don’t know Alicent Hightower, and you haven’t
allowed her to know Rhaenyra Targaryen. Unlike Emalia, Alicent knows what you are, so why now
allow her to know who you are?”

Rhaenyra couldn’t stop her eyes from finding Lady Alicent, who was smiling to herself as she
admired the winter orchids. Because I’m a coward who can’t stomach the thought of her despising
me.

“She misses you, you know.”

Rhaenyra frowned at that.

Why in the world would Lady Alicent miss her?

She knew that the other woman had been displeased with her for retreating without a word of
explanation and for not asking whether she should even continue visiting at all, but to miss her?

Surely not.

That would imply a desire for my company.

And after all that Rhaenyra had done to her—

“Then why choose to abandon me?”

“You’ve been avoiding me for almost a year.”

“Ever since we began our lessons, you’ve stopped interacting with me. If you truly ‘miss me,’ why
shun me?”

Merciful Seven bleeding thrice-damned Hells.

She was over nine million years old, a monarch thrice over, had lived hundreds of full lives that
involved a myriad of occupations and experiences, and yet it somehow hadn’t occurred to her that
Lady Alicent’s wasn’t simply angry over being controlled, but also hurt over being forsaken.

You selfish, wretched, horrid creature.

Her fear.

Her guilt.

Her dread.

Befriending Lady Alicent, allowing herself to form an emotional attachment, would be tantamount
of asking the other woman to break her heart. She knew well that the pain of loss was far greater
than the pain of never having something at all.

But if Lady Alicent missed her . . .

Then it didn’t really matter what Rhaenyra wanted or how much forming a friendship with Lady
Alicent would inevitably hurt her.

What mattered was ensuring that Lady Alicent had everything and anything that she might desire.

And if she desires my company, then she shall have it.

Along with the myriad of apologies that Rhaenyra owed her.

When the sound of icy snow crunching beneath boots reached her ears, Alicent initially assumed
that Margaery and Sansa had returned from wherever they’d disappeared to, but when she turned,
she saw that it was Queen Rhaenyra approaching her.

Her eyebrows arched in surprise, but she swiftly composed her features. She didn’t yet know why
the Queen had deigned to come speak with her, and until she did, she would remain wary. And I’m
allowed to be wary. Queen Rhaenyra . . . hurt me. Even thinking the words felt wrong somehow,
since the Queen had never once laid a finger on her in anger, but she knew them to be true.

She’d been hurt by Queen Rhaenyra’s actions, and she was allowed to be upset about it.

The Queen’s steps were slow and methodical, but not in an elegant and dignified manner like the
day when Alicent had attended open court. At present, she seemed to be moving almost cautiously,
or perhaps as if she wanted to provide Alicent with the opportunity to flee.

Does she expect me to flee?

She might have been tempted to do so before she’d begun therapy with Dr. Arwen, before the first
time that Queen Rhaenyra had comforted her after a night terror, before she’d fully realized that the
Queen did not wish her harm and in fact desired her happiness.

Before I yelled at her and she yelled at me in return.

Alicent couldn’t help but notice the faint flush coloring Queen Rhaenyra’s fair cheeks. Even after
two years on this planet, she was still intrigued by the way Valyrians blushed. Since their blood
wasn’t red like hers, their skin didn’t redden or pinken, but it did darken a few shades as quicksilver
blood rushed to the surface.

She might have attributed the flush to the cold, but the Queen did not seem particularly bothered by
the absurdly low temperatures.

While a heavy cloak of crimson wool lined with black fur was draped over her shoulders, it was
open to reveal a forest-green gown with silver lace bordering the neckline and sleeves. The bodice
was decorated with intricate vine embroidery dotted with ebony roses. The hood of Queen
Rhaenyra’s cloak was pushed back to reveal a gleaming hairnet made from spun silver and
decorated with dark blue sapphires. The silver strands of the hairnet were almost invisible against
her silver hair, making it seem as if she simply had sapphires woven into her hair.

The dark blue complements the purple of her eyes.

Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s cheeks at the thought, and she hoped that the Queen would assume it
was merely the cold causing her face to redden. She shouldn’t be having such thoughts about the
Queen when she was still vexed with her.

Queen Rhaenyra paused several feet away from Alicent’s bench, clasping her hands in front of
herself and looking decidedly . . . nervous.

Alicent couldn’t ever recall the Queen appearing nervous.

She hadn’t believed the other woman capable.

And why would she allow me to see that she is nervous?

For the first time, Alicent found herself wishing that she could use her empathy to probe the
Queen’s emotions. Perhaps then she might be able to understand this confounding woman.

A part of her longed to fill the uncomfortable silence that was lengthening between them, to offer a
word of greeting, but she remained silent.
It was Queen Rhaenyra who had chosen to completely avoid her for two months.

It was Queen Rhaenyra who had finally chosen to approach her now.

It was Queen Rhaenyra who should have to break the silence.

After an eternity, the Queen finally asked, “May I—may we talk?”

Alicent could only stare at her for a long moment. Two months of silence, and now she wishes to
speak with me? A mean and petty part of her was tempted to say “no,” to reject Queen Rhaenyra as
the Queen had rejected her, but that would be rude.

Besides, wasn’t this what she had wanted?

For the Queen to cease avoiding her?

Even before their quarrel, wasn’t this what she had wanted?

Yes, she supposed that it was.

“I’ve missed you, Alicent.”

Alicent had missed Queen Rhaenyra as well.

Despite that, her response was short and clipped. “It’s been two months.”

The Queen bowed her head. “It has.”

“And you’ve been avoiding me completely.”

The Queen’s head somehow sank even lower. “I have.”

Alicent couldn’t recall Queen Rhaenyra ever appearing so contrite—not even when she’d
apologized to her about the treaty. While her words that night had certainly been sincere, Queen
Rhaenyra had remained perfectly calm and composed as she’d apologized—aloof, in a way. She
was behaving like a queen then. But now . . .

The woman standing before her now—for all that she was dressed as one—did not seem much like
a queen. She seemed far more akin to the woman who held her after a night terror and rubbed her
back and whispered soft assurances in her ears that she did the woman who had brought her to the
Queen’s Keep and occasionally visited her chambers and taught her to control her empathy.

There was something . . . softer about her.

Less formal.

Less detached.

Less . . . reticent.

Queen Rhaenyra cleared her throat a little, raising her head slightly to briefly catch Alicent’s eyes.
“I know that I have treated you poorly, Alicent. These past two months even more so. It was wrong
of me to avoid you, especially after you expressed your displeasure at my . . . abandoning you. But
I wasn’t entirely . . .” She sighed heavily, eyes closing for a moment. “It has never been my
intention to cause you distress.”

“Everything that I’ve done since that day has been for your comfort, Alicent!”

Those words had rung true enough before that day in the rose garden. Alicent recognized that none
of the Queen’s actions towards her had been ill-intentioned—vexing though some of them had been
—and she was willing to accept Aemma’s explanation that Queen Rhaenyra was simply used to
acting on behalf of others without necessarily consulting them first because such decisiveness was
expected of a monarch.

But she herself admits that she’s been avoiding me for the past two months despite knowing that I
felt abandoned by her.

Alicent failed to see how that could be construed as something done for her comfort.

“I have been . . .” Queen Rhaenyra shook her head. “Before, after we began our empathy lessons, I
stopped visiting you because I thought that you would prefer . . . That is, I did not wish to impose
my presence upon you. I thought . . .” A soft, frustrated growl rumbled in her chest. “I thought it
best to limit our contact. But I should have asked what you wanted. In that matter, and in all others.
I should never have presumed as I did, and I . . .” She looked away, shoulders sagging much as they
had that day in the rose garden. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, Alicent, but I want you to know
that I regret my actions. Deeply.”

Regret.

The Queen wasn’t simply remorseful, she was regretful.

Alicent felt some of the tightness in her chest at last begin to ease.

After Margaery had told her that Valyrians didn’t use the word “sorry” to apologize, Alicent had
begun researching other linguistic nuances to avoid similar mistakes in the future.

Which was why she knew that Valyrians were very deliberate in their uses of the words “regret”
and “remorse.”

Back home, those words had been interchangeable, but here, “remorse” meant feeling guilt over a
particular action, but not necessarily its result. It meant that, if presented with the same decision
again, a woman would make the same choice because the outcome was necessary even if the means
were unpleasant.

Valyrians only ever used the word “regret” when they believed that their actions were entirely
wrong, regardless of the outcome.

Slowly, Alicent rose to her feet, shivering a little as the wind shifted. “Would you care to walk with
me? I’ve grown rather chilled sitting still for so long.”

Queen Rhaenyra nodded immediately, relief flashing in her amethyst eyes. “Yes. Thank you.”

Alicent set a slow place, partly because she was curious whether or not the Queen would attempt to
quicken it, but Queen Rhaenyra fell in step beside her without hesitation.
The Queen wore a pained expression as she began twisting one of her rings around her finger.
“Alicent, I, I must apologize to you for my beastly behavior that day in the rose garden. It was . . .
there is no excuse for what I did. I should never have raised my voice at you.” Her shoulders were
trembling, and Alicent reached out and placed a hand on her arm.

Queen Rhaenyra inhaled sharply, and her steps faltered, but she didn’t shy away from Alicent’s
touch or attempt to shake off her hand.

Alicent was even more surprised than the Queen. Have I ever touched her before? She was fairly
certain that she hadn’t. She was fairly certain the only other person she’d intentionally touched in
decades was Aemma some two years ago. Her people were not tactile the way Valyrians were. Her
mother had taught her that casual physical contact between adults was improper and only
acceptable between small children and family members. And even then, parents should touch their
children but rarely.

She hadn’t meant to touch the Queen.

She’d acted on instinct, without a moment’s thought or hesitation.

Queen Rhaenyra’s distress . . .

It had called to something in her.

A desire—a need—to soothe and comfort.

Deciding that now was not the time to ponder her own queer actions, Alicent resumed walking,
though she kept her hand on Queen Rhaenyra’s arm because it seemed to please the other woman.
“I owe you an apology as well. For what I said about the day we met.”

“Alicent—”

“It was cruel of me, and I shouldn’t have said it.” Alicent could feel the tightness in her chest
loosening further. She hadn’t fully realized until this moment that the tightness hadn’t simply been
her hurt over the Queen’s abandonment, but also her own guilt over speaking to the other woman
so harshly.

Queen Rhaenyra was silent for a long moment, a strangely distant and far-off expression coming
over her face.

“You spoke only the truth that day, Alicent, and you needn’t ever apologize for doing that.” The
Queen’s lips pursed. “I reacted poorly. Raising my voice at you, and afterwards . . .” She sighed,
shaking her head. “My decision to avoid you was a selfish one, but I . . . I couldn’t bear to face you
after what I’d done.”

So it was guilt that caused her to withdraw. She’d assumed that Queen Rhaenyra was ignoring her
in a misguided attempt to avoid upsetting her further. And while the result was the same regardless
of the motivation, Alicent found it oddly comforting to know that the Queen’s most recent evasion
was essentially for personal reasons rather than because she was attempting to “act in Alicent’s best
interests.”

“I was selfish, and before that, I was presumptuous.” Queen Rhaenyra wasn’t looking at her, but
Alicent could hear the faint tremor in her voice. “I hope that you can one day forgive me for acting
rather than asking, for doing what I believed was in your best interests without actually consulting
you first.” She paused. “A queen must be decisive and act on behalf of her subjects as she deems
necessary.”

So Aemma had said.

“But you are not one of my subjects. You’re my guest, and I should not have presumed to know
what was best for you.”

“You’re my guest.”

Sytarr above, why did those words sting so?

Alicent knew that she ought to be pleased by Queen Rhaenyra’s sincere apologies, and she was,
and yet being reminded that she was no more than a guest . . .

What else do you want from her?

She didn’t know.

“If you’ll allow me the privilege,” Queen Rhaenyra was gazing at her intently, “I promise that I will
do better in the future.”

“In the future.”

Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s chest at the implication that they would continue to spend time
together, that the Queen was not discarding her. She gently squeezed Queen Rhaenyra’s arm.
“Thank you, Rhaenyra. For apologizing.” Tilting her head slightly, she met the other woman’s eyes.
“And I forgive you.” The words slipped easily from her lips, and with them, the last of the tightness
in her chest disappeared.

Queen Rhaenyra’s eyes went wide with shock. “You do?”

Alicent nodded, suppressing the urge to laugh at the Queen’s rather comical expression. “I do.”

“I . . .” Queen Rhaenyra swallowed visibly, looking as if she wished to say more, but evidently
unable to articulate her thoughts.

Wordlessly, the Queen extended her hand, palm up.

Alicent could help but smile as she released Queen Rhaenyra’s arm and accepted the offered hand.
She’d noticed a while ago that the Queen always took care never to grab her hand or arm. Rather,
the other woman always offered her own hand first, making it clear that the decision to accept was
completely Alicent’s.

It was a simple gesture, to be sure, but Alicent had always found it comforting and rather sweet.

Queen Rhaenyra led her over to a snow-covered wall that Alicent realized a moment later was
actually a large rose hedge. “I’ve always had a fondness for roses,” she murmured, as much to
herself as to Alicent.

That was hardly a surprise, what with the rose perfume that the Queen always wore.
And even considering the fact that Kastrell’s sigil was a golden rose, Alicent had noticed that there
was an abundance of roses within the Queen’s Keep. Red roses, green roses, ice roses, orange
roses, lavender roses, cream roses, fire roses, white roses, spring roses, golden roses, winter roses,
pink roses, blue roses, wind roses, silver roses, peach roses, summer roses, purple roses, and black
roses.

Black roses were especially plentiful—almost as plentiful as golden roses.

And yet, while Alicent wasn’t at all surprised to learn that Queen Rhaenyra favored roses, she was
surprised that the other woman had chosen to share such information about herself.

Releasing her hand, Queen Rhaenyra brushed away some of the snow from the hedge to reveal a
withered and shrunken rose.

Alicent watched curiously as the Queen gently took the rose stem between her thumb and
forefinger.

The rose began to revive at once, returning to full bloom in mere seconds.

Golden petals crowned in red.

A fire rose.

Queen Rhaenyra plucked the rose from the hedge and swiftly divested the stem of its thorns before
turning to Alicent and holding it out in offering.

For a long moment, Alicent could do no more than stare at the rose with wide eyes, overcome with
an emotion that she couldn’t quite name.

The Queen wished to give her a rose.

The Queen wished to give her something pretty.

The Queen wished to give her something that she didn’t need.

Queen Rhaenyra had always been a generous hostess, providing Alicent with far more than she
would have ever asked for. Clothing, needles, fabric, yarn, a bed, soaps, ink, paper, quills, brushes
and combs, food, those glowing crystals from Gelt. All things that either served a practical purpose
or she needed.

She didn’t need this rose.

Its only purpose was to be pretty.

And the Queen wished for her to have it.

This rose wasn’t charity.

It was a gift.

A token.

She wasn’t even certain of what, but she knew that it meant something.
Alicent’s hand trembled as she accepted the rose. “Thank you.”

Queen Rhaenyra beamed.

And that smile . . .

Alicent suddenly felt a strange fluttering in her stomach.

It was something that she hadn’t felt in decades.

Her blood chilled in her veins.

Sinful little beast, her mother’s voice hissed in her ear.

Alicent forced herself not to fling the rose onto the ground, instead gripping the stem even tighter.
Thank Sytarr Queen Rhaenyra removed the thorns.

You’re a disgrace. A vile and filthy creature. And you wonder why Sytarr would curse such a
wanton—

Her jaw clenched as she smothered her mother’s voice. She’s not here. She’s far away on Westeros.
She can’t hurt me anymore. She’ll never hurt me again.

The Queen does not wish me harmed.

“Alicent, are you all right?”

Blinking a few times, Alicent saw that Queen Rhaenyra was watching her with a concerned
expression. “Yes. Perfectly fine.”

Despite the doubt evident in the Queen’s eyes, she was kind enough not to press the matter.

Alicent shivered as another harsh wind swept through the garden, strong enough to nearly tear the
hood of her cloak from her head.

“Alicent, perhaps you should—” Queen Rhaenyra swiftly closed her mouth, a flush beginning to
spread across her cheeks.

“Perhaps I should return to the Keep before I freeze to death?” Alicent finished, smiling slightly as
her amusement at the Queen’s sheepish expression banished the lingering echoes of her mother’s
voice.

Queen Rhaenyra only made a noncommittal sound in return.

“Would you care to accompany me? Margaery and Sansa seem to have disappeared, and I’m not
entirely certain I know the way back to my chambers.” She ought to ask Luwina if one of the
architecture books in the library included a full map of the Queen’s Keep. Or I could draw my own,
I suppose.

“It would be my pleasure.” Queen Rhaenyra offered her arm, and Alicent accepted it after only a
moment’s hesitation.
As they leisurely made their way towards the door leading back inside the Queen’s Keep, Alicent
found herself glancing from the rose to the Queen and back again as she contemplated the ease with
which Queen Rhaenyra had revived the otherwise dead plant. She wondered if any Valyrian could
have done the same, or if it was something only the Queen could do on account of being the “Most
Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath.”

“Her Majesty could certainly halt it with less effort than you or I use to chew our food.”

Does halting a hurricane require more magical strength than reviving a rose? While a hurricane
was raw, destructive power, infusing life into something once dead seemed . . . more impressive
somehow.

And perhaps Queen Rhaenyra has something of an affinity with weather manipulation, considering
she was preventing the rain—

Alicent turned her head to look at the Queen, whose own expression was rather content at present.
And while a part of her didn’t wish to disturb that contentment, another part desired to know
whether “doing better in the future” included being truthful about previous attempts to “act in
Alicent’s best interests.”

“Rhaenyra?”

“Hmm?” The Queen’s head swiveled so their eyes met, her lips forming a soft and sweet smile.
“Yes, Alicent?”

For some reason, Queen Rhaenyra’s smile brought a fresh blush to her cheeks. Best not to quibble
with words. “After I began leaving my chambers, were you manipulating the weather to ensure that
it didn’t rain during the day?”

The Queen did not hesitate to answer, though her own cheeks were becoming flushed as well. “Yes.
I was. I,” she cleared her throat a little, “I didn’t wish for you to feel confined by ill-weather.”

That was . . . actually rather sweet.

In a mad sort of way.

“Alicent, I swear to you—upon the health and safety of my people—that I will never put you in a
cage or restrain you in such a way.”

Alicent hadn’t asked her to halt the rain—she would never have asked her to do such a thing—but
she could recognize that Queen Rhaenyra had been attempting to do her a kindness, had been
attempting—in a manner of speaking—to honor a promise.

And unlike when the Queen had selected her attendants or decided when to visit her or made
similar decisions for her without consultation, whether or not it rained was entirely outside of
Alicent’s control regardless, so Queen Rhaenyra hadn’t actually been making a decision for her,
since there hadn’t been any decision for her to make.

“I should have asked whether the rain bothered you,” the Queen sighed.

Perhaps she should have, and Alicent certainly would have assured her that she didn’t mind the rain
if she’d been asked, but all the same, she recognized that Queen Rhaenyra’s action in this instance
had been driven by kindness rather than presumption.

“I appreciate what you were attempting to do, Rhaenyra.” Alicent offered her a small smile, cheeks
warming even further. “But I don’t mind the rain.” She paused, worry suddenly twisting her
insides. “Did manipulating the weather in such a way cause any harm?”

Sytarr above, if the Queen had done anything to damage—

Queen Rhaenyra chuckled, shaking her head. “Not at all. And I consulted with my storm-scryers
and meteorologists before binding the rain as I did. I want you to be happy, Alicent, but not at the
expense of my people or planet.”

Alicent expelled a relieved sigh. Good. That was good. “I would never want to come between you
and your people, Rhaenyra.”

A small frown curled the Queen’s lips at those words—though it was gone in an instant—and she
stopped walking so that she could face Alicent properly. “Alicent. You,” her lips pursed for a brief
moment, “you are not my subject, but you are one of my people. I will take care in the future not to
presume as I have been, but your safety and comfort are important to me, and I will see to them.”
She paused, adding hastily, “For as long as you’ll allow me the privilege, of course.”

Alicent’s breath hitched in her throat. She’d already known that Queen Rhaenyra desired her
happiness and safety—the Queen had told her as much that very first night—but hearing her say so
again now, when Alicent’s mind wasn’t addled by terror and decades of indoctrination . . .

She was suddenly struck by the desire to wrap her arms around Queen Rhaenyra’s waist and hug
her as she hadn’t hugged anyone since she’d bid farewell to her younger sisters shortly before
leaving Tamworth Palace.

But she resisted, uncertain if that would be proper. While the Queen had seemed pleased enough by
her earlier touch—if rather surprised—there was a vast difference between touching someone’s arm
and attempting to embrace them.

If Queen Rhaenyra were to reject her hug . . .

Perhaps another day.

In the future.

The Queen cleared her throat to draw Alicent’s attention, her expression almost . . . shy. “Alicent, I
was wondering if perhaps . . . That is, if you so desired . . .” Her lips twisted slightly. “Would you
care to take tea with me tomorrow?”

Alicent’s eyes widened with surprise. In part because of the offer itself, and in part because she’d
always assumed that Queen Rhaenyra didn’t observe teatime.

While the daily ritual of afternoon tea had originated in the Dragon Court—where Queen Rhaenyra
had been born, raised, and spent most of her life—it had never seemed like something the Queen
would indulge in, and Alicent couldn’t recall ever hearing about her taking tea with anyone at
court.
Alicent herself only ever observed official teatime when invited to afternoon tea by one of her
friends. She usually preferred simply drinking a warm cup of rosewood tea at her leisure while
reading in her chambers or the library.

But tea with Queen Rhaenyra sounded lovely.

And perhaps this can be something of a new beginning for the two of us.

One without the terror and suspicion or presumptiveness that had characterized their first two years
of knowing each other.

Alicent smiled, more fully than she had in quite some time. “I would very much enjoy taking tea
with you.”

Rhaenyra’s answering smile was almost blinding.

Aemma hummed to herself as she traced runic letters onto the wall with her finger. Once she’d
drawn the last one, the stones before her wavered like a disturbed reflection in a pool of water
before disappearing to reveal an arch-top mahogany door with scroll-shaped hinge straps. Sliding
her key into the door’s lock, she gave it a sharp twist to both unlock the door and disable the
secondary shield spell protecting her and Luwina’s apartments.

The door swung open on silent hinges to reveal a several dozen small light-orbs artfully arranged
into the shape of a falcon in flight.

Aemma smiled slightly, brightening the light-orbs so that she could better see as she stepped inside
and used her telekinesis to close the door behind herself. After relocking the door, she lingered just
long enough to assure herself that both shield spells had properly reactivated.

Most women were content with a single shield spell keyed to themselves or a physical key to
protect their living quarters, but her mate was a librarian, and the majority of librarians delighted in
utilizing esoteric spells such as the one concealing their main door behind a stone wall.

When she and Luwina had first moved to Stone Garden following Rhaenyra’s imperial abdication,
her heart friend had offered her a large set of apartments closer to the heart of the Queen’s Keep,
but after considering the matter with her mate, she’d declined.

Luwina had consented to live in the seneschal’s apartments at Dragon Ridge during Rhaenyra’s
reign as empress, but for this reign, her mate had wanted to reside in the library alongside her sister
librarians. “I’m a librarian. The chief librarian. I ought to be living in the chambers of one.”

Aemma hadn’t had any personal preference herself—the location of her living quarters didn’t affect
her ability to perform her duties—so she’d agreed to make her home within the walls of the palace
library.

Following her mate’s scent and the sound of her heartbeat, Aemma quickly made her way through
their apartments and to their bedchamber. The door was slightly ajar, and when she stepped inside,
she was greeted by the sight of Luwina sitting up in bed with a book resting on her lap.
Her mate’s white-blonde hair was partially hidden beneath a lavender nightcap, and her spectacles
were sliding down her nose—as they were wont to do. The covers were tucked in around her legs
and waist, and she’d propped herself up against the headboard with a small mountain of pillows.

Aemma frowned at that, wondering worriedly if her mate’s back was bothering her again. While it
had been over two years since a team of surgeons had repaired Luwina’s severed and shattered
spinal cord, she knew that her mate still suffered the occasional ache and phantom pain. Not that
the stubborn old woman will ever admit it.

Closing her book and setting it aside, Luwina beckoned to her. Once Aemma was close enough, she
reached out and cradled her face in her hands. “I’m fine, Aemma. You can do away with that
concerned expression of yours.” She pressed her lips to the worry lines creasing Aemma’s forehead
to emphasize her words.

Leaning into her mate’s touch, Aemma sighed. “You know as well as I do that telling me not to
worry is about as effective as telling the sun not to rise.”

Luwina laughed, giving her cheeks a brief squeeze before releasing her face. “Change into your
nightclothes, Sæta. The bed is cold without you.”

“As if the cold has ever bothered you,” Aemma quipped. Bustling over to their wardrobe, she
withdrew one of her wool nightgowns and took it with her behind the dressing screen. “Lu, care to
guess with whom Alicent will be taking tea tomorrow?” she called through the screen as she began
disrobing.

There was a brief pause, followed by a surprised intake of breath. “How is Relle’s name did you
manage that? Her Majesty hasn’t observed teatime since . . .” Luwina trailed off as she tried to
remember.

“Since before she left on her Wander Century,” Aemma finished for her. She tossed her dress up
over the top of the changing screen, knowing that her mate would telekinetically catch it and return
it to their wardrobe. “And I didn’t manage anything other than convincing Rhaenyra to bloody talk
to Alicent.”

Which had been no small feat, to be sure.

Aemma adored Rhaenyra and loved her as she would a daughter of her own blood, but Seven Hells
if that woman wasn’t among the most exasperating creatures in all of creation.

Setting her undergarments aside, Aemma slipped her nightgown on over her long-smallclothes and
stepped out from behind the screen. “It was Rhaenyra’s idea for them to take tea together, if you
can believe it.”

“Wonder of wonders.” Luwina cocked her head slightly. “Do you think this means that Her Majesty
will finally begin allowing herself to rest once in a while rather than working twenty-three and a
half hours every day?”

Aemma snorted, wishing that her mate was exaggerating. She’d spent the past two and a half years
attempting to persuade Rhaenyra to care for her own health with even a small fraction of the
diligence she dedicated to her duties as queen. Her heart friend’s response was usually to forgo
sleep for a week or two simply out of spite.
 When Rhaenyra had collapsed from exhaustion two months ago, Aemma had hoped that the
experience might have shown her the necessity of having a care for her own health. That the Queen
had spent nearly a full week sleeping had been both encouraging and alarming.

But upon rising from her bed, Rhaenyra had simply redoubled her labors, insisting that she must
make up for the time she’d wasted abed.

More like she wished to avoid thinking about her quarrel with Alicent.

The mere fact that Aemma had managed to force Rhaenyra out into the garden today was a minor
miracle and surely the result of Mother Relle lending an invisible hand.

Drawing back the covers on her side of the bed, Aemma climbed in to join her mate. “Relle willing,
tomorrow’s tea will be the first of many such diversions.” Alicent Hightower is likely the only
person in all of creation for whom Rhaenyra would set aside her exhausting sense of duty.

Her old heart friend had proved as much that day at Dragon Ridge.

Chapter End Notes

Hey, look, apologies and some actual communication! Huzzah!

Next Chapter: It's teatime!

 Teatime in the Glass Garden
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 21:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Alfadora Wythers, a Blue Lotus psychologist, from Kastrell (name taken from Maester
Alfador)
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden

A special thanks to Octavas for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Winter Moon/1,000,123 Visenya VI

Alfadora still remembered with perfect clarity the first time that she’d been introduced to Rhaenyra
Targaryen, who at the time had been most well-known as Rhaenyra of the Black Fire. A rather
serious and almost melancholy child, it had been plain enough that the young Princess of Dragon
Wood had no interest in therapy, so Alfadora had done her best to put the girl at ease by assuring
her that they needn’t speak about anything at all during their time together unless the imperial
princess so desired.

The majority of their sessions that first century had been naught but uncomfortable silence.

To this day, Alfadora still didn’t know exactly why she’d been sent for all those millions of years
ago. Dowager Queen Viserra had not deigned to explain at the time, and Rhaenyra had never
offered an explanation in all the years since.

What she did know was that Rhaenyra Flameborn was an impossibly stubborn and self-sacrificing
woman consumed by guilt and self-loathing that she refused to actually speak about.

Alfadora had gleaned enough over the millennia to determine that the Queen’s mother was the
source of much of her self-loathing, but as for the guilt . . .

She knew that there was something important the Queen refused to tell her, some core trauma that
Rhaenyra held close and guarded with all the ferocity one would expect of a dragon.

She also knew that Rhaenyra would never tell her what that trauma was.

It was something she’d come to accept long ago.

Much as it pained her.

Since Alfadora had returned home to the Queen’s Keep several months ago, the majority of her
sessions with Rhaenyra included at least some mention of the Lady Alicent.
Which was not at all surprising, considering that everyone she’d spoken to who had seen the Queen
and her guest interact agreed without question that Rhaenyra was besotted.

While Alfadora had yet to be formally introduced to Lady Alicent, she’d seen her on a few
occasions, usually in the company of Lady Margaery and Lady Sansa, and the court gossips had
been swift to provide her with additional information.

Word of Lady Alicent’s horrific past on Westeros had spread throughout the Empire long before
Alfadora had returned home, but it was from the women at court that she’d learned about how Lady
Alicent had sequestered herself in her apartments for the first year after the War, how she had spent
much of that time knitting and sewing and quilting to provide for Valyrians during the winter
months, how shy and cautious she was around strangers, and how she was a voracious reader and
spent more time in the library than any woman who wasn’t a librarian.

And it was from Rhaenyra that she’d learned how sweetly Lady Alicent smiled when she was
pleased by something, how her nose scrunched when she was confused, how brightly her eyes
shone when she was happy or amused, how gracefully she moved even when nervous, how kind
she was for spending so much of her time aiding the women the Westerosi had recently waged war
against, how intelligent she was with her eidetic memory and thirst for knowledge, and how
“incredibly strong” she was for having survived what she did and still finding reason to smile.

Before today, Rhaenyra had not spoken of Lady Alicent in over two months.

Alfadora had learned from Aemma about the Queen and Lady Alicent quarreling, so she’d decided
it best not to broach the matter. The one time she’d attempted to allude to the Lady Alicent,
Rhaenyra had nearly had a panic attack.

When Rhaenyra had arrived in her office about half an hour ago for their session, Alfadora had
expected the Queen to offer her customary greeting and then grumble about how she had work that
she ought to be attending to. She’d expected that she would have to sigh and remind her patient that
caring for her mental health was important, to which Rhaenyra would respond with a noncommittal
noise, and Alfadora would find herself thinking that the Queen cared far too little for her own
health—both physical and mental.

But Rhaenyra had not offered her usual polite greeting, and they had not engaged in their normal
verbal dance.

Rather, Rhaenyra had entered her office in a flurry of sable and crimson skirts and begun pacing
around the room and muttering about new beginnings and Lady Alicent’s sweet smile and being a
“bloody fool.”

Having seen the Queen in such a state before on several occasions, Alfadora had hidden her smile
and sat back in her chair to listen and determine what exactly Rhaenyra was fretting over.

It was always a good thing when Rhaenyra worried aloud, for it meant that she actually wished to
talk about whatever was troubling her.

Or that she is so sleep-deprived that she’s lost the ability to moderate her words.

But in this instance, Alfadora was certain that it was the former. She knew well the indicators that
Rhaenyra had not been sleeping enough, and none were present now.
At least not enough to be worrisome.

From about ten minutes of muttering, Alfadora had pieced together that Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent
had finally spoken and begun to reconcile, which was a relief. The Queen’s dour mood had placed a
rather depressing pall over the Keep. While Rhaenyra was not the sort of woman to allow her own
melancholy and guilt to directly impact others by snapping at them or behaving rudely, there was
something incredibly unnerving about speaking to a woman whose eyes were so dull and whose
voice was so listless.

Some fifteen minutes ago, Rhaenyra had ceased her pacing back and forth in front of Alfadora’s
desk and instead begun prowling around the room, shifting from wolf to lion to bear to lion-sized
dragon and back again.

That was when the Queen had begun muttering about teas and the glass garden and boundaries.

Alfadora had hoped that the change in subject matter indicated that Rhaenyra would soon be ready
for an actual conversation, but it seemed that she would have to be the one to begin. “Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra paused in her prowling and turned to look at her. As she was mid-shift, her face was a
rather disturbing mixture of lupine and leonine. “What?”

“Would you care to sit, or does the pacing help?”

There was a moment of silence as the Queen considered—another promising sign. “I’ll continue as
I am.”

“Very well.” As the Queen resumed shifting and prowling, Alfadora sat back in her chair. “So, I
gather that you’ve invited Lady Alicent to teatime this afternoon, yes?”

“I have. She seemed . . . not displeased by the prospect, and she accepted my offer.” Rhaenyra’s
tone was dubious, almost as if she doubted that Lady Alicent actually wished to spend time with
her.

“That is good, is it not? It means you are beginning to reconcile?”

Rhaenyra hesitated. “She said that she forgave me for my . . . controlling behaviors, but there is still
so much I must apologize for.” Her furry ears twitched. “And I have yet to properly apologize for
the Treaty.”

Alfadora resisted the urge to grimace. While she of course understood Rhaenyra’s actions, the mere
thought of them still made her stomach twist and her blood burn. What the Queen had done was an
anathema. Indirectly conceding—even for a moment, even to save Lady Alicent’s life—that the
Westerosi’s disgusting custom of trading women was an acceptable practice made bile rise in her
throat.

Rhaenyra had done wrong.

Everyone knew that she had done wrong.

Even if they also understood why she’d done it.

But it was not Alfadora’s place to judge her. Not as her therapist. As her subject, perhaps, but she
was the Queen’s therapist at the moment.
“Perhaps you can use this tea as an opportunity to apologize for that. It seems that Lady Alicent
might be receptive.”

“But I don’t deserve her forgiveness.”

Alfadora shrugged. “No one deserves forgiveness, Rhaenyra. We’ve spoken about this. Forgiveness
is a gift granted to you by someone you’ve wronged. And oft times, it’s given as much for the sake
of the person doing the forgiving as it is for the sake of the person receiving forgiveness. Whether
or not someone else decides to forgive you is their choice. Whether or not you decide to forgive
yourself is entirely your choice.”

One that you have seemingly not made once in your entire life.

Relle willing, perhaps Lady Alicent’s willingness to forgive Rhaenyra might be enough for her to
begin forgiving herself.

The Queen’s refusal to offer herself any quarter and to always view her own actions in the worst
possible light was something that Alfadora had been battling against for over nine million years
now.

And she was continuing to lose rather spectacularly.

Rhaenyra growled softly, the pitch of the sound becoming deeper and more guttural as she shifted
from wolf to bear. “Who am I to beg her forgiveness?”

“A woman who feels deep regret for her actions and wishes to do better in the future.” Alfadora
leaned forward then, folding her hands on her desk. “Rhaenyra, I know there is much you do not
tell me with regards to the guilt that weighs on you. But what I do know is that you believe that
there are many you have wronged and can never seek forgiveness from for one reason or another.
But Lady Alicent need not be one of them. She is here, Rhaenyra, and she has already offered you
forgiveness for one set of transgressions. Whether you deserve it or not, she is willing to offer you
her grace. You shouldn’t spurn it simply because you think yourself unworthy.”

Rhaenyra remained silent as she considered Alfadora’s words.

Alfadora watched as the Queen assumed her dragon form, and was unable to help but marvel, as
she always did. She was fairly certain that she had seen more dragon shifts than any other woman
alive simply because Rhaenyra tended to shapeshift when feeling anxious or otherwise
overwhelmed by her emotions.

They’d both agreed long ago that it was a less destructive way to expend a little of her magical
energy as compared to her elementalism, telekinesis, or raw magic.

Of course, considering the strength of her core, she could shapeshift without pause for millennia
before the effort would begin to fatigue her by even a fraction.

Rhaenyra suddenly turned to look at her, her ruby dragon horns glinting in the orb-light. “Do you
recall when we last spoke of boundaries?”

Alfadora nodded slowly. While she’d since become accustomed to the way that Rhaenyra would
transition from one matter to something entirely unrelated for seemingly no reason, she still often
found herself requiring a moment to recalibrate her own thoughts to accommodate.
“It was some five hundred and fifty years ago, I believe. We were discussing the fact that setting
boundaries means defining the limits of your comfort, not necessarily the comfort of others. It is up
to them to determine their own boundaries.” She gave Rhaenyra a pointed look. “And we were
discussing how the restrictions that you’ve imposed upon yourself aren’t actual boundaries, such as
you refusing to allow yourself to properly express anger.”

Rhaenyra’s hackles rose for a brief moment before immediately settling, and when she spoke, her
voice was cold. “The last time I lost my temper, I destroyed a planet and wiped out an entire
species.”

“A species of demon that had been terrorizing that pocket multiverse for hundreds of millions of
years, I might remind you.” Alfadora held up a hand to forestall the words that she knew would
follow. “And I would reiterate that there is a difference between losing your temper and expressing
anger in a healthy manner.”

“My anger harms others. My losing control for even a moment harms others.” Shadows of pain
both old and new danced in Rhaenyra’s eyes before she banished them. “But that is not what I wish
to discuss.”

Alfadora motioned for her to continue.

“I know that I’ve not been respecting Lady Alicent’s boundaries, and that my making so many
decisions for her was improper and paternalistic, and I promised her that I would do better in the
future.”

Alfadora’s eyebrows rose slightly at that. She could count on one hand the number of personal
promises that Rhaenyra Flameborn had ever made.

“But when I invited her to teatime yesterday,” Rhaenyra’s expression contorted into a rather
hideous blend of dragon, wolf, and bear, “I didn’t ask her what kind of tea she wanted.”

Alfadora knew that it would be unprofessional to snort in response to Rhaenyra’s words and
obvious worry, but Merciful Mother how she wished that she could. While she supposed that there
was a certain sweetness to the Queen’s determination to never again make any decision for Lady
Alicent, her current reason for fretting was rather ridiculous. Of course, Rhaenyra has always had a
propensity for overcorrecting. “Rhaenyra, I don’t think there is anything wrong with you selecting
the kind of tea when you’re the one who invited—”

“But I should have offered her a choice!” Rhaenyra’s tail lashed as she quickened her pace and
began shifting more rapidly between forms. “I shouldn’t presume to know what tea she prefers—”

“I thought you knew for certain that she favors rosewood tea with extra honey.”

“But what if she doesn’t want rosewood tea tomorrow? What if she’d rather have jasmine or
leechee or chamomile or lemon?”

Damn it. She’s already spiraling. “Rhaenyra, there is a difference between infringing on Lady
Alicent’s agency and selecting tea that you’ll be sharing—”

“Perhaps I should create a list and ask her to choose from that.” Rhaenyra shook her head in answer
to her own suggestion. “No. That would still require me making certain choices for her. I don’t
want her to feel that her options are limited. Because they aren’t. Any tea she desires, I’ll find for
her. And brewing it won’t take any time at all with my fire.”

Alfadora sighed as she sat back in her chair, knowing by now that it was best to simply allow
Rhaenyra to fret aloud until she finally sought an actual second opinion.

Rhaenyra’s ears pricked as she whirled to face Alfadora. “Do you still have a copy of Tanda Tarth’s
Tea Treatise?”

Despite knowing that now probably wasn’t the best time to reengage, Alfadora nodded slowly. “I
do, but I don’t believe that offering Lady Alicent the entire Treatise will be the most . . . useful
option. Mistress Tanda included every kind of tea available on the planet.”

“Exactly. I wish Lady Alicent to be fully aware of her options. It can’t be terribly long if it’s only a
treatise.”

“It’s well over a thousand pages, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra frowned slightly. “It’s a treatise.”

“Yes, well, I believe Mistress Tanda simply enjoyed the alliteration.” Alfadora shrugged. “Her
work is really more of a compendium—or an encyclopedia.” Whether that fault could be laid at the
feet of Nords or Kastrellans was a matter oft debated among those with a particular love for tea.
Nords were known for developing new blends simply because they drank so much tea in the far
north, while Kastrellans couldn’t help but find new ways to brew every plant that they encountered
into tea.

With a heavy sigh, Rhaenyra shifted from lion to wolf. “I didn’t realize there were so many teas.”

“Rhaenyra,” Alfadora offered her a gentle smile, “it is good of you to be cognizant of when you are
making decisions that might infringe on Lady Alicent’s ability to decide matters for herself, but you
needn’t second guess every decision that you make with regards to her. Especially now, since it
seems to me that Lady Alicent is able to communicate to you whether she feels that you are being
paternalistic.”

Rhaenyra sat back on her haunches, tail swishing slowly over the rug. “Alicent knows her own
mind,” she muttered, more to herself than to Alfadora. “She knows that she can tell me—I’ll be
certain she knows that she can tell if I transgress.”

Alfadora nodded with approval. “Proper communication, Rhaenyra. That is the most important
aspect of any healthy relationship.”

“And you didn’t think my plan was sound.” Margaery flashed Sansa a smug smile as they watched
Alicent stare at her wardrobe with a slightly furrowed brow.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Your plan was manipulative.”

“But it worked.” Margaery wouldn’t apologize for that. Seeing the way that Alicent had been
growing both sadder and more frustrated by the day as the Queen had continued to avoid had not
sat well with her or any of Alicent’s other friends.
The first week after the quarrel, Margaery had understood Queen Rhaenyra’s absence once Aemma
had explained that the Queen hadn’t slept for some eight months—which was complete madness,
and they were all lucky that Her Majesty had not needed medical attention. It was to everyone’s
benefit that the Queen had taken the time to finally rest.

But all of the weeks that followed?

Margaery held a healthy respect and reverence for her queen, as did every other woman on the
planet. How could they not? When Queen Rhaenyra had saved Valyria from a Second Doom while
still Princess of Dragon Wood? When Queen Rhaenyra had single-handedly annihilated a
Grenkorian invasion fleet and earned the imperial epithet Flameborn? When Queen Rhaenyra was
the reason that they’d won the War?

But there was a difference between reverence and unquestioning acceptance.

Loyalty was not the same as blind obedience.

Something that both Sabitha and Aly thankfully understood, hence why they’d agreed to keep an
eye on the Queen and inform Margaery and Sansa when Aemma inevitably forced Her Majesty to
take a break from her work.

Convincing Alicent to finally visit one of the winter gardens at the same time that Queen Rhaenyra
had been forced out of the Keep by Aemma had been the most difficult part of what Sansa had
deemed Margaery’s “mad scheme.”

But it had worked.

It had taken over half an hour of Alicent pretending not to notice the Queen and Queen Rhaenyra
stealing longing glances at her, but it had eventually worked.

Manipulative?

Perhaps.

Should they have informed Alicent of what they were doing?

Probably.

But they hadn’t forced Alicent to remain in the garden once she’d seen the Queen, and they
certainly hadn’t forced Queen Rhaenyra to approach Alicent and finally speak with her.

“A half penny says she’ll make a decision within the next ten minutes.”

Margaery almost laughed aloud at her mate’s wager. “A copper says it won’t be for another
twenty.”

“Dress color?”

“Green. One copper.”

“Blue. The same.”

Grinning, Margaery tugged Sansa closer and gave her mate a swift kiss on the cheek, earning a
quiet purr in response. Mother Relle how she adored the sound of Sansa’s purr. It was a
wonderfully sweet sound, and it always created such a pleasant vibration in her mate’s chest.

Alicent didn’t even glance over at them, too distracted by her wardrobe deliberations.

Not that Margaery could blame her.

She herself had agonized for hours over the perfect necklace to wear when she and Sansa had first
been pairbonded. Despite knowing that Sansa was her mate at the time, the desire to impress Sansa
and prove herself worthy of her affections had been far stronger than reason or logic.

Any embarrassment that she might have felt was mitigated by Sansa later confessing to having
spent half the day styling her hair in different ways hoping to find one that Margaery would favor.

Margaery wondered absently if the Queen was similarly staring at her gowns and jewelry paralyzed
with indecision, or if her nerves were focused elsewhere.

“This one, I think.” Alicent was biting her lip as she selected a gown of emerald-green with delicate
silver lace around the neckline.

Glancing at the clock, Margaery saw that her mate had been correct about the time, but she’d been
correct about the dress color. “It seems we’ve each won a half penny, My Sweet Wolf.”

“I find this acceptable, Sæta.”

Alicent looked over at them then, her expression equal parts entreating and apologetic.

Margaery and Sansa swiftly crossed the room to begin helping Alicent dress.

“My apologies for the bother.” Alicent’s cheeks were bright pink.

“It’s no bother,” Margaery assured her, as she always did. She’d gleaned from Alicent’s
embarrassed mumbles during those early weeks that Westerosi clothing was much simpler and
could be donned and removed without assistance. If she had telekinesis, she wouldn’t need
assistance either.

Alicent gathered her hair and lifted it out of the way before offering her back to Sansa, who set
about undoing the laces of her current gown. “Queen Rhaenyra was surprised to learn that I was
unaware of the glass garden.” She glanced over her shoulder at them. “Why didn’t you mention it
when persuading me to go outside?”

Sansa smiled wryly. “Would you have agreed to visit an actual winter garden had you known that
the glass garden was an option?”

Alicent’s silence answered for her.

“The glass garden is nothing special during the warm months,” Margaery assured her. Truth be
told, she found the humidity rather oppressive in spring and summer. “And we were planning to tell
you about it, but Her Majesty preempted us.”

“Back ho—on Westeros, we had greenhouses, which I think are the equivalent of a glass garden.”
Alicent’s eyes had grown slightly distant, her tone almost wistful.
Margaery exchanged a swift look with her mate. She could count on one hand the number of times
that Alicent had mentioned anything about Westeros.

“My father ordered one built as a gift for my fifth mother, Lora.” Alicent smiled softly.

Sansa tilted her head slightly. “I was under the impression that Westeros didn’t have true winters.”

“We—It doesn’t. Not like here. But some Lordships were still colder than others. Lora’s natal
Lordship was to the far south, and the climate of my natal Lordship was just cold enough to kill
most of the plants Lora grew up with. So Father built her a greenhouse.”

Margaery wouldn’t have thought any Westerosi male capable of such benevolence, not from what
she’d seen during the War, and certainly not from what she’d gleaned from Alicent herself. “That
was kind of your father.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue, but she knew that Alicent had
very few pleasant childhood memories, so those she did have deserved to be acknowledged.

“I always thought so.” Alicent’s lips pursed slightly. “I now wonder though if perhaps he was
simply making a demonstration of his own wealth.” She shook her head. “I suppose that it doesn’t
much matter. Lora was pleased well enough.” Her teeth worried at her bottom lip.

Margaery glanced over at Sansa, who was also watching Alicent with a concerned expression.

“Do you think it matters?” Alicent asked finally. “The intentions behind a gift?”

Margaery had never much considered the matter. She was fairly certain that every gift she’d ever
received had come with the intention of making her smile or laugh. Her eyes found Sansa once
more as she thought about the elaborate ice sculptures that her mate built for her birthday once a
century.

Sansa always wrapped her in layers of warm furs and heavy cloaks before dragging her to Norden
so that Margaery could watch as her mate used her water elementalism to craft the most beautiful
creations of ice and snow. And afterwards, Sansa always led her back inside, lovingly laid her
down upon a warm rug in front of a blazing fire, and then made Margaery scream her name.

Those were Margaery’s favorite birthdays.

And not simply because of the sex—blissfully pleasurable though it always was.

She adored the tenderness that Sansa always displayed—the love and warmth and gentle affection.

She adored that every century Sansa always sculpted something different to reflect the time that
they’d spent together.

Sansa’s gifts were always meant to delight her, to please her, to make her feel loved.

She could hardly imagine her sweet mate offering her a gift for selfish reasons.

Would a gift offered for selfish reasons make it less meaningful?

I should think it would.

Could such a thing even be considered a gift?

“A gift without love and care behind it is hollow,” Sansa said slowly, drawing Margaery from her
own musings even as she echoed them, “but I don’t think that means you must necessarily dislike
it. It’s simply . . . not as meaningful.”

Alicent’s lips pursed, her eyes wandering to the fire rose lying on her bedside table. “So a true gift
is a demonstration of care,” she murmured, more to herself than to them.

Margaery nodded all the same. “I should think so, yes. Gifts ought to be for the person receiving
them, not for the giver’s own gratification.”

Alicent simply nodded, her pensive expression not wavering.

The greenhouse of Alicent’s childhood had been relatively small, with a foundation of about four
hundred and fifty square feet and walls not quite thirty feet high. Several dozen different plant
species had been housed within, all of which were native to Nengka and couldn’t normally survive
in Sayda. A small team of gardeners and service bots had been placed in charge of maintaining the
greenhouse and caring for the plants within, and Alicent remembered often seeing the head
gardener—Lord Iliken—approaching Lora to beg a word with her about her greenhouse.

Alicent’s mother had never understood Lora’s love for her plants. Behind closed doors, her mother
had often criticized gardening and dirtying one’s hands in such a way as unladylike. And yet,
despite her criticisms, her mother had always indulged Lora whenever she would speak about her
flowers and fruit trees.

All of her mothers had been indulgent with Lora, in their own various ways. Her fifth mother had
had a sweetness about her that disarmed even Adah, who had so often seemed more like a pillar of
stone than a flesh and blood woman.

Lora had attempted to foster a love for gardening in all of her children, but none of them had been
receptive. It was why she’d eventually decided to extend her hand to Alicent.

Alicent well-remember how pleased she’d been when Lora had approached her and asked if she
wanted to go for a walk in the gardens with her. The offer had come mere minutes after her own
mother had furiously banished her from the room because her steps were off during her dancing
lessons. She’d eagerly taken Lora’s hand and followed her out into the gardens, listening attentively
as her fifth mother talked about flowers and gardening and horticulture. She hadn’t understood
most of what Lora was saying, but she’d been fascinated nonetheless.

And even after all these years, thinking about the time she’d spent in the Tamworth Palace gardens
with Lora still brought a smile to her face.

Her father’s decision to build a greenhouse for his fifth wife may not have been a true gift, but it
had certainly brought Alicent no small amount of joy during her childhood.

As Alicent approached the glass garden of the Queen’s Keep, she couldn’t help but marvel at its
size. By her estimation, the glass garden must be at least six times larger than Lora’s greenhouse,
and through the clear panes of glass, she could see hundreds of different plant species, including a
few rather sizable trees.
How in the world have I never noticed this during previous excursions around the inner ward?
While the glass garden was positioned well out of the way from the commonly traveled paths, it
was still large enough to be quite conspicuous.

Perhaps it was because she was always so engrossed in her conversations with her friends, which
she supposed was as it should be. I no longer need to be constantly vigilant.

Shaking her head, Alicent set the thoughts aside as she opened the glass door leading inside the
garden. She was met at once by a lovely gust of warm, moist air, and upon stepping inside the glass
building, her eyes slipped shut and a pleased moan escaped her lips as the humid air promptly
warmed her chilled nose and cheeks.

Strong Sytarr, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this sort of warmth. Even the Queen’s
Keep—as warm as it remained in winter—wasn’t as blissfully warm as the glass garden.

The door clicked shut behind her, and when she opened her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of
Rhaenyra practically gaping at her.

Why is she staring at me like that?

Alicent’s cheeks reddened when the answer came to her a moment later.

Moaning aloud like a wanton whore, her mother’s voice sneered. Disgraceful.

Blinking rapidly, Rhaenyra shook her head before sweeping forward and offering a bright smile.
“Alicent, welcome to the glass garden.” Mirth twinkled in her purple eyes. “It seems that the
temperature is to your liking?”

Alicent managed a small, awkward nod, her face burning with mortification. How am I supposed to
have tea with her after such a shameful display?

But Rhaenyra seemed utterly unbothered by her vulgarity and instead simply offered her hand,
which Alicent accepted. “I wish to thank you again for accepting my invitation to tea. I wasn’t
certain that you would after all that I’ve done.” She hesitated, concern flickering in her eyes as she
glanced over at Alicent. “You know that you could have declined, yes? You could have said ‘no,’
and I wouldn’t have begrudged you.”

Alicent smiled slightly, giving Rhaenyra a reassuring nod. “I know. But I wanted to say ‘yes.’”

And the simple fact that she’d known that she could have said “no” without consequence filled her
with a delightful and pleasing warmth that had nothing to do with the glass garden.

She’d never been allowed to say “no” back home.

Not truly.

And she never could have imagined denying the Firestorm anything two years ago.

She remembered the way that she’d wordlessly obeyed Rhaenyra’s request to sit on the edge of her
bed the night that the Queen had washed her feet. She remembered her terror at not knowing what
exactly the Firestorm intended to do with her. She remembered weeping with a mixture of helpless
fear and dread.
But she hadn’t been terrified when she’d accepted Rhaenyra’s invitation to tea.

Surprised, certainly, a touch nervous as well, but not scared.

Not of Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra smiled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Good. That’s good. You can always
say ‘no’ to me, Alicent—and to anyone else as well—if a request displeases or discomfits you.”

“I know.” And she did, which was still something she considered rather miraculous.

As Rhaenyra led her deeper into the garden to where Alicent assumed their tea table awaited, they
passed by rows of neat fruit trees and beds of bright flowers and groves of ornamental trees. The
multitude of scents engulfed her and made her head spin in the most delightful way, bringing back
pleasant memories of the time that she’d spent with Lora in the gardens and greenhouse.

It was quite obvious that whoever was charged with maintaining the garden did so with the utmost
love and care and diligence. There wasn’t a single weed or fallen leaf or shriveled petal in sight,
and every plant was perfectly groomed.

Stone pathways led between the beds and groves, and at the heart of the garden was a miniature
courtyard. A marble fountain softly splashed and gurgled nearby, the pool at its base fed by a statue
of a stone dragon wreathed in roses.

A tea table and chairs had been set up in the middle of the courtyard, the white tablecloth almost
glowing in the faint sunlight fighting its way through the winter-grey clouds overhead. A porcelain
teapot decorated with black roses sat in the middle of the table, steam rising from its spout.

Alicent’s eyes lit up when she saw the tray of sweet cakes next to a bowl of fresh fruit. It had been
a while since she’d been able to indulge in her favorite dessert.

“May I?”

While not entirely certain what Rhaenyra was asking permission for, Alicent nodded, blushing
when the other woman pulled her chair out for her and waited until Alicent sat down before taking
her own seat.

Rhaenyra’s right hand settled on the body of the teapot while the other nudged the honey closer to
Alicent. “I hope you don’t mind that I brewed some rosewood tea for us. If you would prefer a
different kind, I can fetch that instead, of course. And my apologies, if you would have preferred to
select the tea yourself instead of my deciding for you. I know, that is, I remembered you saying
once that you favored rosewood tea with extra honey so I thought . . . but I should have asked. If
you wish for us to take tea together in the future, I’ll make certain to ask. And you should know
that if I ever begin behaving paternalistically towards you again, you’re free to tell me so. I won’t
be upset. I want to know if I’ve done something to offend you.”

Alicent suddenly recalled Aemma telling her once that Rhaenyra had a tendency to overcompensate
when feeling guilty. She hadn’t understood what her friend meant at the time, but she was
beginning to now.

Without thinking, she reached out and covered Rhaenyra’s hand with hers, only to yelp in pain a
moment later when her fingers brushed against the scalding tea pot. She jerked her hand away,
wincing as she tucked her burned fingers against her chest.

Sytarr above, why did that hurt so much? She’d suffered much worse burns before.

Perhaps because it has been over two years since I was last burned?

Rhaenyra leapt to her feet and rushed to her side, eyes wide with horror. “Alicent, are you all
right?” Her lips twisted. “Please forgive me. That was a stupid question. May I,” her hands fluttered
nervously, “may I see your hand please?”

Grimacing as she uncurled her already-throbbing fingers, Alicent offered her hand, eyebrows rising
high when Rhaenyra knelt before her to inspect her fingers.

Rhaenyra’s hold on her wrist was feather-light as she carefully examined each finger. “These don’t
seem severe, thank Relle.” She looked up at her. “If you’ll allow me, I can heal them for you.”

Alicent’s breath hitched in her throat.

Rhaenyra immediately released her hand. “Please forgive me, Alicent. I wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean to
presume. I’ll fetch Dr. Gerarda, she can—”

“Rhaenyra. I was surprised is all.” Alicent offered her burned hand once more. “I would very much
appreciate your help. And it wasn’t presumptive at all. It was a very kind offer.”

Sagging with relief, Rhaenyra gently reclaimed her hand. “I can heal the burns with my magic or
my water elementalism. Do you have a preference?”

She would prefer the pain in her hand to cease. “I don’t.”

“As you say.” Rhaenyra stared down at the burns.

Alicent’s eyes widened when she felt a cool, tingling sensation in the tips of her fingers, swiftly
spreading outwards to chase away the throbbing heat of the burns. She watched as the redness
faded away, felt the throbbing pain disappear as swiftly as it had come. Yet even once the burning
sensation had dissipated, her hand still tingled pleasantly. Is this Rhaenyra’s magic that I’m feeling?
Surely it must be.

It felt nice.

“Better?” Rhaenyra was gazing up at her now, expression almost . . . eager.

“Yes. Much better. Thank you.” Before she could think better of it, Alicent flipped her healed hand
over to give Rhaenyra’s a soft squeeze. “Thank you,” she repeated.

Rhaenyra’s cheeks flushed slightly. “You needn’t thank me, Alicent. It’s my fault your fingers were
burned.”

Alicent didn’t see how, and she said as much.

“I shouldn’t have been touching that teapot as I was. If I hadn’t been, your fingers wouldn’t have
been burned.” Rhaenyra rose to her feet and returned back to her chair, giving the teapot a dark
look as she did so. “May I pour you a cup of tea?”
Alicent nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” As she watched Rhaenyra pour the steaming tea into their cups,
she wondered about the other woman’s ability to touch the teapot without any ill-effect.

“It’s hard for me to judge temperature sometimes,” Rhaenyra had said the night that she’d washed
her feet.

At the time, Alicent hadn’t thought much of the comment, assuming it was simply a quirk of
Valyrian biology, but now that she considered the matter, she remembered seeing Sabitha burn her
tongue on hot tea once.

Is it only Rhaenyra who doesn’t feel heat then?

She supposed that made a sort of sense. She knew that Rhaenyra’s elemental affinity lay in fire, and
she now knew that the Firestorm was merely one of her many fire-related monikers. Rhaenyra’s
own people had given her such names as Flameborn, Rhaenyra of the Black Fire, the Flaming
Rose, the Iron Dragon, and the Dragon of the East.

After thanking Rhaenyra for pouring, Alicent drew her cup and saucer closer to herself. She could
feel the heat radiating from the porcelain and knew without a doubt that the tea would burn her
mouth if she tried to drink it now, just as the teapot had burned her hand.

As she spooned some honey into her tea and stirred it, she watched Rhaenyra carefully drop a cube
of sugar into her own tea and stir it briefly before bringing the cup to her lips and taking a long sip.

Not surprisingly, the other woman didn’t show even a hint of discomfort with the tea’s temperature.

Setting her cup aside, Rhaenyra pushed the platter of sweet cakes towards her. “Sweet cake?”

“Always. Thank you.” Alicent smiled as she plucked up one of the cakes and bit into it. She
hummed with approval as the sweetness of the cream filling danced over her tongue, delightfully
contrasting with the rich density of the outer cake.

Rhaenyra watched her for a moment before taking another sip of her tea. When she set her cup
down again, she made a point of dipping just the tip of her smallest finger into the steaming liquid.
“I’m immune to fire,” she declared with a small shrug.

Alicent stared at her in surprise.

While the statement itself was hardly a shock, the fact that Rhaenyra was sharing this information
with her—unprompted—was. She could count on one hand the number of times that Rhaenyra had
told her anything about herself.

And two of them have happened within the last forty-eight hours.

“Is that why you can’t judge temperatures very well?” she asked curiously, for surely it must be.

Rhaenyra cocked her head slightly. “You remembered that?”

Of course she did. Back home, memorizing such seemingly innocuous but potentially important
pieces of information had been a necessity. She’d taken great care to remember all of the little
things that might provoke Criston and his wives. And when she’d first come to Stone Garden, she’d
done the same with Rhaenyra, meticulously studying her to learn exactly what kinds of behavior
upset the Firestorm.
But saying any of that would only hurt Rhaenyra, so Alicent simply nodded.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Rhaenyra’s mouth. “I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised.
Not with a mind such as yours.” Her eyes briefly flicked down to the table before rising to meet
Alicent’s. “And in answer to your question, yes. Being immune to fire also means being immune to
heat, so what feels pleasantly warm to me is usually scalding to others.”

Alicent picked up her teacup and blew softly before taking a cautious sip. It was hot, but not
enough to burn her tongue. She tilted her head slightly as she prepared to take another sip. “I saw
Sabitha burn her tongue once. Is your immunity atypical? Or something unique to fire elementals?”

She never would have asked such things before their quarrel.

And Rhaenyra would likely not have answered.

But now, Rhaenyra nodded. “Other Valyrians can shield themselves from fire with spells, and we’re
generally more resilient to extreme temperatures than most other species.” Her small smile faded
into a grave expression. “But aside from me, my people know of only two other women who were
born with an innate immunity fire and all of its effects. The first was a saint. The second,” her lips
twisted, “well, I’m sure you’ve read about Aerysa by now.”

Aerysa Targaryen.

The Black Dragon.

The Fallen Sister.

The Betrayer.

The Unburnt.

Alicent had most certainly read about her. She had yet to find a single history book that didn’t make
reference to her in some way.

The twin sister of Empress Daenerys the Silver, one historian had referred to her as the dark mirror
of the Silver Empress. Jealous of her younger sister and desiring the Dragon Throne for herself,
Aerysa had lured Empress Daenerys to a place above the Sister Sea and attempted to murder her.

But it had been Aerysa’s lifeless body that plunged into the sea, which had since been renamed the
Bitter Sea.

And while Aerysa may have died over a billion years ago, she had been immortalized as the most
infamous woman in Valyria’s long history. Her name was now a byword for treachery and malice
and cruelty. There were even children’s rhymes and songs that spoke of what a despicable person
she’d been.

For Rhaenyra to share such a unique ability with such a woman . . .

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Rhaenyra nodded, as if in response. “There
were many women who were . . . disturbed upon my birth. In part because of my immunity to fire,”
her lips pursed slightly, “but more so because of my black flames.”
Alicent’s eyebrows drew together at that. She couldn’t remember ever reading about Aerysa having
black fire like Rhaenyra. But then, she couldn’t recall ever reading anything that directly addressed
Aerysa’s immunity to fire. Her epithet the Unburnt certainly makes more sense now. Perhaps the
Black Dragon was a reference to black fire. “Was it because Aerysa had black fire as well?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “No. Her hair and eyes were black, but her flames were the expected
colors.” She paused, old shadows dancing in her eyes, and Alicent suddenly wondered if she was
the first person that Rhaenyra had ever had to explain any of this to. No Valyrian would ever
require such an explanation, after all. “My flames are an inheritance from Emperor Maegor
Blackfire of the Lyrian Empire.”

Maegor Blackfire.

The Targaryen Sisters’ father.

He was one of the few men from the Old World whose name had been preserved in the Valyrian
histories.

All of the Targaryen Sisters had had harrowing tales to tell about their father’s cruelty in Why Men
Were Banished From Valyria.

A cold shiver ran down Alicent’s spine.

Immunity from Aerysa and black flames from Maegor. It’s no wonder Rhaenyra’s own people were
wary of her when she was born.

The burdens of such terrible legacies could not have been easy to bear, and Alicent wondered how
they must have affected Rhaenyra. Surely the knowledge that everyone around her was somewhat
afraid of her, that many were likely wary of her becoming as wicked as her infamous ancestors, had
psychologically wounded her in some way.

Mother cursed me, but she was never afraid of me. Alicent wondered which was worse: to be
loathed or to be feared. At least my siblings loved me. I wonder if Rhaenyra’s sisters tried to love
her.

“With time, the disquiet lessened.” Rhaenyra plucked a grape from the fruit bowl and put it into her
mouth, chewing quickly in a way that contradicted the nonchalance of her tone. But once she’d
swallowed the grape, a soft smile curled her lips. “My sister, Laena, was always reminding people
that Aerysa was not the first woman of our line blessed with immunity, that she’d inherited the gift
from her own mother, Empress Aenara the Ice Dragon—Relle bless her soul. One of my other
sisters, Laenora, always said that Relle had given me Emperor Maegor’s black flames so that I
could use them for good rather than evil. Redeem them, if you will.”

So her sisters did love her. Or at least two of them did. Alicent smiled at the knowledge that
Rhaenyra had not been completely isolated during her childhood because of her gifts.

“During the Great Council of 2057, Aerysa actually attempted to argue that her immunity gave her
a greater claim to the Dragon Throne than Empress Daenerys.” Rhaenyra finished her tea and
poured herself another cup. “Her parents’ only true heir, she called herself, since she alone of all
her sisters had inherited Empress Aenara’s—Relle bless her—immunity and Maegor’s black hair
and eyes.”
Alicent took a small sip of her tea, cocking her head slightly. “I’m surprised that she would wish to
draw any connection to Maegor.”

“A rather strange decision,” Rhaenyra agreed, “but Aerysa may well have simply been mad. She
was certainly a narcissist, if nothing else, and her argument was absurd. She may have been the
only Targaryen sister to inherit their mother’s immunity, but all of them inherited her true gift.”

When Rhaenyra didn’t continue, Alicent realized that the other woman was prompting her to guess.
But I already know the answer. “Her ability to shapeshift into a dragon.”

Prior to coming across a reference to House Targaryen as the Blood of the Dragon and having her
curiosity piqued, she hadn’t realized that there were any limits to Valyrian shapeshifting abilities
save that they could only transform into animals. But it seemed that the ability to shapeshift into a
dragon had been an exceptionally rare talent on the Old World, and Empress Aenara the Ice Dragon
was one of only a handful of recorded persons blessed with the gift.

Empress Daenerys and her sisters were the only women on the planet able to assume draconic form
when Valyria was first founded, and they’d since passed down their mother’s gift to all of their
descendants.

Rhaenyra grinned at her, eyes bright. “I should have known that you already knew,” she chuckled.
“After Valyrians, dragons are the most powerful creatures on this planet, and my family’s power
has long been associated with theirs.” She flicked her wrist, and Alicent watched as silver scales
encased her hand and her nails lengthened and sharpened into deadly claws.

“Valyrian skin is quite durable when compared to other species’,” Rhaenyra continued, “but dragon
scales are nigh impenetrable. Spears, arrows, swords, bullets, fire, lightning, heat-vision, plasma
blasts, photon beams, bolts of energy, they’re all incapable of piercing a dragon’s hide, and that
invulnerability is something that my people have always envied.”

Alicent arched an eyebrow. “Why envy impenetrable scales when you’re immortal?”

“Immortality is not the same as invulnerability.” Rhaenyra held her gaze, as if to ensure that her
words were heard and properly absorbed. “I can still be harmed under the right circumstances. If
you manage to slit my throat, I’ll experience pain just as a mortal would. I simply won’t die from
the wound. Dragons, on the other hand, can die from a mortal wound, but it’s nearly impossible to
deliver such a blow.”

Alicent grimaced slightly, remembering all of the times that she’d wished for the release of death
simply as an end to the pain Criston was inflicting upon her.

Swiftly shoving aside the mordant thought, she refocused on Rhaenyra. “You said dragon scales are
nigh impenetrable. What is capable of penetrating them?”

She’d meant to ask Sabitha this question during their conversation about dragon-scale armor, but
she’d become distracted with asking different questions about dragon societal structures after
Sabitha had mentioned that the Valyrian Empire had signed several trade treaties with the dragons.

“These.” Rhaenyra clicked her ebony claws together before slowly extending her scaled hand so
that Alicent could more closely inspect it. “The claws are a dragon’s deadliest feature. Most think
it’s their fire, which, admittedly, can melt stone, but even the hottest flames can be extinguished or
deflected, and they wouldn’t leave so much as a scorch mark on a dragon’s scales. Their claws
though? Those are harder than diamond, sharper than honed obsidian, and stronger than Valyrian
steel. They can tear through flesh, stone, and metal like it’s tissue paper, and they’re the only things
capable of piercing a dragon’s hide.”

A shiver ran down Alicent’s spine as she looked at Rhaenyra’s dragon hand.

She’d heard reports about dragon attacks during the war, which had usually been little more than
slaughters.

The first time that Criston had received such a report, he’d dismissed it as a wild fancy born from
paranoia or boredom.

After the tenth such report though, he’d taken a battalion to investigate. Apparently, all that they’d
found were charred bones and bits of blackened flesh.

Before coming to Valyria, her people hadn’t believed that dragons existed. They had ancient
legends about dragon-like beasts, but they’d stopped believing in such myths hundreds of millions
of years ago.

Alicent wondered whether the dragons that had fought in the war had all been women of House
Targaryen, or if the actual dragons had joined in the war efforts as well. Considering that Empress
Daenerys and her sisters had revived the dragon species, it would make sense that the dragons
would fight with the Valyrians, but considering how relatively few dragons existed, she could also
understand them not wishing to risk engaging in a war.

She supposed that it didn’t make much difference whether the dragons had been actual dragons or
Targaryens. Both were capable of inflicting the same amounts of devastation.

Rhaenyra’s hand returned to normal, and she reached out to take a sweet cake from the platter. Her
expression was pensive as she ate, as if she was thinking about the same things as Alicent, about
the dragons that had fought during the war and the destruction they’d caused.

Wanting to turn both of their thoughts away from such grim matters, she asked, “Why did the
Targaryen Sisters choose a three-headed dragon as their sigil?” Caladria Moonwing being the
Empire’s sigil made sense, given how the Valyrians venerated her, but she’d never understood why
House Targaryen’s sigil was a dragon with three heads, especially considering how the Valyrians
favored the number seven and that there had been seven Targaryen Sisters during the Founding.

Queen Rhaenyra’s expression lightened, and Alicent thought that she saw something akin to
gratitude spark in her eyes. “Because the Old World was divided into the Lyrian Empire, the Nørsk
Empire, and the Cairdic Empire. The three heads of the dragon represent the Three Empires that the
Targaryen Sisters forged into one when they founded the Valyrian Empire.”

A show of unity then. That certainly made sense in the wake of the devastating wars of the Dark
Times that had caused the Doom. If she recalled correctly, the Targaryen Sisters were descended
from the Lyrian Empire’s Imperial House. It made sense that they would wish to present
themselves as representing the peoples of all Three Empires.

As Alicent poured herself a second cup of tea, her eyes flicked briefly to the three-headed red
dragon embroidered on the bodice of Rhaenyra’s gown, tracing the smooth curve of its wings and
the jagged lines of the fire erupting from its three jaws. “Why is it that only the members of your
family can shapeshift into dragons?”
“No one knows for certain,” Rhaenyra admitted, “but magisters believe that it has to do with our
exceptionally powerful cores.” Her hand drifted to the base of her sternum, where Alicent supposed
her core of magic must reside. “All shifts expend magical energy and require some level of effort,
but substantially changing one’s size is exhausting for some women because of the additional
energy required to shed or add mass. Lady Tyrell theorizes that most women simply don’t have the
strength necessary to transmogrify all of the mass needed to transform into a dragon.” She paused.
“Of course, that doesn’t explain why other women can’t simply shapeshift into Valyrian-sized
dragons.”

Alicent had been about to raise that very question.

“For members of my family, being able to transform into an adult dragon and hold the shift for
more than an hour is the mark of a master shapeshifter.”

“And when were you able to do that?” Alicent assumed that it must have been early, considering
what little she’d gleaned about Rhaenyra’s magical strength.

“Shortly before my eighteenth birthday.” Finishing the sweet cake that she’d been eating, Rhaenyra
wiped her fingers off on her napkin. “It was one of the reasons why women began calling me the
Iron Dragon.”

While Alicent didn’t have any metric for comparison, Rhaenyra’s tone and the fact that her age was
noteworthy enough to contribute to a new sobriquet indicated that seventeen was considered an
exceptionally young age to accomplish the feat of a full draconic transformation.

Now that she knew the origins of two of Rhaenyra’s sobriquets, Alicent found herself wondering
about the stories behind the other epithets and sobriquets that she was aware of. And exactly how
many more does she have?

Rhaenyra was watching her, amethyst gaze as keen and penetrating as a raptor’s. “I can see that
there’s a question on the tip of your tongue, Alicent.” Amusement flickered in her eyes, softening
her gaze. “I believe I told you once that you’re free to ask me anything.”

But you may not provide an answer, Alicent finished silently.

And until today, Rhaenyra had often refused to provide answers to any questions related to herself.
But it seemed that the other woman desired a new beginning to their relationship as much as
Alicent herself did, which evidently included sharing more about herself.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how many other monikers do you have?” Alicent had been
wondering ever since she’d realized that having more than one was considered unusual, even for a
former empress. And Aemma had once mentioned that Rhaenyra had so many titles, epithets, and
sobriquets that they could probably fill a small book.

“Several dozen. Thankfully, epithets and sobriquets are very rarely included in official
presentations. If they were,” Rhaenyra chuckled, “I’m fairly certain that heralds would simply
refuse to announce me.” She cocked her head slightly. “Would you care to hear my ‘complete and
proper’ presentation?”

“You needn’t feel obliged.” Though she was certainly curious.

“I know, but I can see that you’re curious.” Rhaenyra cleared her throat before pitching her voice to
mimic the booming and official tones heralds were wont to use. “Presenting Her Royal Majesty
Rhaenyra Daenerys Aeliana Saerella Nymella Rhaenys Viserra Rosedragon Targaryen of the House
Targaryen and the Rosedragon Branch, the Seventh of Her Name, Queen of Kastrell, Keeper of the
Fertile Fields, Most Generous and Good, Queen of the Harvest, the Garden Queen, Protector of the
Realm, Lady of the Garden Court, Lady of Osmera, Lady of Stone Garden, Dowager Empress of
the Valyrian Empire, Full Blood of House Targaryen, Monarch of the Blood, Master Shield Sister,
Grand High Witch of the League of Witches, Master Dream Weaver, Shadow Caster, Seventh Tier
Master, Archmage, and the Wanderer. Called Rhaenyra of the Black Fire, the Iron Dragon, the
Warrior Princess, the Black Rose, the Flaming Rose, the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw
Breath, the Princess in the Tower, Flameborn, the Dragon of the East, the Firestorm, Lady of Song,
Lady of the Silver Voice, the Record Keeper, the Namer, the Terror of the Trident, the Savior, the
Undying, the Northlight, the Destroyer, Azlyn the Annihilator, One of the Prophesied Four, the
Vengeful, Silver Dragon, and Black Rose Bess. Once holder of the titles Crown Princess of the
Valyrian Empire, Princess of Dragon Wood, Heir to the Dragon Throne, Princess of the
Silverbloods, the Dragon Princess, Empress of the Valyrian Empire, Keeper of the High Mysteries,
Speaker of Wisdom and Good Counsel, Empress of the Silverbloods, the Dragon Empress,
Protector of the Realms, Lady of the Dragon Court, Lady of Valeria, Lady of Dragon Ridge,
Commander of the Kastrellan Forces, Daughter Shifter, Goddess of Song, Jesters, Acrobatics,
Writers, Records, and Names, Master, Lady of Camelot, High Priestess of the Old Religion,
Princess of Adarlan, Sorceress Supreme, Duchess of Rosemont, Sorceress, Countess of Somerset,
Duchess of Mayberry, Lady, High Ka, Leader of the Order of the Seventh Star, Whitelighter, and
Hedge Maid.”

Alicent could only stare at her as she processed the litany of titles. How is she not panting from lack
of breath after such a recitation?

Rhaenyra was grinning at her, amethyst eyes twinkling with amusement “And those are only the
titles, epithets, and sobriquets that matter.”

Alicent pitied any herald who had ever had to announce Rhaenyra with all of those appellations.

The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips suddenly withered as she began twisting one of her rings around her
finger and lowered her head to stare down at the table, shoulders hunching slightly. “Called the
Firestorm,” she muttered, her voice soft and with a slight hitch to it.

Concerned by the other woman’s sudden shift in mood and demeanor, Alicent began to reach
towards her. “Rhaenyra—?”

But Rhaenyra was already rising to her feet, and a moment later, she’d come around the table to
kneel in front of Alicent. Her head was bowed so low she was practically bent in half, the skirts of
her red dress spreading out beneath her like a pool of blood. “I should have done this long ago,” she
said quietly.

“What are you—?”

Raising her head just enough to look into Alicent’s eyes, Rhaenyra offered her hands in what could
only be described as supplication. “Alicent, I humbly beg your forgiveness for what I did to you
that day at Dragon Ridge. I had no right to demand you as part of the treaty or to pretend for even a
moment that you were chattel. I acted without your knowledge or consent, and while I did so with
good intentions, I know well that the greatest harm can result from the best intentions. No matter
my motivations, treating you as property was reprehensible. I know that I have no right to seek
your forgiveness, nor do I expect you to ever grant it. But I swear by Relle and upon my honor as a
woman of House Targaryen that I will spend the rest of my life atoning for what I did to you.”

Tears shone in Rhaenyra’s eyes as she gazed up at Alicent, and her voice had become progressively
shakier the longer she spoke.

Alicent stared down at her, stunned into silence.

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen on her knees before her.

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen begging forgiveness.

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen weeping.

Rhaenyra had apologized to her years ago on that very first night, and while Alicent hadn’t
believed her at the time, she’d come to believe her since.

She knew that Rhaenyra did not wish or intend her harm.

She knew that Rhaenyra desired her safety and happiness.

Immoral though Rhaenyra’s means had been, they were all that had been available at the time.

Without thinking, Alicent reached out and gently wiped away one of the tears trailing down
Rhaenyra’s cheek. “Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra’s entire body stiffened in a way that Alicent immediately recognized as the instinctive
desire to flinch away warring against a conscious effort to remain still.

She thinks that she deserves my censure.

Months ago, perhaps Alicent might have had some to offer.

But that was no longer the case.

“Rhaenyra, I won’t tell you that the way you went about helping me was good or moral, but you
did help me. You saved my life that day, and I am grateful for that. We both know that it was only a
matter of time before Criston killed me. I’m glad to be alive, and I’m glad to be here.” Alicent
cupped Rhaenyra’s cheek, seeing the wonder and relief in her amethyst eyes. “I forgive you for
what you did that day, Rhaenyra.”

Rising from her chair, Alicent reached down and urged Rhaenyra to her feet as well.

Rhaenyra’s smile was small and tentative and watery, but her eyes were bright and shining. “May
. . . may I hug you?”

Alicent found herself nodding before her mouth could even form the word “yes.”

Strong arms enveloped her a moment later, drawing her close and somehow both squeezing her
tight and holding her with infinite care.
 A shaky breath escaped her lips as Alicent realized that this was the first time Rhaenyra had
embraced her when she wasn’t in the throes of a night terror or panic attack.

It was nice.

Slowly and rather clumsily, Alicent wrapped her arms around Rhaenyra’s waist and squeezed tight,
knowing that she wouldn’t be able to hurt the other woman even if she tried.

Her eyes widened when she suddenly heard and felt a low vibrating sound beginning to resonate
from Rhaenyra’s chest.

Strong Sytarr.

Rhaenyra was purring.

Of course Valyrians can purr, she thought, somewhat wryly. Considering they could also growl,
snarl, and roar with the same ferocity as any large carnivore, she supposed that it made sense.

Rhaenyra hugged her even closer, quietly whispering the same words over and over again in
Alicent’s ear. “Thank you, Alicent. Thank you.”

Chapter End Notes

Gasp! It's the first daytime, non-panic-induced hug! Look at these two becoming gals who are
pals!

Also, don't worry. The teapot remains intact. It's Rhaenyra's favorite, so she only gave it a
stern talking to about burning the fingers of the woman she lov—cares for deeply.

Next Chapter: A dinner not-a-date!

 The Astral Tower
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 22:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Ygritte Mormont, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles

A special thanks to Octavas for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Frost Moon/1,000,123 Visenya VI

“For you, My Lady, from the Queen.” Aly gave Alicent a playful wink as she presented a sealed
envelope to her with a flourish and a bow.

As she accepted the latter, amusement tugged at the corners of Alicent’s mouth at the display.
“Thank you, Aly.”

Sabitha’s heart friend merely grinned in response.

Stamped into the wax was Rhaenyra’s personal sigil of a split field displaying a silver dragon on
crimson and a black rose wreathed in ebony flames on silver. One of these days, she would need to
inquire about the spell—for surely magic must be involved—Valyrians used to add specific colors
to their wax seals.

Smiling to herself, Alicent broke the seal and withdrew Rhaenyra’s letter. As ever, the paper was
folded into perfect thirds with neat and crisp creases. After handing the envelope back to Aly, she
unfolded the letter and scanned over Rhaenyra’s elegant and looping script, which Rhaenyra had
told her was entirely the result of having spent countless, painstaking hours practicing her
calligraphy under her great-grandmother’s demanding and watchful eye. “Left alone, I’m fairly
certain my handwriting would be indecipherable.”

Dear Alicent,

If you are so inclined, I would like to invite you to dine with me this evening. It would be an
honor and a delight to have the pleasure of your company, though you may of course decline if
you have other plans or do not desire my presence.
 Eagerly Awaiting Your Response,

Rhaenyra Flameborn

Postscript:

If you have grown weary of these correspondences, please inform me, and I shall cease
forthwith.

Alicent couldn’t help but laugh a little at the excessive formality of Rhaenyra’s words, which were
somehow made more amusing by the fact that she knew each and every one of them was entirely
sincere rather than an attempt at humor.

The first time that she’d received such a letter, Alicent had worried that Rhaenyra was once more
attempting to create distance between them, but Aemma had assured her that sending a written
invitation to teatime was simply Rhaenyra being herself rather than retreating. “You’ll see for
yourself soon enough that Rhaenyra has a number of little eccentricities. If they bother you, tell her
so, and she’ll restrain them.”

But Alicent didn’t want Rhaenyra to have to restrain her minor eccentricities around her, especially
if they were harmless and rather amusing such as her penchant for overly formal letters.

Had Rhaenyra been sending her letters to avoid speaking with her, Alicent would have been
bothered. But Rhaenyra sending her letters simply because that was her way? Alicent found it
rather charming. Silly, to be sure, but also strangely endearing.

In no small part because it meant that Rhaenyra was willingly showing Alicent a side of herself
other than the polite and dignified Queen or the kind and solicitous hostess or even the gentle and
encouraging teacher.

Alicent was being shown Rhaenyra, and she recognized the significance of that.

“I’ll admit,” Aemma had chuckled, “it is rather ironic that Rhaenyra oft reserves her most courtly
flourishes for her friends.”

Friends.

Was that what they were?

Or what they were becoming?

Over the past month, Rhaenyra had been making a concentrated effort to spend time with Alicent
outside of their daily empathy lessons, which had resumed the day after their tea in the glass
garden. And unlike before, their time together wasn’t simply Rhaenyra visiting Alicent in her
chambers when the fancy struck or it suited the other woman. They’d been going on walks in the
gardens—always short ones because Alicent still detested the cold—playing cards and other games
in different solars and parlors throughout the Keep, taking tea together, and sometimes simply
reading in the library.

Thus far, Rhaenyra had only declined one of Alicent’s invitations to spend time together, and that
was only because she’d had to travel north and tame a blizzard threatening Redwyne Province.
In every other instance, Rhaenyra hadn’t hesitated to have Aemma reorganize her entire schedule—
if need be—simply to accommodate whatever activity Alicent had suggested.

When Alicent had realized that this was happening, she’d immediately gone to Aemma to
apologize for creating more work for her and to promise that she would coordinate with her in the
future so that any time she spent with Rhaenyra wouldn’t interfere with existing commitments.

But Aemma had only laughed and waved away her concerns. “There is no need for apologies,
Alicent. I am elated that you’ve been managing to convince Rhaenyra to take some time away from
her work. If your plans with her conflict with something that cannot be rescheduled, one of us will
tell you, but otherwise, please continue as you are.” She had reached out then and gently patted
Alicent’s arm. “You’re helping her, Alicent. More than she’ll ever admit.”

A peculiar sense of pride had welled up in her upon hearing that, though Alicent still didn’t know
what to make of it.

And yet . . .

As she reread Rhaenyra’s invitation for the fifth time, a nervous knot was beginning to form in her
stomach.

They’d never shared a meal together before.

Not alone.

She didn’t consider tea an actual meal.

Having dinner with Rhaenyra seemed so much more . . . intimate than simply taking tea with her.
And this would also be the first time that she’d dined privately with someone since . . .

Alicent couldn’t actually remember the last time that she’d shared a meal with only one other
person. Criston had taken too much delight in humiliating her in front of others to dine with her
alone.

And it was odd that Rhaenyra had not included the location for their dinner. The other woman
usually took care to inform Alicent of both that and the specific time whenever she invited her to
tea.

She looked up from the letter to focus on Aly. “Did the Queen say what time we would be dining?”

“If you accept her invitation, Her Majesty asks that you be prepared to dine at five o’clock.”

Alicent searched Aly’s face for any hint of additional information, but found none. “Did she tell
you where we’ll be dining?”

Aly nodded slowly, clasping her hands behind her back. “She did, but she also wishes for the
location to remain a surprise.”

Despite knowing that Rhaenyra harbored no ill-intent towards her, Alicent still felt the fine hairs on
the back of her neck begin to prickle with unease. She’d learned long ago to be wary of surprises of
any kind.

Surprises were slaps that she didn’t know what she’d done to earn.
Surprises were pinched arms and withering glares when no one was watching.

Surprises were new implements or methods of torture that she hadn’t previously endured.

Surprises were leering men with unfamiliar faces and rough hands that she’d never felt before.

Rhaenyra does not wish me harm.

“Her Majesty said that if not knowing the location upsets you, then I’m to inform you at once.” Aly
was watching her worriedly. “Alicent, would you like me to tell you?”

Alicent swallowed a little, shaking her head. Whatever Rhaenyra had planned, she knew that it
wouldn’t be anything distressing, and she didn’t wish to spoil the other woman’s surprise.

“Please tell the Queen that I accept her invitation to dinner.” She would need to ensure that she set
aside enough time before five o’clock to select a gown for the evening. Perhaps she should wear
the green dress that she’d worn the first time she dined with the court?

Rhaenyra had recently told her that green complemented her hair.

Aly gave her a long and measuring look before finally inclining her head. “Her Majesty will be
pleased to hear of your acceptance.”

Alicent managed to smile in return, and yet the nervousness coiling in her stomach refused to
dissipate.

She would need to find something to distract herself until the evening.

“Are you excited to be supping with the Queen tonight?” Ygritte asked as she added another dozen
ears of corn to her inventory.

Alicent’s hand faltered as she reached for the die to begin her turn, silently cursing the nameless
and faceless court gossips. Adah would have adored having informants half so skilled.

Her desire not to dwell on the peculiar anxiety that she felt about the dinner was why she,
Margaery, Sansa, and Ygritte were currently sitting around a circular table in one of the Keep’s
numerous parlors playing agricola.

The flat, hexagonal board divided into two hundred different colored hexagonal cells was laid out
on the table, and the four metal tokens sat on various cells to indicate her and the others’ individual
game positions. Six small decks of cards—one yellow, one brown, one grey, one blue, one red, and
one green—were placed at each of the board’s corners.

While she knew that she could redirect the conversation and that Ygritte wouldn’t press, part of her
hoped that perhaps her friends might be able to alleviate her worries. “I’m nervous,” she admitted
as she let the die fall from her hand, watching as it landed and rolled to a stop on the number three.

Margaery grinned when she saw Alicent’s moonflower land on a red cell with a snake painted on it.
“There’s a viper in your field, Alicent.”
“Yes,” she agreed dryly. “I can see that.” Drawing a card from the red deck, she huffed when she
read the instructions. “I’ve been bitten,” she announced, tipping her moonflower onto its side to
show that she’d collapsed. She would lose her next three turns unless someone was kind enough to
use an anti-venom card on her. She’d given her own to Sansa several rounds ago in exchange for
future flood protection.

“That’s a pity,” Margaery drawled, not sounding at all sympathetic.

“Don’t be mean,” Sansa chided. Selecting a red card from among the neutral-outcome cards that
she’d drawn over the course of the game and kept for later, she offered it to Alicent. “Transfer over
three bushels of wheat and the anti-venom is yours.”

“Two bushels,” Alicent countered. Considering the amount of time it took to plant, grow, and
harvest wheat in this game, losing three turns was preferable to losing three bushels.

Sansa was silent for a moment as she considered, but she eventually nodded. “Agreed.”

After they’d made the exchange, Margaery scooped up the die, looking over at Alicent as she did
so. “Why are you nervous?”

Because I’m dining with Rhaenyra. Though she supposed that wouldn’t be a particularly
satisfactory explanation for Margaery. It was hardly a satisfactory explanation for herself. She
knew that there was no reason for her to feel nervous about the dinner.

And yet she was.

Sytarr above, she’d been less nervous about taking tea with Rhaenyra, and that had come in the
wake of a quarrel and two months of not seeing the other woman.

“It has been quite some time since I’ve dined privately with anyone,” she said slowly, which was
true enough, and was perhaps partly responsible for her nerves. “I’m not certain what exactly she’s
expecting of me.”

“For you to enjoy your meal together, I’m sure.” Margaery moved her bluebell five spaces, landing
on a grey cell. “If I recall correctly, it’s been quite some time since Her Majesty has supped
privately with anyone as well, so it seems you’ll be in good company.”

She says that as if it’s meant to calm my nerves. Knowing that she was the first woman Rhaenyra
had desired to share a private meal with in however long did nothing of the sort.

What if they dined together and Alicent wasn’t as engaging as Rhaenyra expected or was used to?
Alicent usually took her evening meals alone, and when she didn’t, there were always others to
carry and direct the conversation.

What if she couldn’t remember all of the rules governing dinner conversations? Most of the rules I
was taught probably aren’t even applicable here . . .

Suddenly, all of her old fears about Rhaenyra growing bored with her or becoming weary of her
company surged to the surface.

Don’t be foolish. A single meal will not cause her to begin avoiding me again, even if it’s
disastrous. She’d been spending time with Rhaenyra outside of lessons nigh every day for almost a
month, and the other woman hadn’t shown any indications that she was no longer pleased by
Alicent’s company.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Dinner is no more than teatime with more food, she assured herself, and it’s in the evening.

She was fretting over nothing.

She enjoyed spending time with Rhaenyra, and Rhaenyra seemed to enjoy spending time with her.
Rhaenyra wishing to dine with her was simply the natural progression of their budding . . .
friendship?

Yes.

She supposed that must be what was forming between them.

A friendship.

A familiarity.

A fondness.

Feeling the knot in her stomach at last begin to ease, Alicent returned her attention to the game in
time to see that Margaery was grinning as she read the instructions on the grey card that she’d
drawn.

That doesn’t bode well for one of us.

With a flourish, Margaery handed the grey card to Ygritte, who was sitting on her left. “It seems
there was a windstorm, but since my lands were protected,” she then handed Ygritte a different
grey card from her collection of neutral-outcome cards, “the damage was shifted to one of my
neighbors.”

“And of course you pick me,” Ygritte huffed, tossing both cards onto the grey discard pile and
noting the loss of a field on her inventory sheet. “Relle forbid that you do anything to damage
Sansa’s fields.”

On Margaery’s other side, Sansa chuckled. “My sæta is very considerate in that way.”

Alicent tilted her head in confusion when the foreign word didn’t immediately translate into
something that she understood. It had been quite a while since this had happened, since she’d heard
a word for which there was simply no Westerosi equivalent. “What does sæta mean?”

The other women at the table froze, and Sansa’s eyes widened, as if just now realizing what she’d
said.

Margaery recovered first. “It’s a Nordish term of endearment for a woman you are very close to and
quite fond of. Sansa and I met when we were in our eighteen hundreds and became heart friends
almost immediately, so she calls me sæta.”

Sansa nodded in agreement, swiftly snatching up the die, rolling it, and then moving her rose token
five spaces to the left.
Alicent’s lips pursed. It was obvious that there was more to the word than what Margaery was
telling her, but it was equally obvious that her friends didn’t wish to elaborate further. Part of her
wondered what they would do if she pressed for more information, but she held her tongue. Her
friends had always respected when she didn’t wish to say more on a particular matter, so she owed
it to them to offer the same courtesy.

Besides, whatever additional meaning the word held was hardly of consequence since she would
never use it. Back home, terms of endearment were even more rare than physical touch, even
between spouses or mothers and their children. And while she could appreciate that deep
friendships and easy exchanges of verbal and physical affection were common among Valyrians,
she still found such things rather queer.

Queer . . . but also enviable in a way.

“Touch is how we first learn to connect with each other,” Margaery had told her when she’d asked
why Valyrians were so tactile. “It’s how we begin forming communal bonds. We’re all encouraged
to have casual physical contact with our friends and family practically from the moment that we’re
born.”

Ever since she’d unthinkingly touched Rhaenyra’s arm the day that they reconciled, ever since
Rhaenyra had hugged her after their first tea, Alicent had found herself reflecting more and more
on how . . . nice both forms of contact had been.

She glanced over at Margaery, who was in the process of almost absently tucking a lock of hair
behind Sansa’s ear.

Perhaps one day I will feel comfortable with such casual touch as well.

And while she could hardly imagine such a day, the thought was not an unappealing one.

As Alicent paced around her bedchamber, she silently cursed the fact that Valyrians had never
bothered to invent personal communication devices.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

They had such devices, she simply couldn’t use them.

Whereas her people had created communicator chips no bigger than a fingernail and as thin as a
piece of paper that could be unobtrusively affixed to clothing or skin for convenient use, Valyrians
used enchanted “pocket mirrors” to speak with each other.

One of these days, she would have to determine if Valyria had the correct metals and silicates for
her to perhaps cobble together a rudimentary communications device.

But that would hardly solve her current predicament.

After Margaery had thoroughly beaten them all at agricola that morning—Ygritte insisted that she
and Sansa had colluded—Alicent had returned to her chambers for her session with Dr. Arwen,
which had later been followed by her empathy lesson with Rhaenyra.
While sorely tempted to ask Rhaenyra for some hint about where they would be dining that
evening, she’d held her tongue because she’d known that Rhaenyra would tell her if she asked. And
while she still wasn’t particularly enthused about this “surprise,” a part of her wanted to be. She
wanted the prospect of a surprise to fill her with anticipation, not dread. And she hoped that
whatever Rhaenyra had planned might help her begin to reassociate surprises with something
pleasant rather than with pain and fear.

When the clock had struck four, she’d begun what had become something of a ritual of staring
intently at her wardrobe and carefully evaluating each of her gowns until she finally selected one
that seemed proper for the occasion.

This time, she’d only required a little over half an hour to settle on a gown of green satin and
jacquard with seed pearls stitched into the neckline to create a series of elegant swirls, arches, and
loops. And while she could admit that the gown itself was nothing particularly striking, affixed to
the shoulders via pearled flowers was a long and flowing cloak that would hopefully help stave off
any potential cold, depending on where Rhaenyra planned for them to have dinner.

After they’d helped her dress for dinner, Sansa had asked her if she wanted them to wait with her
until Rhaenyra arrived, but Alicent had declined, not wishing to keep them from their own dinners.

She now realized that she should have accepted the offer.

Her eyes went to the grandmother clock in the corner of her bedchamber, lips pursing when she
saw that it was almost a quarter after five o’clock.

Where was Rhaenyra?

Back home, she could have contacted her with little fuss regardless of Rhaenyra’s current location
within the sprawling Keep, but here, the only way that Alicent could speak with her was to go in
search of her. And while she’d finally begun memorizing the various hallways and stairs leading
from her rooms to the gardens, library, and other places that she frequented, she didn’t know where
Rhaenyra might be at present, and aimlessly searching the Keep for her was a fool’s endeavor.

Had Rhaenyra forgotten about their dinner?

No. Surely not.

When Rhaenyra had bid her farewell earlier that afternoon, she’d told her that she would see her
again at five o’clock.

So where was she?

Alicent’s fingers drummed on her scarred wrist as her eyes found the long, elegantly woven rope of
purple and blue fabric that hung beside her bed.

“If there is anything you need before then, pull that cord.”

She’d never so much as touched that cord since coming to the Queen’s Keep.

Was summoning Aemma—or whoever was now assigned to answer—for something so trivial as
the Queen’s location a misuse of the cord?
Alicent was fairly certain that Aemma would be more vexed with Rhaenyra for forgetting their
dinner plans than she would be with Alicent for summoning her, but if it wasn’t Aemma who
answered . . .

I can either wander the halls for hours on end and hope that I stumble upon her, or I can pull the
cord.

Perhaps she was in need of a walk—

No.

Shaking her head a little, Alicent swiftly crossed her bedchamber and gave the cord a firm tug
before she could convince herself to do otherwise.

No sooner had her hand guiltily retreated to her side than she heard a series of three rapid knocks.

Strong Sytarr.

Upon answering the door, Alicent was relieved to see Aemma standing on the other side. “My
apologies for the bother, Aemma.”

Aemma waved dismissively. “There is no need for apology. How may I help you?”

Warmth suffused her cheeks as the words that she’d planned to say died in her throat. This was
foolish. She was being foolish. Had I simply waited a little longer, Rhaenyra would likely have
arrived with an apology and an explanation for her delay.

Well, she supposed that it was too late to dwell on that now.

Perhaps Aemma would appreciate a new bouquet of winter flowers for her bedchamber?

She’d recently begun helping the chamberlains create some of the flower arrangements that
decorated every room within the Keep, and while she hadn’t yet been allowed to work on
arrangements meant for apartments, perhaps an exception would be made in this instance.

“Alicent?”

Damn it.

“Please forgive me. I . . .” Alicent fiddled with the edge of her cloak, reminding herself that
Aemma would not think her foolish, or that the other woman would at the very least keep the
opinion to herself. “Rhaenyra and I were supposed to have dinner together tonight. She said that
she’d come here at five o’clock to escort me, but . . .” She shrugged, the clock behind her and the
otherwise empty room speaking for themselves.

Aemma tsked, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “This is what
happens when you refuse to sleep, You Stubborn Woman.” Shaking her head, she refocused on
Alicent. “Her Majesty was still working in her office last I knew.” She cocked her head slightly.
“Would you like me to escort you there?”

Alicent immediately shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” The thought of entering
Rhaenyra’s apartments—even if only to reach her study—made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
Besides, despite what Aemma had said about her spending time with Rhaenyra being good for the
Queen, she had no wish to directly impede Queendom matters.

And a rearranged schedule somehow seemed like less of an imposition than marching into
Rhaenyra’s study and demanding that she abandon her work in favor of sharing a meal with
Alicent.

“If you’ve made plans to sup together, I’m certain she won’t mind,” Aemma assured her.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude upon her chambers without permission.” Perhaps it was best if
Rhaenyra had forgotten about their dinner. Now, Alicent wouldn’t have to fret about sharing a meal
with someone for the first time in decades in some “surprise” location. And this is different from
when she was purposefully ignoring me before. She knew full well that Rhaenyra could become
swiftly consumed by her work and forget about things such as meals and sleep.

“Her chambers?” Aemma’s eyebrows briefly drew together before she shook her head. “Alicent, I
think you misunderstand me. Rhaenyra is in her office, not her study.”

“There’s a difference?” She hadn’t come across that particular linguistic nuance in her previous
research, but then, her research had been rather cobbled together and disjointed.

Aemma nodded. “Her study is within her apartments, yes, but her office is located in the east wing
to be more accessible to the public. You’ll find that it’s where she spends most of her time doing
paperwork, receiving daily reports, hosting small and individual meetings, and so forth. And I can
assure you that you won’t be intruding if you allow me to escort you there.”

“I—” Alicent’s response was interrupted by a grotesque gurgling sound, which, to her horror, she
realized was coming from her own stomach.

«A proper lady does not allow herself to make uncouth noises of any kind. If you lack the discipline
to control your own stomach, perhaps the time has come for you to learn.»

While she was almost certain that those were her mother’s words, Arilla had often said much the
same whenever Alicent’s stomach had begun complaining after a week or more of not being
allowed to eat.

Shaking her head a little to chase away the memories, Alicent cleared her throat and prayed that her
flush of mortification would remain in her cheeks and not spread any further. “Please forgive my
rudeness.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Alicent.” Amusement glinted in Aemma’s eyes. “It’s hardly
your fault that you’re hungry.” She offered her hand. “Will you please allow me to show you to Her
Majesty’s office?”

After such a vulgar display, Alicent could hardly say “no.” So while she couldn’t bring herself to
accept Aemma’s hand, she nodded in acquiescence.

As Aemma swiftly led her through the Keep, Alicent found herself wondering if the other woman’s
ability to so easily navigate the twisting and turning corridors was simply the result of having lived
here for over a million years, or if perhaps the flowers hanging from the ceiling and lining the walls
served a purpose beyond mere aesthetics.
Back home, she’d read about different kinds of animals that could navigate the world simply by
memorizing scent trails. Considering their heightened sense of smell, it wouldn’t surprise her if
Valyrians were also capable of scent mapping.

Upon arriving outside what must be Rhaenyra’s office, they were greeted by Vora Hylda and Vora
Jonquil, who stood on either side of the closed door. After Aemma explained why they were here,
the two knights exchanged a brief look. Vora Jonquil arched an eyebrow in question, to which Vora
Hylda responded by rapping lightly on the door. “Your Majesty, the Lady Alicent is here to see
you.”

A loud thud sounded from within.

Aemma snorted. “Three pence says that she just knocked over her ledger.”

“Four says that it was one of her paperweights,” Vora Hylda countered.

“Five says that it was her chair,” Vora Jonquil retorted.

Alicent wondered if it was common for the members of Rhaenyra’s household to make such wagers
about their queen. The easy exchange of numbers certainly indicated that it was. And she’d noticed
over the past year and a half that her friends seemed quite fond of low-stakes wagers amongst
themselves, usually over fairly innocuous matters such as what rotating artifact would next arrive at
the museum or which garden bed would sprout the first bud of the season.

“Send her in,” Rhaenyra called through the door.

Vora Hylda opened the door and inclined her head to Alicent as she slipped past her. “If you happen
to notice what fell,” she whispered, “do tell one of us later.”

Feeling almost absurdly flattered that they were indirectly including her in their friendly wagering,
Alicent nodded as she stepped into the office.

The door closed behind her with a click.

The interior of Rhaenyra’s office was rather stark and austere, with unadorned walls of white stone
and a cold and bare floor beneath her feet. Standing against the left wall was a single bookcase
filled with thick volumes on history, law, commerce, agriculture, and other such subjects. Neither
colored glass nor etched designs decorated the windows, and the only color that she could see was
a beautifully illustrated map of Kastrell covering the back wall. The large desk positioned in front
of the map was simple and sturdy—as was the overturned chair currently lying on the floor.

I suppose Vora Jonquil won then.

Rhaenyra was on her feet and rapidly shuffling papers and books around on her desk while
muttering under her breath. An inkwell hovered in the air to avoid being knocked over, as did
several quill pens and what Alicent assumed was a paperweight.

Sparing a moment to swiftly look up at her, Rhaenyra said, “Please forgive me, Alicent. I,” she
paused, eyes widening as they swept over Alicent from head to toe, “completely lost track of time,”
she finished quietly.
“It’s all right,” Alicent assured her, though even to her own ears, she sounded distracted. But that
was hardly her fault.

Rhaenyra’s silver hair had been set free from its customary hairnets and buns and braids, and it
cascaded down over her shoulders like liquid moonlight that rippled with every breath she took.
Alicent was certain that she’d never seen Rhaenyra with her hair down before—at least not during
the daylight hours.

Absolutely exquisite.

And yet it wasn’t Rhaenyra’s hair that had so completely captured Alicent’s attention. Nor was it
the faint smudge of ink on her left cheek or the fact that her lips looked plumper than usual—likely
due to being bitten, if the barely-visible teeth marks were any indication.

No. It wasn’t any of those things.

It was the glasses.

Rhaenyra was wearing glasses.

The perfectly rounded lenses were encased by gleaming loops of silver that matched her hair and
accentuated the purple of her eyes. The bridge connecting two sides of the frames was arched and
delicate and currently beginning to slide down Rhaenyra’s nose. And the curvature of the lenses
almost made her eyes seem larger and rounder.

Alicent had seen glasses before—in museums back home—and yet none had ever seemed half so
pretty as the pair before her now.

But why was this pair in particular so entrancing?

Sytarr above, what is wrong with you?

Blinking rapidly, Alicent quickly gathered up her nonsensical thoughts and buried them.

Save for one, which was actually reasonable.

Why was Rhaenyra wearing glasses?

Alicent knew from her books that Valyrians had long ago created spells to correct vision
deficiencies, and while Sansa had told her that some women—particularly magisters—wore glasses
for aesthetic purposes, Rhaenyra didn’t strike her as the sort.

“Alicent, is something the matter?” Rhaenyra was looking at her with a worried frown, brow
furrowed in a way that was causing her glasses to slide even further down her nose.

Realizing that she must have been silent and staring for too long—or perhaps Rhaenyra had simply
noticed her distracted tone—Alicent quickly shook her head. “No. Not at all.” She glanced from
Rhaenyra to the piles of papers and books and back again. “If you haven’t the time for dinner
tonight, we can reschedule.”

“No need. The rest of this mess can wait until morning.” Rhaenyra’s head turned towards the
window, her lips pursing slightly. “Still time,” she muttered to herself.
Setting a final stack of papers aside, Rhaenyra hurried around from behind her desk and swiftly
crossed the room to where Alicent was standing. She offered her arm as the door was pushed open
by a telekinetic hand. “Shall we?”

“You’re certain?” Much as she enjoyed spending time with Rhaenyra, she’d meant what she’d said
that day in the winter garden about not coming between the Queen and her people.

“You are not my subject, but you are one of my people.”

Alicent could feel a faint blush staining her cheeks.

“Quite certain,” Rhaenyra assured her. She smiled slightly, amethyst eyes twinkling behind the
glasses she still hadn’t taken off.

Perhaps she’s forgotten that she’s even wearing them.

“All right then.” Tucking her hand into the crook of Rhaenyra’s elbow—something she’d found
herself doing more and more often of late—Alicent allowed herself to be led out of the office and
into the hall. There was no sign of either Vora Hylda or Vora Jonquil, but that didn’t mean much.
Rhaenyra’s knights were never far from her, even if they weren’t visible.

Rhaenyra’s steps suddenly faltered, an expression of indecision briefly crossing her face before she
turned to Alicent. “Please forgive me, but might I have your permission to teleport us to our
supper? The walk from here is rather long, and my forgetfulness,” she clicked her tongue at herself,
“has left us with little time.”

Alicent gulped nervously, fingers instinctively curling tighter around Rhaenyra’s arm as she bit the
inside of her cheek.

Back home, transmatter portals had become commonplace some eighty thousand years ago, and
she’d been educated in their mechanics and engineering when she was seven. She’d learned how to
synthesize poly-electronic anions to make her own miniature transmatter portal when she was
eight. And she well-understood the laws of quantum entanglement and the principles of quantum
mechanics that served as the foundation for all of her people’s transmatter research and
advancements.

And she knew from reading Archmagister Aliandra Martell’s chronicle on teleportation spells—
which Rhaenyra herself had lent her—that Valyrian teleportation didn’t seem to rely on any of
those principles or processes. Sytarr above, the first teleportation spell had been created after
observing felines with the magical ability to travel through shadows!

And while Alicent knew that the spell wouldn’t harm her—she’d long ago concluded that Rhaenyra
had used her magic to shorten their journey from Dragon Ridge to Stone Garden—the thought of
suddenly traveling from one location to another without stepping through a proper portal was
disconcerting.

“Alicent?” Rhaenyra prompted, drawing her from her churning thoughts.

Shoving her doubts aside and allowing her curiosity to consume them, she gave Rhaenyra a quick
nod. “You have my permission.”

Rhaenyra offered her a warm smile in return. “Thank you.”

With no further warning, the world around them briefly wavered, drifting out of focus as if she’d
been staring at a single point for too long.

When their surroundings suddenly snapped back into focus a split second later, they were no longer
standing in the hallway outside of Rhaenyra’s office.

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat, eyes widening with awe.

They were now standing in a chamber made entirely from glass.

The surrounding walls and the roof above them were completely transparent, making it seem as if
they weren’t even standing inside a room at all. Overhead, she could see the outline of a stone
parapet bordering what must be the tower’s roof, but that circle of stone did nothing to obstruct her
view of the sky.

Through the walls, she could see the sprawling grounds of Stone Garden extending in every
direction, and in the distance, she could make out the River Calsidren and the city beyond. While it
was hard to determine exactly how high up they were, she knew that, at the very least, they were
somewhere far above the level of the Keep that housed her chambers.

Sunlight streamed into the room from all sides and angles, adding to the illusion that they might
well have been standing outside atop the tower rather than in its uppermost level. The floor beneath
their feet was unblemished white marble, and there were rainbows dancing across its surface.

Looking around, she saw several places where the glass of the walls was faceted so that the
incoming sunlight was reflected and refracted and split apart into its component colors.

Plenty of rooms back home had had floor-to-ceiling windows, and she’d been inside a number of
rooms where one wall was entirely glass, but none could compare to this chamber.

None had been glass in their entirety.

There were no frames or supports or grilles or even seams to mar the transparent walls surrounding
them and remind her that they were there. It was as if the architect had somehow fashioned the
entire room from a single, enormous piece of glass.

Back home, interior walls and doors had always reminded her that she was inside a building, even
in rooms where one wall was a window overlooking the city. This room didn’t appear to have a
door of any kind, and she wondered if it was only accessible by the teleportation spell.

That could explain why none of her friends had ever brought her here before.

“Is this an acceptable place for us to sup?”

Rather reluctantly, Alicent returned her attention to Rhaenyra, who was watching her with a
mixture of amusement and anticipation. “Yes. Very acceptable.” And even as she nodded, her eyes
were already straying from Rhaenyra’s face to continue sweeping over the glass chamber. “This
room is remarkable.”

Rhaenyra grinned—practically preening. “I was hoping that you would be pleased.” She gestured
towards the sun, which was hanging low in the western sky. “You mentioned the other day that you
found our sunrises and sunsets beautiful. I thought you would enjoy watching one of them from in
here. When the sky catches on fire, so does this room. As if you’re standing in the heart of a fire
crystal.”

Alicent’s mild surprise that Rhaenyra had remembered a comment she’d made in passing over two
weeks ago was swiftly forgotten in favor of her excitement at the prospect of seeing the sunset from
inside a room made of glass.

Faceted glass.

Walking over to the nearest wall, she peered down at the gardens below to orient herself. The task
would have been easier during the spring or summer, when splashes of color might have given her
a clue about which garden she was looking at.

At present, everything was glittering and white because of the snow. Pretty, to be sure, but
indistinguishable as a result. “What room is this?” she finally asked.

“We’re on the uppermost floor of the Astral Tower.”

The Astral Tower.

According to Archmagister Ixora’s book, this was the tallest of Stone Garden’s many towers. And
according to Margaery, “It was built so that stargazers could gather atop it to observe the
heavens.”

She wondered absently whether it was the magisters who specialized in astronomy and astrology
that had requested a glass room, or if Valora Beesbury had simply wished to craft a room entirely
from glass and the stargazers had then laid claim to it.

Tilting her head back to admire the unobstructed view of the skies overhead, she could certainly
understand if it had been the latter. It must be so beautiful once the stars come out. Perhaps akin to
being among the stars themselves.

Alicent was startled from her thoughts by the sound of a loud thumping noise from somewhere
beneath them, but when she searched for its source, she couldn’t find any seams in the floor to
indicate a trapdoor.

Rhaenyra waved her hand, and a responding thud echoed throughout the glass chamber.

Gilly appeared in the middle of the room a moment later, accompanied by a whirlwind of plates,
utensils, cups, napkins, and food. She flashed Alicent a brief smile before walking over to where
two chairs and a table had appeared, the latter complete with a dark green tablecloth.

“Is everything still warm?” Rhaenyra questioned as she followed Gilly over to the table.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Gilly dipped her head as she began setting the table. “We kept
everything hovering at a low heat until we received word from Seneschal Aemma that you were
ready.”

“Wonderful. Thank you.” Rhaenyra plucked the loaf of bread—along with its serving dish and
knife—from the air and set them all down on the table.

Suddenly realizing her own idleness, Alicent hurried across the room to join them. “May I help?”
Even after two years, she still found the sight of a person setting a table rather peculiar. Service
bots had always handled such menial tasks back home, and she’d never attended a meal where the
table wasn’t already set long before her arrival.

Gilly smiled cheerfully. “Of course, My Lady.”

Alicent reached out to grasp the bowl of winterberries floating about a foot in front of her face. For
a moment, it was weightless, but then Gilly must have sensed that her grip was secure enough for
her to release her telekinetic hold on the bowl.

The sudden weight nearly caused Alicent to drop the bowl in surprise, and several berries spilled
out onto the floor.

Except that they didn’t.

The berries halted in midair before they’d fallen more than a few inches.

“My apologies, Lady Alicent. I should have warned you.” Gilly cheeks were flushed with
embarrassment, expression sheepish.

“It’s all right. I’ll know what to expect next time.” Alicent watched as the spilled berries floated
back into the bowl, flashing Rhaenyra a grateful smile.

Rhaenyra hadn’t so much as glanced over when catching the falling berries, her attention seemingly
focused on arranging the dish of green beans and the platter of sliced venison.

The scent of cooked meat made Alicent’s mouth water, and, not for the first time, she found herself
wondering how exactly Valyrians hunted. Did they venture into the woods with bows and arrows to
track and shoot their prey? Or did they shapeshift into wolves and other such predators to chase
down their prey and rip out its throat.

Her nose wrinkled slightly at the thought. Would it be rude to ask? Is how someone hunts
appropriate dinner conversation? Hunting was not something either of her families would have
ever discussed, but that was because hunting had become an antiquated practice hundreds of
millions of years ago.

Once everything was laid out to Rhaenyra’s satisfaction, she dismissed Gilly with another thank
you before turning her attention to Alicent. “Shall we?”

After taking her seat, Alicent waited for Rhaenyra to serve herself first, but after over a minute of
awkward silence and stillness, she realized that Rhaenyra was waiting for her to do the same.

A flush was slowly spreading across Alicent’s cheeks as she self-consciously selected two pieces of
venison and placed them on her plate, followed by some beans and a slice of bread. She assumed
that the berries were meant to be dessert.

As she poured herself a glass of water from the crystalline carafe, she watched Rhaenyra fill her
own plate. I should say something.

The silence was beginning to grow uncomfortable.

Evidently thinking the same, Rhaenyra asked, “Were you ever able to watch the sunset back on
Westeros?”
The question caused Alicent to almost drop her knife in surprise. She could count on one hand the
number of times that anyone had asked her about Westeros—with the exception of Dr. Arwen
during their sessions.

Does Rhaenyra truly wish to know?

Or is she merely being polite?

Rhaenyra’s voice when she’d asked had been perfectly calm and composed, and there wasn’t any
tightness in her shoulders or jaw. The expression on her face was inquisitive, but not insistent, and
her movements as she buttered her bread were as effortlessly graceful as ever.

How does she make buttering bread look so elegant?

Quickly dismissing the inane thought, Alicent focused on formulating her response. “When I was a
child,” she began cautiously, “I used to watch the sunset with my sisters.” She paused a moment to
assess Rhaenyra’s reaction, but all she found was bright-eyed interest. “My bedchamber faced east
—Westeros’ sun rises and sets opposite to Valyria’s—so we would always gather there just before
dusk. My youngest sister—Mara—loved watching all of the colors dance across the sky.”

Unbidden, a wistful smile tugged at her lips as she remembered sitting by her window with Willa,
Min, Elwyn, Twill, and Mara. “Willa—she was only a year younger than me—usually sat with Min
and Elwyn on either side of her, and with Twill on her lap.” A brief laugh escaped her lips. “Willa
wanted to be able to hug all three of them close even though our mothers would have called it
horribly improper.”

Willa had always been the most tactile of her siblings, much to Lora’s amusement and Alicent’s
own mother’s derision.

“Mara only ever wanted to sit on my lap.” And Alicent had secretly relished the feeling of her little
sister snuggled in her arms, had sometimes liked to pretend that Mara was her own daughter and
she was teaching her about the stars. Mara had always gazed up at the flaming sky with wide,
wondering eyes, as if she’d never seen a sunset before.

Rhaenyra was smiling softly, her own expression similarly wistful. “My sisters and I used to watch
the sunrise together whenever we were all visiting Dragon Ridge.” Her smile turned wry. “Laena
absolutely adored bursting into my bedchamber hours before dawn to awaken me in the most
obnoxious way possible. I’m fairly certain that she enjoyed waking me far more than actually
watching the sunrise.”

Alicent hid her amused smile by biting into her venison. By now, she was fairly certain that Laena
was Rhaenyra’s favorite sister, considering the way that she always spoke about her with such
fondness. “Did you ever awake before her to retaliate?”

“And spoil her fun?” Rhaenyra shook her head, eyes glinting with mirth. “She might never have
forgiven me. And I was in desperate need of her support against Daemona.” Her lips pursed, the
amusement suddenly draining from her expression.

Before Alicent could even fully realize that the strange, seething melancholy gripping her insides
wasn’t her own, her ward flared in response.
A blush stained her cheeks as her mental version of Rhaenyra gently tucked Alicent’s head against
her chest.

Something the actual Rhaenyra had done the week before when Alicent had awoken soaked in
sweat after a night terror about one of her birthdays.

Hoping to return Rhaenyra to her earlier mood, Alicent said, “Margaery has been teaching me to
play chess.”

Rhaenyra’s expression lightened at once. “Has she? We’ll have to play some time then. It’s been
centuries since I’ve been able to enjoy a proper game.”

Fresh heat rose in Alicent’s cheeks as she ducked her head to focus on spearing a few beans. “I’m
still learning, so I’m not very good.”

“Aemma thoroughly demolished me when I was first learning to play,” Rhaenyra assured her. “And
she’s never allowed me to forget.”

Alicent couldn’t help but chuckle, remembering the first time that she’d played alquerque with
Aemma and the other woman’s utter jubilation upon winning. She wouldn’t have thought the
seneschal capable of such an undignified display, but her wings had been fluttering so much that
Alicent had been finding fallen feathers in her privy chamber for almost a week afterwards.

“Have you been introduced to cyvasse yet?” Rhaenyra was looking at her almost eagerly, as if she
very much wanted Alicent to say “yes.”

Hoping that her answer wouldn’t be too much of a disappointment, Alicent shook her head. “I’m
afraid not.”

She breathed an inward sigh of relief when Rhaenyra’s expression didn’t fall, which immediately
made her wonder when it was that she’d begun caring so much about disappointing Rhaenyra. Not
angering or offending, disappointing.

For while she’d been conditioned since birth to please others, this felt somehow different.

“Would you allow me to teach you?” Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes were bright and eager behind her
glasses. “Cyvasse is absurdly complex and an absolute agony to learn, but I suspect that you’ll be a
quick study. You’re very clever, and your memory is eidetic, both of which should serve you well.”

Alicent knew that her face must be redder than her hair, and she could do little more than nod in
response. She couldn’t fathom why Rhaenyra’s compliments were affecting her so. It wasn’t as if
the other woman had never praised her before. And while those kind words had always filled her
with a sense of warm contentment, her current reaction felt different somehow.

Rhaenyra frowned suddenly, eyes narrowing as she awkwardly tucked her chin, but then she
laughed and reached up to remove her glasses. “I didn’t even realize that I was still wearing these.”
As she spoke, her glasses neatly folded themselves and disappeared a moment later.

Pouncing on the opportunity that she hadn’t even known she’d been awaiting, Alicent said, “I
didn’t know you needed glasses.”
“Oh, I don’t.” Rhaenyra shrugged as she began cutting up her venison. “My spectacles are
enchanted to prevent eyestrain.” She smiled wryly. “A gift from Aemma.” She stabbed a chunk of
venison. “You’ll find that the vast majority of spectacles have enchantments attached to them.
Translation spectacles and spectacles to prevent eyestrain are among the most common, but
physicians also make use of many different kinds of enchanted spectacles in their work.”

Before Alicent could inquire further, the sky outside caught fire.

Alicent gasped as tongues of red, orange, yellow mixed with thin streaks of magenta, indigo, and
rose engulfed the room. As the glass chamber was flooded with waning sunlight, the rich colors
swirled around them as if they were sitting in the very heart of a fire, as if they were a part of the
sky itself.

The faceted sections of the glass walls split and refracted the incoming light, making it flicker and
waver and dance almost hypnotically. The white marble of the floor was painted with the sunset,
creating a stunning mural of fiery stone. Tides of crimson lapped at wide expanses of orange cut
through by rivers of gold.

And as the sun sank lower, the fires of the sky were consumed by brilliant blues, vibrant purples,
and glowing pinks. Breathtaking shades of cobalt, azure, and sapphire danced together with violet,
lilac, and lavender, with rose, peach, and mauve.

The room was awash in the sky’s ethereal glow, and Alicent found herself desperately wishing that
her sisters could be here with her to witness the indescribable beauty. Mara would love this. The
pinks and blues and purples soon gave way to deep blue-black as the sun’s final rays disappeared
below the horizon.

All too soon, the final remnants of sunlight disappeared from the sky, and yet Alicent was left
speechless as her brain endeavored to process all that she had just seen and experienced. Words
could not begin to capture or convey the majesty and beauty of what she had just witnessed, and
any attempt to do so would be less than the palest of imitations.

It was truly indescribable.

She didn’t know how long she sat there in reverent silence, staring through the glass wall at the
horizon beneath which the sun had disappeared.

It could have been minutes.

It could have been hours.

And what finally broke her from her awe-induced haze was the sound of Rhaenyra’s voice.

“It’s promised to be a clear night tonight, so we ought to be able to see all of the stars once they
come out.” Rhaenyra sighed wistfully. “I’ve always enjoyed coming up here at night when the sky
is clear to look at the constellations, but I’ve been so busy of late . . .” She paused. “Did you have
constellations on Westeros? Certain named arrangements of stars that formed some sort of shape or
picture?”

Finally tearing her eyes away from the place where the sun had set, Alicent returned her attention
to Rhaenyra, whose own eyes were practically glowing with delight, and whose lips were curled
into an elated smile.
 Does it truly bring her such pleasure to see me so awestruck?

Swiftly dismissing the thought, Alicent nodded in response to Rhaenyra’s question. “We have
constellations, yes.” While she herself had never been particularly interested in astronomy, Elwyn
had adored stargazing and learning the legends and histories behind all of the different
constellations. And her little sister had always been ecstatic to share what she’d been studying with
the rest of them.

“The ones easiest to see from my childhood home were the Lord’s Crown, the Lady’s Lace, the
Elder Son and Younger Son, the Tutor’s Switch, and the Northern Spear.” After joining the House
of Cole, her view of the skies had shifted to the Lost Maid, the Little Brother, Sytarr’s Sword, the
Wandering Child, the Ark, and the Ravager.

“Would you care to learn more about my people’s constellations?” Rhaenyra wasn’t quite looking
at her, and she was twisting her black rose ring around her finger.

While Alicent had come across a few references and brief descriptions of the Celestial Animals
during her attempts to understand the peculiarly colored Relle Moons, she hadn’t delved much
further into Valyrian astronomy due to the myriad of other subjects that were of greater interest to
her.

But she certainly wasn’t going to decline the opportunity to learn about the constellations of her
new skies from Rhaenyra.

Leaning forward, Alicent reached across the table to brush her fingers over the back of Rhaenyra’s
hand, stilling it. “I would love to learn more about your constellations.”

Rhaenyra beamed.

Chapter End Notes

Do I know how many running betting pools there are among the courtiers, household, and
staff regarding Alicent and Rhaenyra? No. Is it a crap ton? Heck yeah!

Next Chapter: Some dragon lore and politics, and Rhaenicent continue to enjoy their winter
not-dates.
 Dragons and Darkness
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 23:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Syrax Sunwing, Archon of the Sunwing Parliament, resides in Kastrell
– Gilly Cassel, Chief Chef of Stone Garden, from Norden

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Just to give you an idea of how big dragons are in this world.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Snow Moon/1,000,123 Visenya VI

Rhaenyra adored flying.

Particularly, she adored flying in her dragon form.

While she knew that some believed she must favor her rather unique ability to fly entirely
unassisted—a rare gift even among her fellow Class VII master air elementals—over her familial
ability to take flight in dragon form, those women were mistaken.

Using her air elementalism to manipulate the gravitational field around her own body and propel
herself through the air could hardly be compared to the raw power and freedom that came with
soaring through the skies as a dragon. The strength of her great wings, the impossible speed at
which she could fly despite her enormous body, the aerial agility that few other creatures in all of
creation could match . . . it was utterly unparalleled.

And being in her dragon form always brought back sweet memories of the millennia that she’d
spent living with the Sapphireclaw Parliament during her Draconic Immersion.

She’d never felt such boundless freedom before then, or ever since. Even her wanderings could not
truly compare, for while her travels allowed her to live unburdened by her duties for a time, those
other lives were but masks and artifice.

But with the dragons . . .

Queen Sernara Sapphireclaw hadn’t cared that she was Princess of Dragon Wood, hadn’t cared that
she was Heir to the Dragon Throne, hadn’t cared that she was the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever
Draw Breath.

Not truly.

Not the way Valyrians did.

And since the purpose of the Immersion was to foster bonds with the dragons by fully engaging
with their culture and living as one of them, she’d been treated no differently than any other
member of the parliament. She’d hunted with them, she’d flown with them, she’d become heart
friends with them.

Those heart friends were now all dead and burned, but she still maintained correspondences with a
number of their descendants.

Hence why she wasn’t particularly concerned about her upcoming meeting with Archon Syrax
Sunwing. Not when the Sunwing was the direct descendant of Rhaenyra’s closest heart friend
during her Immersion. And while some nineteen draconic generations may have elapsed since then,
she’d taken care to remain as involved as she could in the lives of Vhagar’s daughters and
granddaughters.

Swooping higher into the sky, Rhaenyra allowed herself a moment of indulgence, soaking in the
faint rays of sunlight fighting their way through the clouds and enjoying how the winter winds
whispered over her silver scales. She might not be able to truly feel the cold, but she still somehow
enjoyed the feeling of what she knew to be frigid winds gusting around her.
Alicent would detest such cold.

A soft, amused huff escaped her great jaws, creating billowing clouds of steaming breath.

Alicent’s distaste for the winter weather had not lessened at all over the past two months, and yet
her love for the flowers continued to lure her out from the Queen’s Keep.

Rhaenyra prayed that that love would be enough for Alicent to enjoy what she had planned for
them this evening.

If she is displeased, we’ll not linger. If Alicent was displeased, Rhaenyra would teleport them
inside at once and offer the other woman tea and sweet cakes and anything else that she might
wish.

These past two months with Alicent had been a pleasure unlike any other, and she refused to
jeopardize the rapport that they were forming. Relle willing, Alicent would adore this newest
surprise. And if Relle was not willing, Rhaenyra would happily spend a quiet evening in the library
with Alicent simply enjoying the other woman’s company and proximity.

Since their first tea together, since Alicent had made the miraculous decision to forgive her
horrendous actions regarding the Treaty, Rhaenyra—or rather Aemma—had been setting aside a
few hours each day to spend with Alicent. While Rhaenyra usually encouraged Alicent to decide
how they would spend that time, there were a few exceptions, such as tonight and their first dinner
together in the Astral Tower.

Merciful Mother, the rapturous expression that had come over Alicent’s face during the sunset . . .

Were it possible, Rhaenyra would have happily gone to her grave then and there, content with the
knowledge that she had brought Alicent such unfettered joy.

And while she did not think her plans for tonight would garner the exact same reaction, she hoped
that it might be somewhat similar.

Since their reconciliation, she’d gladly lost count of the number of times that Alicent had smiled at
her—warm and bright and so very lovely—and while she still had a mental tally of every time that
Alicent had laughed at something she’d said, she hoped that she would soon be able to discard that
count as well.

Spending time with Alicent was achingly effortless—rather shockingly so. While she still oft
worried about saying something to upset or offend her, and while she always took care to mind
their physical proximity, aside from that, they could usually spend hours talking about nigh
anything.

Alicent’s boundless inquisitiveness meant that she found very few subjects dull, and she never
seemed to mind Rhaenyra’s occasional tangents. Listening to Alicent speak about her latest
research was enthralling, and Rhaenyra had to continually remind herself not to simply stare like a
moonstruck milkmaid.

Rhaenyra enjoyed their walks, she enjoyed their teas, she enjoyed their board and card games, she
enjoyed reading together, and she enjoyed simply being in Alicent’s presence.

Merciful Mother, how had she managed to deny herself this joy for so long?
Angling her wings to catch a new updraft, Rhaenyra banked sharply before flipping herself through
the air in a series of somersaults. Oh how she adored aerial acrobatics. There was nothing quite like
twirling and tumbling and spinning and wheeling across the sky with nothing but your own wings
and the wind itself to hold you aloft. The freedom of it all was utterly intoxicating.

Tucking her feet against her chest, she folded her wings against her back and dove.

Perhaps one day I’ll be able to convince Alicent to come flying with me.

A soft, pleased rumble vibrated in her chest at the thought of Alicent upon her back, at the thought
of her experiencing even a small taste of the freedom that came with flying, at the thought of her
joyful laughter as she felt the wind whipping through her hair and tugging at her clothes.

And Rhaenyra would take care with her, of course, be gentle with her during their first flight
together so that Alicent would desire to ride—

Rhaenyra’s wings snapped outwards, catching the wind as she soared out of her dive. Seven Hells,
that is quite enough woolgathering.

She was not flying for the pleasure of it.

Puffing out a breath, she leveled off and slightly increased her speed.

Descended from a heart friend or no, it would be bad form to keep Archon Syrax waiting.
Especially considering the lingering tensions between the Empire and the dragons.

Even now, a part of her was still stunned that Queen Velsinnia Azurewing had refused Visenya’s
request for aid. While she understood the dragon queen’s reasoning, to deny their kin at such a time
...

She’d read the transcripts from that meeting—both the one penned by Lady Tyrell and the one
carved by the Azurewing’s royal scribe—had memorized them, in fact. How could she not? When
one of her first questions upon returning home during the War was whether the other three sapient
species of Valyria stood with them?

Lucerya had answered at once. “The sea serpents have promised to sink any Westerosi marine
vessel foolish enough to enter their waters.”

Helaena’s response had come immediately after Lucerya finished. “Windlord Nix has promised to
shelter any Avenian soldiers who require it, and he has agreed that the ruks will generate sky-
quakes should any Westerosi airships cross our borders, but his people will remain on the Isles.”

When she’d asked after the dragons, Visenya had wordlessly handed her the transcript of her
meeting with the Azurewing.

“They have declared war on us, and our war is your war. The Westerosi proved at Porth that they
seek not conquest, but destruction. If we do not drive them back, they may well destroy Valyria.”

“You would have my people fight beside yours, Empress, but there is a great difference between us.
You are immortal. We dragons may be hard to kill, but we know well that it is not impossible. You
were defeated at Porth, and I too have received word of the weapons these Westerosi possess. My
people were driven to extinction once. I shall not involve them in a war that may well result in a
repetition of our history.”

“If you do nothing, and my people are defeated, this world will be destroyed. You think you’re
protecting them by remaining uninvolved, but your inaction may well seal their fate. My ancestors
revived yours—”

“Only after they slaughtered them. My people will always honor and revere the Silver Empress for
providing the fire and blood that hatched the Moonwing, but we will never forget who it was that
slaughtered the Silverhorn in her own home. I am sorry, Cousin, truly, but my people are few, and I
dare not join your war.”

The murders of nearly a dozen dragons during the second year of the War had resulted in several
archons—Syrax Sunwing among them—pledging their parliaments to the Valyrian war effort, and
their aid had been invaluable.

A thunderous roar shook Rhaenyra from her thoughts, and a wry smile—or the closest
approximation as dragon’s mouth could form—curled her lips.

An older dragon—a more seasoned archon—would not have felt the need to roar so loudly or with
such ferocity.

But the Sunwing was still young yet, and having only inherited her mother’s position some two
centuries ago, she still felt the need to prove herself as an archon.

Rhaenyra watched as Archon Syrax rose to meet her, golden scales flashing brilliantly in the winter
sun and emerald eyes burning bright as they met Rhaenyra’s own. Wordlessly, they began to fly in
wide circles around each other, for dragons were not hovering creatures.

Archon Syrax spoke first, her words deep and guttural—coming directly from her inner core of fire.
“May the Silverscale light your days, Flame Sister.”

“May the Moonwing illuminate your nights, Sky Sister.”

Their voices filled the air, booming and thunderous as only a dragon’s voice could be. Yet it hardly
mattered that anyone within two leagues could undoubtedly hear their words, since, to the
untrained ear, the language of dragons resembled little more than animalistic snarls, roars, and
hisses.

And only a small handful of women outside of House Targaryen were fluent in the dragons’
tongue.

Flying closer, Rhaenyra stretched out her neck to touch noses with the Sunwing, who responded by
swooping above her and running the tip of her tail along the length of Rhaenyra’s spine.

Rhaenyra briefly locked eyes with the archon before they both closed their wings and dove. The
wind screamed in her ears as she and the Sunwing plummeted towards the ground. She resisted the
urge to spiral as she normally would, for that wasn’t part of the ceremonial greeting.

Their wings snapped open at the last possible moment, catching the air as they glided to the ground
and landed with twin thuds that shook the nearby trees. Archon Syrax had chosen a wide open
meadow for their meeting, and waiting for them was a pair of dragons. The larger of the two was
sapphire-blue with wings of dark cobalt and a crest the color of beaten copper. The other dragon—
red as blood and with a crimson crest—was so long and serpentine that he could almost be
mistaken for an amphiptere, save that he had the four legs of a true dragon and lacked any feathers
on his wings.

Archon Syrax’s eyes swept over the field. “You did not bring your archmagister?”

“She will arrive momentarily. Archmagister Elysara has no taste for flying on dragonback.” And,
in truth, Rhaenyra preferred not to fly with Elysara either. While she valued her loyal archmagister,
the woman was a wretched passenger, and it was far easier for both of them if Elysara simply
teleported.

The Sunwing snorted. “I would have no taste for being ridden like a horse.”

Rhaenyra chuckled, remembering that Vhagar had said much the same thing to her once. “Dragons
are not beasts to be tamed.”

“No more than Valyrians or sea serpents or ruks,” Archon Syrax agreed. She swiped her tail across
the ground, and the two dragons behind her approached. “May I introduce Kyron Tessarion
Bluewing,” her head tilted slightly towards the blue dragon, “and my mate, Caraxes the Blood
Wyrm.”

Rhaenyra rumbled a polite greeting, which Caraxes and Tessarion returned. “Archon—”

Elysara chose that moment to appear about a meter away from where Rhaenyra and the other
dragons stood. She bowed low to both her and the Sunwing. “Your Majesty, Archon.”

Archon Syrax inclined her head before effortlessly switching to Kastrellan. “Archmagister.”

As ever, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of jealousy. While the women of her family
were blessed with the ability to shapeshift into dragons, the shift did not bring with it all of the
different ways in which dragons’ ordered magic manifested. Alas, even in dragon form, they still
lacked a true dragon’s gift of tongues.

With Elysara’s arrival, their official meeting could soon begin.

Rhaenyra and Archon Syrax remained standing as their respective transcribers readied themselves.
Elysara summoned her writing desk, a blank scroll, an inkpot, and her enchanted quill, while
Caraxes settled himself into a comfortable position on the ground and used his front foot to spread
out several dozen stone sheets as thin as paper but stronger than diamond.

While not dragon-stone in the traditional sense, dragon writing sheets were crafted in much the
same way. Using their own fire, dragons liquified stone and then stretched and shaped it into thin
sheets that could be easily stacked and stored and carried elsewhere.

Caraxes flexed his claws a few times before placing the tip of one at the top of the stone sheet
closest to him.

Elysara picked up her quill and whispered softly to awaken it. The white feather flew from her
hand and dipped its sharpened tip into the inkpot before moving to hover over the fresh scroll.
Rhaenyra spoke first, swiftly shifting her vocal cords in order to speak Kastrellan while
maintaining her dragon form. “On this, the Fifteenth Day of the Moon of Hard Snow in the
1,000,123rd Year of the Reign of Empress Visenya the Sixth, called One-Eye, I, Rhaenyra
Targaryen, Two Hundred and Fiftieth Queen of Kastrell, do come to this place and meet with
Archon Syrax Sunwing of the Sunwing Parliament.”

Archon Syrax waited a moment for the sound of her mate’s claw carving into the stone sheet to
pause. “On this, the Fifteenth Day of the Blue-Fire Moon in the 534,609th Year of the Reign of
Queen Velsinnia Azurewing, the One Thousand and Thirteenth Queen of the Dragons, I, Syrax
Sunwing, Fourteenth Archon of the Sunwing Parliament, recently called the Silverwing Parliament
and originally called the Bronzeclaw Parliament, do come to this place and meet with Queen
Rhaenyra Flameborn of Kastrell.”

Lowering herself to the ground, Rhaenyra neatly crossed her front legs. “Archon, it recently came
to my attention that members of your parliament have been encroaching on the fields and hunting
grounds of the Town of Gelmoren. Can you explain this?”

The Sunwing snorted, causing thick clouds of steam to billow from her nostrils. “The explanation is
that the women of Gelmoren have apparently not seen a dragon in so long that they can no longer
distinguish between us and wyverns. One would think that the differing number of legs would be a
rather obvious indicator.”

Rhaenyra sighed inwardly. Relle willing, her flimsy initial lie means that she will not maintain this
mummer’s farce for long. “A scorch of wyverns has not been seen this far east in over a Valyrian
reign, Archon. And the reports that I’ve received have all testified to four legs.”

“Are you accusing me of falsehood, Queen Rhaenyra?”

The silence that followed was answer enough.

She waited, holding the Sunwing’s gaze.

After nearly ten minutes of uncomfortable silence, Archon Syrax blinked first, though her head
remained high. “The Sunwing Parliament supported you during the war, when few others would.”

Rhaenyra rumbled her acknowledgement.

“And for that, the Westerosi destroyed extensive swaths of our lands. Forests were razed, rivers
polluted, and the very soils poisoned, which has in turn poisoned many of the animals that we
hunt.” The Sunwing’s voice was tight with both displeasure and embarrassment.

Ah. That certainly explained both the encroachment and Archon Syrax’s initial and rather poor lie.
Dragons were proud—rightfully so, in truth—and seeking help from non-dragons was not
something they did lightly. Of course, she hasn’t actually sought our help yet.

“Our lands were devastated by the War as well, Archon, and we are still in the process of reversing
the damage that the Westerosi inflicted.” Rhaenyra paused. Had this been Vhagar or even the
Sunwing’s mother, she would have offered aid at once, but considering Archon Syrax’s youth both
as a dragon and an archon, she might not take kindly to seemingly being perceived as weak. But it
would not do to make her beg.
“Encroachments benefit neither my people nor yours, Archon, so it would seem that the wisest
course of action would be for us to work in concert to ensure that your lands are restored.” Slowly,
she extended her neck, a soft crooning sound vibrating in her chest.

After a moment’s hesitation, the Sunwing responded in kind, stretching out her own neck to touch
noses with her. “You have my thanks, Queen Rhaenyra.”

“And you have my word.” She would need to speak with Aemma about rearranging her schedule
for the next few months. And she would need to speak with Elysara about gathering a new coalition
of magisters to aid them in identifying the various pollutants and chemicals that the Westerosi
employed during their attacks.

And she would need to speak with Alicent and explain to her that they would likely be unable to
spend as much time together in the coming weeks—if not months—depending on the extent of the
damage.

Archon Syrax rose to her feet, her tone brisk now that the matter of aid had been settled.
“Tomorrow, we shall fly together to some of the locations with the worst pollution. Will you require
your magisters?”

“At least a few.” Rhaenyra stood as well so that they were eyelevel once more. “If you provide me
with the coordinates, I can have them teleport there ahead of us. They can perform their evaluation
and offer a tentative plan by the time we arrive.”

The Sunwing nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t recall the exact coordinates at the moment, but I will
send Tessarion to Gelmoren with them once I’ve consulted our records. One of the elders can
contact you by mirror, yes?”

“Yes.” Rhaenyra waited a moment to see if Archon Syrax would say more, but it seemed that their
meeting had come to an end. “I shall see you on the morrow, Archon.” She dipped her head. “May
the Silverscale light your days, Flame Sister.”

Archon Syrax bowed her own head in return. “May the Moonwing illuminate your nights, Sky
Sister.”

Alicent frowned as she tasted the sauce for her chicken. Something wasn’t quite right about the
flavor, but she couldn’t begin to fathom what. She glanced over at Gilly, who was bustling about
the kitchen as she and her fellow chefs prepared luncheon for the Keep’s residents. I shouldn’t
trouble her over this.

While she knew that Gilly wouldn’t mind being interrupted, Alicent would mind interrupting her. It
had been her decision to invade the kitchens and seek cooking lessons—she was growing rather
desperate in her need to feel useful—and she ought to be able to muddle through by now. Gilly was
an excellent teacher after all, and she’d taught her so much over the past six weeks. The other
woman was always patient and encouraging—similar to Rhaenyra, actually—and often made jokes
any time that something went wrong so as to prevent Alicent from spiraling.

Besides, even if Alicent were to ask for Gilly’s help, she wasn’t certain that Gilly would even be
able to provide it.
This is what happens when you attempt to recreate a Westerosi recipe on Valyria.

A foolish endeavor, she now realized. Especially since so many of the ingredients that would have
been used back home—though she couldn’t say for certain, since she’d never been allowed into the
kitchens of either Tamworth Palace or Wasran Palace—didn’t even exist on Valyria.

Valyrians didn’t have roforns, so she’d made do with a chicken, but the flavors and textures of the
two winged beasts were slightly different, so perhaps that was part of the reason nothing seemed
quite right. And so many of the spices that she’d grown up with didn’t even have partial Valyrian
analogues. Nothing Gilly had shown her truly replicated to the bitter, salty, sour flavor of giskor
leaves, so she’d attempted to substitute three different Valyrian herbs, which was probably why her
sauce tasted so horrid.

Or perhaps she simply wasn’t meant to cook.

Her mother would have sneered at the mere suggestion of her going into the kitchens. And for all
that her former sister-wives had despised her, they would never have contemplated her working in
the kitchens either. They may have considered her lower than the most filthy of beasts, but she was
somehow also still a highborn in their eyes, and the highborn did not cook for themselves.

“Alicent?”

Alicent turned to see Gilly standing a few feet away, watching her curiously. Sighing inwardly, she
pointed to her sauce. “Something is wrong with it, but I can’t determine what.”

“May I?” Gilly waited to receive a nod before waving her hand in the direction of the sauce. A
small sphere of the liquid rose up from the bowl and floated into her waiting mouth. She hummed
thoughtfully, her eyes closing for a moment before she returned her attention to Alicent. “Why are
you displeased with it, Alicent?”

“I’m trying to recreate a recipe from ho—Westeros, but the flavors are wrong.” Alicent rubbed her
forehead, then huffed in annoyance because it meant that she would need to wash her hands again.
“This sauce should be more bitter, but in a subtle way, with maybe some sweetness underlying it?
But none of the spice combinations that I’ve tried have worked so far, and I think I’ve completely
muddled the flavors now.”

Gilly cocked her head slightly. “Well, firstly, you should know that I think the sauce is delicious.
It’s not quite like anything I’ve tasted before, which is no small feat,” she chuckled. “That said, if
you’re attempting to add in some bitterness with underlying sweetness, I recommend a dash of
saffron.”

Saffron? “I don’t think you showed me that spice,” she said slowly, sifting through her memories of
the hundreds of herbs Gilly had been introducing to her these past weeks.

“Haven’t I?” Gilly’s cheeks flushed slightly. “My apologies.” She snapped her fingers, and a small
jar filled with little red tendrils appeared on the table beside Alicent’s right hand. “I would
recommend only grinding two threads into powder to begin with, and then sprinkle it in until the
flavor is to your liking. If needed, you can of course make more powder, but you’ll find that a small
amount of saffron is usually all you need.”

Alicent picked up the jar to better inspect its contents, grinning when she realized that this saffron
bore a striking resemblance to telkin roots. Perhaps my recipe won’t be a complete disaster. “Thank
you, Gilly.”

“Of course.” Gilly reached out, paused a moment to catch Alicent’s eyes, then patted her arm after
Alicent gave her a small nod. “And if your dish pleases you when all is said and done, I do hope
that you’ll be willing to share the recipe. If the sauce is any indication, your chicken is certain to be
delicious.”

“You want—?” Alicent’s grip on the glass jar tightened slightly. “But it’s a Westerosi recipe.” Truth
be told, she was rather surprised at Gilly’s willingness to even allow her to experiment with
Westerosi food in her kitchens.

Gilly shrugged. “Food is food, Alicent, and I’m not going to turn up my nose at a dish that tastes
good simply because the culture that it comes from is barb—” She broke off, clearing her throat a
little and flashing Alicent an apologetic look.

“Anyhow, the men of your world may be monsters, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy their food.”
Gilly smiled wryly. “The First Generation would have starved during the Long Travels with that
mentality. And besides, as you said, Valyria and Westeros have relatively few ingredients in
common. So this seems more like an Alicent recipe to me.” She gave Alicent’s arm a gentle
squeeze, eyes bright and twinkling. “And I would be happy to eat anything prepared by my friend.”

Alicent’s cheeks were warm, and she knew that her face must be bright red, but she couldn’t bring
herself to care, not when Gilly’s kind words had filled her with a different sort of warmth. “Thank
you, Gilly. That—thank you.”

She hoped that Rhaenyra would share Gilly’s opinions on Westerosi food.

True dragons are proud beings—proud and wise and fierce and given to all of the passions of
their Valyrian cousins. Their sapience also matches that of Valyrians, which is perhaps part of
the reason why they were eventually so mercilessly hunted by Old World men.

While unable to wield raw magic the way those of the Eldrus genus can, the magic of true
dragons is powerful and ancient, and they were once revered and respected across the Old
World. Emperors and kings alike would seek out dragons for their wise counsel, and all knew
that it was always better to strike bargains with local dragon parliaments rather than attempt to
do battle with them.

For millions of years, there existed a deep and mutual respect between the two populations,
perhaps somewhat helped by the fact that dragons were—at the time—far stronger than their
Old Worlder cousins. However, even after Sorceress Marilla discovered raw magic and the
subsequent Magical Revolution, the amity between Old Worlders and dragons remained
unaffected for quite some time.

All of that changed, however, during Wyrd Fall.

It is said that the dragons of old disliked the male practice of using wyrd marks to augment
and pollute their raw magic, and they may have even spoken publicly against the practice. For
this alone, Old World men had reason for wishing to silence their ancient cousins. But even
more than that, the dragons represented a significant threat to the new patriarchal order that
the men of the Old World sought to establish and impose.
For the dragons bowed to a dragon queen, the direct descendant of Selonara Silverscale—the
First Dragon to emerge from the First Fires. Having such a prominent and well-known
example of female sovereignty and absolute enatic succession would have severely hampered
male efforts to subjugate the women of the Old World, and so the Old World men sought to
remove this “problem.”

While the ruling men were initially content with simply forcing the dragons from their
ancestral lands, it soon became apparent that this alone would not satisfy them. The dragons
were unwilling to be banished from territories that they’d held since before the first Old
Worlders had even evolved merely at the whim and wish of a king or emperor, and they made
their displeasure at the men’s audacity known.

Some parliaments attempted to treat with the sovereigns seeking to banish them, believing that
reason might be enough to sway the foolish monarchs. Other—more belligerent—parliaments
chose to take more aggressive actions, setting fields and forests aflame and ensuring that all
knew the exact reason for why fire was suddenly raining down from the skies.

Many women attempted to intercede during this time and restore the old amity that had for so
long existed between Old Worlders and dragons. However, their efforts were for naught.

The name of the first king or emperor to declare that the hunting and killing of a dragon would
be the greatest showing of strength and prowess any man could perform has been lost to
history. However, the effects of that vile declaration were swiftly felt all across the globe.

Using their wyrd marks and raw magic, the men of the Old World began hunting the dragons
and murdering them. Swords, arrows, spears, fire, and even lightning cannot pierce or even
damage a dragon’s scales, but a spell to freeze a dragon’s inner fire, another to cause their
brains to be crushed within their skulls, another to steal the very breath from their lungs? Such
vile spells could kill a dragon as easily as they could kill any other living creature.

Before long, dragon hides, horns, claws, and skulls began appearing in the great halls of men
all across the Old World, taken from fallen dragons as grisly trophies to be proudly displayed
for all to see.

These monstrous hunts have since become known as the Dragon Purges, or, more bluntly, as
the dragon slaughter.

The dragons fought back, and many Kingdoms burned as a result of their wroth. Parliaments
began joining together to create armies in order to stand against the threat posed to them by
the men, but not even dragons could long withstand the corrupted magic that the Old World
men brought to bear.

Many great battles were fought between armies of men and dragons, and while countless men
perished, far more dragons were left to rot on those cursed killing fields.

Queen Felsara Silverhorn, the Twenty-Sixth Queen of the Dragons and the last dragon queen
of the Old World, died not on the field of battle, but in her own home, guarding her clutch. Her
unhatched eggs were then stolen by her murderers and kept as trophies.

Eventually, the dragons were hunted into extinction, and all that remained of the once mighty
species were unhatched eggs that later petrified and turned to stone.
 Soon after the extinction of the true dragons, the men turned upon the other dragon species
and slaughtered them as well. This was despite the fact that wyverns, leviathans, lungs, ryus,
lindwyrms, and amphipteres in no way posed the same perceived threat to men that the true
dragons had. But by that time, men had developed a taste for dragon’s blood, and it could not
and would not be quenched.

Women the world over protested these massacres from the very beginning, but already, their
rights and privileges were being eroded by new laws and edicts. It is quite likely, in fact, that
women’s opposition to the Dragon Purges gave men some of the excuses that they needed to
begin silencing them. For in less than four generations, the complete and utter destruction of
the Old Worlders’ closest cousins was concluded, and not long after, the Laws of Women and
the Female Code of Behavior were officially instituted.

Alicent slammed her book closed with a harsh thud, only to regret it a moment later. Anger over the
contents was no excuse to mistreat the book itself. She gently brushed her fingers over the
illuminated cover in apology, then felt an additional twinge of guilt as she was reminded that this
book was one from Rhaenyra’s personal collection.

When Rhaenyra had told her the day before that she would be departing Stone Garden to meet with
a local dragon archon, Alicent’s curiosity had been piqued. She’d read a few things about the
dragons of Valyria—enough to know that they were highly intelligent, more ancient than even the
Valyrians, and that their mere existence was somehow connected to the health and well-being of
other creatures of magic—but nothing particularly detailed.

Seeing her interest, Rhaenyra had offered her a thick tome detailing the history of the seven dragon
species of the Old World, which Alicent had begun reading almost immediately and resumed
reading after leaving the kitchens earlier that afternoon.

The first few chapters had been fascinating, as expected. Reading about the dragons’ own legends
regarding the origins of their species, about the anatomy and magical abilities unique to each of the
seven species, about how the early Old Worlders had actually learned to wield their elementalism
by studying the dragons, had all been delightfully engrossing.

The information about Old Worlders learning to wield their elementalism from dragons had been of
particular interest to her, since it wasn’t something that she’d spent much time considering.
Rhaenyra had always equated her people’s “ordered magic” abilities to any other learned skill such
as writing or walking or even mathematics.

Although, Alicent supposed that it made sense that someone must have been the first person to
develop writing, as it were.

Apparently, ancient Old Worlders had learned fire elementalism from “true dragons,” water
elementalism from lungs, earth elementalism form lindwyrms, and air elementalism from
amphipteres.

She still wasn’t entirely certain why amphipteres were considered especially skilled air elementals,
since all of the dragon species save for the aquatic leviathans and subterranean lindwyrms could fly.

When she’d reached the chapter on the Dragon Purges, she’d expected to feel horrified and
sorrowful, of course, but she hadn’t been expecting to feel so . . . incensed.
Sytarr above, the men of the Old World had slaughtered not one, but seven species—one of which
was sapient—simply because the dragons bowed to a queen instead of a king.

What sort of madness was that?

A quiet knock on her door drew Alicent from her thoughts, and when she glanced over at her clock,
her eyes widened when she saw the time. “Come in,” she called.

Rhaenyra entered a moment later, dressed in a gown of rich red brocade trimmed with black lace
along the neckline. The sleeves were slashed to reveal her bare arms beneath, and Alicent
wondered how the other woman wasn’t cold. “Are we still dining together tonight, Alicent?”

Alicent nodded, quickly rising from her chair and crossing her study to join Rhaenyra by the door.
“Yes. My apologies. I completely forgot the time.” Thank Sytarr dinner is already prepared.

Peering over her shoulder, Rhaenyra’s eyes fell upon the book that Alicent had been reading.
“Quite understandable. The histories of the dragons are as fascinating as they are tragic.” She
offered her arm. “Perhaps we can discuss what you’ve been reading over supper?”

Pleased at the prospect of being able to share what she’d been reading with Rhaenyra, Alicent
easily accepted her arm. “I would like that, yes.” She paused, her nerves suddenly surging forward
as she remembered the dinner that she’d prepared. “I hope . . . I hope that you’ll enjoy our meal.
It’s, well, it’s a Westerosi recipe. Somewhat. I had to make a number of adjustments, but . . .”

Rhaenyra smiled at her, her hand coming up as if to pat Alicent’s, but then she seemed to think
better of it. “Considering you were the one to prepare it, Alicent, I’m certain that I will love it.”

A warm flush spread across Alicent’s cheeks, and she prayed that that would be true.

Some two hours later, once they’d finished their meal—which Rhaenyra had praised for a good ten
minutes—Alicent was nervously worrying her lower lip as Rhaenyra guided her along the
shadowed pathways of the rainbow garden. The sun had set a little over half an hour ago, and
darkness was swiftly settling over the palace grounds.

Overhead, the stars that twinkled faintly in a sea of midnight blue provided precious little light, and
the moon’s crescent had disappeared the night before. Rhaenyra had conjured a light-orb as soon as
they’d stepped outside of the Queen’s Keep, but the orb only offered enough light to illuminate the
path directly in front of them, and it did little to combat the suffocating darkness.

“We’re almost there,” Rhaenyra assured her. Even in the meager light, Alicent could see the
concern in her eyes, which were practically glowing with soft, purple fire. “My apologies for the
cold and any distress, but I think—I hope—that you will find our destination worth the
discomfort.”

“I’m sure I will.” Her tone managed to convey far more confidence than she actually felt, and for
that she was glad. Rhaenyra certainly didn’t need to know how anxious she actually was. Despite
having strolled through the rainbow garden dozens of times, she couldn’t think of anything that
would warrant this nighttime excursion, and Rhaenyra had requested that their destination be
allowed to remain a surprise.
Considering Rhaenyra’s previous surprise, Alicent had acquiesced with little fuss or even much
worry. She trusted the other woman to only offer her pleasant surprises.

Shivering a little, Alicent pulled her cloak tighter around herself, hating the way that the inky
blackness seemed to reach forward and paw at her, as if wishing to snatch her up and drag her away
from the meager light, as if wishing to smother her, as if wishing to sink its claws into her and
return her to—

Another shiver rippled down her spine, and this time, it wasn’t from the cold.

Sytarr above.

She released a trembling breath, fingers curling tightly around her scarred wrist. All is well.
Rhaenyra knows that I’m afraid of the dark. She wouldn’t bring me out here without good reason.

Rhaenyra suddenly came to a halt, causing Alicent to nearly walk into her. “We’re here.”

Despite knowing that it wouldn’t do her any good, Alicent found herself instinctively turning her
head to examine her shadowy surroundings. Had there been more light, she might have been able to
determine where exactly in the rainbow garden they were. As it was, in the dim light of the orb
hovering just above Rhaenyra’s shoulder, all that she could make out were the smooth flagstones
beneath their feet and the faint silhouettes of the flowers and bushes that lined the path. “Where is
here?”

“You’ll see in a moment.” Rhaenyra’s voice was soft, but filled with anticipation. “I’m going to
extinguish the light-orb now, but don’t worry, the darkness won’t last long.”

Alicent gulped, her heart beginning to beat faster in her chest as her grip on her wrist tightened
even further. Instinctively, she shuffled closer to Rhaenyra, seeking the comfort that she knew the
other woman would always provide. All is well. Rhaenyra does not wish me harm. I’m safe with
her. “All right.”

Rhaenyra slowly, deliberately raised her hand so that it was hovering beside the orb. “Are you
ready?”

No. “Yes.”

Darkness engulfed them a split second later, and Alicent couldn’t contain her alarmed squeak as
she clung to Rhaenyra’s arm.

Strong Sytarr, it was so dark.

Too dark.

All is well.

I’m safe here.

Rhaenyra does not wish me harm.

I’m safe with her.

I’m safe with her.

I’m safe with her.

But the darkness was so suffocating, and even as her eyes began to slowly adjust, there were still
too many shadows, too much inky blackness.

Hands pounding against unforgiving metal—

I’m safe here.

Broken nails clawing desperately at the door—

Rhaenyra does not wish me harm.

Her own pathetic sobs echoing in her ears as her mother castigated her—

I’m safe with her.

The warm, sweet scent of roses suddenly flooded her senses.

Blessedly, Alicent felt her heart begin to slow.

Rhaenyra’s hand found hers, fingers gently brushing over the back. “Any moment now.”

As if prompted by her words, a bright streak of light suddenly sliced through the darkness.

Alicent pressed even closer to Rhaenyra, but then her eyes stretched wide when she saw what was
happening.

“But don’t worry, the darkness won’t last long,” Rhaenyra had assured her.

Sytarr above, if she hadn’t spoken true.

All around them, the plants were beginning to glow.

The bright streak that she’d seen was a serpentine vine that wound its way up a silver trellis. The
berries dotting the vine glowed pale pink and lavender-purple, and its leaves emitted a soft green
light. Beside the trellis was a small pond whose lily pads glowed bright gold, and the water itself—
illuminated by whatever plants dwelled beneath its surface—was varying shades of aquamarine and
emerald-green.

The trunks and branches of the trees closest to them were illuminated by uneven, green stripes.
Some of the small flowers lining the walkway had opened up to reveal glowing white and purple
petals, and the bushes were now speckled with blue and silver lights. The outline of a stone bench
suddenly became visible as the moss covering its legs and sides began to emit forest-green light.

In perhaps less than a minute, the suffocating darkness had been banished to reveal a mesmerizing
landscape of glowing rainbow flora that made Alicent feel as if she’d stepped into the mystical
world of a children’s tale.

“Bioluminescence,” she breathed, awed by her newly revealed surroundings. Even though she
knew that what she was seeing at this moment was merely a chemical and biological reaction, that
certainly didn’t make the effect feel any less magical.
“Worth braving the darkness and the cold?” Rhaenyra asked quietly—hopefully.

Alicent turned to look at her, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of Rhaenyra bathed in the
soft glow of the surrounding plants. Her eyes seemed even brighter now than they had before, as if
they were bioluminescent as well. “Yes,” she whispered, half-afraid to break the spell that seemed
to have settled over them. “Everything is so beautiful.”

Rhaenyra beamed, pleasure shining in her amethyst eyes. “We call this the glowing grove.” She
swept her free arm out to indicate their surroundings. “On the nose, to be sure, but hardly
inaccurate.”

Alicent nodded in agreement as she released Rhaenyra’s arm and slowly turned in place to properly
take in her surroundings.

Now that she could see, she realized that she actually did know where they were. The trellis, the
pond, the trees, the bench, she recognized them all from previous outings with her friends. She
remembered thinking that the little courtyard’s flora was pretty enough, but it had somehow felt out
of place among all of the brightly colored flowers, bushes, and trees that gave the rainbow garden
its name. This certainly explains why all of these plants were placed here.

The glowing grove was breathtaking.

Suddenly, a faint buzzing sound erupted from one of the shining green trees, and a swarm of insects
descended from its illuminated branches. They shone cobalt-blue as they flew through the air,
dancing around each other as they glided from plant to plant on sapphire wings. One of the insects
darted over to them and circled a few times before landing on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. It resembled
some sort of strange cross between a dragonfly and a firefly, with the wings and head of the former
and the body and antennae of the latter.

“They’re harmless unless you attack their hive,” Rhaenyra assured her, reaching up to stroke the
insect’s thorax, which, Alicent realized, was covered in fine, violet hairs. “They’re the best
pollinators for bioluminescent plants in this climate, and the pollen they carry back to their home
trees makes the sap sweeter when we harvest it.”

“What do you use the sap for?” Alicent watched the insect flutter its wings one last time before
launching itself into the air and flying towards the glowing plants.

Rhaenyra flashed her a playful smile. “It’s one of the main ingredients for traditional sweet cakes,
actually.” With that, she ushered Alicent over to the bench so they could sit down, though she made
sure to leave plenty of space between them.

Despite the half a dozen layers of thick fabric separating her from the stone bench, the cold still
managed to seep into Alicent’s legs and make her shiver. A pity we didn’t become closer during the
spring. She wondered suddenly how the bioluminescent plants managed to survive the occasional
freezing temperatures and snows that plagued the region. But before she could voice her question,
Rhaenyra spoke.

“You’re cold.” It was a statement rather than a question. A small frown was playing around the
corners of Rhaenyra’s mouth, and she tentatively moved a little closer.

“It’s not an uncommon occurrence during the winter,” Alicent attempted to jest even as her teeth
began to chatter.
“I should have warmed the bench before having you sit,” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath,
more to herself than Alicent.

Fairly certain that Rhaenyra wasn’t expecting her to respond, Alicent returned her attention to the
glowing plants and insects that surrounded them. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and
rubbed her gloved hands together. Admittedly, she probably shouldn’t be as cold as she was.
Perhaps I’ll acclimate in a few more years.

“Would you care for me to sit closer to you?”

Alicent’s head snapped around to look at Rhaenyra. “I beg your pardon?”

“Valyrians are naturally warmer than Westerosi,” Rhaenyra explained with a small shrug. “My
body heat . . .” She trailed off with a sigh, shaking her head. “Never mind. It was a foolish notion.”
Reaching up, she unfastened the clasp of her own cloak and pulled the heavy fabric from her
shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Alicent cried. She’s going to catch her death . . . Or whatever the Valyrian
equivalent is.

“You need this more than I do.” Rhaenyra rose to her feet and walked behind the bench so that she
could gently drape her cloak over Alicent’s shoulders.

Alicent immediately noticed the increased warmth that enveloped her, and she couldn’t prevent a
contented sigh from escaping her lips. Rhaenyra’s cloak smelled of roses, and it was lined with
thick, white fur.

But her contentment only lasted a moment before she remembered that Rhaenyra was now standing
outside in the middle of winter wearing only her woolen dress, a pair of gloves, her undergarments,
and her smallclothes. “Rhaenyra, you’re going to freeze.” Alicent began to remove the second
cloak, but a hand over top of hers stopped her movements. Her eyes widened slightly, both at the
contact and at just how warm Rhaenyra’s hand was. Even through their fur-lined, leather gloves,
she could feel the heat radiating from Rhaenyra’s skin.

Rhaenyra’s hand quickly retreated once Alicent’s had stilled. “I’ll be fine, Alicent. My cloaks are
more for show than anything else.”

Alicent couldn’t help but look at her skeptically. “You’re not cold?”

“Not particularly.” Rhaenyra came back around the bench and retook her seat, smoothing out her
skirts. “As I said, my people are naturally warmer than yours, and we’re able to withstand more
extreme temperatures. My being a fire elemental further increases my homeostatic body
temperature, and I’m the Blood of the Dragon.”

So Rhaenyra is immune to both heat and cold. Alicent would be lying if she claimed not to be
rather jealous. She thought back to all of the times that Rhaenyra had held her after a night terror,
remembered how warm she’d always felt in Rhaenyra’s embrace. She hadn’t actually considered
why she’d felt so warm until now. “So you don’t ever feel cold?”

Rhaenyra was silent for a moment as she considered. “I feel the cold. That is, I know that it’s cold
at the moment, but it doesn’t affect me the same way that it does others.”
“So when you told me that it’s hard for you to judge temperatures, you meant on both ends of the
spectrum.” Alicent wondered if all Valyrians had some form of partial immunity to certain
temperatures depending on their elemental affinity. She knew that Rhaenyra’s complete immunity
to fire was unique to her, but surely other fire elementals were able to tolerate higher temperatures
than most. And surely it would be foolish for water elementals with an affinity for ice to be as
susceptible to frostbite as earth elementals.

“I’m better at judging cold compared to heat, since I’m not actually immune to it.”

Alicent hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at the expanse of cold stone that separated them.

“Would you care for me to sit closer to you?”

She’d always appreciated how Rhaenyra took care not to sit too near or loom over her or ever make
her feel trapped. But she suddenly found herself disliking the space between them.

What she said about sharing body heat makes sense, she reasoned. Even with Rhaenyra’s cloak
overtop her own, she still felt rather chilled. And didn’t Margaery once say that winter is the best
time of year to sit close to a heart friend? She and Rhaenyra weren’t heart friends, of course, but
they were friends, were they not?

“Rhaenyra?”

“Yes?” Rhaenyra’s eyes found her at once, expression expectant.

“Would you care to sit closer?” Alicent patted the space beside her on the bench.

Considering Rhaenyra’s earlier offer, Alicent had expected immediate acquiescence, but the other
woman stiffened, and her eyes went slightly wide.

“You wish for me to sit closer?” Rhaenyra’s words were slow, almost cautious.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious and wondering if she’d made a mistake, Alicent gave a small
shrug. “Only if you want to.”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “My desires are unimportant. What do you want, Alicent?”

Alicent stared at her for a long moment, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“My desires are unimportant.”

But that wasn’t true. Of course what Rhaenyra wanted mattered. Surely she knew—

“My people need me, and my duty is to them above all else. My own trivial wants and whims don’t
matter.”

“My people’s needs are what matter. Not mine.”

Sytarr above, she’d thought that Rhaenyra had been speaking only with respect to her duties as
queen. She hadn’t realized that Rhaenyra had meant for those words to apply to every part of her
life.

But perhaps she should have.

Even though a number of her actions had been presumptuous, hadn’t Rhaenyra always tried to put
Alicent’s wants above all else, including her own? Save for those two months following their
quarrel? And since their reconciliation . . .

“If you’ll allow me the privilege.”

“If you so desire.”

“Anything you wish, Alicent.”

“Of course, Alicent, anything you want.”

“What do you want, Alicent?”

Strong Sytarr.

Alicent had thought that Rhaenyra constantly deferring to her wishes was simply overcompensation
for her earlier behavior—and perhaps to some extent that was the case—but it was swiftly
becoming clear that the other women’s current actions were driven by far more than polite or even
apologetic consideration.

“My desires are unimportant.”

This would not do.

She hadn’t been happy when Rhaenyra was dictating all their interactions, and she certainly had no
desire to do the same. That wasn’t friendship. Not from what she’d seen, at least.

Her lips pursed slightly as she considered how best to approach this matter. From everything that
Aemma had told her about Rhaenyra, which she now realized painted a rather alarming portrait of
excessive self-sacrifice, it seemed that various people throughout Rhaenyra’s life had attempted to
convince her to have more care for herself. If none of them had succeeded, what hope did Alicent
have?

But perhaps I don’t have to succeed entirely. At least not at this specific moment.

Dr. Arwen had often told her that patience was paramount to healing.

Alicent wouldn’t have thought Rhaenyra Targaryen was someone in need of healing, and perhaps
that had been foolish of her.

A small step for now then, like that day in the rose garden when I coaxed her to sit with me to rest
her feet.

“What do you want, Alicent?”

Rhaenyra was still watching her, a furrow forming on her brow the longer the silence stretched
between them.

“Do you know what Dr. Arwen has been telling me for quite some time now?”

If Rhaenyra was surprised or puzzled by Alicent’s sudden shift in subject, she offered no sign of it.
“No. I don’t.”
“That I’m allowed to want things.” Alicent rubbed her scarred wrist. “I wasn’t allowed to want
things back home. But here, I am.”

Rhaenyra smiled softly, nodding in agreement. “Yes. You most certainly are.”

“And so are you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rhaenyra’s head cocked to one side, the furrow deepening.

“You’re allowed to want things as well. And your desires do matter.”

“You think I’m unaware of that?”

Alicent arched an eyebrow. “Considering you just told me that your desires are unimportant, yes.”

“I only meant compared to yours.”

The fact that Rhaenyra seemed to genuinely believe that those words would somehow soothe
Alicent was even more troubling than her initial statement that her desires did not matter at all.

“Rhaenyra, do you think that I would ever again want to be in a situation where only one person’s
desires are allowed to matter? Even if they were my own?” The mere thought turned her stomach.
She would never wish to do to another what had been done to her.

“I . . .” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed as she looked away from Alicent. “I only want for you to be happy.”

“And you think that you bending to my every whim without any thought for yourself will make me
happy?” Alicent wasn’t certain whether to be exasperated or hurt. Did Rhaenyra truly believe that
of her? Have I done or said something to make her think that I would ever want such power over
another person?

Rhaenyra quickly shook her head. “No. I—I know you are not the sort of woman who wishes to
control others, Alicent.”

Alicent nodded in agreement, shifting slightly closer to her. “Rhaenyra, I appreciate the efforts that
you’re making not to presume, truly I do, but a proper friendship requires reciprocity, does it not?
You’re allowed to want things from m—from our friendship as well.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened with shock, her entire body becoming stiff as stone.

Alicent waited for her to say something.

Rhaenyra remained frozen.

Why isn’t she responding?

Dread suddenly seized Alicent’s stomach—clenching and twisting and coiling. Had she been wrong
to presume that they were becoming friends? Perhaps Rhaenyra didn’t . . . did queens even have
friends? A hot flush of mortification bloomed in her cheeks, and Alicent suddenly wondered if
she’d made a horrible mistake—

But then Rhaenyra whispered, “Friendship?” The word was so small and spoken so softly that it
was nearly lost on the wind.
Alicent tapped nervously at her scarred wrist, now unable to meet Rhaenyra’s eyes, and she could
feel her blush spreading swiftly down her neck. “I thought—is that not what this is?”

“Of course!” Rhaenyra slapped a hand over her mouth, clearing her throat a little as her own cheeks
darkened. Lowering her hand, she repeated, softer this time, “Of course. Whatever you desi—that
is, yes.” She smiled slightly, almost shyly.

Patting the place beside her on the bench once more, Alicent arched an eyebrow. “Would you care
to sit closer?”

Despite the swift nod that she gave in answer, Rhaenyra’s movements were still hesitant as she slid
across the bench. But once she was beside Alicent, she completely closed the space between them
so that their thighs were flush with each other.

While pleased to now have Rhaenyra close, Alicent still swallowed a little at the feeling of the heat
radiating from the other woman. Sytarr above, she’s warm. Not that Rhaenyra wasn’t always warm,
but it was even more pronounced given the cold.

Shaking her head a little, she pulled her and Rhaenyra’s cloaks more tightly around herself and
allowed her eyes to sweep over the myriad of glowing flowers and greenery. They truly were a
sight to behold—a rainbow of colors shining in the darkness. “The grove is stunning, Rhaenyra.
Thank you for bringing me here.”

Rhaenyra beamed, and Alicent swore that her chest puffed up slightly. “I was hoping that you
would be pleased.” She paused. “Perhaps one day, if you’d like, we might visit the Crystal Caverns
together.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together slightly as she searched her memory for where she’d heard that
name before.

“The crystals are mined from the Crystal Caverns beneath the City of Glasglain. The Caverns are
the only natural Wonder of the World and actually predate the First Generation’s arrival and the
Founding.”

Ah, yes. That was it. She’d asked Margaery about the origins of the glowing crystals that
illuminated her chambers at night. Aemma had given them to her on her second day in the Queen’s
Keep, since she couldn’t control the magical light-orbs that Valyrians primarily relied on for
artificial light.

Reaching out, Alicent lightly touched the back of Rhaenyra’s hand. “I would like that.” Not now, of
course. The mere thought of traveling beyond the walls of Osmera made her nervous, never mind
across the ocean to an entirely different Queendom and continent, but perhaps in a few years.
“Could you tell me about the plants here?” While she would of course want to engage in proper
research in the coming days, she always enjoyed listening to Rhaenyra speak about her world.

A fond smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips as her eyes swept over the grove. “Where would you care to
begin? Most of these plants are native to Valyria, but a few were brought here from other planets.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together at that, well-remembering how Lord Iliken and the other
gardeners had always taken such care to ensure that the foreign Nengkan plants never escaped from
the greenhouse. “Aren’t you worried about the dangers of invasive species?”
“The Agricultural Agency always performs a series of rigorous tests before allowing alien plants
anywhere near Valyrian soils. The ones planted here are perfectly safe and won’t cause any
ecological harm.” Rhaenyra pointed to the little purple and white flowers lining the walkway.
“These are actually from a planet called Casgarith.” A small, wistful smile curled her lips. “It’s
where I spent my first birther life.”

“Birther life?” While the phrase was familiar—she’d come across it a few times when reading
about Valyrians visiting other planets without alerting the native inhabitants—the authors all
assumed that their readers already understood the term and so didn’t offer any further elaboration.
Finding a more detailed explanation was on her ever-growing list of matters to research.

“It means that I became a member of the populace by being ‘born’ rather than simply appearing
under an assumed identity.” Rhaenyra paused, considering for a moment. “It’s . . . somewhat
complicated, though I suppose that the basic protocol is fairly simple. After a period of observation,
we find a family that desires children and then are born into it. The precise mechanics of how all
that is handled differs depending on the situation and species involved, but we usually select
birthing individuals who are about to experience a miscarriage or stillbirth, so that we can replace
the lost child, or we choose those simply unable to conc—”

Rhaenyra’s mouth snapped shut, eyes widening as her face paled.

Alicent’s heart clenched, and her hand instinctively moved to her stomach.

“Please forgive me, Alicent.” Rhaenyra looked as if she might be ill, or as if she might flee from
the grove. “I should never . . . My apologies. That was thoughtless and callous of me.” Her rings
were spinning madly around her fingers.

“It’s all right.” Alicent forced a smile onto her face, struggling to smother the feelings of shame and
grief welling within her. I’ve no reason to be ashamed. I didn’t choose to be barren. “I was the one
who asked.”

“Please don’t do that, Alicent.” Rhaenyra’s voice sounded pained and almost brittle.

“I beg your pardon?” Alicent couldn’t quite look at her, not wanting to see her pity.

“Please don’t smile at me and tell me that everything is all right when it isn’t.” Rhaenyra tentatively
offered her hands, letting out a soft sigh when Alicent accepted them.

Alicent’s breath hitched slightly when Rhaenyra gently cradled her hands in her own, as if they
were something delicate and precious.

“I don’t want you to feel as if you must hide pieces of yourself from me.” Rhaenyra met Alicent’s
eyes, her own wide and pleading. “I’m not asking to be made privy to every one of your thoughts,
of course, we’re all entitled to our secrets, but if I’ve done something to upset or offend you, please
tell me. As you did that day in the rose garden. I need to know so that I can do better in the future.”

Alicent gulped at the achingly tender sincerity in Rhaenyra’s voice, her stomach twisting
uncomfortably.

“All right,” she finally managed, her throat feeling oddly tight.

Rhaenyra softly squeezed her hands.

Desperately needing to redirect the conversation, Alicent found herself blurting out, “So I should
always yell at you when I’m upset?”

She mentally smacked herself.

Idiot.

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows drew together for a moment, but then she laughed—bright and clear and
much more enthusiastically than Alicent’s ridiculous words deserved. “Well, perhaps you needn’t
tell me that I’ve upset you exactly as you did that day in the rose garden.” She offered a playful
grin. “But if the situation calls for it, then of course.”

Alicent felt her shoulders relax slightly, felt some of the tension in her stomach beginning to uncoil.
“You will do the same for me then, won’t you? If I do or say something that upsets or offends,
you’ll tell me?”

Rhaenyra hesitated.

“Friendship requires reciprocity, Rhaenyra,” she reminded her.

“Reciprocity.” Rhaenyra expelled a heavy breath. “I’ll tell you,” she agreed, “though I can hardly
imagine you doing anything to upset me.”

Alicent resisted reminding her friend about the cruel words that she’d hurled at her that day in the
rose garden. Instead, she asked, “Can you tell me about your life on Casgarith?”

Rhaenyra cocked her head slightly. “You truly wish to know?”

“I’d like to know more about you, Rhaenyra.” Alicent shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Even after over two months of spending time together nearly every day, it still felt rather odd to pry
into Rhaenyra’s past, but she did want to know the other woman. She wanted to know her friend.
“My understanding is that becoming familiar with each other is a part of friendship, is it not?”

A soft smile curled Rhaenyra lips. “So it is.”

Despite her words, she lapsed into silence for a long moment, her eyes becoming distant as she
delved into her own memories.

By now, Alicent recognized the strangely distant and far-off expression that settled over a
Valyrian’s face when she was searching through her older memories, so she knew that it was simply
a matter of patience.

When Rhaenyra at last began speaking, her voice was warm with pleasant memories. “The name
that my mother in that life gave me was Sophia, but my friends all called me Sophie.” She smiled
slightly. “I was born in a city called Aedendrell.”

As Rhaenyra wove a story of a tyrannical wizard seeking to dominate his world with dark powers
from the depths of Casgarith’s underworld, as she spoke of great battles fought between armies of
men, as she told her about a kind and gentle women blessed and cursed with a terrible power and
the clever warrior that she eventually took to husband, Alicent found herself being lulled by the
gentle cadence of Rhaenyra’s voice and by the warmth emanating her.
 Alicent wasn’t aware of her eyes beginning to droop, wasn’t aware of her body becoming relaxed
and pliant, wasn’t aware of her head coming to rest against Rhaenyra’s shoulder, but when she felt
a strong arm wrap around her and draw her impossibly close, all she could do was sigh with
contentment.

Chapter End Notes

So much dragon lore . . . so little time . . .

The sound designer for House of the Dragon described Caraxes as “the dragon that no one
loves, and he has a deviated septum. And my expansion was that he's a bullying white boy
who thinks he can rap and overcompensates for his deviated septum, so like real Kendall Roy
energy. Plus, he's always hitting on the lady dragons. He tries to sing a new lovesick rap song
he wrote for Syrax.”

I ran with that description and decided that this Caraxes tried to woo Syrax with love poems,
but they were kind of terrible, so she said, “No more freeform, Sweetie. Put your writing
talents to use as a scribe.”

Also! Rhaenicent not only engaging in the age-old cliché of Person A gives Person B their
jacket because they're cold, but also the equivalent of a canon Westerosi marriage? Huh. I
wonder what that could mean . . . 😉

Side note: A Valyrian league is equivalent to ten kilometers or about six-point-two miles.

Next Chapter: Rhaenyra works too hard, some more fluffy Rhaenicent interactions, and
Alicent uses her power over Rhaenyra for good.
 Duties and Friendship
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 24:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Syrax Sunwing, Archon of the Sunwing Parliament, resides in Kastrell
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Luwina Glover, Chief Librarian of Stone Garden, from Norden
– Ygritte Mormont, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Gilly Cassel, Chief Chef of Stone Garden, from Norden

Trigger Warning: Depicted panic attack (fairly minor and not full-blown) and mentions
of domestic abuse.

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Spring Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

Rhaenyra stifled her yawn, growling with frustration as she stared at the debris that had been piled
high before her to await destruction. The dragons who had gathered it from across the Sunwing
Parliament’s territory had been organized enough to ensure that the towering mountain of rubbish
didn’t topple over, but they hadn’t taken any more care than was strictly necessary when dropping
broken ship fragments, the remains of foreign weapons and grotesque robotics, scraps of jagged
metal, countless wires and bits of glass, and other wreckage atop the ever-growing pile.

Another yawn threatened, but she snapped her mouth shut. Relle above, she shouldn’t be this
fatigued. Not yet.

She’d been getting at least an hour or two of sleep every night since she and Alicent had reconciled.

Nowhere near enough, according to Aemma and Hylda, but she knew her own limits.

Though perhaps she ought to adjust those limits to account for all of the additional effort required
by this particular sort of restoration.

“Damn Westerosi and their nth metal.”

If not for that blasted element, she’d be able to transmogrify all of this refuse into something useful
such as seeds for planting or fibers for spinning within an hour or two. And if not for the additional
mental effort that would be required since she wasn’t as familiar with the biological and chemical
compounds of these various Westerosi items, she’d be able to do so in under an hour.
“Disgraceful,” she huffed, rubbing irritably at her temples. Even on the Old World—for all of its
innumerable faults—waste such as she was about to engage in had been eliminated following the
Magical Revolution and her ancestors mastering the art of converting one form of matter into
another by altering its atomic structure, molecular structure, or both.

But in the years since the War’s end, while countless attempts had been made to extract the nth
metal from Westerosi debris so that they could transmogrify what remained, wizards had eventually
determined that it couldn’t be done because the nth metal was simply too inextricable.

Which meant that they couldn’t use magic to dispose of Westerosi waste.

After erecting a shield around the litter to prevent the fumes from escaping into the atmosphere,
Rhaenyra shifted into her dragon form. Opening her great jaws, she unleashed a torrent of black
flames that immediately engulfed the debris, burning and melting and twisting all that was there.

As her fire continued its work, she allowed her mind to wander. Now that spring was here, perhaps
she and Alicent might begin taking tea in the gardens once her schedule permitted her to do so. She
resisted the urge to huff, knowing that it would cause her flames to gutter. It truly was a pity that
Syrax couldn’t have brought these matters to her attention sooner, before she and Alicent had
become friends.

Friends.

Merely thinking the word filled her with warmth and made her fire burn brighter as her magic
crooned in response.

She still couldn’t entirely understand why Alicent would ever wish to be friends with her after all
that she had done—both to Alicent herself and the Westerosi—but she was far too weak not to
savor the companionship while it lasted. She was far too weak not to savor whenever Alicent
touched her arm or hand. She was far too weak not to savor hearing Alicent’s musical laughter.

And she was far too weak not to savor the way that Alicent would look at her as if she wasn’t a
monster.

Once the Sunwing lands were restored, she ought to ask if Alicent would care to see a play with
her. As far as she was aware, Alicent had yet to spend a day at the theatre, and Osmera was home to
the most prestigious of the Empire’s Great Theatres. Alicent deserves an Amarelle production as
her first experience with Valyrian theatre.

Perhaps she should contact—

“Rhaenyra.”

Suppressing a growl of frustration, her jaws snapped shut as her head turned to see Syrax swooping
down towards her. “What is it?” The archon did not sound distressed, which was good.

The golden dragon landed with a grace belying her great size, her four feet not causing so much as
a tremor when they settled on the ground. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she inspected the
smoldering pile of melted and twisted metal and glass. “When Tessarion told me that she thought
you were simply burning the Westerosi waste, I was certain she must be mistaken. But she seems to
have been correct.”
“The nth metal prevents me from transmogrifying it as I normally would,” Rhaenyra explained,
unable to help the way that her eyes flicked upwards to check the position of the sun. The mountain
of debris remained irritatingly large, and at this rate, she was in danger of losing the whole
afternoon.

“I understand that, Cousin. What I do not understand is why you wouldn’t seek my help, or the help
of the other members of my parliament. All of our flames working in concert will destroy this waste
far more swiftly than yours alone.”

“The fumes—”

“I saw no smoke as I approached, which tells me you’ve erected one of your shields.” Syrax huffed.
“I recognize that my people cannot perform magic as yours. But while we may not be able to
transmogrify or cast shields or conjure something from nothing—”

“Technically conjuring is transmogrifying air particulates—”

“—we can most certainly burn things. Or have you forgotten that your ancestors learned to wield
their fire elementalism from mine?”

Rhaenyra stifled a laugh, knowing that it would be improper, but there was simply something
incredibly amusing about how utterly affronted Syrax sounded. “I meant no insult, Cousin. I am
well aware of the strength of your flames. I simply did not wish to place you or your people in any
danger. The fumes may be contained by my shield, but they are still dangerous, and I cannot say for
certain how the vaporized nth metal particulates may interact with the shield spell.”

“A danger we are willing to face.”

Having apparently been awaiting their archon’s signal, the deafening roars of a dozen dragons
suddenly shook the heavens.

Rhaenyra watched as Caraxes and Tessarion swooped down from above the clouds, followed
swiftly by ten others. She recognized two of them as Syrax’s other kyrons—Aeyla Dreamfyre and
Belaena Moondancer—but the remaining eight she hadn’t yet met.

The twelve dragons landed with the same grace as their archon and immediately moved to surround
the rubbish pile.

Syrax strode forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Rhaenyra. “Shall we?”

Without waiting for her response, Syrax opened her jaws and bathed the wreckage in golden fire.
Caraxes’ scarlet, Tessarion’s cobalt, Belaena’s jade, and Aeyla’s azure flames joined a moment
later.

As did Rhaenyra’s ebony.

When Aemma and Luwina had decided to join Alicent and her other friends in the western water
garden for afternoon tea, she’d been pleasantly surprised. Aemma oft seemed to have as little time
for leisure as Rhaenyra, though the seneschal insisted otherwise since she was actually willing to
delegate.
A claim that Luwina had immediately supported.

As they had for the past month, discussions about Archon Syrax and Rhaenyra’s efforts to aid the
Sunwing Parliament dominated their conversation. Alicent had swiftly realized that Valyrians
considered their own domestic politics to be exceptionally dull—understandable, considering very
little actually happened save for the occasional resignation from a Queen’s Small Council or the
Empress’ Inner Circle—so any intrigues that occurred were always the result of interactions with
one of the other sapient species.

“Arya called the other day to tell me that Queen Jacaerya is considering offering aid to the Iceclaw
Parliament in Cassel Province.” Sansa grabbed two teacakes from the plate in the middle of the
table, handing one to Margaery and earning a brief kiss on the cheek. “Her Majesty hopes it might
mend some of the rifts left by Queen Velsinnia’s decision not to aid us during the War.”

“Grandmother says that Lady Tyrell has offered to aid the Rosewing Parliament in restoring their
forests for similar reasons,” Margaery added.

“Stormscale Parliament,” Alicent corrected absently as she poured herself a second cup of tea,
taking care not to spill any of the steaming liquid on the pristine tablecloth.

Margaery turned to look at her. “Pardon?”

Alicent stiffened as she suddenly realized what she’d done.

Idiot.

She hadn’t meant to correct Margaery. Truly she hadn’t. But she’d been researching dragon
parliaments so that she could actually follow and engage in conversations with her friends about
them, and she remembered reading that the Rosewing Parliament was renamed the Stormscale
Parliament some two hundred years ago, and the correction had thoughtlessly left her mouth—

She knew that it was rude to correct people in public.

She knew that.

One of the deeper scars on her back seemed to throb with the memory of Criston and his sons
whipping her until they could no longer raise their lashes as punishment for correcting Criston
when he misremembered the name of a prior Lord of Education.

Alicent swiftly set the teapot down before her hands could begin shaking. “I’m sor—my apologies,
Margaery. That was rude of me.”

All is well. All is well. All is well.

I’m not on Westeros anymore. Margaery won’t be angry with me. And even if she is, she won’t hurt
me.

I’m safe here. I’m safe here. I’m safe here.

Rhaenyra does not wish me harmed.

Perhaps scenting her fear, or perhaps simply because she knew her so well by now, Margaery
offered her a gentle smile rather than reaching out to touch her arm. “You needn’t apologize,
Alicent. The mistake was mine, not yours.”

That hadn’t mattered in the past.

Criston can’t hurt me anymore.

Margaery is my friend.

Alicent offered Margaery a small nod in acknowledgement of her words, though most of her focus
remained on her breathing as she attempted to calm herself. I’m safe.

“If you hadn’t corrected her, I certainly would have,” Luwina declared, flashing Alicent a playful
grin before turning her attention to Margaery. “Surely you remember all the fuss when we first
received word that Archon Helsora hadn’t inherited her mother’s rose-pink wing membranes. We
all knew that the parliament’s name would change eventually, and then Archon Helsora ascended
barely a decade after Archon Syrax.” She smiled slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “The
cartographers were beside themselves.”

Aemma chuckled, perhaps a bit more heartily than was warranted, but Alicent felt herself relaxing.
“What was it you said, Lu? That Magister Melantha almost fainted with delight over the prospect
of publishing another new edition of the World Atlas to account for the parliament’s new name?”

“Melantha did faint with delight, but that was when Archon Syrax came to announce her mother’s
death and her own ascension. When Archon Helsora visited, Melantha managed to restrain
herself.”

Margaery expelled an exasperated sigh and made a show of slumping back in her chair. “How
could I have forgotten? It’s not often that we receive such visits from two archons in so short a span
of time.”

Sansa playfully elbowed her heart friend’s side. “Perhaps age has finally begun to dull your wits,
Margie.”

“Perish the thought.” Margaery gave Sansa a look of mock horror. “I would so hate for you to grow
bored of me.”

“Hmm.” Sansa tangled her fingers with Margaery’s, squeezing gently. “That is a very unlikely
possibility, I assure you.”

Margaery beamed.

Ygritte loudly cleared her throat. “Returning to our earlier discussion, in truth, while I do not
begrudge aiding the parliaments that helped us during the War, I should think that it would be for
the dragons to mend any rifts that may have grown between them and us.”

“Queen Velsinnia’s reasons for not aiding us were sound,” Gilly reminded her. “We could hardly
ask them to risk extinction fighting in a war that we could wage ourselves.”

Ygritte’s lips pursed. “I found Queen Velsinnia’s unwillingness to aid us less insulting than I did
her insinuation that our ancestors were in any way responsible for the Dragon Purges on the Old
World.”
Alicent’s eyebrows drew together at that, but when she glanced around the table, she saw that her
friends were nodding in agreement. “But . . . is Empress Daenerys the Silver not a direct
descendant of the man who slew Queen Felsara Silverhorn?”

Her friends’ heads all slowly swiveled towards her—their expressions ranging from disapproving
to offended—and for the first time in a long time, Alicent had to force herself not to flinch away
from them. Why am I failing so miserably at making conversation today?

Margaery’s face softened at once, guilt flashing in her eyes. “Please forgive us, Alicent. We did not
mean to upset you.”

Alicent’s fingers curled tightly around her scarred wrist, and she could feel the tension returning to
her limbs. She knew that she was being foolish. She knew that she had nothing to fear from her
friends. She knew that none of them would ever raise a hand against her in anger.

And yet she couldn’t seem to prevent her body’s instinctive reaction to a perceived threat.

“I shouldn’t have asked.” Or she at least shouldn’t have asked in the manner that she had.

Luwina waved dismissively. “Nonsense. You should never hesitate to ask questions, Alicent.”

Sansa nodded in agreement. “And your question isn’t unreasonable. I think we all sometimes forget
that you come from a world where,” she hesitated a moment, “where women have fathers.”

Did Valyrians truly not have fathers? Or at least males who provided the requisite genetic material?
It was something that she’d occasionally wondered, but had never been inclined to ask. She knew
that the Valyrians’ male counterparts lived on the neighboring planet of Kervan. She knew that five
times each reign a Binding Summit was held between the rulers of the Valyrian and Kervanite
Empires. And she knew that Valyrians rarely ever spoke of the men who resided on their “brother
planet.”

But for all of her curiosity about her new world and friends, she had little interest in the details of
Valyrian reproduction.

“Do you remember when I told you that the blood now flowing through our veins is silver because
of Immortalization?” Aemma asked, drawing Alicent from her thoughts.

Alicent nodded.

“While none but Her Excellency and the All Mother know the specifics of the immortality spell, we
know that it burned away the First Generation’s mortal blood and severed their connection to the
men of the Old World. The blood of those butchers no longer flows in our veins, so we consider it
insulting that Queen Velsinnia would imply otherwise.”

But by that logic, wouldn’t the First Generation have severed their blood ties with the women of the
Old World as well? Surely the Valyrians did not mean to imply that they were no longer connected
by blood to women such as Sorceress Marilla, or Empress Aenara the Ice Dragon, or Empress
Cassiana Stark, or Empress Arria Lannister, or Septima Targaryen and her Seven Saints, or
Prophetess Orestilla Tyrell.

She refrained from asking such questions aloud though—despite Luwina’s recent assurance that
she was free to do so—because she was fairly certain that the Valyrians must have considered these
matters at some point during their long history—and it seemed that they’d made the collective
decision to ignore them.

Before Alicent could ask her friends their opinions on whether the efforts of the queens and
matriarchs would actually ease the lingering tensions between the Valyrians and dragons, Aly came
hurrying into the small courtyard.

Aly offered everyone a smile in greeting before focusing her attention on Alicent. “Her Majesty has
just returned, and she requests a word with you at your earliest convenience regarding your supper
plans this evening.”

Alicent swiftly rose from her chair.

Rather too swiftly, she realized once it was too late, considering the amused looks that her friends
were giving her.

There is nothing wrong with being eager to see Rhaenyra, she assured herself. They had been
spending less time together of late, and she was allowed to miss her friend.

After bidding her other friends farewell and agreeing to meet them in the rainbow garden for a
game of black cat or versetta on the morrow, Alicent began to follow Aly out of the courtyard.

“Enjoy dining with the Queen this evening,” Margaery called after her.

For reasons that Alicent could not begin to fathom, despite her friend’s words being entirely
innocuous, she could feel a hot blush rising in her cheeks.

Two Weeks Later

“Will your shield hold?” Syrax rumbled, her green eyes sweeping over the sickly, bluish-orange
phosphorescent liquid that had flooded the valley down below.

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but do the same, watching the edges of the glowing pool for any indication
that it was spreading further. “Relle willing.”

Syrax’s head snapped towards her. “Relle willing?” she repeated, managing to sound both horrified
and incredulous. “My mother once told me that a single one of your shields is strong enough to
contain a hurricane, a blizzard, a tornado, and a tsunami.”

A small smile curled Rhaenyra’s scaled lips at the thought of Verla telling Syrax about her, though
it swiftly withered when she saw that the liquid was beginning to bubble ominously. “Containing a
storm is more a matter of brute strength than anything else, and I’ve never wanted for raw power.
But chemicals require more finesse. I’m not familiar with this substance, so I couldn’t cast my
shield to account for its specific molecular structure.”

The shield that she’d erected was but a basic construction meant to contain solids, liquids, and
gasses. In theory, it should be more than sufficient to contain whatever poison the Westerosi had
left behind. But she’d made the mistake of assuming as much before, and over a dozen women had
been hospitalized as a result.

She would not make the same mistake twice.

Westerosi substances—even those wholly devoid of nth metal—sometimes interacted with magic
in the most unforeseen and devastating of ways.

Syrax cocked her head slightly. “Is such familiarity so necessary? I thought that you wielded your
raw magic more instinctively than most Valyrians.”

“I do.” And it had caused no end of trouble when she was younger. Her magic might be an intrinsic
part of her, but sometimes, she could be forgiven for thinking that it was some independent entity
that had simply taken up residence within her. “But instinct and raw power cannot compensate for
a lack of knowledge. I don’t know this chemical’s molecular structure, so how can I instinctively
craft a shield to ward against it? Magic is as much an art as it is a science, and advanced shield
spells are among the more technical forms of magic.”

Expelling a heavy sigh, Syrax glowered at the unnaturally bright liquid. “You said much the same
about transmogrification last moon. Does that mean you won’t be able to properly contain this
substance until your magisters have identified it?”

“My hope is that the shield I’ve erected will hold, but I’ve previously encountered Westerosi
chemicals that don’t behave as one would expect.”

“May the fires of their world freeze and may their spawn burn,” Syrax growled, disgust and
loathing dripping from her words. Smoke billowed from her nostrils as she exhaled sharply, though
the action seemed to calm her somewhat. “Once you’ve learned its composition, you’ll be able to
contain and transmogrify it, yes?”

Rhaenyra nodded. Unfortunately, the transmogrification would require more time than usual since
she would have to actively concentrate on the task of breaking apart and reforming the chemical’s
individual molecules and atoms. Under normal circumstances, her magic would handle those
technical aspects without her needing to expend conscious effort, but she didn’t have the time to
familiarize herself with this chemical’s composition to the degree necessary that she could
transmogrify it without thought.

“And how long will your magisters require to identify this chemical?”

At that, she hesitated. Based on prior experience, it could take as little time as a few days or as long
as a few months.

Unless . . .

“I know a woman who may be able to expedite the identification process.”

Syrax turned to look at her, and if she’d had eyebrows, Rhaenyra was certain that they would be
arched. “You refer to your pet Westerosi?”

Rhaenyra snarled, rounding on the golden dragon as her tail slammed down onto the ground with
such force that the chemical frothed and churned. “Don’t you dare speak about her that way. Alicent
Hightower is my honored guest and treasured friend. And I’ll not tolerate insults against her. Am I
clear?”

For a long moment, Syrax only stared at her, but then she inclined her head. “I’ll not do so again,”
she promised. “And my apologies, for the insult.”
Rhaenyra simply nodded. It was not for her to accept an apology for an insult levied against
Alicent.

Syrax returned her attention to the still-frothing liquid, her wings shifting slightly as her eyes
narrowed. “You believe that your Lady Alicent will be able to identify this chemical more swiftly
than your magisters?”

“She is not my Lady Alicent. And yes, I do.” Rhaenyra’s chest puffed with pride for her friend.
“Alicent is exceptionally intelligent, and she is familiar with the kinds of toxins the Westerosi favor
when waging war.”

“And you’re certain that she will be inclined to help my people?”

“I cannot speak for her, but she is good and kind and compassionate, so I believe that she will be
inclined.” And if Alicent was not so inclined, then Rhaenyra would explain as much to Syrax and
apologize. She hoped that her friend would wish to help, though a part of her suddenly worried that
she was being presumptive by offering Alicent’s aid without consulting her first.

Damn it.

And what if Alicent did not wish to be reminded of the War?

Seven bloody Hells.

Smothering her doubts, she added, “She’s already helped when my people encountered a similar
problem last summer.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest—banishing her lingering worries for a time—as she remembered
returning from Florent Province to find Elysara singing Alicent’s praises. Not only had Alicent
been able to identify the chemicals used to poison Abarello’s soils, she’d proven invaluable in
translating the Westerosi compounds and elements—many of which simply did not exist here or
were known by completely different names—into something comprehensible, which usually
required nearly as much time as simply identifying the toxins.

Syrax nodded slowly. “Very well. Then we will accept whatever help she can offer.” She glanced
over at the pool of blue-orange liquid, lip curling with distaste. “In the meantime, I shall post a
guard to alert me should the chemical breach your shield.”

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement. “As soon as possible, I’ll see to the transmogrification,” she
promised.

Stretching her neck, Syrax gently touched noses with her. “My thanks, Cousin.”

Alicent frowned when she heard the loud thud of her presence chamber door striking against the
stone wall as someone threw it open. “Hello?”

A series of irritated growls and low mutters answered her.

She smiled slightly, shaking her head as she waited for the knock on the door leading into her privy
chamber. When it came, she called, “Come.”
Rhaenyra hurried inside, telekinetic hands swiftly tucking away loose strands of silver hair while
her actual hands straightened out her sapphire and emerald skirts. “Please forgive me, Alicent. I
was unexpectedly delayed.”

Alicent offered her a reassuring smile as she waited for her friend to finish futzing with her gown
and join her at the table. “There’s no need for apology, Rhaenyra. I realize that you’re busy.”

Too busy, according to Aemma. Rhaenyra’s stubborn insistence on restoring the Sunwing
Parliament’s lands entirely on her own was causing Aemma no end of frustration. Sabitha had also
told her that Hylda felt similarly, though the loyal Shadow Knight had only raised the matter once
before accepting Rhaenyra’s refusal to hear more on the subject.

“All the same.” Rhaenyra gracefully seated herself on the chair across from Alicent, giving her a
warm and bright smile—as she always did. “I would not wish to miss having dinner with you.”

“There would always be tomorrow night,” Alicent reminded her, though she was secretly rather
pleased by Rhaenyra’s clear displeasure at the thought of not supping with her. Since Rhaenyra had
begun helping the Sunwing Parliament the month before, her friend had asked if they might
establish a standing dinner engagement.

“I’m afraid that I can no longer promise to be always available for our daily empathy lessons, and
I suspect my days will be rather busy for a while, but perhaps we might plan to sup together each
evening?”

Alicent had agreed at once. In part because she’d found since their first dinner together in the
Astral Tower that she enjoyed dining with Rhaenyra, in part because she knew that it would ensure
her friend ate at least one full meal every day, and in part—rather selfishly—because it gave her an
excellent excuse to continue with her cooking experiments.

Rhaenyra was always delighted to taste anything that Alicent made for them, and once Alicent had
assured her that she wanted honest and accurate feedback on her dishes, Rhaenyra had proven
herself a surprisingly candid critic.

“And what have you prepared for us this evening?” Rhaenyra asked, drawing Alicent from her
thoughts.

“A dish called bahnskir. It was my mother Lora’s favorite.” She herself hadn’t actually been all that
fond of it the first time that it had been served for dinner, but she’d grown to love it well over the
years. “It’s rather spicy,” she warned.

Rhaenyra didn’t seem at all concerned as she took her first bite with the same enthusiasm that she
always displayed when tasting Alicent’s cooking experiments. Her eyes widened slightly in
surprise. “Mother Relle,” she hissed, clearing her throat a little and immediately reaching for her
water once she’d finished chewing and swallowed her food.

Alicent tsked, though she couldn’t suppress the amusement from her voice. “I did warn you.”

“I’m not used to being able to notice when foods are spicy,” Rhaenyra explained in between swift
sips of water.

Oh. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Rhaenyra’s immunity to fire might also translate into being
less affected by spicy foods. Alicent opened her mouth to apologize, but then she noticed that
Rhaenyra was grinning at her, amethyst eyes practically glowing with delight. “You’re not . . .
displeased?”

“Why in the world would I be displeased? I’ve always been curious about spicy foods, and yours is
delicious.” Rhaenyra’s cheeks flushed when she ate another bite. “Although,” she added as she
poured herself a second glass of water, “if you intend to serve this to anyone else, I would
recommend less spice. The fact that I can taste it means this would likely be far too hot for most
Valyrians. Save perhaps Farns. They’re very fond of their spicy foods.”

Alicent silently thanked Sytarr that she hadn’t asked Gilly to taste test her bahnskir. “I’ll
remember,” she promised. “Is there anything else?”

Rhaenyra considered as she took her third bite, this time chewing more slowly. “Hmm, perhaps a
little less ginger? It’s not overpowering, but it does overshadow a few of the more subtle flavors.”

She’d been worried about that. The amount of ginger that she’d added this time had been an
attempt to compensate for the lack of urshra powder, but she’d been almost certain that she’d
added too much when her hand had slipped and nearly a quarter of the jar’s contents had spilled in.
“I didn’t mean for there to be so much this time,” she admitted.

“Ah.” Amusement flickered in Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Well, as I said, your bahnskir tastes delicious, so
even if you continue using the same amount of ginger, I’m certain that others will enjoy it as well.”

“Assuming I don’t scorch their mouths?” Alicent teased.

Rhaenyra grinned. “Exactly.” But then her smile faltered, a pensive expression settling over her
face. “Alicent, there is something I would like to ask you.”

Against her will, Alicent instinctively tensed at her friend’s tone, but she swiftly forced herself to
relax. Rhaenyra had never asked anything unpleasant of her, and there was no reason to believe she
would do so now. “What is it?”

The uncomfortable silence lingered a moment longer before Rhaenyra finally spoke. “I know that
you dislike reminders of the War—as do we all—but today, Archon Syrax and I found a rather
large chemical spill in one of the northeastern valleys of the Sunwing Parliament’s territory.”

Alicent winced, guilt twisting her insides—as it always did—when reminded of the utter
devastation that her people had wrought during the war. She knew that she wasn’t personally to
blame for any of it, knew that neither Rhaenyra nor any of the Valyrians that she’d befriended and
encountered over the years held her responsible, and yet the guilt still lingered—sharp and
insistent.

“I was hoping that you would be willing to help the chemists identify this chemical’s specific
compounds and structures, and translate them, as you did before when Abarello’s soils were
poisoned.”

“You . . . you want my help?” She couldn’t say which surprised her more—that Rhaenyra was
asking for her help, or that Rhaenyra was asking for help at all. Fond as she was becoming of her
friend, she was also beginning to understand why Aemma was so oft exasperated with her.
Rhaenyra’s refusal to delegate and share her burdens was maddening.

And not at all healthy, according to Dr. Arwen.

“Only if you’re willing, of course.” One of the rose rings on Rhaenyra’s left hand was slowly
beginning to spin. “I would not force you—”

“Of course I’m willing. Anything that I can do. I want to help.” She was rather desperate to help, in
truth. Desperate to feel useful and as if she was contributing something. Besides, she would be
lying if she claimed that she wasn’t also simply excited to spend time around Valyrian scientists.

While she’d never been an especially avid student of chemistry, she could admit that there was a
certain beauty in atomic structures and the way that elements could be so fundamentally changed
simply by shifting the positions of protons and electrons.

And Valyrian science, in particular, fascinated her both because of how separate yet inextricable
from their magic it was, and also because Valyrians seemed to possess scientific knowledge and
understanding on par with her own people, but their approaches and applications and instruments
were so very different because they didn’t rely on technology.

Rhaenyra expelled what sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Alicent.”

Leaning forward, Alicent reached across the table and placed her hand over Rhaenyra’s, stilling her
spinning ring. “You should know that I am always happy to help, Rhaenyra.”

“I wouldn’t wish to presume.” While her words were somewhat sheepish, the smile that Rhaenyra
gave her was warm and sweet and caused an alarming flutter in her stomach.

Alicent forced herself not to snatch her hand away, knowing that Rhaenyra would misunderstand
and be hurt by the action. She shouldn’t have to suffer because of my own sinful nature.

Filthy, wanton little whore.

Her wrist throbbed, and she suddenly felt a phantom pain on her back from—

“Alicent?” Rhaenyra’s hand was now covering her own, and Alicent could sense her friend’s
concern—thick and warm and almost smothering.

Her ward flared, but that only made the fluttering in her stomach worse when her mental Rhaenyra
hugged her tighter and began stroking her back.

She really ought to craft a new ward.

“I’m all right.” Alicent forced a smile to her lips. “Um, did you bring a sample of the chemical
back with you?” She mentally winced at her own inelegance, at her clumsy attempt to redirect the
conversation.

«A lady does not say um.»

Rhaenyra gave her a long, searching look, but she thankfully did not pursue the matter. “I did.
Elysara has it now. She and the other magisters have been meeting in her apartments in the Council
Tower. I believe they’re usually all gathered by seven o’clock.”

Alicent nodded, the tension in her belly and muscles easing when she withdrew her hand from
between Rhaenyra’s in order to resume eating. “I won’t be late,” she promised.
 One Week Later

(Bud Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI)

“You seem weary, Cousin. Perhaps you should rest a while.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment as she sent a pulse of magical energy
rippling upwards from her core to stimulate her central nervous system. While she would have also
preferred to convert some of the bothersome hormones and neurotransmitters currently plaguing
her with the urge to sleep into something more useful and invigorating, she knew that doing so now
would leave her too alert come evening.

And of late, Alicent had begun frowning slightly whenever Rhaenyra would indicate that she
intended to continue working into the night after they bid each other farewell for the evening.

She disliked seeing Alicent frown.

While simply lying and feigning fatigue was of course a possibility—a much simpler one, in truth
—she had no desire to lie to Alicent more than she already was.

Soon, she promised herself. I’ll inform her about the doors soon.

Merciful Mother, Alicent would be livid when she learned the truth about the doors connecting
their bedchambers.

Rhaenyra could only pray that her friend would allow her the chance to explain.

She knew that she should have told her sooner, but when? Informing Alicent too early would have
sent the poor woman into a panic, but she also knew that the longer she waited, the worse the
betrayal would be.

And she was selfish.

Horribly, wretchedly selfish.

A coward as well.

She enjoyed spending time with Alicent far too much to ruin what they’d been building just yet.

And she feared seeing Alicent’s wroth once more far too much to risk incurring it just yet.

Soon.

She would inform Alicent soon.

When the time was right.

Shaking her head to clear it of the distracting thoughts, Rhaenyra returned her attention to Syrax
and the mountains of seeds that she’d created by transmogrifying the small lake of toxic blue-
orange liquid that she and Syrax had found the week before.

Something the Westerosi had named Cordex-62, according to Alicent.

Pride swelled in her chest as she remembered how swiftly her friend had identified the chemical.

When she’d returned to Stone Garden the day after seeking Alicent’s help, Elysara had practically
pounced on her the moment that she’d stepped through the silver gates.

“Under an hour, Your Majesty,” she’d exclaimed, more excited than Rhaenyra could ever
remember seeing her, save for when she’d brought news of the War’s end. “The Lady Alicent
identified the chemical in under an hour!”

Apparently, the chemical’s unusual coloring alone had informed Alicent that it could only be one of
five substances. And when Elysara had told her that the chemical had pooled in the valley yet
showed no signs of leaching into the soils, Alicent had immediately determined that it must be a
Cordex variant.

“Any other chemical would have been absorbed years ago,” Alicent had explained that evening
over supper, cheeks stained a lovely shade of red as a result of Rhaenyra’s enthusiastic praise of her
brilliance. “It, it was no great deduction, Rhaenyra, truly.”

But by Mother Relle and All Seven of Her Heavenly Faces if Rhaenyra had not wanted to sweep
Alicent Hightower into her arms and kiss her until they were both breathless.

In the days following Alicent’s identification, Elysara and Rhaenys had experimented with samples
of the Cordex-62 to determine how it reacted to Valyrian magic. Rhaenyra would have preferred to
handle such experiments herself, but she’d conceded to her aunt’s point that if she refused to allow
anyone else to restore the Sunwing Parliament’s lands then she could not very well remain in the
Queen’s Keep for days conducting experiments.

Thankfully, Rhaenys had determined swiftly enough that the Cordex-62 reacted to their magic as
they would expect, so Rhaenyra had been able to spend the past five hours laboriously
transmogrifying the chemical into different types of tree seeds so that she and Syrax could begin
replacing some of the swaths of forest that they’d had to burn earlier this month.

Merciful Mother it had been millions of years since she’d had to expend such mental effort on
performing transmogrification spells.

Perhaps she might sleep for three hours tonight.

“I’ll rest once I return home,” she assured Syrax, which was technically true. The time that she
spent in the evenings with Alicent was always restful.

Syrax snorted, but pressed no further. “These seeds will be safe for planting and growing?”

Rhaenyra nodded, telekinetically gathering the seeds in preparation for her and Syrax’s flight to the
section of the Heartland Woods claimed by the Sunwing Parliament. “Our experiments included
planting a transmogrified seed in a controlled environment to observe how it interacted with the
soils and other native plants. After accelerating the growth processes, we saw no cause for
concern. I can of course have a magister visit that part of the forest once a month for the next few
decades to be certain though, if you’d prefer.”

Syrax considered for a moment. “My parliament can see to that, but thank you.” She watched as
the seeds swirled in dense clouds before converging on Rhaenyra. “May I help, Cousin?”
“Unless you are willing to bear saddlebags, I’m afraid there is naught you can do to help.”

“A dragon is not a horse,” Syrax rumbled, but then hesitated. “But in this instance, I will serve as
such for the sake of my parliament.”

Rhaenyra chuffed softly. “No need,” she assured her. “These seeds are not at all taxing.” Which
was true. There may be thousands of them, but they were light, and even if they weren’t, she’d been
capable of telekinetically moving mountains before her fifteenth birthday. “Shall we?”

In tandem, they leapt into the air, spread their wings, and soared into the sky.

Alicent glanced over at Rhaenyra, lips pursing slightly. After eating dinner together in the Astral
Tower—the sunset taking her breath away as it always did—they’d retired to her privy chamber for
some evening reading, and this was the fifth time that she’d caught Rhaenyra’s eyes beginning to
droop.

“Rhaenyra?”

“Hmm?” Rhaenyra looked up from her book. “Yes, Alicent?”

“Would you care to retire to bed? You seem rather weary.”

Rhaenyra swiftly shook her head. “I’m perfectly all right. It’s simply that my book is not terribly
interesting.” As if it somehow proved her point, she closed her book and set it aside before shifting
on the divan so that she was properly facing Alicent.

Alicent arched an eyebrow. “Then why were you reading it?”

“It’s past time that I refamiliarize myself with current economic trends and jargon,” Rhaenyra
sighed, expression twisting as if she’d tasted something sour. “Bartima and Lymna spent about half
of the last Small Council meeting arguing about the fiscal responsibility of hosting more lavish
solstice celebrations than we did last year, and I realized that I could only follow about a third of
the conversation.”

Oh.

Against her will, Alicent glanced over at Rhaenyra’s discarded book and saw that it was indeed
entitled The Fundamentals of Daenysian Economics. Her brow furrowed slightly as she reread the
title. “Did . . . is your economics system named after Queen Daenys I the of Gelt?”

“Considering she essentially designed it herself, it’s an appropriate name, I should think.” Rhaenyra
shrugged. “Mother Relle sent visions to guide Queen Daenys in the development of our economics
system, hence how she earned the royal epithet ‘the Dreamer.’”

Alicent might have been more skeptical if not for the fact that Queen Daenys had crafted an
economics system that had endured for over one billion years without collapsing in on itself under
the weight of systemic failures or inequity. Her own people had had to redesign their economics
system on several occasions since unification under the Charter.

She made a mental note to ask Luwina about helping her find a biography on Daenys the Dreamer.
“If your book is exhausting you, perhaps you ought to read something else for a while? A book of
your personal choosing?” It was something that her sisters had often done when they grew tired of
the readings assigned by their tutors, and it was something that she’d begun doing since coming to
Stone Garden. Back home, she’d never been allowed such an indulgence.

As a child, the one time that her mother had caught her “neglecting” her required reading, she’d
received a dozen lashes on each palm. And once she’d married Criston, any reading that he’d
allowed her was a precious gift that she’d dared not squander.

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Reading that blasted book is a necessity, I’m afraid. Allowing myself to
choose something else to read simply to sate my own venal wants and whims would be an
unacceptable indulgence at present. Those given the privilege to rule are bound by the chains of
duty, and my chains are currently connected to The Fundamentals of Daenysian Economics.”

Those words didn’t sound like Rhaenyra’s own.

Not entirely, at least.

Alicent frowned slightly. “I should think that even a queen bound by the chains of duty would be
allowed the occasional indulgence.”

Rhaenyra smiled wryly. “My mother would disagree with you.”

From what little Alicent had gleaned about Rhaenyra’s mother, Dowager Queen Viserra Targaryen
did not seem an entirely pleasant woman. “Surely there must be something that you do for yourself
on occasion. Some little indulgence?”

Surely spending time with me is not something that you feel obliged to do.

The thought made her stomach clench, and she suddenly found herself fretting that she’d perhaps
forced her company upon Rhaenyra by being so upset over the other woman seemingly abandoning
her.

“I travel,” Rhaenyra said slowly, not quite meeting Alicent’s eyes. “My wanderings. Those are my
indulgence.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “I thought that wanderers felt a biological
compunction to wander.” Her curiosity having been piqued by Rhaenyra’s mention that she held the
title of Wanderer during their first tea in the glass garden, she’d sought Luwina’s help on
researching the matter and been directed to a book authored by Agrippina Selmy—one of two First
Generation wanderers.

Rhaenyra hesitated a moment before nodding. “We do.”

“Then traveling seems more like a necessity than an indulgence.” She and Dr. Arwen had spent
months discussing the difference, since she’d been told for the majority of her life—first by her
mother and later by Criston and his wives—that various basic necessities were mere, petty
indulgences that she didn’t deserve to enjoy. Such as the sun and food.

“Simply because something is a biological compunction does not make it a necessity.” Rhaenyra’s
nose wrinkled slightly, something flashing in her amethyst eyes that was gone too quickly for
Alicent to identify. “I may be unable to control experiencing certain base desires, but I can certainly
control whether I act upon them.”

While Alicent would normally be inclined to agree—during the early months of their marriage,
Criston had often excused his roughness as an inability to control his desire for her—in this
instance . . . “Agrippina Selmy wrote that a wanderer’s need to travel is akin to the need for food.
That a wanderer who remains in one place for too long begins to feel hollow and empty inside.”
She paused, searching her friend’s face. “Is that not true?”

Rhaenyra’s silence was answer enough.

Shifting closer to her, Alicent reached out and covered one of Rhaenyra’s hands with her own,
allowing herself a brief moment to savor the warmth before finding her friend’s eyes. “I would
hardly call that a ‘base’ desire then.”

Glancing down at their hands, Rhaenyra’s shoulders slumped as she expelled a heavy breath and
shook her head. “Well, it hardly matters now. I resisted the urge to wander throughout my imperial
reign to ensure that I dedicated the entirety of my focus on the needs of my people. As a proper
monarch ought. I’ve allowed myself to wander from time to time this reign because I’ve had
Rhaenys as my Hand.”

Alicent wondered how miserable Rhaenyra had been during the four millions of years that she’d sat
the Dragon Throne. According to Agrippina, most wanderers were struck by the need to wander
every few millennia. And while it seemed to her that wandering could be as innocuous as simply
traveling to a different Queendom or even a different part of the same Queendom, she somehow
doubted that Rhaenyra had allowed herself even that small amount of “indulgence.”

Rhaenyra offered her a small, tired smile that somehow still made her eyes sparkle. “Our spending
time together,” she said softly, “I suppose you could consider that an indulgence as well. I always
enjoy . . . That is, your company is always a comfort to me, Ali, and I—” She broke off, eyes
widening and cheeks flushing. “Please forgive me, Alicent. I didn’t mean—I should have asked
before calling you that.”

“I don’t mind.” The words tumbled swiftly from Alicent’s lips, and she could feel heat rising in her
own cheeks. Her heart was beating faster as well, but not in the way that it did when she was
having a panic attack. “I . . . I liked it.”

It had made her feel warm inside, Rhaenyra calling her “Ali,” and she wondered if the warmth was
a sign of their growing bond, of their friendship perhaps deepening into a heart friendship.

That thought caused a pleasant shiver to ripple down the length of her spine.

The set of Rhaenyra’s shoulders visibly relaxed in response to her words, and she let out an almost
shuddering breath. “All right then.” Her smile returned, brighter and warmer than before. “Thank
you, Ali.”

Alicent didn’t understand why Rhaenyra was thanking her, no more than she understood why she
was suddenly biting her lip and barely resisting the urge to pull her hand away so that she could
squeeze her wrist. She wanted . . . but she wasn’t certain how to articulate . . . wasn’t even certain
what she wanted to articulate, but . . . “Would . . . may I . . . that is . . . perhaps . . .”
Rhaenyra beamed, somehow understanding her nervous fragments. “You may call me whatever
you like.” She paused. “Preferably not an insult though, if you please.”

And Alicent couldn’t help but laugh, her nerves disappearing at once as she squeezed Rhaenyra’s
hand and grinned at her. “I would not insult you, Nyra.”

Her smile froze on her lips, and she blinked a few times, mouth opening slightly in surprise. She
hadn’t meant to say that, and yet . . . it had felt right.

She searched her friend’s face for any signs of displeasure, and while she found none, she felt the
need to be certain. “Is that all right? If I call you ‘Nyra’ on occasion?”

“Very much so, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s eyes were warm and shining, reminding Alicent of how they’d
looked when Alicent had forgiven her for the treaty. And just as she had that day in the glass
garden, Rhaenyra quietly asked, “May I hug you?”

Alicent nodded—more eagerly than she should.

She knew that being enveloped in Rhaenyra’s arms would make her traitorous stomach flutter, that
it would cause her mother’s voice to crawl from its dark pit and call her a whore, but in that
moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Rhaenyra moved closer, her eyes never leaving Alicent’s face.

When impossibly warm and wonderfully strong arms wrapped around her and drew her close, a
contented sigh fell from her lips as she sank into the embrace. And when the low rumble of
Rhaenyra’s purr reached her ears and vibrated against her cheek, a pleased smile curled her lips.

Two Weeks Later

“I’ve been receiving word that the other queens and the matriarchs have been offering aid similar
to yours.” Syrax peered down at her. “But not your empress.”

Rhaenyra sighed inwardly as she finished telekinetically placing seeds all across the barren
grassland that she’d finished cleansing of toxins the day before. “I’m afraid Visenya has always
been the most stubborn of my daughters.”

Syrax rumbled softly. “There were many of us who did not agree with the Azurewing.” Her voice
was soft and quiet—or as soft and quiet as a dragon’s voice could be.

“There were many Valyrians who understood the Azurewing’s reasoning.” Rhaenyra herself among
them. “We may be kin, but Queen Velsinnia was not wrong when she noted the great difference
between our species.” Tilting her head slightly, she propelled the hundreds of seeds down into the
soil, exactly as deep as her agrologists had recommended.

“Nor was the One-Eye when she argued that, should the Valyrians fall, the dragons would soon
follow.” Syrax shifted slightly, tilting her head back as she watched Rhaenyra gather the clouds
overhead. “During the Purges, our ancestors did not stand together against the men who sought
our destruction. My ancestors were slaughtered. Yours were subjugated for countless generations.”
She paused, her discomfort plain in the way that her muscles rippled beneath her golden scales.
To disagree with their queen was not in a dragon’s nature.

“There were many who feared that the Azurewing was repeating the mistakes of the past.”

The skies opened above them as Rhaenyra’s rain poured down onto the freshly planted seeds to
water them, while her telekinesis held the seeds and surrounding soils in place. “Thankfully, for all
of us, that was not the case.”

“But it could have been.” Syrax huffed. “You said months ago that encroachment does not benefit
either of us. The same is true of disunity among the Children of Fire. I would see the matter
rectified.”

Rhaenyra waved a hand, halting the rain and swiftly dissipating the clouds so that the sun could
shine once more. “What do you suggest, Cousin?” While she could already guess, she was curious
to hear Syrax’s articulation.

“A Binding Summit, such as the ones you have each reign with the Kervanites. The Azurewing can
call for an Archonate Parliament. The One-Eye can call for a Great Council. Once all are
gathered, we can meet in the shadow of the Moonwing’s Monument.”

An interesting proposal, and Caladria Moonwing’s monument—which marked both the site of her
birth and her death—was certainly an appropriate location for such a gathering. “I will speak with
my daughters if you will speak with you queen.” And even if Visenya did not agree, the Golden
Laws allowed the queens to convene a Great Council if all seven were in agreement.

Relle willing, Syrax and any supporters that she might gather to herself before petitioning the
Azurewing would be able to convince her, for the dragons’ laws allowed none but their queen to
convene an Archonate Parliament.

Syrax nodded, her expression rather pleased. “The First Fires shall light our way in this, Cousin. Of
that, I am certain.”

“Would you care to see me shapeshift?”

Alicent choked on her roast duck at Rhaenyra’s abrupt question, swiftly snatching up her napkin
and coughing into it.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened with alarm, and she was by her side in an instant. “My apologies, Ali. I
shouldn’t have asked that when you’d just taken a bite. I sometimes forget that Westerosi can still
choke.”

“It’s all right,” she managed between coughs, slightly startled—but not discomfited—when she felt
a warm hand gently rubbing her back. “I’m all right.”

Despite her assurance, Rhaenyra continued to worriedly stroke her back until Alicent ceased
coughing.

Only once she was breathing easier did Rhaenyra return to her chair. “Please forgive me, Alicent. I
didn’t mean to cause you such distress.”
“There was no harm done.” Compared to the many times that Criston’s hands had wrapped around
her throat and squeezed until she’d lost consciousness, choking on food was almost . . . pleasant—

In a rather twisted sort of way.

She’d been able to dislodge the duck.

She’d never been able to dislodge his hands.

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed. “All the same, I should have taken more care. I should have realized that
my offer might startle you.”

“It was rather unexpected,” Alicent conceded. She looked at her curiously. “Why make it?” Her
friend had never offered to demonstrate any of her other ordered magic abilities. And for reasons
that she couldn’t quite articulate, this offer felt strangely . . . intimate, though she’d been given no
reason to think of it as such.

Perhaps it was because Rhaenyra would be changing her very being rather than simply influencing
the world around her.

A smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips, some of her earlier concern dissipating. “Because I know that yours
is an inquisitive mind, and of all our abilities, you’ve had the fewest opportunities to observe
shapeshifting because we use it rarely in our day-to-day lives.”

That was true enough.

Alicent had seen countless displays of magic since coming to Stone Garden, and she’d seen
Rhaenyra float on a number of occasions. She’d seen Rhaenyra conjure her black fire, and she’d
seen the gardeners using their elementalism to tend to the plants. She’d witnessed casual displays
of telekinesis whenever the court dined together. But while she could recall occasionally seeing
animals flying or running through the halls, she’d never seen an actual transformation.

And she would be lying if she claimed that she wasn’t interested in witnessing one.

All the same, Alicent still searched her friend’s face for any hints of doubt, for any traces of
reticence. She refused to sate her curiosity at Rhaenyra’s expense.

But she found nothing but open sincerity and perhaps a hint of amusement. “You’re certain?”

Rhaenyra answered without hesitation. “Of course. I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

And Alicent would never have asked, which Rhaenyra surely knew. “All right then, if you’re
certain it’s no trouble.”

“None at all,” Rhaenyra assured her. Rising to her feet, she moved to stand in the middle of
Alicent’s privy chamber. They’d had to dine inside this evening due to rain. “Would you care to see
any animal in particular?”

She would, actually. During one of their dinners last month, Rhaenyra had mentioned that she’d
always had a special fondness for her wolf form. “A wolf, if that’s amenable to you.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You’re certain? I’m rather . . . large as a wolf.”
Alicent hesitated only a moment before nodding. Large or no, Rhaenyra in her wolf form would
still be Rhaenyra.

Wouldn’t she?

“As you will.” A small smile tugged at the corner of Rhaenyra’s mouth. “Don’t blink,” she warned.

Before Alicent could even begin to ask why, she had her answer.

The transformation was completed in an instant.

There was no flash of light or puff of smoke or any sort of spectacle at all.

Rhaenyra simply seemed to waver for a split second—as if she were a desert mirage—and then she
was gone, replaced by a silver wolf the size of a small horse.

Alicent’s eyes stretched wide with awe, even as her breath hitched in instinctive fear.

The wolf—Rhaenyra—was truly a sight to behold. Standing well over five feet tall at the shoulder,
powerful muscles rippled just beneath the surface of her luxurious silver fur. Head held high,
pointed ears pricked and alert, she looked as dignified and commanding now as she did when in her
natal form. And while her long, tapered muzzle seemed almost elegant, the gleaming black claws
that extended from her massive paws were a stark reminder of exactly how lethal this form was, in
truth.

Despite the color of her fur, and despite her inherent regality, Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes remained
her most recognizable feature. Even as a wolf, those eyes held the same burning intensity and sharp
intelligence that Alicent had come to associate with her friend’s gaze.

When Rhaenyra made no move towards her, Alicent realized that the decision of whether or not to
approach was being left to her.

Slowly rising from her chair, she took a few cautious steps towards the wolf. Even though she knew
—intellectually—that the animal standing in front of her was still Rhaenyra, her body’s instinctive
reaction was to back away and flee from the perceived danger.

Before coming to Valyria, she’d never actually seen a living animal outside of holo-crystal
projections, for her people had long ago decided that animals ought to be left to themselves in the
wild where they belonged.

«Beasts do not belong in civilized society,» her mother had told her when she’d asked why their
ancestors had ended the practice of owning pets and keeping animals in menageries.

Alicent swallowed nervously as she drew ever closer to the silver wolf. Even ignoring her gleaming
claws, Rhaenyra’s size alone would have been intimidating, and with her head raised as it was,
Alicent had to look up to meet her eyes.

Evidently sensing her discomfort, Rhaenyra lowered her head enough so that they were eyelevel
with each other. Her tail swished lazily back and forth, which Alicent assumed was meant to
communicate something, but she couldn’t fathom what. She’d never had a reason to research wolf
behavior.
Halting once she was within arm’s reach of the wolf, Alicent was fairly certain that she could feel
the gentle puffs of Rhaenyra’s warm breath from this distance.

Rhaenyra’s ears were no longer pushed forward, and she was slowly easing herself back onto her
haunches while keeping her head more or less stationary.

But even once she was sitting, Rhaenyra remained almost a head taller than her.

Alicent’s fingers drummed on her scarred wrist as she looked up to meet the wolf’s eyes.

Soft eyes.

Warm eyes.

Gentle eyes.

Rhaenyra’s eyes.

Feeling herself relax somewhat, she asked quietly, “May I—I mean, would you allow me to touch
your fur?” She couldn’t even say for certain where the desire came from, but her fingers longed to
push through and stroke the wolf’s thick, silver fur.

In answer, Rhaenyra lowered her head even further and gently brushed her nose against Alicent’s
hand. The feeling of a warm, wet snout touching her skin made Alicent startle, but she was quick to
smile reassuringly when Rhaenyra’s ears flattened against her head and she began to draw back.

“I wasn’t afraid,” she promised, “only surprised.”

The wolf visibly relaxed, ears perking once more.

Tentatively, Alicent raised her hand and reached forward to stroke Rhaenyra’s head. She marveled
at how soft and silky Rhaenyra’s fur was, and found herself wondering if this was how her actual
hair felt. The thought brought a blush to her cheeks the moment that it entered her mind, and she
swiftly buried it. “There’s not actually anything to see at all when you transform, is there?”

Rhaenyra’s purple eyes rolled upwards to look at her, head tilting slightly. A thoughtful expression
seemed to come over her face, though it was impossible to be certain with her in this form. Puffing
out a breath, she ducked away from Alicent’s hand and retreated back a few steps.

Alicent watched her curiously, eyes widening with alarm when Rhaenyra’s body began to contort.
She flinched at the sound of bones cracking as they realigned themselves, shuddered at the way the
wolf’s body twisted and bent into unnatural positions to transition from quadruped to biped. Thick,
silver fur receded to reveal pale skin, and the wolf’s bushy tail grew smaller and smaller until it
disappeared. Massive paws splayed outwards as toes spasmed and lengthened into fingers, and the
wolf’s jaws gaped as they shrank back into Rhaenyra’s face.

This time, the transformation seemed to last a horrifying eternity.

Alicent’s throat had tightened in response to hearing the familiar crack of bones breaking, and her
heart thundered in response to the way the wolf’s body—Rhaenyra’s body—gruesomely contorted.

Pain.
So much pain.

Her fingers curled tight around her scarred wrist.

In and out. In and out. In and out.

Those bones aren’t mine. I’m not in any danger. I’m safe.

Rhaenyra does not wish me harmed.

By the time that the shift was complete, Alicent’s mind felt hazy as she struggled not to succumb to
the panic that she felt threatening to consume her. She blinked rapidly in an attempt to bring
Rhaenyra’s face into focus, needing to know that her friend was all right after such a horrifying
display.

Alicent would have expected to see Rhaenyra panting from the pain and exertion, but she appeared
perfectly calm and composed. Not a single hair was out of place, there were no lingering signs of
pain in any of her features, and her clothes were completely unruffled.

Amusement glinted in Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes, but it swiftly transformed into concern when she
saw Alicent’s fingers around her wrist, when she no doubt heard the rapid beat of her heart. “Ali?
Are you all right?”

Alicent managed a small nod.

In and out. In and out. In and out.

All is well. I’m all right. Rhaenyra is all right.

Rhaenyra appeared in front of her a moment later, hands fluttering worriedly. “Ali, may I touch
your arm?”

“Yes.” The word sounded raspy to her own ears, but she felt her heart begin to slow when a warm
hand settled on her arm.

“Shall we sit?”

Alicent nodded, expecting Rhaenyra to lead her over to the nearest chair or divan, but instead, she
felt herself being immediately eased down onto a soft cushion.

Telekinesis.

Rhaenyra sat down beside her, her hand never leaving Alicent’s arm. “May I hold you, Ali?”

Rather than responding with a word or a nod, Alicent slid closer, pressing herself against
Rhaenyra’s side. And when she felt strong arms wrap around her in a familiar embrace, she
immediately burrowed into her friend’s comforting warmth and breathed in the calming scent of
her rose perfume.

Safe.

She was safe.

Warm lips pressed against her forehead as a gentle hand stroked her back. “Please forgive me, Ali,”
Rhaenyra murmured. “I should have realized that the sights and sounds would upset you.”

Feeling calmer now that she was cocooned in Rhaenyra’s warmth and the scent of her perfume,
Alicent raised her head slightly. “Were you in pain?” That was the only question that mattered. The
thought that she had inadvertently forced her friend to endure such agony simply because the initial
shift hadn’t been the spectacle that she’d assumed it would be . . .

Her stomach roiled.

“No, Ali, none at all,” Rhaenyra assured her gently. “I know the process appears painful, but it
doesn’t hurt.”

Alicent couldn’t help but give her a dubious look as the sound of her friend’s breaking bones
echoed in her ears. How could such horrific noises not be accompanied by at least some form of
pain? “Then what does it feel like then, when you shift?”

“Warm.” Rhaenyra gently tucked a strand of hair back behind Alicent’s ear. “Like the sun on your
skin when you step outside on a summer’s day. When I shift, the warmth envelops me and seeps
into my skin, into my bones and muscles. It makes every part of my body feel more fluid, similar to
soft candlewax waiting to be molded into something new.” She paused, lips pursing slightly. “I do
feel it when my bones reshape themselves and my organs move about, but it doesn’t hurt. It
actually feels rather similar to when you stretch after waking up in the morning.”

A frown curled Alicent’s lips as her mind struggled to reconcile what she’d seen with what
Rhaenyra was telling her. She wanted to believe that the transformation was as Rhaenyra had
described—warm and soft and fluid. But what she’d seen and heard had been anything but.

“Ali.”

Alicent refocused her attention on Rhaenyra.

“I promise you that there wasn’t any pain.” Rhaenyra unwound one of her arms so that she could
show Alicent her hand. “Watch. And this time, feel.”

This time, the shift from hand to paw was more rapid, but still slow enough that Alicent could see it
happening.

And this time, Alicent used her empathy to sense Rhaenyra’s emotions as the shift occurred.

Enjoyment.

Satisfaction.

Concern, but only for Alicent herself.

The desire to comfort and reassure.

A sense of pride.

She frowned slightly at the last one. “Why are you proud?”
“Hmm? Oh.” Rhaenyra’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Because of how easily I’m able to control the
speed of my shift. Children shift slowly as they learn to control their gift, adults shift so swiftly and
seamlessly that all anyone can perceive is a slight ripple or bending of light. A master can control
the speed of her shift however she desires.”

Alicent nodded slowly. “I see.” She’d felt no pain during the third shift, and while she supposed
that Rhaenyra could have simply hidden it away, she wanted to believe that her friend was telling
her the truth.

She promised.

And Rhaenyra doesn’t break her promises.

Expelling a relieved sigh, Alicent felt the tension in her stomach uncoil as she settled her head on
Rhaenyra’s shoulder, humming happily when Rhaenyra hugged her even tighter.

Three Weeks Later

(Flower Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI)

When Alicent entered Rhaenyra’s office, her friend’s back was to her as she leaned over something
on her desk. Her silver hair was disheveled, or at least more disheveled than she’d ever seen it.
Wisps and locks had come free from her neatly coiled braids and escaped out from under the
simple, silver hairnet meant to contain them. And Alicent was almost certain that Rhaenyra’s gown
was the same one that she’d been wearing yesterday, and perhaps the day before that as well.

Yet she still smells of rose.

One of the benefits of not sweating, she supposed.

Rhaenyra whirled around to face her. “What is it, Alicent?”

Her words were clipped, irritated, and Alicent couldn’t help the way that her eyes widened slightly
at having such a tone directed at her—especially by Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra’s expression instantly crumpled with regret. “Please forgive me, Alicent. I shouldn’t have
spoken to you like that.”

She resisted her instinctive urge to tell Rhaenyra that it was all right, having realized that her friend
responded better to explicit forgiveness rather than assurances that she’d done nothing wrong.
“You’re forgiven.”

And now that they were facing each other, Alicent could see the dark circles beneath Rhaenyra’s
bloodshot eyes and that her face was alarmingly pale.

Strong Sytarr, how had Rhaenyra managed to so thoroughly exhaust herself in merely two weeks?

While Alicent herself had spent these past weeks helping Archmagister Orinna and the other
chemists identify and isolate the multitudes of mutated chemicals and toxins present at a newly-
discovered toxic waste site, she’d still remembered to sleep and eat.
Unlike Rhaenyra.

But even then, two weeks shouldn’t be enough to reduce her friend to this state.

Unless she hasn’t been sleeping for far longer than two weeks.

Her stomach twisted guiltily at the thought. How had she not realized that Rhaenyra was
exhausting herself again? Or perhaps she had noticed and simply ignored the signs?

She didn’t know which was worse.

Shaking her head, Alicent refocused her attention on Rhaenyra. “How long have you not been
sleeping?”

Rhaenyra blinked a few times, frowning slightly. “I have been sleeping.”

Alicent arched an eyebrow, eyes sweeping over her friend from head to toe. “Have you?”

“I’ve been sleeping enough,” Rhaenyra amended.

“Rhaenyra, you’ll be no use to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion.” She knew that those words
were a waste. She knew that Aemma had been repeating them to Rhaenyra for millennia. She knew
that Rhaenyra would immediately dismiss them.

And yet, when Rhaenyra’s lips pursed, for a brief moment, Alicent thought that perhaps her words
had finally breached her friend’s thick skull. But then Rhaenyra waved away her concern with a
dismissive flick of her hand. “I know my own limits.”

“Do you?”

“I do, actually.” Rhaenyra folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. “When I was
younger, I conducted several experiments to determine exactly how long I could forgo sleep while
still maintaining proper mental faculties and physical functions.”

“And what were the results?” She was fairly certain that she didn’t actually want to know, and
Rhaenyra’s smug expression was more than enough confirmation of that.

“I can remain completely awake and high functioning for seven months, three weeks, five days,
twenty-one hours, and sixteen minutes. If I allow myself a few hours of sleep a week, I can almost
double that timespan.”

Alicent’s eyes narrowed slightly, wondering how exactly Rhaenyra was defining “high
functioning.” She knew that Valyrians needed less sleep than her own people, but over seven
months of no sleep could not—by any metric—be considered healthy. And simply because she can
forgo sleep for long certainly doesn’t mean that she should.

Seven months.

Sytarr above. She’d befriended a madwoman.

Rhaenyra stifled a yawn before swiftly shaking her head. “Alicent, my apologies for being rude,
but is there a particular reason you’ve come to my office?”
Alicent held up the sheaf of papers that she’d brought with her and had—admittedly—nearly
forgotten about upon seeing Rhaenyra’s exhaustion. “The mutated compounds’ specific chemical
compositions.”

While the original chemicals’ various mutations had made true identification nearly impossible, she
and the chemists had eventually managed to discern most of the original chemicals and toxins,
which had provided them with something of a baseline. They’d spent this past week isolating each
mutation’s specific composition so that Rhaenyra could transmogrify them.

Rhaenyra’s eyes brightened with excitement. “Oh. Thank you, Ali.” She reached for the papers, but
Alicent backed away from her. “Alicent?”

Alicent’s grip on the sheaf tightened, even though she knew that Rhaenyra could rip it from her
hand with nary a thought. “Before I give you the formulas, I have a condition.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rhaenyra’s shocked expression was almost comical.

“I’ll give you these papers after you’ve slept for at least eight consecutive hours.” Alicent knew
that she didn’t have any actual leverage, and if Rhaenyra was truly as high functioning without
sleep as she claimed, then her friend would realize the same.

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed. “Alicent, be reasonable.”

Not high functioning then. “I am. It’s your refusal to sleep that is unreasonable.” Alicent was
tempted to step forward, to place a hand on her friend’s arm, but she was fairly certain that
Rhaenyra might attempt to snatch the papers from her hand if she did that.

“Alicent, you cannot hold such essential information hostage,” Rhaenyra sputtered.

Alicent smiled pleasantly. “I seem to recall you telling me that I’m free to do as I please.”

“Not—I didn’t mean—” Rhaenyra huffed, eyes closing as she massaged her temples. “Alicent,
please, I need—”

“You need rest.” She held up a hand to forestall whatever her friend wished to say next, fairly
certain that it would be an impassioned speech about duty and what she owed to her people. “And
before you argue further, know that I’ve already given this information to Lady Rhaenys, who is
also perfectly capable of helping the Sunwing Parliament.”

Rhaenyra gaped at her. “You gave this information to my Hand before me?”

No, but she certainly would once Rhaenyra retired to her chambers. “Do you agree to my terms?”

For a brief moment, Rhaenyra’s eyes sparked purple fire, and Alicent felt the papers being tugged
by an invisible hand, but then her friend’s shoulders slumped with defeat. Leaning back against her
desk, Rhaenyra’s lips twisted into a scowl that disappeared as soon as she met Alicent’s eyes.
“Eight hours,” she growled, sounding as if the words physically pained her, “but not one minute
more.”

“Eight hours,” Alicent agreed, barely hiding her triumphant grin, “and then I’ll give you the
formulas.”
 Before either of them could say more, a brisk knock was followed almost immediately by Aemma
entering the office. “Your Majesty, I—” She broke off, eyes shifting between Alicent and Rhaenyra.
“My apologies. Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all, Aemma.” Alicent smiled cheerfully. “Rhaenyra was just about to retire to her chambers
and sleep for the next eight hours.”

Aemma’s jaw dropped.

Chapter End Notes

Aemma is now high-key planning a parade in Alicent's honor.

And look! Rhaenicent are giving each other nicknames!

Side note: Wizard is the title for magisters who study magic, similar to how chemists are the
magisters who study chemistry.

Next Chapter: Alicent receives a gift and employment!

 Green Flowers and Silver Cloth
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 25:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Jaselyn Lannister, a master jeweler, resides in Gelt (Valyrian counterpart of Jason Lannister)
– Johanna Westerling, Hand of the Geltic Queen, resides in Gelt
– Hylda Westerling, Shadow Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Gelt
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Damella Rowan, an Osmeran dressmaker, from Kastrell

Trigger Warning: Mentions of marital rape.

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Flower Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

Jaselyn smiled to herself as she inspected her reflection. Not a single strand of golden hair was out
of place, her eyes were beautifully accentuated by the emeralds spangling her hairnet, and the
balmy spring breezes were doing wonders for her complexion.

Perfection.

Which was something of a necessity when meeting with a queen.

If only Johanna—

As if summoned by her thoughts, her reflection in the mirror was suddenly obscured by a
maelstrom of rainbow-colored mist, and a pleasant hum filled the room.

“Who calls?” Jaselyn already knew the answer, but mirror spells could be temperamental if the
specific phrases weren’t used. Someone really ought to correct that issue.

“Hand of the Geltic Queen Johanna Westerling,” the mirror answered.

“Put her through.”

The rainbow mist faded a moment later, replaced by the face of her magnificent mate, which—as
ever—stole the very breath from Jaselyn’s lungs. Seven Hells, her mate was such a vision. By far
the comeliest woman in all the world, whose beauty was of course matched only by her
intelligence.

Jaselyn wondered absently if she might be able to persuade her mate to go on a brief holiday with
her sometime this decade. It had been far too long since Johanna had taken any time for herself,
and while Jaselyn respected and admired her mate’s infinite dedication to the realm and the service
of Queen Aelora, she oft found herself wishing that the two of them could spend some proper time
alone together.

But a Hand’s work never ceased, as well she knew.

And I do have a number of new commissions to attend to.

Perhaps next decade?

“Jaselyn?”

Shaking her head a little, Jaselyn returned her focus to her mate. “My apologies, Dear. My mind
wandered. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected call?”

The last time that her mate had called in the middle of the day had been when Queen Aelora
belatedly realized that she’d forgotten to secure a proper gift for the crown princess’ birthday.

Jaselyn had crafted for Princess Rhaena an exquisite tiara of shining silver, gleaming emeralds,
sparkling sapphires, and glowing moonstones. Every curve and arch had been without equal, and
each carefully etched design without flaw. A true masterpiece, by any estimation, and according to
her mate, the crown princess had been elated by her gift.

That same tiara had graced Princess Rhaena’s head the next time she’d sat for an official portrait.

But the crown princess was no longer celebrating birthdays, and the queen’s bonding anniversary
was still several months away.

In the mirror, Johanna expelled an exasperated breath.

Jaselyn grinned, unable to suppress her laugh. “Oh! Her Majesty ordered you to call me for that?”

“Evidently,” her mate’s tone was dry, though there was a spark of amusement in her captivating
eyes, “Queen Aelora has nearly five crowns staked on whether Queen Rhaenyra will fully carry out
her current attempt at courting the Lady Alicent.”

“Queen Rhaenyra insists that she isn’t attempting to court the Lady Alicent.” Even as she said the
words, Jaselyn couldn’t help but snort at the absurdity of such a claim. The fact that the Kastrellan
Queen had actually been able to speak such a statement with only the utmost sincerity continued to
baffle her.

“Friends” did not sweep into the Empire’s finest jewelry shop, offer a freshly-plucked emerald
orchid as a model, and commission a ring crafted from “the highest quality materials to be found.”

“Friends” did not reject flawless emeralds as “not good enough” and insist that only green
diamonds were worthy of gracing “the Lady Alicent’s slender fingers.”

“Friends” did not spend such an obscene amount of money on a mere “token of friendship.”

Merciful Mother, Queen Rhaenyra was spending more on this ring than most mates spent on each
other in a reign.

Friendship my ass.
She was a Lannister.

Her House was known for offering the most extravagant of gifts for every occasion.

But there was not a single woman in her family who would ever consider making a gift of green
diamonds to a mere friend, or even to a heart friend.

Seven Hells, most of us wouldn’t even consider offering green diamonds to a monarch.

“Well, regardless of how Queen Rhaenyra decides to frame it, I was asked to have you inform me
the moment that Her Majesty leaves your shop with ring in hand.” Johanna clicked her tongue,
plainly displeased to have received such an inane request.

Understandable. Her mate’s brilliant political mind was being wasted on such a task, though
Jaselyn would be lying if she claimed to not garner any amusement from the fact that Queen Aelora
had ordered the greatest Hand in Geltic history to essentially use a personal connection to spy on
another queen for the sake of a wager.

“Do you know what the actual bet is?” Jaselyn herself had staked a few silvers with some of her
friends on when exactly the Kastrellan Queen and her Westerosi guest would conclude whatever
peculiar dance they seemed to be engaged in. She assumed that it would still be a few more years
yet, considering the gossip surrounding Lady Alicent’s indoctrination and what she personally
knew about Queen Rhaenyra.

Johanna nodded, her exasperation not lessening in the slightest. “Queen Aelora believes that her
mother will offer Lady Alicent the ring immediately upon returning to Stone Garden. Queen
Jaehaera insists that it will be at least a week before that happens. Queen Lucerya thinks it will be
three days, Queen Helaena two. Queen Jacaerya doesn’t think Queen Rhaenyra will offer the ring
for at least a month, and Queen Vaella is convinced the ring will be a birthday gift.”

Jaselyn wondered if it would be rude to have her mate find a way to inform Queen Vaella that she
would most certainly be losing her money. She happened to know for a fact that Queen Rhaenyra
had already commissioned a different birthday gift from Mistress Alentyia Estren.

Best not to interfere with Targaryen wagering, she decided.

“Does Empress Visenya have a stake?”

“Her Excellency is of the opinion that the ring will languish somewhere hidden until after Queen
Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent officially begin courting.”

Well that would be an utter travesty!

A ring such as the one that Jaselyn had spent the past five months painstakingly crafting must needs
be placed upon its intended finger without delay!

The thought of green diamonds being hidden away in some drawer or pocket dimension or
wherever the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath saw fit to conceal gifts was almost as
dismaying as her and Johanna’s first true argument.

“Jase,” Johanna’s amused voice drew her from her thoughts and returned her attention to where it
belonged, “you seem rather pale, Dear.”
Jaselyn blinked owlishly, shaking her head. “It’s nothing to fret over,” she assured her. “I’ll be
certain to call once Queen Rhaenyra departs.” And once I’ve ensured that she will not allow that
ring to languish overlong simply because she is reticent or what have you.

For a brief moment, she considered whether such interference—now that she knew the empress and
six of the queens had an active wager in place—constituted treason. But she swiftly dismissed the
thought.

Even if it was treason, a few reigns in a Great Glass Prison would be worth it to prevent the
travesty of not only green diamonds being wasted, but of her perfect and incomparable creation
being utterly squandered in such a way.

Although, imprisonment in a Great Glass Prison would mean being separated from Johanna.

Being denied her mate’s radiant presence for so long, she swiftly concluded, would be far worse
than wasted green diamonds.

No overt interference then.

Johanna was giving her a stern look from the other side of the mirror, evidently knowing exactly
what she was thinking. “Please refrain from interfering overmuch, Dear. Queen Aelora says that
Empress Visenya still hasn’t entirely forgiven you for ignoring her request to use rubies rather than
emeralds the last time that she commissioned a piece from you.”

“You and I both know that emeralds better complement Elysande Celtigar’s eyes and complexion.”
Jaselyn shrugged, as unrepentant now as she had been then. She knew that she was right, and
Mistress Elysande had agreed with her. “Rubies would have clashed dreadfully.”

A fond smile curled Johanna’s lips even as she shook her head with exasperation. “All the same, do
try to remember yourself, hmm?”

“Of course, Dear.” Jaselyn offered her most charming smile, which made Johanna’s eyes twinkle in
that special way they only ever did for her.

Before she could say more, she felt a faint tingling in her left hand alerting her that someone had
crossed the border spell surrounding her shop.

“I believe Her Majesty has arrived.” Jaselyn stepped back from the mirror to offer her mate an
exaggerated bow. “Until we speak again, My Dear.”

Johanna gave her a warm smile in return, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I love you, Jase.”

“And I worship you.”

Her mate’s smile curled into a devious smirk as her reflection began to fade from the glass. “Oh, I
know.”

Chuckling to herself, Jaselyn smoothed out her skirts one final time before sweeping out of the
backroom to greet whoever had entered her shop.

As expected, it was Queen Rhaenyra, and accompanying her were Vora Hylda and Vora Hylda’s
mate, though Jaselyn couldn’t recall the other knight’s name. The queen’s rose scent was slightly
sharper than usual—likely due to nerves—while Vora Hylda and her mate’s intertwined scents were
warm with calming pheromones.

Jaselyn sank into an elegant curtsy before the queen. “Your Majesty, welcome back.”

Queen Rhaenyra’s smile was as pleasant as ever, if somewhat distracted. “Lady Jaselyn, I was very
pleased to receive your message that the piece was finished.”

“Yes, my apologies again for the delay.”

A delay caused by the difficulty of procuring green diamonds as compared to emeralds.

The Queen waved dismissively. “There is no need for apology. Quality takes time.”

“So it does,” Jaselyn agreed. That was one thing she had always appreciated about her Targaryen
clients. For as temperamental as some could be, most understood the simple fact that genius could
not be rushed.

As ever, her eyes briefly fell upon the Queen’s hands to see which rings graced her fingers. She
smiled to herself when she saw that Queen Rhaenyra was wearing the two dragon signet rings and
the black rose ring that Jaselyn had crafted for her so long ago. The ruby ring engraved with the
three-headed dragon of House Targaryen truly was one of her favorite pieces, though it wasn’t the
same masterpiece that the black rose ring was.

Of course, neither compares to my latest creation.

While all of her commissions were of course without equal, the ring that she had crafted for Lady
Alicent was utter perfection.

Far too lovely to be hidden away for any amount of time.

“And how is your mate?”

Jaselyn’s chest immediately swelled with pride, even as she realized that she’d missed whatever the
Queen had been saying previously. “Johanna continues to be the finest Hand in the history of Gelt,
Your Majesty, if not the Empire itself. Her managing of the Queendom’s reconstruction efforts was
truly without equal, and she is now coordinating Queen Aelora’s efforts to aid the Geltic dragon
parliaments with all of the efficiency and grace one could ever desire. All while, of course,
preparing solstice celebrations that shall rival any seen since before the War.”

Her mate truly was a marvel.

Utterly unparalleled.

A perfect Hand in every respect.

She grinned at Queen Rhaenyra. “Should the Lady Rhaenys ever require assistance or advice in
carrying out her duties, I’m certain Johanna would be happy to share her wisdom and experience,
Your Majesty.”

Queen Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow. “Do you believe my Hand somehow lacking in administrative
skill, Lady Jaselyn?”
“Of course not, Your Majesty, but my Johanna has been serving as Hand since your great-great-
grandaunt’s reign. Queen though she may have been, Lady Rhaenys simply has less experience
managing a Queendom.”

Queen Rhaenyra nodded slowly, her pleasant smile not wavering. “I’m certain my aunt will be . . .
interested to hear of your words, Lady Jaselyn.”

“I’m certain she will,” Jaselyn agreed, preening with pleasure that her mate’s invaluable services
were being recognized by another monarch. She also made a mental note to inform her mate to
expect a call from Lady Rhaenys in the future.

Oh, which reminded her.

She turned her attention to Vora Hylda. “Vora, Johanna sends her regards, and her remorse that she
was unable to attend the most recent family gathering.”

Vora Hylda’s stern expression softened for a moment. “Do tell my cousin that, while missed, the
family more than understood her absence.”

As they should. Other Starshields may guard queens and empresses, but her Johanna had been
serving as a queen’s strong right Hand for six consecutive reigns now and proving herself without
equal.

Jaselyn well-remembered when she’d first met her mate, how her sharp and insightful Johanna had
seemed almost embarrassed to be pursuing a path in politics rather than joining the Shield Sister
Society as nigh every other descendant of Artemisia Westerling had done since the Founding.
Jaselyn had encouraged her to follow her passions rather than the dictates of her family legacy, and
she had reminded her that there was more than one way to serve a crown.

Johanna had told her on several occasions how much that reassurance had meant to her, and it
never failed to fill Jaselyn with warmth.

Jaselyn inclined her head to the Shadow Knight. “I’ll tell her.”

With that, she clapped her hands together, and when she opened them, she presented Queen
Rhaenyra with the ring to which she’d dedicated the past five months of her life.

An exquisite piece without equal.

And the delighted expression that immediately overcame the Queen’s face confirmed her opinion.

Telekinetic fingers carefully plucked the ring from Jaselyn’s hand and brought it close to Queen
Rhaenyra’s face so that she could inspect it. She turned the ring this way and that, her purple eyes
roving over every centimeter with all of the care that one should hope a customer would
demonstrate when examining a purchase of this magnitude. The pleased smile never left her lips as
she scrutinized the cut and clarity of the diamonds, the shine of the silver, and the elegance of the
delicate etchings.

Finally, Queen Rhaenyra returned the ring to Jaselyn’s hand. “Impeccable work as always, Lady
Jaselyn.”
Jaselyn beamed proudly. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’m certain the Lady
Alicent will love it as well.”

“Relle willing,” the Queen murmured, as much to herself as to Jaselyn, before shaking her head.
“How much do I owe you?”

When Jaselyn gave the amount, Vora Hylda’s eyes flew wide and her mouth opened in shock, while
her mate appeared almost on the verge of fainting.

Queen Rhaenyra didn’t so much as bat an eye.

Two Days Later

From her place standing in the doorway leading out into the western water garden, Rhaenyra
fingered the ties of the little silk pouch in her hands, releasing another deep exhale in an attempt to
calm her thundering heart and soothe her nerves.

I’ve no reason to fret. None at all.

She was the Queen of Kastrell, the Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire, the Most Powerful
Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath, the Iron Dragon of House Targaryen, and the Dragon of the East.

She had lived a thousand lives with a thousand faces on hundreds of different worlds. She had
made many friends and a myriad of enemies across the galaxies, universes, and planes of existence.
She had witnessed the births and deaths of countless peoples, species, civilizations, and even
worlds. She had guided heroes and destroyed slavers. She had defeated armies and armadas without
batting an eye. She had fought in hundreds of wars and led men and women into countless battles.
She had debated in the great council halls of hundreds of governments and made bargains with
gods.

Offering a simple gift to a beautiful woman was nothing compared to all of that.

Except that the beautiful woman was Alicent Hightower.

And Alicent Hightower was everything.

Mother Relle and All Her Faces.

A token of friendship. That is all this is.

A simple gift. Something small but hopefully meaningful to her.

A physical representation of how much I appreciate her company. How honored I am and will
forever be that she saw fit to forgive me my transgressions against her.

She hadn’t deserved Alicent’s forgiveness, and yet Alicent had offered it.

Because Alicent was good and sweet and gentle and compassionate.

And so wonderfully inquisitive and intelligent.

Alicent deserved so much more than a mere ring—exquisite though this one was—but Rhaenyra
did not wish to overwhelm her, and she well-remembered Alicent’s shock at receiving a mere rose
when they reconciled.

I doubt that she received very many gifts back on Westeros.

A soft growl rumbled in her throat.

Merciful Mother how she wished that she could simply raze that entire wretched planet.

While Alicent had told her precious little about her life on Westeros—save for a handful of pleasant
stories about her sisters and eldest brother—the few oblique mentions that she’d made of her
mother told Rhaenyra more than enough to know that Clarissa Hightower deserved to be flayed
alive.

At minimum.

She probably ought to discuss with Dr. Alfadora at some point the fact that she oft dreamt of
overheating Westeros’ core and watching the planet explode. Or of crushing it into dust with her
telekinesis. Or of using her elementalism to annihilate the population and then destroy the planet.

Such thoughts probably weren’t particularly healthy.

Yet every time that she saw one of Alicent’s scars, she couldn’t help but imagine making the
Westerosi suffer.

And she’d been seeing Alicent’s scars quite often of late.

Huffing out a breath, she did her best to set aside such thoughts. Not every Westerosi, she supposed,
deserved to die screaming.

But the majority certainly do.

Enough of that.

Relle above, her mother had been right. She was too easily distracted.

“Your mind is a chaotic mess, Rhaenyra. How do you intend to govern an Empire when you cannot
even govern your own thoughts?”

Another growl rumbled in her chest as her mother’s voice echoed in her ears.

“Your Majesty?”

Turning, Rhaenyra looked up at her Shadow Knight. “Yes?”

Hylda offered her a warm and encouraging smile. “Jaselyn Lannister may be a puffed up peacock
of a woman, but I do believe she was correct in saying that Lady Alicent will be well-pleased by
your gift.”

Rhaenyra’s grip tightened on the silk pouch. “It isn’t somehow presumptuous, is it? Offering her a
ring?”
“I don’t see how.”

Nor did she, but what if Alicent wasn’t pleased by the ring?

That particular thought had been plaguing her for two days now. She’d been so certain when she’d
commissioned the ring that Alicent would be elated, and when she’d seen it for the first time in
Jaselyn’s shop, she’d been even more certain, but now . . .

Stop being a thrice-damned coward and give her the bloody ring.

Squaring her shoulders, Rhaenyra allowed herself one final deep breath.

Merciful Mother, even from this distance, she could detect the faint scent of freshly baked bread
being carried on the wind.

And despite being mingled with the clean smell of water and stone and the sometimes-pungent
odor of fish, Alicent’s scent remained as intoxicating to her now as it had the very first time that
she’d smelled it.

She wanted to be closer.

Needed to be closer.

Alicent’s scent called to her magic, called to her soul, called to something primal and ancient
within her, called to her in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Called to her in a way that Emalia’s scent never—

No.

Swiftly burying such foolish thoughts, she marched out of the Keep and into the garden.

Focus on the task at hand.

Think about the flowers.

Think about the garden.

Think about the fish.

Think about anything other than her.

The western water garden was a series of several dozen pools that housed a multitude of different
fish and aquatic plant species. Fountains of various shapes, sizes, and designs rose up from the
middle of each pond, most of them having been newly built since the end of the War. The pathways
between the pools were paved with sea-green stone harvested from sea caves in Saevara, and
benches of blue marble bordered the numerous water features.

The pools were fed by an artificial waterfall located in the heart of the garden, which overlooked
the central lake. Water redirected from the Calsidren cascaded over and through an immense rock
that had been raised up using earth elementalism. Small grottos had been carved into the face of the
rock, and marble statues of different magical beasts and birds had been placed inside each of the
little niches.
As Rhaenyra made her way down the central path, she took care not to slip on the often-slick stone.
She passed by several gardeners, who all paused in their work to swiftly rise, bow, and greet her.
While she returned each of their greetings in a genial tone and with a warm smile, she would be
lying if she claimed to not be distracted, for nigh all of her attention was focused on the woman
sitting in front of one of the smaller ornamental pools.

Alicent’s rich, auburn curls were swept back over her left shoulder and secured with a few pins, and
her fair skin was practically glowing in the sunlight. She wore a gown of silver today, with pretty
green flames embroidered on the bodice. The full skirts were slashed to reveal emerald brocade
beneath, and golden vines adorned the hem. Her lovely brown eyes darted around as they followed
the little fish swimming in the water, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

As ever, Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of Alicent’s smile.

Mother Relle and All Her Faces, Alicent is truly exquisite.

She swiftly smothered the thought, but then Alicent’s scent—much stronger now that she was so
close—reached her nose. Her heart quickened in her chest, and her throat went dry.

Seven thrice-damned Hells.

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat to draw Alicent’s attention.

Alicent turned to look at her, her smile brightening in greeting. “Good morning, Nyra.”

Merciful Mother.

Blessedly, Rhaenyra’s voice remained steady when she responded, “Good morning, Ali.” She
nodded to the empty space beside her on the bench. “May I join you?”

Happiness suffused Alicent’s scent as she nodded. “Of course.”

Alicent couldn’t help but smile when Rhaenyra gracefully seated herself beside her rather than at
the far end of the bench as she would have before their first visit to the glowing grove. The other
woman was close enough that Alicent could feel the heat radiating off of her, and from the corner
of her eye, she could see Rhaenyra neatly folding her hands in her lap.

Sunlight danced around her fingers—reflecting off of her rings—and her silver hair was swept up
into a complicated style that somehow resembled a dragon. Their skirts were overlapping on the
blue stone of the bench—Rhaenyra’s black and red velvets blending with her own silver silk and
green brocade—but their legs weren’t touching.

Part of Alicent wished that they were.

She’d been realizing over the past few months that she enjoyed having Rhaenyra close, that she
enjoyed sharing the occasional moment of physical contact with her. And while she still didn’t feel
comfortable engaging in the kinds of casual touches that her other friends exchanged with each
other so freely—the thought of Rhaenyra touching her face or her hair or kissing her cheek made
her stomach twist uncomfortably—she liked it when her friend would offer her arm or brush her
fingers over the back of her hand or sit so that their legs were pressed together.
And she liked it when Rhaenyra hugged her.

Rhaenyra’s hugs were always warm, and the other woman held as if . . . as if Alicent mattered.

She didn’t know how else to describe it.

There was a gentleness, a care, to all of Rhaenyra’s hugs, that somehow felt different from how
Rhaenyra would hold her after a night terror. On those nights, Rhaenyra held her to comfort her, to
calm her and soothe her. But when Rhaenyra hugged her . . . it felt as if Rhaenyra was simply
communicating her fondness.

A fondness that Alicent herself certainly shared.

Wanton little whore.

Alicent’s jaw clenched.

Her mother’s cruel voice had been tormenting her much more frequently since she and Rhaenyra
had reconciled, and while she found the implications of this development more than a little
disquieting, she had yet to mention the matter to Dr. Arwen. She wasn’t yet ready to discuss that
particular trauma with her therapist.

Not now.

Perhaps not ever.

“Alicent?”

The sound of Rhaenyra’s voice drew Alicent from her gloomy thoughts, and she realized with more
than a little embarrassment that this wasn’t the first time that Rhaenyra had attempted to gain her
attention. “My apologies. What was that?”

Looking at her friend now, Alicent realized that Rhaenyra was nervous. Her pretty amethyst eyes
were flicking between her face and the pond in front of them, her fingers were flexing in her lap,
and her rings trembled, as if they were about to begin spinning.

Rhaenyra Targaryen—nervous.

Even now, it sometimes still astounded her that this was somehow the same woman who had
haunted her nightmares and those of her people for so many years.

Hands stilling, Rhaenyra raised her chin and locked their gazes. “I have something that I wish to
offer you, if you’ll allow me pleasure.”

“Oh?” Alicent could hardly remember the last time that Rhaenyra had spoken to her so formally
outside of her letters, and she found the sudden stiffness rather disconcerting. Confusing as well,
since she couldn’t fathom what Rhaenyra might wish to offer her. She’s already provided me with
everything that I could need or want.

A fact that continued to plague her.

While she was of course appreciative of Rhaenyra’s generosity, she disliked being so reliant upon
it. And while she now knew for certain that—if she so wished—she could rely upon her friend’s
kindness until the day she died, she didn’t want to.

And that doesn’t make me ungrateful.

Dr. Arwen had spent weeks assuring her that there was nothing wrong with desiring “financial
independence,” and that it was perfectly all right for her to not feel comfortable spending any of the
nearly forty crowns hidden away in her bedchamber as a result of her weekly “allowance.”

Alicent knew that she ought to discuss her so-called allowance with Rhaenyra, but she hadn’t yet
determined how to explain to her friend that she didn’t want her money without hurting her
feelings.

She knew that Rhaenyra meant well—that Rhaenyra always meant well—but she’d been dependent
upon the beneficence of others all her life, and while she knew that Rhaenyra was nothing like her
Westerosi families, the knowledge that everything she “owned” was actually Rhaenyra’s bothered
her.

Which was why she’d resolved to seek employment last winter, but those plans had been delayed
first by her needing time to familiarize herself with the city, then by her spending more time with
Rhaenyra, and most recently by her work with the magisters to aid the Sunwing Parliament.

I’ll need to return to those endeavors now that the Sunwing Parliament’s lands have been restored.

She only hoped that Rhaenyra would not be too hurt when Alicent eventually told her about her
plans.

Shuffling those thoughts aside for a later time, she refocused her attention on Rhaenyra herself,
who was smiling nervously.

“I would like to give you a gift,” Rhaenyra explained, an odd mixture of determination and anxiety
flickering in her amethyst eyes, “if you’ll allow me.”

A gift.

The word still sounded so foreign, even in her own mind. Before the fire rose that Rhaenyra had
given her the day that they’d reconciled, she couldn’t actually remember the last time that she’d
received a true gift from another person.

Gwayne had snuck her a piece of candy on her fifth birthday, but their mother had swiftly
confiscated it before she could so much as taste the sweet.

Mara had given her a handkerchief the day that she left home to wed Criston, but she couldn’t
remember what had happened to it. Did Sabina take it? Or did Arilla burn it after I failed to
become with child? She supposed that it didn’t actually matter anymore.

Her mothers had sometimes given her cloth for making quilts and handkerchiefs or wool to spin
into yarn or needles to embroider with or new modules to learn from, but she didn’t think that those
were actual gifts, since they all served practical purposes.

Before Dr. Gnorts declared her barren, Criston had once given her little baubles and trinkets, but
she now realized that they’d merely been demonstrations of his own wealth rather than his care for
her.
Besides, every one of his supposed gifts had been used to hurt her in some way over the years.

Her stomach clenched at the memory of cold metal being forced inside her, at the feeling of
shattered glass slicing across her stomach, at the burn of hot wires wrapping tight around her ankles
—

Without thinking, Alicent reached for Rhaenyra and grasped her wrist, tugging desperately, needing
her closer.

“Ali?” Rhaenyra allowed herself to be pulled forward, pressing against Alicent’s side.

Alicent’s eyes squeezed shut as she breathed deeply, inhaling the comforting scent of Rhaenyra’s
rose perfume. All is well. I’m safe. Rhaenyra will never hurt me.

Rhaenyra lightly stroked her back. “Please forgive me, Alicent. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Shaking her head, Alicent opened her eyes to look at her. “It wasn’t anything you did, Nyra. I . . .
I’m simply not used to receiving gifts, I suppose.”

“I see.” Rhaenyra eyed her worriedly. “Perhaps another time—”

Alicent shook her head again. “I’m all right now.” And she was. The knot in her stomach had
uncoiled, and the memories had receded back to the dark depths of her mind where they belonged.
“May I ask about the occasion? For the gift?” Her birthday was still weeks away, as were the
Summer Solstice celebrations.

“There isn’t a specific occasion.” Rhaenyra seemed more at ease now as well, as if the familiarity
of helping Alicent manage her panic had somehow soothed her own nerves. The hand not resting
on Alicent’s arm reached towards a pocket hidden within the folds of her dress as she continued
speaking. “But I wanted to offer you a . . . token. Of my friendship. Something small and simple, if
you’ll allow.”

A token of friendship? She worriedly bit the inside of her cheek. Was that a Valyrian custom?
Should I be offering her a gift as well?

“There’s no need for reciprocation,” Rhaenyra assured hastily. “I only—I wanted you to know that
I care. About you, and about our friendship. And,” she smiled apologetically, “and that I’ll not
abandon you again.” Withdrawing her hand from her pocket, she offered Alicent a small silk
pouch. “I hope you like it.”

Releasing Rhaenyra’s wrist, Alicent accepted the little bag and carefully worked open the mouth.
Upending the pouch, her eyes widened with a combination of shock and awe when a gleaming ring
fell into her hand.

It’s an emerald orchid, she realized a moment later.

The band of the ring was bright, flawless silver with little leaves etched into the metal to create the
orchid’s stem, while the setting was a cluster of seven green gemstones that had been masterfully
cut and arranged into the shape of orchid petals. The way that the faceted jewels caught and
reflected the sunlight was almost blinding, though in a breathtakingly beautiful sort of way.
“Strong Sytarr,” she breathed. She might not be a jeweler, but even her untrained eye could see that
this ring was a work of exquisite craftsmanship. Or would it be craftswomanship?

“Do you like it?”

The hopeful tone of Rhaenyra’s voice—the understanding that her friend dearly wished for her to
be pleased by this lovely gift—made Alicent’s stomach flutter and caused a pleasant warmth to
infuse her cheeks and spread throughout her body.

Sinful, disgusting little creature, her mother’s voice snarled.

Alicent’s shoulders instinctively hunched, the fluttering of her stomach swiftly transforming into a
painful, twisting sensation. I know. I know. I know. Sytarr, why couldn’t she simply appreciate this
gift for what it was instead of making it something lewd? What is wrong with me?

Sytarr has condemned and damned you for your sinful nature.

Rhaenyra’s face fell when she saw Alicent’s shoulders slump. “Oh. You don’t like it, do you? My
apologies. I should have commissioned a different design, yes? Or a different sort of piece,
perhaps? Or is it the jewelry that you object to? Would you care for—?”

“Please don’t apologize, Rhaenyra.” She reached out with her free hand to gently squeeze her
friend’s arm. “I love your gift.”

Rhaenyra frowned slightly, eyes searching her face. “You needn’t say that if you don’t mean it,
Alicent.”

“But I do mean it.” And she truly did. Not only was the ring by far the most beautiful piece of
jewelry that she’d ever seen, it was an emerald orchid.

Rhaenyra had remembered her favorite flower and bought her a ring to match.

It was sweet and thoughtful and kind. And Alicent had never actually told Rhaenyra that she
favored emerald orchids, which meant that her friend had simply been paying attention to her, that
her friend had cared enough to pay attention to her.

She couldn’t quite explain why that knowledge filled her with such warmth—it wasn’t as if she’d
had any reason to doubt that Rhaenyra cared about her before—but it did. Knowing that Rhaenyra
didn’t simply remember the things that Alicent explicitly told her but that she also cared enough to
observe her likes and dislikes made her heart swell in a way that she’d never felt before.

“If you’re—”

Alicent hugged her.

Without thinking, she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around her friend, and pulled her into a
tight hug.

Rhaenyra stiffened, her entire body tensing.

For a moment, they both remained frozen in place.

Then Alicent realized that Rhaenyra wasn’t returning her hug, that her friend wasn’t responding at
all, in fact, and she began to panic.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

She shouldn’t have done that.

Or she should have asked for permission first, as Rhaenyra always did.

Sytarr above, what was wrong with her?

Cheeks flaming with mortification, she began to uncoil her arms—

Only for Rhaenyra to suddenly return the hug with an almost desperate ferocity. “Ali.”

Her name was little more than a whisper falling from her friend’s lips, and her voice sounded oddly
strained.

Alicent swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Nyra?”

When Rhaenyra didn’t respond, Alicent finished uncoiling her arms and gently pushed against her
friend’s shoulders until Rhaenyra’s arms slowly—almost reluctantly—unwound from around her
waist.

Drawing back, Alicent frowned worriedly upon seeing that Rhaenyra wore a rather stunned
expression on her face and that there was a strange glaze over her eyes. “Rhaenyra, are you all
right?”

Rhaenyra remained silent for an excruciatingly long moment, but then her eyes cleared and her lips
curled into a beaming smile that reminded Alicent of the sun itself. “Perfectly all right.”

Alicent wanted to press, but then decided against it. Her whole body was humming pleasantly from
their hug, and her mother’s voice was screaming at her. She didn’t dare dwell on the embrace
overlong. There would be time enough to wonder what exactly had possessed her to do such a
thing.

Rhaenyra held her hand out. “May I?”

She knew that she ought to say “no.” She knew that she ought to politely shake her head and say
“no.” But her body was evidently not inclined to heed her better judgment, because she found
herself handing the ring back to Rhaenyra.

Still smiling, Rhaenyra gently took Alicent’s left hand in hers and carefully slipped the ring onto
her finger.

It fit perfectly.

The feeling of the cool metal band around her finger sent little tremors down her spine that were
almost pleasant, which only made them all the more horrid. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she
looked down at the gleaming green gemstones, and her stomach clenched in response. The sunlight
dancing off the facets was mesmerizing, and she wondered absently if it was possible to infuse
magic into jewelry.
Shaking her head to clear it of the inane thoughts, she returned her attention to Rhaenyra. “Thank
you, Nyra. It’s truly stunning.”

“You’re very welcome.” Rhaenyra reached out and lightly brushed her finger over one of the
jeweled petals. “Did you know that emerald orchids are among the hardiest of the orchid species?
They’re one of the few that can survive in cold climates almost as well as warm. Harsh and
inhospitable conditions do little to diminish their beauty.” She glanced at Alicent. “Fitting,
wouldn’t you agree? That you favor a flower known for both its beauty and hidden strength?”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed at the implied compliment, and she knew that she needed to redirect the
conversation before it became impossible to ignore her mother’s voice.

But before she could open her mouth, Rhaenyra’s eyes suddenly unfocused as someone called to
her telepathically. When they cleared, she grumbled something under her breath as she removed a
silver pocket watch from one of the other pockets in her dress. Three moons—a full moon flanked
by two crescents—adorned the cover, and a pentagram had been inscribed onto the full moon.

Rhaenyra pressed down on the pocket watch’s crown to open it, tsking when she saw the time.
Closing her watch, she returned it to her pocket and rose to her feet, offering Alicent an apologetic
smile as she did so. “Please forgive me, Alicent, but I have a meeting with my Small Council in
five minutes. But I shall see you this evening for supper?”

“Of course.” Alicent smiled up at her, privately relieved that she would have most of the day to
collect herself and quiet her mother’s voice. “And you needn’t apologize for attending to your
duties, Nyra.” She paused, frowning slightly. “Unless it results in you forgoing sleep for multiple
consecutive months,” she amended.

Amusement glimmered in Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes. “I’ll have you know that I have been sleeping
more of late.”

“Only because I’m making you,” Alicent scoffed. The past week had been a battle of wills each
night as she insisted that her friend actually rest upon returning to her chambers rather than work
until sunrise.

“Did I imply it was otherwise?” Rhaenyra grinned at her. “I’m looking forward to our debate
tonight.”

Of course she was.

Alicent almost snorted, but stopped herself. “I can’t imagine why, considering you always lose.”

Rhaenyra shrugged. “Perhaps I’m simply allowing you to win.”

“Either way,” Alicent smiled sweetly, “I’m still winning.”

Shaking her head, Rhaenyra offered a final, fond smile before bidding her farewell.

As Alicent watched her leave, she was suddenly filled by a peculiar sense of . . . wanting. She
looked down at the ring now gracing her finger, at the gleaming green gemstones that she was
fairly certain weren’t emeralds.
Some foolish part of her wanted to know exactly how much Rhaenyra had spent on this “small and
simple” token of friendship, but she was certain that knowing would only make her stomach churn
and twist with guilt. However much this ring had cost, Alicent knew it was more than Rhaenyra
should have spent.

And yet she chose to anyway. Because we’re friends.

Rhaenyra had told her that reciprocation wasn’t necessary, that the ring was merely a demonstration
of care—for both Alicent and their friendship—but Alicent wanted to reciprocate. She cared for
Rhaenyra as well, and she valued their friendship more than words could properly express. She
wanted Rhaenyra to have some tangible symbol of Alicent’s own care.

But any gift that she might wish to offer Rhaenyra—even something as simple as an embroidered
handkerchief—would require money to either purchase the necessary materials or to purchase the
gift itself. And she refused to use Rhaenyra’s own money for such an endeavor. While she knew
that the crowns hidden away beneath piles of smallclothes in her bedchamber could likely purchase
nigh anything that she might be able to contemplate, those coins were Rhaenyra’s money.

They would always be Rhaenyra’s money.

And she wanted . . .

She wanted to purchase a gift for Rhaenyra.

But more than that, she wanted the ability to purchase a gift for Rhaenyra.

I’m allowed to want things. Desiring some money of my own doesn’t make me ungrateful.

She’d realized over half a year ago that she wanted to seek employment, but she’d allowed herself
to become distracted and had justified her continued delays again and again.

Had justified her own cowardice.

Because the thought of actually seeking work terrified her. She hadn’t been raised with the
expectation of ever needing to do anything beyond bearing her husband’s children and not shaming
him in public.

But she’d failed at that.

She didn’t know the first thing about how a person was meant to find employment, and she didn’t
even know what options might be available to her. She’d been helping Gilly in the kitchens and
arranging flowers with the chamberlains and of course offering her knowledge to the magisters, but
that was different.

What meager skills she had simply weren’t fit for most Valyrian occupations, so many of which
demanded magic.

Sighing, she stared down at her new ring once more, biting her lower lip. She knew that Rhaenyra
would offer her employment within the Keep without hesitation if she asked for it, but that wasn’t
what Alicent wanted. She wanted something that was hers, something that Rhaenyra hadn’t simply
given her.

Her lips pursed.

She might not know the first thing about seeking employment, and she might not know what her
options even were, but she had friends who did.

“Accepting help from others, when you need it, is an honor, not a shame.”

“I’m allowed to want things,” she whispered.

And what she wanted was something that was entirely hers.

What she wanted was something that she had actually earned.

One Week Later

Aemma turned when the scent of freshly baked bread reached her nose, followed soon after by the
soft sound of Alicent’s footsteps reaching her ears. She’d noticed shortly after Alicent had emerged
from her seclusion that the other woman always seemed to step more lightly when outside her
chambers—almost as if she was afraid that her footfalls would disturb someone.

She had yet to determine whether it was simply a quirk, or if Alicent still feared being perceived as
a bother by others.

One option was charming, the other troubling.

Perhaps she should speak to Lady Margaery and Lady Sansa about the matter, learn whether they’d
noticed or not.

When Alicent finally rounded the corner and came into view, Aemma raised a hand and called out a
greeting, which Alicent immediately returned.

Good. She’s finally growing accustomed to our senses.

The first time that she’d greeted Alicent from what she’d thought was a reasonable distance, the
poor woman had practically jumped out of her skin. Apparently, it was not normal to be able to see
someone clearly enough to identify them from over two hundred meters away, never mind that
Aemma had scented her well before Alicent was even that close.

The disparity between her people’s senses and those of Westerosi had been exceedingly beneficial
during the War—albeit the Westerosi had found dozens of ways to augment their senses with
technology—but in the current context, she found it more saddening than anything else. Valyria
was a wondrous place, but Alicent’s poor eyesight, hearing, and sense of smell meant that there
were many sights and sounds and scents that she was simply unable to perceive.

As Alicent approached, Aemma noticed that her friend was fussing with her left ring finger—the
one with a thin white scar encircling it.

While Aemma didn’t know the exact origin of that particular scar—nor did she ever intend to ask—
she could certainly guess. Just as she could guess the origin of the jagged scar that wrapped around
Alicent’s wrist.

She stifled the growl that instinctively rumbled in her chest at the thought. She sometimes found
herself wishing that Empress Visenya had never signed the Treaty and that they’d simply
annihilated the Westerosi and razed their entire thrice-damned planet.

But then Alicent wouldn’t be here, she always reminded herself.

Her nose wrinkled slightly when she detected the hint of anxiety underlying Alicent’s scent.

Alicent’s hands had stilled by the time she came to a stop in front of Aemma, but her scent still
revealed her unease. “May I have a moment, Aemma?”

“Of course. Is something the matter?” She briefly considered asking Alicent to walk with her, but
she didn’t want to give the impression that she was needed elsewhere.

Alicent quickly shook her head. “No. No. Nothing is wrong.” She cleared her throat a little. “But I
was hoping to ask you about the—logistics, I suppose—of finding employment. Outside of Stone
Garden.”

Aemma’s eyebrows rose without her leave, though she managed to smother her sound of surprise.
“You wish to work outside of Stone Garden?” she repeated slowly. Alicent wishing to work at all
was rather perplexing, but her wanting to work in the city was even more so.

She hadn’t realized that Alicent had grown so comfortable out in Osmera.

Rhaenyra will be pleased.

Once she recovers from the shock of learning that Alicent wishes to work, she amended.

“I do.” Alicent cleared her throat a little, straightening slightly. “I was hoping—if it isn’t too much
trouble—that you might be willing to help me. But only if you have the time, of course. I never
want to inconvenience you or interfere with your duties.”

Swiftly recovering from her initial surprise, Aemma dismissed her friend’s concern with a wave of
her hand. “It’s no inconvenience at all,” she assured her. And even if it was, considering everything
that Alicent had done to ensure that Rhaenyra actually ate, slept, and took time for herself away
from work, helping her find employment was the least that Aemma could do. “Is there a particular
vocation that you’re interested in?”

Alicent hesitated a moment, eyes briefly flicking down to her hands—to the gleaming ring on her
finger. “That’s part of the reason why I’m asking for your help. I’m not entirely certain whether any
of my skills are transferable to the occupations here,” she admitted, cheeks reddening.

Because of the difference in technology levels, Aemma silently finished for her. She might not
know exactly what all Alicent had studied on Westeros—aside from enough chemistry to be
invaluable to Elysara and the chemists—but there was no doubt in her mind that her friend would
excel in any technological or scientific field that she selected.

Unfortunately, Alicent’s technological expertise would be nearly useless since Valyrians didn’t rely
on machines the way that Westerosi did.

And as for work in any of the scientific fields, true employment as any kind of scientist required
joining the Order of Magisters, and Aemma didn’t think that Alicent would be particularly
enthused to leave the Queen’s Keep and relocate to the Great Library on Bloom Island.

Not that she wouldn’t be an excellent magister.

But given her short lifespan, there was every possibility that Alicent might be dead before she even
completed her training as a neophyte.

“Does your desire to work in the city also mean that you wish to live there?” She simply couldn’t
not ask. While she didn’t intend to inform Rhaenyra about this conversation without Alicent’s
leave, it would be best to learn her friend’s plans now so that she might take steps to ease Rhaenyra
into the notion that Alicent may no longer wish to live in the Queen’s Keep.

For all of their sakes, she hoped that Alicent didn’t intend to leave. Rhaenyra would be utterly
devastated, though she wouldn’t stand in Alicent’s way if that was what the other woman wanted.

Rhaenyra would sooner eviscerate herself than say “no” to Alicent Hightower.

Alicent’s eyes widened slightly, alarm scorching her scent. “No. No. Not at all.” Her fingers had
begun tapping on her scarred wrist. “It was always my intention to continue living here.” She
paused, lips pursing slightly as she seemed to be gathering her thoughts. “Please don’t
misunderstand me, Aemma. My wanting to work isn’t at all a reflection on Queen Rhaenyra’s
hospitality. I’ve been considering work for a while now, but I’d assumed . . . I didn’t wish to seem
ungrateful, because I’m not,” she assured her hastily. “I’m very grateful for everything that Queen
Rhaenyra has done for me, but, I, I want to feel useful, and I want to feel as if I’m . . .” She
expelled a heavy breath, fingers curling around her scarred wrist. “I don’t want to be so dependent
on Queen Rhaenyra’s generosity.”

Ah.

Aemma nodded, feeling a peculiar combination of relief that Alicent did not intend to leave the
Keep and foolishness for not having understood her desire to work at once.

Of course Alicent did not wish to be entirely dependent on the generosity of another, even if that
other person was Rhaenyra, who would never hesitate to give Alicent anything and everything that
she might desire.

There exists an important difference between earning something and simply receiving it.

Smiling in the hopes of assuaging her friend’s worries, Aemma offered, “Perhaps I can have
Luwina draw up a list of occupations available in Osmera, and then we can look over it together
and see if anything strikes your fancy and seems to be within your skillset?”

Alicent’s expression brightened at once, her eyes shining with gratitude and perhaps a hint of relief.
“That would be wonderful.” She reached out hesitantly, pausing a moment as if to confirm that her
touch was allowed. When Aemma smiled her acquiescence, Alicent clasped her hand and gave it a
brief squeeze. “Thank you, Aemma. And please thank Luwina as well, in case I don’t see her
before you do.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Alicent. For me or Luwina. You’re our friend. So of course we’re both happy
to help.” Even as she spoke, she was already beginning to mentally compile a list of occupations
upon which Luwina could build later.

One Week Later

Alicent stared at the sea of parchment covering her desk, a rather peculiar mixture of shock,
trepidation, and pride swelling within her. She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d sought
Aemma’s help—aside from being fairly certain that her friend wouldn’t flatly refuse. She hadn’t
known what to expect when she’d finally decided that she should seek an occupation that made use
of her sewing skills and knowledge of fabrics. She hadn’t known what to expect when Aemma had
written dozens of letters of introduction for her and then distributed samples of her work to every
seamstress, dressmaker, tailor, and clothier in Osmera.

What she hadn’t expected was to receive over three dozen enthusiastic offers of employment.

Sytarr above.

She’d seen the kinds of gowns and designs that Valyrian seamstresses and dressmakers were
capable of creating, and she knew that her own work simply couldn’t compare.

Yet dozens of women still wished to hire her.

Part of her wondered if they simply desired the novelty of having a Westerosi in their employ. Part
of her wondered if these letters were intended to be some horrid jest. And a small part of her
wondered if Rhaenyra had somehow heard about what she was doing and intervened on her behalf.

Aemma assured her that it was none of those, that the city’s seamstresses, dressmakers, tailors, and
clothiers had simply recognized her skill.

Alicent wanted to believe her.

Strong Sytarr, how she wanted to believe her.

The thought that she was . . . that she was worthy of so many different women vying for her
abilities filled her with a sense of pride that she’d never felt before.

They wanted her because she had a skill.

A learned skill.

Not something that she’d been born with or had been given, but something that she’d dedicated
decades of her life to mastering.

They wanted her because they thought that she could contribute to their business, because they
thought that she was good enough to contribute to their business.

No one had ever wanted her in such a way before.

Even Rhaenyra, for all that her friend cared for her, hadn’t actually wanted her for any particular
purpose. Rhaenyra had simply intended to offer her opportunities, but she’d never had any
particular designs for Alicent.

For which Alicent was grateful, of course.

Her eyes scanned over the letters once more, and she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her
mouth.
Perhaps it was vain, perhaps it was arrogant, perhaps it was foolish, but she couldn’t help but feel
pleased about being so wanted. Assuming Aemma was correct and these women actually desired
her for her abilities, she couldn’t help but swell with pride.

Now she need only make a decision about which offer to accept. And considering that she would be
spurning dozens of women regardless of who she selected, she would need to be certain that the
choice she made was the correct one.

And for that, I will need fresh parchment, new ink, and many, many quills.

“She wishes to work,” Rhaenyra repeated.

For the seventh time.

Aemma nodded—again—hoping that Rhaenyra’s consternation would soon run its course and give
way to understanding. Too much more of this and Luwina will have to spend the evening massaging
my neck. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

In hindsight, she should have realized that this conversation would take longer than the few
minutes that she’d been anticipating.

And perhaps I shouldn’t have waited until Alicent is on the verge of deciding where she wishes to
work.

But once Alicent had decided—after two entire days of careful deliberation—that capitalizing on
her sartorial skills was the most prudent course of action, everything else had proceeded rather
swiftly. The letters of introduction had taken little time to compose, Alicent’s year of seclusion had
resulted in plenty of work samples for distribution, and the various shopkeeps of the city had
needed little time to decide that they wanted someone as skilled as Alicent in their employ.

At present, Alicent was performing a series of exceptionally high-level cost-benefit-analyses to

determine where she wished to work. Aemma still couldn’t fathom how exactly Alicent had
managed to mathematically quantify every potential benefit and drawback of each employment
offer, but the numerous graphs and charts and strings of equations currently filling her friend’s
study indicated that she’d somehow succeeded.

It truly is a pity that she doesn’t have time to become a magister.

When Aemma had visited Alicent’s study earlier this afternoon, she’d noted that her friend had
narrowed her options to half-a-dozen shops, hence why she’d come to Rhaenyra’s office to inform
her of Alicent’s newest endeavor—after receiving Alicent’s permission, of course.

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows had knit themselves together, but she didn’t repeat her question for an eighth
time, instead muttering to herself under her breath. “She’s been here for nearly three years, and not
once has she ever asked for anything. All this time, and the first thing she requests is to work?”

“Your Majesty,” Aemma began.

“But why now?” Rhaenyra interrupted, either not hearing Aemma or choosing to ignore her. “What
has changed that would make her feel the need to find work?” Her fingers were drumming
restlessly on her desk, and agitation had begun infusing her scent. “Does she feel that she needs
something that I’m not already providing? Is there something she wants? Perhaps I ought to . . .”
Her face fell as she suddenly focused her attention on Aemma. “I’m holding the purse strings too
tightly, aren’t I? I’m such a fool. Allowance,” she scoffed. “What was I thinking? As if she’s a
child.”

“Your Majesty—”

“I should simply allow her unfettered access to my accounts, shouldn’t I?” Rhaenyra nodded to
herself, no longer looking directly at Aemma. “Summon Mistress Bartima to—”

“Rhaenyra,” Aemma interrupted. She waited a moment to ensure that she actually had her old heart
friend’s full attention before continuing. “I can assure you that Alicent’s desire to work is not any
kind of reflection on your competence as a hostess or as her friend. I believe that what she desires
is simply a measure of financial independence.”

Stepping forward, she came around to perch on the edge of Rhaenyra’s desk. Her calming
pheromones suffused the air, pressing against the pungent smell of her heart friend’s anxiety. “This
isn’t an issue of how much money you’re giving her, Rhaenyra, but rather that you have to give her
any money at all. What she wants is money of her own that isn’t simply a gift from you.”

Rhaenyra slumped back in her chair, eyes closing as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m such
a fool,” she repeated with a sigh. “Of course she wants something that’s entirely hers. She’s spent
her whole life being told that everything she has is by someone else’s grace.”

Aemma nodded in agreement, reaching out to rub Rhaenyra’s shoulder. The amount of weight that
her Queen felt compelled to carry on her shoulders was appalling, and it was a wonder that she
hadn’t gone stooped-backed millennia ago.

I doubt even Viserra placed this much pressure on herself, and all the world knows how much of a
perfectionist that woman is.

Her lip curled slightly at the thought of Rhaenyra’s mother. Viserra Everlasting had been an
empress beyond reproach, but she’d been an absolutely terrible mother to her heir, despite not
actually raising her.

A mother protects her daughter, she thought bitterly. She doesn’t magically cripple her. She
doubted that she would ever be able to fully surrender the kernel of resentment she held towards
Rhaenyra’s mother.

Setting aside her uncharitable thoughts, she refocused her attention on Rhaenyra, who seemed more
relaxed now, if still pensive. “This is a good thing,” she assured her, giving her shoulder a gentle
squeeze. “You should be pleased that Alicent feels comfortable enough around our people to seek
employment out in the city. Just as you should feel pleased that she felt that she could ask for
something for herself.”

“I should,” Rhaenyra sighed, “and I am. I only . . .” She puffed out a breath in a very unqueenly
manner. “What help can you offer her that I cannot?”

Aemma almost snorted at the question—at the hint of petulance underlying it. “None. But you
know as well as I do how much Alicent frets about being a bother. She’s apologized to me more
times than I can count over this past week.” She’d stopped counting once Alicent had reached the
triple digits. “I suspect that she doesn’t wish to trouble you with what she thinks would be
considered a trifling matter.”

Rhaenyra frowned. “Nothing having to do with her happiness and wellbeing is a trifling matter.”

“Something that I’m sure she’ll realize in time.” Or whenever you stop behaving like a fool and
actually tell her that you love her.

She honestly wasn’t certain which would come first.

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed. “I suppose that she also worried I might try to offer her work within the
Keep. Which I would have,” she admitted.

Aemma nodded in agreement. She hadn’t intended to say as much, but she’d also assumed that not
seeking work within the Keep was simply a part of Alicent’s efforts to have something of her own
that was entirely disconnected from Rhaenyra’s generosity.

“Why have you brought this matter to me, Aemma?” Rhaenyra peered up at her. “You know that I
dislike having Alicent’s actions reported to me.”

“I know.” Aemma patted her shoulder. “But this way you can react properly when Alicent
eventually tells you about her new employment.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth, expression indignant, then closed it. “I suppose you’re right,” she
conceded.

Aemma grinned. “Of course I am.”

Rhaenyra’s stomach was in knots.

It shouldn’t be.

She knew that it shouldn’t be.

Seven bloody Hells, she ought to be pleased.

As Aemma had said, she ought to be pleased that Alicent had grown comfortable enough to not
only seek work, but to seek work out in the city. She ought to be pleased that Alicent was pursuing
something entirely for herself. She ought to be pleased that Alicent was further integrating herself
into Valyrian society.

And yet her stomach had been churning with unease since yesterday from the moment that Aemma
had told her Alicent wished to work—an unease made worse when Alicent herself had explained
the same later that evening—for surely this was a sign that Alicent would soon be leaving the
Queen’s Keep.

And I will wish her well when she does.

She’d always known that her time with Alicent was limited.
But she . . . she enjoyed Alicent’s company. She enjoyed spending time in her presence and
speaking with her about anything and everything that struck their fancy. She enjoyed making her
smile and laugh and being allowed to hug her from time to time.

And now that she knew what it was to have Alicent as a friend, she selfishly did not wish to be
without her.

But I can—will—endure, if that is Alicent’s wish.

Alicent’s happiness was all that mattered.

Besides, this would hardly be the first time that she bid farewell to someone she cared for.

I shall survive losing Alicent when the time comes. Just as I survived losing Cassella.

Her eyes widened slightly, surprised by her own thought.

For all that Cassella had once been her dearest heart friend and closest companion, for all that they
had been inseparable as children, for all that Cassella had been her first true loss, it had been
decades since Rhaenyra had last thought about her.

She knew that she ought to call her, perhaps even invite her to visit. It had been far too since they’d
last seen each other without a mirror and hundreds of leagues between them.

But that was a matter for another time.

Shaking her head, she raised her hand to knock on the door leading into Alicent’s study.

“Come in,” Alicent called from the other side.

Upon entering, Rhaenyra was rather surprised by how neat and tidy everything was. To hear
Aemma describe it, she’d been expecting a maelstrom of letters and parchment and charts and
graphs. But it seemed that Alicent had decided to organize her study before asking her to come
here.

Her study, but not herself, Rhaenyra thought fondly.

There was a large smudge of black ink on Alicent’s right cheek, and her hands were speckled with
even more ink. Creases and wrinkles marred the fabric of her blue gown, and much of her hair had
come loose from its bun. She seemed rather tired as well, with faint shadows beginning to form
beneath her eyes. But those eyes were shining, and her lips were curved into a bright smile.

Merciful Mother, she is so beautiful.

Yet even as the words flitted through her mind, she had to force herself not to wince, not to growl.

Alicent had pushed the sleeves of her gown up to her elbows, revealing the multitude of scars
covering both of her arms. Old burns from both fire and chemicals, jagged slashes from broken
glass or serrated blades, appallingly clean and neat cuts inflicted by a steady hand, ripples of
puckered skin from where broken bones must have pierced her skin—

Enough.
“Rhaenyra.” Alicent’s smile brightened even further at the sight of her. “Thank you for coming. I
hope I didn’t interrupt anything?”

Nothing of import. “Not at all.” Rhaenyra looked over the graphs and charts neatly stacked on
Alicent’s desk. “Your cost-benefit-analyses?”

Alicent nodded proudly as she flipped through the pages of equations and data maps. “I think I
accounted for all of the primary variables: employer temperament, location, hours, the flexibility of
those hours, wages, clientele, expected daily responsibilities, and whether I’ll be working with
anyone other than the shopkeep.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at—and be impressed by—Alicent’s thoroughness and attention
to detail. Had she wished it, she would have made for a wonderful under seneschal. “And have you
made a decision?”

“I have.” Alicent’s smile was suddenly shy as she futzed with her emerald orchid ring. “I’ve
decided to accept Mistress Damella Rowan’s offer.” She glanced at Rhaenyra. “What do you
think?”

Her first instinct was to tell Alicent that it didn’t matter what she thought, but she swiftly
swallowed the response.

“Your desires do matter.”

Alicent had asked for her opinion.

It would be rude not to offer it.

“I think that Mistress Damella will be lucky to have you, and I think that you will enjoy working
with her.” She paused, uncertain whether what she intended to say next would please Alicent.
“You’ve actually worn a few of her gowns.”

“Oh?” Alicent didn’t seem displeased, merely curious. “Which ones?”

Rhaenyra swallowed a little as memories flashed through her mind of Alicent’s bright smile when
she came to supper dressed in a stunning gown of emerald-green. “The pretty green one that you
wore to supper on my birthday the autumn before last, and the silver one you were wearing when
you hug—when I gave you your ring.” Also the green satin dress that you wore when we first dined
together in the Astral Tower, and the green gown with silver lace that you wore for our first tea.

Alicent always looked so lovely in green.

Grinning, Alicent lightly nudged her side. “It seems that I have chosen the perfect shop then.”

“So you have,” Rhaenyra agreed, heart fluttering in her chest—as it always did whenever Alicent
initiated physical contact with her.

“And you’re not,” Alicent hesitated, briefly biting her lower lip, “you’re not displeased that I’m
doing this, are you? You don’t think me ungrateful?”

“I could never think that.” Rhaenyra reached towards her, and after receiving a swift nod, she
gently squeezed her friend’s arm. “And I would never be displeased about you doing something
that makes you happy.”
The smile that Alicent gave her in response was soft and warm and held a hint of relief. “Thank
you, Nyra.” She glanced down at her ring for a moment before meeting Rhaenyra’s eyes once
more. “May I hug you?”

Rhaenyra wanted to tell her that she needn’t ever ask, but she held her tongue and simply nodded
instead. And when Alicent’s arms wrapped around her and squeezed her tight, she allowed herself
to simply savor the moment, the closeness.

This was more than enough.

Alicent had visited Mistress Damella’s dress shop—Willow Wood Wares—a few times in the past
eight months, though never for longer than a brief perusal of the dresses on display. A brief glance
was all that was needed to see the quality of Mistress Damella’s work, both in terms of design and
the materials used. No two gowns were exactly the same, and each somehow managed to have its
own unique character. The chosen colors for the dresses near the front were rich and bright and
vibrant—similar to the dresses that Alicent now knew were Mistress Damella’s creations—while
the dresses in the back made use of more subtle and subdued tones.

The backroom of the shop seemed almost double the size of the shop’s front, and it simply wasn’t
physically possible for both areas to fit within the building that she’d entered. Alicent assumed that
the backroom—or perhaps even the entire shop—must be enchanted similarly to Rhaenyra’s
carriage so that the interior space was significantly larger than the exterior dimensions. Considering
everything contained within the backroom, such an enchantment was certainly necessary.

In addition to nearly three-dozen completed dresses, the room was filled with hundreds of bolts of
cloth, thousands of spools of thread, reams upon reams of ribbons, ten different kinds of scissors,
half a dozen measuring tapes, at least five dress forms, and more pins and needles than she could
count.

Standing near the back wall, beneath a northern-facing window, was a large design table upon
which several dozen sketches were neatly stacked. There was also a pair of towering cabinets
flanking the door that connected the backroom to the main area of the shop. Half a dozen light-orbs
hovered overhead, each one so dim that she could barely see it.

Mistress Damella—a seemingly middle-aged woman with jet-black hair and light brown eyes—
was flitting around the room as she continued with her tour. “The windows are enchanted, of
course, to prevent the sunlight from damaging any of the fabrics, and the entire shop has a shield
spell surrounding it to repel any hungry insects before they come within forty centimeters of the
room.”

As always, Alicent couldn’t help but marvel at the way Valyrians used their magic so similarly to
how her own people used technology. “Do spells also ensure that certain temperature controls are
maintained for specialty fabrics?”

“Naturally.” Mistress Damella beamed at her, while at the same time several bolts began rising
from their racks and floating over to where she stood by the design table. “And since you
mentioned it,” she beckoned her over, “allow me to introduce you to some of the specialty fabrics
that you’ll be working with.”
Alicent quickly crossed the room to stand beside her new employer—Sytarr, simply thinking the
word sent a thrill racing down her spine. Before coming here, she’d never imagined that she would
ever have an employer, or an occupation of any kind beyond being a wife and mother.

She watched as a dozen bolts of cloth settled themselves in front of her—all neatly arranged for her
inspection. Simply from her time spent around Rhaenyra’s courtiers, she immediately recognized
eight of the fabrics as satin, silk, samite, brocade, damask, velvet, cloth-of-silver, and cloth-of-gold.

The bolt of silk glided forward, unwinding just enough so that about a foot of material hung loose.
“This is Farnish silk from Martell Province,” Mistress Damella explained, “the highest quality of
silk on the planet. Anything from Farnier is going to be of better quality than the silks produced
elsewhere, but the silkworms in Martell Province and the techniques the silk weavers there use
have always created silks that simply surpass all others.”

After receiving a nod of permission, Alicent carefully pinched the corner of the hanging silk to
inspect its smoothness and luster. The material was soft and almost waxy, but not slippery, and
pressing the fabric between her fingers created the expected and appropriate pulling sensation. The
weave was tight and without discernible imperfections, and the weight was likely at least twenty-
five pesyrs.

Lifting the corner slightly so that the silk would catch the light streaming in through the windows,
Alicent noted the elegant, multicolored shimmer caused by the sunlight refracting off of the
triangular, prism-like structure of the silk fibers. The shot effect was unlike anything that she’d ever
seen back home, and the shine of the fabric as its colors seemed to shift and change with the angle
of the light was breathtaking.

She could feel Mistress Damella’s eyes on her, watching her intently as she made her inspection.
“Tell me about the silk,” she prompted.

When Alicent finished describing her observations, Mistress Damella made a noise of approval.
“Very good. I would only point out that the unit we use for the weight of silk is momme.”

“Momme,” Alicent repeated, rolling the word around on her tongue. She wondered absently if that
word had been chosen because it sounded so similar to how a child might address her mother.

“Who taught you about fabrics?”

“My mother.” She forced her lips not to twist into an instinctive grimace, knowing that she should
be thankful for the lessons that her mother had imparted upon her all those years ago. They were
why she was standing here, after all. “She made a concentrated effort to ensure that I could judge a
fabric’s quality through touch alone.” And while all Valyrian fabrics felt slightly different from
those with which she’d grown up due to their lack of sytarrium, the markers of high quality silk
remained more or less the same.

“Hmm.” Mistress Damella telekinetically rolled the silk back onto its bolt and returned it to its
proper place before bringing forward a bolt of lace. “Did she intend for you to become a
dressmaker?”

Alicent bit back a laugh at the very idea of her mother intending for her to become anything other
than an obedient wife and dutiful mother. “Not at all.” She could tell—even without using her
empathy—that Mistress Damella wanted to ask her why she was working in a dressmaker’s shop
then, but the other woman was evidently too polite to do so. “Where is this lace from?”
“Umber Province. Similar to Farnish silk, Nordish lace is the highest quality of lace in the world.
All those cold winter days, I suspect. Gives them plenty of time to work.” Mistress Damella cocked
her head to one side. “Did you see yourself becoming a dressmaker one day?”

Alicent hesitated, not wanting to offend her new employer by saying “no,” but also not wanting to
lie by saying “yes.” “I never imagined myself with any particular vocation,” she said finally.

“Come now. Surely there was some occupation you dreamed of having when you were a little girl.”

She suddenly wondered just how much Mistress Damella actually knew about Westeros. Every
woman in the Queen’s Keep, it seemed, knew at least something about her old home’s culture and
social conditions, and she’d assumed that it would be the same out in Osmera as well. Perhaps
she’d been mistaken.

Shaking her head in response to Mistress Damella’s assertion, she focused on the lace in front of
her. Even without touching it, she knew from the gentle curves and the delicacy of the intricate
lacework that this was of an excellent quality. Her fingers soon confirmed her initial evaluation as
she noted the softness and thickness of the lace.

Using the soft texture to ground herself and help her maintain a dispassionate tone, she said, “I was
a high lord’s daughter, and I was destined to be a high lord’s wife. Pleasing my husband and giving
him children was my only expected occupation.”

Mistress Damella grimaced, lip curling. “Patriarchy,” she muttered, the word sounding like a curse
coming out of her mouth.

Alicent simply nodded.

After expelling a heavy sigh, Mistress Damella asked, “Well, now that you’re here, is there
anything that you’ve considered doing aside from this?” She waved to indicate the room they were
in.

Cheeks reddening, Alicent shrugged self-consciously. “I, well, I’ve always liked the idea of helping
people through medicine. Being a physician.” Dr. Axton has always bemoaned the fact that her
being a girl meant that she couldn’t pursue a career in medicine.

«That glorious memory of yours shall be utterly wasted,» he’d lamented to her once. «You could
have been a phenomenal physician.»

At the time, she’d blushed and ducked her head, suppressing a giggle at such a silly thought as a
woman physician. But now . . .

She’d always been fascinated by everything Dr. Axton did, marveling at how he was able to cure
illnesses and heal wounds so deftly.

“So why are you not joining the Order of the Lotus?” Mistress Damella asked, pulling Alicent from
her thoughts.

“It would be a waste of their time,” she sighed. She’d actually considered joining the order, but
only for a brief moment. While the path of a blue lotus was only fifteen hundred years at most—
four centuries of novice hood, three to seven centuries of apprenticeship, and then up to four more
 centuries of fellowship—Valyrian medicine required magic, which she lacked. “Medicine here
relies almost entirely on magic, which I don’t have.”

Mistress Damella’s expression creased with sympathy. “I suppose that’s true. Still, you could at
least visit the Alcazar.”

“If I did that, I might be tempted to stay, and I’m not ready to leave Kastrell.” Sytarr above, she
wasn’t even ready to leave Osmera yet.

You aren’t ready to leave Rhaenyra yet.

She quickly smothered the traitorous little voice, refocusing on Mistress Damella and the other
fabrics awaiting her attention.

This was her first day of employment.

She intended for it to be a good one.

Chapter End Notes

According to the internet, green diamonds are among the rarest in the world, and a single carat
goes for anywhere between $50,000 - $300,000 USD.

Also, Johanna is Hylda's third cousin, in case you were curious.

Next Chapter: It's Alicent's birthday! What could possibly go wrong?

Pre-warning: Next chapter is going to be rough for Alicent due to a flashback and
nightmare sequence. Trigger warnings will be in the notes.
 Fifty-First Birthday
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 26:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Hylda Westerling, Shadow Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Gelt
– Criston Cole, High Lord of Asana and Lord of War of the Westerosi Confederation
(flashback)

Major Trigger Warnings! Fairly graphic descriptions of marital rape and group rape
during a depicted trauma flashback and nightmare sequence. The beginnings and ends of
these scenes will be marked by an AO3 page break line. The nightmare sequence is further
marked by three upward arrows (^^^).
Please see the endnotes for more explicit and spoilery trigger warnings!

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Reminder that dialogue spoken in Westerosi will be in « » rather than quotation marks.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Summer Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

“I’m afraid that Alicent has yet to wake, Your Majesty.”

The sound of Margaery’s voice broke through the peaceful shroud of Alicent’s slumber, dragging
her into the waking world and forcing her eyes to slowly blink open.

Groaning, she pushed herself up on one arm, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from her eyes and
bring her surroundings into focus. She frowned slightly, squinting at the sunlight that was
streaming in through her windows.

I could have sworn that I drew the curtains last night.

Shaking her head, she focused her attention on the conversation that had awoken her.

A conversation that she shouldn’t be able to hear at all—considering there were two large chambers
and three very solid doors between her and the hallway—but Margaery was speaking loudly
enough that it was a wonder she hadn’t roused half the Keep.

She must have opened the curtains earlier as well.

A grimace stole across her face at the thought of Margaery slipping into her bedchamber without
her knowledge, even if it was for something as innocuous as drawing the curtains. She probably
ought to speak with her friend about the matter and ask that she not do so again in the future.

“There is nothing rude about setting healthy boundaries, Alicent,” Dr. Arwen had assured her.
“Knowing your own limits is essential for maintaining your mental well-being, and your friends
will understand that.”

“Margaery will understand,” she murmured to herself. “If I explain myself, she will understand.”

In truth, she was rather surprised that Margaery would intrude in such a way. Her friend usually
took more care not to disquiet her.

Which begged the question of why Margaery seemed so determined to wake her this morning.

Her lips pursed.

While she couldn’t hear Rhaenyra’s response to Margaery’s statement—probably because it was
spoken at a reasonable volume—she most certainly heard Margaery’s.

“I’m well aware, Your Majesty. I’ll inform her when she’s awake.”

Sighing quietly, Alicent slipped from her warm bed and grabbed her dressing gown from where it
lay draped over a nearby chair. She swiftly slid her arms into the wide sleeves and secured the sash
around her waist as she left her bedchamber and made her way through her privy and presence
chambers.

She found Margaery and Rhaenyra standing in the doorway of her presence chamber, Rhaenyra a
step outside in the hallway. “Margaery.”

Margaery spun to face her, blue eyes glinting with a rather peculiar mixture of mischief and feigned
surprise. “Alicent, you’re awake.”

“Rather hard not to be,” she pointed out dryly.

Margaery only smirked before offering Rhaenyra a polite curtsy and then retreating out into the hall
—transforming into a butterfly in order to slip between Rhaenyra and her knights.

Alicent couldn’t help but watch her flutter away, wondering if it was more difficult to shapeshift
into an animal with a significantly different body mass. Surely it must be. Rhaenyra said that magic
still abides by the laws of conservation.

Something to mull over later.

Returning her attention to Rhaenyra, she saw that her friend was giving her an amused smile, which
brought a warm flush to her cheeks. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Alicent.” Rhaenyra inclined her head to her, which was something that she hadn’t
done in a while. “I was hoping that we might have breakfast together in the southern water garden
this morning.”

“That sounds lovely, Rhaenyra.” Yet even as she smiled, Alicent couldn’t help but wonder at her
friend’s rather curious behavior. It had been some time since they’d had breakfast together, and she
would have expected to receive a written invitation as she usually did when Rhaenyra wanted to
dine with her.
And Rhaenyra has never called on me this early in the morning.

With that thought, she suddenly remembered that she was standing in front of Rhaenyra barefooted
and wearing only her dressing gown over her nightclothes. She self-consciously tugged the sides of
the dressing gown closer together—even though her nightdress already covered everything there
was to see—her smile turning sheepish. “Perhaps I ought to properly dress before joining you.”

“If you wish,” Rhaenyra grinned at her, amethyst eyes twinkling playfully, “although I think that it
would be quite the sight, Lady Alicent Hightower gallivanting through the halls in her
nightclothes.”

Alicent swatted her arm without thinking—as she had seen Sansa do to Margaery more times than
she could count.

Her eyes widened worriedly when she realized what she’d done.

But Rhaenyra only laughed, seeming utterly delighted. “I suppose this means I should take my
leave so that you can dress.” Sweeping an elegant—if somewhat exaggerated—curtsy, she said, “I
shall eagerly await your arrival in the garden.”

“I’ll be along as soon as I can,” Alicent promised.

“You needn’t rush on my account.” Rhaenyra straightened. “Breakfast won’t grow cold, and even if
it did,” she held up her hand, thin tongues of black fire weaving through her fingers, “I can always
rewarm it.”

Not so long ago, the sight of those black flames would have set the fine hairs on the back of
Alicent’s neck on end, but now . . . Now she found herself thinking that they were rather pretty. The
dancing flames were darker than a moonless night, but occasionally they would flicker in such a
way to reveal accents of cobalt and violet.

How strange it was, to think of something so deadly and destructive as pretty.

Shaking her head, she refocused her attention on Rhaenyra. “All the same, I won’t dally.”

“As you will.” Within a final dip of her head, Rhaenyra turned and strode down the hall. Vora
Hylda and Vora Casilda both bid Alicent a good day before following after their queen.

No sooner were Rhaenyra and her knights out of sight than Margaery, Sansa, and Dyana pounced
upon her. The three of them swiftly ushered her back into her bedchamber, where Margaery sat her
down in front of her vanity, while Sansa and Dyana went to her wardrobe to select a gown.

As Margaery ran a comb through her rather tangled hair—Alicent had forgotten to braid it before
bed the previous night—the pins and clips scattered on the dressing table began organizing
themselves into neat rows. “Did Her Majesty wish you a happy birthday this morning?”

Alicent stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, certain that she’d misheard, but when she
twisted in her chair to check the calendar, she saw that today was indeed Summer Moon fourth.

Margaery tsked, though whether it was because of how suddenly Alicent had moved her head or
because she’d forgotten about her birthday, Alicent couldn’t say. “I suppose that answers my
question.”
“It’s quite easy to lose track of the exact date,” she defended. Back home, she’d purposefully
allowed the days to blend together so as to avoid ruminating on any one particular hurt for too long.
And while she no longer did that here, her days tended to fall into a certain pattern—even with her
new employment. “Besides, I’m still not used to people making a fuss about my birthday.”

At least in a pleasant way.

And, in truth, she still found it somewhat strange that her friends bothered to remember her
birthday at all, since none of them paid much attention to their own.

But last year, Margaery, Sansa, Ygritte, Gilly, Catelyn, Sabitha, and Luwina had insisted on hosting
a special luncheon to celebrate. Aemma had been unable to attend due to her duties, but she’d still
found her later and offered her a hug.

Alicent had been rather overwhelmed by the whole affair, though her friends’ care had warmed her
and made her smile.

She lightly tapped her scarred wrist as she looked at Margaery in the mirror. “Do you think the
Queen intends to make a fuss about my birthday?” Even as she asked the question, she worried that
she already knew the answer. She’d recently learned that her emerald orchid ring was set with
green diamonds, which were apparently the rarest in the world.

When she had asked Rhaenyra why she would gift her something so costly, her friend had simply
smiled and assured her that, “The cost means little and less to me, Ali. What matters to me is that
the ring pleases you.”

And the ring did please her, but not because of the green diamonds. She was pleased by its beauty
and exquisite craftsmanship, and more than that, she was pleased because it was a gift from
Rhaenyra.

“Queen Rhaenyra is fond of you,” Margaery mused, her voice drawing Alicent from her thoughts,
“so I’m quite certain that she wants to make a great to do about your birthday, but she’s also rather
fastidious about taking your desires into consideration.” She cocked her head slightly as she looked
at Alicent. “So I suppose the real question is whether you want her to make a fuss.”

“I’d prefer if she didn’t,” Alicent admitted.

Her birthday had never been cause for celebration back home.

As a child, she’d spent her birthdays hiding from and avoiding her mother, who was always more
irritable than usual on that day. Her siblings had swiftly learned to never wish her a happy birthday
when her mother might overhear, and the one time that Min had made the mistake of doing so, her
mother’s fury was such that none of her siblings had ever dared to wish her a happy birthday again.

While she didn’t recall her first birthday, or her second, she would never forget her third.

She would never forget her mother sweeping into the nursery and scooping her up into her arms for
the first and only time. She would never forget her mother carrying her into another room and
setting her down on her lap. She would never forget foolishly thinking that perhaps her mother was
being affectionate towards her because it was her birthday.
And she would never forget her mother taking her face between her hands with a grip so tight that
it had brought tears to her eyes. Her mother’s own eyes had been cold and unforgiving, her voice
sharp and bitter as she recounted to Alicent the story of her terrible birth.

That was the day she’d finally understood why her mother never looked at her with the same
warmth as she did her brothers.

That was the day she’d begun to understand how much her mother utterly despised her.

That was the day she’d learned to fear her mother.

The birthdays of her childhood had been fraught with anxiety and fear of upsetting her mother, but
they’d been sweet compared to the birthdays of her marriage.

Criston and his wives had always made a concentrated effort to ensure that her birthdays were
especially unpleasant.

The day of her twenty-ninth birthday—

No.

Alicent shook her head, attempting to smother the memories, to banish them back to the dark
crevices where they wouldn’t trouble her.

Arilla had greeted her with a slap that morning and refused her breakfast.

Breath in. Breath out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Sabina had shoved her so hard against a wall that her ears had rung for hours afterwards.

Why are my ears ringing now?

Vesna had been her shadow, pinching her arms until they bruised and reminding her again and
again how worthless she was.

Alicent gulped, but there was a lump in her throat. She tried to focus her attention on the pins lying
on her vanity to ground herself, but her vision was blurring and darkening around the edges. Her
stomach roiled, and she could hear her blood rushing in her ears, could feel her heart thundering in
her chest as if it wished to escape.

I need to breathe.

“Alicent?”

Criston had beaten her bloody three different times between breakfast and dinner.

But everything that he and his wives had done during the day had been bliss compared to what had
come later.

Sweat beaded on Alicent’s forehead as she tried to pant, tried to breathe, but her chest was too tight,
and her throat was closing in on itself.
She couldn’t breathe.

Nothing like that will ever happen to me again.

Not here.

I’m safe here.

Rhaenyra does not wish me harm.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

She’d spent that night bound to her bed as her husband and his friends took their pleasure of her.

He’d kept her blindfolded the entire time, but not gagged.

«I can’t wait to hear you scream, Little Wife.»

She’d quickly lost track of how many hands had groped her, how many teeth had bitten her, how
many men had forced themselves inside—

“Alicent.”

I can’t breathe. I need to breathe.

Teeth sank into her breasts.

Nails raked over her thighs.

Her mouth was forced open.

Roars of cruel laughter.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

I need to breathe. I can’t breathe.

«Turn the bitch over.»

Her eyes squeezed shut. Please no.

“Alicent. I need you to open your eyes. Please? Just open your eyes for me.”

No. No. No.

She didn’t want to see.

A sharp, searing pain ripped through her body as something hard and cold and much too large was
forced inside her.

«Stop! Please. I’ll be good. I’ll behave. Please stop. Please.»

There were hands around her neck. Squeezing. Squeezing. Squeezing.

Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe!

“Alicent, can you hear me right now?”

Someone was calling for her, but too softly. Too far away.

The other voices were much louder. Much closer.

«I told them not to bloody you too badly. No whips or knives tonight. Since this is all for you, Little
Wife.»

«Please no,» she wheezed. «I’ll be good.»

Her husband slapped her across the face. «You’ve never been good, You Worthless Whore! A good
wife obeys. A good wife submits. A good wife gives her husband sons!»

Alicent screamed as she felt something tear when he roughly thrust himself inside.

«Stop! Please, please, please, stop! I’ll obey. I’ll submit. Please.»

Her husband only laughed.

Rhaenyra inhaled deeply, allowing the sweet scents of blooming flowers and fresh water to wash
over her. While all of the gardens had their own enjoyable combination of pleasant floral
fragrances, there was something particularly delightful about those smells when intertwined with
that of water. It had been far too long since she’d visited either of the water gardens to indulge in
this particular blend of scents, and she’d always favored the southern water garden.

Where the western water garden was a series of pools fed by an artificial waterfall, the southern
water garden had a central lake large enough for a couple dozen women to swim around
comfortably. Radiating from the lake was a series of ornamental rivers and streams that snaked
amongst granite walkways shaded by blood orange trees. The summer breezes wending through the
branches was rustling the leaves and causing some of the oranges to tremble.

Before the War, the garden’s flagstones and most of its statues and fountains had been made from
pale pink marble mined from Farman Province, but Westerosi firebombs had destroyed most of the
garden. During reconstruction, Bartima had recommended using tiger-eye granite, which Rhaenyra
had approved. Not only was granite sturdier than marble, she preferred the green, gold, and brown
bands and swirls of tiger-eye granite.

In truth, while losing so much of the southern water garden had been devastating, the new statuary
was much nicer than what had been destroyed. The majority of those old sculptures had been
crafted during the Founding by women still learning the art of stone carving, while all of the new
statues and fountains were the works of master stone carvers and sculptors.

Rhaenyra’s fingers drummed absently on the table, which was covered by a pale green tablecloth.
A simple breakfast of fresh fruits and sliced breads had been laid out for her and Alicent to share,
and she’d made certain that Gilly included a full loaf Alicent’s favorite sunberry bread. Placed in
the middle of the table was a rectangular parcel wrapped in green cloth, and sitting atop it was a
small box bound by a silver ribbon.

She hoped that Alicent liked the gifts that she’d selected for her.

While she was almost certain that her friend would be delighted by—

The acrid stench of fear suddenly filled her nose, drawing a low growl from her chest.

It wasn’t Alicent’s fear. Thank Relle. There was no underlying bread scent.

No. It was . . .

She inhaled deeply and swiftly rose to her feet when she recognized Sansa Stark’s snowy scent.

The other woman was practically a blur as she ran through the garden, skidding to a halt in front of
Rhaenyra, who was already hastening towards her. “Your Majesty, Lady Alicent is having a panic
attack. Margaery is trying—”

Rhaenyra didn’t wait to hear the rest.

Someone was grabbing her.

No. No. No.

No more rough hands.

No more cruel teeth.

No more yelling.

Please. Please. Please.

«Stop struggling, You Little Slut,» her husband snarled in her ear. «Or would you prefer that I grant
my friends the pleasure of flaying your pretty back?»

Alicent went limp, whimpering fearfully. «I’ll obey,» she promised. «Please, not that. I’ll behave.
I’ll submit. I promise. Please.»

«Pathetic cunt.»

“Alicent? Alicent, can you hear me?”

A new voice.

Why was there a new voice?

And it was a woman’s.

No. That couldn’t be right. Criston never allowed women into her rooms when he was entertaining
his friends.
I’ve gone mad. Surely I must be mad.

«Please stop,» she begged when she felt arms wrapping around her. «I can’t—»

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!

“Alicent, can you tell me what you need?”

I must answer. He’ll punish me if I don’t answer. He likes it when I beg. «Please, please, please.
Can’t—Can’t breathe,» she wheezed.

“You’re panting, Alicent. Can you try taking a deep breath for me?”

She tried.

Truly she did.

She tried to obey.

She tried to be good.

She tried to suck in air, but her jaw felt as if it was being clamped shut, and she could hear herself
wheezing as she struggled to obey, as she desperately fought to fill her screaming lungs, as she tried
to breathe in through her nose—

Roses.

She smelled roses.

Why were there roses?

Roses are good. So pretty.

She took another breath, wanting—needing—more of the sweet scent.

Roses.

Pretty roses.

Warm and sweet roses.

There were arms around her, but they felt strange.

Something was on her back.

She could feel it.

Something was . . . petting?

Stroking?

“All is well, Alicent. You’re having a flashback, but whatever you’re experiencing, it’s over now.
He can’t hurt you anymore, and you’re no longer there with him. You’re here in the Queen’s Keep.
You’re here with me. You’re safe, Ali.”
Safe?

But there were greedy hands groping and pinching her breasts, bruises blooming on her hips and
thighs, blood between her legs, another man—

“Breathe, Alicent. I need you to breathe for me. Just as before. Deep breath in. Slow breath out.
You can do it.”

Breathe.

She needed to breathe.

Deep breath in. Slow breath out.

She needed to breathe.

She needed to obey.

She would be punished if she didn’t obey.

Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The scent of roses wreathed her, filling her nose and lungs, so she must be breathing.

Sweet roses.

Roses were good.

Roses were . . . safe.

“Good, Alicent. Good.”

Good?

But I’m not good. I’m a worthless whore.

There were arms around her.

Strong arms.

And they were . . . rocking her?

Why is it dark?

Blindfold.

Her husband had blindfolded her.

He didn’t wish her to see what awaited her.

Please no.

Her breaths were becoming shallow.

“Alicent. Alicent, you’re all right. All is well. I know that you’re scared, but you’re not in danger.
He will never touch you again. You’re safe now, Ali. You’re safe. All you need to do is focus on
your breathing.”

Focus on my breathing.

Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

“That’s very good, Alicent. Very good. You’re doing so well. Can you open your eyes for me?”

No. She didn’t want to see him.

But she wanted to be good.

«Please. No more.»

She was so exhausted.

“Alicent, stay with me. Stay in the present. Whatever you’re remembering, it’s over now. You’re
safe. I’m right here, Ali. Open your eyes and see.”

She smelled roses.

Roses were so pretty.

Perhaps she would see roses instead of him?

I should obey.

Slowly, tentatively, she cracked her eyes open.

“That’s right, Ali. You’re doing so well.”

A soft hand was caressing her cheek, making her skin tingle pleasantly.

She isn’t striking me.

“Can you tell me what color my dress is?”

Dress. Roses. Color.

“Tell me.”

She blinked slowly, staring up at the face swimming in her vision.

This wasn’t her husband’s face.

Silver hair.

So very pretty. Silver like the moon.

Such purple eyes. Bright and deep.

Pale skin. A delicate nose. Defined cheekbones.

Gentle voice.

The woman was saying something. Her lips were moving. They were red. A soft shade though.
Closer to pink.

Soft. Her lips looked soft.

Roses.

This woman smelled like roses.

“Can you tell me what color my hair is, Alicent?”

“Silver,” she rasped, startled by the sound of her own voice. She sounded hoarse. But why?

It didn’t matter.

“Tell me.”

I answered her question. That’s good. She won’t be angry with me because I answered her question.
Perhaps she won’t punish me.

The woman was nodding. “Good, Alicent. That’s right. Now, what color are my eyes?”

“Purple,” she whispered.

She wanted to be good.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.

There was a hand gently stroking her back, moving slowly and soothingly up and down. That was
familiar. This was familiar.

Warmth. She felt warm. Something warm was pressed against her side. She liked it.

She shifted a little, trying to move closer to the pleasant warmth, and she realized that the warmth
was a body. A soft body. Not like the others.

And it was clothed.

Roses.

Pretty roses.

Pretty like the woman’s silver hair.

“You’re doing so well, Alicent. So well. Can you breathe in with me?” The woman took a deep
breath.

Alicent copied her, surprised by how easy it was. I can breathe. She slowly released the breath and
inhaled another.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.

She was safe. Safe. Safe in . . .

She stared at the woman’s face, blinking slowly. She could smell roses. Roses were nice. So very
pretty. And sweet-smelling. She liked roses. Roses made her feel warm. Roses made her feel safe.
The scent of roses always reminded her of—

Rhaenyra!

Rhaenyra was holding her.

They were on the floor together.

She was cradled in her friend’s strong arms, seated on her warm lap.

Alicent suddenly became more aware of Rhaenyra’s hand gently stroking her back, of the
comforting warmth that radiated from her friend and seemed to seep into her own bones, of the
steady thrum of her friend’s heartbeat.

Her eyes darted around the room.

Her room.

They were in her bedchamber. She’d been preparing herself for breakfast. She saw no sign of
Margaery or the others. They must have gone.

Noticing that she was more lucid now, Rhaenyra smiled softly. “How do you feel?”

“I . . . Better. I think.” She was exhausted, in truth, and she desired little more than to return to her
bed and sleep.

But she knew that would be unwise.

Besides, she was too weary to force herself from the comfort of Rhaenyra’s arms.

There was something on her face though.

She should . . .

When she reached up to touch her own cheek, Alicent realized it was wet with tears. She wondered
how long she’d been trapped in her own mind and in those horrid memories. While it had certainly
felt like hours, she suspected that the real time was more akin to minutes.

Sytarr above, she was so exhausted.

Using the hand that wasn’t rubbing her back, Rhaenyra lightly brushed some sweaty hair off of her
forehead. “What do you remember, Ali?”

“We,” Alicent paused, wetting her dry lips, “you invited me to breakfast, but I needed to dress, and
Margaery and I were talking and . . .”
And she’d begun to ruminate about past birthdays.

Fool.

“You were having a flashback.” Rhaenyra’s hand continued its soothing strokes along her back.
“Margaery tried to ground you, but you weren’t responding, so Sansa came and fetched me.”

And I responded to you. The words were left unspoken, but Alicent knew that they were both
thinking them. And why was that? Why had Rhaenyra been able to reach her so easily? She vaguely
recalled hearing Margaery say her name, but she hadn’t been able to focus on her voice and use it
as a tether to drag herself back to reality and the present.

Rhaenyra though . . . the moment that she’d smelled her rose perfume, she’d felt more grounded.

She’d felt safe.

She’s been soothing my nightmares for years. Perhaps that’s why she was able to reach me so
easily. Yes. That must be it. She’d simply become conditioned to respond to Rhaenyra when she
was feeling scared or panicked. She’d learned to associate her with safety.

Alicent had long ago lost count of the number of times that she’d awoken in Rhaenyra’s arms,
awoken to the sound of her warm voice in her ear, the sweet scent of her perfume in her nose.

When did I begin to equate the smell of roses with safety?

“My apologies for grabbing you.” Rhaenyra shifted slightly under her. “I shouldn’t have done that,
but I didn’t realize that you were having a flashback.” She hesitated, worry and guilt glinting in her
amethyst eyes. “Did I make you feel trapped?”

Alicent eyebrows drew together as she considered the question. Trapped. Had she felt trapped? Of
course she had. But not by Rhaenyra. Never by Rhaenyra. “Your arms felt different from the ones
in, in my memory. I, I think they helped ground me, actually.”

Relief washed over Rhaenyra’s face as she expelled a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s, that’s good.”
She paused, lips briefly pressing together into a thin line before she quietly asked, “Do you know
what triggered you?”

“Yes,” Alicent admitted. Why bother lying? She was much too tired to concoct anything
convincing, and she doubted that her friend would be fooled even if she attempted an excuse.

“Do you wish to discuss it?” Rhaenyra’s voice was low and gentle and soothing.

Alicent’s teeth sank into her lower lip, stomach twisting. “I . . . Margaery and I were discussing
what you had planned. For my birthday. I . . . I didn’t want you to make a fuss, or, or trouble
yourself overmuch.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, but it was a kind scoff, and she was smiling at her. “I know that I can be . . .
extravagant at times, but I do have some sense of,” she waved her hand to indicate . . . something.
Alicent didn’t know what, and she didn’t think that Rhaenyra did either. “What I had planned was a
nice breakfast and two small gifts for you.”

Considering Rhaenyra had referred to her emerald orchid ring as something “small and simple,”
those words did little to assuage Alicent’s concerns about her friend doing too much for her. “You
needn’t have gone to the trouble.”

Rhaenyra shrugged, her soft smile never wavering. “I know, but I wanted to.”

Alicent bit her lip. “I’m still not used to people . . . caring that it’s my birthday. Not in a good way.”
She paused, eyes darting away. “My birthdays have never been pleasant, especially after I was
wed.” She prayed that Rhaenyra would press no further, not wishing to lie to her friend, but also not
wanting her to know the horrific number of men that had used her over the years. Even though she
knew—intellectually—that Rhaenyra would never be disgusted with her, she couldn’t help but fear
her friend’s disdain once she learned how soiled Alicent truly was.

She suddenly felt two fingers gently pressing beneath her chin, urging her to look up, and when she
did, she was met with warm, earnest purple eyes.

“I’m sorry that your past birthdays have been so unpleasant, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s warm hand drifted
upwards to tenderly cradle her cheek. “If you’ll allow me, I promise to do all in my power to ensure
that every birthday you celebrate here is a pleasant one.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed, and she suddenly became very aware of the fact that she was still
wrapped in Rhaenyra’s arms and seated on her lap. “You needn’t trouble yourself so, Nyra.” While
the thought of reassociating birthdays with something other than fear and shame and hurt certainly
appealed to her, she still didn’t desire any great fuss to be made. “I don’t deserve all of that.”

Rhaenyra gazed at her for a long moment before slowly shaking her head. “You’re wrong, Alicent.
You deserve everything.”

^^^

Rough hands shoved against her back, causing Alicent to stumble and fall to the floor.

Her knees struck against something hard and cold, but it wasn’t stone.

She stared down at the simple, black and white geometric patterns, her blood chilling in her veins.

No. No. No.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her.

Dread coiled in her stomach.

She remembered this night.

Remembered the feeling of harsh fingers tangling in her hair and forcing her head up and back,
remembered the terrifying glint in Criston’s eyes that she’d never seen before, remembered the
second set of footsteps—

Please no. Not him.

Lord Zarash loomed above her, pale eyes sweeping over her as a cruel smile curled his thin lips.

Alicent shrank back.

He shouldn’t be in her bedchamber.

A dinner but hours earlier.

She’d behaved.

She’d been good.

But—

A heavy hand upon her thigh, squeezing tight before sliding higher.

Her own hands trying to push his away, trying to be a proper wife.

«Please stop,» she whispered.

Lord Zarash ignored her.

«You demonstrated the utmost disrespect,» her husband spat, «laying your filthy hands on a lord as
if you have any right.»

Alicent’s eyes squeezed shut as she trembled.

She didn’t want to be here.

She didn’t want to remember.

She didn’t want—

«A woman holds her tongue, but you’ve never been very good at that, have you, Little Wife?»

I try. I always try. Please, please, not him, not this.

Cruel laughter sounded behind her.

Horus and Reuben.

Her husband’s eldest sons.

They shouldn’t be here.

Not in my bedchamber.

«You’re very fortunate that my old friend is so forgiving.»

«My Lord, please—»

«Silence yourself!»

Alicent clamped her mouth shut.

He’s going to strike me.

She couldn’t—
«What a pity, to bloody something so pretty,» Lord Zarash rumbled. «And on her birthday, no
less.»

Mocking.

He was mocking her.

He always mocked her.

He shouldn’t be in my bedchamber.

«Horus, Reuben, assist my wife in making amends with Lord Zarash.»

Hands dragging her up from the floor.

The sound of tearing fabric filling her ears.

Alicent fought.

Her cheek stung from the blow.

Her ears were ringing.

«Behave!»

Be still. Obey and be still. This is my husband’s wish.

But she didn’t want this.

Please stop. I’ll be good, but please, please stop.

Greedy fingers sank into the flesh of her breast.

Her legs shook.

Tears slid down her cheeks.

She remembered what came next.

She remembered the pain.

She remembered—

«Her cunt is dry.»

Of course.

Her yearly blood was still months away.

«The bitch is always dry.»

I’ll obey. I’ll submit. I’ll be good—

«You’ve never been good, You Worthless Whore!»

Lord Zarash’s eyes gleamed with malice.

«I suppose there is more than one way to wet a cunt.»

Alicent screamed.

Alicent jolted awake, breaths coming out in short, harsh pants. The soreness of her throat told her
that she’d been screaming, and her whole body trembled. She could feel slick sweat on her
forehead, and her heart thundered in her chest. Her vision was still blurred by sleep and tears, so at
first she didn’t notice the light-orb hovering above her bedside table.

What she did notice was the warmth enveloping her.

What she did notice was the sweet, comforting scent of roses.

What she did notice was the gentle voice murmuring softly in her ear.

“It’s all right, Alicent. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you.”

As the last vestiges of sleep fell away, Alicent became aware of the fact that she was sitting on
Rhaenyra’s lap, her back pressed against the other woman’s front. Rhaenyra’s legs were tangled
with her own to hold them in place, which meant that she must have been flailing in her sleep. One
of Rhaenyra’s arms was wrapped securely around her waist, while her free hand stroked her arm in
a soothing rhythm.

Twisting slightly so that she could tilt her head upwards, Alicent found herself gazing into a pair of
concerned amethyst eyes.

“There you are,” Rhaenyra murmured, and the tenderness in her voice made something in Alicent’s
heart ache.

She tried to smile in response, but she couldn’t force her lips to form the correct shape, not when
memories of the first time that Criston had shared her still lingered.

Even as she’d crawled into her bed earlier that evening, she’d known that her sleep would not be
peaceful. While spending time with Rhaenyra and her other friends had allowed her to stave off
thoughts of her past birthdays for much of the day, she’d known that the memories would come for
her once night fell.

She should have known that Lord Zarash would be among them.

A shudder rippled through her body, and she felt Rhaenyra’s arms tighten around her.

Criston had invited Lord Zarash into her bed more times than she could count, and while she hadn’t
seen his face, she’d recognized the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hands on her twenty-
ninth birthday.

I should have asked Rhaenyra to weave a dream for me.

She’d considered it, briefly, as she was bidding her friend goodnight before retiring to her
chambers, but she’d decided against it. While she knew that Rhaenyra would have acquiesced in a
heartbeat, she disliked the thought of being forever reliant on her friend’s magic simply to find
sleep.

Shifting slightly on Rhaenyra’s lap, she focused on the feeling of her friend’s warm hand stroking
her arm, on the quiet words of assurance being whispered in her ear, on the comforting scent of
roses. She could feel her body calming as Rhaenyra banished the lingering echoes of her night
terror, and she could feel her muscles becoming relaxed and pliant the longer that Rhaenyra held
her.

I’m safe now. He can’t hurt me anymore.

She repeated the words over and over again until they began to lose their meaning, until her mind
became drowsy once more and sleep cruelly beckoned to her.

Alicent shivered when she felt the warmth of Rhaenyra’s body begin to retreat from her. She knew
that Rhaenyra was about to slip from her bed. She knew that Rhaenyra was already using her
telekinesis to drag over the black upholstered chair that had become her chair over the past few
years. She knew that Rhaenyra was preparing to sing to her from that chair until sleep reclaimed
her.

That was the way of these nights.

She would have a night terror, and Rhaenyra would wake her and hold her until she’d calmed.
Rhaenyra would move from the bed to her customary chair, and Alicent would settle back beneath
the covers. She would fall asleep as Rhaenyra sang to her, and Rhaenyra would weave her a dream.

This had been their routine for over two years now.

And had this been any other night, Alicent would have held her tongue and embraced the familiar
sequence of events.

But tonight was different.

Not allowing herself more time to consider the matter, she reached out and touched Rhaenyra’s
wrist.

Rhaenyra froze, slowly turning to look at her. “Alicent?”

“Please.” The word was little more than a raspy whisper, but she knew that her friend heard her. “I
. . . Please stay.”

Surprise flickered in Rhaenyra’s eyes—surprise and something that Alicent could not name. She
hesitated, but not long enough for Alicent to apologize and attempt to take back her words. “All
right.”

Alicent’s shoulders slumped with relief, the tightness in her chest that she hadn’t even realized was
there uncoiling. “Thank you, Nyra.”

Rhaenyra smiled at her—warm and sweet—as she rose into the air so that Alicent could slip back
beneath the covers. She then floated over to the unused side of the bed and positioned herself so
that she was sitting up with her back resting against the headboard. Her eyes swept over the
distance between them for a moment before she quietly asked, “May I come closer?”
Alicent didn’t hesitate. “You may.”

Once they were both comfortably settled, Rhaenyra began to sing.

Come all ye fair and tender girls

That flourish in your prime

Beware, beware keep your garden fair.

Let no man steal your thyme.

Let no man steal your thyme.

For when your thyme it is past and gone,

He’ll care no more for you.

And every place where your thyme was waste

Will all spread o’er with rue.

Will all spread o’er with rue.

Alicent sighed quietly, a contented smile curling her lips as she allowed herself to relax, allowed
the dulcet tones of Rhaenyra’s voice to wash over her in warm and gentle waves, allowed her eyes
to slip shut as sleep beckoned to her once more.

She was safe.

Rhaenyra felt ill.

And furious.

Her stomach roiled with nausea, her heart ached for Alicent, and her magic roared for blood.

Seven fucking Hells.

While she didn’t know exactly what Criston had done to Alicent, she’d gleaned enough from her
friend’s nearly incoherent begging and sobbing—both this morning and within the last hour—to
know that it had involved multiple men.

I should have razed that entire damn planet.

What she’d done to Criston hadn’t been enough.

Nothing would ever be enough to balance the scales.

Black flames crackled between her fingers, and she wondered for a moment how difficult it would
be to locate those specific men amongst Westeros’ population of billions. Relle willing, they were
all slaughtered during the War.

Her canines had lengthened and sharpened to deadly points, and she longed to sink them into
Criston’s neck and tear out his throat.

After Alicent’s flashback that morning, after Alicent had fallen asleep in her arms and Rhaenyra
had carried her back to bed, Rhaenyra had managed to leash her anger by focusing on ensuring that
the remainder of her friend’s day was as pleasant as possible, but now . . .

Her eyes squeezed shut as Alicent’s cries from this morning echoed in her ears, as she remembered
the acrid stench of her fear.

Merciful Mother, she’d never seen Alicent so terrified.

And just now, when Alicent had been in the throes of her night terror, when she’d been thrashing
desperately and whimpering with fear, Rhaenyra had felt her pain as something was roughly thrust
inside her.

Westeros never signed the Heptarch Accords. It’s not protected by the Maaldoria Pact either. And I
cannot imagine a god such as Sytarr deigning to sign the Mar’Kai Treaty.

It would be so simple—

A brisk knock interrupted her thoughts, followed immediately by Lorenna calling through the door,
“Lady Aemma to see you, Your Majesty.”

“Enter.”

Aemma slipped inside her bedchamber a moment later, expression pinched with concern. “Hylda
told me that Alicent had another night terror?”

“She did.” Rhaenyra extinguished her fire, expelling a heavy sigh as she retracted her canines and
slumped down into the nearest chair. “I should have realized this would happen after this morning.
I should have offered to weave a dream for her before she retired for the evening.”

After all, what was the point of Alicent knowing about her ability to weave dreams if Rhaenyra
didn’t occasionally request to use her gift as a preemptive strike?

She’d waited exactly two days after her and Alicent’s tea in the glass garden to broach the matter of
her dream weaving. Alicent’s shock had given way to fascination so swiftly that it hadn’t been until
nearly an hour later that her friend had frowned and begun questioning her about how often she’d
been tampering with her mind.

By the time Alicent completed her interrogation, Rhaenyra had been certain that she’d lost
whatever forgiveness Alicent had seen fit to bestow upon her. But Alicent had surprised her once
again by nodding to herself, lightly touching Rhaenyra’s arm, and telling her that she now had
permission to weave dreams for her after a night terror.
Rhaenyra suspected that her friend had spent the following few days discussing the matter with Dr.
Arwen.

Aemma strode across the room to stand beside her chair, settling a comforting hand on her
shoulder. “Rhaenyra, you cannot blame yourself—”

“I don’t.” She looked up at Aemma, eyes blazing as fresh fury coiled in her stomach. “I blame him.
Him and every other thrice-damned vark living on that Relle-forsaken planet.”

Aemma’s eyebrows rose slightly, but her expression swiftly shifted into one that was equal parts
stern and concerned. “Rhaenyra, you know that you cannot retaliate, yes?”

“Of course.” She laughed bitterly. Much as she wished it otherwise, she knew better than to allow
her passions to rule her actions. “I’ve no intention of endangering the Treaty.” Any further than I
already have.

Aemma eyed her skeptically, but nodded all the same. “Will you be returning to bed then?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “I wish to be awake in case she has another night terror.” While highly
unlikely, she wanted to be able to respond immediately should Alicent need her. Without thinking,
her head turned slightly, turned towards the door that connected her apartments to Alicent’s. Even
from this distance, she could feel the soft, ever-present hum of power from the shield that protected
that door and prevented anyone from entering

“Rhaenyra,” Aemma gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, “you know that Alicent would want you
to rest.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but no words would come, for she knew that Aemma was correct.
Alicent had been quite cross with her the week before upon learning that Rhaenyra had forgone
sleep for five consecutive nights. “I don’t wish for her to suffer any further.”

Her old heart friend’s eyes were soft with sympathy. “I know, but you cannot protect her from her
past any more than you can erase it.” She leaned down and lightly kissed her brow. “All you can do
is comfort her in the aftermath,” she murmured.

For a brief moment, Rhaenyra’s eyes closed, and she allowed herself to remember a time when a
simple forehead kiss from Aemma had been enough to soothe all of her worries.

Opening her eyes, she expelled a heavy sigh and nodded. “Very well. I’ll return to bed.”

For Alicent’s sake.

One Week Later

Exactly nine days after her birthday, Alicent received a handwritten invitation to join Rhaenyra for
breakfast in the southern water garden.

As ever, the invitation included an assurance that she was free to decline.

But Alicent didn’t wish to decline.

After over a week of extended sessions with Dr. Arwen discussing but a handful of her past
birthdays, she desperately wanted—needed—to create better memories. Better associations. This
past week, she’d clung to memories of her first two birthdays on Valyria—of the sweet cakes and
Aemma’s hug when she turned forty-nine, and of her luncheon with her friends when she turned
fifty—to ground herself and stave off the worst of her flashbacks and panic during her sessions.

She wanted more such memories.

She wanted to be able to contemplate her birthday without feeling her chest tighten, without her
stomach clenching and roiling all at once, without wanting to sink her nails into her scarred wrist,
without hearing Criston’s voice in ear or seeing his face in her mind.

Rhaenyra was the reason that she’d become less anxious about surprises.

She hoped that her friend could do the same with birthdays.

Rhaenyra twisted her black rose ring around her finger as she scented the air for the tenth time in as
many minutes, hoping to catch a hint of freshly baked bread. But all she could smell were flowers
and water and blood oranges.

Perhaps she’d been too hasty in inviting Alicent to breakfast. Perhaps she should have waited
another week. Perhaps the entirety of her plan to offer Alicent a few happy memories was utterly
foolish.

Her eyes settled on the gifts placed in the middle of the table just as they had been the week before.

Expelling a sigh, she gently tugged on the mental link connecting her to her Shadow Knight.
“Hylda?”

“Is something the matter, Your Majesty?”

She couldn’t help but smile at her knight’s immediate concern. Always the protector.

“No, Hylda, I merely need a few words of assurance.”

There was a moment of silence between them, then, “Sabitha told me that she once saw the Lady
Alicent almost swoon upon seeing a first edition of Belmos hen Dāriai.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows rose. “Has she read Belmos hen Dāriai?”

While the epic poems chronicling the lives of the Three Great Queens of the Old World were
certainly engrossing, considering the tragic lives that each of them had ultimately led and their
equally tragic deaths, she wouldn’t have expected Alicent to be overly fond of the poems.

“She has not,” and through the link, Rhaenyra could sense Hylda’s amusement, “Sabitha believes
that her reaction was due to seeing a book that is older than most known species.”

And Rhaenyra couldn’t help but laugh, imagining the utter delight that must have been sparkling in
Alicent’s eyes, envisioning the way that her cheeks must have flushed with excitement, wishing
that she’d been there to see her beaming, toothy smile—the one reserved solely for her beloved
books.
She hoped to see the smile today.

“Thank you, Hylda.”

“Of course.” Another pause. “You chose well, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra prayed that her old heart friend was right.

When Alicent entered the southern water garden, she immediately sought out the gleam of dragon-
scale armor to determine where each of the Garden Knights was stationed, knowing that Rhaenyra
would be at the center of their configuration. For reasons that she didn’t entirely understand, all
seven always accompanied Rhaenyra whenever she set foot outside the Queen’s Keep.

She soon realized the futility of her search, for while the blood orange trees were not so dense as to
completely conceal the interior of the garden, they had been planted to provide shade for the rivers,
walkways, and gazebos, which meant that those same features were mostly hidden from sight when
one first entered the garden.

With little other choice, she selected one of the granite pathways and began walking, hoping that
she would meet one of the knights sooner rather than late.

“Alicent, this way.”

Thank Sytarr.

Her steps quickened as she followed the sound of Sabitha’s voice.

She soon found her friend standing beneath one of the larger orange trees, several steps away from
a fountain with a rearing griffin at its center. “Good morning, Sabitha.”

“Good morning, Alicent.” Sabitha was smiling brightly, but there was a shadow of worry in her
eyes as well, even as she directed Alicent towards the pathway on her left.

Alicent paused as she passed by the Lily Knight, reaching out to touch her arm. “I’m all right,” she
promised, warmed by her friend’s concern for her—by her care.

“We were all worried about you, when we heard about your panic attack.”

She almost corrected Sabitha that it had been a flashback, not a panic attack, but managed to hold
her tongue. Even though she knew that her friend would not be upset, there was no need to correct
her at the moment when she was simply expressing her concern. All of her friends had been
especially kind to her since her birthday. “Thank you, Sabitha, but you needn’t worry.” She
couldn’t help but smile slightly. “The Queen will take care with me.”

“Her Majesty always does,” Sabitha agreed, a peculiar expression briefly flashing across her face.
“I hope you enjoy your breakfast, Alicent.”

“I’m certain that I will.”

And she was, in truth, for she always enjoyed dining with Rhaenyra. She enjoyed their easy
conversations. She enjoyed seeing her friend relaxed and smiling. She enjoyed the quiet moments
they shared.

After bidding her friend farewell, she followed the granite walkway until she reached a small
gazebo tucked beneath three blood orange trees. It was heptagonal in shape—as were nigh all of
Stone Garden’s gazebos—with a swooping roof that was surmounted by a small copula, and atop
the copula was a rose-shaped finial.

Six of the gazebo’s seven sides were enclosed by a stone balustrade, and the individual balusters
each had a different flower carved into the middle. Bougainvillea wound around the posts
supporting the roof, and moonflower vines snaked around the upper railing. The floor of the gazebo
was made from the same granite as the garden’s walkways.

Rhaenyra was seated in front of a small, round table with curling, silver legs. A simple breakfast of
fruits and breads had been laid out upon the table’s glass top, along with a pitcher of ice water.

As Alicent drew closer, she was able to identify pomegranate seeds, strawberries, pear slices,
blackberries, blueberries, apple slices, and persimmons, as well as apple bread, zucchini bread, date
bread, banana nut bread, hazelnut bread, and her favorite—sunberry bread.

She also noticed the two neatly wrapped parcels sitting in the middle of the table.

Having no doubt scented her approach, Rhaenyra was already turned towards her and smiling
brightly. “Good morning, Ali, h—” She broke off, eyes widening for a brief moment before saying,
“You look lovely.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed in response, and she instinctively tugged at the left sleeve of her gown to
ensure that the ugly scar wrapped around her wrist was less visible. Thankfully, most of the scars
covering her arms were further up and safely concealed. Rhaenyra always grimaced whenever she
saw Alicent’s scars, and even though Alicent already knew that nigh every part of her body save for
her face was unpleasant to look upon, she still felt a twinge of hurt every time she saw Rhaenyra
struggling to mask her distaste.

Suddenly realizing that she hadn’t properly responded to Rhaenyra’s compliment, Alicent returned
her smile, focusing on the way that Rhaenyra was looking at her now, rather than remembering
how her friend’s lips had twisted when she saw one of the old chemical burns that marred Alicent’s
inner arm. “Thank you, Nyra.”

Coming around the table, Rhaenyra pulled her chair out for her and waited for Alicent to sit down
before retaking her own seat. “I’m so glad you decided to join me. I was beginning to worry—”
She shook her head, waving away whatever words she’d intended to say next. “I’m very glad you
decided to join me, and if,” she hesitated, eyes briefly flicking to the two gifts in the middle of the
table, “should anything at all should discomfit you, please tell me.”

“I will,” Alicent promised. She wasn’t particularly worried about the gifts causing her distress, in
truth. The only time that she’d ever received anything for her birthday was when Adah gave her a
piece of hard candy as a way of spiting her mother.

But she appreciated Rhaenyra’s concern all the same.

As they ate, Rhaenyra informed her about the most recent developments with the Dragon Summit,
which Empress Visenya remained stubbornly opposed to. “The other queens are far more agreeable
—thank Relle—and I have the support of the matriarchs as well as the majority of the matrons.”
She clicked her tongue. “Unfortunately, the Azurewing remains as stubborn as Visenya.”

Alicent hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could speak with Queen Velsinnia yourself?”

Rhaenyra shook her head regretfully. “If I intervene, the Azurewing will never agree. She can
hardly allow herself to be persuaded by a Valyrian on this matter.”

“Oh. Of course.” Her cheeks flushed as she nibbled on a piece of sunberry bread. She should have
realized that.

“But perhaps I could speak with a few of her kyrons,” Rhaenyra mused. “Kyron Meleys
Copperhorn still owes me a favor.”

Alicent wondered what Rhaenyra had done to have a dragon indebted to her, but decided now was
not the time to inquire.

“The Azurewing has always been fond of Meleys,” Rhaenyra continued, as much to herself as to
Alicent, “and if I can convince Balerion as well . . .” She smiled brightly. “Thank you, Alicent.”

Alicent knew that her face must be as red as the strawberries. “I’m certain that you would have
thought to speak with the kyrons on your own.” Considering her friend had been ruling in one
fashion or another for millions of years, Alicent knew full well that there were few political
maneuvers she could think of that Rhaenyra hadn’t already employed dozens of times before.

Rhaenyra shrugged. “Perhaps, but it would have taken longer and wasted time. There is always a
value in seeking an additional perspective.” She paused, lips twisting into a wry smile. “Something
I’m guilty of oft forgetting.”

“Perhaps your memory is muddled by millions of years of not sleeping properly,” Alicent teased.

“That is a vile accusation, Lady Alicent.” Rhaenyra pressed a hand to her chest. “You wound me
greatly.”

“I speak only the truth.”

Rhaenyra simply harrumphed, making a point of returning her attention to her breakfast.

They spent what little time remained of their meal in companionable silence, and Alicent soon
found herself reaching for the larger of the two gifts, which was almost certainly a book of some
kind, given its shape and size. For all that she worried about how much her friend had spent on her,
she would be lying if she claimed that she wasn’t rather excited by the prospect of actually owning
a book.

And the next book I own shall be one that I purchased.

But upon removing the pretty green cloth in which the book was wrapped, her smile faltered.

She couldn’t read the title.

The letters were recognizable as being from the same alphabet used by High Valyrian and
Kastrellan, but the words were indecipherable.
For a brief, horrid moment, she wondered if Rhaenyra was playing some cruel trick on her, but she
immediately dismissed the foolish thought. Her friend would never do such a thing, especially now
that she knew about Alicent’s previous birthdays.

“I promise to do all in my power to ensure that every birthday you celebrate here is a pleasant
one.”

Rhaenyra never broke her promises.

Alicent looked up at her friend in silent question.

“Please forgive me, Alicent,” Rhaenyra smiled apologetically, “I thought that you would open the
other one first.”

Oh.

Alicent reached across the table and picked up the small box, noticing at once how little it weighed.
She could feel Rhaenyra’s eyes watching her as she carefully untied the silver ribbon. After setting
the ribbon aside, she removed the lid to reveal a pair of round, wire-rimmed glasses.

The delighted squeak that flew from her mouth was utterly undignified, but she couldn’t bring
herself to care.

Translation spectacles.

Rhaenyra had given her translation spectacles.

Perhaps it was silly for her to be so pleased by a gift that most Valyrians would probably consider
no great matter, by a gift that her own people had developed an analogous technology for millennia
ago, but she was.

She was elated.

With eager, almost trembling fingers, she removed the glasses from their box, unfolded the temples,
and slipped them onto her face.

The lenses were so clear that she wouldn’t have even noticed she was looking through glass had
she not felt the weight of them resting upon the bridge of her nose. The sensation was a peculiar
one, but not unpleasant, as was the feeling of the temples pressing against the sides of her head.

She looked up at Rhaenyra, who was grinning proudly, and then down at the cover of her new
book.

The Evolution of Medicinal Magic: From Unicorn Water to Surgical Spells.

The words didn’t shimmer or shift as they translated, they didn’t blur momentarily and then come
back into focus as something that she understood, the letters didn’t rearrange themselves.

They were simply . . . there.

As she stared down at the book’s title, she slowly lifted the glasses just far enough so that she was
no longer looking through the lenses.
 And she was immediately once more staring at a series of foreign words that she simply couldn’t
comprehend.

Remarkable.

She suspected that the mechanics of the enchantment attached to the lenses must function in a
somewhat similar manner to Rhaenyra’s shapeshifting abilities in that the magic translated the
words so swiftly and seamlessly that her brain could only perceive the final result of legible text.

Swiftly rising from her chair, she hurried around the table and enveloped Rhaenyra in as tight a hug
as she could manage.

Rhaenyra made a startled sound, but didn’t hesitate to return the hug. “I assume this means you’re
pleased?” Her tone was teasing, and slightly smug.

Alicent didn’t care. “More than you can know.” She unwound her arms and drew back a step so
that she could see her friend properly. “Truly, Rhaenyra, I couldn’t have asked for better gifts.” The
spectacles alone would have been more than enough, but the book as well? And in what she
assumed must be the original Classical Lyrian, since she’d read that Old Nørsk used a runic
alphabet and Ancient Cairdic connected all of its letters with vertical lines to create words that
resembled trees.

Rhaenyra preened. “The spectacles have three translation enchantments attached to them, so you’ll
be able to read anything written in the primary Old World languages.”

A fresh wave of excitement surged through her at hearing those words. Since she’d begun visiting
the library, she’d come across numerous texts written in Lyrian, Nørsk, and Cairdic, and while
Margaery had been tutored in Lyrian and Sansa in Nørsk, Alicent hadn’t wanted to ask them to read
aloud to her as if she was a child.

And now she wouldn’t need to.

She looked down when she felt fingers brushing against the backs of her hands in silent question.
Still smiling, she nodded in acquiescence, rather enjoying the feeling of Rhaenyra’s warm hands
clasping her own.

Filthy whore.

She bit the inside of her cheek as she swiftly smothered her mother’s voice. Not today.

Rhaenyra was smiling up at her as she gently squeezed her hands. “I hope this will make for a
pleasant memory, Ali.”

Alicent almost responded that nigh all of her memories with Rhaenyra were pleasant, but she
swallowed the words before they could mortify her. “It most certainly will.” Before she could think
better of it, she leaned down and briefly pressed her forehead against Rhaenyra’s—as she’d oft seen
Margaery and Sansa do with each other. “Thank you, Nyra. This will be a perfect memory.”

Chapter End Notes

Additional Trigger Warnings:
- Rape
- Group rape
- Rape via object insertion
- Alicent is restrained during said rape

Poor Alicent does not have a good history with birthdays, but she certainly has a bright future!
And look! Temporary platonic bed-sharing and forehead touches!

Next Chapter: Cassella Cargyll comes to visit, and we get a non-traumatizing Westeros
flashback!

Additional Disclaimer: The lullaby lyrics are not mine. They are from a traditional English
and Irish folk song entitled "Let No Man Steal Your Thyme."
 Old Friends
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 27:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Cassella Cargyll, Guild Mistress of the Bright Star Actress Guild, resides in Kastrell
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Gwayne Hightower, eldest son and heir of High Lord Otto Hightower (flashback)
– Clarissa Hightower, First Wife of High Lord Otto Hightower (flashback)

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Warm Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed as stared down at the dragon script—carved by Caraxes’ claw—informing
her that Queen Velsinnia Azurewing was beginning to perhaps consider acquiescing to the Dragon
Summit. Stubborn dragon.

Not that her own people could boast of having a more tractable ruler. Perhaps I ought to visit
Visenya myself. As stubborn as her youngest daughter could be, Visenya was not a fool, and she
could surely be made to understand the importance of reforging bonds and mending the rifts
between the Valyrians and their closest kin.

Visenya will surely—

Her head suddenly snapped to the side when a familiar scent reached her nose.

No. Surely not. It’s far too soon.

All the same, she set Syrax’s missive aside and rose from her desk.

A few minutes later, Hylda called through the door, “Guild Mistress Cassella Cargyll to see Your
Majesty.”

“Allow her in.” While her voice remained steady, she would be lying if she claimed that she wasn’t
somewhat nervous.

How long has it been since we last stood in the same room together? Ten thousand years? Twenty?
Perhaps even more than that. Too long, in any case. Far, far too long.

There had once been a time when they were inseparable, when the mere possibility of spending
more than a day apart would have been unthinkable.
But that was before Cassella began dedicating herself and countless hours of her time to honing her
acting abilities, before Rhaenyra visited the Oracle and learned that her mate would be a mortal not
born of Valyria, before Cassella met Elinda Darke.

Seeing her dearest friend with her mate—knowing that she herself was condemned to watch her
own mate wither and die—had wounded Rhaenyra’s heart in a way that had become progressively
harder and harder to endure.

So she’d withdrawn.

At the time, she’d justified her withdrawal as needing to focus on her studies and become an
Empress worthy of her mother’s approval. She’d assured herself that Cassella would prefer the
distance, that her heart friend would appreciate being able to spend more time with her new mate,
who shared her passion for acting. Cassella’s own actions had offered her the vindication that she’d
needed, for her old heart friend had done no more to mend the growing rift between them than
Rhaenyra herself.

When Cassella had eventually told her that she was leaving Dragon Wood to officially join the
Bright Star Actress Guild, Rhaenyra hadn’t asked her to stay.

The wounds left by their parting had been slow to heal, but they had healed. Enough so that they’d
eventually been able to reconcile after nearly one million years of estrangement.

Their friendship now was vastly different from what they’d shared in their youth, but Rhaenyra still
appreciated it for what it was. She still appreciated that Cassella remained one of the few women in
all the world who looked at her and simply saw her rather than any of her titles or positions.

And while she was certainly pleased by her old heart friend’s visit, she was also rather surprised by
the timing.

When she’d contacted Cassella some two months ago and invited her to Stone Garden, she hadn’t
expected to actually see her for another year at the very least. Now that reconstruction was
essentially complete, the Bright Star Actress Guild had resumed its normal performance schedule.
She would have expected Cassella to be entirely consumed by her guild mistress duties.

Cassella always did enjoy a little spontaneity.

When the door opened and Cassella walked into her study, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at the
familiar sight of her old heart friend’s shining eyes and elegantly styled curls.

Cassella grinned in response to her smile, swiftly crossing the room and enveloping her in her
warm hug. “Rhaenyra, it’s been too long.”

“It certainly has,” she agreed, immediately returning the hug and squeezing tight. She’d almost
forgotten how nice it was to hug a friend without reserve.

While she adored Alicent’s hugs and treasured each one, she was always worried about doing
something to upset the other woman or cause her to panic, and she always had to take care not to
squeeze her too tight, lest she accidentally hurt her.

Cassella’s eyes glinted with mirth as she drew back a step. “My apologies for not sending word of
my coming, but I was rather hoping to surprise you.”
“Well, you’ve certainly achieved that objective.” She arched an eyebrow. “Dare I ask why you
wished to surprise me?” She was fairly certain that she already knew the reason. During their
youth, her old heart friend had often used surprise as a tactic of persuasion when attempting to coax
her away from her studies or duties.

“I’ve found you’re much easier to convince when you haven’t had time to prepare a proper
counterargument,” Cassella had explained with a cheerful smile when Rhaenyra had finally spoken
with her about the matter.

Cassella grinned. “I was hoping to lure you away from your work long enough that you might join
me for a ride. I’ve brought Yvaine with me, and one of your grooms told me that poor Nevermore
has been languishing for years now.” She tsked. “I would have expected you to treat your poor
horse better, Rhae.”

“Nevermore receives daily exercise,” Rhaenyra defended. She could hardly be blamed for the fact
that none of her recent travels had required her to ride on horseback.

Cassella waved dismissively. “We both know that isn’t the same as a proper ride.” She took
Rhaenyra’s hands in hers, squeezing gently. “Please, Rhaenyra, indulge me. As you said, it’s been
far too long since we’ve seen each other, and I’m feeling rather nostalgic.” She smiled slightly—
wistfully. “Surely you remember all the fun that we once had when I would steal you away from
your duties and lessons for the day.”

Of course she did. Those days had always been her favorites.

She had countless pleasant memories of ambling arm-in-arm with Cassella through the villages
surrounding Dragon Wood, of swimming in the lakes located throughout the Forest of Desmera, of
racing through the trees in animal form, of playing games of cyvasse while talking and bantering
about nothing of import, and of riding together.

Perhaps above all else, they’d always enjoyed riding together.

For much of their youth, Cassella had been the better horsewoman, but several lives spent on
worlds where she’d traveled on horseback for months at a time had eventually allowed Rhaenyra to
surpass her old heart friend in both skill and endurance.

“Cassella, I want to, but—” Her words dissolved into a laugh when Cassella pulled her close and
began leading her in a mock waltz. “What are you doing?”

“Persuading you.” Cassella gave her a rather clumsy twirl. “You were always more amenable to my
suggestions when dancing.”

Rhaenyra snorted and swiftly sidestepped to avoid being accidentally trod upon. Some things never
change. And yet it was strangely comforting—being able to so easily lapse back into the dynamic
that they’d established so many millions of years ago. “More that I was desperate to escape from
you. You’ve always been a terrible lead, Cass.”

Cassella made an affronted noise, eyes widening with feigned hurt. “You wound me, Rhaenyra.”

“As you oft wounded my toes during lessons.” Her lips curled into a teasing smirk. “I’m certain
Elinda would agree with me.”
A flush spread across Cassella’s cheeks to confirm Rhaenyra’s words. “The both of you simply fail
to appreciate my unique style.”

“Your unique style nearly left me with a limp.” She well-remembered the first time that Cassella
had stepped on her foot so hard that she’d cried out and sent her heart friend flying across the room
with a gust of wind.

Their dancing mistress had thankfully caught Cassella before she could slam into the nearest wall.

They’d both spent the following three days apologizing profusely to each other.

Cassella made a point of sighing loudly and allowing her shoulders to slump. “Well, now that
you’ve utterly devastated me, perhaps you will agree to come riding?”

Rhaenyra hesitated, glancing over at the stacks of papers and dragon writing sheets on her desk.
She ought to attend to them, but she’d also invited Cassella to visit, and it would be rude not to
spend time with her old heart friend.

Besides, knowing her schedule, she’ll likely need to return home before supper.

“Allow me a moment to speak with Aemma, then I’ll meet you in the stables.”

Cassella grinned. “I knew the dancing would persuade you.”

Sunlight was streaming down through the branches overhead and dappling the leaves as Nevermore
and Yvaine followed a winding stream at an easy canter. Rhaenyra’s body swayed with her ebony
palfrey’s movements, the reins held loosely in one hand. The scents of summer swirled around her,
carried on a brisk breeze winding through the trees and ruffling Nevermore and Yvaine’s manes.
Cassella’s easy-going mare hadn’t been in the mood for a race, and Nevermore had evidently
accepted the fact that she wouldn’t be able to gallop today.

Rhaenyra looked over at Cassella, smiling when she saw the contented expression on her heart
friend’s face.

She had missed this—riding leisurely through the forest with nothing more pressing on her mind
than reaching a small, quiet lake in time for luncheon.

The last time that she’d been on horseback, she’d been riding a well-bred destrier named
Bucephalus into battle.

I ought to ask Alicent if she would be interested in learning to ride.

The thought of Alicent elegantly swaying in a saddle and delighting in the freedom that came from
riding upon a horse brought a smile to Rhaenyra’s lips, as did the thought of seeing her friend in
trousers. She was almost certain that it would be a new experience for her, and she was always
eager to see Alicent’s reactions to anything new.

Assuming it didn’t cause her distress, of course.

A brisk gust of wind in her face pulled Rhaenyra from her thoughts and drew her attention back to
Cassella, who was frowning at her. “What?”
“You’ve not been listening to a word I’ve said for the past five minutes,” Cassella chided.

Rhaenyra’s cheeks flushed when she realized that her heart friend was correct and she couldn’t
even recall what they’d been discussing before her thoughts had turned to Alicent. “My apologies,
Cass.”

Cassella sighed loudly. “I suppose that I can forgive you. Just this once.” She urged Yvaine closer
to Nevermore so that they were properly riding side by side. “Now, be a polite heart friend and ask
after my mate.”

Rhaenyra briefly contemplated feigning dismay simply to watch her old heart friend worry and
rush to apologize, but swiftly decided that it would be in poor taste to use those particular wounds
in jest. So she instead made a show of slowly and deliberately asking, “Tell me, how is Elinda?”

Cassella grinned, her dark eyes shining with a combination of affection and fond exasperation.
“She’s spent the past month pestering me to put on another revival of Duty and Sacrifice: The
Dying of the Dragons for the autumn season.”

“Duty and Sacrifice is an excellent play.” She well-remembered shedding a few tears the first time
that she’d watched a performance. The tragedy of a civil war caused by the unfulfilled love of two
girlhood companions torn asunder by the oppressive machinations of the patriarchy had been
utterly enthralling.

“Believe me, Rhaenyra, I enjoy Duty and Sacrifice as much as anyone. The characters are
wonderfully nuanced and layered, the sets and costumes are gorgeous, and the story itself is
certainly compelling, but the show is a logistical nightmare. Do you have any idea the difficulty of
staging a production that spans eight to sixteen days? Everyone is utterly exhausted after a single
performance.”

Rhaenyra shrugged, feigning indifference. “The cost of art.”

Cassella rolled her eyes. “Seeing as how you had to single-handedly reorganize the War effort, I
would have expected more sympathy for my plight.”

“I don’t wish to speak about the War, Cassella.” Her tone was more brusque than she’d intended,
but she would not apologize for it.

Cassella’s smile immediately fell from her face. “Please forgive me, Rhae. I didn’t mean to upset
you.”

Terrified screams were echoing in Rhaenyra’s ears, and she could practically feel the warm blood
dripping from her fingers, but she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on her breathing, focused on
the scents and sounds surrounding her, focused on the present and not those thrice-damned tunnels.

I did what was necessary. The ends justified the means.

The words sounded hollow and false even in her own mind, but they were enough to calm her heart
and quiet the screams.

Expelling a slow, shuddering breath, she opened her eyes and returned her attention to Cassella. “If
not Duty and Sacrifice, what do you intend for the autumn rotation?”
Cassella was gazing at her with open concern, but she knew better than to press, so she instead
offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I was thinking that Carmilla and Laura will be the
main production this coming season. Natasha and Elise have finally emerged from their sabbatical
and are willing to reprise their roles as the title characters.”

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow at that. “Why not ask the original actresses?”

Natasha Darke and Elise Stokeworth had been the original Carmilla and Laura in The Carmilla
Quartet, but not Carmilla and Laura, which had premiered long before either of them had been
born. And while both productions used Sairla Farman’s novel Carmilla and Laura as source
material, the play by the same name was a direct adaptation, while The Quartet was a retelling that
had been divided into four separate plays.

“I did ask them, but they weren’t interested in performing another revival.” Cassella shrugged.
“Velinora Waynwood said she was content to pass the role to Natasha, and Paranora Yronwood
simply reiterated her desire to remain in retirement for the time being.” She smiled at Rhaenyra.
“Perhaps you and Lady Alicent might come to a showing while we’re in Osmera. You mentioned
wishing to invite her to see a play with you.”

So she had, and while Rhaenyra knew without a doubt that the Bright Star Actress Guild would put
on a performance worthy of Alicent’s first Valyrian play, she still shook her head. “Considering the
subject matter, I don’t think Carmilla and Laura would be a prudent first play for Alicent. I don’t
wish to overwhelm her.”

“Overwhelm her?” Cassella repeated slowly, eyebrows drawing together. “Why would she be
overwhelmed by Carmilla and Laura?”

Rhaenyra sighed inwardly and mentally steeled herself for what she knew was to come. “Alicent
doesn’t know about mates or the matebond, and she doesn’t know that Valyrians are only attracted
to other Valyrians.” She paused. “At least I don’t think she does.” She couldn’t actually say for
certain, but Alicent had never offered any indication that she realized all of her friends were in
romantic relationships with other women.

Cassella gaped at her for a moment before sputtering, “How can she not know?”

The shrillness of her heart friend’s voice made Rhaenyra wince, and several birds took to the skies
in fright.

“Cassella—”

“Merciful Mother, Rhaenyra, from everything I’ve heard, I thought Lady Alicent was an inquisitive
and intelligent woman.”

Rhaenyra bristled. “She is.”

“Then how can she not know? There are no men on Valyria! How can she not realize that any
romantic relationships would necessarily have to be between two women!? Seven Hells, Rhaenyra,
only a handful of the women in your court aren’t mated and bonded yet.”

She waited a moment to ensure that Cassella was actually finished before speaking. “I can think of
a number of reasons. One being that she may simply assume that none of us has an interest in
sexual or romantic relationships, the former of which you know is true for some women. It’s also
quite possible that the notion of two women in a romantic relationship is simply such a foreign
concept that the thought has never even occurred to her. I doubt she spends much time ruminating
on our romantic—”

“You and I both know that Criston Cole was spewing all kinds of hateful nonsense about women
who have sex with each other being abominations.”

“Exactly. It was hateful propaganda, and Alicent has spent the past three years learning that most of
what came out of that vile man’s mouth was filthy lies.”

“But the concept of women being together can’t be so inconceivable to her if she was taught to
revile it.” Cassella shook her head in consternation. “I don’t understand why you would conceal
something so integral to our culture. To our very nature.”

“When Alicent first came to the Queen’s Keep, she was terrified.” Rhaenyra’s stomach clenched at
the memory of Alicent’s wide and frightened eyes, at the stench of her fear, at how her entire body
had trembled when Rhaenyra so much as glanced at her. “She thought . . . She already thought the
worst of me, and of Valyrians. I had no intention of upsetting her further by confirming any of the
horrid things that Criston Cole had been telling her about us.”

Cassella’s lips pursed as she considered, and Rhaenyra hoped that the matter had been settled, but
then her heart friend shook her head. “I can understand not wanting to discomfit her when she first
began living under your roof, but she lives surrounded by mated women. Surely she’s noticed the
mate marks on their necks and the bonding bracelets on their wrists and realized the truth by now.”

While Rhaenyra didn’t entirely disagree—she was fairly certain that Alicent must know, or at least
suspect, to some extent—she understood that intellectually knowing about something and actually
seeing it were two very different things. She had no doubt that Alicent had found ways to
rationalize the marks and the bracelets, as well as her friends’ various behaviors towards their
mates. “Never underestimate the power of willful blindness, Cassella.”

“Well, she can hardly remain willfully blind forever.” Cassella cocked her head slightly. “Lady
Alicent enjoys reading, does she not? Perhaps you could suggest a few romance novels to her? Ease
her into the notion that two women sharing a romantic relationship is nothing to fuss about, if
you’re so afraid of how she’ll react.”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Alicent doesn’t read fiction.” And even if she did, it would hardly be
appropriate for me to offer her a romance novel.

Cassella gave her an incredulous look. “Why in Relle’s name not?”

“I’m honestly not certain, but the one time that I offered her a collection of short stories, she very
politely declined. And she’s never borrowed anything other than informative literature from the
library.” Rhaenyra couldn’t actually say whether Alicent’s aversion to fiction was because her
friend wished to learn more about Valyria and didn’t believe that she had time for pleasure reading,
or if it was Valyrian fiction—specifically—that she didn’t wish to read.

Perhaps Westerosi simply don’t believe in reading purely for the joy of it. That would hardly
surprise her. From what she’d gleaned during the War and Alicent’s handful of anecdotes,
Westerosi seemed to have a rather utilitarian mindset that left little room for personal enjoyment.

Save for when that personal enjoyment derives from being an abusive monster.
Cassella clicked her tongue, shaking her head with a mixture of consternation and exasperation.
“Well, in that case, all the more reason for you to bring her to see a show this autumn. Even if she
won’t read fiction, perhaps she can be persuaded to watch it. And Carmilla and Laura beautifully
—and quite aptly, in this instance—explores the situation of loving another woman when you are
not raised to accept such relationships.”

“Carmilla and Laura is a tragedy.” And Alicent has experienced more than enough tragedy in her
life.

“A romantic tragedy. And Laura’s entire character arc is learning to accept and embrace her love
for Carmilla despite her father’s insistence that such feelings are deviant and unnatural.” Cassella
arched an eyebrow. “Can you think of another literary character who would resonate so well with
Lady Alicent?”

“Carmilla’s arc ends with her being butchered in her sleep,” Rhaenyra retorted. And she spends
most of the book fighting her own monstrous nature so as not to harm Laura.

Cassella waved dismissively. “My point still stands. If not for those idiotic males, Carmilla and
Laura would have had a lovely life together.” Leaning to the side, she reached over and briefly
squeezed Rhaenyra’s arm. “Invite her to the show, Rhae. You can judge her reaction for yourself
and then proceed accordingly.”

The offer was tempting, so very, very tempting.

Her old heart friend was correct that Alicent would learn the truth eventually—assuming she hadn’t
already—especially if she chose to remain on Valyria for the rest of her life.

Ease her in. If she seems uncomfortable, hopefully she’ll feel that she can speak with Dr. Arwen or
one of her other friends.

“May I take your pensive expression as approval of my idea?”

Rhaenyra didn’t need to look at Cassella to know that she was grinning triumphantly. “You may
take it as me considering your idea.”

Cassella let out an exasperated huff. “She deserves to know, Rhae. And she’ll need to know if you
ever intend to properly court her.”

“I don’t intend to court her.”

“Then why do you look like a moonstruck milkmaid every time you think about her?”

Rhaenyra huffed. “I do not—”

“Yes, you do.” Cassella was grinning at her with far too much smugness.

“You,” Rhaenyra gave her a light shove with her telekinesis, “are insufferable.”

“Perhaps,” Cassella chuckled, “but you adore me all the same.” She suddenly raised her head and
sniffed the air. “We’ve almost reached the lake. Can you smell the fish?”

Immensely grateful for the excuse to end their conversation, Rhaenyra mirrored her heart friend’s
actions and nodded in agreement. The scent of fresh water mixed with the earthier smell of fish had
been carried to them on the wind, and if she focused her hearing, she could detect the gentle lap of
water on the shoreline. “Are—?”

Cassella suddenly urged Yvaine into a gallop, kicking up twigs and other debris and scattering them
in her wake. “Race you,” she called over her shoulder.

Snorting, Rhaenyra quickly dismounted and shifted into her wolf form. As soon as she’d
established a mental link with Nevermore so that she could call her once she reached the lake, she
charged after Cassella.

The world became little more than a blur in her periphery as her paws consumed the ground
beneath them. While she was certainly fast in her natal form, it was nothing compared to the speed
and agility with which her wolf legs carried her over the forest floor. The rhythmic thrum of her
paws on the ground filled her ears, and leaves scattered and fluttered through the air as she ran over
and passed them.

Her eyes remained fixed ahead, where she could see flashes of Yvaine’s splash white coat. She
could hear Cassella’s heartbeat—Yvaine’s as well—and could sense her heart friend’s exhilaration.

She swiftly overtook Yvaine, ears pricking when she heard Cassella’s annoyed huff.

After dodging around a few more trees and leaping over a fallen log, she broke through the tree line
and skidded to a halt in front of the small lake. Its rocky shoreline was about five meters from
where the trees ended, and its calm surface shimmered beneath the summer sun. The smell of fish
was stronger now, and she could also detect the distinct scents of the different aquatic plants that
were hidden from view by the rippling water.

She turned at the sound of approaching horse hooves, sitting back on her haunches as she waited
for Cassella to catch up. A wolfish grin spread across her jaws as she watched her heart friend
emerge from the trees a few minutes later. Her tail swished across the ground, causing the tiny
pebbles beneath to clatter together.

Cassella drew Yvaine to a halt and gracefully dismounted. “Braggart.”

Rhaenyra’s wolfish chuffs transformed into chuckles as she shifted back to her natal form. “You
wanted a race, did you not?”

Cassella rolled her eyes. “A horse race.”

“Nevermore was tired,” Rhaenyra replied sweetly. Looking past her heart friend, she pointed to
where her mare was only now joining them. “See?”

“You’re insufferable.”

Rhaenyra simply shrugged as she made her way to the edge of the lake and sat down. She could
feel rocks through her riding pants, and a moment later, she was seated on a cushion of air. Tilting
her head back, a contented sigh slipped from her lips at the feeling of the warm sun kissing her
skin. She didn’t turn her head as Cassella sat down beside her, but she did lean against her. “Have I
told you that running has always been the best way to clear my mind?”

Cassella laughed a little, lightly poking her side. “I do recall you saying something of that nature.”
The glittering water of the lake was trying to lap at them, urged by the gentle breezes, but Rhaenyra
held it at bay. She could hear the soft patter of tiny feet on the underbrush as squirrels, mice, voles,
shrews, and other woodland creatures foraged for food. The heavier steps of the larger animals such
as deer and foxes sounded like thunder in comparison. She could also detect the stale scent of bear,
probably a few days old by now.

Still without turning her head, her eyes flicked towards Cassella. Her heart friend was staring out
across the water, a relaxed expression softening her features. It reminded Rhaenyra of their younger
years, when they would sneak away from Aemma and climb up into their favorite sablewood tree.
They had sometimes lounged amongst the branches in their natal forms, while other times they had
chased each other through the leaves as squirrels. Cassella would eventually find some way to push
her from the tree because she enjoyed watching her shift into a bird.

“It’s always so graceful, the way you change forms so easily.”

The ease with which shapeshifting had come to Rhaenyra, the ease with which all of her ordered
magic abilities had come to her, was something that Cassella claimed to have always admired.
Rhaenyra well-remembered her own admiration for the easy way that her heart friend controlled
her raw magic. While Cassella wasn’t a particularly powerful sorceress by any means, she’d always
performed magic with a confidence and self-assuredness that Rhaenyra used to envy.

“If you had even half of the control that Cassella does, perhaps that stasis net around your core
wouldn’t be necessary.”

Rhaenyra could still remember the reproach in her mother’s voice when she’d spoken those words.
She could still remember the look that Alaura and Vora Aelinor had exchanged and the way that her
stepmother had quickly found some excuse to coax her mother out of the room. And she could still
remember the sympathy in Cassella’s mother’s eyes as she’d knelt down to hug her.

“She does love you, Princess Rhaenyra. Her words simply come from fear.”

Lyonella Cargyll had always been kind to her.

“What are you thinking about?” Cassella’s quiet voice drew her from her memories and back to the
lakeside.

“Our mothers,” Rhaenyra sighed, attempting to smother the old melancholy that always arose with
that particular memory. “I used to think that we would be as they are.”

“Always together?”

Rhaenyra nodded. While she’d spent the majority of her childhood at Dragon Wood with her Great-
Grandmother Alysanne learning the art of ruling an Empire, she’d often visited Dragon Ridge, and
she well-remembered the crowds that had always seemed to follow her mother.

“An empress is rarely ever alone,” Grandmother Alysanne had told her once. And while most of
the faces in those crowds had changed with the seasons, three never had. For as long as she could
remember, Alaura Glover, Vora Aelinor Westerling, and Lyonella Cargyll had always been by her
mother’s side.

“Mother was always surrounded by her innermost circle.” Rhaenyra absently twisted her black rose
ring around her finger. “I suppose that I assumed we would be the same one day. You, Hylda,
Aemma . . .”

“And your mate,” Cassella finished quietly.

“But that was before I visited the Oracle.” Rhaenyra sat up, staring out across the water as the
Oracle’s words—spoken in the voice of Mother Relle herself—echoed in her ears. “I used to
wonder how your mum felt about sharing your mother with mine. It can’t have been easy.”

Her mother and Cassella’s had been dear heart friends since they were children, just as she and
Cassella had been. And while Lyonella had found her mate before she was even one million years
old, it had never seemed to interfere with her and Rhaenyra’s mother’s friendship.

Probably because Mother knew that she would find her own mate one day. And that when she did,
she wouldn’t have to watch her wither away and die.

“Mother told me once that being friends with your mother is oft exasperating,” Cassella chuckled,
“but then she said that she would never wish for Viserra to be any different.” She paused,
expression thoughtful. “I think that our mothers both knew the challenges they’d face as friends,
and I think my mum knew that loving Mother meant sharing her to some extent.”

“If forced to choose, would your mother have chosen your mum over my mother?”

“In a heartbeat.” Cassella’s words also came without hesitation.

Rhaenyra hummed, unsurprised by the response. “Such is the strength of the matebond.”

Cassella shook her head. “The matebond may tell us who our mate is, but it doesn’t negate free
will. We still have a choice, and being someone’s mate means choosing her. Every time.”

Rhaenyra did look at her now, mentally debating with herself whether she wanted to ask the
question that had nagged at her since the day Cassella came bursting into her chambers with the
news that Elinda Darke was her mate. “Can . . . will you tell me about having a mate? I know what
I’ve read, but . . . it’s not the same.”

Intellectually knowing something is different from actually experiencing it.

She’d never been able to bring herself to ask her sisters what the matebond felt like for them, what
it was to be so inextricably connected with another person. And while she’d always read in official
texts that reciprocity and commitment were necessary to nurture the bond so that it flourished into
love—she’d said as much to Aemma the day that she and Alicent had reconciled—she’d also read
numerous anecdotes claiming that the love was immediate.

Cassella was silent for a long time, but Rhaenyra knew that it was a thoughtful silence rather than a
hesitant one. “Having a mate . . . well, in a way, she’s similar to a heart friend, but she’s so much
more than that as well. She’s the one person in all of creation who knows you better than anyone
else. She’s the person who inspires you, who pushes you to do better—to be better. Your mate is the
woman who comes into your heart and then never leaves. She’s the woman who sees you—every
facet of you both good and bad—and doesn’t flinch or turn away. She’s the woman who accepts
and loves you not despite your flaws, but with your flaws. And whatever challenges or trials may
come, you will always love her.”
Rhaenyra swallowed a little, throat tightening as Cassella’s words tumbled through her mind. She
thought about the way that her mother and sisters had always spoken about their mates—how even
Daemona’s face always softened whenever someone mentioned Mysaria—and the way that they
behaved around them.

She’d always noticed the tenderness, the affection and adoration that glimmered in their eyes, the
way that they always seemed to brighten at the scent or sight of their mate. She thought about the
way that Laena always seemed to lean in Rhea’s direction whenever the other woman was in the
same room, the way that Laenora had been claiming for millennia that Jorella inspired all of her art,
the way that her stepmother could effortlessly calm her mother’s stormier moods.

“She’s the woman who sees you—every facet of you both good and bad—and doesn’t flinch or turn
away.”

She’d had so many friends over the millennia—some of them Valyrian, many of them not. All had
been offered different pieces of her, but could she claim that any of them truly knew her? All of
her?

“You’re very fond of your secrets, Amelia,” Willow had told her once.

And so she was.

She’d kept secrets from all of her friends.

Secrets that she still held close now.

Secrets that she’d never admitted to anyone and perhaps never would.

Not even Laena, Aemma, or Hylda knew every ghost that haunted her.

I’ve never allowed anyone to see every facet of me.

She simply didn’t dare, though she’d often wondered if she would have the courage to tell her mate
about every regret and shame that haunted her.

“She deserves to know, Rhae. And she’ll need to know if you ever intend to properly court her.”

“The love doesn’t happen all at once,” Cassella continued, lacing their fingers together and gently
squeezing her hand. “It takes time. And commitment. And communication. And action. And
vulnerability. And strife. And reconciliation. And choice. It’s ultimately all a choice, Rhae. As with
any other relationship, your relationship with your mate must be built stone by stone. The
matebond provides sturdy stones with which to build the foundation, but whether or not you
actually use them, whether or not you even acknowledge their existence? That’s a matter of choice.
Both yours and hers. It’s you choosing her, and her choosing you. Over and over again.”

“And what if she doesn’t choose you?” Rhaenyra whispered.

Cassella gave her hand another squeeze. “Then fate has spoken.”

Alicent hadn’t intended to walk into a storage room.

Upon returning to the Keep after work, she’d intended to find Rhaenyra and tell her about the new
stitch that Mistress Damella had taught her, but when she’d inquired about her friend’s location,
she’d been told that Queen Rhaenyra was out riding with Mistress Cassella Cargyll.

Cassella Cargyll.

It was a name that she’d recognized from some of Aemma’s stories about Rhaenyra’s childhood,
but she’d been under the impression that Rhaenyra and Cassella were no longer as close as they’d
once been.

So she’d been rather . . . surprised to hear that Cassella had managed to coax Rhaenyra away from
her work.

She was also rather surprised that Rhaenyra hadn’t told her that one of her heart friends was
visiting.

But rather than dwelling overlong on those matters, Alicent had instead decided to continue
expanding her mental map of the Queen’s Keep by exploring some of the places that she either
hadn’t visited yet or had only visited infrequently.

Hence why she now found herself in some kind of storage room. It was smaller than her
bedchamber, but larger than her study, and musical instruments of every size and shape were
hanging on the smooth walls, sitting on polished shelves, or perched on elegant stands.

As she wandered deeper into the room, she paused every couple of steps to examine the different
instruments. While there had certainly been a wide array of musical instruments back home, few of
them were analogous in shape or sound to those that she’d seen since coming to Stone Garden. And
despite the numerous musicians who resided within the Queen’s Keep and played whenever groups
of women dined together, she’d never dared ask if she might look at any of the instruments more
closely.

The mere thought had always made her fingers throb with remembered pain.

Her steps suddenly faltered, and she inhaled sharply when she caught sight of an achingly familiar
instrument.

Made almost entirely of wood, the rosewood back was large and rounded like a bowl, and the
spruce soundboard was shaped like a teardrop. The sound hole was covered with an elegant lattice
of carved vines, and the neck had a veneer of ebony. The fret board was mounted flush with the top
of the instrument, and the cherrywood tuning pegs were gently tapered. The strings were directly
attached to the bridge, which was in turn attached to the soundboard.

As her eyes eagerly swept over the instrument, warm memories from her childhood surged to the
surface,

Alicent sat in the window seat of her bedchamber, gazing out the glass and wondering if she
wanted to visit the nursery. She probably shouldn’t, since her second mother would likely be there
to watch Liam, Bay, Faolan, and Min. Adah often sequestered herself in the nursery whenever there
were new babes.
She sometimes wondered if her father’s second wife was sad that her seven sons meant she wasn’t
allowed to bear more children, but she knew that was a foolish thought.

Sons are a mother’s pride and joy.

Her head turned at the sound of her door sliding open, and a bright smile spread across her face
when Gwayne strode inside.

While nearly twenty-seven centuries her elder, he’d always been her favorite brother. The kindest
and sweetest of them. As their father’s firstborn son, he didn’t have to be nice to any of them, but
he always was, and he always paid her attention even though she was a girl.

He was tall like their father, but he had their mother’s curly auburn hair and dark brown eyes. His
eyes were warmer and gentler than their mother’s though, and they didn’t frighten her.

«Gwayne.» Alicent slid down from the window seat and dashed over to him. «What are you doing
here?»

Gwayne stooped down to gently ruffle her hair. «Mother sent me to fetch you.»

Her smile dimmed at the thought of seeing their mother, of seeing her narrowed eyes and stern
frown. «Oh.»

Gwayne gently patted her cheek. «I’m certain it’s nothing, Little Sister.»

«She’s always cross with me.» She stared down at her feet guiltily, her tummy twisting because she
knew that it was her own fault their mother was always so cross. If I wasn’t hated by Sytarr,
perhaps Mother would like me. Her throat tightened as she remembered her birthday the year
before, when Mother had told her that she was a damned and cursed child.

«I’ll never bear another babe because of you, Alicent. That is why Sytarr despises you. You’re a
wicked little girl, and one day, you shall be punished for it.»

She hadn’t meant to be wicked, and she hadn’t even realized before that day that Sytarr hated her,
but she of course understood why he did.

Gwayne suddenly scooped her up into his arms, almost making her squeal in surprise, but she bit
her tongue to stop herself.

A proper lady did not squeal.

Her brother carried her back over to the window seat and set her down on the soft cushions. «Wait
here.»

Alicent watched him leave, wondering what he might be fetching.

When he returned a few minutes later carrying a stringed instrument with a bowl-like body and a
short neck, her eyes widened with interest. «What is that?»

«It’s called an oud. I’ve been learning to play it for a while now.»

«Why haven’t I heard it before?»

Gwayne chuckled as he sat down next to her. «I live in a different wing, remember? Here, let me
show you how to hold it.»

Alicent stiffened when her brother handed her the instrument, certain that she would somehow
break it or hurt it. Mother often scolded her for being stupid and clumsy, and the oud felt very light,
so it must be fragile.

Clumsy fools shouldn’t hold anything fragile.

«Relax, Alicent. It’s stronger than it seems.» Gwayne gently moved her arms and positioned her
hands. «How does that feel?»

«It’s big.» She frowned as she tried to reach all of the strings with the hand that her brother had
placed on the instrument’s neck.

Gwayne covered her hand with his, guiding it in strumming the strings.

Alicent’s eyes widened with delight at the sound that came from the instrument. She remembered
hearing Zelma singing Cyril to sleep once and thinking that her fourth mother’s voice was the
loveliest sound she’d ever heard. The oud reminded her of Zelma’s voice—pure and gentle, yet
strong and clear. «Do it again. Please?»

Instead of helping her strum the strings again, Gwayne removed his hand and sat back. «Why don’t
you try?»

Alicent hesitated, but Gwayne was smiling at her, so surely it would be all right. Biting her lip, she
tentatively tried to do what he’d done before. The sound wasn’t as pretty, but it didn’t hurt her ears.
She grinned at her brother. «I did it.»

«Yes you did,» Gwayne agreed with a warm smile. «Try it again.»

Brow furrowing with concentration, Alicent worked at carefully plucking the strings, testing each
one to see which string made what sound and how her different hand positions on the neck changed
those sounds.

She wasn’t even aware of how much time had passed until she felt Gwayne stiffen beside her.
Raising her head, the blood drained from her face when she saw their mother standing in the
doorway.

«Mother—» Gwayne began.

Their mother held up her hand to silence him. «I came here to see what in Sytarr’s name was taking
so long, but now I can see for myself why you never brought your sister to me as I asked.»

«It was my fault, Mother. I only wanted to show her a few—»

«Gwayne,» their mother interrupted curtly, «your father was asking after you.» Even though she
was talking to Gwayne, her eyes remained on Alicent.

Sighing, Gwayne slowly rose to his feet and offered their mother a respectful bow. He then gave
Alicent an apologetic look as he reached for the oud.

«Leave the instrument.»

Gwayne’s hand froze, surprise flashing across his face, but he obeyed nonetheless. Dipping his
head to their mother, he swiftly retreated from the room.

Clutching the oud to her chest, as if it would somehow protect her from her mother’s anger, Alicent
shrank beneath her piercing gaze. «Mother, I—»

«Don’t speak.» Her mother marched into the room and loomed over her, casting a dark shadow
across her face. «Play.»

«Mother?» she whispered tentatively.

«Continue as you were before.» Her mother’s dark eyes bored into her, and she was scowling.

Trembling, Alicent resumed carefully plucking the strings. Her hands were too small, and she
didn’t know what she was doing, but she was desperate to please her mother, so she managed a few
clumsy notes that she was certain her mother would dislike.

When she was finished and peeked up at her mother, her eyes widened with shock.

Mother wasn’t scowling anymore.

«Hmm. I suppose it’s not terrible.» Her mother was nodding slowly, more to herself than to Alicent,
and she was no longer looking at her. Rather, she was staring at something above and behind her
head. «With a proper tutor, she might actually become acceptable.»

Alicent’s chest swelled with pride.

That was the first and only time her mother had ever praised her.

For the next twenty-one years, Alicent had spent hours each day practicing the oud. Sometimes it
had been with her music tutor or Gwayne, other times it had been on her own within the privacy of
her rooms.

And for all that she’d adored other subjects such as mathematics, history, the classics, the sciences,
philosophy, and etiquette, she’d always had a special fondness for music, because when she played,
her mother didn’t look at her with pure hatred.

Her mother had always had a critical word to say about her equations for being written sloppy or
her experiments for failing or her theories for having too many flaws or her essays for being less
articulate than her brothers’ or her curtsies for not being as elegant as they should be, but her
mother had never once directly insulted her musical abilities.

At the time, it had pleased her as nothing else could, though she now realized that her mother’s lack
of criticism was not the same as actual praise.

After Criston learned that she was barren, she hadn’t been allowed to play anymore. The one time
that she’d been caught strumming an oud in her chambers, Criston had broken all of her fingers and
her right arm.

She hadn’t touched an instrument since.

And yet, despite the phantom pains that she could feel in her fingers, she longed to touch this
instrument that looked so much like an oud.

Criston can’t hurt me anymore.

Steeling herself, Alicent reached out and carefully lifted the instrument from its place on the wall
and sat down on the floor.

It was surprisingly easy to move herself into the correct position. Despite the intervening decades,
her hands and arms still remembered how it had felt to play, still remembered how to move and
properly cradle the instrument. She gave the strings a few experimental plucks, familiarizing
herself with the slightly different pitches and fingering patterns of this Valyrian instrument.

Almost without thought, she began playing one of her old favorites. It was an ancient song dating
back to before unification under the Charter, and she had always loved how the unusual
arrangement of notes still somehow blended perfectly to create a glorious melody.

Her fingers danced over the fingerboard in well-remembered patterns, and a smile curled her lips as
she became lost in the music. Memories of her childhood washed over her along with the notes, and
her eyes slipped shut as she allowed herself to think about her family for the first time in months.

She thought about her father, who had not been particularly warm or kind, but he hadn’t been cruel
either. He’d done no more than what was expected of any father—any man—in his position. No
more. No less.

She thought about her other mothers, who had all treated her more kindly than her own mother.
Roka had once helped her build a small starship replica for one of her aeronautics lessons, and
Zelma had often allowed Alicent to hide within her apartments when attempting to avoid her
mother. Lora had always delighted in spending time with her in the gardens and the greenhouse,
teaching her the names of each and every flower and tree that had been planted. The first time that
Alicent had struggled with a mathematics problem, Pella had discretely offered her help so that she
didn’t have to shame herself. And even Adah had occasionally been willing to recognize when
Alicent did something well—if only to spite Alicent’s mother.

She thought about her elder brothers, a few of whom had followed Gwayne’s example and been
kind to her. Azar and Anaru had been sweet to her until the day that their mother had scolded them
for it and told them to stay away from her. Bleddyn, Ryn, and Rhys, had played with her for a time
—less fearful of her mother since she wasn’t theirs—until they’d grown old enough to understand
the divide between the male and female spheres.

And she thought about her little sisters, who had all adored and relied upon her in different ways.
She’d always helped them with their lessons, and she’d often played games with Willa, Min, and
Elwyn. Twill and Mara’s antics had always made her laugh and long for the day that she would
have children of her own. She remembered Willa’s grace and Min’s laughter, Elwyn’s cleverness
and Twill’s wonder at everything around her. And she remembered Mara’s sweetness and eagerness
to learn.

She had been happy with them.

Despite her mother’s cruelty, she’d been happy with her natal family.
When Alicent’s fingers stilled and the last notes faded, the air was almost immediately filled with
the sound of applause.

Alicent’s eyes snapped open as she stiffened with surprise, only to relax a moment later when the
faint smell of rose perfume reached her nose.

Rhaenyra stood several feet away, a wide and bright smile gracing her lips as she clapped
enthusiastically. “Brava, Alicent.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed as she swiftly climbed to her feet and returned the instrument to its place
on the wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Vora Hylda and Vora Sarmelle were hovering
in the doorway, both of them smiling as well. “I,” she cleared her throat a little, “I thought you were
out riding with Mistress Cassella.”

She swore that Rhaenyra’s smile faltered for a split second, but it happened so swiftly that she
couldn’t be certain. “We returned to the Keep some twenty minutes ago, and Cassella departed soon
after. I came in search of you to ask if you still wished to dine together.”

Of course she did. “I do.”

“Wonderful.” Rhaenyra strode over to her and offered her arm, which Alicent accepted. As they left
the storage room behind, Rhaenyra gently nudged Alicent’s hip with her own. “You didn’t tell me
that you could play so beautifully.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest at the praise, even though she knew that it wasn’t deserved. Many of
her notes had been sloppy because she wasn’t familiar with the exact fingering patterns needed to
create the correct sounds, and the melody had been slightly off. “It’s been a while since I’ve
actually held an instrument,” she admitted.

“The years have been kind then.” Rhaenyra was gazing at her with bright eyes shining with what
almost seemed like admiration. “Did they have lutes on Westeros then?”

Alicent shook her head, though she made a mental note to ask Luwina for books about lutes. “No,
but we have a similar instrument called an oud.”

“Ah.” Rhaenyra tilted her head. “Who taught you to play?”

“My,” she hesitated a moment, wondering if Rhaenyra would think less of her for having first
learned from her brother, but swiftly dismissed the thought, “my brother. He showed me the basics,
and afterwards I was given a tutor.”

Rhaenyra’s pleasant smile didn’t waver upon hearing the word “brother.” “And how long have you
been playing?”

“Since I was four, but I wasn’t allowed to play during my marriage.” Her fingers flexed slightly on
Rhaenyra’s arm, but she resisted the urge to reach for her scarred wrist or her emerald orchid ring.
At the time, Criston had told her that he didn’t wish for his wife to waste her time on such
nonsense, though she now knew that he’d simply wished to remove any source of comfort she
might have found.

Anger sparked in Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes, but it was extinguished in an instant. “I see. Well, you
clearly have a natural aptitude.” She sighed regretfully. “Had I known you could play an
instrument, I would have sought out a music mistress for you.” She clicked her tongue, tsking at
herself. “Shame on you, Rhaenyra, for not asking.” Her eyes brightened when she refocused on
Alicent. “Would you like me to find you a music mistress now? She can help you re-hone your
skills with the lute, or teach you to play other instruments if you wish.”

For a moment, Alicent was surprised by Rhaenyra’s eagerness, but then she remembered that music
was considered an integral part of Valyrian culture. All the same, while she liked the idea of being
able to play again, the thought of a Valyrian music mistress made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
“You needn’t trouble yourself, Nyra.”

“It’s no trouble,” Rhaenyra assured her before peering down at Alicent’s hand that was tucked in
the crook of her elbow. “How have I never noticed before that you have a musician’s hands?” she
murmured, more to herself than to Alicent. Shaking her head, she offered Alicent another smile.
“Should you later decide that you desire a music mistress, please inform me.”

“I will,” she promised, though she doubted that she would change her mind.

Alicent glanced across the table at Rhaenyra for the tenth time in as many minutes. Even without
her empathy, she knew that her friend was nervous. While Rhaenyra’s rings weren’t spinning
around her fingers as they were oft wont to do, the set of her shoulders and the way that she kept
slicing her boar into smaller and smaller pieces were evidence enough.

She couldn’t fathom why Rhaenyra would be nervous though.

Their dinner conversation had thus far consisted mostly of Alicent telling her friend about her
childhood music lessons and Rhaenyra in return sharing a few stories about how her own music
mistress had been a terrifying woman by the name of Merope Jordayne.

But then, for no reason that Alicent could discern, Rhaenyra’s expression had suddenly become
pensive.

While she didn’t wish to pry, the silence now stretching between them was growing more and more
uncomfortable, and she could feel her own anxiety rising in response to Rhaenyra’s.

“Nyra?”

Rhaenyra looked up at her. “Hmm?”

“Is something the matter? You seem rather pensive.” While she understood that Rhaenyra had
certain cares that she couldn’t share with her, Alicent disliked seeing her friend unhappy.

“Oh. No. My apologies, Ali. Everything—” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed, fingers drumming on the table
for a moment before she expelled a heavy breath. “There is something I wish to ask you, if you’ll
allow me.”

Alicent felt herself relax at once, realizing that Rhaenyra’s current behavior was simply the nerves
that oft seemed to overtake her whenever she suggested something or someplace new for them to
do or visit together. “What is it, Nyra?”
Rhaenyra’s eyes shifted between Alicent’s face, her emerald orchid ring, and back again before she
straightened slightly in her chair. “I was hoping that you might want to join me for a night at the
theatre this coming autumn.”

“I would love to.” The words slipped from her mouth without her leave, but she didn’t care to
rescind them. She always enjoyed spending time with Rhaenyra, and she was certain that attending
a play with her would be as enjoyable as all of the other activities that they’d been doing together
for the past seven months.

Stage shows had fallen out of fashion long ago back home, but she’d be lying if she said that she
wasn’t rather curious about them. If for no other reason than because theatre seemed to hold an
important place in Valyrian culture.

Besides, she’d only ever explored Osmera during the day, and she was rather intrigued to see the
city after sundown.

Rhaenyra was beaming at her, amethyst eyes practically sparkling. “Wonderful. Carmilla and
Laura isn’t scheduled to reach Osmera until autumn, but I’ll see to purchasing tickets as soon as—”

“I’d like to buy my own ticket.” Alicent winced at the sharpness of her words, shifting slightly in
her chair as her fingers tightened around her fork. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to be rude, but I’d
like to buy my own ticket, if you don’t mind.”

For a moment, Rhaenyra looked as if she wished to protest, but then she dipped her head. “Of
course, Ali. I’ll inform you when the tickets become available.”

Alicent could help but smile as a peculiar sense of pride welled up in her at the thought of
purchasing something for herself with money that she had earned. “Thank you, Nyra.”

The following afternoon, Alicent invited her friends to take tea with her and play cards in the
rainbow garden. Margaery, Sansa, Luwina, and Catelyn and joined her at the appointed time, but
while Sabitha had initially said that she would be able to attend as well, she never arrived on
account of being “waylaid” by Aly.

Margaery had communicated the news with bright eyes and a knowing smile, which had earned her
a chiding look from Sansa. Catelyn had simply snorted, while Luwina chuckled.

Alicent had pretended not to hear and refused to dwell on what Margaery might be alluding to.

Gilly was also unable to join them today, so she sent a three-tiered serving stand bearing teacakes,
lemon cakes, cinnamon rolls, and sweet cakes in her stead. Three teapots sat around the stand—one
rose-pink with pale green vines, another dark blue and decorated with seashells, and the third
arctic-blue and speckled with snowflakes. She and her friends had needed three different kinds of
tea because Catelyn refused to drink what she referred to as “surface dweller leaf juice,” and Sansa
and Luwina both preferred Nordish brews that Alicent wasn’t fond of.

Alicent had just finished recounting to her friends the events of the evening before—from finding
the lute, to playing it, to Rhaenyra’s reaction, to their dinner and Rhaenyra inviting her to attend a
showing of Carmilla and Laura this coming autumn.
All four of her friends were now looking at her with bright-eyed interest.

“You never told us that you’re musically inclined.” Luwina laid the prelate of lotuses down before
shifting her cards to one hand so that she could take a sip of her tea, watching Alicent over the rim.

“We’re all very hurt by this oversight,” Margaery agreed as she reached out to pluck a teacake from
the tiered serving stand in the middle of the table. As she began to eat it, she used her other hand to
pour herself more tea while her cards remained suspended in the air and carefully turned so that no
one else could see them. One card rose from her hand and settled itself face down on the table. “I’m
not sure how we’ll ever recover.”

Alicent didn’t respond at once, rather distracted by Margaery’s casual use of telekinesis. Even after
over two years of living amongst Valyrians—she didn’t consider her first year sequestered her
chambers—she still found such displays of power fascinating.

She knew that she ought to be accustomed to them by now. She’d seen Margaery use her telekinesis
to help arrange her hair countless times. She’d seen Gilly simultaneously break eggs, whip up
batter, roll out pie dough, and remove small cakes from the oven on several occasions. The
gardeners were always using their elementalism while tending to the flowers, trees, and vegetation.
And Rhaenyra had once spent a full afternoon shapeshifting into different animals simply because
Alicent had been curious.

Yet much of the awe still remained whenever she saw Valyrians use their magic.

“Alicent?” Catelyn prompted. “It’s your turn.”

“Hmm? Oh. Apologies.” She quickly lowered her eyes to her cards, hoping that her flush of
embarrassment wasn’t too obvious. “I didn’t mention that I could play because I’m not very good.”

“Nonsense,” Margaery scoffed. “Vora Sarmelle says Queen Rhaenyra spent nigh unto an hour
praising your skills.”

“Rhaenyra is too kind.” Alicent pulled a ten of thrones from her hand and laid it on the table. Her
friend had always been liberal with her praise, and while it never failed to fill her with a pleasant
warmth, she did sometimes wonder if some of the compliments were exaggerated.

“Kindness does not translate into false praise, Alicent,” Catelyn gently assured her. “Her Majesty
has more respect for you than that.” She drew two cards from the deck, smiling slightly when she
saw what they were. She then placed the grand magister of scrolls down on the table. “Lion in the
grey cat’s den.”

Alicent groaned as she offered her cards to Margaery, who was sitting on her right. Margaery pulled
six of her cards at random and discarded them, and Catelyn then dealt her six new cards. Alicent
sighed, seeing that she’d lost a mother lotus, two tens, an eight, and two sixes. In exchange, she’d
been given a nine, two sevens, a four, a two, and a one.

While she had yet to fully grasp the overly complicated and convoluted rules of black cat, she knew
that her hand was now significantly worse. She frowned at Catelyn. “You’re horrid.”

Catelyn only shrugged, her expression perfectly innocent. “Margaery was the one who removed the
cards from your hand.”
 “You were the one who dealt me new ones, and you were the one who put a lion in my den.”
Alicent still didn’t understand why anyone would invent such a rule, especially since it seemed
entirely unrelated to the rest of the game and served only to inflict misfortune on another player.

Luwina chuckled as she drew a new card before setting a different card face down on the table. She
cocked her head at Alicent. “Do you plan to accept the Queen’s offer?”

Alicent shook her head. “I would prefer to practice on my own.” And she didn’t wish to waste a
music mistress’ time. No matter how good she might be by her own people’s standards, she knew
that she would be below average for a Valyrian.

From everything that she’d observed, most Valyrians were musically inclined to some extent, and
she wasn’t eager to see displeasure and disappointment in a music mistress’ eyes. Music was an
integral part of Valyrian culture, and she had no interest in disrespecting it with her own
inadequacy.

“Talent ought to be nurtured.” Margaery set down a nine of thrones. “You do yourself a disservice
by allowing your skills to atrophy.”

“Let her be, Margaery,” Sansa chided. “The decision is hers.”

“I’m merely offering my opinion.” Margaery bit into her teacake, humming at the taste.

“And I appreciate it, but I still do not intend to accept her offer.” After drawing a new card, Alicent
gave her friend a sweet smile as she laid down the empress of thrones. “Lion in the blue cat’s den.”

Margaery harrumphed and glowered at her. “Vengeance shall be had for this, Alicent Hightower.”

Alicent’s smile didn’t waver. “We shall see.”

Chapter End Notes

Rhaenyra: Alicent doesn't realize that she's surrounded by lesbians.

Cassella: 😮

Also, even Westerosi Gwayne is a good brother in this. Yay!

Next Chapter: We're off to the theatre! I wonder what will happen . . .

Additional Note: Carmilla is an 1872 Gothic novella by Irish author Sheridan Le Fanu and
predates Bram Stoker's Dracula by 26 years. And yes, in the novella, Carmilla is a sapphic
vampire who wants to eat Laura (in all the ways). I've commandeered that premise and made it
into the Valyrians' equivalent of Romeo and Juliette in terms of being a tale about star-crossed
lovers torn apart by circumstance. In this case, circumstance means the stupid men in Laura's
life.
 A Night at the Theatre
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 28:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Cassella Cargyll, Guild Mistress of the Bright Star Actress Guild, resides in Kastrell
– Elinda Darke, an actress of the Bright Star Actress Guild, from the Dragon Court
– Natasha Darke, an actress of the Bright Star Actress Guild, from the Dragon Court
– Elise Stokeworth, an actress of the Bright Star Actress Guild, from the Dragon Court

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Autumn Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

Alicent’s entire body was thrumming with a combination of anticipation and impatience as she
awaited Rhaenyra’s arrival. She’d just spent the last hour preparing for their night at the theatre,
and a part of her was tempted to simply go in search of Rhaenyra herself rather than wait for her,
but her friend had asked that she be allowed to escort her down to the carriage, and Alicent hadn’t
been able to deny the request. Not when Rhaenyra’s expression had been so eager and hopeful.

Besides, she still wasn’t actually certain where Rhaenyra’s chambers were located.

She knew that they were somewhere here in the Rose Tower, but she hadn’t wanted to be rude by
going in search of them.

Glancing over at her grandmother clock once more, she sighed when she saw that it was still fifteen
minutes until Rhaenyra was scheduled to come for her.

She supposed that this was the consequence of allowing her other friends to select her attire for the
evening rather than dedicating her customary half hour or so to carefully assessing each piece of
her wardrobe as she attempted to make her own decision.

Margaery had insisted that she wear green to complement her hair, which Ygritte and Dyana had
styled into a series of intricate braids that had been gathered beneath a silver hairnet accented with
moonstones. Sansa had offered to lend her some jewelry to supplement her emerald orchid ring, but
Alicent had declined. She had never worn much jewelry back home, and while she loved her ring,
she didn’t have much desire to wear anything more.

Her eyes drifted from the clock to her bureau, and she soon found herself walking over to it without
meaning to. Pulling open the top drawer, she moved aside her neatly folded winter long-
smallclothes to reveal a thin, lacquered box carved with a roaring dragon and flaming rose. A small
smile curled her lips as she unlatched it and raised the lid to reveal the necklace within.
She’d spent months attempting to settle upon the perfect gift for Rhaenyra—something meaningful
and heartfelt akin to her emerald orchid ring. She’d known that nothing she could purchase would
ever surpass the magnificence of her ring, but she’d hoped that her gift might still convey how
much she valued Rhaenyra’s friendship and Alicent’s care for her.

It was actually during one of their teas together in the rose garden that the idea for a necklace had
come to her. She’d been telling Rhaenyra about the day that she’d been allowed to spend nearly
seven uninterrupted hours in the gardens with Lora, and about how her fifth mother had shown her
how to weave flowers into chains and crowns.

Perhaps her gift was foolish.

Perhaps Rhaenyra would think it silly.

Perhaps she should have simply bought something.

But this gift was entirely from her.

She’d spent weeks choosing which flowers to weave together for Rhaenyra’s necklace. She’d spent
nearly a month practicing and perfecting her weaving technique with wilted flowers from the
gardens that had been removed to make room for new blooms. And she’d spent months working
additional hours at Mistress Damella’s shop in order to earn enough money so that she could both
purchase the necklace’s flowers herself and commission a small pendant.

The result was a necklace of black roses, fire roses, red roses, silver roses, and emerald orchids all
woven together into an elegant chain from which hung a silver, filigree pendant set with a fire opal
carved into the shape of a flame.

She’d asked Margaery to enchant the necklace with whatever spell it was that Valyrians used to
preserve flowers and prevent them from rotting. The year before, she’d read about and seen
illustrations of Kastrell’s ceremonial Flower Crown, which was a series of intricately intertwined
vines with various flowers blooming on it, so she’d known that it was possible.

Margaery had given her a strange look when Alicent had presented her with the necklace, but she’d
offered neither explanation for her expression nor protest upon hearing Alicent’s request. “Of
course I know how to preserve flowers,” she’d scoffed instead, pressing a hand to her chest in mock
offense. “You insult my honor as a Tyrell by wondering otherwise.”

Alicent had laughed at her friend’s feigned outrage, choosing to ignore her peculiar expression and
instead focus on her own triumphant delight at having created something that she hoped Rhaenyra
would consider worthy of gracing her elegant neck.

She’d noticed years ago that Rhaenyra rarely ever wore necklaces.

As her fingers brushed over the satiny ebony petals of one of the black roses, she couldn’t help but
marvel over how they felt just as they had when she’d purchased them freshly plucked over a
month ago.

Tonight, she promised herself. She would offer her gift to Rhaenyra tonight. After they returned
from the play.
She’d contemplated giving the necklace to Rhaenyra for her birthday a few weeks earlier, but she’d
swiftly dismissed the idea. Rhaenyra had gifted her, her emerald orchid ring on a day that was
otherwise without meaning to demonstrate that it was purely a token of friendship rather than any
kind of obligation.

Alicent wished for her flower necklace to be the same.

Her eyes closed for a brief moment as she allowed herself to enjoy the sweet smell of roses, which
immediately stirred memories of two nights ago when she’d been curled up on one of the divans in
her privy chamber with Rhaenyra’s head resting comfortably on her shoulder. Her friend had been
rather exhausted from a day of debating with Queen Velsinnia’s kyrons but also insistent that it was
far too early for her to retire to bed. So Alicent had coaxed her down onto the divan and read aloud
to her until Rhaenyra was nearly asleep.

Wanton little whore.

Alicent’s eyes snapped open, and she swiftly closed the lid of the box containing Rhaenyra’s
necklace.

You should be ashamed of yourself. Such impure thoughts are a grave sin and an offense against—

“I know,” she hissed. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

Realizing that she was speaking aloud to herself like a madwoman, Alicent clamped her mouth shut
and attempted to focus her attention on something else.

Something safe.

Her eyes fell upon the book sitting atop her bureau—untouched and unopened since Margaery had
given it to her two months ago.

Upon learning the name of the show that she and Rhaenyra were attending, Margaery had offered
Alicent her personal copy of a book by the same name, which was apparently the play’s source
material.

“Carmilla and Laura is a classic,” Margaery had explained, blue eyes glinting with something that
Alicent hadn’t been able to identify. “It’s considered one of the great works of Valyrian literature.”

The cover of the book depicted a raven-haired woman with an angular face, moon-white skin, and
eyes like onyx. Standing in front of and partly obscuring her was a blonde woman with soft brown
eyes and a gentle smile. A border of alternating black and red roses surrounded them, and scrawled
in elegant, cursive script along the bottom was what she assumed was a quote from the book:
“Love will have its sacrifices.”

Despite accepting the book, and despite being both curious and rather intrigued by the cover and
words, she’d never had any intention of actually reading it.

In addition to simply having no desire to discover the play’s entire plot before actually seeing it,
she didn’t read works of fiction.

While she had always taken pleasure in reading, she understood that reading entirely for her own
enjoyment was a waste of time.
It was among the few lessons that her father had personally taught her.

«A person reads to learn, Alicent. Education and the pursuit of knowledge are the loftiest and most
worthy of goals. Even for women and girls. Reading fiction is a hobby of the lowborn, whose minds
are less advanced than our own. Such pointless drivel is beneath you as a Daughter of the House of
Hightower. Everything that we do must serve some purpose.»

While she’d since begun to realize that her father was not entirely correct—she knew that many of
her friends enjoyed reading works of fiction, and all of them possessed highly advanced minds—
she did still agree with him that reading ought to serve some higher purpose.

She loved reading, but more than that, she loved learning. Every book, scroll, and essay that she
read taught her new and fascinating things about Valyria, taught her about something that she was
certain would one day prove useful, that she was certain would one day help her be useful in some
way.

Back home, very little had been done for the pure pleasure of it—save for the horrors that Criston
had inflicted upon her, though she did often wonder if some part of him had genuinely believed that
his “punishments” actually did serve a purpose.

Her people adhered far more strictly to utilitarian principles than Valyrians, and while she’d been
learning to embrace some Valyrian ways of thinking with regards to doing things simply because
she enjoyed them—such as spending time with her friends—the matter of reading purely for her
own pleasure was not among them.

Which, admittedly, was part of the reason why she was so eager to attend a play with Rhaenyra.

Despite having never touched a work of Valyrian fiction, she’d be lying if she claimed to be
entirely without curiosity. She might not be able to bring herself to read fiction, but watching it was
a different matter. Especially since she would be watching it with Rhaenyra, who was her friend.

She was allowed—supposed—to enjoy spending time with her friend.

Which means that I’m allowed to watch a play simply for the pleasure of it.

The sound of a brisk knock on her bedchamber door broke through her thoughts, and she swiftly
closed the drawer of her bureau.

“Alicent?” Rhaenyra’s voice floated through the door. “May I come in?”

Grinning like a fool, Alicent nodded even though Rhaenyra couldn’t see her. “Yes, you can come
in.”

The door swung open a moment later to reveal Rhaenyra’s cheerful face and shining amethyst eyes,
which briefly swept over her. “You look beautiful, Ali.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed, but she resisted the urge to duck her head. “Thank you, Nyra. You . . .”
She swallowed a little as her gaze shifted from her friend’s violet skirts that had been slashed to
reveal wine-red underskirts, to the intricate black lace adorning the neckline of her gown.

Nordish lace. From Mormont Province, given the tatting and geometric designs.

“You look lovely as well,” she finally managed.

Rhaenyra’s own cheeks darkened slightly as she offered her hand and asked with a bright smile,
“Are you ready to leave?”

That smile.

It had taken Alicent about five months after she and Rhaenyra began their friendship to realize that
Rhaenyra reserved certain smiles for certain people.

The one currently gracing her lips, which caused the corners of her eyes to crinkle and her dimples
to show, seemed to be reserved for Aemma, Hylda, and Alicent herself.

While Alicent couldn’t fathom why she was included in such a select group of women, the fact
made her stomach flutter dangerously.

Criston was right to call you a filthy slut.

Alicent inhaled sharply, but her own smile didn’t waver as she hastily crossed her bedchamber to
where Rhaenyra was waiting for her and accepted her hand. Doing her best to imitate Rhaenyra’s
own accent, she said, “Do lead on, Your Majesty.”

Rhaenyra laughed as she escorted her from the room, telekinetically closing the door behind them.

The streets of Osmera were relatively quiet as Rhaenyra’s carriage rolled down the stone roads.
While some indistinct chatter from outside drifted through the glass of the windows, Alicent’s ears
weren’t sharp enough to pick out specific words or conversations. Most of those conversations, she
noticed, paused as the carriage passed by and women offered curtsies to their queen.

Glowing lanterns illuminated from within by light-orbs hung over doorways, and there were
elegant, wrought iron lampposts erected at even intervals to ensure that the streets were well lit.
The glass globes that housed the orbs were seven-sided, and ivy vines wended their way up the
slender posts. The canopies atop the globes looked like dahlia leaves, and each finial they passed
was shaped like a different flower.

There were no bumps or jolts as the carriage made its way through the city. The road beneath them
was perfectly smooth and unblemished—seamless, actually. As if it had been cut, smoothed, and
polished from a single, enormous piece of rock. She’d learned during her first true excursion out
into the city that nigh all Valyrian roads were made from dragon-stone, which was apparently
created by melting normal rocks into liquid form with dragon fire, and then reshaping and fusing it
with magic.

“It’s harder than iron, Valyrian steel, granite, and diamond,” Margaery had explained to her when
she’d asked about the strange stone. “And it doesn’t weather or chip like normal stone either. Not
from everyday use, at least.”

At the time, Alicent had wondered if it would be rude to request a sample so that she could study it.

Perhaps I should ask Rhaenyra if she would be willing to make me a small piece.

From what she’d read, the process of forging dragon-stone, while time consuming, was not
particularly onerous for a strong sorceress.
And Rhaenyra is the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath.

“Alicent?” Rhaenyra’s voice, which was tinged with warm amusement, drew her from her
thoughts.

Refocusing her attention on Rhaenyra, who was sitting across from her, Alicent noticed at once that
her friend’s rings were beginning to shift. “Yes?”

“Have I actually told you anything about Cassella Cargyll?” The words were slow and deliberate,
yet somehow also rushed, as if Rhaenyra was attempting to swiftly force them from her mouth
before she could reconsider asking the question.

Cassella Cargyll.

Rhaenyra’s childhood heart friend.

The woman who had visited Stone Garden a few months ago and managed to persuade Rhaenyra to
go riding with her.

A woman she’s never once spoken to me about before now.

Which begged the question of why Rhaenyra had decided to mention her at this particular moment.

“You haven’t told me about her, but Aemma mentioned her a few times when she was telling me
stories about your childhood.” In truth, at the time, Alicent hadn’t been paying much attention to
Aemma’s words about Cassella Cargyll. She’d been far more focused on gleaning any information
about the Firestorm that might help her survive, and knowledge about her friendship with another
Valyrian had not seemed particularly pertinent.

“And what did Aemma tell you?” Rhaenyra prompted.

Alicent’s lips pursed slightly, unsure why Rhaenyra was asking these questions and not knowing
what exactly her friend hoped to hear. “She told me that your mother and hers have been heart
friends since childhood and inseparable for most of their lives.” Thinking back on those stories,
knowing what she did now, she was actually rather surprised that Viserra had someone in her life
that she considered a heart friend.

From what little she’d gleaned about Rhaenyra’s mother over the past few years, Viserra
Everlasting did not seem to be a very pleasant woman. Aemma’s lips always pursed whenever she
was mentioned, and the one time that Alicent had said her name in Vora Hylda’s presence, the
Shadow Knight had almost snarled in response.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised. If a man such as Criston has friends, then it stands to reason
that a woman such as Viserra would also have friends.

“You and Cassella were born only a few years apart,” she continued, “so you were childhood heart
friends as well. Following your sisters’ Choosing Ceremony and their departure from Dragon
Ridge, Cassella came with you when you took up residence at Dragon Wood.” Her lips pursed as
she tried to remember more, but she didn’t think that Rhaenyra wished to hear her recount the
various tales of mischief that Rhaenyra and Cassella had gotten into together when they were
children.
Rhaenyra’s own lips had curled into a soft and wistful smile, but there was a melancholy there as
well. “Cassella was my dearest heart friend when I was young. I could count on one hand the
number of days that we went without seeing each other at least once. For a long time, I thought that
she would remain by my side throughout my reigns and beyond. Such was the way for our mothers,
so why should it have been different for us?”

Why indeed?

Alicent had often wondered whether Rhaenyra had heart friends beyond Aemma and her knights.
She’d often wondered whether it was even possible for monarchs to truly form those same kinds of
bonds with other women when everyone save for family members was their social inferior. While
she knew that Valyrians didn’t adhere to the same strict class divides as her own people, surely they
remained at least somewhat cognizant of the difference in status between a monarch and a member
of a Clan.

She’d always assumed that was one of the reasons why Rhaenyra valued the friendships that she’d
forged during her travels so highly. While most of her mortal friends hadn’t learned the truth about
who and what she was until after their deaths, Alicent suspected that, for Rhaenyra, it must have
been incredibly liberating to spend time with people who didn’t see her as the Princess of Dragon
Wood or the Heir to the Dragon Throne or the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath.

Perhaps Cassella wasn’t able to fully separate Rhaenyra from her position?

But no, that made little sense. If Viserra and Lyonella Cargyll had remained heart friends all these
millennia despite their differing stations, then surely Rhaenyra and Cassella should have been able
to manage the same.

I shouldn’t pry.

And yet she was curious.

There was so much about Rhaenyra’s life that she hadn’t been made privy to simply because the
other woman had been alive for so long, but she wanted to know everything about her friend.

Everything that she is willing to share, of course.

“Aemma also mentioned that you and Cassella are no longer as close as you once were.” Alicent
paused, eyes roaming over Rhaenyra’s face to gauge her reaction, but her friend’s expression didn’t
pinch or darken. “May I ask what happened?”

Rhaenyra was silent for a moment as she leaned back and stared at some point beyond Alicent’s
right shoulder. “Life, I suppose. We always knew that a period of separation was inevitable.
Cassella is among the most recent descendants of a long and prolific line of celebrated actresses, so
we both knew that she would eventually join an actress guild, which would require leaving me for a
time. Our mothers experienced the same separation during their own youth, so we were prepared
for it, but . . .”

“But that didn’t lessen the pain,” Alicent guessed, her voice soft with understanding. She’d known
from the day that she was old enough to comprehend the concept of marriage that she would
eventually have to leave her natal family behind and join her husband’s House, and yet she’d still
wept the day that she left home, had still grieved the loss of her sisters and brothers.
Her mother had roughly pinched her arm and snapped at her to cease her blubbering.

“Exactly.” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed. “We could have survived that pain, but my own actions drove a
wedge between us, and our friendship never truly recovered from it.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together at that. Actively severing a friendship didn’t seem at all like
Rhaenyra. The Rhaenyra she knew held all of her friends close and treasured each one.

Even the dead ones.

She still hadn’t entirely processed the fact that the teleportation spell apparently allowed Valyrians
to travel to afterlives as well as to other galaxies and universes. She found the concept of traveling
to such planes of existence . . . unnerving, and the knowledge that Valyrians’ magic truly did make
them more akin to gods than anything else was something that she actively chose not to dwell
upon.

“True loss is optional for my people,” Rhaenyra continued, still not looking at Alicent. “All of the
mortals I’ve befriended during my wanderings . . .” She sighed quietly, her eyes growing distant as
they always did when she became lost in her memories. “There are very few immortal species in
the multiverse, so finding myself surrounded by mortals when I travel is rather inevitable. I’ve little
choice in that. But growing close to them? Growing to care for them? Love them? That is a choice.
And it’s a choice I’ve made over and over again.” Her eyes suddenly regained their focus and
locked with Alicent’s. “But when my mortal friends die, it breaks something in me.”

The words sent a chill down Alicent’s spine.

No, not the words.

The tone.

It wasn’t dismissive or indifferent, or even forcefully light and flippant. Far from it. Rhaenyra’s
tone was morose and resigned and filled with an old melancholy and a fresh sadness all at once.
She wondered—rather morbidly—if Rhaenyra would speak about her with a similar tone once she
was dead.

“I’ve since become accustomed to the ache my mortal friends leave behind, but that first time?”
Rhaenyra shook her head. “The very first time, I wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt.
When I returned from Casgarith after the last of my friends had died, I found it,” she paused,
“difficult to be around Cassella because she simply didn’t understand my grief. So I withdrew from
her. I buried myself in my duties and studies, and she buried herself in rehearsals and auditions.
And then she met her—”

This time, it wasn’t a pause, but a break as Rhaenyra caught herself.

That break was the same sort that Alicent had been noticing for years now.

Whatever Rhaenyra had been about to say, it touched on a matter that everyone around Alicent
seemed to carefully and painstakingly avoid speaking about directly.

She found it rather vexing that her friends were actively concealing information from her, and yet
she’d never been able to force herself to ask about what they were hiding.
Not when her mother’s voice would begin hissing in her ear whenever she so much as
contemplated what the secret might be.

Filthy whore.

“She met Elinda,” Rhaenyra finished, the break in her speech no more than the briefest of
moments, and yet so obvious to Alicent. “And Cassella found in her the sort of kindred spirit that I
could never be.” She shrugged, but shadows of old pain darkened her expression. “Actresses have a
special sort of bond with each other that comes from their shared dedication to the craft. Much as it
pained me to see her so happy and content with Elinda, their bond also made it easier for me to
remain away from her. Cassella didn’t need me, and it soothed what guilt I had for withdrawing.”

Alicent couldn’t help but wonder if Rhaenyra would have approached her in the rose garden the
day that they’d reconciled had there been someone similar to Elinda in her life. “I assume that you
must have reconciled, since she visited a few months ago and you went riding with her.”

Her stomach twisted slightly, though she couldn’t fathom why.

Rhaenyra was smiling slightly, her eyes warm with affection. “Our friendship will never again be
what it once was, but Cassella remains my oldest heart friend, even if she is no longer my closest.”

Alicent wondered who Rhaenyra now considered to be her closest heart friend.

Most likely Aemma.

“Cassella will be attending tonight’s performance as well, and I was hoping that I might introduce
you to her.”

While the thought of meeting Rhaenyra’s childhood heart friend filled her with a peculiar sense of
trepidation that she didn’t entirely understand, Alicent swiftly smothered it. She wished to know
more about Rhaenyra’s past, and who better to offer her insight than Rhaenyra’s oldest heart friend?
“I would be honored.”

Rhaenyra beamed. “Wonderful. I’m certain the two of you will get on very well.”

Alicent hoped that she was right.

Amarelle Theatre was undoubtedly enchanted so that the interior space was substantially greater
than the exterior dimensions. The stage alone, Alicent was fairly certain, was larger than the actual
building, and she couldn’t help but wonder at the limits of this particular enchantment. The amount
of additional interior space must surely be correlated in some way to the exterior dimensions given
that Valyrian magic still obeyed the law of conservation of mass.

Something to research later.

In addition to the orchestra, mezzanine, and balcony seats, there were also fourteen boxes—the
largest of which was the royal box. As well as being more spacious and richly furnished, the royal
box had been carefully positioned to offer unobstructed sightlines while also being close enough to
the stage that it was easy to hear everything that was happening down below.
Alicent didn’t entirely understand the purpose of the latter feature, since she couldn’t imagine any
Valyrian being unable to properly hear or see, even from the backmost seats. She’d whispered
something under her breath during supper once, and Rhaenyra had later told her that she’d been
able to hear exactly what she’d said from across the room.

From her place beside Rhaenyra in the royal box, Alicent absently twisted her emerald orchid ring
around her finger as she watched the audience members enter the cavernous hall and take their
seats. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be able to distinguish individual faces and
expressions, but perched on her nose at present was a pair of theatre spectacles that Rhaenyra had
lent her for the evening.

“They’ll allow you to see the actresses’ movements and expressions with the same detail and
clarity that you would have if you were standing on stage in front of them,” Rhaenyra had
explained.

As ever, Alicent had been delighted to learn about a new way that Valyrians used their magic in
place of technology. She assumed that the enchantment attached to these lenses must be something
of an inverse of the enchantment attached to the microscopic spectacles that she’d used during her
work with the chemists to examine toxin samples.

“Ali?”

“Hmm?” Alicent turned to look at Rhaenyra, blinking a few times and swiftly lowering the
spectacles so that she wasn’t staring at an enlarged version of her friend’s eye.

Amusement curled Rhaenyra’s lips for a brief moment before her expression became serious once
more. “Before the play begins, I want you to know that we needn’t stay, should anything discomfit
you.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together. “Do you expect me to be discomfited?” Margaery had already
informed her that Carmilla and Laura was a tragedy, and Sansa had already told her that the
performance included male characters.

“Portrayed by women, of course,” Sansa had been swift to assure her. “Certain actresses will
simply be using appearance alteration spells to appear male for their roles.”

Admittedly, Alicent was grateful for Sansa’s warning. It had been years since she’d seen a man
outside of her night terrors and flashbacks, and she couldn’t say for certain how she might have
reacted without forewarning.

Rhaenyra hesitated, unable to meet her eyes. “I only wished you to know that we needn’t remain if
you don’t want to.”

Alicent reached out and settled her hand on Rhaenyra’s arm, waiting until her friend finally looked
at her to speak. “I’m certain that I will enjoy the show, Nyra, but thank you.”

The smile that Rhaenyra offered in response was strained.

But before Alicent could say more, the light-orbs overhead began to dim, and a hush fell upon the
audience down below.
When the theatre was plunged into darkness a moment later, Alicent’s grip on Rhaenyra’s arm
instinctively tightened.

Rhaenyra’s warm hand immediately covered hers. “You’re safe, Ali,” she whispered.

Alicent nodded even though she wasn’t certain if Rhaenyra could actually see her. “I know.”

The soft sound of stringed instruments filled the room a moment later, eerie and mournful and
accompanied by the low notes of a piano. The voice of a woman floated out from behind the heavy
curtains still obscuring the stage—clear and ringing, yet also filled with such melancholy that
Alicent felt her own throat tightening in response.

“It seemed no more than a strange but pleasant dream, when first I laid eyes upon her. Indeed, for
many a year later, I convinced myself that our first encounter was no more than a young child’s
fancy.

“When I awoke that night, frightened and alone, I almost called for my father, but then I turned my
head to the side. Hers was a pretty face, and I recall looking at her with a kind of pleased wonder.
She caressed me with her hands, and lay down beside me on the bed, and drew me towards her,
smiling. I felt immediately delightfully soothed, and fell asleep again.”

Alicent swallowed a little, glancing over at Rhaenyra, who was watching the stage as the curtains
were slowly drawn back to reveal the magnificent backdrop of a small but elegant castle
surrounded by a dense forest. Overhead, actual dark clouds had been created and were obscuring a
light-orb shining white as the moon in the dim theatre.

A young woman with flowing blonde hair stood upon the castle’s drawbridge with a pair of older
women who clucked and shook their heads as they discussed a rather peculiar letter that they had
recently received from an old general friend of the young woman’s father.

The sound of a frantic whinny sliced through their conversation and caused Alicent to startle in her
seat as a horse came racing onto the stage with an elegant carriage drawn behind it.

Alicent wondered if the horse was an actual horse or a Valyrian assuming the form of one.

When the carriage suffered a horrific crash a moment later, Alicent was fairly certain that she had
her answer.

She watched a the young woman—Laura—raced downstage to where the overturned carriage lay,
watched as another young women with black hair and rather frighteningly pale skin was pulled
from the wreckage, watched as the two older women began fussing over the dark-haired girl while
a large man came charging out of the castle to find out what had happened.

Alicent felt herself stiffening despite knowing that the man on stage wasn’t actually a man.

Rhaenyra leaned over to whisper, “Are you all right, Ali?”

“Yes.” She knew that her reaction was an irrational one, and yet her fingers still insistently
drummed on her leg since she didn’t want to reach for her scarred wrist.

Her unease abated soon enough as the focus shifted to Laura and the black-haired girl—Carmilla—
who was welcomed into Laura and her father’s home with open arms once Carmilla’s nearly
hysterical mother explained that she had no choice but to continue her journey north, despite
Carmilla’s now-weakened state.

Alicent couldn’t help but smile at the bond that swiftly formed between Laura and Carmilla as they
strode arm-in-arm through the castle gardens, as they read to each other, as they took tea together,
as they explored the little village located to the east of the castle, as they shared meals and tales
from their girlhoods. There was a sweetness to all of their interactions with each other, a warmth
and a delight that surrounded all of their encounters.

And she was also intrigued by the background matter of young girls in the nearby village growing
weak and pale and insensible from some mysterious illness.

Alicent easily lost herself in the engrossing narrative, surprised and fascinated by how the actresses
managed to portray their characters’ emotions so sincerely that she was half-convinced she would
be able to sense them if she tried. Had she not been observing the pair on a stage in a theatre, she
never would have guessed that their smiles and laughter were anything other than genuine.

The play was an absolute delight, and she was already considering asking Rhaenyra if they might
attend another one in the future when—

“And so you were thinking of the night I came here?” Carmilla’s voice was little more than a
whisper, and yet the theatre had been constructed in such a way that Alicent heard the words as
clearly as she would have if the actress were standing beside her. “Are you glad I came?”

Laura beamed, wrapping her arm around Carmilla’s waist as they made their way through the halls
of the castle. “Delighted, Dear Carmilla.”

She calls her “dear” quite often.

“And you asked for the portrait that you think resembles me. To hang in your room,” Carmilla
murmured with a sigh as she rested her head upon Laura’s shoulder. “How romantic you are,
Laura.”

Alicent tilted her head slightly, unconsciously leaning forward.

Romantic.

It was a word that she knew, but she could not recall ever hearing it spoken aloud.

Romantic love was a concept that she’d learned about from the children’s tales Zelma used to tell
her.

Her mother had taught her that the silly concept had no place in a marriage. «Love,» she had
scoffed when Alicent had stupidly mentioned it within her presence. «Love is not necessary for the
creation of children, You Little Fool. Put it from your mind at once.»

Alicent had done her best to obey, and she’d succeeded for much of her life, but now . . .

On stage, Laura tangled her fingers with Carmilla’s. “Whenever you decide to tell me your story, I
suspect that it shall be made up chiefly of some one great romance. I am certain, Carmilla, that you
must have been in love. That there is, at this moment, an affair of the heart going on.”

In love.
Alicent shifted slightly in her seat—intrigued, despite herself. She hadn’t realized that this tragedy,
which thus far did not seem particularly tragic, would also include a romantic subplot.

But she hadn’t seen a single male character of an age with the girls, and while she supposed that
Laura’s father was a potential match for Carmilla, he seemed uninterested in wedding or even
simply bedding his mysterious guest.

Perhaps—

No. Surely not.

Don’t be a fool.

She must have missed something. While she hadn’t thought herself distracted, she must have been.

Carmilla raised her head to press a soft kiss to Laura’s cheek. “I have been in love with no one, and
never shall,” she whispered, “unless it should be with you.”

Alicent couldn’t stifle her gasp.

Rhaenyra looked over at her worriedly. “Ali?”

But her friend’s voice sounded very far away.

“I have been in love with no one, and never shall, unless it should be with you.”

The words echoed in her ears.

Had she heard incorrectly?

Perhaps—

“Darling, Darling,” Carmilla murmured. “I live in you, and I love you so.”

Carmilla is in love with Laura.

She blinked owlishly as she suddenly realized that she’d spent the last half hour watching a
romance.

A romance between two women.

And no one around her seemed at all surprised by this development.

As if it was . . . normal.

Does Laura love Carmilla as well?

Alicent sucked in a breath at the thought.

That shouldn’t have been—

You disgusting little whore.

Alicent shrank back in her seat, knowing that her mother’s voices spoke true, now more than ever.
Allowing yourself such impure thoughts. Have you so easily forgotten—?

No. Of course she hadn’t, but—

Perhaps you require another lesson all the same.

No.

Her eyes squeezed shut, but that was a mistake.

Darkness.

Stifling darkness.

She didn’t used to be so terrified of the dark.

An aching back and tear-stained cheeks.

The first of many times.

Bloody fingers with cracked and broken nails.

No way out.

Her mother’s voice berating her from the other side of the locked door.

Such cruel and hateful words, but there was truth in each of them.

No way out.

Not when the door was locked.

Such a heavy door. Thick and reinforced.

Her throat raw from screaming and sobbing, from begging and promising.

No way out.

The first time that she’d been trapped—

Alicent’s eyes snapped open, and she could feel her hands trembling in her lap.

She wasn’t back there anymore.

She wasn’t on Westeros anymore.

Her mother could no longer hurt her.

I’m safe.

She wasn’t trapped in that dark closet anymore.

There was light here, and she was free to move about as she pleased.
Her mother could no longer hurt her.

I’m safe.

Expelling a slow breath, she forced herself to focus, forced herself to remember that those
memories were only that—memories.

And memories cannot hurt me.

Down on stage, Laura was laughing nervously as she said that they should retire to bed.

The same bed?

Sytarr damn her.

She didn’t want—she couldn’t be thinking about such things, but how could she not?

Rhaenyra leaned towards her, and Alicent felt her hands still as the comforting scent of her friend’s
rose perfume engulfed her.

It would be rude of them to leave now, and Rhaenyra wished to introduce her to Cassella, and, and
—

And Rhaenyra knew what this play was about.

Her friend had wanted her to see . . . to know . . .

No one but me was surprised.

Sytarr, she was such a fool.

A willfully blind fool, at that.

Valyria was a planet populated entirely by women.

Criston had spent years ferociously denouncing Valyrians for their “degenerate urges.”

But she’d thought . . . so many of the things that he’d told her were nothing but cruel lies.

Carnal relations between two women is a cardinal sin in Sytarr’s eyes.

But Valyrians did not bow to Sytarr . . .

«A husband beds his wife to produce children, You Little Whore! Do you think spreading your damn
legs for Adelaide will result in children!?»

Alicent winced, wanting to cover her ears, but knowing that it would do nothing to silence the
echoes of her mother’s words.

Valyrians can have children with each other though. Somehow . . .

With that thought came a sudden clarity.

Blinding and comforting all at once.

Alicent felt herself calming, felt her heart begin to slow.

Of course.

Two women bedding each other may be an offense against Sytarr back home, but Valyria was not
Westeros, and Valyrians did not answer to Sytarr.

Here, such . . . relationships were accepted.

Expected, even.

And that made logical sense.

Normalizing romantic relationships between women was simply the natural consequence of living
on a planet like Valyria.

And they can still produce children.

That was all that should matter.

You should be ashamed of yourself. Your impure thoughts are blasphemy—

She knew that her thoughts were an offense against Sytarr.

And she was ashamed that these sinful desires still plagued her after all these decades.

But Valyrians were not her.

They were an entirely different species with their own goddess and morals.

It was not for her to judge them by the values of Westeros.

And they can still produce children together.

That was all that should matter.

Surely even her mother would agree with that.

«Do you think spreading your damn legs for Adelaide will result in children!?»

No, but all of her friends had mothers, and Rhaenyra herself had seven daughters.

Her stomach clenched at the thought of Rhaenyra bearing another woman’s children, but she
swiftly buried the uncharitable thought.

Rhaenyra was free to do as she liked.

She glanced over at her friend, whose attention had returned to the happenings on stage down
below. Rhaenyra was good and kind and gentle. She wasn’t sinful or broken or wicked the way that
Alicent herself was.

And she can produce children.

That was all that should matter.

 ∞

Margaery had warned her that Carmilla and Laura was a tragedy, so Alicent hadn’t expected a
pleasant or cheerful ending, but she also hadn’t expected to spend the majority of the play equal
parts discomfited and enthralled.

Following her realization about Valyrians’ . . . queer customs, Alicent had expected that the
remainder of the play would focus on Carmilla and Laura’s affection for each other and discovering
what was causing the village girls to fall ill.

But that wasn’t what she watched unfold on stage.

No.

What she watched unfold was a tragic tale of doomed love and painful yearning and inner turmoil.

Carmilla’s tenderness as she held Laura and stroked her face each night was achingly sweet and
heartbreaking all at once, and it was harshly juxtaposed with her need to feed upon the blood of the
village girls to sustain herself. Her yearning for Laura—in all senses of the word—was so
unmistakable that, even without her earlier declaration, Alicent was fairly certain that she would
have recognized it for what it was.

And Laura . . .

Sytarr above, Alicent nearly fled from the theatre on three separate occasions because of Laura.

Whereas Carmilla’s inner turmoil arose from the conflict between her love for Laura and her own
vampiric nature, Laura’s was the result of attempting to reconcile her realization that she was
falling in love with Carmilla and her father’s lessons that such love was an abomination. The way
that she gazed at Carmilla with palpable longing while also retreating from her made Alicent’s
stomach twist with discomfort.

But perhaps even more disconcerting to her than Laura’s struggles were the men.

The cruel, bitter, petty vindictiveness of every male character was truly staggering and appalling.
Their vicious delight when butchering Carmilla as she slept made Alicent sick. Their self-righteous
arrogance and conviction that they were saving Laura from Carmilla’s corrupting and wicked
influence were infuriating even as her mother’s voice told her that they were right. And their almost
disgusted annoyance when Laura collapsed in despair after her father announced that Carmilla had
been vanquished had Alicent squeezing her scarred wrist so tightly that it ached.

Carmilla and Laura was meant to be fiction.

But it didn’t feel much like fiction to Alicent.

The final scene of the play was short but poignant, and Alicent’s throat felt tight the entire time.

Set many years after Carmilla’s death, the curtains opened on Laura—thin and haggard and
wrapped in an oversized blanket—sitting alone in the middle of the stage. She gazed without seeing
through a stained glass window, and she wore the same vacant and haunted expression that she had
since learning about Carmilla’s murder.

For long moments that slowly stretched into minutes, nothing happened.
Laura simply sat, unmoving, hardly even breathing.

And then, the single creak of a foot stepping upon a loose floorboard.

The slightest turn of Laura’s head in the direction of the too-loud sound.

An amorphous shadow appearing over her shoulder.

But who or what exactly that shadow was, or if it even existed at all, to that question, the play
provided no answer.

The light-orbs went out, and the curtains closed.

Alicent stared at the stage, her mind churning with dangerous thoughts.

The applause was deafening when it came.

Reflexively, Alicent clapped along with everyone else in the theatre as the curtains drew back to
allow the actresses to come on stage and take their bows. She clapped as the actresses who had
been playing male characters revealed their true faces. She clapped as the secondary female
characters took their bows. And she clapped as the curtains closed for a final time upon the
actresses who had played Carmilla and Laura.

The light-orbs overhead began to brighten, signaling that the evening was officially at an end.
Down below, women rose from their seats and began making their way towards the various doors
leading out of the theatre and into the foyers beyond.

A warm hand on her shoulder made Alicent startle, and she looked up to see Rhaenyra’s apologetic
face gazing back at her. “My apologies, Ali, but we should be going.”

“Of course.” Alicent rose to her feet and offered a pleasant smile. “I have an old heart friend of
yours to meet.” Her stomach twisted uncomfortably, but she ignored it. She wanted to meet
Rhaenyra’s old friend. She wanted to like Rhaenyra’s old friend.

Rhaenyra returned her smile, and while it didn’t quite reach her eyes, she simply offered her hand.
“Let us go meet her then.”

Accepting her friend’s hand, Alicent allowed herself to be escorted from the royal box, which
thankfully had a back staircase so that Rhaenyra would not need to pick her up and fly her down
from the upper level.

Upon leaving the theatre, she found herself pressing close against Rhaenyra’s side as they
navigated their way through the crowd of women filling Amarelle’s grand courtyard. Her eyes
closed for a brief moment as she focused on her breathing, reminding herself that she wasn’t
trapped, reminding herself that she was safe.

Despite Rhaenyra having located Cassella’s scent almost the moment that they’d stepped outside,
actually reaching the other woman proved a far more difficult task than Alicent would have
expected. With every step they took, one woman or another seemed to appear seeking just a brief
moment of Rhaenyra’s time. And Rhaenyra—being the good queen that she was—did not deny any
of them.
When they finally managed to escape from the stifling press of the crowd, Rhaenyra swiftly guided
her over to where a quartet of women stood talking amiably amongst themselves. While two of
them stood with their backs to her and Rhaenyra, she immediately recognized the women facing
towards them as the play’s leading actresses.

Upon noticing Rhaenyra’s approach, the actresses straightened and whispered something to their
companions that Alicent was too far away to discern.

The tallest of the four women spun around, and a bright, beaming smile curled her lips at the sight
of Rhaenyra.

Cassella Cargyll, Alicent presumed.

“Rhaenyra, I’m so glad you decided to come tonight.” Cassella closed the distance between them in
a few swift strides, her light blue skirts swirling around her legs with every step. Once she and
Rhaenyra stood facing each other, she wasted no time in placing a friendly kiss on Rhaenyra’s right
cheek, which Rhaenyra immediately returned.

While this was hardly the first time that Alicent had seen two women kiss each other’s cheeks in
greeting, this time felt different.

After watching Carmilla and Laura, it felt different.

If Rhaenyra noticed her unease—and surely she must—she gave no indication of it as she gently
urged Alicent forward to introduce her. “Alicent, I’d like to introduce you to my old heart friend,
Cassella Cargyll. Cassella, may I introduce you to my friend, Alicent Hightower.”

Cassella’s cheerful smile didn’t waver as she offered her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady
Alicent.”

The smile that Alicent offered in return was only slightly tinged with practiced courtesy as she
shook Cassella’s hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mistress Cassella. Rhaenyra speaks
very highly of you.”

“As she does of you.”

Alicent glanced over at Rhaenyra in surprise. You do? she wanted to ask, but she knew that now
wasn’t the time for such a question. And perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised, given that she knew
Rhaenyra was fond of her, but it still felt rather strange to think of another person speaking about
her in a complimentary manner.

Strange, but also pleasant.

Of course, her own words were something of a polite exaggeration, since Rhaenyra had never
spoken to her about Cassella before this evening, so perhaps Cassella’s were as well.

Turning slightly, Cassella beckoned to her friends, who until that moment had remained hovering at
a polite distance. The other woman whose back had been to Alicent and Rhaenyra earlier
immediately returned to Cassella’s side, while the two actresses stood slightly apart from them.

Cassella’s companion flashed Alicent a friendly smile as she extended her hand. “My name is
Elinda Darke.”
Alicent accepted the proffered hand, her polite smile not wavering. So this was the Elinda whose
friendship with Cassella had allowed Rhaenyra to remain withdrawn. Her eyes flicked to Rhaenyra
for a brief moment, but her friend did not seem at all bothered by Elinda’s presence.

The actress who had played Carmilla introduced herself as Natasha Darke, and Alicent almost
asked her if she and Elinda were related, but she managed to swallow the question before she could
embarrass herself. Each Clan was comprised of dozens of different bloodlines, so the sharing of a
Clan name was hardly an indication of familial relationship.

While her pale face was scrubbed clean of stage makeup and she was no longer wearing her
Carmilla costume, Natasha still exuded the same confident grace as her character. Her hand, when
Alicent shook it, was cool to the touch, and whether that was her natural state of being or a
lingering enchantment cast for the play, Alicent didn’t know. Her actual voice, when she greeted
her, was different from the one that she’d used on stage, slightly lower in pitch and less honeyed.

Releasing Alicent’s hand, Natasha smiled warmly at the woman who had played Laura. “And this
is my mate, Elise.”

Rhaenyra, Cassella, and even Elinda froze.

Eyes wide, Cassella exchanged a swift look with Rhaenyra.

It was a look that Alicent had seen exchanged between her friends on several occasions over the
years.

But then Cassella returned her attention to Alicent. “Castmate,” she clarified smoothly. “Natasha
and Elise have been working together for as long as anyone can remember.”

For a moment, Natasha stared at Cassella in confusion, but she either read the answer to her silent
question in the other woman’s face, or Cassella told her telepathically. Regardless, the confusion
was gone in an instant as she nodded in agreement. “Castmate,” she echoed.

But that momentary look of confusion had only confirmed what some part of Alicent had already
known.

Mate.

Such a simple word. With several meanings, in fact, but there was no question as to which meaning
Natasha was applying to Elise.

This was the secret around which Rhaenyra, Aemma, Margaery, Sansa, all of her other friends, and
even Dr. Arwen had been dancing all these years.

Alicent may have chosen to close her eyes to the fact that relationships between two women were
the only logical option for Valyrians, but the specific matter of “mates” was something that her
friends had actively kept from her.

“I received word about half an hour ago that my . . . sister won’t be returning home for at least
another month.”

A sister that Aemma had never once mentioned again after that day.

“You can’t pull rank on Sansa. At least not outside—”

“Sansa and I met when we were in our eighteen hundreds and became heart friends almost
immediately, so she calls me sæta.”

“Sabitha was ‘waylaid’ by Aly. I don’t think we’ll be seeing her this afternoon.”

“And then she met her—She met Elinda.”

Mate.

Alicent’s eyes briefly went to Natasha and Elise’s necks.

Both had scars bearing a suspicious resemblance to bite marks.

She glanced down at their right wrists.

Both were encircled by gleaming, silver bracelets.

She knew without needing to look that Cassella and Elinda would also have matching scars and
bracelets.

She’d noticed the scars years ago.

She’d noticed the bracelets years ago.

She’d noticed how she never saw one without the other.

But she’d never asked about them, and no one had ever offered an explanation.

No.

That wasn’t entirely true.

A few months ago, Margaery had slipped and referred to the scar on her neck as a mate mark.

Or perhaps it hadn’t been a slip.

But I didn’t wish to know. I didn’t want to understand.

She’d buried that conversation in the darkest recesses of her mind where its implications couldn’t
trouble her.

Mate.

Her stomach clenched.

She needed time to think.

Sinful little beast.

Or perhaps she didn’t dare take time to think.

But she needed . . .

Her mind had already been churning from the play, and now . . .
There were too many thoughts demanding her attention, too many emotions battling for control.

You’re a disgrace.

She knew that, but Valyrians were different. Surely . . .

There was too much that she didn’t know.

She needed time to collect her thoughts. She needed time to analyze everything. She needed time to
research. She needed time . . .

Strong Sytarr, her head was beginning to ache.

Don’t close your eyes.

If she did that, Rhaenyra would worry, and she didn’t wish to worry her friend.

But her mind was having trouble focusing.

I don’t feel panicked though.

Her stomach was roiling, but her chest wasn’t tight and she could still breathe.

Cassella was saying something to her.

Or, no, perhaps not to her, since Rhaenyra appeared to be answering.

“. . . excuse us . . . retire early . . .”

“Yes, of course . . . please forgive . . .”

“Alicent?”

“She seems upset . . .”

“. . . tired . . . rise early . . . morning . . .”

Rhaenyra and her friends had made the decision to hide what must surely be an integral part of
their culture from her.

Of course they did. After all that Criston said . . .

«These heathens not only spurn the natural order by refusing the company and lordship of men,
they break Sytarr’s sacred laws by lying together like bitches in heat.»

Perhaps they’d thought that she would be the same.

That stung.

Surely her friends did not think so little of her?

Or is my reaction now proof that they were right . . .

Too many thoughts.

Valyrians couldn’t be judged by Sytarr’s laws. They worshipped Relle.

And they can still produce children.

She needed—

“Ali?” Rhaenyra’s hand was on her arm. “Why don’t we return home?”

Home.

Was that what Stone Garden was to her?

Did she want it to be?

She needed to sleep. Her mind was churning, and she didn’t know how to make sense of her
thoughts, and she desperately needed to sleep.

Perhaps speak with Dr. Arwen as well.

But she’s probably retired for the evening by now.

The morning then.

After she’d slept.

“Alicent?”

“Yes, please.” Alicent was vaguely aware Rhaenyra bidding Cassella, Elinda, Natasha, and Elise a
good evening. She was fairly certain that she managed to echo the words as well.

Memories from the past three years swirled through her mind.

Memories of Margaery’s smiles, which were always brighter and warmer when directed at Sansa.

Memories of Ygritte’s disgruntled frowns always disappearing the moment that Gilly touched her
arm or hand.

Memories of the abiding affection that always seemed to shine in Aemma and Luwina’s eyes
whenever they looked at each other.

She’d been a blind fool.

Rhaenyra guided her out of the theatre courtyard and led her back to the carriage where Hylda and
Sabitha were waiting for them.

The other five knights were nowhere in sight, but Alicent knew that they were near.

Hylda has a bracelet on her wrist.

“Sabitha was ‘waylaid’ by Aly. I don’t think we’ll be seeing her this afternoon.”

Mates.

Hylda opened her mouth when she saw them, but then she closed it when her eyes fell on Alicent.
Sabitha opened the carriage door for them without a word.

Alicent felt Rhaenyra’s warm hand on her back as she helped her into the carriage.

I’ve never seen Rhaenyra wearing a bracelet of any kind. And she knew for a fact that her friend’s
neck was unblemished. Yet she has birthed seven daughters.

Valyrians were not Westerosi.

The door closed behind them on noiseless hinges, and then she and Rhaenyra were alone and seated
across from each other in uncomfortable silence.

She knew that she ought to say something. She knew that she ought to apologize for what she was
certain was an embarrassing display. She knew that she could attempt to ask her friend at least one
of the hundreds of questions crowding her mind at the moment.

But her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth, and she wasn’t certain how to articulate any of
her horribly disjointed thoughts.

Mates and bracelets and scars.

Sæta and darling and dear.

Why am I so exhausted?

Rhaenyra was watching her.

Alicent could feel her friend’s eyes on her, could sense—even without her empathy—that the other
woman wished to discuss the play and what had transpired in the courtyard.

But she needed more time to collect her thoughts. If she spoke now, she didn’t know what nonsense
might spill from her lips. She needed to be articulate. She needed time to consider and analyze all
that had happened this evening. She needed to think.

“Alicent—”

“Please, Nyra.” Alicent shook her head. She needed more time. She needed to sleep. She would be
able to better analyze in the morning once her mind was clear and her thoughts were no longer in
turmoil.

Blind fool.

Sinful whore.

“Could you . . ?” She swallowed, her throat feeling dry even as her breathing remained more or less
steady. “Would you mind weaving me a dream tonight?”

She wouldn’t dare close her eyes without the assurance that memories of her mother’s wroth would
not plague her while she slept.

It had been so dark.

Her aching back.

 Blood on her fingers—

“Of course, Ali. Whatever you need.” Rhaenyra reached towards her, but stopped.

Alicent leaned forward and grasped her friend’s hands, squeezing tight. She couldn’t meet
Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Thank you, Nyra.”

She needed to sleep.

Mates.

Sytarr above.

Chapter End Notes

Bum, bum, bum!!! The self-imposed scales have been pulled from Alicent's eyes.

Also, in case you’re curious, yes, that horse was indeed a shapeshifted Valyrian. Any and all
animals that appear in productions are Valyrians because why go through the hassle of training
an animal in this context?

Next Chapter: Another revelation shall be had! And this revelation shall be further explored.

Additional Disclaimer: Certain pieces of the "play's" dialogue were lifted directly from
Carmilla and were not my own creation. I also used some dialogue from the book and altered
it to better fit the play's narrative. As with House of the Dragon, I do not own or purport to
own Carmilla or any related IP.
 Revelations
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 29:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden

Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of child abuse and discussions about previous thoughts
of suicide.

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Autumn Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

Alicent awoke early the following morning with a rather peculiar sense of clarity.

No. Not clarity . . . There was still far too much that she didn’t understand, far too many questions
that she still needed to ask, and far too many emotions that she still needed to untangle. But
something of a plan had begun to take shape in her mind, and that was enough for now.

Determination.

Perhaps that was a better word.

She knew what must needs be done, and there was a comfort in that.

Rising from her bed, she dressed as quickly as she could, selecting a simple gown of pale blue with
a collar of white lace that Mistress Damella had allowed her to design and create as an experiment.
After releasing her hair from its nighttime braid, she swiftly combed out any lingering tangles
before pinning it back from her face.

She would speak with Margaery and Sansa first. She was beginning to realize that, of all her
friends, they’d always been the least subtle.

“My sæta is very considerate in that way.”

“Mate marks are often—”

Alicent couldn’t help but wonder what Margaery would have said if she’d pressed for more
information about what exactly a “mate mark” was. Would her friend have lied to her as she did
about the meaning of sæta?
“Sansa and I met when we were in our eighteen hundreds and became heart friends almost
immediately, so she calls me sæta.”

She was fairly certain that and Aemma referring to Luwina as her “sister” were the only explicit
lies her friends had told her. Everything else had merely been omission.

Omission for her benefit.

Or were they also acting under Rhaenyra’s orders?

Either option was equally plausible, in truth.

She knew that her friends cared for her and did not wish to disquiet her, and she found that she
couldn’t entirely fault them for that. Perhaps she ought to be more displeased by their deception,
but during her sessions with Dr. Arwen, she’d been coming to . . . better understand her own
thought processes.

Had her friends flaunted their . . . proclivities from the beginning, she doubted that she would have
dared allow herself to grow close to them at all. While such things were not sinful for them because
they were Valyrians, she knew well her own weakness. She knew well that she would have been
too frightened of her own memories to befriend them.

Those memories still frightened her, in truth, but perhaps—

“And this is my mate, Elise.”

Alicent’s fingers faltered as moments from Carmilla and Laura began flashing through her mind.

Carmilla stroking Laura’s face and kissing her cheeks.

Laura blushing and looking away when Carmilla smiled at her.

Carmilla silently crawling into Laura’s bed and holding her close.

Laura trembling as she gazed into Carmilla’s eyes before slowly leaning forward to connect their
lips.

Soft lips.

Shining green eyes.

A shy yet eager smile.

Gentle fingers brushing her cheek.

Her own hands—

«You shameful, disgusting little whore!»

Alicent flinched, shaking her head.

Wicked.

Unnatural.
Disgraceful.

What she’d done . . .

What she would have done . . .

Had her mother not entered her bedchamber—

«Cursed is the man or woman who lies with their own, for no fruit shall come forth from such a
union.»

The words slipped out unbidden, and her hand flew to her mouth.

Sytarr above, it had been years since she’d last spoken in her father tongue. At least that she could
recall. Rhaenyra had told her that she’d been begging in Westerosi while reliving her twenty-ninth
birthday.

Shaking her head once more, Alicent slipped her emerald orchid ring onto her finger, swiftly rose
from her vanity, and hastened from her chambers.

Rhaenyra stared at the door connecting her bedchamber to Alicent’s, fingers drumming on the arm
of her chair.

She hadn’t slept at all the night before.

Mother Relle, she’d been such a fool.

She’d scented the exact moment when Alicent had realized that she was watching a story about two
women falling in love. She’d sensed her friend’s distress—her panic—and attempted to calm her as
best she could, terrified that Alicent would flee from the theatre in horror and disgust.

But Alicent hadn’t fled.

And Rhaenyra had foolishly allowed herself to hope.

While she recalled but little of the remainder of the play, she remembered the way that Alicent had
stiffened the next time that Carmilla caressed Laura’s cheek. She remembered the way that
Alicent’s jaw had tightened when Laura quietly confessed that her feelings for Carmilla were
perhaps not what a young lady should feel for another of her sex. She remembered the way that
Alicent’s nails had sunk into the flesh of her scarred wrist when Laura and Carmilla shared their
first and only kiss.

And she remembered the silent tears that had slid down Alicent’s cheeks when Laura collapsed in
despair after her father proudly announced that Carmilla had been vanquished.

Taken together, Rhaenyra hadn’t been entirely certain what to make of those reactions.

Just as she hadn’t been entirely certain what to make of Alicent’s reaction when Mistress Natasha
had called Mistress Elise her mate.
Her friend’s face had been frighteningly blank, and her emotions too tumultuous to be discerned
through scent, but neither of those things had been as alarming as the vacant look in Alicent’s
normally expressive brown eyes. It had soon become clear to everyone that Alicent wasn’t hearing
a word of their conversation, and Rhaenyra had been quick to excuse them, hoping that providing
Alicent with some physical distance might help her.

But Alicent had simply continued to stare at nothing, her movements stiff and stilted as she’d
allowed herself to be guided out of Amarelle’s courtyard and back to the carriage. Hylda and
Sabitha had immediately begun tapping on her mental wards when they’d caught sight of Alicent,
but Rhaenyra had offered no more than a curt promise to speak with them later.

I ought to do that this morning.

Merciful Mother, she’d been an idiot to think that taking Alicent to that play somehow wouldn’t
overwhelm her.

If she’d been brave enough to simply tell her the truth . . .

But she hadn’t been.

Because she was a coward.

Rhaenyra expelled a heavy breath as her eyes swept over the thick door that had been crafted
during the reign of the All Mother. Carved from silverwood, this door would never rot or decay no
matter how many more millions of years passed.

As undying as the women it protects.

Except that the woman it currently protected wasn’t undying.

Rhaenyra’s heart clenched in her chest.

Alicent didn’t flee the theatre. Perhaps . . .

Slowly rising to her feet, she strode across the room to stand in front of the door. She pressed her
palm against the smooth wood, eyes closing as she felt the pulsating thrum of the combined might
of two hundred and forty-nine empresses. Her own magic crooned in response, perhaps recognizing
the piece of itself interwoven with the shield, or perhaps recognizing the blood that had been
infused into the shining wood.

Blood calls to blood.

Opening her eyes, she allowed her hand to fall limply at her side. She should have told Alicent
about the doors sooner, but it was far too late for such regrets. That ink had dried, and all she could
do now was pray that the friendship they’d been building these past months would be strong
enough to survive this confession.

And if it wasn’t . . .

She’d always known that her time with Alicent was limited.

∞
Despite having only visited Margaery’s apartments a handful of times before—something that
Alicent now realized had been very intentional—she easily made her way from the Rose Tower to
the east wing. She was rather absurdly proud of how well she could now navigate the Queen’s
Keep, and those thoughts managed to distract her for much of her walk.

As she stood outside the door leading into Margaery’s apartments, she found herself tapping at her
scarred wrist. They’ve never balked at answering my questions before. And she needed . . . she
wanted to know.

For the sake of better understanding Valyrians.

And because she didn’t wish to force her friends to behave differently on her account. She knew
well what it was to forever mind your words for fear of saying the wrong thing, to forever mind
your every action for fear of offending or upsetting, and she would never have wished to inflict
such a burden upon her friends.

Raising her hand, she knocked thrice on the door.

“Enter!”

Margaery’s voice was faint enough that Alicent knew she must be in her bedchamber or her privy
chamber, and she was suddenly reminded of the early hour. But she answered at once, so she must
have already been awake.

Opening the door, she entered Margaery’s empty presence chamber and made her way through to
her friend’s privy chamber.

She froze in the doorway.

Margaery stood several feet in front of her securing the sash of her dressing gown around her waist
to cover her nightclothes, which in and of itself was both innocuous and not at all surprising given
the early hour and Alicent’s unexpected visit.

But that wasn’t what had captured Alicent’s attention.

Behind Margaery, Sansa—still wearing only a nightgown—was eating breakfast at a table set for
two.

There were faint bruises on her neck.

The sort that Alicent recognized as being made by another person’s mouth.

Her stomach clenched at the sight.

She remembered . . .

«You bruise so prettily, Little Wife.»

Teeth sinking into her throat . . .

Wives.

Mates.
Bracelets instead of rings.

Still bound all the same.

Valyrians aren’t Westerosi.

And yet—

Sansa leapt to her feet, a flush seeping into her cheeks. “Alicent, we weren’t—Margaery wasn’t
expecting you this morning. I’m only in her chambers because—” she hesitated, looking over at
Margaery.

And Margaery gazed back at her for a long moment before sighing and slowly shaking her head.
“It’s time, Sans.”

“Margaery—”

“No. Merciful Mother and All Her Faces, no. It’s been over three bloody years, Sansa, and I’m
tired. Alicent is no fool, and she’s not the same frightened woman that we first met.” Margaery
turned to face Alicent. “Sansa is in these chambers because they’re our chambers and because
we’ve hardly spent a night apart since we were pairbonded.”

Alicent stared at them, blinking owlishly as she worked to collect her thoughts.

“Our chambers.”

She hadn’t realized that mates shared apartments. Perhaps she should have, given what she knew
about how much Valyrians valued community and social bonds.

The highborn never shared chambers back home.

But Valyrians weren’t Westerosi.

“Alicent?” And now Margaery was watching her worriedly. “My apologies for raising my voice, I
shouldn’t have—”

“You’re mates.” She hadn’t meant to say those words, but she supposed they would do as well as
any others.

Margaery exchanged a swift look with Sansa, but then she nodded slowly. “You know?”

“Yes.” And suddenly she remembered how Margaery had urged her to read the book Carmilla and
Laura before seeing the play. “And you wanted me to know, didn’t you?”

Sansa gave her fri—her mate?—a sharp look. “What did you do?”

Margaery didn’t respond with words, but the way she was looking at Sansa made it clear that they
were conversing telepathically.

Alicent shifted slightly. While it didn’t happen often, she’d never been particularly fond of when
her friends would have mental conversations with each other while she was present. The rather
glaring reminder that she would never be one of them—
Not that I would wish to be.

She was content as a Westerosi, though perhaps it would be simpler—

Returning her attention to Alicent, Margaery asked, “Would you care to sit with us?”

When they seated themselves at one of the tables not laden with Margaery and Sansa’s breakfast,
Alicent was surprised when her friends chose to sit on either side of her rather than beside each
other and across from her. A few years ago, she would have felt trapped by such an arrangement,
but now . . .

She found it rather comforting.

As the silence began to lengthen, Alicent realized that they were waiting for her to speak first. “I
. . . I have a few, um, questions, if that’s all right?”

«A lady does not say um.»

Margaery smiled gently. “Of course, Alicent. Ask whatever you like.”

Alicent suddenly realized that she should have written out her questions before coming here,
because her thoughts were becoming tangled as each possible question that she might ask led to
dozens more.

Unbidden, her eyes settled on Sansa’s neck—on the bite mark and the faint bruising. She shivered a
little, suddenly feeling cold. She knew that the bite mark must be somehow connected to their
marriage rituals, but the bruises . . .

Why would Margaery do that to Sansa?

“Alicent.” Sansa’s cheeks were beginning to flush once more. “If you wouldn’t mind not staring at
my neck?”

Alicent’s own cheeks reddened as she quickly looked away. “I’m—please forgive me. I didn’t
mean to be rude.” Sytarr, what was wrong with her? She’d always hated the way that Criston’s
wives would pointedly stare at her injuries the mornings after Criston hurt her.

She frowned slightly at that.

Valyrians abhorred abuse.

So why—?

“Apology accepted,” Sansa assured her. “But now that you know about mates, you should also
know that it’s considered rude to stare at a woman’s neck.”

In all contexts?

Alicent’s fingers curled around her scarred wrist as she kept her eyes focused on her lap. She knew
that if she raised her head now she’d be tempted to look at Sansa’s neck again. “May I ask why?”

“Because it’s where mates mark each other to seal their matebond.”
“And because our necks are quite . . . sensitive,” Margaery’s tone was much the same as it had been
when she’d spoken about Sabitha being “waylaid” by Aly, “so there’s an intimacy to them.”

An intimacy to them—

Alicent’s eyes suddenly widened with alarm as she looked at Margaery. “Was that why you seemed
so surprised when I asked you to enchant the flower necklace that I made for Rhaenyra?”

Sansa’s choked sound of surprise was answer enough, but Margaery nodded all the same.
“Necklaces are gifts usually only exchanged between mates.”

Strong Sytarr, what had she almost done?

Disgusting whore.

She hadn’t meant to be improper . . .

Her nails bit into the flesh of her wrist.

Thank Sytarr I didn’t give Rhaenyra that necklace. She didn’t even want to imagine how mortified
her friend would have been, or worse . . . how disgusted.

Even if not with her, certainly by the thought of any Westerosi—

It doesn’t matter. I didn’t give her the necklace, so it doesn’t matter.

“Please don’t tell Rhaenyra.” She hated the desperation that she could hear in her own voice, but
while some part of her knew that they wouldn’t humiliate her in such a way, the fear that had
suddenly seized her refused to abate.

“We won’t.” Margaery’s fingers lightly brushed over her arm in silent question, and when Alicent
nodded, her friend gave her a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t know.” She paused. “And even if you
had, we wouldn’t say anything to the Queen unless you allowed us.”

“Friends hold each other’s confidences,” Sansa agreed, giving her other arm a matching squeeze of
reassurance.

Alicent felt some of the tension begin to seep from her shoulders, felt her stomach begin to untwist
itself. “Thank you.” She hesitated, eyes darting between her friends for a moment. She wanted to
ask why Margaery would leave bruises on Sansa’s neck if it was so sensitive, but she didn’t dare.

Not at the moment.

She allowed herself to briefly glance at the scar on Margaery’s neck—the scar that her friend had
referred to as a mate mark a few months ago.

“It’s where mates mark each other to seal their matebond.”

Matebond.

Was that the Valyrian equivalent of a marriage then?

But Margaery mentioned that she and Sansa were pairbonded earlier.
“May I ask what the difference is between the matebond and being pairbonded?” She wondered if
there were books on such matters. Surely there must be. She would ask Luwina later, once she was
finished speaking with Margaery and Sansa and once she’d had more time to consider whatever
new information she gleaned from them.

Margaery and Sansa were silent for a moment as they seemed to consider how to answer, which
Alicent supposed was to be expected. She assumed that, to them, these things must seem as obvious
and unneeded of explanation as the existence of gravity or the color of the sky.

“The matebond is . . .” Margaery’s lips pursed, sharing another look with Sansa. “Well, no one
actually knows for certain what it is. Most of us have simply accepted that it exists and that we’ll
never entirely comprehend every facet of it. Part of the matebond is simple biology. Our mates
trigger the release of certain hormones that make us far more . . . responsive to them, I suppose you
could say. Sansa’s mere presence calms and comforts me as nothing else can, and her pheromones
have a stronger effect on me than anyone else’s. They also . . . call to me, in a way. When she’s not
near, I yearn for her.”

So Valyrians are biologically programmed to love their wives.

Alicent found that strangely comforting. It wasn’t simply preference, but rather—

“But magisters have never been able to explain why these physical responses are only ever
triggered by one specific woman,” Margaery continued.

Alicent frowned. But the matebond is a natural phenomenon like any other, so an explanation of
some kind must exist. “Surely compatible pheromones or DNA markers or even some form of
quantum entanglement could account for why a woman’s reactions are linked to a specific
individual.”

Sansa shook her head. “We’ve explored those theories, and countless more besides. Biology can
explain feelings of love and affection and attraction, but it can’t explain the intensity of the
matebond, or its singularity.” She shared a warm smile with Margaery. “The bond between mates is
profound. It’s primal and ancient, instinctive and effortless, but it’s not . . . it doesn’t control us, if
that makes sense. It’s far beyond physical attraction or emotional connection or love, but we still
have to choose to accept and acknowledge it.”

Margaery nodded in agreement. “And only mates who have both recognized the bond can mark
each other. If a woman isn’t your mate, or she is but hasn’t accepted the bond, then the bite won’t
scar and your scents won’t intertwine.”

Alicent’s lips pursed. If biology alone could not explain the matebond, perhaps their religion could?
“What of Relle? Could she be why the matebond is so singular?” There were a number of
phenomena back home that could only be understood as aspects of Sytarr’s grand design for
Westeros.

“Perhaps somewhat. The Temple teaches that the matebond is a gift from Mother Relle, and she
most certainly reawakened it within the First Generation,” Sansa paused, “but it also predates her
by millions of years.”

“How is that possible?” Simple logic said that it wasn’t, but she didn’t wish to be rude by
disparaging their beliefs. Besides, she could acknowledge Relle’s existence even while doing all
that she could to avoid learning anything about her.
“The matebond became dormant when men began subjugating women,” Sansa’s lip curled, “which
I think should have been sign enough to them that their actions were accursed.” She expelled a
harsh breath, shaking her head. “Anyhow, during the Dark Times, the efforts of Saint Septima—
Relle bless her—and her Seven Saints to spread Syvenic teachings across the Three Empires
allowed Relle to grow enough in strength that she gave new voice to what the men of the Old
World had silenced. Mother Relle reawakened the matebond, and in so doing, ensured that all of
her daughters would one day find the woman who perfectly supplements her.”

The final words sounded akin to a recitation, and yet the tone of Sansa’s voice made clear that she
genuinely believed them.

And how can she not, when she’s wed to Margaery?

Alicent had seen for herself how fond they were of each other.

But if Relle had simply reawakened the matebond, then its actual origins remained unexplained.
Unless it had been created by some Old World god, which she supposed was plausible, though
there would be no way to ever know for certain.

“Most of us have simply accepted that it exists and that we’ll never entirely comprehend every facet
of it.”

Alicent found this lack of a complete explanation for the matebond—either scientific or religious—
utterly vexing.

Margaery patted her arm. “Our apologies that we can’t offer a better explanation.”

“Please don’t apologize. It’s hardly your fault.” She hadn’t meant for them to see her
disappointment. Or did my scent somehow change enough for them to guess? “So is pairbonded the
word for when you’ve . . . sealed the matebond?” She forced herself not to look at her friend’s
neck, forced herself not to flinch at the thought of being bitten so hard that it left such a scar.

“Ah. No. It’s actually something of the opposite. Plenty of women realize that they’ve met their
mate the moment they first lay eyes on her, but intellectually knowing that a woman is your mate
isn’t the same as fully embracing the matebond. That deeper emotional connection must still be
forged by spending time together, learning about each other, and so forth. We refer to that time—
when the bond is recognized but not yet sealed—as being pairbonded.” Margaery’s hand drifted up
to her own neck, fingers brushing over her scar almost absently. “Mated is the word we use for
when mates have sealed their bond and marked each other.”

“Forged by spending time together, learning about each other, and so forth.”

Long ago, her own people had allowed a similar ritual between young couples who had been
betrothed. But courting had died out millennia before unification under the Charter, once her
ancestors had realized that there was no need for a husband to know his wife before wedding and
bedding her.

«Knowing all of your frivolous little preferences will not help your future husband put a babe in
your belly,» her mother had scoffed when Alicent had made the mistake of asking her why their
ancestors abandoned courting rituals. «And you’ll have plenty of time to learn about his personal
inclinations once you’re carrying his son.»
But it was hardly surprising that Valyrians would value creating an emotional connection before
wedding each other. And it seems their biology actually demands that such a connection be formed
first.

She couldn’t help but wonder how different her old world would have been if Westerosi were also
biologically compelled to love their spouses and form an emotional attachment before wedding
them.

Glancing down at Margaery and Sansa’s wrists—at the silver bracelets encircling them—she
suddenly found herself struggling to recall anyone aside from Rhaenyra whose wrist was bare.

“And in so doing, ensured that all of her daughters would one day find the woman who perfectly
supplements her.”

All of her daughters.

“So every Valyrian has a mate then.” Her brow furrowed slightly as she tapped at her scarred wrist.
“Has . . . has any Valyrian ever shared the matebond with a Kervanite?” She knew that it was
unlikely, knew that her friends considered Kervanites to be an entirely different species, but both
had originated on the Old World, and she knew that prop—that women had been wed to men on
that planet.

For a moment, Margaery’s face twisted with disgust, which was answer enough, but she swiftly
smoothed her expression. “No. Since the resurgence of the matebond, no Valyrian has ever shared
the matebond with a Kervanite, nor has any Kervanite ever had a Valyrian mate.”

“Further evidence of Relle’s blessing,” Sansa muttered quietly.

Alicent had suspected as much. Surely she would have seen or heard about any men who happened
to be living on Valyria because they were wedded—mated—to a woman.

Mates.

Wives.

Two women in love.

Cursed by Sytarr.

Blessed by Relle.

Her fingers tightened around her wrist.

Three years, two of which she’d been living among them and learning all that she could about her
new world.

Sytarr above she’d been so blind.

“Alicent,” Margaery’s voice was quiet, and she was watching her almost worriedly. “We realize
that the . . . concept of two women together is something of an anathema to Westerosi, at least
given Cr—the speeches that we heard about, or perhaps the notion simply never occurred to—”

“But it did occur to me.”

The words flew from her mouth unbidden, and Alicent’s eyes widened with horror.

What had she just said?

What had she just done?

What had she just confessed?

Margaery and Sansa were both staring at her.

Vile, filthy whore.

She hadn’t meant—

Strong Sytarr, how could she have been so stupid?

«You’re so sweet, Alicent.»

Bright eyes.

A soft smile.

Glossy hair like silk.

«You’ve always made me happy.»

High, ringing laughter.

Gentle hands that danced as she spoke.

Warm skin.

Warmer lips.

«Sytarr curses your kind! Filthy little—»

“Alicent?” Sansa gently touched her hand. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” It wasn’t their fault that she was . . .

Sytarr above how she sometimes loathed her memory. If she’d simply been able to forget Adelaide,
then perhaps . . .

Margaery was peering at her thoughtfully. “What did you mean when you said that it did occur to
you?”

“Margie,” Sansa hissed, “now is not the time.”

Alicent knew that she should lie.

She also knew that she could simply remain silent and Margaery would push no further, or Sansa
would prevent her wife from pushing further.

It would be simpler than sharing her shame.

It would be simpler than trying to explain what her mother had done and why she’d deserved it.

“Friends share each other’s burdens,” Luwina had told her once. “And since it’s rude to simply
probe each other’s minds—not to mention that any woman worth her core ought to be able to erect
a proper mental ward to stave off probing—verbal communication is an intrinsic part of
friendship.”

But would Margaery and Sansa even understand?

They were Valyrians, and everything from their society to their goddess to their very biology had
no qualms about two women—

But such urges were unnatural for Westerosi.

«Sytarr does not tolerate such obscenity, and he curses those weak enough to succumb.»

She’d sometimes found herself wondering what had become of Adelaide after that day—when she
was weak enough to think about her—and she’d always prayed that her girlhood companion’s life
was happier than her own.

Adelaide didn’t deserve to be cursed.

It hadn’t been her fault.

Alicent was the one who’d—

She’d never spoken about any of this with Dr. Arwen. She’d been too frightened by the prospect of
reopening those wounds and of being judged for her sins.

Foolish.

Dr. Arwen had never judged her for anything from her past.

And she now knew with certainty that her therapist wouldn’t judge her for this.

“Friends share each other’s burdens.”

For all that she owed Dr. Arwen, the other woman wasn’t her friend.

“What did you mean when you said that it did occur to you?”

Alicent knew that she should lie.

She also knew that she could simply remain silent and Margaery would push no further, or Sansa
would prevent her wife from pushing further.

“When I . . .” She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry and her tongue feeling clumsy. “I had a friend
once.” She’d been so happy the day that her mother had introduced her to Adelaide. And she’d
been even happier when she’d realized that Adelaide would be returning often. She remembered
sitting beside the window watching for their hover-car to come into sight whenever she heard that
Adelaide and her mothers would be visiting. “She was my only companion aside from my sisters,
and I . . .”
Margaery and Sansa shifted closer to her, one of their hands moving to rest lightly on her arms.

“I kissed her when I was twelve,” she whispered, cheeks coloring with shame as memories of what
she did to Adelaide surged to the surface. She’d thought . . .

They’d been alone in her room.

Adelaide had been smiling at her.

The sun had been streaming in through the window.

She remembered thinking that Adelaide was so pretty.

She remembered leaning towards her, not even realizing what she was doing.

And she remembered pressing her lips against Adelaide’s.

«Unnatural little beast! Forcing yourself on that poor girl.»

Alicent squeezed her wrist. “My mother found us.” She felt her friends stiffen. “She ordered
Adelaide from the room and . . .”

And then her mother had struck her across the face.

She couldn’t remember how many times.

But she remembered the beating that had followed.

It was the first time that her back had been split open.

“Every time she struck me, she told me how disgusting and filthy and sinful I was.”

Alicent sucked in a breath. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

She ought to stop talking.

«A woman holds her tongue, but you’ve never been very good at that, have you, Little Wife?»

“When her arm finally grew tired, she locked me in a small closet.”

It had been so dark.

So cramped.

Her mother hadn’t freed her for over a day.

The punishment her mother had given her was nothing compared to the abuse Criston later inflicted
upon her, but at the time . . .

She’d never been in so much pain before.

Her fingers throbbed with the memory of clawing at the door, and her throat tightened at the
memory of begging to be released, of promising to be good. She’d been sobbing so much that she
sometimes wondered if her mother had even understood her words.
It wouldn’t have mattered.

“Alicent, perhaps—”

“When my mother finally released me, she brought me to our family physician.”

Dr. Axton had been horrified, but he’d held his tongue because of her mother.

Had he known why her mother had beaten her bloody, she knew that his horror would have
transformed into disgust.

She didn’t have any scars from that beating.

Her mother and Dr. Axton had seen to that.

«No one must ever know of your disgusting behavior, do you understand? You will never speak of
this again.»

And so she hadn’t.

Until now.

Allowing herself a few deep breaths, she couldn’t meet her friends’ eyes. “The concept of two . . .
the notion has occurred to me.”

Because you’re a wicked little whore.

“But it’s . . . I can’t . . . It isn’t proper.”

Sansa stiffened.

Margaery opened her mouth.

“For me,” Alicent rushed to amend, realizing a moment too late how horrid her words must have
sounded to them. “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to—I would never insult you in such a way. It’s
perfectly natural for—Valyrians aren’t Westerosi. Your goddess approves, and your biology is . . .
you have the matebond, and,” she swallowed thickly, “and you can have children together.”

Margaery frowned slightly and opened her mouth again, but then closed it without saying anything.

Sansa gently rubbed her arm. “Alicent, what your mother did to you—”

“She shouldn’t have hurt me,” Alicent finished for her, “but that doesn’t mean she was wrong to
correct me.” Sytarr’s dictates were plain, and she’d flagrantly violated them. Even Lora would have
scolded her had she known.

Despite looking as if she wished to argue the matter, Sansa was kind enough to simply nod. “Thank
you for telling us, Alicent. We know it couldn’t have been easy.”

Alicent’s stomach was still clenched and twisted, and her wrist was throbbing, yet it felt . . . nice to
have finally spoken aloud what she’d so long ago buried.

I’ll speak with Dr. Arwen about this during our session today.
She knew that her therapist couldn’t cure her of her unnatural urges.

But she can help me manage the memories of Mother’s punishment.

And that was more than enough.

Nearly three hours later, feeling far more at ease, her mind awash with new information, and with
every intention of visiting the library and finding Lady Lannister and Lady Martell’s book
Understanding the Matebond: An Early Primer, Alicent departed Margaery and Sansa’s chambers
and was immediately approached by one of Rhaenyra’s attendants bearing a sealed envelope.

After accepting the letter and thanking her, Alicent expected Mistress Esfira to smile politely and
take her leave.

But the other woman remained standing where she was.

It had been half a year since Rhaenyra’s chosen messenger had lingered like this.

Breaking the wax seal, Alicent swiftly opened the envelope, withdrew the letter, and unfolded it.
Her eyes widened as they read over Rhaenyra’s elegantly penned words. “Rh—The Queen wishes
to take luncheon with me in her chambers?”

“Yes, My Lady.”

She glanced back down at the letter, mind churning. Rhaenyra had never invited her to her
chambers before. Not once. In all the months of their friendship, and in all the time before that,
Rhaenyra had visited Alicent’s chambers often, but Alicent had never been invited to do the same.
Sytarr above, she didn’t even know where in the Rose Tower Rhaenyra’s chambers were located.

There had been a time when the not knowing and the lack of invitation had vexed her, but she’d
eventually concluded that her friend should be allowed this measure of privacy when so much of
her life was spent under the scrutiny of others.

Besides, she’d soon enough realized that she need only ask if she truly wished to know the location
of her friend’s chambers.

But now . . .

It must be because I learned about mates.

Alicent couldn’t begin to fathom how her knowing about the matebond was in any way related to
visiting Rhaenyra’s chambers, but evidently there must be a connection of some sort. I suppose that
I shall find out soon enough.

The letter requested her presence—if she accepted—at her earliest convenience.

And Alicent hadn’t eaten breakfast.

Refolding the letter, she tucked it into one of her gown’s pockets. “Please lead the way, Mistress
Esfira.”
If the other woman was at all surprised by her immediate acceptance, she hid it well and simply
inclined her head. “As you will.”

Mistress Esfira’s steps were swift and sure as she led Alicent through the Queen’s Keep and back to
the Rose Tower. As they ascended the winding stairs to the upper levels, she felt a twinge of
anticipation at finally being able to visit her friend’s chambers. Her friend’s office was quite
austere, and she’d long wondered if her chambers would be furnished similarly, or if they would
better reflect the warm and kind woman that Alicent had come to know over the years.

She was also simply eager to speak with Rhaenyra. Now that she’d had time to think and properly
analyze matters, now that she’d spoken with Margaery and Sansa regarding wiv—mates—and the
matebond, now that she’d been able to consider that information as well, she wished to ask
Rhaenyra additional questions, wished to see if her friend behaved any differently towards her now
that this secret was no longer between them.

Alicent’s steps faltered when she suddenly realized that Mistress Esfira was leading her towards her
own chambers, and she froze when she caught sight of Vora Hylda and Vora Jonquil standing
further down the hall.

No. No that . . . That couldn’t . . . She would have noticed . . .

Not if they shifted into something small.

Not if they used magic to conceal themselves.

Strong Sytarr, they could simply slip inside Rhaenyra’s presence chamber and guard—

Rhaenyra’s presence chamber.

Sytarr above.

She’d been living within the Queen’s Keep for over three years.

She’d begun leaving her chambers over two years ago.

And in all that time, she’d never so much as suspected that Rhaenyra’s apartments neighbored her
own.

But why?

As if you cannot guess—

No.

That was ridiculous.

Rhaenyra does not wish me harm.

Her friend didn’t even touch her arm without seeking permission first.

“It’s all right, Alicent. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you.”

She would have the opportunity to question Rhaenyra about their chambers soon enough.
Shaking her head, Alicent followed Mistress Esfira past the door leading into her own apartments
and down the hall to where Vora Hylda and Vora Jonquil stood guard.

Vora Jonquil dipped her head to Alicent before opening the door, and as Vora Hylda ushered her
inside, the Shadow Knight offered a brief smile. “Enjoy your luncheon, Lady Alicent.”

“Thank you, Vora.” The courtesy came without thought, and she offered a similar one to Mistress
Esfira before stepping over the threshold and listening as the door closed behind her.

I’m inside Rhaenyra’s apartments.

The skin of her left wrist prickled.

As her eyes slowly swept over the richly furnished chamber, she couldn’t help but think that this
room was not a reflection of her friend, but rather of the Queen of Kastrell.

She could hold court in a chamber such as this. And indeed, she noticed that all of the chairs,
settees, and divans in the room were oriented towards the far wall where an ornate chair—or rather
a small throne—sat upon a raised dais. Carved from gleaming silverwood, a red three-headed
dragon wreathed in golden roses decorated the chair’s backrest, which was topped by rose-shaped
finials at each corner. The arms were carved to resemble curving dragon horns, and each of the legs
ended in a clawed dragon foot.

The only piece of Rhaenyra that she could find in this room was the banner hanging behind the
small throne that displayed her friend’s personal coat of arms.

Supported by a pair of silver dragons with amethyst eyes, the crest was a three-headed red dragon
breathing black flames. The field of the heptagonal shield was divided in two—one side displaying
a roaring silver dragon on crimson, and the other a black rose wreathed in ebony flames on shining
silver. Written across a purple scroll unfurled beneath the shield were the words “WOE TO THOSE
WHO INJURE MY FAMILY.”

A fitting motto, Alicent thought with a small smile, momentarily forgetting her unease as she
remembered all of the kindness and care that her friend had always shown her over the years.

After making her way through Rhaenyra’s presence chamber, she entered the privy chamber where
she expected to find her friend waiting for her with their luncheon.

The room was empty.

Alicent’s heart stuttered in her chest.

Calm yourself.

Rhaenyra had visited her bedchamber more times than she could count.

I’m certain she only wishes to allow me the same courtesy.

Fond as she was of Rhaenyra, she knew that her friend could be thoughtless at times when
attempting to do something kind. Such as when she asked me to sit on my bed without explaining
why the night that she washed my feet.

This was simply one of those times.

Her steps were slow as she walked towards the door that she knew must connect the privy chamber
to Rhaenyra’s bedchamber.

In addition to being noticeably smaller, the privy chamber better reflected the Rhaenyra that Alicent
knew.

The chairs and tables were arranged in a more intimate fashion to facilitate easy conversation, and
woven baskets filled with black roses hovered in the air and suffused the room with their sweet
perfume. Silver sconces shaped like blooming roses lined one wall, each bearing a hovering light-
orb. The crown molding displayed roses interconnected by flaming vines, and the ceiling was
decorated with bas-relief wolves racing through grassy fields and along rocky seashores.

While there were several beautiful paintings adorning the walls, what truly captured the eye was
the magnificent tapestry hanging on the left wall. It depicted a group of seven dragons soaring
across the sky, and each dragon’s scales had been masterfully woven so that they didn’t actually
resemble scales at all. Rather, one dragon’s hide was raindrops so detailed that she half-expected
them to begin sliding down the tapestry, another’s scales were swirling clouds. One of the dragons
had faceted scales of ruby, and another shone with living starlight. The fifth dragon’s scales were
thousands of tiny snowflakes.

At the head of the little parliament was a pair of dragons flying side by side.

One was as black as the night, while the other gleamed silver.

I wonder how others reacted to seeing Aerysa and Daenerys depicted in such a way.

The twins were flying so close together that their wings were almost touching.

When she at last reached the door of Rhaenyra’s bedchamber, she didn’t allow herself time to think.
She simply raised her first and knocked once.

“Come in, Alicent.”

Alicent pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Rhaenyra’s bedchamber was enormous.

So much so that Alicent was certain it must be enchanted.

There were half a dozen windows of varying sizes around the room to provide ample sunlight, and
silver sconces like those in the privy chamber dotted the walls. At the moment, the light-orbs were
dark, and the blood-red curtains were drawn back and held in place by black cords. Thick rugs were
strategically placed so that someone walking barefoot wouldn’t need to touch the stone floor in
order to reach the lavatory, armoire, or dressing table.

Considering her friend could float and wasn’t much affected by the cold, Alicent assumed that the
rugs had been arranged by her predecessors and that Rhaenyra simply hadn’t bothered moving
them when she became queen.

Similar to her own bedchamber, a large fireplace with a marble mantel dominated the wall closest
to the four-poster bed, which seemed large enough to comfortably accommodate ten people. There
were three books stacked on the nightstand beside the bed, as well as some loose papers and a quill
pen. Hanging on the wall to the right of the bed was a banner displaying a roaring silver dragon on
a crimson field, and on the bed’s left was a pair of glass doors leading out onto a balcony. She could
see through the doors that the balcony’s railing was covered in rose vines.

On the floor at the foot of the bed was a heptagonal altar emblazoned with Relle’s septagram. In
each of the corners was an unlit candle of a different color—blue, green, purple, red, orange, black,
and one that was half white and half black. A small cushion had been placed in front of the blue
candle, which Alicent assumed was meant for kneeling.

Before seeing that altar, she wouldn’t have believed Rhaenyra to be a particularly devout woman.
And while she briefly considered the possibility that the altar had simply belonged to a previous
queen, threads of smoke were rising from the blue, purple, and red candles.

Above the mantel hung a beautiful painting of Rhaenyra and her six sisters, and on the adjoining
wall was a tapestry displaying a black rose encircled by a blue rose, a grey wind rose, a blue-grey
water rose, a red rose, an arctic-blue winter rose, and an emerald rose. Hanging on the wall across
from the mantle was a tapestry depicting Relle and her seven faces.

There were a few comfortable looking chairs arranged in various places around the room, in
addition to some small tables, a settee, and a divan.

On the other side of the balcony doors were three large bookcases containing some of Rhaenyra’s
personal collection. Tucked between the last bookshelf and the adjacent wall was an elegant
grandmother clock. The clock’s pendulum was shaped like a golden rose, and there was a tiny
painting of a flower beneath each of the numbers on the clock’s face. Similar to the clock in her
own bedchamber, the numbers and hands were inlaid with Geltic crystals so that they would glow
in the dark.

Displayed above the bookshelves was an elegant cane of gleaming silver. The handle was a silver-
stone dragon emerging from the petals of a black rose, and winding black flames were emblazoned
on the shaft.

Running the perimeter of the room, about a foot beneath the crown molding, were long shelves that
held all manner of knickknacks and baubles.

From where she stood, Alicent could see seven glass sculptures all clustered together, a series of
intricately carved boxes, half-a-dozen chalices, a couple wooden figurines, a lantern, a crystal ball,
and several small paintings. A collection of wands decorated the wall space beneath the crystal ball,
each of which was supported by two spikes that had been driven into the stone. Several feet to the
right of the wands hung an ebony display case with dozens upon dozens of small vials filled with
an assortment of liquids, berries, and leaves.

As Alicent’s eyes swept over everything in the room, she felt as if she was seeing more of
Rhaenyra in this moment than she had in the past nine months. She knew that there was a story
behind each and every item decorating the walls and shelves, and she wondered if there would ever
be enough time to hear them all.

The sound of approaching footsteps finally broke her from her reverie, and she turned to face
Rhaenyra. “Your bedchamber is stunning.”

“Thank you, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s voice was warm, but her eyes were nervous. “I suppose you’re
wondering why I invited you.”
“The question did occur to me.” Her tone was teasing in an attempt to alleviate both her own
returning nerves as well as Rhaenyra’s.

“The night before . . .” Rhaenyra’s eyes closed for a moment as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“My deepest apologies for all of that. I should have,” she sighed, opening her eyes, “I should have
told you about mates and the matebond myself instead of taking you to a play in the hopes that you
would realize for yourself . . . Merciful Mother, you must think me a fool.”

Alicent had never thought that. “Why didn’t you tell me yourself?” She could guess well enough,
but she wanted to hear her friend’s reasoning.

“I didn’t wish . . .” Rhaenyra sighed once more. “I was aware of the kinds of things said about us
during the War, about our ‘preferences.’ I knew that you were already overwhelmed by so many
other matters that I thought . . .” She spread her hands helplessly. “I acted without asking.”

But you couldn’t very well have asked without explaining.

“I didn’t tell you myself because,” Rhaenyra swallowed a little, finally meeting her eyes, “I didn’t
wish to see your disgust.”

“I could never be disgusted with you.” Even when she’d seen only the Firestorm, she’d been
terrified, but never disgusted. Stepping forward, she reached for Rhaenyra’s hands. “You’re my
friend, Nyra. Even if I was . . . somewhat overwhelmed when I realized that Valyrians only wed
each other, that had nothing to do with you, and I certainly wasn’t disgusted with you.”

Rhaenyra had never done anything worthy of disgust.

Unlike me.

The small smile that Rhaenyra offered in response to her words was tentative, and there wasn’t any
hint of the relief that Alicent had been hoping to see. “You’re kind to say so, but—”

“I forgive you for not telling me.” Alicent squeezed her hands, hating the distress that she could
sense despite her ward. “I understand why you didn’t tell me until now, and I forgive you. I have
questions, but I’m not upset with you, Nyra.”

“Not yet.”

Alicent stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Rhaenyra was no longer looking at her. “I asked you here because there is another secret that I’ve
been keeping from you. For somewhat similar reasons, I suppose. Or rather . . .”

“Do you mean that we’re in neighboring apartments? Nyra, I have questions, but I’m not—”

“Not that. Well, not only that.” Rhaenyra gently tugged her hands free and motioned for Alicent to
follow her.

Three steps.

No more than that.

The closed door was partially obscured by the Relle tapestry, which she supposed was why she’d
failed to notice it before. She knew that it didn’t lead to the lavatory because that door was partly
open and on the other side of the room, and she knew that it didn’t lead to Rhaenyra’s study
because she’d passed that door while walking through the privy chamber.

Alicent swallowed.

A glint of metal caught her attention, drawing her eyes to the silver key hanging from a small hook
beside the door. Squinting a little, she saw that there was a rose stamped into the metal.

That key was identical to the one that she’d found in her own chambers her first night in the
Queen’s Keep.

And the door . . .

Alicent slowly turned to look at her friend. “Rhaenyra, where does that door lead to?”

She already knew the answer.

Our apartments don’t simply neighbor each other, they—

“Your chambers.” Rhaenyra was staring straight ahead at the door with an impassive expression on
her face, but Alicent could see the tension in her shoulders and jaw.

“Why?” It was the same question she’d had since she’d realized that her chambers neighbored
Rhaenyra’s. Now, the question felt even more pressing. She knew for a fact that there were many
empty apartments throughout the Keep, so why—?

“Because I was terrified that you might attempt to kill yourself.” Rhaenyra’s words were soft and
pained as she expelled a shuddering breath. “You were so frightened, Alicent. And I could sense
your resignation and your hopelessness after the Treaty signing. I knew you thought that I was
going to . . .” She shook her head, eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment. “I placed you in those
apartments so that I could prevent you from doing something foolish.”

Alicent wanted to tell her that she needn’t have worried so, that of course she’d never intended to
harm herself.

But that would be a lie.

And they both knew it.

“What matters is that you’re safe and happy.”

She didn’t need to ask why Rhaenyra hadn’t told her until now.

Had she known her first night here that nothing save a pair of locked doors separated her from the
Firestorm, she most certainly would have thrown herself from the window. Had she known during
her first year, she would have been in a constant state of panic. And had she known during her
second year, she would have driven herself mad attempting to decipher Rhaenyra’s motivations.

The only time that she could have told me was now.
Now that they were friends and she knew Rhaenyra well enough to understand that her motivations
had been entirely—

Interconnecting doors.

Their chambers weren’t simply close, they were joined by a set of inner doors.

Her stomach clenched.

Stone Garden has a concentric defensive structure.

The palace had been designed in a style similar to that of the ancient fortresses her own people had
once built. And in those ancient times, there had only ever been two sets of rooms connected by
inner doors.

“Rhaenyra.” Alicent slowly moved on stiff legs to stand in front of the other woman, waiting until
she finally met her eyes. “Who would normally occupy those chambers?”

While Rhaenyra held her gaze, there was a tremor in her voice when she answered. “The queen’s
consort.”

Alicent felt as if she’d been slapped.

The queen’s consort.

Consort.

A pretty word for “wife.”

Strong Sytarr, she’d been sleeping in the chambers belonging to the queen’s wife. Or mate, or
whatever word Valyrians chose to use.

Her blood felt cold in her veins.

Wife.

«Little Wife.»

«Whore Wife.»

«My Stupid Wife.»

«Insolent, damned wife.»

«Worthless waste of a wife.»

No.

Her hands trembled.

She didn’t want to be a wife again.

She didn’t want to be treated like a wife again.

Not ever.

A wife was property. A wife could be struck and beaten and abused and raped on a whim.

She didn’t want that.

«A good wife obeys. A good wife submits.»

Not again.

Never again.

She wanted . . .

“I don’t want to be your wife.” The words were barely even a whisper, but she knew that Rhaenyra
heard them.

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows arched. “Alicent—”

“I don’t want to be your wife,” she repeated, more forcefully this time. “I can’t—I won’t be treated
in such a way ever again, Rhaenyra.”

For a moment, Rhaenyra only stared at her, then her eyes widened with alarm. “Alicent, I would
never treat you—Please, Ali, believe me, I would never—I, I don’t even think about you in such a
way!”

Alicent wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling smaller and more vulnerable than she
had in a long time.

Wife.

«Little Wife.»

She knew that Rhaenyra wouldn’t—couldn’t—take her to wife.

Valyrians are not Westerosi.

There was no matebond, so Rhaenyra couldn’t . . .

But she still placed me in the chambers meant for her wife.

And Alicent knew well that actually wedding a woman wasn’t necessary for treating her as a wife,
for using and taking and hurting—

“Alicent—”

“I want to be your friend.” Her voice shook pathetically, but she didn’t care. “I only—only a friend,
Nyra. That’s all I want. Please.”

A friend was free. A friend couldn’t be struck or beaten or abused or raped for another’s pleasure.

She wanted . . .

“Alicent, can you tell me what you need?”

“You’re safe now, Ali. You’re safe.”

“May I hug you?”

Friends mattered.

She wanted to matter to Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra was staring at her with a soft, almost sad expression. “Then friends is what we shall be,
Ali.” She slowly extended her hand. “Please forgive me for causing you such distress, Alicent. I
never intended . . . You know that I would never hurt you, don’t you?”

She did.

Of course she did.

But . . .

“You placed me in your consort’s chambers,” she whispered. “And, and everyone knew that you—”

“They also knew that it wasn’t for that reason. Please believe me when I tell you that.”

Alicent wanted to.

Rhaenyra had never been cruel to her. Never spoken harshly to or belittled her, never raised a hand
or her voice to her, never demanded her obedience or submission.

Rhaenyra had always been kind to her. Kind and gentle and sweet and generous and considerate.

“Alicent, I would never treat you—Please, Ali, believe me, I would never—I, I don’t even think
about you in such a way!”

Rhaenyra cared about her.

She’s my friend.

“I don’t even think about you in such a way!”

Rhaenyra didn’t desire anything more than friendship from her.

I’m safe with her.

Alicent reached out and clasped Rhaenyra’s offered hand. “My reaction was perhaps . . . I know
that you would never hurt me, Nyra. You’ve only ever shown me the utmost kindness and care.”
She smiled a little, relieved when it seemed to banish some of the hurt from her friend’s eyes. “I
know that you would never treat me as he did, but the thought of . . . I don’t wish to be dictated to.
Not like that.”

Rhaenyra winced. “I know, and I’m sorry about before—”

“You listened to me.” Alicent squeezed her hand. “I told you which behaviors I took issue with, and
you listened.” That wasn’t something that husbands did for their wives. “You’re a good friend to
me, Nyra.”
“I try to be.”

Alicent stepped closer to her. “May I hug you?”

Rhaenyra nodded eagerly, a happy purr rumbling in her chest when Alicent wrapped her arms
around her.

They held each other for several minutes, and Alicent felt herself further relaxing each time that she
inhaled her friend’s rose perfume.

When they eventually broke apart, Rhaenyra’s eyes were shining with their usual light. “I wish to
show you something, if you’ll allow. To further reassure you.”

“All right.” She couldn’t help but smile when one of the larger wing back chairs appeared behind
her a moment later.

Alicent watched as Rhaenyra strode over to the door connecting their bedchambers, watched as she
slipped the key off of its hook and slid it into the lock, watched as she gave the key a sharp twist
before pulling open the door to reveal the second one behind it, watched as she attempted to open
the second door.

It was still locked from the other side.

Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder at her. “Our bedchambers may be connected, but I cannot
simply enter yours as it pleases me.” Backing away from the door, she raised her hands and
conjured a sphere of black fire almost as large as she was, which she then hurled at the door.

Alicent instinctively winced, expecting the flames to set the door ablaze, or burn a hole through the
thick silverwood.

Instead, the door flared with a bright, golden light and absorbed the fire.

It’s shielded.

She found herself leaning forward in her chair as she watched Rhaenyra assault the door with
shards of ice, squalls of wind, bolts of lightning, beams of magical energy, and dozens of other
kinds of spell for which Alicent had no name.

Each time, the door glowed gold and absorbed the attack.

Raising her right hand, Rhaenyra’s nails lengthened and curved into wickedly sharp black claws.

“ Dragon claws are harder than diamond, sharper than honed obsidian, and stronger than
Valyrian steel. They can tear through flesh, stone, and metal like it’s tissue paper.”

Rhaenyra scored her claws against the door.

Or rather, she attempted to.

Golden light flared and deflected her claws before they even made contact with the wood.

Unable to contain her curiosity, Alicent rose from her chair and came forward to stand beside her
friend. “What kind of shield is this?” Ever since Rhaenyra had gifted her a book about the history
of medical spells, she’d begun reading more and more books about Valyrians magic.

“It’s actually hundreds of different shields all layered atop and interwoven with each other. Each
queen adds her own spell when she ascends the Rose Throne.” Retracting her claws, Rhaenyra
curled her hand into a loose fist and knocked lightly on the door.

No golden light, only the sound of knuckles rapping on wood.

“Woven together as they are, these shields can repel every kind of attack my people have been able
to devise, including simply picking the lock with tools or telekinesis.” Rhaenyra’s eyes were bright,
and her tone was rather proud. “There is also a power loop spell embedded within the primary
matrix so that any magic used against the shields or the door itself will be absorbed to strengthen
the shields.”

Alicent could only ever recall reading about power loops being used to contain prisoners back on
the Old World. Obviously that wasn’t the purpose here, but why else shield a door so thoroughly?
She glanced at the key still turned inside the lock of Rhaenyra’s door. “Do the keys disable the
shields then?”

Rhaenyra nodded. “And each key only unlocks one door. My apartments and yours were designed
to provide the queen and her consort with privacy from each other should they desire it, and the
only way that we could use these doors to access each other’s chambers is if both are unlocked.”

Reaching out, Alicent lightly brushed her fingers over the smooth wood. She’d read that
exceptionally powerful spells often emitted a thrum or a pulse of power. And while she couldn’t
actually hear or feel anything, she knew that the layered shields must surely be humming with the
combined magic of two hundred and forty-nine empresses. “I assume the shields also prevent you
from teleporting into my chambers?”

“When one or both doors are locked, yes.” Rhaenyra smiled wryly. “There’s a reason I always enter
your apartments from the hall when I need to wake you from a night terror.”

Alicent’s fingers faltered.

She could count on one hand the number of times that Rhaenyra had ever spoken about her night
terrors.

“All of that said, if you’re no longer comfortable in your apartments, Aemma can find you
accommodations as far from mine as you desire—”

“No, thank you.” She offered Rhaenyra a soft smile, reaching out to tangle their fingers together.
“I’ve grown rather fond of my apartments over the years.” And she’d recently begun properly
decorating them with a few items of her own choosing. Not that it would be difficult to transfer her
few possessions, but it was the principle of the matter. Those apartments were . . . they were her
chambers.

Rhaenyra cocked her head slightly, but she was smiling a little as well. “You’re certain?”

“I am.” Alicent squeezed her hand. “You’ve demonstrated rather effectively that my rooms remain
private.” She paused a moment. “I don’t wish to be treated as a wife, but I very much enjoy being
treated as your friend.” Leaning forward, she rose up on her toes to briefly press her forehead
against Rhaenyra’s. “Friends trust each other, Nyra, so I trust you.”
 Rhaenyra had always taken care to respect her boundaries—once she was made aware of them—
and Alicent trusted her to continue respecting her privacy.

Besides, they both knew that if Rhaenyra truly intended her harm, no door or shield would actually
prevent her from doing as she pleased.

I would be as unsafe in my current chambers as I would be in chambers on the opposite side of the
Keep.

But Rhaenyra did not wish her harm.

Chapter End Notes

Thus ends Arc 3.

Next Chapter: The beginning of Alicent's Gay Self-Acceptance Arc!

For those curious, before Alicent came in, Rhaenyra was specifically praying to the Mother
Rellelifegiver, who is considered the foremost of Relle's faces, the Crone Relle Wiseone for
the wisdom not to botch this encounter, and the Warrior Relle Shieldbreaker for the fortitude
and courage to face whatever anger or hurt Alicent might direct towards her.
 Sweet Friendship
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 30:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Damella Rowan, an Osmeran dressmaker, from Kastrell
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Aly Blackwood, one of Queen Rhaenyra's attendants, from Saevara

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harvest Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

In truth, Alicent had expected Rhaenyra to begin treating her differently in the wake of her learning
about Valyrians’ preferences and the matebond and their adjoining chambers. She had expected her
friend to retreat and regress, to return to always leaving space between them whenever they sat
together, to refrain from touching her, to perhaps even decrease the time that they spent with each
other.

She’d expected it.

And she’d feared it.

But Rhaenyra had surprised and pleased her by continuing to behave the same as before the
revelations.

Rhaenyra still hugged her and touched her—after seeking her leave, of course. She still sought her
out so that they could spend time together—she’d recently offered to give Alicent riding lessons.
She still dined with her—they’d finished sharing dinner but half an hour ago. She still spent most
evenings with her—the only difference being that now they sometimes retired to Rhaenyra’s privy
chamber rather than Alicent’s.

Alicent had feared that Rhaenyra would withdraw from her in a sweet but misguided attempt to
avoid upsetting or offending her.

But Rhaenyra hadn’t done that.

It seemed that her friend had decided to trust her as well—in her own way—to trust that Alicent
would say something if Rhaenyra did anything to discomfit her.

And this particular kind of trust delighted Alicent.

It made her feel . . . seen and appreciated in a way that she couldn’t entirely describe or even fully
understand.

She’d meant what she’d said that day about wishing for Rhaenyra to continue treating her as a
friend, but a part of her had worried that Rhaenyra would overcorrect—as was her way when she
felt that she’d done something wrong—and return to treating her as a guest rather than as a friend
simply to avoid even the possibility of overstepping and treating her as a wife.

Which would have been rather ironic, since Alicent had realized these past two months while
ruminating on Rhaenyra’s prior actions that her friend had, in fact, been treating her much like a
wife before their quarrel. Only ever visiting Alicent’s chambers when it suited her. Selecting her
attendants without seeking her opinion on the matter. Providing her with a weekly allowance.

That was how her father had treated her mothers, how Criston had treated his other wives.

Alicent was exceedingly grateful that her visceral terror of ever being treated like a wife again had
prevented her from making those particular connections until much later when she was no longer
panicking and her ability to think rationally had returned.

Rhaenyra’s early actions had been presumptive—rather husbandly, in fact—but Alicent knew with
the utmost certainty that her friend had been motivated by care and concern for her rather than a
desire to control and own her.

And that difference mattered.

Though not enough that she would ever tolerate such treatment from Rhaenyra in the future.

After all, a kind husband was a husband all the same.

Not that she considered Rhaenyra her husband by any means, of course.

Filthy whore.

Alicent’s cheeks flushed with shame and mortification, and she silently thanked Sytarr that
Rhaenyra was pretending to read rather than looking at her.

After finishing their supper together in the knot garden, they’d retired to Alicent’s privy chamber
for the evening. They’d briefly discussed retiring to Rhaenyra’s chambers instead, but Alicent had
admitted with no small amount of embarrassment that she wished to practice the lute tonight.

Rhaenyra had beamed in response, and they’d soon been settling on their favored settee in what had
become familiar positions over the past few months. Alicent sat on one side with a perfectly
straight back and the lute cradled in her lap, while Rhaenyra sat as close as she could without being
in the way with a heavy book on her own lap. And as Alicent had begun to play, Rhaenyra had
pretended to read—as she always did.

Alicent appreciated her friend’s seeming indifference—feigned though it was. She knew that her
fingers would be even clumsier on the lute strings if Rhaenyra’s eyes were upon her while she
played. Although she’d been improving of late, she knew that she wasn’t as good on the lute as
she’d once been on the oud.

Not yet.
“Ali, is something the matter?” Rhaenyra was now looking at her with a concerned expression.

Damn it. Her friend’s acute sense of smell could be an utterly wretched nuisance at times. She
couldn’t even say whether it had been her impure thoughts or her subsequent shame, but one or
both must have been enough to cause her scent to shift.

Alicent’s fingers stilled—the final notes lingering in the air a moment longer—before slowly
leaning down to place the lute back on its stand. She used the momentary reprieve to swiftly gather
her thoughts, knowing that she couldn’t very well tell Rhaenyra the truth, but also not wanting to
dismiss her friend’s concern entirely. And there was a matter that she’d been meaning to discuss
with her.

I suppose now will do.

When she turned back to face her friend, she saw that Rhaenyra had set her book aside to offer
Alicent her full attention. After allowing herself a final breath to soothe her nerves, Alicent cleared
her throat. “I’ve been meaning to ask, but I wasn’t certain how, and, and when I do ask, please do
not mistake my curiosity for discomfort.”

Rhaenyra nodded slowly, a faint crease beginning to form between her eyebrows. “All right.”

Alicent twisted her emerald orchid ring around her finger. “Is this,” she motioned between them,
“normal behavior for friends? Retiring to each other’s chambers and spending the evening together,
I mean.” She knew that her other activities with Rhaenyra were within the bounds of friendship as
she understood them, since her other friends hugged and touched and spent time with her during the
day as well, but she didn’t visit their chambers in the evenings.

Rhaenyra was silent for a long moment, expression pensive, before finally nodding. “Yes. I should
think so. Cassella and I often spent our evenings together when we were young.” She paused. “But
that was also when we were children, so I suppose the answer to your questions depends on what
you mean by ‘normal.’”

Alicent wouldn’t have thought that there could be more than one meaning in this instance. Were the
friendships of childhood truly so different from those formed between adults? “I suppose I mean to
ask whether most friends spend as much time in each other’s chambers as we do.” None of her
other friends had ever invited her to their apartments after dinner, but she didn’t know if that was
because such invitations were abnormal or because her friends hadn’t wanted her to realize that
they were all married—mated.

“I’m not actually certain,” Rhaenyra admitted. “In truth, Alicent, you have a better grasp of what
constitutes ‘normal’ behavior between friends than I do.”

Alicent could only stare at her.

“I know that you consider your friends few, but you still have more than I do.” Rhaenyra shrugged.
“You have Margaery, Sansa, Ygritte, Gilly, Sabitha, Aly, Catelyn, Aemma, Luwina, and your other
companions. But aside from you, I only have Aemma, Hylda, Sabitha, and Cassella. And they . . .
Well, I’m not certain that you can consider my friendships with them ‘normal.’” Her fingers curled
slightly in her skirts. “You’ll find that most women in my position have but few friends.”

Idiot. Sytarr above, how could she have been so callous? Hadn’t she often wondered whether
queens even had friends? There was a reason that she’d been so surprised upon hearing that
Cassella had managed to coax Rhaenyra away from her duties. “Please forgive me, Nyra, I wasn’t
thinking.”

“You needn’t apologize, Ali.” Rhaenyra reached for her and tangled their fingers together after
receiving a nod. “I only meant to explain myself.” She gently squeezed her hand. “I love Aemma,
but she’s always been as much a mother to me as a friend, and Hylda and Sabitha will always
consider my position first and last. And Cassella,” she paused, considering, “Cassella was the first
person who looked at me and truly saw me beyond my position, but we are not as close as we once
were, and my friendship with her will always be different from what I have with you.”

Alicent nodded slowly, wondering if it was because they’d become friends later in life or if it was
because she was a Westerosi.

“I love Cassella as I do my sisters,” Rhaenyra continued, “but she was also . . . put in my path, if
you will. Our mothers’ friendship and our own closeness in age all but assured that we would
become friends. But you,” she smiled softly at her, “you I chose to be my friend.”

An embarrassed flush bloomed in Alicent’s cheeks, and her head instinctively lowered. But she
found that she understood Rhaenyra’s meaning better than she might have expected. She treasured
her friendships with Margaery, Sansa, Ygritte, and the other women who had volunteered to
become her companions, but Rhaenyra had been the one to place them in her path, and the same
was true for Aemma. Even Gilly had only become her friend as a consequence of being Ygritte’s
wife—mate.

Sabitha was the first friendship that she’d forged on her own, and while she didn’t dwell on it often,
there was a difference between a friendship chosen and a friendship that had been somewhat
arranged.

But she didn’t spend her evenings in Sabitha’s apartments.

Sabitha is guarding Rhaenyra chambers more oft than not, she reminded herself. And when she
isn’t, her time is occupied with Aly.

Perhaps that was the difference. Rhaenyra didn’t have a wife to spend her evenings with.

Alicent stiffened at the thought. No. Surely not. That wasn’t what this—

“Ali.” Rhaenyra took her other hand and began rubbing soothing circles on the backs of both. “If
you would prefer that we not spend our evenings together anymore, you need only say so.”

But she didn’t want that. She enjoyed her evenings with Rhaenyra. She enjoyed talking with her or
playing games with her or reading together or practicing her lute while Rhaenyra pretended not to
listen. She didn’t want—

Father never spent his evenings with my mothers. And Criston only ever came to my chambers after
supper to hurt me.

Alicent immediately felt the tension in her shoulders ease. “I enjoy our evenings together, Nyra,
and I would prefer they continue. If that’s what you want as well.”

Rhaenyra smiled. “It is.” She glanced down at their joined hands. “May I know why you’re asking
me about ‘normal’ behavior between friends?”
Alicent hesitated a moment, uncertain how to articulate her thoughts without causing offense or
worry. “Our evenings together. They seem to be . . . unique to our friendship.”

“I suppose they are,” Rhaenyra conceded. “Ali, I’ve never . . .” Her cheeks flushed. “I told you
once that you are singular. I meant it then, and I mean it now. You don’t . . . you look at me, and
you’re able to see only me. Other Valyrians—even Cassella—can never truly forget my position,
and my mortal friends never learn who or what I truly am until after they die. But you,” she
squeezed her hands, “you know who I am, what I am, and much of what I’ve done, and you . . . you
haven’t turned away from me.”

Alicent’s throat felt tight, and her treacherous stomach was fluttering.

Disgusting whore.

“Does it matter if parts of our friendship are unique?” The look that Rhaenyra was giving her was
filled with an almost melancholy sort of longing. “So long as you’re—so long as we are both
comfortable, does it matter?”

“No,” Alicent whispered, “I suppose it doesn’t.”

And perhaps that, in and of itself, is normal.

Her friendship with Aemma was different from her friendship with Margaery, and she knew that
Margaery’s friendship with her was different from Margaery’s friendship with Ygritte. Perhaps all
friendships had their own unique characteristics.

Rhaenyra visibly relaxed. “Good. That—That’s good. Thank you, Ali.”

Alicent couldn’t fathom why Rhaenyra was thanking her, but her mind felt clouded, and her heart
was beating faster than it ought to be in response to the affectionate smile her friend was now
giving her. She needed—

“I,” she swallowed thickly, “the hour grows late, Nyra. I should probably retire for the night. I have
work in the morning and—”

“Of course.” Rhaenyra immediately released her hands and rose to her feet. Her smile didn’t waver,
but there were shadows in her eyes. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been working longer hours of late.”

“In preparation for Yule.” Now that there was some distance between them, Alicent could think
more clearly. “Since this will be the first celebratory Yule since before the war, many women are
having new dresses made.”

Rhaenyra’s expression immediately lightened as she nodded in understanding. “I should have

realized that you would be busier than usual. I appointed Esfira the Mistress of Revels only the
week before, and already she’s making grand plans for Yulemas and the seven nights of Yuletide.”
Amusement twinkled in her eyes as her smile turned playful. “I suspect that Bartima and Lymna
will finally be in agreement on something once Esfira begins negotiating the finances and logistics
of her revels with them.”

And Alicent couldn’t help but smile slightly, having seen for herself Mistress Bartima and Mistress
Lymna’s nigh constant bickering with each other over anything and everything. Had Margaery not
told her as much, she never would have suspected that they were wed. “A rare occurrence, to be
sure. Should you witness such a phenomenon, you must tell me about it.”

“But of course.” So saying, Rhaenyra offered her an extravagant curtsy before bidding her a warm
good night.

Once the door had closed behind her friend with a soft click, Alicent sighed and slumped against
the arm of the settee. While she’d spent the past two months working with Dr. Arwen to better
manage her responses to the memories of her mother’s punishment, she had yet to confess her
sinful urges.

There was little doubt in her mind that Dr. Arwen would insist her desires were not sinful at all, but
Alicent knew better. While she did not doubt her therapist’s wisdom or knowledge, the other
woman was still a Valyrian. Dr. Arwen knew nothing of Sytarr or his edicts or what it meant to be
accursed for thinking—

Sinful thoughts need not lead to sinful deeds.

So long as she behaved herself and did not act upon her wicked desires—or give voice to them
again, if she could manage—all would be well.

She would not be ruled by base impulses.

It’s no different from choosing how I express my emotions. I may not be able to control whether I
feel them, but I can most certainly control whether I act upon them.

Such assurances had become quite comforting to her in recent months.

“Lovely work, Alicent.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed as she looked down at her stitches, which were all perfectly neat and tidy,
to be sure, but nothing particularly special. All the same, she offered Mistress Damella an
appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

She glanced over at the twelve gowns her employer was currently embroidering, none of which
was actually spread out over her lap to be worked on by hand. They’d all been placed on dress
forms and were being embroidered by a combination of enchanted needles and telekinesis.

While her words to Rhaenyra the night before had been offered in haste to justify putting some
much needed distance between them, they hadn’t been a lie. Mistress Damella had received dozens
of orders from across the Queendom in recent months, and her employer had begun offering her
additional responsibilities of late.

But that wasn’t the only reason she’d been spending more time at the shop than usual.

Alicent’s eyes shifted between the twelve gowns that Mistress Damella was working on and the one
spread out across her own lap, guilt gnawing insistently at her insides. She ought to be working on
one of Mistress Damella’s commissions, not her own personal side project.

“I’ll be finished with these designs soon,” she promised, “and I’ll make certain my actual work is
finished before I leave tonight. My apologies for how slow—”
“Alicent,” Mistress Damella’s tone wasn’t sharp or irritated, but Alicent swiftly closed her mouth
all the same, “we’ve spoken about this. I didn’t hire you because I expected you to be able to sew
and embroider at the same speed as an enchanted needle. I hired you for your skills. Your obvious
aptitude for the art of the needle, your knowledge of fabrics, your ability to design clothes of your
own, and your work ethic.”

Alicent knew that her face was bright red, and she was fairly certain that her blush had spread down
across her chest as well. She wanted to protest that Mistress Damella was being too kind, but her
employer had previously made it rather clear that she didn’t wish to hear Alicent disparage herself
or her work.

Mistress Damella leaned down to more closely inspect her embroidery, eyebrows rising. “What do
you call this stitch? I’ve never seen you use it before.”

“I . . .” Alicent shifted nervously, her needle stilling. She’d never used this stitch before because it
was one that her mothers had taught her. All of her previous work had used Mistress Damella’s
favored patterns and styles because that was what customers were paying for.

But this dress wasn’t for one of Mistress Damella’s customers.

“It,” she cleared her throat a little, “it’s called a double-edged sword stitch.”

“It’s very pretty,” Mistress Damella cocked her head thoughtfully, “and quite similar to a triple-
wing butterfly stitch, in fact.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, certain that Mistress Damella had never mentioned such a stitch before.
“I’m not familiar with that one.”

“Oh, it isn’t a dressmaker’s stitch.” Mistress Damella straightened and dragged a chair over with
her telekinesis so that she could sit near Alicent. “It’s a surgical stitch.” She waved a hand to
summon the nearest dress and spread it out across her lap. “My third cousin five-times removed
always described it as dreadfully difficult during her apprenticeship.” She grinned. “But you make
it seem effortless.”

Did she?

Alicent glanced down at the rose design that she was working on, lips pursing slightly. The double-
edged sword stitch was difficult, but she’d spent years becoming adept at it. When she’d still been
learning, her mother would prick one of her fingers with a needle each time that she made a
mistake.

Her fingers had always been bloody at the end of those lessons.

She’d only been able to master the stitch once she began practicing on her own, though she’d still
often found herself stabbing her own fingers when she made a mistake.

Alicent knew that she ought to say as much to Mistress Damella—leaving out her mother’s abuse,
of course—but instead she found herself asking, “Surgical stitch? I thought that physicians relied
entirely on their magic during surgeries.”

“They do.” Mistress Damella threaded a second needle while her first continued its work. “But all
surgeons learn to close wounds with needle and thread during their apprenticeship to prepare them
for the possibility that they may one day find themselves unable to use their magic for one reason
or another.” Her lip curled, and a low growl rumbled in her chest. “That day came for many during
the War. All of that damn nth mental meant they couldn’t place their patients in stasis while they
worked to remove the shrapnel, so they had to sew the wounds closed by hand until the metal was
removed. Those thrice-damned Westerosi—” She broke off, eyes widening with mortification.
“Please forgive me, Alicent. I sometimes forget that you’re a Westerosi as well.”

Which both confounded and warmed Alicent, in truth. While she adored her friends and
appreciated the care that they always took with her, it was nice to spend time with someone who
seemed to be less aware of her past.

And while the reminder of the war and Mistress Damella’s vitriol made her wince, she wasn’t
frightened of her employer or concerned that the other woman might direct her lingering ire
towards her.

“You needn’t apologize,” she assured her. “I know that your people suffered greatly because of
mine. Your anger is more than justified.”

She still considered it a small wonder that the Valyrians hadn’t simply slaughtered her people and
destroyed Westeros in its entirety.

It was what her own people had sought to do.

Valyrians aren’t Westerosi.

Mistress Damella was peering at her curiously. “Do you still consider them your people?”

Alicent’s needle faltered. “I—Of course I do.” Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Why
wouldn’t I?” She would always be a Westerosi, so they would always be her people. Simply
because she now lived on Valyria didn’t change either of those facts.

“Because they don’t deserve you.” Mistress Damella shrugged, as if her statement was self-evident.

Which it most certainly was not, though Alicent didn’t know how to say as much without being
rude, so she simply made a noncommittal sound and returned her attention to her work.

Mistress Damella suddenly snapped her fingers. “And that reminds me, you need to stop
embroidering my initials on the dresses that you design and sew together yourself. I can’t take
credit for your work.”

“But you’re my employer, and customers come here for your gowns, and—” Alicent’s eyes
widened with horror, and she barely resisted the urge to prick her finger for her stupidity. Strong
Sytarr, she’d been perpetrating fraud. “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to deceive others into
thinking my work was yours—”

“Alicent, please be calm. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve been removing my initials and replacing
them with yours for weeks, but we’ve been so busy of late that I kept forgetting to tell you.”
Mistress Damella smiled gently. “I did the exact same thing when I was an apprentice dressmaker,
but you’re no longer simply helping me with my projects. Your recent works have been entirely
your own, and I simply wish to ensure that you receive the recognition that you deserve.”
Alicent blinked owlishly. The thought of embroidering her own monogram on the dresses she’d
been making had never even occurred to her. She’d considered her work a mere extension of
Mistress Damella’s. “I don’t . . . aren’t your customers displeased when they realize that the dress
isn’t yours?”

“None have been thus far.” Mistress Damella leaned forward. “Alicent, your designs are good and
your work is excellent. All of the women who have purchased your dresses were very pleased by
them, I assure you.”

“But—”

“Alicent, do you think I hired you simply so that you could toil away in anonymity for me?”

She was fairly certain that saying “yes” would offend her employer, but that had been her
assumption. She’d thought that her role was merely assisting and working on whatever projects
Mistress Damella assigned to her. And even when she’d been allowed to begin making dresses on
her own, she’d still considered them Mistress Damella’s.

Mistress Damella sighed. “Alicent, no dressmaker of my caliber needs an assistant.” She pointed to
the eleven needles that had been working on the other gowns without pause this entire time. “Each
of those needles is enchanted with a proprietary spell of my own creation. Every stitch that they
sew or embroider is exactly the same as it would have been had I done it telekinetically or by hand.
Were my only desire to fulfill my orders more expediently, I would simply enchant more needles.

“I didn’t hire you because I needed assistance, I hired you because I saw your work and knew that
you would be a valuable asset to my business.” Rising to her feet, Mistress Damella swiftly crossed
the room to her desk. “These came in a few hours ago.” She returned to Alicent with two sheets of
paper that she handed to her. “They’re specifically requesting that you make their dresses.”

Alicent stared down at the order forms, not entirely trusting her eyes.

Mistress Damella chuckled, but it wasn’t mocking. “I don’t understand why you’re so surprised,
Alicent. Considering your little ‘side project,’ you seem quite confident in your skills.”

“That’s different. It’s a gift.” A gift that she wasn’t even certain Rhaenyra would care for, but she
couldn’t give her friend the flower necklace that she’d made for her. “I’m not expecting anything in
return. Certainly not her money.”

“All the same, the orders have been placed, so you’ll need to begin work on them today once
you’ve finished with the last of those roses.”

Alicent suddenly paled as the logistics of actually designing and creating two dresses flooded her
mind. “Miss—Damella, I, I can’t make two entire gowns in less than three months. Not gowns fit
for Yule celebrations.”

“Not if you’re working entirely by hand,” Mistress Damella agreed, smiling pleasantly. “But if
you’ll allow me, I’m almost certain that I can create embroidery and sewing spells unique to your
individual style the same as I did for myself.”

“But,” Alicent shook her head in confusion, “I didn’t think dressmaking spells functioned in such a
way.”
“Usually they don’t, and this would be a rather . . . unusual happenstance. A dressmaker’s
embroidery and sewing spells are unique to her because they replicate her personal techniques, and
the reason they’re proprietary is to prevent a competitor from casting the same spell and thus
mimicking another woman’s work. Since you don’t have magic, I would need to enchant the
needles for you, but I think that if I add a blood component to the spell’s primary matrix and then
interweave it into the linkages that it should, in theory, prevent anyone save you from actually using
the needles.”

While Alicent wasn’t well-versed enough in the technical aspects of magic to entirely comprehend
what Mistress Damella was proposing, she understood that her employer was offering her a set of
enchanted needles—a small amount of magic—that she herself could actually use.

She didn’t hesitate to accept.

Three Weeks Later

The song of steel striking steel filled the morning air—beautiful and comforting in its rhythmic
repetition—as Rhaenyra ducked and dodged, stabbed and slashed, danced and whirled, and blocked
and parried with no thought to her own movements. She couldn’t actually recall the last time that
she needed to consider or contemplate her next move when wielding a sword—or any other
weapon, for that matter. Her Varg Knights—Vora Hylda in particular—had honed her muscle
memory to perfection.

She’d been five hundred and two when her mother first ordered that a sword be placed in her
hands, and it was one of the few decisions that her mother had made on her behalf for which
Rhaenyra was actually grateful.

As she swept her blade outwards to catch Hylda’s arm while using the same movement to avoid
Sabitha’s thrust, she allowed herself to savor the simplicity of sparring. It had been almost a year
since she’d last been able to spend any time in the training yard, and Merciful Mother how she had
missed the elegance of swordplay. The ease of her own movements, the ability to allow her mind to
wander—probably more than it ought—the pleasant vibrations that traveled up her arms every time
her sword met Hylda or Sabitha’s.

Hylda circled around behind her while Sabitha directly attacked in an attempt to split her focus, but
she knew both of them too well for their ploy to actually work. Her Shadow Knight and Lily
Knight had trained together for so long that their attacks were perfectly coordinated, but that had
only ever made it easier for Rhaenyra to counter them. Rather than anticipate them both, she need
only glean one knight’s intention to immediately know the other’s.

Eventually, she knew, they would cease their synchronized assaults, but for now, the three of them
were content to dance around the training yard.

The scents of fading autumn hung heavy in the air, heralding the swift approach of winter. If she
focused her hearing, she could discern the quiet chatter of the women elsewhere in the outer ward.
Bright sunlight dappled the ground beneath their feet, and a stiff breeze coming off of Lake Halinor
tugged at the loose strands of hair that had escaped her braid, as if trying to distract her.

And while Rhaenyra could easily ignore the occasional tickles of hair on her cheeks and neck, less
easy to ignore was the warm and achingly comforting scent of freshly baked bread that was also
being carried to her on the wind.

It seemed that Mother Relle wished to torment her this morning.

She still couldn’t fathom why Alicent had decided to visit the training yard and watch her spar with
her knights this morning. Her friend had never shown an interest in martial pursuits before.

Alicent had also been joined by Margaery, Sansa, and Aly, and of the four of them, only Aly’s
presence was somewhat expected. Sabitha’s mate always made time to watch a sparring session or
two each week, and such sessions tended to result in both Aly and Sabitha hastening back inside
the Keep as soon as they were able.

Rhaenyra’s steps faltered for a split second when the wind changed and she was suddenly inhaling
a lungful of Alicent’s scent.

Seven thrice-damned Hells.

She managed to avoid Hylda’s swipe at her neck, but her movement was clumsy and far slower
than it should have been.

Growling softly, Rhaenyra redoubled her attack, not at all pleased by the knowing smiles Hylda and
Sabitha had just exchanged.

Ever since Alicent had learned about mates and the matebond—and hadn’t fled Valyria as a result
—it seemed that every woman in her life was now entirely convinced that they should be courting
or pairbonded.

Laena had called not even twelve hours after Alicent’s conversation with Margaery and Sansa to
inquire when she could begin planning the bonding. Aemma had grinned and asked if she would
finally begin courting Alicent properly now. Sabitha had quietly requested that she perhaps wait
one more week so that she could win her bet against Aly. Hylda had patted her arm and said that
she was happy for her. Cassella had called as well to rescind her apology about Mistress Natasha’s
mistake. And even Dr. Alfadora had seemed inordinately pleased.

Rhaenyra had curtly informed them all that Alicent had no interest in being her mate—something
they remained unwilling to believe—and then retreated to one of the nearby uninhabited planets so
that she could raise and demolish mountains for the better part of the day in peace.

Since then, she’d focused on treasuring every moment that Alicent allowed her and ignoring the
way that her heart ached and her instincts screamed and her magic wailed. Alicent had made her
wishes known two months ago, and Rhaenyra would respect those wishes no matter how much it
hurt.

“I don’t want to be your wife.”

The utter terror in Alicent’s voice when she’d said those words had shattered something in
Rhaenyra, and she still wasn’t entirely certain that she’d managed to piece whatever it was back
together.

She’d wanted to rush across the room and gather Alicent into her arms and hold her until she was
no longer trembling, to stroke her back and whisper softly in her ear until the stench of fear no
longer blanketed her, to cradle her face in her hands and kiss away the tears that had been gathering
in her eyes.

But she hadn’t.

Because both fate and Alicent had spoken that day.

“I want to be your friend. I only—only a friend, Nyra. That’s all I want. Please.”

And so they would be.

Far better to have Alicent as a friend than to lose her entirely.

And I would have eventually lost her regardless.

It was better this way, in truth.

Far better to treasure Alicent’s friendship while she could and mourn her friend when the time
came than to suffer the agony of knowing what it was to have Alicent’s love and then watch as that
love was cruelly torn away from her.

She’d barely survived Emalia’s death.

Alicent’s . . .

It’s better this way.

Alicent was happy.

That was all Rhaenyra had ever truly wanted.

Alicent’s happiness was worth any cost.

The sharp bite of cold steel on her arm caused Rhaenyra to hiss—in surprise, rather than pain—for
the blow had failed to cut. She easily sidestepped Hylda’s next attack and then deftly blocked
Sabitha’s.

“You’re distracted this morning, Your Majesty.” Hylda’s tone was far more teasing than it should
have been.

“Perhaps we should ask Alicent to come watch our bouts more often,” Sabitha added, eyes glinting
with mirth, “we might leave the yard with fewer bruises.”

Rather than answering, Rhaenyra attacked with a flurry of swift and vicious strikes, driving Hylda
and Sabitha back across the yard.

“Strange,” Margaery mused, “Her Majesty isn’t usually so easy to strike.”

Alicent reluctantly tore her gaze away from the entrancing spectacle of Rhaenyra—clad only in
breeches and a simple shirt of blue linen that clung to every contour and muscle of her upper body
—sparring with her knights, and focused her attention on Margaery. “Pardon?”
“Her Majesty isn’t usually so easy to strike,” Margaery repeated, amusement glinting in her eyes.
“She received training from Vora Artemisia Westerling herself and is one of the finest
swordswomen on the planet.”

While Alicent knew little of sword fighting, she certainly believed Margaery’s words.

All of Rhaenyra’s movements were elegant and effortless, practiced and poised. Every step, every
slide, and every pivot was performed with all of the flawless grace and beautiful fluidity of a dance.

She watched as Rhaenyra deftly evaded Hylda’s next strike and with the same movement raised her
sword to block Sabitha’s subsequent attack. The knights were saying something that she was too far
away to hear, but rather than answering, Rhaenyra went on the offensive.

Whereas before, the three of them had been moving in an almost synchronized manner, now
Rhaenyra’s strikes were swift and brutal as she forced Hylda and Sabitha back.

And there was a strange beauty in that as well.

Alicent swallowed a little, her mouth suddenly feeling dry.

She shouldn’t—

«Sytarr curses your kind!»

Sinful thoughts need not lead to sinful deeds.

All the same, she shouldn’t be . . . ogling her friend.

It was rude.

It was improper.

It was something a husband would do.

She grimaced.

And then she winced when one of Rhaenyra’s strikes found its mark on Sabitha’s leg. The force of
the blow nearly brought the Lily Knight down to one knee, and Alicent couldn’t help but marvel at
Rhaenyra’s strength, which was plainly visible in the coil and flex of her muscles. She’d always
known that Rhaenyra was strong, but she’d never had the chance to see that strength properly
displayed until now.

And this sparring match was certainly proving to be a riveting display.

Aly made a small sound of distress upon seeing Sabitha hurt, and Alicent’s stomach twisted guiltily
as she was suddenly reminded that Sabitha was Aly’s mate.

Before she could say anything, Sansa reached over and pulled Aly into a comforting hug. “I’m sure
she’s fine, Aly. We’ve all seen the Queen deliver far harsher blows when sparring.”

“I know,” Aly sighed, leaning into Sansa as she spoke. “But I hate seeing her in pain.”
“Well, I’m certain that you’ll find some way of soothing all of her aches and pain soon enough,”
Margaery teased, giving Aly a playful nudge with her hip. “Perhaps make her ache for a different
reason, hmm?”

Sansa made a chiding sound, while Aly laughed and swatted Margaery’s arm.

Alicent’s cheeks flushed at Margaery’s words, and yet a part of her was rather absurdly pleased by
the fact that Margaery felt comfortable making such a lewd jest in her presence.

Her mother would be horrified.

And Alicent knew that she should be as well, but she’d found over the past months that she was
actually . . . pleased that her friends were no longer dancing around such matters as they once had.
She’d noticed within the first week after learning about the matebond that her friends seemed more
at ease around her now. Much to her own shame, she’d never noticed the slight coil of tension that
each of them had been carrying until it was finally unwound.

She’d also been realizing these past months that most of her married friends—particularly
Margaery and Sansa—had been exercising a considerable amount of restraint around her. The first
time that she saw Margaery lean over and press her lips against Sansa’s, her chest had tightened
with panic as memories of her own first kiss surged and roiled within her, but she’d managed to
calm herself, managed to remind herself that there was nothing wrong with two Valyrians sharing
such . . . intimacies with each other. They were merely heeding the dictates of their goddess and
their own biology.

And I must do the same, she had reminded herself.

Westerosi were not Valyrians.

What was acceptable for them was not acceptable for her.

Such reminders—and her sessions with Dr. Arwen—were why panic no longer seized her every
time that Margaery and Sansa kissed each other’s lips—which was rather often. And they were
partly why she no longer fretted over seeing “love bites” on Margaery and Sansa’s necks. When
she’d finally gathered the courage to privately ask Sansa why Margaery would bruise her neck,
Sansa had smiled and gently assured her that such marks were not signs of abuse, but rather of
passion and love.

While Alicent still didn’t entirely understand how receiving such bruises could be a sign of
affection—no more than she understood why Margaery would jest about the pain of being bedded
—she supposed that the former, at least, did make some sense, considering Valyrians sealed their
matebond with a bite severe enough to leave behind a scar.

Yet another way that Valyrians differed from Westerosi.

All the same, for her friends’ sakes, Alicent was relieved that they no longer felt obliged to conceal
parts of themselves from her. And while she knew that she couldn’t be entirely blamed for the
concealment—her friends had all made that decision for themselves—she wasn’t able to
completely absolve herself of the lingering guilt at having indirectly forced them to inhibit their
behavior.
That guilt was partly the reason why she’d immediately agreed to Margaery’s suggestion that they
join Aly in the training yard to watch Rhaenyra and her knights spar. The other part had been her
own desire to sate her curiosity and see Rhaenyra wield a sword.

She’d learned from Rhaenyra herself during their first tea in the glass garden that her friend had
earned the sobriquet the Warrior Princess prior to ascending to the Dragon Throne. She’d later
learned from Margaery and Sansa that the sobriquet had been bestowed because Rhaenyra was the
first empress in history to receive shield sister training. And she’d eventually learned from Aemma
—whose expression had been stormier than Alicent could ever remember seeing it—that the reason
for Rhaenyra receiving shield sister training was that Viserra had forbidden her daughter from using
her magic for the first seventeen hundred years of her life.

“Dowager Queen Viserra feared Rhaenyra’s strength,” was all that Aemma had offered by way of
explanation for the strange edict.

Luwina had been willing to offer her a little more when Alicent sought explanation from her.
“Queen Rhaenyra is a daughter of prophecy—her birth foretold nearly two hundred and twenty-six
reigns ago. Through the Oracle, Mother Relle spoke of an empress born on the day of seven falling
stars, of an empress whose magic would be unparalleled, of an empress who could perform feats
hitherto unimagined, of an empress capable of creating and destroying worlds in a twinkling. When
Queen Rhaenyra was born immune to fire as the Betrayer was and wielding Maegor’s black flames,
there were many who feared that she would be our doom, and Empress Viserra was among them.”

While Alicent had often wondered how Rhaenyra came to be recognized as the Most Powerful
Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath, she’d never considered that it was the Valyrians’ own goddess who
had named her so.

“Gilly and I were speaking the other day about why Relle would choose shield sisters to be our
mates.” Aly’s voice drew Alicent from her own thoughts, and she turned to look at her curiously.

“Is it unusual for shield sisters to have non-shield sister wives?” She’d been under the impression
that the only discernible “rules” governing the matebond were that Valyrians only shared it with
each other, that it wouldn’t manifest if one half of the pair was a child and the other an adult, and
that nearly all women were born during the same regnal generation as their future wife.

“Mates,” Aly corrected, “and yes, it’s highly unusual. Shield sisters almost always have a shield
sister mate, such as Vora Hylda being mated to Vora Jonquil.”

“Clergy are much the same,” Sansa added. “Actresses as well. Magisters believe it has to do with
such women being better suited for each other since they are all dedicated to particular calling.”

“And Cassella found in her the sort of kindred spirit that I could never be. Actresses have a special
sort of bond with each other that comes from their shared dedication to the craft.” Rhaenyra’s
words about Cassella Cargyll and Elinda Darke echoed in Alicent’s ears, and it did make a sort of
sense, she supposed. Who but another actress could understand that specific kind of passion and
dedication? Who but another clergywoman could understand a priestess’ devotion to her goddess?
Who but another shield sister could understand a knight’s duty and loyalty to her liege lady?

So why would Relle ever allow otherwise?

Alicent reached out and lightly brushed her fingers over the back of Aly’s hand before offering it a
squeeze. “Is it difficult? Having to . . . share Sabitha with Rhaenyra?” The words felt wrong on her
tongue.

“At times,” Aly admitted, “but we’ve been mates for almost ten reigns now, and she’s only been a
knight since Her Majesty was Princess of Dragon Wood.”

Almost ten reigns.

Sytarr above, Alicent could hardly comprehend such a vast expanse of time, neverminded spending
all of it wed—mated—to another person. If by some miracle Criston hadn’t killed her first—and
she was certain that he would have—her own marriage would have spanned nearly another two
millennia, and that mere thought was enough to send an icy shiver of dread rippling down her
spine.

But Aly seemed both pleased by and content with her long marriage.

“May I ask how you and Sabitha met?” She’d begun making these inquiries of her friends about a
month and a half ago, curious about Valyrian courting rituals since their marriages were not so
much arranged as . . . almost fated, it seemed. And while she supposed that was a form of
arrangement as well, it felt far less direct than being ordered into the marriage bed by one’s father.

Naturally, she’d asked Margaery and Sansa first, and the soft, tender expression that had come over
Margaery’s face was one that Alicent had never seen before. “Seeing Sansa for the first time felt
like coming home. The moment I laid eyes on her, a sudden calm swept over me. It was a
peacefulness that I’d never experienced before and still cannot properly describe. I knew what it
was though, and what it meant.”

A bright and affectionate smile had curled Sansa’s lips, and she hadn’t hesitated to draw her wife—
mate—closer and press a brief kiss to her lips before returning her attention to Alicent. “I also felt
the matebond at once, but I didn’t immediately recognize it the way that Margaery did. After
meeting her, my mind was consumed by thoughts of her, imagining how much I wished to spend
time with her, how much I wished to hear her laugh, to walk arm-in-arm with her, to dance with her,
to create ice sculptures to make her smile.”

Sansa had chuckled then, and Margaery’s lips had curled into a smirk. “Some eighteen hours after
meeting her, I finally realized that it was the matebond rather than mere infatuation.”

“And neither of us wasted much time after that,” Margaery had finished with a sly smile.

Alicent hadn’t known how to respond to those particular words.

Aemma’s description of meeting Luwina had been far less . . . intimating. “We met at the Great
Library when I was visiting a distant cousin. We spoke a few words to each other and then
continued about our days. There wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about the moment. I
thought that she seemed nice, certainly pretty, but I didn’t think it was the matebond. That came
later, when she began haunting my dreams and I noticed that I was oft seeking the sound of her
heartbeat. But it was her scent that finally made me realize it was the matebond. The way that it
calmed and intoxicated me left little room for doubt.”

Aly was smiling now, warm and fond and somewhat reminiscent of the smile that Margaery had
worn when describing her first meeting with Sansa. “Sabitha and I met in Valeria. She’d only
recently been inducted as a full shield sister, and I was working as a glassblower and living with my
sweetheart at the time. Maggie was of course very pleased for me—”
“Sweetheart?” Alicent knew that she shouldn’t interrupt, but she’d never heard that particular term
before.

“A woman that you’re romantically involved with who isn’t your mate,” Sansa explained.

Alicent stared at her in confusion. While she knew that it wasn’t uncommon for husbands to take
lovers—especially among women of lower station who could not deny them—she hadn’t expected
such behavior from Valyrians. “I thought . . . but what of your mate?”

“Oh.” Sansa quickly shook her head. “It’s nothing so scandalous as that, Alicent, I assure you.
Sweethearts are merely the women that we pass our time with before we meet our mate. Life is
long, and few of us are blessed enough to find our mates early.”

Aly nodded in agreement. “A sweetheart is a dear companion, usually a beloved one as well, but
she’s not a mate, so all such relationships are fleeting and transient.”

“That seems,” Alicent hesitated, not wishing to insult her friends, but also finding their
dismissiveness of sweetheart relationships unsettling, “rather cold.” To engage in a relationship
with no intention of actually wedding the other person . . . it felt wrong.

But I shouldn’t be judging them. Valyrians are not Westerosi, and if having sweethearts is merely a
part of their culture—

“I assure you, Alicent, my relationship with Maggie was anything but cold.” Aly’s lips pursed for a
moment. “There is nothing . . . tawdry about sweetheart relationships. They may be fleeting, but
they also serve an important purpose beyond simple companionship. Being mated is not without its
trials, and sweetheart relationships are how many of us learn and experience for ourselves the
importance of building a relationship upon the Seven Unities of love, respect, trust,
communication, commitment, vulnerability, and choice.”

Alicent made a mental note to finally begin reading Lady Lannister and Lady Martell’s Primer.
Perhaps once she knew more she could—

“The queen’s consort.”

Consort.

Not wife or mate or even bondmate.

While Rhaenyra had never made mention of a sweetheart, her friend had been alive for over nine
million years, so surely she must have taken a few.

And yet . . .

“You look at me, and you’re able to see only me. Other Valyrians—even Cassella—can never truly
forget my position. But you, you know who I am, what I am, and much of what I’ve done, and you
. . . you haven’t turned away from me.”

Rhaenyra’s words from that night didn’t seem like those of a woman who had taken a sweetheart in
the past.

Alicent’s fingers drummed on her scarred wrist. “If most women take sweethearts before finding
their wi—mate—why does the Queen allow me to occupy,” she cleared her throat a little, still not
entirely comfortable with saying the words aloud, “her consort’s chambers.” Before, she’d assumed
that Rhaenyra simply wasn’t expecting to wed before Alicent died, but now she knew that her
friend could have a consort who wasn’t her wife.

Her friends all exchanged a brief series of looks before Sansa eventually spoke. “Queen Rhaenyra
decided long ago that she would wait for her mate and not have any sweethearts during the interim.
It’s a rather unusual decision—”

“It’s an unheard of decision,” Margaery corrected. “Most women find their mate within a reign, and
most women have sweethearts before then. But Queen Rhaenyra has waited over nine million years
for her mate and has never even considered taking a sweetheart in all that time.”

Alicent glanced between them, noting the grimace of Margaery’s face, the sympathy on Sansa’s,
and the disquiet on Aly’s. “Why is waiting so unusual?” She thought it a rather sweet thing—
waiting for one’s destined wife.

“Because it’s our nature to seek companionship.” Margaery shifted closer to Sansa, who
immediately wrapped an arm around her waist. “For a Valyrian, there is nothing worse than being
alone.”

Aly and Sansa nodded in agreement.

And Rhaenyra has been alone for over nine million years.

The words remained unspoken, and yet they echoed around them all the same.

Except that she hasn’t been alone, not truly.

Rhaenyra had Aemma and her knights, her sisters and her court, her countless mortal friends—

“When my mortal friends die, it breaks something in me.”

And yet Rhaenyra continued to befriend mortals.

Like me.

There had been a time when Alicent had contemplated her death and felt a sense of relief at the
prospect, but she hadn’t felt that way in almost three years, and now . . .

“You look at me, and you’re able to see only me.”

Perhaps it was vain—most certainly it’s vain, inexcusably prideful as well—but the thought of
Rhaenyra losing such a friendship—of losing her—made Alicent’s heart clench.

If she was anyone else, Rhaenyra could perhaps visit her in her afterlife once she died, but her soul
belonged to Sytarr, and she doubted that the god of her people would approve of Rhaenyra visiting
her when Alicent was meant to be suffering his eternal damnation.

She disliked the thought of Rhaenyra feeling alone.

Rhaenyra deserves to be happy.

 Alicent briefly drew her lower lip between her teeth before swiftly releasing it. “Is there a reason
why Rh—why the Queen has yet to find her mate?”

More looks were exchanged, and this time, it was Margaery who answered. “I’m afraid that is not
for us to say, Alicent. You will need to ask Her Majesty.”

Chapter End Notes

Was Alicent thirsting over Rhaenyra during that sparring session? Maybe . . .

Next Chapter: We get some more on Rhaenyra's tragic backstory. Huzzah?

 Past Scars
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 31:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Visenya Targaryen, 250th Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Velsinnia Azurewing, 1013th Queen of the Dragons

Trigger Warning: Discussions of past domestic abuse.

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Winter Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

Rhaenyra had been frowning at her tea as if it had personally offended her for nearly ten minutes
now.

Alicent had been quietly watching her and waiting for her to speak for an equal amount of time.

And yet the silence continued to stretch between them.

Realizing that her friend would not speak unless prompted, Alicent reached across the table and
covered Rhaenyra’s hand with her own. “Tell me your troubles, Nyra. I’ll give you the stars.”

A small smile twitched at the corners of Rhaenyra’s mouth at those words—a Valyrian phrase that
Alicent had been hearing for years—and she finally looked up from her tea. “It seems that I have
been rather poor company this afternoon. My apologies, Ali.”

“You needn’t apologize for being occupied by other matters, Nyra. I realize your duties will always
take precedence. I simply wondered if there was anything that I could do to ease your mind.”

“Your presence is more than enough.” Rhaenyra moved her hand so that she could tangle their
fingers together, squeezing softly.

Alicent allowed herself a brief moment to simply enjoy the warmth of her friend’s hand.

Rhaenyra suddenly groaned and leaned back in her chair, though she didn’t release Alicent’s hand.
“I received a letter this morning,” her lips twisted into a grimace, “from my mother.”

“Oh?” She knew that she didn’t entirely manage to conceal her surprise, but she’d been under the
impression that Rhaenyra and her mother rarely ever spoke to one another. From what little she’d
gleaned about Viserra over the years, she could understand her friend’s grimace.
Snapping her fingers, Rhaenyra summoned a neatly folded letter and offered it to Alicent. “The
blessings of Yule,” she said simply.

Unfolding the letter, Alicent’s eyes swiftly scanned over the neatly written missive. Viserra’s
handwriting was as perfect as Rhaenyra’s, but there was a stiffness to it, almost as if she’d been
holding her quill in a clenched fist.

Daughter,

I am writing to remind you that I will be visiting you at Stone Garden this coming Yule.
Alaura and I shall arrive the afternoon before Yulemas. Do make an effort to better leash your
temper this year. Neither of us desires a repetition of the debacle you felt the need to bring
about when last I visited. As ever, I am eager to spend the coming holidays with you.

Sincerely,

Viserra Everlasting,

First Advisor of Her Imperial Highness Daenora Targaryen,

250th Dowager Queen of Kastrell

Alicent couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Viserra including both of her current positions and
titles, though perhaps that was normal for such correspondences. “Her tone is rather,” she hesitated,
not wishing to insult Rhaenyra’s mother, but also thinking it rather rude that Viserra was informing
Rhaenyra that she was visiting rather than requesting permission to do so, “is it customary for a
relative to visit without invitation?”

“It is customary for Mother to visit without invitation.” Rhaenyra’s lip curled for a brief moment
before her expression smoothed. “She only ever leaves Dragon Wood once a millennia for the
holidays, and each time she does, she always visits one of us.” She sighed, shaking her head as she
eyed the letter with gloomy displeasure. “I had rather hoped that she would grant me the courtesy
of omission this cycle.”

“Perhaps this year won’t be as fraught as when she last visited.” As soon as the words left her
mouth, Alicent felt a fool for saying them. And a callous fool at that. Sytarr above, were their
positions reversed, Rhaenyra would never have said something so thoughtless to her.

Rhaenyra snorted. “The ‘debacle’ that Mother refers to in her missive was an argument that nearly
destroyed the entire west wing of the Keep.” She pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand.
“She isn’t wrong in saying that I must better leash my temper, but the wretched woman—” She
broke off, shaking her head. “Well, that ink had dried. I intend to call on Laena later this week and
beg her to visit as well. Perhaps between her, Rhaenys, and Alaura, Mother and I won’t set fire to
as many curtains.”
For a brief moment, Alicent allowed herself to believe that Rhaenyra was merely jesting, but the
expression on her friend’s face made clear that she was serious. She suddenly wondered if perhaps
she ought to remain in her chambers as she had during previous Yules. While she’d been
anticipating the opportunity to experience a new aspect of Valyrian culture, she had little interest in
watching a pair of empresses do battle.

Especially since both of them were fire elementals.

She knew that Rhaenyra would never intentionally harm her, but she was also well aware that fire
had a life of its own once ignited, and she already had dozens of burn scars.

Swiftly setting aside the disquieting thought, Alicent returned her attention to Rhaenyra. “Perhaps
you could simply avoid dining with her?”

Rhaenyra smiled wryly. “Would that I could. I’d much rather dine with only you, Laena, and Rhea,
but Yulemas and Yuletide are a time to celebrate family and the blood that bonds us. So I’ll be
obliged to break bread with her at least a few times.”

Alicent had assumed as much, considering what her friends had told her about Yule and what she’d
been reading. “Alaura is your mother’s w—mate, yes?” She wondered why Rhaenyra did not call
her “mother” or any other variation of the word.

“She is.” Rhaenyra’s wry smile visibly softened. “She’s very sweet and gentle. Far kinder than
Mother deserves. I believe you will like her well enough.”

“Me?” Alicent hadn’t realized that Rhaenyra intended to introduce her to her family, and the
prospect made her stomach clench uncomfortably. While she was curious about Laena and
wouldn’t mind meeting Rhaenyra’s favorite sister, she had little interest in meeting her friend’s
mother.

“Only if you wish,” Rhaenyra assured her. “I would not want to ruin your holidays, Ali.”

“May I consider the matter?” While she was fairly certain that her desire to meet Laena would
overcome her trepidation of Viserra, she needed time to properly assess all of the different factors.

“Of course.” Rhaenyra picked up her cup and sipped her tea for a moment before saying, “Perhaps
I should pray that Alaura finally manages to convince Mother to visit Deepwood Motte this Yule. I
believe that the last time Mother spent the holidays with Alaura’s family was shortly before I
abdicated the Dragon Throne.”

Alicent suddenly found herself wondering if Rhaenyra would be eager to visit her future wife—
mate’s home during the holidays, or if she would resist abandoning Stone Garden and her duties as
queen.

Perhaps that is why Rhaenyra never wished to take a sweetheart?

It would hardly surprise her if Rhaenyra chose to deny herself romantic companionship for the sake
of duty.

But while that explanation answered one of her questions from the week before, another yet
remained.
“Most women find their mate within a reign.”

So why was Rhaenyra still alone after over nine million years?

Surely it could not be for lack of searching. Rhaenyra’s magic was strong enough that she could
teleport anywhere on Valyria in a twinkling, and there were only nine-point-four million women—
many of whom were already married—for her to even consider.

“You will need to ask Her Majesty.”

Alicent searched her friend’s face, not wishing to upset her merely to sate her own curiosity, but
Rhaenyra seemed less pensive now, more relaxed, and her hand was warm and pliant in Alicent’s
own. “Nyra?”

“Yes, Ali?”

“I,” she hesitated, not entirely certain how to politely broach the matter, “I heard the other day that
most women find their wi—mates within a reign.”

Rhaenyra’s hand tensed beneath Alicent’s, but she didn’t pull away. “That is something magisters
have observed, yes.” She paused, and now it was her eyes that searched Alicent’s face before she
finally continued. “But few women actually have to spend a full four million years waiting.” While
her voice wasn’t cold, it lacked the warmth that Alicent had grown accustomed to, and her tone was
unnervingly detached. “Daemona met her mate before her one thousandth birthday, and all of my
sisters were mated and bonded before Mother abdicated.”

Alicent waited, expecting her friend to say more, but Rhaenyra remained silent.

By now, she could distinguish between her friend’s silences, and this wasn’t the kind of silence that
meant Rhaenyra would refuse to speak further on a matter, merely that she would say no more
without prompting.

“So I suppose your waiting over nine million years is unusual then.”

They both knew that it was, but Rhaenyra nodded all the same. “Unheard of, actually.”

It seemed there were many things that had been unheard of prior to Rhaenyra.

“Why haven’t you found your mate yet, Nyra?” Even as she asked the question that had been
nagging at her for over a week now, some part of her sensed that learning the answer would not
offer her any actual peace.

Rhaenyra expelled a slow—almost shuddering—breath. “Because the universes demand a cosmic

balance, and this is mine.” She swallowed thickly. “The Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw
Breath,” her voice trembled, “cursed to spend eternity alone.”

“I don’t . . .” Alicent’s brow furrowed in confusion, and she ached to rise from her chair and draw
Rhaenyra into her arms, to banish the misery shining in her amethyst eyes, but her legs refused to
obey her. “I don’t understand. I thought that all Valyrians have a mate.”

“We do. And for nearly one billion years, we assumed that every Valyrian’s mate would herself be
a Valyrian.” Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, tension coiling in her shoulders. “Until me.”
Alicent’s eyes widened slightly at the implication.

No.

Surely not.

Surely Rhaenyra couldn’t mean—

“I was an impatient child,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice almost ragged. “Impatient and foolish. I
watched as three of my sisters found their mates in fairly rapid succession, and I . . . I decided to
consult the Oracle, to ask Mother Relle herself when I would finally meet my mate.” She shook her
head, not meeting Alicent’s eyes. “Aemma advised against it, warning that I might not like the
answer. Mother told me that the Oracle should not be troubled with such a trifling matter.” She
snorted. “Had she not said that, perhaps I would have heeded Aemma’s advice.”

Alicent’s fingers were still intertwined with Rhaenyra’s, and she squeezed her hand, but her friend
didn’t notice.

While the distant and far-off expression that had settled over Rhaenyra’s face was one Alicent had
grown accustomed to seeing over the years, there was something horribly unnerving about the way
her friend’s eyes were both vacant and intensely focused as she stared beyond Alicent’s shoulder.

“When I asked the Oracle when I would meet my mate, she instead told me that my mate would be
one not born of Valyria.”

Alicent’s stomach churned as icy horror rippled down her spine.

Sytarr above.

“There are very few immortal species in the multiverse.”

Rhaenyra’s mate would be mortal, which meant—

“I learned that day that I’m destined to watch my mate grow old and die in a twinkling, to love her
only to lose her. Or perhaps to never even know her at all, should she live and die before I actually
find her.” Rhaenyra’s sudden bark of laughter was harsh and cutting and bitter, and it was all that
Alicent could do not to flinch. “And even if I manage to find her, her not being Valyrian means that
she can’t even feel the matebond.”

Alicent opened and closed her mouth a few times, not knowing what to say, but needing to say
something. Despite her ward, she could feel Rhaenyra’s anguish as if it were her own. Her throat
felt tight, and her wrist throbbed, and all she wanted—

“Valyrians became immortal through magic.” Alicent squeezed her friend’s hand once more,
desperate to calm the storm that she could sense raging within her. “Could you not use the same
spell on your mate?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “That spell was created specifically for Valyrians—with our unique
biology in mind—and while I no longer remember the actual requirements—” Her eyes suddenly
squeezed shut, and Alicent knew that she was making an effort to compose herself.

Without thinking, Alicent sent out a wave of calm—just as Rhaenyra had taught her.
She felt Rhaenyra’s ward the same moment that her friend’s eyes snapped open.

Alicent’s breath hitched when she realized what she’d done. “I—”

The ward lowered.

And Rhaenyra visibly relaxed.

For the next few minutes, neither of them spoke. Alicent continued squeezing Rhaenyra’s hand and
offering her friend gentle waves of calm and comfort. Rhaenyra’s breathing steadied as the tension
finally left her shoulders and jaw and her inner turmoil began to ease.

When Rhaenyra finally spoke, the usual warmth had returned to her voice, and her eyes were soft
as they gazed at Alicent. “Thank you, Ali.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed. “Please forgive me, Nyra, for . . . for making you think about such
matters.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Rhaenyra squeezed her hand. “I wanted you to know. I want,” she
hesitated, “I want you to know all of me.”

Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s chest even as her mother’s voice and her own reminders about not
allowing sinful thoughts to become sinful deeds echoed in her ears. “I want that as well.”

Rhaenyra smiled slightly, but then her eyes lowered. “My apologies, Ali. There is more to tell you
but, but if we could perhaps continue on the morrow? I find myself . . .”

“Of course, Nyra.” Alicent’s thumb brushed over the back of her friend’s hand, gently tracing small
circles the way that Rhaenyra so oft did for her. “And you needn’t tell me any more if you don’t
wish.”

“I know. But as I said,” Rhaenyra cheeks flushed slightly as she glanced down at their joined hands,
“I wish for you to know all of me.”

As Alicent’s fingers danced over the strings of her lute the following evening, she could feel
Rhaenyra’s eyes upon her.

Unusual, but not unexpected.

She’d spent most of her day at the shop working on her commissions and her gift for Rhaenyra.
The needles that Mistress Damella had enchanted for her functioned exactly as her employer had
hoped, and Alicent didn’t even mind that she had to prick her finger each time that she wished to
use one of her new needles.

Rhaenyra had been delighted when Alicent told her about the new spell, promising to personally
speak with the Director of the Spell Committee—Lady Empress Baelora the Third—about
obtaining authorization to use the spell and have it temporarily classified as proprietary until all of
the formal proceedings—which oft lasted months—could take place.

Alicent knew that she should feel guilty for allowing Rhaenyra to circumvent Valyrian bureaucracy
on her behalf—though Rhaenyra insisted that such authorizations were oft granted to artisans—but
it was frighteningly easy to forget her guilt as she watched a needle sew together the seams of a
dress in the exact same way that she herself would have done by hand.

Also helping to assuage her guilt was the knowledge that it would have been impossible to
complete her commissions on time without those needles.

When Alicent had returned to the Queen’s Keep that evening, Rhaenyra had greeted her at the door
and immediately swept her off to the Astral Tower for supper. They’d spent the meal discussing
Alicent being asked by Mistress Esfira to take part in the masque planned for the Third Night of
Yule, as well as some of Rhaenyra’s past travels to other worlds, but neither of them had spoken
about their conversation the day before.

Alicent had assumed that they would talk after retiring to Rhaenyra’s privy chamber, but her friend
had asked if she might play something instead. Realizing that Rhaenyra was not yet ready to speak,
Alicent had acquiesced and briefly returned to her chambers to fetch her lute.

The song that she was playing now was a Valyrian tune she’d been teaching herself. It told the story
of a woman who by chance encountered her mate on the road but was too shy to even greet her,
which in turn resulted in a rather meandering search until they finally found each other once more.

It was a sweet song.

Sweeter than most of the songs that Alicent had learned back home.

As the final notes faded away, Rhaenyra sighed quietly and offered her a warm smile. “Magnificent
as always, Ali.”

Despite having received such praise for months now, Alicent’s cheeks still reddened. “You’re too
kind, Nyra.”

Rhaenyra’s smile faltered, and her eyes lowered to her lap. “I am not always kind, Ali. There are
things that I’ve done . . . More that I must tell you.”

Alicent hastily placed the lute back on its stand before sliding closer to Rhaenyra. “Nyra, if you’re
not ready, we needn’t speak any more about yesterday’s matter. I want to know you, yes, but you’re
not obliged to tell me your secrets.”

Rhaenyra smiled slightly, but there were already shadows flickering in her eyes. “I know, Ali, and
what I wish to tell you . . . It’s not a secret so much as . . .” Her lips pursed. “Everyone the world
over knows pieces, but I’ve never . . .” She closed her eyes, expelling a slow breath. “This isn’t a
story that I’ve shared with many, but I want to share it with you, if you’ll allow.”

Leaning forward, Alicent briefly touched their foreheads together. “I meant what I said yesterday,
Nyra. I wish to know all of you.”

Rhaenyra offered her a small slightly strained smile before neatly folding her hands in her lap and
taking several deep breaths. “After visiting the Oracle, I was . . . despondent. Laena and Laenora
tried to assure me that all would be well, that Mother Relle would not be so cruel as to condemn me
to such heartache, but how was I meant to believe them knowing what I did?”

“You couldn’t.” Alicent had never expected love or affection from her own marriage. Her mother
had made clear what her duties as a wife would entail, and loving her husband or being loved by
him in turn had not been among them.

But Rhaenyra had been raised knowing about the matebond, knowing that her future wife—mate
would love and cherish her. To have that so cruelly torn away . . .

While Alicent may not understand her friend’s specific pain, she certainly knew what it was to
suddenly feel as if a fundamental piece of herself had been shattered. She’d never expected her
future husband to love her, but she’d always expected that she would one day have children of her
own whom she could adore and treasure and nurture.

Even beyond the horror of realizing how accursed she truly was in Sytarr’s eyes, even beyond the
visceral terror of what Criston would do to her since she couldn’t give him sons, Alicent
remembered her utter anguish upon realizing that she would never have children. And she
remembered the disgust and confusion that had come later that evening when Criston insisted on
bedding her, despite now knowing that their coupling would never bear fruit.

A small frown stole across Alicent’s lips at that thought.

“The Oracle’s prophecy allowed me to resist my inclinations to wander for some four thousand
years,” Rhaenyra continued, her voice drawing Alicent from her own dark musings.

Alicent silently cursed herself for becoming distracted. She wanted to listen to Rhaenyra, wanted to
know this part of her friend, wanted to offer whatever comfort that she could.

“I was terrified that I would find my mate while traveling, that I would have to watch her die all too
soon and then face an eternity alone.” Rhaenyra began twisting her back rose ring around her
finger. “I thought that if I remained on Valyria, perhaps I might avoid my fate, but . . .” She
shrugged. “The need to wander became too great, and so I traveled to Casgarith.”

Surely Rhaenyra did not mean to tell her that she’d met her mate on Casgarith. Even considering
that her friend had been actively concealing the truth of the matebond from her, the way that
Rhaenyra had spoken yesterday certainly hadn’t implied that she’d found her mate.

“I fell in love with my life there,” a small, wistful smile was now tugging at the corners of
Rhaenyra’s mouth, “with my friends, and with that strange euphoria and sense of possibility that
mortals have when they know that each day might be their last. I realized during that first life that
the pain of loss could be worth it, that grief is merely a manifestation of love.”

Alicent’s lips pursed slightly at that. Grief as a manifestation of love. While she supposed that was
one interpretation, she knew from painful and personal experience that there were many ways to
suffer grief without first knowing love.

“I came to believe that even though my mate would die, my time with her could still be sweet, that
we could make the inevitable pain worthwhile. Together.” A soft sound somewhere between a quiet
laugh and a wounded sigh escaped Rhaenyra’s lips. “That belief was further strengthened when I
returned home and began consulting with the Shadow Casters, when I realized that the souls of the
dead could be brought here—with their deity’s permission—even if only for a time.”

Alicent made a mental note to ask Luwina about Shadow Casters later. She’d known that Valyrians
could travel to afterlives, but she hadn’t realized that they could manifest the souls of the dead here.

Strong Sytarr.
“The more I traveled, the more friends I lost . . . I suppose some part of me thought all of that grief
would better prepare me for the day I had to watch my mate die. But I was an utter fool to believe
such a thing.” Rhaenyra released a shuddering breath, the muscles in her shoulders tightening even
as her wistful smile returned—this time soft and almost yearning, yet tinged with pain and
melancholy and something darker.

“It was the first day of spring,” she murmured, so quietly that Alicent had to lean closer to hear her.
“I remember the smell of primrose and chamomile. I remember feeling the sun warm on my skin,
the cool breeze tickling my cheeks. I . . .” Rhaenyra’s eyes closed for a moment. “I was living
under the name Azlyn at the time. That particular Terra was suffused with an old sort of magic
similar enough to my own that I could pretend to be a Terran sorceress.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes opened, but they were distant and far away, though not vacant as they had been the
day before. “Her name was Emalia.” Warmth flooded her voice then—warmth and affection and
longing . . . But there was something else as well—a bitterness and pain that made the fine hairs on
the back of Alicent’s neck stand on end.

“Emalia was . . . She was remarkable. Intelligent and quick-witted, beautiful and bright, warm and
loving. A healer by trade and by nature.” Rhaenyra paused, her amethyst eyes clearing as she
glanced over at Alicent. “And I fell in love with her.”

Something sharp and burning lanced through Alicent at those words, nearly making her gasp aloud
at its intensity. Her ward flared in response, and she belatedly realized that the utter anguish she’d
just felt was Rhaenyra’s.

Sytarr above, was this what it was to love?

Did it always bring such terrible pain?

Perhaps her ancestors had been wise to lock away such a terrible emotion.

Without thinking, she reached out and covered Rhaenyra’s hands with her own, and that was when
she noticed that her friend was trembling. I never should have asked about her mate yesterday. Had
she realized that it would cause her friend such distress, she wouldn’t have said a word.

“We were happy,” Rhaenyra sighed, her voice somehow both sorrowful and detached all at once.
“For almost five years, we were happy together. We became friends over a matter of months, and it
wasn’t long before we’d joined our respective healing practices. She taught me more about herblore
than anyone I’d met before or have met since. And I was . . . I was drawn to her. Something about
her called to me, and some days, it almost seemed as if she felt it, too.”

“Sansa’s mere presence calms and comforts me as nothing else can, and her pheromones have a
stronger effect on me than anyone else’s. They also . . . call to me, in a way. When she’s not near, I
yearn for her.”

Had Emalia been Rhaenyra’s mate?

“When I realized that I was falling in love with her, I attempted to leave, terrified that she would
spurn me.” Rhaenyra flipped one of her hands over and gently clasped Alicent’s. “The Terrans of
that era were not particularly . . . accepting of such relationships.”

Alicent’s ears pricked at that. “Oh?”

“They were taught that it was a sin against their god. But the night that I attempted to leave, Emalia
stopped me. She stopped me,” Rhaenyra’s breath hitched, “and she told me that she loved me as
well.”

Alicent wanted to ask how Emalia could go against her god in such a way, how she could turn her
back on his teachings, but she held her tongue, knowing that Emalia’s faith was not what mattered
at the moment.

“I thought that her loving me . . . I thought that perhaps . . .” Rhaenyra’s grip on Alicent’s hand
tightened a fraction. “When she learned that I was a sorceress, she was angry that I had lied to her
for so long, and I can hardly blame her for that, but some of the things she said to me that night
. . .” She shook her head. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, so I begged her to forgive me,
and I,” she gulped, “I swore to her that I wasn’t hiding anything else.”

Alicent couldn’t help but wince. While she understood why Rhaenyra had lied, she also empathized
with Emalia’s sense of betrayal.

Rhaenyra’s rings were spinning wildly around her fingers. “Emalia said that she forgave me, and I
had no reason not to believe her. Our life together continued on much as it had before, save that
now I was using my magic to discreetly heal her patients with her knowledge and blessing. And the
way that Emalia behaved towards me during those years . . . She was so kind and sweet and loving.
And I felt . . . Even with my secret between us, I felt as if she knew me in a way that no one else
ever had.”

“You look at me, and you’re able to see only me.”

“I want you to know all of me.”

Alicent’s throat felt tight, and dread coiled in her stomach. Part of her didn’t wish to know what had
happened between them, didn’t wish to know why Rhaenyra had never spoken of Emalia until now,
didn’t wish to know why the mere thought of this woman brought her friend such hurt and sorrow.

Rhaenyra’s expression suddenly darkened, her hold on Alicent’s hand briefly tightening almost to
the point of pain before she swiftly released her and fisted the skirts of her gown instead. “We were
enjoying a quiet evening together when it came. So fast. Too fast. I should have . . . I should have
heard it, but I was distracted by my own racing thoughts. I should have scented it, but . . . but I was
so focused on Emalia, on finally telling her the truth. I should have reacted sooner, but I was . . . I
froze.”

A growl thundered in her chest, and her eyes blazed with amethyst fire. “Three seconds. That was
how long it took for that frost demon to tear her apart.” The fire roared brighter, and her fangs
flashed in the orb-light. “I only needed one to obliterate it.”

A cold shiver rippled down the length of Alicent’s spine.

Rhaenyra’s voice was no longer detached or sorrowful or wistful or melancholy.

It was trembling with barely suppressed fury.

The sort of fury that Alicent had only seen once before—albeit briefly.

“He, he had a cage. I can’t, I can’t stand small spaces.”

That was the first time she’d seen even a hint of the Firestorm.

“When I saw what . . . there was so little and yet so much—” Rhaenyra’s words dissolved into a
furious snarl.

Alicent’s fingers found her emerald orchid ring. Her chest felt tight, but not with fear or panic. It
was something else . . . something that she couldn’t quite identify.

“I was so . . . rage cannot begin to describe the anguish and rage that I felt . . . But what I did . . .”
The inferno burning in her eyes wavered for a brief moment. “I barely even remember what came
after. Only cold and blood and bone and ice and fire and fury . . . And . . .” Rhaenyra shuddered,
her expression twisting with a combination of anger and guilt. “Emalia didn’t deserve to die like
that. She didn’t . . . I wasn’t in my right mind, but that isn’t an excuse . . . What I did wasn’t
vengeance. Slaughtering those demons . . . destroying their planet . . . I lost control . . .”

“Dowager Queen Viserra feared Rhaenyra’s strength.”

“An empress capable of creating and destroying worlds in a twinkling.”

Sytarr above.

“And I fell in love with her.”

“Emalia was your mate,” Alicent whispered, her voice sounding ragged and hoarse even to her own
ears.

She knew that she should be horrified.

Rhaenyra had just confessed to destroying an entire planet while in a blind rage.

Except . . .

Except it wasn’t simply rage consuming her. It was grief as well.

“Grief is merely a manifestation of love.”

If that were so, Alicent couldn’t even begin fathom emotions of such magnitude.

Was that what it meant to love a mate?

She couldn’t imagine any husband experiencing such fury and sorrow over losing a wife, no matter
how terrible the circumstances.

Criston wouldn’t care even if one of his favored wives was murdered in front of him, not now that
they’ve given him his sons.

Perhaps he would be angry at having a possession taken, but he wouldn’t grieve for her.

Valyrians are certainly not Westerosi.

Rhaenyra was slowly shaking her head, the fury fading from her eyes as she slumped back and
covered her face with her hands. “I thought that she was. I thought . . . I loved her fiercely, far more
than I had ever loved anyone before. And some of the signs were there, but . . . but sometimes I
find myself wondering if I ever truly knew her at all.” Her hands fell into her lap as her face twisted
with pain and her breaths stuttered. “After I . . . Afterwards, I traveled to the Astral Plane to find
her. And I told her everything. Who I am. What I am.”

Alicent wasn’t certain that she wanted to hear any more, not when her friend’s voice was filled with
such anguish. “Nyra—”

“She was furious.” Rhaenyra’s voice was smaller than Alicent had ever heard it before. “Far more
furious than the night she learned that I was a sorceress. I’d never seen her so wroth. She said that I
had destroyed her life, that our entire relationship was nothing but lies and manipulation and deceit.
She called me a monster—a demon worse than the one that had killed her.” Tears welled in her
eyes. “She cursed my name and wished that she’d never met me, prayed that I would spend the rest
of eternity miserable and alone. She told me to leave and never return, that she never wished to see
me again.”

For a moment, Alicent could only stare at Rhaenyra in stunned silence, unable to understand how
anyone could say such vile things to someone they’d once loved. Criston had said far worse to her
during their marriage, but he’d never loved her, never cared for her at all. Emalia . . .

Shaking off her stupor, Alicent reached out and drew Rhaenyra into her arms, holding her as close
and tight as she could manage. While she couldn’t quite maneuver the other woman onto her lap,
she did her best to envelop Rhaenyra the way that Rhaenyra had so oft done for her.

Rhaenyra was trembling.

Alicent pressed a gentle kiss to her friend’s temple and lightly stroked her back. As she had the day
before, she sent forth soothing waves of calm and comfort to wash over Rhaenyra, whose ward
lowered in response. “You didn’t deserve such hateful words, Nyra.”

“I deserved far worse,” Rhaenyra rasped.

“Nyra—”

“Emalia broke my heart that day.” Rhaenyra reached up to roughly wipe away a tear that had begun
to wend its way down her flushed cheek. “She broke me. But I deserved her censure. If I hadn’t
. . .”

“Rhaenyra—”

“When I returned home, the Imperial Court determined that I was in the throes of a blood rage
brought on by the murder of—” Rhaenyra’s voice was calmer now, and she was no longer
trembling, but she was clinging to Alicent’s waist. “They said that in light of my mental state, and
considering all of the atrocities that the frost demons had committed across that portion of the
multiverse,” she snorted, a sharp and bitter sound, “I was only sentenced to fifteen hundred years in
one of the Great Glass Prisons, but it should have been longer.”

Great Glass Prisons.

Alicent suddenly recalled the seven glass sculptures that she’d seen clustered on one of the shelves
in Rhaenyra’s room. She remembered thinking them a rather peculiar assortment, remembered
wondering why Rhaenyra would collect a sloth, a whip, a tower, a locked book, unbalanced scales,
a broken sword, and a pedestal.
A tower.

“The Princess in the Tower.”

Strong Sytarr, Rhaenyra’s people had given her a sobriquet for that?

“I spent the next fifteen hundred years contemplating her words and my own actions.” Rhaenyra
hugged her tighter. “Fifteen hundred years of solitude.”

“For a Valyrian, there is nothing worse than being alone.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly to meet Alicent’s eyes. “While I was in that tower, I swore to
myself that I would no longer seek my mate. I realized that even if I did find her, she would never
be able to truly love me.”

Alicent’s heart clenched at the quiet resignation in Rhaenyra’s voice. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I? The Oracle told me that my mate would be one not born of Valyria. A mortal unable to
actually feel the matebond. Where could that possibly lead to other than heartbreak?”

Alicent had no answer for that.

“I can’t . . . I don’t think that I could survive another Emalia.” Rhaenyra looked away from her.
“And if she were to die as Emalia did . . .” A shudder wracked her body, and Alicent hugged her
tighter. “I lost myself to a blood rage once. Who is to say it can’t happen again? And my rage it’s
. . . I’m too dangerous.”

No you aren’t, Alicent wanted to say, but she knew that those words would fall on deaf ears, so she
settled for simply kissing Rhaenyra’s temple again and continuing to stroke her back.

“Thank you, Ali,” Rhaenyra murmured, “for listening.”

Alicent’s heart swelled in her chest even as guilt coiled in her stomach. “Thank you for telling me,
Nyra.”

Three Weeks Later

Rhaenyra pinched the bridge of her nose, reminding herself once more that she loved her daughter
and that chastising her for her very understandable—if entirely exasperating—grudge would not
help matters in the least. “Visenya—”

“Mother, I fail to understand why you continue to pester me on this matter.” Visenya had begun to
pace around her study, though she remained in her natal form at the moment. “You have the support
of my sisters, which is all the Golden Laws require to convene a Great Council, as well as the
support of all eight matriarchs and fifty-three of the matrons. You don’t require my approval.”

Rising to her feet, Rhaenyra swiftly crossed the room to stand in front of her pacing daughter and
halt her movements.

After months of debating with her through a mirror, she’d finally decided to fly to Dragon Ridge
and speak with her directly, though thus far her efforts remained as fruitless as ever. She understood
Visenya’s lingering pique, truly she did, but her daughter was placing her own feelings above the
good of the Empire, and that was not something Rhaenyra could allow.

She sometimes worried whether such thoughts made her no better than her own mother.

“Visenya, please sit. Perhaps call for some tea, hmm?”

Her daughter scowled at her for a moment before relenting. “Very well.”

Once they were seated and tea had been sent for, Rhaenyra folded her hands in her lap. Part of her
wished that she could take Visenya’s hands in her own, but now was not the time for such
sentiment. At the moment, they were a queen and her empress, not a mother and her daughter.

“Those who rule are the slaves of their people, bound by the chains of duty.”

“Visenya, I know that I do not need your support, but you must realize that it does not serve the
Empire for its rulers to appear disunited.”

“I’m well aware of the optics, Mother.” Visenya’s fingers drummed on her desk. “Just as I was
aware of the optics when Velsinnia Azurewing refused to offer aid during the War. Our oldest
allies, our closest kin, the first species reconstituted on Valyria by our own ancestors’ fire and
blood, refused my call.”

“A decision that a number of archons regret—”

“But not a decision that the Queen regrets.” Visenya shook her head. “You and Syrax Sunwing
wish for this Summit to be a demonstration of goodwill between the Children of Fire, but how can
that even come to pass when the Azurewing refuses? Or have you secured her support this past
week without my knowing?”

Not unless Syrax managed to secure it without my knowing.

“You know as well as I that only the Queen of the Dragons can call for an Archonate Parliament, so
unless the Azurewing agrees, what does my support even matter?”

“Merciful Mother, Visenya,” Rhaenyra huffed, smacking her palm on the desk. “Perhaps if you
would put aside your pride and offer your support for the Summit, Queen Velsinnia would do the
same.”

“So once again it must be I who bends?” Visenya shook her head. “No, Mother. It was not I who
first created this rift. It was not I who turned my back on an alliance of friendship and respect
dating back over one billion years. If the Azurewing wishes to mend things, she may do so. If you
wish to mend things, you may do so, but I will not grovel to her a second time.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched. Seven Hells why had Grandmother Alyssa seen fit to mold such an
intractable empress? “Do you think yourself the only one wounded by the Azurewing’s refusal?”
she demanded. “Do you think yourself the only one surprised? Do you think yourself the only one
galled? Velsinnia Azurewing lives and breathes only because the All Mother and her sisters gave
their own fire and blood to hatch Caladria Moonwing’s egg. Were it not for us, the dragons would
be no more than a few petrified eggs. Yes, they owe us, but by Her Faces, Visenya, you cannot
allow these wounds to fester. Unless you’re planning your own Purges.”
Visenya’s head snapped towards her, lavender eyes blazing. “How dare you?”

“How dare you? This Summit benefits us all, and a proper empress would be considering the needs
of her people rather than allowing her own petty grievances to sway her decisions.”

“My apologies, Mother, I forgot that only one of us is allowed to place her personal desires and
whims above the betterment of the Empire.”

A growl rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest, and the air around them was becoming choked with the
scents of burning roses and sour oranges. “Don’t you dare bring Alicent into this,” she hissed.

“You not only placed your personal wishes first, you broke the thrice-damned Golden Laws to do
it,” Visenya snapped, rising to her feet. “Ordering her traded like chattel, that is black letter
engaging in the slave trade, Mother. But did any of us say anything?”

“You all had plenty to say.” Rhaenyra stood and glared at her daughter. “What I did is not
comparable, and you know it.”

“What you did—” Visenya broke off at the sound of a brisk knock on her study door. “Enter.”

The door opened, and a young woman hurried inside, swiftly placed a silver tray on the desk,
curtsied, and retreated after giving them both a worried look.

Visenya expelled a heavy breath, slumping back down onto her chair and rubbing her temples. “I
don’t wish to quarrel with you, Mother.”

Rhaenyra sighed as well as she retook her seat. “Nor I you, Visenya.”

Three consecutive generations of fire elemental empresses was not unheard of, but it wasn’t
particularly common either. And she oft found herself grateful that Visenya’s own heir had been
born with an affinity for water.

Visenya pinched the bridge of her nose. “I am aware that a show of unity is required, Mother, but I
cannot simply forget that moment when the Azurewing told me that our war was not hers.”

“I am not asking you to forget, Visenya, or even to forgive. I am asking you to move forward.”
Rhaenyra reached across the table and clasped her hand. “I understand your anger, but the
Westerosi took enough from us as it is. Do not allow them to destroy what our ancestors built with
the dragons.”

Visenya’s lips pursed. “Once the Azurewing agrees, I will offer my public support for the Summit.”

“Visenya—”

“Until then, you may privately inform Queen Velsinnia, or her kyrons, that this Summit has my full
support.”

Rhaenyra smiled then, squeezing her daughter’s hand. “Thank you, Visenya.”

“As I said, you don’t actually need my support in this, but if you think this will help sway the
Azurewing, then fine. Do as you will.”
Her daughter’s tone was clipped, but Rhaenyra rose and leaned across the desk to kiss her forehead
all the same. “Thank you, Visenya,” she repeated.

Visenya made only a noncommittal sound in response, but Rhaenyra could sense her satisfaction
and scent her happiness.

Alicent smiled happily when the door to her privy chamber opened and Rhaenyra strode inside. Her
friend had spent most of the day at Dragon Ridge, and Alicent had begun to wonder whether she
would return to the Keep in time for dinner.

“Alicent, I finally—” Rhaenyra broke off, her steps faltering as her pleased smile twisted into a
disgusted grimace.

For a moment, Alicent didn’t understand her friend’s reaction, then she realized that the sleeves of
her gown were still bunched up around her elbows from when she’d been sketching new dress
designs earlier.

Hurt and humiliation burned in her cheeks as she swiftly tugged her sleeves down to cover the
myriad of scars marring her arms. “I’m—My apologies, Nyra, I, I forgot that my sleeves were still
. . .”

“Why are you apologizing for the state of your sleeves?” Rhaenyra’s pleasant smile had returned,
and her head was cocked to one side. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Ali.”

Save for disgusting you, she thought miserably.

Alicent knew that it shouldn’t matter. She knew that she shouldn’t be so vain, but every time that
she saw Rhaenyra’s lips twist into a displeased grimace, every time that her friend’s eyes lingered
on one of the scars that her gowns didn’t entirely conceal, she wanted nothing so much as to curl up
and disappear.

More oft than not, she managed to forget the majority of her scars when she was with Rhaenyra,
managed to forget the horrors that Criston had inflicted upon her body over the years, managed to
trick herself into believing that he hadn’t made her a hideous wreck beneath her clothes.

But when Rhaenyra grimaced . . .

Rhaenyra swiftly crossed the room to stand in front of her and held out her hands.

Alicent hesitated a moment before placing her hands in Rhaenyra’s, smiling a little when her friend
gently cradled her hands and rubbed soothing circles on the backs with her thumbs.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s voice was soft and soothing. “And you
needn’t fret over how you wear your sleeves on my account.” She allowed one of Alicent’s hands
to fall before asking, “May I?”

No.

She wanted to shake her head—fairly certain that she knew what her friend intended—and she
knew that she ought to deny her, but the earnest warmth in Rhaenyra’s eyes made her nod instead.
Rhaenyra lightly pinched the fabric of her sleeve and began to draw it up.

Alicent’s throat tightened as more and more of her ruined flesh was exposed. She knew that her
scars were ugly. She knew that she was ugly. Criston had destroyed her body for his own
amusement and then ordered Larys to do no more than prevent death from claiming her. He’d only
preserved her face because it pleased him more for that part of her to remain “pretty.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Rhaenyra’s own eyes widened with alarm. “Please don’t cry, Ali.” She immediately released her
hand and sleeve. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to make you cry. I only thought
to—”

Sniffling, Alicent hastily wiped at her eyes. “It isn’t your fault, Nyra.”

After fumbling through the pockets of her dress, Rhaenyra produced a handkerchief and offered it
to her. “You’re crying because of me. Of course that’s my fault.”

Alicent accepted the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Sytarr above, she must look pathetic.
“I’m not crying because of you,” she assured her.

“I,” Rhaenyra hesitated, “you’re crying because of your scars then?” Concern creased her brow.
“Are they bothering you? Is there some lingering phantom pain? I can—”

“No, Nyra, they don’t . . . they don’t hurt.” Alicent finished drying her eyes and began folding the
handkerchief. She didn’t want to say the true reason for her upset, knowing that it was naught but
her own silly vanity and also not wishing for Rhaenyra to feel that she’d done anything wrong, but
the look her friend was giving her made plain that she wished for the truth. “I . . . I suppose it
simply . . .” She bit her lip. “I tug my sleeves down because I know you’re disgusted by, by my
scars.”

“Ali—”

“I see the way you grimace whenever you have to look at them.” Alicent gulped, willing herself not
to cry again. There was no reason for it. None at all. She knew that her scars were ugly, so it was
hardly surprising—

“I’m not grimacing because I’m disgusted, Ali.”

Alicent slowly raised her eyes to stare at her in confusion. “I . . . You needn’t lie, Nyra. I know
they’re horrible to look upon. I know they’re ugly, and that I’m ugly for—”

“Alicent.” Rhaenyra was suddenly reaching for her, and for the first time that Alicent could recall,
her friend clasped her hands without awaiting permission first. “Look at me, Ali.”

Still stunned by Rhaenyra grabbing her hands, Alicent wordlessly obeyed.

“You, Alicent Hightower, are the most comely woman that I have ever had the pleasure of laying
eyes upon. And yes, your scars are horrible, but only because of the pain and suffering that caused
them.” Rhaenyra squeezed her hands. “Ali, an ugly thing was done to you, but it does not make you
ugly.”
For a brief moment, Alicent almost believed her, almost believed that the scars Criston had marked
her with didn’t announce to all who saw them that she was damaged goods, almost believed that
she was pretty—at least to Rhaenyra—almost believed that perhaps—

But no.

Rhaenyra was kind to lie to her—her friend had always been kind to her—but a kind lie was a lie
all the same.

And she didn’t wish to be lied to.

She tugged her hands free. “Please don’t lie to me, Rhaenyra.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” Alicent’s fingers curled into fists at her sides, wishing that Rhaenyra would simply
allow the matter to rest. They both knew the truth. Why continue with this farce? “I know you are,
because I’ve been seeing these scars every day for decades, and I know how grotesque they are,
and I know that I’m grot—”

“You are not grotesque, Alicent. You’re beautiful—”

“No, I’m not!” Alicent grabbed her sleeve and wrenched it upwards to expose her ruined left arm,
which she then thrust towards Rhaenyra’s face. “Look me in the eye and tell me these are
beautiful.” She stabbed her finger against the scar looping around her wrist. “Tell me how pretty
this scar is that Criston inflicted because he wished to play with his knives.” She pointed to one of
the chemical burns near the crook of her arm. “Tell me how lovely this one is that I received for
correcting Tutor Luvor.” She twisted her arm to reveal a raised ridge of puckered flesh. “Tell me
how beautiful this one is that he gave me after the Battle of Talfer—”

Alicent’s mouth snapped shut, eyes widening with horror when she realized what she’d just said.

Strong Sytarr.

Rhaenyra had gone completely still.

Frighteningly still.

Dangerously still.

Alicent hadn’t meant to say that.

She hadn’t meant to tell her.

She hadn’t meant—

Idiot. Sytarr-damned idiot!

“Rhaenyra—”

“He hurt you.” Rhaenyra’s voice was cold and calm, her eyes hard. “After Talfer, he hurt you?”

Alicent couldn’t very well lie now, so she offered a small nod.
“And what of the Battles of Blackfire?”

He’d beaten her into unconsciousness that night. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Lochlain?”

She had six jagged scars running down her right side. “Yes.”

“Vengris?”

“Rhaenyra, please—”

“My victories.” Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed. “He hurt you every time I won a battle, didn’t he?”

She’d never wanted Rhaenyra to know. And she most certainly would never have wished for her to
find out like this. “Nyra—”

With a furious roar, Rhaenyra whirled away from her and retreated to the far side of the room
before black fire ignited in her hands and surged over her arms to engulf her upper body. Fury
blazed in her amethyst eyes, and lightning crackled at her fingertips. “I should have killed him that
day at Dragon Ridge,” she snarled. “I should have flayed him alive the moment he set foot in that
room. Seven fucking thrice-damned Hells, I should have made him suffer!”

Alicent stared at her friend with wide eyes, stared at the black flames enveloping her, at the
righteous wroth twisting her face and burning in her eyes, at the wickedly sharp fangs on full
display.

This is the Firestorm.

She’d seen a small spark the first time that Rhaenyra had comforted her after a night terror. When
Alicent had let slip about the cage.

She’d seen a brief flare several weeks ago as Rhaenyra had spoken about Emalia’s murder. When
Rhaenyra had revealed that she’d obliterated an entire planet.

But this . . .

This wasn’t a spark or a flare.

This was a raging inferno.

And yet Alicent wasn’t frightened.

Perhaps she should have been.

But she wasn’t.

“Woe to Those Who Injure My Family.”

The fire blazing in Rhaenyra’s eyes and roaring all around her did not burn to consume and destroy,
but to ward and protect.

To protect me.
She’d realized years ago that Rhaenyra did not wish her harm, but she hadn’t realized . . .

Her stomach fluttered.

Faithless whore.

Criston had never protected her, not even in the ways that a husband ought.

«Horus, Reuben, assist my wife in making amends with Lord Zarash.»

She had a scar on her inner thigh from that night.

Alicent glanced down at her left hand, at the emerald orchid ring gleaming on her finger.

Returning her attention to Rhaenyra, her heart clenched at the anger contorting her face.
“Rhaenyra,” she called, not daring to approach. While not frightened of her friend, she could feel
the heat radiating from Rhaenyra’s black fire from here, and she knew that moving any closer
might well result in her being burned. “Please, Nyra, calm—”

The flames extinguished.

The fury disappeared in an instant, replaced by an expression of utter anguish.

Alicent’s ward flared in response.

Rhaenyra was trembling as she took a tentative step forward. “Ali?”

Alicent beckoned to her.

A moment later, Rhaenyra was kneeling in front of her. “I’m so sorry, Ali,” she whispered. “If I’d
known, I . . .”

This was why Alicent had never wished for her friend to know that Criston had punished her for
each of the Firestorm’s victories. She hadn’t wanted Rhaenyra to suffer the guilt that Alicent had
known she would take upon herself. “Nyra.” She leaned down and urged her friend to her feet
before leading her over to the nearest chair and sitting her down.

Thankfully, it was one of the larger chairs, so Alicent was able to squeeze in beside her. Her
stomach fluttered when strong arms wrapped around her waist a moment later, pulling her close
and practically dragging Alicent onto Rhaenyra’s lap. She gently rubbed the hand that had settled
on her stomach. “There was nothing you could have done, Nyra.”

“I could have razed Penrhyn to the ground,” Rhaenyra muttered darkly.

“Then why didn’t you?”

Rhaenyra craned her neck slightly to look at her. “Pardon?”

“If you could, why didn’t you raze Penrhyn as soon as you returned to Valyria?” Alicent arched an
eyebrow, knowing full well why the Valyrians hadn’t attacked her people’s basecamp until the end
of the war.
“I,” Rhaenyra hesitated before lowering her eyes with a soft growl of frustration, “I could have
tried.”

“But you didn’t know.” Alicent laced their fingers together. “Nyra, there was nothing you could
have done. And what he did to me was not your fault.”

“Nor was it yours.” Rhaenyra was looking at her again now, her amethyst eyes boring into
Alicent’s. “You know that, yes?”

“I do.” And she did. She understood now that Criston had punished her simply because it pleased
him to do so. Regardless of whether or not she’d actually behaved, he would have found an excuse
to hurt her.

The fingers of Rhaenyra’s free hand lightly brushed along the length of Alicent’s arm.

Alicent’s lips pursed. “Rhaenyra.”

“I meant what I said earlier, Ali. I don’t grimace because your scars disgust me. I grimace because
every time that I see them, my heart breaks and my magic roars for blood.” Rhaenyra’s fingers left
her arm and rose to briefly caress Alicent’s cheek. “If I could, and if you allowed me, I would seek
vengeance against every Westerosi who ever wronged you.”

The earnest sincerity of Rhaenyra’s voice and the very lethal intent shining in her eyes probably
should have unnerved Alicent more than it did.

“I would not ask that of you, Nyra.” And yet it warmed her to know that Rhaenyra would do so if
she did ask.

“Woe to Those Who Injure My Family.”

She hadn’t realized that Rhaenyra considered her family.

Does this make us actual heart friends?

Perhaps she should speak with Margaery and Sansa on the matter. She was still working to untangle
her rather confused understanding of the difference between Valyrian wife—mate behavior and
heart friend behavior.

“I also meant what I said about you being beautiful.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed. “Nyra—”

“You are,” Rhaenyra insisted. “Your scars don’t diminish your beauty, Alicent. Not one bit.”

While Alicent didn’t believe her, she liked to think that, perhaps, one day she would.

It was a nice thought.

Four Weeks Later

(Frost Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI)

Rhaenyra’s chest puffed with pride as she swooped down and landed with nary a sound on the soft
grasses of the meadow where Visenya and the Azurewing had agreed to meet. Nearly a month of
additional negotiations with Queen Velsinnia’s kyrons had finally resulted in the dragon queen
agreeing to meet with a Valyrian delegation.

The sprawling field that they’d chosen was barely large enough to accommodate the ten dragons
who had gathered, but it would serve well enough for the moment.

Queen Velsinnia had brought with her Kyron Meleys, Kyron Balerion, Syrax, and the royal scribe.

Visenya had selected for her own delegation Vaella, Jacaerya, Helaena, and Rhaenyra herself. Lady
Tyrell had also accompanied them to record the meeting for both official records and the histories.

Rhaenyra exchanged a brief look with Syrax, who seemed equally impatient as they waited for
Lady Tyrell and the royal scribe to settle and prepare themselves.

Once assenting nods were given, Visenya spoke first—the result of nearly three full days of
discussion. “On this, the Twenty-Third Day of the Moon of White Frost in the 1,000,124th Year of
the Reign of Empress Visenya the Sixth, called One-Eye, I, Visenya Targaryen, Two Hundred and
Fiftieth Empress of the Valyrian Empire, do come to this place and meet with Queen Velsinnia
Azurewing of the Dragons.”

Queen Velsinnia proudly raised her head once Visenya was finished speaking, hardly allowing her
scribe any time to finish carving. “On this, the Twenty-Third Day of the White-Fire Moon in the
534,610th Year of the Reign of Queen Velsinnia Azurewing, the One Thousand and Thirteenth
Queen of the Dragons, I, Velsinnia Azurewing, do come to this place and meet with Empress
Visenya One-Eye of the Valyrian Empire.”

With that, the dragons and Targaryens lowered themselves to the ground. Relle willing, this would
be but a short meeting to decide on the date of the Dragon Summit. Other logistics could be
discussed at a later time, though most would likely be handled by each respective side.

Visenya inclined her head towards the dragon queen. “I was pleased when my mother brought word
of your acquiescence, Queen Velsinnia.”

“No more so than I when Queen Rhaenyra informed Kyron Meleys of your own support for the
Summit.” The Azurewing’s eyes—as purple as Visenya’s own—were sharp and stern, but not
without their warmth. “It is high time we mend the rifts between our peoples, Cousin.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Cousin.”

Rhaenyra resisted the urge to snort, though she couldn’t help but exchange a look with Syrax, who
was plainly fighting the same urge.

“The most auspicious location for the Summit would be the place where the Silver Empress and her
sisters used their own fire and blood to hatch Queen Caladria and rebirth the dragon species.”
Visenya cocked her head. “Don’t you agree, Cousin?”

“I do. And I believe that the date of her death, the day that the Moonwing’s blood and bones were
returned to the sky by Queen Alsinnara Goldenflame, would be the most auspicious date.” The
Azurewing smiled a dragon’s smile. “Do we have an accord, Cousin?”
“We do.” Visenya extended her neck, a soft crooning sound vibrating in her chest.

Queen Velsinnia didn’t hesitate to respond in kind, stretching out her own neck to touch noses with
her. “By the Moonwing, you have my pledge.”

“And by the All Mother, you have mine.”

Rhaenyra breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

And so their pact is sealed.

Alicent had wanted to give Rhaenyra her gift on a day that was entirely unassuming, to mirror how
Rhaenyra had gifted her, her emerald orchid ring on an otherwise unimportant date. But she’d only
recently finished her work, and Yule was fast approaching. She didn’t wish for her gift to be
mistaken for a Yulemas present, and part of her wanted—hoped—that her friend might decide to
wear her gift during one of the eight days of celebration.

Strong Sytarr, she hoped that Rhaenyra liked her gift.

Even if she does not, she will be polite.

But she didn’t want mere politeness. She wanted enthusiasm.

When the expected knock finally came, Alicent nervously began futzing with her emerald orchid
ring. “Come in.”

Rhaenyra slipped inside a moment later, a bright and beaming smile gracing her lips. “It’s done,
Ali,” she crowed.

“The Dragon Summit?” She knew that her friend had been hard at work negotiating with Kyron
Meleys Copperhorn and Kyron Balerion the Black Dread.

“Yes.” Rhaenyra swept across the room and—after receiving a nod—drew Alicent into a warm hug
that Alicent immediately reciprocated. “The Summit has been scheduled for Fourteenth Harvest
Moon of this coming year.”

Alicent grinned, pleased that her friend was so pleased. “That’s wonderful, Nyra.”

When they broke apart, Rhaenyra cocked her head as she peered over Alicent’s shoulder. “Dare I
ask what you have mysteriously hidden behind your dressing screen?”

“If you’re brave enough.”

Rhaenyra chuckled, amethyst eyes gleaming with mirth. “What are you hiding, Ali?”

“A gift.” Alicent smiled nervously. “For you. As a token of our friendship.”

For a moment, Rhaenyra only stared at her, then she sucked in a sharp breath as she tightly laced
her fingers together. “You needn’t have troubled yourself, Alicent.”

Alicent held up her left hand. “I troubled myself no more than you did.”
Rhaenyra dipped her head to concede the point.

After instructing her friend to close her eyes, Alicent hurried behind the changing screen and
carefully wheeled out the dress form that Mistress Damella had been kind enough to let her borrow.
She knew that the wheels gliding over the stone floor must be providing Rhaenyra with some sort
of hint, that her friend could probably scent the shop and perhaps even the individual fabrics.

Lacing her fingers together, Alicent whispered a final prayer before saying, “You can open your
eyes, Nyra.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes opened, then widened almost comically. “Merciful Mother, Ali,” she breathed.
“You made this for me?”

Alicent nodded as she worried her bottom lip. “Do you like it?”

“How could I not?” Rhaenyra grinned at her as she stepped closer to the dress form to inspect her
new gown. “It’s a masterpiece, Alicent.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed even as her chest swelled with pride. She wasn’t certain that she could call
it a masterpiece, but she was pleased that Rhaenyra seemed so taken with it.

After realizing that she couldn’t give Rhaenyra the flower necklace that she’d made for her, Alicent
had decided to make her friend something else instead.

The skirts of the gown were layers of ruby-red silk slashed to reveal underskirts of ebony samite,
and she’d used a combination of satin and coutil to craft a bodice that would hold its shape while
still remaining flexible enough to not impede Rhaenyra’s movements. The sleeves were long and
flowing and slashed so as to reveal her bare arms when she walked. Intricate black lace bordered
the neckline, and hidden among its fine webs were three-headed dragons, though few would ever
be close enough to actually see them.

Embroidered along the red hem were alternating black roses and emerald orchids, while the black
hem was decorated with alternating lutes and theatrical masks. Green vines and black flames crept
up the gown’s bodice, and the vines were spangled with different kinds of flowers—each one
distinct from all of the others. Alicent had specifically chosen flowers that Rhaenyra had
complimented or remarked upon during the past year of their friendship. Hidden among the folds of
black samite were small pairs of silver and gold dragons soaring side by side, a handful of books,
and little glass towers shining with rainbow light.

Alicent had been tempted to add more designs. She’d wanted to include glass gardens and horses,
teacups and sweet cakes, music notes and perhaps a few lyrics, racing wolves and chemical
formulas, spectacles and rings, but she’d refrained to avoid overburdening the gown.

Rhaenyra was laughing with delight as her fingers traced over the different embroidered designs.
“Ali, this is truly remarkable. Every stitch is without flaw, and you most certainly chose an
excellent combination of colors. And the pieces you embroidered, all of them are so perfect.”

Not even caring that it was vain and prideful, Alicent preened and soaked in Rhaenyra’s praise. “I
wanted to make you something special.” Something that no other dressmaker would think or know
to make. Something that represented them and their friendship.
 “You’ve certainly succeeded.” Rhaenyra opened her arms, and Alicent happily fell into them,
savoring the familiar warmth of her friend’s embrace. “Thank you, Alicent.”

“You’re very welcome.” Alicent squeezed her tight.

Rhaenyra drew back from her, but only enough so that she could press their foreheads together.
“Would it be acceptable if I wore this Yulemas Eve when my family arrives?”

While Alicent had been hoping that Rhaenyra would wear the gown during Yule proper, she was
more than pleased simply knowing that Rhaenyra wished to wear it in public. And to greet her
mother and sister, no less. “Of course.”

“And perhaps,” Rhaenyra hesitated, “perhaps you might join me as well?”

“You . . . you wish for me to be there when your family arrives?” She had decided a few days after
Rhaenyra told her about Emalia that she would like to be introduced to Laena, Viserra, and their wi
—mates, but to greet them when they first arrived . . .

Her mothers had often been at her father’s side when he’d welcomed guests to Tamworth Palace.

But he never wore gifts that they’d given him when meeting with others.

Alicent smiled up at Rhaenyra. “All right. If you’re certain.”

Rhaenyra gently squeezed her waist in response. “I’m very certain.”

Chapter End Notes

Did Rhaenyra commit high-key genocide? Yes. Did those literal demons have it coming? Also
yes. Moving on now.

Next Chapter: The holiday "mini-arc"— which is literally half of this arc—begins!
And you know what that means!?
Viserra is coming . . .
 Yulemas
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 32:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Laena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Bellmar
– Viserra Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Kastrell (Valyrian counterpart of Viserys)
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar
– Catelyn Tully, Ambassador of the Sea Court, from Saevara

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Decided to retroactively add a map showing the Dragon Court and Kastrell!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Snow Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

Laena was the Fourth of Her Name and preceded by Rhaenys, who was the Seventh of Her Name,
and Lady Rhaenys was preceded by Lysandra the Sixth, who was preceded by Ameera the Second,
who was preceded by Aelora the Eighth. She’s been mated to Mistress Rhea Royce of Runestone
since she was six thousand one hundred and thirteen, and they met when Laena was visiting her
aunt—Queen Daella—at Ruk’s Rest. They have a single daughter—

“Ali?” Rhaenyra was giving her a concerned look. “You needn’t be here if the thought of meeting
my family discomfits you so.”
It wasn’t the thought of meeting Rhaenyra’s family that discomfited her—she was fairly certain that
she and Laena would get along well enough—it was the thought of meeting Rhaenyra’s mother that
made her stomach twist with displeasure.

Once she’d agreed to meet Rhaenyra’s sister, mother, stepmother, and sister-by-law—sister-by-
bond—she’d begun sequestering herself in the library for at least one hour each day in order to read
through the histories that had been written about the respective lives and reigns of Empress Viserra
Everlasting and Queen Laena the Fourth of Bellmar.

The histories written by the magisters and archmagisters who had served in Laena’s royal court
were all glowing and effusive, but Alicent had expected nothing less, considering how highly
Rhaenyra always spoke of her favorite sister.

What had surprised her was tone of admiration that had been apparent throughout Archmagister
Melsinnia Wythers’ chronicles documenting the markedly long reign of Viserra Everlasting, who
had evidently earned her imperial epithet by ruling for longer than any empress since Empress
Aeliana the Golden.

Archmagister Melsinnia hadn’t been able to offer a reason for Viserra’s exceptionally long reign,
but when Alicent had spoken with Aemma on the matter, her friend’s lips had curled into a scowl.

“Viserra delayed her abdication for so long in order to prevent Rhaenyra’s ascension. That woman
decided the day Rhaenyra was born that she would bring about a Second Doom—or at least prove
herself a dreadful empress.”

Alicent might have thought that Aemma was somewhat exaggerating with regards to the beginning
of Viserra’s hostility towards Rhaenyra—though she knew well enough that it was not impossible
for a mother to despise her daughter from birth—but Archmagister Melsinnia and nearly a dozen
other historians all concurred that Viserra Everlasting and Rhaenyra Flameborn had been in conflict
from the moment Rhaenyra had revealed her immunity to fire and her black flames.

For that alone, Alicent was loath to interact with this woman.

But Rhaenyra’s agitation over her mother’s pending arrival was plain to see—at least to Alicent.
Despite her friend appearing as impeccably regal and elegant as always, she’d noticed the barely
perceptible downturn of her lips, the faint lines at the corners of her eyes—which looked different
from her smile and laugh lines—the coiled tension in her shoulders, the subtle way her jaw and lips
were shifted to accommodate her elongated canines, and that she hadn’t been sleeping as well of
late. Even her perfume smelled different today—sharper, almost bitter.

Alicent could hardly abandon Rhaenyra to face her mother alone.

Although, I suppose she would not be entirely alone.

Laena would be arriving with Viserra and Alaura—Mistress Rhea would apparently not be joining
them this holiday—and Lady Rhaenys was here to greet her sister and niece as well.

Alicent couldn’t help but steal a glance at the Lady Hand, who had been polite enough not to
comment on her presence this afternoon.

Standing straight-backed and with her hands neatly clasped in front of herself, dressed in layers of
purple silks that complemented her lilac eyes, her silver hair intricately braided and beautifully
arranged to resemble a crown atop her head, Lady Rhaenys appeared every inch the queen that she
had once been. A resplendent three-headed dragon was embroidered on her bodice and picked out
in tiny rubies, and a necklace of blue and black pearls encircled her throat. Beside her, Mistress
Corla wore an elaborate gown of sea-green satin and silver lace whose bodice was so jewel-
encrusted that it hurt to look upon her when the light struck her just so.

Compared to them, Alicent worried that Rhaenyra’s own gown—the one that she had made for her
—would be found lacking. She’d been unable to afford—and unwilling to accept as a gift—any
gemstones to further accentuate her embroidery, and while the silks and samite were of good
quality, they were hardly the finest to be found in Mistress Damella’s shop. Her employer had
offered her both a loan and an advance on her wages, but Alicent had declined, not wishing to
accept her charity—kind though it was.

At the time, she hadn’t been concerned about whether or not the gown was magnificent enough for
Rhaenyra—more focused on making it lovely and heartfelt—but now . . .

She didn’t wish to give Viserra any excuse to criticize Rhaenyra, and she well-remembered how
often her own mother had found fault with her gowns—never mind that it was her mother who had
personally commissioned all of her clothes.

Shuffling aside such glum thoughts—not at all appropriate for the holidays—Alicent returned her
attention to Rhaenyra and reached out to clasp her friend’s warm hand. “I want to be here, Nyra. I
do. And I’m very eager to meet your sister and stepmother.”

Amusement glinted in Rhaenyra’s eyes, and for a brief moment, she seemed to finally relax.
“Thank you, Ali, for—” She broke off, all of the tension returning to her body as she released
Alicent’s hand and turned to face the great double doors. A polite and welcoming smile settled on
her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Clasping her hands in front of herself, Alicent turned her attention to the Keep’s main entrance as
well.

As the towering doors were opened by telekinesis hands, Vora Hylda began speaking in a clear,
official tone that resonated through the foyer. “Presenting Her Eminence Laena Daenerys Maerella
Viserra Rosedragon Targaryen of the House Targaryen and the Rosedragon Branch, Dowager
Queen of Bellmar, Full Blood of House Targaryen, Monarch of the Blood, Physician of the Order
of the Lotus, Seventh Tier Master, and Archmage. Called the Blue Rose. Once holder of the titles
Crown Princess of Bellmar, Heir to the Unicorn Throne, Princess of the Forest, the Healer Princess,
Queen of Bellmar, Keeper of the Healing Woods, Mother of Compassion and Mercy, Queen of the
Forest, the Healer Queen, Protector of the Realm, Lady of the Healer’s Court, Lady of Norengale,
Lady of Healer’s Haven, and Chief Medic in the Bellmaran Forces.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together slightly, but she resisted the urge to turn to Rhaenyra and seek an
explanation. Her friend had told her that an official presentation only included a woman’s name,
her House or Clan name, and any titles that she currently held.

Perhaps it’s customary to announce the full litany when only one or two people require an
introduction. Such would hardly surprise her. She’d noticed some time ago that Valyrians seemed
fond of elaborate introductions, but she also couldn’t imagine that anyone would be too eager to
listen to such lengthy presentations during an event where there might be hundreds of guests.
“Her Eminence Viserra Daenerys Aeliana Saerella Naerys Verania Alyssa Rosedragon Targaryen of
the House Targaryen and the Rosedragon Branch, Dowager Queen of Kastrell, First Advisor, Full
Blood of House Targaryen, Monarch of the Blood, Seventh Tier Master, and Archmage. Called
Everlasting. Once holder of the titles Crown Princess of the Valyrian Empire, Princess of Dragon
Wood, Heir to the Dragon Throne, Princess of the Silverbloods, the Dragon Princess, Empress of
the Valyrian Empire, Keeper of the High Mysteries, Speaker of Wisdom and Good Counsel,
Empress of the Silverbloods, the Dragon Empress, Protector of the Realms, Lady of the Dragon
Court, Lady of Valeria, Lady of Dragon Ridge, Queen of Kastrell, Keeper of the Fertile Fields,
Most Generous and Good, Queen of the Harvest, the Garden Queen, Protector of the Realm, Lady
of the Garden Court, Lady of Osmera, Lady of Stone Garden, Dowager Empress of the Valyrian
Empire, and General of the Third Dragon Court Legion.

“Mistress Alaura Katla Iolanta Rosedragon Glover of Clan Glover and the Rosedragon Branch.
Called the Snowrose.

“And Vora Isla of Clan Dayne, Juniper Knight of the Bellmaran Herb Knights.”

As Alicent watched the four women enter the foyer, she couldn’t help but notice the striking
similarities between Rhaenyra, Lady Rhaenys, Laena, and Viserra. It wasn’t simply that all of them
were silver-haired and shared the same nose, they all held themselves with the same effortless
confidence and innate authority that Alicent had noticed emanating from Rhaenyra and her
daughters during the treaty negotiations. They held themselves in a way that made plain their
station and pedigree, that announced to anyone who saw them that they were women accustomed to
being respected and obeyed.

Over the past year, as she’d grown closer to Rhaenyra and become familiar with the woman
beneath the crown and titles, her friend had become less and less imposing in her eyes. Without her
even noticing, the Queen’s aloof and commanding presence had waned and faded away until all
that remained was Rhaenyra’s warmth and kindness. Since they’d become friends, she’d heard
Rhaenyra giggle like a girl, had seen her nervous and anxious to please, had held her as she wept.

“You look at me, and you’re able to see only me.”

“Happy Yulemas, Sister.” Lady Rhaenys’ voice broke Alicent from her thoughts, and she watched
as the Lady Hand swept across the foyer—Mistress Corla close behind—to greet Viserra with a hug
and a kiss on the cheek.

Viserra returned the gestures in kind, and the warmth on her face did not seem feigned.

“Rhaenys is Mother’s favorite sister. It absolutely galled her when I asked her to be my Hand.”

“It has been too long, Rhaenys,” Viserra declared as she clasped her sister’s hands. “You and Corla
must make time to visit Dragon Wood in the near future.” She paused. “Assuming your queen can
spare you, of course.”

Lady Rhaenys chuckled. “I’m afraid Rhaenyra has at last begun learning the art of delegation,
Viserra. I’ve found myself delightfully busy of late.”

“But not so busy that you need deny yourself, Aunt.” Rhaenyra’s polite smile didn’t waver as she
addressed her aunt, though her eyes remained on her mother. “If you and Corla wish to take a
holiday to Dragon Wood, I’ll not stand in your way.”
Mistress Corla inclined her head. “That is most generous, Your Majesty.”

As Viserra, Lady Rhaenys, Mistress Corla, and Mistress Alaura began speaking quietly amongst
themselves, Alicent couldn’t help but breathe a relieved sigh that she would avoid being introduced
to Rhaenyra’s mother for a little longer. And she couldn’t help but wonder if Lady Rhaenys
claiming Viserra’s attention had been motivated by more than simple sisterly affection.

“Perhaps between her, Rhaenys, and Alaura, Mother and I won’t set fire to as many curtains.”

Alicent looked over when she felt fingers brushing against the back of her hand. “Hmm?”

“Would you care to meet my sister?”

Suddenly realizing that Laena had been politely waiting beside Vora Isla this entire time, Alicent’s
cheeks reddened. “Yes, of course.”

Rhaenyra offered her arm, and Alicent didn’t hesitate to accept it.

Laena grinned—bright and broad—as they approached, and it took a moment for Alicent to realize
that the smile was specifically directed at her. “The famous Alicent Hightower, at last we meet.”

Alicent’s fingers tightened on Rhaenyra’s arm as she resisted her instinct to curtsy. Her friend had
assured her that such formalities were not necessary with Laena, but over forty years of lessons in
decorum begged to differ. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your—Laena.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Laena clasped Alicent’s free hand, and the movement caused the light to
catch on the blue rose ring encircling her finger. “I’ve been very eager to meet you, Alicent.
Rhaenyra has spoken of little else save you for years now.”

A hot flush bloomed in Alicent’s cheeks, and she could feel it swiftly traveling down her neck.
Years. Which meant that Rhaenyra had been speaking about her with her sister long before they
became friends. “I hope her tales of me have been kind.”

“Oh, yes, most kind,” Laena chuckled, her eyes twinkling the same way that Rhaenyra’s oft did
when she was both pleased and amused.

“I was saddened to hear that Rhea would not be joining us this Yule.” Rhaenyra gently tapped
Alicent’s hand that rested on her arm.

Alicent swiftly removed her hand, which in turn allowed Rhaenyra to wrap her arms around Laena
in a fierce hug.

Laena hummed as she returned Rhaenyra’s hug. “One of Rhea’s cousins recently gave birth, and
she said that she would rather celebrate a new life than spend Yule listening to you and mother
bicker.”

“Is that what she calls it?”

“She was being polite.”

“How very unlike her.”

Laena tsked, smacking Rhaenyra’s arm. “Insult my mate again, and I’ll be forced to tell Alicent
about your little experiments when you were—”

“She already knows.” Rhaenyra smiled smugly.

“Oh?” Laena’s attention shifted to Alicent, eyebrows arched in surprise. “Rhaenyra told you about
her decision to ‘test’ how long she could endure without sleep?”

“She was attempting to prove a point to me at the time.” Alicent gave Rhaenyra’s arm a gentle pat,
flashing Laena a smile. “She failed miserably, I might add.”

Rhaenyra made an offended sound. “I most certainly did not. And I recall that you were quite
impressed with the results of my experiments.”

Alicent snorted. “That was horror, Nyra. And considering how tired you were when you told me,
I’m actually surprised that you even remember that conversation.”

“I remember all of my conversations with you, Ali.”

Before Alicent could respond, someone cleared her throat behind them.

Rhaenyra stiffened beside her.

“My apologies for interrupting,” Viserra’s tone was such that Alicent almost thought her sincere,
“but I was hoping that I might be introduced as well, Daughter.”

“There is no need for apology, Mother.” Rhaenyra slowly turned to face her, and Alicent did the
same, her stomach already clenching, though she did calm when Rhaenyra’s hand settled on her
shoulder. “Mother, may I introduce the Lady Alicent Hightower.”

“It’s a pleasure at last make your acquaintance, Lady Alicent.” Viserra’s smile was bright and
pleasant, reaching her purple eyes and causing the corners to crinkle in a way that reminded Alicent
of Rhaenyra’s smiles. Her hand was warm as well—when it clasped Alicent’s—as warm as
Rhaenyra’s always was.

Alicent found that she wasn’t entirely surprised to realize that both Viserra’s smile and words were
sincere, remembering well how gracious her own mother had been towards nigh everyone save her.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Eminence. Rhaenyra speaks of you often.”

Viserra chortled, and in that sound, Alicent heard echoes of Rhaenyra’s own laughter. “Oh, I’m
certain she does.” For a brief moment, her gaze shifted to Rhaenyra—chilling in an instant—but
then her attention returned to Alicent, and her eyes warmed once more. “How have you been
settling in, Lady Alicent?”

“Very well, thank you.” Alicent glanced at Rhaenyra, uncertain how best to proceed with the
conversation. She’d never been called upon to speak overmuch with official guests or visitors back
home.

Viserra’s gaze sharpened. “My daughter has been treating you well then, Lady Alicent?”

Alicent resisted the urge to frown at the other woman’s tone, at the suspicion underlying her words.
“Rhaenyra has been a perfect hostess, Your Eminence.” She reached over and lightly squeezed her
friend’s arm, pleased when she saw some of the stiffness leave Rhaenyra’s shoulders in response.
“She has more than ensured that I have everything I could want or need.”

“That is good to hear.” Viserra’s eyes shifted to Rhaenyra once more, a frown tugging at the corners
of her mouth. “Very good.” She seemed ready to say more, but then Mistress Alaura touched her
arm, and her frown disappeared. “Lady Alicent, may I introduce my mate, Alaura Glover.”

The affection and tenderness in her voice was the same sort that Alicent had grown used to hearing
from her friends whenever they spoke of their wi—mates.

Mistress Alaura offered Alicent a cheerful smile, evidently choosing to ignore the way that
Rhaenyra and Viserra were now trading dark scowls. “Lady Alicent, it will be such a pleasure to
share the holidays with you. Will you be joining us for supper?”

“Oh. No.” Alicent swiftly shook her head. While Rhaenyra had invited her to dine with them this
evening, she’d politely declined. The meal was plainly intended for family, and she didn’t wish to
intrude. “I’ll be dining with a few of my other friends.”

Viserra’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You would be most welcome, Lady Alicent. I’m sure my
daughter has communicated this to you, yes?”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened.

“She has, but I wouldn’t wish to intrude.” Alicent couldn’t even begin to fathom why Viserra would
even desire her presence.

“Perhaps you might—?”

“Mother,” Rhaenyra interrupted sharply, “Alicent has made her wishes known.”

“Has she?”

“Had you actually been listening to her words, perhaps you would have heard that she has.”

Alicent shifted uncomfortably, twisting her emerald orchid ring around her finger. Part of her felt
that she ought to say something, but she was also acutely aware that this conversation wasn’t
entirely about her.

Laena’s nose wrinkled, and Alicent silently thanked Sytarr that her sense of smell wasn’t as acute
as a Valyrian’s. She was almost certain that the air must be suffused with dominance pheromones at
the moment, considering Laena, Lady Rhaenys, Mistress Corla, and Mistress Alaura’s expressions.

Before Viserra could say more, Laena interjected. “Rhaenyra, I find myself quite weary from my
journey, and I’m sure Mother and Alaura are as well. Perhaps we could be shown to our
chambers?”

“Yes, of course.” The smile that Rhaenyra offered her sister was warm with affection and gratitude.
“Your chambers have already been prepared.” She looked over at Lady Rhaenys and Mistress
Corla. “If you wouldn’t mind showing them the way?”

Lady Rhaenys swiftly stepped forward and linked her arm with Viserra’s before escorting her
towards one of the connecting hallways. “I heard there was a snowstorm brewing near the border of
Targaryen Province and Rowan Province. Did you fly over, around, or through?”
“Through, of course,” Viserra chuckled, reaching out with her free hand to tangle her fingers with
Alaura’s. “My mate is more than capable of maintaining an area of calm around us while I fly.”

Before Laena and Vora Isla could follow Mistress Corla from the foyer, Rhaenyra caught her
sister’s arm and whispered something to her, receiving a nod in response.

Seeing the easy and amiable way that Laena immediately began speaking with Mistress Corla and
the way that Mistress Corla responded with a fond smile, Alicent was suddenly reminded that
Mistress Corla and Lady Rhaenys had served as Laena’s surrogate mothers during her childhood at
Healer’s Haven.

Not for the first time, she wondered whether Rhaenyra’s sisters considered the aunts who had
raised them to be more their mothers than Viserra.

Once they were alone, Rhaenyra’s shoulders slumped and her eyes closed as she began massaging
her temples. “Merciful Mother,” she muttered.

Alicent gently rubbed her friend’s arm, hating the combination of distress and exhaustion that she
could sense despite her ward. “I could feign illness,” she offered, hoping to earn at least a small
smile, “so you could plead needing to tend to your guest rather than dine with your family?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes opened as she stared at her for a long enough moment that Alicent began to worry
she’d said the wrong thing, but then she grinned and laughed and drew Alicent into a warm
embrace. “That is a very kind offer, Ali, and I may yet accept, but for tonight, at least, I must dine
with my family.”

Wrapping her arms around Rhaenyra, Alicent nodded against her shoulder. While this was the
answer she’d been expecting—and she’d received the smile that she’d hoped for—a part of her was
still saddened that she would not be sharing her supper with Rhaenyra.

It had been months since they’d dined separately in the evening.

Rhaenyra’s arms fell away from her waist, and she retreated a step so they could properly see each
other. “May I still call on you later?”

“I would be offended if you didn’t.” Alicent grinned at her, feeling more at ease now that
Rhaenyra’s own mood had lightened. “You never finished telling me about the time that you and
Cassella accidentally set fire to your mother’s rose garden.”

“Mother was furious,” Rhaenyra chuckled, but then her lips pursed, though she shook her head
rather than saying anything more.

Alicent reached out and clasped her hands. “I will see you this evening then?”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened once more as she nodded. “Of course, Ali.”

“I saw that you placed Mother on the other side of the Keep from you,” Laena said by way of
greeting when Rhaenyra entered her chambers.

Rhaenyra sighed as she closed the door behind herself and leaned heavily against it. She always felt
exhausted after speaking with her mother, no matter how short the interaction. But this interaction,
in particular, had left her feeling sick inside as well.

“My daughter has been treating you well then, Lady Alicent?”

A seemingly innocuous question, but the tone of her mother’s voice, the accusation in her eyes—
Seven Hells, even her thrice-damned scent—had communicated the underlying question plainly
enough.

Does she truly think so little of me?

Her mother thinking that she might one day become Maegor Reborn or Aerysa Come Again was
one thing, but to even imply—

A growl rumbled in her chest. “Mother is lucky that I allowed her chambers at all after what she
said.”

Laena grimaced. “In truth, I would hardly have blamed you for responding more harshly than you
did.” She arched an eyebrow. “Was it the presence of your Alicent that stayed your hand?”

Alicent isn’t my anything, Rhaenyra almost snapped, but she held her tongue. Her sister didn’t
deserve her ill-temper. Even if she is being purposefully provocative.

She still remembered the peculiar expression on Laena’s face after she’d explained her reasons for
demanding that Alicent remain on Valyria, and she now knew that Laena had been wondering if it
was the matebond that had spurred her questionable actions. She knew that was what most of her
friends and family had come to suspect over the years.

What most of the world now assumed.

Once in a while, she contemplated asking Aemma exactly how many wagers were being placed on
her and Alicent, but she never did, preferring to simply ignore such things.

Women had been making wagers about her from the moment she’d hatched.

A gift or a curse

Has yet to be seen.

The answer will come

When she is queen.

Her magic hissed with displeasure.

Shaking her head, she refocused her attention on Laena, who had turned away from her to unpack
her trunks and place her clothes in the armoire and bureau. “Alicent’s presence stayed my hand in
part, yes, but I also have no interest in giving Mother the satisfaction of provoking me.”

For now.
She and Laena both knew that it would only be a matter of time.

Wretched woman.

Would that she could simply despise her mother entirely, but that would likely never come to pass.
The bond between mother and daughter was not so easily severed, and for all her mother’s faults,
Rhaenyra knew that she’d only ever acted in the best interests of the Empire.

“Duty above all else.”

Her mother had always lived and breathed those words.

And while Rhaenyra often found herself tempted to teleport her mother onto the surface of the sun,
she could hardly find fault with all of her mother’s actions.

“Do make an effort to better leash your temper this year.”

Her temper had always been her greatest failing.

“What I did wasn’t vengeance. Slaughtering those demons . . . destroying their planet . . .”

But she’d never been able to entirely regret those actions.

“I’ll speak with Mother this evening,” Laena promised. “And I’m certain Aunt Rhaenys is speaking
with her now as well.”

“We both know it will make no matter. Our mother has despised me from the moment I Declared.”

“Which makes her an utterly terrible mother, even discounting what she later did with that thrice-
damned net.”

“Laena.” She had no interest in repeating this particular debate.

“As you will.” Laena closed her final trunk and stowed it in a corner. “Let us speak of more
pleasant matters then, such as you finally introducing me to your Lady Alicent. She seems quite
lovely.”

Ignoring her sister’s use of the word “your,” Rhaenyra responded to her second statement instead.
“She is lovely.” Yet even those words were spoken with caution. Of all her friends and family,
Laena remained the most stubbornly insistent that Alicent was her mate, utterly ignoring all of
Rhaenyra’s assertions to the contrary.

She’ll never be a true mate. Not when she’ll never love me as I love her. Not when she’ll never feel
the matebond. Her heart clenched as her magic whimpered within her. Laena knew this, and yet her
sister persisted such that Rhaenyra sometimes wondered if she was intending to be cruel.

“Perhaps you might invite her to take tea with us sometime this week,” Laena suggested. “After
hearing so many stories about her, she feels much like an old heart friend already.” She paused,
arching an eyebrow. “And perhaps you’ll refrain from mentally scolding me every time I make a
remark to her.”

Rhaenyra scowled at the reminder of her sister’s earlier words to Alicent. “You might have at least
attempted some subtlety,” she noted dryly.
“I thought I was quite subtle.”

“Alicent is an intelligent woman, Laena, and she knows that you meant something more than what
you were saying.” And if she ever realizes what you meant . . .

No.

She wouldn’t think like that.

Couldn’t think like that.

Alicent was her friend, and Rhaenyra was content with that.

She owes me nothing.

And Rhaenyra would never ask for more of Alicent than her friend was willing to give.

“Is it such a bad thing if she knows my words have layered meaning?” Laena arched an eyebrow,
gazing at her intently. “Come now, Rhae, surely you don’t intend to forever pine—”

“We’re not having this discussion,” Rhaenyra snapped, holding her sister’s gaze and daring her to
press further.

“At least explain to me why.” Laena spread her hands. “You admitted to me that the signs are there
—”

“As they were with Emalia—”

“Not like this. Her scent never called to you as Alicent’s does, and she never offered you the same
sense of peace and comfort. That dreadful woman—”

“You will not speak ill of her, Laena.” Heat was rising in Rhaenyra’s cheeks, and her canines ached
as she fought to prevent them from sharpening. Emalia may have shattered her, but she was still the
first—and for over six million years only—person that Rhaenyra had ever fallen in love with.

Laena held up her hands placatingly. “My apologies, Rhae, but my point remains. Alicent is surely
the one, and it’s obvious that you love her—”

“But she doesn’t love me.” Rhaenyra expelled a shaky breath, her anger evaporating. “And she has
no interest in a romantic relationship with me.”

“You can’t be certain.” Laena swiftly crossed the room to her side and began herding her towards
one of the settees.

“She told me in no uncertain terms that she wishes only to be my friend.” Rhaenyra sank down
onto the soft cushion and leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder. “When I told her about the doors
connecting our chambers—Merciful Mother, Laena, she was terrified.”

Laena frowned slightly as she wrapped an arm around her. “Why? Surely she must know by now
that you mean her no harm.”

“She was terrified of being treated as a wife—”

“You would never do something so vile.” Laena’s lip curled with disgust. “You wish her to be your
mate, not your wife.”

“Alicent doesn’t yet grasp the difference.” And while she’d noticed that Alicent was making an
effort to use the terms “mate” and “mated” rather than “wife” and “marriage,” she knew that her
friend still considered the words interchangeable.

“Once she does—”

“Please, Laena. I don’t wish to speak more on this.” She still needed to speak with their mother
before supper, and that conversation was certain to be exhausting enough.

Sighing, Laena laced their fingers together and gently squeezed her hand. “You deserve to be
happy, Rhae.”

She wasn’t certain that she entirely agreed, and even if she did . . . “Not at her expense, Laena.
Never at her expense.”

When Rhaenyra had entered the chambers that she’d given to her mother and stepmother, Alaura
had swiftly found an excuse to leave, though not before quietly asking her mate to please remember
that Yule was a time for family.

As she stood facing her mother now, their matching amethyst eyes locked, she wondered bitterly if
her mother even truly considered her family.

Her mother arched an eyebrow. “Do you intend to speak, Daughter, or merely scowl?”

Rhaenyra’s canines ached. “I only wish you to answer me this, Mother, do you truly think so little
of me as to actually believe that I would ever raise a hand to Alicent?”

“You and I both know the damage you’re capable of causing without so much as lifting a finger,”
her mother hissed. “And what I saw in that foyer was a woman desperate to please—”

“What you saw was my friend feeling nervous because she knows how you despise me,” Rhaenyra
snapped. Seven thrice-damned Hells, monster she may be, but she would never do something as
vile as what her mother insinuated. Never mind that the Golden Laws strictly prohibited abuse and
allowed summary execution as one appropriate punishment for those found guilty, how could her
mother—who had surely heard about Alicent’s circumstances—believe her capable of such evil?

“Friend,” her mother repeated, shaking her head. “Do you expect me to believe that when her scent
is all over you and yours all over her?”

“We—”

“Have you bedded her?” Her mother stalked closer. “I know that you placed her in the chambers
meant for your consort.”

“Because I feared that she might kill herself.” Rhaenyra fists clenched as her magic roared with
indignation. “And while it is none of your concern, no, I have not. Alicent is my friend, and I have
no intention of ever laying hands on her in that way.”
Her mother snorted, expression disbelieving.

For a moment, Rhaenyra could only stare at her.

And then her anger extinguished as a wave of exhaustion crashed over her. “Do you truly think me
so wicked,” she whispered, “as to believe that I would force Alicent in such a way?”

At that, her mother’s face softened. “No, Rhaenyra, of course not.” She reached out and lightly
touched her arm. “For all your faults, I know that you at least understand the importance of
consent.”

Rhaenyra shook her mother’s hand from her arm. “If you actually believed that, you wouldn’t have
asked—”

“Well how could I not?” Her mother threw her hands into the air. “Merciful Mother, Rhaenyra, you
traded for that woman as if she was a sack of grain! You made her a condition of the Treaty without
so much as a ‘by your leave!’”

“Do you think I would have done that if I had any other choice?” Rhaenyra’s magic roared, and her
fire was begging to be unleashed. “Do you think the mere thought of what I did that day doesn’t
make me ill? I did what I had to do to save her life. Or would you have preferred that I close my
eyes and pretend there wasn’t an abused woman standing a few meters away from me?”

“I’ve no doubt that your intentions were good, but we both know that the greatest harm can result
from the best intentions.” Her mother spread her hands. “Did you even attempt to speak with her
before deciding to seize control of her life? Did you even attempt to find some alternative—”

“There wasn’t time—”

“Those thrice-damned negotiations dragged on for weeks!”

“And Alicent wasn’t present save for the first and last day!” And on that first day, she hadn’t been
paying enough attention to the four women hastily introduced and then just as hastily herded away
to the back of the room. She’d been focused on Criston and his wretched brood of sons. It wasn’t
until that last day that she’d noticed—that she’d seen—and by then . . . “I didn’t have a choice.”

She realized her mistake the moment that the words left her mouth.

Her mother barked a laugh—harsh and biting. “‘Choice is a luxury only fools deny having.’ You
had a choice, and you chose to spit upon one of our most sacred tenets!” Shaking her head, her eyes
closed for a moment as she collected herself. “Daughter, I know that you would never force
yourself on anyone, but surely you realize why I worry. Your strength . . . For Relle’s sake,
Rhaenyra, there are gods that fear your power. You are the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw
Breath, and we both know what you’re capable of. If you desire something or someone and are
denied, the only thing preventing you from taking what you want is your own self-control.”

“And you’ve always believed I’m incapable of controlling myself.” Rhaenyra didn’t bother to hide
the bitterness in her voice. She’d always known that her mother thought her a monster, and she’d
proven her mother correct on several occasions, but to believe her capable of that?

“I am simply stating a fact, Rhaenyra. What you are, what you can do, means that any relationship
you engage in will be inherently imbalanced—”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Rhaenyra stepped towards her. “Do you think I’m unaware that
the mere possibility of what I might do is enough to coerce? I am acutely aware of this, Mother.
Why do you think I’ve never taken a sweetheart?”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “That is the reason? I always assumed—”

“As is your way—”

“—that you were waiting for your mate out of some foolish romanticism.” Her mother shook her
head, and, for a brief moment, something akin to respect flashed in her eyes, but then her lips
pursed. “That Terran girl—”

“I never bedded her.” She’d been waiting until after she told her the truth, uncomfortable with the
notion of bedding someone under false pretenses.

Silence fell between them—heavy and uncomfortable.

Her mother was peering at her through narrowed eyes, but some of her earlier hostility had
dissipated.

Rhaenyra stared back at her, heart heavy in her chest and nausea roiling in her stomach. Perhaps
she should accept Alicent’s offer after all and simply spend the evening with her friend.

But then her mother spoke. “You believe it’s the matebond, don’t you?”

Expelling a heavy breath, Rhaenyra shook her head, though not in denial. “It doesn’t matter,
Mother. She has no romantic interest in me, and the matebond requires reciprocity.”

Her mother’s lips pursed. “Then why allow yourself to be friends with her?”

“Do you think me so base—?”

“Believe me or not, but I am not asking this to be cruel,” her mother interrupted sharply.
“Considering what happened when the last woman you loved died, I have every reason to be
concerned over what you might do when Lady Alicent inevitably dies as well.”

“I was in the throes of a blood rage,” Rhaenyra hissed, the words tasting like ash on her tongue.
“Alicent is safe here, so unless you plan on doing something to her—”

“I would never harm a woman who has suffered as she has.” Indignation sharpened her mother’s
voice even further.

“Then it’s nigh impossible that Alicent will suffer the same fate as Emalia.” Rhaenyra’s smile was
empty and cold. “So rest easy, Mother, I’ll not be destroying any more planets in the foreseeable
future.” She turned to leave, but her mother’s voice made her steps falter.

“Not even Westeros?”

Rhaenyra’s head slowly swiveled to look back over her shoulder. “I beg your pardon?”

“Considering your temper and Lady Alicent’s past, I’m assuming you consider destroying that
planet and slaughtering the male populace at least five times each week.”
Usually at least seven. “I’ve no intention of endangering the Treaty, Mother.”

“Not even for her?”

“Not even for her.” No more so than I already have.

Her mother’s shrewd eyes bored into her for another long moment, but she finally nodded. “I shall
see you at supper then, Daughter.”

“Were you an empath, Mother, you would be able to sense my joy.”

Alicent stared at the ornate, silverwood doors leading into the Stone Garden Temple, feeling as if
she was about to enter Sytarr’s Hell. This had been a mistake. She never should have requested . . .
She knew better, knew that she was about to commit blasphemy of the highest order.

Sytarr curses you.

So he had.

All her life.

But she wasn’t forsaking him.

She was merely . . .

I’m curious. Nothing more.

Yulemas was the most important of the Syvenic Temple’s liturgical holidays, and if she was to
participate in the celebrations this year, she ought to do so fully. She ought to observe Valyrian
religious rites in order to better understand the culture and in order to better understand her friends.

Or so she’d been telling herself since she’d clumsily asked Rhaenyra if she might attend service
with her and her family on Yulemas morning.

But now, standing at the threshold of a Syvenic temple, she was beginning to appreciate the gravity
of her error. She wasn’t a Valyrian, she wasn’t a Daughter of Relle, she wasn’t—

“Mother Relle welcomes all visitors into her home.” Rhaenyra’s quiet words were meant to be a
comfort, Alicent knew, but she didn’t feel comforted.

Visitor.

Because she still belonged to Sytarr.

As is the proper order of things.

Rhaenyra offered her arm. “Ali?”

Managing a small smile at the familiar gesture, Alicent settled her hand on the crook of Rhaenyra’s
elbow and allowed herself to be led inside.

If Sytarr wishes to strike me down, so be it.

But when she stepped through the doors, nothing happened.

Alicent released the breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

The temple’s main sanctum was heptagonal in shape, with high, stained glass windows that allowed
the early rays of dawn to stream in and bathe the marble floor in multicolored light. Soaring
columns supported the temple’s domed roof, which was decorated with a mural of the Heartland
Woods and Lake Halinor.

Carved stone vines spangled with golden roses wended their way around each column’s shaft, and
the bell-shaped capitals were decorated with volutes, two rows of acanthus leaves, rose briars, and
an elaborate cornice. White banners bearing the Temple’s silver septagram hung between each of
the windows. And towering statues of Relle’s seven faces stood in each of the sanctum’s corners,
crowned with silverwood wreaths and swathed in silver and white cloth.

The Mother Relle Lifegiver stood at the front of the sanctum with her arms outstretched to
welcome all who approached her. The Maiden Relle Springheart stood proud and tall with a bow
clutched in her left hand and a quiver of arrows slung across her back. The Crone Relle Wiseone
was a stooped figure who supported herself with an ornate cane and held aloft a glowing lantern.

The Warrior Relle Shieldbreaker held her shield aloft with one hand while the other gripped her
sword. The Artist Relle Songcrafter was seated on a low stool and strumming a harp, paintbrushes
and sheets of music tucked beside her feet. The Judge Relle Scaleholder was blindfolded and
holding up the scales of justice. The Reaper Relle Darklight was hooded and cloaked so that her
face was hidden from those who looked upon her.

Cushioned pews had been arranged in neat rows for the service, alternatingly draped in white or
silver cloth and adorned with white or silver roses. Mother Lemore Rowan stood at the feet of Relle
Lifegiver dressed in a golden cassock that fell to her feet and was adorned with a silver septagram
on each sleeve and a silver trisquel over the heart. A long, white stole with silver trim was draped
around her neck, and atop her head was a crescent-shaped headdress with a veil that flowed down
her back and covered most of her white-blonde hair.

As Rhaenyra escorted her up a winding flight of stairs to the royal box, Alicent’s eyes roved over
the sanctum and the various silver and white decorations. In addition to the banners, cloth and roses
adorning the pews and statues, the satin draped over the railing of the balcony where the choir was
assembling was white with silver designs, and the orbs of light floating overhead were silver.

She knew from seeing its sigil in the great hall that the Temple’s official colors were silver and
gold, but Rhaenyra had explained that silver and white were the colors of Yule. “Silver for Relle,
and white for Queen Caladria Moonwing.”

The royal box was located above, in front of, and to the side of where Mother Lemore stood,
placing them almost eyelevel with Relle Lifegiver’s statue. From this vantage point, Alicent had a
perfect view of the priestesses helping Mother Lemore prepare for the service, as well as all the
women down below who were making their way to their seats. Most were talking quietly amongst
themselves, though a few were instead reading the Codex.

The balcony that housed the choir and organist was on the same level as the royal box, but
positioned on the wall almost directly above Mother Lemore. The singers wore flowing robes of
alternating silver and white, their eyes trained on their choir mistress, who was leading them
through vocal exercises. The organist was tuning behind them, creating a soft background din.
As she sat down, Alicent noted that Rhaenyra and Viserra were sitting as far away from each other
as the relatively small box allowed, though that did little alleviate the tension between them. Seated
beside Rhaenyra as she was, Alicent couldn’t help but notice the way that her friend kept glancing
at her mother askance.

On her other side, Laena leaned over to whisper to her, “I’m very glad you decided to join us this
morning, Alicent. Perhaps you can help me prevent my sister and mother from killing each other.”

Alicent blushed, eyes flicking towards Rhaenyra, who pretended not to hear them. “I’m afraid that I
won’t be of much help in that regard.” She was certain that there was nothing she could do if
Rhaenyra and Viserra decided to have a confrontation—aside from remaining well out of harm’s
way.

Laena opened her mouth to respond, but a high, clear chime interrupted her, echoing through the
sanctum as one of the temple’s seven bells was rung to call for silence.

Down below, Mother Lemore was smiling out at the gathered women, grey eyes shining. “Good
morning, My Sisters, and a Happy Yulemas to you all. As we gather to commemorate and celebrate
the life and works of Saint Septima Targaryen—first amongst Relle’s Daughters—let us also give
thanks for the blessings of this past year. For the blessings of peace and tranquility throughout our
Queendom and the Empire, for the fertility of our fields and the bounty of our harvests, for the
tireless efforts of our people, and for the accord and amity that Queen Rhaenyra has fostered with
our Sisters of the Flame.”

A soft murmur of thanks rose from the gathered women, and Alicent noticed several of them
making a series of motions that seemed to form a septagram across their bodies.

Beside her, Rhaenyra’s cheeks were slightly flushed, though her face remained pleasantly
impassive otherwise. Alicent was tempted to reach over and touch her friend’s hand or squeeze her
arm, but she didn’t know if that would be improper during a service.

After motioning for everyone to rise, Mother Lemore loosely clasped her hands in front of herself,
closed her eyes, and lowered her head.

Alicent swiftly did the same when she saw the women around her mirroring the priestess.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then every woman began speaking in unison, their voices
blending together and echoing off of the vaulted ceiling.

“Though we go forth alone, our souls unite us in Relle’s eternal light. We are never lost, never
afraid, for we shrink not from the light of righteousness.”

The words were familiar to Alicent’s ears, and she realized a moment later that it was because
she’d heard Rhaenyra whispering them under her breath on several occasions as she’d been falling
asleep after a night terror. She’d always suspected that they were part of a blessing of some sort—
one that Rhaenyra had spoken over her because she’d assumed that Alicent was asleep.

“Relle binds us to those we love, she gives us strength when we have none, and in the darkest
places, she guides us. For Relle sees all, feels all, her love eternal.”

Much to her own shame, Alicent found herself comparing the words flowing around her to those of
the prayers that she’d learned as a child and recited for decades. Not a one of them ever mentioned
Sytarr loving his worshippers.

But he is not expected to love us.

Sytarr was a god of strength and vengeance, of protection through blood, of righteous wrath and
grudging praise. He disciplined and punished the guilty and aided those who proved their strength
and decisiveness and devotion to him.

Arilla and the priests of the House of Kazsan would call Relle weak.

But the Valyrians who bow to her defeated the Westerosi who bow to Sytarr.

Alicent’s fingers curled around her scarred wrist, her stomach churning as the fine hairs on the back
of her neck stood on end.

Blasphemer.

Faithless whore.

Attending this service had been a mistake.

Biting her lower lip, she opened one eye to peek at Rhaenyra, whose own eyes remained closed,
though her friend had turned her body slightly in a way that—

In a way that better shields me from view.

Alicent’s throat tightened, and she longed to reach for Rhaenyra and squeeze her hand in thanks.

“Relle protect us so that we might protect others, and we shall rise, a fire in her hearth, burning and
free.”

As the final words of the prayer lingered in the air, Mother Lemore opened her eyes and bid them
be seated.

“Relle protect us so that we might protect others.”

The words echoed in Alicent’s ears over and over and over again even as Mother Lemore continued
her service by recounting the story of the Temple’s founding on the Old World by Saint Septima
Targaryen. She told of how Saint Septima—a blessed seventh daughter of a seventh daughter—was
given to the vestals as a child, of how she used her position to learn about the ancient goddesses
that Old World men had spent millions of years expunging from the histories, of how her first
disciples were her own nieces—Saint Meria Martell, Saint Alla Tyrell, Saint Lyarra Stark, Saint
Gaia Arryn, Saint Minisa Tully, Saint Lucia Lannister, and Saint Asellia Baratheon—of how the
marriages of the Seven Saints into Houses across the Three Empires had spread Saint Septima’s
teachings and allowed Relle to grow in strength over the course of the Dark Times.

“Relle protect us so that we might protect others.”

Alicent’s lips pursed as she remembered the words that her mother had taught her, the words that
her father oft recited during his occasional lectures to her and her siblings, the words that her
brothers muttered under their breath during combat exercises.

«Sytarr aids the strong—those who take what is theirs. All others must be allowed to perish.»
She well-remembered her mother telling her stories about what befell weak men and those reduced
to begging for another’s aid.

But glancing over at Rhaenyra, whose gaze was focused on Mother Lemore, she also remembered
the words that her friend had said to her when she’d first come to the Queen’s Keep.

“When I look at you, I don’t see a Westerosi. I see a woman who was in grave need of help. I could
offer that help. So I did. Any decent person would have done the same.”

At the time, she’d thought Rhaenyra’s words hollow, thought them no more than a ploy by the
Firestorm to torment and confuse her. But her friend had proven the truth and sincerity of those
words every day since.

“Relle protect us so that we might protect others.”

Mother would call such words foolish female sentiment.

But as the service continued, and as Mother Lemore began reading passages from the Codex,
Alicent found herself ignoring the guilt coiling in her stomach and instead listening to Mother
Lemore’s words far more intently than she should.

Following morning service, Alicent had immediately retreated to the library—much to Rhaenyra’s
concern—though she’d assured her friend that all was well and that Rhaenyra ought to enjoy
spending time with her sister. Laena had invited her to take tea with them the following afternoon,
and it was only Alicent’s acceptance that had finally persuaded Rhaenyra to leave her to her
research.

She’d spent the remainder of the morning and all of the afternoon reading about the lives of Saint
Septima and her Seven Saints. But even after almost a full day sequestered in the library, Alicent
still didn’t know whether her research had actually yielded the answers that she sought, for she
couldn’t even properly articulate what answers she wanted.

Ones that provide clarity, she supposed.

And understanding.

Something to alleviate the rapacious guilt gnawing at her insides.

She’d committed blasphemy of the highest order that morning by listening to a priestess preach
about Mother Relle Lightbringer.

But she didn’t regret it.

Which she knew made her all the more guilty in Sytarr’s eyes.

Alicent had eventually emerged from the library for supper—a grand and festive event held in the
great hall—during which she’d seated herself with Margaery, Sansa, and her other friends.

She was fairly certain that she’d felt Rhaenyra’s eyes upon her multiple times throughout the meal,
though every time that she’d turned to look, her friend had been engaged in a conversation with
Laena, Lady Rhaenys, Mistress Corla, or Mistress Alaura.
After supper, Alicent briefly returned to her chambers to retrieve the Yulemas gifts that she’d made
for her friends before hurriedly making her way towards the great hall where Rhaenyra had
summoned everyone to exchange gifts.

“Alicent.”

She turned at the sound of Catelyn’s voice behind her, a smile forming on her lips even as her
eyebrows arched in surprise when she saw what her friend was wearing. Until now, she’d never
seen the Sea Court Ambassador dressed in anything other than the dark blues, shining silvers, and
bright crimsons of House Tully.

Yule must be an exception to the rule that ambassadors wear the colors of the court they represent.
And I suppose she’s technically wearing blue.

Catelyn’s flowing gown was such a pale shade of blue that it was almost white, and the sheer silks
and satins of her skirts revealed flashes of her scaled legs when the light struck them just so. Her
bodice was festooned with rubies and sapphires that formed a series of waves, and around her neck
was a chain of interconnected silver trout. Her marriage—bonding—bracelet encircled her right
wrist as always, and her auburn hair was swept up beneath a cerulean hairnet spangled with
peridots and tiny sapphires.

As Catelyn fell into step beside her, her eyes flicked down to the small, neatly wrapped parcels
nestled in the basket hanging from her arm. “Gifts?”

Alicent nodded, feeling a slight flush creep into her cheeks. Given the amount that she’d spent on
the materials for Rhaenyra’s gown, purchasing Yulemas gifts hadn’t been an option, so she’d
decided to make monogrammed handkerchiefs, since Margaery had once mentioned that
“Handkerchiefs are always much needed and appreciated.”

All the same, she still found herself nervous that her friends would find her humble gifts lacking.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip for a brief moment as she glanced down at her basket. “Is it
improper for me to give you your gift now? Should I wait until we’re inside the great hall?”

“It isn’t improper at all,” Catelyn assured her, amusement glinting in her blue eyes. “Her Majesty
has us gather in the great hall so that we’re not all running about the Keep attempting to find the
people for whom we have gifts. The tradition is for the sake of expediency, nothing more.”

Family members probably have their own private gift exchanges then.

Hoping that Margaery had spoken true about handkerchief being always appreciated, Alicent
reached into her basket and withdrew the handkerchief that she’d made for Catelyn, which she’d
folded into fourths and tied with a silver ribbon so that she could easily find it among the others.

Accepting the parcel, Catelyn removed the ribbon and slipped it into her pocket before unfolding
the handkerchief. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw the embroidered designs, and a soft purr
rumbled in the back of her throat. “This is beautiful, Alicent.” She ran her finger over the silver
trout—her House’s sigil—intricately embroidered into the handkerchief’s center. The border was
decorated with a wave pattern done in different shades of blue, and her name was stitched into the
bottom, left corner. “I can certainly see why Mistress Damella was so eager to hire you.”

Alicent beamed, pleasure and relief managing to smother the instinctive urge to lower her head at
the compliment. “I’m glad you like it.”
“How could I not? Your work is impeccable, and I’ll always have need of another handkerchief.”
Catelyn smiled brightly as she refolded the red cloth and tucked it into a different pocket.

When a small box suddenly appeared in Alicent’s hands a moment later, she startled and nearly
dropped it as a result.

Catelyn covered her mouth to stifle her laughter even as she said, “My apologies, Alicent. I
sometimes forget that you aren’t used to things simply appearing. I should have warned you.”

“It’s all right.” Though she was now gripping the box so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Her heart was still beating rapidly in her chest as she carefully loosened the ribbon holding the
box’s lid in place. This would be the first gift that she’d received from anyone other than Rhaenyra.

Removing the lid, Alicent was met by the sight of a conch shell nestled in a bed of blue fabric. The
shell was slightly larger than her fist, with a creamy exterior and a coiled spire. The interior was a
pale purple that darkened as it curved into hidden depths—the colors rich and vibrant.

She looked up at Catelyn, who was watching her intently. “It’s beautiful, Catelyn. Thank you.”
Beautiful wasn’t the proper word to describe the shell, but she couldn’t think of anything better at
the moment.

“Hold it to your ear.” Catelyn’s eyes were bright with excitement as she waited for Alicent to do as
instructed.

At first, all she heard was the rushing sound created by ambient noise as it resonated within the
shell’s cavity, but after a moment, that noise died down and was replaced by a high, clear, female
voice.

Oh won’t you come with me

Where the moon is made of gold,

And in the morning sun,

We’ll be sailing free.

Oh won’t you come with me

Where the ocean meets the sky,

And as the clouds roll by,

We’ll sing the song of the sea.

Alicent slowly lowered the shell from her ear and stared down at it. Whatever she’d been
expecting, it certainly hadn’t been that. The shell, she was certain, was only an ordinary conch
shell. There were no wires or speakers or microchips such as what her own people would have used
to construct a recording device. It was merely a pretty shell that someone had enchanted.

I shouldn’t be surprised that Valyrians have recording spells.

And yet, part of her was.

It was oft easy to forget that Valyria was a planet as advanced as her own, in truth, given that they
chose to remain a preindustrial society. There were no satellites and monitors for long-range
communication here, no machines or automation or artificial intelligences, no mass transit lines or
personal vehicles or transmatter portals, no electronic databanks and holo-crystals to store
information, no laboratories and chemicals for regenerating and regrowing organs.

No. Instead, there were enchanted mirrors and telepathy for long-range communication, telekinesis
and elementalism and spells in place of machines and automation, teleportation spells for swift
travel, enchanted quills that could transcribe and even translate entire texts in a matter of hours, and
physicians who used magic to coax new tissues and organs to grow and regenerate.

And despite all of her reading and her friends’ detailed explanations, magic remained a rather
mysterious and foreign concept to her.

Alicent slowly turned the shell over in her hands. “Is that your voice singing?”

Catelyn chortled, shaking her head. “Hardly. My music mistress used to rap my knuckles because I
could never carry a tune.” She tilted her head to indicate the shell’s box. “That voice is my sister’s.
She’s always been the siren of the family.”

So Valyrians can be inept at the musical arts.

She found the minor revelation both a surprise and a comfort. Placing the shell back in its box,
which she then stowed in her basket, she gave Catelyn an appreciative smile “Your sister’s voice is
lovely. Very soothing.” She wondered if there was a way for her to project the voice so that she
could hear the song without having the shell pressed against her ear.

Catelyn hummed in agreement, fondness sparkling in her eyes. “She used to sing that lullaby to me
when I couldn’t find sleep.” She paused, her voice lowering as her tone became delicate. “I thought
you might appreciate having a music shell. For the nights when you have trouble sleeping.”

Alicent frowned. She’d never told anyone about her night terrors.

“There are days when you seem tired,” Catelyn explained gently, reading the question in her eyes.
“I remember what it was like when I first left Saevara. How I needed years to become accustomed
to sleeping in unfamiliar places.” She smiled wryly. “The first time that I set foot on dry land, I
tripped over my new feet and went sprawling on the beach. I found sleeping above water . . .
exceptionally trying during that first decade or so.”

Alicent smiled empathetically. “I imagine it must have been quite difficult acclimating to life on
land after living underwater.” She herself had yet to entirely acclimate to life on Valyria, and she
sometimes wondered if she ever would.

“I managed.” Catelyn lightly patted her arm. “And I’m certain that you will as well. You’ve already
adjusted remarkably well, I must say, considering your,” she paused a moment, “circumstances and
history.”

Alicent had always wondered why Catelyn had seemed so eager to meet her two years ago.
Perhaps she thought of me as a kindred spirit. Of all the Queendoms, Saevara was the most
removed from the others—even more so than Norden’s frozen tundra in the north or the Avenian
Isles’ isolated and mountainous islands in the south.

Reaching out, she clasped Catelyn’s hand. “Thank you, Catelyn. For everything.” She gave her
friend’s hand a firm squeeze, hoping to convey what she couldn’t properly express with words.
Catelyn was the first woman that she’d befriended after emerging from her chambers, the first
woman to show her that she truly was welcome at Stone Garden.

And that meant more than she could ever say.

Alicent yawned as she drew the covers up under her chin, sighing contentedly as the thick quilts
and soft blankets cocooned her in their warmth. The Geltic crystals on her bedside table cast a faint
glow that reflected off of her music shell’s gleaming exterior. The gentle notes and soothing words
of the lullaby emanated from the shell’s mouth, which she’d turned towards her bed.

When Rhaenyra had shown her how to project the song, she’d asked if this meant that she would no
longer be needed on certain nights. Her friend’s tone had been playful, but Alicent had noticed the
glimmer of sadness in her amethyst eyes. She’d responded—in the same playful tone that Rhaenyra
had used—that a shell couldn’t hold her after a night terror.

Rhaenyra’s cheeks had flushed in response, and she’d quickly changed the subject by presenting
Alicent with a beautiful silver pocket watch slightly smaller than the palm of her hand.

A stunning emerald orchid adorned the cover—inlaid green enamel forming the petals, while the
stem and leaves were rendered in bas-relief. The watch’s crown looked like an orchid petal, and the
bow was fashioned into the shape of overlapping leaves. Swirling whorls and intricate designs had
been lightly etched into the metal of the watch’s back, and overlaying them were an elaborate A
and H.

She’d thanked Rhaenyra with words and a tight hug, and when she’d presented her friend with her
handkerchief, Rhaenyra had responded in kind.

As sleep beckoned to her now, Alicent found herself pondering what she would speak about with
Laena on the morrow during teatime. She didn’t wish for Rhaenyra’s favorite sister to find her
lacking. While she knew that Rhaenyra wouldn’t forsake their friendship simply because Laena
disliked her, she would never wish to come between Rhaenyra and her sister.

Rolling onto her side, she stared at the shadows dancing on her walls. Perhaps she should conduct
some additional research. She’d only familiarized herself with a small fraction of Bellmar’s history,
and she really should read more about the Order of the Lotus, or at least the Blue Lotus Sect.

There was still so much for her to explore and memorize.

I ought to sleep.

Alicent slipped from her bed and made her way over to her bookcase.
 ∞

Rhaenyra sighed as she slouched in her favorite wing back chair. A fire crackled in the hearth,
casting shadows across her face and all around her bedchamber. Laena sat opposite her in a chair
that she’d commandeered from Rhaenyra’s study. They were both nursing mulled drinks, though
hers was tea while Laena’s was wine.

“Mother would have quite a few words to say to you if she could see your posture at present,”
Laena chided playfully, wagging a finger at her.

Rhaenyra snorted. Their mother had been chastising her posture for as long as she could remember.
“How fortunate that she’s on the other side of the Keep then.”

Laena hummed in agreement, her eyes alighting to the square of silver fabric in Rhaenyra’s free
hand. “A gift from your safa?”

Rhaenyra scowled at her. “She isn’t my safa.”

“But she could be.”

Perhaps when the stars go dark, she thought gloomily.

Clicking her tongue, Laena set her wine aside and leaned forward. “May I?”

As Rhaenyra handed the handkerchief to her sister, she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of
how much time and effort and care Alicent had afforded both this handkerchief and all of the others
that she’d made for her friends.

She’d seen the meticulous attention that Alicent had given each stitch of Chef Gilly’s ten white
wolves’ heads on grey with a black border and Luwina’s silver gauntlet on scarlet. She’d seen the
remarkable skill and talent exhibited by the intricacy of Aemma and Dr. Arwen’s matching sky-
blue handkerchiefs, which each displayed a blue falcon soaring against a white moon. She’d seen
the painstaking precision with which Alicent had perfectly rendered House Tyrell’s red and gold
rose on a green field and Clan Vypren’s black toad sitting upon a white lily pad on a green field.

Laena absently brightened a nearby light-orb and summoned it closer as she inspected the elegant,
perfect stitches that formed a strikingly detailed three-headed red dragon breathing black fire on a
silver field. “Impressive for someone who hasn’t even reached her sixth decade.”

“Impressive for anyone of any age,” Rhaenyra corrected. Alicent’s work was without flaw, and
many of her stitch patterns were ones that she’d never actually seen before—presumably learned
from her mothers on Westeros.

“The flaming black roses around the border are a nice touch.” Laena smiled slyly. “And I see that
she’s already decided to unite her colors with yours.”

Rhaenyra bit back an exasperated groan. She’d known that her sister would make a comment the
moment she saw that the field was silver rather than black. “Alicent couldn’t very well place black
fire and black roses on a black field, Laena. Besides, silver is one of my colors as well.”

“Hmm. I suppose that’s one interpretation of her color choices.” Laena returned the handkerchief
and retrieved her wine. “Those looped stitches that she did for your name are also quite lovely.”
She chuckled softly, eyes twinkling. “I can’t imagine you’ll ever actually use that handkerchief for
its intended purpose though.”

Rhaenyra joined in her sister’s mirth, raising her teacup in agreement. “Nor can I.” Alicent’s gift
was a work of art, and one did not blow one’s nose or wipe away tears with a work of art. She
smiled softly as her fingers gently stroked over the delicate stitches. “I’m going to add it to my
collection.”

“Of mementos from old friends?” Laena frowned. “That seems rather premature. All of the
keepsakes in that particular collection are from your mortal friends who are dead.”

Which Alicent isn’t.

Not yet.

The unspoken words hung between them.

And Rhaenyra’s heart twisted in her chest.

“Valyrians became immortal through magic. Could you not use the same spell on your mate?”

It was a question that she’d often pondered herself prior to ascending the Dragon Throne. And
during her imperial reign . . . she couldn’t entirely recall what her thoughts had been on the matter
—they’d been removed along with her memory of the immortality spell itself following her
abdication—but she retained vague recollections of distress and a severe reticence to actually
immortalize her mate even if she should manage to find her.

Not that such concerns mattered anymore.

She’d found her mate, but Alicent would never be hers.

And the thought of watching her wither and—

Most women were intelligent enough to avoid such pain.

But not her.

Mother Relle herself has ordained it otherwise.

Her mother had called her a fool for allowing herself to befriend mortals.

Her great-grandmother had been somewhat kinder in her assessment. “Mortals live and die in a
twinkling, Rhaenyra, and such friendships can lead to nothing but heartache. Best to remain aloof
from them and only form bonds with your own people.”

But neither of them had ever experienced all of the joys that came from befriending those who
appreciated life in a way no immortal ever could. Her mortal friends had brought her sorrow with
their deaths, but they’d also given her happiness and love during their lives. They had taught her
many lessons, and she knew that she was a better and stronger woman for having known them.

Just as she knew that Alicent had already done much the same for her.
Laena was peering at her with an expression that was both thoughtful and perplexed. “I’ve never
understood how you can open your heart to such pain over and over again.”

“I don’t entirely understand it myself,” Rhaenyra admitted. She’d attended more funerals than she
could count, held more bodies than anyone should ever have to, and yet she’d never managed to
remain entirely aloof from those she met during her travels. Inevitably, she always came to care for
the people around her.

“You allow yourself such heartbreak, and yet you refuse to pursue Alicent.”

“Laena—”

“I know you said she does not wish to be treated as a wife, but a mate is not a wife. You know that.
And I’m certain it is only a matter of time before Alicent understands this as well. And I know you
don’t believe that she loves you, but from what I’ve seen, she appears quite fond of you.”

“Fondness isn’t love.”

“But it can grow into such.” Laena arched an eyebrow. “Do you truly believe Mother Relle would
offer you a mate incapable of loving you?”

“Considering she also decided that my mate would be a mortal doomed to die, yes, I believe she
might.” Rhaenyra’s lips twisted bitterly. She’d been taught that Relle was a kind and caring
goddess, that she was a mother to her temporal daughters, but she knew better than most that not all
mothers were loving. “Perhaps such suffering is my punishment for all that I’ve done and may yet
do.”

“Rhaenyra—”

“What other reason could there be, Laena?” Rhaenyra swiftly set her teacup aside before she did
something foolish and shattered it. “No other Valyrian has ever had a non-Valyrian mate, and no
other Valyrian has committed the atrocities—”

“You haven’t committed—”

“I nearly destroyed the planet before my second millennia,” Rhaenyra hissed, lightning beginning
to crackle at her fingertips as her canines lengthened and sharpened. “Just as Mother always
feared.”

A shudder rippled through her body as terrified screams echoed in her ears and memories of
flaming skies and boiling seas and cracking mountains flashed through her mind. “You wish to
know why I never intend to court Alicent? Even ignoring that she will never love me in that way,
even ignoring that she will inevitably die, the simple fact remains that she deserves better than me.”

Alicent was gentle and good and kind.

“She deserves better than a monster.”

“You’re not a monster, Rhae.”

Rhaenyra raised her hands, spreading her fingers. “I have blood on my hands, Laena. More than I
can ever scrub away.”
“We all have blood on our hands after the War, Rhaenyra.” Laena rose from her chair and came to
stand in front of her. “And what happened after Mother’s net broke was not your fault—”

“It was my magic,” Rhaenyra snapped. “My magic that caused volcanoes to erupt and yawning
chasms to split the earth, my magic that boiled the seas and turned mountains to dust, my magic that
raised great tidal waves and blighted the crops. That was me, Laena. I nearly destroyed Valyria
because I couldn’t control myself.”

And she’d never been punished for her crime.

None aside from her mother, sisters, and the All Mother knew what she’d done—few were even
aware that her magic had been restrained by a stasis net for over seventeen hundred years.

After halting the destruction that she’d wrought, she’d begged her mother to punish her—to
imprison her or banish her or remove her from the line of succession—but the All Mother had
declared that the truth of what had happened must remain secret. “The Most Powerful Valyrian to
Ever Draw Breath cannot be seen as a threat. You saved Valyria with little more than a wave of
your hand, Rhaenyra. That is all anyone need concern themselves with.”

Even after she’d gained control over her magic, her mother’s conviction that she would prove an
unworthy empress hadn’t wavered.

“Blood and birth gave you this throne, but they do not make you worthy of it.”

“Rhaenyra,” Laena sighed, dragging her from her thoughts, “you did not intend for any of that to
happen—”

“A fire does not intend to destroy a forest, but that is little comfort to the animals it kills.”

“No one died—”

“No Valyrian died.” She didn’t know how many animals and plants had been destroyed, but she
knew for a fact that hundreds of sea serpents had perished when the oceans boiled, that nigh one
thousand ruks had been killed when the Avenian Isles were nearly obliterated, and that dozens of
dragons had lost their lives to her magic.

Laena reached down and grasped Rhaenyra’s face between her hands. “Mother was the one who
erred, Rhaenyra, not you. If she hadn’t wrapped your core in that thrice-damned stasis net, perhaps
your magic wouldn’t have erupted as violently as it did. What happened after the net broke was her
fault—”

“Had I been in control from the beginning, Mother wouldn’t have needed to cast the net at all.”
Rhaenyra’s fingers curled into tight fists to prevent her hands from trembling.

She’d hated that net.

She’d hated being severed from her magical core—from her very essence.

She’d hated feeling hollow and empty and as if a vital piece of her soul had been carved out.

But she’d also known that the net had been necessary.
 “If you had even half of the control that Cassella does, perhaps that stasis net around your core
wouldn’t be necessary.”

“I am a monster, Laena,” she whispered, brushing her sister’s hands from her face and slumping
back in her chair. “You know it. I know it.” She laughed mordantly. “Mother has always known it.”

Shaking her head, Laena took Rhaenyra’s hands in her own and coaxed her fingers to unfurl. She
was releasing sweet-smelling calming pheromones as she spoke in a low and gentle voice. “I think
it’s time you retire to bed, Rhae. You only ever become this morose when you’re sleep deprived.”

“I’ve been sleeping much more regularly for almost nine months now, I’ll have you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” Laena smiled slightly. “It seems the Lady Alicent works wonders.”

Rhaenyra didn’t bother protesting what they both knew to be true. Her eyes closed as she breathed
in her sister’s warm scent, feeling her muscles relax in response. She’d missed Laena, missed this
closeness that she didn’t share with any of her other sisters.

When Laena tugged on her hands, she allowed herself to be drawn to her feet and led over to her
bed. “I’ll be staying with you tonight,” Laena announced as she turned down the covers, her tone
leaving no room for argument.

“You needn’t—”

“Rhaenyra, I can see that you’ve not been sleeping well for at least a few weeks—presumably due
to Mother’s visit—and I intend to ensure that you actually rest tonight.” Without allowing her a
chance to respond, Laena climbed up onto the bed and settled herself beneath the covers. “You
know you’ll not be rid of me, Rhae, so you might as well accept your fate with grace.”

Shaking her head—even as her heart warmed at her sister’s care—Rhaenyra climbed into bed and
drew the covers up under her chin. With a wave of her hand, she extinguished the light-orbs and
plunged the room into darkness. She rolled onto her side and almost immediately felt an arm wrap
around her waist.

Relaxing into her sister’s embrace, she shifted even closer to her. “Thank you, Laena,” she yawned,
eyes already drooping.

Laena squeezed her in response before pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “Sleep, Little Sister.
Dream of something happy. Such as your lovely safa.”

Had Rhaenyra been more awake, she would have protested her sister’s choice of words, but she’d
already sunk too far into the realm of sleep to respond.

Chapter End Notes

Viserra has arrived! Is she as terrible as everyone was expecting? Worse? Let me know in the
comments!
Next Chapter: The holidays continue with a tea, another piece of Rhaenyra's tragic backstory,
and a waltz!

Additional Disclaimer 1: The prayer used during the service was an altered version of a prayer
written for the CW show Supergirl (2015). I liked the messaging, so I thieved it, altered it to
fit the story, and bestowed it upon all of you.

Additional Disclaimer 2: The song lyrics are also not mine. They are from a song entitled
"Song of the Sea" written by Nolwenn Leroy, Patrice Olivier Renson, and Paula Moore.
 First and Second Days of Yuletide
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 33:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Laena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Bellmar
– Alaura Glover, a Dragon Wood courtier, from Norden
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Please enjoy a map of the Dragon Court and Kastrell (someone commented that they missed
the maps and such, so here you go).

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Snow Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

Alicent futzed nervously with her emerald orchid ring as she waited for Rhaenyra and Laena to join
her. She’d arrived half an hour early to prepare everything to her liking—arranging the teacakes
and sweet cakes and lemon cakes in a lotus pattern, making certain that the cups and saucers were
perfectly equidistant from each other and the center of the table, placing the teapot filled with
Laena’s favorite tea—which Alicent had brewed herself—closer to Laena’s seat than her own and
Rhaenyra’s, neatly folding the napkins into perfect triangles, and meticulously ensuring that each of
the spoons was exactly two inches to the right of the teacups.
But those preparations had been completed over ten minutes ago, leaving Alicent with nothing to
do save wait.

Abandoning her ring, she reached into one of the pockets of her dress and withdrew the watch that
Rhaenyra had gifted her the night before. She smiled to herself, relaxing somewhat as she brushed
her thumb over the emerald orchid adorning the cover.

“All Valyrians need at least one pocket watch,” Rhaenyra had told her quietly, her voice nervous as
she awaited Alicent’s response. “It was past time that you have one of your own.”

Alicent wasn’t a Valyrian, but she knew what Rhaenyra meant, and that tacit acceptance, that
wordless welcome, had made her heart swell so full that she’d feared it might burst. Her lips still
tingled with the memory of pressing them against Rhaenyra’s warm cheek, and she swore that she
could still feel the pleasant vibrations of her friend’s loud purring in her own chest.

Sinful, disgusting whore.

Her fingers tightened around the cool metal of her pocket watch.

There was nothing sinful about sharing a hug.

Margaery and Sansa and Aemma and her other friends hugged her all the time.

Criston had never hugged her.

There was nothing sinful about kissing another woman’s cheek.

Margaery had been the first person to kiss her cheek since her little sisters.

Criston had only ever kissed her cheek to hurt her or mock her.

Hugs and cheek kisses were the behaviors of friends.

Husbands did not offer their wives such simple signs of affection.

Or any signs of affection.

But friends did.

Here on Valyria, friends offered each other such gestures of affection.

But you wanted more, you greedy little slut.

Alicent winced.

Had she wanted more?

Had she wanted—?

No.

Of course not.

Sinful thoughts need not lead to sinful deeds.

She enjoyed feeling close to Rhaenyra—nothing more.

Rhaenyra was her friend, perhaps even her heart friend.

“Those with whom you’ve forged a deep emotional bond. The term can be applied to blood kin as
well as those you’ve chosen to take into your heart.”

Alicent had chosen to take Rhaenyra into her heart, and she was certain that Rhaenyra had done the
same.

Valyrians are not Westerosi.

So long as I maintain my boundaries with her, there is nothing wrong with—

Alicent’s head snapped to the side, and she hastily returned her watch to its pocket when she heard
the sound of a door opening in the distance. She’d requested that they take tea together in the glass
garden, hoping that the warm memories suffusing this place would help calm her.

Rhaenyra beamed upon seeing her, steps quickening as she hurried to her side. Her eyes swept over
the tea table, and her smile somehow widened even further as her hand rose to gently squeeze
Alicent’s shoulder. “Everything looks lovely, Ali.”

Pride swelled in Alicent’s chest at the praise, and she reached up to cover Rhaenyra’s hand with her
own. “Thank you, Nyra.”

Rising to her feet, she turned to face Laena, bobbing a shallow curtsy before she could stop herself.
“I took the liberty of making your favorite tea. I hope that’s all right?”

Laena grinned, causing the corners of her eyes to crinkle the same way Rhaenyra’s did. “More than
all right, Alicent. Thank you.” She lightly nudged Alicent’s hip with her own as she moved past her
to reach her chair. “I can certainly see what Rhae meant about you being sweet.”

A hot flush rose in Alicent’s cheeks, her eyes darting to Rhaenyra, who was giving her sister an
exasperated look. “You told her I’m sweet?”

“I also told her that you’re compassionate and skilled and gentle and warm and intelligent and—”
Rhaenyra broke off, her own cheeks darkening with embarrassment as she cleared her throat and
swiftly sat down. “I’ve told her many things about you,” she mumbled. “All of them good,” she
added hastily.

While Alicent had never been fond of the notion of others gossiping about her, she found that she
couldn’t be upset with Rhaenyra—not when her friend had been saying such kind things about her.
She reached over and squeezed Rhaenyra’s arm, pleased when her friend immediately relaxed in
response. “That’s very kind, Nyra.”

“You deserve nothing less than the utmost kindness, Ali.” Rhaenyra still wasn’t looking at her, but
the sincerity in her voice was plain to hear.

Alicent’s stomach fluttered.

Sinful whore.

She forced herself not to recoil, knowing that Rhaenyra would misunderstand and be hurt.
Laena cleared her throat, drawing both of their attentions. “Alicent, my apologies for not finding
you the night before, but I do have a Yulemas gift for you, if you’ll allow.”

Alicent stiffened, her hand falling away from Rhaenyra’s arm. “Y-You do?”

Damn it.

Why hadn’t she considered the possibility—?

Because to do so would have been horribly presumptuous.

But perhaps she should have.

Clearly she should have.

“I didn’t . . .” Her fingers clenched around her scarred wrist as shame welled within her. She should
have anticipated that Laena would do something like this, that of course Rhaenyra’s favorite sister
would do something unwarranted but kind. “I’m—I have nothing for you, Your Eminence.”

Laena waved dismissively. “Nor did I expect you to. I decided to bring this gift rather on a whim,”
she chuckled. “And there is no need for formalities, Alicent. You are my sister’s heart friend.
Practically family, in truth.”

Heart friend.

Alicent couldn’t help but smile as her grip on her wrist loosened. “You needn’t have troubled
yourself, Laena.”

“I know.” Laena snapped her fingers, and a small, thin, rectangular box appeared in front of
Alicent. “But you’re important to my sister, which means that you’re important to me, and this
seemed like a gift that you would appreciate.

Nerves and anticipation warred within Alicent as she swiftly tugged the ribbon loose and removed
the box’s lid.

Lying on a bed of crushed blue velvet was a long, thin scalpel with a handle of shining silver and an
emerald-green blade.

“Honed dragon-scale is one of the few materials that can easily lacerate Valyrian flesh, so you’ll
find that most scalpels are dragon-scale.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat. “You . . . you’re gifting me a scalpel?”

“Rhaenyra mentioned that you have an interest in medicine. Surgery, in particular.” Laena smiled
brightly. “And I rather assumed that you would be pleased to have a piece of honed dragon-scale to
study.”

She most certainly would. Her fingers brushed over the slender handle of the scalpel, taking care to
avoid the blade. Anything sharp enough to slice through Valyrian flesh could easily sever—

Her jaw tightened a fraction as her ring finger throbbed.

Refocusing her attention on Laena, she offered a warm smile. “Thank you, Laena. This is a
wonderful gift.” The words were inadequate to convey how elated she was to have both a piece of
dragon scale to study and a scalpel, but she didn’t know Laena well enough to offer her a hug.

Laena’s eyes twinkled. “Mayhap one day you’ll wield it in an operating room.”

Alicent’s smile vanished.

“Laena,” Rhaenyra hissed.

“What?”

“Surgeons here operate using medical spells.” Alicent’s words were sharper than they should have
been, but Laena was a blue lotus physician herself—a requirement for all Bellmaran queens—so
she knew this.

“That is true,” Laena acknowledged, extending her hands towards Alicent, “but surgeons first learn
to perform surgeries using mundane methods before we’re permitted to practice with medical
spells. Were you to attend the Alcazar, you would be taught everything there is to know about
surgical techniques requiring only a scalpel, needle, sutures, and other such mundane instruments.”

Alicent stared at Laena with wide eyes as she slowly reached out to accept her hand. “You aren’t
jesting.” Her words were little more than a whisper.

Laena’s smile shifted into a more serious expression. “I would not jest about something like this,”
she assured her. “I’ve seen your needlework, Alicent. You plainly have clever hands. And those are
essential for mundane surgery. ‘The hands of a healer are the most—’”

“‘Versatile instruments ever created by gods or mortals,’” Alicent finished.

Laena’s smile returned, somehow even brighter than before. “You’ve read Dr. Vespera’s treatise on
comparative surgical methods?”

“I’ve read all of her works.” Alicent couldn’t help the note of pride in her voice. She’d come across
mention of Vespera Selmy in a medical text praising her as the most renowned surgeon to never
serve as Mother Lotus of the Order of the Lotus. Intrigued, she’d immediately begun reading all of
her writings.

Laena nodded approvingly. “A wise decision for any aspiring surgeon.”

Alicent wasn’t certain how to respond to that. She was hardly an aspiring surgeon by any means,
but she would be lying if she claimed that she hadn’t felt a brief surge of excitement and longing
when Laena had said that she might learn mundane surgical skills and practices.

She glanced over at Rhaenyra, who was watching her with a soft expression. The thought of
leaving her—

“Perhaps you might do me the favor of sharing your enthusiasm for medicine with my daughter,”
Laena chuckled. “Rhaela is utterly determined to be dismissive of my occupation when considering
her own future prospects.”

Rhaenyra grinned as she shifted her attention to her sister. “I’ve been meaning to ask after my
favorite niece.”
“Rhaela is your only niece,” Laena scoffed.

“Even if she were not,” Rhaenyra spread her hands, “how could I not favor the girl who was named
for me?”

Laena rolled her eyes. “As I’ve said many times, You Puffed Up Peacock, Rhaela wasn’t named for
you.” While plainly exasperated, her tone was warm with amusement and light with teasing.

“You expect me to believe that you and Rhea were vain enough to name your daughter after
yourselves?”

“Has it never occurred to you that Rhaela was obviously named for Aunt Rhaenys?” Laena
smirked. “Seeing as how she’s actually earned such an honor.”

Rhaenyra pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wide with feigned hurt. “You wound me, Sister.”

“Perhaps the Lady Alicent will be kind enough to heal you.”

When Alicent laughed, Rhaenyra’s head snapped towards her. “You as well, Ali? How could you
betray me so?”

“My apologies, Nyra.” Both her words and her attempt at a contrite tone were probably undermined
by the amused grin curling her lips.

Rhaenyra sighed heavily as she plucked a sweet cake from the central platter and made a show of
focusing her attention on it.

Alicent reached over and rubbed her arm in silent apology, which earned her a small smile, though
her friend—her heart friend—continued pretending to be absorbed with her cake. Returning her
attention to Laena, she offered, “Perhaps your next daughter will be more inclined to follow your
example.”

Laena shook her head. “Considering Rhea and I do not intend to have another child, that is highly
doubtful.”

She almost asked why they would choose to have only one daughter, but courtesy stayed her
tongue.

Evidently, the question must have shown on her face, because Laena answered all the same. “That
Rhea and I decided to have even one child together was something of a surprise to both of our
families. The vast majority of Valyrians never have children.”

But then how can they justify their marriages?

Alicent winced at the unkind thought. While she couldn’t imagine ever choosing to be childless,
Valyrians were not Westerosi. Their unions could produce children, and that was all that mattered.
Besides, considering their immortality, it wasn’t as if children were a necessity.

And yet they still choose to bed each other.

That was something she simply couldn’t understand. Criston had initially bedded her to seed her
with his child, and he’d continued bedding her even after learning that she was barren both to slake
his lusts and to further punish her. She knew that her friends weren’t bedding their wi—mates—as
a form of punishment, but if they had no intention of becoming with child, why would they subject
themselves to the pain and indignity of being bedded?

While she supposed that it was possible Valyrians experienced less pain than Westerosi women
when bedded, a lack of pain hardly explained why they would wish to engage in such activities. It
hardly explained why she so oft saw “love bites” on Margaery and Sansa’s necks.

She briefly considered asking Rhaenyra, but immediately dismissed the thought. While she didn’t
know the circumstances of how her friend had become with child on seven separate occasions,
given that her unique situation, Alicent assumed that Rhaenyra’s experiences differed from those of
most Valyrians.

“Alicent?” Laena was giving her a concerned look. “Are you well?”

“I am,” she assured her—perhaps too hastily, since now Rhaenyra’s expression was also clouding
with worry.

Rhaenyra lightly touched her arm. “We needn’t continue discussing children, Ali.”

Laena’s eyes widened slightly. “Please forgive me, Alicent. I didn’t even consider—”

“You needn’t apologize.” Sytarr above, she was ruining tea. “Children are a blessing, and I would
very much like to hear more about your daughter.” Hoping to ease the tension that she’d
inadvertently created, Alicent reached over and playfully prodded Rhaenyra’s side, earning a
startled noise that was most unqueenly. “For all that Nyra insists your daughter was named for her,
she’s told me precious little about her save that she exists.”

“Is that so?” Laena scowled at her sister, but her eyes were shining. “And you wonder why I would
never name my child after you.”

Rhaenyra looked between them for a moment before slumping back in her chair with a defeated
sigh. “I see now that introducing the two of you was a terrible mistake.”

Laena grinned.

And Alicent laughed.

In honor of Saint Meria Martell—the eldest of Saint Septima Targaryen’s nieces and the
grandmother of Matriarch Nymeria Martell—the First Night of Yuletide was celebrated with a
grand display of fire elementalism that illuminated the night sky so much so as to be visible from
anywhere in Osmera. Working in concert as the most powerful fire elementals in the city—likely
the Queendom as well, at present—Rhaenyra and Viserra told the story of Saint Meria’s life
through astonishingly detailed flaming constructs.

They told of her childhood learning at Saint Septima’s knee, of her marriage into the House of the
Red Kelpie—the true name of House Martell’s Old World predecessor had been thoroughly
expunged from the historical records—of how she’d used her position to spread her aunt’s Syvenic
teachings, and of her tragic death during the Dark Times while evacuating her people from her
Kingdom’s crown city.
Despite the winter wind nipping at her cheeks and chilling her bones, Alicent had no desire to
retreat into the warmth of the Queen’s Keep—even though the lute that Margaery and Sansa had
gifted her for Yulemas had been calling to her for much of the day, as had the new sheet music that
Ygritte and Gilly had given her.

She was fairly certain that her neck would be sore come morning after having her head tilted back
for so long, but such an ache was well-worth being able to witness the spectacle of history brought
to life through roaring flames. It reminded her somewhat of the projections that she’d once watched
as a child with her sisters, and while Rhaenyra and Viserra’s fiery creations were far less detailed,
they were also far more impressive in scale and by virtue of how swiftly and seamlessly each one
was formed.

Overhead, a dying Saint Meria lay with her head resting in Lady Martell’s lap as Lady Martell’s
mother recited quiet prayers to Relle Darklight, entreating the Reaper to gently guide Saint Meria
on her final journey to the Seven Vales.

Alicent remembered thinking it strange that a goddess worshipped by immortals would have a
death aspect. After learning about the Immortalization, she’d decided that Relle Darklight lingered
simply because the goddess was meant to have seven faces, but now she wondered if it might also
be because Valyrians considered that aspect a link to their dead foremothers.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? What they can create when united in purpose?”

Barely managing to contain her undignified squeak of surprise, Alicent’s head snapped to the side,
and she found herself looking into Mistress Alaura Glover’s apologetic blue eyes.

“Please forgive me, Lady Alicent. I thought you would hear or scent my approach. I did not mean
to startle you.”

Alicent had almost forgotten what it was to interact with Valyrians unaware of how poor her senses
were compared to theirs. “It’s all right, Mistress Alaura. I was rather distracted at the moment.”

“Which is more than understandable.” The smile that Mistress Alaura gave her was warm and
pleasant, reminding Alicent of what Rhaenyra had said about her stepmother being sweet and
gentle.

“Far kinder than Mother deserves.”

From what little she’d observed of Mistress Alaura, the other woman certainly seemed kind
enough. Both this evening and the one before, Alicent had seen her smiling and laughing and
making amiable conversation with those seated at the high table. And she’d noticed the way that
Viserra’s demeanor softened and warmed whenever she spoke with her wi—mate.

Looking across the courtyard to where Rhaenyra and Viserra were shaping a procession of
mourners, she couldn’t help but agree with Mistress Alaura’s assessment. When the two women
were silent and focused on something other than each other, they did seem to work well together.

“I sometimes wonder if the reason that they get on so poorly is because of how similar they are.”

Alicent almost snapped that Rhaenyra was nothing like Viserra—that she wasn’t harsh and
overcritical, that she would never abhor her own child from birth, that she would never tacitly
accuse one of her own daughters of abuse without evidence—but she held her tongue. It wouldn’t
do to antagonize her heart friend’s stepmother, especially when Mistress Alaura plainly did not
mean her words as an insult.

“They’re both utterly obstinate once they’ve decided a matter,” Mistress Alaura sighed. “There’s no
swaying them from their chosen course, no convincing them otherwise. I think most empresses
come to believe themselves infallible to some degree during the millennia they sit the Dragon
Throne.”

That isn’t true.

Rhaenyra was stubborn, to be sure—exasperatingly so, at times—but she didn’t think herself
infallible. Her friend could admit her own mistakes and would adjust her behavior accordingly to
correct those mistakes, once she’d recognized them.

From what she’d heard of Viserra, Alicent did not think her a woman willing to admit when she’d
done wrong.

“Perhaps this will be the Yule when they finally make peace.” Mistress Alaura smiled wryly. “An
unlikely wish, I’ll grant you, but one can hope.”

Across the courtyard, Rhaenyra and Viserra were creating pinwheels of fire in the sky as they
brought Saint Meria’s story to a close.

Mistress Alaura’s wry smile softened to one of fondness as she watched them. “I realize that
Rhaenyra has probably told you many things about her mother, and while I won’t deny them since I
don’t know what all my stepdaughter has said, please believe me when I tell you that everything
Viserra has ever done was in service of the Empire.”

Alicent wanted to ask how exactly Viserra was serving the Empire when she decided to behave
with such hostility towards Rhaenyra that it became a matter of historical significance, but she
swallowed that question and instead asked another that had been nagging at her for some months.
“Why is it that Rhaenyra is your stepdaughter and not simply your daughter?”

If Mistress Alaura was surprised by the abrupt shift in conversation, she hid it well. “Because the
crown princesses belong first and last to the Empire. The empress’ mate—should Her Excellency
be mated at the time—has no claim to them by blood or bond.” She shrugged. “Such is simply the
way of things.”

For a moment, Alicent considered inquiring how exactly the empress became with child if not by
her mate—for surely it could not be said that an empress’ consort had no blood claim to her
daughters if she was the sire—but publicly discussing the matter of becoming with child was hardly
appropriate.

Besides, despite the other woman’s rather dispassionate tone, Alicent felt a brief flicker of sorrow
from Mistress Alaura before her ward flared. She imagined that it must be a special sort of torture
to both have children—in a manner of speaking—and yet know that they would never truly be
yours.

Not allowing herself time to think better of it, Alicent reached out and lightly squeezed Mistress
Alaura’s arm. “Even if that is simply the way of things, I’m still sorry that you’re not allowed to
call them your daughters.”
Mistress Alaura gave her a warm smile as she patted her hand. “You are kind to say so, Lady
Alicent.” She briefly glanced across the courtyard to where Rhaenyra and Viserra were now
speaking to each other, concern flickering in her eyes. “But Viserra was my friend long before she
was my mate, so I understood what it was to share the matebond with an empress.”

Alicent’s eyebrows arched in surprise. Even though she knew that not every woman felt the
matebond at once, all of her friends had either recognized it immediately or within a few days of
meeting their mate. “How long were you friends before realizing that it was the matebond?”

“Not quite three centuries.” Mistress Alaura smiled, the concern vanishing from her eyes. “We first
met when Viserra visited my Clan’s seat during one of her imperial progresses. Despite her staying
only a week, we grew quite close. At the time, I assumed our camaraderie was simply the result of
my being the only girl of comparable age at Deepwood Motte. I had always assumed that the signs
would be more pronounced, but it seems that Mother Relle wished for Viserra and I to become
friends before realizing we were mates.”

Before Alicent could even open her mouth to respond, a shockwave of fury crashed into her—so
strong that it nearly sent her staggering.

Her head whipped around to see Rhaenyra and Viserra practically snarling in each other’s faces—
heedless of or no long caring about the hundreds of women still gathered around them. Even from
here, Alicent swore that she could see the flames blazing in her heart friend’s eyes, and Viserra’s
eyes were equally alight with purple fire.

She took an instinctive step towards them, wanting to soothe the rage that she could sense buffeting
against ward.

Mistress Alaura grabbed her arm. “That would be unwise, Lady Alicent. I’ve learned over the years
that it is best to simply allow them their little squabbles.”

Little squabbles?

Sytarr above, Rhaenyra and Viserra looked ready to tear out each other’s throats.

Alicent shook Mistress Alaura’s hand from her arm. “With all due respect, Mistress Alaura, you’re
wrong in this.”

Mistress Alaura didn’t reach for her again, simply sighing and shaking her head.

Viserra suddenly shouted something in a language that Alicent didn’t recognize, though whatever
she’d said earned a number of shocked gasps.

Rhaenyra didn’t respond with words.

She didn’t respond at all.

She simply disappeared.

Without hesitation, Alicent rushed from the courtyard.

∞
Alicent raced through Rhaenyra’s apartments—Vora Hylda and Sabitha had granted her entry
without a word of protest—and stumbled to a halt when she found her friend wreathed in black
flames. The heat was so intense that it bathed her body even from the doorway of the bedchamber,
and the fire was so bright—despite its dark coloring—that she had to squint to see beyond it.

“Rhaenyra,” she called, not daring to approach until the flames were extinguished.

Rhaenyra whirled to face her, sharpened canines flashing as her lip drew back in a snarl. “Leave
me, Alicent. Now.”

The fury twisting her face should have been terrifying.

The hostility emanating from her should have made Alicent tremble.

The sharp command of her words should have compelled instinctive obedience.

But all Alicent could see was the anguish shining in her heart friend’s eyes.

All she could focus on was the misery pouring from her in suffocating waves.

All she could hear was the hurt and melancholy echoing beneath her harsh words.

Retreat would be the wisest option, and yet Alicent’s feet refused to obey.

“For a Valyrian, there is nothing worse than being alone.”

She didn’t want Rhaenyra to be alone.

Not when she was in pain.

Not if there was something that Alicent could do to help.

Steeling herself, she entered the room. “Nyra—”

“Alicent.” Tension was coiling in Rhaenyra’s body, and for a moment, it seemed as if she was about
to lunge forward with bared teeth, but she retreated back a step instead. “Please, you shouldn’t be
here. Not when I’m—Please, I don’t wish to hurt you.”

“And you won’t.” Alicent caught her heart friend’s eyes and held them. “You promised that you
would never harm me, Nyra, and you always keep your promises. You’re my friend, and I trust
you.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t,” she hissed, though the fire surrounding her had dimmed
a fraction. “Not in this state. Not when I’m—I’m dangerous, Alicent.”

“I know, but not to those you love. Not to family.” And she was family, wasn’t she? As Aemma and
Cassella and Hylda and Sabitha were family?

A bitter laugh tore from Rhaenyra’s throat. “You’re wrong, Alicent. When my temper flares, when
my control slips—” A shudder rippled through her body, and her flames guttered.

Alicent inched forward. “You’ve never been anything other than controlled around me, Nyra.”
Something flashed in Rhaenyra’s eyes a split second before her fire extinguished and she crumpled
to the floor.

Hurrying forward, Alicent knelt beside her friend and cautiously reached for her, only touching
once she was certain that doing so wouldn’t burn her hands. She gathered Rhaenyra in her arms and
gently rubbed her back.

Rhaenyra buried her face in her shoulder, shudders wracking her body. “You should have left me
alone,” she mumbled, but there was no reproach in her words, no conviction or bite.

“You’re my heart friend.” Alicent squeezed her tight. “And I could see that you were in pain. How
could I leave you to suffer alone?” How could I leave you when you’ve never left me?

“I don’t deserve your compassion or your presence.” Despite her words, Rhaenyra’s arms looped
around Alicent’s waist as she clung to her. “I could have hurt you just now, Ali.”

Alicent’s hand rose so that she could release Rhaenyra’s hair from its elaborate dragon style,
knowing that the pins had likely become an irritation some hours ago. “But you didn’t.”

“My self-control is a fragile thing when my temper is involved.” Rhaenyra released a quivering but
contented sigh as her hair was freed and Alicent began gently carding her fingers through the silver
waves. “There’s a reason—” She broke off, shrinking in Alicent’s arms.

Shifting slightly, Alicent gently coaxed Rhaenyra’s face from her shoulder so that they could look
at each other properly. “Nyra, you needn’t tell me what you were about to say, but if you wish to
share, I’m here.” She pressed their foreheads together. “And I’m listening.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes refused to meet hers, but after several endless moments of silence, she gave a
small nod.

Alicent slowly rose to her feet and helped her heart friend to do the same before ushering her over
to the nearest settee. Once they were seated beside each other, she took one of Rhaenyra’s hands
between her own and squeezed gently.

“I . . .” Rhaenyra’s eyes closed for a moment, and when she opened them, they were unfocused,
and her expression had become unnervingly distant and blank. “My temper is a terrible thing when
roused, and when I was young, I had little control over it or myself.” Her words were soft, barely
more than a whisper, and yet they seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room. And while her
expression was alarmingly vacant, her voice . . .

Her voice was raw and spoke of an old pain that had never properly healed.

“Mother and I were arguing. I can’t even recall why anymore. I wasn’t even a decade old, but she’d
already grown wary of what I could do. We were both shouting at each other, and she—I lost my
temper, and I lashed out at her.” Rhaenyra’s fingers curled around Alicent’s hand, but her
expression didn’t waver. “My magic . . . it was so strong, and I was so young. Such immense power
wasn’t meant to be contained in such a small vessel.”

“Her Majesty could certainly halt it with less effort that you or I use to chew our food.”

Alicent remembered being shocked when Margaery had told her that Rhaenyra could simply halt a
Category 6 hurricane with so little effort, and since then, she’d been slowly gaining a better
understanding of the absurd strength of her friend’s magical core.

All of that power in the hands of a little girl . . .

“I nearly decapitated Mother.” Rhaenyra’s grip on Alicent’s hand tightened, but not enough to hurt.
“To this day, I still cannot say who was more shocked. I’d never seen Mother so stunned, and I—It
was as if I’d been frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare at the still-smoking wall behind
Mother’s shoulder.” A shudder passed through her body as her eyes remained fixed on some point
beyond what Alicent could see. “But then it struck me what I’d done, and I . . . I was so horrified
and ashamed . . . So I fled.”

Alicent’s thumb brushed over the back of Rhaenyra’s hand as she pressed closer to her side. She
couldn’t imagine ever lashing out at her own mother, but she remembered the one time that she’d
dared speak back to her, and she remembered how panicked she’d felt in the moments before her
mother had slapped her across the face.

“I wasn’t old enough to run in my natal form, so I flew from Dragon Ridge as a bird. I didn’t know
where I was going, and I didn’t particularly care. I simply fled into the mountains and didn’t stop
flying until long after sundown.” Rhaenyra’s eyes closed. “When I finally realized that I was lost
. . . I should have thought to retrace my path by following my own scent, but I didn’t. And I was
too afraid of my magic to cast a locator spell to find my way home, and I was too ashamed to reach
out telepathically.”

Not even a decade old yet.

Strong Sytarr, at that age, Rhaenyra would still have had the body of an infant.

Probably not even a weaned one.

She wondered how Viserra could have allowed such a thing to happen, wondered why she hadn’t
immediately dispatched her knights or gone herself in search of Rhaenyra. Regardless of whether
or not Viserra liked her daughter, Rhaenyra had been Heir to the Dragon Throne. And despite her
immorality, she still could have been seriously injured in those mountains, especially given her
tender age and apparent lack of control over her magic.

“Immortality is not the same as invulnerability.”

Alicent suddenly noticed that Rhaenyra’s hand felt cold between her own.

“Vora Aelinor—Hylda’s elder sister and my mother’s Blood Knight—was the one who found me. It
was just past sunrise when she brought me home, when she brought me to my mother’s chambers. I
—I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Dread was pooling in Alicent’s stomach, and the fine hairs on the back of her neck were standing
on end. Keeping one hand over Rhaenyra’s, she wrapped her other arm around her heart friend’s
waist and squeezed as tight as she could.

Rhaenyra didn’t even seem to notice. “Mother ordered Vora Aelinor to leave us, and I remember
thinking it strange of her to do so. I moved towards her, opening my mouth to beg her forgiveness
. . . but then she struck me with her magic and I lost consciousness.”
Alicent wondered bitterly if Viserra had even bothered catching her daughter or if she’d simply
allowed her to crumple to the floor.

She knew exactly what her own mother would have done.

“I knew that something was wrong the moment I awoke. I felt,” Rhaenyra’s voice broke, “I felt
empty inside. A painful sort of hollowness. As if I’d been eviscerated.” Her hand trembled beneath
Alicent’s. “I’ve lost limbs since then. I know the feeling of missing a leg or an arm, a hand or a
foot.” She shivered. “This was worse.”

What did your mother do to you?

Alicent wanted to ask the question aloud, wanted to say something, but she didn’t dare interrupt.

Not yet.

“Mother was watching me, hovering over me. Her eyes were so cold. Colder than I’d ever seen
them before. She told me that she’d cast a stasis net over my core and that it would remain in place
for the foreseeable future.” Rhaenyra finally looked at her then, and the anguish shimmering in her
eyes suddenly made Alicent glad that her friend’s face had been blank and her eyes distant until this
moment. “She said that my magic was too dangerous, that I was too dangerous.”

A stasis net.

Alicent remembered reading about those, reading about how Daenerys the Silver had created the
spell shortly before the Long Travels to prevent the surviving Old World men from using their
magic by encasing their cores to temporarily sever their connection to them.

But she’d never read about the empty feeling that Rhaenyra had described, and if Viserra’s intent
had been to prevent Rhaenyra from using her magic for an extended period of time . . . “I thought
that stasis nets only remain viable for twelve hours.”

As a way to prevent their misuse.

“Usually they do. But let it never be said that Mother isn’t inventive—ingenious, in truth—with her
use of magic.” Rhaenyra laughed, but it was a desolate sound. “She linked the net to her own life
force so that it would remain viable as long as she drew breath, and she found a way to keep it from
impeding the flow of magic from my core to the rest of my body.” Her lips twisted. “She didn’t fear
my ordered magic because it was already bound in my blood.”

Alicent briefly wondered if her own mother would have ever done such a thing, but then she almost
snorted aloud at her own foolishness.

She would have done so in a heartbeat.

Until now, she hadn’t realized that Valyrian mothers were capable of the same cruelty as her own.

“Your mother shouldn’t have done that to you.” She was almost surprised by the fervor of her own
words, but the thought of Rhaenyra experiencing such visceral pain and emptiness—

Alicent suddenly understood why Aemma’s expression had been so stormy when she’d told her
about Viserra forbidding Rhaenyra from using her magic for the first seventeen hundred years of
her life.
How many know that her order was enforced by a stasis net?

Had Alaura known?

Surely she must have, as Viserra’s mate.

“Everything Viserra has ever done was in service of the Empire.”

How could a mother cripple her daughter and call that service?

A familiar ember smoldered in Alicent’s belly, and some foolish part of her was sorely tempted to
ask Viserra how she could possibly justify violating Rhaenyra in such a way, despite knowing that
any sort of confrontation with the former empress could easily prove fatal for her.

“Mother didn’t . . .” Rhaenyra shook her head. “The net was for me, Ali, so that I could learn to
control my magic.”

Alicent stared at her incredulously. “How were you supposed to learn control if the net prevented
you from using your raw magic?” It sounded akin to expecting a child to learn how to sew without
allowing her to actually pick up a needle.

“Mother’s net was crafted to include a sort of,” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed for a moment as she
searched for the correct words, “release valve, if you will. She could adjust the weave of the net to
allow small tendrils of my magic loose while still maintaining the net’s primary structures. Once
I’d learned the mechanics of a spell, she would allow me to access small portions of my magic to
actually practice performing it.”

While Alicent supposed that there was logic behind such an approach—it actually sounded rather
akin to what Laena had described earlier that day regarding surgical practices—such logic hardly
excused Viserra essentially maiming her daughter. Valyrian are creatures of magic. So what was a
Valyrian without access to her magic? “Did your mother know? About how the net was hurting
you?”

That question mattered more than any other.

Rhaenyra hesitated a moment before nodding slowly. “I told her. When I first awoke.”

That despicable woman.

The ember flared brighter.

“She shouldn’t have done that to you,” Alicent repeated, her words sounding harsh and biting even
to her own ears. “She should have found some other way—”

“Mother acted for the good of the Empire.” Rhaenyra’s expression darkened. “Besides, I deserved
to suffer.”

“What do you—?”

“I learned to live with the net,” Rhaenyra interrupted, something that Alicent couldn’t identify
sparking in her eyes, “and I grew stronger because of it. I honed my ordered magic abilities to their
peak, and I received the best training the Shield Sister Society could offer. My telekinetic reach,
strength, and precision are unparalleled, as is my mastery over the elements. I was able to execute a
full draconic shift before my second decade, and I was taught to wield every weapon that you can
imagine. Because of that net, I am one of the few Valyrians in existence without an overreliance on
my raw magic.” A proud smile formed on her lips, but it was stiff and didn’t reach her eyes.
“Prophecy may have named me the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath, but Mother’s net
is the reason I actually earned that title.”

Alicent wondered how many times Rhaenyra had had to hear those words before she’d begun to
believe them, because they certainly didn’t sound like her own.

How long has Rhaenyra been convincing herself that Viserra actually helped her?

Rather than asking that question, Alicent offered her friend’s waist another squeeze and linked their
fingers together, noting with no small amount of relief that Rhaenyra’s hand was no longer cold.
“May I ask what finally convinced your mother to remove the net?”

Considering how the stasis net had functioned and Viserra’s low opinion of her daughter, Alicent
couldn’t fathom what Rhaenyra could have done to prove that she’d gained control over her raw
magic.

Rhaenyra stiffened, shutters slamming shut over her eyes as she looked away from her. “That is a
story for another time, Alicent.”

“All right.” Alicent snuggled closer, gently stroking her friend’s side and the back of her hand until
she felt Rhaenyra relax against her. She hummed quietly—the same lullaby that Rhaenyra had sung
to her after her first night terror here—watching as her friend’s eyes began to droop and her
breathing slowed to a steady rhythm.

Rhaenyra’s head settled against her shoulder, her warm breath tickling Alicent’s neck and making
her shiver.

Sinful whore.

Alicent drew her heart friend even closer.

Rhaenyra didn’t recall falling asleep in Alicent’s arms the night before, but she must have, for when
she opened her eyes, she found herself lying in her bed. Someone had tucked her in, and she
assumed that it must have been Alicent, which was kind of her.

Alicent has always been kinder to me than I deserve.

Expelling a heavy breath, she rolled over and was surprised to find a tray of chocolate tarts—her
favorite dessert—sitting on her bedside table along with a note from Alicent informing her that she
was to enjoy her morning however she wished because Aemma had cleared her schedule.

Warmth bloomed in her chest as a smile curled her lips.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she selected the tart closest to her and brought it to her
mouth. The lingering scent of freshly baked bread clinging to the dessert confirmed what she
already knew, and when she bit into the tart, she almost moaned aloud at the delectable
combination of perfectly flakey pastry and richly sweet chocolate.
Merciful Mother, she was fairly certain that Alicent’s baking abilities improved each time she set
foot in the kitchens.

Rhaenyra allowed herself the indulgence of consuming over half of the tarts before turning her
attention to the matter of how she would spend her morning.

Part of it must be with Alicent, of course. They would need to discuss what had happened the night
before. A walk with Laena through the gardens or out in the city would do her good as well. She
knew that her sister would wish to share her own opinions on last night’s debacle.

Which never would have happened had I simply held my tongue.

Something that she might have been able to do if Mother hadn’t seen fit to raise Emalia’s specter
once more.

“A world destroyed in a twinkling and an entire species eradicated in under an hour, and for what?
A mortal woman who turned her back on you the moment that she saw what you are.”

Relle above how she’d been tempted to slap her mother across the face, but that would have drawn
even more attention that their snarling already had.

“Would that the judicators had imprisoned you for a reign or more as you deserved!”

A growl rumbled in her chest.

While they both knew that she should have spent far longer in the Glass Tower, her mother’s words
had still stung.

And they’d still caused her anger to flare.

She’s lucky that I made no attempt to incinerate her.

Groaning, Rhaenyra covered her face with her hands.

Damn her temper.

“You promised that you would never harm me, Nyra, and you always keep your promises. You’re
my friend, and I trust you.”

Sweet Alicent.

Sweet, foolish Alicent.

“You’ve never been anything other than controlled around me, Nyra.”

Her friend didn’t know.

She didn’t know that Rhaenyra’s control had slipped the first time she’d caught her scent, didn’t
know about the vengeance she’d inflicted upon Criston the night that Alicent accidentally showed
her memories of the cage.

It’s as if she forgets that I’m still the Firestorm she once feared.
Most days, that was a blessing.

“I could see that you were in pain. How could I leave you to suffer alone?”

She had wanted to press her face against Alicent’s neck in that moment, had wanted to breathe in
her comforting scent and feel her soft skin.

But she’d restrained herself and wrapped her arms around Alicent’s waist instead.

A woman’s neck was as sacrosanct as it was intimate.

Rhaenyra’s hands fell into her lap as she looked over at the twelve remaining tarts neatly arranged
on the tray. She ought to dress and begin enjoying her morning as Alicent had bid. While her Small
Council would not be meeting this afternoon on account of Yuletide, she had dozens of public
appearances to make throughout the city before tonight’s masquerade ball.

No sooner had she begun rising from her bed than a brisk knock sounded on her door. “Enter.”

Aemma rushed inside a moment later, swiftly crossing the room and enveloping her in a fierce hug.

Rhaenyra’s eyes closed as she breathed in her old heart friend’s comforting scent and enjoyed the
feeling of being cocooned in her arms and wings. “Good morning, Aemma.”

“Is it?” Aemma drew back enough to reveal her stormy expression, scent suddenly sharp and heavy
with anger. “What your mother did last night was a disgrace, and I’ve half a mind to evict her from
the Keep for it.”

Calming pheromones immediately suffused Rhaenyra’s own scent in response to her heart friend’s
displeasure, though she couldn’t help but be warmed by Aemma’s protectiveness of her. “Stone
Garden may be your domain as seneschal, but you haven’t the authority to expel a dowager queen.”

“Say the word, and Hylda and I will happily do so in your name.”

Of that, Rhaenyra had little doubt.

Her seneschal and her Shadow Knight had detested her mother ever since they’d learned about the
net.

Hylda had been informed as a matter of practical necessity, since it wouldn’t do for the imperial
princess’ Wolf Knight to be unaware that her charge was incapable of using magic to defend
herself.

And Aemma . . .

Rhaenyra hadn’t actually meant to tell Aemma, but her old heart friend had noticed her pained
winces and grimaces during those early weeks when she’d still been adjusting to the net. And she’d
refused to let the matter rest even after Rhaenyra had bid her do so.

It was one of the few times that Aemma had ever disobeyed a direct order.

“Your mother shouldn’t have done that to you.”

Considering Rhaenyra well-remembered almost demolishing the Dragon Tower the first time that
her magic flared without her leave, she begged to differ.

But it was kind of Alicent to say as much.

Mother needn’t have been so cruel though.

While she recognized the necessity of the stasis net, she’d never forgiven her mother for rendering
her unconscious and then casting the net without a word of warning or discussion.

I would have acquiesced to the net. Had she asked.

Rhaenyra raised her hands to settle them on Aemma’s arms. “While a part of me would like
nothing more than to have my mother removed, Yule is not the time to antagonize family.”
Something that her mother seemed determined to ignore, but she herself needn’t do the same.

Aemma harrumphed. “Viserra Targaryen isn’t my family.” Yet even as she spoke, she inclined her
head to acknowledge Rhaenyra’s decision.

“If you’d like, you may order that additional cold air be directed into her chambers.” She knew that
the cold wouldn’t bother Alaura, but it ought to leave her mother uncomfortable for at least half a
day until she realized what was happening.

Aemma grinned. “Excellent.” And when she glanced over at the bedside table, her grin widened
even further. “I see that you received Alicent’s treats.”

“Yes, and they made for an excellent breakfast.”

That Aemma didn’t chide her for the jest told Rhaenyra exactly how displeased her old heart friend
was with her mother.

“Thank you, by the way, for clearing my morning schedule.”

Aemma waved dismissively. “I was prepared to clear the entirety of your schedule, but Alicent was
fairly certain that you would have a conniption if I did, so I settled for the morning.”

“As ever, Alicent was correct.” Rhaenyra gently nudged the other woman so that she could finally
rise from her bed and make her way over to her armoire. “I’m planning to spend the morning with
Laena and Alicent, but if you and Luwina don’t have other commitments, I would very much enjoy
taking luncheon with you. It’s been far too long since we’ve shared a meal.”

“So it has,” Aemma agreed. “I will need to speak with Luwina, of course, but we should be able to
dine with you.”

“Wonderful.” Rhaenyra selected one of her favored black dresses and then telekinetically dragged
the changing screen over to where she stood.

“Do you require assistance?”

“No, thank you.” After removing her nightgown, she flicked her finger to immediately dress
herself. She hadn’t the time to dally this morning.
When she stepped out from behind the changing screen, Aemma offered an approving nod. “Very
pretty. I’m certain that Alicent will enjoy looking at the silver lace along the neckline.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes even as she felt a flush rising in her cheeks. “Don’t be crass, Aemma.”

Aemma’s eyebrows rose as she pressed a hand against her chest. “You insult me, Your Majesty. To
think that I would speak crassly in your presence.”

“Mm. Yes. How foolish of me.” As if Aemma hadn’t been teasing her for over a year about often
Alicent’s eyes lingered on her neck.

“Indeed, but I shall forgive you, in honor of the holidays.”

A fond smile tugged at the corners of Rhaenyra’s mouth as she swiftly came to her heart friend’s
side and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “My most sincere thanks.”

Aemma patted her arm before shooing her towards the door. “Be gone with you now. The morning
wanes while you dawdle.”

Rhaenyra paused in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder, arching an eyebrow. “Now,
Aemma, is that anyway to speak to your queen?”

“Not at all, but it is the proper way to speak to my heart friend.” Aemma made another shooing
motion. “Off with you now.”

Chuckling, Rhaenyra left her apartments and—after receiving a brief hug from Sabitha and a
promise to personally drag her mother to the palace gates should she wish it from Hylda—made the
short journey to Alicent’s chambers.

No sooner had Alicent opened the door than Rhaenyra was being pulled into what would have been
a crushing hug were Alicent Valyrian or Rhaenyra Westerosi.

A purr rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest as her arms wound around Alicent’s slender waist and she
breathed in her warm bread scent.

“How are you feeling?” Alicent’s breath ghosted over her cheek.

Rhaenyra swallowed a little. “Better than last night.” She drew back enough to gently touch
Alicent’s forehead with hers. “Thank you for the tarts, Ali. They were delicious.”

Alicent beamed, but her smile dimmed a moment later. “Nyra, about the other night,” her hand rose
almost as if she was about to touch her cheek, but then lowered to settle on her arm, “if you ever
wish to speak more on the matter, I’m here. Always.”

Rhaenyra’s throat felt tight, and her heart was beating rapidly in her chest. She longed to—

Control yourself.

She was not a slave to her instincts.

“Thank you, Ali.” Rhaenyra gave her waist a gentle squeeze. “And you know that I’m here as well,
yes? For whatever you may need.”
“I know.” Alicent smiled tenderly, her lovely brown eyes sparkling. “You’ve proven as much
countless times since the day we met.”

While she knew that the words were sincere and without venom, Rhaenyra still struggled not to
wince at the reminder of their first encounter.

“Merciful Mother, Rhaenyra, you traded for that woman as if she was a sack of grain! You made
her a condition of the Treaty without so much as a ‘by your leave!’”

“I forgive you for what you did that day, Rhaenyra.”

Alicent had forgiven her.

Willingly and without reserve.

Nothing mattered more than that.

Releasing Alicent from her embrace, Rhaenyra offered her arm. “Would you care to join me for
breakfast this morning?”

Alicent’s hand settled in the crook of her arm without hesitation. “Were the tarts not sufficient?”
she teased.

“They were without flaw or equal,” Rhaenyra assured her, “but Aemma told me long ago that
dessert alone is not a proper meal.”

After pretending to consider her words, Alicent sighed and bowed her head in defeat. “Well, I
suppose I cannot gainsay the Lady Aemma Arryn.”

“You’ll find that few can.”

Alicent laughed, nudging Rhaenyra’s hip with her own as they made their way towards the stairs.
“Perhaps after breakfast I can sneak into the kitchen and make us an additional treat.”

“I actually wasn’t able to finish all of the tarts that you left for me, and I would be more than
pleased to share those that remain with you.” She mentally reminded herself to set at least one aside
for Laena.

Alicent hesitated. “I made them for you, Nyra.”

“I know, but I’ve found over the years that sweets taste all the better when shared.” So long as she
enjoyed the company of whoever she was sharing them with.

After another moment of hesitation, Alicent nodded and offered her a smile. “All right, if you’re
certain.”

“I very much am.” Rhaenyra patted her hand. “You’ll find that there is very little I do not wish to
share with you, Alicent.”

A pretty blush stained Alicent’s cheeks in response, but her smile didn’t waver.

∞
When Alicent entered the grand ballroom that evening, she couldn’t help but pause and simply
allow her eyes to sweep over everything and everyone in sight. Sytarr above, she doubted that she
would ever forget this particular moment. Mistress Esfira and the women she’d enlisted to help her
had transformed the already elegant and luxurious ballroom into a wintery landscape of snow and
ice and crystal.

But it wasn’t the decorations—lovely as they were—that had so captivated her.

No. It was the women in attendance who had truly claimed all of her attention.

Back home, the masquerade balls of her childhood had meant donning glittering masks and
elaborate costumes, while the masquerade balls after her marriage had meant a particularly
unpleasant night with Criston and his friends.

While she hadn’t expected masks or costumes from a Valyrian masquerade ball, she also hadn’t
realized that the vast majority of the guests would be partially shapeshifted to augment their normal
features with animal traits.

There was a woman near one of the refreshment tables with enormous monarch butterfly wings
growing from her back, long and slightly curled antennae sprouting her head, bulging compound
eyes, and a proboscis where her mouth should have been. Alicent’s suspicion that she was looking
at Lady Rhaenys was confirmed a moment later when Mistress Corla—with the fins, elongated
snout, coronet, and tail of a seahorse—appeared and greeted her wi—mate with a kiss on the cheek.
Mistress Corla then whispered something to Lady Rhaenys that earned an amused laugh.

Not far from Lady Rhaenys and Mistress Corla, Sabitha and Aly were talking to a woman covered
in blue-grey fur whose back was to Alicent. Sabitha’s skin gleamed with iridescent fish scales,
small fins protruded from her cheeks, and there was webbing between her fingers. Aly had a pair of
white cat ears growing from the top of her dark head, which twitched and flicked every so often,
and a long, fluffy tail was curled around her leg.

Across the room, Laena was speaking with Dr. Gerarda, who had partially shapeshifted into a red
fox. The physician’s bushy tail swished as she laughed at something Laena had said. Short,
shimmering white hair covered Laena’s body, and her feet had been replaced by golden hooves. A
long, pearlescent horn protruded from her forehead, spiraling and elegantly tapering into a deadly
point.

Ambassador Royce—Alicent was almost certain that it was her because of the distinctive red
speckles on her silvery-grey wings—looked more bird than woman at the moment. Her entire head
and face were covered in black and white feathers, and her legs and feet were those of some large
bird. Voluminous tail feathers trailed behind her like a cape, and her nails were long, hooked talons.
The ambassador was speaking with a woman who had partially transformed into a black bear,
which made her features so unrecognizable that Alicent couldn’t identify her.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious and horribly underdressed in her peacock costume, Alicent reached
up to nervously adjust her mask, as if that would somehow remedy the matter.

When Margaery had first told her about the ball, she’d asked her friends if they would help her with
making a costume—she’d known that her commissions for Mistress Damella and Rhaenyra’s gift
would prevent her from having the time otherwise—and all seven had thankfully agreed.
Over the past few months, they’d spent a few hours each day sewing elegant peacock feathers into
the royal blue and emerald green fabric of her gown. Dyana had also given her a pair of matching
evening gloves, which they’d adorned the same way to create the illusion that her hands and
forearms were feathered.

When Sansa had noted that the costume would be incomplete without a proper train, Alicent had
set about sewing over a dozen long feathers onto an oversized fan, which she’d then affixed to the
back of her dress to mimic a peacock’s spread tail feathers. Her mask of stiffened leather lined with
dark blue linen was decorated with shimmering blue and green feathers, and she’d woven a few
additional feathers into her hair.

Margaery had attempted to convince her to wear a feathered headdress, but Alicent had declined
after seeing her friend’s proposal sketch—afraid that it would either fall from her head or do
permanent damage to her neck.

Back home, she knew that her costume would be considered stunning, but here, surrounded by
women who could assume the features of any animal they wished, she felt sorely lacking. I’ll be as
conspicuous as a drop of blood on white linen.

Her eyes swept over the ballroom once more, searching for one woman in particular and silently
thanking Sytarr when she confirmed her absence.

She had no desire to share space of any kind with Viserra Targaryen.

Unfortunately, Viserra’s absence also meant she no longer had reason to linger save her own
cowardice.

Allowing herself a deep breath to calm her nerves, Alicent continued into the ballroom and quickly
made her way to the refreshments table that had been set up near the stage where the musicians
were playing. She remained close to the wall so as to avoid disrupting the dancers in the middle of
the room, who were spinning elegantly across the floor.

She smiled when she saw a woman with the head and tail of a frost-wolf dancing with a woman
half-transformed into a snow leopard. She knew that the wolf was Sansa and the snow leopard
Margaery, but only because they’d told her about their “costumes” in advance. Shifted as they were
now, she wasn’t certain that she would be able to recognize them otherwise.

As she watched them dance, she couldn’t help but notice the way that Margaery was holding Sansa
—almost as if she was delicate. Certainly as if she was precious. Nor could she help but notice the
way that Sansa was gazing at Margaery—as if nothing else existed save for her.

Alicent doubted that any wife in the history of Westeros had ever been held in such a way, had ever
been looked at with such open warmth and affection.

But Valyrians are not Westerosi.

And perhaps . . .

“Viserra was my friend long before she was my mate.”

The easy affection, the unquestioned devotion, the playfulness . . . she’d once thought such
behaviors simply those of heart friends, and she knew now that they certainly were, but perhaps
she’d been mistaken in thinking . . .

“Viserra was my friend long before she was my mate.”

Margaery leaned closer and whispered something in Sansa’s ear that earned a faint blush and a
quiet laugh.

Suddenly feeling as though she was intruding by watching them, Alicent turned away and focused
her attention on the selection of beverages elegantly arranged on the table.

Crystal glasses had been stacked into a pyramid beside an array of wines and half a dozen carafes
of assorted fruit juices. Her eyes scanned over the little white cards labeling each bottle and carafe,
uncertain what to choose. She could count on one hand the number of times that she’d drunk wine
for any reason other than to numb herself for the coming evening, and on those occasions, she
hadn’t particularly cared to notice whether or not she even enjoyed the taste.

“Clan Redwyne makes the finest wines in the world, regardless of what the Farns might say.”

Margaery’s words echoed in her ears as she selected a bottle of wine marked with Clan Redwyne’s
sigil. The label told her that it was a venia pahval, though the name meant nothing to her.
Removing the crystal stopper, she poured herself half a glass, noting the sweet smell that wafted
from the blood-red liquid. She took a small sip and smiled at the flavor.

It tasted more akin to fruit juice than wine.

“Alicent?”

Turning at the sound of her heart friend’s voice, Alicent nearly dropped her glass when she actually
caught sight of Rhaenyra.

Bright, silver scales covered her entire body, and a dragon’s tail with a red ridge trailed behind her.
A pair of curved, ruby-red horns protruded from the top of her head, catching the orb-light as she
moved and glinting like polished gemstones. A number of smaller facial horns speckled her scaled
cheeks and accentuated the sharp line of her elongated jaw.

Her amethyst eyes glowed like smoldering embers, and wickedly sharp claws had replaced her
fingernails. A pair of enormous dragon wings were neatly folded against her back, framing her
body despite being closed. The membrane of her wings was pearlescent-white, and the curved claw
at the peak of each folded wing was the same ebony-black as the claws on the tips of her fingers.

Rhaenyra was magnificent.

Even more so than usual.

There was something about the horns and scales and wings that added an additional air of grandeur
to her already regal bearing.

Perhaps it was because dragons were inherently majestic creatures.

Or perhaps Alicent’s reaction was because the blue gown that Rhaenyra had chosen for the evening
left her arms and the tops of her shoulders completely bare.
While she knew that her friend had chosen such a revealing dress in order to display more of her
shining scales, the cut and style had the additional effect of exposing the perfectly toned and well-
defined muscles of her arms.

And Alicent knew for certain that those muscles were not merely the result of Rhaenyra’s partial
draconic transformation.

Her mouth feeling suddenly dry, she swiftly gulped down a large mouthful of her wine. But it had
been years since she’d last had a drop of alcohol, and even this small amount was enough to make
her feel pleasantly warm inside.

Rhaenyra’s eyes swept over her, and what seemed to be a soft smile curled her scaly lips. “You look
breathtaking, Ali.”

Fresh warmth bloomed in her cheeks, and she fought the instinct to lower her head self-
consciously. “It’s only a costume. Nothing compared to . . .” She waved to indicate Rhaenyra’s
draconic features.

“You do yourself an injustice. Actually designing and creating a costume such as yours requires far
more time, effort, and skill than a partial shift.” Rhaenyra took a small step forward to inspect the
feathers sewn onto her dress. “Your costume is as exceptional as it is impressive. Anyone with eyes
can see that.”

Alicent’s stomach fluttered.

Filthy slut. Parading about like some—

“Would you do me the honor of a dance, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s tone was hopeful, but not insistent, and
the hand that she offered was turned so that the scaled palm faced upwards. Ebony claws glinted
beneath the colored light-orbs illuminating the grand ballroom, reminding Alicent of polished
onyx.

Alicent’s teeth briefly sank into her bottom lip.

It had been over twenty-six years since she’d last danced.

Who would ever wish to dance with such a disgusting—

Smothering her mother’s voice, Alicent set her glass down on the table before accepting
Rhaenyra’s offered hand. She tilted her head slightly as scaled fingers carefully curled around her
hand. “Your claws won’t accidentally cut me, will they?”

She was only partly jesting.

Rhaenyra snorted, which caused puffs of steam to spill from her nose, and clicked the claws of her
free hand together. “I’ll have you know that I learned long ago how to hold things without
accidentally lacerating them.”

Alicent couldn’t help but laugh at her heart friend’s indignant expression as she imagined a young
Rhaenyra attempting to slowly and carefully grasp things with her dragon-clawed hands, only to
accidentally destroy most of them.
Rolling her eyes, Rhaenyra led Alicent out onto the dance floor while muttering under her breath
about how she’d been “quite successful” in her endeavors.

Mere moments later, Alicent stood facing Rhaenyra so close that she could feel the heat radiating
from her body. She swallowed a little, suddenly wondering if she’d made a terrible mistake by
accepting Rhaenyra’s offer. I’ve not danced since my wedding, and I don’t know the steps to any
Valyrian dances.

Rhaenyra noticed her nerves at once and offered a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about the steps,
Ali. ‘The Widow’s Waltz’ is a simple dance, and I can lead.” She guided their clasped hands to
hover parallel to their shoulders, while her free hand settled on Alicent’s back slightly above her
waist. “Place your left hand on my right shoulder, if you please.”

Once Alicent’s hand was in position, once she’d felt the slightly overlapping texture of the warm,
smooth scales covering Rhaenyra’s shoulder, she barely resisted the urge to slide her fingers over
them and press just a little harder to better perceive their consistency and structure.

You’re a disgrace.

Alicent’s jaw tightened for a moment before she forced herself to relax and focus on something
other than the feeling of Rhaenyra’s impossibly warm scales beneath her fingers. “Why are we
dancing to something called ‘The Widow’s Waltz’ during Yuletide?” It seemed to her a strange
thing, considering the festive occasion.

“Because the music was written by Saint Alla Tyrell to celebrate her husband’s death.”

Oh.

Of course.

Heat rose in Alicent’s cheeks as she realized the idiocy of her question. She should have known
that a dance entitled “The Widow’s Waltz” was one of the Widows’ Dances composed during the
Dark Times and on the Long Travels by various women to celebrate their husbands’ deaths.

But Rhaenyra was smiling at her—amethyst eyes bright and shining—and it somehow made her
feel less foolish.

As the first lilting notes of the “The Widow’s Waltz” filled the ballroom, Rhaenyra began guiding
her through a series of graceful, flowing steps. Each of her movements was effortlessly elegant, and
though her eyes never left Alicent’s face, she seemed perfectly aware of every other dancer
surrounding them.

The way that she led, it was soft and gentle, but not subtle. Rhaenyra made her intentions clear
every time that she stepped left, right, forward, or back, and yet Alicent never felt as if she was
being dragged along or forced to follow. Rhaenyra’s easy glide felt like an invitation—a gentle
coaxing.

The few times that Alicent fumbled a step, Rhaenyra immediately adapted and transformed what
should have been a jarring mistake into a seamless part of the dance.

Alicent was in awe of her friend’s skill, though perhaps she shouldn’t be, considering Rhaenyra had
told her once that she’d begun receiving dancing lessons during her fifth century. I suppose anyone
 who’s been dancing for millions of years would become accomplished.

And yet time alone couldn’t explain . . .

All of her past dancing mistresses had trained her to follow her partner, to read his intentions and
correct herself accordingly, and while it had been well over two decades since she’d last danced,
she still remembered her lessons. She still remembered the difference between a good lead and a
bad one. She still remembered Lady Tilda telling her that a follow should always have a sense of
security and safety with her lead, that she should be able to fully depend upon him.

Gazing into Rhaenyra’s warm, amethyst eyes as they glided across the floor, Alicent finally
understood what Lady Tilda meant.

Chapter End Notes

Grand question: Who is a worse mother? Clarissa Hightower or Viserra Targaryen?

Next Chapter: A snowball war and a brief Alicent and Viserra chat (among other happenings).
 Third and Fourth Days of Yuletide
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 34:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Laena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Bellmar
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar
– Viserra Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Kastrell

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Please enjoy this artwork of Relle Lightbringer's coat of arms and some Rosedragon Branch
Sigils!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Snow Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

“Launch!”

A snowball the size of a large boulder slammed into Alicent’s watchtower, while a hail of smaller
snowy projectiles struck her arms and chest. She grunted from the impact, and her gloved hand
snapped out to grab a hold of the icy parapet as the entire fortification dangerously swayed beneath
her feet.

Across the battlefield, Sansa was using her water elementalism to form another enormous ball of
snow, and even from this distance, Alicent could see that her friend was reinforcing the wet snow
with large shards of ice.

Perfect.

Alicent motioned to Ygritte—stationed three watchtowers to her left—who swiftly raised the
parapet even higher by adding several additional feet of ice atop the snowy watchtower. She then
made a show of retreating to avoid another barrage of smaller snowballs from Gilly.

Shivers wracked her body as she hastily brushed away the snow still clinging on her arms and chest
before it could fully melt and soak into the fabric of her cloak and clothes. Despite the numerous
layers that she’d donned before venturing outside, she was freezing and fairly certain that she might
never become warm again on account of the chill that had sunk into her bones well over an hour
ago when this so-called “snow war” first began.

According to Sansa, these mock battles were held on the Third Day of Yuletide to honor the way in
which Saint Lyarra Stark had bonded with her female by-laws following her marriage into the
House of the Iron Lion on the Old World. Evidently, Saint Lyarra had been reluctant to embrace the
eternal winters of the far north, so her mother-by-law—Empress Torvelis—had introduced her to
the Nørsk pastime of using water elementalism to build massive and elaborate fortifications of ice
and snow and then launching attacks against the opposing side.

While Alicent didn’t doubt that snow wars were a traditional Third Day festivity, she was almost
certain that the impetus for this particular war was Laena teasing Rhaenyra the morning before
about “thoroughly trouncing” her the last time that the sisters engaged in a snow war.

“Poor Rhaenyra always has a more difficult time when she’s not allowed to use her fire.”

Rhaenyra had swiftly countered that she was still the most powerful water elemental on the planet,
causing Laena to loudly whisper to Alicent that “My Sweet Sister says that as if it somehow
changes the fact that her affinity simply doesn’t lie in water.”

While a snow war between Rhaenyra and Laena had become more or less inevitable after that,
Alicent hadn’t realized that she would be conscripted until this morning.

It was Laena who had approached her first, asking that she join her and Lady Rhaenys’ army.
Alicent’s first instinct had been to decline, knowing that there was little she could offer since she
wasn’t a Valyrian, but Laena had insisted that snow wars were meant to be fun first and last, and
that winning was secondary to simply enjoying time spent with friends. She’d also added that
joining her side would give Alicent the chance to throw some snow in Rhaenyra’s face, which was
always amusing.

Alicent had pointed out that Rhaenyra would surely avoid such an attack, but Laena had only
smiled pleasantly and said, “Perhaps.”

No sooner had she accepted Laena’s offer—deciding that it would be rude to decline and wishing to
fully embrace Yuletide traditions—than Rhaenyra had appeared asking if she would join her side.

Laena had cheerfully told her sister that she was too late.

Rhaenyra had only stared at them for a long moment, and Alicent had briefly worried that her heart
friend would be cross with her, but then Rhaenyra had sighed and wished them good fortune in the
war to come.

When Alicent had returned to her chambers a few hours later to change into clothes better suited
for a snow war, she’d found a bouquet of black roses sitting on one of the tables in her privy
chamber. Perhaps rather absurdly, she’d been greatly comforted by the silent message that
Rhaenyra didn’t feel betrayed by her agreeing to join Laena’s army.

Though perhaps it would have been better for both sides if Rhaenyra had felt betrayed—or at least
somewhat annoyed.

Cautiously, Alicent rose to her feet and peeked up over the raised parapet to see why Sansa hadn’t
yet launched the massive snowball that she’d been creating earlier.

She was greeted by the sight of Rhaenyra speaking heatedly with both Sansa and Gilly.

Rolling her eyes, Alicent eased herself back down into a crouched position—the sort that her
mother had once spent an hour lecturing her for after hauling her back up onto her feet by her ear.

«A proper lady would never stoop in such a way.»

A proper lady would also never wear pants.

And yet Alicent was now doing both.

The latter, admittedly, felt far more foreign than the former.

She’d often crouched and cowered during her marriage, but Criston would have sooner killed her
than allowed her to disgrace his name by wearing men’s clothes.

Before today, she’d only ever worn pants twice—when Rhaenyra was giving her riding lessons—
but Margaery had informed her with an amused smile that participating in a snow war wearing
skirts simply wasn’t practical. Her friend had also been kind enough to lend her a pair of trousers,
since Alicent had only her riding breeches.

Alicent honestly wouldn’t have expected Margaery to actually own pants of any kind.

Clicking her tongue at herself for becoming distracted, Alicent refocused her attention on the task
at hand.

Turning her head to the left—towards the watchtower where Margaery was stationed—she loudly
coughed three times.

“Yes, Alicent.”

Despite herself, Alicent startled and nearly lost her balance on the ice beneath her feet.

Sytarr above, how had Valyrians ever grown accustomed to hearing each other’s voices inside their
heads?

Allowing herself a few moments to regain her composure, Alicent focused on gathering her
thoughts and concentrating on what she wanted Margaery to hear—as her friend had hastily taught
her shortly before the snow war began.

“Can? Can you . . . hear . . . what Rhaenyra is . . . saying?”

Strong Sytarr, speaking in her own mind should not be this difficult.

When Margaery responded, she somehow managed to sound amused. “She’s chastising Sansa and
Gilly for ‘flagrantly targeting you.’”

Alicent snorted aloud, though she’d expected nothing different.

While a part of her was warmed by her friend’s sweet—if foolish—care for her, a larger part was
vexed by Rhaenyra so obviously placing their friendship above the snow war’s intended objective
—something that Margaery, Ygritte, and Aly weren’t doing despite their mates being on
Rhaenyra’s side.

She knew full well that she was the weakest member of Laena and Lady Rhaenys’ army, which in
turn meant that Rhaenyra should be ordering her women to concentrate their attacks on the
fortification that Alicent was defending.

But Rhaenyra had made plain that she was unwilling to utilize the most expedient and pragmatic
strategy to secure victory, and while Alicent could appreciate her heart friend’s kindness, it also
made her strangely determined to help her own side prevail.

Hence why she’d gone to Laena and Lady Rhaenys with a plan to break the stalemate that
Rhaenyra had forced them all into with her unwillingness to launch a proper offensive and her
ability to easily fend off any attack that Laena or Lady Rhaenys might attempt.

She expected that her plan would soon bear fruit.

After what felt like an eternity—strong Sytarr how long did Rhaenyra intend to lecture poor Sansa
and Gilly?—she finally heard a warbling bird call.

Alicent immediately rose from her crouched position, and at the same time, the additional feet of
icy parapet melted away and sank deep into the snow covering the ever-thinning walls of the
watchtower that Aly and Ygritte had constructed before the battle began.

Looking out across the field, she searched the walls to confirm that Rhaenyra had gone, noting with
no small amount of delight that Hylda was also nowhere in sight.

Which meant Sansa had command.

Excellent.

If her calculations were correct—and she was certain that they were—one more strike ought to be
enough.

All around her, the other women that Laena and Lady Rhaenys had recruited for their army were
moving into position for the next attack.

If Rhaenyra’s side was at all concerned by what they were seeing, they showed no sign of it.

And why should they be concerned? When they know that Rhaenyra can defend the fortress single-
handedly?

Two watchtowers to her left, Lady Rhaenys raised her hand. “Launch!”

A barrage of boulder-sized snowballs—each of them with a core of solid ice—flew through the air.

And were almost immediately shattered by a storm of icy javelins.

Alicent couldn’t help but be impressed by the speed of Rhaenyra’s response, especially considering
she was inside her fortress.

For a moment, there was silence as both sides awaited the other’s response.

There was no doubt in Alicent’s mind that Rhaenyra had given orders not to retaliate, but they’d all
been trapped in this blasted stalemate for nearly two hours, and she was fairly certain that the
women on Rhaenyra’s side were beginning to chafe.

She was proven correct a moment later when Sansa shouted, “Launch!”

The subsequent bombardment soared through the air, only to crash into icy shields raised to protect
each of the targeted watchtowers.
Save for one.

A large sphere of ice with barely even a dusting of snow to cover it crashed into Alicent’s
watchtower.

The fortification shattered beneath her feet.

Alicent screamed as she fell.

Rhaenyra caught her a split second later.

Safe and secure in her heart friend’s familiar embrace, Alicent allowed herself to savor the warmth
radiating from Rhaenyra’s body as she was flown the rest of the way down.

After landing on the snowy ground with a soft thump, Rhaenyra gently set her back on her feet, and
Alicent couldn’t help but mourn the loss of her warmth—especially when a cold wind whipped
around them a moment later.

“Are you all right, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s eyes were wide with concern as they swept over her.

Rather than responding to the question, Alicent seized her friend’s right wrist and rapidly traced a
seven-pointed star with her thumb. “Rhaenyra Targaryen, you have trespassed into enemy territory
and are hereby made a prisoner of the Blue Dragon Army pursuant to Article III, Section 12 of the
Snow War Rules of Engagement.”

For a moment, Rhaenyra simply stared at her with wide eyes.

Then she laughed.

Bright and warm and high and clear.

Alicent had never seen anyone so utterly delighted about being defeated. Even as a child playing
simple games of strategy or chance with her sisters, they’d always been disappointed if she’d won
—gracious in defeat, of course, but disappointed all the same.

Still chuckling and grinning broadly, Rhaenyra traced a seven-pointed star on the back of Alicent’s
hand to acknowledge her capture. “Well played, Ali.” She glanced past her shoulder at the broken
remains of the watchtower, which was already being rapidly rebuilt. “You knew that I’d come the
moment I heard you scream.”

It wasn’t a question, but Alicent nodded all the same.

Even if Rhaenyra hadn’t been blatantly cossetting her throughout the game, she knew from
experience that her heart friend always came when Alicent needed her.

They both turned at the sound of crunching snow and ice to see Laena and Lady Rhaenys
approaching.

Laena smirked at Rhaenyra. “It seems that you’ve been thoroughly trounced once again, Little
Sister.”

“Your celebration seems rather premature, Sister. I may have been captured, but my army shan’t
crumble without me. Besides, none of my watchtowers lie in ruins at present.” Rhaenyra smiled
sweetly, though even as she spoke, reconstruction on the watchtower in question was already over
halfway complete.

“I’d have allowed all our watchtowers to crumble if it meant capturing you, Rhaenyra,” Lady
Rhaenys declared briskly. “Thankfully, Lady Alicent ensured that we didn’t have to resort to such
drastic measures.” She lightly patted Alicent’s arm and gave her an appreciative smile before
saying to Rhaenyra, “You were a fool to allow Laena to recruit her first.”

Rhaenyra snorted. “I’m well aware, Aunt.”

“The cost of delay is oft a high one, Dear Niece.” Lady Rhaenys gave her a pointed look. “You
would do well to remember that.”

The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips tightened a fraction.

Laena’s attention suddenly shifted to the other side of the field, and when Alicent’s eyes followed
hers, she saw Hylda and Sansa watching them from atop the ramparts of their fortress. “We’ve
captured your commander,” she shouted. “Yield now and return to us some of the time that she
stole with her dithering.”

Rhaenyra made an affronted noise. “I wasn’t dithering.”

“But you were refusing to actually engage,” Lady Rhaenys retorted, tsking at her, “and we were all
weary of your forced stalemate.”

As if to prove the truth of her words, Hylda shouted back, “You think we’re fool enough to
surrender now that we can finally wage a proper snow war?” She barked a laugh. “Hardly. We’ll
allow you ten minutes to finish repairing your watchtower as a courtesy, but this battle is far from
over.”

Laena smirked. “Perhaps the water elementals on your side would require ten minutes. We need
only two!” She turned to Alicent. “Would you mind escorting the prisoner inside, Alicent? I’m
fairly certain that you’re the one jailer she won’t attempt to escape from.”

Even though Alicent knew that Laena’s request was as much to ensure Rhaenyra didn’t flee as it
was a pragmatic acknowledgment that Alicent wouldn’t be of much use offensively, she didn’t
particularly care about the latter.

Her feint had worked, and with Rhaenyra no longer in play, victory for her side was all but assured.
Besides, she was already freezing and had no interest in facing additional barrages of snowballs
during Laena and Lady Rhaenys’ planned assault on the other fortress.

After offering Laena a salute—tapping her fist against her heart in the Valyrian fashion—Alicent
led Rhaenyra into the fortress where they would both be spending the remainder of the battle.

Under normal circumstances, snow war captives were imprisoned in ice cages until they were freed
or managed to escape, but Alicent had nearly panicked upon hearing that rule, so Rhaenyra, Laena,
and Lady Rhaenys had agreed that jailers must instead maintain physical contact with their
prisoners.

Rhaenyra frowned when she saw that the room Laena had designated as the prison had only one
chair. She raised her hand.
“No.” Alicent gently swatted her arm. “You know that’s not allowed.”

The Snow War Rules of Engagement were very clear that players were only permitted to use their
water elementalism, and captives were not allowed even that until they’d escaped their prison,
which in this case meant Rhaenyra pulling her hand free from Alicent’s.

Something that they both knew Rhaenyra could do with ease.

Grumbling in a way that sounded almost petulant, Rhaenyra allowed herself to be led over to the
chair, but when Alicent motioned for her to sit, her friend stubbornly refused.

“Rhaenyra.”

“You should be the one to sit, Ali. I’m perfectly capable of standing.”

“And you think I’m not?” Alicent arched an eyebrow. “Besides, that chair is solid ice, and I’ve no
intention of sitting on it.”

Rhaenyra hesitated a moment longer before sighing loudly and gracelessly collapsing on the chair.

And accidentally dragging Alicent down along with her.

Alicent yelped as she lost her balance, her feet sliding out from under her as she tumbled into
Rhaenyra’s lap.

Sytarr above, Rhaenyra was warm.

Shaking her head, Alicent attempted to right herself without releasing Rhaenyra’s hand, but her feet
couldn’t find purchase on the icy floor, and she didn’t particularly wish to slide off of Rhaenyra’s
lap to land in a heap on the ground.

“Ali,” Rhaenyra’s voice trembled with barely restrained laughter, “please, allow me to help.”

Puffing out an annoyed breath, Alicent went limp.

Thank Sytarr Margaery isn’t around to witness this.

Alicent gasped in surprise when—without releasing her hand—Rhaenyra’s other arm slid beneath
her stomach and easily lifted her up. And her breath hitched when she found herself seated upon
her friend’s lap a moment later.

“Is this all right?” Rhaenyra’s arm had retreated, and Alicent knew that she could stand if she
wanted.

But Rhaenyra’s lap was warm, and Alicent didn’t wish to return to her feet. “It is.” With some
effort, she repositioned herself so that she was sitting sideways and could better see her heart
friend, whose arm immediately wound around her waist to support her back. “Is this all right?”

Rhaenyra nodded at once, offering her an affectionate squeeze.

Alicent gulped, suddenly realizing that this was the first time she’d sat on Rhaenyra’s lap outside of
her night terrors and panic attacks.
Wanton little whore.

The fingers of her free hand curled into a fist.

But when she refocused her attention on Rhaenyra, she couldn’t help but smile at the broad grin
currently lighting her friend’s face. “I believe most women would be more displeased about being
captured,” she teased.

Amusement glinted in Rhaenyra’s eyes as she chuckled. “If you hadn’t taken me hostage, I’m fairly
certain that Hylda and Lady Sansa would have attempted to depose me within the next ten
minutes.” She shrugged. “This way, I can spend time with you rather than having to attack you.”

A warm flush crept into Alicent’s cheeks, and she silently thanked Sytarr that Rhaenyra would
simply attribute it to the cold. Yet even as she blushed, a spark of her earlier vexation returned at
her friend’s words. “You do realize that you should have attacked me, yes?”

A frown tugged at the corners of Rhaenyra’s mouth. “I promised never to hurt you.”

Alicent snorted. “Rhaenyra, we are playing a game. I know full well that I’m weaker than a
Valyrian, but you needn’t coddle me because of it. Especially not when I’m your opponent. You
should have trusted Margaery, Laena, and the others to protect me if necessary.”

Rhaenyra’s cheeks darkened as she shifted beneath her. “I know,” she offered a sheepish smile, “but
I believe we’ve established that I’m not very good at delegating.”

“We have,” Alicent agreed, leaning in to briefly press her forehead against Rhaenyra’s, “but in this
instance, I ask that you please try in the future. I know you meant well, but your refusal to actually
engage simply because I was on the other side—”

“Made you feel as if I don’t consider you an equal,” Rhaenyra finished, looking as if she would
have smacked herself save that her hands were otherwise occupied. “My apologies, Ali. That
wasn’t at all my intention.”

“I know.” Alicent squeezed her hand. “And I’m not upset.” She paused. “Well, now that you’ve
been captured, I’m less upset.”

Rhaenyra chuckled for a moment, but then her expression became serious. “You know that I don’t
think of you as lesser, don’t you?”

“I do,” Alicent assured her. You were the first person to think me worth anything. “Besides,” she
playfully prodded her friend’s arm, “your overprotectiveness hurt you far more than it did me,
seeing as how it’s the reason your army will soon be defeated.”

“If my army is defeated, it will be because of that watchtower feint of yours,” Rhaenyra corrected,
her grin from earlier returning even broader than before. “It was a brilliant tactic, Ali. Very
cunning. And it certainly made good use of my foolish behavior.”

Alicent couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow, suddenly remembering the one time that she’d bested
Criston at a game of strategy. It was before he’d learned that she was barren, so he hadn’t punished
her, but she still remembered the anger simmering beneath his polite recognition of her victory.
She knew that Rhaenyra’s praise was genuine, knew that her heart friend would never become
wroth over losing a silly game—this was hardly the first victory that Alicent had claimed against
her—and yet still she heard herself asking, “You’re not upset that you were outmaneuvered by a
woman who hasn’t even reached her sixth decade?”

Rhaenyra immediately shook her head. “Of course not. There is no shame in losing to a worthy
opponent.” She smiled softly, her amethyst eyes practically glowing. “And you, Alicent Hightower,
are exceptionally worthy.”

Alicent’s stomach fluttered.

Upon Esfira’s orders, the most beautiful and lavish of the Keep’s tapestries—including a tapestry of
Relle’s faces from Rhaenyra’s own chambers—had been hung upon the walls of the great hall. The
room was awash in silvery-white light that flickered and danced in a way that mimicked candle
flames. In place of the high table at the front of the hall, a magnificent, golden castle had been
erected for the evening. The gleaming spires of its seven soaring towers nearly brushed the ceiling
of the cavernous hall, and elegant floral designs were etched into the castle’s walls.

Seven silver banners—one for each tower—decorated the castle itself and displayed the emblems
of Relle’s faces.

The Mother’s sapphire chalice.

The Maiden’s emerald bow and arrow.

The Crone’s amethyst lantern.

The Warrior’s ruby shield.

The Artist’s topaz tools.

The Judge’s ebony and ivory scales.

The Reaper’s onyx scythe.

And hanging above them all was an eighth golden banner emblazoned with Relle’s silver
septagram.

Hidden within the Artist’s tower, musicians played upon their instruments, and haunting melodies
reverberated throughout the hall for all to hear. Climbing vines snaked their way up the Maiden’s
tower, dotted with leaves shaped like arrowheads. An illusory waterfall flowed from the window of
the Mother’s tower, the water dissolving into billowing mist before it could reach the floor. The
parapets of the Warrior’s tower were decorated with gleaming helms and stout shields and shining
swords. Long scrolls bearing different passages from the Golden Laws rolled down the outer walls
of the Judge’s tower, and the Crone’s tower glowed with flickering, golden light like that of an Old
World candle.

The Reaper’s tower was cloaked in shadow without adornment—as much a mystery to the audience
as the concept of death itself.

It was a splendid set.

Rich and lovely, to be sure.

But all of it paled in comparison to Alicent.

Her heart friend was resplendent in a gown of shimmering satin so white that newly fallen snow
would appear dull and grey by comparison. The full and layered skirts were festooned with bows
and arrows picked out in white seed pearls—nigh invisible upon first glance, but catching the light
in such a way that each movement made Alicent sparkle even more than usual. Golden slippers
peeked out from beneath the hem of the gown, which was trimmed with silver lace. A sash of
emerald-green silk ran diagonally across her body, and embroidered on it in silver thread was the
word “Intelligence.”

The virtue of the Maiden Relle Springheart.

The virtue that Alicent would be personifying this night.

As if she does not personify it with every breath she takes.

Saint Septima had ascribed the virtue of intelligence to the Maiden because she believed that it was
during her youth that a woman’s desire for knowledge was at its peak, that this was the time in her
life when she learned all that she could in order to expand her intelligence.

“Wisdom comes with age, while intelligence is cultivated during youth.”

Perhaps that was true for most women, but Alicent’s desire for knowledge plainly hadn’t waned
with age, and Rhaenyra prayed that it never would.

She adored Alicent’s curiosity and her questions, her desire to learn about anything and everything,
her need to completely understand every facet of a particular matter, the way that her eyes shone
whenever she learned a new piece of information, the way that her breath hitched whenever she
was presented with a new book, the way that she would smile so joyfully when discussing
something that interested her.

And tonight . . .

Tonight, Alicent’s eyes were gleaming with excitement, and she was smiling so brightly that the
sun itself would surely hide in shame had it not sunk beneath the horizon several hours past.

The nerves that Alicent had confessed to having whilst they practiced scenes together during the
snow war had plainly abated since this afternoon, and her voice rang strong and clear throughout
the great hall as she delivered her lines from atop her tower. Her lovely face was beautifully framed
by her auburn curls, which cascaded over her shoulders and down her back.

A warm smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips as she watched her heart friend, and she silently thanked
Relle that she’d decided to take part in the masque this year.

She hadn’t intended to acquiesce when Esfira asked if she would participate. She’d been politely
declining such requests for over five million years now. The last time that she’d acted in a masque
was the Yule after her ascension to the Dragon Throne, and she remembered that she hadn’t much
enjoyed the experience.
There was something about the exaggerated and hyperbolic nature of masques, about the
knowledge that it was all pageantry and artifice and the disinterest in pretending otherwise, that had
never appealed to her. She preferred actual theatre wherein the actresses made every effort to
immerse and entrance their audience until they forgot that they were even watching a play.

But when Esfira had approached her two months ago about this year’s masque, Rhaenyra had found
herself agreeing almost without hesitation.

Alicent’s delighted smile when she’d later told her heart friend that she would be playing the part of
Loyalty had more than convinced her that she’d made the correct decision.

Watching Alicent perform now, Rhaenyra was even more convinced than she’d been two months
ago.

When it came time for her to deliver her own brief monologue, she could feel Alicent’s eyes upon
her.

And it made her traitorous heart flutter in her thrice-damned chest.

“I don’t want to be your wife.”

“I want to be your friend. I only—only a friend, Nyra. That’s all I want. Please.”

Part of her had longed to explain to Alicent the difference between a wife and a mate in that
moment—how one was nothing like the other, how no Valyrian would ever treat her mate as the
men of the Old World had treated their wives, how the First Generation had very deliberately
created a gaping chasm between the two words because the vast majority of them had themselves
been wives before the Doom and never wished to be so again.

“Marriage unions can be dictated. Matebonds cannot.”

While not Saint Septima’s final words, they’d among her most often repeated—at least according to
the members of the First Generation whose mothers had known her.

Rhaenyra didn’t know if that was true, but she knew that her people had been reciting that axiom
since the Founding and would likely continue reciting it until the stars went dark.

She was certain that Alicent would eventually understand the difference between mates and wives
just as she’d come to understand so much else about Valyrian culture, but it was not for Rhaenyra
to tell her.

Not when her motives for doing so were so muddled.

Not when she still found herself battling the desire to sweep Alicent into her arm and kiss her
breathless, to caress her soft cheeks and tell her how much she adored her, to hold her close and
never release her until asked.

Alicent would learn the distinction in her own time.

If not from one of her other friends or her books, then from simply observing the way that mates
treated each other.
Rhaenyra’s eyes swept over the crowd as she recited her lines, eventually finding her mother and
Alaura. Her mother’s attention was not on the masque taking place in front of her, but rather on her
mate beside her, and her eyes were softer and warmer and more loving than they’d ever been when
looking upon Rhaenyra.

Not that it matters.

She’d never had her mother’s love, so what was the use in pining for it?

Her earliest memory was of her mother scowling at her barely three minutes after she’d hatched.

At the time, she hadn’t understood why her mother—the woman who had once spoken so kindly to
her and taught her the alphabet while she’d still been ensconced in her egg—would glare at her so.
She hadn’t understood that her mother believed her black flames and immunity to fire signified an
inherently wicked nature. She hadn’t understood that her mother now considered her a potential
threat.

And she was correct to do so, wasn’t she?

Seas had boiled because of her.

Mountains had crumbled because of her.

Fires had rained down from the heavens because of her.

Countless died because of me, because I couldn’t control—

A warm wave of soothing comfort suddenly surged around her, tapping gently against her
emotional ward.

Immediately recognizing Alicent’s gift, Rhaenyra lowered her ward and greedily soaked in the
comfort that her heart friend was offering her.

Sweet Alicent.

Far kinder than I deserve.

She glanced over at Alicent and offered her a grateful smile.

Alicent beamed in response.

Merciful Mother, she was so beautiful.

No sooner had Rhaenyra finished her speech than an ominous drumbeat filled the hall.

Seven women dressed in gowns of dove-grey silk emerged from the crowd, each wearing a white
sash embroidered with the name of the Vice that she represented. They glided forward as silent as
shadows, but they didn’t attack. Rather, they began to sing sweet and entrancing songs meant to
coax Rhaenyra and the others from the castle to join them.

What followed then was not a battle of swords and shields, but songs and words and wits as one by
one the Virtues transformed the Vices.
Ambition—played by Margaery—inspired Laziness by hurling paint brushes and quills and
canvases and music and carpenters’ tools and blunted needles and parchment and theatre masks
down from her tower until Laziness was finally struck—rather literally—by the desire to create and
build and innovate.

Justice curtailed Malice until the two were united in purpose once more—no longer punishing in
excess, but only so much as the crime deserved.

Rhaenys—as Wisdom—humbled Arrogance and forced her to concede that there was much and
more she had yet to learn.

And so it went.

Honor uplifting Cowardice.

Loyalty redeeming Treachery.

Compassion overcoming Cruelty.

And Intelligence . . .

Alicent actually emerged from the castle to take Ignorance by the hand and personally offer her a
favored book—rather than throwing it at her head as the script had initially directed.

Following the end of the masque—wherein the Vices’ gowns had brightened to white and their
sashes now matched those of the Virtues in both color and word—Rhaenyra swiftly made her way
down from the castle with the intention of returning to her chambers and exchanging her costume
for one of her own gowns.

But a voice calling her name made her steps falter.

“Might the Lady Loyalty offer me the pleasure of a dance?”

Rhaenyra swallowed as memories of dancing with Alicent the night before washed over her—
stealing her breath and making her heart thunder in her chest. She hadn’t initially intended to
request a dance—knowing full well how foolish it would be—but she’d sensed that Alicent was
becoming upset by something and had hoped to offer a distraction.

Now, Alicent sought her hand once more.

And I am too weak to deny her.

Turning to face her heart friend, Rhaenyra offered her a warm smile and felt herself calm as
Alicent’s scent washed over her. “The pleasure is entirely mine, Lady Intelligence, though I fear
you may find my conversation quite dull after spending so long educating Ignorance.”

Alicent laughed as she took Rhaenyra’s hand and led her towards the middle of the great hall.
“You’ve never had a dull thing to say in your life, Nyra.”

That is entirely untrue. But the words warmed her all the same. “Will you be leading then tonight,
Ali?” she asked, glancing down at her joined hands.

“Considering I’ve yet to learn the steps to any Valyrian dances, that would be unwise.”
Rhaenyra gasped, pressing her free hand against her chest. “You mean to tell me that you didn’t
memorize the steps to every traditional Yuletide dance between last night and now?”

Alicent laughed once more, her eyes sparkling and her nose crinkling in that special way of hers. “I
haven’t had the time, I’m afraid. What with breakfast with you and Laena, the snow war, and
preparing for the masque.”

“Other activities are hardly an excuse,” Rhaenyra chided, drawing Alicent close when she heard the
first lilting notes of a thrice-damned waltz. Why were so many widows compelled to pen waltzes to
celebrate their husbands’ deaths?

Her throat tightened at the feeling of Alicent’s hand settling on her shoulder as it had the night
before, and when she placed her own hand on Alicent’s back, she took care to position it slightly
higher than was normal.

Alicent was smiling at her, eyes soft and warm with affection as she easily followed where
Rhaenyra led, her movements effortlessly graceful in a way that belied her earlier claim about not
having learned any of the steps. “Did you enjoy the masque, Nyra?”

Rhaenyra hesitated, not wishing to lie, but also having no desire to upset her heart friend.

Amusement glinted in Alicent’s eyes as she squeezed her shoulder. “I see. May I ask why you
disliked it?”

This woman means to kill me. “Masques have always seemed too . . . artificial, I suppose. There’s a
sense of immersion that comes from true theatre, from the way that actresses can evoke such strong
emotions from the audience, that is lacking with masques.”

Alicent hummed thoughtfully. “I think that I enjoyed being able to pretend without actually needing
to convince. It was . . . freeing. Artificial, as you said, but everyone was aware of and simply
accepted the artifice, so that wasn’t a bother.” She cocked her head slightly. “Why did you agree to
participate if you dislike masques?”

You.

“Because it’s been too long since I’ve taken part in one,” she smiled wryly, “and as queen, I have a
duty to fully engage with all courtly activities.”

Which was true enough.

“Hmm.” Alicent’s lips pursed as she considered. “Well, if there is a masque next Yule, I shall
endeavor to convince you of its virtues whilst we watch it together.”

Next Yule.

Rhaenyra’s heart fluttered and her magic crooned at the thought of spending another full year with
Alicent. “I look forward to hearing your arguments, Ali.”

Alicent grinned at her, and Rhaenyra felt peace.

This is more than enough.

∞
Laena smiled as she watched her sister dance with Alicent—torn between feelings of fondness and
exasperation. She loved Rhaenyra more than she did any of her other sisters, and Alicent was an
utter delight—she would eventually find some way to lure her to the Alcazar—but Merciful Mother
Above, how could any two women be such utter fools?

It wasn’t as if either of them was dense on any other matter. Rhaenyra had been besting women
hundreds of millennia her senior at cyvasse since before her fourth decade, and only this morning,
Alicent had discussed at length an obscure piece of Bellmaran history that Laena doubted any of
her predecessors—save perhaps the one who’d ruled during that time—would be able to recall.

And yet . . .

“She told me in no uncertain terms that she wishes only to be my friend.”

“Rhaenyra has been a dear friend to me.”

“I believe we are heart friends now.”

“She isn’t my safa.”

As much as Laena had desired nothing so much as to give her sister a shake when she’d said those
words, part of her understood Rhaenyra’s reticence. She herself had always been among the first to
question why Mother Relle would destine Rhaenyra for a non-Valyrian mate. Sharing the matebond
with a mortal was tantamount to condemning a woman to an eternity of misery and loneliness.
There was a very good reason why the Golden Laws prohibited them from bearing hybrid children.

No mother should have to watch her child grow old and die in a twinkling.

And no woman should have to watch her mate suffer the same.

She may not know the details of the immortality spell, but she knew—as everyone did—that the
All Mother had specifically crafted it for Valyrians and that attempting to cast it on a non-Valyrian
could very well kill the person.

And Rhaenyra would never risk that. She would sooner beg that her own immortality be removed.

A shudder rippled down her spine at the mere thought.

She still remembered Rhaenyra’s devastated expression after returning from the Oracle, still
remembered the bitter stench of grief and misery that had enveloped her, still remembered her
broken tone when she’d revealed that her mate was a mortal.

She still remembered watching her little sister shatter for the first time.

Even after all these millions of years, the sound of Rhaenyra’s anguished sobs haunted her
nightmares from time to time.

“Do you truly believe Mother Relle would offer you a mate incapable of loving you?”

“Considering she also decided that my mate would be a mortal doomed to die, yes, I believe she
might.”
Laena did not think Mother Relle cruel, and she did not believe her a goddess who would punish
one of her daughters for a crime that she’d had no say in committing.

“Our prayers are like a daughter asking her mother for aid. No mother would turn away when her
daughter needs her, but sometimes we daughters do not always see our mother’s efforts.”

While she’d only ever read the treatises written by Empress Naerys the Devout that were assigned
to her by Grandaunt Lysandra, Laena had never forgotten that particular quote.

And in that moment, watching her sister dance with Alicent, hearing Alicent laugh at something
Rhaenyra had said, seeing Rhaenyra smiling in a way she never had before, scenting her sister’s
contentment, Laena finally began to see Mother Relle’s efforts.

Perhaps no one but a woman not born of Valyria could look upon the Most Powerful Valyrian to
Ever Draw Breath and see only Rhaenyra.

“They move well together.”

Laena forced herself not to stiffen, forced her lips not to form a frown, forced her scent not to
sharpen.

Now is not the time.

The women of Stone Garden had already witnessed one Targaryen quarrel this Yuletide. They
needn’t witness a second.

Besides, she knew well that—because of their mother’s whispered poison—Rhaenyra was terrified
of becoming the cause of House Targaryen going to war with itself. She would not give her mother
the satisfaction, nor lend truth to her sister’s fears.

“They do indeed,” she agreed, her tone the same one that she’d perfected for court during her four
million years as Queen of Bellmar. She glanced over at her mother, who was watching Rhaenyra
and Alicent with the intensity of a raptor. “Rhaenyra has always been graceful.”

“Hardly,” her mother scoffed. “She was dreadfully clumsy before I ordered her to begin training
with her Varg Knights.”

Laena expelled a slow breath, reminding herself once more that now was not the time. “Rhaenyra
was a child, Mother.”

“A dreadfully clumsy child.”

This time, Laena allowed her lips to twist into a frown. “Must you always speak of her so harshly,
Mother. She is your daughter.”

“I’m aware.” Her mother flashed her a wry smile. “I well-remember being with child for three
months, and I well-remember the feeling of her egg nestled in my arms or pressed against my chest
the following nine.” She sighed, almost wistfully. “She was such an inquisitive babe during her
fourth quarter. I could always sense her shifting closer whenever I spoke, wishing to hear more of
what I had to say to her.”

Before all that you had to say to her were criticisms and spiteful remarks.
She remembered with perfect clarity the storm clouds that had darkened her mother’s expression
when Rhaenyra declared herself a fire elemental by creating a circlet of seven flaming stars to
crown her head.

She remembered with perfect clarity the acrid stench of fear that had choked the room as those
gathered realized that the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath wielded Maegor’s flames
and had inherited Aerysa’s immunity to fire.

And she remembered with perfect clarity the way her little sister’s bright and beaming smile had
faded and her flames had extinguished and her little shoulders had hunched in the face of their
mother’s displeasure.

Laena had never forgiven her mother for making Rhaenyra feel unloved in that moment, and she’d
certainly never forgiven her mother for binding Rhaenyra’s core in that thrice-damned net.

Had Rhaenyra not stayed her hand, she would have formally accused her mother of abuse in
violation of the Golden Laws over nine million years ago.

But Rhaenyra had made her wishes plain.

And so Laena had honored them.

“Alaura spoke with Lady Alicent the other night,” her mother was saying. “She thinks her a good
woman. Kind, but not without steel.”

Laena arched an eyebrow. “Do you disagree?”

“I’ve barely spoken to the woman.” Her mother clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Your sister
seems quite intent on ensuring that we never have a proper conversation.”

I would say that you can hardly blame her, but I already know you do. “Rhaenyra simply doesn’t
wish to overwhelm her.”

“Please do not insult my intelligence by lying to me, Laena,” her mother tsked. “We both know that
your sister has simply gotten it into her head that I mean to upset Lady Alicent. As if I would ever
do something so horrid to a woman who has already suffered so.”

That was indeed something not even Laena was particularly concerned about. For all that her
mother despised Rhaenyra, she was perfectly pleasant towards every other person that she
encountered, and for all that her mother refused to recognize the vile nature of her own actions, she
didn’t dispute that Alicent’s past treatment was abuse.

“She’s always been determined to misunderstand my intentions,” her mother sighed.

Her problem is the opposite. Some part of her actually believes that you acted in her best interests.

“And what exactly are your intentions, Mother?” While Laena knew her mother meant no harm to
Alicent, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t somehow harm Rhaenyra through Alicent.

“To ensure that the Lady Alicent knows what kind of woman has fallen in love with her.”

∞
The Fourth Day of Yuletide had dawned unusually bright and sunny—so much so that a few of the
warm-weather birds were tricked from their nests and joined their songs with those of their winter
cousins.

During service that morning, Mother Lemore had declared it a most auspicious beginning for the
day venerating Saint Gaia Arryn.

Auspicious for Saint Gaia, perhaps, but less so for Laena, who seemed rather distracted by the
numerous bird songs as she attempted to recall two of Rhaenyra’s mortal friends. “What were their
names, Rhae?” She snapped her fingers insistently. “Those women who spent years claiming they
were only friends before finally admitting that they were in love with each other.”

Rhaenyra’s expression had darkened somewhat, but she answered all the same. “Elphaba and
Glinda.”

“Yes! Them.” Laena grinned, clapping her hands together before turning to Alicent. “Have you
read that memoir of my sister’s yet? The one about her life in Oz?”

Alicent shook her head. “I haven’t read any of Rhaenyra’s memoirs,” she admitted. She’d been
tempted on several occasions, but always decided against it. She wished to learn about her heart
friend’s past adventures and lives from Rhaenyra herself.

“A pity. Some of them are quite riveting.” Laena lapsed into silence as she sipped her tea.

“Those women who spent years claiming they were only friends before finally admitting that they
were in love with each other.”

“Viserra was my friend long before she was my mate.”

Alicent looked at Rhaenyra curiously, wondering if these women had similar biology to Valyrians.
“What made them realize they were in love?”

Rhaenyra didn’t respond at once, her expression pensive. “I believe,” she paused, “they almost lost
each other, and knowing that they couldn’t bear the thought of living their lives apart from one
another made them realize that their feelings were not entirely those of friends.”

That was logical.

From what she’d been learning about the matebond, a desire for closeness of any and all kinds was
a fairly common indicator.

“Did they have any children together?” Unlike Valyrians, they would have no reason not to, and
she would be lying if she claimed that she wasn’t at least somewhat curious as to how two women
might produce children. Granted, she assumed that the reproductive anatomy of Elphaba and
Glinda’s species had little in common with her own or that of Valyrians, but all the same—

“They didn’t.” Rhaenyra poured herself a second cup of tea, her expression still pensive. “They
attempted to circumvent that particular biological hurdle on several occasions, but they never
succeeded.”

“That particular biological hurdle.”

Alicent’s grip tightened on her teacup, her stomach churning as her mother’s voice rang in her ears.
“You mean they couldn’t . . . they weren’t capable of producing children together?”

“Unfortunately for them, no, they weren’t.”

«Do you think spreading your damn legs for Adelaide will result in children!?»

«Cursed is the man or woman who lies with their own, for no fruit shall come forth from such a
union.»

And yet . . .

“Those women who spent years claiming they were only friends before finally admitting that they
were in love with each other.”

“Knowing that they couldn’t bear the thought of living their lives apart from one another made
them realize that their feelings were not entirely those of friends.”

But how could they justify—?

«Sytarr curses your kind!»

She doubted that those women worshipped Sytarr.

Perhaps that was how?

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

She ought to conduct more research.

Perhaps she would even read a few of Rhaenyra’s memoirs as well. The vast majority of the friends
she spoke of were women, and there were a number of persons who were apparently neither men
nor women—which she didn’t yet fully understand—but perhaps gaining a better understanding of
all those people would help?

“Ali?” Rhaenyra’s eyes were round with worry as she gazed at her. “If I’ve upset you—”

“You haven’t.” Alicent smiled and reached over to clasp her heart friend’s hand. “You rarely do
anything to upset me.” She paused, glancing between Rhaenyra and Laena as she searched for a
way to redirect the conversation to something less . . . troubling.

Then Laena extended her hand to claim one of the teacakes in the middle of the table, the
movement causing afternoon sunlight to glint off of the blue rose ring that she wore.

“May I ask the story behind your rings?” She’d noticed earlier that both Viserra and Alaura wore
rose rings as well—purple and white, respectively—and the two of them, Rhaenyra, and Laena all
been referred to as members of the Rosedragon Cadet Branch. The latter struck her as particularly
strange, since she distinctly remembered reading that Cadet Branches included only the founder
and her direct descendants.

Rhaenyra smiled, but it was warm and pained and wistful and melancholy all at once. “Mother and
Alaura both adore roses and use them for their personal sigils, and when we and our sisters were
young, they managed to instill in us that same love before we all left Dragon Ridge.”
“When we were still children, Mother used to call us her ‘Little Roses.’” Laena wasn’t smiling, and
her eyes were hard. “It’s one of the few times that I can recall when she actually showed Rhaenyra
even a scrap of proper maternal affection.”

“Laena,” Rhaenyra hissed. “Now is not the time.”

Alicent fisted her skirts as her anger towards Viserra—which she’d somehow managed to smother
for the past two days—flared. She well-remembered the confusion and hurt that she’d felt once she
was old enough to notice how differently her mother treated her brothers. And she wondered if
those feelings would have been made even worse had her mother taunted her with some small
sliver of affection—just enough for her to know what she lacked.

“Mother and Alaura officially founded the Rosedragon Branch a few decades after I was born, and
Mother asked—”

“—Ordered—”

“—that we each select a rose sigil of our own.”

Alicent looked at Laena curiously. “Why do you still wear your ring if your mother’s order
displeased you so?” She also recalled from her reading that a blue rose was Laena’s official
personal sigil.

“Because I’ll not allow Mother to ruin roses for me.” Laena’s expression finally softened somewhat
as she looked down at her blue rose ring. “Besides, these rings and our shared sigils don’t simply
bind us to her, they bind us to each other.”

“Much as we might wish to be unbound from Daemona,” Rhaenyra chuckled.

Laena laughed as well, reaching over to give her sister a playful nudge. “Daemona was elated when
she chose her rose sigil.”

“Daemona would be elated if Mother ordered us all to sever a limb,” Rhaenyra scoffed.

“Especially since that order wouldn’t actually apply to her,” Laena finished.

Alicent had been wondering if Viserra had a favorite child—Rhaenyra claimed that all mothers had
a favorite child—and it seemed she now had her answer. In truth, considering what little Rhaenyra
had said of Daemona over the years, she wasn’t particularly surprised. It seemed that Rhaenyra’s
eldest sister and her mother had oft been of the same mind with regards to most matters.

I wonder if Daemona reveled in Rhaenyra’s suffering during those centuries her core was bound.

Laena’s mirth faded as she refocused her attention on Alicent, though Alicent knew that she wasn’t
the cause of the other woman’s displeasure. “Mother broke with tradition when she and Alaura
founded the Rosedragon Branch. Not only did she include her mate—something that had never
been done before—she also forbade anyone save the nine of us to bear the name.” She snorted.
“And she dares criticize Rhaenyra for—”

“Laena.”

“Mother is a hypocrite, and you know it.”

“I do know it, but I also don’t wish for her to ruin my time with you and Alicent any more than you
wish for her to ruin roses. So please, refrain from disparaging her in front of Alicent.”

“Does Alicent know that she—?”

“Yes.”

Laena’s eyes widened with surprise. “You told her?” Her words were little more than a whisper,
and for a moment, she simply stared at Rhaenyra, before slowly turning to Alicent. “She told you
about the net?”

Alicent nodded, once again wondering how many people actually knew about the net, and
wondering how many of them Rhaenyra herself had told. “During First Night.” Her fingers sank
further into the fabric of her skirts. “May I ask why you never intervened about the net?”

The question had been nagging at her for days. It was plain that Laena loved her sister, and yet
she’d allowed her to suffer for over seventeen hundred years. Despite his limited ability to do so,
Gwayne had oft done what he could to shield her from their mother.

Laena’s shoulders slumped as she sat back in her chair. “I tried, but Mother wouldn’t be moved,
and Rhaenyra,” she flashed her sister a scowl, “forbid all further interference.”

“The net was necessary,” Rhaenyra snapped, a faint crack beginning to appear along the side of her
teacup. “You know it as well as I do.”

The utter conviction behind her heart friend’s words wounded something in Alicent that she
couldn’t identify or even explain, but she felt the pain as sharply as any of her mother’s slaps or
Criston’s blows.

“Nyra—”

“Please, Alicent.” Rhaenyra wasn’t looking at either of them. “Might we simply enjoy our morning
in peace?”

Alicent exchanged a look with Laena, whose eyes reflected the same pain that she herself felt.
Reaching out, she settled her hand on Rhaenyra’s arm. “Of course, Nyra. My apologies for
upsetting you.”

Rhaenyra relaxed in an instant, the tension seeping from her shoulders. “You rarely do anything to
upset me, Ali.”

The smile that Alicent gave her in return was as genuine as she could manage when hot claws were
raking across her insides.

The revel that Mistress Esfira had arranged for Fourth Night was a citywide affair held in Osmera’s
Rosewood Concert Hall—the largest of the city’s many concert halls. The Mistress of Revels had
declared that the evening’s festivities would be performances by anyone interested in participating.
Dancers, singers, musicians, puppeteers, single-scene acting troupes, tumblers, and more had come
from across the Queendom to perform.
Nearly two thousand women had gathered inside the concert hall, and dozens of mirrors had been
placed in various locations so that those unable to secure a seat could still watch from elsewhere. A
cacophony of voices filled the cavernous space as women greeted each other before finding their
seats, or carried on conversations once they were settled. The women down below formed a sea of
whites and silvers with a few hints of gold, and Alicent swore that she caught a glimpse of a child
somewhere among the crowd.

Her heart twisted.

She hadn’t seen any children since coming here.

Yet even as her eyes searched the crowd from her place high above in Rhaenyra’s royal box, her
attention was not entirely focused.

How could it be, when Viserra Targaryen’s eyes had been boring into her since the moment she’d
taken her seat at the far end of the box? Rhaenyra’s mother had been giving her assessing looks
throughout the day, but the other woman had yet to actually approach her.

For which Alicent was grateful.

Every time she saw Viserra, all she could think about was how small Rhaenyra had felt huddled in
her arms. All she could hear was her heart friend’s broken voice as she described the empty feeling
that net had caused her. All she could see was the hurt and self-loathing that had twisted Rhaenyra’s
lovely face. All she could smell was the bitter scent of rotted roses—as if her heart friend’s perfume
had somehow soured with her mood in that moment.

And it was all she could do to leash the smoldering thing inside her that howled to be set free.

What sort of mother inflicted such suffering upon her daughter and dared claim it was for her own
good? For all her own mother’s faults, she’d never pretended that her punishments were anything
but. She’d never pretended that she was hurting Alicent in order to help her.

Save for when she’d attempted to correct Alicent’s sinful urges.

But that was different.

When Alicent had entered the royal box some ten minutes ago, she’d specifically chosen the seat
farthest from where Viserra was sitting—though she intended to cede the position once Rhaenyra
returned.

Her heart friend needed the distance more than Alicent did.

Between her and Viserra were Alaura, Lady Rhaenys, and Mistress Corla. The Hand and her mate
were whispering together and occasionally laughing, and Alicent was grateful to them for
providing a barrier between herself and Rhaenyra’s mother and stepmother.

Rhaenyra had called Alaura far kinder than Viserra deserved, but Alicent disagreed with that
assessment. Alaura Glover might not be cruel, but she didn’t seem particularly kind either. Not
when she was attempting to justify Viserra’s past actions and ignoring her present ones.

Alicent was drawn from her ruminations by the sudden silence of the orchestra no longer tuning
and the resulting hush that fell over the hall—accented by a crackling air of anticipation.
Overhead, the light-orbs extinguished, and choking darkness shrouded the hall. Alicent’s breath
caught in her throat, but it released a moment later as a quiet sigh of relief when new orbs ignited
behind the purple curtains obscuring the stage. While dimmed because of the thick fabric, she now
at least had enough light to see her hand in front of her face.

A beam of light suddenly materialized from the back of the concert hall, briefly sweeping over the
audience before focusing on the center of the stage. Mistress Esfira emerged from the shadows a
moment later to stand in the pool of light. She smiled and offered a small bow before announcing,
“Your Eminence, Ladies, and Gentlewomen, it is my high honor and great pleasure to present to
you Her Royal Majesty Rhaenyra Targaryen and Her Eminence Laena Targaryen of Bellmar, who
shall be opening our concert this evening with a duet.”

As Mistress Esfira led the audience in a round of applause, the curtains slowly drew back to reveal
Rhaenyra and Laena standing on a stage covered in glittering snow, and above their heads dozens
of icicles hung down from the rafters. Rhaenyra wore a gown of Targaryen-red, while Laena was
dressed in arctic-blue. Both colors accentuated their silver hair, which shone brighter than the
polished metal.

The applause swiftly died down and was replaced by the slow and serene harmonies of various
stringed instruments.

Laena was grinning and radiating such excitement that Alicent swore she could sense her eagerness
despite her ward and the distance between them. But while Rhaenyra was smiling, she didn’t seem
half so enthused as her sister.

Alicent wondered why.

Rhaenyra’s eyes met hers for a brief moment, and something akin to guilt flashed in them before
she swiftly refocused her gaze elsewhere.

Worry began to coil in Alicent’s stomach.

But it was soon eclipsed by awe when Rhaenyra and Laena began to sing, their voices blending
together in a breathtaking harmony that filled the concert hall and echoed off of the vaulted ceiling.

Green groweth the holly,

So doth the ivy.

Though winter blasts blow never so high,

Green groweth the holly.

As the holly groweth green

And never changeth hue,

So I am, ever hath been,

Unto My Lady true.

Rhaenyra had been singing her to sleep after her night terrors for over two years now, and while
Alicent had known since that first time that her heart friend had an ethereal voice, she’d never
before heard it like this. Warm and rich and resonant and displaying a power and range that soft
lullabies meant to comfort and soothe simply did not allow.

Sytarr above, Rhaenyra was a marvel.

And Laena’s voice was certainly lovely as well—high and bright and crystal-clear, but also full and
strong.

As the holly groweth green

With ivy all alone

When flowers cannot be seen

And greenwood leaves be gone.

Green groweth the holly,

So doth the ivy.

Though winter blasts blow never so high,

Green groweth the holly.

Now unto My Lady

Promise to her I make,

From all other only

To her I me betake.

“They sound lovely together, do they not?”

Alicent stiffened, though she forced her attention to remain on the stage, forced herself to continue
watching Rhaenyra and Laena rather than turning to glower at Vsierra. Now was hardly the time to
cause a commotion.

She clasped her hands together in her lap to prevent herself from squeezing or tapping at her
scarred wrist. “Your Eminence, I did not hear your approach.”
“My apologies, but I did not wish to disturb the others.” Viserra’s voice was genial and warm, just
as it had been when they’d first been introduced. “I was hoping that I might speak a moment with
you, Lady Alicent.”

“I knew that something was wrong the moment I awoke. I felt empty inside. A painful sort of
hollowness. As if I’d been eviscerated.”

Alicent forced her voice to remain steady and prayed that her scent wasn’t betraying her. “Of
course, Your Eminence.”

Viserra shifted slightly beside her. “You and my daughter seem to be getting on well. She is kind to
you?”

She is far kinder to me than you ever were to her. Alicent swallowed the words and said instead,
“Rhaenyra has shown me more kindness than anyone I’ve ever met.”

The wave of genuine relief that Alicent experienced a split second before her ward flared was
nauseating.

When Viserra had first asked her five days whether Rhaenyra was treating her well, she’d known
what the other woman had actually meant. She’d been sickened then, and she was even more
sickened now.

How can she think so little of Rhaenyra?

“Mother acted for the good of the Empire. Besides, I deserved to suffer.”

Alicent’s stomach clenched.

“That is very good to hear.” Viserra was silent for a long moment before asking slowly, “And she
always speaks kindly to you as well, yes? She does not grow cross when the two of you disagree?”

Her mind briefly flashed to their quarrel in the rose garden and the subsequent months of Rhaenyra
avoiding her out of guilt, but she would not tell Viserra of that. Not when it was a personal matter
between her and Rhaenyra.

And certainly not when Viserra was plainly searching for ways to malign her heart friend.

“Rhaenyra and I have had few disagreements over the years, Your Eminence, but when we do, she
is always perfectly respectful.” Alicent couldn’t help the fond smile that curled her lips. “Rhaenyra
has never belittled or disparaged my opinions. And she’s never dismissed or mocked my thoughts
as silly or foolish.”

Not even when Alicent herself did.

Her heart friend had never sneered or rolled her eyes when Alicent made a suggestion, had never
snapped at her to hold her tongue or told her that it wasn’t her place to speak. Rhaenyra was always
eager to hear her opinions and always listened attentively whenever she spoke.

“Well, I am pleased to hear that my daughter was evidently paying proper attention to her lessons in
diplomacy,” Viserra chuckled. “A good ruler should never allow herself to fall prey to her baser
instincts.” Another pause, though this one was shorter. “I heard tell that you spent your first year
here sequestered in your chambers. I do hope that was not on account of my daughter.”
Alicent’s fingers curled in the fabric of her skirts. “As I said the other day, Rhaenyra has been the
perfect hostess from the moment I arrived. She has been kind and solicitous and more generous
than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Viserra expelled a sharp breath. “I’ve no doubt that Rhaenyra has been kind to you, Lady Alicent. I
only ask because I realize that you must have heard the . . . rumors surrounding her actions during
the War.”

“Much of it was mere propaganda.” Spread by both her own people and the Valyrians themselves,
though she also knew that there was some truth to those tales as well.

Rhaenyra herself had admitted as much to her.

“I wouldn’t be so certain.” Viserra’s fingers drummed on her leg, the movement causing her purple
rose ring to catch the light. “I know well my daughter’s temper, Lady Alicent. When her control
lapses, she is not at all like the woman you’ve come to know.”

“When my temper flares, when my control slips—”

“What I did wasn’t vengeance. Slaughtering those demons . . . destroying their planet . . . I lost
control . . .”

Alicent supposed that she shouldn’t be surprised to learn that Rhaenyra’s preoccupation with
controlling herself was the result of her mother’s probably oft-repeated words.

Her mind flashed to the day that Rhaenyra had learned about Criston punishing her every time the
Firestorm won a battle. Her friend’s temper had flared then—burning so hot that black flames had
engulfed her for a time—but she hadn’t harmed Alicent, and Alicent hadn’t been afraid of being
harmed.

“I was so . . . fury cannot begin to describe the anguish and rage that I felt . . .”

And she remembered the rage that had sparked in Rhaenyra’s eyes when she’d learned about the
cage.

“It seems to me that Rhaenyra’s temper only rouses to protect others, Your Eminence.” Which
made her wonder what it was that Rhaenyra and Viserra had been arguing about the day that
Viserra cast the net on her. Even taking into account that Rhaenyra had been a child at the time,
what could have made her so angry that she would lash out at her own mother in such a way?

Viserra clicked her tongue, impatience beginning to sharpen her tone. “Lady Alicent, I do not mean
to speak rudely, but I know my daughter far better than you do, so please heed me when I tell you
that her temper can be roused for many reasons other than to protect others.”

Still not turning her head to properly address the other woman, Alicent replied, “I’ve not known
your daughter as long as you, Your Eminence, but I do know her quite well.”

“Then you’re aware of why she’s called the Princess in the Tower?”

Alicent’s own temper flared at that.

How dare Viserra attempt to use one of the most painful moments of Rhaenyra’s life in such a way?
What does she even seek to gain from any of this? Does she merely wish to malign Rhaenyra? Or
does she hope to hurt her further by fracturing our friendship?

If that was Viserra’s purpose, then she was even crueler and pettier than Alicent thought.

“I am. Rhaenyra told me the entire tale behind that sobriquet.”

“Did she?” Viserra sounded genuinely surprised. “If that is so, then you must understand how
destructive that bloodlust of hers can be. I do not wish to speak ill of my daughter, but if you are to
be her—if you intend to remain her friend, you deserve to know the kind of woman that she is.”

For a brief moment, Alicent feared that she might crack a tooth her jaw was clenched so tight.
Expelling a slow breath, she reminded herself that she was in public, that Lady Rhaenys, Mistress
Corla, and Alaura were but a few seats away, that Rhaenyra did not deserve to have her
performance spoiled by Alicent screaming at her mother for all to hear.

Though perhaps Laena might be pleased by such a display.

Alicent slowly turned her head to look at Viserra. “With all due respect, Your Eminence, none of
Rhaenyra’s past actions have been driven by bloodlust, and I know exactly the kind of woman that
she is. Rhaenyra is kind and gentle and sweet and caring.” And while her friend made her share of
mistakes, she did not make the same sort of mistake twice. “She has never been anything but polite
and respectful towards me, and I am honored to call her my heart friend.”

Viserra was silent for a long moment, amethyst eyes sweeping over her face before she finally said
quietly, “You did not see her after she returned from exterminating those demons, My Lady.
Perhaps if you had, you would understand why it is wise to fear her wroth.”

“And you do not seem to realize how haunted Rhaenyra is by her own actions. Perhaps if you did,
you would not speak of them so cavalierly.”

“Haunted,” Viserra repeated, shaking her head, her tone almost pitying. “Lady Alicent, I have no
doubt that Rhaenyra is full of remorse, but how many regrets do you think she has?”

“More than you, Your Eminence.”

Some part of her knew that it was a mistake to speak so curtly to a former empress, to a woman
who had existed longer than some species, to a woman who could most certainly kill her with a
single thought, but she didn’t care.

Viserra Targaryen was undeserving of her courtesy, and Alicent had spent enough of her life
cowering in fear of those who might harm her.

Amethyst eyes were boring into her.

Alicent refocused her attention on Rhaenyra and Laena, who had reached the final verses of their
duet.

Green groweth the holly,

So doth the ivy.

Though winter blasts blow never so high,

Green groweth the holly.

Farewell, Mine Own Lady,

Farewell, My Special,

Who hath my heart truly

Be sure, and ever shall.

As the final, hauntingly lovely notes faded, thunderous applause filled the concert hall. Alicent
clapped along with everyone else, not turning her head as Viserra stood and wordlessly returned to
her own seat beside Alaura. She smiled as she watched Rhaenyra and Laena sweep elegant, twin
curtsies and soak in the applause for a few minutes before disappearing from the stage.

They appeared in the royal box a moment later, gracefully accepting the praises and congratulations
offered by Lady Rhaenys, Mistress Corla, and Alaura.

Alicent frowned when she saw Viserra grab Rhaenyra’s hand and whisper something in her ear, and
her fists clenched when Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed as she roughly broke free from her mother’s grasp.

Alaura’s hand immediately settled on her mate’s arm to claim her attention.

Lady Rhaenys was frowning slightly as she exchanged a look with Mistress Corla.

Laena linked her arm with Rhaenyra’s and swiftly drew her away from their mother.

Hurt and anger twisted Rhaenyra’s expression, and her jaw was clenched as she claimed the seat
beside Alicent, dropping down onto the chair with none of her usual grace.

On the other side of the box, Viserra clicked her tongue in disapproval.

Alicent reached over and clasped her heart friend’s hand, sending out gentle waves of soothing
calm and warm comfort, smiling inwardly when she felt Rhaenyra’s ward immediately lower in
response. “You sounded beautiful, Nyra.”

The anger dissipated almost at once, though the hurt lingered in Rhaenyra’s eyes even as she turned
her head and offered Alicent a soft smile. “Thank you, Ali.” She squeezed her hand. “Perhaps next
Yule, you might perform something on your lute.”

Alicent was fairly certain that performing in front of anyone other than Rhaenyra might kill her, but
she offered only a noncommittal sound in response.

Rhaenyra tsked good-naturedly. “One of these days, Alicent Hightower, I shall see to it that you
finally appreciate how much of a marvel you are.”

“I don’t deserve your compassion or your presence. I could have hurt you just now, Ali.”
 Alicent forced a teasing smile to curl her lips and she leaned over the nudge Rhaenyra’s shoulder
with her own. “I wish you good fortune with that, Nyra.”

And I promise to do the same for you.

Chapter End Notes

Look at Alicent being a polite but protective girlfriend heart friend!

In case you're curious about the rose sigils for Rhaenyra's other sisters.
Rhaenyra of Valyria: Black Rose
Elaena of Saevara: Water Rose
Maegelle of Farnier: Red Rose
Laenora of the Avenian Isles: Wind Rose
Aerea of Norden: Winter Rose
Daemona of Gelt: Emerald Rose
Laena of Bellmar: Blue Rose

Next Chapter: Cake Night and Alicent meets a child.

Additional Disclaimer: The song lyrics are also not mine. They are from a folk song entitled
"Green Groweth the Holly" written by King Henry VIII (yes, that butthole of a man).
 Fifth and Sixth Days of Yuletide
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 35:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Viserra Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Kastrell
– Laena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Bellmar
– Damella Rowan, an Osmeran dressmaker, from Kastrell
– Honora Rowan, Damella's niece, from Kastrell

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Please enjoy the artwork of the Imperial Coat of Arms of the Valyrian Empire (not strictly
related to this chapter's contents, but it's pretty and shows you Kastrell's sigil).

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Snow Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

As with most reptilians, dragons are oviparous, meaning that they reproduce by laying eggs in
which their young gestate outside of their mother’s body. The size of a dragon’s clutch can
range from two to eight eggs, though most females lay clutches of five or six. Female dragons
 can lay several clutches during the course of their lives, though most tend to wait until they are
several hundred thousand years old before they begin laying eggs.

An individual dragon egg is roughly the size of a cantaloupe, and it is about as heavy as a
stone of similar size. As a result of their inner fire, dragon eggs naturally radiate heat the same
as adult dragons. The exterior of a dragon’s egg is covered in tiny scales that shimmer like
polished metal in the sunlight.

The color of these scales always corresponds to the primary scale color of the dragon
contained within. The scales covering a dragon’s eggs are as impenetrable as the scales
covering the dragon itself, and the only way to puncture the egg is from the inside. As a result,
dragon eggs cannot be broken by being dropped or struck or stabbed, though some theorize
that it might be possible to crush them under sufficient weight or pressure.

Female dragons tend to lay their clutches in the spring so that their young will hatch in the
summer. The warmth of those months is believed to help kindle a newborn dragon’s inner fire,
which is weak or perhaps even nonexistent when they are first born. Although dragon eggs do
not require an external heat source to thrive, dragon parents will usually build a nest of hot
stones or coals around their clutch, which they keep warm with both their body heat as well as
small amounts of their own fire.

Similar to Valyrians, a mother dragon can always sense when her young have finished
gestating. Once this happens, she offers her eggs a small amount of her own blood and then
bathes them in the flames of her own fire.

Only a dragon can hatch a dragon, meaning that dragons can only hatch if their eggs are
offered dragon blood and dragon fire. Blood and fire from any source other than a dragon will
have no effect on a dragon’s egg, and if too much time passes between when the dragon
completes gestation and when it is offered blood and fire, the egg will eventually petrify and
turn to stone. However, the life within the egg can remain viable for millions of years after
petrification.

While a dragon is considered full-grown about a century after birth, they do not reach sexual
maturity until much later. The average lifespan of a dragon is around one million years, though
dragon queens can expect to live twice that. The exceptions to these general rules are Selonara
Silverscale, her mate Alanthos the Azure, Caladria Moonwing, and her mate Andalor the
Black. The first dragon queen lived for over ten million years, while the Great Dragon lived
for over fourteen million years. Their respective mates both predeceased them by around two
million years.

Alicent frowned as she reread the final sentence of the passage.

Two million years.

While certainly not as long as the eternity of solitude that Rhaenyra feared she would one day
endure—assuming she was not already enduring it—to be without their mates for so long after
millions of years spent together must have been a torment for Queen Selonara and Queen Caladria.

She couldn’t imagine mourning a spouse.

On Westeros, highborn women spent half their lives or more as widows because lords did not begin
taking wives until their fourth millennia or later. Had she managed to outlive Criston, Horus would
have either killed her or—Sytarr willing—banished her to a widow-house along with Sabina and
Vesna. And possibly Arilla as well. Her own father had sent his mothers to a widow-house in order
to avoid them clashing with his wives.

She’d once dreamed of surviving long enough to retire to a widow-house, of spending her days
under the supervision of highborn younger sons who were themselves not permitted to wed or
father children.

It was a fate that she now realized would likely have been little different from her life with Criston.
Most of his friends had been younger sons and such men—

Believing that a widow-house would provide her respite from the unwanted attentions of men had
been foolish, but at the time, it had seemed a place of refuge and sanctuary. While she’d known that
Criston’s other wives would continue tormenting her, she’d still longed for the day that she might
escape her husband’s punishments.

And for over two decades, she’d believed that such dreams were further evidence of her sinful
nature, for no wife should ever wish ill upon her husband.

But she knew better now.

Alicent couldn’t imagine mourning a spouse, but she could imagine mourning a friend, and if the
relationships between mated dragons were akin to those between mated Valyrians, she suspected
that the grief must be somewhat similar.

And she could understand why Rhaenyra feared experiencing such grief.

Again.

“You did not see her after she returned from exterminating those demons, My Lady. Perhaps if you
had, you would understand why it is wise to fear her wroth.”

Her grip on the book tightened.

She hadn’t seen Rhaenyra then, but Aemma had, and Hylda had, and they’d both told her of
Rhaenyra’s devastation and guilt, of Rhaenyra immediately demanding punishment for what she’d
done, of Rhaenyra refusing to defend herself during her trial.

“Lady Alicent, I have no doubt that Rhaenyra is full of remorse, but how many regrets do you think
she has?”

How could Viserra ask such a thing when she’d been there?

Shaking her head, Alicent attempted to refocus her attention on her book. She’d been devoting
most of her reading time to learning more about the dragons in the hopes that she might have
something to offer Rhaenyra once the holidays were over and her heart friend became consumed
with preparing for the Dragon Summit this coming autumn.

I ought to—
A brisk knock on her privy chamber door drew her from her thoughts, and she turned her head to
check the time.

It was only fifteen minutes past noon, which meant that Rhaenyra was still away meeting with
Lady Tyrell, and Laena probably hadn’t yet returned from spending the morning with Rhea at
Runestone.

“Come in,” she called.

Margaery entered a moment later, smiling in a way that immediately aroused Alicent’s suspicions.

Her friend was planning mischief.

And Sansa’s absence either meant that she didn’t approve of her mate’s scheme or that she was
elsewhere aiding in its execution.

So nothing, in truth, she thought wryly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Margaery?” She motioned for her friend to take a seat, noting the
way that Margaery neatly folded her hands in her lap rather than placing them on the arms of the
chair, as was usually her wont.

“Must I have a specific reason for wishing to see my friend?” Margaery swiftly waved a hand to
dismiss her own question as she continued. “I came to learn whether you’ve decided upon a gown
for supper tonight. Considering this is the Night of the Purple Queen, I was going to suggest
something including that color.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, not knowing how to interpret her friend’s unusual
behavior. While this was hardly the first time that Margaery had offered her advice on what to wear
for a special evening, her friend had never approached her so far in advance before.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten that it’s Cake Night.” While Margaery’s surprise sounded genuine,
Alicent was certain that her friend was purposefully misinterpreting her confusion. “You are
familiar with Cake Night, yes?”

You know that I am.

It was Sansa who had first mentioned Cake Night when Alicent began making inquiries about Yule
traditions, and she knew for a fact that Margaery had seen her reading the various books that
Luwina had provided her with on the subject.

Margaery cocked her head, eyebrow arched in silent challenge.

Deciding that it was better to simply indulge her friend rather than attempt to discern her motives—
for now—Alicent closed her book and set it aside before folding her hands in her lap to mirror
Margaery as she recited, “‘While Yuletide traditions oft differ between the Queendoms and even
within the Queendoms themselves, Cake Night is considered a staple. On this night, whosoever
finds the small figurine baked into her piece of Yuletide cake is named queen-for-the-evening.’”

She paused, but Margaery’s expression remained impassive, so she continued. “Within the imperial
and royal palaces, Cake Night had become as much a ritual as it is a revel. On the appointed night,
there is served a feast of seven courses, the seventh of which is the Yuletide cake. Each Queendom
and the Dragon Court has its own figurine, and the named queen-for-the-evening receives both a
ceremonial crown and title, while the actual queen or the empress becomes her knight-for-the-
evening to ensure that the remaining festivities are conducted as expected.’”

Alicent spread her hands. “Satisfied, or would you care for me to recite the traditional exchange
and vows between the monarch and the named queen-for-the-evening as well?”

Margaery grinned, shaking her head. “No need, Alicent. And my thanks, for indulging me.”

“Dare I ask why you felt the need to confirm my familiarity with Cake Night traditions?” Surely
her friend wasn’t scheming to somehow interfere with Cake Night.

“I can’t think of a single reason why you’d wish to know that.” Margaery rose to her feet and
offered her hand. “Care to join Sansa and I in watching the river boat races? Ygritte and Talya are
competing.”

While tempted to decline because she knew that it would be even colder near the banks of the
Calsidren, she reminded herself that she wanted to experience all of Yule’s festivities, which
included river boat races to honor Saint Minisa Tully leading a daring escape from the royal palace
after it was overrun by enemy soldiers during the Dark Times.

Besides, she had survived a snow war the other day. A few hours standing near a river should be no
bother.

Accepting Margaery’s hand, Alicent allowed herself to be drawn to her feet. “Would you mind
casting another insulation enchantment on my cloak before we leave?”

“Not at all.” Amusement gleamed in Margaery’s eyes. “But you do know that layering those
enchantments doesn’t actually increase the warmth, yes?”

“Allow me to live in my delusion, Margaery, and I’ll allow you to live in yours,” Alicent said over
her shoulder as she opened the doors of her armoire and found her warmest cloak.

Margaery barked a laugh behind her. “And what delusion is that?”

“The one where you think that you’ll be able to persuade me to wager against Ygritte and Talya. I
may not know much about boat races, but I know enough not to bet against those two.” Alicent
swiftly fastened the silver clasp at her neck as she returned to her friend’s side.

“You, Alicent Hightower, have a dreadful way of spoiling my fun.” Margaery swept her left hand
up and down the length of the cloak, and Alicent felt a brief flash of warmth against her back.

“I won’t apologize for not losing money in a fool’s gamble.” Alicent opened the door for her friend,
which earned her a playful bow.

“Very well then.” Margaery tapped her chin. “Three pence says that if Ygritte and Talya win, the
first thing that Ygritte will do upon returning to the Keep is inform Gilly.”

“Four says that she’ll wait until after Gilly has finished preparations for tonight’s feast.” While
Alicent had no doubt that Ygritte would want to immediately inform Gilly of her victory, Cake
Night was the most important meal of the Yule season, and she didn’t think that Ygritte would wish
to disturb her mate when she was focused on preparations.
Margaery grinned. “Excellent. I look forward to collecting your money.”

“And I look forward to collecting yours.”

“The Lady Alicent seems to think quite highly of you, Daughter. For her sake, I hope that you’re
able to remember yourself and control your temper.”

Control.

Her mother had been instructing her to control herself and leash her temper for as long as Rhaenyra
could recall.

She was used to hearing such words in one form or another from her mother, was used to being told
that she was a danger to herself and others when her control slipped or she allowed her passions to
rule her actions, was used to her mother reminding her of how horrifically destructive her magic
could be.

“I protected you and our people as best I could with that net. For over seventeen hundred years, I
ensured that no one was harmed by your magic because you couldn’t manage to control yourself.
But now? Now everyone will see you for what you are.”

Except that they hadn’t.

Because the All Mother had decreed it otherwise.

For over nine million years, those words—spoken in the wake of her breaking the net—had been
the most hurtful that her mother had ever said to her.

Until last night.

“The Lady Alicent seems to think quite highly of you, Daughter. For her sake, I hope that you’re
able to remember yourself and control your temper.”

Merciful Mother, those two simple sentences should not have wounded and infuriated her so. They
should not have haunted her dreams and made her awake breathless and feeling almost chilled.

But they had.

The night before, she’d wanted nothing more than to snarl at her mother that she would never harm
Alicent, that she would never raise a hand to her or lay a finger on her in anger.

All she’d ever desired was Alicent’s health and safety and happiness.

But she’d held her tongue.

Because she’d known that shouting at her mother in a crowded concert hall was improper, and
she’d known that doing so would only prove the truth of her mother’s words.

“For her sake, I hope that you’re able to remember yourself and control your temper.”

She wasn’t some feral beast that might attack Alicent at any moment.
She wasn’t.

She was . . .

I would never harm Alicent. Not even in the throes of my rage.

She knew that now.

And Alicent . . .

Alicent knew it as well—had known it even before Rhaenyra herself.

“You promised that you would never harm me, Nyra, and you always keep your promises. You’re
my friend, and I trust you.”

Alicent had seen her fire and fury twice now in as many months, and she . . .

She didn’t flinch or turn away.

Despite everything, despite the fact that she should have fled, Alicent had remained with her and
offered her comfort instead.

“You’re my heart friend. And I could see that you were in pain. How could I leave you to suffer
alone?”

Alicent hadn’t feared her even when Rhaenyra was wreathed in flames and snarling at her to leave.

She should have.

Merciful Mother, she should have.

Her heart friend was strong in every way that mattered—had survived unspeakable horrors and still
maintained her warmth and compassion and kindness—but physically, Alicent was simply no
match for her.

And yet . . .

“You promised that you would never harm me, Nyra, and you always keep your promises. You’re
my friend, and I trust you.”

Alicent had trusted her.

Something that her own mother had never done.

Her own mother, who thought her capable of—

Rhaenyra roared with frustration, raking her dragon claws across the mountain’s face and watching
the stone part like water beneath them.

“For her sake, I hope that you’re able to remember yourself and control your temper.”

She took care with Alicent.

She always took care with Alicent.

She knew what she was capable of, and she knew what Alicent had suffered.

“The Lady Alicent seems to think quite highly of you, Daughter.”

And she’d done all that she could to be worthy of that high regard and avoid repeating the mistakes
of her past.

She’d told Alicent things that she’d never shared with anyone, of the net and Emalia and her
actions during the War. She’d reopened wounds that now bled anew as nightmares plaguing her
sleep. And Alicent’s as well, it seemed, for she was certain that she’d heard her heart friend stirring
from her own bed the night before.

She’d told her—

But you’ve not told her that she’s your mate.

“Because she isn’t.” Rhaenyra drove her claws deep into the rock.

Alicent was fond of her, cared for her, trusted her, but she didn’t love her.

And a matebond without reciprocity would eventually wither and die.

Or so the magisters theorized.

Rhaenyra pressed her palms and forehead against the stone, wishing that she could feel the cold
enough for her hands and head to grow numb.

She needed to return home.

Her meeting with Lady Tyrell had ended over two hours ago, and was needed back at the Keep.
Much as she might wish otherwise, she could hardly remain sequestered in the mountains until her
mother deigned to depart Stone Garden.

And if she dallied too much longer, Aemma would grow concerned and force Hylda to reveal
where Rhaenyra was hiding.

Or worse, her continued absence would worry Alicent.

“The Lady Alicent seems to think quite highly of you, Daughter. For her sake, I hope that you’re
able to remember yourself and control your temper.”

Control.

“You’ve never been anything other than controlled around me, Nyra.”

That wasn’t true.

Her control had slipped when she’d learned about that thrice-damned cage, and again when she’d
learned how Criston had brutalized Alicent during the War, and yet again during First Night.

Alicent had seen her flames and felt the heat of her fury.

And yet Alicent hadn’t fled.

“I told her about the net, about Emalia and those demons, I’ve told her . . .”

But she hadn’t told her about what had happened when the net broke.

“Bound by my blood, this secret ours to hold. From this day forth, no word or whisper told.”

The All Mother had sworn her, her sisters, and her mother to secrecy by word and ward to ensure
that none of them could speak of what had happened that day.

But Rhaenyra was stronger than the All Mother.

And the other day, when Alicent had asked her about when her mother had removed the net . . .

She’d felt the words forming on her tongue, and she’d known that she could speak them if she so
chose.

Not now, but soon.

Alicent would know all of her.

By Mother Relle and All Her Faces, Alicent would know all of her.

In honor of Cake Night—the Night of the Purple Queen—Stone Garden’s great hall was festooned
with purple roses. Wreaths of all shapes and sizes hung on the walls, dozens of lovely arrangements
graced every table, and baskets filled with roses hovered overhead in between the crystal
chandeliers, which were draped with shimmering golden fabric embroidered with purple roses. The
tapestry displaying Kastrell’s coat of arms that usually hung behind the high table had been
replaced for the evening by a golden banner emblazoned with a purple rose—an inversion of the
Queendom’s sigil.

Quiet laughter and amiable conversation filled the hall, and the rich scents of cooked and smoked
meats, steamed vegetables, fresh fruits, baked breads, and a variety of sauces and spices still
lingered in the air. Weighing down the long tables were the remains of spit-roasted turkeys, cooked
pheasants, roasted ducks and geese, plates of sausages wrapped in croissants, sliced ham, bowls of
stuffing, dishes of cranberry sauce, boats of gravy, an assortment of breads, fruit bowls, dishes of
butter, bowls of mashed potatoes, plates of raw and cooked vegetables, puddings, small pies, bottles
of wine, carafes of juice, and pitchers of water.

Seated between Margaery and Laena at one of the tables near the front of the hall, Alicent couldn’t
help but steal yet another glance up Rhaenyra, who had spent the entire evening alone at the high
table—as was the tradition on Cake Night.

Alicent thought it a rather cruel one.

While her heart friend’s practiced and courtly smile had not wavered throughout the feast, her eyes
had only brightened once.

When Alicent had entered the hall.

The genuine warmth and delight that had shone in Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes had made Alicent’s
treacherous stomach flutter, and yet . . .
Beside her, Margaery was laughing at something that Sansa had said, her cheeks flushed with mirth
as she leaned against her mate and nuzzled her cheek. Sansa responded by pressing a brief kiss to
Margaery’s temple, which earned her a rumbling purr of contentment.

Alicent bit her lip.

Westerosi are not Valyrians.

On her other side, Laena had struck up a conversation with Ambassador Crakehall, who sat across
from them and seemed quite pleased to be speaking with a former Queen of Bellmar.

Taking a sip of her water, Alicent resisted the desire to check her pocket watch, knowing that doing
so would be dreadfully rude. But she’d felt Viserra’s shrewd gaze upon her for much of supper, and
she desired little more than to escape the great hall and retreat to the comfort of her chambers or
Rhaenyra’s. Her friend had promised this evening to her—after having spent the last three in
Laena’s company—and Alicent was eager for the familiarity of simply settling on a settee with
Rhaenyra and enjoying each other’s companionship.

The sudden hush that fell upon the hall drew Alicent from her thoughts, and when she looked
towards the high table, she saw that Rhaenyra had risen from her chair and focused her attention on
the great doors.

When those doors swung open a moment later, everyone turned to watch as an ornate cart bearing
the Yuletide cake and hundreds of neatly stacked plates was telekinetically wheeled into the hall.

The cake was an enormous, puffed pastry shaped like a leaping trout in honor of Saint Minisa,
covered in a silvery-white glaze, and decorated with thousands of colorful sugar crystals that had
been carefully arranged to create different floral designs.

As was tradition, the cake had already been sliced into neat pieces so as to ensure that the figurine
wasn’t accidentally cut.

Once the cart rolled to a halt in the middle of the hall, the pieces of cake rose into the air and began
distributing themselves amongst the similarly airborne plates. Each piece was neatly placed upon a
plate, which then swiftly flew across the room to settle in front of the waiting women.

Alicent couldn’t help but smile in admiration at the elegant display of both precision and telekinetic
strength.

“An untrained telekinetic can push a book off a table. A master telekinetic can create a mural from
millions of grains of sand.”

And Viserra dared insinuate that Rhaenyra lacked control.

“Her Majesty has always taken a special enjoyment from serving the Yuletide cake,” Margaery
whispered to her. “She says that it’s excellent practice for her telekinetic dexterity.”

“Our mother would claim that Rhaenyra is merely grandstanding,” Laena drawled, her expression
impassive.

A frown tugged at the corners of Alicent’s lips. “Considering the actual queen cannot be named
queen-for-the-evening, Rhaenyra being the one to serve the cake is perfectly sensible.”
Laena grinned. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Upon receiving her piece of cake, a smile curled Alicent’s lips when she saw that it was decorated
with an emerald orchid.

Rhaenyra is always so considerate.

She would play one of her friend’s favored songs this evening to show her appreciation.

Some two-dozen plates were still flying around the hall when Rhaenyra began speaking. “Before
we partake in our seventh and final course of the evening, please join me in thanking Chief Chef
Gilly and her colleagues for baking our Yuletide cake.”

Alicent clapped along with everyone else as Gilly and the other members of the kitchen staff stood
to accept the applause. From where she was sitting, Alicent could see that Gilly’s cheeks were
flushed with pleasure, and beside her, Ygritte was beaming with unabashed pride.

Once the last of the applause had faded, Rhaenyra clasped her hands together and recited a brief
prayer of thanks before declaring, “Now, let us all enjoy Chef Gilly’s delicious creation and
discover who I am crowning queen this evening.”

The sound of forks clinking against plates filled the hall as Rhaenyra gracefully reseated herself
and folded her hands atop the table.

She wouldn’t be allowed a piece of cake until after crowning the queen-for-the-evening.

Alicent had eaten but three bites of her own cake when her fork struck against something hard that
wasn’t the plate.

Her eyes widened, the fork nearly falling from her hand.

What in Sytarr’s name did Margaery do?

Had her friend not behaved so strangely earlier, Alicent might be tempted to suspect that this was
Rhaenyra’s scheme—some sweetly foolish attempt at making her feel as if she was one of them—
though, in truth, she rather doubted that Rhaenyra would tarnish Cake Night without at least
seeking her leave first.

Which still begs the question of why Margaery would do such a thing.

Gilly must have been involved as well, she realized, for how else to explain the golden rose
figurine being conveniently baked into the piece of cake decorated with an emerald orchid?

But the motivations behind her friends manipulating Cake Night—she would have words with them
about that on the morrow—were something that she would need to ponder at a later time.

Much as she might prefer to pretend that she hadn’t seen the little ceramic golden rose peeking out
from within her cake, she was fairly certain that crowning no queen-for-the-evening would be
considered worse than crowning a Westerosi queen-for-the-evening.

Or so she hoped.
Steeling herself, Alicent opened her mouth and let out a startled cry, which immediately drew the
attention of every woman in the hall.

Margaery was grinning like mad beside her.

And Laena’s smile was suspiciously smug.

Alicent added her name to the mental list of women involved in this farce as she rose to her feet.
She could feel the eyes of hundreds upon her, but she focused her attention on the high table and on
Rhaenyra, who was smiling slightly.

All will be well.

She would not make a fool of herself in this.

“What troubles you, My Lady?” Rhaenyra’s tone was formal, but not without the warmth that
Alicent had grown accustomed to hearing.

“It seems that I have nearly swallowed a rose, My Queen.”

Sytarr above, how long had it been since she’d last addressed Rhaenyra by her title?

“A rose you say?” Rhaenyra cocked her head, eyes shining.

“Indeed.” Withdrawing the little rose from the mangled remains of her cake—she didn’t even recall
destroying it with her fork—Alicent held the figurine aloft for all to see. “It seems there was a
mistake in the kitchens.”

Rhaenyra was grinning now—a break from tradition that would likely convince half the Keep that
their queen had meddled—as she shook her head. “I see no mistake here, My Lady. It seems to me
that Lady Fortune has chosen to smile upon you this night.” So saying, she rose to her feet and
swept down from the high table, swiftly crossing the hall to stand in front of Alicent.

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Rhaenyra sink down into an elegant curtsy, the
silver skirts of her gown pooling on the floor. “What are you doing?”

Rather than answering, Rhaenyra offered her hand—palm up.

A surge of affection for her heart friend—for her kind gesture—made Alicent’s stomach flutter.

Rhaenyra was supposed to have simply taken her hand and kissed it before crowning her, but her
heart friend was choosing to ignore millions of years of tradition.

For her.

Alicent gave Rhaenyra her hand.

“What are you doing?” she repeated.

Rhaenyra pressed a warm kiss to the back of Alicent’s hand before raising her head to meet her
eyes. “I am greeting my Queen-for-the-Evening.”

Strong Sytarr, Rhaenyra’s smile is so beautiful.

Alicent gulped. She shouldn’t be thinking that. Even if it was objectively true.

Rising to her feet, Rhaenyra beckoned to Vora Hylda and Sabitha, who were by her side a moment
later. The Shadow Knight came bearing a crown of purple roses, while the Lily Knight brought
with her a shining shield of red dragon-scale emblazoned with a purple rose.

Taking the crown from Vora Hylda, Rhaenyra gently placed it atop Alicent’s head. “Your
Eminences, Ladies, and Gentlewomen, it is my pleasure and privilege to present your Queen-for-
the-Evening. The Purple Queen, Alicent Hightower!”

Rhaenyra had barely finished speaking before she began to clap, and every other woman in the hall
immediately joined her.

Alicent’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment, and she knew that her face must be bright red. She
wasn’t used to receiving such attention, but she found it easier to bear if she kept her focus on
Rhaenyra and breathed in the comforting scent of her heart friend’s rose perfume.

Once the applause had quieted, Rhaenyra lowered herself to the floor once more—this time on
bended knee. “My Queen, I beg your leave to become your knight-for-the-evening.”

For a moment, Alicent could do no more than stare—stunned at being addressed in such a way
even though she’d known to expect it and knew that this entire exchange was truly little different
from a masque.

“Your Majesty,” Sabitha whispered, gently nudging her side and offering her the shield.

Swiftly shaking off her stupor, Alicent accepted the shield and gave her friend a grateful smile
before returning her attention to Rhaenyra. “If it is truly your desire to be named my Rose Knight,
speak now your oath.”

Rhaenyra didn’t hesitate. “In the sight of Mother Relle and the witnesses here gathered, I hereby
swear myself to Queen-for-the-Evening Alicent Hightower, the Purple Queen. From this moment
forth, until the sun should rise in the coming morn, I pledge my fealty, my shield, and my sword to
you. I shall protect and defend you from all harm, give my blood for yours, and do the same for any
others at your behest. Your commands I shall obey, your secrets I shall keep, and your honor I shall
defend. All this I swear of my own free will. For this night, I am yours.”

The words were no more than a modified version of an actual knight’s oath of fealty, and Alicent
knew that Rhaenyra recited them every year on Cake Night, and yet . . .

Alicent cleared her throat. “In the sight of Mother Relle and the witnesses here gathered, I hereby
accept your oath. Arise, Vora Rhaenyra, receive your shield, and take your place by my side.”

Rhaenyra gracefully rose to her feet and accepted the shield, swiftly securing it to her left arm
before offering Alicent her right. “My Queen?”

Accepting her friend’s arm, Alicent allowed herself to be escorted to the high table and to
Rhaenyra’s own seat. A fresh wave of self-consciousness swept over her as she sat herself upon the
queen’s chair, but Rhaenyra was smiling at her, which soothed her nerves.

As everyone else in the hall resumed eating their cake, Rhaenyra leaned down to whisper, “You
were perfect, Ali. No Valyrian could have performed better.”
That wasn’t true, but the words warmed her all the same. “Thank you, Nyra.” She paused, her eyes
sweeping over the sea of women before her. She knew that she was expected to lead the remainder
of the evening’s festivities, and she doubted that she would be “perfect” at that. “I’m not entirely
certain what I’m supposed to do now,” she admitted.

“For now, you need only preside over everyone finishing their cake.” Rhaenyra offered her a
crooked smile and a wink. “Much of the remainder of the evening will be naught but music and
dancing.” She paused, her smile faltering. “The queen-for-the-evening is also expected to lead a
prayer at the end of the night, but you needn’t if it would discomfit you.”

The thought of reciting a prayer to Relle made Alicent’s stomach clench with dread and the fine
hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She could justify attending morning services as research
and curiosity, but actually saying a prayer . . .

That was blasphemy without a doubt.

Faithless little whore.

“Which prayer?” Alicent’s scarred wrist throbbed as she twisted her emerald orchid ring around her
finger, but her voice remained steady.

Rhaenyra hesitated a moment before answering, “Relle’s Prayer. The one we always open service
with.”

“Relle protect us so that we might protect others.”

“I don’t mind leading the final prayer,” Alicent assured her. Enough traditions had been broken this
evening on her account. It would be rude to break this one as well. She could speak a few words
without actually meaning for them to reach a foreign goddess’ ears.

And Sytarr can hardly damn me further than he already has.

At least she didn’t think that he could.

“You’re certain?” Rhaenyra’s eyes were soft with concern.

“I am.” Alicent smiled at her—surprised when she realized a moment later that it wasn’t forced. “If
I am to be queen-for-the-evening, I wish to perform all of my duties properly.”

Rhaenyra returned her smile, eyes brightening and warming. “All right, but do remember that being
queen-for-the-evening is meant to be fun. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself and revel in your new
position.”

Alicent arched an eyebrow. “And how would you suggest I revel?”

“Minor and petty abuses of power are how most queens-for-the-evening revel in their position.”
Mirth glinted in Rhaenyra’s eyes. “When Lady Margaery was named queen-for-the-evening a few
centuries ago, she completely dispensed with the planned festivities and instead ordered a cyvasse
tournament wherein actual women served as the game pieces. Voluntarily, of course.”

That somehow wasn’t at all surprising.

“I’ll find a way to revel,” she promised.

Though she was fairly certain that simply having Rhaenyra by her side acting as her loyal knight
would prove revel enough.

Rhaenyra behaved very sweetly towards the Lady Alicent.

Viserra would not deny that.

For the past six days, she’d observed the way that her daughter seemed to take especial care with
Alicent. She’d observed the way that Rhaenyra always offered Alicent kind words and fervent
praise. She’d observed the way that Rhaenyra touched Alicent with all the tenderness that one
would expect from a woman newly pairbonded. And she’d observed the way that Rhaenyra never
grabbed Alicent—not even when tradition dictated that she should, such as just now.

Her daughter’s control around Alicent was quite impressive.

Would that Lady Alicent had been present when Rhaenyra was a child. Perhaps I would not have
needed to cast that stasis net.

She sighed inwardly, watching as Alicent stifled a laugh and Rhaenyra’s chest puffed in response.
Her daughter’s eyes were shining as she graciously offered Alicent another piece of cake with her
own hands rather than using her telekinesis.

“Would My Queen care for some cake without a figurine baked into it?”

She plays the gallant knight quite well.

Not that Viserra was surprised. Her conversation with Alicent the night before had made it quite
clear that Rhaenyra had been playing the role of gracious hostess and courteous queen to perfection
since the end of the War.

Which certainly pleased her well enough.

It was comforting to know that all of her endeavors and many sacrifices these past nine million
years hadn’t been in vain, that Rhaenyra was capable of some self-control when properly
motivated.

Alicent’s high regard for her daughter was evidence enough of that.

But she knew that her daughter’s control wouldn’t last.

It never did.

Rhaenyra’s wroth couldn’t be trusted or tempered, nor could her bloodlust and desire for
vengeance.

Viserra shuddered as she recalled the day that Rhaenyra had returned from slaughtering those frost
demons and destroying their world in a twinkling. Her daughter had been covered in blood and
viscera and bits of broken bone and torn flesh. Melted snow had soaked her clothes and mattered
her hair, and dried blood had stained her lips. She’d smelled of fire and frost, of the dead void of
space and the molten heart of a broken planet.
Tears had been glistening in her daughter’s eyes, and Viserra remembered how Aemma had
immediately rushed to Rhaenyra’s side and gathered her in her arms without first demanding an
explanation for why she was in such a state.

Aemma had always allowed her care for Rhaenyra to cloud her judgment.

A mistake that Alicent Hightower was plainly making as well.

Viserra had never had the luxury of allowing her own love for Rhaenyra to blind her to the danger
that she represented.

“Those who rule are the slaves of their people, bound by the chains of duty.”

Much as she would have preferred it otherwise, it was her duty to protect her people and the
Empire.

Even from her own daughter.

“An empress capable of creating and destroying worlds in a twinkling.”

From the moment she’d seen those black flames and realized that they weren’t burning her
newborn babe, she’d understood the danger that her daughter posed—the potential threat that she
represented.

A threat that the rest of the world was determined to ignore.

For a time, there had been others who had similarly feared what Rhaenyra might one day do, but as
the centuries had lengthened into millennia, they’d all convinced themselves that a girl born with
Aerysa’s immunity and Maegor’s flames didn’t threaten the safety and security of the Empire
simply because she was polite and charming in public.

They’d closed their eyes to the way that when Rhaenyra’s temper flared, the earth shook. They’d
closed their eyes to the fact that Rhaenyra’s flames were melting stone before her fourth birthday.
They’d closed their eyes to Rhaenyra’s utter inability to control her magic.

Such power in the hands of a tempestuous child.

It was only by the grace of Relle that Valyria had not been destroyed many times over in the years
before Viserra cast that net.

A frown curled her lips at the memory of binding her daughter’s core.

She’d realized within a few years that her daughter’s lack of control would bring disaster, and so
she’d looked to the All Mother’s example for guidance.

Daenerys the Silver had created stasis nets to bind the cores of the men who had survived the
Doom and prevent them from harming the First Generation during the Long Travels. For she had
recognized the danger they’d posed.

Viserra’s own actions were no different, save that the threat she’d faced was greater than all of
those Old World men combined.
“Ruling is a duty and an obligation, a burden and a curse. It’s giving everything to your people no
matter the cost.”

And Merciful Mother, how it had cost her.

The memory of her little girl lying unconscious on the cold stone floor, the memory of wrapping
her core in that net for the sake of the Empire as well as Rhaenyra herself, they’d oft haunted her
dreams for nearly a century before she’d managed to banish them.

She’d done what was necessary.

She’d served her people and her Empire.

She’d made a sacrifice that no mother should ever be asked to make.

And because of her, Valyria had been spared the fate of the Old World—had been spared a Second
Doom.

She had protected her people, and now it seemed that she must protect Alicent Hightower as well.

“Viserra?” Alaura’s sweet and gentle voice drew Viserra from her ruminations, returning her to the
great hall. “Are you all right, Darling?” Her mate’s eyes were round with worry.

“I was merely lost in thought, Safa.” Viserra smiled at her as she lightly caressed her soft cheek. “I
find myself much concerned for the Lady Alicent.”

Alaura followed her gaze to the high table where Rhaenyra was whispering in Alicent’s ear. “You
told me that she was rather rude to you the night before when you attempted to speak with her
about Rhaenyra.”

“So she was, but a few sharp words from a woman who has suffered as she has are not reason
enough to abandon her.” Viserra sighed as she watched Alicent reach over and squeeze Rhaenyra’s
arm, grinning at her daughter with the sort of innocence that was at once astounding and
heartbreaking.

Alicent Hightower had endured torments that none save the First Generation could ever truly
understand, and that she could still smile so brightly was a testament to her strength.

And yet, despite her past experiences, Alicent seemed determined to remain blind to the danger that
Rhaenyra posed to her.

Alicent must remain vigilant so as to protect herself.

While Viserra doubted that Rhaenyra would ever intentionally harm Alicent, she knew well the sort
of destruction and ruin that her daughter could unintentionally bring about.

And had I not spent those centuries teaching her to control herself and her magic, all of Valyria
would have perished when she broke the net.

If Rhaenyra’s control were ever to slip when Alicent was near . . .

Viserra shuddered to think of what might happen to the poor woman.

Alicent needed to see Rhaenyra for who she truly was.

And Rhaenyra . . .

Her daughter’s heart had been broken once before, and an entire planet had suffered the
consequences.

At the high table, Alicent’s hands were dancing as she spoke about her recent exploration of
draconic societal structures and culture. Rhaenyra was listening with rapt attention, as if she did not
already know everything that Alicent was telling her from spending millennia living amongst the
dragons during her Draconic Immersion.

Rhaenyra was plainly smitten, which was all the more reason why Alicent must be made to see the
truth now.

Alicent had been able to ignore and dismiss Viserra’s warnings the night before because words
were only wind.

But actions are stone.

Surely Alicent would be convinced by a proper demonstration of what happened when Rhaenyra
failed to leash her temper and her control slipped.

Viserra returned her attention to her mate. “Laura, what do you think about inviting Lady Alicent to
dine with us on Seventh Night.”

“I thought we were having supper with your fam—” Alaura broke off as understanding flashed in
her lovely eyes. Her mate had always had a talent for gleaning her intentions without Viserra
actually having to speak them aloud. “Darling, I understand your reasoning, but I’m not certain that
what you intend is the wisest course of action. Your last argument with Rhaenyra resulted in burned
curtains, a torn tablecloth, overturned or shattered glasses, and everyone’s hair in disarray from
gale-force winds. Are you certain that you wish to expose Lady Alicent to that?”

No, she wasn’t.

She disliked the prospect of frightening Alicent in such a way, but the ends justified the means.
Alicent was blinded by her affection for Rhaenyra, and it was to the other woman’s own detriment.

Hers, as well as Rhaenyra’s.

Best that Rhaenyra perhaps lose Alicent now rather than after something truly horrid happens
because she cannot control herself.

“I do not wish Lady Alicent harm, Laura, you know that. No more than I seek to inflict heartache
upon Rhaenyra, but this must needs be done.” Viserra gathered Alaura’s hands in her own, gazing
into her mate’s eyes and searching for her understanding. “I know Rhaenyra better than she knows
herself. Much as I love her, I see her for what she is. She plays the gallant knight now, but one day,
her temper will flare, her control will lapse, and I dare not think about what could happen then.”

Alaura’s lips pursed as she considered. “I understand your reasoning, Viserra, but if Lady Alicent
wishes to remain by Rhaenyra’s side, is it our place to interfere? Especially if it is the matebond.”
“If Lady Alicent wishes to remain by Rhaenyra’s side once she has seen all of Rhaenyra, I’ll not
interfere further,” she promised. “But at present, Lady Alicent has only been shown one aspect of
my daughter. Unpleasant though this whole affair may be for both us and them, I am acting in their
best interests to spare them both future heartache.”

This would be yet another sacrifice made for her daughter’s sake.

Not that Rhaenyra would understand her actions as such.

But she’d long ago made peace with that fact.

“If you’re certain that this is best, then you have my support.” Alaura leaned forward and pressed a
brief kiss to her lips, mindful that they were surrounded by hundreds. “Will you extend your
invitation tonight?”

Viserra shook her head. “No. I’ll wait until the morrow. I suspect that Lady Alicent will not be
receptive at present.” She glanced over at the high table, where Rhaenyra was reaching up to gently
adjust the crown of purple roses resting atop Alicent’s head.

Alicent smiled softly once she was finished. “Thank you, Vora.”

Rhaenyra grinned, her eyes shining. “I am ever at your service, My Queen.”

If only Rhaenyra could be trusted to always behave as a gallant knight.

While she did not relish the new task that had fallen to her, Viserra comforted herself with the
knowledge that her daughter would eventually come to appreciate this sacrifice as well.

She eventually learned to be grateful for the net. Surely this will be no different.

“‘She is the sun and the moon, the morning and the evening star. She is the light of our days and
our light in the darkness. She is the comforting warmth of a mother’s embrace and the blistering
inferno of a mother’s wroth. She is the light that guides us on our path, the joy and sun of our
youth. She is the flame of truth burning away lies, the righteous light of justice. She is the spark of
creativity that inspires us, the fire that burns to protect. She is the final light of our days that guides
us back home to her.’”

Cleric Alinora’s voice echoed throughout the main sanctum of the Flowering Temple as she recited
from the first “book” of the Codex—the Book of Relle.

Rhaenyra’s decision to attend morning service at the Flowering Temple in the city rather than the
Stone Garden Temple still seemed a strange one to Alicent, but she didn’t mind. Despite the chill
that had seeped into her bones during the short river journey from the palace to the temple, she
didn’t mind.

The Flowering Temple was beautiful with its seven silver towers and reflecting pool that dominated
much of the main sanctum. Sunlight streamed into the sanctum through the oculus at the apex of
the domed roof, which was decorated with murals depicting the founding of the Queendom and the
building of the temple itself. The statues of Relle’s aspects standing in each of the room’s seven
corners were even larger and grander than the ones decorating the Stone Garden Temple.
Crisp, fresh air flowed through the main sanctum, and yet Alicent didn’t feel the bite of winter. She
assumed that there must be an enchantment of some sort cast upon the oculus that somehow
prevented the cold from entering the temple without hindering the air itself. While she couldn’t
fathom how exactly such a feat might be accomplished—though she supposed that the spell could
potentially have some sort of temperature control mechanism so that when the air passed through
the oculus it was warmed or cooled as necessary—she assumed there was a book to be found
somewhere in the library.

“‘Our Heavenly Mother does not require the sacrifices of blood and bone and meat demanded by
the Old Gods of Men. She does not demand that we prostrate ourselves before her and beg for her
favor. She does not command us to honor her with lavish but empty words and actions. No true
mother would demand such hollow devotion from her daughters. Mother Relle desires sentiment
and substance. She desires our hearts and conviction, our honesty and sincerity, our vulnerability
and trust, our respect and commitment, our selflessness and compassion.’”

Alicent twisted her emerald orchid ring around her finger, the now familiar discomfort that always
plagued her during services making her stomach twist and clench.

But less so this morning than was usual.

Blasphemer. Blasphemous, sinful little whore.

She was certain that her reduced discomfort was because she’d led hundreds of women in reciting
Relle’s Prayer the night before and hadn’t been immediately struck down.

Perhaps Sytarr truly couldn’t reach her here . . .

But he’ll still come for me once I’m dead.

Which was all the more reason to enjoy living, she supposed.

Alicent spent the remainder of the morning service listening even more attentively than she had on
Yulemas, when her curiosity had eclipsed her guilt long enough for her to pay proper attention to
Mother Lemore’s words.

She listened as Cleric Alinora described the inherent kindness and compassion of Relle, as she read
passages from the different books of the Codex and wove them together to illustrate Relle’s nature
as a single goddess with seven faces, as she discussed the founding of the Syvenic Temple and the
actual creation of Relle.

By the time that the service ended, Alicent was sorely tempted to ask Luwina if she might borrow a
copy of the Codex.

But no.

She couldn’t.

Listening to short passages from another god’s holy text was one matter, but actually reading and
engaging . . .

She couldn’t.
Alicent’s fingers curled tightly around her scarred wrist as she and Rhaenyra passed by the
reflecting pool on their way towards the Mother’s Doors.

“Lady Alicent?”

Her steps instinctively faltered when she heard her name, but when she realized who had spoken it,
she almost continued walking without looking back.

But propriety demanded otherwise.

Rhaenyra was frowning. “Ali, you needn’t speak with her if you don’t wish.”

“I know.” Alicent squeezed her heart friend’s arm. They hadn’t yet had a proper conversation
regarding what Viserra had said to them Fourth Night, but they’d each gleaned enough from the
other to become incensed, it seemed. “I’ll be along in a moment,” she promised.

Despite being plainly reluctant to leave her, Rhaenyra inclined her head all the same. “As you will.”

Alicent allowed herself three deep breaths before loosely clasping her hands in front of herself and
turning to face Viserra. “Your Eminence.”

She didn’t curtsy.

If Viserra was at all bothered by the lack of deference, she gave no sign of it. “Might I have a word
with you, Lady Alicent?”

“Of course.” Alicent followed Rhaenyra’s mother to a small alcove near the Warrior’s Doors—
away from the crowd of women leaving the temple, but still within sight of the Mother’s Doors.

Viserra cleared her throat and spread her hands. “Lady Alicent, I wished to tell you that I’m sorry if
you were offended by my words the other night.”

For a moment, Alicent could only stare at her.

Sorry.

“It’s an expression of sympathy, not repentance. You’re sorry about something that’s happened, not
for something you did.”

She swallowed the retort on her tongue, mindful that they were not alone. “I must confess, Your
Eminence, it has been quite some time since I’ve heard the word ‘sorry.’ I was under the
impression that it wasn’t an expression of contrition.”

Viserra’s pleasant smile didn’t waver, but her eyes sparked. “The linguistic nuances of High
Valyrian can at times be hard to appreciate, I’ll grant you. In any case, considering your importance
to my daughter, and in the hopes of moving beyond any . . . unpleasantness, I am inviting you to
dine with us tomorrow evening.”

Alicent was tempted to comment that Viserra’s invitation sounded suspiciously like an order, but
instead she asked, “And might I inquire as to who ‘us’ includes?”

“Myself, Alaura, Rhaenys, Corla, and my daughters.”

A family dinner.

Why in Sytarr’s name was she inviting her to a family dinner?

Her first instinct was to politely decline, but then she thought about Rhaenyra’s expression the
other night, about the hurt shining in her heart friend’s eyes, and about how Rhaenyra had calmed
when Alicent touched her arm and used her empathy.

She couldn’t do much to prevent Viserra from being cruel, but she could certainly be present to
offer Rhaenyra what comfort she could.

Inclining her head, Alicent offered her most simpering smile. “It would be a pleasure and an honor
to dine with Rhaenyra’s family tomorrow evening, Your Eminence.”

The moon rose bright and waxing in the sky for the Sixth Night of Yuletide, accompanied by
millions of stars that sparkled like tiny diamonds in a midnight sea. Osmera’s streets were
illuminated by the streetlamps and hundreds of light-orbs floating freely overhead, which ranged in
color from peony-pink to lavender-purple to rose-red to emerald-green to sky-blue. Flashes of
multicolored fire shaped like different gemstones in honor of Saint Lucia Lannister illuminated the
sky at random intervals, eclipsing the warm, bright glow of the light-orbs.

While the dragon-stone roads had been thoroughly cleared, every other flat surface in the city was
blanketed by a fresh, glittering layer of snow. Icicles hung from every roof and awning, catching
the orb light and reflecting it back in dazzling patterns. The bare branches of the city’s trees were
decorated with small, rainbow-colored light-orbs and streamers of luminous cloth, and white
banners bearing Relle’s sigils hung from every window.

The aroma of fresh baked goods and the sweet scent of homemade candies permeated the cold
winter air, and the city was alive with the sounds of lighthearted laughter, merry music, and
carefree conversation. Open tables and covered stalls lined the streets, populated by shopkeeps
selling holiday trinkets and women offering simple games for a small fee. Trios and quartets of
singers, troupes of acrobats, and small companies of dancers wandered through the city, pausing on
corners or near open areas to perform a few songs, routines, or dances before moving on.

Alicent had heard from Gilly that there was a woman who sold “the best chocolate tarts” in the city
on the night of Saint Lucia’s Winter Festival, and she wished to determine the truth of that claim for
herself.

And to purchase a chocolate tart for Rhaenyra.

Her friend had been pensive and melancholy since this morning—since Alicent had told her about
being invited to supper by Viserra—so different from the night before when she’d been smiling so
brightly and laughing so freely.

“This has been by far the most enjoyable Cake Night of my life, Ali.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest as Rhaenyra’s words echoed in her ears, as the feeling of her strong
arms wrapped tightly around her as they’d danced lingered even now.
As her Rose Knight, Rhaenyra had been expected to remain by her side throughout the entire
evening, which her heart friend had decided meant claiming Alicent as her partner whenever there
was a dance to be had.

Not that Alicent had minded being claimed.

She’d known that she ought to share a dance with a few others as queen-for-the-evening, but
Rhaenyra had told her that she was meant to enjoy herself, and she’d known that she would find
less enjoyment dancing with anyone else.

Wicked whore.

Alicent expelled a harsh breath.

There was nothing wrong with enjoying sharing a dance with her friend.

“Viserra was my friend long before she was my mate.”

“Westerosi are not Valyrians,” she muttered under her breath.

And sinful thoughts need not lead to sinful deeds.

There was nothing inherently sinful about thinking that Rhaenyra was beautiful. That was simply
acknowledging an objective truth. And there was nothing inherently sinful about taking comfort
from her presence. Her other friends oft comforted her as well. And there was nothing inherently
sinful about wanting—

Alicent yelped when something suddenly slammed into the backs of her legs with such force that
she nearly fell to her knees.

“Honora!”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat, and her heart clenched painfully when she whirled around in
time to see a wolf pup the color of polished copper slowly transform into a small babe dressed in
silver and red for Yuletide and Saint Lucia.

Strong Sytarr.

Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes.

She hadn’t seen a child—a babe—in well over a decade, and the last time that she’d been permitted
to hold one . . .

Her scarred wrist throbbed, and her stomach twisted, and she wanted nothing so much as to—

“My apologies, Alicent. I told her not to run off if I allowed her to shift.”

Mistress Damella had suddenly appeared in front of her, and Alicent belatedly realized that it had
been her employer’s voice that she’d heard calling out to the babe—Honora.

She swiftly wiped at her eyes as Mistress Damella stooped down to lift her child up into her arms.
“I,” she swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat, “I didn’t know that you have a
daughter.”
“Oh, I don’t,” Mistress Damella chuckled. “Honora is my grandniece. I’ve never desired children
of my own, and this little beast,” she wagged her finger Honora, who giggled cheerfully in
response, “reminds me why often enough.”

Alicent forced herself not to flinch at the way Mistress Damella so easily dismissed the notion of
having children, at how she so carelessly scorned her body’s ability to bring forth new life.

Valyrians are not Westerosi.

“Why was Alicent crying, Aunt Damella?”

Alicent nearly collapsed from shock at hearing words—articulate words no less—coming from the
mouth of a babe who appeared to be no older than four weeks.

She knew that shouldn’t be shocked. Rhaenyra had explained to her how Valyrian babes were born
with the ability to speak and how their mother’s taught them the basics of language in the final
months of gestation before their birth.

But even so, a babe speaking with the fluency of a young child was more than a little disquieting.

Mistress Damella frowned at her grandniece. “Honora, that was very rude. Apologize to Alicent at
once.”

“There’s no need,” Alicent rushed to assure her. While the question hadn’t been entirely polite, she
disliked the thought of a babe being scolded on her account.

Although, if she looks to be about four weeks old, then she was likely born six or seven years ago.

Six or seven.

Sytarr above, Honora was around the same age that Rhaenyra had been when Viserra cast the stasis
net.

Looking at this babe now—at how small and delicate she seemed—a fresh wave of anger surged
through her.

How could Viserra have done something so vile to her own daughter?

Alicent swiftly banished the question from her mind and smothered her outrage. Now was not the
time. She’d been gifted with the opportunity to spend time with a babe—a babe who was in truth a
child, but that hardly mattered—and she shouldn’t squander it.

Strong Sytarr it had been so long since she’d seen a child.

Her heart ached, and the old longing that she’d thought was banished decades ago suddenly
reasserted itself.

Clearing her throat, she looked between Mistress Damella and Honora. “May I, that is, would it be
all right if I held her?” She’d spent nigh every day of her childhood cradling one of her younger
siblings, and she’d missed the feeling of a babe in her arms.

Rather than answering her, Mistress Damella addressed Honora—reminding Alicent that a Valyrian
babe was capable of deciding such things for herself. “What say you, Little Sapling? May Alicent
hold you for a while?”

Honora grinned, displaying a full set of tiny white teeth. “Yes, please.”

Heart thundering in her chest, Alicent accepted the warm little bundle into her arms, her breath
catching in her throat as she greeted her. “Hello, Honora.” She didn’t know why she was
whispering, though she supposed that it didn’t much matter, since Honora would be able to hear her
regardless.

“Hello!” Honora peered up at her with wide, curious eyes. “You’re the Westerosi Lady, yes? And
you live with Queen Rhaenyra in the Keep?”

Alicent grinned, having almost forgotten what it was to speak with a child who had yet to master
her manners. “I am.”

“But you look Valyrian.” Honora’s little face scrunched with concentration, and Alicent suddenly
felt herself being prodded by telekinetic hands. “Westerosi are from another planet, so why don’t
you look different?”

“Please don’t do that.” Memories of unseen hands grabbing and groping her flashed through her
mind, and Alicent harshly bit the inside of her cheek to ground herself.

Honora’s nose wrinkled, and her telekinetic hands immediately vanished as she wilted. “Apologies,
Alicent.”

Guilt clawed at Alicent’s insides, and she prayed that the child couldn’t scent that as well. “It’s all
—”

“When Mother is scared, Mum always hugs her and kisses her until her scent is normal again.”
Honora’s dark eyes were wide with innocent sincerity, and had she the body of an actual seven-
year-old child, Alicent was certain that she would be patting her arm or some such. “You should
ask your mate to hug you and kiss you until your scent calms.”

“Honora,” Mistress Damella chided.

Alicent stared down at the babe, at her bright and guileless eyes. “I don’t have a mate.”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

Westerosi are not Valyrians, Alicent reminded herself.

Vile little slut.

“Why not? Have you not found her yet? You will. Mother Relle gives everyone a mate, so no one
has to be lonely. Mother says being alone is a terrible thing.” Honora tilted her head. “Are you
lonely? Is that why you were crying before?”

“I—No, it wasn’t.” She didn’t know how to explain why the sight of a babe would bring tears to
her eyes, not to this child who was likely one of only a small handful born in millennia. “I don’t
have a mate because I’m a Westerosi. We’re from another planet, like you said, so we don’t have
mates.”

“Doesn’t that mean you’re all lonely?”

Did it?

She’d certainly been lonely, but her circumstances were vastly different from most. “No. I don’t
believe so. We have husbands and wives, so—”

Honora frowned. “Mum says husbands are wicked and cruel and that wives always suffer because
of them.” Her eyes stretched wide with horror. “Is that why you were crying? Because you’re a
wife?”

Alicent shook her head, silently praying that Honora would soon tire of this conversation. “I’m not
a wife anymore.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Honora’s grin returned as bright as before. “That means you can be happy.”

Yes . . . I suppose it does.

Rhaenyra smiled softly as she watched Alicent chase after a small wolf pup, watched as her heart
friend eventually captured the little beast and scooped a squealing child up into her arms. She’d
known from Alicent’s stories that the other woman had a way with children, but actually seeing it
was far different from simply hearing an old account.

Children were such a rarity, and she silently thanked Relle that one had found her way to Osmera
for the holidays.

Alicent deserved to spend time with a child. She deserved to have children of her own as well.

She would be a wonderful mother.

Far better than Rhaenyra herself had been.

She was fairly certain that Alicent would be similar to Aemma in how she mothered her daughters
—warm and nurturing and loving, but also stern when need be.

She would never look upon her new babe and scowl.

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed.

Alicent was barren, but perhaps . . .

I could give her children, if she wished.

It would be but a small matter to harvest a few ova, have them fertilized, and then speak with
Aedrius about borrowing an artificial womb for three months. The vexing man would likely spend
much of that conversation teasing her, but she would manage for Alicent’s sake.

Besides, he still owes me a debt.

Not that she anticipated needing to collect it. There was a reason that her former husband had
earned the imperial epithet “the Affable” during their reigns. More like than not, he would be
delighted to lend whatever aid he could.
And it is a rare thing indeed, for a Valyrian to seek help from a Kervanite.

“Rhaenyra.”

She turned at the sound of her sister’s voice, having already scented her approach. “I was
wondering where you’d gone.”

“Dr. Nesryn called.” Laena was grinning at her. “She says that she should have results for you
within the next month or two.”

Rhaenyra stared at her sister blankly. “Dr. Nesryn?”

Laena gave her an exasperated look. “Merciful Mother, Rhaenyra, it’s only been three years. Surely
you can’t have forgotten the poor woman already? She’s been doing little else save analyzing those
DNA samples that you left with her, and everyone I’ve spoken to at the Alcazar says that her office
has been buried beneath haphazard piles of paper and data. All because you wished for an
explanation as to how Alicent has empathy.”

Oh!

Dr. Nesryn Estermont of the Yellow Lotus Sect, of course.

An embarrassed flush suffused Rhaenyra’s cheeks, for she had indeed forgotten all about
approaching Dr. Nesryn in search of an explanation for Alicent’s empathic abilities.

Considering all that had happened these past three years, she didn’t think it entirely her fault that
she’d forgotten.

But now that she’d been reminded, she found herself experiencing a peculiar combination of
anticipation and apprehension. She wanted answers, and she wanted to share those answers with
Alicent, but she also worried that whatever Dr. Nesryn had discovered might displease her heart
friend.

Laena was smirking at her. “I see you’ve remembered.”

“Leave me be, Laena. My mind had been otherwise occupied these last three years.”

“I’m well aware.”

Rhaenyra harrumphed, swatting her sister’s arm. “Do you have any notion about what Dr. Nesryn
has discovered?”

Laena made a show of gently comforting her arm. “Considering how you mistreat me, I’m not
certain that I should tell you anything.”

“Laena.”

Sighing, Laena spread her hands. “I’m afraid there’s nothing to tell, Rhae.”

Rhaenyra arched a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I speak the truth.” And now her sister’s tone was completely earnest, without a hint of teasing.
“Dr. Nesryn has been very secretive about all of her work and its results. I don’t think even the high
lotuses know what all she’s been doing.”

Which could bode very well or very ill.

“I see.”

Laena patted her shoulder, her scent sweetening with calming pheromones. “I wouldn’t fret, Rhae.
As I said, she expects to have results for you soon.”

But it was no longer simply Dr. Nesryn that Rhaenyra was fretting about.

The reminder of the Alcazar and the lotuses . . .

Memories of Alicent’s beaming smile when she’d received a scalpel from Laena flashed through
her mind.

“Were you to attend the Alcazar, you would be taught everything there is to know about surgical
techniques requiring only a scalpel, needle, sutures, and other such mundane instruments.”

“Rhaenyra?” Laena had taken one of her hands between her own. “Tell me your troubles, Sister,
and I’ll give you the stars.”

Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. “It’s nothing of import, Laena, only my own foolish worries.”

“Rhae, as I’ve been telling you for millions of years now, your worries aren’t foolish.” Laena
squeezed her hand. “Tell me what troubles you.”

Expelling a heavy breath, Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder to confirm that Alicent was still
occupied by the child before returning her attention to Laena. “I know that you intend to invite
Alicent to the Alcazar.”

Laena shifted slightly, though she didn’t release Rhaenyra’s hand. “I am, but—”

“I’m not asking that you don’t,” Rhaenyra assured her. She would never ask something like that of
Laena, nor would she ever dream of interfering with Alicent’s life in such a way. Her friend
deserved to have all that she desired.

Even if it meant leaving Rhaenyra behind.

“I want Alicent to attend the Alcazar in whatever capacity she is able, if that is her desire. I know
that she has an interest in medicine and healing, and I’m certain she’ll be pleased by your
invitation.” Rhaenyra smiled softly as she imagined Alicent’s delight, as she imagined how her
heart friend’s scent would sweeten and warm.

Laena cocked her head. “Then what troubles you?”

Rhaenyra’s smile fell. “I worry—” Her lips pursed as she shook her head. She knew what must be
asked, and there was little point in delaying further. “Laena, for the love you bear me as your sister,
please persuade Mother Lotus Minnora to waive the rule that acolytes must reside at the Alcazar.
Before you extend the invitation.”

Laena frowned slightly. “Rhaenyra, that rule is as old as the Order itself.”
 “I know what I’m asking of you, Laena, but I’m asking all the same.” She squeezed her sister’s
hand, needing her to understand. “Perhaps Alicent will be ready to leave the Keep by the time you
ask her. Perhaps she’s ready now and I’m making the mistake of underestimating her because I’m a
fool. But if she isn’t ready, I don’t want her forced to choose between her comfort and her desires.”

Laena cocked her head. “And if she chooses to live at the Alcazar, you won’t attempt to persuade
her otherwise?”

“I won’t.” Much as she might want to. “Would that I could have her by my side forever, but I
would never ask that she remain against her will.” Rhaenyra’s eyes fell upon their joined hands—
upon the black and blue rose rings encircling their fingers. Jaselyn Lannister had crafted those
rings, just as she’d crafted Alicent’s emerald orchid ring.

“I wanted you to know that I care. About you, and about our friendship.”

“I want to be your friend. I only—only a friend, Nyra. That’s all I want. Please.”

“I promised her that if she ever decided to leave, I would help her however I could.” She smiled
sadly as she met her sister’s eyes. “I don’t intend to break that promise. If Alicent wishes to live at
Alcazar, I’ll not stand in her way.”

Laena nodded slowly. “Very well. I’ll speak with the Mother Lotus, but I cannot promise that she’ll
agree.”

Rhaenyra leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek. “Thank you, Laena.”

Chapter End Notes

🥰
Awe, look at Alicent getting to hang out with a child who has zero filter and asks the important
questions.

Next Chapter: A Targaryen Family Dinner. What could possibly go wrong?

 Seventh Night of Yuletide
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 36:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Viserra Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Kastrell
– Laena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Bellmar
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar
– Alaura Glover, a Dragon Wood courtier, from Norden

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

For some scale, here be a dragon!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Snow Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

While Alicent had no way of knowing the exact number of women gathered outside the walls of
Osmera to witness the Dragon Dance of Seventh Night, it certainly seemed as if she was
surrounded by at least three quarters of the city’s population. The frigid winter air was crackling
with excitement and anticipation, but she couldn’t bring herself to be swept up in it.

Not at the moment.

Not when her mind was plagued by worries for Rhaenyra.

She’d spent much of the day fretting about her impending supper with Rhaenyra’s family following
the dragon dance, for she was certain that Viserra was plotting some unpleasantness for her heart
friend. The thought of that horrid woman upsetting Rhaenyra any more than she already had
throughout this past week made something deep within Alicent hiss with displeasure.

Which was why she refused to withdraw her acceptance of Viserra’s invitation—much as she
wanted to.

Rhaenyra would never abandon her in such a situation, so how could Alicent do any different?

Had she been able, Alicent would have spent the day at Rhaenyra’s side making her smile and
laugh as much as possible, but her heart friend had departed from Stone Garden well before dawn
—along with Laena, Lady Rhaenys, and Viserra—and where exactly the four of them had gone to
rehearse their dance was anyone’s guess.

Alicent herself had staked a farthing on the Valerian Mountains.

While the concerns plaguing her would have normally led her to seek out Dr. Arwen, her therapist
had returned home to the Eyrie for Yuletide, and Alicent didn’t wish to disturb the other woman’s
holidays. And although she’d known that Dr. Arwen wouldn’t begrudge being called upon, she’d
also been confident in her ability to manage her anxiety over the impending supper on her own.

And so she’d endeavored to occupy her mind with other matters.

She’d spent the morning reading The Founding of Valyria and the Beginning of the Silver Age,
which Aemma and Luwina had gifted her for Yulemas, until Margaery and Sansa had come and
insisted that she not spend the Seventh Day of Yuletide alone in her chambers, for there was much
and more to be done in celebration of Saint Asellia Baratheon and the final day of Yule.

Her afternoon had been a pleasant whirlwind of activities—from watching puppet shows and short
plays to listening to minstrels and troubadours to playing cards and other games with her friends.
And yet she’d been unable to entirely banish her concerns for Rhaenyra from her thoughts.

Which, she supposed, was only to be expected.

After all, what kind of woman so easily dismissed her heart friend’s upset?

Whatever Nyra’s troubles after a day spent with her mother, I’ll find some way to soothe her this
evening after supper.

Perhaps her friend would care to play a game of cyvasse, or Alicent could read to her—Rhaenyra
insisted that she had a sweet voice capable of making the driest texts a delight—or she could play
something for her. She’d been practicing the Nordish tunes that Ygritte and Gilly had gifted her the
sheet music for on Yulemas, and Rhaenyra always seemed more relaxed after listening to Alicent
play a few songs on her lute.
And afterwards, they could enjoy a nice cup of tea together in front of the fire.

“Winters are dreary and dull, to be sure, but there is no better time of year to enjoy a hot cup of tea
and to cuddle with a ‘heart friend’ in front of a fire.”

Alicent’s cheeks reddened as Margaery’s words echoed in her ears. She was now certain that her
friend had wanted to say “mate” rather than “heart friend.”

Her father would never have shared drinks with her mothers in private.

Such was not the behavior of husbands and wives.

But it is the behavior of mates.

Friends as well.

She and Margaery had shared a cup of tea together not four days ago whilst warming themselves by
a fire following the snow war.

And Margaery is happily mated to Sansa.

Should Rhaenyra not desire tea, perhaps Alicent could persuade her heart friend to lay down for a
time. She’d discovered a few months ago that Rhaenyra enjoyed it when Alicent carded her fingers
through her hair, and her friend always rewarded her ministrations with a contented sigh and a quiet
purr from deep in her chest.

Some music and stroking her hair should please her well enough.

And if they did not, then Alicent would simply ask Rhaenyra what she could do to relax her.

With luck, her efforts would help stave off whatever nightmares wished to sink their claws into her
heart friend’s mind once sleep claimed her.

Alicent had awoken the past three nights when she’d sensed Rhaenyra’s distress, but her heart
friend had a talent for waking herself from her nightmares, and by the time that Alicent went to her,
Rhaenyra was always already roused from her bed and insisting that Alicent should return to her
own.

And Alicent hadn’t been able to help but notice how Rhaenyra seemed to be growing more and
more exhausted with each nightmare.

She would much prefer to prevent the nightmares entirely.

I’ll find a way to ensure that all thoughts of Viserra are banished from her mind before she retires
to bed tonight.

Satisfied with her plan for the evening, Alicent briefly lowered her ward enough to allow some of
the ambient excitement to wash over her. Her eyes closed as her flesh tingled with the still-peculiar
sensation of experiencing other women’s emotions, as her heart beat faster in her chest with the
anticipation of those around her.

“The men of the Old World accused enchantresses of feeding on the emotions of others. But that
isn’t what you’re doing. You’re sharing, not taking. Experiencing another person’s joy does not
lessen theirs.”

Opening her eyes, Alicent raised her ward—her mental version of Rhaenyra enveloping her in a
fierce hug once more—and allowed herself to savor being surrounded by her friends, by Margaery
and Sansa, Sabitha and Aly, Aemma and Luwina, Ygritte and Gilly, by the women who had chosen
to accept and welcome her despite having no reason to do so, by the women that she knew cared
for her in a way that none save her sisters had ever cared for her before.

By women who were, at present, cheerfully bickering over the comparative peculiarity of
Saevarans, Avenians, and Nords.

“A Nordish summer is colder than the most frigid Kastrellan winter,” Sansa was saying. “None of
you southerners have any true concept of cold.”

Ygritte, Gilly, and even Luwina nodded in agreement.

None of them were wearing cloaks.

“You’re proving my point,” Aly insisted. “The delight that you Nords take in reminding us
‘southerners’ that you’re ‘the hardiest women on the planet’ with regards to cold is absurd.”

“No more absurd than you Saevarans persistently commenting on how ‘surface dwellers’ have such
queer customers,” Ygritte scoffed. “Never mind the inordinate pride that you all take in the fish
scales covering your legs.”

“Careful now, Mistress Ygritte,” Sabitha warned, though the mirth in her eyes softened her
reproving tone, “it’s never wise to insult a Saevaran woman’s scales.”

“And the pride that we take in our scales doesn’t even compare to the pride that Avenians have in
their wings,” Aly chimed in.

Aemma snorted.

Luwina grinned at her mate. “Care to offer your opinion, Sæta?”

“Well, if you must know, I think it rather foolish that you all are debating whether Nords,
Saevarans, or Avenians are more peculiar. When everyone knows that the strangest Valyrians by
far,” Aemma’s eyes glinted as her gaze settled on Margaery, “are the surface dwelling, southern
mainlanders.”

Ygritte barked a laugh.

Aly clapped her hands together and nodded in agreement.

Margaery made an affronted noise. “You seem to forget, Lady Aemma, that I grew up on an island
as well.”

“I’ve not forgotten.” Aemma spread her hands, her smile bright and innocent. “It’s your most
redeeming quality.”

Sansa giggled, which earned her an exasperated swat from her mate.
Margaery suddenly turned to Alicent. “What say you, Alicent? Which Valyrians are the most
peculiar?”

Eight sets of eyes settled upon her in less than a heartbeat.

Alicent hesitated, her fingers swiftly finding her emerald orchid ring.

While pleased to be included in their good-natured debate and knowing that none of her friends
would be offended or upset with her regardless of what answer she gave, her instinctive need to
avoid causing offense stayed her tongue.

Blessedly, mercy was granted to her a moment later when a deafening hush fell upon the crowd.
Twilight was fast approaching, and the setting sun had ignited the darkening sky with reds, oranges,
yellows, and even some purples and pinks.

This time, the excitement and anticipation that washed over Alicent were entirely her own as she
watched four figures—each glowing with a different color of light—streak across the burning sky
before coming to a halt and hovering high above the crowd. While it was impossible to positively
identify the four women from such a distance and in the waning light, she assumed that it was
Rhaenyra wreathed in shining silver. And considering their rose sigils, Laena was probably the blue
light and Viserra the purple, which meant that Lady Rhaenys must be the red.

The lights suddenly flared so brightly that Alicent had to shield her eyes, and when the little black
spots finally cleared from her vision a moment later, her breath fled from her lungs as an awestruck
gasp.

Ever since she’d overheard the first report of a dragon sighting during the war, she’d been intrigued
—and initially terrified. She still remembered Gwayne telling her tales about enormous, fire-
breathing beasts that feasted upon sheep and young maidens, that destroyed castles and slaughtered
brave warriors, but until she’d come here, she’d assumed that they were only stories meant to
frighten and entertain. If dragons—or anything similar—had ever existed on Westeros, they’d been
forgotten and dismissed as mere fancy long, long ago.

But the dragons that resided on Valyria were no mere fancy.

Nor were the women capable of shapeshifting into them.

She’d known from the various paintings and illustrations and sculptures and statues that she’d seen
since coming to Valyria that dragons were magnificent creatures, but nothing could have prepared
her for the experience of actually seeing them.

Sytarr above they were massive—far larger than any animal that she’d ever read about or seen. She
estimated that they must be at least eighty-five feet tall at the shoulder, perhaps some three hundred
feet long, and their wingspan appeared to be double their length.

Small wonder they managed to wreak such destruction during the war.

But their size alone was hardly their most impressive attribute.

Considering how physically similar Rhaenyra, Laena, Viserra, and Lady Rhaenys were in their
natal forms, Alicent had expected their dragon forms to resemble each other as well. But as the
dragons swooped low over the crowd and made several slow circuits to ensure that everyone could
have a proper look at them, she saw that she’d been greatly mistaken, for each of them had
distinctive colorings and features.

Rhaenyra’s silver scales gleamed bright and shining in fading sunlight, rippling over her defined
muscles with each flap of her enormous wings. The two red horns atop her head were gently curved
and lyre-shaped—rather like an impala’s. Seven small horns protruded along the curve of her jaw
on either side of her face, further emphasizing her already sharp jawline. Ruby spikes ran the length
of her spine, spanning from the top of her head down to the tip of her tail, and the claws on her feet
were as black as obsidian and just as glossy. The thick membrane between the long, sturdy bones of
her wings was a soft pearlescent-white, and each of those wing bones ended in a wickedly curved
black claw. The single thumb claw at the top of each wing was thicker and slightly less curved than
the other wing claws.

Laena’s scales were the same blue as a cloudless summer sky, and her jaw spikes were less
pronounced than Rhaenyra’s, which softened her features. Her sapphire horns were longer than
Rhaenyra’s though, and there were four of them rather than two. The larger set was atop her head
and—similar to a gazelle’s—curved back before arching upwards. The two smaller horns grew
from either side of her head and were curled and looped like a ram’s. Her spinal ridge was such a
dark indigo that it appeared almost black, while her claws were such a pale shade of blue that they
could be mistaken for white. The membrane of her wings was the blue-green of the sea, seeming to
shift from one color to the other and sometimes blending seamlessly with every movement.

Lady Rhaenys’ red-gold scales were almost indistinguishable from the fires of sunset igniting the
sky. A single pair of swooping horns the color of burnished gold graced her head, and smaller,
copper-colored horns accentuated her jawline. Wickedly sharp spikes without a hint of curve
protruded from her spine. Her wings’ membranes were orange with hints of gold, and each flap of
her great wings looked like nothing so much as a living fire. While the claws of her feet were rose
in color, the curving talons at the tips of her wings were the same red as freshly spilled blood.

And Viserra . . .

Much as Alicent was loath to admit it, Rhaenyra’s mother was quite regal in her dragon form.

Viserra’s scales were a striking purple that matched her eye, and similar to Laena, she had four
horns atop her head. But hers were spiraled and straight rather than curved and looping. Unlike her
sister and daughters, she lacked jaw spikes. Rather, she had about half a dozen smaller horns
growing in between the four larger ones, creating a circlet atop her head that resembled a golden
crown. The spikes running the length of her spine were longer and more curved than those of her
daughters’, though they looked no less deadly for it. Jade-green claws glinted in the fading
sunlight, and the thick iridescent membrane of her wings flashed blue and purple one moment, then
pink and green the next.

Once satisfied that everyone had properly seen them, the dragons soared higher still and vanished
amongst the clouds. Rich and harmonious trills filled the air soon after, the symphonic notes
flawlessly blending together to create an achingly beautiful melody, the likes of which Alicent had
never heard before or even imagined possible.

“The people of the Old World once believed that a dragon’s song could cure any illness,” Margaery
whispered beside her.

Considering the ethereal and impossible beauty of the music caressing her ears, Alicent could
certainly understand how such a belief came to be.
Overhead, the song abruptly ended, and silver and gold fire illuminated the night sky to reveal
Rhaenyra and Laena performing a series of acrobatic flips, spins, and twirls as they wove around
each other in what Alicent soon recognized as looping infinity symbols. Each of their movements
was perfectly synchronized with the other’s as they drew closer and closer together before suddenly
veering sharply and swooping up and away from each other.

Rhaenyra swiftly outpaced her sister and disappeared from sight, while Laena folded her wings and
dove until she’d returned to her mother and aunt, who immediately closed their jaws and
extinguished their fires. Hundreds of smoldering embers remained suspended in the air, and those
embers offered just enough light that Alicent and those below could see the three dragons flying in
wide circles around each other, trilling softly as they waited.

From high above, a thunderous roar shook the heavens as Rhaenyra swooped down and opened her
mouth to unleash her signature black flames.

But the fire that she breathed—the fire that suddenly engulfed the skies and banished the darkness
—it was not black with blue and purple accents. No, it was a veritable rainbow of colors. While
predominantly pearlescent white, there were also forest greens and royal purples, pale pinks and
gleaming silvers, rich reds and bold blues, vibrant oranges and brilliant golds. It was every color
that Alicent had ever seen or imagined, and several more for which she had no name.

With Rhaenyra’s fire illuminating them, Laena, Lady Rhaenys, and Viserra began their dance in
earnest.

Laena somersaulted thrice through the air before tucking her feet and folding her wings. She
plunged headfirst towards the ground in a downward spiral, while Lady Rhaenys and Viserra
looped and twirled on either side of her.

With a sudden snap of her wings, Laena halted her descent and swooped back up into the air with a
triumphant bellow. Her mother and aunt followed close behind, flying swift, weaving circles for a
few moments before all three dragons began a complicated series of dips, arcs, coils, loops, spirals,
helixes, and whirls around each other and Rhaenyra, whose fiery breath hadn’t once faltered.

As Alicent watched the breathtaking aerial displays, she couldn’t help but wonder if the reason that
Rhaenyra was the one providing the fire was because hers was the strongest core, or if this was a
way for her to avoid having to dance and coordinate with her mother.

After performing a pair of elegant flips and spirals, Viserra and Lady Rhaenys swooped lower and
began flying in a wide circle above the crowd.

High above them, Laena arced over Rhaenyra’s head and then banked sharply to the left, gliding in
a wave-like pattern around her sister.

Rhaenyra flapped her wings thrice, the powerful gusts of wind fanning her flames and making them
dance.

Laena suddenly wheeled around and dove to join Viserra and Lady Rhaenys, the three of them
flying so swiftly that they’d soon created a spinning ring of scales and spikes and claws.

Tipping her head back, Rhaenyra unleashed a fresh torrent of rainbow fire across the blue-black
sky, seemingly scorching the stars themselves. She then snapped her jaws shut and plunged towards
her mother, sister, and aunt.
Sensing her swift approach, Laena, Lady Rhaenys, and Viserra began circling tighter and tighter.

Rhaenyra tucked her feet against her chest, folded her wings against her back, and began to spiral.
Opening her mouth, she breathed black flames that were swiftly seized by the howling winds
created by her dive and dragged across the length of her body, which was soon completely
engulfed.

Blazing like a falling star, Rhaenyra flew through the ever-tightening ring created by her sister,
aunt, and mother. Her wings snapped out as she roared, catching an updraft and sailing skyward
once more. Laena, Lady Rhaenys, and Viserra broke from their previous formation and flew up to
flank her, their scales illuminated by the fires that lingered in the air overhead.

Flying almost wingtip to wingtip, the four dragons somersaulted through the air and then soared
upwards in a wide arc above the crowd.

And after performing a final, coiling triple helix, they disappeared in puffs of silver, blue, purple,
and red smoke.

The quiet that fell in the dragons’ wake lasted for only a moment before being replaced by
deafening applause.

Despite everything that she’d gleaned about Viserra Targaryen this past week, some part of Alicent
had foolishly believed the other woman would behave somewhat reasonably during their supper
that evening.

If only because of Lady Rhaenys’ presence.

Viserra had waited but five minutes to begin recounting the first time that Rhaenyra and Daemona’s
sisterly bickering had escalated into tongues of flame lashing against hurled spikes of sharpened
stone. “It was truly a wonder that they didn’t destroy the entire garden,” she chuckled, speaking
with the fond exasperation that one might expect from any mother.

Lady Rhaenys chuckled as well, but hers rang more true. “Daemona has always had a talent for
provoking others, as I recall.”

“It was Rhaenyra who began the quarrel,” Viserra corrected, her tone perfectly mild. “In truth, I
suppose the wonder was that Daemona wasn’t injured as a result of that whole affair.” She smiled
wryly. “Rhaenyra’s elementalism has always been without equal.” Her attention shifted to Alicent,
who sat across the table from her on Rhaenyra’s right. “My daughter was creating winds strong
enough to slice through solid rock before she was able to crawl. Even Empress Inara the Whirlwind
was impressed by the feat.”

Had Alicent not known any better, she might have believed the false pride ringing in Viserra’s
words. She glanced over at Rhaenyra, whose polite smile had yet to waver. Reaching beneath the
table, she offered her heart friend’s leg a comforting pat.

Some of the tension eased from Rhaenyra’s jaw.

“I almost flooded half of Healer’s Haven not even a month after coming to live there.” Seated on
Rhaenyra’s other side, Laena was smiling with remembered amusement, but the smile didn’t quite
reach her eyes as she stared at Viserra. “Aunt Rhaenys was horrified.”

“Horrified and impressed,” Lady Rhaenys assured her. “I never doubted that you would make a
fine queen, Laena, despite my upset at the time over my drowned azaleas.” Leaning forward, she
reached across the table and gave Laena’s hand a fond pat. “I knew that once you were properly
trained, you would be a formidable sorceress and water elemental, both of which are essential when
one endeavors to become an exceptional surgeon.”

“Laena’s control has always been quite impressive,” Viserra agreed. “And that moment aside, she’s
never had much trouble leashing her temper.”

Rhaenyra picked up her knife and began slicing her boar into neat cubes.

Alicent expelled a slow breath, reminding herself that it was not for her to quarrel with her heart
friend’s mother.

“I’ll admit,” Viserra sighed, “it was a sad day when I had to bid my daughters farewell after their
Choosing Ceremony. The halls of Dragon Ridge seemed far too quiet for several decades
afterwards. Although,” her eyes settled on Rhaenyra as she began speaking in honeyed tones, “that
hurt was little compared to the first time that Rhaenyra left Valyria to wander.”

“You gave me your blessing, Mother, as I recall.” Rhaenyra glanced over at Alicent, her eyes
softening. “And I believe it was Agrippina Selmy who wrote that a wanderer’s need to travel is
akin to the need for food.” She returned her attention to her mother, tone sickly sweet. “Surely you
would not deny me either.”

Alicent almost grinned at the surprise that flashed across Viserra’s face.

But the other woman swiftly recovered herself. “I would never begrudge you certain indulgences,
Rhaenyra.” Viserra spread her hands. “But surely you can understand a mother’s worry and an
empress’ concern at her daughter and heir being so far from home. And you were deeply missed by
all. For what is the Empire without its imperial princess?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes lowered as she returned her attention to her meal.

Alicent silently prayed that Viserra would soon grow tired of this dance.

“Pillars of black fire so tall that they dwarfed the Dragon Tower itself surrounded us, and the heat
was such that I truly feared the ground beneath our feet might liquify. And her eyes,” Viserra
chuckled, “Merciful Mother, I’d never seen Rhaenyra so livid. You would think that I had insulted
her mate with how she was glaring at me.” She was smiling as she spoke—as if the memory was a
truly amusing and pleasant one—and her own eyes glinted with what could easily be mistaken for
mirth.

But Alicent heard the quiet venom lacing Viserra’s words, saw the way that her cunning and too
bright gaze shifted to Rhaenyra again and again to assess her reaction, felt her mounting
determination with each passing minute that Rhaenyra did not snap or scowl at her.

Rhaenyra’s mother had been pleasantly provoking her for almost an hour now.
Not ten minutes ago, she’d been laughing as she told them about Rhaenyra shattering a window
commissioned during the reign of Empress Aeliana the Golden in order to flee from Dragon Ridge
in the form of a bird following an argument between mother and daughter.

Alicent had wanted to say something in that moment—knowing full well that Viserra was speaking
about the day she’d cast that thrice-damned net over Rhaenyra’s core—but she’d held her tongue to
avoid causing trouble.

Rhaenyra had remained silent as well, but Alicent had felt her heart friend’s brief flare of hurt and
anger.

“Rhaenyra has always been rather impulsive,” Viserra was saying, her tone musing even as her
eyes bored into Rhaenyra, “but such is the way of wanderers, I suppose.”

“I believe you mean fire elementals, Mother.” Laena didn’t look at Viserra as she spoke, instead
flashing Lady Rhaenys and Mistress Corla a conspiratorial smile across the table. “Most tend to be
quite impulsive and passionate, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lady Rhaenys chuckled. “I certainly would.” She reached over to give her sister a playful nudge. “I
remember sharing a sigh of relief with Daella when we learned that Alaura was a water elemental.
You fire elementals all seem to need a calm and cooling presence in your lives.”

Mistress Alaura smiled slightly.

Viserra’s lips twitched, but the venom was gone from her voice—replaced by sincere warmth—as
she replied, “Have I ever denied that having you in my life is a blessing, Sister?”

“Of course not.” Lady Rhaenys grinned. “Mother Relle gifted you with more sense than that.”

Genuine amusement glinted in Viserra’s eyes, and it lingered even when she returned her attention
to Rhaenyra. “I oft found myself praying that Rhaenyra’s mate would be a water elemental as well
—to balance her fire.”

Rhaenyra stiffened.

“But that was before she visited the Oracle, of course.” Viserra sighed, shaking her head. “It would
seem that Relle wishes to strike a different sort of balance.”

“Because the universes demand a cosmic balance, and this is mine. The Most Powerful Valyrian to
Ever Draw Breath—cursed to spend eternity alone.”

Alicent’s grip on her fork tightened.

Why in Sytarr’s name was Viserra so determined to goad Rhaenyra? Why could she not simply
allow such matters to rest?

“Mother, perhaps we might speak about something else.” Rhaenyra’s voice was perfectly calm and
collected as she met Viserra’s eyes, but the tension coiled in her shoulders was evident. “I’ve been
meaning to ask after Daenora. Has she been well since the War’s end?”

Viserra’s answering smile made the fine hairs on the back of Alicent’s neck stand on end. “Indeed,
she has. As ever, Daenora continues proving herself to be an imperial princess beyond reproach.
Her courtesies are without fault, she never attempts to escape her lessons or duties, her mind is
sharp and inquisitive, she is as poised and graceful as any monarch, her diplomatic skills are
excellent, and she has flawless control over herself, her temper, and her magic.”

Rhaenyra winced.

Laena’s eyes narrowed.

Alicent bristled.

“She will make a fine empress when the time comes,” Viserra continued. “I’ve no doubt that she
will always consider the good of the Empire first and foremost, and always place the needs of her
people above her own petty desires. I can’t imagine that she would ever take any actions that might
endanger her people,” she paused, her gaze briefly flitting from Rhaenyra to Alicent and back
again, “or jeopardize significant treaty negotiations.”

Suffocating silence engulfed the room.

Lady Rhaenys and Mistress Corla exchanged a look—neither seeming at all pleased.

Mistress Alaura’s attention was entirely focused on her meal.

Laena released a harsh breath, but held her tongue.

Alicent’s stomach roiled.

Rhaenyra glared at her mother, but it was not anger or indignation that suddenly choked the air, but
rather shame and guilt and self-loathing. “Mother, now is hardly the appropriate time for such a
discussion.”

Her voice was cold, but there was an almost pleading undercurrent beneath her words.

Alicent was biting the inside of her cheek so hard that she tasted blood on her tongue.

“You asked after Daenora.” Viserra smiled sweetly. “I’m merely offering you an answer,
Daughter.”

“And I am most pleased to hear that she is well.” Rhaenyra’s own smile was brittle. “But perhaps
—”

“Daenora was quite distraught when word reached us of your actions during the Treaty
negotiations.” Viserra clicked her tongue. “Dreadful business. I explained the situation to her as
best I could, but the poor girl simply couldn’t understand how any Valyrian could do something so
vile as make another woman into chattel. Especially—”

“Enough.”

The force and volume of her own voice shocked Alicent almost as much as it did Viserra, who was
staring at her with wide eyes.

Alicent raised her chin—acutely aware of the eyes upon her—and focused her attention on Viserra.
“I will hear no more of this.”
Viserra blinked a few times before slowly but politely inclining her head. “My apologies, Lady
Alicent. I realize that this must be a rather upsetting matter for you.”

Then why speak of it at all, she almost demanded, but instead offered as false and empty a smile as
she could muster. “It is not the matter that I find upsetting, Your Eminence, but rather your
insistence on casting aspersions upon my heart friend, whose only crime was compassion.”

“That was hardly her only crime—”

“Tell me, Your Eminence, where in the Golden Laws does it prohibit saving the life of an abused
wife? Because that is what Rhaenyra did.” Alicent reached over and placed her hand atop
Rhaenyra’s, which earned her a quiet hum. “Were it not for her, there is every possibility that I
would be dead by now.” She arched an eyebrow. “Or is that what you would have preferred?”

“No, no, of course not.” Viserra shook her head vehemently. “My daughter’s motivations were
altruistic, I’ll grant you, but the way that she went about—”

“The way that she went about saving my life should be of no one’s concern but mine.” Alicent
leaned forward, hardly noticing as telekinetic hands moved her plate from her path. “I was the one
‘made into chattel,’ as you so bluntly stated, and it was my life that was forever altered by what
Rhaenyra did that day. The only person in this room or on this planet who has any right to judge her
actions is me, and I forgave her long ago. So I would ask you, Your Eminence, to let this matter
rest.”

Viserra’s eyes bored into her.

Beside her, Rhaenyra’s guilt and self-loathing had been replaced by gratitude and warm affection.

For a long moment, no one spoke, and Alicent allowed herself to hope that the matter was settled,
but then Viserra slowly shook her head. “With all due respect, My Lady, the way that my daughter
chose to help you is of the utmost concern to many aside from yourself. Her actions—”

“And what of your actions, Your Eminence?” What of your decision to despise Rhaenyra from the
moment that she was born? What of your decision to castigate and criticize her every time you’re
together? What of your decision to come into her home and insult her even now?

Viserra’s eyebrows drew together. “I beg your pardon?”

“What of your actions?” Alicent repeated—her tone even sharper now. “Since you are so eager to
judge Rhaenyra for what you’ve deemed a morally dubious act, I think it only fair that we perhaps
consider a few of yours as well. What Rhaenyra did saved my life. Her methods may have been
questionable, but you of all people have no right to judge her after what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done?” Disbelief and indignation dripped from Viserra’s words. “Everything that I’ve
done has been in the service of my Empire and my people.”

“So casting that net over Rhaenyra’s core was an act of service?”

Rhaenyra flinched.

Alicent almost did as well.

Sytarr above, she hadn’t meant to say that.

What kind of heart friend—?

She looked over at Rhaenyra, saw the surprise and hurt flashing in her eyes.

Her mouth opened to apologize—

Viserra spoke first, her own words coming without hesitation. “That net was a service and a
sacrifice. And one that I would gladly make again for the safety of my people and Empire.”

Alicent’s attention immediately returned to Viserra, and her stomach roiled when she saw not a hint
of guilt or repentance on her face. How can such a remorseless and self-righteous woman possibly
share Rhaenyra’s blood? “I never thought that Valyrians were capable of cruelty until I met you.”

Her words were little more than a whisper, but they still echoed throughout the room.

For a moment, Viserra simply gaped at her, but then her expression darkened. “How dare you? I
have never taken pleasure from the suffering of others.”

“You crippled your own daughter for over seventeen hundred years,” Alicent snapped, the words
escaping from her mouth without her leave. “You knew that she was in pain from that thrice-
damned net, and your response was to convince her that she deserved to suffer.”

Beside Viserra, Lady Rhaenys frowned. “Net? Viserra, what is she talking about?”

“She was hardly crippled,” Viserra scoffed, ignoring her sister. “And she will be the first to tell you
that that net is the reason she earned the title of the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath.”

Rhaenyra’s shoulders hunched as she looked down at the table.

Fire scorched Alicent’s insides, demanding release and burning away what reservations had
remained to her. “You could have found some other way to help her control her magic, but instead
you chose a method that made Rhaenyra feel as if a piece of her soul had been torn away and that
brought her physical pain every day for almost two millennia. Tell me how that isn’t cruel?”

Viserra expelled a harsh breath. “You have never been burdened with the weight of an Empire’s
future and legacy. You have never spent every waking hour in service to your people. You have
never been bound by the chains of duty. You may find my actions distasteful, Lady Alicent, but
they were necessary. I did my duty when I protected the realm from—”

“So it was your duty to render your seven-year-old daughter unconscious when casting that net?”
Alicent demanded. “It was your duty to do so without warning or her consent? It was your duty to
hurt her and then tell her that the pain was her fault and that she deserved it?”

“You do not know of what you speak, Child.” Viserra’s voice was cold, but her eyes blazed with
purple fire.

“Don’t I? My mother did the same to me, and no one that I’ve met since coming here has ever tried
to defend her actions.” Her glare briefly shifted to Mistress Alaura, who couldn’t hold her gaze,
before returning to Viserra. “My mother beat and belittled me for decades, and each time she told
me that she was punishing me, that I deserved—”

“The net wasn’t a punishment,” Viserra snapped. “It was a necessity. Unsavory though it may have
been, Rhaenyra was the one who forced my hand. I did what was necessary to protect this Empire
and all of my people. Don’t you dare compare my actions to your mother’s. She—”

“At least my mother never tried to hide her abuse beneath a cloak of righteousness.”

Viserra leapt to her feet, slamming her hands down on the table so hard that a faint crack formed in
the wood.

Rhaenyra immediately rose from her own chair, fangs flashing as her lip drew back in a furious
snarl. “Come near her, Mother, and I won’t hesitate to make you a head shorter.”

“Threatening to behead your own mother?” Viserra tsked. “And you wonder why I feared that you
would be Maegor Reborn or Aerysa Come Again.”

Rhaenyra recoiled as if she’d been struck.

Alicent stood and clasped her heart friend’s shaking hand, squeezing gently before focusing her
attention to Viserra. “If you were truly so frightened of that prospect, you wouldn’t have made it
your life’s mission to antagonize her.”

“Antagonize?” Viserra barked a sharp laugh. “Everything that I have done for her since the moment
she displayed those black flames has been to ensure that she doesn’t become the monster I and
many other women feared she would be. Whatever you may think of me, Lady Alicent, I love my
daughter, and I have only ever done what was best for her.”

“A loving mother wouldn’t hurt her daughter as you have.”

Viserra’s fangs flashed at that. “And what would you know about being—?”

“Viserra.” Mistress Alaura’s soft voice was enough to silence her mate and immediately gain her
full attention. “I think you’ve said enough.”

“Indeed.” Rhaenyra’s shoulders were coiled with tension, and a combination of anger and hurt
radiated from her, but when next she spoke, it was with the voice of a queen, not a wounded
daughter. “Vora Hylda, please escort my mother from the palace grounds. She is no longer welcome
here.”

“Thank you, Ali, for saying what you did to my mother.” Rhaenyra’s voice was soft with
admiration and warm with gratitude as she looped her arms around Alicent’s waist and drew her
impossibly closer. “You’re a marvel, Alicent Hightower. A magnificent marvel without equal.”

Alicent blushed and resisted the urge to hide her face in Rhaenyra’s shoulder. She never would
have dared spoken to another person in such a way three years ago, but she didn’t regret her words
in the slightest. “You needn’t thank me for defending you, Nyra.” She found one of the warm hands
resting on her stomach and intertwined their fingers. “I could hardly allow her to say such cruel
things about my heart friend.”

The words tasted strange on her tongue in a way that they hadn’t before.

Rhaenyra smiled slightly, but Alicent couldn’t help but notice the shadows still lingering in her
amethyst eyes.
After Viserra had been banished—Alaura leaving with her—they’d retreated to Alicent’s chambers
for some time to themselves.

Laena—after hugging Alicent and whispering to her how lucky Rhaenyra was to have such a
stalwart shield—had voluntarily remained behind to provide her furious aunt with a full accounting
of what exactly Viserra had done to Rhaenyra with the stasis net.

Alicent did not envy Laena the task. While she’d sensed that Lady Rhaenys’ wroth was entirely
directed towards Viserra, she would much rather spend her evening reclining on her and Rhaenyra’s
favored settee—held safe and secure in her heart friend’s arm—than explaining Viserra’s abuse to
the irate Lady Hand.

“I can’t recall ever seeing you so incensed,” Rhaenyra murmured, her expression becoming pensive
as her eyes flashed with guilt. “Save for during our quarrel.”

“That was different, Nyra.” When they’d quarreled, her anger had been born from a place of hurt,
not from the seething pit deep within herself that she hadn’t even known existed until Viserra began
insinuating that Rhaenyra was some kind of feral beast capable of harming Alicent or worse.
“You’ve only ever meant to be kind and considerate. Your mother was being spiteful and vindictive
—”

Rhaenyra was staring at her with wide eyes.

Alicent winced, realizing the spitefulness of her own words. “Please forgive me, Nyra, I shouldn’t
have—”

“You needn’t apologize, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s free hand left Alicent’s stomach and rose to cradle her
cheek. “I was simply surprised is all.” A fond smile curled her lips as she brushed her thumb over
the curve of Alicent’s cheekbone. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say an unkind word about
anyone.”

“Oh.” A warm blush stained Alicent’s cheeks even as she released a relieved breath that she hadn’t
even realized she was holding. She’d always been taught that unkind thoughts should never be
spoken aloud, and even after coming to Stone Garden, politeness oft stayed her tongue, but with
Viserra . . . “I believe an unkind word or two is warranted in this instance.”

Rhaenyra hummed noncommittally, her pensive expression returning as her eyes became distant.
“Ali, when you . . ? When you likened your mother’s actions to mine, did you truly mean those
words?”

“I did.” She hadn’t intended to compare Viserra to her own mother—no more than she’d intended
to mention the net, which she would need to properly apologize for—but how could she not
compare their mothers? And much to her own surprise, speaking about her mother’s abuse to
someone other than Dr. Arwen or Rhaenyra hadn’t caused her hands to tremble or her stomach to
clench. Rather, saying aloud what her mother had done to her had been strangely liberating.

Alicent squeezed her heart friend’s hand. “And I also meant what I said about a loving mother not
hurting her daughter as your mother has.” She nuzzled Rhaenyra’s palm until her amethyst eyes
were focused on her once more. “What your mother said about you and that net wasn’t true.” What
you said to me First Night about that net wasn’t true. “You did nothing to deserve such pain, Nyra.”

“Didn’t I?”
“Rhaenyra—”

“My mother wasn’t wrong to believe me a danger to myself and others.”

Alicent frowned, misliking the shame and guilt and resignation coating her heart friend’s words.
“What do you mean?”

Rhaenyra’s hand had fallen away from her cheek. She wouldn’t meet her eyes, and there was a
slight tremor in her voice. “I . . . I told you about Mother casting the net on me, but I didn’t . . . I’ve
never told anyone about how it broke.”

Broke.

Not removed.

Broke.

Strong Sytarr.

Alicent had been pondering all week what could have possibly induced Viserra to remove the net,
given that she plainly still considered Rhaenyra a threat. The possibility that Rhaenyra’s magic had
simply broken free hadn’t occurred to her.

But it should have.

“I’ve never told anyone about how it broke.”

“I want you to know all of me.”

“My magic is as much a part of me as my hands or my heart, but at the same time . . . In some
ways, it’s an entity unto itself. It lives and breathes within me, and when I was a child,” a shudder
wracked Rhaenyra’s body, and Alicent felt the reverberations, “before the net, my magic was little
more than a feral beast forever raging and desiring its freedom.”

Alicent wondered if perhaps Rhaenyra’s magic might have settled had it been allowed the
occasional release. From what she’d gathered, even before the net, Viserra had been ordering
Rhaenyra to suppress her magic.

“Anger is a natural emotional response to oppression and abuse, but if you consistently suppress it,
it will continue to prevent you from healing.”

While she knew that the two concepts weren’t true equivalents, she suspected that there was at least
some degree of similarity.

And Dr. Arwen had oft told her that few things could remain buried forever.

“Once Mother cast the net, my magic was contained, but it was always fighting to be set loose
again.” Rhaenyra grimaced. “I’m fairly certain that was what caused the pain.”

Alicent was inclined to agree.

“The net held for one thousand seven hundred and seventy years.” Rhaenyra’s voice had fallen to a
shamed whisper. “The day that it broke, my sisters and I were visiting Dragon Ridge for the month.
Daemona and I quarreled, and I—” Her jaw clenched. “I lost my temper, and my magic shattered
Mother’s net. I couldn’t contain it then. I couldn’t prevent it from surging—I, I tried, Ali. I tried
everything that I could think of, but . . .”

But it was too much.

“I destroyed Dragon Ridge that day,” Rhaenyra murmured, her voice laden with guilt and self-
loathing. “I leveled the entire City of Valeria and most of the mountains as well. That initial
shockwave of raw power . . .” Her eyes squeezed shut, breath rattling in her chest. “Seven Hells,
Alicent, if not for our immortality, I would have slaughtered every woman within a fifty league
radius.”

Despite herself, Alicent shuddered as she imagined the sheer devastation that must have been
wrought when the net first broke.

Rhaenyra’s arms immediately went limp around her.

Alicent grasped both of her heart friend’s hands and squeezed tightly in silent assurance as she
shifted closer so that their bodies were flush against each other.

“I was terrified.” Rhaenyra laughed bitterly. “As if I had any right to be after what I’d done.”

You had every right to be terrified.

But she didn’t dare speak the words aloud, not yet.

Raising their joined hands, Alicent cradled Rhaenyra’s against her chest.

“I fled.” Another bitter laugh. “As is my way. But not only from the remains of Dragon Ridge. I
thought . . . I hoped that leaving Valyria would prevent further destruction, but it didn’t. The
damage had already been done, and even after I was gone, my magic continued to ravage the
planet.” Tears glistened in Rhaenyra’s eyes, but they were swiftly and roughly wiped away by
telekinetic hands. “Oceans boiled because of me. Hurricanes surged and mountains crumbled.
Fields burned and volcanoes erupted. The earth tore itself apart and Valyria’s core cracked.”

Sytarr above.

“My family and the other Great Houses tried to halt the destruction, and when it became clear that
they couldn’t, they tried to contain it. Mother and her predecessors managed to repair the core
before the entire planet shattered, but it was nothing more than a temporary measure.”

Much like the net itself.

Alicent grimaced at the spiteful thought.

Valyria and her people hadn’t deserved to suffer the consequences of Viserra’s hubris.

“Mother sent Laena to find me, to bring me home so that I could put an end to what I had
unknowingly begun.” Rhaenyra sighed softly, her warm breath tickling Alicent’s cheek. “By the
time she found me, I’d fled more than halfway across the galaxy. In truth, it still astounds me that
she was able to find me at all. I’d been allowing my magic to dictate my course, teleporting at
random without a clear destination in mind.”
Something that shouldn’t be possible, according to Archmagister Aliandra’s chronicle on
teleportation spells.

“It was by allowing my magic that kind of freedom that I realized I’d been wrong before. It’s
something to be controlled, yes, but it’s also something that must be allowed to simply exist. Akin
to breathing, if you will. We control it when we must, when our bodies react in certain ways and we
need to calm ourselves, but more oft than not, we breathe without thought.”

And you can only ever hold your breath for so long before you’re gasping for air.

Alicent nodded her understanding, wondering if it was similar for all Valyrians, but then swiftly
dismissing the thought. Were that the case, someone would have helped Rhaenyra learn to control
her magic long before Viserra ever cast that thrice-damned net.

“When Laena brought me home, I halted the destruction,” Rhaenyra’s lips twisted into a grimace,
“and was lauded as a savior.”

“Her Majesty prevented a Second Doom when she was little more than a child.”

As Margaery’s words from nearly two years ago echoed in her ears, Alicent immediately felt a fool
for not having realized the truth sooner. This certainly explained why Rhaenyra had never once
made mention of the feat that most considered her greatest.

“I almost destroyed the planet, and Prelate Sif and the Conclave attempted to saint me.” Rhaenyra’s
lip curled with disgust, her hands trembling in Alicent’s. “My magic murdered fifty-eight dragons,
and Queen Sernara Sapphireclaw tried to honor me with a flame in the Queen’s Cavern. Nine
hundred and eighty-seven ruks perished on the Avenian Isles because I lost control, and Windlord
Klis wanted to award me a Storm Feather. I boiled five hundred and sixty-one sea serpents alive,
and they still offered me a boon.”

Rhaenyra’s fangs flashed. “I should have been punished for my actions. I begged the All Mother to
confine me to one of the Great Glass Prisons, but she didn’t wish to alarm our people by revealing
what I was truly capable of.” A growl rumbled in her chest. “So she bound me, my mother, and my
sisters to secrecy and allowed the world to believe that I’m not a monster.”

Bound to secrecy.

“As a psychologist, I am bound by a strict code of confidentiality, and I mean that both ethically
and magically.”

She wondered if Empress Daenerys had used the same spell, or merely a similar one. And she
wondered if Rhaenyra had never truly been bound, or if her heart friend had needed to decide to
break whatever spell the All Mother had cast.

Not that it much mattered.

The only thing that mattered was—

“You’re not a monster, Nyra.” Alicent pushed herself up into a proper sitting position and coaxed
her heart friend to do the same.

But Rhaenyra wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Nyra, please look at me.” When her heart friend didn’t, Alicent reached out and gently cradled
face between her hands instead. “You are not a monster, Rhaenyra Targaryen. And what happened
when the net broke was not your fault.”

“Yes, it was.” Rhaenyra’s eyes squeezed shut, her breath catching her throat as her voice cracked.
“My magic . . . the way that it ravaged the world—”

“Was a direct consequence of your mother’s actions. She should have known that a stasis net
wouldn’t contain your magic forever, and she should have realized that holding all of that power
inside could only lead to disaster.”

And she should have had the decency to acknowledge as much.

Rhaenyra’s eyes opened slowly, but the guilt shining in them hadn’t abated. “Ali, I know you mean
well, but . . .” She sighed, shaking her head as best she could whilst Alicent held her face.

“Did you tell Empress Daenerys about the net? When you asked her to punish you?” She already
knew the answer. The fact that Viserra wasn’t rotting in one of the Great Glass Prisons was
evidence enough of Rhaenyra’s silence.

“I—No. I told her that I lost control.” Rhaenyra shrugged. “The net wouldn’t have broken had I
leashed my temper. And if I’d been able to control my magic from the beginning, Mother wouldn’t
have needed to cast the net at all.”

You were a child, Nyra.

The words clawed at Alicent’s throat, but she swallowed them and said instead, “And my mother
wouldn’t have needed to slap me for the first time had I not been so clumsy and caused a servant to
spill wine on the floor.”

She’d been but three at the time.

Rhaenyra hissed, the guilt in her eyes immediately engulfed by amethyst fire. “You were a child,
Ali, and even if you weren’t, she had no right to strike you.”

“I know.” Alicent leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Rhaenyra’s, her voice soft and
gentle, needing her heart friend to truly hear her. “So why don’t you?”

Rhaenyra blinked owlishly.

“When I look at you, Nyra, I see only you.” Alicent drew back enough so that she could meet her
eyes. “Not the Queen, not the Firestorm, not the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath, and
certainly not a monster. I see my dearest heart friend Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra gulped, tears welling in her eyes. “Ali . . .” Her voice was soft, almost reverent.

“A monster wouldn’t have saved my life. A monster wouldn’t hold me after a night terror and sing
to me sleep and weave me pleasant dreams. A monster wouldn’t be doing everything in her power
to ensure that I’m safe and happy and comfortable.” Alicent’s thumb gently brushed away a tear
that had barely begun to fall. “I know what a monster is, Nyra. I know how a monster behaves and
treats others. I know how a monster responds to being named as such. And I know that no monster
ever believes itself to be one. You, Rhaenyra Targaryen, are not a monster.”
 “I . . .” Rhaenyra released a shuddering breath. “I want to believe you, Ali.”

Which meant that some part of her likely already did.

Alicent pressed a soft kiss to her heart friend’s forehead.

Perhaps lingering slightly overlong.

“And until you do, I shall believe enough for the both of us.”

Chapter End Notes

Thus ends the holiday "mini-arc," but not the Alicent's Gay Awakening Arc.

Next Chapter: We (and Alicent) finally learn about Valyrian reproduction, yay!

Side note: A Valyrian league is equivalent to ten kilometers or about six-point-two miles, so
Rhaenyra's "blast radius" when the net broke was about 500 kilometers. For comparison, the
blast radius of the largest atomic bomb ever detonated (Tsar Bomba) was about 240
kilometers.
 An Epiphany
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 37:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alfadora Wythers, a Blue Lotus psychologist, from Kastrell

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Enjoy these personal sigils belonging to a few of the empresses mentioned in this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Snow Moon/1,000,124 Visenya VI

Alfadora loved her mate.

She esteemed Aesara above all others and cherished her more than words could express. Her most
treasured memories were of their first meeting, when they’d marked each other, and their bonding.
She always made certain to kiss her each morning when they awoke together and each evening
when they retired for bed, for doing otherwise would have wounded her heart.
She loved Aesara more than she’d ever loved anyone.

But in this moment, she was fairly certain that there was no one in all of creation that she adored
more than Lady Alicent Hightower.

She had been serving as Rhaenyra’s therapist for well over nine million years, and in that time,
she’d forced herself to accept that she would never learn why exactly she’d been sent for all those
millions of years ago. She’d forced herself to accept that Rhaenyra would never reveal to her
whatever core trauma it was that her patient guarded with all the ferocity one would expect of a
dragon. She’d forced herself to accept that Rhaenyra Targaryen had no true interest in therapy as a
mechanism for healing.

Rhaenyra had been coming to her office once a month for over nine million two hundred and thirty-
six thousand years, and in all of that time, she’d never shared more of her past traumas than what
Alfadora could have discovered for herself by reading through historical records and trial
transcripts, or listening to the palace gossips and speaking with those who had witnessed certain
events.

Until today.

Alfadora hadn’t been here during Yulemas or Yuletide. She and Aesara had spent half of the
holidays with her family in Wythers Province and the other half with her mate’s in Mertyns
Province. She’d been loath to leave, considering Dowager Queen Viserra’s impending arrival, but
Rhaenyra had insisted that she spend Yule with her family and assured her that she would not
require her services.

When she and Aesara had returned home three days ago, the Keep had been in an uproar with the
news that Viserra Everlasting had been banished not only from Stone Garden, but from all of
Osmera.

There had also been whispers about the Lady Hand roaring for her sister’s head during Seventh
Night, but those remained unproven.

Alfadora had immediately regretted her decision to leave Stone Garden, but when she’d gone in
search of her Queen to apologize and perhaps speak with her about some of what had transpired
Seventh Night, Vora Hylda had informed her with a rather unusual smile that Her Majesty was
spending the day with Lady Alicent and did not wish to be disturbed.

Had she not known Rhaenyra any better, she might have assumed that Lady Alicent was providing
the Queen with the sort of comfort that only a mate could.

But she did know Rhaenyra.

And she knew enough about Lady Alicent to be fairly certain that the two of them were doing no
more than reading, playing cards, taking tea together, enjoying walks, or any number of other
innocuous activities.

Besides, if by some miracle, Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent had recognized their matebond and
become bondmates during Yule, such an important happening would have easily eclipsed Dowager
Queen Viserra’s banishment and been the only matter of conversation on anyone’s lips.
Nonetheless, Alfadora was not inclined to interfere with Rhaenyra spending time with the Lady
Alicent. Lady Alicent brought the Queen peace and comfort, and she’d managed to succeed where
Lady Aemma, Dowager Queen Laena, Vora Hylda, Alfadora herself, and any number of other
women who had a care for Rhaenyra had failed—she’d somehow managed to convince the
horrifically obstinate and self-sacrificing woman to take a little time for herself, to delegate some of
her duties, to at least somewhat value her own well-being, and to actually sleep.

Alfadora would never dare interfere with that, and so there had been nothing for her to do save
await her monthly session with the Queen and pray to Relle Lifegiver that Rhaenyra would be
willing to tell her at least some of what had happened the Seventh Night of Yuletide.

When Rhaenyra had entered her office this morning for their monthly session, Alfadora had
immediately noticed a difference in her demeanor, had immediately noticed the distinct lack of
impatience that usually radiated from her patient, had immediately noticed the unfamiliar glint in
the Queen’s eyes—some strange combination of trepidation, determination, and what could only be
described as yearning.

Rhaenyra had made no mention of having other duties to attend to when she’d arrived, had made
no mention of needing this session to be shortened for one reason or another, had not even made
any mention of the Lady Alicent. She’d simply seated herself in her customary chair, waved a hand
to cast several dozen shield spells to further protect the room, and then launched into a cold and
rather detached accounting of Viserra’s decision to bind her core with a stasis net.

Shock could not even begin to describe what Alfadora had felt in that moment.

But that shock had swiftly been eclipsed by a blinding fury the likes of which she had not thought
herself capable of.

She’d long wondered about the nature of Rhaenyra’s core trauma, about the wound that had
festered these many millions of years into melancholy and guilt and self-loathing. And while she’d
easily deduced that Viserra was in part responsible, the true horror of what that woman had done to
her own daughter had never even occurred to her. Even its mere possibility had been beyond her
fathoming, in truth.

Such cruelty had died with the Old World.

Or so she’d believed.

That any Valyrian would behave so barbarously strained credulity, but that a member of House
Targaryen—a direct descendent of Saint Aenara and the All Mother—could commit such a heinous
act . . .

Seven bleeding thrice-damned Hells.

Viserra had learned at the knee of Empress Rhaena the Ninth, who all knew was as gentle and
loving towards her family as she was unyielding and unforgiving towards those who crossed her.
And for all that Empress Alyssa the Sixth was known for her fierce and somewhat wild spirit, none
questioned her devotion and affection towards those she loved. How could a woman birthed by
Empress Alyssa and raised by Empress Rhaena have done something so wicked?

Viserra had read Why Men Were Banished From Valyria as had every woman on the planet. She
knew well the horrors that their ancestors had endured at the hands of men before the Doom. She
knew well the myriad of physical, emotional, and mental abuses that they had suffered. She knew
well that only a rapist was more accursed than an abuser. How could a woman learned in such
histories have in turn abused her own daughter?

Viserra had studied the Codex, had no doubt memorized all of its passages before she’d been old
enough to walk. Had she somehow forgotten the teachings of Relle Shieldbreaker?

“While violence is at times necessary to protect and defend others, it must always be considered a
last resort.”

“Never strike the first blow, but always have your shield at the ready. If you must strike, never do
so from a place of anger or malice. Strike for those who cannot strike back, for you are their
strength when they have none. You are a shield, a defender, not a sword. The wicked attack; the
good defend.”

“Raise your sword not in anger. Raise your shield not to do violence. You raise your sword to
protect the helpless. You raise your shield to defend the weak.”

How could a woman who had read those passages justify a preemptive strike against a child?

While Alfadora had never once doubted the strength of her Queen’s character—for all that
Rhaenyra herself was determined to denigrate it—she was ashamed to admit that she hadn’t
realized the true extent of Rhaenyra’s moral fortitude until now.

That Viserra’s actions hadn’t brought about a Second Doom was both a miracle and a testament to
Rhaenyra’s compassionate nature.

And that Rhaenyra still thought herself a monster despite all of that was both an outrage and a
testament to the strength of Viserra’s hold on her.

A hold that Alfadora was now determined to break.

And by the grace of Relle—and the blessed intervention of the Lady Alicent—it seemed that
Rhaenyra wished to be free of her mother’s poison as well.

“Alicent tells me that I’m not a monster, and I know that she believes this to be true. I . . . I wish to
believe it as well.”

Alicent Hightower was a wonder and a marvel.

And by the time that Rhaenyra had finished explaining about the net, the family supper, and
banishing Viserra from Stone Garden, Alfadora had been torn between her desire to find some way
to break confidentiality so that she could publicly denounce Viserra Everlasting as unfit to call
herself a Valyrian, to locate the Lady Alicent and profess her gratitude for setting Rhaenyra on the
path to at last begin healing from the grievous wounds that Viserra had inflicted, and to simply
come around her desk and draw Rhaenyra into a crushing hug.

But none of those actions would have been appropriate for her to take as the Queen’s psychologist,
and so she’d instead spent the remainder of their session simply discussing some of Rhaenyra’s
many conflicting emotions surrounding the net in order to determine the best course of treatment.
It had soon become plain that the first hurdle would be helping Rhaenyra understand that what
Viserra had done to her was unconditionally wrong. And while Alfadora knew that Lady Alicent
comparing her own mother’s abuse to Viserra’s would undoubtedly prove invaluable, for now, she
intended to concentrate on Rhaenyra’s personal experiences.

When their session drew to a close for the day, Rhaenyra’s exhaustion was plain, and her
expression was pensive, but her eyes were bright, and she did not grumble about now needing to
spend an additional two hours on this matter or that to compensate for the time that they’d spent
together.

As the Queen rose from her chair after thanking Alfadora for her time, Alfadora held out a hand to
halt her rise. “Rhaenyra, now that our session is over, there is something that I would ask you.”

“Of course.” Rhaenyra reseated herself and motioned for her to continue, which in and of itself was
not something that Alfadora would have expected even one session ago. For while the Queen was
always polite, she rarely made much of an effort to conceal her desire to flee from their sessions
once they’d concluded.

Rhaenyra did not seem as if she wished to flee at present.

“When Viserra first summoned me to Dragon Ridge, she never told me why. And while I now
understand your need for my services, I find myself unable to reconcile your mother’s other
behaviors with her decision to send for a therapist at all.” Especially considering neither mother nor
daughter had been under the impression that Rhaenyra needed assistance of any kind to maintain
her mental well-being.

And while Alfadora had her suspicions as to who had truly summoned her, she needed Rhaenyra to
say the words aloud.

For a moment, Rhaenyra’s lips pursed, a familiar defensiveness briefly shadowing her face before
vanishing as she sighed. “There is nothing to reconcile. Mother wasn’t the one who sent for you.
Not truly.” She laced her fingers together in her lap, not quite meeting Alfadora’s eyes. “When
Aemma learned about the net, she wished to confront my mother and demand its removal, but I
wouldn’t allow it. She agreed to remain silent if I began seeing a therapist.” She smiled wryly. “I
realize now that she must have made the same bargain with Mother. That’s why she sent for you.”

As Alfadora suspected.

She made a mental note to spend some time considering this information and its implications
during their next session. Viserra’s desire for secrecy was telling, her willingness to strike such a
bargain with Lady Aemma even more so, but perhaps most damning was her decision to select a
psychologist who lacked experience treating abuse survivors.

For now, she would allow Rhaenyra to ruminate over these matters herself.

Relle willing, she will have a conversation with Lady Alicent as well.

The strength of the matebond was truly a marvelous thing, as was Lady Alicent herself.

Alfadora had long wondered why Mother Relle would destine Rhaenyra for a mate not born of
Valyria.
Perhaps this was the reason.

Perhaps none but a woman not born of Valyria—none but a woman with Lady Alicent’s particular
experiences—could speak the truth to Rhaenyra and actually be heard and heeded.

“Alfadora?”

She turned to look over at Rhaenyra, who stood in front of the door with her hand resting on the
handle. “Yes, Rhaenyra?”

“Might we,” the Queen’s lips pursed for a moment, “might we increase the frequency of our
sessions to perhaps once a week from now on? For a time, at least?”

Alfadora forced herself not to grin, forced herself not to clap her hands with delight, forced herself
not to praise Mother Relle’s name aloud. “We most certainly can, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra didn’t smile, nor did she look particularly enthused, but she nodded and thanked her all
the same before departing.

Alfadora loved her mate.

Aesara was her light and her love, her comfort and her safety, her peace and her heart.

Without a doubt, she loved Aesara more than she’d ever loved anyone.

But in this moment, she was fairly certain that there was no one in all of creation that she adored
more than Lady Alicent Hightower.

May Relle bless and keep her.

One Month Later

(Spring Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI)

It was the title of the book that captured her attention.

Blood of the Dragon: A Misnomer? by Archmagister Gelonora Darke.

For years now, Alicent had heard women refer to the members of House Targaryen as the Blood of
the Dragon in honor of their unique ability to shapeshift into the majestic beasts. While initially
intrigued, once she’d learned the reason behind the sobriquet, she hadn’t spared it any additional
thought because she’d assumed that there was nothing more to learn.

But it seems that I was mistaken.

While she’d come to the library intending to borrow a book that would provide her with more
information regarding the ceremonial intricacies of the Binding Summits held five times each reign
between Valyria’s empress, queens, and prelate and Kervan’s emperor, kings, and pontiff, she knew
that she would now be unable to concentrate on any other book save the one in front of her.

And I’ve still time yet to learn more about the Binding Summits, she assured herself.
The Dragon Summit was not for another eight months, and she could always simply ask Rhaenyra
about the Binding Summits if need be. While her heart friend had been much occupied of late with
her normal duties, preparing for the Dragon Summit, and her increased sessions with Dr. Alfadora
—the latter of which delighted Alicent beyond words—they still always made time to share their
evenings together.

After consulting her pocket watch, Alicent decided that it would be best to return to her chambers
with the book rather than retreat to her favored chair in the third floor history section of the library.
If Archmagister Gelonora’s book proved half as fascinating as she anticipated, she knew that time
would soon lose all meaning, and she didn’t want to force Rhaenyra to search the Keep for her
simply so that they could have supper together.

Removing the thick volume from its place nestled between Magister Celesta Royce’s On Inherently
Magical Creatures and Their Place in Nature and Magister Hildegard Strong’s On the Evolution of
the Draconic Species, Alicent hugged the book to her chest before hurrying back down the spiral
staircase to the main floor of the library.

Luwina—quill in hand—was already grinning when Alicent reached the plumwood desk nestled
behind several dozen towering shelves, and something akin to amusement glinted in her eyes when
she saw the book that Alicent wished to borrow. “Should I be expecting this back on the morrow or
the day after?” she teased as she wrote the title down in her ledger before swiftly tracing a series of
runes over the cover to disable whatever shield spell it was that kept the books from being removed
from the library without a librarian’s knowledge.

Alicent made a sound of feigned upset as she accepted the book. “You insult me, Luwina, to imply
that I would require more than a few hours to read,” she glanced down at the thick tome, “nine
hundred to one thousand pages.”

“My most sincere apologies.” Luwina bowed her head low, though her show of contrition was
rather undermined by her barely suppressed chuckle. “I’ll be certain to warn whoever guards the
ledger after me to expect you before midnight.”

“That’s all I ask.” Alicent lingered long enough to give Luwina’s hand a warm squeeze before
leaving the library and making her way back to the Rose Tower and her apartments.

Once she was comfortably seated on her and Rhaenyra’s settee in her privy chamber, she tucked her
feet beneath herself—something that she’d begun doing more often of late—and opened the book
to its introductory section.

The Blood of the Dragon.

A title and an honorific shared by all of Empress Aenara the Ice Dragon’s direct descendants.
From her blood has come an unbroken line of women with the unique ability to shapeshift into
dragons. In no other bloodline has this gift manifested since the Doom of the Old World, and
only a handful of bloodlines could claim this gift prior to the Doom.

And yet, is referring to the women of House Targaryen—and the women of House Targaryen
alone—as the Blood of the Dragon truly proper? Or is it perhaps a misnomer, or, at the very
least, an over narrowing of the title. To answer this question, we must first explore the
 evolutionary history of the Valyrian species, for only by looking to the ancient past may we
find answers to our present.

As Alicent flipped to the next page, she paused at the sight of a beautifully illuminated
phylogenetic tree depicting the evolutionary lineage of the Valyrian species. Much as she would
have liked to study the tree properly, she spared it no more than a passing glance, wishing to read
Archmagister Gelonora’s words before examining the illustration.

Descended directly from the species Eldrus magicus—the people of the Old World—modern
Valyrians (Eldrus valyria) are an immortal, all-female, bipedal species. Valyrians are a unique
species in many respects, even by the standards applied to the Class Mysticia. Despite being
members of the Reptiliformes Subclass—as evidenced by their scale-skin and lack of body
hair below the neck, oviparity, and regrowing teeth—Valyrians bear numerous similarities to
the Mammaliformes Subclass—such as being endothermic, possessing a four-chambered
heart, having a high metabolic rate, and nourishing their young with milk secreted by
mammary glands.

As members of the Draconidae Family, our closest extant relatives are of course the various
dragon species, though magisters have found that we share the most genetic markers with true
dragons. We can trace our evolutionary lineage back to an ancient draconid ancestor that lived
on the Old World some two billion years ago. In addition to giving rise to the Eldrus genus, to
which modern Valyrians belong, this ancient progenitor also gave rise to the Draco genus, to
which the dragon species belong.

Alicent stared at the page, blinking rapidly as her mind scrambled to make sense of the words
before her.

“Scale-skin.”

“Lack of body hair below the neck.”

“Oviparity.”

“Members of the Draconidae Family.”

“Magisters have found that we share the most genetic markers with true dragons.”

“Sytarr above.”

As her fingers traced over the words identifying dragons as the Valyrians’ closest extant relatives,
she suddenly recalled the words of a different book that she’d read over a year ago—words that she
evidently should have paid more attention to.

“True dragons are proud beings—proud and wise and fierce and given to all of the passions of
their Valyrian cousins.”

“Dragons were—at the time—far stronger than their Old Worlder cousins.”

Cousins.
She remembered thinking it strange that the author would refer to the dragons as such, but
Valyrians were hardly without their unique turns of phrase, and at the time, she’d been rather more
focused on the horrors of the Dragon Purges.

“For the accord and amity that Queen Rhaenyra has fostered with our Sisters of the Flame.”

Or perhaps she’d simply been a fool for not realizing sooner—

But I wasn’t aware that there was anything to realize.

Had she even known that Valyrians were technically reptiles?

The matter had never come up in all of the years that she’d been living in the Keep, but then, why
would it?

Valyrians are not Westerosi.

She knew that. She knew that Valyrians were an entirely different species, and yet . . .

Outwardly, Westerosi and Valyrians were nigh indistinguishable. And she’d discovered over the
years that both species had a number of internal structures in common as well, such as a robust
spinal column, a connected solid and liquid excretory system, and nigh identical ankle and foot
structures.

The most conspicuous differences between her people and Rhaenyra’s were simply the result of
Valyrians being creatures of magic. And while she knew that they didn’t sweat and had taken notice
of the lack of fine hairs on their arms and the backs of their hands, she’d never considered the
evolutionary reasons for these more subtle differences, never considered that Valyrians might not
be descended from a mammalian equivalent as Westerosi were.

“Oviparity.”

She was certain that she hadn’t come across any mentions of Valyrians laying eggs. In fact, she
distinctly recalled reading about the births of various empresses and other historically significant
women.

Although, perhaps them being oviparous explained in part how they produced children together. If
there was no need for internal fertilization—

Alicent shook her head, tsking at herself. She shouldn’t be pondering the mechanics of Valyrian
sexual practices. It wasn’t at all proper, especially since such thoughts would inevitably lead to her
wondering how Rhaenyra—

Cheeks blazing with mortification, Alicent swiftly returned her attention to the book.

Our oldest known direct ancestor is Draconis metamorpho, which diverged from the Draco
genus over three hundred and sixty million years before the Doom. This oviparous and
quadrupedal species had armor-like scales covering its body, a tail, two curved horns
protruding from its head, and a mane of soft fur running the length of its spinal ridge. In
addition to breathing fire, water, or gusts of wind, Draconis metamorpho could fly despite its
 lack of wings. However, what truly distinguished it from other draconids was its ability to
shapeshift.

Over time, the Draconis genus gave rise to the Eldrus genus, which was differentiated by its
bipedalism, viviparity, inability to naturally fly, lack of tail, and less draconic appearance.
However, the earliest known Eldrus species—Eldrus primus—retained the horns, mane,
scales, shapeshifting, and water, fire, and air elementalism of its Draconis ancestors. As the
Eldrus species continued to evolve, it eventually lost its horns (Eldrus vixcornu), and its mane
receded until only the hair growing from its head remained (Eldrus glaber).

Alicent frowned in confusion as she reread the list of characteristics distinguishing the Eldrus
genus from the Draconis genus.

Viviparity.

While she admittedly hadn’t taken an especial interest in evolutionary biology, she still
remembered learning that viviparity evolved from oviparity through gradual increases in the length
of egg retention. She’d never come across an example of the reverse being true, although she
supposed that Valyrians’ inherent magic could perhaps provide an explanation. The exact way in
which magic interacted with evolutionary principles was something that she would need to research
in the future.

A gentle knock on her privy chamber door prevented Alicent from returning to her reading.

As expected, she’d become engrossed, and Rhaenyra had come in search of her.

And her timing is impeccable.

While she was fairly certain that most of the answers to the questions now gnawing at her could be
found in Archmagister Gelonora’s dense tome, she would very much enjoy discussing these matters
with her heart friend.

For reasons that she’d chosen not to dwell upon, she adored listening to Rhaenyra speak, adored
hearing the sound of her wonderfully warm and rich and soothing and pleasant voice.

“Enter,” she called.

Rhaenyra swept in a moment later, her eyes bright and her smile even brighter.

Sytarr above, how Alicent loved her heart friend’s smile.

Vile little—

And she’d been seeing that lovely smile more often of late.

In no small part because of all the time and effort that Rhaenyra had been dedicating to her sessions
with Dr. Alfadora.

Alicent was pleased beyond measure for her heart friend, which she attempted to make known in
every way that she could.
Especially on the days following one of her heart friend’s nightmares, which had been plaguing her
more frequently since Dr. Alfadora’s return to the Keep. While Alicent knew that such was to be
expected—she well-remembered how oft her own sleep had been disturbed once she’d begun
seeing Dr. Arwen—it still hurt her heart to see Rhaenyra in any kind of distress.

It still hurt her heart that Rhaenyra refused to allow her to hold and comfort her the way that
Rhaenyra always did Alicent herself following a night terror.

Rhaenyra’s eyes alighted upon the book laying open on Alicent’s lap. “It seems that I am once
more displaced in your affections by your latest literary conquest,” she sighed.

“Don’t be silly, Nyra.” Alicent beckoned her over. “None could ever displace you in my
affections.”

A faint blush darkened Rhaenyra’s cheeks as she sat down beside Alicent and extended her arm in
silent question. Alicent’s answer came without hesitation as she tucked herself against Rhaenyra’s
side and hummed happily when an arm wrapped warmly around her shoulders. And when she felt
soft lips brush against her temple, her treacherous stomach fluttered.

“Might I know the name of the book that kept you from supper?” Rhaenyra’s hand had found one
of Alicent’s, her fingers tracing random patterns on the back.

Closing the book, Alicent showed her the cover and title. “I’ve not yet read beyond the
introduction,” she admitted, “but I was hoping that you might be willing to discuss a few matters
with me.”

“Of course I’m willing.” Rhaenyra smiled fondly. “When have I ever denied you, Ali?”

Never. Not when it’s something important.

“Thank you, Nyra.” She paused, the fingers of her free hand drumming on the book’s cover. “May I
ask how it is that Valyrians are,” she hesitated, not wishing to cause offense, but surely it would not
be offensive of her to state what was an objective fact, “reptiles, but also have so many mammalian
characteristics?”

Amusement glinted in Rhaenyra’s eyes. “We’re not reptiles, in truth, but we’re also not mammals.
We’re both and neither.” She shrugged, chuckling when she saw Alicent’s expression of discontent
at the unsatisfactory answer. “Mundane animal species outnumber those with magic flowing
through their veins over one thousand to one, so we most often describe creatures of magic in terms
of what mundane animal or animals they resemble. Pegasi are winged horses, for example, kitsunes
are foxes with nine tails, griffins are raptor-feline hybrids, leocampi are half-lion and half-fish,
augurian owls are barn owls with a cat’s ears and tail.”

Alicent nodded slowly as she mulled over Rhaenyra’s words.

“Members of the Reptiliformes Subclass.”

Reptiliformes.

Which simply meant that Valyrians had reptilian attributes, not that they were reptiles in truth, and
she supposed that whatever animals had been placed in the Mammaliformes Subclass had primarily
mammalian characteristics.
Perhaps I should have taken the time to more closely examine the phylogenetic tree.

“For all that we’ve evolved to more closely resemble mammals, we’re still draconids, and we’ve
retained a number of more reptilian traits.”

“Such as your scale-skin?” Aside from their oviparity, reading that Valyrians apparently had scaled
skin had surprised her more than any of the other characteristics that Archmagister Gelonora had
listed. She’d touched Rhaenyra’s skin when her heart friend was in her natal form more times than
she could count, and she’d recently touched Rhaenyra’s shoulder when it was covered in dragon
scales.

The two felt nothing alike.

Rhaenyra offered her hand, which was now encased in gleaming, silver scales. “The first species of
our lineage to have scale-skin was Eldrus cutis. Normal scales form an outer covering of
interlocking plates that protect the underlying skin, but our ‘scales’ have actually fused with our
skin.”

Alicent watched as Rhaenyra’s silver scales grew smaller and smaller before seeming to disappear
entirely, leaving behind only the normal flesh of her hand. “When you say fused, does that mean
that your skin itself is actually comprised of scales?” That would certainly explain why it was so
difficult to puncture or lacerate Valyrian flesh.

“Exactly.” Rhaenyra grinned at her with unabashed delight. “If you were to examine me with
microscopic spectacles, you would see that my ‘skin’ is actually billions of minuscule, interlocking
scales.” She paused. “If you’d like, we can borrow a pair of spectacles from Elysara so that you can
see the interlocking scale structure for yourself.”

“I would like that very much.” A small part of Alicent was tempted to ask if she might have a skin
sample as well—knowing that Rhaenyra would acquiesce—but she held her tongue. She well-
remembered the agony of being skinned, and she had no wish to inflict such pain upon her heart
friend. Never mind that Rhaenyra could immediately heal herself.

If and when she ever had the opportunity to use the scalpel that Laena had gifted her, it would be to
heal, not to harm.

Besides, what need had she for a skin sample when Rhaenyra was offering herself—

Alicent’s teeth sank into her bottom lip as she twisted her emerald orchid ring around her finger.

“I can see the question shining in your eyes, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s hand rose to gently tuck a stray lock
of hair back behind her ear. “You know that you can ask me anything.”

She did know that, but the question she wanted to ask . . .

There was a reason that she’d never attempted to investigate Valyrian reproduction, a reason that
she’d—

«Do you think spreading your damn legs for Adelaide will result in children!?»

Even before seeing Carmilla and Laura and realizing that Valyrians only had romantic
relationships with each other, she’d had little interest in the subject, little interest in learning
anything to do with Valyrian sexual practices. What more did she need to know aside from their
obvious ability to reproduce with each other?

But now . . .

“Archmagister Gelonora described Valyrians as oviparous, but she also noted that the Eldrus genus
was distinguished from the Draconis genus by viviparity.” Alicent kept her eyes focused on her lap
as she spoke, not certain if she wanted to see her heart friend’s face. Speaking about the specifics of
creating children was hardly appropriate, even between friends. “I was wondering how it was that
your ancestors . . . devolved, if you will.” She winced at the poor choice of words, but she wasn’t
certain how else to phrase the question.

Rhaenyra gently rubbed her arm in silent reassurance that she hadn’t said anything wrong or
upsetting. “Our current oviparity was an intentional choice, not the result of evolution.”

Alicent’s head snapped up, eyes wide as she stared at her heart friend in confusion. Why in the
world would Valyrians choose to lay eggs rather than give birth?

An amused smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips as she laced their fingers together. “You’ll find that most
of the more advanced species from across the universes have either evolved to be viviparous, or
begun reproducing using pods and artificial growth chambers. Our Old World ancestors were
viviparous, and prior to 220,220,177 AD, Valyrians were as well. Oviparity was reintroduced when
yellow lotuses reactivated those dormant genes during the reign of Empress Baela the Wise.”

Despite her confusion as to why Valyrians would make the collective decision to lay eggs, Alicent
couldn’t help but be impressed by what the yellow lotuses had accomplished. Reactivating genes of
any kind was no simple matter, and they’d managed to reactivate genes that had been dormant for
hundreds of millions of years.

For all that her own people prided themselves on their ability to manipulate their genome, she
didn’t think that they would be able to accomplish a similar feat. She didn’t think that they would
have the skill or patience to correct all of the errors inevitably riddling genes that had been dormant
for so long.

“But why reintroduce oviparity at all?” There was a reason that evolution favored internal
gestation, a reason that—as Rhaenyra herself had noted—more advanced species tended to be
viviparous.

“The short answer is that Dr. Sarabella Sunderland believed that oviparity was ultimately the more
efficient and socially beneficial method of reproduction. She introduced her proposal not long after
the signing of the Compact, which itself already represented a monumental shift in how we
reproduced.”

“How did the Compact alter reproduction?” While Alicent had read that the Compact was one of
the few official treaties between the Valyrian Empire and the Kervanite Empire, she’d yet to
investigate its actual contents and provisions.

“By ensuring that we would always have a sufficient supply of V chromosome sperm for use in
artificial insemination or in vitro fertilization.”

The breath fled from Alicent’s lungs.

No.

Surely she must have heard incorrectly.

That would mean . . .

“I think we all sometimes forget that you come from a world where women have fathers.”

There had been a time when Alicent had wondered whether Valyrians were truly without fathers,
had wondered whether they truly had no need for any male genetic material to become with child,
but she’d eventually concluded that something must have changed between the Doom and the
Founding to allow them to produce children together.

She’d been certain . . .

They have an entire treaty for the sole purpose of securing sperm.

The thought was so absurd that she almost laughed aloud.

If Valyrians can’t biologically produce children together, then surely Kervanites can’t either.

Which likely meant that the Valyrians were trading their ova for sperm.

Sytarr above.

Mates can’t biologically have children together.

She’d been wrong before—so very wrong.

And yet . . .

Valyrians are not Westerosi.

But they evidently reproduced like Westerosi.

Or at least they had.

“Ali?” Rhaenyra was peering at her worriedly. “Have I said something to upset you?”

Alicent swiftly shook her head. “Not at all.”

And much to her own surprise, she found that her words were true. She would need time to
properly ponder and consider this new information, but she wasn’t upset. She was . . . She wasn’t
entirely certain what she was, but she knew that she wasn’t upset.

“Please, continue. You were explaining how the Compact . . .” Her cheeks burned as she waved her
hand, once more unable to meet her heart friend’s eyes.

Rhaenyra was silent a moment longer—no doubt assessing her and determining whether or not she
ought to press—before continuing. “The Compact was signed less than a year after the Kervanites
finished constructing their Genesis Chamber. The edifice housing all of their artificial wombs,” she
explained upon seeing Alicent’s questioning look. “Brown serpents and scholarchs with a
specialization in biology and genetics had been endeavoring for millennia to create an artificial
womb. There were many who doubted that they would ever succeed, and one group of yellow
lotuses actually suggested modifying our genome so that we could conceive without sperm, but
their proposal was ultimately rejected.”

Alicent’s eyebrows arched.

So Valyrians could produce children together.

They’d simply made the conscious decision not to grant themselves that ability.

Which, she supposed, wasn’t all that different from most Valyrians choosing not to have children at
all.

“An immortal species must maintain a certain amount of control over its population, and this
proposal would have created the potential for accidentally becoming with child. Children should
only be born to mothers who truly desire them.” Rhaenyra paused, shadows flickering in her eyes,
though they vanished the moment that Alicent squeezed her hand. “My ancestors chose patience,
and once the brown serpents and scholarchs succeeded in creating an artificial womb, Empress
Baela and Emperor Albus wasted no time in negotiating the Compact.”

Which was hardly a surprise, considering how much the majority of Valyrians seemed to detest
men of all kinds. Alicent imagined that none had been eager to volunteer to carry and birth new
Kervanites.

Did the Kervanite population grow at all during that time?

Surely it must have.

Although, considering Empress Daenerys had eventually immortalized them nearly four million
years after she ascended to the Dragon Throne, Alicent supposed that the Kervanites could have
simply maintained the exact same population—with the exception of new emperors and kings—
until the Compact was signed.

“The Compact was considered a triumph, but Dr. Sarabella believed that we could further improve
ourselves. She argued that oviparity would greatly reduce the physical burdens of being with child
by eliminating the need to share nutrients and internal abdominal space with a developing fetus for
twelve months. Delivery would be made easier as well, since a three-month-old egg is substantially
smaller than a fully developed, twelve-month-old babe.”

Alicent couldn’t help but see the logic of Dr. Sarabella’s arguments, which wasn’t much of a
surprise, considering such arguments had swayed an entire Empire. She well-remembered her mild
horror when Margaery had mentioned that Valyrian pregnancies spanned a full year. And
considering that a Valyrian year was four hundred and twenty solar days—sixty days longer than a
Westerosi year—she could understand why some women might wish to reduce that time.

While she herself had spent decades yearning for the travails of being with child, she knew that
Valyrians were different, that they didn’t necessarily have that same longing.

“Dr. Sarabella’s experiments confirmed that oviparous birth would mimic viviparous birth save that
the babe would gestate within an egg rather than a womb during the second, third, and fourth
quarters. This would also allow both mothers nine months during which they could jointly care for
their daughter before her hatching and true emergence into the world.”
“How did she resolve the matter of the egg potentially cracking or breaking before the babe is
ready to . . . hatch?” The mere thought of what might befall an unborn babe in that situation sent a
horrified shiver rippling down Alicent’s spine.

Rhaenyra hugged her closer, enveloping her in the comforting scent of her rose perfume. “We’re
draconids. A dragon’s egg is impossible to break before its time, and ours are the same.” She
smiled slightly. “Dr. Sarabella apparently provided a rather dramatic demonstration of a Valyrian
egg’s durability that involved extreme temperatures, tremendous amounts of pressure, and a fall
from the top of a mountain.”

Alicent was choosing to assume that the egg Dr. Sarabella had used hadn’t actually contained a
viable fetus.

“Dr. Sarabella’s oviparity proposal eventually gained enough support that the Imperial Council
allowed her to reactivate the oviparity genes of seven volunteers, who then went on to produce
seven healthy daughters, and within a few centuries, every Valyrians’ oviparity genes had been
reactivated.” Rhaenyra fell silent, a pensive expression coming over her face.

Alicent instinctively pressed closer and clasped her heart friend’s hand, which earned her a low,
rumbling and contented purr.

“Earlier, you said that examining my scale-skin would please you.” Rhaenyra hesitated, eyes
shifting as the rings on her fingers began to tremble. “I was wondering if perhaps you might wish to
see my egg as well?”

For a moment, Alicent could only stare at her.

Since coming to Stone Garden, she’d heard many peculiar and rather bizarre statements, and while
there had been many times over the years that she’d struggled to swiftly conceal her confusion or
surprise, she was certain that being asked if she wished to see her heart friend’s egg—the egg from
which she’d hatched—was the strangest question ever posed to her.

She found herself grinning all the same. “That would please me very much, Nyra.”

Because, despite herself, she was curious. She was curious to learn more about Valyrian
reproduction, curious to learn more about their decision to not give themselves the ability to
produce children without Kervanite genetic material, curious to learn more about . . .

To learn more about Rhaenyra, in truth.

“I want you to know all of me.”

Alicent wanted that as well.

“Laying usually only takes about twenty-five minutes,” Rhaenyra explained as she and Alicent
made their way through the halls of the White Rose Museum. “The egg is only about the size of a
large pomegranate, and when first laid, the shell is soft and pliant, so the entire process is generally
painless. The shell hardens to the consistency of stone and the durability of diamond within a few
minutes.”
The size of a pomegranate.

Sytarr above, had she been born that small—

Mother still would have found reason to despise me, and she still would have beaten me bloody for
kissing Adelaide.

She understood now that her mother had chosen to hurt her simply because it had pleased some part
of her to do so, and she understood now that her mother’s actions had been wrong.

“The imperial shells are normally kept in the Great Library, but with the Dragon Summit fast
approaching, Archmagister Lucamora Arryn thought it appropriate for these shells to make their
way through the Queendoms’ museums.” Rhaenyra grinned at her, amethyst eyes twinkling with
the same excitement that had been present since this morning. While Alicent couldn’t entirely
understand why her heart friend was so eager for her to see her egg, it always pleased her to see
Rhaenyra’s smile. “It’s quite fortunate that you decided to learn about our oviparity now.”

“I am known for my impeccable timing,” Alicent quipped.

Rhaenyra chuckled, pausing long enough to gently nudge Alicent’s hip with her own. “Most of
what you do is impeccable, Ali.”

“Not everything that I do?” Alicent stretched her eyes wide in feigned hurt.

“I believe that your baking abilities could be much improved.”

Alicent snorted. “Considering you were insisting that the scones I made for you the other day were
blessed by Relle herself, forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“As I recall, you were blushing bright red and insisting that I was being far too kind.” Rhaenyra
tsked. “As if such were even possible.”

Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s chest, and she resisted the urge to once again say that her heart friend
was being too kind to her.

When they reached an arched entryway, Rhaenyra swept her arm out with a flourish. “We have
arrived.”

Upon stepping inside the cavernous corridor, Alicent was greeted by the sight of dozens upon
dozens of silver-stone pedestals. Placed atop each pedestal was a glass display case housing a
lovingly reconstructed egg the size of a large pumpkin. The surface of each egg was bright and
iridescent, reflecting the orb-light overhead and making it dance across the walls. Silvery-gold lines
snaked across the shells, revealing the places where the broken pieces had been fused back together
following the imperial princess’ hatching.

Each egg had its own unique coloring and pattern: lustrous blues and whites, gleaming golds and
silvers, bright greens and purples, radiant reds and blacks, earthy browns and hazels, bold ambers
and greys; stripes and speckles, whorls and loops, spots and bars, swirls and spirals, patches and
diamonds, branches and veins, flows and waves, vortexes and ripples, arches and twists, fractals
and meanderings.
For a long moment, Alicent could only stare at the pretty eggs, as she tried to imagine watching a
babe emerge from one of them, as she tried to imagine cradling one in her arms and knowing that
her and—that her babe slumbered within, as she tried to imagine sharing that joy with another
person who loved—

Affixed to the pedestals were small, golden placards with the name and number of the empress to
whom the egg belonged. The two eggs on either side of the entryway belonged to Empress Evanora
the First—the fifty-sixth empress—and her successor, Empress Melisenda the Third. Having seen
several records of the Empire’s two-hundred and fifty empresses, she knew without Rhaenyra
needing to tell her that there must be one hundred and ninety-six eggs displayed in this hall—
assuming that Imperial Princess Daenora’s egg had been included.

As Rhaenyra led her through the hall, Alicent’s eyes swept over the various placards and their
respective eggs, attempting to remain focused on the names and what Rhaenyra was telling her
about each one, yet it was proving far more difficult than she might have expected.

Empress Bellamena the Third’s egg was a combination of burnished copper and pale blue that
blended in some places and rippled in others.

Alicent stole a glance at Rhaenyra, noting the soft smile on her lips, and she wondered if this
Empress Bellamena was a favored grandmother for one reason or another, or if she’d done
something of particular import during her reign.

Empress Helinor the Fourth’s egg was sea-foam green with arcs of tawny-brown, and Empress
Ellyria the Second’s egg was black with white speckles and bars. Empress Naerys the Devout’s egg
was gleaming gold with silver speckles that looked like tiny stars.

Devout.

She’d always considered herself rather devout. Her fear and respect for Sytarr’s might and wroth
had never been in question—especially after the day that her mother had told her she was accursed
by him. But of late, she’d been finding it harder and harder to justify her reverence for him. Surely
gods should not desire only their worshippers’ fear. Surely—

Empress Melinora Weather-Binder’s egg was light amber with silvery veins and blue-grey waves.

“She is the first and thus far only empress ever born with three elemental affinities,” Rhaenyra was
saying.

Alicent wondered if Empress Melinora’s mother had looked upon her newborn babe and feared her
potential, or if she’d been pleased to have such a unique daughter. Viserra should have been proud
to call Rhaenyra her daughter, to have such a remarkable and kind and generous woman share her
blood.

Empress Mirabella the Fair’s egg was a striking silver-gold with amethyst spirals, while Empress
Annalina the Small’s petite egg—by far the smallest egg in the hall—was dark amber with ripples
of silver-gold.

She recalled reading that Mirabella the Fair had been so named because she was the Most Beautiful
Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath, yet Alicent found herself struggling to imagine anyone more
beautiful than Rhaenyra.
They had almost reached the end of the long corridor when Rhaenyra came to a halt in front of the
second-to-last pedestal on the left. The golden placard read, Empress Rhaenyra Flameborn, the
Seventh of Her Name, Two-Hundred and Forty-Ninth Empress of the Valyrian Empire.

Now given the chance to properly examine one of the eggs for the first time, Alicent couldn’t help
but notice that Rhaenyra’s was stunning—certainly worthy of having housed her heart friend before
her birth. And while she immediately recognized the absurdity of such a thought, it was undeniably
true.

The egg was beautiful.

Its primary color was the same shade of silver as Rhaenyra’s hair—shimmering and shining—and
rippling just beneath the surface of the brilliant silver were swirls and tongues of inky-blackness
that resembled nothing so much as undulating flames. The luminous surface at first appeared
smooth and unblemished—despite the lines of gold marking where Rhaenyra had broken free—but
when Alicent peered closer, she noticed the faint outlines of tiny scales.

Alicent turned to look at Rhaenyra, who was watching her with an expression somewhere between
pride and trepidation. “Your egg is lovely, Nyra.”

Though not as lovely as you.

Alicent bit the inside of her cheek, but her embarrassment was swiftly forgotten in favor of
Rhaenyra’s blinding smile.

That smile.

Alicent had seen it before.

Many times.

And it was as beautiful as ever, but—

Valyrians can’t produce children together. They chose to not be able to produce children together.

Valyrians were not Westerosi, and yet . . .

«Do you think spreading your damn legs for Adelaide will result in children!?»

No. She didn’t.

And no Valyrian believed that their unions would produce children either, yet they loved each other
all the same.

Her hands trembled, and her stomach fluttered.

She’d never allowed herself—

She’d never dared before—

But now—
She remembered the first time that Rhaenyra had held her after a night terror, the first time she’d
touched her hand, the first time she’d hugged her, the first time she’d called her “Ali,” the first time
she’d kissed her cheek—

Safe.

Rhaenyra made her feel safe.

And cherished.

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

How had she not realized—?

No.

She had realized, in truth.

She simply hadn’t known the word at first, and even once she had, she hadn’t wished to dwell,
hadn’t wished to consider, hadn’t wished to acknowledge . . .

I’m in love with her.

“Ali?” Rhaenyra’s eyes were round with concern, having of course noticed her churning thoughts.
She was always so attentive, always so considerate, always so quick to provide comfort. “Is
something the matter?”

Alicent shook her head, offering a warm smile and hoping that her voice did not betray her. “How
could anything be the matter when I’m with you?”

A faint blush darkened Rhaenyra’s cheeks, but her eyes were shining with affection. “You always
say the sweetest things, Ali.”

Because I love you, Nyra.

Her heart seized in her chest, and she fought the urge to flinch as she awaited her mother’s censure,
as she awaited being called a disgusting creature or a vile slut or a sinful little whore.

But there was nothing.

Only her own thoughts.

I love you, Nyra.

She would not say the words aloud.

Not now.

Not ever.

But simply thinking them, simply knowing them to be true . . .

It felt right.
Chapter End Notes

And that's where Valyrian babies come from.

Also, this is not a drill! This is not a drill! The thing happened! Alicent finally realized that
she's in love with Rhaenyra! Huzzah!

Next Chapter: The DNA results are in! And they say that Alicent is [redacted].

PSA: It might behoove you to reread Chapter 9—A Few Inquiring—this week . . .
(specifically the section where Dr. Nesryn Estermont appears . . .).
 Kin of Your Kin
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 38:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Laena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Bellmar
– Nesryn Estermont, a Yellow Lotus geneticist, residing at the Alcazar
– Arwen Arryn, a Blue Lotus psychologist, from the Avenian Isles

Fair warning to any of my medically or scientifically inclined readers—here there be pseudo-

science!

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Please enjoy this map of Bellmar!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Bud Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

Alicent had been smiling at her more of late.

Rhaenyra couldn’t begin to fathom why, but in the three weeks since their visit to the White Rose
Museum, she’d noticed that her heart friend had been smiling at her more often than usual. And
while the specific reason for these additional smiles did not much matter, in truth—all that mattered
was Alicent’s happiness and contentment—the slight change in her heart friend’s behavior did
puzzle her.

Perhaps Alicent simply felt closer to her after having seen her egg.

Or perhaps her heart friend was pleased because Rhaenyra had requested her help in preparing for
the Dragon Summit.

I need to persuade Visenya to officially invite her.

While the Golden Laws defined a Great Council as an assembly of the current empress and seven
queens, the eight matriarchs and fifty-six matrons, and the current prelate and mother lotus, it was
understood that her daughters, Prelate Sif, and Mother Lotus Minnora would likely be accompanied
by their mates.

Alicent isn’t my mate, of course, but she—

Rhaenyra knew that attending the Summit, witnessing the history, and being able to observe the
dragons and speak with a few of them would please her heart friend.

I’ll need to devise a better justification for Visenya.

That was a matter for another time, however.

Shaking her head, Rhaenyra returned her attention to her work.

But no sooner had she begun reading over Bartima’s latest report regarding ongoing compensation
for the volunteer work performed during and after the War than a pleasant chime filled her study.

Rising from her desk, she swiftly crossed the room to the large mirror that hung on the far wall.
The reflective surface had been obscured by a maelstrom of red and black mist, and the chime had
faded to a continuous hum. “Who calls?”

And why are they doing so over five hours before dawn?

The only reason that she was awake was because a nightmare about Emalia had already disrupted
her sleep.

As well as Alicent’s, she thought guiltily.

Thankfully, her heart friend had heeded her plea and returned to her own bed shortly after Rhaenyra
had so rudely dragged her from her deserved rest.

“Dowager Queen Laena the Fourth of Bellmar,” the mirror answered.

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows drew together at that, wondering why her sister would call on her at such an
hour. Considering she is among those most oft hectoring me to sleep more. “Put her through.”

The black and red mist faded a moment later to reveal her sister’s scowling face.

Well then.

Without so much as a word of greeting, Laena demanded, “What are you doing awake at this hour,
Rhae?”

“Answering your call.”

Laena rolled her eyes. “You know full well that isn’t what I meant.”

“Would you have preferred to disturb my sleep?”

“Yes, because that would have meant that you were asleep.” Laena tsked. “Does Alicent know that
you’re awake at this hour?”

“She does.”

Laena gave her a disbelieving look, but then sighed and shook her head. “As to why I called,” her
scowl vanished, replaced by a broad grin and an excited gleam in her eyes, “Dr. Nesryn has
finished her analysis and ‘requests your presence at your earliest convenience.’”

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat before she cleared it. “And does she have a definitive answer
on the origin of Alicent’s empathic abilities?”

“Yes, which is why I request that you come to the Alcazar now.”

“I’ll be along shortly,” she promised.

“Excellent.”

Once her sister had disappeared from the mirror, Rhaenyra teleported from her study to her armoire
in her bedchamber so that she could dress herself. As she telekinetically laced her gown, she briefly
considered calling on Alicent and asking her if she wished to accompany her to the Alcazar, but she
swiftly dismissed the thought.

She’d already disturbed her heart friend’s sleep once this night. She shouldn’t do so again.

And you don’t want her receiving potentially disquieting news from anyone but yourself.

Ignoring her mother’s pestering voice, Rhaenyra allowed herself three calming breaths before
teleporting to the Alcazar.

“There must be some mistake.” Rhaenyra stared at the report that she’d been handed, flipping once
more to the DNA analyses. While she certainly knew how to read and interpret a DNA profile,
what she was seeing couldn’t be correct.
“I’ve confirmed and reconfirmed the results nearly seven thousand times, Your Majesty,” Dr.
Nesryn assured her. “I’ve analyzed the samples every way that I know how, and I even created a
few new methods just to be certain. My results are both accurate and conclusive.”

Laena nodded in agreement. “Dr. Nesryn’s work has been reviewed and replicated by seven
different High Yellow Lotuses, Rhae. You won’t find more conclusive results than these.”

But how?

Rhaenyra expelled a harsh breath, shaking her head. When she’d initially discovered Alicent’s
empathic abilities, her mind had concocted all kinds of different explanations for how such was
possible, but not a one of them had been this.

“You bid me discover how Lady Alicent has empathic abilities identical to yours.” Dr. Nesryn
pointed to the report in Rhaenyra’s hand. “That is your answer. Like you, she is the direct
descendent of an Old World enchantress.”

So Rhaenyra had read in the report’s conclusion. But such a paltry sentence hardly explained how
that was even possible. She arched an eyebrow as she addressed Dr. Nesryn. “And how can that
be?”

The Doom had destroyed the Old World in its entirety. Fragments of the dead planet were housed in
both Valyria’s Great Library and Kervan’s Great Citadel, so that none would forget the cost of the
Old World men’s inability to accept that a woman’s magical cores were inherently stronger than a
man’s, so that none would forget how those men had corrupted their magic and their very beings
with wyrd marks and so set themselves and the planet on a path that had culminated in the Dark
Times and the complete destruction of the Old World.

None had survived the Doom.

None save for the First Generation and the Kervanite First Fathers.

So how could Alicent’s bloodline be that of an Old World enchantress?

“My current theory,” Dr. Nesryn led them over to a table that had been cleared save for some six
dozen yellow cubes and about one dozen blue cubes, “is that a group of Old Worlders fled to
Westeros before the Doom fell.” She waved her hand, and the blue cubes formed a wedge that slid
across the table to settle amongst the yellow cubes. “According to your notes, Westerosi are an old
species, but they’re still much younger than us, so when those Old Worlders arrived, they would
have encountered a native population still in the infancy of its social evolution.”

“Which means that those natives would have been easy to conquer,” Rhaenyra finished, a frown
curling her lips. Considering the unity and sisterhood that had been fostered among the women of
the Old World during the Dark Times, she suspected that this second group of refugees must have
been primarily men.

And the men of the Old World had loved little more than subjugating those weaker than
themselves. Even with the nth metal preventing them from using their magic, they still would have
been stronger, faster, more agile, more durable, much longer-lived, battle-hardened, and possessed
knowledge far more advanced than these ancient Westerosi.
“Precisely.” Dr. Nesryn snapped her fingers, and the blue cubes began dispersing amongst the
nearest yellow cubes. Each time one of the blue cubes touched a yellow cube, five or more green
cubes appeared. “Once these Old Worlders—primarily men, no doubt—seized control of the planet
and established themselves as the new ruling class, they began taking Westerosi women to wife and
siring children upon them.”

“Only highborn men are allowed multiple wives. My father said that it ensures superior genetics
are preserved into the next generation. The priests taught me that it’s Sytarr’s will his favored
children be granted this gift.” Alicent had grimaced then, her nose scrunching in a way that
Rhaenyra found utterly charming. “I’ve come to wonder if perhaps it was actually meant to curtail
female influence, by setting wives against one another.”

Rhaenyra had agreed with Alicent’s theory, but now she wondered if Lord Hightower had perhaps
been correct in a way. The Old World men would have wanted to secure their lineages by fathering
as many children as possible, so taking multiple women to wife and forcing them to bear their
children was only logical—in a twisted and terrible sort of way.

The blue cubes disappeared, leaving behind a sea of green and yellow. “These hybrid offspring
would have been faster, stronger, more durable, and lived far longer than those of pure Westerosi
ancestry, and so they continued ruling Westeros and eventually formed the planet’s High Houses.
As noted in my report, only highborn Westerosi possess Old World DNA markers, so I assume that
the highborn have only ever married each other. Our ancestors’ genes would have allowed this
practice to continue into the present day without any of the deleterious effects that usually plague
species who practice excessive inbreeding.”

Rhaenyra nodded slowly, her mind churning with the possibilities and the implications. Dr.
Nesryn’s theory certainly aligned with what she’d observed during the War and what Alicent had
told her about Westeros’ appalling class stratification. Her highborn captives had been significantly
more robust and endurant than their lowborn and houseless counterparts, and Alicent had told her
once that highborn Westerosi lived twice as long as the lowborn and four-times as long as the
houseless.

Descent from Old Worlders would certainly explain why there are such stark biological and
physiological disparities between the three classes.

During the War, she’d attributed those disparities to intentional genetic modifications, and while
that was most likely the case for the inequities between the lowborn and the houseless, Old Worlder
ancestry better explained the origins of “highborn exceptionalism.”

“While I believe that these hybrids generally favored their Westerosi mothers more than their Old
Worlder fathers,” Dr. Nesryn continued, “creatures of magic always beget creatures of magic. But
like their fathers before them, these hybrids couldn’t actually use their magic because of the nth
metal suffusing the planet. And as time went on and generations lived and died, their magic and the
various genes associated with it became dormant from disuse. Had they not, I’m certain that you
would have noticed evidence of magical ability during your War research, Your Majesty, or in the
time that Lady Alicent has lived with you.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed. “If their cores have become dormant, why is Alicent able to use her
empathic abilities?”

Dr. Nesryn hesitated as she cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I’m not entirely certain, in truth,”
she admitted. “From everything that I’ve gathered, Lady Alicent shouldn’t be able to use her
empathic abilities, even taking into account that her Old Worlder ancestor evidently belonged to an
enchantress bloodline. I’ll continue to investigate the matter, if you wish, but I thought that you
would want to know the answer to your initial question.”

“And for that, you have my thanks, Doctor.” Rhaenyra forced herself to smile even as her stomach
twisted.

Alicent was descended from Old Worlders.

The same as Rhaenyra herself.

Which meant that she couldn’t—

“Rhaenyra.” Laena’s hand was on her arm, tugging until Rhaenyra turned to face her. “I don’t know
what all is going through your mind at present, but I suspect that it’s nonsense.”

“Laena—”

“This news should please you, Rhae. It means—”

“It means that I’ve been delusional for over three years,” she snapped, easily escaping her sister’s
hold and retreating a few steps. “It means that Alicent can’t be my mate because she was
technically born—”

“Don’t be dense, Rhaenyra. Alicent is no more born of Valyria than any of your other mortal
friends. Valyria didn’t even exist when her Old World ancestors began interbreeding with her
Westerosi ancestors.” In two swift strides, Laena was standing in front of her once more and
grasping her arms. “Rhaenyra, don’t you see? This is how your mate can be a woman not born of
Valyria yet still able to experience the matebond. While I’ve no doubt that it’s remained dormant all
this time because those Old Worlders never embraced Syvenicism, the potential remained. And
perhaps, in Alicent at least, it isn’t dormant at all. Her empathic abilities certainly aren’t.”

“Laena, I don’t think—”

“Merciful Mother, Rhaenyra,” Laena huffed. “Alicent isn’t even a Daughter of the Old World,
never mind of Valyria. As Dr. Nesryn said, the hybrids favored their Westerosi mothers, and that
plainly never changed. Alicent doesn’t have scale-skin, her nails rest atop her fingertips rather than
attaching to the bone, her vocal folds don’t let her purr or growl or snarl, she only has one pharynx,
her canines are blunt, she doesn’t have transparent nictitating membranes to protect her eyes, she
has mammalian body hair, and she sweats. She’s a Westerosi, Rhaenyra. Not an Old Worlder, and
most certainly not a Valyrian. You know better than anyone how different they are from us.”

That she did, and now that her mind had somewhat calmed, she recognized that her sister was
correct.

“This is how your mate can be a woman not born of Valyria yet still able to experience the
matebond.”

For a moment, Rhaenyra almost allowed herself to believe—

“I don’t want to be your wife.”

“I want to be your friend. I only—only a friend, Nyra. That’s all I want. Please.”
It didn’t matter.

Alicent’s ancestry didn’t matter.

Her empathic abilities didn’t matter.

Her theoretical potential to experience the matebond didn’t matter.

Not when Alicent didn’t love her.

Not when Alicent desired only friendship from her.

Not when Alicent had nearly panicked at the mere thought of them as anything more.

Alicent’s happiness and comfort were all that mattered.

“Surgeons here operate using medical spells.”

“And as time went on and generations lived and died, their magic and the various genes associated
with it became dormant from disuse.”

She turned to Dr. Nesryn. “You said that highborn Westerosi’s magic is dormant, not that it was
extinguished. Does that mean they still have cores like their Old Worder ancestors?”

Dr. Nesryn only stared at her for a moment before recovering herself and swiftly nodding. “Yes,
Your Majesty, it does. As I said, creatures of magic always beget creatures of magic. The highborn
wouldn’t be alive without their cores, but their connection to them has been severed, hence why
they’re incapable of using any form of magic.”

But what has been severed might yet be mended.

“Would it be possible for you to awaken her core and reactivate the genes associated with her
magic? The way that Dr. Sarabella reactivated our oviparous genes?”

“I . . .” Dr. Nesryn’s brow furrowed as she considered. “I would need to conduct further research,”
she said slowly, “and it would help if I could speak with and examine Lady Alicent myself, but, in
theory . . . Yes, I believe it’s possible.”

Rhaenyra beamed.

Alicent had missed Rhaenyra at breakfast.

According to Aemma, her heart friend had left the Keep well before dawn and flown to the Alcazar
to meet with Laena about some matter. Perhaps foolishly, Alicent had found herself fretting over
Rhaenyra’s health. While she was fairly certain that her heart friend would have sought out Dr.
Gerarda before flying to Bellmar if she was feeling unwell, Alicent hadn’t been able to think of any
other reason for Rhaenyra’s sudden departure. Surely if she were simply visiting Laena, she would
have flown to Healer’s Haven rather than the Alcazar.

She’d known that it was silly to worry, but worry she had.
Until Mistress Lilia approached her carrying an envelope sealed with Rhaenyra’s sigil.

Alicent beamed as she accepted the letter and politely inclined her head to Mistress Lilia in thanks.

Breaking the seal, she swiftly removed the letter and unfolded it to read.

Dear Alicent,

Please forgive me for missing breakfast this morning. As recompense, and so that we might
speak about the reason for my absence, I hope that you will join me for luncheon in the glass
garden. If you are so inclined.

Yours,

Rhaenyra Flameborn

Yours.

Would that she were.

Alicent sucked in a harsh breath at the foolish thought, even as her stomach fluttered and her heart
beat faster in her chest. Rhaenyra was her heart friend. Her most dear heart friend, to be sure, but
still only her heart friend.

And Alicent would content herself with that, since Rhaenyra had made plain that she had no
romantic interest in her.

“I don’t even think about you in such a way!”

Those words hadn’t bothered her at the time. They’d actually been a great comfort to her, in truth.
But now . . .

A mate was not a wife.

Her mother’s words to her the day that she’d kissed Adelaide were as false as the poison that
Viserra had been whispering in Rhaenyra’s ear all these millennia.

A woman’s ability to bear children had naught to do with who she loved.

And if Sytarr wished to punish her for such thoughts, he would have to wait until she died, for she
intended to be happy whilst she lived.

And Rhaenyra’s care and friendship have already brought me more happiness than I ever believed
possible. How could I demand anything more from her?

She couldn’t.

Nor did she wish to.

Even if Rhaenyra were to desire her in that way, they weren’t mates.

And she had no interest in being a mere sweetheart, in being discarded the moment that Rhaenyra
found the woman Mother Relle had destined for her.

She’d been discarded enough times in her life.

She refused to put herself in a position to be discarded again.

“This is how your mate can be a woman not born of Valyria yet still able to experience the
matebond.”

Rhaenyra growled as her sister’s words from earlier echoed in her mind.

Laena didn’t understand, not in truth.

They all learned that the matebond was first and last a matter of choice, but few women truly
appreciated what that actually meant. Even if Alicent could feel the matebond, she could also still
reject it.

And that would hurt far more than if she was simply incapable of feeling it at all.

She expelled a heavy breath as she stared down at the embroidered dragons and towers and books
decorating the folds of her skirt, at the black roses, emerald orchids, lutes, and theatrical masks
adorning the hem. Each design was a work of art, and each one was precious beyond measure
because it had been stitched by Alicent.

Alicent.

Sweet, gentle, wonderful, intelligent Alicent, who any woman would be proud to call her mate.

And I am more than proud to call her my heart friend.

Which ought to be enough.

She shouldn’t ask—demand—more from Alicent than Alicent had already given her.

Alicent had given her forgiveness, friendship, trust.

How could she ask for anything more?

She couldn’t.

It was as simple as that.

“This is how your mate can be a woman not born of Valyria yet still able to experience the
matebond.”

Perhaps her sister was correct.

Perhaps Alicent was capable of experiencing the matebond.

But what did it matter, if Alicent didn’t reciprocate Rhaenyra’s love for her?

And could I even bear to experience her love knowing that I would eventually lose it?

Unless . . .

“Valyrians became immortal through magic. Could you not use the same spell on your mate?”

Some part of her had always assumed that she couldn’t, that simply trying would likely result in her
mate’s death, but . . .

The All Mother had created the immortality spell with Old Worlders’ unique biology in mind.

Westerosi are not Old Worlders.

But the highborn were descended from them.

And I know that we do share many anatomical and biological features . . .

Perhaps—

No.

She shouldn’t allow herself such foolish hope.

Yet her heart was fluttering like mad in her chest, and her magic was crooning so loudly that it was
a wonder Hylda and Sabitha stationed several meters behind her couldn’t hear it.

Hush, the both of you.

Her magic roared in response.

And for a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to hold Alicent in her
arms and know that their hearts were one, to whisper in her ear how much she loved her and hear
those words spoken to her in turn, to kiss her softly and revel in her breathless sighs of delight.

Perhaps—

The painfully wonderful scent of freshly baked bread drew Rhaenyra from her thoughts, and she
swiftly banished them back to the dark corners of her mind where they belonged.

Alicent was here, and Rhaenyra’s focus must be on the information that she had to share with her.

When Alicent arrived in the glass garden, Rhaenyra greeted her with a warm smile, but not a hug,
which was unusual, but she didn’t allow herself to dwell on it. Her heart friend was hardly obliged
to offer her a hug whenever they saw each other.

Yet Alicent missed the embrace all the same.

Perhaps she’ll hug me after luncheon.

Upon seeing that their meal was a combination of eggs, sausage, breakfast breads, and a bowl of
fresh fruit, she couldn’t help but smile even as she wagged a chiding finger at her heart friend. “I
assume this means that you didn’t eat breakfast?”

“I was otherwise occupied.” Rhaenyra offered a sheepish expression, but her eyes were alight with
a combination of anticipation and nerves. She looked beautiful as well, dressed in the ebony and
ruby-red gown that Alicent had made for her, and with her silky silver hair styled into a series of
intricate braids.

As soon as Alicent had seated herself, invisible hands gently pushed her chair closer to the table.
“Thank you, Nyra.”

“Of course.”

Alicent cocked her head at the crystal vase filled with emerald orchids gracing the center of the
table. “You don’t usually pick flowers for our meals together.”

“I thought that you would appreciate them.”

And she did, of course, but the gesture also further piqued her curiosity. As she spooned eggs onto
their plates and Rhaenyra poured them juice from a carafe, she asked, “Do you still wish to discuss
your mysterious reason for traveling to the Alcazar so early this morning?”

“I do, but,” Rhaenyra hesitated, “might I ask if you know the evolutionary reason for why the
highborn are so . . . different from the lowborn and houseless?”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. She might have expected such a question three
weeks ago when they were discussing Valyrian evolution, but now seemed a rather strange time to
raise this matter. “Well, from what we’ve gathered, some one billion years ago, highborn Westerosi
seem to have partially diverged from the lowborn and houseless. The fossil record shows that
highborn ancestors had sturdier and denser skeletons, more robust spines, better internal structures,
and so forth. But we’re not entirely certain how those features evolved. Truth be told, they seem to
have suddenly appeared at random.”

It was perhaps the greatest evolutionary mysteries on Westeros. The priests taught that Sytarr’s
divine intervention had elevated the highborn, and most accepted this reasoning since a scientific
explanation remained unforthcoming.

Rather akin to how Valyrians have accepted certain mysteries surrounding the matebond.

Rhaenyra’s expression was pensive as she nodded slowly. “I see.” She waved her hand to summon
a stack of papers neatly bound together by a thin green ribbon. “Do you recall the night when I
washed your feet?”

How could she ever forget? It had been the first time that she’d felt truly safe, perhaps since the
moment that she’d realized how much her mother despised her, and certainly since the moment that
she’d been declared barren.

It was also the night that she’d begun noticing her heart friend’s rose perfume.

“I remember.”
“That was the night I realized you have empathic abilities, when you instinctively warded yourself
against my attempt to calm you.” Pride gleamed in Rhaenyra’s eyes, causing warmth to bloom in
Alicent’s chest. “Considering the rarity of our gift, I’m sure you can imagine my shock at
discovering you possessed it.”

Alicent imagined that Rhaenyra’s shock must have been akin to her own when she’d learned that
what she’d long considered an affliction and a curse was actually an innate ability found among a
handful of Valyrians.

“Three years ago, I gave all of my research on Westerosi—including a number of DNA samples—
to a Yellow Lotus geneticist and asked her to discover the origins of your empathic abilities.”

Alicent couldn’t help but frown slightly as her grip tightened on her fork. “Was my DNA among
the samples that you provided?” It certainly wouldn’t have been difficult or even invasive for
Rhaenyra to acquire such a sample, but to do so without her leave . . .

Rhaenyra swiftly shook her head. “No. Of course not. Dr. Nesryn would have preferred to have a
sample from you as well, but I would never do such a thing without asking you first.”

The tension in her shoulders immediately uncoiled as guilt washed over her. “Please forgive me,
Nyra, for accusing you without cause.”

“It would hardly have been the first time that I acquired Westerosi DNA without consent.”

“That was different.” Alicent reached across the table and grasped her heart friend’s hand, needing
to banish the shadows darkening her expression. “You were at war. And I know that you did all
you could to avoid unnecessary harm.”

When she’d first been told that the majority of the rumors surrounding the Firestorm’s experiments
had been exaggerated by both her people and Rhaenyra’s, she hadn’t believed it. But that had been
before she and Rhaenyra became friends, before she began to see Rhaenyra for who she truly was.

She knew now without a doubt that Rhaenyra would not have harmed those soldiers more than
strictly necessary.

No matter how much they may have deserved it.

Her heart friend did not inflict pain on others for the pleasure of it.

Rhaenyra’s smile was small and grateful as she squeezed Alicent’s hand before clearing her throat
and returning to the matter before them. “In any case, I received word from Laena this morning that
Dr. Nesryn had completed her analysis and discovered the answer to my question.” She slid the
papers closer to Alicent. “That was why I went to the Alcazar.”

Releasing Rhaenyra’s hand so that both of hers were free, Alicent accepted the papers and swiftly
loosed the ribbon to begin skimming through the pages. She stopped when she came to a
comparison set of DNA profiles.

“I never properly sequenced any of the DNA samples that I’d collected,” Rhaenyra explained
softly. “Once I discovered the nth metal, it no longer seemed necessary.”
Alicent frowned as her eyes briefly scanned over the five DNA profiles before settling on the three
with highlighted segments. While she hadn’t been the most diligent student of genetics, she knew
well enough how to read a DNA profile comparison, especially when it had been so neatly labeled.

Valyrian Sample.

Old Worlder Sample.

Highborn Westerosi Sample.

The samples taken from a lowborn and houseless Westerosi were without highlighted segments.

She knew how to read a DNA profile comparison, but what she was seeing . . .

There must be some mistake.

Her eyes returned to the marked segment on the highborn Westerosi profile. She knew that genetic
marker as well as she knew her own face. It was the first marker that her tutor had shown her when
she’d begun learning about DNA sequencing. It was the marker that her father had referenced over
and over again when explaining highborn exceptionalism. It was the marker that genetic registers
always checked for before approving a highborn marriage.

HB172.

Unique to the highborn.

Never present in the lowborn or houseless.

But somehow present in both Valyrians and their Old World predecessors.

Which could only mean—

A common ancestor.

Strong Sytarr above.

Alicent’s eyes closed as her mind churned with the implications.

For time immemorial, highborn Westerosi had considered themselves superior, and once her
ancestors had learned how to sequence their entire genome, they’d been able to identify the actual
genetic marker that set them apart from the lowborn and houseless.

HB172 was responsible for their longer lifespans, their stronger bones, their more robust
musculature, their sharper senses, their enhanced speed, their durability . . .

But no one had ever been able to determine its origin.

Until now.

Opening her eyes, she raised them to meet Rhaenyra’s. “How?”

“Dr. Nesryn believes that a group of Old World men fled before the Doom and settled on Westeros.
The children who resulted from their unions with Westerosi women were hybrids who inherited this
specific genetic marker, and since the highborn only ever wed each other, the marker never spread
to the rest of the population.”

And neither did any of the traits associated with it, hence why highborn scientists had eventually
used genetic engineering to elevate the lowborn and houseless.

Descended from Old Worlders.

Sytarr above.

She almost laughed as she imagined how her father would react if he knew that highborn
exceptionalism only existed because Old World men had taken Westerosi women to wife.

Her mirth swiftly vanished as she considered what those poor women must have endured, and she
suddenly found herself wondering if her people’s current disdain for women was due to those Old
World men, or if the ancient Westerosi had already held similar beliefs.

It would probably kill Criston to learn that he shares a common ancestor with Valyrians.

A common ancestor.

A common ancestor capable of wielding magic.

No.

Surely not.

Not after all this time.

And yet . . .

She possessed empathic abilities identical to Rhaenyra’s own, and she’d since learned that empathy
was considered a form of ordered magic bound in the blood.

And all ordered magic flows from the core.

“Rhaenyra.” Her fingers clutched the papers, almost tearing them. “Do you mean to say that I . . .”
She couldn’t voice the words. They were simply too absurd.

Westerosi were not Valyrians.

They didn’t . . . They couldn’t . . .

They relied on technology, not magic.

But only because we had no choice.

She suddenly recalled reading that Kervanite society was noticeably more technologically
advanced than Valyrian society due to Kervanite’s having weaker cores than their Valyrian
counterparts.

“As men possess superior physical strength, women possess superior magical strength.”

And the strongest sorcerers of the Old World had died during the Dark Times.
Kervanites had fashioned stone railways and trains operated by earth elementalism for traveling
over land, Skargarans had built submarines propelled by water elementalism, and those residing on
the Venturian Isles had created airships.

Luwina had told her once that Kervanites utilized a combination of water and fire elementalism to
generate steam that powered “dreadfully ungainly automobiles entirely lacking the beauty and
sophistication of a proper carriage.”

“They use machines to craft their wares,” Margaery had once scoffed. “An excellent example of
male impatience.”

Alicent had assumed that it was the result of Kervan’s founding population being a quarter the size
of Valyria’s.

She wondered how far Kervanite technology might have advanced had they been without magic
and had they had access to nth metal.

“You’re a creature of magic, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s voice was soft and gentle, as if she worried that her
words might cause Alicent to flee.

They certainly would have a few years ago.

“Your core lies dormant, at present, but Dr. Nesryn believes that it can be reawakened, if you desire
it so.”

Did she desire it so?

Did she wish to wield magic?

She’d been so pleased when Mistress Damella had offered her a set of enchanted needles.

And magic was such an intrinsic part of Valyrian society and culture that lacking it . . .

«It’s such a pity that that eidetic memory of yours can never be put to good use. You could have
been a phenomenal physician, Lady Alicent.»

“It would be a waste of their time. Medicine here relies almost entirely on magic, which I don’t
have.”

But she could . . . according to Rhaenyra.

She could . . .

Alicent’s teeth sank into her lower lip.

Rhaenyra offered her hand, waiting until Alicent had laced their fingers together. “You needn’t
decide now, Ali. This isn’t something to accept or reject on a whim.”

It most certainly wasn’t.

“Thank you, Nyra, for telling me.” Alicent’s eyes fell upon the papers in her hand once more. “May
I keep these? For now?”
“They’re yours, Ali.” Rhaenyra squeezed her hand. “Do as you like with them.”

Alicent simply nodded, knowing that she would need to read over each word with care, and
perhaps she might speak with this Dr. Nesryn as well. She would certainly have much to discuss
with Dr. Arwen this afternoon.

“You’re a creature of magic, Ali.”

Merciful Mother above.

Arwen did not often allow herself to ruminate upon the Dark Times or the Doom of the Old World.
Such memories brought little more than pain, though the rage that they’d once ignited had long ago
faded as she’d healed. However, simply because she rarely thought of her life on the Old World did
not mean that she had forgotten any of it.

She still remembered the wars that had ravaged the planet. She still remembered the destruction of
Kingdoms and cities and the fall of Empires. She still remembered feeling the earth quake beneath
her feet, still remembered the flames that had consumed the sky, still remembered the boiling
oceans, still remembered the crumbling mountains, still remembered the great fissures that
appeared across the globe. She still remembered the dying. She still remembered the screams of
agony, still remembered the blood and bone, still remembered the mountains of corpses left to rot,
still remembered the tears shed for lost sisters and cousins and mothers and aunts and nieces and
daughters.

And she still remembered the rumors.

Hushed rumors about several thousand men who had fled the Old World in commandeered
starships several years before the Doom.

At the time, she’d thought little of such whispers. She and the other members of the First
Generation had been occupied by far more pressing concerns. And over time, during the Long
Travels and the Founding and the Silver Age and the nigh one billion years since, she’d almost
forgotten those rumors entirely.

Until today.

The execution of the surviving Old World males once they’d sired sons to replace them had never
been questioned. The strict and meticulous instruction of those sons to ensure that they remained
untainted by Old World doctrines had never been questioned. The Kervanite Exodus in the year
2056 AD and the subsequent almost-four-million-year-long Viceroyalty wherein Kervan was ruled
by Valyrian viceroys had never been questioned. The decision to not immortalize the Kervanites
until the year 3,935,494 AD—when the All Mother had determined that they could be trusted with
such a gift—had never been questioned.

And for good reason, it seemed.

For what was Westeros’ horrific and barbaric society save for confirmation that the Old World
males would have continued subjugating women in perpetuity if given the means and the
opportunity?
We should have destroyed them when we had the chance.

At minimum, they should have killed all of the highborn males.

But that was something to be debated another day.

Arwen had far more pressing matters to attend to at present in the form of Alicent’s many
ruminations regarding her newly discovered heritage.

When Alicent had begun their session with the revelation that she was descended from Old
Worlders, Arwen would have expected that that would remain their focus for the rest of their time
together.

But Alicent had somehow transitioned from her ancestry and potential for magic to how Westerosi
society might have been affected by those Old World men to a discussion about what impact the
matebond might have had on her ancestors, had it been reawakened.

Arwen was of the personal opinion that it wouldn’t have made much difference. Even if the
matebond had somehow been reawakened in those men, they simply would have found a way to
suppress it again, just as their ancestors had.

“When marriage rose, the matebond fell.”

Marriages could be dictated. The matebond could not.

The ancient men of the Old World hadn’t been able to tolerate such a lack of control.

She doubted that the men who had conquered Westeros would have been much different.

Such thoughts she kept to herself though.

Besides, Alicent’s own thoughts on how the matebond might have made her ancestors more
tolerant of women who loved women and men who loved men were not without merit. While the
majority of information pertaining to the ancient matebond had been destroyed during Wyrd Fall,
Arwen recalled hearing that the matebond of old hadn’t seemed to consider gender.

It was Mother Relle who had gifted them with a matebond meant only for Valyrians, and Korr
Sunborn had done the same for the Kervanites once he came into existence.

Well, I suppose our matebond isn’t entirely exclusive to us.

Not for the first time, she found herself wondering when Alicent would finally realize that she and
Queen Rhaenyra were mates. Alicent’s progress in the months since she’d learned about the
matebond and told Arwen about her first kiss with Adelaide had been a delight and a joy to witness.
Watching her break free from her people’s poisonous doctrines and recognize that there was
nothing wrong with being attracted to women had been almost as satisfying as Alicent
acknowledging that she hadn’t deserved Criston or her mother’s abuse.

“Dr. Arwen,” Alicent wore a pensive expression as she twisted her emerald orchid ring around her
finger, “do you think that it would ever be possible for a highborn Westerosi to experience the
matebond?”
Arwen forced herself to remain calm, forced herself not to clap her hands in delight. “In theory, I
should think it would be possible. The matebond was inherent to Old Worlders, and the only reason
that it became dormant was because our ancestors were taught to suppress it for so long.”

Alicent nodded slowly before expelling a quiet sigh. “Considering Sytarr’s Scriptures and all that
has happened since, I doubt that such a reawakening would ever happen.”

Perhaps not for them.

“Part of me wishes . . .” A blush was staining Alicent’s cheeks as she looked down at her lap.
“When Rhaenyra invited me to luncheon, I found myself thinking . . .” She hesitated, raising her
head to meet Arwen’s eyes. “Promise that you won’t think me foolish. Or at least that you’ll hide
it.”

Arwen smiled gently. It had been quite some time since Alicent had needed such an assurance. “I
promise, Alicent. I’m here to help you, not to judge you.”

Alicent laced her fingers together. “I realized earlier this month that . . . Well, it occurred to me that
I’m,” her face somehow managed to redden even further, “I think—I am in love with Rhaenyra.”

Elation surged through Arwen with such force that she nearly leapt to her feet—

“But I know that she doesn’t care for me the same way.”

Arwen forced herself not to groan aloud. In addition to being grossly unprofessional, she’d
promised Alicent not to judge her. “Alicent—”

“And even if she did, we’re not mates, and I don’t wish to be her sweetheart.” Alicent’s nose
wrinkled slightly. “I don’t wish to feel as if I’m no more than a . . . placeholder.”

Which was entirely understandable.

“When she told me that I’m descended from Old Worlders, a part of me wished . . .” A wry smile
curled her lips. “It was foolish.”

“Alicent, there is nothing foolish about wanting to be loved.”

Alicent didn’t respond at once, but when she did, her voice was firm with conviction. “I don’t mind
that she doesn’t love me in that way. She loves me as a heart friend, and I’m content with that.” She
smiled softly. “I’m content with that, and I’m content with myself. I’m happy with my life as it is
now. I never knew that I could be either of those things before coming here.”

Despite her utter exasperation, Arwen couldn’t help but mirror Alicent’s smile. “I would say that
being happy with yourself is far more important than nigh anything else.”

“As would I.”

Here's a Valyrian phylogenetic tree! (Sans Westerosi)

Chapter End Notes

Congrats to those who have been commenting/theorizing since the beginning that Alicent is
somehow a Valyrian. You were both correct and incorrect (depending on how you look at it)!

🤯
Rhaenyra: You're a lizard wizard, Ali!
Alicent:

Next Chapter: Kivio Vūjigon.

 Declarations
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 39:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden guest, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Cersei Lannister, a Casterly Rock courtier, from Gelt

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Enjoy this map of the Cairdic Empire (one of the Old World's Three Great Empires)!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Summer Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

Alicent awoke to the sound of a gentle knock on her bedchamber door and the mouth-watering
smell of scrambled eggs and sausages wafting into the room. She was also fairly certain that she
could detect the sweeter scents of freshly-picked berries and warm sweet cakes. A smile was
already forming on her lips as she pushed herself up into a sitting position and swiftly wiped the
remnants of sleep from her eyes.

Almost without thought, she reached up and did her best to tuck away some of the loose strands of
hair that had come free from her nightly braid whilst she’d slept. Even though she knew that
Rhaenyra wouldn’t expect her to appear immaculate first thing in the morning, she still wished to
look presentable for her heart friend.

“Ali?” Rhaenyra’s voice was muffled by the door’s thick wood, but Alicent still heard the
underlying note of concern.

“A moment, Nyra,” she called back, hurriedly arranging the covers around her waist as she propped
herself up against the pillows and headboard of her bed. She knew that she was behaving foolishly,
but she’d found herself oft doing rather foolish things in the months since she’d realized that she
was in love with her heart friend. “You may come in.”

Rhaenyra swept inside a moment later and swiftly crossed the room to Alicent’s bed. She held a
silver tray in her hands, which had been polished to the point of shining in the morning light
streaming in through Alicent’s windows. Neatly arranged on the tray’s flat surface was a plate of
steaming eggs and sausage links, a small bowl filled with sunberries, a glass of juice, and a smaller
plate bearing three sweet cakes.

After setting the tray down on Alicent’s bedside table, Rhaenyra held out her hands. Her beaming
smile brightened even further when Alicent immediately gave her, her hands. “Happy Birthday,
Ali.” Rhaenyra brought Alicent’s hands to her lips and pressed a warm kiss against the back of each
one.

Alicent’s breath hitched, and she could feel her heart stutter in her chest. Surely Rhaenyra must
hear it as well? “Thank you, Nyra.” Her voice didn’t waver or break, for which she was grateful.
Reclaiming one of her hands, she patted the space beside her on the bed. “Join me?”

Rhaenyra only hesitated a moment—a vast improvement from the first time that Alicent had
invited her onto her bed—before nodding her acquiescence.

Once she was properly settled beside Alicent, Rhaenyra lifted the tray from the bedside table and
placed it across Alicent’s lap. “Please enjoy, Ali.”

“Only if you do the same.” Alicent pushed the tray to one side so that half of it rested on
Rhaenyra’s thigh. “I don’t wish for you to simply watch me eat, Nyra,” she added when her heart
friend’s mouth opened in protest.

“Very well.” Rhaenyra delicately plucked two berries from the small bowl.

As they ate—Rhaenyra using her telekinesis in place of a fork—Alicent couldn’t help but notice
the faint shadows hanging beneath her heart friend’s eyes. The nightmares were coming more
frequently now, she knew, and she suspected that they’d been growing worse as well.

She’d refrained from speaking about Rhaenyra’s nightmares for months now—both out of respect
for her heart friend’s wishes and the fact that Rhaenyra had never once forced Alicent to speak
about her night terrors—but others had begun expressing their concerns of late, including Aemma,
Vora Hylda, and Lady Rhaenys.
“You’re the only person she’s ever heeded regarding her sleeping habits. Perhaps you can persuade
her to take a sleeping draught before bed so that she remains asleep, or a tonic to banish her
dreams entirely.”

Aemma’s expression had been concerned and pleading when she’d spoken to her the day before,
and while Alicent had promised to speak with Rhaenyra, she didn’t intend to support either of
Aemma’s suggestions—though she would of course offer them.

Stealing Rhaenyra’s ability to wake herself from her nightmares would be cruel—Alicent didn’t
even wish to imagine being denied the sweet relief of wakefulness from her own night terrors—but
she also didn’t think that removing her nightmares entirely would be sensible. Dr. Arwen had told
her that sleep was oft a time for processing, and considering how much Rhaenyra repressed during
her waking hours, it did not seem wise to allow similar repression whilst she slept.

“You’re rather pensive this morning, Ali.” Rhaenyra cocked her head slightly. “Tell me your
troubles?” She nudged the plate of sweet cakes closer to her. “I’ll give you the stars.”

Alicent glanced down at the desserts, a teasing smile curling her lips. “Those do not look much like
stars to me, Nyra.”

Rhaenyra laughed. “They could be shaped into stars, if you wished.”

“Shape matters little compared to taste.” Alicent picked up a sweet cake and handed it to her heart
friend. “I was contemplating your nightmares,” she admitted, once Rhaenyra had taken a bite of the
cake.

The way that Rhaenyra shuddered made Alicent long to press closer to her and clasp her hand, but
she instead occupied herself with slicing up a sausage link, watching out of the corner of her eye as
her heart friend chewed slowly in order to gather her thoughts. When she finally spoke, her voice
was soft. “What about them, Ali?”

“I know that they’ve been growing worse of late.” She’d been awaking a few times each week to
the feeling of Rhaenyra’s distress, which somehow always reached her even when she was deep in
the throes of sleep. “And I wish to help you, if you’ll allow.”

Rhaenyra was silent for a long moment, lips pursed as she stared hard at the half-eaten sweet cake
in her hand. “And how would you help?”

There was nothing cruel or biting in her tone, nothing derisive or condescending. Rather, there was
only genuine curiosity and something very much resembling fragile hope.

Good. Her heart friend actually wanting help would make this matter far easier to navigate. “The
same way that you’ve always helped me.” Alicent reached over and squeezed Rhaenyra’s arm.
“The same way that you still help me, when necessary.”

While they sometimes sat and spoke a little with each other following one of Rhaenyra’s
nightmares, her heart friend always maintained a distance between them and never allowed Alicent
to actually touch her, never mind hold her and comfort her. More oft than not, Rhaenyra simply
insisted that Alicent return to her own bed after apologizing for disturbing her sleep.

Rhaenyra immediately shook her head. “No. I don’t wish to hurt you.”
“Nyra—”

Rhaenyra sharply held up her hand, but her voice was gentle. “Alicent, I know you mean well, and
while your offer is very tempting, I dare not risk it.”

“You would never hurt me.”

“Not intentionally, no. But when I’m asleep?” Rhaenyra shook her head again, expelling a heavy
sigh. “Ali, when you have your night terrors, you often kick and lash out at me, which is fine,” she
added hastily. “You can’t physically hurt me, but if I were to do the same to you . . .” A shudder
rippled through her body as she nearly crushed the sweet cake in her hand. “I couldn’t bear causing
you harm, Ali.”

This was exactly the argument that Alicent had been expecting, and while she knew that
Rhaenyra’s fears were warranted, she had no intention of allowing those fears to cost her heart
friend her much needed rest. She knew well the distress and exhaustion that came with healing old
wounds that had long ago festered, and Rhaenyra didn’t deserve to suffer that pain alone.

Which was why she’d spent the past month researching potential solutions to the problem of
Rhaenyra accidentally hurting her.

“What if you cast a deflection shield spell on me?”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows arched.

“Or you could attach it to something that I usually wear at night or can easily slip on. My hair
ribbon, perhaps, or my emerald orchid ring. Then any potential strikes or kicks would never make
contact with me.” Alicent motioned towards the door connecting their bedchambers. “And you
could interweave the primary matrix with an attack recognition component similar to the one that
Empress Daenerys incorporated into the door’s original foundation shield so that my shield could
similarly differentiate between ‘attacks’ and harmless contact such as touching my arm or holding
my hand.”

For a moment, Rhaenyra only stared at her.

Then she grinned and clapped her hands together in delight. “I hadn’t realized that you’d begun
studying wizardry, Ali.”

Alicent’s chest swelled with pride, and she found herself preening more than was probably
deserved. “Well, when your heart friend informs you that you have the potential capability to wield
magic,” Sytarr above, even now, the words felt strange to say aloud, “it’s only natural to conduct
proper and thorough research on its theory, application, analysis, and origins.”

She and Nesryn had also been meeting regularly to discuss the theory and possibility of awakening
her core.

“But of course.” Rhaenyra’s proud and pleased smile became pensive as she drummed the fingers
of her free hand on her leg. “The sort of shield that you’re suggesting should certainly be possible
to construct,” she paused, “but actually testing it . . .”

“I’m perfectly willing to perform whatever tests are necessary, Nyra.” Alicent swayed to one side
so that she could nudge Rhaenyra’s shoulder with her own. “But if that discomfits you, you could
always simply enchant an object, hold or wear it yourself, and then see what happens when next
you spar with Sabitha and Vora Hylda.”

Rhaenyra snorted, but her eyes were alight with mirth. “Ah. I see. This is all actually an elaborate
ploy to allow my knights the opportunity to mistreat me.”

“Alas, it seems that you’ve discovered by scheme,” Alicent sighed, shoulders slumping. “You’re far
too clever for your own good, Nyra.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Truly?”

Rhaenyra made an affronted sound, pressing a hand to her chest. “You’re very lucky that it’s your
birthday, Lady Alicent, elsewise I would seek proper recompense for such an insult to my royal
person.”

Alicent offered her a second sweet cake. “Am I forgiven, Your Majesty?”

Her heart friend harrumphed in response, waving away the cake. “You know that I would never
steal two of your favorite desserts from you when there are but three.”

“Do you expect me to believe that you didn’t make at least a dozen more this morning?”

Amusement flashed in Rhaenyra’s eyes. “You know me too well, Ali.”

“I do.” Alicent reached over and laced their fingers together, squeezing gently. “And it’s a privilege
for which I will be forever grateful.”

Something flashed in Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes, but it was there and gone too swiftly for Alicent to
identify. “I promised you that I would do all I could to ensure that every birthday you celebrate here
is a pleasant one,” she paused, “so I must ask, are you still certain that my plans for the day are
acceptable?”

Alicent nodded without hesitation, a soft smile curling her lips. “I am.”

When Rhaenyra had first sought her permission to plan a small birthday celebration for her, Alicent
had admittedly been nervous, given what happened on her birthday the year prior, but she’d also
been certain that Rhaenyra would take care not to overwhelm or discomfort her, so she’d
acquiesced.

Rhaenyra’s bright and beaming smile when she’d agreed to a small amount of festivities had
convinced her that she’d made the correct decision.

And seeing that same smile again now, Alicent was even more convinced than she’d been a month
ago.

Even after months of riding lessons, Alicent still wasn’t very comfortable or confident in the
saddle, so when Rhaenyra had first suggested riding out into the Heartland Woods for a nice
luncheon among the trees with her friends, Alicent had been hesitant.
But then Rhaenyra had grinned and offered to share her own saddle so that Alicent needn’t worry
about directing the horse, remaining properly balanced, upsetting the beast with her own nerves,
falling, or any of the other myriad of matters that plagued her whenever she attempted to ride.

Alicent had readily agreed after that.

It wasn’t that she disliked riding. She simply didn’t enjoy it as much as Rhaenyra and some of her
other friends, though she admittedly enjoyed it far more when she was able to ride with her back
resting comfortably against Rhaenyra’s front and her heart friend was the one managing
Nevermore.

Margaery—as it so happened—was an avid horsewoman. At present, she was practically trotting

circles around the rest of them and attempting to goad Ygritte into racing with her after having
failed to persuade Sansa and Aly.

“Should we accept Lady Margaery’s challenge, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s warm breath caressed her cheek,
sending a pleasant shiver rippling down Alicent’s spine.

Which was an entirely improper reaction to her heart friend.

“I don’t even think about you in such a way!”

Alicent swiftly buried the memory as she turned her head slightly to look at Rhaenyra. “If you wish
to race, you may, but I’ll be walking or riding with Sansa in that case.”

The arm loosely wrapped around her middle tightened a fraction. “I suppose we’ll not be racing
then.”

When they reached the clearing that Rhaenyra had chosen for their meal, Alicent couldn’t help but
laugh when Rhaenyra practically leapt from Nevermore’s back so that she could offer Alicent her
assistance in dismounting. And she couldn’t help but notice how none of her friends made similar
offers to their mates.

Twisting in the saddle, she leaned down to carefully brace her hands against Rhaenyra’s shoulders,
while Rhaenyra’s own hands rose to grasp her waist. “I’m ready.”

With all the ease of picking up a glass, Rhaenyra lifted her from the saddle and placed her down on
the ground. “Any soreness?”

Alicent shook her head, her hands lingering perhaps a moment too long on Rhaenyra’s shoulders,
though she noticed that her heart friend seemed in no hurry to release her waist. “Thank you,
Nyra.”

“Considering I still recall the first time that you attempted to dismount, it seemed wise to avoid any
chance of repetition.” Amusement glinted in Rhaenyra’s eyes, and a hot flush spread across
Alicent’s cheeks.

“I can’t be blamed for lacking grace my first time riding something so large.”

Before Rhaenyra could respond, Gilly cleared her throat. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but
luncheon is ready.”
Rhaenyra’s hands fell from Alicent’s waist as she turned to face Gilly. “Thank you, Gilly. And
while we’re out here, you needn’t bother with titles. This excursion is meant to be entirely
enjoyable for all of us. There’s no need to ruin it with formalities.”

Gilly blinked owlishly in a way that Alicent knew meant her friend would likely not be addressing
Rhaenyra at all until they returned to the Keep if she could manage. “As you say.”

No sooner had they assembled their food on their plates and seated themselves with the others on
the thick blankets that had been spread out over the forest floor, than Margaery withdrew a deck of
cards from one of her pockets. “In honor of Alicent’s birthday, I thought that we might play a
modified version of primera.”

“I’m not playing where we wager articles of clothing again,” Ygritte huffed.

Rhaenyra coughed a little, shifting beside Alicent as her cheeks darkened.

Alicent reached over and patted her hand, well-remembering her own embarrassment when her
friends had told her about the time when Margaery had convinced a group of them to stake their
own clothes rather than coins.

Aemma and Luwina exchanged an amused look.

“Nothing so scandalous as that, Ygritte.” Margaery waved dismissively. “I’ve no interest in causing
Alicent to faint from shock or embarrassment.”

“Since when?” Aly teased.

“I’m ignoring you, Aly.” And indeed, Margaery’s eyes hadn’t once left Alicent herself. “I propose
that we wager compliments instead.”

Alicent’s cheeks reddened as she began twisting her emerald orchid ring around her finger. “I
thought you said that you didn’t wish me to faint from embarrassment.”

“Did I say that all of the compliments were for you?” Margaery tsked, though her eyes twinkled as
she finally shifted her gaze away from Alicent to look at Sansa. “She’s grown rather vain in her old
age.”

“I believe it happens to us all,” Sansa sighed. “How else am I to explain you?”

Alicent didn’t even attempt to smother her laughter, which was echoed by Ygritte, Gilly, and Aly.
Catelyn, Aemma, and Luwina joined them a moment later.

Rhaenyra’s own chuckle was softer than theirs, but still as musical and lilting as ever.

Margaery snorted and made a point of shuffling her cards, but an amused smile tugged at the
corners of her mouth.

By the time that their laughter calmed, Margaery had already dealt everyone seven cards. “As I was
saying, we’ll be staking compliments instead of coins. During the betting phase, each of us will
state a number of compliments we’re willing to offer. Whoever wins the hand will then receive the
requisite compliments. For the sake of time, each one should be short, and there will only be one
betting round per hand.”
Aly arched an eyebrow at Margaery. “Considering how well you play, Margaery, I’m beginning to
wonder if this isn’t all some scheme to trick us into praising you.”

“While I appreciate your recognition of my cunning, Aly, my intentions are pure in this.”

“Sansa,” Ygritte drawled, “is your mate feeling well? She’s not sounding at all like herself.”

Margaery rolled her eyes before making a point of gathering her cards and fanning them out to
inspect them.

After another moment, everyone else did the same.

Gilly won the first hand, followed by Sansa—much to Margaery’s delight—Catelyn, and Rhaenyra.

As the betting round for the fifth hand began, Alicent paid special attention to the wagers. With full
support favoring the crown and a pair, she was almost certain to win, and she wished to brace
herself. For while Gilly’s initial victory had set a precedent for compliments being heartfelt or silly
—Sansa had praised Gilly’s thoughtfulness while Luwina had complimented her ability to never
spill food on any of the library’s books—she knew in her bones that Rhaenyra would offer her
sincere praises—if only because Alicent’s own compliments had been genuine—and she feared
how much her flaming cheeks and thundering heart might reveal.

“Seven,” Rhaenyra declared when her turn to wager came.

Alicent was certain that either her god or Rhaenyra’s goddess must be taunting her.

When everyone revealed their cards, Margaery immediately began clapping upon seeing Alicent’s.
“Finally. I was beginning to fear that we might never reach this moment.”

“You cannot rush such things, Margie,” Sansa chided, though the laughter in her voice ruined any
attempt at a reprimand.

“Well, I can most certainly try.” Margaery returned her attention to Alicent, her face even brighter
than when Sansa had won. “Alicent, you are a wonderful friend, have a far more daring and
adventurous spirit than even you seem to recognize, oft see matters in a way that few of us can, and
you are always so open to learning and experiencing new things.”

The hot flush of embarrassment that she could feel burning her cheeks must have spread to her
neck as well, for Alicent noticed Rhaenyra’s eyes briefly glancing down at her throat. “Thank you,
Margaery.”

“Of course.” Margaery’s eyes glinted in the sunlight, mischief dancing in them.

Aemma spoke next, her voice warm with what could only be described as maternal affection. “Your
care and consideration for others has always shone through, even when it had no reason to do so.
You are an excellent listener,” she grinned, “and you have a special talent for making our dear
queen actually have a care for her own well-being.”

Alicent couldn’t help but laugh at the final compliment, which earned her a gentle and playful swat
from Rhaenyra.

By the time that Rhaenyra’s turn came, Alicent was certain that she must be bright red from the top
of her head down to the tips of her toes, and yet she would be lying if she claimed that she wasn’t
warmed by her friends’ sincere care and affection for her.

When she turned to look at her, Rhaenyra’s eyes were soft in that special way Alicent had noticed
they only ever seemed to become when gazing at her. “You, Alicent Hightower, are one of the most
intelligent people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. You are compassionate and kind, even to
those who do not deserve it. But you’re fierce as well, and so very, very strong. You are far more
resilient than anyone should ever have to be, and your ability to not only live, but thrive despite all
that you’ve endured is admirable beyond words. You’re funny and bright and vivacious, and your
laughter always makes me smile. And,” her eyes lowered for a brief moment to settle on the scar
encircling Alicent’s left wrist, “you’re beautiful,” she murmured. “In every way, you’re beautiful,
Ali.”

Blood roared in Alicent’s ears, and her heart thundered in her chest. The very air seemed to crackle
with invisible lightning even as silence engulfed the clearing. She felt . . . Something deep inside
her was stirring, and her hands trembled, and she wanted . . . She wanted to reach for Rhaenyra, to
take her face between her hands and—

“I don’t even think about you in such a way!”

Alicent’s mind abruptly cleared, and she forced herself to swallow past the tightness in her throat,
begged her heart to slow. Her tongue felt thick and heavy in her suddenly dry mouth, and she
forced her eyes to return to Rhaenyra’s.

She hadn’t even realized that they’d lowered to her heart friend’s lips.

“Thank you, Nyra,” she finally managed, her words woefully inadequate to express all that she felt,
all that Rhaenyra’s own words had meant to her.

And yet, it seemed that Rhaenyra somehow understood her all the same.

Forgetting—or perhaps simply not caring in that moment—about the women surrounding them,
Rhaenyra leaned forward and briefly pressed her forehead against Alicent’s. “Mere words can
never properly convey what a marvel you are, Ali.”

Nor could they ever convey what a wonder you are, Nyra.

Night had fallen almost an hour past, and Alicent was pleasantly exhausted.

Following their luncheon in the woods with her friends, Rhaenyra had commandeered her for
several hours so that they could visit the Silver Rose Museum, which was dedicated entirely to the
life and reign of Empress Daenerys. Alicent had listened with rapt attention as Rhaenyra narrated
her ancestor’s history whilst they perused the various artifacts and displays. When she’d asked if
the All Mother remained involved in Valyria’s politics, Rhaenyra had shaken her head and
explained that the Original Rulers preferred to spend their time at Dragonstone or traveling around
Valyria.

Evidently, Empress Daenerys, Queen Maerella, Queen Aenora the Unexpected—who had
succeeded Aerysa following the Betrayal—Queen Rhaena, Queen Naerys, Queen Daenys, and
Queen Valaena had little interest in ruling after all this time, and only ever involved themselves
when strictly necessary.
“Such as after the net broke.”

Alicent had swiftly banished the shadows that had darkened her heart friend’s expression by taking
her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back, and reminding her that neither the net nor its breaking
were Rhaenyra’s fault.

She was certain that, one day, her heart friend would believe her.

When she and Rhaenyra had returned from the museum, Rhaenyra had been called away by her
Small Council, and Alicent’s other friends had immediately claimed her for an afternoon spent on
the river.

Rhaenyra had hosted supper in her personal small dining hall, which not four months ago had been
darkened by Viserra’s presence and the family dinner that had ended with the dowager queen’s
banishment.

Tonight’s supper had been a far more pleasant affair—surrounded as she was by friends and
enjoying Gilly’s remarkably successful attempts to recreate some of her favorite Westerosi dishes.
And she’d been able to spend the meal seated beside Rhaenyra, who had donned the gown that
Alicent had made for her before joining them in the small dining hall.

After they’d finished eating, Margaery and Sansa had presented her with an illuminated copy of
Know Thy Heart—a book written by Lady Martell and Lady Lannister during the Dark Times that
advocated for the acceptance of romantic relationships between two women. Margaery had smiled
slyly the entire time, and even Sansa’s eyes had twinkled with mischief.

Alicent had chosen not to dwell on the unsubtle message her friends seemed intent on
communicating.

Aemma and Luwina had gifted her with a small, silver pillow for her and Rhaenyra’s settee.
Embroidered onto the front in emerald-green thread was the phrase “Words Are Wind. Actions Are
Stone.”

Seeing those words had immediately reminded Alicent of the night when Rhaenyra had washed her
feet.

Sabitha and Aly had given her a lacquered box emblazoned with an emerald orchid to store her
sewing supplies in.

Her smile had faltered upon seeing the pretty box, her thoughts wandering to the small, lacquered
box still hidden away in her bedchamber that contained the flower necklace she’d woven for
Rhaenyra before their night at the theatre.

Ygritte and Gilly had given her a blank journal for recording her stray musings, recipes, or
anything else that struck her fancy.

Alicent’s throat had tightened for a brief moment as she’d remembered the recording crystal that
Gwayne had once snuck her when she was young. She’d adored that little crystal—until the day
that their mother had discovered it and ordered her to destroy «that dreadful distraction» at once.

Rhaenyra’s gift, as she’d proudly declared, was “a new experience.”

The performance of a bard, to be precise.

“Bards offer a story, a poem, a history, and a song all at once,” her heart friend had explained,
“and Mistress Allenna Velaryon is among the most admired in all the world.”

And so Alicent and her friends retired to Rhaenyra’s presence chamber following supper.

Upon entering the room, Alicent at once noticed that Rhaenyra’s small throne had been replaced by
a comfortable-looking chair in front of which stood a large harp. She also couldn’t help but smile
when she saw that her and Rhaenyra’s favored settee had been moved from her own privy chamber
and placed directly in front of the dais where Mistress Allenna would be performing.

“Alicent.”

She turned at the sound of Margaery’s voice, confusion furrowing her brow when she saw that her
friend was accompanied by a woman whom Alicent had never seen before.

Dressed in a gown of blood-red silk trimmed with golden Nordish lace and spangled with hundreds
of tiny emeralds and sapphires, the woman sparkled even more than Mistress Corla when the
mistress of laws was feeling particularly ostentatious. Half-a-dozen rings glinted on her fingers, and
a necklace of diamonds and emeralds encircled her throat.

“Alicent, might I introduce to you my beloved old auntie.” Margaery swept her hand out with a
flourish towards the woman.

Aunt?

Alicent had vague recollections of Margaery mentioning that her mother had a younger sister, but
she didn’t recall a name ever being given.

Margaery’s aunt snorted, giving Margaery an exasperated look. “I’m not even two reigns your
elder.”

“Old, as I said,” Margaery teased.

Tsking, Margaery’s aunt turned her attention to Alicent. “Don’t mind her. She’s always been a
menace.” She then inclined her head in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Alicent. And
since my darling niece has apparently forgotten all decorum, my name is Cersei Lannister.”

Lannister.

Not Tyrell.

Which meant that they weren’t actually related by blood.

When explaining her people’s decision to become oviparous, Rhaenyra had said that the option of
simply tinkering with their genes to allow women to impregnate each other had been rejected as a
way of avoiding accidental pregnancy.

Luwina—while not disagreeing with that explanation—had later told her that the option had been
rejected in part because magisters “had simply grown rather fond of single bloodline genealogies
following the Doom.”
Since the Founding, House and Clan names had always followed bloodlines—passing from birth
mother to birth daughter. While a woman’s second mother would always be that—her mother, first
and last—it was love that bound them, not blood or name.

Alicent’s eyes shifted between Margaery and Lady Cersei for a moment. “So your mother and
Margaery’s grandmother are mates then,” she looked at Margaery, “but your mother isn’t Lady
Cersei’s blood sister.”

Margaery grinned. “Exactly so. Grandmother and Grandmama Tywinna both wished to continue
their bloodlines, so they each birthed a daughter.”

She wondered absently how common that was and made a mental note to research the matter later.
Or perhaps I should make a written note in my new journal.

“Are you visiting Margaery then, Lady Cersei?” Part of her wondered why Lady Cersei was here in
particular, but she knew that it would be rude to ask.

“Hardly,” Lady Cersei scoffed, though Alicent was relieved to hear an underlying note of affection
as Lady Cersei lightly elbowed Margaery’s side. “It’s all that I can do to escape this woman more
oft than not.”

“You adore me.”

“For your grandmother’s sake, entirely.”

Margaery made an affronted sound, and a sharp gust of wind suddenly whipped around Lady
Cersei’s head, who retaliated with a small wisp of fire that singed the sleeve of Margaery’s gown.

Lady Cersei returned her attention to Alicent, making a great show of ignoring Margaery. “I’m here
for my mate, actually. Catelyn.”

Alicent was saved from having to conceal her surprise by Catelyn herself suddenly appearing and
distracting both Lady Cersei and Margaery. And she couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of guilt
as she watched Lady Cersei greet Catelyn with an affectionate smile and a lingering kiss on the
cheek.

She’d known that Catelyn was mated, but she’d admittedly never given much thought to the
identity of her friend’s mate. Before she’d learned about the matebond, Catelyn had of course never
mentioned Lady Cersei, and even after Alicent had learned, Catelyn had never spoken her mate’s
name, saying only that she missed her.

Alicent had never gathered the courage to ask after Catelyn’s mate’s absence, but perhaps she
should have.

“Have your cousins finally relieved you of your duties, or has Lady Lannister returned home?”
Catelyn was asking, her tone hopeful.

“Neither, I’m afraid,” Lady Cersei sighed. “Grandmother Lannister remains at Sunspear, and my
cousins insist that I’m needed at the Rock until she returns.”

“The price of competency,” Margaery simpered.

Lady Cersei made a shooing motion at her. “Begone with you, Margaery. The adults are speaking.”
Margaery didn’t move.

A brisk knock on the door drew everyone’s attention, and it opened a moment to reveal a tall and
stately woman dressed in sea-green silks with a silver seahorse embroidered on her bodice.

“Mistress Allenna Velaryon,” Vora Casilda announced.

Mistress Allenna swept into the room to curtsy deeply to Rhaenyra, who had remained near the dais
the entire time that Alicent had been speaking with Margaery and Lady Cersei. “Your Majesty, it is
my great honor and pleasure to be here this evening.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mistress Allenna, and I hope that it shall be everyone else’s soon enough.”
Rhaenyra motioned for her to rise before ushering her over to where Alicent stood. “May I
introduce the Lady Alicent Hightower.”

Mistress Allenna offered her a small curtsy. “Happy Birthday, My Lady.”

“Thank you.” Alicent prayed that her blush wasn’t too noticeable. She’d yet to become
reaccustomed to people curtsying to her after decades spent in Wasran Palace where even the
service bots had been programmed to treat her with disdain. “And thank you for agreeing to
perform tonight.”

“I was delighted beyond words when I received Her Majesty’s invitation, I assure you.” Mistress
Allenna smiled slightly, her eyes glinting in the orb-light. “I believe that you will very much enjoy
the tale that I have to tell this evening, My Lady.”

The tale that Mistress Allenna had to tell that evening was of Matriarch Nymeria Martell and
Matriarch Lanna Lannister.

The First Mates.

So named because they were the first people to be blessed with the matebond following its
suppression during Wyrd Fall.

In a time of strife, when men ruled all,

There came a pair, destined to fall,

Not merely in love, but deeper still,

For ’twas their bond, that was Relle’s will.

Alicent sat curled against Rhaenyra’s side on their settee, her heart friend’s arm resting comfortably
around her shoulders.

Lady Cersei had arched an eyebrow when she saw Alicent settle into that position, but she’d made
no comment.
Mistress Allenna’s warm and rich voice filled the room, her slender fingers plucking the strings of
her harp to create an achingly beautiful melody that rose and fell, soared and shattered, bellowed
and wailed as the story progressed.

She sang of Lady Martell and Lady Lannister’s first meeting, when Lady Martell came to the
Cairdic Empire’s imperial capital to wed Lady Lannister’s elder brother. She sang of them slowly
recognizing the signs of the matebond, which until then had been no more than a legend quietly
whispered amongst the women learning Syvenic doctrines. She sang of the moment when they
realized that their love for the other was reciprocated.

Two hearts joined and beat as one.

The heart of a lion. The heart of a sun.

When first their lips did meet in love,

Both hearts roared to the heavens above.

“We shall not part,” it was declared,

But their budding love would not be spared

The coming grief when both were wed,

Nor the sorrow of a husband’s bed.

Rhaenyra’s fingers tangled with Alicent’s, squeezing gently.

Alicent flashed her a grateful smile in return, no longer surprised by how easily her heart friend
was able to discern her moods even without the use of her empathy.

As she listened to Mistress Allenna sing of Lady Lannister and Lady Martell’s grief at being parted
and of them composing the song “A Trace of Me” as a farewell to each other, a promise to never
forget the other, and a simple expression of their longing to be free, she briefly wondered if she
would have felt a similar grief had her friendship with Adelaide not ended so abruptly, had they
found some way to continue being together without their mothers’ notice.

But she swiftly dismissed the foolish thought.

For all that the Old World had attempted to crush their spirits, Lady Lannister and Lady Martell had
still had mothers and sisters who adored them and an entire community of women who supported
them. When Lady Lannister’s mother—Queen Loreza—had learned of their love, she’d been
delighted, declaring that the matebond manifesting between them was a sign of Relle’s growing
strength as her worshippers increased in number by the day.
A Mother’s gift for all to see.

By her hand was it meant to be.

Twined as one these women were.

By singing heart and rumbling purr.

The parted mates had eventually been reunited when enemy troops managed to breach the defenses
of the Cairdic Empire’s northeastern islands and storm the beaches of the Great Isle. The invading
army had swept through Lodainn with sickeningly brutal ferocity, slaughtering entire towns and
villages and razing what remained as it marched towards the royal capital.

With darkness rising, the time did come,

For all to flee lest they succumb,

And so a desperate letter was sent,

A mother’s plea, a queen’s lament.

Upon receiving the letter from Queen Loreza, Empress Arria Lannister had written back suggesting
three different means of evacuation for the women of Lodainn. The first—and most obvious—had
been taking ships across the great bay separating Lodainn’s royal capital from Caird’s northeastern
shore. The second had been traveling overland—the most dangerous option by far. And the third—
suggested by Lady Martell herself—had been traveling underground by way of a tunnel created by
earth elementals.

In water and air their talents lay,

But the Lion’s mate was proud to say,

“She is strong beyond compare,

“Her element earth, and she will dare

“To craft this tunnel of which I speak,

“To guide her people, both strong and weak.”

Before selecting her people’s path, Queen Loreza had summoned her daughter-by-law to take her
measure and ask whether she believed that she and the other earth elementals living within the
capital could accomplish such a feat. When Lady Lannister had insisted that she could, the
Lodainnic Queen made her decision.

And so it was that when Queen Loreza and her people had been forced to abandon the crown city
of Lodainn, they’d retreated to the imperial capital through a great tunnel created by Lady
Lannister and a cadre of master earth elementals.

Alicent wondered if Lady Martell had ever doubted her mate, if she’d ever worried that she’d been
wrong in suggesting that Lady Lannister tunnel beneath the Great Isle. She herself would have had
full confidence had she been staking the lives of her people on Rhaenyra’s abilities, but Lady
Lannister wasn’t the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath.

The sun hung low when they arrived,

But neither mate would be deprived

Of the other’s longed-for embrace,

And so they met with little grace.

Quiet chuckles filled the room as Mistress Allenna sang of Lady Martell leaping into the tunnel to
greet her mate with a fierce hug and lingering kiss. Considering they’d been apart for centuries by
then, Alicent couldn’t find fault with such actions. She well-remembered missing Rhaenyra when
her heart friend had left Stone Garden for several days to manage a hurricane threatening the coast.

Glancing over at Rhaenyra, whose attention seemed entirely focused on Mistress Allenna, she
wondered if her heart friend would miss her that deeply, were Alicent to leave her for a long period
of time.

More like than not, she decided with a soft smile, thinking about how tightly Rhaenyra always
hugged her in the evenings when they’d been unable to see each other during the day for one
reason or another.

“If you choose to remain here for a couple of decades and then decide one day that you want to go
elsewhere, you need only inform me, and I will do all I can to aid you.”

While she knew that those words were as true now as they’d been that first night, she also knew
that Rhaenyra wouldn’t be much pleased if she were ever called to honor them.

And that knowledge warmed Alicent in a way that it probably shouldn’t.

When the evening drew to a close following the end of Mistress Allenna’s wonderful performance,
Alicent found herself bidding all of her friends a good night whilst Rhaenyra spoke with Mistress
Allenna.

“I hope that you enjoyed your birthday.” Margaery gave her a final squeeze and a brief kiss on the
cheek as she drew back from her.
“I most certainly did,” Alicent assured her.

“And did you find the story of the First Mates stirring, Lady Alicent?” Lady Cersei tilted her head
slightly, her tone not entirely curious, but rather almost searching.

“I did.” She paused. “But I also find it quite sad that Lady Martell and Lady Lannister must live
apart now.”

Catelyn nodded in agreement, her tone solemn. “The Black Fever brought about many tragedies,
but among the most long-lasting were arguably the deaths of Empress Arria, Queen Loreza, and
Lady Lannister’s elder sister. Had any of them lived, the First Mates would not be so bound by their
duties.”

“Grandmother Lannister and Lady Martell have managed these many millions of years.” Lady
Cersei’s eyes found Alicent’s once more. “The matebond has a way of enduring no matter the
obstacles. The First Mates survived their separation because that is the way of the matebond. Even
though theirs was not yet properly sealed, it existed within and between them all the same.”

Alicent shifted slightly beneath Lady Cersei’s gaze, resisting the urge to glance over at Rhaenyra.
“They were lucky to be so bound.”

But not all are so lucky.

“Not lucky,” Lady Cersei corrected. “Blessed by Relle. She had rather specific intentions for them,
I should think. And they were neither the first nor the last women to receive our Heavenly Mother’s
. . . especial care.” She smiled slightly. “When Grandmother Lannister and Lady Martell first met,
they didn’t even know that the matebond could exist between them, but they eventually recognized
the signs. Mother Relle’s will be done, after all.”

Alicent swallowed as her throat tightened. “I suppose,” she managed.

Lady Cersei’s smile widened in response, and then she was bidding Alicent a good night and
departing with Catelyn.

Margaery and Sansa followed soon after.

And then she was alone with Rhaenyra.

Almost without thinking, Alicent swiftly crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her heart
friend’s waist as tight as she could. “Thank you, Nyra, for such a wonderful birthday.”

A loud, rumbling purr filled the room and vibrated against Alicent’s chest, calming the nerves that
Lady Cersei’s words had agitated. “I’m glad you were pleased, Ali.”

“Very pleased.” Alicent drew back enough so that she could press a brief kiss to her heart friend’s
cheek, ignoring the way that the feeling of Rhaenyra’s soft skin beneath her lips made her stomach
flutter. “Your promise has been well kept thus far.”

Rhaenyra grinned, preening in a way that drew a soft laugh from Alicent. “And it shall continue to
be well kept.”

“Of that,” Alicent smiled softly, “I have no doubt.”

 One Week Later

Love is acts of service and simple displays of affection. It is listening and communicating,
spending time together and speaking kindly to each other. It is honesty and vulnerability, trust
and commitment. It is respect and support, encouragement and comfort. It is honoring her
choices and caring for her. It is offering shelter and protection, but also the willingness to
provide space when needed. And, above all, it is choice. It is choosing her over and over
again, placing her needs first just as she does the same for you.

Alicent’s throat felt tight as she reread the paragraph for the sixth or seventh time, as her finger
gently traced the elegant, looping script that was both Lady Martell and Lady Lannister’s
handwriting. Each word seemed to echo in her ears despite her having never heard them, seemed to
sing on her tongue despite having never spoken them. They called to her—so tempting and so very
sweet.

Her eyes went to the pillow that Aemma and Luwina had gifted her, to the words stitched onto the
front: “Words Are Wind. Actions Are Stone.”

It seemed that same principle applied to love as well.

At least as Lady Martell and Lady Lannister described it.

According to them, love was not pretty words or fervent declaration or mere emotions, but rather
actions and behaviors.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she thought about all that Rhaenyra had done for her since the
day they’d met—long before they’d been friends, before they’d even so much as known each
other’s names.

Rhaenyra had saved her, protected her, and as soon as she’d been able, she’d apologized for not
seeking her leave to do so and then offered her the choice to do as she pleased.

Rhaenyra had always taken care with her, doing all she could to ensure that Alicent felt safe and
comfortable.

Rhaenyra shared pieces of herself that she’d never shared with anyone, revealed festering wounds
because she wished for Alicent to know all of her.

Alicent’s eyes closed as she remembered the feeling of Rhaenyra holding her close and gently
stroking her hair, as she remembered how fiercely Rhaenyra had hugged her that day in the glass
garden, as she remembered Rhaenyra’s utter delight when Alicent had presented her with a dress.

As she remembered how Rhaenyra had clung to her after telling her about Emalia and later the net.

“You look at me, and you’re able to see only me.”

Opening her eyes, Alicent shook her head and returned her attention to the book open on her lap.
 All good and healthy relationships are built upon seven fundamental principles: love, respect,
trust, communication, commitment, vulnerability, and choice. These unities—for each is
connected and works in concert to build a strong relationship—may be divided into the prime
unities of love, respect, and trust, from which flow the secondary unities of commitment,
communication, and vulnerability. The seventh unity of choice rules the other six, which all
flow from and rely upon it.

Being a woman’s mate means choosing to love her every day and choosing to demonstrate that
love through the other unities. The matebond is Relle’s gift to her daughters—an offering of
everlasting companionship and love—but whether or not that gift is accepted, nurtured, and
treasured is always a matter of choice.

For a mate does not complete you. She complements and supplements you. She is not
someone you need, but rather someone you choose. A mate is a partner, not a crutch. She
ought to support you, yes, as you should her in turn, but never should you be wholly unable to
stand upon your own. Loving your mate ought not to be a matter of necessity, but rather of
desire. You should never need your mate to be happy and fulfilled, but you should want to
share your life with her because she loves, respects, supports, encourages, and comforts you.
She makes all that is good better, including yourself.

Choice.

Something that Rhaenyra had offered her that very first night and had done her best to offer her
every day since. Not always succeeding, to be sure—Rhaenyra had been thoughtless at times, and
rather infuriating at others—but her heart friend always listened when Alicent spoke, always
considered each and every one of her words, always strove to never make the same mistake twice.

“You I chose to be my friend.”

Rhaenyra had chosen her.

In a way that she’d perhaps chosen no other.

Perhaps it wasn’t entirely foolish for her to think—

A rapid knocking drew Alicent from her thoughts, and she swiftly closed and set her book aside.
“Come in,” she called, knowing already that it was Rhaenyra.

Her heart friend entered her privy chamber a moment later in a flurry of silver and sable skirts.
Clutched in her hand was a half-crumpled letter, and she wore an expression that was equal parts
guilt-ridden, affronted, and anxious.

Alicent almost beckoned to her, but then Rhaenyra began pacing, so she stayed her hand. For now,
she knew that it would be best to allow her heart friend to prowl around the room for a time before
asking her to join her on the settee. “What troubles you, Nyra?”

“My mother.” The words were little more than a growl, and yet there was an undercurrent of doubt
as well, as if Rhaenyra wasn’t entirely certain whether to be upset with her mother.
For a brief moment, as her eyes focused on the letter being crushed in her heart friend’s iron grip,
Alicent wondered how difficult it would be to convince the hawk mistresses to simply burn any
future correspondences that Viserra sent.

Unfortunately, while Rhaenyra had banished Viserra from Stone Garden and Osmera, Alicent
didn’t think that her heart friend was yet ready to sever all contact with her mother.

“She sent—” Rhaenyra growled again, but now her eyes were shining with insecurity. “What she
wrote . . . It isn’t true. I didn’t . . .” She huffed as her pacing came to a halt. “I need,” she hesitated,
glancing at Alicent, “if you wouldn’t mind reading it?”

Beckoning to her heart friend, Alicent would have smiled at how swiftly Rhaenyra came to her
were she not so concerned.

Once seated beside her, Rhaenyra handed Alicent the letter and then almost immediately began
playing with her rings and pretending not to notice as Alicent’s eyes swept over Viserra’s neat and
painfully rigid handwriting.

Daughter,

I do hope that this letter finds you in better spirits compared to when last we spoke. Despite
your vexatious behavior this past Yule, I wish you to know that I hold no rancor towards you.
You are my daughter, and blood calls to blood. A mere disagreement shan’t change that.

This coming Dragon Summit is meant to be a time of peace and unity and reconciliation for us
all. I do hope that you are able to remember that when next we see each other. Lady Tyrell and
her magisters shall be recording the happenings of this gathering, and it would be a grave pity
to have yet another scandal in not even five years.

May Relle grant you the peace and serenity to ensure that the Summit transpires in a way that
is pleasing to us all.

Sincerely,

Viserra Everlasting,

First Advisor of Her Imperial Highness Daenora Targaryen,

250th Dowager Queen of Kastrell

Alicent was sorely tempted to tear the letter, but she restrained herself. Rhaenyra did not need her
ire at the moment, and there would be time enough to voice her displeasure to Aemma or Vora
Hylda or Lady Rhaenys on the morrow.

Rhaenyra was gazing at her anxiously, her rings spinning around her fingers. “She’s wrong, isn’t
she? What happened during Yule wasn’t—We didn’t merely have a disagreement. It was more than
that.”
“It was,” Alicent agreed, tossing the letter aside—she and Aemma would burn it later unless
Rhaenyra desired otherwise—so that she could draw Rhaenyra into her arms and hold her as tightly
as she could. “And yes, your mother is entirely wrong. The only person who bears any
responsibility for what happened during Yule is her. You, Nyra, did nothing wrong.”

Some of the tension left Rhaenyra’s shoulders then as she pressed closer to Alicent and wrapped
her arms around her, yet her voice still held a note of uncertainty when she spoke. “She isn’t wrong
about the Dragon Summit being a time of peace and reconciliation.”

Alicent hummed. “Perhaps, but your mother is the one who must make amends, Nyra, not you.”
She pressed a kiss to her heart friend’s temple, smiling slightly when Rhaenyra purred in response.
“She’s the one who did wrong, and if she truly desires reconciliation, she can begin by offering you
an actual apology.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed, her expression becoming both pensive and pained. “I can’t recall Mother
ever offering me an apology for anything.”

Alicent’s jaw tightened for a moment before she forced herself to relax. “You deserve better, Nyra,
and your mother is a fool for refusing to see what a good and wonderful and loving woman you
are.”

A faint blush stained Rhaenyra’s cheeks, but she was smiling now, and her eyes were shining.
“Thank you, Ali. You always say the kindest things.”

“You deserve only the utmost kindness.” Alicent hugged her tighter, breathing in the sweet and
fragrant and achingly familiar scent of her heart friend’s rose perfume as she did so. “And you
deserve a mother who truly sees you, not what she fears you to be.”

Rhaenyra’s purring grew even louder.

Alicent awoke with a start, heart thundering in her chest and sweat beading on her brow. Her
stomach churned, and her hands trembled. Tears stung her eyes, and a deep ache had settled within
her. The desire to draw her knees up to her chest and make herself small enough that she eventually
disappeared was so strong that she almost did just that, but the conflicting instinct to flee and never
look back wouldn’t allow her to remain still.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she blinked rapidly in the dim light of the Geltic crystals
on her bedside table as she struggled to make sense of the maelstrom of emotions threatening to
drown her.

Distress.

Sharp and blinding.

A desperation to, to—

Her eyes squeezed shut as she struggled to calm her breathing.

It isn’t mine.

But she’d felt it before.

Her ward flared—her mental version of Rhaenyra hugging her tight in an attempt to stave off the
waves of anguish and sorrow and guilt and grief threatening to overwhelm her mind and body.

She’d been awakened by Rhaenyra’s nightmares before, but never like this—never in such a
visceral manner.

And she knew instinctively that Rhaenyra would be unable to free herself from whatever memories
or fears now plagued her.

Scrambling from her bed, Alicent delayed only long enough to slide her emerald orchid ring onto
her finger before rushing from her chambers and down the hall to Rhaenyra’s.

Vora Hylda opened the door for her without hesitation—relief flashing in her amber eyes—while
Vora Jonquil swiftly created a light-orb for her.

When Alicent entered her heart friend’s bedchamber, she was immediately confronted by fresh,
torrential waves of emotion that made her head spin and her knees shake. She swiftly grabbed a
hold of the nearest solid object to steady herself, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to focus.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. I’m safe. This isn’t my fear or distress.

Her ward flared once more, managing to halt the tidal waves of anguish that had been buffeting her.

Focusing her attention on the bed, her teeth sank into her lower lip when she saw that Rhaenyra
was tossing and turning in her sleep. Low growls and plaintive whines filled the room, and her arm
suddenly lashed out as if to shove someone away from her.

Hurrying over to the bed, Alicent resisted the instinctive urge to reach out and clasp her heart
friend’s hand. “Nyra?”

A quiet sob was the only response she received, and in the glow cast by the light-orb, she caught a
glimpse of the tears shining on her heart friend’s cheeks before Rhaenyra rolled away from her with
a hiss.

Alicent expelled a slow breath, mind churning.

Rhaenyra had always scooped her up onto her lap and wrapped her arms around her, had always
awoken her with soft words and kind assurances that she was safe, had always comforted her with
warm hugs and gentle caresses.

But Alicent wasn’t strong enough to draw Rhaenyra onto her lap, especially if her heart friend
struggled against her. And despite having full confidence in the shield now attached to her emerald
orchid ring, she knew that Rhaenyra would be beside herself if she lashed out at her in her sleep,
even if the blow never made contact.

“I couldn’t bear causing you harm, Ali.”

And she couldn’t bear bringing Rhaenyra pain.

Leaving her heart friend’s bedside, Alicent swiftly retreated from Rhaenyra’s chambers and back to
her own, where she hurriedly grabbed her lute from its stand.

Nyra is always more relaxed after listening to me play.

Upon returning to Rhaenyra, Alicent dragged a chair over to the side of her heart friend’s bed and
sat down, cradling her lute and lightly strumming the strings to ensure that they were properly in
tune.

Rhaenyra growled in her sleep, her fingers clawing at the sheets with such ferocity that it was a
wonder the fabric didn’t tear.

As Alicent began to play, her eyes roved over her heart friend’s face whenever it turned towards
her, searching for some sign that the notes were reaching Rhaenyra through the haze of her
nightmares.

“You’re not alone, Nyra.” She kept her words soft and soothing, attempted to match their cadence
with her playing. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever.”

Rhaenyra didn’t respond.

Alicent’s fingers faltered as her frustration at her own inability to soothe her heart friend surged.

Rhaenyra would have awoken her by now.

There must be something—

“You have a beautiful voice, Ali. One of these days, I shall persuade you to raise it in song.”

Her singing instructor hadn’t been much impressed by her voice, but she’d once called it “sweet
enough” and noted that Alicent could at least remain on key.

Alicent wet her lips, nerves suddenly seizing her.

This wasn’t how she’d ever anticipated—

But if it would help Rhaenyra . . .

Then it isn’t even a question.

As the opening notes of a new tune filled the room, Alicent allowed herself three deep breaths—
each in time with a different measure—before opening her mouth and beginning to sing.

The song that she chose wasn’t Westerosi, but rather one written by Lady Martell and Lady
Lannister during the brief time when they’d both been living in the imperial capital of the Cairdic
Empire together—prior to Lady Lannister’s marriage to Lady Martell’s brother. The music was
sweet in an almost melancholy sort of way, and each word was filled with a bone-deep longing.

I understand.

Sometimes I just want to fly away.

Leave it all behind and not look back.

Like a feather,
My mind floats off to sea,

And the only thing that’s left

Is a trace of me.

To just fly free,

It’s more than just a fleeting dream to me.

It’s something that I long for every day.

Like a feather,

My mind floats off to sea,

And the only thing that’s left

Is a trace of me.

Relief washed over Alicent as Rhaenyra finally began to relax, as her breathing became less ragged
and her movements slowed and stilled. Almost without thinking, she sent forth waves of calm and
contentment, hoping that Rhaenyra’s ward might instinctively lower for her.

It did.

A soft smile curled Alicent’s lips as she continued to sing—not even caring that her voice paled in
comparison to Rhaenyra’s, not even caring that her choice of song was perhaps revealing too much,
not even caring that some of her own longing had begun to seep into the words.

Just come with me.

You and I could simply fly away.

Look inside and see I’m part of you.

Like an eagle,

You see a whole new point of view,

And the only thing that’s left

Is a trace of you.

Nothing reaches to my core.

Nothing makes me feel alive,

And so I

Go inside my mind and fly.

Like an eagle,

We see a whole new point of view,

And the only thing that’s left

Is a trace of you.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were open, gazing at her as if uncertain whether she was real or a mere remnant of
her dreams.

Alicent set her lute aside and slowly extended her hand—the one on which her emerald orchid ring
gleamed. “I’m here, Nyra. All is well.”

“Ali.” Rhaenyra’s voice was hoarse, but coherent, and the haze of confusion and sleep had cleared
from her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m safe, Nyra.” Alicent clasped her heart friend’s hand and pressed it against her cheek.
“Everyone is safe.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers gently caressed her face, the last remnants of tension leaving her body.

“Can you tell me what you need, Nyra?” Alicent nuzzled into Rhaenyra’s hand, which earned her a
small smile.

“Might I—?” Rhaenyra sucked in a breath, eyes squeezing shut. “That is, I would like . . .”

“Anything you need, Nyra.” Alicent reached out with her other hand and squeezed her arm. “I’m
here, and I’m not leaving.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes opened, but they refused to meet Alicent’s. “May I hold you?” Her voice was
small, tentative, as if expecting Alicent to deny her.

As if I could.

“You may.”

Rhaenyra immediately sat up and shifted so that Alicent had room to climb up onto the bed, and no
sooner had her knees touched the silken sheets than strong arms were enveloping her and drawing
her close.

A contented sigh escaped her lips—echoing Rhaenyra’s own—as she was settled upon her heart
friend’s warm lap.

“Thank you for coming, Ali.” Rhaenyra lightly kissed her temple. “You needn’t have done so.”
“But I wanted to.” Alicent brought a hand up to cradle Rhaenyra’s damp cheek. “How could I leave
you to suffer alone, hmm?”

She would have never forgiven herself had she abandoned Rhaenyra in such a way.

Guilt flashed in Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes as she turned her head. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“You deserve everything, Nyra.” Alicent resisted the urge to turn her heart friend’s face back
towards herself. She couldn’t recall ever seeing Rhaenyra so small and vulnerable, not even after
she’d told her about Emalia or the net or nearly destroying Valyria. “You deserve kindness and care
and compassion. You deserve to be happy, and you,” she swallowed, “you deserve to be loved,
Rhaenyra Targaryen.” Her thumb brushed over the soft skin of her cheek. “You deserve so much
love.”

Rhaenyra still wouldn’t look at her, but she turned her head slightly to nuzzle Alicent’s palm.

Alicent hid her smile, her stomach fluttering in a way that was entirely inappropriate under the
circumstances.

And yet she still found herself twisting slightly in Rhaenyra’s arms so that she could lean forward
and press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I’ll stay as long as you need,” she promised.

Rhaenyra’s eyes finally met hers—warmth and gratitude and affection shining bright in the dim
light of the orb hovering overhead. “Thank you, Ali.”

And thank you, Nyra, for helping me fly free.

When Alicent awoke the following morning, she was greeted by thin shafts of sunlight streaming in
through a small part in the curtains. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion as she stared at those
curtains. Something was wrong with them, but her vision was still hazy from sleep, and her mind
hadn’t yet joined the rest of her body in wakefulness.

And there was something . . .

Warm breath caressed her cheek.

A strong arm encircled her middle.

Full breasts pressed against her back.

Alicent’s eyes widened with shock, and she barely managed to smother her surprised cry.

The curtains.

Blood-red with black cords hanging limply beside them.

Not the emerald-green with silver cords that she’d purchased for herself last summer.

Heart thundering wildly in her chest, she slowly peeked over her shoulder and confirmed what she
already knew.
She was in Rhaenyra’s chambers.

She was in Rhaenyra’s bed.

She was being held—

Strong Sytarr above.

In all the years that Rhaenyra had been soothing her night terrors, never once had she lingered until
morning. And even after Rhaenyra had begun remaining in Alicent’s bed rather than retreating to
her customary chair, she was always gone by the time that Alicent awoke.

Alicent didn’t recall succumbing to sleep the night before.

But plainly I must have.

Her mouth felt dry, and her stomach was somersaulting in a way that was both alarming and
pleasant.

I ought to move. I ought to extricate myself.

And yet she remained where she was—wrapped securely in Rhaenyra’s familiar embrace.

How could she have allowed herself to fall asleep the night before? She remembered waking and
rushing into Rhaenyra’s chambers, remembered playing for and singing to her, remembered
climbing onto her bed and being held by her, remembered promising to remain as long as she
needed.

But she didn’t remember finding sleep.

Rhaenyra’s fingers suddenly flexed, and Alicent’s breath hitched. She could feel the heat of them
even through her nightgown, and a faint shiver traveled down the length of her spine as those warm
fingers gently pressed against the flesh of her stomach.

I ought to move.

But she didn’t want to move.

Warmth blossomed in her cheeks at the realization.

Some part of her had always enjoyed being held by Rhaenyra. Even when she’d still been wary of
her intentions, she’d enjoyed being held by her. Rhaenyra had always managed to offer her comfort
and a sense of safety, ever since the night that she’d washed her feet . . .

Alicent swallowed as she shifted slightly in Rhaenyra’s arms, causing her heart friend to grumble
softly and draw her impossibly closer.

I ought to move.

She never should have allowed herself to fall asleep in Rhaenyra’s bed. It wasn’t proper.

So then why does it feel right?

Alicent’s eyes squeezed shut as she attempted to focus on something other than Rhaenyra and the
way that she was being held as if she was something precious.

But how could she?

She was in Rhaenyra’s bed.

When was the last time that I truly shared my bed with another?

Her wedding night?

More like than not.

Criston had never remained in her bed for an entire night after their first together, and his friends
had always departed long before she’d regained consciousness whenever she was offered for their
pleasure.

And Criston had certainly never held her.

When she’d awoken the morning after their wedding, he’d been asleep on the other side of her bed,
which had pleased her well enough at the time, since she’d still been sore and tender from the night
before.

Husbands didn’t share their wives’ beds.

But she’d since come to realize that mates did.

Not that Rhaenyra was her mate.

“I don’t even think about you in such a way!”

Rhaenyra’s words had been so fervent that day, but . . .

“I don’t want to be your wife. I can’t—I won’t be treated in such a way ever again, Rhaenyra.”

Her own desperate words echoed in her ears, making her wince. She’d been terrified, on the verge
of panic, and Rhaenyra . . .

Rhaenyra said what she knew would calm me.

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat.

Could it be . . ?

“ Love is acts of service and simple displays of affection.”

“It is honesty and vulnerability, trust and commitment.”

“It is respect and support, encouragement and comfort.”

“It is offering shelter and protection.”

“It is choosing her over and over again, placing her needs first just as she does the same for you.”
She’d concluded some time ago that Rhaenyra loved her as a heart friend, but she hadn’t dared
allow herself to consider—

The feeling of soft lips pressing against the back of her neck broke Alicent from her thoughts.

And this time, she couldn’t stifle her surprised cry.

Nor could she prevent her body from instinctively recoiling from the foreign sensation.

Rhaenyra’s arm immediately released her, allowing Alicent to roll over in time to see her heart
friend retreating to the far side of her bed.

A deep blush stained Rhaenyra’s cheeks and was swiftly traveling down her neck. Her amethyst
eyes were wide with alarm, and her whole body trembled. “Alicent, I, I, my apologies. I, I must
have—I didn’t mean—Please, please forgive me. I didn’t realize—I never intended—I would never
. . . I’ll go. I never meant—”

“Rhaenyra—”

Rhaenyra scrambled from the bed.

“Rhaenyra, wait—”

Rhaenyra practically tore the door from its hinges.

“Rhaenyra, stop!”

Rhaenyra froze.

Alicent was by her side a moment later, though she didn’t dare touch her yet. “Nyra, all is well.
You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, her voice breaking. “I kissed your neck, Ali.”

And necks are sacrosanct.

Everything that she’d read about the matebond had emphasized that fact.

One archmagister had even noted that while most women bedded their sweethearts, none allowed
their sweethearts to touch their necks.

Slowly, Alicent reached out and gently placed her hand over Rhaenyra’s own—the one that still
held the door handle in an iron grip. “Will you come sit with me, Nyra? Please?”

Rhaenyra allowed herself to be led over to one of the divans, allowed herself to be seated, allowed
Alicent to sit beside her, but she refused to meet her eyes, refused to so much as look in her
direction.

Alicent knew that her heart friend was preparing herself for censure—recognized it in the set of her
shoulders, the tension of her jaw, the bow of her head. “Nyra,” she waited a moment, hoping that
Rhaenyra would at least glance at her, but when her heart friend didn’t move, she continued, “if
either of us owes an apology, it is me. I was the one who fell asleep in your bed. I was the one who
placed us in this situation.”
At that, Rhaenyra turned to face her, vehemently shaking her head. “No, Ali. None of this is your
fault. I’m the one who distressed you and—”

“You didn’t distress me, Nyra. I was merely surprised is all.”

A dubious frown curled Rhaenyra’s lips, but she didn’t contradict her. “All the same, I was the one
who kissed your neck without leave—”

“And had you sought leave, I would have gladly given it.”

Silence engulfed the room.

Rhaenyra gaped at her.

Alicent felt as if she might be ill.

She hadn’t meant to say that.

She hadn’t meant to tell her.

She hadn’t meant—

“Ali.”

Her name hung between them.

Barely a whisper.

Almost a sigh.

Blood roared in Alicent’s ears, and her hands trembled. Part of her wished to recant her words, to
snatch them back and hide them away once more.

But she couldn’t.

And now, it was Alicent who couldn’t meet Rhaenyra’s eyes as she prepared herself for the
possibility that Rhaenyra might soon shatter her heart.

“I love you.”

The words were spoken so quietly that, were Rhaenyra not a Valyrian, she wouldn’t have heard
them.

But Rhaenyra was a Valyrian.

And she did hear them.

Rhaenyra’s eyes stretched wide, her mouth opening once more in shock.

“I love you,” Alicent repeated, somewhat stronger this time, “and not as a heart friend. I . . . I think
that I’ve been in love with you for years, but I didn’t . . . I couldn’t . . . When I’m with you, Nyra, I
feel safe, and you know how much that means to me. You,” she gulped, twisting her emerald orchid
ring around her finger, “you make me feel content and warm and seen and, and cherished. I love
spending time with you, and I love our evenings together, and I love listening to your stories, and I
love hearing you sing, and I love that you always come when I need you, and I, I hope that I’ve
managed to bring you a fraction of the happiness that you’ve brought me.” Her eyes fell to her lap,
to the scar encircling her left wrist. “And I know that you don’t feel—”

A warm finger pressed against her lips to silence her.

“Oh, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s voice was soft and gentle and so full of— “How could you think for one
moment that I don’t feel the same?”

Many reasons, but that wasn’t what she’d been about to say.

“Love is nothing compared to the matebond,” she whispered. “I know that, and I know that you
don’t feel it with me, and I won’t be your sweetheart, Rhaenyra. I can’t.” She wouldn’t be able to
bear being discarded should Rhaenyra find her mate during Alicent’s lifetime.

“Alicent.” Rhaenyra waited until she was looking at her once more. “When I caught your scent for
the first time, untainted by fear and distress,” a shiver rippled through her body, “I was enthralled,
so much so that I briefly lost control of my own movements.” She paused. “I’d never experienced
that before. Not even with Emalia.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat.

“I didn’t want to believe it at the time, didn’t want to believe that Relle would be so cruel. I thought
that you would never see me as more than the Firestorm, and I . . . I doubted my own judgment, in
truth.” Pain flashed in Rhaenyra’s eyes. “How could I not? When I’d been wrong before.” Slowly,
tentatively, she offered her hands.

Alicent immediately tangled their fingers together, needing something to cling to, feeling as if she
might collapse despite already being seated.

Everything that Rhaenyra was saying seemed to imply . . .

But she hasn’t said the words.

And Alicent didn’t dare allow herself to hope until she heard the words.

“I never expected you to forgive me, and I certainly never expected you to see me. But you did.” A
soft smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips as she glanced down at their joined hands—at the emerald orchid
ring encircling Alicent’s finger. “When you hugged me for the first time,” an expression that could
only be described as rapturous came over her face, “it was as if something inside me cracked open.
In a good way,” she added hastily upon seeing Alicent’s concerned expression.

“I love you, Alicent Hightower. So much so it aches. And I will continue to love you until the stars
go dark.” The smile that Rhaenyra gave her then was almost blinding, and it filled Alicent with an
indescribable warmth.

But Rhaenyra still hadn’t said—

“You’re my mate, Ali. I’ve known it for years, but I was so terrified of losing you . . .” Rhaenyra’s
eyes found Alicent’s, holding her gaze. “I want to spend every moment that I can with you for as
long as you’ll have me.” Her thumbs brushed over the backs of Alicent’s hands, tracing familiar
circles. “I can’t promise you that I’ll be perfect. I can’t promise you that I’ll never make another
mistake or offend you by accident. I can’t promise you that we’ll never quarrel or say things to each
other that we immediately regret. But what I can promise you is my eternal love and devotion. No
matter what happens, I will never stop loving you. I’m not always going to agree with you, and
you’re not always going to agree with me, but I will always be on your side and by your side. For
as long as you’ll grant me the honor and privilege of being there. I choose you, Alicent.” She
squeezed her hands. “I will always choose you.”

Alicent didn’t remember freeing her hands.

She didn’t remember cradling Rhaenyra’s cheeks.

She didn’t remember closing her eyes and leaning forward.

But suddenly warm lips were pressed against her own, and everything else faded away.

There was nothing save for her and Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra’s lips—so warm and soft as they fervently returned the kiss.

Rhaenyra’s hands—drawing her closer until their bodies were flush against each other.

Rhaenyra’s love—which Alicent felt washing over her the moment that she lowered her ward.

Before her marriage, she’d thought kissing a chaste act. Observing her parents had taught her that a
kiss was no more than the brief touch of a husband’s lips to his wife’s cheek.

After her marriage, she’d learned that kissing could be as cruel and painful an act as any. Criston
had taught her that a kiss could be biting her lip so hard she tasted blood, that it could leave her
mouth raw and aching for days afterwards, that it could create lurid bruises scattered across her
body to become lost among countless others.

But now . . .

Now she was learning that a kiss could make her heart thunder in her chest and her blood roar in
her ears, that it could make her entire body tremble in a way she’d never felt before but very much
enjoyed, that it could ignite an unfamiliar fire in her belly, that it could make her feel safe and
cherished and adored and loved.

Alicent never wished for this to end.

But end it did, when her lungs began to scream for air and demand that she breathe. As Rhaenyra’s
mouth retreated from her own, Alicent couldn’t help the pathetic whine that escaped her lips,
couldn’t help the way that her mouth pursued Rhaenyra’s.

Opening her eyes, what little breath remained to her fled from her lungs.

Rhaenyra was an absolute vision—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes nearly black, chest heaving,
hair slightly disheveled.

I did that.

An absurd sense of pride swelled within her at the thought.

 She loves me.

Her heart fluttered.

She feels the matebond.

Elation surged through her.

She wants me. She chose me.

Alicent hadn’t realized that it was possible to feel so happy.

Rhaenyra’s hands rose to gently cradle her cheeks, love and adoration shining in her eyes. “Ali,”
she breathed—soft and reverent as a prayer. She pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead. “My Love.”
Another kiss to her cheek. “My Mate.” A third kiss to her other cheek. “My Safa.”

Safa.

The foreign word echoed in her ears.

“What does that mean?” she whispered, half-afraid to break whatever spell seemed to have fallen
over them by speaking too loudly.

“It means that you are my safety and my shield, my shelter and my sanctuary.” Rhaenyra lightly
stroked the soft skin beneath Alicent’s eyes. “It means that you are my comfort and my home, the
person to whom I always long to return.”

“Safa.” The word felt strange on her tongue, but Alicent found that she loved the sound of it, loved
the music and meaning behind it. “My Safa.”

Rhaenyra’s lips found hers a moment later, and Alicent didn’t hesitate to eagerly return her kiss,
savoring the warmth and tenderness and love.

“When you hugged me for the first time, it was as if something inside me cracked open.”

She understood what Rhaenyra meant now.

By Relle, she understood.

Chapter End Notes

Thus ends Arc 4.

Whoo! They're officially together now! Huzzah! You made it! And it only took [checks notes]
seven months, 39 chapters, and 375k+ words!

Also, because it matters to me, when Margaery says "grandmama," she's pronouncing it as
"grand-muh-mah."

Next Chapter: The Alicent Learns About Sex Arc begins!

Additional Disclaimer: The song lyrics are also not mine. They are from a song entitled "A
Trace of Me" written by the Students and Staff of the Lovewell Institute.
 Bondmates
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 40:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Laena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Bellmar

Trigger Warning: Mentions of marital rape and vaginal bleeding from injuries.

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Summer Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

Rhaenyra would never forget the day that she visited the Oracle for the first and only time. She
would never forget approaching the Hill of the Crone, would never forget traveling the long,
winding path that led to the Shrine of the Oracle. She would never forget gazing upon the great
edifice that had been built in the shape of an enormous lantern—the emblem of Relle Wiseone. She
would never forget stepping beyond the threshold of the Shrine’s single door and into a long
hallway filled with dozens of floating lanterns. She would never forget entering the Shrine’s main
sanctum and seeing the towering stone chair that had been carved in the shape of a living flame.

Seated high above her had been Mistress Isabera Cassel, the then-current Oracle of Relle Wiseone
and the Heir of Orestilla. She’d greeted Rhaenyra in a soft voice and with a gentle smile, asking her
what question she wished to pose to Mother Relle, and warning that their goddess may or may not
see fit to respond.

“When will I find my mate?”

She’d thought the question simple enough.

Indeed, her mother had coldly dismissed it as a foolish and trifling matter unworthy of either the
Oracle or Relle’s attention and time.

But—dreadfully impatient child that she’d been—she had asked her question all the same.

And for over nine million years, she’d regretted it.

The Oracle’s expression had been impassive when she’d answered, but her eyes had been shining
with silvery-gold light, and her voice had echoed with power untold and wisdom beyond
comprehension. “Daughter of Fire, Child of Prophecy, you come seeking answers, but ask not the
proper question. What is time to the immortal? What are years to the ageless? When shall you find
your mate, you ask? Daughter of My Daughters, Child of My Light, I offer you this answer. Your
mate shall be a Daughter Not Born of Valyria. And in her shall you find the peace you’ve so long
sought.”

She would never forget the way that her heart had shattered.

For over nine million years, she’d dwelled on those words and dreaded the day that they would
come to pass.

“Your mate shall be a Daughter Not Born of Valyria.”

She’d known the true meaning behind such pretty words.

Her mate would be mortal.

And what were mortals, but fated to die?

“Mother Relle would not be so cruel,” Laena had tried to assure her when she’d returned home that
day. “What mother would inflict such suffering upon her daughter?”

Rhaenyra had not told her sister then, about the net, had not told her how their own mother had
severed her connection to her core, had carved out a piece of her soul and left her aching and empty
in a way that words could never convey.

At the time, she’d said nothing because she’d thought that she’d deserved such suffering.

And for over nine million years, she’d believed that Relle had selected a mortal mate for her as
punishment for her crimes—both those committed and those yet to come.

She could no more forget the day that she visited the Oracle than she could the day that the net
broke.

And yet . . .

Somehow, during the intervening millions of years, she’d forgotten the Oracle’s final words to her.

“And in her shall you find the peace you’ve so long sought.”

She’d forgotten those words until today.

She’d forgotten them until Alicent’s lips had claimed hers.

She’d forgotten them until, for the first time that she could remember, the world had truly quieted
around her and there was nothing save for her and Alicent.

Alicent.

Intelligent, compassionate, remarkable, strong, beautiful Alicent.

My Safa.

Alicent, who was in love with her.

Alicent, who wanted her.

Alicent, who saw her.

Rhaenyra’s magic had roared and her blood had sung and her heart had thundered during their first
kiss—a kiss that she would never forget even after every star in the heavens went dark. Love and
warmth and contentment and joy and excitement and adoration and wonder had surged through her
and threatened to overwhelm her.

It had been terrifying, but exhilarating as well.

It hadn’t felt entirely real, and part of her had feared that she was dreaming.

But not even her most vivid dreams could compare to the reality of that first kiss.

Now, as she and Alicent shared their second, as Alicent’s soft lips moved eagerly against her own,
as Alicent’s lovely hands clung to her and tried to draw her closer, as Alicent’s little noises of
pleasure filled her ears, Rhaenyra felt a hunger awakening deep within her—felt a longing, a desire,
a want, a need.

Her canines ached to sink into Alicent’s neck and claim her, and her own neck yearned to feel the
harsh bite of Alicent’s teeth as they claimed her in turn. She wanted to mark her mate, to seal their
bond for good and all and intertwine their scents.

And yet a part of her balked at the thought of drawing Alicent’s blood, at the thought of causing her
even a moment of pain.

The choice will be hers, she reminded herself.

If Alicent wished for them to mark each other, then they would, and if she didn’t . . .

The possibility of never marking her mate—of never knowing the scent of roses intertwined with
freshly baked bread—made her magic wail, but she swiftly silenced it.

Alicent’s love was more than enough. It was more than Rhaenyra had ever dared hope for. And it
was more than she deserved.

When they parted, Alicent was panting and beautifully flushed, her magnificent brown eyes shining
with happiness.

Rhaenyra wanted to kiss her again, but she restrained herself and settled for caressing her soft
cheeks instead. “I love you, Ali.”

The words tasted sweet on her tongue—almost as sweet as Alicent’s lips.

Alicent nuzzled against her palm. “And I love you, Nyra.” The smile that she offered then was
genuine and warm, but now there was uncertainty shadowing her eyes.

Rhaenyra’s heart clenched. She would see those shadows banished at once. “What troubles you,
My Love?”

Some of the uncertainty faded, and Alicent turned her head to press a kiss to Rhaenyra’s palm. “I
like it when you call me that.”
“‘My Love’?”

Alicent nodded, her expression suddenly almost shy. “And ‘My Safa.’” Her teeth sank into her
lower lip. “You . . . you also called me your mate earlier.”

Had she been wrong to call Alicent that? Rhaenyra had thought that being called such would please
her, that it would reassure her to know that she would never be a mere sweetheart.

“And that displeased you?” While the prospect of not being able to call Alicent her mate made her
magic whimper and her heart twist, Rhaenyra would gladly swallow those words in the future if it
pleased Alicent for her to do so.

Alicent vehemently shook her head. “No, no, of course not. I want to be your mate, Nyra. Please
don’t ever doubt that. But I thought that,” her cheeks reddened, “you feel the matebond, but you’ve
not marked me yet.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but notice the flash of anxiety in Alicent’s eyes when she spoke of being
marked, and she could hardly begrudge her, her fears, considering all of the other scars that covered
her body. If she doesn’t want me to mark her, then I won’t.

No matter how much she might wish to.

“My understanding was that unmarked mates refer to each other as bondmates. Was I mistaken?”
Alicent was peering at her curiously, and Rhaenyra immediately felt the tension that had been
gathering in her body ease upon realizing that the cause of Alicent’s uncertainty was merely a
matter of semantics.

Leaning forward, she kissed Alicent’s forehead. “Not at all, Ali. You are correct, as ever. I should
have called you ‘My Bondmate’ rather than ‘My Mate.’” She tilted her head to brush the tip of her
nose against Alicent’s, earning a happy smile. “You’ll forgive me for misspeaking in my
excitement, won’t you?”

Alicent’s lips pursed as she pretended to think. “Well, I suppose that I can forgive you in this
instance. Considering the circumstances.”

“You,” Rhaenyra pecked her lips, “are as merciful and gracious as you are intelligent and kind, My
Love.”

“Flatterer.”

“I speak only the truth.” Rhaenyra grinned at her. “You are a woman without equal, Ali, and
everyone knows it.”

Alicent’s eyes suddenly widened, and her face paled.

“Ali?”

“Everyone knows.” Alicent’s hands rose to clutch at Rhaenyra’s wrists. “Vora Hylda and Vora
Jonquil know that I came in here last night, and, and they must know that I,” her breath hitched,
“that I spent the night in your bed,” she whispered.

“Ali, you needn’t worry.” She carefully freed one wrist so that she could clasp Alicent’s hand. “If
you don’t wish them to say anything, they won’t. All of my knights have sworn to keep my secrets,
remember? And even if they hadn’t, they wouldn’t gossip about such a thing if they knew that it
would bring you shame.”

Alicent expelled a relieved sigh, her shoulders slumping as she leaned into the hand still cradling
her cheek.

“We also needn’t say anything to anyone about our being bondmates,” Rhaenyra assured her. While
the thought of keeping such a secret did not please her at all, she would remain silent until Alicent
was comfortable.

A frown curled Alicent’s lips at that. “You don’t wish for others to know?”

The hurt in her voice was evident.

And a selfish part of Rhaenyra sighed with relief.

“Of course I want others to know.” She tilted her head to steal a brief kiss, which in turn banished
Alicent’s frown. “If you gave me leave, I would order a hawk sent to every city, palace, town, and
village throughout the Empire with an official announcement. I am proud to call you my bondmate,
Alicent, and I would have everyone know it. I would have everyone know that I have been chosen
by a woman as remarkable as you.”

Alicent beamed, her cheeks flushing with what Rhaenyra hoped was pleasure. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Rhaenyra squeezed her hand. “Who we tell and when is entirely your decision, Ali. That
was all I meant when I said that we needn’t say anything to anyone.”

A sheepish expression came over Alicent’s face then as she ducked her head. “Please forgive me,
Nyra, for thinking that you meant otherwise. I,” she shrugged, “I suppose some part of me still
doesn’t entirely believe this to be real. I never thought . . .”

“I understand.” Merciful Mother, how she understood. Not even a day ago, she would have laughed
at anyone who tried to tell her that Alicent was in love with her and wished to be her mate. “But
this is real, Safa. What I feel for you is very real, as is my desire to share that we’re pairbonded. So
long as you’re comfortable with such sharing, of course.”

When Alicent claimed her lips a moment later, Rhaenyra’s magic sang, and a purr rumbled in her
chest.

Merciful Mother, Alicent gave the most wonderful kisses—sweet and soft, yet eager and
demanding all at once.

Rhaenyra swallowed the whine that threatened to spill from her lips when Alicent’s mouth retreated
from hers.

“I wish to inform our friends,” Alicent panted as they drew apart, not a hint of uncertainty marring
her words, “and I don’t mind if others know that we’re pairbonded.” A wry smile curled her lips
then. “I certainly would not wish to impede whoever is set to collect on their wagers today.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but laugh, not bothering to ask how her bondmate knew about the
numerous wagers surrounding them. “You are truly a most generous lady, Safa.”
Alicent grinned at her for a moment, but then her expression became pensive as her teeth began
worrying her lower lip once more.

While tempted to lean forward and kiss away her bondmate’s furrowed brow, Rhaenyra restrained
herself and waited for Alicent to gather her thoughts and tell her what troubled her.

“Nyra, I,” Alicent’s face reddened, the blush spreading from her cheeks and down the length of her
lovely neck, “I have a gift that I’d like to give you.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows arched. “A gift?” She couldn’t think of any possible reason for why Alicent
would wish to give her a gift now. Nothing of particular import had happened on this day in the
years since Alicent had come to live here, her bondmate’s birthday had passed, her own was not for
over two months yet, and the Feast of the Mother wouldn’t be for another month.

Alicent nodded as she rose from the divan, though she didn’t release Rhaenyra’s hand. “It’s in my
bedchamber.” She cocked her head. “Care to accompany me?”

Swiftly rising to her feet, Rhaenyra offered Alicent’s hand a brief squeeze as they made their way
towards the door that she’d attempted to flee through not even an hour ago.

Merciful Mother, had no little time truly passed?

The horror and self-loathing that she’d felt upon waking and realizing that she’d kissed Alicent’s
neck whilst half-asleep, her consuming desire to flee and never return lest she be forced to suffer
Alicent’s disgust and censure, now seemed a lifetime ago.

Alicent loved her.

Alicent had kissed her.

Alicent wanted to be her mate.

Rhaenyra knew that she was grinning like a fool when she and Alicent emerged from her chambers,
and much to her everlasting delight, despite the blush blooming in Alicent’s cheeks, her bondmate
didn’t avert her eyes or lower her head in embarrassment when Hylda and Jonquil wished her a
good morning.

Both of her knights were beaming at them.

Rather belatedly, Rhaenyra gently tugged on the mental link connecting her to Hylda as she and
Alicent made the short walk down the hall.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty.”

The warmth and joy that suffused Hylda’s thoughts almost made Rhaenyra pause so that she could
turn around and hug her Shadow Knight, but there would be time for that later. “Thank you, Hylda.
And I would ask that you and Jonquil not to say a word about Alicent spending the night in my
chambers.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” A moment’s pause. “Now that you’re pairbonded, should we expect the
Lady Alicent to share your chambers most nights?”

She certainly hoped so. “That is a matter for her to decide.”

“As you say.”

Hylda and Jonquil remained in the hallway as Alicent led Rhaenyra through her presence and privy
chambers and into her bedchamber.

Rhaenyra’s eyes closed as she allowed herself a moment to simply breathe in Alicent’s scent, which
suffused the room and clung to every surface.

Perhaps my chambers will smell much the same one day.

A very pleasing thought indeed.

Opening her eyes, she watched as Alicent hurried over to her bureau and pulled open the uppermost
drawer, watched as her bondmate carefully and almost reverently removed a thin, lacquered box
from within.

Alicent’s expression was equal parts eager and anxious when she presented the box to Rhaenyra a
moment later.

Upon seeing the lovely and intricately-carved roaring dragon and flaming rose adorning into the
box’s lid, Rhaenyra realized that Alicent must have procured this gift quite some time ago, which
begged the question of why she’d waited until now to bestow it.

“I meant to give this to you the night that we attended Carmilla and Laura, but then . . .” Alicent
shrugged, twisting her emerald orchid ring. “When Margaery and Sansa told me about the
matebond and the . . . significance of necks, I knew that I couldn’t give this to you, but I also
couldn’t bring myself to be rid of it.” She smiled softly. “I’m very glad that I didn’t now.”

Rhaenyra’s heart thundered in her chest as she slowly unlatched and lifted the box’s lid. She was
almost certain that she knew what sort of gift Alicent was giving her, and yet part of her couldn’t
quite believe—

Her breath caught in her throat, and she almost dropped the box.

A necklace.

An absolutely magnificent necklace of black roses, fire roses, red roses, silver roses, and emerald
orchids all woven together into an elegant chain from which hung a silver, filigree pendant set with
a fire opal carved into the shape of a flame.

“I hope that you like it,” the anxiety had faded from Alicent’s eyes now, replaced by warmth and
love, “and I hope that you’ll wear it. If it pleases you.”

She would have been pleased if Alicent had simply wished to tie a piece of twine around her neck.

“Ali, this . . .” She shook her head, words failing as her fingers gently brushed over soft petals
before settling on the faceted surface of the fire opal. “It’s exquisite, Ali. Beyond words or
compare.”

Alicent beamed, preening in a way that made Rhaenyra want to kiss her breathless.

Carefully removing her new necklace from its case, she offered it to Alicent. “Would you mind, My
Love?”
“Not at all, Safa.” Alicent accepted the necklace then motioned for her to turn around.

Rhaenyra’s eyes slipped shut as she felt the silken petals caressing her neck, as she felt the gentle
kiss of the pendant beneath the hollow of her throat.

A necklace was not a mate mark, but in that moment, she felt claimed all the same.

“Rhaenyra and I are bondmates.”

Margaery knew that it would be several centuries—if not millennia—before Sansa ceased teasing
her for the entirely undignified squeal that had burst from her mouth when Alicent had announced
that she and Queen Rhaenyra were at last pairbonded.

But she could hardly be faulted for her reaction.

She’d spent her childhood listening to stories about Grandmother Olenna first meeting Grandmama
Tywinna at Casterly Rock, about Grandmother recognizing the matebond almost at once and then
teasing and playfully prodding Grandmama for weeks as she’d impatiently waited for her mate to
have her own realization, about how even after they’d both recognized the matebond, they’d still
refused to say the words aloud for over a month and had instead attempted to goad the other into
breaking and confessing first.

For much of her life, Margaery had been unable to imagine any situation more frustrating or
exasperating to witness.

Until she’d been forced to endure years of watching two of the most intelligent idiots that she’d
ever met dance around each other with such blind obliviousness that she’d half-believed they were
doing so on purpose.

Three years—four if one included the year that Alicent had spent sequestered in her chambers.

It was an infinitesimal amount of time—a mere speck, in truth—and yet these past years had felt
interminable for reasons that Margaery and every other woman in the Queen’s Keep had yet to
entirely understand.

Aggravation and vexation had played a role, to be sure, but who among them had not previously
experienced such emotions for one reason or another.

Whatever the cause, these past years had tested everyone’s patience almost to breaking.

For that alone, Margaery would be ecstatic to know that her suffering was at an end. But the
exhilaration and joy currently surging through her were born from far more than mere relief that
she would no longer be subjected to the longing stares and quiet sighs and shy smiles and
exhausting insistence that “she’s my heart friend.”

If there was one woman in all of creation who deserved the love and comfort of a mate, it was
Alicent Hightower. And there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that Queen Rhaenyra would
provide all of the love and affection and kindness and care that Alicent had been so viciously
denied before coming to Stone Garden.

As for the Queen . . .

Margaery remembered thinking when she’d first heard whispers of the Oracle’s prophecy that there
must be some mistake, for how could Mother Relle be so cruel as to choose a non-Valyrian mate
for the then-Imperial Princess Rhaenyra?

The subtle melancholy that had always seemed to shroud the Queen began fading when she and
Alicent became friends. This morning, as she’d stood with Alicent’s hand clasped in her own, it had
been gone entirely.

Alicent and Queen Rhaenyra deserved the utmost happiness.

And they’d been delightfully kind enough to realize this exactly when and in the manner that
Margaery had hoped they would.

Hoped.

And wagered.

By her calculations, she should be some thirty crowns wealthier by end of day.

The broad grin that had graced her lips since she’d seen the flowers adorning the Queen’s neck and
Alicent had shared her news widened further still as she and Sansa approached the small supper
hall.

“I can’t recall the last time that I saw you so pleased,” Sansa teased, lightly prodding her side.

Margaery arched an eyebrow and cocked her head. “Has your memory begun to fail you, Sans? I’m
quite certain that you saw me very well pleased the night before. Five times, in fact.”

Sansa snorted. “Forgive me for thinking that the pleasure you derive from our friend’s happiness is
rather different from the pleasure you derive from my fingers and tongue.”

“Oh, they are very different, I assure you.” Margaery reached out and clasped her mate’s hand.
“Only one of them causes me to awake in the middle of the night aching with want.”

“I never realized that Alicent’s happiness affected you so.”

Now it was Margaery who snorted.

Sansa’s playful smile faded as her expression became pensive. “What do you think will happen
now?”

“How do you mean?”

“Alicent is mortal.”

“But she needn’t be.” Margaery shrugged. “And if the All Mother and Empress Visenya both refuse
to immortalize her, I’m sure that Her Majesty will simply create her own immortality spell.”

Sansa hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”

“You don’t believe her capable?”

“I believe her more than capable, but there is a reason that the All Mother cast that spell on herself
first. Any mistake would have proven fatal, and I’m not certain Queen Rhaenyra is willing to risk
Alicent’s life to make her immortal.”

And she certainly wouldn’t wish to risk immortalizing any other highborn Westerosi for
experimental purposes.

“I suppose we should simply hope that the All Mother or Empress Visenya agrees then.” She
couldn’t imagine that they would refuse the Queen’s request.

No woman would ever wish death upon another’s mate.

Swiftly setting aside the gloomy thought, Margaery refocused her attention on the reason for her
and Sansa’s visit to the small supper hall. “How cross do you think Ygritte will be when she
realizes that she owes me fifteen shillings?”

“Less cross than when she realizes that Gilly owes you twenty.”

Margaery chuckled, leaning into Sansa’s side. “You’ll protect me, yes?”

“Perhaps.” Sansa flashed her an amused smile as she telekinetically pushed the doors open for her.
“Do try to demonstrate some decorum, Sæta.”

“What would be the fun in that?” Margaery scoffed, stealing a kiss from her lovely mate before
striding into the small hall where nearly two hundred women had gathered, drawn by the rumors
already swirling around the Keep about Alicent and Queen Rhaenyra emerging together from the
Queen’s chambers this morning.

“Ladies and Gentlewomen,” Margaery announced, withdrawing from her pocket a neatly folded
piece of paper that Alicent had given her earlier with a playful wink and a knowing chuckle, “I hold
in my hand a signed statement from the Queen and Lady Alicent confirming both their pairbonded
status, and the various outcomes of our wagers.”

How exactly Alicent had known the precise information that they needed to settle their various
gambles remained something of a mystery, but that was a matter for another time.

A tumult of voices filled the supper hall almost before she’d finished speaking, but they were
swiftly silenced by an icy wind tearing through the room.

Margaery shivered, glancing over at her mate. “You could have simply whistled.”

“What would be the fun in that?” Sansa teased.

Unable to help but smile, Margaery returned her attention to the other women in the hall and made
a show of slowly unfolding the paper.

“Merciful Mother, get on with it,” Adela cried from her place near the front of the crowd.

Margaery snorted, half-tempted to unfold the paper even more slowly, but she heeded the gentle
telekinetic prod that she received from her mate. Once she’d finished unfolding the paper, her eyes
swept over the crowd of eager faces, before asking, “Where shall we begin?”

This time, Sansa didn’t silence the cacophony of voices.

And Margaery simply allowed herself to revel in it.

This was a most excellent day.

Aemma still remembered the day that Rhaenyra returned from visiting the Oracle, still remembered
the guttural wail that had torn from her throat as she’d collapsed in Laena’s arms and sobbed. She
still remembered Viserra’s tsking and muttering about the lack of decorum, still remembered her
desire to snap at the empress and demand to know how she could be so callous. She still
remembered Rhaenyra coming to her that night, crawling onto her lap, and sorrowfully asking why
Mother Relle was punishing her so, still remembered not knowing how to answer the plaintive
question.

She knew the answer now.

Rhaenyra was utterly singular. It was only fitting that she have an utterly singular mate.

When Rhaenyra had summoned her a few minutes ago, she’d assumed that it was simply to discuss
her schedule for the day. But the true reason for her summons had become evident the moment that
she’d entered her queen’s presence chamber.

The necklace of orchids and roses.

The gown of ruby-red silk and black samite.

The scent of freshly baked bread that still clung to her.

Aemma had known the moment that she’d entered Rhaenyra’s chambers.

Yet still, hearing the words spoken aloud filled her with a sense of elation that she’d not felt in
reigns, and she swiftly crossed the room to pull Rhaenyra into the tightest hug that she could
manage. “I am so happy for you, Rhaenyra.”

The words were insufficient, she knew, but she was also fairly certain that her emotions were strong
enough for Rhaenyra to sense them despite her wards.

Drawing back, Aemma allowed herself a moment to admire her heart friend’s necklace before
swiftly returning her eyes to a more appropriate location. “Your necklace is lovely.”

Rhaenyra beamed. “It’s entirely Alicent’s creation,” she declared proudly before looking over at
Alicent with so much adoration and love that Aemma almost felt as if she was intruding. “She is a
marvel without equal.”

Alicent’s cheeks were bright red as she reminded Rhaenyra that she’d commissioned the pendant,
but she didn’t stutter or stumble over her words, didn’t lower her head or avert her eyes, didn’t
squeeze her scarred wrist.

The young woman standing before her now was nigh unrecognizable as the flinching and
frightened creature who had first arrived here four years ago.

And that pleased Aemma more than words could ever hope to describe.
She held her arms out to Alicent, pleased when the other woman didn’t hesitate to accept the
offered hug and squeeze her tight. The first time that she’d offered Alicent a hug, her friend had
seemed almost as confused as she was wary, standing stiffly and awkwardly as Aemma briefly
wrapped her arms around her.

“Congratulations, Alicent.”

“Thank you, Aemma.” Alicent’s voice was slightly choked, but her joy was evident.

She deserves all the joy that this world has to offer. Glancing over at Rhaenyra, Aemma’s heart felt
so full that she wondered if it might burst.

They both do.

She would need to speak with Gilly at once about organizing a proper feast to celebrate this long-
awaited and momentous occasion. While she knew that Rhaenyra and Alicent would have little
interest in joining them—she assumed that they would take supper together privately this evening
as they did most nights—every other woman in Stone Garden would most certainly be in a festive
mood.

How could we not be?

Laena didn’t even attempt to suppress her gleeful laughter, reveling in both her sister’s exasperation
and the elation shining in her eyes. Were they in the same room, she knew that she would be half-
drunk on Rhaenyra’s contentment pheromones.

When she finally recovered herself, she flashed her sister a triumphant grin. “My deepest apologies,
Sweet Sister, but I’ve been having a rather difficult time hearing of late. Might you repeat those
words again for me?”

Rhaenyra scowled at her, but even that darkened expression did nothing to diminish the light of
love and joy shining in her eyes. “Alicent kissed me.” Her scowl vanished, replaced by a blinding
smile as she giggled like a child. “And she loves me.”

Laena resisted the urge to point out that Alicent wasn’t the sort of woman to kiss someone that she
didn’t love. “Well, I must say that I am utterly shocked by this unforeseen happening. In truth, I
wonder if I am perhaps dreaming.” She made a show of swatting her own arm.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you love me all the same.” Laena smiled sweetly. “Tell me, Rhae, perchance was it
Alicent who confessed first?”

Now it was Rhaenyra’s lips that curled into a smirk. “Why ever would you inquire about something
so very private, Laena?” Her eyes stretched wide. “Surely you’re not attempting to take advantage
of my sisterly affection in order to advance something so tawdry as a wager.”

“I most certainly am, and I can assure you that I’ll lose no sleep over the matter.” Laena arched an
eyebrow. “So, Sweet Sister, was Alicent the one to tell you that she loved you?”
She already knew the answer—her infinitely foolish and respectful sister would sooner spend the
remainder of eternity in one of the Great Glass Prisons than confess her love for fear that Alicent
would then feel “pressured” to reciprocate—but she needed Rhaenyra to speak the words aloud.

Both for the sake of her wagers with their sisters, and because she wished to have more reason to
tease Rhaenyra for the next reign or so.

Rhaenyra sighed. “Alicent told me that she loved me first.” A flush crept into her cheeks, which
told Laena that Alicent had done more than that, but she decided that now was not the time to tease
that truth from her little sister.

There would be time enough for that in the future.

For now, her sister deserved a proper celebration for having found her mate.

I’ll need to call the others at once.

“Congratulations, Rhae. Truly.” Laena pressed her hand against the mirror, smiling when Rhaenyra
did the same. “You deserve to have an eternity of love and happiness with Alicent.”

Something flashed in Rhaenyra’s eyes then—Laena could easily guess the reason—but her smile
didn’t waver. “Thank you, Laena.” She swallowed a little. “I, I didn’t even realize that such joy was
possible until today.”

Laena’s fingers curled, as if she was squeezing her sister’s hand. “If I thought that you would have
any interest in spending time with me in the coming month or so, I might visit Stone Garden to
congratulate you properly. But I well-remember how it was when I found Rhea, so I’ll leave the
two of you in peace.” She winked. “For now.”

Rhaenyra laughed, her own fingers curling in response. “My thanks, Laena.” She paused. “For
everything.”

“Well, the two of you ending this interminable dance means that I can have Alicent as my sister in
truth. I certainly wasn’t going to allow your foolishness to prevent me from having a medically
inclined sister.”

“Well, I’m glad that my over nine million years of searching for my mate has benefitted you so.”

“As you should be.” Laena’s hand fell away from the glass and made shooing motion. “Now,
begone with you. I don’t wish to incur the wrath of Lady Alicent Hightower by stealing away her
mate for too long.”

Rhaenyra grinned. “I’ll speak with you later, Laena.”

“But of course.” Laena flashed her a parting smile. “I love you, Rhae.”

“And I you.”

Alicent smiled to herself as she enjoyed the warm weight of Rhaenyra’s head nestled on her lap—
even if it did result in her having to awkwardly balance the rather heavy book on her knee whilst
she read.
Her fingers gently carded through her bondmate’s silver hair, earning contented purrs and sighs.
Glancing down at her lap, she saw that Rhaenyra’s eyes were closed and a peaceful expression had
settled over her face.

Sytarr above she’s so beautiful.

The thought almost made her laugh aloud, knowing full well that her god would be irate at her
invoking his name for such blasphemy. And yet she found that she didn’t much care if he was
furious with her.

For not even thoughts of Sytarr’s wroth and eternal damnation could spoil what had been without a
doubt the most wonderful day of her life.

After sharing with their friends that they were pairbonded, they’d eaten breakfast together in the
knot garden and then taken a leisurely stroll through the southwestern rose garden because Alicent
had wished to stretch her legs. The remainder of their day had followed a similar pattern, with their
activities more oft than not simply being the result of a momentary whim.

Alicent had mentioned perhaps spending some time in the library. Rhaenyra had asked if she would
prefer to walk or be teleported.

Rhaenyra had sweetly serenaded her beneath one of the silverwood trees that towered beside the
Stone Garden Temple. Alicent had in turn fetched her lute from her rooms and played until her
fingers were sore. Her bondmate hadn’t hesitated to then kiss each one of her fingers before using
her magic to soothe the minor aches.

Alicent had proposed they go riding in the woods together. Rhaenyra hadn’t even allowed the
groom to help her saddle Nevermore. The feeling of her bondmate’s warm body pressed against her
back and Rhaenyra’s strong arm encircling her waist had more than made up for the fact that
Alicent still wasn’t very fond of riding.

Rhaenyra had suggested having luncheon at an inn. Alicent had inquired which one.

Alicent had wished to take a walk along the shore of Lake Halinor and watch the waves. Rhaenyra
had found some beautiful abalone shells that she’d promised to have made into a necklace for her.

Rhaenyra had wanted to visit one of her favorite bakeries. Alicent had teasingly requested that her
bondmate buy her a sweet cake.

Rhaenyra had bought her seven.

After sharing supper in the Astral Tower and watching the sunset, Alicent had asked if they might
retire to her chambers for the evening. Rhaenyra had smiled and kissed her softly before helping
her to her feet—they’d been lying on the floor, side by side upon a thick blanket with pillows
beneath their heads, as they’d watched the sky catch fire—and teleporting them from the Astral
Tower to the hallway outside their apartments.

Once settled on their settee in Alicent’s privy chamber, she’d offered to read something aloud. But
rather than immediately agreeing as expected, Rhaenyra had instead nervously asked if she could
perhaps lay down and rest her head on Alicent’s lap.

Alicent hadn’t hesitated to grant the request.

Now, as she gazed down at her bondmate’s peaceful face, Alicent wondered if these might become
their customary positions when she read aloud to Rhaenyra.

It was certainly an appealing thought.

Her eyes briefly left Rhaenyra to check the clock, and she sighed inwardly when she saw that the
hour had grown quite late. She didn’t wish for the day to be over, didn’t wish for their time together
to come to an end.

Perhaps it needn’t.

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat.

Husbands didn’t share their wives’ beds.

But mates did.

And Rhaenyra was her mate.

Bondmate, she corrected herself. They’d not yet marked each other.

A shiver rippled down her spine at the thought of Rhaenyra marking her, at the thought of sharp
teeth sinking into her neck until her skin cleaved, at the thought of receiving a scar like the ones
that adorned the necks of nigh every woman she’d encountered since coming to Valyria.

She wondered if she would be able to mark Rhaenyra in turn, if such a thing was even possible
since she wasn’t a Valyrian.

Do I wish to be marked in such a way?

Her mind instinctively shied away from the thought, afraid of what her own answer might be.
While part of her wished to be marked, wished for her and Rhaenyra’s matebond to be sealed as
much as it could be, another part feared the pain and feared receiving yet another scar.

She already had so many . . . all of them ugly.

But this scar wouldn’t be ugly. It would be a mark of love, not ownership and malice.

Criston had marked her in a thousand ways, but she knew that being marked by Rhaenyra would
feel different—would be different.

Not that she needed to decide the matter now.

From what her friends had told her and what she’d read, mates rarely marked each other
immediately after becoming pairbonded.

Mate marking was a matter for another day.

Whether or not she dared ask to share Rhaenyra’s bed tonight was a far more present concern.

A concern that she would need to address with Rhaenyra herself.

When her fingers reluctantly abandoned Rhaenyra’s hair a moment later, her bondmate grumbled
unhappily.

Unable to help but grin at the way Rhaenyra’s face scrunched with displeasure, Alicent lightly
brushed the tip of her little finger along the length of her bondmate’s lovely nose. “My Safa,” she
cooed, “won’t you let me see your pretty eyes?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes opened at once.

Alicent’s grin widened further as her hand moved to cradle her bondmate’s soft cheek. “Perhaps we
should retire for the night, Nyra. You seem tired.”

“I’m not tired.” Rhaenyra nuzzled her palm. “Closing my eyes simply helps me better focus on the
sound of your sweet voice when you read to me.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest and in her cheeks. “Flatterer.”

Rhaenyra responded by lifting her head enough to make her desires known.

Alicent leaned down and connected their lips, kissing her softly and savoring the pleased purr that
rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest.

She and Rhaenyra had been exchanging loving kisses throughout the day whenever the opportunity
presented itself.

Which had been quite often.

And no matter how many times she’d kissed Rhaenyra or been kissed by her, each was precious
and made her heart sing.

When they parted, Alicent was delighted by the flush that had crept into Rhaenyra’s face. “My
Love, I was wondering if I might ask something of you.”

“Anything that you desire shall be yours, Safa. If it is within my power.” Rhaenyra’s eyes and tone
were soft and earnest, and Alicent’s heart fluttered.

“I was wondering,” she cleared her throat a little, searching for the proper words, “that is, if you’re
amenable, perhaps—Could I call on you later and . . .”

Why was her desire so difficult to articulate?

If Rhaenyra does not wish to share a bed, she will say so. And she will do so politely.

Her bondmate would never scorn her for making a request.

Rhaenyra wanted her to express her desires.

Always.

“Might we both retire to your chambers for the night?”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline, and she sat up so swiftly that her head almost
collided with Alicent’s. Her eyes were comically wide as she stared at her with something between
wonder and trepidation. “Do you mean to say . . ?” She wet her lips. “You wish for us to share a
bed?”

Alicent nodded, nervously fiddling with her emerald orchid ring. “But only if you desire the same,”
she added hastily. “I wouldn’t wish to discomfit you.”

Amusement sparked in Rhaenyra’s eyes then. “I would love little more than to share a bed with
you, Ali.” She paused, expression becoming pensive. “But there are a few matters that we ought to
discuss first.”

“Oh?” Alicent shifted so that she was properly facing her bondmate, cocking her head slightly.
“Such as?”

“What you’re comfortable with.” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed for a moment. “I suppose what I’m
comfortable with as well, but that’s less important.”

“Rhaenyra,” she chided, “your comfort matters just as much as mine.”

“I—” Rhaenyra sighed, inclining her head. “Yes, I know that my comfort matters as well.” She held
out her hands, and when Alicent accepted them, she brought their joined hands to her lips and
began pressing gentle kisses to Alicent’s fingers. “I meant only that you have more reasons to be
uncomfortable with sharing a bed than I do.”

That was true enough.

“You mentioned during breakfast that you enjoy when I hold you.” Rhaenyra’s thumbs were now
stroking gentle circles on the backs of Alicent’s hands. “Does that only apply if we’re both on our
sides and your back is against my front?”

Alicent’s brow furrowed. “How do you mean?” Were there other ways to be held if they were
abed?

“Well, another way that I might hold you is lying on my back with you atop me. Or you might only
be partly atop me with your head resting on my chest. We could also be facing each other,
although,” Rhaenyra chuckled softly, “I’m not entirely certain how we would manage all of our
limbs.”

Nor could Alicent. She also wasn’t entirely certain how she might feel about those other positions
without actually being in them, and she told her bondmate as much.

Rhaenyra nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose that one must needs be somewhat experimental.”
Her eyes fell briefly upon the skirts of Alicent’s dress. “Were you uncomfortable this morning
when we were both wearing only our nightgowns?

Alicent considered for a moment. There had been so many other matters occupying her mind that
she hadn’t even considered her state of undress. Before today, she’d always donned a dressing
gown on the occasions when Rhaenyra called upon her in the early morning.

Had she minded Rhaenyra seeing her in only her nightgown?

“I don’t believe so,” she said slowly, “but I was rather distracted this morning.”
Rhaenyra chuckled softly. “Well, I suppose we can determine your comfort with our nightclothes
once you’ve readied for bed. Which begs my next question.” She paused, expression both nervous
and hopeful. “Ali, I was wondering if perhaps—now that we’re bondmates—you might be willing
to assist me with my clothes in the evening?”

Assist her with—

Alicent gulped nervously, her mind flashing to the nights when Criston had forced her onto her
knees and ordered her to undress him before tearing off her clothes and—

“You,” her tongue suddenly felt clumsy in her mouth, “you wish us to undress each other? To—for
us to see each other unclothed?”

The smile that Rhaenyra gave her was achingly tender as she released Alicent’s hands so that she
could cradle her face. “I wish for you to know all of me, My Love.” Her thumbs stroked over the
curves of Alicent’s cheekbones. “And I would hope to know all of you as well.”

Alicent’s breath hitched in her throat, and her heart began to thunder in her chest.

Those words should have made her smile.

They should have warmed her.

They should have—

But dread was pooling in her stomach.

Dread that she knew she shouldn’t be feeling, and yet . . .

She hadn’t meant to entice—hadn’t meant to insinuate that she wanted . . . When she’d asked to
share Rhaenyra’s bed, she’d meant only . . . She had thought that she would have more time before
. . . Surely Rhaenyra didn’t wish . . . Not after less than a day.

“I would hope to know all of you as well.”

Her fingers curled around her scarred wrist.

She’d of course known that Rhaenyra would expect to bed her eventually, that Rhaenyra would
wish to have her in that way, that . . . She knew that mates bedded each other—Margaery and Sansa
had made that quite plain—but the prospect of being bedded again and enduring the pain and
discomfort inherent in the act turned her stomach and made the scars marring her inner thighs ache.

Rhaenyra will be gentle with me. She won’t make me bleed as Criston and his friends always did.
She won’t hurt me any more than absolutely necessary when she . . . when she seeks her pleasure
from me.

For surely it was pleasure that mates desired when they bedded each other, since their unions
couldn’t produce children.

And while Alicent didn’t understand how Valyrians could derive pleasure from bedding, she knew
that they must, and she wanted . . . She loved Rhaenyra, and she wanted to make her happy
however she could. Rhaenyra deserved to experience all of the joys that came from having a mate.
So if her bondmate wished to bed her, Alicent would offer herself willingly, would even attempt to
be eager for her.

She enjoyed being kissed by Rhaenyra. Perhaps she could learn to enjoy being bedded by her as
well?

But she’d thought that she would have more time before Rhaenyra asked this of her.

“Alicent?”

Blinking owlishly, Alicent dragged herself from her thoughts and refocused her attention on
Rhaenyra. “My, my apologies. I became distracted.”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Safa. I should have realized that—”
She glanced down at Alicent’s wrist with sad eyes. “I know that you still fret about your scars, and
I should have realized that sharing such an intimacy might . . .” Her eyes found Alicent’s once
more. “Your comfort is paramount, Ali. We needn’t ever—”

“We will,” Alicent assured her. “I’ll—I’ll be ready eventually. I’m . . . I’m not at present, but I will
be.” She offered an apologetic smile. “I know that you’ve waited a long time to find your mate, and
I know that bedding is expected. I don’t mean to deny you forever—”

“I beg your pardon?” Confusion crinkled Rhaenyra’s brow. “Alicent, I said nothing of bedding.
Why—?” Her eyes widened with horror. “Is that what unnerved you so? You thought that I
intended to bed you tonight?”

Alicent hesitated, suddenly feeling uncertain. “You . . . you said that you wished to undress me and
see me,” her cheeks reddened, “you said that you want to see naked, Rhaenyra. Why would you
desire such a thing unless you intend to bed me?”

Rhaenyra was silent for a long moment, but it was the sort of silence that Alicent recognized as her
bondmate carefully selecting her next words, not the sort that happened when she simply had no
answer. “Alicent, when I said that I wished for your help with my clothes, I didn’t mean as, as a
prelude to bedding you. There is nothing inherently sexual,” she paused, shaking her head, “for
Valyrians there is nothing inherently sexual about being unclothed in front of each other.”

Alicent gave her an incredulous look. “You called it an intimacy.”

“Because it is, but that doesn’t mean it’s a sexual intimacy.” Rhaenyra held out her hand. “When I
told you about Emalia, that was an intimacy. When I told you about the net and what came after,
that was an intimacy. But none of those moments were sexual.”

“Sharing secrets is different from disrobing.” Alicent clasped Rhaenyra’s offered hand.

“Is it? Both require the willing removal of the artifice that we cloak ourselves in. Both reveal that
which is normally hidden. Both are demonstrations of vulnerability and trust. Neither is done with
just anyone, and neither would ever be done publicly.”

Alicent opened her mouth, intending to argue that being unclothed exposed intimate and sexual
parts of the body, but then her eyes fell upon her bondmate’s neck.
“The vast majority of women—assuming they are of age—will bed their sweethearts, but none
allow their sweethearts to touch their necks.”

Of course.

“It’s considered rude to stare at a woman’s neck.”

Yet Valyrians didn’t cover them or attempt to conceal them from view.

And if they’re comfortable revealing their necks, why would they fuss about the rest?

Rhaenyra hadn’t been tacitly asking to bed her. She’d simply . . .

“You look at me, and you’re able to see only me.”

“I want you to know all of me.”

Her bondmate had simply wished to share another piece of herself.

Relief washed over her in a warm wave, and she suddenly felt terribly foolish for presuming.

Even if it was a reasonable presumption.

Alicent squeezed Rhaenyra’s hand. “I love you, Nyra, and I trust you more than anyone, and I do
want you to know all of me, but I . . . I’m not ready for . . .” She wasn’t ready to expose herself in
such a way. She wasn’t ready for Rhaenyra to see all of the scars marring her body. She wasn’t
ready to be reminded of every time that she’d felt weak and helpless and broken and at the mercy
of others. “Being unclothed is different for me.”

“I know.” Rhaenyra leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “And I should have considered that
before saying what I did.” She kissed her other cheek. “Please forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, My Love.” It should hardly surprise her that Valyrians held different
views of intimacy and being unclothed from Westerosi.

Rhaenyra smiled softly, but there was a hesitancy to it. “Ali, you—you do know that I would never
make such a demand of you, don’t you? I would never insist that you bed me.”

Of course she knew that. Rhaenyra loved her, and Valyrians abhorred rape above all else. She knew
that Rhaenyra would never demand or insist or force her, but surely she expected that Alicent
would eventually acquiesce.

They were mates, and mates—

“Ali, My Love.” Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes bored into her, insistent and pleading all at once. “I
swear to you, by Mother Relle and All Her Faces, upon my honor as a woman of House Targaryen,
and upon our matebond, that I will never touch you in a sexual manner without your explicit leave
and desire. Your comfort matters more to me than anything else in all creation, and if you never
wish to share my bed in that way, I’ll be perfectly content. I love you—all of you—not simply your
body.”

“But mates . . .”
“Not all mates.” Rhaenyra shrugged. “Some women simply have no interest in such acts. As is their
prerogative.”

Alicent’s lips pursed as she studied her bondmate’s expression. She knew that her words were
sincere, knew that Rhaenyra could indeed be content with never bedding her, but— “But you do
have an interest in such acts. You,” she swallowed a little, “you desire me in that way.”

Rhaenyra hesitated a moment before slowly nodding. “I do, but what I desire above all else is your
comfort, safety, and happiness.” She offered her other hand, smiling when Alicent laced their
fingers together. “You are my mate, Ali, and I will always place your needs first. I know your
history, and I know that you may never wish to be intimate with me in that way.” She brought
Alicent’s hands to her lips and softly kissed the backs. “I would sooner spend an eternity in torment
than demand something of you that you do not wish to give.”

“Nyra . . .” Her throat felt tight, and her stomach was twisting, but all she wanted was to kiss
Rhaenyra breathless and be held by her. She wanted to bask in the love and devotion that she could
sense emanating from her bondmate.

But their conversation was not yet done.

For while she would be forever grateful for the care that Rhaenyra always took with her, for her
bondmate’s willingness to sacrifice her own desires, Alicent didn’t want such imbalance in their
relationship, she didn’t want to always be taking from Rhaenyra in this regard and never offering
anything in return. “Your needs matter as well, My Love.” She squeezed her hands. “What you
want matters, and if I can give this to you—”

“Do you think that I would ever want to have you if you’re unwilling?” Rhaenyra arched an
eyebrow, her tone sharp with both hurt and incredulity. “Do you think that I would find it
pleasurable if you’re trembling with fear and struggling not to cry as I touch you and kiss you?”

“No, of course not, but I could . . .” She wasn’t entirely certain what she could do. While her
marriage had taught her how to hide her discomfort and ignore the pain of being bedded, she knew
that wasn’t what Rhaenyra wanted.

Her bondmate wished for her to be eagerly willing, but Alicent didn’t know if she could be.

Rhaenyra sighed, but not in disappointment or irritation. “Alicent, I appreciate and love your desire
to reciprocate in all things, but this . . . Consent isn’t a matter of reciprocity. If you’re telling me
‘yes’ only out of a sense of duty, then you’re not consenting.”

Alicent blinked at her, suddenly feeling like an utter fool.

“So you never told your husband ‘no’ when he wished to bed you? Did you feel that you could have
said ‘no’?”

She’d known that she could say “no” to Rhaenyra, known that Rhaenyra would respect her wishes,
but some part of her had still thought . . .

I’m not a wife, and Rhaenyra is not my husband. We’re mates.

That distinction mattered.

And she was an idiot for somehow forgetting.

Leaning forward, she briefly pressed her lips to Rhaenyra’s. “Thank you, Safa.”

She didn’t know how to articulate everything that she was thanking her bondmate for, but she knew
that Rhaenyra would understand her all the same.

Rhaenyra smiled at her, the shadows gone from her eyes now. “I love you, Ali.”

“And I love you, Nyra.” Alicent paused, wondering if perhaps it would be better for them to simply
retire to their own chambers for the night. But she wished to be held, and Rhaenyra had said earlier
that she would love little more than sharing a bed with her. “Might we . . . if you’re willing, might
we still share your bed tonight? I enjoyed waking up in your arms this morning, and I would very
much like to do so from now on. If you’d like that as well.”

The kiss that she received was more than answer enough, but Rhaenyra still whispered against her
lips, “My bed is yours for as long as you desire, Ali. As am I.”

When Alicent awoke the following morning, it was in much the same position as the day before.
Rhaenyra’s arms were wrapped comfortably around her waist, and her bondmate’s front was flush
with Alicent’s back. The sweet smell of roses bathed her senses, and her heart fluttered in response.
Rhaenyra’s warm breath caressed the back of her neck, and she could feel the swell of her
bondmate’s breasts through their nightgowns.

Her mouth felt strangely dry this morning.

Twisting her head, she looked over her shoulder and found Rhaenyra gazing at her with sleepy
eyes.

“Good morning, My Love.”

The words sent a shiver of delight rippling down Alicent’s spine. “Good morning, Safa.” She rolled
over in Rhaenyra’s arms to avoid straining her neck. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long. Five minutes, perhaps?” Rhaenyra sighed regretfully, her warm hand stroking Alicent’s
side. “I’m afraid that I won’t be able to spend the entire day with you again, much as I wish to.”

“That’s all right.” Alicent shifted closer to brush the tip of her nose against Rhaenyra’s. “I have
work to do at the shop.” She smiled wryly. “It seems that everyone attending the Dragon Summit
wishes to do so in a new gown.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes suddenly sparked with excitement. “Would you like to attend as well?”

Alicent stared at her in confusion, certain that she’d misheard. She had no place at the Dragon
Summit, especially considering her people had caused the rift between the Valyrians and their
draconic cousins.

“I’ve been endeavoring to convince Visenya,” Rhaenyra continued, “arguing that you’re technically
a Child of Fire as well since you’re descended from Old Worlders, but she’s been hesitant given the
War—”
“As she should be. Rhaenyra, My Love, you flatter me, but I have no place there.” Much as she
might wish for one. The prospect of being able to observe dragons and perhaps even interact with
them made her very bones thrum with anticipation, but—

“You have a place if you wish it. I would have convinced my daughter eventually, but now there is
no need.” Rhaenyra grinned at her. “My daughters, my sisters, Prelate Sif, and Mother Lotus
Minnora’s mates will all be in attendance. It would hardly be fair if my own mate was excluded.”

Alicent knew that she was grinning like a fool, but how could she not be? She was being offered
the opportunity to not only observe dragons, but Rhaenyra’s sisters, all seven of her daughters,
sixty-four members of the First Generation—including, perhaps, the All Mother herself—the
prelate, and the mother lotus. “You’re certain that no one will mind?”

“As certain as I can be.”

She supposed that she couldn’t demand more than that, though perhaps she should ask if Laena
might be willing to make a few independent inquiries. “And you wish me there as well?”

“I would have you by my side always.”

Alicent’s heart fluttered. “Then I would be honored to attend.”

“Wonderful.” Rhaenyra kissed her soundly, and when she drew back, her amethyst eyes glinted
impishly. “You’ll need to commission a new gown for the Summit.”

Alicent snorted. “Ah, I see. You only invited me as part of a plot to ensure that I spend more time at
the shop.” She stretched her eyes wide with feigned hurt. “Have you truly grown so weary of me
already, My Love?”

“I’d sooner grow weary of breathing.” Rhaenyra gave her another kiss before reluctantly
unwinding her arms from around her waist and slipping from her bed. “Do you wish to return to
your rooms whilst I ready myself?” she asked over her shoulder.

Unbidden, Alicent’s eyes went to the doors connecting Rhaenyra’s apartments to her own.

Both still stood open from the night before, allowing her to peek into her bedchamber.

“Do you wish me to?”

“Not particularly.” Rhaenyra selected a simple gown of emerald-green from her armoire before
retreating behind her changing screen.

Alicent averted her eyes, even though there was nothing for her to catch a glimpse of.

Less than a minute later, she heard Rhaenyra say, “I’m dressed, Ali.”

If and when her core was reawakened, she would make certain to learn whatever spell it was that
Valyrians used to undress and redress so swiftly.

The moment that Rhaenyra seated herself in front of her vanity, telekinetic hands began swiftly
styling her hair into a series of simple braids that were then coiled and artfully arranged to resemble
a slumbering dragon.
Alicent watched as Rhaenyra slipped her rings onto her fingers, watched as her bondmate secured
the necklace that she had gifted her around her elegant neck, watched as she briefly inspected her
reflection once her hair had stilled and the final pin slipped into place.

She waited—

Rhaenyra rose to her feet.

And it was only then that Alicent noticed the distinct lack of anything resembling a vessel for
perfume on her bondmate’s vanity.

But that couldn’t be.

Even now, as she lay in Rhaenyra’s bed, the warm and sweet smell of roses still lingered. The smell
of comfort and safety and love, the smell that had helped calm her for years, the smell that was so
uniquely Rhaenyra and—

She always smells of roses.

No matter the hour, her friend always smelled of roses.

But sometimes . . .

During Yule, she’d noticed that sometimes Rhaenyra’s perfume smelled sharp and bitter, as if the
roses had somehow rotted.

As if her perfume was reflecting her mood.

Strong Sytarr above.

Alicent sat up. “Rhaenyra?”

“Yes, My Love?” Rhaenyra swiftly crossed the room to her, concern shining in her eyes.

The smell of roses washed over Alicent then, calming her and—

“Sansa’s mere presence calms and comforts me as nothing else can, and her pheromones have a
stronger effect on me than anyone else’s.”

How had she not realized?

How could she have realized?

This shouldn’t be possible.

Even with her Old World ancestry—

Westerosi simply didn’t have the olfactory structures necessary to—

My core is dormant, and yet I somehow have empathic abilities.

Hadn’t she wondered, the day that Rhaenyra had told her about her ancestry, if it would be possible
for her . . .
“The Temple teaches that the matebond is a gift from Mother Relle, and she most certainly
reawakened it within the First Generation, but it also predates her by millions of years.”

“The matebond was inherent to Old Worlders, and the only reason it became dormant was because
our ancestors were taught to suppress it for so long.”

“Alicent—”

“You smell like roses.”

For a moment, Rhaenyra simply stared at her in confusion, but then her eyes widened with shock.
“Merciful Mother,” she whispered.

So she is.

“It’s your natural scent, isn’t it?” Alicent needed to hear the words spoken aloud, needed to know
that she hadn’t simply gone mad—

“It is.” The shock in Rhaenyra’s eyes had given way to astonishment and awe, but there was also a
question.

“I can’t smell anyone else’s scent. Only yours.” She reached for her bondmate, wanting her closer,
needing to feel her presence. “I’ve always—”

No.

That wasn’t true.

Not always.

“The night that you washed my feet. That was when I first noticed—when I could first scent you.”

Mere moments after she’d realized that Rhaenyra had somehow managed to make her feel safe for
the first time in decades.

“You are my safety and my shield, my shelter and my sanctuary.”

“I think that . . . You made me feel safe that night. Perhaps it . . . awakened the matebond
somehow?” She didn’t know how that would be possible, since her understanding was that Relle
herself had only been able to reawaken the matebond in the First Generation because they’d been
her worshippers, but how else to explain . . . any of this?

How else to explain her?

She would most certainly be discussing this matter with Nesryn when next they spoke.

Rhaenyra’s warm hands were holding her face now, thumbs stroking her cheeks. “I made you feel
safe? Even then?”

Alicent nodded as best she could without dislodging her bondmate’s hands. “Even then. You . . .
you’ve always had a talent for making me feel safe. And protected. It’s why I—” Her cheeks
flushed. She’d never intended to tell Rhaenyra this, but she wanted to now. She wanted her
 bondmate to understand the depth of the sense of safety that she’d been creating for Alicent all
these years. “It’s why I made you my ward.”

“You made me . . .” Rhaenyra gaped at her.

“You told me to think of something that makes me feel safe,” Alicent coaxed Rhaenyra up onto the
bed with her, “and I immediately thought of you. Of you holding me and telling me that everything
will be well. I kept telling myself that I would construct a new ward, but . . .” She smiled shyly,
humming happily when warm lips pressed against her forehead. “I suppose some part of me
enjoyed always having you with me. In a manner of speaking.”

“You made me your ward.” Rhaenyra was gazing at her reverently, love and wonder shining in her
eyes.

Along with perhaps an unshed tear or two.

Alicent pressed their foreheads together. “You are my safety and my shield, my shelter and my
sanctuary.”

A pleased purr rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest, so loud and resonant that Alicent could feel it
thrumming in her own. “And you are my comfort and my home, the person to whom I always long
to return.”

“Kiss me?”

“You needn’t ever ask.”

Alicent’s eyes closed as their lips met, and she couldn’t recall ever being happier.

Chapter End Notes

Yes, Margaery will be using her newfound gambling wealth for good (i.e. showering Sansa
with gifts and such). As a reminder, one crown is equal to about $6,000 U.S. dollars, or about
£4,900 pounds sterling.

Next Chapter: Rhaenyra visits the All Mother, and Alicent has a new experience 😏.
 A Gentle Plea
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 41:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Daenerys Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone and Matriarch of the House Targaryen, formerly
the 1st Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Missandei Velaryon, a Dragonstone courtier, from the Dragon Court

Trigger Warning: Mentions and discussions of marital rape and vaginal bleeding from
injuries.

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Here is a map of Kastrell and the Dragon Court for reference.

Also, when reading the description of Dragonstone, picture something like this in terms of
structure and basic design, but with three heads and constructed from multi-colored stone.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Summer Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

The great keys of office glowed softly beside the painted flowers adorning the silverwood table
around which Rhaenyra and her Small Council sat. Elysara’s quill scratched softly against the
parchment of her scroll, recording every word spoken without pause or hesitation. The voices of
her councilors ebbed and flowed around her in a ceaseless river of deliberations, but Rhaenyra’s
attention was only partly focused on their logistical discussions regarding the Dragon Summit.

Alicent had hurt herself the day before.

And the memory of her pained expression . . .

The memory of her blood as it—

Seven thrice-damned Hells.

I smell blood.

No sooner had the thought formed in her mind than she suddenly found herself standing near the
base of a staircase.

Her hand instinctively reached out to press against the nearest wall and steady herself.

Merciful Mother, her magic hadn’t acted without her leave since—

Bread.
Warm and rich and inviting.

But tainted by the smell of iron.

Rhaenyra’s head whipped to the side, and her heart constricted in her chest when she saw Alicent
sitting on the bottom stair and supporting herself against the wall, her lovely brown eyes wide with
surprise and shining with pain as she stared at Rhaenyra.

And she was bleeding.

Rhaenyra was kneeling at her bondmate’s side a moment later, leaning close to inspect the wound
on Alicent’s head and scenting the air in search of any less visible sources of injury. “My Love,
what happened?”

“I’m all right, Nyra,” Alicent assured her, managing a small smile. “I slipped is all.” She shrugged,
and the motion made her grimace.

Rhaenyra’s magic roared, but she forced it to quiet. She could feel herself trembling, could hear her
heart thundering, knew that her scent must be sharp and bitter and heavy with fear.

Alicent was bleeding.

And Relle above her bondmate’s blood was so . . . so . . .

Her stomach churned.

The blood dripping down her Sweet Alicent’s cheek was bright and thick and so very red.

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched as she forced her hands to steady. “May I? Please?”

“Yes, thank you, Nyra.” Alicent’s eyes closed as she turned her head slightly so that Rhaenyra
could better see where her flesh had been sliced open by the unforgiving edge of the stone stairs.
“It’s only a minor laceration, My Love. Head wounds simply bleed overmuch.”

As if that somehow made her injury less troubling.

Swallowing the growl threatening to rise in her chest, Rhaenyra focused her attention on the cut
and watched with critical eyes as the her bondmate’s flesh swiftly knit itself back together in
response to her magic repairing the broken blood vessels and compelling the skin cells to rapidly
replicate and form new tissue.

The healing took no more than a second.

Withdrawing a handkerchief from her pocket, Rhaenyra reached up and carefully cleaned the blood
from Alicent’s face. “Are you sore elsewhere from the fall, Ali?”

“Somewhat,” Alicent admitted, cheeks reddening with embarrassment. “I feel so foolish. Had I
been watching my step—”

“You’ve no reason to feel foolish, Safa.” Rhaenyra stowed the bloody handkerchief back in her
pocket before seating herself on the step beside Alicent and gathering her bondmate into her arms.
Alicent sighed happily, eyes closing as Rhaenyra began pressing kisses to her cheeks, chin,
forehead, nose, and lips. “I’m all right, Nyra.” Her hand found Rhaenyra’s arm and squeezed. “All
is well.”

Her bondmate’s loving assurances did nothing to soothe the terror that had seized a hold of
Rhaenyra’s heart.

The injury had been minor, in truth, but what if it hadn’t been?

While her Alicent had survived far worse harms, she shouldn’t have to.

And they would have so little time together . . .

Perhaps eight millennia—if they were lucky—but that was nothing.

“Your mate shall be a Daughter Not Born of Valyria. And in her shall you find the peace you’ve so
long sought.”

Her Alicent.

Her beloved Alicent.

Her intelligent, wonderful, remarkable Alicent.

Her dreadfully delicate and terrifyingly mortal Alicent.

But need she be?

That was the question that plagued her as she listened to Lymna and Bartima bicker over whether a
proper retinue was necessary or appropriate for the Summit.

“Valyrians became immortal through magic. Could you not use the same spell on your mate?”

Alicent was not an Old Worlder, but their blood flowed through her veins, their genes were a part of
her genome, and—most importantly—their magic lay dormant in her core.

Her core—which Dr. Nesryn was growing closer and closer to being able to reawaken.

Despite lacking all memories of the immortality spell, Rhaenyra knew in her bones that having a
core of magic was somehow important—perhaps even essential. Although that begged the question
of whether Alicent’s core would need to be awakened first.

A small smile curled her lips at the thought of seeing Alicent shift for the first time, of being able to
play a proper game of charades with her, of watching her carry mountains of books with her mind.

Perhaps I ought to enchant her study door to add an additional room. She could begin building a
library all her own.

“Your Majesty?”
Sighing inwardly, Rhaenyra refocused the whole of her attention on Bartima. “I’m afraid that I
must agree with Lymna on this matter. A retinue is entirely unnecessary for the Summit. I shall be
accompanied by my knights, Lady Alicent, and Archmagister Elysara. Any other women would
serve no purpose, and I suspect that this gathering will be crowded enough as it is.”

In addition to herself, her daughters, the matriarchs, the matrons, Prelate Sif, and Mother Lotus
Minnora, all seven of the crown princesses and all seven of the dowager queens had been invited to
attend. Many of those attending—herself included now—would be accompanied by their mates,
and Prelate Sif and the women of her family would all be accompanied by their knights as well.

And that count was not even considering the number of dragons who would be attending.

“As you will, Your Majesty.” Bartima didn’t bother to conceal her displeasure as she inclined her
head.

Rhaenyra smiled slightly. “I would expect more cheer from you, Bartima. A full retinue is a costly
matter.”

“Certain expenses must needs be made for the sake of propriety,” Bartima sniffed.

Lymna frowned at her mate. “A retinue of any size larger than what Her Majesty intends would
create all manner of logistical—”

Rhaenyra raised a hand to silence her mistress of resources, lest she and Bartima begin another
hour-long debate. “My decision has been made, Lymna. There is no need to further justify your
position.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“With that settled, have we any additional matters to review?” Rhaenyra’s eyes swept around the
table. Considering they’d already discussed the need to find additional storm-scryers in preparation
for Mistress Rylena’s resignation and the possibility of levying a new short-term tax on wool to
account for the current surplus, she hoped that they would be finished for the day.

Corla cleared her throat, expression somewhat apologetic. “There remains the matter of reviewing
the new legislative proposals from the provinces, Your Majesty.”

“I’ve received all of those drafts, yes?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I’ll review them this evening then.” And afterwards, she would request that Alicent play
something soft and soothing to ease the headache that she knew would result from hours of reading
through legalese.

“There is also the matter of new road requests.” Lymna swiftly shuffled through a few of her papers
and then telekinetically slid one of them across the table to her. “I’ve drafted a priority list for your
review.”

Rhaenyra caught the paper and briefly scanned over the different town and village names.
“Considering there are only twenty listed, I see no reason to prioritize. I’ll reach out to my family
members living in Kastrell and ask them to handle construction coordination.” She added the paper
to her ever-growing stack. “Is there anything else?”

This time, her councilors remained silent.

“Wonderful. Then we are adjourned for the day.”

As her councilors rose from their chairs and reclaimed their great keys of office from the table,
Rhaenyra felt a light tap on her mental ward. “Yes, Aunt Rhaenys?”

“Might I have a private word with you, Rhaenyra?”

“Of course.”

She was fairly certain that she knew what her aunt wished to discuss, and that knowledge filled her
with a peculiar combination of warmth and anticipated fatigue.

It had been over four months since Seventh Night—over four months since her aunt had been told
about the net.

Ever since she was a child, she’d feared what would happen should others learn that her mother’s
edict to not use her magic had been enforced by a stasis net. Her mother had warned her time and
again that revealing the net would cause their people to fear her all the more.

“They look at you now and see an imperial princess demonstrating exceptional restraint. The sort
that we all wish to see in a future empress. Tell me, Daughter, how do you believe they shall look at
you if they learn that your ‘restraint’ is but an illusion? That you in truth have so little control over
yourself and your magic that I must control it for you. Do you think that will make them love you?”

She’d known that it wouldn’t.

And as for her family . . .

The thought of them condemning her had always been too much to bear.

But then, when Alicent hadn’t condemned her upon learning about the net, some part of Rhaenyra
had begun to hope.

The morning after she’d banished her mother, she’d been drawn from her dreams by a brisk knock
on her bedchamber door. That the person on the other side had been allowed entry at such an early
hour was why she’d swiftly risen from her bed and donned a dressing gown. She’d assumed that it
must be Alicent or Aemma, but when she’d opened the door, she’d instead found her aunt standing
on the other side.

Her stomach had clenched with dread as her mother’s words echoed in her ears, and she’d
instinctively steeled herself for her aunt’s censure.

Her aunt, who had always been her mother’s favorite sister.

Her aunt, who had oft praised her mother’s dedication to the Empire and her people.

Her aunt, who had been the first person to hold her mother—both after her egg was laid and after
she’d hatched.
Her aunt . . .

Who had immediately drawn her into a crushing hug.

“I love you, Rhaenyra. So much. You are a remarkable woman and a magnificent queen. That
Viserra refuses to see that makes her an idiot. That she would instead choose to withhold her love
from you makes her unworthy of calling herself your mother. And that she would dare bind your
core in a thrice-damned stasis net makes her a monster.”

Her aunt had then demanded to know when Rhaenyra intended to bring formal abuse charges
against her mother.

Rhaenyra had yet to offer her an answer.

Once the room had emptied and the door closed behind her departing councilors, she turned her
attention to Rhaenys. “What do you wish to speak about, Aunt?”

“Viserra.”

As expected.

“What of her?”

“Her actions cannot be allowed to go unpunished, Rhaenyra.” Her aunt’s tone was almost as sharp
as her scent, and her lilac eyes burned. “What she has done—”

“Was done to me, Aunt Rhaenys. And what vengeance is to be had shall be of my doing or only at
my behest.” It was hypocritical of her, she knew, for she had certainly exacted vengeance on behalf
of others countless times throughout her life.

But more oft than not, they were in no position to seek vengeance for themselves.

Memories of Alicent’s utter terror the night that she’d shared her memory of that thrice-damned
cage flashed through Rhaenyra’s mind. Memories of her precious bondmate trapped and screaming.
Memories of her Alicent begging to be let out, promising to be good, apologizing again and again
—

Rhaenyra had many regrets.

What she’d done to Criston in retribution for the decades of torture that he’d inflicted upon Alicent
was not one of them.

But her mother was a different matter.

“The Dragon Summit will be the first time in nearly five hundred million years that the members of
a Great Council have convened,” Rhaenys was saying. “What better time to make Viserra’s perfidy
known and ensure that she is properly adjudged and punished?”

“You know as well as I do that publicly denouncing my mother will create a scandal the likes of
which our world has not seen since the Betrayal. House Targaryen cannot be seen as divided, and
the knowledge that a former empress is capable of—” Rhaenyra’s throat tightened.

“I’m not ready to name it as such, Ali.”

“That’s all right, Nyra.” Alicent’s voice had been so soft, and her touch softer still. “You know that
I needed time as well before I could say the word. There is no rush.”

Her bondmate was the only member of her innermost circle not hectoring her to move against her
mother.

Hylda’s words on the matter were few but always pointed.

Aemma’s urgings were gentle and firm all at once.

Laena was rather more insistent.

And Rhaenys even more so.

“Rhaenyra.” Her aunt’s eyes softened as she strode across the room and sat down upon the chair
nearest her. “Our House will be united. Against Viserra. And in support of you. Just as the
Targaryen Sisters and their daughters once stood united against Aerysa. No one is above the law,
and that includes a former empress. There will be a scandal, yes, but our people will see that House
Targaryen does not tolerate corruption of any kind, nor do we allow evil to simply fester. We cut it
out. And we burn it.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at her aunt’s words, at the righteous fury underlying each and
every one of them. “Even if all that is so—”

“It is.”

“—there are still other matters to consider. The All Mother may not wish my mother’s actions
known.” Just as she did not wish my actions known.

Dr. Alfadora insisted that there was a difference, but Rhaenyra disagreed.

It would not do for the Empire to fear its empresses, nor would it do for their people to wonder and
worry what their rulers might be capable of.

Rhaenys waved dismissively. “Grandmother Daenerys slew her own twin to preserve the stability
of the Empire. She knows better than most that while blood calls to blood, some blood is simply
rancid.”

Rhaenyra sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Perhaps, but all the same, I’ll not take any public
action without first consulting the All Mother.”

Her aunt leaned forward, eyes brightening. “So you are considering action?”

“I’m considering the ramifications of possible actions.” Rhaenyra held up a hand to forestall the
protests that she knew were poised on her aunt’s tongue. “I’m not ready, Aunt Rhaenys. I would ask
that you respect that. Please.”

Rising to her feet, Rhaenys closed the short distance between them and leaned down to press a
gentle kiss to her brow. “Very well, Rhaenyra, I’ll bother you no more on this matter. But know this
—I stand with you. And so will the rest of our House, if given the chance.”

Rhaenyra reached out and clasped her aunt’s hand, squeezing tight. “Thank you, Aunt Rhaenys.”
“I only regret that I did not see the truth sooner.” Guilt flashed in Rhaenys’ lilac eyes, and sorrow
saturated her scent. “For that, you have my eternal apology.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. Considering I refused to see the truth as well, I can hardly
begrudge you for not wishing to think your sister capable of something so vile.”

“You had the excuse of youth for your blindness.”

“Youth did not prevent Laena from seeing Mother for what she is.”

“Well,” Rhaenys smiled wryly, “Laena is much smarter than the both of us.”

Rhaenyra laughed. “I beg you to not say as much to her. She’ll become even more insufferable than
she already is.” Releasing her aunt’s hand, she stood from her chair and began walking towards the
door. “Should anyone ask after me, tell them not to expect my return before supper.”

“Might I ask where you’ll be?”

“Dragonstone.”

Rhaenys’ eyebrows drew together in confusion. “To speak with the All Mother about Viserra?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “To speak with her about Alicent.”

Alicent groaned as she watched Margaery’s knight cut down one of her pawns and then rudely kick
its remains off of the board. “Your pieces are very ill-mannered.”

“We wouldn’t want the corpses of yours cluttering the board, now would we?” Margaery grinned at
her, eyes twinkling with delight. “Besides, your cleric was quite brutal when she strangled my
matriarch earlier.” She clicked her tongue. “It was quite unseemly behavior from a woman devoted
to our Heavenly Mother.”

“No more unseemly than your queen stabbing my other cleric.” Alicent carefully picked up one of
her remaining pawns by its waist and moved it forward a square, hoping that Margaery wouldn’t
notice the trap that she was laying until it was too late.

“Why you left your cleric in such a vulnerable position at all, I still cannot fathom.”

It had been a mistake.

One of many that she’d made this game.

“It usually takes far more effort to kill one of your ranking pieces,” Margaery continued as she slid
her cleric diagonally to stand directly in the path of Alicent’s remaining knight. She cocked her
head slightly. “Is something troubling you?”

Alicent hesitated a moment before shaking her head. “Rather the opposite,” she admitted quietly.

Her lips still tingled pleasantly from the kisses that she and Rhaenyra had exchanged this morning
before parting.
Margaery’s peal of laughter filled the room, which earned an annoyed hiss from Ygritte, who was
engaged in her own chess match with Sansa at present.

It had been Gilly’s idea for them to claim one of the larger solars so that they could hold a small
tournament amongst themselves, insisting that Alicent’s “glorious reemergence from her
pairbonded cocoon” must be celebrated with a proper game of wits and strategy.

And everyone knew that Gilly despised cyvasse.

“If only a week of merely kissing the Queen has placed you in such a state, then we must play a
few rounds of cyvasse together once you’ve marked each other.” Margaery reached across the table
and lightly prodded Alicent’s shoulder. “I might actually be able to win a game.”

Alicent’s cheeks reddened.

“Once you’ve marked each other.”

She’d recently read that mate marking was most often done during the throes of passion.

“There are seven different pleasure receptors located in the neck, and yellow lotuses have
discovered that it is possible to stimulate all seven simply by giving direct attention to one.
Magisters theorize that Old Worlders evolved such sensitive necks as a way to offset the inherent
pain of mate marking with significant amounts of pleasure.”

Despite truly desiring otherwise, she’d already been apprehensive about Rhaenyra eventually
marking her, and that apprehension had increased one hundredfold upon realizing that her
bondmate would most likely mark her whilst bedding her.

Her neck was somewhat sensitive, she supposed, but not like a Valyrian’s. Being bedded would be
uncomfortable enough without also being bitten so hard as to draw blood . . .

And yet, she wanted to be Rhaenyra’s mate in all ways. She wanted their matebond to be properly
sealed—Nesryn was almost certain that they would be able to mark each other—and she wanted to
share that intimacy with Rhaenyra.

If only . . .

She’d admitted her fears to Dr. Arwen the day before, after taking a small tumble down the stairs.
The pain of that fall—brief as it had been, for Rhaenyra had found her and healed her nigh
immediately—had been a visceral reminder of the kind of hurt that she’d escaped.

The pain from a fall was nothing like the pain of being bedded, but . . .

Dr. Arwen had urged her to speak with Rhaenyra about the matter.

Alicent had resolved to do so tonight.

Her bondmate had promised not to touch her until she was willing.

Her bondmate didn’t want to touch her until she was willing.

And perhaps it meant that she was lustful and a wanton, but Alicent was willing. She was simply
...
She was afraid.

But she didn’t want to be.

She didn’t want to be petrified by the thought of Rhaenyra undressing her. She didn’t want to dread
the first time that Rhaenyra saw her naked and touched her breasts or between her legs. She didn’t
want to be terrified of the moment when Rhaenyra properly claimed her.

She wanted the prospect of bedding her mate to fill her with the same sort of anticipation and
delight that being kissed did.

We’ll speak tonight after supper, she promised herself. She would explain her fears about the pain
of being bedded, and Rhaenyra would hold her and kiss her and reassure her somehow.

“Alicent?”

Shuffling those thoughts aside, Alicent refocused her attention on Margaery, lips curling into a
teasing smile. “As Sansa tells it, you were a flustered and stuttering mess during the early days of
being pairbonded with her.”

Margaery made an indignant noise, head snapping in the direction of her mate. “That is a vile
accusation. And completely without merit. I’ll have you know that I was the epitome of calm and
composure.”

“You attempted to make me an ice bouquet and nearly flooded my bedchamber.” Even as she
spoke, Sansa’s attention remained focused on her game, and she grinned triumphantly when her
empress managed to grab Ygritte’s queen and hurl it off of the board and onto the floor, thus
trapping Ygritte’s own empress. “Kempra.”

Ygritte responded with a curse in Nordish that had Sansa laughing and Gilly looking over at her
mate from where she was playing against Aly.

Margaery made a small, sad sound as she turned back to Alicent, eyes stretching so wide that it was
almost comical. “Do you see how she ignores and insults me, Alicent?” She wagged a finger at her.
“Treasure this golden time with your mate, for one day you will find yourselves in a similar
situation as me and Sansa.”

Alicent prayed that she and Rhaenyra would be so blessed.

Rhaenyra saw the great, shining spires of Dragonstone long before the palace itself came into view,
and despite having only visited her House’s ancestral seat a handful of times before, some
instinctive part of her immediately recognized the draconic edifice as home. The blood and fire of
her ancestors that infused every square centimeter of dragon-stone called to her, sang to her,
beckoned to her.

This is where you belong, they whispered.

Welcome home, Little Sister, they crooned.

We’ve missed your presence, they hummed.

Before she’d met Alicent, no place had ever felt more like home than Dragonstone.

Which was why she’d rarely visited.

She hadn’t thought that she deserved such peace.

But now, as she flew towards the towering mountain atop which her ancestors had built their seat,
she welcomed the sense of belonging and comfort and warmth that the mere sight of Dragonstone
brought her.

One day, she would bring Alicent here as well.

She was certain that her bondmate would be utterly delighted by the palace’s beauty and
architecture, for none could argue that Dragonstone was not a breathtaking sight to behold.

Constructed entirely from dragon-stone, her ancestors had melted and fused and reshaped a myriad
of different kinds of rock mined from across the Empire into a magnificent and spectacular edifice
fashioned in the likeness of a three-headed dragon stalking down the mountain’s craggy slope.

Dragonstone’s four enormous feet had been fused with the mountainside, its ebony claws sinking
deep into the grey rock below. The dragon’s tail trailed in its wake along the slope of the mountain
and coiled around its towering peak. Wings the color of cobalt were spread wide to cast shadows
upon the crags and crests below—providing shade in summer and protection from biting winds in
winter.

Purple towers shaped like spikes ran the length of the dragon’s spine, and its white wing claws
shone bright in the afternoon sun. The dragon’s heads each faced a different direction, and their
golden eyes burned with inner fire. Crowning the left and right heads were two spiraling, emerald
horns, while the middle head had three horns of shining silver. All three of the dragon’s mouths
were open and roaring, though whether it was in warning or greeting was likely a matter of
perspective.

Swooping lower, Rhaenyra folded her wings against her back and dove down towards the gaping
jaws of the central head. Wind roared in her ears and sang across her scales as she swiftly
approached the sharp teeth that guarded the palace’s main entrance. While she didn’t see anyone
awaiting her on the veranda formed by the dragon’s maw, she was fairly certain that she knew who
would be greeting her once she landed.

With a speed that few—arguably none—could match, Rhaenyra shifted from her dragon form back
to her natal form and flew through the dragon’s teeth to land lightly upon the ruby-red stone of the
dragon’s mouth.

Soft applause filled the air as an elderly woman emerged from behind one of the dragon statues
guarding the great doors leading into the palace. “Excellent form, Your Majesty.”

Rhaenyra smiled as she respectfully inclined her head. “Thank you, Mistress Missandei. Dare I ask
why you felt the need to hide behind a dragon-stone statue?”

Amusement glinted in Missandei Velaryon’s golden eyes. “Because I still recall when Daenerys
and her sisters were determining whether they’d crafted this entrance in a satisfactory manner. They
destroyed four iterations by not shifting swiftly enough, and two others with clumsiness.” She
beckoned to Rhaenyra as the main doors opened on silent, silver hinges. “Dragons you may be, but
not every Targaryen has the impossible grace and dexterity of a true dragon.”

“And you thought that a mere statue—even a dragon-stone one—afforded you adequate
protection?” Rhaenyra followed her into the cavernous hallway of the dragon’s throat, absently
brightening the light-orbs that hovered above the dragon claw sconces.

“When that statue is enchanted with a shield spell crafted by my Dany, yes. I believe it offers
adequate protection.” Mistress Missandei paused. “At least from a physical attack.”

Despite her outward age, Mistress Missandei moved swiftly through Dragonstone’s halls, never
hesitating as she guided Rhaenyra through the countless twists and turns before leading her up a
spiraling flight of stairs that would take them to the central tower crowning the palace’s middle
head.

Each of the dragon’s seven spiraled horns was a tower officially occupied by one of the Original
Rulers—the All Mother, her five remaining sisters, and her eldest daughter, Aenora the Unexpected
—though in actuality, the Original Rulers only laid claim to the three uppermost floors of their
respective towers.

The silverwood door of the All Mother’s presence chamber was carved with images of the
Founding—of the hatching of Queen Caladria and the end of the Long Travels, of the naming of
the Great Houses and the division of the Queendoms, of the raising of the Valerian Mountains and
the construction of Dragon Ridge, of the Great Council of 2057 AD and the All Mother’s ascension
to the Dragon Throne, of the Betrayal and Aenora the Unexpected’s ascension to the Fire Throne.

Rhaenyra oft wondered how her many-times-great-grandmother felt about such constant reminders
of the Betrayal, which must surely have been among the worst moments of her life. The stage
productions, the songs, the ballads, the books, the hymns, the children’s rhymes, the tapestries, the
paintings, the carvings . . .

She herself had always detested the countless different ways that her people had found to venerate
and immortalize the day that she’d supposedly “saved” Valyria from destruction. That moment—
for it had been little more than that—had been memorialized in more ways than she could count,
but each one felt like a blow to the face and turned her stomach.

Does the All Mother have a similar distaste for how we celebrate when she was forced to slay her
own twin?

Perhaps she would muster the courage to ask one day.

Mistress Missandei knocked thrice on the silverwood door before opening it and motioning for
Rhaenyra to enter ahead of her.

The All Mother’s presence chamber was just as Rhaenyra remembered it—beautifully furnished
with elegant chairs and settees and a masterfully carved throne, and richly decorated with tapestries
and paintings and sculptures from across the Empire. The high windows had been opened to allow
the crisp mountain breezes to sweep through the room, and sunlight streamed in to ignite the ruby-
red stone beneath their feet.

Lady Empress Daenerys the Silver sat upon a sablewood throne carved in the shape of a
slumbering dragon. Her flowing, silver hair was exquisitely braided and intricately coiled around
her head, and a simple circlet of gold and amethysts rested upon her brow. The lines of ages that
marked her face did nothing to diminish her ethereal beauty, and her violet eyes shone bright with
life and burned brighter still with the wisdom of ancients. Wreathed in the scent of star frost and
frozen fire—the All Mother smelled of the impossible, of the great and terrible, and of the achingly
lonesome.

The scent of sand wetted by fresh seawater—Mistress Missandei’s scent—clung to the All
Mother’s skin, but it was not intertwined with her own scent.

Nor would they ever be.

Mistress Missandei stepped past Rhaenyra and moved to stand halfway between her and the All
Mother. “Queen Rhaenyra, you stand now in the presence of Her Grace Daenerys Marilla Aelyxa
Meraxes Aenara Targaryen of Dragonstone, Matriarch of the House Targaryen, Lady of
Dragonstone, Lady Empress, Full Blood of House Targaryen, Monarch of the Blood, Saint, Seventh
Tier Master, and Archmage. Called the Breaker of Chains, the Silver Dragon, the Silver, the Mother
of Myriads, and All Mother. Once holder of the titles Imperial Princess of the Lyrian Empire,
Duchess, Empress of the Valyrian Empire, Keeper of the High Mysteries, Speaker of Wisdom and
Good Counsel, Empress of the Silverbloods, the Dragon Empress, Protector of the Realms, Lady of
the Dragon Court, Lady of Valeria, Lady of Dragon Ridge, Queen of Kastrell, Keeper of the Fertile
Fields, Most Generous and Good, Queen of the Harvest, the Garden Queen, Protector of the Realm,
Lady of the Garden Court, Lady of Osmera, Lady of Stone Garden, Dowager Empress of the
Valyrian Empire, Grand High Witch of the League of Witches, and General of the Ninth Kastrellan
Legion.”

Rhaenyra silently prayed that Mistress Missandei would not feel the need to provide a full
recitation of her numerous titles, epithets, and sobriquets.

“Your Grace,” Mistress Missandei inclined her head towards the All Mother, who smiled softly at
her, “may I present Her Royal Majesty Rhaenyra Flameborn of the House Targaryen and the
Rosedragon Branch, the Seventh of Her Name, Queen of Kastrell, Keeper of the Fertile Fields,
Most Generous and Good, Queen of the Harvest, the Garden Queen, Protector of the Realm, Lady
of the Garden Court, Lady of Osmera, Lady of Stone Garden, and Dowager Empress of the
Valyrian Empire.”

When the All Mother turned her attention to Rhaenyra, her gentle smile didn’t waver or fade.
“Welcome to Dragonstone, Granddaughter of My Granddaughters.”

“It is good to be returned home, Grandmother of My Grandmothers.” Rhaenyra swept a deep curtsy
—as deep a one as she might offer Visenya in a formal setting.

The All Mother rose to her feet and descended from the small dais to stand beside Mistress
Missandei. “Join me for some tea, Rhaenyra. We have much to discuss.”

So they did.

Mistress Missandei waved a hand, and a tea tray appeared on one of the nearby tables. She then
turned to the All Mother. “Do inform me if Queen Rhaenyra decided to stay for supper. The chefs
are still grumbling about the last time that Daenys invited a guest to take supper with her and didn’t
warn them in advance.”

“It shall be as you say, My Darling,” the All Mother promised.

Mistress Missandei pressed a brief kiss to the All Mother’s cheek—earning a contented purr—
before bidding them both a good afternoon and departing.

Once the door was closed behind her, the All Mother flashed Rhaenyra an amused grin. “Beloveds
are quite demanding once they realize that you’re incapable of denying them, no?”

Rhaenyra chuckled as she thought about all of the times that Alicent had ordered her to retire to bed
for the night or to take a walk with her because she’d been working overlong or to simply sit with
her and relax for the evening. “They most certainly are.”

The All Mother led her over to the tea table and telekinetically drew one of the chairs out,
motioning for Rhaenyra to sit before moving to take her own seat.

Rhaenyra resisted her instinct to reach for the teapot and pour for her grandmother, well-
remembering her first meeting with the All Mother and being gently informed that she shouldn’t
seek to usurp the duties of one’s hostess.

As she accepted a steaming cup of jasmine tea, she offered a warm and politely grateful smile. “My
thanks for granting me an audience, Grandmother.”

The All Mother waved dismissively. “Considering I’ve been awaiting your visit for some years
now, I was more than happy to grant your request.” She gave her a pointed look as she poured her
own cup of tea. “I had rather hoped that you might come sooner.”

“My apologies.” Rhaenyra inclined her head as she selected a cube of sugar and placed it in her tea.
“I’ve been rather occupied of late.”

“As I can well imagine.” The All Mother set the teapot aside and then folded her hands upon the
table. “But I’ve been wishing to speak with you regarding your actions during the Treaty
negotiations.”

While Rhaenyra managed not to flinch, she could no longer meet her ancestor’s piercing gaze.
“Grandmother, I—”

“You did very well, Rhaenyra.”

Had she—?

No.

Surely she’d misheard.

But the All Mother was smiling at her, violet eyes shining with the same sort of approval that
Aemma’s eyes had oft shone with when proud of her. “You—You’re not displeased with me?” The
words held more pleading than she intended, but how could they not?

“Displeased that you saved a wife in need?” the All Mother scoffed. “You insult me by asking.”

“Forgive me, Grandmother, but I meant more my methods than my purpose.” For it was her
methods that were deserving of censure.

“My Dear,” the All Mother waited until Rhaenyra was looking at her once more before continuing,
“you found yourself in an exceptionally delicate and difficult situation, and you conducted yourself
admirably. Your actions secured Lady Alicent’s freedom. No matter the words that you used to
ensure Criston Cole acceded to your wishes, it was her freedom that you made a stipulation. Not
her.” She spread her hands. “Whether the rest of the world agrees, I do not pretend to know. But I
would have you know this. No member of the First Generation would have done any different.” Her
lips curled into a wry smile. “Well, assuming we did not simply slaughter the Westerosi men, we
would not have done any different.”

Rhaenyra’s throat felt tight, and she fisted her skirts to hide the tremors in her hands. Relief the
likes of which she’d not felt since Alicent forgave her surged forth, threatening to drown her even
as it seemed to at last remove what remained of the crushing weight that even her bondmate’s
forgiveness hadn’t been able to entirely dislodge.

“Grandmother, I—” She swallowed, blinking back the tears threatening to well in her eyes. “Thank
you,” she finally managed.

“Word reached me of the things that your mother said to you during Seventh Night.” The All
Mother clicked her tongue. “Disgraceful business, that. With your leave, I would speak with
Viserra and remind her that she is in no position to judge your actions that day. Doing nothing in
the face of Lady Alicent’s suffering would have been a stain upon us all, and an insult to those
women who perished on the Old World.”

For a moment, Rhaenyra was tempted to do as her aunt, sister, Aemma, and Hylda had been urging
her these past months and confess the truth about the net to the All Mother, but she held her tongue.
She had come to Dragonstone for a reason, and she would not allow herself to be distracted. There
was time enough to decide what to do about her mother.

This visit was about Alicent.

“Would that we could liberate every Westerosi woman,” the All Mother sighed, “but the younger
generations have little stomach for such.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed, jaw tightening. “Not all Westerosi women deserve such mercy.”

“After a few years, Criston granted Arilla the authority to also dictate my meals. I think . . . I think
that she came to enjoy hearing my stomach growl and watching Criston slap me for disturbing
him.”

“Sabina only struck my face once. Criston scolded her for leaving a mark because we were dining
in public that evening. She grew more careful after that.”

“Vesna used to jab me with her needle whenever we sewed together. She treated it as a game—
waiting to see how long it was before I cried out. Arilla always punished me when I did.”

Merciful Relle above how Rhaenyra wished that she’d made them suffer when she’d had the
chance.

The All Mother arched an eyebrow. “You speak of his remaining wives?”

“As well as Alicent’s mother.” Rhaenyra stifled a snarl as she remembered her Alicent’s trembling
hands as she’d quietly told her about Adelaide and that thrice-damned closet. “All of them deserve
to rot and worse.”
“Do you think they have not suffered in their own ways?”

“Not as Alicent did.” Her words were too clipped, too harsh, she knew, but she couldn’t bring
herself to care that she was being rude to the most venerated of her ancestors.

“Suffering is not something that can be measured and compared, Granddaughter.” The All Mother’s
tone had sharpened as well. “Would you condemn them all for being raised so poorly? Would you
punish them for the failings of their own mothers and their society?”

“I would condemn them for perpetuating the worst aspects of their society, and I would punish
them for their decisions and failings. There comes a time when upbringing and blood cannot be
blamed for a woman’s actions. Alicent received the same indoctrination that they did, but she
would never have treated another as they treated her.”

“Your mate’s situation was rather unique, Granddaughter, and it is my understanding that Lady
Alicent is a rather exceptional woman.” The All Mother’s tone was mild now—mild in a way that
Rhaenyra immediately recognized from their first meeting when they’d discussed the merits of
Valyrian isolationism.

“‘The woman who turns her back on her sisters does more harm than any man.’ Those other wives
and Alicent’s mother did not simply turn their backs on her. They actively chose to abuse her. They
made the decision to cause her harm all on their own. I’ll not forgive them that.”

“Would you have preferred that they do nothing? Would that have been a kindness?”

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed, her mind flashing to Alaura and her calm smiles and quiet words.

“Malignantly passive,” Dr. Alfadora had called her.

“Regarding the wives, I’ll not pretend that they could have intervened or interfered. I’m well aware
that they were as helpless before that man’s whims as Alicent. But they did not have to make her
experiences worse. They did not have to hurt her as well.” Rhaenyra snatched up her teacup lest she
begin tearing the fabric of her skirts. “When the options are between passivity and active
participation in abuse, then yes, passivity is a kindness.”

The All Mother’s lips curled into an approving smile. “So it is. And I am very pleased by your
recognition that there are times when inaction is the best course of action.” She took a swift sip of
her tea and then set her cup aside. “But enough about that. I would very much like to hear your
reason for requesting this meeting.” Amusement glinted in her violet eyes. “Though I can certainly
venture a guess, if you would prefer.”

“There is no need for that.” Rhaenyra set her own teacup back down on the table before rising from
her chair and coming to stand before the All Mother. Bowing her head, she slowly sank to her
knees and raised her hands in supplication. “I humbly beseech you, Grandmother of My
Grandmothers, Blood of My Blood, to grant my beloved mate—Lady Alicent of the House of
Hightower—the precious gift that was bestowed upon you by Our Heavenly Mother—Relle
Lightbringer—and that you in turn bestowed upon the women of the First Generation and later the
men of Emperor Aegon the Griffin’s generation. For the sake of the love that you bear me as your
granddaughter, and by the rite of your blood that flows through my veins, I beg of you to grant me
this boon.”

Silence.
Dreadful, aching silence.

Rhaenyra felt her magic beginning to stir, beginning to rumble and hiss, beginning to—

“Rise, Rhaenyra. There is no need to prostrate yourself so.” The All Mother’s hands were on her
shoulders, urging her to stand.

Rhaenyra obeyed and returned to her chair, accepting a teacake when offered. “Will you
immortalize her, Grandmother?” Her question was little more than a whisper, for a part of her
feared the answer.

If the All Mother refused—

“You ask the wrong question, Rhaenyra.” The All Mother’s eyes found hers and held them. “I
would never wish upon you the pain of losing your mate. Or of being denied the eternal
companionship of the one you love.”

Rhaenyra did not miss the sorrow that flashed in the All Mother’s eyes. “Are you able to
immortalize Alicent, Grandmother?”

“That, Rhaenyra, is a question I have been pondering for quite some time. Ever since I learned of
the Oracle’s foretelling, in truth.” The All Mother tilted her head slightly. “What if I told you that
modifying the immortality spell is impossible? Or that it could not be done in Lady Alicent’s
lifetime.”

“Then I would ask that you remove my own immortality so that I might join her when her time
comes.”

The words came without hesitation or reserve.

She’d made this decision quite some time ago, though she couldn’t determine exactly when.

Perhaps when Alicent had first hugged her.

Perhaps when Alicent had denounced her mother for all that she’d done.

Perhaps when Alicent had told her that she could detect her scent and had made her, her ward.

She didn’t know, and it didn’t much matter, in truth.

The All Mother was gazing at her with an unreadable expression. “You would allow yourself to die
for her?”

“I intend to spend an eternity with Alicent, Grandmother.” Rhaenyra raised her chin, locking their
eyes. “Whether that eternity is here or in the Vale makes no matter to me.”

“An admirable intention, to be sure, but tell me, Granddaughter, does your mate know that you are
here?” The All Mother leaned forward. “Is she aware that you’re seeking immortality for her,” she
paused, “and offering to relinquish your own should you fail?”

Rhaenyra hesitated a moment before shaking her head. “No, Grandmother. I’ve not told her of my
intentions. Either of them. I did not wish to burden her with broken hopes, should you be unable to
modify the spell. And I would not worry her unnecessarily by raising the specter of my own
potential death.”

The All Mother arched an eyebrow, eyes narrowing. “You think her too weak to know of such
matters?”

Rhaenyra bristled. “Alicent is the strongest woman I’ve ever had the honor of knowing. Her
fortitude is beyond compare or reproach. She is perfectly capable of enduring the possible
disappointment of not becoming immortal as well as the worry over my hypothetical death, but I
would spare her both, if I can, for she has endured more than enough heartache to last ten million
lifetimes.”

“Good.” The All Mother gave her an approving nod. “There exists a fine line between a mate’s
protectiveness and protective paternalism, Granddaughter. Many have a habit of crossing it, myself
included, though Missandei and I don’t share the matebond.”

“I’ve crossed that line before,” Rhaenyra admitted, “but I’ve endeavored not to repeat that
mistake.”

“Which is all we can ever do in such situations.” The All Mother smiled at her then, her expression
warming. “As for your request,” she paused, eyes glinting in the afternoon sun, “I’ve been tinkering
with the immortality spell ever since I learned that Mother Relle intended a mortal mate for you,
and Dr. Nesryn’s recent findings regarding Lady Alicent’s heritage have made my task in this
matter infinitely easier.”

Rhaenyra’s blood roared in her ears, her heart thundered in her chest, and her magic howled and
writhed within her.

Much as they had the week before when Alicent had told her that she could scent her.

“You smell like roses.”

Save for Alicent saying that she loved her, no words had ever sounded sweeter or more musical to
Rhaenyra’s ears.

“You smell like roses.”

Merciful Mother, the meaning of those words—the true meaning—she almost hadn’t believed
them, had almost insisted that Alicent must be mistaken, had almost—

“I can’t smell anyone else’s scent. Only yours.”

Only hers.

Because she was Alicent’s.

Alicent’s mate.

Alicent’s love.

Alicent’s safa.

“You smell like roses.”

Those words had begun to heal the gaping wound that the Oracle’s prophecy had ripped open over
nine million years, and now . . .

“Grandmother?”

She needed the All Mother to say aloud that which she dared not even think.

The All Mother reached across the table and clasped her hands. “Yes, Rhaenyra. Once Lady
Alicent’s core has been awakened, I believe that I can immortalize her.”

Her magic sang.

The lovely sound of Rhaenyra’s amused laughter filled the air, and Alicent couldn’t help but smile,
knowing full well that her story about a flustered customer rushing into Mistress Damella’s shop to
request a belated alteration because she’d been mistaken about her bondmate’s measurements
wasn’t all that humorous.

Rhaenyra always laughed at her jests and stories though.

Even the ones that weren’t particularly amusing.

Alicent stabbed her final bite of chicken and slowly brought it to her mouth.

Her bondmate had but a few more sips of water in her glass, and then she would be finished with
her meal.

Then it would be time for them to speak about the matter that had been plaguing her this past week.

I’ve nothing to fret about.

Alicent knew that Rhaenyra would be kind and considerate upon hearing about her fears of being
bedded. Her bondmate was always kind and considerate—without fail.

It was one of the many reasons that Alicent adored her so.

Rhaenyra loved her and wished only for her comfort and happiness.

Alicent knew this.

And yet she still felt nervous at the prospect of discussing her fears with Rhaenyra.

I’m being foolish.

They would finish their supper and retire to her privy chamber. She would ask Rhaenyra to sit with
her on their favored settee, and they would have a proper conversation about the matter. She would
spend the remainder of the evening feeling warm and flushed, but by the time that they retired for
bed, her fears would be assuaged by Rhaenyra’s sweet words and gentle assurances.

When they rose from their chairs, Rhaenyra swiftly came around the table and wrapped her arms
around Alicent’s waist to pull her impossibly close. “I’ve missed you, My Safa.”
Alicent laughed as she returned the hug, squeezing tight. “You speak as if we’ve been apart for
weeks, Nyra.”

“Is an hour without you not equal to a full day?” Rhaenyra drew back so that she could look at her
properly, arching an eyebrow.

“You’re speaking very foolishly tonight, My Love.” And Alicent would be lying if she claimed that
she didn’t love her for it, for such foolishness was calming her lingering nerves as little else could
save perhaps—

“I find that I oft take leave of my senses when I’m with you, Ali.” Rhaenyra was smiling at her
now—warm and loving and as if Alicent was the most captivating sight in all of creation.

Alicent’s mouth suddenly felt dry, but she didn’t mind. “As do I, Nyra,” she whispered.

“Then we are well-matched.” Rhaenyra leaned closer and captured her lips in a loving kiss.

Much to her own surprise, Alicent responded by immediately deepening the kiss.

Rhaenyra made a startled sound that was muffled against Alicent’s mouth, but she didn’t pull away
or hesitate to match Alicent’s passion with her own. Her arms tightened around Alicent’s waist,
drawing her even closer.

Alicent’s hands rose to cradle Rhaenyra’s warm cheeks, savoring the taste of her bondmate’s lips
and yet still craving more.

This wasn’t at all what she’d intended.

She’d meant—

She’d planned—

Merciful Mother, she’d—

But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Rhaenyra was kissing her so wonderfully, and Alicent’s mind felt deliciously hazy as her fingers
tangled in Rhaenyra’s silver hair—wanting her closer, needing her closer.

Her startled yelp was swallowed by Rhaenyra’s mouth as they tumbled back onto a bed together.

When had Rhaenyra teleported them from the garden?

The thought fled her mind as swiftly as it came.

Rhaenyra’s rose scent enveloped them like a warm blanket—rich and heady in a way that Alicent
had never smelled before.

Her bondmate’s lips felt so perfect against her own.

And this kiss felt different from the ones that they’d been exchanging this past week.

There was a . . . a heat to it, and something almost akin to desperation.

Warmth bloomed in her chest and spread throughout her body.

The high-pitched whimper that escaped from her throat should have embarrassed her, but all she
felt was satisfaction when the sound earned her a low, approving growl and a gentle caress that
made her entire body thrum with an unfamiliar delight, and awakened some strange hunger deep
within her that she couldn’t name or understand.

A haze had settled over her mind as Rhaenyra’s rich scent flooded her senses, as soft lips moved
against her own and coaxed sounds from her that she’d never heard before. Rhaenyra was above
her—atop her—but much to Alicent’s own surprise, she found that she didn’t mind her bondmate’s
weight. She didn’t feel trapped. She didn’t feel as if she was being smothered. She felt . . .

She felt safe.

Protected.

Loved.

The heat that had previously spread throughout her body was pooling low in her stomach now, and
there was a strange, almost throbbing sensation between her legs. It wasn’t pain, or even
discomfort, but rather a sort of coiling pressure.

She shifted in an attempt to relieve the somehow painless ache.

And then she felt it.

Alicent stiffened.

Rhaenyra’s weight immediately disappeared.

When she slowly blinked open her eyes, Alicent saw that her bondmate was gazing down at her
worriedly.

“Alicent, are you all right? Did I hurt you?” Rhaenyra’s hands hovered over her, but she didn’t
touch.

Alicent wordlessly shook her head in answer to both questions.

There was wetness between her legs.

Warm and, and almost sticky.

But she couldn’t determine the source of the blood.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position so that she could see where the blood had surely wetted
her nightgown, she winced when she felt the way that her smallclothes clung to her—

No.

No. It couldn’t be.

She’d been drinking moon tea for years and hadn’t cycled since her first winter in Kastrell.
And Rhaenyra hadn’t even touched her there, never mind attempted to—so there was no reason for
her to be bleeding yet—

“Alicent.” Rhaenyra’s voice sliced through panicked thoughts. “My Love, please talk to me. I can’t
help unless you tell me what’s happened.”

She didn’t want to tell her. She didn’t want to worry her. The blood wasn’t Rhaenyra’s fault and—

But Rhaenyra’s eyes were wide and pleading, and her bondmate already seemed on the verge of
panic.

“I,” Alicent swallowed nervously, “I’m bleeding.”

Rhaenyra’s scent sharpened with alarm. “Where are you hurt?”

Alicent instinctively squeezed her legs together before realizing that the action would only worsen
the pain—

But there was no pain.

Why wasn’t there any pain?

There was always pain when she bled like this.

Rhaenyra was sniffing the air, and suddenly she let out a strangled noise.

“Rhaenyra?” Concern for her bondmate immediately eclipsed all else as Alicent reached for her
hand. “My Love, what is it?”

The expression of abject mortification on Rhaenyra’s face would have been funny in nigh any other
context. “You aren’t,” she cleared her throat, not meeting Alicent’s eyes, “you aren’t bleeding.”

Alicent frowned. “Rhaenyra, I can feel the blood.”

Rhaenyra gave her a strange look as she shook her head. “It isn’t blood, Ali.”

“I . . . I don’t understand.” Alicent stared at her bondmate in consternation, certain that Rhaenyra
must be mistaken . . . And yet she knew how acute a Valyrian’s sense of smell was, and she knew
that Rhaenyra had become familiar with the scent of Westerosi blood during the war. “Then what is
it?”

“It’s—” Rhaenyra’s mouth abruptly snapped shut as her eyes narrowed. “Seven Hells,” she snarled.

Before Alicent could even begin to wonder about her bondmate’s sudden change in demeanor, a
combination of fury and horror slammed into her, making her gasp aloud at its intensity as her ward
flared to hold the emotions at bay.

The air was suddenly choked with the stench of burning roses.

“This has never happened to you before, has it?” Rhaenyra’s words were little more than furious
growls, and her eyes blazed with righteous wroth.

Alicent shook her head, still not understanding. Why was her bondmate so enraged?
“You’ve never been—” Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched. “It’s always been blood before?”

“What else would it be?”

Black flames ignited in Rhaenyra’s hands, and she swiftly snatched them away from the bedcovers.

Alicent immediately sent out soothing waves of calm to push against the rage shrouding her
bondmate. “Nyra, My Safa, you needn’t be angry. I’m all right. You said yourself that it isn’t blood
this time.”

“This time.” Rhaenyra spat the words like a curse, but her ward lowered, and her fire extinguished
a moment later.

Crawling over to Rhaenyra—no longer worried about exacerbating her injuries—Alicent pressed
against her side and tucked herself beneath her bondmate’s arm.

Rhaenyra relaxed almost at once, turning her head to place a sweet kiss to Alicent’s brow. “My
Love,” she sighed. The anger was gone from her voice now, replaced by melancholy. “I am so sorry
for everything that you suffered on that wretched planet.”

“I’m here now.” Alicent tangled their fingers together and squeezed tight. “The past can’t harm
me.”

Though its shadows seem determined to forever haunt me.

“Perhaps not physically,” Rhaenyra muttered, echoing Alicent’s own thoughts.

Alicent tilted her head to lightly kiss her bondmate’s jaw, taking care to avoid her neck. “Nyra, I
don’t wish for you to be upset again, but . . . I know that seeing me bleed the other day distressed
you, but why were you so wroth just now?” Her thumb brushed over the back of Rhaenyra’s hand
as she continued offering warm waves of calm. “I know that I shouldn’t be bleeding yet—”

“You shouldn’t be bleeding at all,” Rhaenyra growled, her scent sharpening once more. “And I’m
wroth because your assumption that you should be bleeding means that thrice-damned vark hurt
you even more than I’d thought.” She expelled a harsh breath, her elongated canines flashing.
“Ensuring that you’re properly wet before he—Seven Hells. It would be as much for his benefit as
. . .” Her words dissolved into a furious snarl.

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.

Properly wet?

What did Rhaenyra mean by that?

Wasn’t her blood prop—?

Oh.

Her eyes widened.

«You’re too dry, Wife. You should remedy that.»

«How fortunate I am to have a wife who bleeds like a maiden every time she’s properly fucked. And
how fortunate for you as well, Little Wife, given your dry cunt.»

«Her cunt is dry.»

«The bitch is always dry.»

«My Lord says that you never become wet, Little Whore.»

«I suppose there is more than one way to wet a cunt.»

Such remarks had always confused her, and she’d eventually learned to fear and despise them
because they’d meant that whoever was bedding her would be especially rough in an effort to make
her bleed faster.

She’d never considered . . .

“You shouldn’t be bleeding at all.”

Rhaenyra didn’t think that she was supposed to bleed, but her bondmate did think that she was
supposed to be wet . . .

«Ensure our husband finds enough pleasure inside you that he seeds you multiple times.»

Pleasure.

Alicent sucked in a breath.

Her mothers had told her what to expect when her husband bedded her. They’d explained how he
would become sexually aroused before sheathing himself between her legs. They’d warned her that
he would take his pleasure from her however he saw fit because only by reaching the height of his
pleasure could he plant his seed inside her.

But her mothers had never made any mention of her becoming sexually aroused before being
bedded. They’d never offered a hint that such was even possible. They’d never spoken of her
finding any pleasure in her husband’s bed. And they’d certainly never said a word about the warm,
sticky wetness that Rhaenyra’s kisses and touches had elicited.

A hot flush spread across her face as she remembered the coiling pressure in her lower belly and
the almost pleasant throbbing between her legs. Both had felt strange, but they’d also felt . . .

They’d felt good.

And if those enjoyable sensations—those pleasurable sensations—were somehow an inherent part

of being bedded by Rhaenyra . . .

Alicent couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

Rhaenyra had shown her that kissing could be an enjoyable experience.

Perhaps her bondmate would do the same with bedding.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be as painful—

“This has never happened to you before, has it?”

Alicent’s smile withered. “Rhaenyra?”

“Yes, My Safa?” The fury had faded from Rhaenyra’s voice, and her head turned to meet Alicent’s
eyes.

“Why were you so shocked that I’ve never been ‘properly wet’ before? You know that I—” A
shudder rippled through her body as her grip on Rhaenyra’s hand tightened. “I never enjoyed what
was done to me, Nyra. Why would you assume that I’ve ever been aroused?”

Rhaenyra stared at her in confusion. “I never assumed anything of the kind, Ali. I’m well aware
that bedding has never been enjoyable for you.”

“But you—You implied that I was supposed to be wet when, when they . . .”

Understanding flashed in Rhaenyra’s eyes then. “That wasn’t what I meant, My Love. Not at all.”
She leaned closer, and after receiving a small nod, pressed a gentle kiss to Alicent’s forehead.
“Becoming wet is an involuntary biological response. It isn’t necessarily synonymous with
enjoyment or pleasure, and I had assumed that your body would have . . .” Her cheeks flushed.
“Well, that it would have inevitably responded as a way to protect itself.”

But it hadn’t.

Alicent wondered why.

Perhaps there truly was something wrong with her.

But I responded to Rhaenyra.

And considering she never wanted anyone else to touch her in such a way, she supposed that was
all that mattered.

“I would,” Rhaenyra cleared her throat a little, “I would hope that your response in this instance
was an indication of enjoyment, but—”

“It was,” Alicent assured her. While she knew little of sexual arousal, she certainly knew what it
was to enjoy something, and she’d enjoyed the unfamiliar sensations that Rhaenyra had elicited.

Very much so.

Rhaenyra expelled a relieved sigh. “Good. That—That’s good. I would never wish to cause you
pain, Ali.”

“I know.” And she did know, which was why she needed to speak with Rhaenyra about the matter
that had plagued her mind this past week. “I’ve been afraid,” she admitted softly.

Her bondmate stiffened. “Of me?”

Alicent swiftly shook her head. “Of being bedded.”

“Ali, I told you that I would never—”

“I know.” Alicent kissed her cheek, hating the shadows that had darkened her bondmate’s lovely
face. “I know that you would never demand to bed me. And I know that you’re willing to wait as
long as I need, that you’re willing to never bed me at all, but I . . . I want to be willing. I do, but it’s
always been so painful . . .”

Rhaenyra’s arms and scent enveloped her as she was gently lifted up onto her bondmate’s lap. Soft
lips pressed against her temple, and warm breath caressed her cheek, but the words that followed
were sorrowful and filled with hurt. “Ali, did you . . . did you think that I intended to bed you even
knowing that it would cause you pain? That it would hurt you?”

Alicent’s hesitant silence answered for her.

“Alicent, I—I thought you understood that I will never harm you—”

“I do!” Alicent shifted so that she was sitting sideways on Rhaenyra’s lap and could take her
bondmate’s face between her hands. “I know that you would never hurt me, Safa. I do. But with—
There was always pain before. Nothing else. I didn’t, I didn’t know that it was possible to enjoy
bedding. Possible for me,” she amended when Rhaenyra opened her mouth. “I thought that pain
was simply intrinsic to the act.”

Rhaenyra’s wounded expression hadn’t wavered, but her voice was firm with conviction when she
spoke. “Alicent, if I thought that bedding you required causing you pain, I would never even
consider doing such a thing.”

Guilt and shame welled in Alicent then, for thinking that Rhaenyra would ever willingly cause her
such pain, for thinking that her bondmate would ever choose to bed her knowing that it would hurt
her, for thinking that Rhaenyra would ever seek her own pleasure at her expense.

“Do you think that I would ever want to have you if you’re unwilling? Do you think that I would
find it pleasurable if you’re trembling with fear and struggling not to cry as I touch you and kiss
you?”

Of course not.

So why didn’t I realize . . ?

“Please forgive me, Safa,” she whispered. “I thought . . . They were always so rough with me. And
cruel. I knew that you would be gentle, that you would be kind and take care with me, that you
wouldn’t hurt me more than—than was necessary, and I thought . . . I thought that pain was simply
a part of the act and—and I was willing to endure it for you.” Her eyes lowered. “But I should have
known that you would never ask such a thing of me.”

Rhaenyra’s own eyes closed as she expelled a heavy sigh. “There is nothing to forgive, My Love.
You’ve never experienced pleasure whilst being bedded. I should have realized . . .” She shook her
head. “Alicent, please promise me that if I ever do something that causes you pain or even that
simply gives you pause, you will tell me at once.”

“I promise.” Alicent leaned closer, and after Rhaenyra nodded her assent, she connected their lips
in a soft kiss. “I love you,” she breathed as they parted.

“And I love you.” Rhaenyra’s hand rose to caress her cheek. “I only wish to bring you joy and
happiness, Ali. Never sorrow, and certainly never pain.”
 “I wish to do the same for you, Nyra.” Alicent pressed their foreheads together. “You are My Safa,
and I do know that I’m safe with you. Please forgive me for forgetting that.”

“As I said, My Love, there is nothing to forgive.”

All the same, Alicent would endeavor not to make the same mistake twice.

Chapter End Notes

I would hope this goes without saying, Dear Readers, but lubrication does not equal
arousal/enjoyment. Bodies are gonna body, and while in this story I have Alicent never getting
wet before now, that is a choice I made as the author for the sake of my narrative. The reality
is that she probably should be familiar with becoming wet because that's just what the body
does, whether you want it to or not. Any person spouting the rhetoric that "it's not rape/assult
if the person gets wet/hard" is wrong. Plain and simple.

On a lighter note, Criston is the worst, Dany and Rhaenys are the best, Rhaenicent are in love.
Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

As a reminder, in this universe, moon tea is a form of birth control that functions by just
halting the ovulation cycle entirely.

Next Chapter: Alicent receives some pleasant news, and Rhaenyra has no chill regarding gifts.
 Cores of Light
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 42:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Nesryn Estermont, a Yellow Lotus geneticist, residing at the Alcazar
– Alfadora Wythers, a Blue Lotus psychologist, from Kastrell

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Behold the sigil of the Spell Committee, which shall be mentioned later.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Warm Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

When Alicent was first introduced to Nesryn Estermont, she hadn’t known what to make of the
bright-eyed and excitable woman who had practically leapt at her in her eagerness to greet her.

Rhaenyra and Laena’s shocked expressions had told her that such behavior was unusual for the
other woman, though she’d swiftly realized that the only reason they’d never witnessed this
particular aspect of Nesryn’s character was because their positions demanded that a certain amount
of decorum be maintained at all times.

Alicent’s own position did not compel such fastidious propriety.

Nesryn was a wonderfully meticulous and diligent woman, but she was also spirited and lively in a
way that Alicent hadn’t been expecting, given what Rhaenyra had told her about the other woman.
And yet the passion that Nesryn had for her work burned as bright and warm as the sun, and the
way that her eyes shone and her hands fluttered with excitement whenever she shared some new
finding always brought a smile to Alicent’s face. Nesryn had an ardent desire for knowledge that
rivaled Alicent’s own, and the two of them had become quite close these past months.

“It seems that you have a talent for charming academics, Ali,” Rhaenyra had teased her some two
weeks after she’d begun meeting with Nesryn.

Alicent had scoffed and lightly swatted her arm. “You say that as if I don’t have a talent for
charming all Valyrians.”

“Well, you’ve most certainly charmed me.” Rhaenyra’s voice had been impossibly tender and
achingly sincere.

And Alicent remembered blushing bright red, remembered feeling her heart flutter in her chest,
remembered wanting to lean closer and connect their lips.

But she hadn’t.

Not that day.

Not until almost two months later.

Mentally shaking her head, Alicent refocused the entirety of her attention on Nesryn, whose amber
eyes were bright with excitement.

“Once your core has been awakened,” she was saying, “it will require a few months to properly
settle within you. Similar to how you would treat any muscle that has atrophied, I would
recommend utilizing your magic—raw or ordered—as much as possible in order to accelerate the
settling.”

Alicent’s lips pursed a moment as she considered her friend’s words. “And you’re certain that
simply awakening my core will reactivate all of the genes associated with my ordered magic
abilities?”

Nesryn had initially assumed that the opposite approach would be necessary—that she would first
need to reactivate the dormant genes before attempting to reawaken Alicent’s core. A cadre of
yellow lotuses had spent months exploring this particular theory, but Nesryn and her fellows had
been frustrated at every turn.

And then Alicent had kissed Rhaenyra.

Once Nesryn had learned that Alicent could detect Rhaenyra’s scent and had in fact been
experiencing a number of the more subtle symptoms of the matebond for years, she’d shifted all of
her focus to Alicent’s core. Wizards who specialized in research pertaining to Valyrians’ cores of
magic had been summoned from the Great Library, and witches with a particular talent for crafting
new spells and rituals—including the Cardinal Witch of the South herself—had been summoned
from all four Witch Towers.

Working in concert, the lotuses, wizards, and witches had created a procedure that they believed
would be able to awaken Alicent’s core.

“I’m as certain as I can be.” In the mirror, Nesryn held up a copy of Alicent’s DNA profile, which
had several sections marked in yellow. During their first meeting, Alicent had provided her with a
plethora of samples to facilitate her research. “I’ll send you a full report later today, but as you can
see, the genes associated with your magic all remain undamaged and without errors, despite how
long they’ve been dormant. In a manner of speaking, they have remained active all this time and
are simply awaiting the moment when their connection to your core is restored.” She set the profile
aside and offered Alicent a bright smile. “You’re a creature of magic, Alicent, and having an active
core is your natural state of being. So you might think of what we’re doing less as bestowing
something new, and more as simply removing a previously unrecognized barrier.”

While Alicent wasn’t convinced that she would ever be able to conceptualize possessing magic in
such a way, she understood what Nesryn meant—theoretically, at least—and she most certainly
wanted to one day regard this—her—magic as simply an intrinsic part of herself no different from
her hands or her heart.

But she suspected that such a shift in perception was still decades—if not centuries—away.

All the same, she would be lying if she claimed that the prospect of wielding magic didn’t excite
her. Not only was she eager to explore and learn about this new facet of herself, she was eager to
feel as if she truly belonged on Valyria.

Because no matter how comfortable she’d grown here over the years, and no matter how much she
adored her life now, she’d never been able to shed the feeling that this wasn’t truly her home. She’d
never been able to shed the feeling that she would never be more than a mere guest. For magic was
as much a part of Valyrian society as it was the Valyrians themselves, and her lack of it . . .

While she appreciated the many accommodations that were made for her by her friends and others,
those same accommodations often served as rather stark reminders that she wasn’t actually a
Valyrian.

That she would never be a Valyrian.

But now . . .

“When do you anticipate being able to awaken my core?”

“We will be performing final trials this afternoon, and assuming they yield the desired result, the
Spell Committee has agreed to certify the ritual and allow its use.”

Alicent’s heart quickened in her chest with a combination of anticipation and trepidation. “So you
could awaken my core by end of day?”

Nesryn shook her head, offering her an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid not. At present, your body
simply isn’t ready for the resulting shock of having your core reawakened. By Archmagister
Jynessa and Mistress South’s estimates, you’ll need at least three weeks of preparation.”
“And what form will this preparation take?” Alicent couldn’t help the hint of nerves that had crept
into her voice. Despite having grown used to having magic performed on her over the years, she
still found the experience unnerving when she didn’t know what to expect.

“It’s nothing arduous,” Nesryn assured her. “You’ll simply need to drink an herbal elixir each
morning for the next twenty-two days. I’ll send the list of ingredients and brewing instructions to
Stone Garden’s chief apothecary, and she shouldn’t have any trouble concocting it for you.”

“What are the ingredients?” While she’d only recently begun reading about potions, she understood
the basic principles—understood that they were created using components that were either innately
magical or could be infused with magic using spells and enchantments—but there was still much
that she needed to research and learn.

Amusement glinted in Nesryn’s eyes. “Rather than spoil what I am certain will be great fun for you,
why don’t you look over the list that I send to Chief Apothecary Bernadette, conduct some
research, and then you can tell me the purpose of each component and how they interact with each
other?”

Alicent grinned, making a mental note to ask Luwina for a few more books on potions.

“Once you’ve been properly prepared, we can perform the ritual.” Nesryn cocked her head slightly.
“Shall I be coming to Stone Garden, or would you care to visit the Alcazar?”

Alicent hesitated. While a part of her yearned to see the Alcazar and explore every part of it that
she was allowed, she wanted to be able to properly appreciate and savor the experience, which she
knew wouldn’t be possible under these circumstances.

Besides, she wasn’t entirely certain what to expect once her core was awakened, and she would
prefer having the comforts of the familiar around her.

“If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience, I’d rather that you perform the procedure here.”

“Ritual,” Nesryn corrected—almost absently, “and it’s no trouble, Alicent. The location makes no
matter.” She snapped her fingers. “But that reminds me, while I’ve no doubt that she already
intends as much, please ask Her Majesty to be in attendance as well. I’m expecting that when your
core awakens, there will be something of a . . . surge, and since we don’t know the strength of your
core, it would be best if Queen Rhaenyra were present to contain the effects of such a surge.”

Alicent nodded, remembering what her bondmate had told her about the net breaking and suddenly
wondering if having her core awakened would be a similar—albeit far less destructive—
experience. “She’ll be present,” she promised.

She doubted that Mother Relle herself could prevent Rhaenyra from being by her side when the
time came.

“It isn’t an irrational fear,” Rhaenyra huffed. “Mother is well-liked and well-respected by the other
members of my family. None of them have any inkling about her—none of them are aware of what
she’s done, and the same can be said for nigh every other woman on the planet. Even the All
Mother herself knows only that Mother made a few spiteful comments regarding the Treaty.”
Until recently, she’d been certain that the All Mother had known about the net as well, and that
she’d sanctioned her mother’s decision to cast it. Empress Saerella the Preserver had created
stringent protocols requiring that all new spells be registered with the Spell Committee for
classification within the Seven Tiers, or, at minimum, disclosed to the All Mother so that she could
determine whether the spell rightly belonged amongst the empress spells.

The All Mother should have known . . .

And Rhaenyra had reasonably assumed . . .

“Did you tell Empress Daenerys about the net? When you asked her to punish you?”

Her mind had been in such turmoil that day that she hadn’t even considered mentioning the net, and
even if she had, she’d been certain . . .

But she’d since grown equally certain that her mother had kept her creation of a modified stasis net
entirely secret—even from the All Mother, and if that were so . . .

“And you don’t believe that perceptions will change once the truth comes to light?” Dr. Alfadora’s
tone was irritatingly judicious, and the way that her head cocked to the side was such that Rhaenyra
almost believed her question was genuine.

“I understand that Mother’s words regarding the ills that would follow should the net be revealed
were manipulations,” she couldn’t help but grimace, the words tasting like ash in her mouth, “but
they were not without their truth as well.”

As she’d been explaining to Rhaenys, Laena, Aemma, and Hylda for months now, though none of
them seemed able to entirely understand her dilemma.

When she’d brought the matter to Alicent, her bondmate had kissed her cheek and gently asked
Rhaenyra whether she believed that maintaining her silence would allow her to heal.

Her Sweet Alicent was a rather terrible blessing at times.

Dr. Alfadora steepled her fingers together. “Rhaenyra, can you articulate what exactly it is that
you’re afraid of?”

That, at least, was a simple matter. “I’m afraid that revealing the truth about my mother’s actions
will destabilize the Empire.”

“And why is that?”

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed. The “why” was obvious. “Our people look to House Targaryen to guide
them and protect them, to be mothers of the realm and to ensure their safety and prosperity. If a
former empress is capable of . . . harming a daughter of her own blood, who is to say that some
future empress won’t decide to bring harm to her own people?”

“The Golden Laws allow for the removal of an unfit empress.”

“Those provisions were included with the expectation that they would never be used.”

“All the same, they were included.” Dr. Alfadora spread her hands. “Empress Aeliana the Golden
was farsighted enough to recognize that the time might come when one of her blood was unfit to sit
the Dragon Throne. The Targaryen Dynasty has endured over one billion years. Do you truly
believe it so fragile that the actions of one woman could destroy it?”

“If our people lose faith in us, then yes.” Rhaenyra sat back in her chair, rings spinning around her
fingers. “The All Mother was tried following the Betrayal to ascertain what exactly happened
above the Bitter Sea. I was tried following my destruction of the frost demons. Mother would be
tried should I formally accuse her. How many other women have been tried for crimes even
approaching these magnitudes?”

None.

The word hung between them unspoken.

“Rhaenyra, I am going to ask you a question, and I would like you to answer without thought, if
you can.”

She sighed inwardly, having never much liked this exercise, but nodded her assent.

“If your mother had cast that net on Laena, would you hesitate to accuse her?”

“No.”

Dr. Alfadora smiled slightly.

Rhaenyra harrumphed. “You know that the scenarios aren’t the same. Laena wouldn’t have de—”
She snapped her mouth shut, reminding herself that she hadn’t deserved to be treated so either.

“You, Rhaenyra Targaryen, are not a monster.”

Relle above how she wanted to believe Alicent’s words.

But she still remembered nearly decapitating her mother when she was seven.

She still remembered tearing apart hundreds of frost demons with her claws and teeth before
crushing the core of their planet.

She still remembered the terrified eyes and desperate begging of the captured Westerosi soldiers
that she’d experimented on during the War.

“I know that no monster ever believes itself to be one.”

Perhaps that was so, but was it not also telling that she recognized her actions as being wrong and
yet still committed them all the same?

“You didn’t hesitate to banish your mother when she threatened Alicent,” Dr. Alfadora noted.

“I would never hesitate to protect Alicent.”

“Yet you always hesitate to protect yourself.” Dr. Alfadora leaned forward. “We’ve discussed
before that you recognize Alicent’s strength. As a general matter, does she need your protection?”

Had her mother actually attacked during Seventh Night, Alicent would most certainly have needed
her protection, but Rhaenyra knew that wasn’t what her therapist was asking.
“No. She doesn’t.”

“So then why offer it?”

“Because I love her.”

More than anything in all of creation.

Dr. Alfadora arched an eyebrow. “And Laena? Do you offer her your protection because you love
her as well?”

“She’s my sister. Of course I love her.” Rhaenyra shifted slightly in her chair, disliking the direction
of this conversation, and yet unable to voice her desire that they speak of something else.

“Rhaenyra,” Dr. Alfadora’s voice was terrifyingly soft and gentle, “do you love yourself?”

“I . . .”

Did she?

There were certainly times when she was proud of herself, and she knew that there were any
number of good and wonderful things that she’d accomplished over the course of her long life, and
she recognized that she was a good ruler more oft than not, and Alicent loved her, so she couldn’t
be entirely . . .

Alicent loved her.

And she loved Alicent.

But she did love herself . . ?

She knew that Aemma loved her. She knew that Laena loved her. She knew that Hylda and
Rhaenys loved her. She knew that her other sisters loved her. She knew that Grandmother Alysanne
loved her. She knew that Cassella loved her. She knew . . .

“Rhaenyra, do you love yourself?”

“I . . .” She gulped, fingers lacing together and squeezing tight.

The words burned on her tongue.

They clawed at her throat.

They felt so . . .

“I don’t know,” she whispered, shame coloring her cheeks.

But there was no judgment in Dr. Alfadora’s eyes—nor was there any pity—and her tone remained
as soft and gentle as before. “Perhaps we might spend the remainder of our session discussing this
matter, hmm?”

“Would you . . . Would you perhaps have time for an extended session today?” She couldn’t look at
her therapist as she spoke.
“Of course, Rhaenyra. Whatever you need.”

A shudder rippled through her body, but she managed to meet Dr. Alfadora’s eyes. “Thank you.”

Alicent knew that something was wrong.

Her bondmate’s scent—while still warm and sweet and comforting—was heavier than usual and
almost watery. Rhaenyra’s words when she’d greeted her weren’t terse or cross or vexed or even
melancholy, but there had been a sort of distractedness to them that Alicent hadn’t heard in a long
while. Her safa’s touches were as gentle and affectionate as ever, but they were also anxious and
rather desperate in a way that spoke of a need for closeness.

And Rhaenyra had built them a nest.

While not a true Valyrian nest—for it lacked walls and a roof—the meticulously arranged pillows
and blankets—many of which Alicent recognized as coming from her chambers and her side of
their bed—couldn’t properly be described as anything other than a “nest.”

Part of her wanted to ask her bondmate what troubled her, wanted to offer an ear and whatever
advice that she could, but when she’d earlier sought out Rhaenyra to share the news about her core,
she’d been informed that the Queen was still with Dr. Alfadora. And when she’d asked after her
bondmate before being teleported into the glass chamber of the Astral Tower, Sabitha had told her
that Rhaenyra had spent an additional three hours with Dr. Alfadora this afternoon.

And Alicent had learned these past months that Rhaenyra didn’t respond well to being pressed
about matters having to do with her therapy, that her bondmate would share with her when she was
ready, that her Rhaenyra required longer stretches of time to properly process.

Thankfully, Rhaenyra’s mood lightened considerably as the evening wore on—as Alicent told her
about working with Mistress Damella on the excessively sumptuous gown that Mistress Velaryon
had commissioned for the Dragon Summit, as she playfully lamented being abandoned this
morning so that Rhaenyra could perform her daily exercises with Vora Hylda, as she reached across
the table and laced their fingers together, as she sighed about their day-long separation, as they
shared a chuckle over Lymna and Bartima’s continued bickering over Summit logistics that had
been settled the day before, and as Rhaenyra shared the details of her own day save for her session
with Dr. Alfadora.

By the time that they finished eating, Rhaenyra’s scent had settled, and her smile reached her lovely
eyes once more.

Alicent didn’t care that the squeal she let out when Rhaenyra suddenly lifted her up from her chair
and cradled her against her chest was entirely unladylike. How could she care about anything at all
save for the steady and comforting thrum of her bondmate’s heart, the intoxicating scent of roses
that enveloped her, and the strong arms holding her so safe and close?

Rhaenyra lay her down upon the nest of warm blankets and soft pillows, waiting for her to
comfortably settle herself before joining her. Alicent didn’t hesitate to snuggle closer, sighing
happily when she received a tender kiss on her forehead.
“Care to tell me your troubles, My Safa? I’ll give you the stars.” Rhaenyra’s breath caressed her
cheek, her fingers lightly stroked the length of her arm, and both sensations made Alicent shiver in
the most wonderful way.

She’d been doing that rather often of late.

Ever since she’d first become wet a few weeks ago.

Ever since she’d learned that bedding wasn’t supposed to be painful—that it was supposed to be
pleasurable, in fact.

“Why do you assume that I am troubled, My Love?” Alicent turned her head and pressed a kiss to
the corner of her bondmate’s mouth.

“Your expression has been shifting to pensiveness throughout the evening.”

Had it?

She hadn’t even realized.

But it hardly surprised her that Rhaenyra had noticed.

Her bondmate was wonderfully attentive to her in that way.

“I’m not troubled,” she assured her. “I’ve simply been considering how to share some news with
you.”

And how to improve your mood.

But that wasn’t something she intended to tell Rhaenyra, knowing that her bondmate would only
feel guilty for “spoiling” their evening.

Rhaenyra’s eyes glinted in the fading light.

The glass chamber would be engulfed by the fires of sunset soon.

“And what news might that be, Ali?”

Alicent couldn’t help but grin. Her Nyra had been so elated when she’d told her that she wished to
awaken her core. Rhaenyra had hugged her tight and promised that Alicent would adore learning to
wield her magic, had assured her that any book she desired on the mechanics of spellcraft would be
hers, had vowed to help however she could.

“I’ll send for the finest tutor. Unless you would prefer to learn from one of your friends?”

In truth, Alicent had been surprised to hear that Rhaenyra wouldn’t be handling her magical
instruction herself, considering all of the time that her safa dedicated to helping her with her
empathy.

“I’m afraid that I would prove a rather dreadful teacher. My magic is such that I don’t wield it the
same way that others do. I rely more on instinct and sheer force of will than anything else. I suspect
that you’ll require a more traditional approach to learning.”
Reaching down, Alicent found Rhaenyra’s hands and laced their fingers together. “Nesryn called
shortly before supper to tell me that the final trials were a success.” She grinned, delighting in the
way that Rhaenyra’s eyes widened and brightened in equal measure, in the way that her scent
became impossibly warmer and sweeter. “She’ll be able to awaken my core in a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes were shining with the same awed elation that Alicent
had seen when she’d told her bondmate that she could smell her scent and that she’d made her, her
ward.

Alicent nodded, laughing when Rhaenyra suddenly sat up simply so that she could envelop her in a
crushing hug. “Nesryn said that my core will need a couple months to properly settle, but I can
begin learning magic at once.”

“That is the most wonderful news, My Love.” Rhaenyra kissed her lips—soft and sweet and far too
swift for Alicent’s liking. And when she drew back, a nervous expression had come over her face,
though her eyes remained bright and hopeful. “Ali,” her voice held a slight tremor, “would you—
that is, if you wished . . .” She wet her lips and clasped her hands together in her lap. “I’ve spoken
with the All Mother. After your core has settled, she can immortalize you. Should you wish it.”

For a long moment, Alicent could only stare at her. While she understood the individual words, she
couldn’t quite comprehend them—couldn’t quite believe them, in truth.

Immortalized?

Her?

But she—

Surely the All Mother—

Valyrians became immortal through magic.

And it was hardly outside the realm of possibility that what had been accomplished once could be
—

Sytarr above.

Learning that she could wield magic was one matter, but immortality?

“There are very few immortal species in the multiverse.”

Her bondmate had feared having a mortal mate for any number of reasons, and she knew that chief
among them was the visceral terror of watching her mate grow old and die.

“The Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath—cursed to spend eternity alone.”

But Rhaenyra wouldn’t have to spend an eternity alone.

Nor would Alicent.

We could truly be together until the stars go dark.

Elation surged within her at the thought.

Ever since she’d realized the depth of Rhaenyra’s care for her, some part of her had agonized about
the day that she would inevitably die. Not so much for her own sake—though she would be lying if
she claimed to not fear the prospect of Sytarr’s eternal damnation—but rather for Rhaenyra’s.

Rhaenyra had already lost so many friends over her long life, and Alicent had dreaded one day
being the cause of such pain and grief.

Since their kiss, that dread had only grown—much as she’d tried to ignore and not dwell upon it—
for she understood that losing her mate would inflict a wound from which Rhaenyra might never
recover, but now—

“You needn’t say yes.” Rhaenyra’s smile had withered into a concerned frown. “Please forgive me
if I—”

“My Love, you’ve no reason to apologize.” Alicent leaned closer and kissed her nose. “I simply
needed a moment to collect my thoughts. Immortality is . . .” She shook her head, having no words
to properly articulate what Rhaenyra was offering her. “It’s a rather overwhelming prospect.”

Rhaenyra hummed sympathetically, though whether she truly understood exactly how
overwhelming the offer of immortality was remained unclear. “I planned to tell you the day that the
All Mother told me it could be done, but we became rather . . . distracted that evening, and then I
realized that I didn’t wish to rush Dr. Nesryn’s work and . . .” She shrugged. “My apologies for not
telling you sooner.”

“You’ve no reason to apologize, Nyra,” Alicent repeated. She then cocked her head slightly and
arched an eyebrow, hoping to banish the shadows that lingered in her bondmate’s eyes. “You’re
certain that you wish to be shackled to me for eternity?” she teased.

Rhaenyra’s arms wrapped around her waist and drew her onto her warm lap, and Alicent grinned
when her bondmate began covering her face in kisses. “Nothing could please me more, Ali. The
thought of being without you—” She shuddered. “The thought of never holding you in my arms
again or hearing you laugh or seeing you smile or listening to you play . . .” Her lips twisted into a
grimace. “I can imagine nothing more torturous. You’re mine, and—”

Alicent’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

Rhaenyra’s entire body stiffened, her arms falling away from Alicent’s waist as she swiftly
retreated—nearly tumbling from the nest of pillows and blankets. “I—Please forgive me, Ali. I
didn’t mean that.”

They both knew that she had.

One of Alicent’s earliest memories was of being called “mine” by her mother. She couldn’t recall
the context, but she remembered the disgust and disdain dripping from the word, the plain desire
for Alicent to not be hers. When her father had called her “mine,” he’d done so carelessly, with the
negligently possessive air of someone certain of his ownership. And when Criston had called her
“mine,” it had been with cruel and malicious glee—the sort borne from his certainty that he could
do anything and everything to her without consequence or reproach.

But this was different.

As so many things with Rhaenyra were.

“Mine,” Rhaenyra had called her, yet the word didn’t fill her with dread. It didn’t make her tremble
with fear at what Rhaenyra might do to her. It didn’t make her feel as if she was no more than a
thing to be used and discarded as another saw fit.

Rhaenyra had called her “mine,” and Alicent had felt . . .

Safe, cherished, loved.

All of the things that Rhaenyra always made her feel so effortlessly.

“You are my safety and my shield, my shelter and my sanctuary. My comfort and my home, the
person to whom I always long to return.”

When the word “mine” had slipped from Rhaenyra’s mouth, Alicent hadn’t heard disgust or
possessiveness or cruelty. She’d heard the same things that she heard every time Rhaenyra told her
that she loved her or that she was remarkable or that she was safe.

Mine to love. Mine to cherish. Mine to protect.

And the matebond required reciprocity.

Alicent reached for Rhaenyra, clasping her hands and coaxing her closer.

Rhaenyra came to her.

As she always did.

Once she was close enough, Alicent claimed her safa’s lips in a soft kiss, smiling at the thunderous
purr that she earned in response.

When they parted, she pressed her forehead against Rhaenyra’s and gently squeezed her hands.
“Mine,” she whispered, echoing every one of her bondmate’s sentiments.

Rhaenyra’s smile was blinding as she gently pecked her lips. “I am yours,” she murmured, “and
you are mine. Until the stars go dark.”

“Until the stars go dark,” Alicent echoed.

The words felt like a promise.

And she supposed that they were, in a way.

A promise that she would one day be able to keep for eternity.

When they retired for bed that evening after several hours spent gazing up at the stars and
discussing their plans for the coming weeks as they prepared for Alicent’s core to be awakened,
Rhaenyra surprised her by declaring, “I have a gift for you, My Love.” Her eyes were bright and
eager, her voice soft and warm. “May I?”

Despite her confusion at both the timing and the occasion—for she was certain that this gift
couldn’t be in response to her news about awakening her core—Alicent leaned forward and briefly
pressed her lips against Rhaenyra’s, which earned her a pleased purr. “Well I can hardly deny you
when you ask so sweetly.”

Rhaenyra beamed, and a thin, rectangular box appeared in her hands a moment later.

Carved into the box’s lid was an intricate emerald orchid and flaming watchtower.

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat.

“My apologies for the delay.” Rhaenyra smiled sheepishly as she handed her the box. “I was rather
. . . fastidious when choosing stones worthy of gracing your lovely neck.”

Heat rose in Alicent’s cheeks, and yet she couldn’t help but smile as she accepted the box. “My
sympathies to Lady Jaselyn.”

“She was well-compensated for her suffering,” Rhaenyra assured her with a chuckle.

The box somehow felt both heavy and weightless in Alicent’s hands, which were almost trembling
with anticipation. While she would never admit it aloud, she’d been longing to receive the necklace
that her bondmate had promised her almost a month ago, had been longing for her bondmate to
claim her in this small way, had been longing for this physical reminder that she and Rhaenyra
belonged to each other.

While most certainly unintentional, considering their earlier conversations, this was the perfect
night for a gift such as this.

Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest as she carefully removed the lid, and when she saw the
breathtaking necklace that lay upon a bed of crushed emerald-green velvet, her eyes stretched wide
with awe.

A series of silvery-white filigree bezels connected by small clusters of abalone beads and set with
alternating blue moonstones and purple starstones formed the chain, while the pendant was a
magnificent sunstone dragon coiled around a tower of gleaming, white moonstone. The various
stones all glowed with an ethereal inner light, and when Alicent gently brushed her fingers over the
pendant, the smooth, cool, and silky surface felt almost liquid.

Merciful Mother above.

Her eyes shifted from the necklace to her emerald orchid ring and back again.

While green diamonds were precious and costly, the celestial stones adorning this necklace were
sacred.

Frozen sunlight.

Captured starlight.

Solidified moonlight.

All of them intangible pieces of Mother Relle’s divine radiance made tangible through spellcraft
that somehow transformed light into stone.
And such stones were exceptionally rare as well, since only a small handful of women had
knowledge of the proprietary spells used to create them.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were upon her, warm with love and devoted affection.

Alicent’s throat felt dry, but her eyes were wet. “Nyra.”

“My Sweet Safa.” Rhaenyra’s hands rose to lovingly cradle her face. “You are my light, Alicent
Hightower. The sun that warms me, the stars that guide me, and the moon that brightens my darkest
nights.” She kissed her forehead, achingly tender. “I would give you the sun and stars and moon if
you asked, for you deserve nothing less.”

“You,” Alicent swallowed, “you’re going to make me cry,” she finally managed.

Strong Sytarr above, what could she have possibly done to deserve someone as wonderful and
loving as Rhaenyra Targaryen?

Rhaenyra’s thumbs gently brushed over the skin beneath her eyes, making Alicent shiver. “My
apologies, Ali. I would never seek to bring tears to your pretty eyes.”

“In this instance, I wouldn’t mind if you did.” Alicent smiled at her, hoping that the expression
conveyed even a fraction of all that she felt for her bondmate in this moment.

When Rhaenyra’s warm hands eventually retreated from her face, Alicent mourned the loss of
contact, though it was somewhat remedied when she handed her necklace to Rhaenyra and asked
for her assistance in securing it around her neck.

Rhaenyra’s fingers never so much as brushed against her neck, and yet Alicent felt as if she was
being caressed all the same. “Breathtaking,” she whispered as her hands fell to her sides, though
one of them found Alicent’s and tangled their fingers together.

Alicent peered at her reflection, her eyes sweeping over the celestial stones that encircled her neck,
each of which seemed to glow with its own unique light. “It’s a magnificent piece,” she agreed.

“I wasn’t referring to the necklace.” Rhaenyra brought Alicent’s hand up to her lips and pressed a
gentle kiss to the back, lingering far longer than would ever be considered necessary for such a
seemingly innocuous gesture. “Is this all right?” she murmured, warm breath stroking the back of
Alicent’s hand.

Alicent nodded, her stomach fluttering and twisting in a way that she now recognized and had
come to enjoy these past few weeks.

A thumb brushed along her inner wrist. “May I?”

She almost said “no,” not wishing to reveal the scars crisscrossing the inside of her arm, but then
she reminded herself that this was Rhaenyra, who insisted that she was beautiful despite her scars.
“You may.”

Rhaenyra flipped her hand over and lowered her head to press her lips against Alicent’s inner wrist.

Alicent shivered, surprised by how nice it felt. She’d known that her wrists could be sensitive—it
was why Criston had always delighted in binding them—but she’d never felt . . . She hadn’t known
that having them touched like this could feel nice.
Another kiss—as warm and soft and reverent as the first.

A hot flush rose in Alicent’s cheeks even as she shivered once more. “Nyra.”

Rhaenyra glanced up. “Is something the matter, My Love?”

Alicent shook her head. “It feels nice. I didn’t,” she smiled shyly, “I didn’t know that it could feel
nice.”

“Anything that we do together ought to feel nice, Ali.”

She knew that now, and yet the pleasant experiences still surprised her.

There was so much that she didn’t know . . . so much that she simply didn’t understand about
bedding and her own body and pleasure and—

“Show me.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows arched. “I beg your pardon.”

Alicent cupped her cheek. “I want you to show me what you mean when you say that what we do
together ought to feel nice. Please?”

After a brief hesitation, Rhaenyra nodded and kissed her hand once more. “As you will, My Sweet
Safa.”

When Alicent was lying comfortably on her back upon their bed a few moments later, she silently
thanked Rel—She was very glad that she’d decided to change into a simpler gown before supper.

Once Rhaenyra had settled on the bed beside her, she lightly traced her fingers along the length of
Alicent’s arm. “Above or below, Safa?”

Alicent smiled up at her. “Below is fine, My Love.”

These were words that they’d exchanged often these past few weeks, ever since Rhaenyra had
—“belatedly,” as she insisted—apologized for being atop her without first seeking her leave.
Alicent had assured her that she’d enjoyed feeling Rhaenyra’s body pressed against her own in that
way, that she’d felt safe rather than smothered, but her bondmate had since always made certain to
ask her preference all the same.

Her pleased sigh when Rhaenyra’s comforting weight settled over her was swallowed by soft yet
ardent lips, and when she felt a warm tongue gently seeking entrance, she didn’t hesitate to grant it,
muffled whimpers escaping her as she savored the taste of Rhaenyra’s mouth.

She’d been hesitant, the first time that she’d felt her bondmate’s tongue brushing against her lips—
despite Rhaenyra having first asked if such was all right—but Rhaenyra hadn’t insisted or
demanded, hadn’t forced Alicent to accept her tongue the way that Criston always had, and she’d
soon realized that she enjoyed sharing these sorts of kisses with Rhaenyra as well.

They felt nice.

They felt good.

Heat was beginning to pool in her lower belly, and her back arched without her leave. She could
feel Rhaenyra’s full breasts pressing against her own, and she was suddenly struck by the desire to
touch.

But was that all right?

Would Rhaenyra wish to touch her breasts in return?

She knew that her own breasts were terribly sensitive—especially her nipples—and she’d never
enjoyed the rough touches and harsh squeezes and cruel pinches that Criston and his friends had
inflicted upon them.

But she’d never enjoyed their kisses either.

Perhaps having her breasts touched was supposed to be pleasurable. If that were so, then she was
certain that she would enjoy feeling Rhaenyra’s hands upon them, was certain that her bondmate
would make her gasp and writhe in the most wonderful ways.

But what if—?

Rhaenyra’s lips had retreated from hers and were now kissing along the line of Alicent’s jaw,
making her shiver and squirm. She could feel the heat in her lower belly transforming into a coil of
pressure, could feel the place between her legs beginning to throb pleasantly, could feel herself
growing wet.

She wanted . . .

Words were being whispered in her ear, but her mind was hazy, and she couldn’t make sense of
them. And yet she nodded all the same, because she was enjoying the kisses and the way that
Rhaenyra was caressing her face and her arms. She was enjoying the tremors of pleasure that
rippled down her spine to settle between her legs. She was enjoying the intoxicating way that her
bondmate’s scent enveloped and sang to her.

And she wanted—

But then she felt Rhaenyra’s hand sliding up her leg, and fear suddenly seized her body.

Wait, she wanted to say. Rhaenyra, please, wait. I’m not ready for this. But the words wouldn’t
come. Her throat felt as if it had collapsed in on itself, and the words wouldn’t come. She needed
. . . She wasn’t ready, she didn’t know . . . And she needed . . . Blood roared in her ears, and her
heart thundered in her chest. She couldn’t move, and she could feel a panicked sob building within
her chest, but it, too, was trapped within her.

Please, stop.

“Alicent? My Love. You’re all right. Everything is all right, Ali. I’m not touching you anymore.
Can you look at me, please? Or focus on the sound of my voice?”

Finally managing to inhale a shuddering breath, Alicent suddenly became aware of the fact that
Rhaenyra was no longer atop her, that her bondmate’s scent was no longer surrounding her, that she
couldn’t feel Rhaenyra’s warm hands on her body anymore.

Still somewhat panting, her eyes settled upon Rhaenyra’s worried face hovering over her. “Nyra.”
Rhaenyra let out a relieved sigh. “Please forgive me, Safa. For whatever I did to frighten you.” She
leaned down as if to kiss her forehead, but then seemed to think better of it. “I stopped as soon as I
scented your fear,” she assured her.

Had she? How had Alicent not noticed?

“Can you tell me what I did wrong?” Rhaenyra’s eyes were round with guilt and worry, and Alicent
hated that she’d caused her bondmate such distress.

“You didn’t . . . It wasn’t you.” She wet her lips, not knowing how to articulate the reason for her
reaction when she wasn’t even entirely certain herself. “When . . . when I felt your hand on my leg,
when I felt it sliding higher, I . . .” Her hands fluttered uselessly, and she cursed her inability to
explain. Her body remembered the fear and the pain of such touches, yes, but it had been more than
that . . .

It wasn’t that she’d been frightened of Rhaenyra, or even what Rhaenyra might have intended,
she’d simply . . .

She hadn’t known what to expect.

She didn’t know what she was doing.

She didn’t even know what was supposed to happen.

She’d thought that . . .

But now she knew that bedding wasn’t meant to be something that she suffered for the sake of
Rhaenyra’s pleasure. She knew that it wasn’t meant to be something that she dreaded. She knew
that it wasn’t meant to be something during which she went away inside.

Now, she knew that she was meant to enjoy the act, but she still didn’t know—

“My apologies, Ali. I asked if I could touch your leg, and you nodded. I thought . . .” Rhaenyra’s
shoulders slumped. “I’ll not touch your legs in the future,” she promised.

Alicent shook her head. “That isn’t—It wasn’t your touch, Nyra. I enjoy when you touch me, and I
want you to touch me, but . . .” She huffed out a frustrated breath.

Rhaenyra’s touch made her insides twist in the most wonderful ways, made her feel loved and
desirable, made her feel as if she was safe and cherished, and she wanted to experience the pleasure
and intimacy that bedding was evidently meant to provide. She wanted . . .

“I didn’t know what to expect.”

The words were slow and quiet, and Alicent couldn’t even say for certain whether she’d actually
meant to speak them aloud.

Rhaenyra’s expression suddenly turned thoughtful at that, the last of the tension that had been
stiffening her shoulders dissipating. “And that frightened you? The not knowing?”

Was that why she’d frozen?

She hadn’t minded Rhaenyra’s hand on her leg, not in truth. And she’d wanted—
But she wasn’t even entirely certain what it was that she wanted, was she?

“Show me.”

Because she hadn’t known that having her wrist kissed could feel nice. She hadn’t known that
becoming wet was even possible. She hadn’t known that kissing could make her heart sing and her
blood roar. She hadn’t known . . .

Sytarr above, there was still so much that she didn’t know.

And she hated not knowing.

She hated feeling so utterly unprepared.

She hated—

“I need to conduct research on these matters.”

Rhaenyra was gazing at her with such tender affection and loving devotion that it made Alicent’s
heart ache. There was no judgment or derision in her eyes, no impatience or irritation, no sign that
she found Alicent’s need to know and be properly prepared for what was to come foolish or
irrational.

“My Love, have you considered,” a bright flush bloomed in Rhaenyra’s cheeks, but she managed
not to lower her eyes or look away, “perhaps you might find it helpful if you—that is, perhaps if
you . . . explored yourself and determined what you enjoyed? Perhaps that might help?”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. Explored herself? Surely her bondmate didn’t mean
— “You . . . You wish for me to touch myself?”

Rhaenyra winced.

Alicent hadn’t meant for her words to be so shrill.

“I . . . I only meant that . . .” Rhaenyra lowered her head and spread her hands. “Please forgive me,
Ali. I didn’t mean . . . I only thought that perhaps it might be less distressing for you. Your own
hands rather than mine. You’d have complete control that way and—” She shook her head,
shoulders hunching. “Please forgive me. It was an idiotic suggestion.”

Alicent sat up and crawled onto Rhaenyra’s lap before wrapping her arms around her waist and
pressing a kiss to her cheek. “It wasn’t an idiotic suggestion, My Safa. I was simply surprised.”

Shocked and rather horrified would be more accurate, but Rhaenyra didn’t need to hear that.

Rhaenyra’s strong arms encircled her a moment later, and she began gently carding her fingers
through Alicent’s hair.

Alicent’s eyes closed as she snuggled closer. “Are there books on these matters?”

“There are.” Rhaenyra kissed her forehead. “I can show you where in the library on the morrow. If
you’d like.”

“Thank you, My Love.” Alicent’s arms tightened around her bondmate’s waist.
While she knew that the books housed in Stone Garden’s library wouldn’t be entirely applicable to
her given her Westerosi biology, she much preferred having some information as opposed to none.
Besides, she wished for Rhaenyra to experience pleasure as well when they eventually bedded each
other, so she ought to learn what she could about pleasing her bondmate.

“Ali?”

“Hmm?” Alicent’s eyes opened slowly, and her head tilted back slightly so that she could look at
Rhaenyra.

“Earlier, when you stiffened,” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed, “why didn’t you say anything? Not that you
needed to, of course. But, why didn’t you ask me to wait or to stop? You weren’t,” her words were
slightly choked, “you weren’t planning to simply allow me to do as I wished, were you? You would
have said something before I—?”

“I tried,” Alicent assured her. “I tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. And I would
have pushed against you, but my limbs refused to move.”

“Oh.” Rhaenyra sighed with relief. “I see.” She kissed the side of her head. “In the future, if the
words won’t come and your body won’t heed you, you can call out to me in your mind. I’ll always
hear you.”

“What about your wards?” From what she understood, her bondmate’s mental wards were
completely impenetrable due to both their magical strength and their sheer complexity.

Rhaenyra smiled slightly, the hand stroking Alicent’s hair sliding down to cup her cheek. “You
have the uncanny ability to bypass them when necessary. And if for some reason I don’t hear you,
I’ll still notice the shift in your scent, as I did this time. Or I’ll feel you stiffen.” She kissed her
forehead. “If you’re uncomfortable for any reason, I’ll always stop, Safa. No matter what.”

“I know you will.” Alicent pecked her lips. “It’s one of the many reasons that I love you.”

A thunderous purr rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest.

Three Weeks Later

Although there remains an ongoing debate as to whether the clitoris or the neck is a Valyrian’s
principal erogenous zone, all agree that the clitoris is the more sensitive of the two. Magisters
believe that this is due to the clitoris’ nature as a purely sexual organ—in contrast to the neck.
Moreover, the neck is far more likely to experience non-sexual stimuli due to being so
relatively exposed. Additionally, while there are seven pleasure receptors located in the neck,
the clitoris—despite its relatively small size—possesses more than ten thousand sensory nerve
endings.

Consequently, the clitoris is exceptionally sensitive to any form of stimulation—though its

exact sensitivity differs between individuals—and one must touch it with care. While
undoubtedly a primary anatomical source of sexual pleasure, some women find direct
stimulation overwhelming to the point of discomfort. Others are unable or unwilling to have
their clitoris manually stimulated and may prefer the softness of a tongue instead. Still others
can only handle stimulation to specific parts of the clitoris, such as the sides or only the tip.
 While proper communication is imperative in all aspects of a relationship, it is especially
important when engaging in sexual acts. When unsure as to whether your sweetheart,
bondmate, or mate is finding pleasure, it is always best to ask her directly. That said, one
should always be paying heed to non-verbal indications of enjoyment as well.

The sound of a quill scratching against parchment filled Alicent’s study as she hurriedly wrote
down notes that she would properly transcribe into her Bedding Journal later. She glanced back at
the text of the heavy volume lying open on her desk, suddenly wondering if other parts of the book
might include illustrations that she could copy as well.

Surely it must.

Setting her quill down and moving her stacks of notes aside, she began flipping through the dense
pages in search of diagrams.

The sound of rapid knocking interrupted her task, and she groaned inwardly. “Come in,” she called
over her shoulder.

When the sweet scent of roses reached her nose a moment later, she swiftly turned in her chair to
greet her bondmate. “Nyra, I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

She’d drunk her final herbal elixir this morning—a surprisingly sweet concoction of elm root,
micro-bat blood, verbena, powdered alicorn, alder, water from a wellspring created by a pegasus,
juniper berries, and undying tree sap—and Nesryn would be arriving later this afternoon along with
Mistress South, Archmagister Jynessa, and a few others to perform the ritual.

Considering her bondmate’s rather demanding schedule of late, Alicent hadn’t expected to see her
until then.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were bright with excitement as she swept into the room. “I know, Ali, but I have a
gift for you.”

Alicent’s eyebrows arched. Another one? Strong Sytarr above, she’d expected that her bondmate
would wait a while considering the necklace that she’d given her earlier this month.

Which Alicent hadn’t removed since that day.

“You are aware that I don’t require continuous tribute, yes?”

Rhaenyra laughed as she led Alicent from her study and into her old bedchamber. “I’m aware, Ali.”
She squeezed her hand. “Though you would certainly be deserving of daily tribute, if you allowed.”

“The fact that I know you aren’t jesting is why I’ve no intention of ever granting you such
permission, My Love.”

Amethyst eyes stretched wide with feigned hurt for a brief moment, but then Rhaenyra was
grinning once more as she released Alicent’s hand so that she could present a stack of seven sizable
books with a flourish. “For you, My Sweet Alicent.”

“Oh, Nyra, you needn’t have—”

Alicent’s words broke off into a shocked gasp when she saw the cover of the topmost book.

The title—

Seven merciful Hells.

On Understanding the Biological Responses Resulting From Sexual Stimulation.

She recognized the title of this work.

And she recognized the name of the author.

But even if she hadn’t . . .

The words were written in Westerosi.

With trembling hands, she carefully opened the book and began flipping through its pages.

It was all written in Westerosi.

Saydian Westerosi, to be precise.

The dialect of her childhood.

She swiftly set the first book aside and began looking through the other six.

Westerosi.

All of them.

And the seventh book . . .

On the Advancement of Surgical Techniques Following Unification Under the Charter.

The first medical text that Dr. Axton had ever allowed her to borrow.

She’d mentioned the title to Rhaenyra but once.

Merciful Mother.

She slowly turned to look at Rhaenyra, who was gazing at her with bright and hopeful eyes.

Alicent kissed her.

Fierce and demanding.

The surprised sound that escaped her bondmate swiftly transformed into a pleased hum and a
rumbling purr as strong arms wrapped around Alicent to draw her closer. Alicent clutched at
Rhaenyra’s shoulders, breathing in her scent and wishing that they could be somehow even closer.

Those texts . . .

It shouldn’t be possible.
But her Rhaenyra had somehow . . .

For her.

When her lungs began to scream, Alicent’s lips reluctantly retreated from Rhaenyra’s, and she
couldn’t help but grin when her bondmate attempted to chase after her. Her cheeks were warm and
flushed, and her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss
Rhaenyra again.

Rhaenyra beamed at her. “May I assume this means that you are pleased with your gift?”

“Was my kiss insufficient assurance of that?” Alicent cocked her head, eyes widening with feigned
concern. “Do you require another demonstration of my gratitude?”

“Hmm.” Rhaenyra pretended to consider before nodding. “For my own peace of mind, I think that
another demonstration is needed. To silence my lingering doubts.”

Their second kiss was softer and sweeter, but no less loving than the first.

When they parted, Alicent’s hands rose to cradle her bondmate’s soft cheeks. “How?”

Rhaenyra hesitated a moment, turning her head to kiss Alicent’s palm. “Hypothetically, I may have
traveled to Westeros some weeks ago in search of books to help you with your research, so that you
could have information specifically about your own anatomy.”

Alicent could only stare at her.

Even though she’d already known the answer to her question, actually hearing the words spoken
aloud—albeit beneath the thin veil of a hypothetical—still shocked her.

She’d read the treaty. She knew that its terms unequivocally stated that no Valyrian save those
specifically sanctioned by the Lord of Lords could cross the border of the Allabrex Galaxy. And
she knew that there was a similar provision forbidding any Valyrian save those specifically
sanctioned by the Lord of Lords from setting foot on Westeros.

Even if she was somehow flying the entire time to avoid setting foot on Westerosi soil, she still
entered the galaxy without leave.

Rhaenyra had risked war simply because Alicent wished to conduct research.

It was both so laughable in its absurdity and yet so indescribably considerate that Alicent didn’t
know whether to berate her bondmate for taking such a risk or to kiss her again.

Even if the Westerosi would never be so stupid as to declare war over the broken treaty, she knew
that the Valyrians had no desire to be known as oath-breakers.

Her bondmate’s actions had been foolish.

And incredibly reckless.

And somewhat insane.

And Alicent ought to say as much, even if she was grateful and moved beyond measure.
And yet she instead found herself saying, “Westeros doesn’t have books.”

Rhaenyra laughed—bright and clear and so very lovely. “So I learned. Hypothetically.” She clicked
her tongue. “The utter lack of books on that planet would have been appalling, had I actually
visited. But I’ve thankfully spent enough time on worlds that have transitioned to the use of data
crystals that I would have been able to procure the information I wanted. With perhaps some help
from an unwilling technician who would of course no longer recall such an encounter with any
form of clarity. Hypothetically speaking.”

Alicent frowned slightly. “But those crystals would be useless without the proper data ports and
decryption keys.”

“Very true,” Rhaenyra agreed. “Hypothetically, I may have spent about two weeks or so modifying
some existing spells in order to extract the information stored within those crystals. And I might
have hypothetically then needed to tinker with the transcription spell attached to one of Elysara’s
enchanted quills so that the information was transcribed in Westerosi rather than translated into
High Valyrian or Kastrellan. To ensure that meanings weren’t unintentionally altered.”

“And then you had all of those pages bound into proper books,” Alicent finished quietly.

Merciful Mother above.

She knew that she ought to be upset about Rhaenyra endangering herself, the treaty, and her
Empire’s inter-universal standing—Sytarr only knew what the Unitary Council might have to say
about one of its founding members so flagrantly disregarding a treaty, even if Westeros had never
signed the Heptarch Accords—and yet all she felt at present was love.

So strong and vast that it was a wonder her body could contain it all.

“My Nyra.” She tilted her bondmate’s head down so that their foreheads were pressed together.
“You wonderful, astonishing, remarkable fool.”

Her words were soft—little more than a whisper—and only capable of expressing a minuscule
fraction of the love that she felt for this incredible woman who had chosen to love her.

Rhaenyra laughed quietly. “Rather harsh words, My Safa, considering all of the time and effort that
I devoted to this gift.”

“Hypothetical time and effort.” Alicent pecked her lips before drawing back so that they could see
each other properly. “Rhaenyra, I don’t know how to thank you, and please believe me when I tell
you that I adore your gift, but breaking the treaty simply to—”

Rhaenyra tsked. “Hypothetically, had I broken the Treaty, it would not have been for a ‘simple’
matter at all.” Her hands rose to cover Alicent’s, which were still cupping her cheeks. “It would
have been for a matter of the utmost importance.”

“Nyra—”

“Your pleasure matters, Ali.” Rhaenyra kissed her forehead. “As does your comfort. And I would
do anything to ensure both.”

Alicent’s throat felt tight, and her eyes felt wet. “I love you, Nyra.”
The words were so inadequate, and yet Rhaenyra smiled all the same. “And I love you, Ali.”

“Until the stars go dark.”

By the time that Nesryn, Mistress South, Archmagister Jynessa, and all of their respective fellows
were shown into the Queen’s Keep some three hours later, Alicent had composed herself and
recovered from her shock over her bondmate’s remarkable gift.

The hour and a half that she and Rhaenyra had spent in bed together exchanging kisses and quiet
words of love had helped.

As had the hour and a half that she’d spent perusing the books that Rhaenyra had created for her.

Nesryn greeted Alicent with a hug and Rhaenyra with a respectful bow.

Archmagister Jynessa offered them her upturned hands and bent low at the waist.

Mistress South gave Alicent a pleasant smile before offering Rhaenyra first a deep curtsy in
acknowledgement of her position as queen, and then a flourish of vermillion, ivory, ebony, emerald,
and golden sparks in recognition of her position as the Grand High Witch of the League of Witches.

Alicent spent the next twenty minutes watching with rapt attention as Mistress South and the other
witches prepared the ritual, whilst Nesryn and Archmagister Jynessa reviewed their respective
notes and quietly conferred with each other.

“One day,” Rhaenyra murmured, her warm breath caressing Alicent’s cheek, “we can visit the
Witch Towers together, if you’d like.”

While the prospect of visiting the four great towers that were home to many of Valyria’s most
powerful sorceresses was certainly appealing, she had no desire to intrude. “The women living
there won’t mind?”

“Not at all. The Witch Towers are much the same as the palaces and temples. While you of course
cannot enter a woman’s chambers without her leave, the majority of the towers are open to
visitors.”

“Then I would very much like to visit the Witch Towers someday.”

After she’d had time to properly learn about witches and delve deeper into the history and purpose
of the League.

She watched as Mistress South withdrew a set of seven glass vials from the voluminous sleeve of
her vermillion robe, watched as she carefully poured the contents of each vial into a silver bowl,
watched as the viscous liquids slowly melded together—gold, green, pink, purple, red, and silver.

Sap from the seven different species of undying trees—Alicent was nigh certain. Gold from
silverwood and bluewood trees, green from a plumwood, pink from a greenwood, purple from a
rosewood, red from an ivorywood, and silver from a sablewood.

Nesryn had told her that the reason her herbal elixirs tasted so sweet was because they’d been
mixed with undying tree sap.
“All plants have magical properties, but the undying trees possess magic beyond that of any other
kind of flora.”

Once Mistress South finished mixing together the saps, along with some kind of white powder and
a phosphorescent liquid, her hands began moving in a series of flowing waves and glides.

The contents of the silver bowl rose into the air and began to reshape itself into a series of circles
and squares and lines and stars and elongated triangles. As the shapes began to arrange themselves
into a coherent design, Alicent was surprised to find that she recognized the symbol.

“The Spell Committee’s sigil?” She looked over at Rhaenyra for confirmation.

Her bondmate grinned at her, eyes shining. “It is. That spell-form was chosen as the sigil because
it’s both exceptionally common and incredibly powerful depending on the components used to
draw it.”

Once the spell-form was fully shaped, Mistress South placed it upon the white marble of the Astral
Tower’s floor and beckoned to Alicent. “My Lady, if you would please stand in the center,” she
looked over at Rhaenyra, “and if you would please join her, Your Majesty.”

Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around Alicent’s waist and rose into the air to hover about a foot above
the floor.

Alicent clung to her, even though she knew that there was no need to do so.

Her bondmate would never allow her to fall.

Almost as soon as their feet touched the ground again, Mistress South and the other witches
surrounded them, though they all took care not to cross the spell-form’s outermost circle.

Nesryn stood a ways behind the witches with a sheaf of papers clutched in her hands. “Your
Majesty, you will need to cast a shield the moment that Alicent’s connection to her core is restored.
Unfortunately, doing so now might disrupt the elethian energies flowing from the spell-form to
Alicent.”

“Casting a shield once Alicent’s core is awakened won’t be a problem, Dr. Nesryn,” Rhaenyra
assured her. She then flashed Alicent a playful smile as her voice lowered to a teasing whisper. “It
seems that I shan’t be allowed to take my eyes off of you, My Love.”

“You say that as if your eyes are even capable of straying from me, Safa.” For a moment, Alicent
was sorely tempted to kiss her bondmate, but she knew that that would be untoward considering the
other women in the room, so she instead contented herself with simply clasping Rhaenyra’s hand.

“Lady Alicent,” Mistress South’s voice drew attention away from Rhaenyra, “may we begin?”

A flush crept into Alicent’s cheeks. She hadn’t realized that they’d been waiting for her. “Yes,
thank you, Mistress South.”

Mistress South’s eyes closed as she pressed her hands, which began to glow a moment later,
together. The other witches did the same, and soon the chamber was awash with blue light that was
both the color of a cloudless summer sky and a moonless midnight. Soft chanting echoed off of the
glass walls, though Alicent’s couldn’t understand the words.
 The air began to crackle and hum around them, and the fine hairs on the back of Alicent’s neck
stood on end. Blood roared in her ears, and it felt as if her very veins were expanding and
contracting all at once. A dull ache had settled at the base of her sternum, and it seemed to pulse
and throb every time that the spell-form surrounding her and Rhaenyra flared with a light all its
own—first gold, then green, then pink, then purple, then red, then silver, and then gold again.

Her mind felt hazy, and yet also impossibly clear.

All she could see were the pulsating lights that surrounded them. All she could hear was the
witches’ chanting, which seemed to be approaching a crescendo. All she could smell was her
bondmate’s comforting rose scent. All she could taste was the sweetness of the elixir that she’d
drunk this morning. And all she could feel—

The ache below her sternum had transformed into a second heartbeat, and Alicent could sense
something building within her—a coiling pressure winding tighter and tighter with each passing
moment. Her grip on Rhaenyra’s hand would have been bruising were her bondmate not Valyrian.

Warm lips pressed against her forehead, and Alicent couldn’t stifle her gasp as liquid heat raced
down her spine. “Nyra,” she panted, sweat beading on her brow as she shifted in an attempt to
relieve the ever-growing pressure. While not uncomfortable, it felt—

The coil snapped.

And something that she couldn’t name shattered within her.

No. Not shattered.

Burst into being.

Alicent’s eyes widened as she quaked and shook. She felt as if she was being consumed and
remade all at once, as if light and life and fire and flood were gathering within her and rippling
throughout her body.

Her stomach twisted and her heart thundered and her blood sang and her toes curled.

It was a breaking and a joining.

A death and a rebirth.

A terror and a joy.

Utterly overwhelming and yet indescribably right.

It felt like coming home.

Chapter End Notes

Beware all ye living and dead! Alicent Hightower now has magic and sex books! There's
nothing that she can't do!
Next Chapter: Alicent begins adjusting to having magic, and Rhaenyra has an important
conversation.
 New Sensations
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 43:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Nesryn Estermont, a Yellow Lotus geneticist, residing at the Alcazar
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Laena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Bellmar
– Elaena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Saevara
– Maegelle Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Farnier
– Laenora Targaryen, Dowager Queen of the Avenian Isles
– Aerea Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Norden
– Daemona Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Gelt

A special thanks to beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Warm Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

The air smelled sweeter now.

Sounds were more melodic than before.

And colors were more vibrant than she’d thought possible.

Alicent felt as if she was floating, as if her whole body had become weightless and now danced
among the clouds. She was distantly aware of warm fingers intertwined with her own, of a familiar
and comforting presence by her side, of love as boundless and deep as the ocean itself engulfing
and cradling her in its fierce yet gentle embrace.

She blinked a few times as the lights that had almost blinded her before faded away to reveal the
uppermost chamber of the Astral Tower, Nesryn and her lotuses, Mistress South and her witches,
Archmagister Jynessa and her wizards, and—most important of all—her Rhaenyra. All of their
eyes were upon her—bright and curious and eager, but not without worry as well, as if they
somehow thought that the ritual might have failed.

Her lips formed what she was certain must be a foolish grin, but she found that she didn’t care. The
haze that had settled over her mind during the ritual was beginning to clear, but she wondered if it
would ever be entirely the same, or if awakening her core had somehow altered her brain on a
fundamental level. Her skin still tingled pleasantly, and the pulsating thing nestled just below her
sternum was thrumming in time with her heartbeat.
Gentle fingers brushed aside a stray lock of hair from her face—she didn’t even recall it coming
loose—and lightly traced over her cheek. “How do you feel, Ali?”

“Whole.”

The word slipped from her mouth unbidden, but she recognized the truth of it as soon as she spoke.
She felt as if a piece of herself that she hadn’t even known was missing had suddenly found its
place within her, and now she felt more complete than she ever had before.

Save for the first time that she and Rhaenyra had kissed.

Nothing would ever feel more perfect than that particular moment.

Part of her wished to capture her bondmate’s lips and kiss her until they were both breathless and
flushed, but she knew that would be improper.

Later then.

Nesryn bustled forward, eyes shining with triumph. “May I, Alicent?”

Alicent nodded, watching curiously as Nesryn traced a few shapes in the air while staring at the
place below her sternum. She’d spent enough time reading about Valyrian magic to know that—
strictly speaking—the act of performing magic was merely a sorceress manipulating the
metaphysical energy that flowed through her veins and was concentrated in her core to such a
degree that she extended the energy beyond her body to influence the world around her. She now
understood that the various spoken spells and intricate hand movements she’d heard and seen over
the years were merely ways for women to focus and shape their power, that Valyrians need never
utter a single word to perform magic—to exert their own force of will over other beings and matter.

And yet the vast majority of women continued to use both incantations and gestures when they
cast, despite not actually needing to.

She found the decision somewhat perplexing.

Perhaps she would better understand once she began her magic lessons.

Strong Sytarr above, she would soon begin magic lessons.

The thing thrumming beneath her sternum—her core—pulsed in a way that almost made her wince.

“My apologies, Alicent, did I hurt you?”

Refocusing on Nesryn, Alicent saw that her friend’s eyes were wide with concern, and she
suddenly became aware of the sharpness of Rhaenyra’s scent. “I’m all right. I think that I’m simply
still . . . adjusting.”

Rhaenyra relaxed beside her, her rose scent warming and wrapping around Alicent like a
comforting blanket.

The worry dissipated from Nesryn’s eyes. “Ah. Well, that’s to be expected. As I said, your core will
need time to fully settle and ‘integrate,’ as it were.” Grinning, she straightened and clapped her
hands together. “And I am pleased to say and proud to confirm that your core has indeed been
successfully awakened.”
The surge of elation, satisfaction, and triumph that suddenly flooded the room made Alicent flinch,
and her ward flared as it desperately tried to block the onslaught.

Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to focus on her breathing, as she tried to focus on Rhaenyra’s
scent and the sound of her heartbeat.

But the emotions that were not her own continued crashing over her in unforgiving waves,
continued clawing at her and choking her and threatening to—

Rhaenyra squeezed her hand—hard. “Ali, can you hear me? All is well, My Safa. Your ward is
strong. Remember that. Focus on the sense of safety that it brings you, focus on the way that it
envelops you.”

Alicent huffed out a ragged breath as she focused on her memories of being held warm and tight, of
being comforted and caressed, of being nuzzled and kissed—

Her ward flared once more—her mental Rhaenyra squeezing her so tight that it almost hurt.

The tide began to ebb.

But far more slowly than it had in years.

When she was finally able to open her eyes, her breaths were still coming in shallow pants as she
looked at Rhaenyra worriedly. “Why?” she rasped.

Rhaenyra shook her head, turning to Nesryn. “Doctor?”

Nesryn hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at Mistress South and Archmagister Jynessa for a
moment before returning her attention to Alicent. “While we can’t say for certain without
additional testing, it seems that reconnecting with your core has strengthened your empathic
abilities. Rather markedly so.” She pushed her spectacles further up her nose. “Considering you
were somehow able to use them even when your core was dormant, it’s not so surprising that your
gift would now become stronger.”

Alicent groaned inwardly at the thought of having to relearn how to control her gift.

“We’ll reinforce your ward this evening, My Love,” Rhaenyra promised her, kissing her temple. “It
should be but a small matter. Nothing you need worry about.”

Alicent nodded, leaning against her bondmate and breathing in her scent.

She probably should have been more mindful of the women surrounding them, but she was
suddenly too tired to fret about decorum.

While her body still thrummed and tingled pleasantly, and while a part of her still felt as if she was
floating, exhaustion had settled into her bones, and all she wanted to do was retreat to the privacy
of her and Rhaenyra’s chambers where she could be properly held and kissed.

“Is there anything more, Dr. Nesryn?” Rhaenyra was asking.

“Not at the moment.” Nesryn cocked her head at Alicent. “You told me a few weeks ago that Lady
Margaery Tyrell and Lady Sansa Stark have volunteered to begin teaching you magic. Is that still
true?”
“It is.” And she expected that her lessons with them would be quite the experience. For while
Rhaenyra had promised to summon the finest tutor in sorcery that the Empire had to offer—if
Alicent so desired—Alicent had been relieved when Margaery and Sansa had made their own offer
to teach her.

“Good.” Nesryn patted her arm. “Until we know the precise strength of your core, it’s best that two
sorceresses from such powerful bloodlines oversee your tutelage. You’ll contact me at once should
anything seem amiss, yes?”

Alicent nodded.

“Then I believe that there’s nothing more for us to do this day.” Nesryn looked over at Mistress
South and Archmagister Jynessa, who nodded in agreement.

Alicent reached out and clasped her friend’s hand. “Thank you, Nesryn, for everything.”

Nesryn grinned. “It has been the utmost pleasure, I assure you.” She winked. “And I am very much
anticipating the day that I see you at the Alcazar in the robes of a novice, Alicent.”

Alicent couldn’t help but return the grin, even as her stomach twisted at the thought of being parted
from Rhaenyra.

There would be time enough to fret about all of that.

The lovely sounds of Alicent’s contented sighs and pleased little moans filled their bedchamber,
tempting Rhaenyra to pounce upon her sweet bondmate and worship her until Alicent’s eyes were
glassy with want and her thighs were soaked with her own pleasure, until her body trembled on the
cusp of release and her fingers clawed at the sheets in desperation, until her moans reached a
crescendo and she cried out in ecstasy as she peaked beneath Rhaenyra’s fingers and tongue.

Seven bleeding Hells, the noises spilling from Alicent’s lips were simply—

Enough of that.

Shaking her head, Rhaenyra made an effort to refocus her attention on gently kneading Alicent’s
right foot, the muscles of which were far more tense than normal. Her bondmate’s skin was freshly
cleaned and wonderfully soft beneath her fingers, warm and—

“My apologies,” Alicent mumbled, looking down at Rhaenyra from where she was perched on the
edge of their bed. “I didn’t realize that I was making those noises.” She worried her lower lip
between her teeth, embarrassment staining her cheeks. “I wasn’t attempting to entice you.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, My Love.” Rhaenyra wanted to lean forward and press a gentle
kiss to her knee, but didn’t know if that could cause further discomfort, so she settled for lightly
squeezing Alicent’s ankle. “I’m glad that you’re feeling more relaxed now.”

They’d spent the majority of their evening tending to Alicent’s ward. For while the actual
reinforcement had been but a small matter—as Rhaenyra anticipated—her bondmate had insisted
upon several hours of extensive testing to be certain that her fortified ward would hold now that her
empathic abilities were heightened.
Only once Alicent’s confidence in her ward’s strength and ability to protect her were restored had
they begun readying themselves for bed. Rhaenyra had offered to wash and massage Alicent’s feet
to help her further relax, and her bondmate’s grateful smile had filled her with the sort of warmth
that only a smile from Alicent could.

She’d been able to soak and wash Alicent’s feet without any fuss, but when she’d begun massaging
them and kneading away the tension that had earlier accumulated, when Alicent had begun to moan
—

She shouldn’t be having such thoughts about Alicent whilst massaging her feet.

“And you weren’t enticing me,” she added, hoping to banish the worry shining in her bondmate’s
eyes.

The worry vanished, but it was replaced by a frown.

“Nyra, I can,” Alicent’s cheeks reddened further, “I can sense that you want me, and—”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her hands immediately releasing Alicent’s foot as she stood from the low
stool that she’d been sitting on. “Ali, I promise you that I wasn’t—”

Except that she couldn’t promise anything of the kind, could she?

Not when she’d been imagining seeing Alicent naked and writhing on their bed.

Not when she’d been imagining stroking Alicent’s breasts and teasing her nipples.

Not when she’d been imagining spreading Alicent’s legs and tasting her for the first—

Seven fucking Hells.

“Please forgive me, Ali. I didn’t mean—”

“Shh. Come here, My Love.” Alicent beckoned to her, and once Rhaenyra was within reach, she
clasped her hand and lightly tugged until Rhaenyra sat down beside her on their bed. “You have
nothing to apologize for either, Nyra.”

“If I made you uncomfortable—”

“You didn’t,” Alicent assured her, capturing Rhaenyra’s other hand and giving both a tight squeeze.
“I could sense your discomfort, and when I realized the cause . . .” She wet her lips, her expression
becoming sheepish. “You’ve been very patient with me, My Safa, and it wasn’t my intention to . . .
to tempt you. I realize that it must be frustrating—”

“I would wait an eternity for you, Ali.” Rhaenyra leaned in and kissed her forehead. “And I’ve told
you that if you never wish to be bedded, that’s perfectly all right.”

Alicent snorted, but her eyes were warm with affection, and her lips were warmer still when they
briefly pressed against Rhaenyra’s. “And I’ve told you,” she whispered against her mouth as they
parted, “that I do wish to be bedded. I’m simply not ready yet. But I will be.” She brought her hand
up to gently caress Rhaenyra’s cheek.
Rhaenyra’s eyes closed as a pleasant shiver ran down her spine. “All the same,” she whispered,
“it’s rude of me to be thinking about you in such a way, especially considering how you were
previously—”

“Rhaenyra, look at me.”

Opening her eyes, she was surprised by the stern expression on her bondmate’s face. “Yes?”

“I don’t mind if you have such thoughts about me, Nyra. It’s . . . it’s nice . . . to know that you think
me desirable in that way.” Alicent’s face warmed and softened as a pretty blush stained her cheeks,
but her gaze never wavered. “You don’t,” her lips pursed as she searched for the correct words,
“you don’t want me simply so that you can slake your lusts. You want me because you love me,
because you want us to share that particular kind of intimacy, because you want me to experience
pleasure, yes?”

Rhaenyra nodded, her mind once again conjuring visions of Alicent reaching her peak, of her
writhing and arching on their bed, of her crying out for more . . . of the pleased and satisfied smile
that would grace her lips afterwards, of how beautiful she would look boneless and sated, of the
love and contentment that would be shining in her deep brown eyes . . .

She wanted to give her Alicent all of the pleasure that she deserved and had been so long denied.
She wanted her Alicent to know that she was beautiful and desirable. She wanted—

“You love me, Nyra, and that makes all the difference.” Alicent pecked her lips. “You’re allowed to
want me. I,” she smiled, almost shyly, “I want you to want me.”

“I most certainly do,” Rhaenyra whispered.

More than she’d ever wanted anyone.

“Good.” Alicent brushed her thumb over Rhaenyra’s cheek. “Then I would ask that you please not
castigate yourself the next time that you have such thoughts about me.”

“As you will, My Love.” She couldn’t promise not to chastise herself in the future, but she would
certainly attempt to avoid doing so.

Alicent seemed to realize this, because sadness briefly flashed in her eyes before she leaned in to
give her another kiss. “Let us to bed then, My Love. I’ve my lesson in the morning, and I believe
Lady Rhaenys has demanded your time for some matter related to the Summit.”

So her aunt had claimed, but Rhaenyra was fairly certain that she was lying.

Though she couldn’t fathom the reason for it.

Rising from the edge of their bed, Rhaenyra telekinetically drew back the covers so that Alicent
could make herself comfortable whilst she herself returned the basin, soaps, and lotions to their
proper places in the lavatory.

No sooner had she returned to their bed and slipped beneath the silk sheets than Alicent was rolling
into her arms. Grinning happily and purring loudly, Rhaenyra drew her bondmate close and began
covering Alicent’s lovely face in soft kisses. She reveled in her safa’s quiet sighs of delight—the
sort that she had oft dreamed about in the years before Alicent had kissed her.
“Sleep well, My Nyra.” Alicent’s hand found hers, and their fingers tangled together. “May Relle
Songcrafter fashion you pleasant dreams.”

Rhaenyra placed a final kiss on Alicent’s forehead, and for a moment, she swore that she felt her
bondmate’s newly awakened magic croon in response to the pleased warble of her own core. “May
Relle Songcrafter fashion you pleasant dreams, My Darling Alicent.”

Alicent awoke the next morning to an empty bed, but the sheets were still warm, and the scent of
roses was strong enough that she was fairly certain Rhaenyra hadn’t yet departed for her morning
exercises with Vora Hylda.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she was surprised by the slight tingle that she felt below
her sternum, as if her magic were waking with her.

She would have to ask Margaery and Sansa if that was normal.

In truth, she was rather surprised at how unchanged she felt. Aside from her strengthened empathic
abilities—which her fortified ward would now manage—and the occasional prickling sensation in
her chest, she didn’t feel all different from before.

Which she supposed was just as well.

Climbing from their bed, she padded across the room to where her armoire now stood beside
Rhaenyra’s. No sooner had she opened the door than the warm scent of roses enveloped her and a
familiar set of arms wrapped around her waist. She smiled as she leaned back against her
bondmate’s chest. “Good morning, Nyra.”

“Good morning, Ali.” Rhaenyra gave her a brief squeeze before releasing her so that Alicent could
select a dress for the day. “I’ve decided that sometime within the next century, I’m going to
convince you to wear breaches for an entire day.”

Alicent snorted as she withdrew a simple sage-green gown with white lace decorating the sleeves
and neckline. “Are you dissatisfied with my dresses?”

“Not at all.” Rhaenyra pecked her cheek before leaving her side and swiftly making her way over
to her vanity. “But I recall how fetching you looked in those trousers on the Third Day of Yuletide.”

A blush stained Alicent’s cheeks even as her smile grew. For all that Rhaenyra seemed utterly
mortified whenever she had even somewhat carnal thoughts about her, she’d noticed that her
bondmate had no trouble paying her flirtatious compliments. “You’re sweet.”

“I’m honest.” Rhaenyra looked over at her. “Will you need assistance with the laces, My Love?”

“Yes, thank you.” Alicent stepped behind the changing screen where she found a fresh set of
smallclothes and undergarments waiting for her. She hurriedly shed her nightgown and the
smallclothes that she’d worn the previous day before donning her new smallclothes, a chemise, and
two layers of petticoats.

Rhaenyra was waiting for her when she emerged a few minutes later, and her bondmate’s hands
were swift and sure as she helped her into her gown and secured the laces at her back. “You are, as
ever, a vision, Ali,” she declared once Alicent was properly dressed.

Margaery and Sansa were going to tease her about how red her face was for at least half an hour,
Alicent was certain.

All the same, she gave Rhaenyra a warm, lingering kiss, savoring the taste of her lips and the
rumbling purr that filled the room.

When they parted, Rhaenyra’s expression was somewhat dazed, though she quickly recovered
herself. “I hope you enjoy your first lesson, Ali.”

She couldn’t imagine not enjoying it, and she said as much, which earned her an amused chuckle.

“How foolish of me, to think for even a moment that you would not relish the opportunity to learn
something new.”

“It was very foolish,” Alicent agreed. “I intend to seek recompense this evening.”

“Which I will gladly provide.” Rhaenyra leaned closer and kissed her cheek.

Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s chest.

As the door closed behind Alicent, Rhaenyra started towards her study with the intention of
gathering up the quarterly reports that Bartima had given her the other day and that she’d yet to
actually begin reviewing, but her steps faltered when she caught sight of Alicent’s desk—the one
that she’d moved from Alicent’s old study into their bedchamber because her safa had insisted that
this specific desk was far more comfortable for her to work at than the one in Rhaenyra’s own
study.

“The wood is more worn to my liking, and I have an organizational system for my notes and books
and other materials,” Alicent had explained with a shrug as she fondly ran her fingers over the
surface of her desk.

When Rhaenyra had remarked that Alicent could always simply work in her own study, her
bondmate had gazed at her with wide eyes and asked if Rhaenyra would prefer her being several
rooms away rather than “here in our bedchamber. With you.”

Rhaenyra had teleported the desk at once.

That desk was usually as neat and tidy as could be, with not a quill or paper out of place. But this
morning, loose papers and notes were scattered everywhere, which Rhaenyra suspected was
because Alicent hadn’t had time the day before to organize her things, what with everything that
had been happening that afternoon and evening.

After glancing at the clock to assure herself that she had time, Rhaenyra swiftly crossed the room
and began gathering up Alicent’s notes and papers into a more orderly arrangement. Along with the
loose papers, there was a very pretty burgundy journal with embossed, golden lettering on the cover
that read—

Rhaenyra’s hands froze, eyes stretching wide with surprise.

Bedding Journal.

Plain as could be in bright, golden letters that had obviously been written in Alicent’s own elegant
hand, and utterly unmistakable in their meaning.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as curiosity began clawing at her insides and making her fingers
twitch.

While not surprised that Alicent would be taking notes on the minutiae and particulars of bedding
and then compiling them, she hadn’t expected—

She ought to leave the journal be. Whatever information it contained was Alicent’s to share or not,
and her own selfish desire to know what Alicent was thinking on these matters—

“Nyra?”

Rhaenyra nearly leapt from her skin, whirling around in time to see Alicent reentering their
bedchamber. “A-Ali,” she stuttered, “I, I didn’t mean—”

Alicent’s eyes widened slightly when she saw Rhaenyra standing over journal and holding her
notes in her hand, and a bright blush spread across her cheeks and down her neck.

But she didn’t lower her head in shame or stammer as she said, “Proper research demands
meticulous documentation and thorough consideration of all matters. I’d intended to wait until my
studies were somewhat farther along before sharing, but I suppose now will be as good a time as
any.”

Rhaenyra could only stare at her.

Closing the distance between them, Alicent offered her a gentle smile as she reached down and
brushed her fingers over the back of Rhaenyra’s hand. “Would you care to see what I’ve been
compiling, My Love? I’ve only just begun reading the Westerosi books that you made for me, so
most of my notes have to do with Valyrian biology. I was actually hoping that you might offer your
insights on a few matters? Regarding your preferences?”

“My preferences,” Rhaenyra repeated, her mouth suddenly dry.

While she’d suspected that Alicent would approach educating herself about bedding with the same
methodical precision that she did everything else that sparked her interest or captured her fancy,
she’d also assumed that there would be a certain amount of detachment. She’d hadn’t thought—

“I don’t mind if you have such thoughts about me, Nyra.”

Because it seemed that Alicent was having such thoughts of her own.

Rhaenyra’s stomach clenched, and she could feel heat beg—

“Y-You think about me when researching?” Her words sounded hoarse even to her own ears—and
incredulous besides.

Alicent nodded, her cheeks reddening even further. “How could I not be thinking about you, Safa?”
She leaned forward and opened her journal. “See?”
Heart thundering in her chest, Rhaenyra lowered her eyes to skim over the pages as Alicent began
slowly flipping through them, catching sight of the words, “clitoral stimulation,” “begin with
gentle licks and measure her reaction,” and “determine whether Rhaenyra prefers small circles,
strokes, or taps.”

Merciful Relle.

Alicent had written extensively about the sensitivity of the clit as compared the nipples and the
neck, and about varying methods for how she intended to determine Rhaenyra’s personal
sensitivity. She’d also sketched out a shockingly detailed rendering of a woman’s sex, around
which were written such things as, “ask whether Rhaenyra is comfortable with penetration,” “ask
whether Rhaenyra has found her clit to be too sensitive for manual stimulation,” “gently stroke her
labia majora until preferred pressure has been determined,” and “oral stimulation?”

Rhaenyra nearly collapsed when she read, written in tiny letters on the bottom corner of the page,
“I wonder what Rhaenyra tastes like.”

“Relle above, Ali.”

“Are you displeased?” For the first time, Alicent sounded uncertain.

“No, My Love, no, not at all. I’m—I’m simply surprised that you—I didn’t think . . .”

Alicent smiled softly—so very sweetly—and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Perhaps now you will
believe me when I tell you that I don’t mind if you think about me in those ways, hmm?”

“I already believed you.”

Or at least she’d wanted to.

She still remembered with perfect clarity when her mother had taken her aside and begun
impressing upon her the importance of consent, that it was sacrosanct, and that her position and
power meant that she must take especial care with anyone that she might wish to so much as touch,
never mind bed.

“You coerce simply by breathing, Rhaenyra. Any woman that you might one day pursue will always
be cognizant of exactly what horrors you could inflict upon her if she denies you. So you must
ensure that she knows beyond any doubt that you won’t harm her regardless of how much you may
wish to lash out. And you must always be in complete control of your baser desires so as not to
upset or frighten her. Do you understand?”

She’d thought—

Alicent loved her.

Alicent wanted her.

And Alicent wasn’t afraid of her.

“You promised that you would never harm me, Nyra, and you always keep your promises. You’re
my friend, and I trust you.”

Alicent trusted her.

Perhaps Rhaenyra owed herself the same courtesy.

Wrapping her arms around Alicent’s waist, she drew her close and kissed her softly. “Thank you,
Ali.”

For showing me this. For loving me. For trusting me. For not being afraid of me.

Alicent smiled up at her, eyes warm with unabashed affection. “I’m yours. And you’re mine.” She
pressed their foreheads together. “From this day, until the stars go dark.”

After bidding Rhaenyra a true farewell for the morning—her bondmate’s expression had still been
somewhat dazed after seeing her Bedding Journal, but Rhaenyra had at least seemed less anxious
when Alicent had departed—Alicent swiftly made her way to the solar that Margaery and Sansa
had commandeered for her lessons.

Upon entering the room, she was only somewhat surprised by the sight of a large bowl of water, an
unlit candle, and three small stones spread out across one of the tables.

Knowing that Valyrians considered their ordered magic abilities more akin to writing or performing
mathematical equations or even walking than “actual magic,” she’d assumed that her friends would
focus their attention on these abilities first. Besides, ordered magic was bound by blood and thus
already shaped into a usable form.

The only mystery had been whether Margaery and Sansa would begin with elementalism,
shapeshifting, or telekinesis.

Margaery swept across the room to give her a hug in greeting before ushering her over to the table
where Sansa awaited them. “Punctual as always. A very good quality for any student.” She sat
Alicent down and patted her shoulder. “I think we’ll get along splendidly, My Young Pupil.”

Alicent arched an eyebrow as she looked over at Sansa for explanation.

Sansa simply shook her head. “You’ll have to excuse her. She’s become rather . . . taken with the
notion that she’ll be playing tutor for the next several centuries.”

“And all without having actually trained as a magister,” Margaery chuckled. “How the
archmagisters at the Great Library must be fuming.”

“How your ancestors must be fuming.”

“Grandmother Tyrell and Grandaunt Alerie found it quite amusing, actually.” Margaery flashed her
mate a cheerful smile before returning her attention to Alicent. “If you’re amenable, Sansa and I
thought it best to begin with elementalism.”

“So I gathered.” Alicent waved towards the water, stones, and candle. “Might I ask why?
Considering elementalism is the last of the ordered magic abilities that children master.”

Margaery held up a finger. “You’re not a child,” she held up a second finger, “telekinesis is
essentially elementalism with less flare and philosophy,” she held up a third finger, “and
shapeshifting requires an intimate and detailed familiarity with an animal’s biology and cellular
structures. While I’m certain that you would delight in taking the time to study the cell structures of
a snake or a rabbit, I’d much rather that we begin exercising your abilities now.”

Alicent inclined her head. “As you say, Oh Wise and Learned Tutor.”

Margaery grinned.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Now, now, Sansa,” Margaery chided, “if our pupil wishes to praise me, who are you to gainsay
her?”

“The woman who has to suffer your smugness later.”

Margaery pressed a hand to her chest. “You wound me, Sans.”

“Then it’s a good thing that Alicent is likely a water elemental. Mayhap she’ll be kind enough to
heal you.”

Alicent’s ears pricked at that.

The book on medicinal magic that Rhaenyra had gifted her for her fifty-first birthday had discussed
at length how ancient Old World water elementals has used water as a catalyst to redirect the
metaphysical energy that flowed throughout the body and concentrate it in damaged areas, how
they’d drawn upon water’s inherent restorative properties to heal injuries at an accelerated rate,
how the technique had been exceptionally effective on external physical wounds such as burns,
lacerations, and broken bones.

Nigh all medical spells were descended from water elementalism healing, and while being a water
elemental wasn’t a requirement for becoming a physician, she knew that the vast majority of
physicians were either water elementals by affinity or capable of mastering water elementalism.

“Why do you think that I’m a water elemental?”

“Temperament,” Margaery and Sansa replied without hesitation.

“Water and fire are the two elements of life,” Sansa elaborated, “but where fire is passion and
unflinching will and power, water is a healing and purifying force that cools and soothes.” She
waved her hand, fingers swirling and causing some of the latent moisture in the air to begin
condensing into fat water droplets that soon formed a tiny, undulating stream. “Water is versatility
and adaptability—always responding to nature’s push and pull, but unrelenting in its flow no matter
the obstacles that may arise.”

“And water elementals tend to be compassionate,” Margaery flashed Sansa a warm smile, “gentle
and soothing, loyal and unwavering.” She returned her attention to Alicent. “I’ve staked three
crowns on you being a water elemental.”

Alicent’s eyebrows arched. “That’s quite a sum.”

“I’m quite confident.” Margaery winked. “And I can most certainly afford it, considering the
substantial wealth that I gained the day you and Queen Rhaenyra finally saw fit to end all of our
suffering.”
“We weren’t that—”

“You were both dreadful. Utterly so.” Margaery clicked her tongue. “Watching the two of you
circle each other was a torture worthy of the Seven Hells. I cannot even begin to fathom how you
could listen to Queen Rhaenyra sing your praises, lavish you with affection of every kind, grant you
liberties that none save for a woman’s mate enjoys, and still believe that she considered you no
more than a heart friend.” She shook her head in consternation. “And it continues to baffle me that
Her Majesty could hear the way your heart fluttered and thundered whenever she was near, and yet
she somehow didn’t realize that it was because you’re in love with her.”

Alicent’s cheeks burned. “I had reasons for believing that Rhaenyra didn’t love me.”

Just as Rhaenyra had reasons for believing that I did not love her.

Margaery opened her mouth to respond, but Sansa spoke first. “And I’m sure that they were
perfectly sensible.” She gave her mate a stern look, and Margaery sighed before closing her mouth.

Sansa used her telekinesis to push the bowl of water in front of Alicent. “I believe that we have a
lesson to begin.”

Alicent flashed her friend a grateful smile. “Yes, we most certainly do.”

Margaery sighed loudly, but motioned for Sansa to begin all the same.

After flashing her mate a sly smile filled with rather indecent promises, Sansa turned her attention
to Alicent. “Let’s begin with a few basic movements, shall we?”

Alicent nodded eagerly, watching intently as Sansa twirled two fingers in the in. Her friend’s
middle and forefinger were about an inch apart and slightly bent at the first and second knuckle.
Her other two fingers were bent downwards, but not tucked against her palm, while her thumb was
held loosely parallel with those fingers. The circular movements of Sansa’s wrist were slow and
languid, and her forearm was held perfectly still.

In response to Sansa’s gesture, the water in the bowl began swirling to create a small whirlpool.

“Motions are meaningless without intent and desire,” Sansa reminded her once her hand stilled.
“They’re meant only to guide and direct your magic, not serve as a substitute.”

“A calm and clear mind helps initially,” Margaery added. “As using your magic becomes more
instinctive, it will be easier to perform with less concentration. But for now, you should focus all of
your attention on willing the water to move.”

After flexing her fingers a few times, Alicent carefully arranged them to mirror Sansa’s and then
turned her eyes to the bowl.

She felt something stirring within her as she stared at the inert water, as she began to twirl her
fingers through the air as Sansa had done. In her mind’s eye, she could see the water trembling and
then slowly beginning to swirl as she initially struggled to cast her magic outwards, to manipulate
the energy concentrated beneath her sternum and flowing through her veins, to move the water
without actually touching it. But eventually, the water would begin swirling faster, surrendering to
her will and moving as she desired.
Her hand tingled, and she could feel—

But nothing happened.

The water remained stubbornly unmoving.

Alicent’s lips pursed as she resisted the instinctive urge to quicken her movements, reminding
herself that the gesture was only a guide, that it was her own force of will that would compel the
water to move, not the twirling of her fingers. Her own force of will, her own mind—a clear mind,
Margaery had said.

But her mind was clear.

All of her focus was on the water, on willing it to move, on being able to accomplish this simple
task.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared harder at the water.

Please move.

Still nothing.

What was she doing wrong?

Halting her hand, Alicent looked at Margaery and Sansa in hopes of an explanation.

Her friends exchanged a brief look before Sansa suggested, “Why don’t we try something
different?”

Alicent nodded in agreement, her stomach beginning to twist. “All right.”

The scar on her wrist throbbed.

Rhaenyra had known that her aunt was lying when she’d claimed needing to speak with her about
the official presentations and seating arrangements for the Dragon Summit, but she hadn’t known
why she was being lied to until she’d entered Aunt Rhaenys’ office and been met by a grinning
Laena.

Her sister had done little more than offer a cursory greeting before grabbing her hand and
teleporting them from the Queen’s Keep to a shaded glen that Rhaenyra had at once recognized as
the place where she and her sisters had oft retreated to when they were children and visiting Dragon
Ridge for a few years.

How long has it been since we were last all together?

She couldn’t quite recall.

The last time that she’d spoken to Aerea, Elaena, or Maegelle had been shortly after the Treaty
signing. She’d been somewhat better about maintaining correspondence of some kind with
Laenora, but that was more due to Laenora’s efforts than her own. And Daemona . . .
Her eldest sister was their mother come again in many ways, and she’d never been particularly
close with her. Even before she’d realized that their mother was—

“Sweet Sister!” Laenora swiftly rose from the table around which she and their other sisters were
seated and swept forward to pull Rhaenyra into a tight hug whilst also enveloping her with her
wings. “It’s been far too long.” She kissed Rhaenyra’s cheek before drawing back so that her eyes
could sweep over her, her nose twitching slightly. “I would ask how you’ve been faring, but
considering you smell as if you’ve spent the last reign frolicking about in a bakery, I already have
my answer.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, but she also couldn’t help but smile as memories of holding Alicent in
her arms the night before and then again this morning flashed through her mind. “It’s good to see
you as well, Laenora.”

“Your determination to neither call nor write these past few years has been quite vexing,” Laenora
tsked as she dragged her over to the table and sat her down, one of her wings lightly brushing over
Rhaenyra’s shoulder before she reclaimed her own chair. “You’ve no idea how utterly dreadful it’s
been only receiving indirect reports from Laena about your and the Lady Alicent’s courtship.”

“We weren’t courting.”

“You gave her a ring made with green diamonds,” Laenora scoffed. “Jorella has never gifted me
with anything half so obscenely expensive.”

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow. “And here I was under the impression that you preferred those
hideous figurines that Jorella is always gifting you.”

Laenora chuckled, amusement flashing in her eyes. “Hideous they may be, but my Jorella makes
them with love, and that is far more important than mere aesthetics. Besides, my point about your
ridiculous spending habits remains.”

“Didn’t the Lady Alicent also make a gown for you?” Aerea chimed in before Rhaenyra could
defend herself. “That certainly seems like courting behavior to me.”

“I heard tell that they’ve been dining together every evening since before the Dragon Summit was
announced.” Elaena’s telekinetic hand playfully prodded Rhaenyra’s side from across the table.

Rhaenyra responded by stealing her teacup for herself.

“Rhae was baking for Alicent as well.” Laena smiled slyly. “And we all know what that means.”

Ignoring the flush that she could feel staining her cheeks, Rhaenyra made a show of pouring her tea
and paying no mind to the way that her sisters all tittered. “I was cooking meals for the entirety of
my court after the War,” she noted dryly.

Laenora waved dismissively. “Cooking is entirely different from baking. Besides,” her voice
lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, “I presume that you weren’t spending your evenings lounging
on a settee with all of the other members of your court, were you?”

Rhaenyra frowned at Laena, who held up her hands defensively. “I told her nothing, I swear.”
“Rhae,” Laenora sighed, wagging a finger at her, “haven’t you learned by now that I am all
knowing?”

“You’re a dreadful gossip is what you are.”

Laenora grinned. “That as well.” She spread her arms and wings wide with a flourish. “I contain
multitudes.”

Maegelle clicked her tongue as she delicately pushed Laenora’s wing out of her face. “It isn’t
ladylike to gossip, Laenora.”

Laenora turned to look at her, her smile becoming far too sweet and her voice growing far too
honeyed. “How fortunate, then, that Mother Relle saw fit to make me a queen.”

Aerea laughed and clapped her hands together. “Laenora speaks wisely, Mae.”

Maegelle grimaced and primly upturned her nose, but her eyes sparkled with mirth. “The words
‘wise’ and ‘Laenora’ do not belong in the same paragraph together, never mind the same sentence,
Aerea.”

“I beg your pardon,” Laenora sputtered, her hand flying to her chest as her voice rose two octaves
on the final word. “How could you ever say such a thing about your own beloved sister, Maegelle?”

“Very easily and without any qualms.”

Rhaenyra chuckled, which she realized was a mistake a moment later when all of her sisters
returned their attention to her.

“Now is hardly the time for petty squabbles,” Laena declared. “We’re here to celebrate our beloved
little sister not only finding her mate, but finally becoming pairbonded with her.”

“Celebrate in a way that we never did when we found our mates,” Daemona muttered.

Laena gave her a sharp look. “What was that?”

Daemona shrugged as she stirred her tea. “I’m merely noting that such fuss wasn’t made when I
met Mysaria, nor was it made when you met Rhea or Laenora fell on Jorella—”

“Landed upon her with the grace of a phoenix,” Laenora corrected.

“—or Elaena met Karelia—”

“None of us spent over nine million years awaiting our mate,” Laena snapped. “Must you be this
way, Daemona?”

Daemona harrumphed in response and returned her attention to her tea.

Laena raised her cup. “Congratulations, Rhae. May the Light of Mother Relle shine upon you and
Alicent for the rest of your eternal days together.”

“And may you both find the joy and happiness that you deserve,” Laenora added.
A warm flush of pleasure spread throughout Rhaenyra’s entire body, and she could feel her throat
growing tight. “Thank you,” she finally managed after a moment. “All of you.” She swallowed a
little. “You needn’t have made such a fuss.”

“Nonsense.” Aerea slid a tray of chocolate tarts across the table to her. “You’re our sister, and
you’ve waited far longer for this moment than the six of us combined. You’re allowed to revel in
the joy of it all, Rhaenyra.”

“She’s likely been ‘reveling’ for weeks now,” Laenora chuckled.

Rhaenyra resisted the urge to chide her sister, knowing that doing so would only cause her other
sisters to ask questions that she had no interest in or intention of answering.

“As she ought to be.” Elaena smiled at her, bright and warm. “We were all very glad to hear about
you and Lady Alicent.”

“And not simply because it settled over a dozen wagers.” Laena squeezed Rhaenyra’s arm, her eyes
shining with a combination of amusement and affection.

“Would that I could truly believe that,” Rhaenyra sighed, making a show of her shoulders falling.

Laena swatted her arm.

Daemona cleared her throat. “Now that you’re officially pairbonded, will your lovely mate be
attending the Summit?” Her tone was bored, but her eyes were bright and sharp with interest.

“She will be.” Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow, her own tone perhaps more brusque than it needed to
be, but her eldest sister had always had a talent for aggravating her. “Does this trouble you, Sister?”

“Not at all.” Daemona smiled slyly. “I believe that we’re all quite eager to meet the Lady Alicent
Hightower.” She paused. “Considering she’s the reason that you banished Mother from your city,
it’s only natural for us to be curious.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed, but she suppressed the growl threatening to rumble in her chest.

“Mother should have been banished long ago, and I, at least, am most grateful for Alicent finally
accomplishing what we’ve all,” Laena scowled at Daemona, “what most of us have been
attempting for over nine million years.”

“May Mother Relle bless and keep her,” Maegelle murmured.

Daemona tsked in the same way that their mother always did before she began a lecture. “There is
no need—”

“I disagree.” Rhaenyra’s grip tightened on the handle of her teacup, and she heard the faint whine
of straining porcelain. “There is every need, Dear Sister.”

Surprise flashed in Daemona’s violet eyes. “Rhaenyra, our mother—”

“Our mother—” Rhaenyra’s stomach clenched, her core instinctively recoiling.

“Your mother shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“You, Rhaenyra Targaryen, are not a monster.”

“And until you do, I shall believe enough for the both of us.”

Alicent had seen at once what Rhaenyra had been too blind to realize all her life.

No.

Not blind.

She’d simply . . .

I believed my mother. As any daughter would.

A foolish thing, she now knew, to believe without question.

“Our mother’s treatment of me was wrong, Daemona.”

Laenora’s jaw nearly struck the table as she looked between Rhaenyra and Laena with wide eyes.

Laena’s own eyes were equally wide, but bright with something akin to pride as well.

Maegelle beamed as she swiftly made the sign of the star and thanked Relle “for at last shining her
light.”

Elaena and Aerea exchanged matching grins and looked as if they were about to vault over the
table to embrace her.

For a moment, Rhaenyra couldn’t understand their reactions, but then—

“Mother loves me. I know that she does.”

“Mother did as she knew was best for the Empire and for me.”

“If I’d had any control over myself, she wouldn’t have needed to cast the net.”

“I deserved what was done to me.”

“She cast that net for me.”

“I brought such suffering upon myself.”

“It was a fit punishment for my crimes.”

“Mother sees me for what I am. How can I begrudge her that?”

“I should have leashed my temper—”

“Rhaenyra,” Daemona stared at her in confusion, “we all know that you lacked proper control over
—”

“Enough, Daemona.” The force of Laena’s hand striking the table nearly overturned all of their
cups and caused the rotund teapot to tremble. “Mother’s actions were reprehensible and
inexcusable, and if you’re truly incapable of comprehending that, then you’re almost as great a fool
as Alaura.”

Rhaenyra had always thought that Laena was fond of their stepmother.

“Mother should have spent the last nine million years in a Great Glass Prison,” Laenora growled,
her usually pleasant tone having transformed into something harsh and cutting.

Aerea nodded in agreement. “That net was a dreadful thing from the moment that she first
concocted it, but the way that she behaved after it broke?” Her lips twisted. “Utterly disgraceful.”

“Mother did what she believed was best,” Daemona retorted.

“What she did nearly brought about a Second Doom,” Laena snapped.

“Had Rhaenyra leashed her temper—”

“Had Mother given the matter any forethought—”

“You’ve no idea the weight upon her shoulders—”

“I’ve some idea of the weight that she thrust upon our sister’s shoulders.”

“All her secrecy speaks for itself—”

“She only ever wanted—”

“None of us even knew about the net until after it broke!”

“She was never a particularly pleasant woman,” Aerea began.

“Mother has always been pleasant,” Daemona snapped.

“To you.”

“To all of us.” Daemona scowled at them. “Rhaenyra is the only one who vexes her.”

“Vexes?” Rhaenyra didn’t know why the word upset her so. She’d said much the same more times
than she could recall. “Mother severed my connection to my core, Daemona. Would you care for a
demonstration?”

Daemona recoiled. Just as Rhaenyra would have—had anyone threatened to place her mother’s
stasis net on someone that she loved.

“You defend others so fiercely, yet refuse to do the same for yourself. Have you considered why that
is?”

Because her mother had ensured that she learned well the lessons of rule.

In the harshest way possible.

And in the most damaging way possible.

She understood that now.

 And she would no longer deny the truth of it.

Chapter End Notes

Consent is important, Folks. I cannot stress that enough. But do not frame it the way that
Viserra did, I beg of you. The A+ that she received in her "special" brand of parenting, while
possible to achieve, is not something that anyone should want.

That said, look at Rhaenyra making great progress on the "My Mother Was Terrible" front.
She's getting closer to the New Moment You're All Waiting For 😉. And I wonder what's up
with Alicent's magic?

Sidenote: I draw a distinction here between undergarments (petticoats, kirtles, chemises, etc.)
and smallclothes (what we would call underwear, so bra band and briefs).

Next Chapter: Alicent has a sex nice dream and does some deep thinking.

Apologies to those looking forward to Horny Alicent this chapter. Something tells me that
she'll be making an appearance next chapter . . .
 Unburdened
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 44:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Lemore Rowan, Prelatic Legate, from Kastrell

A special thanks to beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains a smut scene, which will be marked at the beginning
and end with double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over it.

Please enjoy this artwork of Relle Lightbringer's coat of arms!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Warm Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI
Upon returning to her and Alicent’s apartments that evening—feeling unburdened in a way that she
never had before—Rhaenyra found her bondmate hunched over her desk and furiously scribbling
notes down on a sheet of paper.

Tsking fondly at Alicent’s poor posture, Rhaenyra came up behind her and cleared her throat. Once
she received a distracted nod, she settled her hands on Alicent’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the
top of her head. “You shouldn’t hunch so, My Love. You’ll strain your back and shoulders.”

“I’ve a considerate bondmate to massage my shoulders should they become sore, and I’m certain
that Dr. Gerarda can address any aches that I happen to inflict upon my back.”

Rhaenyra frowned slightly at the sharpness of Alicent’s scent, the tension that she could feel coiled
in her shoulders, the terse tone of her words. “Ali, is something the matter?”

Alicent didn’t respond, simply continued to occasionally glance over at the book lying open on her
desk as she wrote down notes on loose sheets of paper.

Rhaenyra’s frown deepened when she noticed how tightly her safa was gripping her quill and when
she heard the rough scrape of Alicent’s teeth as she clenched her jaw. “Your research seems to be
going well.” She lightly squeezed Alicent’s shoulders, hoping to receive a pleased hum or a bright
smile—as she normally would when she inquired about her bondmate’s latest interest.

“I’m very adept at research,” Alicent scoffed, irritation scorching her bread scent, “but you ought to
dread the day that I must attempt practical application.”

“Alicent.” Rhaenyra squeezed her shoulders again, hating the dark displeasure that shrouded her
safa. “My Love, please tell me what troubles you. I’d like to help, if I can.”

Tossing her quill aside with a frustrated huff, Alicent rose from her chair so swiftly that the legs
scraped discordantly against the stone floor. “You can’t always—I don’t—This isn’t something that
—” She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezing shut as she breathed deeply for a few
moments. When she opened her eyes, her shoulders slumped. “I’m being foolish,” she sighed,
turning her head to look at Rhaenyra. “Please forgive me for being terse with you, Nyra. You’re
entirely undeserving of my ill-temper.”

“It’s all right, My Love.” Rhaenyra stepped closer, and she couldn’t help but smile when Alicent
crossed the remaining distance between them and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Would you
like to speak about what’s troubling you?” she asked once more.

Alicent hesitated, and rather than answering, she turned them around and gave Rhaenyra a gentle
push.

Realizing what her bondmate wanted, Rhaenyra had to stifle a laugh as she sat down on the chair
that Alicent had abandoned and drew her safa onto her lap. Her arms encircled Alicent’s waist to
hold her close, and she released a wave of calming pheromones to envelop her bondmate.

A noise almost akin to contentment escaped Alicent’s lips as she shifted to rest her head on
Rhaenyra’s shoulder. “I’m being foolish,” she repeated quietly, staring down at her own lap as she
played with her emerald orchid ring. “It’s nothing you need concern yourself with.”

“Anything that bothers you is worthy of my concern, Safa.” Rhaenyra kissed her temple and
hugged her closer still. “Now, tell me your troubles, Ali. I’ll give you the stars.”
Alicent remained silent for another long moment before she finally spoke. “I failed.” Her words
were little more than a low and rough hiss—as if it physically pained her to speak them aloud, and
frustration emanated from her in harsh, scraping waves.

“It was,” Alicent shook her head, eyes squeezing shut once more, “it was humiliating. I sat there for
over seven hours trying to move the water even a little. Just a small ripple. That was all they asked
of me. And I—I couldn’t.” Her fingers curled into fists. “I did everything that I was supposed to do,
everything that they instructed and suggested. I made the proper hand gestures to help focus and
direct the flow of my magic, I most certainly had the necessary intention behind those movements,
and I could feel my blood stirring the way that Margaery said it was supposed to, but—” Her words
dissolved into a miserable noise that hurt Rhaenyra’s heart.

“Did you attempt anything with the other elements?” Rhaenyra assumed that she had, but she
wanted to be certain.

Alicent nodded, her lips twisting into a displeased grimace. “It was the same for all of them. I tried
over and over again, and each time I felt as if something should be happening, but nothing ever did,
and I—” She expelled a heavy breath, shoulders slumping as she pressed closer to Rhaenyra. “I
know that I’m being impatient and petulant—”

“Not at all, My Love.” Rhaenyra well-remembered her own frustration at being unable to cast even
rudimentary First Tier spells because her magic refused to obey her, and because every time that
she tried and failed, her temper flared and she caused substantial damage as a result. “You’re
allowed to be frustrated.”

Especially considering even children can at least move their elemental affinity once they’ve gained
proper control over their hands.

“I simply don’t understand why I failed.” Alicent scowled down at her own hands. “There was
nothing wrong with my form or technique, I understood all of the mechanics of what I was doing,
my intention and will was clear and focused . . .” She looked at Rhaenyra then, eyes wide and
almost pleading. “What did I do wrong, Nyra?”

The way that Alicent asked the question made plain that those words had been plaguing her all day.

Rhaenyra’s first instinct was to assure her that she’d done everything correctly, but she knew that
such words would not calm the storm that she could sense raging in her bondmate’s mind.

Except that it seemed as if Alicent had done everything correctly.

Her bondmate was a perfectionist, so Rhaenyra had no doubt that her gestures had been without
flaw, just as she had no doubt that Alicent’s considerable force of will had been focused on moving
that water, and if Alicent said that she’d felt her magic stirring in her blood, Rhaenyra believed her.

Performing any kind of magic was—at its heart—simply a matter of exerting one’s own will over
the world, and she knew that Alicent was not lacking in determination or resolve.

She should have been able to create at least a ripple.

Rhaenyra had felt her bondmate’s magic when Alicent had reconnected with her core, had felt its
strength. While she doubted that Alicent would be able to master any element other than her
affinity, she suspected that her safa would be able to gain proficiency in at least two others, if not
all three. And even if she’s only able to achieve competency in her fourth, being a Class III
Elemental is nothing to scoff at.

Especially considering her Westerosi blood.

And even if Alicent’s magic was weak, even if her technique had been flawed, even if her intention
hadn’t been properly focused, simply her mounting frustration should have created at least a small
ripple.

So why didn’t it?

If it hadn’t been a matter of magic or will or mechanics, that left only—

“Ali, have you considered,” Rhaenyra paused, uncertain how to properly articulate what she meant
without causing offense or upset. “Have you considered that perhaps the problem is not physical so
much as mental?”

Alicent frowned, but not in displeasure. “I’m certain that I had the proper intent, and my focus,”
she grimaced, “all of my focus was on that water.”

“I’ve no doubt about that.” Rhaenyra kissed her cheek. “But I meant more that . . .” She snapped
her fingers. “Do you recall what I told you about my own magic? About gaining control over it?”

Alicent nodded slowly. “You said that you realized it was akin to breathing—something that need
only be actively controlled at certain times.”

“Exactly. My mother,” her stomach twisted, but she ignored it, “my mother convinced me that I
needed to suppress my magic, as if it was a feral beast in need of constant leashing lest it wreak
havoc. But she,” Rhaenyra expelled a slow breath, her mouth feeling strangely dry even as her
heart beat swiftly in her chest with something akin to elation, “she was wrong.”

The words tasted sweeter on her tongue than she’d been expecting.

A soft smile curled Alicent’s lips, warm affection and endless love replacing the vexation that had
been there before.

Rhaenyra returned the smile, and the desire to kiss her bondmate breathless surged within her, but
she ignored it for the moment. “In a way, it was my own mind, my own conviction that my magic
needed to be suppressed and controlled that prevented me from being able to properly wield it.”

Alicent’s expression had become thoughtful, her eyes bright with interest, and Rhaenyra was fairly
certain that she could actually hear the thrum of her bondmate’s exquisite mind as she considered
and evaluated each of her words.

“Similar to you, there was nothing lacking in my will or intent, or in the mechanics of my
spellcraft, and I could feel my core responding whenever I attempted to cast, but until the net—”
Rhaenyra shifted slightly, the familiar ache and distress that always came when she spoke of her
mother’s net stilling her tongue until she felt Alicent’s fingers lightly caressing her cheek, until she
smelled the slight change in her bondmate’s scent—how it became warmer and richer—as if
Alicent was somehow infusing her scent with calming pheromones.
“Until the net broke,” she continued quietly, her eyes never leaving Alicent’s as she became lost in
their lovely depths, “and I realized that I—that my mother—had been wrong before, there remained
a sort of,” she waved her hand as she searched for the word, “a sort of separation, I suppose you
could say, between my conscious and subconscious intentions.”

Unable to resist any longer, she leaned closer and briefly claimed Alicent’s lips, savoring their
sweetness and relishing the pleased sigh that her kiss earned. “Perhaps,” she breathed when they
parted, “you’re experiencing something similar. Some way of thinking that’s preventing you from
being able to connect with your core and your ordered magic on that more fundamental level.”

Alicent hummed thoughtfully, the tension from earlier gone from her body, and the frustrated
displeasure banished from her eyes. “I think—” She wet her lips. “I’ll need to think on this matter.”
Her other hand rose so that she was cradling Rhaenyra’s face in both. “Thank you, My Love, for
being patient with me when I was so short with you, and for your help.”

Rhaenyra preened, despite not yet knowing whether she’d actually offered her bondmate anything
that would prove of use.

“Let’s retire to bed.” Alicent pecked her lips. “I wish to hear about your day. Did you and Lady
Rhaenys sort out the Summit matter?”

The laugh that burst from Rhaenyra’s mouth was far too loud for the quiet of their chambers, and it
made Alicent startle. “My, my apologies, Ali,” she managed between chuckles. “As it happens,
Aunt Rhaenys didn’t actually wish to see me at all. She was simply playing her part in one of
Laena’s schemes.”

Amusement sparked in Alicent’s eyes. “Well now I’m even more intrigued.”

“And I’ll be certain to tell you everything,” Rhaenyra promised. She gently patted her bondmate’s
hip, urging her to stand.

Alicent made a half-hearted protest as she slowly rose to her feet. “Would you care for some
assistance with your clothes tonight, Nyra?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Rhaenyra didn’t bother hiding her pleased smile as she spoke. She and
Alicent had begun helping each other ready for bed some two weeks ago. And while her bondmate
always retreated behind the changing screen to remove her own undergarments, she was quite
willing to relieve Rhaenyra of her petticoats and chemise, though the mere sight of her smallclothes
never failed to make Alicent blush.

“And would you mind helping me out of my gown as well?” Alicent asked.

Rhaenyra clasped her bondmate’s hand and brought it to her lips, lightly kissing the back. “It would
be my honor, My Sweet Safa.”

Alicent’s cheeks reddened, but her smile was bright and warm with delight.

∞∞

“I love you, Ali. So much so it aches.”

Alicent whimpered, squirming beneath her bondmate as her hands clutched at her back. “And I
love you, Nyra,” she gasped, eyes squeezing shut as she savored the intoxicating sensation of
Rhaenyra’s warm mouth trailing kisses over her collarbone. “Please,” she whined.

“My Sweet Safa,” Rhaenyra crooned into the hollow of her throat, “you’re so pretty like this—all
panting and flushed. Is there something that you want from me, Ali?”

“Please, Nyra.” Her tongue felt thick and clumsy in her mouth, and her toes curled when she felt a
loving hand slide up to cradle her breast. “I, I need you. Please?”

“I’ll give you everything that you need, Ali,” Rhaenyra promised, raising her head so that her face
hovered over Alicent’s. “But you must tell me if I do something you dislike.” Leaning down,
Rhaenyra kissed her gently as her fingers traced the line of Alicent’s jaw. “Can you do that for me,
My Sweet?”

Alicent nodded eagerly, willing to do anything so long as Rhaenyra soothed the throbbing ache
between her legs. Merciful Relle, she felt so unbearably hot, and yet she yearned for more. She
wanted to feel more of Rhaenyra’s touch, wanted to see more of the loving adoration shining in her
amethyst eyes, wanted to hear more sweet declarations whispered in her ear.

“Words, Ali.” Rhaenyra smiled slightly as one of her hands trailed up Alicent’s thigh and caressed
her hip, making her whimper.

“Yes.” The word was little more than a choked and needy gasp.

“That’s my good girl.”

Alicent’s hips bucked, and the place between her legs throbbed almost painfully as a desperate
whine tore from her lips.

Rhaenyra grinned down at her, a wonderfully wicked glint entering her eyes. “Hmm, does that
please you, Ali? Me telling you how good you are?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. The hand that had been caressing her hip disappeared, but before she could
protest the loss, she felt that same hand sliding between her legs. “Oh Relle,” she cried.

“You’re so wet, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s fingers stroked between her slick folds, teased at her entrance. “Is
it because of me? Am I making you feel good, My Love?”

“So good.” Alicent’s mind was hazy with lust and want and need, her hips rolling against
Rhaenyra’s fingers. “I, I want . . .”

“Tell me what you want, My Darling Alicent.” Rhaenyra’s mouth latched onto her collarbone,
sucking harshly.

Alicent cried out as her back arched off the bed. “Oh, please, Nyra, please.”

“Words, My Sweet. I need you to tell me what you want.”

She didn’t know. She didn’t know.

All she knew was that she wanted—needed—

“More,” she whined, praying that it would be enough, praying that her bondmate would have
mercy.

“Good girl.” Rhaenyra’s questing fingers found the bundle of nerves above Alicent’s entrance.
“You’re so good for me, Ali.” She pressed down and—

Alicent keened.

Alicent awoke with a gasp, heart thundering in her chest as the memory—the dream—of
Rhaenyra’s skilled fingers stroking between her legs made her eyes squeeze shut and a plaintive
whimper spill from her lips.

Merciful Mother, she’d never—

Not like that.

Never like that.

But, oh, it had been so lovely . . .

“My Sweet Safa, you’re so pretty like this—all panting and flushed.”

A fresh wave of heat surged through her.

She wanted Rhaenyra to think her pretty, to think her desirable and worthy—

The place between her legs ached in the most wonderful way, and when she moved, she could feel
the fabric of her smallclothes clinging to her, clinging to the flesh that she knew was swollen with
want and sticky with arousal. Heat pooled in her lower belly, and she wanted—

But perhaps it was best that she’d awoken alone, that Rhaenyra had already departed for her
morning run with Vora Hylda.

If she smelled me now . . .

Would Rhaenyra snatch her up in her arms and kiss her until her mind was even more hazy with
need and her body ached even more for her touch? Would Rhaenyra lay her down upon their bed
and settle atop her, kissing and teasing until Alicent was panting and desperate? Would Rhaenyra
press her hand between her legs and claim her?

Alicent fisted the sheets as the possibilities swirled through her head, as the memories of her dream
ignited a fresh fire in her belly.

She wanted—

“My Love, have you considered . . . perhaps you might find it helpful if you—that is, perhaps if you
. . . explored yourself and determined what you enjoyed?”

She’d never even contemplated such a thing before Rhaenyra had made that suggestion, but since
then . . .
A shiver rippled down her spine, and she felt her c—

«Such a tight little cunt.»

Alicent hissed, snatching at her memories of Rhaenyra and wrapping them around herself.

“You, Alicent Hightower, are the most comely woman that I have ever had the pleasure of laying
eyes upon.”

“I love you, Alicent Hightower. So much so it aches.”

“My Sweet Alicent.”

“Mine.”

Relle above, she was throbbing.

“There’s nothing shameful about touching yourself, Ali.” Despite her words, Rhaenyra’s face had
been flushed with embarrassment.

“Have, have you . . ?”

“Rather often,” her bondmate had admitted.

Unbidden, a vivid image of Rhaenyra lying in this very bed—naked and moaning as she touched
herself, trembling as she swiftly approached her peak, whispering Alicent’s name as her fingers
eagerly stroked her . . . her clit—flashed through Alicent’s mind.

“I don’t mind if you have such thoughts about me, Nyra.”

She prayed that Rhaenyra would not mind either.

Nyra was the one who suggested that I explore myself.

Besides, while she’d been reading through all of the books that Stone Garden’s library had to offer
—in addition to the Westerosi books that Rhaenyra had created for her—she knew well that
practical application was the best way to ascertain whether she truly comprehended and understood
all that she’d been reading.

And considering she would be meeting Margaery and Sansa for another lesson in an hour or so,
surely it would behoove her to increase her vyoricine and felxorine levels.

Slowly, tentatively, Alicent reached up and gently cupped her own breasts, surprised by the shudder
that wracked her body, by the whine that escaped her throat, by the way that her hips rolled.

This was hardly the first time that she’d touched her breasts, but such touches had always been
perfunctory and practical before now.

She’d never been hot and flushed those other times. She’d never felt this desperate hunger and need
those other times. She’d never had the tantalizing memories of a most pleasurable dream lingering
in her mind those other times.

“My Sweet Alicent. You’re so wonderfully responsive to my touch.”

Would Rhaenyra be pleased by such responsiveness in the waking world?

She always seems to enjoy the noises that I make when we kiss.

Her grip tightened a fraction as she began carefully kneading her breasts, searching for the pressure
that felt best, the pattern that made her gasp and arch into her own touch.

She wondered what it would be like, the moment when Rhaenyra kissed her neck for the first time.
She wondered how she would react to the feeling of sharp teeth sinking into her tender flesh. She
wondered if she would moan upon feeling Rhaenyra’s warm tongue lapping at her blood and
sealing their bond.

Would Rhaenyra wish to leave love bites on her neck as well? Did Alicent want her to?

Yes.

She wanted—

Her nipples stiffened against her palms, and her thighs clenched in an effort to relieve the growing
ache.

She closed her eyes as she imagined Rhaenyra’s hands caressing and stroking her body, as she
imagined Rhaenyra’s rose scent rich and heady with desire, as she imagined Rhaenyra’s amethyst
eyes dark with want and need, as she imagined Rhaenyra’s loving praise . . .

Almost without thought, Alicent’s right hand abandoned her breast and slid down her body. She
tugged at her nightgown, drawing the silken fabric up the length of her legs. The feeling of cool air
kissing her overheated flesh made her squirm.

Seven Hells.

She spread her legs, imagining that Rhaenyra’s hands were upon her knees, coaxing her to open
herself, encouraging her with loving words of approval and affection.

“That’s my good girl.”

Lightning crackled through her body the moment that her fingers touched the slick heat of her
throbbing folds, and Alicent moaned.

Loud.

Needy.

Whorish.

Merciful Relle, she was so wet—even wetter than she’d been in her dream.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she began to explore herself, as she gently pressed and stroked
and teased her swollen flesh. Needy whimpers and whines echoed throughout the room, and the
sound of her own desire—the sound of desperate fingers sliding through her own wetness—filled
her ears.

Would Rhaenyra’s touch feel this good?

A shudder wracked her body at the thought.

Rhaenyra’s touch would be even better, she was certain.

Her bondmate would be sweet with her, tender and loving.

Even if some part of her was disgust—

No.

She shouldn’t think such things.

Rhaenyra loved her.

Rhaenyra adored her.

Rhaenyra was her mate.

“I’ll give you everything that you need, Ali.”

She whined, her fingers sliding higher to touch her clit—

Seven thrice-damned Hells!

Her hips bucked, and her back arched, and fresh slick flooded between her legs.

How could anything feel so wonderful? So mind-numbingly pleasurable?

Alicent could feel the tension in her lower belly coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke of her
fingers over her swollen clit. She squirmed as the ache became almost unbearable, moaned as she
felt the slick, throbbing pulse beneath the pads of her fingers, ignored her instinct to still her hand
because she knew from her books that such would only make the ache worse.

She wanted—

Waves of pleasure—tauntingly gentle—rippled through her body and made her toes curl, but this
wasn’t the unraveling that she’d read about, and the coil had yet to break.

Close.

She was close.

A frustrated whine spilled from her lips.

She wanted—

Repositioning the hand on her breast, she began carefully teasing her nipple by rolling it between
her fingers. She’d read that some women preferred harsher touches to their breasts, but she’d never
enjoyed it when her nipples were pinched or pulled.

“Rhaenyra,” she panted, her voice rough with yearning and taut with need.

Were her bondmate here, were her bondmate the one touching her—
She turned her face to bury it in Rhaenyra’s pillow, breathed in her scent as she attempted to
recapture the sensations from her dream.

Warm hands stroking her sides.

Loving fingers teasing between her legs.

A liquid voice crooning in her ear, “You’re so good for me, Ali.”

A desperate moan tore from her throat.

She wanted—

“Please,” she gasped, not even knowing who she was begging.

No, that wasn’t true.

She knew exactly who she was begging.

“Nyra.”

Her bondmate’s fingers, her mouth, her scent, her warm skin, her sweet words—

Alicent’s own fingers stroked harder, faster. She rubbed several small circles around the tip of her
swollen bud before shifting her hand to almost roughly stroke its side.

Her toes curled as sweat beaded on her brow.

Her breaths came in harsh pants as she writhed on her bed.

Her legs trembled as she forced them to remain parted so that her hand had room to move.

The pressure was almost unbearable, and yet she yearned for more.

She craved—

Close.

So thrice-damned close!

“Nyra,” she whimpered.

She felt as if she was balanced upon the edge of a cliff, but she wasn’t afraid. She wanted to know
what happened when she fell. She wanted to know what happened when she landed. She wanted to
know why—

“Good girl, Ali.”

The coil snapped.

Pleasure washed over her in fierce yet warm waves, a strange combination of relief and satisfaction
seizing a hold of her and making her writhe and gasp. Her hips rolled against her hand in search of
more friction from her fingers, and she could feel muscles that she hadn’t even known existed
clenching and fluttering.
Fresh slick spilled from between her legs, wetting her fingers and making them slide wonderfully
over her swollen clit. Her toes curled and her back arched and her moans grew louder still, but she
couldn’t bring herself to care who might hear them, couldn’t bring herself to care that she sounded
so wanton and desperate.

She wanted—

“Rhaenyra!”

∞∞

Rhaenyra’s steps were soft and quiet as she entered her chambers, and she was half-tempted to
simply float to her bedchamber. If Alicent was awake, she’d likely be amused, and if she still
slumbered, then Rhaenyra would be less likely to disturb her.

Her sweet bondmate had looked so peaceful this morning, the sunlight dancing across her flawless
face as—

“Rhaenyra!”

Her magic reacted before she did—as it was wont to do for Alicent.

When she suddenly appeared inside their bedchamber, she couldn’t contain her startled squawk.

Nor could she force her gaze away from the vision of Alicent splayed out on their bed—her
nightgown drawn up and gathered at her waist, her beautiful face so flushed and pretty, her eyes
black with desire, one of her hands playing with her plumb breast and teasing her nipple, the other
moving frantically between her legs—

Merciful Mother Relle and All Her Faces.

The intoxicating scent of Alicent’s pleasure filled the room, and Rhaenyra felt herself growing wet
in response, felt herself becoming warm in a way that she’d never experienced before.

Is this what it is to burn?

Desire and mortification warred within her—the need to leave and the wish to remain, the
knowledge that she shouldn’t be here and the instinct that there was nowhere else she ought to be.

I should leave.

Her magic howled at the thought.

But imagining Alicent naked and writhing was far different from—

Merciful Mother she—

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent squeaked, eyes widening as she hastily withdrew her hand from between her
legs—Relle above, her fingers were soaked—and tugged down her nightgown to cover herself.

Rhaenyra swallowed, a shudder wracking her body as she was assaulted by visions of taking
Alicent’s lovely fingers into her mouth, of licking them clean—
She staggered back a step, shaking her head in a desperate attempt to clear her mind. “P-Please
forgive me, Ali. I heard my name, and I, I thought—” Her eyes squeezed shut. She shouldn’t be
staring, but she wanted—

A growl rumbled in her chest, and her canines sharpened and lengthened in her mouth, aching with
the desire to bite and claim. She wanted Alicent. She wanted to give her pleasure. She wanted to
hear her cry out once more as she reached her peak. She wanted—

Whirling around, Rhaenyra hurried towards the door. She couldn’t be in here, not with Alicent’s
scent invading her senses, not with the sound of her own name echoing in her ears, not with the
memory of Alicent’s hand moving furiously between her legs—

But then she smelled the shift in Alicent’s scent, sensed the sudden stab of hurt—the surge of
insecurity—that lanced her heart.

She ought to leave. She ought to leave Alicent in peace to . . . continue as she liked. She ought to
retreat to the nearest uninhabited world and crush mountains until the memory of Alicent’s pleasure
—

But how could she leave when Alicent was hurting?

As she slowly approached their bed—offering Alicent time to order her away or indicate her
discomfort—Rhaenyra telekinetically opened the windows and summoned a bevy of breezes to
sweep through the room and carry away the enthralling aroma of Alicent’s pleasure.

If they were to speak with each other, her mind couldn’t be muddled with thoughts of Alicent wet
and wanting—

Alicent shivered a little, but she remained silent. There was a faint, pained shimmer in her eyes, and
Rhaenyra couldn’t help but notice the way that her bondmate was now nervously tapping on her
scarred wrist.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, Ali,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to cause you distress.” After
receiving a small nod, she slowly climbed up onto the bed, half-expecting her bondmate to shy
away from her.

But rather than retreating, Alicent rolled closer once Rhaenyra had joined her on their bed, as if she
hadn’t been pleasuring herself and crying out Rhaenyra’s name mere moments ago. Her safa’s eyes
were still dark with want, and her lower lip was swollen and marked by her own teeth.

“You didn’t distress me,” Alicent assured her, yet her eyes and the tremor in her voice belied her
words. “You,” she paused, cheeks darkening further, “you turned away from me, and . . . You
closed your eyes and shuddered so because you feared discomfiting me, yes?” The words were as
much a plea as they were a question.

“Yes, Ali, of course. Why else—?”

Alicent shifted beside her as she reached down to nervously tug at the sheets and cover more of her
exposed legs.

Rhaenyra’s eyes followed her bondmate’s fumbling movements, followed as scarred skin was
hastily concealed.
And her heart shattered.

“Oh, My Sweet Alicent.” Her hands immediately went to Alicent’s cheeks, cradling her face as she
leaned closer to press a kiss to her slightly sweaty forehead. “I closed my eyes because the sight of
you reaching the height of your pleasure was so utterly overwhelming.” She kissed her again. “I
shuddered because I was imagining the day that you would allow me the honor of seeing all of
you.” A third kiss to her lips, soft and sweet. “Every part of you is beautiful beyond words, My
Safa.”

Alicent’s teeth sank into her swollen lower lip, and she could no longer meet Rhaenyra’s eyes. “So
you saw my scars. The, the ones on my legs.”

“Yes.” Rhaenyra’s thumbs brushed over the gentle curves of her bondmate’s still-flushed cheeks.
“And I believe that I’ve told you before that your scars don’t diminish your beauty in the slightest,
Ali.”

“You have.” Alicent’s lips twisted into a frown. “And I know that you’re not merely offering me
empty words, but . . .” Her eyes squeezed shut. “I feel wretched every time I have to see them. All I
can think about is—How can you not be repulsed?”

“Because you’re the least repulsive being in all of creation.” Rhaenyra’s hands fell from Alicent’s
cheeks so that she could wrap her arms around her and draw her closer. “I’m in awe of you, My
Love. In awe of what you survived, in awe of how you’ve healed, in awe of how you’re thriving.”
Her fingers lightly brushed over the scar encircling her bondmate’s wrist, causing her to tremble.
“You survived unspeakable horrors, Ali. There’s nothing ugly about that. There’s nothing shameful
about that.” She kissed her wet cheek. “And I will spend the rest of our lives together telling you so
until you believe it as well.”

Alicent expelled a shuddering breath. “I want to believe you.”

Rhaenyra gave her a gentle squeeze, pressing their foreheads together. “And until you do, I shall
believe enough for the both of us.”

Part of Alicent had wanted to remain abed with Rhaenyra for the rest of the day—and she was
fairly certain that her bondmate would have indulged her had she asked—but her own stubbornness
had eventually drawn her from Rhaenyra’s warm embrace so that she could dress and prepare
herself for what lay ahead.

And what had lain ahead had been a shameful morning of failure, as it so happened.

“Perhaps, you’re experiencing something similar. Some way of thinking that’s preventing you from
being able to connect with your core and your ordered magic.”

Alicent had spent much of the night before—save for when Rhaenyra was kissing her breathless—
ruminating on her bondmate’s words. And after four hours of failed attempts to create even the
smallest ripple in the bowl of water that Margaery and Sansa had placed in front of her, she found
herself mulling over them once more.

“Some way of thinking that’s preventing you from being able to connect with your core and your
ordered magic.”
But what?

Unlike her bondmate, she wasn’t being plagued by a mother berating her lack of control and
ordering her to suppress her magic. In truth, it had been months since her mother’s voice had
tormented her—despite all of the kisses and touches that she and Rhaenyra had been exchanging.
And it had been longer still since her sleep had been disturbed by memories of Criston and his
friends.

What else could be preventing her from performing so simple a feat as creating a ripple?

“Why don’t we try a few breathing exercises, Alicent?”

“Focus on the water, envision the movement that you desire.”

“Remember, the gestures are less important than your intent and force of will.”

“Can you feel the magic flowing through your veins? You needn’t worry about shaping it. Merely
guide it outwards towards the water.”

Margaery and Sansa had never lost patience with her or snapped at her, but she’d noticed their
growing frustration as the morning had worn on.

“Even a child can make a ripple,” Margaery’s eyes had seemed to say.

“She ought to be able to cause some sort of reaction,” the tightening of Sansa’s mouth had agreed.

When Alicent had asked that they be finished for the day, her friends had been swift to assure her
that she would succeed on the morrow, but she’d sensed their doubt.

She’d retreated to the library after that, offering Luwina only a brief smile in greeting before
making her way to the third floor history section and sinking down into her favorite chair to ponder
Rhaenyra’s words.

“Until the net broke, there remained a sort of . . . separation, I suppose you could say, between my
conscious and subconscious intentions.”

Alicent drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair.

A separation.

She knew well what it was to have her own mind at war with itself, but since coming to Valyria,
since Dr. Arwen and Aemma and Rhaenyra and all of her other friends, she’d not felt—

“My mother convinced me that I needed to suppress my magic, as if it was a feral beast in need of
constant leashing lest it wreak havoc.”

But there was no one ordering her to suppress her magic. All of her friends had been greatly
pleased when they’d learned that her core could be awakened. Rhaenyra had spent an entire
evening kissing and caressing her until the sensations had become too overwhelming and Alicent
had requested that she stop.

There was no one—

«Sytarr curses your kind!»

Alicent stiffened, suddenly remembering how her core had pulsed almost painfully when she’d
invoked her god’s name the other day.

Could that be . . ?

She reached up and pressed her fingers against the place just below her sternum. Once her core
settled, the All Mother would immortalize her, and she need no longer fear the day that Sytarr
reclaimed her soul and punished her for what he deemed to be her sins.

«The punishments that he inflicts during this lifetime are but gentle warnings of the true wroth that
awaits you in his eternal damnation, Child.»

Her mother’s eyes had gleamed with malice when she’d spoken those words, and Alicent
remembered the cold pleasure in her voice.

Sytarr had been punishing her since she was born.

But he’d never been able to reach her on Valyria—not after the Westerosi had departed.

The god of her people was a cruel and harsh one, she knew, and she’d long believed that that was
simply the nature of gods. But now . . .

“Relle protect us so that we might protect others.”

“ Come to her when you have need, and she will listen.”

“ The infinite love of Mother Relle knows no limits and has no requirements. It is as simple and
pure and good as it is unfailing.”

Alicent’s hand rose to touch the Relle stones encircling her neck.

Sytarr couldn’t touch her here.

Soon enough, he would be unable to touch her ever again.

And yet a part of her still quailed before him, still dreaded his wroth.

But why should I?

Alicent’s stomach twisted with a combination of anticipation and anxiety as she slowly approached
the silverwood doors leading into the Stone Garden Temple. Relle’s septagram and the emblems of
her seven faces had been carved into the wood and masterfully painted.

As was always the case during the day, the great doors stood open to welcome all those who wished
to enter the house of Relle Lightbringer.

She’d never come anywhere near the temple on her own before now.
After allowing herself a few steadying breaths, Alicent stepped over the threshold and made her
way into the winding corridor that encircled the main sanctum and connected the central building to
its seven towers.

Dimmed light-orbs hovered above sconces shaped like lotuses, marigolds, irises, poppies, gladioli,
jasiones, and crocuses, and baskets filled with those same flowers floated overhead to fill the
hallway with their sweet scents. Etched into the stone walls were scenes depicting the founding of
the Syvenic Temple and the birth of Relle Lightbringer.

The carvings depicted a young Saint Septima Targaryen—grandaunt of Lady Tyrell, and great-
grandaunt of the Targaryen Sisters, Lady Martell, Lady Arryn, Lady Stark, Lady Lannister, and
Lady Baratheon—venturing down into the forgotten catacombs beneath the Temple of Vesta where
she’d found ancient religious texts and manuscripts that had managed to survive the purges during
Wyrd Fall. They depicted her discovering that gods are born from belief and thus reflect the
philosophies of their worshippers. They depicted her crafting the tenants of her new faith, creating
Relle and her seven faces, and then teaching her new doctrines to the women of her own family in
secret.

The Westerosi no longer remembered the origins of Sytarrism, but Alicent suspected that he’d
likely been born from a combination of Old World gods and perhaps whatever deities the ancient
native Westerosi had worshipped.

The former should have died with the Old World.

Alicent’s steps faltered, surprised by the venom of her own thought.

But there was some truth in it, was there not? Who could say what Westeros might have become if
those Old World men hadn’t conquered it.

Shaking her head, she quickened her pace and made her way to the door leading up into the Lotus
Tower where Mother Lemore resided. As she stepped over the threshold, she felt a strange
prickling sensation sweep over her skin and make the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her
neck stand on end.

A border spell.

She wondered why she hadn’t felt a similar prickling sensation when coming and going from her
and Rhaenyra’s apartments, which she knew were protected by a similar spell.

Perhaps because Rhaenyra keyed it to me?

Something to ask her bondmate this evening.

As she ascended the winding staircase to the upper floors of the tower, she felt the brush of a
second border spell as she neared Mother Lemore’s chambers.

When she finally came to a halt outside the priestess’ door, her stomach had twisted itself into an
uncomfortable knot, and yet her heart was beating swiftly in her chest with anticipation. She raised
her hand and knocked thrice.

Mother Lemore answered a moment later, eyebrows rising almost to her hairline when she saw her.
“Lady Alicent, I thought that I scented you, but—” She waved a hand to dismiss her own words.
“How may I help you, My Lady?”

Alicent twisted her emerald orchid ring around her finger as the words that she’d been rehearsing
during her journey from the library to the temple suddenly fled from her mind. “I was wondering if
I might speak with you. About Relle? I’d like . . . That is . . .” She cleared her throat as one of the
phrases that she’d prepared returned to her. “Mother Relle welcomes all who would know her light,
does she not?”

A warm smile spread across Mother Lemore’s lips. “Indeed she does.” She stepped aside and
beckoned to her. “Would you care to come in?”

Peering past the priestess, Alicent was relieved to see that the room beyond appeared to be
something between a presence chamber and a privy chamber, rather than a bedchamber. “Yes.
Thank you, Mother Lemore.”

Once she was inside, Mother Lemore closed the door and motioned for her to take a seat. The
chamber was bright with afternoon sunlight, revealing several bookshelves, a small banner
displaying Clan Rowan’s golden tree, a much larger banner displaying Relle’s silver septagram, an
altar with seven different colored candles, several chairs, and two round tables.

Alicent sat down and folded her hands in her lap. “My apologies for interrupting your afternoon.”

“You’ve no need to apologize, Lady Alicent.” Mother Lemore claimed the chair across from her
and offered another warm smile. “Now, you said that you wished to speak about Relle?”

“Yes, I . . . Well, I was wondering about the process of,” Alicent’s teeth sank into her lower lip for a
brief moment, “of formal conversion,” she finally managed. The words should not have been so
difficult. She wanted this.

She wanted to offer her prayers and devotion to a goddess who loved and cared for her followers
rather than demanding fealty born from fear, who was gentle and kind and good rather than harsh
and cold and cruel, who charged her worshippers to protect and defend rather than conquer and
control.

Amusement sparked in Mother Lemore’s eyes. “You wish to become a Daughter of Relle?”

Alicent nodded slowly, unsure how to interpret the priestess’ mirth.

Rising from her chair, Mother Lemore offered her hands. “Then welcome, Sister. May the Light of
Our Heavenly Mother shine upon you always, and may her loving hands comfort and shelter and
guide you on your path.”

Alicent stared up at her in confusion. Surely there must be more than that?

Mother Lemore chuckled softly. “Relle is not a goddess who demands ritual or ceremony when
receiving new followers, Lady Alicent. If it is truly your desire to become her daughter, then she
will know it, and she will welcome you as I just have.”

But Alicent felt no different than she had a few minutes ago. “Is there truly no ceremony or, or rite
of induction?” Something to make her feel as if she’d truly severed her connection to Sytarr.
Mother Lemore was silent for a long moment as she considered, but finally she said, “The Seven
Saints did create a formal tradition for welcoming new women into the fold, but it’s not been used
since before the Doom.” She helped Alicent to her feet and led her over to the altar. “Children
spend the day of their seven hundredth birthday in quiet contemplation and prayer as a way to
welcome them into the Temple, but while I certainly recommend that you begin attending services
and reading the Codex, Relle does not demand from us lavish but empty words and actions. She
desires only our sentiment and substance, our hearts and conviction, our honesty and sincerity, our
vulnerability and trust, our respect and commitment, our selflessness and compassion.”

Alicent recognized those words from the oration that Cleric Alinora had given the Sixth Day of
Yuletide. “But you do have ceremonies and celebrations to venerate her.”

All of Yule was in celebration of Relle and the Temple, and there were feast days for all seven of
her faces, as well as various Syvenic saints.

The Feast of Prophetess Orestilla would be upon them in a month.

“We do, but those are as much for us as they are for her.” Mother Lemore knelt before the altar and
motioned for Alicent to do the same. “Feast days are how we honor Relle as a community, but as
individuals, there are any number of ways that we honor her. When a writer puts quill to paper, she
honors Relle Songcrafter. When a surgeon picks up a scalpel, she honors Relle Lifegiver. When a
grandmother offers advice to her granddaughter, she honors Relle Wiseone. When a knight spars,
she honors Relle Shieldbreaker. When a woman acts prudently, she honors Relle Scaleholder.” Her
eyes twinkled as she gave Alicent a wink. “Whenever you open a book, you honor Relle
Springheart.”

Alicent couldn’t help but smile in return.

Mother Lemore snapped her fingers, and the seven candles ignited.

Alicent also couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy over how easily Mother Lemore wielded her
elementalism.

Taking one of Alicent’s hands in her own, Mother Lemore squeezed gently before reaching up with
her other hand and tracing an upwards diagonal line on her forehead. “In the name of the Mother, I
welcome you, Alicent Hightower. May the warmth of her love and the care of her hands keep you
always content and at peace.”

She drew a downwards diagonal line. “In the name of the Maiden, I welcome you, Alicent
Hightower. May her youthful vigor and eagerness to learn bless you until the end of your days.”

Another line. “In the name of the Crone, I welcome you, Alicent Hightower. May her wisdom
guide you on your path and illuminate even the darkest nights.”

By the fourth line, Alicent realized that Mother Lemore was drawing a septagram on her forehead.

“In the name of the Warrior, I welcome you, Alicent Hightower. May her shield forever protect you
so that you might protect others.

“In the name of the Artist, I welcome you, Alicent Hightower. May her vision inspire you to create
so that this world knows only beauty and light.
“In the name of the Judge, I welcome you, Alicent Hightower. May her astuteness and prudence be
yours in all matters both great and small.

And in the name of the Reaper, I welcome you, Alicent Hightower. May her shadow not darken
your door for millennia to come, and when it does, may she guide you peacefully into Relle’s
Light.”

Mother Lemore traced a circle around the septagram. “In the name of Relle Lightbringer, I
welcome you, Alicent Hightower, as a Daughter of Relle. May she grant you the peace that you
seek and the happiness that you deserve.”

She already has.

Alicent beamed, feeling unburdened in a way that she never had before.

When Vora Hylda and Vora Jonquil saw Alicent approaching them, their heads cocked in tandem.

“Good afternoon, Lady Alicent.” Vora Hylda flashed her a warm smile, but the slightly puzzled
expression remained on her face.

Alicent’s steps faltered, and the smile that had curled her lips since Mother Lemore had welcomed
her as one of Relle’s Daughters began to fade. “Is something the matter, Vora?

Vora Hylda swiftly shook her head. “Not at all, My Lady. I only . . .” Her eyebrows drew together
as she peered at her thoughtfully, and her nose twitched slightly as she scented the air. “You seem
somewhat . . . different this afternoon.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“Most certainly.”

While Alicent was tempted to explain what she assumed was responsible for whatever subtle
change they were noticing, she wished for Rhaenyra to be the first to know.

She briefly wondered if any of her friends had been wagering on this particular matter, but then
swiftly dismissed the foolish musing.

Of course they’d made a wager.

The only true question was who had won.

Part of her hoped that Ygritte had won simply because Margaery’s expression once she found out
was certain to be amusing.

Her eyes shifted between the door leading into her bondmate’s office and the two knights who
stood guard. “Does Rhaenyra have a moment to speak with me?”

Vora Jonquil chuckled. “Even if she didn’t, Her Majesty would be incensed if she learned that we
had turned you away.” So saying, she raised her fist and knocked thrice on the door. “Lady Alicent
to see you, Your Majesty,” she called.
 “Come in, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s response came so swiftly that Alicent half-wondered if the door’s
enchantment that muffled sounds and dampened scents had failed.

Vora Hylda shared a laugh with her mate as she opened the door to allow Alicent inside.

“Thank you, Vora.” Upon entering her bondmate’s office, Alicent grinned when she saw that
Rhaenyra was wearing her spectacles.

While her safa was always a breathtaking sight to behold, there was something especially appealing
about seeing Rhaenyra with a pair of spectacles perched upon the bridge of her nose.

“My Love.” Rhaenyra began to rise to her feet, but paused when Alicent motioned for her to
remain where she was.

Alicent swiftly crossed the room and came around the desk to seat herself upon her bondmate’s lap,
humming happily when Rhaenyra’s arms immediately enveloped her and drew her close. Turning
her head, Alicent captured Rhaenyra’s lips in a fierce kiss that earned her a rumbling purr. Her eyes
slipped shut as she savored the pleasant tingles that spread throughout her body, as she savored the
eager way that Rhaenyra returned her kiss, as she savored how wonderful and right everything felt.

Merciful Relle how she adored kissing Rhaenyra.

As ever, Alicent’s need for breath eventually forced them apart, and she couldn’t help but pout at
the loss of her bondmate’s perfect lips.

Rhaenyra chuckled, pecking her cheek and giving her hip an affectionate squeeze. “To what do I
owe this unexpected but very welcome visit, Ali?”

Alicent’s pout was immediately replaced by a beaming smile, and she only just managed to resist
the urge to give Rhaenyra another kiss. Leaning closer, she pressed her forehead against
Rhaenyra’s. “I’ve just come from the temple,” she murmured.

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Oh?”

“I’ve been considering what you said about why I haven’t been able to use my magic, and I think
that I know what it was.” Alicent’s hand rose to caress her bondmate’s cheek. “I’ve been as free as I
can be of my mother and Criston for a good while now, but,” her lips twisted, “some part of me was
still clinging to old ways of thinking—to Sytarr and his teachings.”

A brief growl rumbled in Rhaenyra’s throat, before being swiftly silenced. “And now?”

Alicent grinned, looping her arms around her safa’s neck. “Now, I’m free of him.”

And it felt magnificent.

Chapter End Notes

Whoo! Banner chapter for Alicent. Syvenic conversion and an orgasm? I'm spoiling her. (She
deserves it).
Next Chapter: Alicent does a thing! Also, some good pets, some nice hugs, and our ladies
make progress on various independent and joint fronts.
 Words Are Wind
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 45:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Lemore Rowan, Prelatic Legate, from Kastrell

A special thanks to beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains two smut scenes, which will be marked at the
beginning and end with double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over them.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Warm Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

This time.

The words echoed in Alicent’s ears, and she knew them to be true. Excitement thrummed
throughout her entire body, and her core was beating in time with her heart, and she knew—in her
bones and in her blood—she knew that this time she wouldn’t fail.

She’d retreated to her old chambers—to her study, specifically—where she could be surrounded by
the warm memories of curling up in one of her oversized chairs and reading for hours, of her
empathy lessons with Rhaenyra, of when Rhaenyra had offered her a therapist so that she could
begin healing.

“A calm and clear mind helps initially,” Margaery had said, and Alicent had always felt a sense of
tranquility and safety within her study—even during those initial months when she’d been certain
that Rhaenyra intended to torture her.

Closing her eyes, she slowly inhaled through her nose before exhaling through her mouth. In and
out. In and out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Her chest felt warm.

Pleasantly so.

At peace.

Alicent opened her eyes and focused her attention on the bowl of water sitting in front of her on her
desk. Raising her right hand, she held her middle and forefinger about an inch apart, slightly
bending them at the first and second knuckle. Her other two fingers bent downwards, but didn’t
tuck against her palm, while she held her thumb loosely parallel with those fingers.

The water was still and unmoving, but it didn’t feel inert as it had the other day. It seemed to be
almost . . . waiting.

“Ordered magic is bound in the blood and has but three forms that have already been given shape,
which makes it much easier to wield. Raw magic demands considerably more intent and
concentration, since you’re giving shape and substance to nebulous, metaphysical energy.”

She need only call upon what was already there.

No different from using her hands to write or to sew.

No different from when she’d first learned to curtsy or to dance.

“You’re a creature of magic, Alicent, and having an active core is your natural state of being.”

Natural.

Like breathing.

Her magic was merely another piece of herself.

A missing piece that she hadn’t even known was absent.

But still a piece of herself all the same.

One of the many that she’d been finding and discovering and reclaiming these many years.

«Sytarr curses your kind.»

He could curse her all he liked.

She was free of him now.

Alicent wet her lips as she stared at the water—willing it to move—as she began slowly twirling
her fingers.

She felt something stirring within her, felt a tingling sensation just beneath the surface of her hand,
in her veins.

The sensations were different from the other day—more intense and somehow more . . . vibrant, in
a way. Her blood was singing as it had when her core was first awakened, and the thing stirring
within her was beginning to unfurl itself and spread throughout her body.

Clarity—sharp and bright.

Please move.

The water trembled.

Alicent’s breath hitched.

Her heart thundered in her chest.

Slowly—almost tauntingly so . . .

The water began to swirl in the bowl.

The shrill squeal that filled the room a moment later made Alicent startle, and it took her another
moment to realize that the squeal had come from her own mouth.

Merciful Mother Relle and All Her Faces.

Elation surged with her, and the water splashed in response.

Feeling almost absurdly giddy, Alicent leapt to her feet and rushed from her study.

“Nyra!”

Rhaenyra’s head snapped up as Alicent burst into her office in a flurry of chaotic scents and
swirling skirts.

Leaping to her feet, Rhaenyra swiftly scented the air for any signs of distress or blood.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she found none.

“All is well, My Love,” Alicent assured her, her expression suddenly sheepish.

The tension promptly fled Rhaenyra’s body as she offered her bondmate a warm smile. “Then to
what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected company, My Sweet Safa?”

And so soon after your last unplanned visit.

Alicent beamed, her eyes glowing brighter than the celestial stones encircling her pretty neck. “I’ve
something to show you. May I?” She nodded towards the carafe of water that Rhaenyra always
kept sitting on the corner of her desk.

Excitement and anticipation surged within Rhaenyra as she nodded eagerly. “Of course, Ali.” She
forced herself to sit once more, forced her expression to remain as calm as possible so as not to
place unneeded pressure upon her bondmate to succeed.

Grabbing the handle of the carafe, Alicent poured some water into a glass and then placed it in
front of Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra watched as her bondmate lifted her hand and perfectly positioned her fingers, and she
couldn’t help but smile.

Alicent’s lips pursed as she stared hard at the glass whilst swirling her fingers through the air.

Ripples formed in the water as it began to quake, and Rhaenyra rose from her chair.

The water churned and roiled before becoming a swiftly spinning whirlpool.
Rhaenyra claimed Alicent’s mouth a moment later, swallowing her bondmate’s sound of triumph
and savoring the pride and satisfaction that radiated from her safa in fierce yet gentle waves.

Alicent eagerly returned the kiss, her arms rising to loop around Rhaenyra’s neck. When her
bondmate’s slender fingers brushed over the sensitive flesh, Rhaenyra’s toes curled, and sparks of
pleasure radiated from her neck throughout the rest of her body.

Wrapping her arms around Alicent’s waist, Rhaenyra lifted her off of her feet and spun her around
in a wide circle, which earned her a joyful laugh as Alicent clung to her all the tighter.

“My Alicent.” Rhaenyra set her back down, but didn’t release her waist, instead drawing Alicent
even closer so that she could cover her exquisite face in kisses. “You are a wonder and a marvel,
My Safa. Utterly without equal.”

She’d never doubted for a moment that Alicent would succeed with her magic, and for her
bondmate’s sake, she was relieved to have been proven correct so swiftly.

Alicent preened and leaned in closer to peck her lips. “It was your advice that made me realize
what was preventing me from fully connecting with my core.”

Resisting her instinctive urge to brush aside the compliment and remind Alicent that she was the
one who had actually achieved something, Rhaenyra tilted her head down and pressed a kiss to her
bondmate’s forehead. “I’m glad to have been of help, My Love.”

Turning her head slightly, Alicent nuzzled Rhaenyra’s cheek. “You’re always a help to me, My
Nyra. A help and a comfort and a blessing and everything in between.”

Rhaenyra’s throat tightened, and her heart fluttered. “Flatterer.”

“I speak only the truth.” Alicent’s hand rose to caress her cheek. “I’m yours. And you’re mine.”
She kissed her softly. “Until long after the stars go dark.”

Two Weeks Later

(Bright Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI)

Alicent awoke to the lovely feeling of warm lips lavishing her face with soft kisses. Her own lips
curved into a smile, though her eyes remained closed so that she could simply enjoy what had
become her favorite way to begin her mornings.

Rhaenyra had started kissing her awake a few weeks ago—after nervously seeking Alicent’s leave.

“Ali, I was wondering if perhaps—If you might allow me to kiss you awake in the morning? From
time to time. Or rather, if you would want me to kiss you, or—” Rhaenyra had exhaled a harsh
breath, her frustration evident. “My apologies, Safa, I know my words are not . . . I don’t intend to
—”

Alicent had crawled onto her bondmate’s lap and kissed her tenderly. “Rhaenyra, it’s all right.
You’re allowed to ask things of me, My Love.”
“I know, but I . . . You oft seem to be comforting me as much as I comfort you. And I don’t wish—It
isn’t my intention for you to feel as if you must reassure me at every turn or that you must say ‘yes,’
lest you upset me.” Rhaenyra had gently stroked her cheek, eyes soft and earnest. “I always want
you to feel as if you can say ‘no’ to me.”

Her Nyra.

Always so sweet.

Always so considerate.

Always so careful to avoid doing anything that reminded her even a little of Criston.

Alicent had awoken or regained consciousness more times than she could recall to the feeling of his
hands striking her breasts or face—if she’d been lucky, for he’d oft used a whip or worse instead—
to the feeling of harsh teeth sinking into her flesh, to the feeling of him rutting into her until she
screamed—

But she’d known that awakening to the feeling of Rhaenyra’s warm and loving lips upon her would
be different, and so she hadn’t hesitated to say, “I know that I can say ‘no’ to you, Nyra. You’ve
never given me reason to doubt that.” She’d smiled at her then, and she hadn’t tried to conceal the
eagerness from her voice. “And in answer to your question, you very much have my leave to kiss
me in the morning when the desire strikes.”

Rhaenyra’s beaming smile had rivaled a summer sun.

And Alicent’s heart had swelled so much that she’d feared it would burst.

Opening her eyes now, Alicent was met with the breathtaking sight of Rhaenyra hovering over her,
silver hair shining bright in the morning sun and making her face glow with ethereal light. Her eyes
were warm and soft with adoration, and her lips curled into a smile when she saw that Alicent was
awake.

“Good morning, My Love.” Rhaenyra pecked her lips.

“It most certainly is.” Alicent lifted a hand to caress her bondmate’s face. “It’s a very beautiful
morning as well.”

A faint blush dusted Rhaenyra’s cheeks.

Alicent reached up with her other hand and gently placed it upon the back of Rhaenyra’s head in
silent question.

Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes sparked as she swiftly closed the distance between them and claimed
Alicent’s mouth.

Merciful Mother how Alicent adored being kissed by Rhaenyra.

Each one was always so perfect.

Even the imperfect ones.

Even the ones where her bondmate was somewhat overeager with her lips or tongue, or Alicent
accidentally bumped their noses together, or one of them miscalculated the angle of their approach,
or there was a moment of awkward fumbling and stuttered apologies for some other mistake. She
treasured all of their kisses because they were with Rhaenyra.

Alicent hummed happily as she deepened the kiss, sliding her fingers through Rhaenyra’s hair as
best she could to tug her closer. A loud purr rumbled in her bondmate’s chest, and Alicent could
feel the vibrations in her own.

A familiar heat was beginning to gather, and she wanted . . .

“Nyra,” she gasped when they parted so that she could breathe.

“Yes, My Safa?” Rhaenyra’s right hand cradled Alicent’s cheek, while her left supported her own
weight.

“I,” Alicent wet her lips, anticipation and nerves warring within her—a combination of emotions
that she’d become very familiar with these past few months—as she gazed up into her safa’s eyes,
“I want you to touch me,” she finally managed.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened rather comically as she made a slightly strangled sound, and her arm
buckled for a split second before swiftly straightening once more.

Alicent found the reaction absurdly comforting for some reason.

“You—You’re certain?” Rhaenyra stuttered. “We needn’t—”

“I know.” Alicent leaned up to nuzzle her cheek. “But I want to. If you do as well.” She paused. “If
you wouldn’t mind only touching above my waist?”

“Of course, My Love.” Rhaenyra pecked her lips. “Whatever you desire.”

“And may,” Alicent’s cheeks warmed, but she managed to hold her bondmate’s gaze, “may I touch
you as well?”

Rhaenyra shuddered above her. “I would enjoy that very much, Ali.”

With a gentle tug, Alicent reconnected their lips in a fierce kiss.

∞∞

Alicent released a ragged breath, her eyes slipping shut as Rhaenyra’s hands continued to caress her
body and stroke her sides with such tender affection that she almost wept. Rhaenyra’s touch had
always been loving and kind and, and reverent in a way that she’d never experienced before, but
this . . .

Warm lips pressed against her exposed collarbone, and Alicent gasped.

“Is this all right, My Love?” Rhaenyra’s hot breath tickled her skin, causing it to tingle pleasantly.

“Yes,” she panted, fingers curling in the sheets and clutching tight.
“You’ll tell me if my touch becomes too much?” Rhaenyra’s voice held the same hint of concern
that it always did when she asked these questions, and Alicent’s heart fluttered in her chest.

“Yes,” she promised. Uncurling the fingers of her right hand from the sheets, she reached up to
lightly tap Rhaenyra’s shoulder—as they’d discussed—before whispering, “Nyra,” in her mind.

“I hear you, Ali.”

Alicent smiled proudly. She’d been practicing speaking telepathically with Margaery and Sansa,
and they both agreed that she’d been greatly improving.

Rhaenyra’s left hand glided higher up her side, pausing beside her breast, but not quite touching.
“Alicent?”

Words.

Her bondmate needed to hear the words.

Anticipation coiled in her belly, and her heart thundered in her chest. “I want this, Nyra.”

She’d been imagining Rhaenyra’s touch quite often of late—usually in the early mornings when
Rhaenyra was exercising with Vora Hylda and Alicent was alone in their bed with only her
thoughts, her bondmate’s lingering scent, and her own fingers.

A fresh blush stained her cheeks as the memories of finding pleasure with herself flashed through
her mind, and she was certain that Rhaenyra must smell how much she wanted her, but as ever, her
bondmate made no comment on her aroused state.

Instead, Rhaenyra claimed her lips in a fervent and loving kiss that made Alicent whimper and
clutch at her back.

Alicent gasped a moment later, her back arching at the feeling of Rhaenyra’s warm hand cradling
her breast through the fabric of her nightgown. “Oh, Nyra. Please.”

She wanted—needed—to feel more. She’d determined over the past few weeks that she enjoyed
stroking and massaging with her own breasts, and she yearned to know what it felt like to have
Rhaenyra’s hands do the same.

Rhaenyra’s fingers curled, squeezing gently.

Alicent moaned—long and loud as ripples of pleasure spread from her breast throughout her body.

A pleased grin curled Rhaenyra’s lips, pride and delight shining in her eyes. “Does this feel good,
My Sweet Alicent?”

“Yes, Nyra. So good.” Alicent shuddered as Rhaenyra began fondling her breast, and she could feel
her nipples stiffening in response. “Safa,” she panted, “if you could . . . both?”

Rhaenyra’s other hand immediately found Alicent’s neglected breast, and Alicent writhed beneath
her, whimpers spilling from her lips as her bondmate continued to stroke and caress her.

Criston’s hands had always been so rough—squeezing too hard and pinching cruelly until she’d
sobbed and begged him to stop.
She’d known that Rhaenyra’s hands would be kinder, that her bondmate’s touch would be loving
and tender, but this—

Merciful Mother, she half-wondered if she might peak simply from Rhaenyra playing with her
breasts.

Part of her had worried that Rhaenyra touching her would be too nerve-wracking, that having the
hands of another person upon her in such a way after so many years of being free from those kinds
of touches would be overwhelming or upsetting, that her body would react with panic even if her
mind was begging for more, but Alicent felt safe, cocooned as she was by her bondmate’s
comforting scent, and Rhaenyra’s hands felt so good, and her body was responding with need and
desire.

And she wanted—

“Nyra, Nyra, please.” Her nipples ached from the lack of attention, and she knew that they must be
visible through the fabric of her nightgown.

Seven Hells she was wet, and the heat coiling in her belly somehow felt different from what she
was used to—different from the pleasure that her own hands were able to elicit.

The heady scent of roses filled her senses, washing over her and making her head spin wonderfully.

“What do you want, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s voice was ragged and breathless, and Alicent couldn’t help
the shiver of delight that wracked her body when she realized the effect that merely her reactions
was having on her bondmate.

“I—” Alicent groaned when Rhaenyra’s warm mouth latched onto her collarbone once more and
gave a gentle suck. “I, I enjoy . . . Please, Nyra.”

Rhaenyra lifted her head. “Yes, Safa?”

“My, my nipples. Gently, please, but I, I enjoy,” her face was burning, and the ache between her
legs was growing stronger by the moment, and her blood roared in her ears, “rolling,” she finally
managed.

Rhaenyra smiled at her, eyes dark with desire, and yet still shining with love. “Of course, Ali.
Anything you want.”

Another wave of arousal washed over Alicent at those words—at the affection and the sincerity
and, and the determination.

To please her.

To make her feel good.

To ensure that she enjoyed herself.

“I love you,” she panted.

Rhaenyra leaned down, but rather than claiming Alicent’s lips, she instead pressed their foreheads
together. “And I love you.”
“So much so it aches?”

“And until long after the stars go dark.”

Alicent’s response dissolved into a desperate keen as Rhaenyra took her nipples between her
thumbs and forefingers and began rolling them. “Oh, oh, Nyra, yes, yes. Please.” Her back arched,
and her legs trembled, and her belly caught fire. “That feels so good.”

“My Alicent,” Rhaenyra rumbled.

“Yours,” she agreed, her hands finding her bondmate’s shoulders and clutching at them as her mind
grew hazy with want. “And you’re mine.”

“Always.”

Without thought, Alicent’s legs wrapped around her bondmate, and she felt the kiss of cool air on
her newly exposed flesh.

Exposed.

Her scars—

Alicent’s jaw clenched.

“I love you—all of you—not simply your body.”

Rhaenyra adored her.

Her bondmate didn’t care about the jagged lines marring her inner thighs or the gruesome burn
ruining her left calf or the lash marks that had never faded or the old knife wounds or the laser scars
or the chemical—

«Ugly little whore.»

«At least her face is tolerable to look at.»

«The sight of you would turn any man’s stomach.»

«Disgusting, pathetic—»

Something shattered nearby.

“Alicent!”

The whimper that escaped her was desperate, but not like the ones that had come before.

Her stomach was clenching and twisting, but not with desire and pleasure.

When had she closed her eyes? When had she begun to weep?

“My Love.” Rhaenyra’s voice was pleading, but not panicked.

Alicent wanted to open her eyes, wanted to reassure Rhaenyra that she was all right.
But her body refused to obey her.

“May I hold you, Ali?”

“Y-Yes.”

Strong arms scooped her up and placed her upon a warm lap. Gentle hands stroked her hair and
rubbed her arm as Rhaenyra cooed tender words of love and comfort in her ears. “All is well, Safa.
I’m here. You’re safe. All is well.” Soft lips pressed against her temple.

Alicent sucked in a shuddering breath as she felt herself becoming limp and pliant in Rhaenyra’s
arms.

“Ali, My Love, can you tell me what upset you?”

Alicent gulped, not knowing how to articulate the sense of shame and self-loathing that had seized
a hold of her. She knew that she had no reason to be ashamed. She knew that. She knew that her
scars weren’t her fault, that Rhaenyra wasn’t disgusted by them, that they weren’t actually marks of
Criston’s lingering claim to her, and yet . . .

Her bondmate had only ever seen the scars on her arms, the uppermost part of her chest, and her
ankles. Rhaenyra had no notion of—

“S-Scars,” she finally managed.

Her ward flared before she could even discern her bondmate’s emotions, but she could guess them
well enough.

“Alicent—”

“I know that you aren’t disgusted by them, that you won’t stop loving me when you see them, but
—” Alicent buried her face in Rhaenyra’s shoulder. “All I can think . . .”

Rhaenyra hugged her tight, her rose scent becoming laden with calming pheromones that Alicent
greedily breathed in. “My Sweet Safa,” she murmured, “I wish . . .”

So did Alicent.

∞∞

Aemma had come to her Queen’s office this morning expecting a battle—as had been the case
every year since Rhaenyra was a child—expecting a dour expression and eyes flashing with a
combination of irritation and old pain, expecting clipped words and polite yet dismissive tones.

Rhaenyra had instead been smiling, greeting Aemma with a warm hug before offering the same to
Lady Rhaenys, whose shock mirrored Aemma’s own. The Queen had then declared her desire to
summon a troupe of puppeteers to come perform at the Keep in three weeks’ time.

“They must be prepared to stage a full production of Prophetess Orestilla’s life,” she was saying,
her eyes brighter than Aemma had ever seen them so close to the Feast of Prophetess Orestilla.

Lady Rhaenys was staring at her niece in consternation even as she nodded her acquiescence. “Of
course, Your Majesty. I’ll speak with Mistress Esfira about the matter. I’m certain that she can
handle finding the best puppeteers in the Queendom.”

“Wonderful.” Rhaenyra shuffled through some of her papers before finding the one that she was
searching for and handing it to Aemma. “Please see to it that Chef Gilly and her staff prepare all of
these dishes for the feast that evening.”

As Aemma’s eyes swept over the list that she’d been given, she almost laughed aloud, suddenly
feeling very foolish for not guessing the reason for Rhaenyra’s cheer.

As had most of the Keep’s residents, she’d noticed when Alicent had begun attending morning
services with them—by her reckoning, a total of at least five crowns had changed various hands on
the third consecutive morning that Alicent had come to temple—and she should have realized that
Rhaenyra would of course wish for her bondmate’s first holiday following her conversion to be
perfect.

Even if that holiday was the Feast of Prophetess Orestilla.

She wondered . . .

“Do you intend to remain in Osmera throughout the day, Your Majesty?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed, but not with anger or upset—rather, with something very akin to
anticipation. “No. I’ll be traveling to Valeria in the afternoon.”

Aemma exchanged a swift look with Lady Rhaenys, seeing her own delight reflected in the Hand’s
lilac eyes. While it was customary for the queens to journey to Valeria on the Feast of Prophetess
Orestilla and pay homage to her Heir at least once every few centuries, Rhaenyra had steadfastly
refused to do so ever since she was a girl.

And not even Viserra’s cruel taunts had swayed her in that decision.

“My hope is that Alicent will accompany me,” Rhaenyra continued as she slipped on her
translation spectacles. “Whether she does or not, I expect to return at least half an hour before
supper.” Reaching across her desk, she picked up a report that looked to be written in Old Nørsk. “I
assume that the both of you will have matters well in hand here whilst I’m gone.”

Aemma nodded even though Rhaenyra was no longer looking at her. “But of course.”

“Excellent. Cleric Alinora will presumably lead the morning rites as she always does—Aunt
Rhaenys, please ask her sometime this week whether she needs anything from Mother Lemore—
and Magistrate Florent and her council will manage Osmera’s celebrations, yes?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lady Rhaenys cocked her head slightly. “Would you care to see the itinerary
that one of Magistrate Florent’s aides sent me?”

Usually the answer was a terse “no.”

“Yes, thank you.”

The Hand snapped her fingers, and a thin sheaf of papers appeared on the corner of Rhaenyra’s
desk. “I received word a few days ago that Mistress Fossoway intends to stage a series of mock
naval battles in Red Apple Bay the day of the feast. Will that be a problem?”
“I shouldn’t think so.” Rhaenyra set the report that she’d been reading aside and sat back in her
chair. “But please ensure that she’s received approval from the Environmental Commission to be
certain.”

Lady Rhaenys inclined her head. “As you say.”

Rhaenyra turned her attention to Aemma, eyes expectant.

Aemma cleared her throat, finding that she was having to somewhat mentally scramble to recall all
of the matters that she normally wasn’t required or even given the chance to relay. “Chef Gilly was
planning to serve hotcakes and an assortment of breakfast meats and fruits in the morning. Will that
be acceptable?”

Most years, her old heart friend simply locked herself in her apartments on this feast day.

Now, Rhaenyra beamed. “Very acceptable. See that Chef Gilly prepares sweet cakes as well.”

“But of course, Your Majesty.”

In truth, she sometimes considered it a wonder that they weren’t eating sweet cakes with every
meal.

The remainder of their meeting passed swiftly, and Aemma couldn’t help but marvel at Rhaenyra’s
engagement and how eager she was to know all of the planned details for the various celebrations
taking place within the Keep, out in the city, and across the Queendom. She asked questions,
listened attentively to the answers, offered a number of suggestions, and issued orders as she would
in any other situation.

Last year—and every year before that—Aemma had always had to fight to coax but two words
from her Queen regarding the upcoming feast day.

“Oh, and, Aemma,” Rhaenyra called as Aemma and Lady Rhaenys were departing after being
politely dismissed, “please remind me to inform Dr. Alfadora that I won’t be able to meet with her
that day.”

Aemma dipped her head. “I shall, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you.” With that, Rhaenyra turned her attention to a stack of letters that had appeared in
front of her.

Once Aemma and Lady Rhaenys were a respectable distance away from their Queen’s office, they
hastened to the nearest parlor, closed the door, and cast a shield over the room.

“By the Mother.” Lady Rhaenys shook her head in a combination of wonder and delight. “I was
certain that the sun would rise in the west before Rhaenyra actually showed anything but distaste
for the Feast of Prophetess Orestilla.”

Aemma nodded in agreement, waving a hand to drag over a pair of chairs so that they could sit. “I
suppose that at last finding her mate has healed the wound inflicted by Oracle Isabera all those
millions of years ago.”

While Aemma was certain that the previous oracle hadn’t meant to cause Rhaenyra such torment
and heartache, she’d never quite been able to forgive the woman for the heartbroken expression that
had twisted Rhaenyra’s young face for nearly a century year after learning that her mate was to be a
mortal.

“Why is Mother Relle punishing me so? Is Mother’s net not justice enough for my sins?”

The sorrowful yet resigned question had haunted Aemma for over nine million years, and she’d
never once faulted Rhaenyra anytime that she’d bitterly questioned how loving a goddess Relle
could actually be.

Lady Rhaenys’ expression had become pensive as she gazed off into the distance. “Aemma, there is
something that I have been wishing to ask you, but I’ve never known how to approach the matter
without sounding accusatory.”

Aemma knew exactly what the Lady Hand wished to ask, and, in truth, she was rather surprised
that the other woman had waited this long to broach the matter.

Considering the whole of the Keep heard her roaring for Viserra’s head on Seventh Night.

“Ask, My Lady, and I shall answer.” It was a question that she’d been pondering herself for a long
while now.

“You knew about the net.” Lady Rhaenys’ words weren’t a question, but Aemma nodded all the
same.

“I noticed Rhaenyra wincing in the weeks after Viserra cast that wretched thing.” Aemma’s jaw
tightened with a combination of sorrow and fury as she remembered the way that Rhaenyra’s eyes
had flashed with pain and how her steps had been halting and clumsy as she’d adjusted to the
ripping away of her magic. “When I asked her what troubled her, she refused to tell me.”

“This matter is no concern of yours, Lady Aemma. Do not speak of it again.”

That had been the first time that Rhaenyra had spoken and Aemma had heard Viserra’s voice.

“When she finally told me what her mother had done,” Aemma expelled a harsh breath, the
muscles of her back and shoulders straining as she fought the urge to furiously beat her wings
against the air, “I had half a mind to confront her then and there, to send her flying through the
nearest window and pray that she might at least break a bone or seven.”

“An appropriate response,” Lady Rhaenys said simply, but the growl beneath her words was
unmistakable, and her scent was sharp and somewhat scorched.

Aemma could only imagine how the Lady Hand’s scent must have burned the night that Dowager
Queen Laena told her about the net.

Water elemental she may be, but Lady Rhaenys was still the Blood of the Dragon.

“So why didn’t you? Confront my sister?” Lady Rhaenys’ eyes bored into her as only a Targaryen’s
could.

“Because Rhaenyra begged me not to.” And because, at the time, Aemma had thought it better to
comfort the imperial princess rather than confront the empress. Rhaenyra’s eyes had been
glistening with unshed tears as she’d told her about the net, and her whole small body had trembled
with fright and misery—evidently certain that Aemma would rebuke her and declare that she
deserved to suffer Viserra’s net.

Seven Hells how Aemma had wished to rip out that woman’s throat.

How Viserra could have done such a thing to any child was beyond her fathoming, but how Viserra
could have done such a thing to a child as sweet and gentle and eager to please as Rhaenyra was
utterly inexplicable.

While Aemma would be the first to admit that Rhaenyra was a true dragon and fire elemental with
regards to her temper, even as a child, she’d taken care to not unleash her anger upon others.

And the few times that she had lashed out had always been in response to persistent goading.

Usually by Viserra.

Occasionally by Daemona.

Aemma had done her best to shield Rhaenyra from Viserra and to offer her all of the maternal
affection that she needed and deserved, but she knew well that she’d failed in that.

“I regret not saying anything,” she admitted quietly, her heart twisting with guilt. “I could have, but
I . . .” Her wings slumped. “I told myself that if I spoke out against Viserra, it would be her word
against mine. I told myself that I couldn’t risk being removed from my position as Rhaenyra’s
governess, that she needed me, but in truth . . .” She expelled a heavy breath, eyes lowering to her
lap. “In truth, I was afraid.” Her lips twisted into a grimace. “And because of my cowardice,
Viserra has been allowed to walk free all this time.”

“Aemma.”

Telekinetic fingers nudged beneath her chin, lifting her head.

Lady Rhaenys’ eyes were soft with sympathy and empathy. “You did what you could. And you did
far more than most of us.” Her expression twisted with a combination of disgust and regret. “When
I think of all the times that I praised her,” a snarl ripped from her throat, “not only in front of
Rhaenyra, but to Rhaenyra.” She shook her head. “It’s small wonder that she feared not being
believed. That she feared . . .”

Leaning forward, Aemma reached out and patted Lady Rhaenys’ hand, understanding well the
difficulty of articulating all of the emotions that she had no doubt were swirling around in the other
woman. “That ink may have dried, but the tale is far from told.”

“And when the time comes for the full telling, Rhaenyra will know that she is not alone.” Lady
Rhaenys’ eyes sparked with purple fire. “That she has never been alone.”

Aemma nodded in agreement.

Alicent’s brow furrowed with concentration as she continued moving her hand in a gentle, wavelike
motion, willing the water to dance and undulate in the air before her rather than splash onto the
ground as her last three attempts had. She was aware of Margaery and Sansa watching her and
quietly evaluating her progress.
She could do this. She simply—

The water began to quiver and tremble.

Seven Hells.

Expelling a slow breath, she returned her full attention to the water snake lazily looping its way
through the air. The fingers of her left hand began to twirl slowly, and in her mind, she envisioned
the snake beginning to ripple and twist into a new shape. She could see the clear water reforming
itself into the likeness of a dragon with four strong legs and two enormous wings and spiraled horns
crowning its head.

Her eyes remained on the water, ignoring the surprised sound that Sansa made as the water began
to collapse and contort, as it began to arch and writhe, not unlike—

The water splashed onto the ground, and Alicent only barely managed to retreat swiftly enough to
avoid wetting the hem of her skirt.

She scowled down at the puddle that was already soaking into the flowerbed beneath it.

“That was excellent, Alicent.” Sansa’s voice didn’t hold a hint of falsehood or teasing, and yet
Alicent still felt her shoulders slumping as disappointment washed over her.

“What were you attempting to create?” Margaery asked curiously as she and Sansa stepped forward
to stand on either side of her.

“A dragon,” she sighed. Had she succeeded, she would have presented it to Rhaenyra and then
basked in her bondmate’s delight. It was vain, she knew, but she wished to do something pleasing
for Rhaenyra after how she’d behaved so foolishly this morning. And she wished to apologize for
accidentally shattering one of Rhaenyra’s vases, though her bondmate insisted that the broken
crystal was no great matter.

“How can I mourn a silly old vase when my beloved bondmate has just made such an impressive
first display of telekinesis?” Rhaenyra’s eyes had been so bright and warm when she’d said those
words.

Alicent didn’t think that breaking a vase was particularly impressive, but she’d smiled and kissed
Rhaenyra in thanks all the same.

True or no, she knew that her bondmate was offering her comfort.

And besides, she would never tire of kissing Rhaenyra.

“We can work on reshaping the water tomorrow,” Sansa promised.

“Soon enough, you might be ready for a proper game of charades,” Margaery added.

“Perhaps.” She supposed that she was improving, but she knew that she didn’t yet have the
dexterity to properly participate in charades. Her elementalism was still far too sloppy and inexpert
for her to create anything more detailed than a “snake,” and she certainly wasn’t skilled enough to
create something without being able to see it.
Margaery patted her arm. “Until then,” she sighed heavily, “I suppose that I shall simply have to
content myself with only besting you at chess and cyvasse.”

Alicent snorted. “You’ve not won a single chess match against me in some two months.”

“I almost secured victory in our cyvasse game last week.”

“‘Almost.’” Alicent playfully elbowed her friend, which earned an amused chuckle from Sansa and
an exasperated eyeroll from Margaery. “I don’t believe that ‘almost’ victories are actually
recognized.”

Margaery tsked. “I see now that Sansa and I have been dreadful teachers if you’re truly unaware of
the ancient and well-established tradition of recognizing, accepting, and celebrating almost
victories.”

“The tradition is very ancient,” Sansa agreed with a solemn nod and a serious expression. “It was
established almost one full minute ago.”

The words had scarcely left her mouth before Sansa began to laugh, and Alicent’s own laughter
joined with hers a moment later.

Margaery threw her hands into the air. “The both of you are horrid.” She spun on her heel and
started towards one of the nearby gazebos.

Before she could take more than a few steps, Sansa grasped her wrist and drew her close, wrapping
her arms around Margaery’s waist and kissing her cheeks until Margaery grinned and became pliant
in her arms.

Alicent’s own cheeks reddened slightly, and she wondered if she ought to turn away.

She also couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy over knowing that the affection and intimacy
she was witnessing now was probably little different from how they behaved around each other
when there weren’t any eyes upon them.

Her friends had never known what it was to fear their mate’s disgust.

“You, Alicent Hightower, are the most comely woman that I have ever had the pleasure of laying
eyes upon.”

Relle above how she wanted to believe those words, how she wanted to believe that Rhaenyra
thought her beautiful and would never look at her otherwise, but Alicent knew—She felt certain
that her bondmate would never be able to look upon her with such awe and affection once she saw
all of her.

And some part of her knew that her fears were foolish, that she was being silly, that she would
always have her bondmate’s love, but the visceral terror that she felt . . .

My fears are valid. My feelings are valid.

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean that they are true.”

Alicent sighed, knowing that she needed to resolve this matter. Dr. Arwen had been helping as best
she could, but there was something . . .
Perhaps some additional research would provide answers.

If nothing else, it would provide her some comfort.

I was not quite five hundred, the day that my father decided on a whim to set sail with the
family on a pleasure ship named the Queen’s Obedience. His most recent war had reached an
impasse over a decade prior, and he and my brothers were hungry for blood and battle. And so
my mother, sisters, and I were ordered aboard the ship that would become my second eldest
sister’s tomb.

Alicent’s quill faltered for a brief moment before she returned the majority of her attention to
Archmagister Tessaria’s wonderfully informative and quite provocatively detailed tome on the
giving and receiving of pleasure. After bidding Margaery and Sansa farewell, she’d retreated to her
and Rhaenyra’s chambers and found Archmagister Tessaria’s book among those on her desk
awaiting her attention. Considering the current worries plaguing her mind, she’d decided that this
would be a good book to read.

For while she’d been discovering much and more about her own body these past weeks, she wished
to learn all that she could about Rhaenyra’s as well so that she wouldn’t disgrace herself—or worse,
disappoint her bondmate.

Her foolishness this morning had prevented her from actually touching Rhaenyra as she’d been
longing to do, and Alicent had no intention of wasting this additional time that she’d inadvertently
foisted upon herself. Her bondmate deserved pleasure, and perhaps, if she became skilled enough,
Rhaenyra wouldn’t mind—

Rhaenyra adores you, regardless of whether you can offer her pleasure.

Alicent didn’t doubt that, but there was a difference between adoration and desire.

Behind her, Lady Lannister’s voice continued telling the tale of her sister’s murder and her own
near-death.

In the rather desperate hope of better understanding how the First Generation managed any form of
intimacy with each other, despite their physical scars, she’d been listening to Why Men Were
Banished From Valyria since returning to her chambers.

Olwen should never have been there. She should have been far away with—But she was, for
Father bid her attend.

The pirates never should have been allowed within twenty leagues of our ship, but Father
wished to wet his sword.

Fifty men were torn asunder before they could so much as blink, such was my father’s
eagerness for blood. And oh, how it flowed, slicking the deck and causing me to stumble as
 Olwen and I attempted to reach our mother and other sisters. Had she simply left me behind
. . . but Olwen would never have abandoned me.

My brothers roared with delight as they fought beside my father, the five of them slaughtering
the pirates as if those other men were no more than rats.

I suppose they were, in a way.

Foolish rats who somehow thought themselves a match for the Bloody Sailor and his boys.

But even the stupidest of rats can fell a bear.

If they have the numbers.

Alicent shivered at the chill in Lady Lannister’s voice, and because she knew what came next. Her
eyes shifted away from Archmagister Tessaria’s explanations and illustrations on the different ways
to caress a woman’s breasts and fell upon the scar encircling her wrist.

It was such an ugly thing.

Criston’s delighted laughter echoed in her ears, and her jaw tightened.

Olwen snatched me up and hurled me across the deck with her telekinesis, and by the time that
I regained my bearings, my mother was clutching me to her chest, and the pirate captain had
seized my sister.

She was so pale in that man’s arms . . . Her eyes were wide with terror, and yet she stood tall
and with her chin held high. And her gaze never strayed us—from me, from our sisters, from
our mother. Even when the pirate captain sliced away at her bodice in the hopes of humiliating
our father, even when the man threatened to next cut her throat if Father didn’t surrender.

Seven Hells.

What had that pirate been thinking? No Old World man would have ever surrendered simply to
save his daughter’s life.

Alicent set her quill down and turned in her chair to look at the spectral figure of Lady Lanna
Lannister hovering above the pages marked with her name and the roaring, golden lion of her
House. The woman’s eyes were hard and cold, but the way that her lower lip trembled, the way that
her fists clenched . . .

My father had grabbed me and crushed me against his chest before my mother could react. He
drew his knife from his belt and pressed it against my throat to mirror the pirate captain. When
my mother attempted to interfere, a wyrd mark drawn by my eldest brother brought her to her
 knees and kept her there. My other brothers restrained my sisters before they could ever cry
out.

“Any one of my spirit bear cubs has more value to me than the whelp you hold now,” my
father sneered, “and I would sooner crush all of their skulls than allow you quarter, never mind
offer surrender. It’s no great matter, breeding another girl.”

I didn’t doubt his words, and some part of me knew . . .

And yet I was still surprised when he opened my throat with a flick of his wrist—

Alicent swiftly rose from her chair and closed the book with a harsh thud, her hand trembling
where it rested upon the cover.

This was a mistake.

For all that Lady Lannister still famously bore the scar her father had given her that day—albeit
usually concealed by an enchanted necklace, according to Margaery—she’d been foolish to think
that listening to the tale of that scar would offer her any insights.

Lady Lannister may have her scars, but so does Lady Martell.

She knew without a doubt that Rhaenyra would be perfect and unblemished beneath her clothes.

Alicent’s eyes settled once more upon the hideous scar encircling her wrist and upon the thin, white
line marking where Criston had once severed her ring finger.

Rhaenyra’s hands were entirely unspoiled—strong and elegant and lovely. The hands of a queen as
well as a knight. The hands that cradled her face and held her close. The hands that had touched her
so reverently the other day.

The hands that Alicent knew longed to touch her again.

And Alicent yearned for the same. She longed to feel Rhaenyra’s hands upon her once more.

Merciful Mother, if only—

Alicent’s eyes widened.

Oh.

Perhaps?

Some part of her knew that the half-formed thought fluttering through her mind was a foolish one,
and yet she still found herself hurrying from her chambers a moment later.

Alicent found Mother Lemore in the main sanctum of the Stone Garden Temple, thankfully not in
prayer as she’d begun to worry during her journey from her chambers to the temple. “Mother
Lemore, might I speak with you a moment?”
The priestess smiled at her as she finished extinguishing the final candle. “Of course, Lady
Alicent.” She walked over to the nearest bench and beckoned for Alicent to join her. “Does
something trouble you?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Alicent sat down beside her, hoping that she wouldn’t need to reveal the
exact reason behind her question. Fond as she was becoming of Mother Lemore, she had no interest
in explaining why she desired Relle’s assistance in feeling less embarrassed about her scars. “I was
wondering—That is—Might you tell me what I’m allowed to pray for?”

Mother Lemore stared at her in confusion. “I’m afraid that I don’t understand what you mean.”

Alicent’s cheeks reddened as she fiddled with the pendant of her necklace. “Well, Sytarr only
accepts certain kinds of prayers, and only for certain matters depending on who is praying.”
Women were allowed to pray for sons and their husband’s health, while men were expected to pray
for divine retribution against those who had done wrong. “I wasn’t certain if some kinds of prayers
were considered beneath Relle’s dignity.”

“Beneath Relle’s dignity?” Mother Lemore snorted, shaking her head. “Our Heavenly Mother does
not impose restrictions on our prayers, My Lady. As Empress Naerys the Devout once said,
‘Mother Relle is always listening. If you speak, she will hear.’” A teasing smile curled her lips.
“After all, what mother would—?” She broke off, apology flashing in her eyes as she cleared her
throat. “Forgive me, Lady Alicent, I forget sometimes that your mother was rather . . .”

“Dreadful?” Alicent was no longer surprised by how nice it felt to say such things aloud.

Mother Lemore nodded. “It must seem strange to you, how we venerate mothers when your own
was so utterly unworthy of respect or regard.” Her lips twisted with disdain. “No Valyrian mother
would ever behave so disgracefully.”

Would that that were true.

Alicent wondered—as she oft had these past months—how Mother Lemore and all of the other
Valyrians would react upon learning of Viserra’s crimes.

She hoped that it would be with Fire and Blood.

“Whatever you intend to pray for, Lady Alicent, I’m certain that Relle shall answer in her way.”
Mother Lemore paused. “You may not understand her response,” she warned, “or even see it for
what it is, for ‘sometimes we daughters do not always see our mother’s efforts.’”

All the same, perhaps her words to Mother Relle and the goddess’ response would offer Alicent the
peace that she so desperately sought.

When Rhaenyra was at last able to return to her and Alicent’s chambers that evening, she was
greeted by the sight of her perfect bondmate’s beaming smile as Alicent immediately turned to look
at her when Rhaenyra entered the room.

“Nyra, I’ve missed you.”

Rhaenyra stopped in front of Alicent and leaned down to press a brief kiss to her lips. “As I have
you, My Love.” She’d been hoping to escape from her duties for a time and see Alicent before her
bondmate departed the Keep for Mistress Damella’s shop, but she’d been a few minutes too late,
and she hadn’t wished to disturb Alicent at her work by following after her.

Alicent gazed up at her hopefully. “Are you mine for the remainder of the evening?”

“I am yours for as long as you’ll have me, Safa.” Rhaenyra kissed her forehead before offering a
playful wink. “But if you mean do I have any additional work that must be finished tonight, then
the answer is no.”

“Good.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but revel in her bondmate’s satisfaction, couldn’t help but relish Alicent’s
desire to spend time with her, couldn’t help but rejoice that she was able to please her safa in this
simple way. “There is something that I wish to ask you, Ali. May I?”

“Of course, Nyra.” Alicent cocked her head slightly, amusement glinting in her eyes. “You know
that you may ask me anything.”

“Just as you know that you can deny me?”

Alicent’s expression softened, warm affection eclipsing her amusement. “Yes, Nyra. I know that.”

Rhaenyra reached down and gently caressed her bondmate’s soft cheek. “Would you care to
accompany me to Valeria in three weeks, My Love?”

Alicent’s eyebrows arched in surprise, but not with confusion. “You—Are you intending to actually
visit the Oracle this year?”

“I am.” A wry smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips. “I’ve rather been neglecting this particular duty of
late.”

The noise that Alicent made in response plainly indicated that she considered over nine million
years much too long to be considered “of late,” but she was kind enough to not say the words
aloud.

“May I ask what has changed?” Alicent’s voice was soft, but not uncertain, and yet there was an
almost desperate glint in her eyes, as if she needed to hear Rhaenyra’s answer.

“I know that you aren’t disgusted by them, that you won’t stop loving me when you see them, but—
All I can think . . .”

Rhaenyra leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her safa’s forehead, feeling some of the
tension leave her Alicent in response. “You,” she said simply. Her other hand rose so that she was
now cradling both of Alicent’s cheeks. “I’ve spent so long thinking that Mother Relle was
punishing me, that perhaps—” She shook her head, recalling with no small amount of guilt the
many times that she had cursed her Heavenly Mother’s name and demanded to know how she
could be so cruel. “I see now what I should have always seen.” She tilted her head to brush the tip
of her nose against Alicent’s. “You’ve opened my eyes after I closed them long ago, Ali, and
restored to me something that I refused to admit had even been lost.” Closing the distance between
them, she pressed their lips together, savoring the happy sigh that Alicent released.
Alicent reached up to loop her arms around Rhaenyra’s neck and tug her closer.

The unexpected strength behind the movement caused Rhaenyra to stumble forward, and she
couldn’t help but laugh as her hands swiftly left Alicent’s face so that she could grip the back of the
chair to steady herself. “Careful, My Love, you’ve been growing stronger these past weeks.”

A completely unforeseen happening that Dr. Nesryn was still attempting to explain.

Rhaenyra herself was utterly delighted by her bondmate’s increasing strength.

Delighted, and relieved that Alicent would be less physically vulnerable now, that the probability of
accidentally hurting her bondmate was growing smaller by the day.

“My apologies.” Alicent offered her a sheepish smile. “And my answer is yes.” She clasped
Rhaenyra’s arms and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “I would be honored to come with you to
Valeria.”

Rhaenyra beamed, excitement thrumming throughout her body at the prospect of sharing this
holiday with Alicent, at the prospect of actually celebrating what had until now always been a glum
feast day, of arriving at the imperial city with Alicent upon her back—

Her smile dimmed somewhat.

Alicent didn’t much care for horseback riding, never mind riding on dragonback.

But perhaps . . .

I shouldn’t bother her with this. I don’t want her to feel as if I expect—

“You’re allowed to ask things of me, My Love.”

Alicent’s words echoed in her ears, so sweet and earnest and . . .

Her Alicent wanted her to express her desires, and this was a relatively innocuous request . . . It
wasn’t as if she was demanding anything sexual or . . .

“Nyra?” Alicent was squeezing her arms once more, and Rhaenyra reveled in the fact that she
could now feel the pressure of her bondmate’s hands far more acutely than she’d been able to
before Alicent’s core was awakened.

“Ali, I was wondering if perhaps,” she wet her lips, “I’m very pleased that you’re willing to join
me, but we should discuss the matter of how we’ll be traveling to and from Valeria.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “I assumed that you would teleport us.”

Rhaenyra nodded slowly. “Yes, I can certainly do that, if you prefer, but it’s tradition for the
members of my family to arrive in dragon form.”

“But what of your knights? And if you wish for me to accompany you—?” Alicent broke off, eyes
widening as she released Rhaenyra’s arms and began fiddling with her emerald orchid ring. “You—
You wish me to ride you? Upon your back?”
“I would enjoy sharing the skies with you, yes.” Rhaenyra leaned down, and—after receiving a soft
smile—kissed the tip of her bondmate’s pretty nose. “But more than anything, I desire your safety,
comfort, and happiness, so I am happy to simply teleport us.” She offered a playful wink. “One of
these methods of travel is admittedly more expedient.”

Alicent hesitated, and Rhaenyra could practically see the deliberations roiling within her mind—the
conflict between not wishing to be an inconvenience and her own wants and needs. She also
couldn’t help but notice the flash of fear in Alicent’s eyes. Of being so high up? Or of falling,
perhaps? Both were reasonable, and Rhaenyra would endeavor to assuage them once Alicent made
her decision.

When Alicent finally spoke, her smile was apologetic, but not guilt-ridden, which pleased
Rhaenyra greatly. “Perhaps next year, My Love? I, I’m not ready, as of yet.”

Rhaenyra’s hand rose to tenderly stroke Alicent’s cheek. “Of course, Ali. Thank you for
considering the matter.” She leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Might you play something for me
tonight?”

Alicent grinned. “Name a song, My Safa, and you shall hear it.”

The final, lilting notes of Alicent’s lute still lingered in the air, and beside her, Rhaenyra was gazing
at her with such open adoration and admiration that Alicent felt as if her heart might burst.

Merciful Mother Relle, how she loved this woman.

And she wanted—

Alicent glanced down at her wrist. She wasn’t ready, but perhaps . . .

“I would enjoy that very much, Ali.”

“Nyra—”

“Ali—”

They both stared at each other for a long moment before beginning to laugh, and Alicent swiftly set
her lute aside so that she could wrap her arms around Rhaenyra and be held in turn. Her eyes closed
when she felt fingers beginning to card through her hair, which she’d set free earlier but had yet to
braid for the night.

Rhaenyra had told her some time ago that she enjoyed seeing Alicent’s hair “cascading over her
shoulders.”

Warm lips pressed against her forehead, and Alicent hummed happily.

“My Love, I’ve been thinking about ways to make you more comfortable regarding,” Rhaenyra
hesitated a moment, “your scars,” she finally finished.

Alicent tilted her head slightly so that she could look at her. “Oh?”

“I thought, perhaps, if I were to undress for you—”

Alicent swiftly shook her head, though she was just as quick to lean up and kiss away the furrow
that was beginning to form on Rhaenyra’s brow. “My Love, it is very kind of you to make such an
offer, and I am rather eager to one day see all of you,” a fresh flush bloomed in her cheeks, for
she’d been dreaming of seeing Rhaenyra naked rather often of late, “but for this matter, I don’t
believe that it would benefit me.” Her eyes lowered. “Seeing you . . . I know that I would compare
myself unfavorably.”

Rhaenyra made a distressed sound, hugging her tighter. “You are breathtaking, Ali. The most
comely woman in all the world and all of creation.”

She wished that she could believe those tempting words, wished that she could trust them to remain
true once Rhaenyra saw her fully, wished that she could be certain that her bondmate wasn’t simply
lying to spare her feelings . . .

Rhaenyra sighed quietly, perhaps guessing her thoughts, but rather than inquiring about them, she
instead asked, “What did you wish to say earlier, My Love? When we interrupted each other?”

Alicent hesitated, wondering if her request would now be rebuffed since she’d rejected Rhaenyra’s,
but she swiftly dismissed the foolish thought. “If you’re amenable, I was wondering if perhaps I
might touch you? As you did me this morning? I was never able . . . Well, I wish to return the favor
—” She broke off at the small frown that ghosted across her bondmate’s face. “Nyra?”

“Ali, you—” Rhaenyra’s frown deepened. “You know that you needn’t repay me or, or feel obliged
to do anything simply because I’ve done something for you, yes?”

A soft smile spread across Alicent’s lips as she took Rhaenyra’s face between her hands. “I know
that, My Love.” She kissed her forehead. “I know that you don’t expect anything from me.” Her
lips found Rhaenyra’s, claiming them and savoring their taste. “But I would still very much like to
touch you,” she whispered when they parted, “if it pleases you.” She flashed a playful grin. “Since I
didn’t have the opportunity before.”

Rhaenyra shivered a little, but her nod was swift and eager. “Shall we to bed then?”

∞∞

Alicent had never lain atop another person before.

Not truly.

Criston would have sooner died than allowed such, and she’d discovered that having Rhaenyra’s
warm weight above her was a comfort rather than a torment. And whenever she and her safa were
abed together and her head was resting upon Rhaenyra’s shoulder or chest, most of Alicent’s body
was still reclining on the bed itself.

Now, straddling her bondmate’s hips and hovering over her as they kissed, she found the
experience of having Rhaenyra under her a rather strange one.

Strange . . .

But most certainly enjoyable as well.

Intoxicating, in a way.
She enjoyed feeling Rhaenyra shift and squirm beneath her, enjoyed feeling desperate hands
clutching at her back to pull her closer, enjoyed feeling soft and full lips moving against her own as
she experimented with the different techniques that she’d been studying. She enjoyed experiencing
Rhaenyra in this new way.

And Seven Hells, her bondmate was so beautiful—shining silver hair splayed out across the pillow,
breasts rising and falling in shallow pants, lips slightly parted and beautifully swollen from
Alicent’s relentless kisses.

Her Nyra was breathtaking.

And Alicent wished to savor her.

“Please, My Love.” Rhaenyra rolled her hips beneath her, making Alicent shudder as pleasure
coursed through her own body.

“Oh, Nyra,” she gasped, her hands bracing against her bondmate’s shoulders to steady herself.

“Please, Ali.” Rhaenyra gently squeezed her hips. “I yearn for your touch, My Sweet. More than
anything.”

Alicent couldn’t help but smile as her fingers traced over the sharp line of her bondmate’s jaw.
“You’re a vision, My Safa,” she murmured.

Rhaenyra turned her head slightly to nuzzle Alicent’s fingers. “Your vision, Ali. Entirely so.”

The words sent a thrill racing down Alicent’s spine.

Hers.

Rhaenyra was hers.

And hers alone.

Alicent claimed her lips in a fierce kiss, hoping to convey all that words could not.

I love you. Thank you for loving me. You are the most amazing woman that I have ever met. My
heart, my soul, my love—all of them are yours, if you would have them.

When Alicent’s lungs began to scream, she reluctantly drew back, and a moan escaped her lips
upon seeing Rhaenyra’s pleading expression.

“Please touch me, Ali.”

Merciful Mother, how could she deny such a request?

Alicent’s hand trembled—though whether it was with nerves or anticipation, she didn’t know—as
she slowly reached for Rhaenyra. Her bondmate’s eyes were impossibly dark—almost black—and
there was an eagerness, a hunger, shining in them that made Alicent’s breath hitch in her throat.

Rhaenyra wanted her, wanted her touch.

Perhaps even craved it?

Alicent could feel her own desire pooling warm and insistent between her legs as her gaze lowered
from her bondmate’s entrancing eyes to her full breasts. She’d felt them before—flush against her
back in the morning, brushing her arm when Rhaenyra slid past her in close quarters, tantalizingly
pressed against her own when Rhaenyra was atop her and kissing her breathless—but she’d never
touched them. She’d never—

Her teeth sank into her lower lip. What if her touch was displeasing? Or what if she did something
wrong? Or what if—?

Rhaenyra will guide me. She knows what she enjoys.

Her hand suddenly halted, hovering in the air as she eyed her bondmate. “Nyra?”

“Yes, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s voice was low and rough with desire.

I did that.

Pride swelled in her chest, but she swiftly dismissed it to focus on the matter at hand. “You’ll tell
me what you prefer, won’t you?”

Rhaenyra smiled. “I’m sure that I’ll enjoy whatever—”

Alicent firmly shook her head, glad that she’d decided to raise this matter and aggravated with
herself for not thinking to do so sooner. “Rhaenyra, I want you to enjoy yourself. If I’m not
touching you in a way that pleases you, I wish to know. I won’t be upset or hurt if you have to
guide me,” she assured her, knowing that was what her bondmate feared—that Alicent would
interpret any attempt at correction as a criticism or any suggestion as an indication that she’d done
something wrong.

It wasn’t an unfounded fear, to be sure, but Alicent could smother such anxieties if it meant that
Rhaenyra received even a fraction of the pleasure that her bondmate always gave her.

Rhaenyra acquiesced with a swift kiss and a nuzzle to her cheek. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Alicent leaned down and reclaimed her bondmate’s lips, breathing in her rose scent
and enjoying the way that her stomach tightened in response.

She extended her hand once more.

They both gasped at the first touch, parting just enough so that Alicent could see the fire now
burning in Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes.

It was an entrancingly lovely sight.

And yet her own eyes couldn’t help but stray lower, utterly taken by the sight of her own hand
cradling Rhaenyra’s full breast.

She couldn’t help but marvel at its weight, at the warmth that she could feel even through the fabric
of Rhaenyra’s nightgown, at how her bondmate’s nipple was already stiff against her palm.

Despite the burning desire to continue drinking in the sight of her Rhaenyra’s lovely breasts,
Alicent focused her attention on Rhaenyra’s face as she began to caress her, vigilant for any signs
of displeasure or discomfort.
Rhaenyra arched into her touch, eyes fluttering closed. “A little more pressure, My Love, if you
please.”

Alicent obeyed at once, her soft touches becoming firmer until she earned a low moan that ignited a
fire in her belly and made the place between her legs throb. Her lips pursed as she began testing
different presses and strokes, carefully assessing Rhaenyra’s reaction to each one. “Does my touch
please you, Nyra?”

“Everything that you do pleases me.” Rhaenyra’s eyes opened slightly, a happy and rather silly
smile curling her lips.

Alicent returned the smile, her heart thrumming loudly in her chest as she began offering attention
to Rhaenyra’s other breast.

Rhaenyra growled.

Alicent’s hands immediately retreated. “Nyra?”

“Don’t stop.” Rhaenyra arched her back, chasing Alicent’s touch. “Please, Ali.”

Relief washed over Alicent as she closed the distance between them to claim Rhaenyra’s lips whilst
her hands returned to her bondmate’s breasts.

They’re so perfect.

Which wasn’t at all surprising, considering they were Rhaenyra’s.

Remembering what she’d read about the different ways that women enjoyed having their breasts
touched, Alicent shifted about until she managed to place her hands so that they cradled the
undersides of Rhaenyra’s breasts. Her wrists protested the awkward position, but she ignored them
as her thumbs began stroking over Rhaenyra’s nipples.

Rhaenyra shuddered beneath her, her breaths coming in short and harsh pants. Her nipples stiffened
further until they were practically straining against the fabric of her nightgown, and elongated
canines flashed as Rhaenyra’s head twisted to the side and tilted back slightly—exposing her throat.

Alicent’s mouth went dry.

Was her bondmate offering her neck intentionally? Or was she acting on instinct?

Alicent didn’t know which possibility was more arousing.

But she reveled in both.

And the burning desire to kiss her bondmate’s neck—to perhaps mark her in some small way—
suddenly ignited within her, so strong that she gasped aloud, and she almost—

No. Not yet.

Not without leave.

Necks were sacred, and it wouldn’t be proper—

Rhaenyra moaned wantonly.

“Nyra.” Alicent’s voice sounded strange to her own ears—breathy and wanting and almost
pleading. “May I, may I please . . ?”

Rhaenyra’s darkened eyes stared at her in bewilderment for a moment before sparking with a
combination of understanding and eagerness. “Yes, Ali, yes. Please, My Love, please. If you
would?”

Alicent’s lips found Rhaenyra’s neck, and her teeth sank into soft flesh a moment later in response
to her bondmate’s pleading whimper.

Beneath her, Rhaenyra began to convulse and writhe, tearing at the sheets as she howled with
pleasure. “Ali, Ali, Ali,” she chanted. “Seven bleeding Hells, yes!”

Alicent drew back in surprise, her ward flaring, but not before she felt a wave of ecstasy crash into
her.

Oh!

Rhaenyra was—

I did that.

Without even touching between her legs or—

Merciful Mother, the sight of Rhaenyra coming undone was both utterly breathtaking and almost
painfully arousing. The way that her eyes squeezed shut as her lovely face contorted with pleasure,
the wanton moans and desperate whimpers spilling from her parted and kiss-swollen lips, the
intoxicating warmth and headiness of her scent . . .

Wetness pooled between Alicent’s legs as heat coiled low in her belly, and she wanted—

She reclaimed Rhaenyra’s neck, sucking harshly in the hopes of leaving a mark.

Mine.

She didn’t know if she would ever be able to properly mark Rhaenyra and seal their matebond, so
for now, she would content herself with giving her bondmate a few love bites.

Rhaenyra’s hips rolled, rubbing against the growing wetness between Alicent’s own legs and
making them both shudder. “Fuck, Ali,” she growled.

Alicent’s eyes squeezed shut as she grew almost drunk on Rhaenyra’s scent and sounds, and she
wondered if that was why she didn’t mind hearing such a vulgar word spill from her bondmate’s
lips. She could feel herself throbbing, and yet her thoughts were filled with nothing save for
Rhaenyra. Her teeth continued gently nibbling and nipping at the sensitive flesh of her safa’s neck,
which earned her another pleased moan so loud that Alicent knew the echoes would linger in her
ears for days. Her heart swelled with pride for not only making her Nyra come undone, but for
prolonging her pleasure.

“Mine,” she mumbled, her hands leaving Rhaenyra’s breasts to instead cradle her face.
 “Yours,” Rhaenyra agreed breathlessly, her amethyst eyes shining with love and desire. “Until the
stars go dark.”

“My Nyra.” Alicent kissed her pulse point, earning a whine. “My Love.” She nipped at the same
place, earning a shudder. “My Safa.” Her tongue lapped gently where she’d bitten, making
Rhaenyra wrap her arms and legs around her.

“I love you, Ali.” Rhaenyra clung to her as she continued descending from her peak, her scent
sweet and warm with contentment. “More than words.”

Alicent preened as she nuzzled her bondmate’s neck, admiring the marks that she’d left behind and
knowing that Rhaenyra wouldn’t allow them to fade for at least a full day. “And I love you. My
Darling Safa.”

Rhaenyra purred happily.

And Alicent gave her neck a gentle kiss.

Chapter End Notes

Heads up, Gentle Readers, at the end of this month I will be getting an eye procedure done
(nothing serious, don't worry) that will screw with my vision for about five days.
Consequently, I will not be posting that weekend, so there will not be an update on December
2/December 3 (depending on your timezone). I just wanted to let you know in advance so no
one thinks that I've suddenly abandoned Silver Queen/was hit by a bus.

On to actual endnotes!
So I'm not saying that Aemma and Rhaenys are drawing up a "Let's Unalive Viserra" Petition,
but I'm also not not saying that . . .

And Rhaenyra got some neck kisses and an orgasm!

Next Chapter: Using empathic abilities in the best way possible and a markedly less drama-
filled holiday for our ladies.
 Actions Are Stone
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 46:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Arellia Crakehall, the Oracle of Relle Wiseone, residing in Valeria
– Sabitha Vypren, Lily Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Saevara

A special thanks to beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter, and to
LesbianLightbringer for sensitivity reading various sections.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains a smut scene at the end, which will be marked at the
beginning with double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over it.

By the by, this is an augur owl.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Bright Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

It was a most fascinating and peculiar thing—watching Queen Rhaenyra interact with Alicent now
that they were pairbonded. The two had always been affectionate with each other—Seven Hells,
Margaery still felt a twinge of awkwardness whenever she remembered the way that Queen
Rhaenyra had gazed at Alicent when complimenting her on her birthday, as if Alicent was the most
magnificent and sublime being to ever draw breath—but since becoming bondmates, the two
women had become unfettered.

Unfettered, and yet somehow still restrained in their own strange way.

Touches were exchanged at every opportunity, sweet words were whispered whenever possible, and
smiles and laughter flowed freely between them.

But their new familiarity hadn’t at all diminished Queen Rhaenyra’s care for the bounds of
Alicent’s comfort.

Not that Margaery would have expected it to.

From her place pressed against Sansa’s side on the divan that they were sharing with Catelyn,
Margaery watched as Alicent approached the settee that Queen Rhaenyra had teleported from
Alicent’s privy chamber to the great hall, watched as Alicent walked past the Queen with the plain
intent of seating herself beside her bondmate, watched as the Queen reached her.

But Queen Rhaenyra didn’t catch Alicent’s wrist or grab her hand as any other bondmate or mate
would do in a similar situation—as Margaery herself had certainly done on more occasions than
she could recall.

No, instead, Queen Rhaenyra lightly brushed her fingers over Alicent’s arm to claim her attention,
and, evidently, to ask a silent question as well.

A question that Alicent answered with an eager nod.

Margaery exchanged an amused smile with Sansa as they watched their Queen grin bright and
broad—as if she’d been granted the most magnificent of gifts—before gently pulling Alicent down
onto her lap and wrapping her arms around her. Alicent made a happy sound as she draped her own
arms around the Queen’s neck.

“We ought to teach Alicent how to create a persistent mental link.” Sansa’s voice echoed in
Margaery’s mind through their own link.

“But then she might never speak again.”

Sansa snorted aloud, drawing the attention of several of the women nearest them.

Margaery flashed them all a sly smile, ignoring Ygritte’s pointed eyeroll and enjoying the way that
Alicent blushed and Aly tittered from where she sat beside Sabitha.

At Alicent’s request, a troupe of puppeteers had been summoned to the Keep to perform a series of
short plays portraying the life of Orestilla Tyrell.
While certainly not how the court usually began their annual celebrations honoring the Last
Prophetess of the Old World, Margaery deemed the change a most pleasant one. Of all the saintly
feast days, the Feast of Prophetess Orestilla had always been the most dour in years past. Queen
Rhaenyra’s somber expressions and unmistakable melancholy—though she’d always made a
valiant effort to conceal both—had seen to that.

According to Aemma, the pall that had always been cast over the Keep on this day was no different
from the gloom that had haunted Queen Rhaenyra’s imperial court, and, before that, her court at
Dragon Wood.

But this year . . .

Well, Margaery doubted that it was even possible for the Queen to feel glum with Alicent as her
bondmate.

And Alicent’s excitement and enthusiasm—her utter joy at celebrating her first liturgical holiday
since she’d at last unshackled herself from that dreadful and grotesque mockery of a deity—was
delightfully infectious and would probably result in this being the most jovial holiday of the year.

“Margaery?”

“Apologies, Sans, I grew distracted.”

“I shan’t ever forgive you this insult.”

“That’s a pity. I had something rather special planned for you this evening.” Margaery grinned
when she detected the faint shift in her mate’s scent—not enough to be noticeable to anyone else—
but certainly discernable to her.

“You’re a dreadful tease.”

“You say that as if you aren’t.”

Sansa arched an eyebrow, and Margaery responded by kissing her, which earned her an exasperated
but loving smile once they parted. “You’re very lucky that Mother Relle saw fit to grace you with
such charm.”

“So I’ve been told by my many admirers.” Margaery chuckled when Sansa swatted her arm. “Now,
now, My Gentle Wolf, there is no need for such violence. I do believe that you were saying
something about teaching Alicent to create a persistent link?”

Sansa’s mental voice was silent for a moment before she nodded. “Yes. Now that Alicent has her
mental wards in place, I think it only fitting that we begin teaching her how to establish telepathic
links.” She paused. “And all mates ought to have a persistent link with each other.”

Margaery smiled softly as she snuggled closer to her sweet mate’s side, breathing in her scent and
savoring how it was so perfectly intertwined with her own. “You’re correct, of course, we ought to
begin those lessons at once.”

In the month since Alicent had come to them wearing one of the brightest smiles that Margaery had
ever seen and proudly demonstrated her ability to create a small whirlpool, they’d been dedicating
at least five hours every day to lessons.
One of the first things that they’d taught her to do was craft her mental wards, which had proven
quite the easy task since Alicent had experience constructing wards. Admittedly, building mental
wards probably should have been their first lesson, but she and Sansa had thought that it would be
better to begin with basic elementalism in order to establish Alicent’s confidence.

A decision that had proven to be something of a miscalculation, though the consequences of that
mistake had been—thankfully—short-lived.

Since the day that Alicent had created her first whirlpool, her water elementalism had been
progressing at the expected pace, and Margaery suspected that they would soon be able to see how
she fared with one of the other elements. Alicent had told them that she’d accidentally shattered a
vase with her telekinesis a few weeks ago—though she’d refused to explain the context—so they’d
begun those lessons as well.

Unsurprisingly, Alicent was most eager to begin learning transmogrification, which was
undoubtedly the most scientific of the magical arts, but Margaery and Sansa both agreed that such
spells were far too advanced as of yet.

Margaery wondered absently if, once they began teaching her transmogrification spells, Alicent
would begin transforming objects on a whim simply to determine if she could.

Glancing over to where her friend was happily nestled in the Queen’s lap, seeing the way that
Queen Rhaenyra was gazing at Alicent with unreserved devotion, Margaery was certain that, even
if Alicent decided to transmogrify the entire Keep into tree sap and twigs, the Queen would only
smile at her and kiss her softly.

“Dare I ask what you’re contemplating, Margie?”

“The amount of havoc that Alicent will wreak once she learns transmogrification spells.”

“You don’t believe that she’ll be the very embodiment of restraint?” Sansa’s amusement echoed in
Margaery’s mind.

“I believe that her curiosity and desire to learn may overcome her usual restraint in this instance.”

“And how many transmogrifications would you say constitute her being ‘unrestrained’?”

Margaery drummed her fingers on Sansa’s knee as she considered the question. “Twelve within the
hour after she’s mastered her first transmogrification spell,” she decided.

Sansa chuckled softly, turning her head to press a sweet kiss to Margaery’s cheek. “Then it seems
that we have a new wager to circulate.”

Margaery grinned. “Indeed we do.”

Alicent had seen a few puppet shows during Yule, and all of them had been entrancing. The
puppets of Valyria were nothing like the wooden figurines of Westeros’ ancient past—with their
jointed limbs and thin strings to control their movements—nor were they in any way akin to the
wonderfully lifelike animatronics that had been developed to entertain children following the
Technological Revolution.
No, the puppets of Valyria were creations of water and stone and flame and air. The water puppets
glided elegantly across the little stage—their movements flowing and sleek—while the rock
puppets plodded with heavy steps that made the ground tremble. The fire puppets hovered about an
inch above the stage—lest they set the wood ablaze—and the air puppets had been given an
ethereal glow to make them visible as they danced and twirled.

She’d been fascinated by these peculiar puppets from the moment she’d first laid eyes on them, and
since she’d begun learning water elementalism, her desire to observe another puppet show had been
growing by the day.

And she was lucky enough to have a doting bondmate eager to indulge this particular desire.

Alicent hummed happily when she felt warm lips pressing against her temple, sinking further into
Rhaenyra’s loving embrace. She was both surprised and not by how comfortable she was with
exchanging these affections in public—perhaps because she knew that no one was judging her for
such displays and thinking her shameless and wanton, or perhaps because she and Rhaenyra had
grown more and more demonstrative over the course of their friendship and their actions now felt
like the natural progression of what had come before, or perhaps it was the fact that Margaery and
Sansa’s own unabashed displays of affection had taught her that there was nothing wrong with
giving her bondmate the occasional kiss and cuddle in public.

Whatever the reason, she was glad of it.

Upon feeling Rhaenyra’s gentle kiss, Alicent was tempted to turn her head and properly look at her,
but she couldn’t quite bring herself to tear her gaze away from the scene of the crackling fire
puppet representing Prophetess Orestilla placing herself between her daughters and the grotesque
rock man representing Lady Tyrell’s father.

The scene itself made something within Alicent ache as she wondered what it would have been like
to have someone stand between her and her mother—and later between her and Criston—and she
was captivated by the elegant, practiced hand movements of the puppeteers. Each woman’s style
was unique and distinct, and yet it also held echoes of the basics that Margaery and Sansa had been
teaching her.

She winced when Prophetess Orestilla’s husband struck her and hurled her aside with his
telekinesis before storming towards Lady Tyrell and Lady Alerie, who shrank before him.

Alicent turned her head then, tucking her face against Rhaenyra’s shoulder and breathing in her
comforting scent.

When she felt a gentle tap on her mental ward, her brow furrowed with concentration as she
carefully lowered it only enough so that her bondmate could establish a mental link between them.

“Would you like me to call a halt to the show, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s hand was stroking her arm, and the
tone of her thoughts was gentle and concerned.

“I’m all right, My Love.” It still felt indescribably strange to carry on a conversation in her own
mind, but there was also a sort of intimacy to the act that she greatly enjoyed, that she savored, in
truth. Telepathic conversations reminded her somewhat of when they would share emotions with
each other.

Rhaenyra lightly squeezed her arm. “As you say.”

Glancing back at the stage, Alicent saw that the play had transitioned to a new scene of Prophetess
Orestilla comforting her daughters. She couldn’t help the wistful sigh that escaped her lips at the
sight. “Nyra?”

“Yes?”

“Is it . . . difficult? Seeing such scenes and knowing . . ?”

Rhaenyra’s expression grew pensive as she watched the scene unfold, watched as Prophetess
Orestilla cupped Lady Tyrell’s face in her hands and told her how strong she was, how she would
weather this storm as she had all others, how Mother Relle would not allow her story to end at her
father’s hands. “My mother never offered me comfort,” the words came slowly and deliberately,
“but Aemma did. Always and without fail.” She flashed Alicent a soft smile. “My mother may have
been cold towards me, but I’ve still known the warmth of a mother’s love.”

Alicent nodded thoughtfully, remembering her afternoons in the gardens with Lora and her
occasional evenings with Zelma, the moments of kindness that Adah had shown her and the offers
of help that Roka and Pella had always readily extended.

And she thought about the hug that Aemma had offered her all those years ago—the first one that
she’d received in decades—and about how gentle and patient the other woman had always been
with her, how comforting and kind, how warm and open.

“Aemma is a wonderful mother.”

“Better than I des—Better than I thought that I deserved,” Rhaenyra corrected herself.

Alicent smiled proudly and leaned up to give her bondmate a kiss on the cheek. “You deserve all of
the love that this world has to offer, Nyra. Especially that of a mother.”

“As do you, Ali.” Rhaenyra pressed their foreheads together. “You deserve naught but joy and
happiness, My Sweet Alicent.”

Mindful of the other women around them, Alicent kissed Rhaenyra’s lips but briefly. She would
give her bondmate a proper kiss once they were alone. “And you deserve peace and love, My
Safa.”

And Alicent would do all that she could to ensure her bondmate received both.

Over the past three weeks, Alicent and Rhaenyra had spoken long and often about their visit to
Valeria. They’d discussed Sabitha accompanying them in addition to Vora Hylda and Vora Jonquil,
since Rhaenyra was certain that the Oracle would summon her, and they’d agreed that it would be
best if Alicent had a guide so as to avoid her becoming lost. They’d discussed attending a service
held in Saint Septima’s Sanctuary. They’d discussed whether to spend the entire afternoon in the
city or if they would set aside some time to explore the mountains. They’d discussed which
museums Alicent wanted to tour.

And they’d discussed whether Alicent would wish to visit Dragon Ridge.
It was a question for which Alicent’s hadn’t an answer at the time, and she was still struggling to
find one now.

Anxiety and anticipation warred within her as Rhaenyra hurriedly finished penning a missive to
Mistress Beesbury before rising from her desk and swiftly making her way across the study to
stand in front of Alicent.

“My apologies for the delay, Ali.” Rhaenyra opened her arms in offering. “Shall we depart?”

Alicent nodded as she stepped into her bondmate’s embrace, relaxing somewhat when strong arms
wrapped around her waist and warm lips pressed against her forehead.

“We could also visit Dragon Ridge, if you wish.”

The words had been utterly innocuous, and yet they plagued her.

This would be the first time that Alicent had traveled since coming to the Queen’s Keep over four
years ago, and for all that she’d considered where she would like to one day visit, she’d never given
much thought to Valeria. And she’d certainly never contemplated returning to the imperial palace.

Despite having resided there for less than a month, Dragon Ridge had become home to a host of
unpleasant memories.

Memories of dread and terror, of hunger and pain, of Criston and—

Alicent’s grip on Rhaenyra’s waist tightened a fraction, and the scent of roses already wreathing her
grew warmer and sweeter. She smiled slightly as the old memories were swiftly banished by more
recent memories of Rhaenyra kissing her awake this morning and gently caressing her breasts, by
memories of rolling her bondmate over and kissing her soundly, by memories of Rhaenyra panting
and moaning beneath her.

In the weeks since she’d first kissed Rhaenyra’s neck, Alicent had discovered that she quite
enjoyed giving her bondmate pleasure, that she enjoyed exploring Rhaenyra’s body and learning
the places that made her Nyra shudder and quake, that she enjoyed how eager and responsive
Rhaenyra was to her touch.

And while she hadn’t yet allowed Rhaenyra the same liberties—something that weighed on her
even though she knew that it shouldn’t—Alicent hoped that she would soon be ready to experience
all of Rhaenyra’s touches and that she would soon find some way to become comfortable with her
scars so that they could fully disrobe for each other.

“You needn’t accompany me if you’re not yet ready, My Love.” Rhaenyra’s sweet voice drew
Alicent from her thoughts, reminding her that now was hardly the time to be contemplating
eventually seeing her bondmate naked.

“I’m ready to visit Valeria,” Alicent assured her, “but I’m also realizing that I’m not yet ready to set
foot in Dragon Ridge again.”

Rhaenyra didn’t ask her why. “I suppose that I shall have to content myself with simply showing
you the Seven Hills then,” she said instead with an exaggerated sigh. “The sacrifices that I make for
you, Ali.”
“Your sacrifices are much appreciated, Nyra.” Alicent grinned up at her bondmate, and she couldn’t
help but arch her eyebrows in a way that she hoped was suggestive rather than silly. “Perhaps I
might show you my appreciation tonight?”

The noise that Rhaenyra made wasn’t one that Alicent had ever heard before—something between
a strangled cry and a surprised squeak.

Alicent found that she liked it.

There was something uniquely satisfying about flustering her bondmate, especially since she knew
that Rhaenyra didn’t mind such teasing.

Alicent’s first attempt at a suggestive remark had nearly caused Rhaenyra to faint, but her
bondmate had been swift to assure her that she was delighted as well as shocked.

“You,” Rhaenyra finally managed after clearing her throat several times, “have been spending far
too much time with Lady Margaery.”

Alicent laughed, leaning up to kiss her bondmate’s cheek. “I’m certain that Margaery would
consider that the highest of compliments.”

Rhaenyra snorted, but the amusement was plain in her eyes. “So she would.” She cocked her head
slightly. “Shall we depart now, My Love? Or do you wish to tease me further.”

Alicent pretended to carefully contemplate the question. “Considering I’m fairly certain that I can
tease you as easily in Valeria as I do here, I suppose that we can depart.”

This time, when Rhaenyra’s arms wrapped tight around her waist, Alicent was pleased to find that
all she felt was anticipation.

The Valeria of Alicent’s memory was dark and grim, broken and devastated, littered with the
remnants of shattered lives and choked with the furious grief of thousands. Destroyed homes and
broken shops, scorched gardens and rotting animals, crumbling stone and scattered glass. The
streets had been both silent and bustling, filled with women and yet devoid of life. She well-
remembered the gloom that had blanketed the city, well-remembered the exhaustion that she’d felt
even through her nth metal clothes, well-remembered the jagged shadow of Dragon Ridge looming
over her.

When Alicent and Rhaenyra appeared outside the Dragon Gate, she was immediately struck by the
memory of swiftly and fearfully shuffling beneath the forbidding archway shaped like a dragon’s
gaping jaws. She remembered wondering if the Valyrians would use their ability to control stone to
snap those jaws closed around her and Criston and his family and simply kill them all.

She remembered not much caring if they did.

Now, as she looked up at the Dragon Gate’s amethyst eyes, which had been devoid of gemstones
when she was here last, she felt a strange sort of comfort wash over her. This dragon wasn’t a beast
waiting to devour her, she now knew, but rather a guardian protecting the women who lived within
Valeria’s moon-white walls.
“My Love?”

Alicent turned to see that Rhaenyra was offering her arm to her. She smiled and tucked her hand in
the crook of her bondmate’s elbow, relishing the warmth that she could feel radiating from
Rhaenyra’s skin even through the silvery-white fabric of her sleeve. “I’m ready.”

She felt the gentle prickle of the city’s border spell as she stepped through the Dragon Gate, and she
knew that Empress Visenya—wherever she was—had just sensed someone new entering the heart
of her domain.

Upon setting foot in the imperial city for the first time in over four years, Alicent’s eyes widened
with wonder.

The Valeria of her memory was dark and grim, broken and devastated, littered with the remnants of
shattered lives and choked with the furious grief of thousands.

The Valeria that she saw now was bright and festive, thriving and vibrant, festooned with
streamers, wreaths of red and gold roses, lanterns containing multi-colored light-orbs, unmelting
ice sculptures, swirling arcs of fire, and towering constructs of light, and echoing with the laughter
and joy of thousands.

Alicent’s ward flared at the sudden surge of elation and cheer that washed over her, but she gently
loosened the hold that her mental version of Rhaenyra had on her so that she could experience
some of the joy and merriment that emanated from the women filling the streets and suffused the
air around them.

It reminded her of what she’d felt during Yuletide, but this time, her own good spirits weren’t
marred by Viserra’s looming shadow.

Turning her head, she pressed a kiss to Rhaenyra’s cheek. “Thank you for inviting me, My Love.”

Rhaenyra grinned at her, eyes shining. “There is no one that I would rather share the day with, Ali.”
She gave her hand an affectionate pat, followed by a soft squeeze. “This evening, if you’ll allow,
there is something that I would like to try with you.”

Alicent peered at her curiously. “Might I have a hint as to what this thing is?”

“I would prefer it to remain a surprise for now.”

Alicent knew that if she asked a second time, her bondmate would in turn inquire whether she was
certain that she wished to know, and if she asked a third time, she knew that Rhaenyra would
answer her without hesitation.

So Alicent didn’t ask a second time, instead simply nodding and leaning to the side so that she
could briefly rest her head against Rhaenyra’s shoulder, which earned her a bright smile.

As they made their way down the street—Sabitha, Vora Hylda, and Vora Jonquil following behind
them—Alicent’s eyes roved over the decorations, over the Tyrell roses that lined the streets, over
the silver and gold and red and green streamers, over the constructs of light made to resemble the
Last Prophetess and her daughters, over the ice sculptures depicting different parts of Prophetess
Orestilla’s life.
Overhead, the words of the Caladria Prophecy—Prophetess Orestilla’s final words—were written
across the sky in silvery-gold fire.

“The Doom draws near. In seven days’ time will this planet perish, but you need not die with it.
Travel far and travel wide, but do not rest until you have reached the home that I have left ready for
you. After your blood stains the stars, the Fires of Old reignite, and the heavens burn gold, peace
will come on moonlit wings.”

Rhaenyra brought them to a halt in front of a stall with a canopy of purple fabric for the Crone that
was adorned with tassels of green, gold, and red for Prophetess Orestilla.

The woman standing behind the wooden table was almost as tall as Vora Hylda, and, despite
herself, Alicent couldn’t help but stare at her hair. Before coming to Valyria, she’d never
encountered a woman whose hair didn’t almost reach her waist. And while she’d since grown used
to seeing women with hair that was noticeably shorter—Gilly’s hair fell only a little ways past her
shoulders, and Vora Hylda’s barely reached the line of her jaw—this woman’s hair was even shorter
than Criston’s been.

Alicent wondered absently if it felt strange, having so little hair atop her head.

Rhaenyra cleared her throat a little, drawing Alicent’s attention. “Might I interest you in a honey
cake, My Lady?”

Alicent blushed, though she couldn’t quite say why. There was nothing improper about Rhaenyra’s
words, nothing suggestive in her tone, and her eyes held naught by tender affection, and yet . . .
“That would be very kind, Your Majesty.” Her own words earned a faint shiver from Rhaenyra—so
subtle that she was certain the women who owned the stall hadn’t noticed.

After handing the short-haired woman a copper penny and receiving a pair of honey cakes in
return, Rhaenyra offered one to Alicent. “It’s rather sticky,” she warned.

“I don’t mind a little stickiness.” Alicent accepted the cake and took a bite, humming happily at the
light and almost delicate texture of the cake, and at the sweetness of the honey that both glazed and
infused it.

Turning to the woman who she assumed had made the cake, Alicent gave her a warm smile. “This
is delicious.”

The woman’s already-beaming grin brightened further. “Thank you, My Lady.” She inclined her
head before leaning forward and saying in a conspiratorial whisper, “All of Valeria was quite
pleased when word reached us about you and Queen Rhaenyra.”

Alicent arched an eyebrow. “And was the timing particularly beneficial to you?”

“Not me,” the woman chuckled, “but my mate was very well-pleased.”

While certainly strange to think that even women who had never met her and Rhaenyra were
wagering on them, Alicent wasn’t particularly surprised. Margaery insisted that the amount of
money that changed hands the day she and Rhaenyra kissed was equivalent to that of a small but
robust economy.
As they continued on their way down the street towards the Hill of the Artist, upon which was built
Valyria’s oldest art museum, Alicent couldn’t help but notice the number of clergywomen roaming
about. Priestesses with their white stoles embroidered with trisquels draped around their necks and
their white crescent-shaped headdresses and veils covering their heads and hair. Sages wearing
identical headdresses—save that theirs were rose-pink in color—and habits that were cinched at the
waist by a wide belt embroidered with pentacles. Vestals with cream-colored belts and triple
crescents stitched into the golden fabric covering their hearts. Acolytes in simple gold habits. And
even a few abbesses, distinguished by the green tippets that they wore over their habits.

She wondered how many of them were residents of Valeria or the surrounding areas, and how many
had traveled here for the day.

Which reminded her.

“Nyra?”

“Yes, Ali?”

“The tradition of the queens traveling to Valeria in their dragon forms on this feast day, it was
because the holiday predates Lady Queen Aerea II of the Avenian Isles creating the long-range
teleportation spells, yes?”

Rhaenyra nodded. “Flying at top speed, the Farnish Queen—who has the farthest to travel—is
about half a day’s journey from Valeria. Of course, with her mate and knights riding upon her back,
she would need to considerably reduce her speed so as to ensure their safety. But even so, the
journey would have been relatively short.”

Alicent recalled reading that dragons were capable of flying hundreds of kilometers an hour, and
she was fairly certain that the wind speeds alone would be enough to harm even a Valyrian. Which
begged the question of whether they cast shield spells to protect themselves, and if that was the
case, then why was it necessary for the shapeshifted Targaryen to reduce her speed at all?

While tempted to ask, Alicent didn’t wish to raise her bondmate’s hopes that she would be willing
to mount her in the near future.

“The Temple Mothers considered having the Oracle herself be the one to travel to the cities,”
Rhaenyra continued, “but they decided that the poor woman exerts herself enough each time that
Mother Relle speaks through her.”

“It’s an arduous experience then?” Despite meaning to, she’d yet to begin reading any of the books
that she’d borrowed from the library about the Oracle. She knew from listening to her friends that
Relle selected a new Oracle every few reigns, but she’d never pondered the specific reason for this.

“Very much so. Channeling the divine power of a goddess so that she might speak through you
would kill nigh any living being, and while we can’t die, serving as Relle’s conduit exacts a
significant toll on the body and mind.” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed slightly. “That much raw power
wasn’t meant to be contained inside any temporal vessel.”

Alicent reached out with the hand that wasn’t tucked in the crook of her bondmate’s elbow and
lightly brushed her fingers over the place just below Rhaenyra’s sternum, shivering a little when
she felt her own core respond to the contact with a thrum of delight. “You’ve managed quite well,
My Love.”
Aside from when your mother was torturing you.

“I’m not a goddess, Ali.”

“Aren’t you?”

Rhaenyra’s cheeks darkened with embarrassment, but her eyes were soft with affection as she
gazed at her. “Flatterer.”

“I speak only the truth.”

Before Rhaenyra could respond, a young priestess suddenly appeared in front of them.

Beneath the silver septagrams that adorned all clergywomen’s vestments, purple lanterns were
embroidered onto both of her sleeves, presumably to denote her service within the Shrine of the
Oracle.

The priestess bowed low to Rhaenyra before offering Alicent a respectful incline of her head. “My
apologies for interrupting, but the Oracle beckons you, Your Majesty.”

Alicent felt her bondmate stiffen beside her, despite the fact that they’d both known this summons
would be inevitable. She sent out gentle waves of calm, and Rhaenyra’s emotional ward lowered at
once to allow them to wash over her.

Rhaenyra flashed her a grateful smile before turning her attention to the priestess. “I’ll be along in a
moment, Mother. Thank you.”

The priestess offered another deep bow before disappearing.

Turning to Alicent, Rhaenyra gave her an apologetic kiss on the cheek. “Please forgive my
abandoning you, Ali. I thought that we would have more time before I was summoned.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, My Nyra.” Alicent reached up to caress her cheek. “You’ll find me
later at the museum?”

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement, a playful smile curling her lips. “I’m certain that by the time we
meet again, you will have an excellent presentation prepared so that I might be properly educated
on the pieces being displayed at present.”

Alicent laughed, letting her hand slip from Rhaenyra’s arm and taking a step back so that she could
make a shooing motion at her. “Be gone with you now. I’ve a lecture to prepare.”

Rhaenyra swept a deep curtsy that almost brought her to her knees. “As My Beloved Bondmate
commands. I am, as ever, at your service, My Sweet Lady.”

A warm flush crept into Alicent’s cheeks as her stomach fluttered.

It had been over nine million two hundred and thirty thousand years since Rhaenyra had last
approached the Hill of the Crone, since she’d last traveled the long, winding path that led to the
Shrine of the Oracle, since she’d last gazed upon the great lantern-shaped edifice that housed
Relle’s temporal conduit, since she’d last stepped beyond the threshold of the Shrine’s single door
and into a long hallway filled with dozens of floating lanterns.

The fingers of Rhaenyra’s right hand curled around the fire opal pendant that Alicent had gifted her,
whilst the fingers of her left traced over the black flames and green vines spangled with different
kinds of flowers that adorned the bodice of the dress that Alicent had made for her. The fabrics of
her gown no longer smelled of her bondmate, and yet she felt as if her safa was by her side all the
same.

Tradition demanded that she wear purple for the Crone, but she’d known that the Oracle would
summon her, had known that she would have to enter the Shrine alone, and she’d wanted a piece of
Alicent with her.

Besides, a few of the flowers decorating her bodice had purple petals.

When she entered the Shrine’s main sanctum, she couldn’t help but notice how little had changed.
Sunlight streamed into the chamber through an oculus of purple crystal, and quiet whispers with no
source echoed off of the stone walls. A statue of the Crone carved from purple marble with golden
veins occupied each of the room’s seven corners, and a portrait of Ilithyia Selmy—the first Oracle
—hung behind the towering stone chair that had been carved in the shape of a living flame and
stood in the center of the sanctum.

Seated high above her was Mistress Arellia Crakehall, the Oracle of Relle Wiseone and the Heir of
Orestilla. Her purple robes practically glowed in the sunlight, and her blonde hair flowed free and
loose over her shoulders and down her back. Perched upon her shoulder was an augur owl, whose
cat ears swiveled towards Rhaenyra when she entered, and who stared at her with wide, unblinking
eyes.

Rhaenyra swept a brief curtsy. “May the Crone light your path.”

“And may she always guide you on your way.” The Oracle gazed down at her, her eyes shining in a
way that was neither divine nor entirely of the temporal plane. “It’s been quite some time since
you’ve last visited, Rhaenyra Flameborn.”

“So it has.” Her grip on her pendant tightened a fraction.

While this was not the same Oracle who had told her that her mate would be mortal—the Mark of
the Crone had faded from Isabera Cassel some five million years ago—the instinctive desire to
recoil from the woman before her, to snarl and flash her canines at her, remained.

Oracles and their prophecies had done naught but plague her since long before she was born. And
while she knew that Isabera Cassel wasn’t to blame for her own misinterpretation of Relle’s words
—no more so than Anastasia Sunderland was to blame for her mother’s twisting of Relle’s words—
the bitterness that had been festering within her for longer than she could even recall still twisted
her stomach and made her canines ache.

And she wished to be rid of it.

The Oracle folded her hands in her lap. “Much and more has come to pass since you spoke with my
predecessor.” She paused, her glowing eyes boring into Rhaenyra. “You’ve at long last found your
mate.”
It wasn’t a question, but Rhaenyra answered all the same. “I have.”

“And have you found in her the peace that you’ve always craved?”

Rhaenyra’s grip on her pendant slackened as she thought about Alicent’s sweet smile and loving
words, about her musical laughter and boundless compassion, about her teasing and jests, about her
comforting scent and soft touches, about her kind heart and beautiful mind, about her unwavering
support and gentle understanding.

“My Safa, there is nothing wrong with needing time. Your wounds are old, and they have festered. I
suspect that it will be quite a while before all of the infection has been cleansed.” Alicent had
kissed her so lovingly then, had touched her face as if Rhaenyra was fragile and in need of only the
most tender caresses. “And that’s all right.”

The smile that curled Rhaenyra’s lips came unbidden, and her fingers lightly stroked the fire opal of
her pendant. “I most certainly have.”

“It gladdens me to hear it.” The Oracle tilted her head slightly. “And yet . . . burdens still remain
upon your shoulders. Even now.”

“‘Let us not think that all loss and pain can be erased by a mate.’” Rhaenyra forced her voice to
remain steady and detached, forced herself not to hiss the words that she’d long ago memorized and
had oft recited to herself without even entirely knowing why. “Alicent brings me comfort and peace
where none other can be found, and she has been helping me to rebuild from the ashes. But yes,
burdens still remain to me.”

“And does your Lady Alicent know of them?”

“She does.”

“You, Rhaenyra Targaryen, are not a monster.”

Rhaenyra gazed up at the Oracle, at her glowing eyes. “I would assume that Mother Relle knows
this, since she ‘sees all, feels all, her love eternal.’”

The Oracle expelled a quiet breath, and when next she spoke, her voice echoed throughout the
chamber. “Ask your question, Child.”

There was truly only one worth asking.

“Why did Relle allow my mother to treat me so?”

She hated the way that her voice splintered upon the final words, hated her own plaintive tone,
hated—

The Oracle’s eyes dimmed, and sadness washed over her face. “You ask a question that I cannot
answer, Queen Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra’s stomach twisted, and her eyes stung as she stared up at the Oracle. “That you cannot
answer? Or that Relle will not answer?”

“Your mother is wrong to say that your question is too trifling a matter for the Oracle,” Aemma
had once assured her. “You are free to ask her anything,” she’d paused then, her lips pursing, “but
she may not provide you an answer.”

The Oracle spread her hands, her expression almost as helpless as Rhaenyra now felt. “Why was
the Black Fever allowed to ravage our ancestors? Why did Mother Relle allow the Betrayal to
occur? Why did we spend years fighting against Lost Children of the Old World?” She shook her
head. “Mother Relle sees all, feels all, her love eternal. She is light and life, yes, but light does not
always illuminate. Gaze into the sun, and what will you see? And life, so precious a thing, but filled
with much and more that we simply cannot understand.”

Rhaenyra’s throat felt tight, and her breaths stuttered through her teeth.

She’d thought—she’d hoped—that she might be offered some reason for her suffering, some
explanation that would—

What?

Help her believe that her mother’s mistreatment was somehow to her benefit because it had made
her stronger?

She’d spent over nine million years believing that lie.

Help her understand her mother’s reasons?

She already knew those well enough.

Help her heal from old wounds?

She expelled a heavy breath.

Memories of her mother flashed through her mind—of the scowl that had darkened her mother’s
face mere minutes after Rhaenyra had hatched, of the disapproving glowers that her mother had
given her nigh every day before casting the net, of her mother dismissing her pain when she’d told
her that the net was hurting her, of her mother immediately turning away from her after Emalia’s
death, of her mother’s condescending tones and sickly sweet words during Yule, of her mother
always presuming the worst of her . . .

Rhaenyra’s teeth sank into her lower lip. She’d spent over nine million years vacillating between
desperately seeking her mother’s affection and approval, and resenting her for reasons that she’d
been unable to articulate or even acknowledge.

And she was . . .

She was tired.

The Oracle had said that she had no answer for her, but perhaps that in and of itself was the answer.

Relle had given her Aemma and Rhaenys, Laena and her sisters, Hylda and Sabitha, Alfadora and
Cassella, Alicent and . . .

And herself.

“Relle binds us to those we love, she gives us strength when we have none, and in the darkest
places, she guides us.”
For all that her mother was cold and critical, Relle had guided her with those who were caring and
compassionate, who supported and strengthened her, and who loved her as she was.

Her mother’s darkness had shrouded her for over nine million years.

And it was long past time that she step out into the light.

Alicent frowned as she gazed up at the portrait hanging proudly on the wall in a frame of shining
silver. The artist’s mastery of her craft was beautifully evident—every brushstroke was precise,
every color was wonderfully vibrant, every detail was impeccable, and the portrait itself was so
accurately painted that she could almost mistake it for a data projection, or at least an old
photograph.

And yet . . .

Having spent the last few hours slowly making her way through the long gallery displaying all two
hundred and fifty empresses’ official portraits, she’d been eager to at last set eyes upon her
bondmate’s, which Sabitha had assured her was a magnificent sight to behold.

And it was, she supposed.

Rhaenyra stood wreathed in ebony flames with deep indigo and dark violet accents, and her shining
silver hair cascaded over her shoulders in moonlit waves that perfectly framed her face. Placed atop
her head was the Scale Crown of Valyria, and in her hands were a black rose and the golden Sun
Shield.

Seven blazing stars arced above her head, and flying beneath them was a silver dragon with eyes of
amethyst. The shattered and burning remains of countless starships were scattered across the sky,
and Alicent knew that they were the remnants of the Grenkorian Armada that Rhaenyra had single-
handedly defeated and destroyed during her reign as empress. That feat was what had earned her,
her imperial epithet of Flameborn.

The artist had perfectly captured every detail of her bondmate’s face and body—her beautifully
elegant posture, the precise way that she always held the stem of a flower with only her thumb,
pointer, and middle fingers, the slightly higher curve of her right eyebrow, the serene smile that she
reserved for official functions . . .

But her eyes . . .

While it wouldn’t be accurate to say that Rhaenyra’s painted eyes were devoid of warmth, they
were shadowed and melancholy, with none of the brightness and joy that Alicent had grown
accustomed to seeing over the years. There was a sharpness to her gaze, a severity, a . . . a distance.

“The eyes are wrong,” she murmured, as much to herself as to Sabitha.

Her friend looked up at the portrait and slowly shook her head, her own eyes growing sad. “No.
They’re not. That’s exactly how Her Majesty’s eyes looked in those days.”

Alicent frowned, her heart clenching as her hand drifted up to her sunstone dragon and moonstone
tower pendant. “All the time?”
Sabitha shook her head once more. “Not all the time, no. When Queen Laena or Queen Laenora
would visit, Her Majesty always brightened. After she and Mistress Cassella reconciled, Her
Majesty’s mood improved whenever they spent time together. And she usually seemed more at
peace after returning home from her travels. But more oft than not . . .” She shrugged. “Her
Majesty’s warmth and kindness have always been unfailing, but she was a rather melancholy child,
and she grew into a rather melancholy woman. I could never entirely understand the reason for her
sadness.”

At those words, Alicent was suddenly reminded that Sabitha didn’t know about the net, that she
didn’t know about all that had been done to Rhaenyra by the woman meant to love and protect her
most fiercely. Part of her wished to explain, wished to tell her friend that Rhaenyra’s melancholy
was due to Viserra’s cruelty and malice.

But the net was not her secret to tell.

“Everyone noticed the change in her after she befriended you.” Sabitha smiled slightly, reaching
over to gently squeeze her shoulder. “Some shadows still cling to her, but they’re not as dark as
they once were.”

Alicent smiled slightly, though it saddened her to think that Rhaenyra had spent so long unhappy.

But that ink has dried.

There was nothing that she could do to change Rhaenyra’s past, but she would most certainly do
everything in her power to ensure that her bondmate had a wonderful future.

Nyra deserves nothing but happiness.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the scent of roses suddenly reached her nose, and she turned to
see Rhaenyra approaching from farther down the hall.

Without hesitation, Alicent swiftly closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around
Rhaenyra to hug her as tightly as she could.

Rhaenyra made a surprised noise, but it soon transformed into a contented purr as her own arms
rose to envelop Alicent. “Might I know what I’ve done to deserve such a warm greeting?”

Rather than answering, Alicent tilted her head and captured her bondmate’s lips in a slow, gentle
kiss.

“Some shadows still cling to her, but they’re not as dark as they once were.”

She would see them banished entirely.

When they parted for breath, Alicent’s hand rose to caress Rhaenyra’s cheek. “I love you, Nyra.
And I will continue to love you until long after the stars go dark.”

The grin that Rhaenyra gave her in return was Alicent’s favorite—almost childish in its
crookedness, in its lack of inhibition, in its unfettered joy.

She suspected that Viserra had probably hated seeing such an “undignified” smile grace Rhaenyra’s
lips, and that made Alicent love it all the more.
“My Sweet Alicent.” Rhaenyra turned her head to kiss Alicent’s palm. “While I still don’t know
what I’ve done to deserve such a lovely greeting—”

“Being yourself is more than enough to always deserve such a greeting.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows arched, her smile suddenly teasing. “Is that so? Might I expect such a
wonderful kiss every time that I see you then?”

“If you like.” Alicent pecked her cheek. “I doubt that I’ll ever grow weary of kissing you, My
Safa.” She squeezed her hand. “Now come, I promised you a lecture and a presentation, did I not?”

Her bondmate’s laughter echoed throughout the gallery.

And Alicent could imagine no sweeter a sound.

“Let me show you, My Sweet Alicent, how much I desire you.”

Despite the heat already spreading throughout her body, Alicent shivered as her bondmate’s words
echoed in her ears.

She was lying flat on her stomach upon her and Rhaenyra’s bed, her head pillowed on her arms
whilst Rhaenyra’s strong and wonderfully talented hands massaged her back in a way that could
only be described as sensual.

This wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting when she and Rhaenyra had returned to their
chambers that evening and her bondmate had immediately captured her lips in a fervent kiss, told
her that she was the most comely and desirable woman in all of creation, and then asked if she
might prove the truth of her words.

Alicent had agreed in a slight daze, mind still muddled by the kiss and her own desire to believe
Rhaenyra’s words. While some part of her knew that Rhaenyra desired her, knew that Rhaenyra
believed her beautiful, knew that Rhaenyra didn’t care about her scars, she simply couldn’t shed the
fear that once Rhaenyra saw all of her—once she saw the ruin of her back and the twisting scars
marring her chest and stomach and thighs—she would recoil and no longer want Alicent in that
way.

A thought that would not have bothered her but a short time ago, in truth.

She knew that Rhaenyra’s love for her was no fickle thing, that her bondmate adored her for far
more than her body, that Rhaenyra was loyal to a fault and would never abandon her even if they
never bedded each other.

But now . . .

Alicent had never truly understood lust or desire before kissing Rhaenyra.

But she’d grown quite familiar with both in the months since then.

She wanted Rhaenyra. And she wanted Rhaenyra to want her as well.
A soft whine escaped her lips when Rhaenyra’s hands began kneading at a muscle that she hadn’t
even realized was tense until this moment.

“Does this feel good, My Love?” Rhaenyra’s voice was lower than usual, and there was something
almost indecent about the way that she was speaking, as if she was asking a far more lewd question
than she actually was.

Alicent shuddered. “Yes, Nyra. It feels good.”

“I’m glad.” Rhaenyra’s hands moved to the laces on the back of her dress. “May I?”

Alicent hesitated only a moment before nodding, her eyes closing when she felt nimble fingers
beginning to slowly free her from her gown.

“I would ask if I might see more of you tonight, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s hand glided along the length of
her back, and Alicent could feel the warmth of her bondmate’s palm through the fabric of her
chemise.

“Y-You wish to see—?” She couldn’t manage the words, knowing what Rhaenyra was asking,
understanding now why her safa had first offered a long and languid massage rather than simply
requesting to inspect—

No. Not inspect.

Rhaenyra would not be evaluating her and clicking her tongue at her flaws. Rhaenyra would not be
judging her and finding her lacking. Rhaenyra would not be calling her broken or soiled or ugly.

She loves me.

“I know that you’re worried I will be disgusted by your scars.” Rhaenyra kissed her shoulder. “I
would like to allay those fears.”

“H-How?” She forced herself not to fidget, not to bury her face in her arms.

“By letting you feel how much I love you.” Rhaenyra’s fingers brushed over her cheek. “And how
much I want you.” She kissed her other shoulder. “How much I desire you now, and how much I
desire you even after seeing your back.”

Alicent bit her lip. She’d actually contemplated asking Rhaenyra if they might share emotions for
this very purpose, but she’d been afraid . . .

Rhaenyra loves me.

“All right,” she whispered.

She could hear the smile in Rhaenyra’s voice as she crooned, “Lower your ward, Ali.”

The moment that she did, Alicent gasped aloud as her body was suddenly engulfed by the burning
desire to kiss and touch and worship, by the yearning to hear breathy whimpers and desperate
moans, by the hunger to feel soft breasts and slick heat, by the instinct to claim.

Merciful Mother Relle above.

Alicent couldn’t contain her moan, nor did she particularly want to.

This was how much Rhaenyra desired her?

“Nyra,” she panted, her mind already hazy with want, though whether it was Rhaenyra’s or her
own, she couldn’t be certain, but it hardly mattered—for as absolutely overwhelming as her
bondmate’s desire for her was, it paled in comparison to the boundless love washing over her in
warm, ceaseless, tender waves.

“Never believe for one moment that I don’t want you, Alicent Hightower.” Rhaenyra’s words were
little more than a growl in her ear, making Alicent shiver and squirm as heat pooled between her
legs. “Never believe for one moment that I don’t desire you.”

Alicent nodded wordlessly, and when she felt gentle fingers plucking at her chemise in silent
question, she nodded once more.

“I need you to use your words, Ali.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes squeezing shut as she felt the fabric hiding her back and concealing
the countless scars that Criston had inflicted upon her over the years disappear.

She heard a sharp intake of breath.

Felt a flare of white hot fury.

But there was no disgust.

No recoiling.

Only love.

And when warm hands began caressing her scarred back, when soft lips pressed against the burn
mark on her right shoulder, when crashing, soothing waves of love and admiration and, and
yearning washed over her, Alicent almost wept with relief.

Rhaenyra still wanted her.

Even after seeing the grotesque, twisted mass of scar tissue that Criston had made of her back, her
bondmate still desired her.

Her heart thundered in her chest, and wetness was gathering between her legs. She whimpered
when she felt Rhaenyra’s fingers tracing over one of the more prominent lash marks running
diagonally across her back.

Rhaenyra’s hand stilled. “My Love?”

“I’m,” Alicent swallowed, her mouth dry, though the concern that she felt radiating from her
bondmate was a soothing balm on her nerves, “I’m all right.”

“You’ll tell me if this becomes too much, won’t you?”

“I will,” Alicent promised.

And if the words wouldn’t come, she would tap.

And if her limbs refused to heed her, she would call out in her mind.

“Thank you, Safa.”

Alicent’s eyes slipped closed when Rhaenyra’s hands resumed rubbing her back, when her safa’s
warm breath caressed her skin, when—

“I love you, My Sweet Alicent.” Rhaenyra’s lips found the lash mark. “And you will always be
beautiful in my eyes.”

She frowned suddenly when she felt a twinge that she knew wasn’t her own. Opening her eyes, she
turned her head. “Nyra?”

“Yes?”

It wasn’t disgust. Of that much, she was certain, but it was something.

“You’re not repulsed.” Her words came slowly as she attempted to parse out the storm of emotions
now buffeting her. “But you don’t . . .” Her eyebrows drew as she pushed herself up into a sitting
position so that she could properly face her bondmate. “You don’t think that they’re beautiful.”

And perhaps she’d been a fool to believe that Rhaenyra’s would, but she—

“Ali, I—I don’t . . .” Rhaenyra growled softly, frustration sharpening her scent and crashing into
Alicent. “You are not ugly, My Love. Your scars . . .” Her hands fluttered as she searched for the
words, as fresh waves of emotion surged from her.

Fury—burning so bright that Alicent feared her blood might boil.

Sorrow—so utterly consuming that her heart nearly cracked in two.

But also love—tender and warm and unwavering, simple yet impossible to describe, overwhelming
whatever else might be there.

Alicent snatched at that emotion, clung to it with almost pathetic desperation.

“I told you once that an ugly thing was done to you, but that it does not make you ugly.” Rhaenyra’s
eyes bored into her, and her desperation for Alicent to understand choked the air. “I meant what I
said, My Safa. Your scars . . . any ugliness comes from the pain and suffering that caused them.”
She reached out, and after receiving a small nod, cupped Alicent’s cheek. “They don’t diminish my
love for you, Ali, they don’t diminish your beauty, and they don’t make me want you any less.”

Alicent’s throat felt tight, and tears stung her eyes.

When Rhaenyra looked at her scars, she thought of him.

And while Alicent wasn’t surprised that this was so—how could she expect Rhaenyra to see her
scars as anything other than reminders of what Criston had done to her when she knew that that
was exactly what they were—some part of her—

It doesn’t matter.
The fury and sorrow that Rhaenyra felt when she looked at her scars paled in comparison to her
earnest love and fierce desire.

Rhaenyra loves me.

That was what mattered.

Rhaenyra wasn’t disgusted by her scars.

Rhaenyra still thought her beautiful.

Rhaenyra still wanted her.

Alicent would be content with that.

Rhaenyra’s own eyes widened with alarm when she saw the tears in Alicent’s. “Ali, My Love,
please don’t cry, I didn’t mean—”

Alicent surged forward and claimed her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her bondmate’s words
and her startled cry.

Rhaenyra loved her.

Rhaenyra wanted her.

That was what mattered.

“Show me,” she panted when they broke apart. “Please, Nyra, show me that you don’t care about
them, that they don’t disgust you.”

∞∞

Blood roared in Alicent’s ears, and her heart thundered wildly in her chest as Rhaenyra kissed and
caressed her back, pressing her lips against every scar that she could find and gently stroking those
that she wasn’t kissing. A desperate heat had spread throughout her body, and her cu—the place
between her legs ached with want.

Nyra must smell how wet I am.

The thought sent a pleasant shiver rippling down her spine.

She could sense her bondmate’s desire for her—burning bright and scorching her insides in the
most wonderful way—and it stoked her own yearning whilst also filling her with warmth of a very
different kind.

Rhaenyra loved her.

And Rhaenyra wanted her.

Even as she kissed the worst of Alicent’s scars, her Nyra still wanted her.

“My Sweet Alicent,” Rhaenyra murmured against one of the jagged scars marking where Criston
had flayed her back open for speaking out of turn. “My Beautiful, Strong, Brilliant Alicent.”
A whimper escaped her lips, and she squirmed as Rhaenyra’s kisses trailed lower still, towards—

“I am in awe of you, Ali.” Rhaenyra gently squeezed her hip, her hand deliciously hot even through
the fabric of Alicent’s gown. “You are entirely without equal, My Love.” Her fingers trailed up
Alicent’s spine. “May I see more of you, Safa?”

Alicent’s breath hitched in her throat.

While the scars on her back were the worst, her legs . . .

She saw many of the scars on my legs the month before, she reminded herself.

“They don’t diminish my love for you, Ali, they don’t diminish your beauty, and they don’t make me
want you any less.”

Rhaenyra loved her.

More than anything.

And she wanted her.

“All right,” Alicent whispered.

Rhaenyra kissed her spine. “May I remove your gown, Ali?”

That would leave her with only her smallclothes and petticoats.

“I would hope to know all of you as well.”

Alicent wet her lips. “C-Could you do the same?”

“Of course, My Love.”

The utter lack of hesitation reminded Alicent rather suddenly that Valyrians didn’t regard
nakedness the same way that Westerosi did.

“There is nothing inherently sexual—for Valyrians there is nothing inherently sexual about being
unclothed in front of each other.”

But surely in this context . . .

Alicent rolled onto her back in time to see Rhaenyra’s gown, chemise, and breast band disappear to
reveal expanses of fair and unblemished skin, tantalizingly defined stomach muscles, toned arms,
and full breasts with stiffened nipples that Alicent found herself yearning to touch and tease, to at
last feel without any barriers between her fingers and the pebbled flesh.

Seven Hells, Rhaenyra was breathtaking.

Rhaenyra shifted slightly, her cheeks suddenly darkening as her fingers laced together in her lap.
“Am I pleasing to you, My Love?”

Alicent almost laughed at the absurd question, but she could hear the genuine uncertainty in her
bondmate’s voice.
How could Rhaenyra not know—?

«You’ll become disgustingly fat if you continue indulging in sweets, Alicent.»

If Viserra had made even a fraction of the cruel comments about Rhaenyra’s appearance that her
own mother had . . .

“You’re stunning, Nyra. Pleasing in every way.”

Far more so than I.

She swiftly smothered the thought.

Rhaenyra thought that she was beautiful.

A warm smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips even as she ducked her head. “You’re very kind, Ali.” She
glanced at the full skirts of Alicent’s gown. “May I?”

Steeling herself, Alicent nodded. “If you could use your magic again?”

She didn’t wish to delay—lest she lose her nerve—for she wanted Rhaenyra to see all of her.

Even if the thought was rather terrifying.

Alicent gasped at the sudden feeling of cool air sweeping over her naked flesh, and she
instinctively covered her breasts with her arms.

Criston had always—

He isn’t here.

And she would never see him again.

It’s only Nyra.

And her bondmate adored—

Alicent sucked in a sharp breath when what could only be described as awe surged within her.

But it wasn’t her own.

She knew that if she probed deeper into Rhaenyra’s emotions that she would find the rage and
sorrow, but she chose to instead enjoy the wonder shining in Rhaenyra’s eyes and bask in the
reverence of her gaze.

Rhaenyra loved her.

And Rhaenyra wanted her.

“Merciful Mother, Ali,” Rhaenyra breathed, her fingers twitching. “May I kiss you, My Safa?”

Alicent knew that Rhaenyra wouldn’t be asking if she meant to kiss her lips. Her stomach clenched
with anticipation as she reclined once more against the pillows. “Yes, Nyra. You may.”
Rhaenyra was by her side in an instant, leaning down to capture her lips in a warm kiss while her
hands lovingly stroked the length of her arms. “You’re beautiful, Ali,” she murmured as their kiss
ended. “And I love you more than words can say.”

Alicent’s throat tightened.

After giving her mouth another sweet kiss, Rhaenyra clasped Alicent’s left hand in her own,
brought it to her lips, and pressed a reverent kiss to the scar encircling her wrist.

Alicent shuddered.

It felt good.

To have this part of herself touched and kissed so gently, so lovingly.

Rhaenyra trailed more kisses up her arm, finding each scar and offering it the same tender attention
that she had the ones on Alicent’s back and on her wrist.

By the time that Rhaenyra finished with her arms and began kissing her collarbone, Alicent’s mind
was hazy with desire, and her hands clutched at the sheets as she pressed her thighs together in a
vain attempt to relieve the growing ache between them.

“Oh, Nyra,” she whimpered when she felt warm lips at the hollow of her throat.

Rhaenyra paused, glancing up at her. “Is this all right, My Love?”

“Y-Yes. Please, don’t stop.” Alicent’s eyes squeezed shut as Rhaenyra resumed kissing her. “Nyra,”
she panted, “if, if you wish,” her breath hitched, and she squirmed when she felt her bondmate’s
hand slide up her side to brush against her breast, “my neck,” she gasped.

Rhaenyra reared back as if Alicent had struck her, eyes wide with surprise and darker than Alicent
had ever seen them. “You’re certain?” Her voice was a low, husky growl that made Alicent’s clit
throb.

“Yes.” Alicent turned and tilted her head to offer her neck. “You’re my mate.”

Warm lips latched onto her neck before the words had even fully left her mouth, and Alicent
shuddered with delight. “No teeth please,” she panted.

While she yearned to one day wear Rhaenyra’s mate mark, she knew that she wasn’t yet ready.
Memories of cruel teeth biting and tearing at her neck still plagued her, and feeling Rhaenyra’s
teeth on her now might cause her to panic.

Rhaenyra hummed in acknowledgement as she continued lavishing fervent yet reverent kisses all
over Alicent’s neck. “My Alicent,” she growled as she nuzzled her.

“Yours,” Alicent agreed, her back arching when Rhaenyra began to suck at her pulse point.

Whimpers spilled from her lips as Rhaenyra continued tending to her neck—kissing up and down
its length until Alicent moaned in delight, suckling until Alicent writhed beneath her, licking gently
until Alicent’s hips were rolling desperately against nothing.

By the time that Rhaenyra’s mouth finally left her neck, Alicent felt as if she might burst.
She’d expected that Rhaenyra’s kisses would continue down to her breasts, but her bondmate
surprised her by ignoring her chest and instead lavishing attention on her stomach, on the scars that
crisscrossed her flesh from knives and whips and—

They can’t hurt me anymore.

Alicent expelled a shuddering breath as she focused on the sensation of warm lips and even warmer
hands kissing and stroking her stomach, which fluttered and clenched in response.

Merciful Relle, she was wet.

“May I remove your petticoats, Safa?”

“Yes.” The word slipped from her mouth without thought, but she had no desire to snatch it back.

Pressure coiled low in her belly, and she couldn’t help but whine when her petticoats disappeared
and Rhaenyra immediately began kissing her legs after receiving Alicent’s fervent assent.

Rhaenyra kissed her ankles, her calves, her thighs . . . But she didn’t ask Alicent to spread her legs,
and she didn’t seek to remove her smallclothes.

For which Alicent was grateful.

Her mind was awash with pleasure, with want, with need.

There was nothing save for Rhaenyra’s perfect lips kissing every part of her body, her husky voice
crooning words of praise and love every time that she kissed one of Alicent’s scars, her wonderful
hands touching and caressing Alicent in a way that was somehow both exquisitely reverent and
horridly teasing.

She wanted—

Her legs squeezed together in a futile attempt to soothe the throbbing ache, to quench the blazing
fire, to find some relief.

She wanted—

“Nyra,” she panted. “P-Please, Safa, m-my breasts.”

Aside from between her legs, they were the one place that Rhaenyra hadn’t kissed, and she needed
—

“I love you, Ali. More than words could ever convey.” Rhaenyra pressed her lips against the swell
of her right breast, and Alicent’s back arched off of the bed as she moaned shamelessly.

Words were unnecessary.

Alicent could feel her bondmate’s love for her, and it was even more intoxicating than her desire,
but in a very different way.

Rhaenyra’s love filled her with a wonderful warmth and pleasant contentment, while her desire set
Alicent ablaze and stoked within her the ravenous hunger that had been awakened the night
Rhaenyra first made her wet.
 “May I touch as well as kiss, Ali?”

Alicent nodded eagerly. “Yes, please. I—Oh!”

Pleasure scorched through her body as Rhaenyra’s hands cupped her breasts and fondled them, as
her fingers teased her nipples until they were so hard that they ached. Needy whimpers spilled from
Alicent’s lips as fresh wetness dampened her smallclothes and the coil in her belly tightened even
further. She clawed at the sheets, arching into Rhaenyra’s perfect caresses.

“N-Nyra, please, I, I want . . .”

“Words, My Love.” Rhaenyra kissed the crescent scar on her left breast.

“M-Mouth,” Alicent whined, her hands abandoning the sheets so that she could thread her fingers
through Rhaenyra’s silver hair, tugging gently as she tried to guide her to where she wanted her.

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, but she obeyed Alicent’s silent plea.

The strangled cry that tore from Alicent’s throat when warm lips wrapped around her aching nipple
dissolved into a series of pleased moans when she felt her Nyra’s tongue swiping and swirling.

Seven Hells, she was close.

“Nyra, Nyra, Nyra,” she panted, “please, My Love, I—”

Rhaenyra hummed.

The coil snapped.

And Alicent wailed.

Chapter End Notes

The real reason that I made Alicent an empath finally reveals itself! 😜 And look at Rhaenyra
continuing to make such good progress!

Also, yes, Sabitha, Hylda, and Jonquil were just standing there awkwardly in the gallery as
Alicent and Rhaenyra kissed for what was probably a slightly uncomfortable amount of time.
😅

Next Chapter: The All Mother meets the Lady in Green.

 Silver Blood
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 47:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Daenerys Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone and Matriarch of the House Targaryen, formerly
the 1st Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Missandei Velaryon, a Dragonstone courtier, from the Dragon Court

A special thanks to beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains a smut scene, which will be marked at the beginning
and end with double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Autumn Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

The moon had risen full and bright in the midnight-blue sky this evening. Its white light cast a
lovely glow upon the still lake nestled in the valley beneath the shadow of the mountain, shining
and shimmering in a way that seemed perfect for the crafting of new moonstones. Perhaps if she
searched the darkness above, she might see a constellation of pegasi galloping across the sky with
their shining hooves and shimmering manes of spun starlight.

A cool and crisp autumn breeze swept into her bedchamber through the open windows, and she
breathed deeply to allow the sweet scents of the changing seasons to fill her lungs. In the distance,
she could hear a dire-wolf’s howl and a spirit-bear’s low rumbling. And she knew that the shadow-
cats that prowled the area must be emerging from their dens and slipping through the ample
shadows provided by the full moon as they began their hunts.

This night would be a peaceful one, she was certain.

As most nights on Valyria were.

Her eyes closed as memories of her many unpeaceful nights crept from the depths of her long
memory.

“Mother, I’m frightened.”

“Please, Mother, help me . . .”

“Sister, you mustn’t lose your courage now.”

“We all grow weary of these endless travels, Sister.”

“What would you have me do? What is there even to do?”

“She’ll not rest until you’re dead and she’s seated herself in your place.”

“The convoys were attacked during the night, Your Excellency. Twenty dead and more wounded
besides.”

“Apologies, Your Excellency, but we just received word that Norengale has fallen to Mistress Toyne
and Mistress Woodfoot. Your nieces . . .”

“This was the price of peace, My Love. You were left with no choice . . . I am only sorry that you
were the one forced to pay it. The burden should not have fallen to you.”

Expelling a heavy sigh, she opened her eyes and gazed out the window.

Peaceful.

She ought to enjoy it whilst she could.

Tomorrow would be less peaceful—at least for her.

Bright blood pooling onto the stone floor.

The sharp cry of a lanced heart—

“Dany?”

Daenerys turned, having somehow missed the sound of their bedchamber door opening and
Missandei slipping inside. “Yes?”

Missandei swiftly crossed the room to stand behind her, hands settling on her shoulders and
squeezing gently. “Tell me your troubles, Darling.” She gave her shoulders another squeeze. “I’ll
give you the stars.”

A small smile curled Daenerys’ lips then. “Did you ever imagine, when you first said those words
to me, that so many generations would go on to repeat them?”

“Not in the slightest.” Missandei leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “But then, I also never
imagined that I would live to see the births of so many new generations.”

Daenerys sighed, absently waving her hand and causing the chair that she was sitting on the
lengthen into a small settee. “Join me?”

“Did you truly just conjure an extension for your chair?” Missandei laughed.

“It was no great matter.”

“Perhaps not for you.” Missandei sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders,
drawing her close. “Most would find such a feat quite taxing. Creating something from nothing.”

“That isn’t what conjuration is.”

“It might as well be.” Missandei shrugged. “You and Rhaenyra are the only women in existence
who can call such a feat easy.”
“Alera might say the same.”

“Perhaps.” Missandei cocked her head slightly. “Do you wish to tell me what troubles you, Dany?”

Not particularly, for there was much that she couldn’t share.

“I’ll be traveling to Stone Garden on the morrow, and a part of me dreads the prospect.” It had been
countless lifetimes since she’d last performed the immortality ritual, and she’d thought to never
have to do so again after completing the Kervanite Immortalization.

Missandei made a sympathetic noise and leaned closer to kiss her forehead. “Is there anything that I
can do to ease your burdens, Lezora?”

“Accompany me?” Daenerys laced their fingers together. “It would ease my mind to know that you
are awaiting me.”

“Of course.” Missandei squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need of me, if it is within my power, I
shall do it.”

Daenerys smiled softly, sparks igniting in her chest at her Missandei’s sweet words. “Thank you,
My Darling.” Leaning closer, she captured her beloved’s lips in a soft kiss.

Tomorrow would be a time of testing.

But this night would be a peaceful one, she was certain.

Alicent sighed happily as Rhaenyra’s fingers continued massaging her scalp, enjoying the warm
water lapping at her shoulders, the sweet scent of roses enveloping her, and the tender attentions of
her bondmate washing her hair. She turned her head as much as she could so that she could catch
Rhaenyra’s eyes and offer her a grateful smile. “You are too kind to me, Nyra.”

Rhaenyra chuckled as she lightly scratched at Alicent’s scalp. “No such thing, Safa.”

When her bondmate’s hands eventually retreated from her head, they were replaced a moment later
by hands made of water that swept over and through Alicent’s hair to rinse away the unscented
soaps.

Alicent’s eyes slipped shut as she sank further into the warm water that surrounded her, as she
breathed in her bondmate’s comforting scent and leaned into the hand now caressing her cheek. Her
entire body felt wonderfully relaxed after an entire evening spent being doted upon by Rhaenyra,
who had made every effort to soothe her nerves and quiet her worries.

Upon returning to their chambers after supper, Rhaenyra had laid her down upon their bed and then
massaged her shoulders and back until Alicent felt boneless. She’d then gently rolled Alicent over
onto her back and kissed her softly and whispered the sweetest things in her ear. Once the haze had
receded from Alicent’s mind, Rhaenyra had listened with rapt attention as Alicent told her about
her lesson with Margaery and Sansa that morning, which had involved testing her ability to
manipulate multiple elements at once, and had ended when Alicent nearly broke one of the parlor’s
windows with a misaimed stone.
And when Alicent had said that she was ready to retire to bed for the night, Rhaenyra had offered to
draw her a warm bath and wash her hair for her.

“I needn’t touch the rest of you if you don’t wish it, and I’ll avert my eyes when you’re fully
disrobed.”

While tempted to tell her bondmate that she needn’t avert her eyes, Alicent had decided that now
wasn’t the time and had held her tongue.

She didn’t wish for her mind to be occupied by thoughts of Rhaenyra’s ancestor the first time that
her bondmate saw her entirely naked.

They’d received word this morning that the All Mother would be arriving on the morrow to
perform the immortality spell, and Alicent would be lying if she claimed to not be anxious about
the whole process. Having her core awakened had been one matter—she’d known what to expect,
and Rhaenyra and Nesryn had both been present to ease her nerves—but the immortality spell . . .

All she was allowed to know was that she would be unconscious whilst the spell was cast and that
she would have no memories of what had happened once she woke.

The prospect of having anything done to her whilst she was defenseless and unaware . . .

She understood the need for secrecy. She understood why the immortality spell had only ever been
taught to Aeliana the Golden and why every subsequent empress had had knowledge of the spell
directly transferred from her predecessor’s mind into her own. She understood that there must be a
reason for why she would be rendered unconscious rather than simply having her memories of the
spell removed afterwards.

And yet she still fretted all the same.

Hence Rhaenyra’s loving efforts to relax her.

Once Alicent’s hair was clean, Rhaenyra rose to her feet and offered her hand, but Alicent shook
her head. “Please join me, My Love.”

For a long moment, Rhaenyra simply stared at her with wide eyes, but eventually she managed to
ask, “You’re certain?”

“Very much so.” Alicent reached up and intertwined their fingers. “If you wish the same, of
course.”

Rather than answering with words, Rhaenyra’s gown, undergarments, and breast band disappeared
to reveal her perfect body.

Alicent gulped, her mouth suddenly dry as she turned away so that Rhaenyra could remove her
remaining smallclothes and join her in the bath. She knew that her bondmate would have disrobed
entirely but for Alicent having previously asked that she not yet do so.

Curious as she was to see and touch and explore that part of Rhaenyra, Alicent knew that she
herself wasn’t ready to allow Rhaenyra the same liberties.

Soon.
But not yet.

“Ali, if you could move forward a little?”

Alicent hurriedly repositioned herself so that Rhaenyra had enough room to slip into the bath
behind her. She shivered when she felt the water churning around her, when she felt strong arms
wrapping about her waist and drawing her close, when she felt full breasts and stiffened nipples
pressing against her back.

Merciful Relle.

She was sitting between Rhaenyra’s spread legs, and her bondmate’s hands were resting upon her
stomach.

Visions of one of Rhaenyra’s hands slipping lower to touch and stroke her swollen folds whilst her
other hand slid higher to cradle her breast and tease her nipple suddenly flashed through Alicent’s
mind, and she imagined herself arching into Rhaenyra’s touch, imagined her hips rolling against
her bondmate’s questing fingers, imagined reaching back to seek out Rhaenyra’s clit—

“Do you desire my touch elsewhere, Safa?” Rhaenyra’s warm breath caressed her cheek, and her
fingers drummed on Alicent’s stomach.

Alicent knew that she could nod and that Rhaenyra would begin kissing and stroking her until she
reached her peak, and while the prospect was certainly tempting . . .

She shook her head. “I’d rather be held, if you please.”

As much as she wanted to be touched and pleasured—and as much as she wanted to touch and
pleasure Rhaenyra in return—what she wanted even more was the comfort of being held close and
the contentment that came from knowing without a doubt that she was safe and loved and
cherished.

Rhaenyra kissed the back of her head. “Of course, Ali. Whatever you wish.”

Alicent sighed as she relaxed further into her safa’s arms and sank low enough that the water
lapped against her neck. “I wish that you could be with me on the morrow.”

“I could ask the All Mother if I might attend. She could simply remove—”

Alicent shook her head. Much as it would comfort her to know that Rhaenyra was with her, she
disliked the thought of anyone—even the All Mother—tampering with her bondmate’s memories.
“I find the existence of that spell unnerving, Nyra. I’ve no wish to subject you to it.”

She could hear the smile in her bondmate’s voice as she assured her, “That empress spell
presumably isn’t that much different from the Sixth Tier spell used to muddle memories.”

“Which I also find unnerving.” While she understood that both spells had been created with
reasonable and very specific purposes, and while she knew that the Golden Laws expressly forbid
“malicious mind magic,” she still found the entire concept of being able to tamper with memories
unsettling.

Rhaenyra hummed quietly, though whether it was in agreement or merely understanding, Alicent
couldn’t say. “Well, know that I will be waiting for you, My Safa.” She gave Alicent’s waist a
gentle squeeze. “And if you think of anything more that I can do to ease your nerves, you need only
tell me.”

Alicent smiled as she twisted around to briefly capture her bondmate’s lips. “Thank you, Nyra. For
everything.”

One of Rhaenyra’s hands rose from beneath the water to caress her cheek. “I would do anything for
you, Ali.”

“And I you, Nyra.”

Alicent was a vision.

As ever.

The early morning sunlight danced upon her auburn curls, setting it ablaze and wreathing her
perfect face in ethereal light. A few strands of hair had come loose from her nightly braid, and
Rhaenyra was tempted to tuck them back behind Alicent’s ear, but she didn’t wish to disturb her.

Not when she looked so lovely and serene.

Rhaenyra had always adored the peacefulness that settled over Alicent whilst she slept, the way
that all signs of worry or anxiety simply melted away, the way that her body so perfectly relaxed.

Her Ali deserved to always be calm and content.

A soft smile curled her lips as her eyes traveled from Alicent’s face to her arms.

Her bare arms.

In all the years that Rhaenyra had known her, Alicent had always worn gowns that concealed
everything down to her wrists.

Until last night.

When Alicent had emerged from behind the changing screen wearing a nightdress that revealed her
lovely arms, Rhaenyra had been struck speechless.

When Alicent had begun to grow nervous because of the lengthening silence, Rhaenyra had swiftly
crossed the room and kissed her soundly.

And when Alicent had quietly asked if Rhaenyra minded seeing her arms, Rhaenyra had swept her
bondmate off her feet and carried her to bed.

Alicent’s contented little sighs had been music to Rhaenyra’s ears as she’d slowly kissed each and
every scar on her arms.

Rhaenyra stiffened when Alicent’s face suddenly scrunched and she grumbled softly.

It had been months since Alicent last had a night terror.

She sniffed the air, searching for any hints of fear or distress.

Her eyes blissfully slipped shut when she scented only desire—warm and heady and calling to her.

Merciful Mother, her Alicent was—

“Nyra,” Alicent mumbled, her eyes still closed as she shifted about.

Rhaenyra’s cheeks darkened even as a pleased smile curled her lips.

Alicent was dreaming about her.

Perhaps the thought shouldn’t have filled her with such pride, but it did.

For all that she’d longed to find her mate, after visiting the Oracle, a part of her had been convinced
that she never would—especially after Emalia. And she’d certainly never allowed herself to dwell
upon whether or not her mate would want her in this particular way.

“You coerce simply by breathing, Rhaenyra.”

But Alicent knew that she could deny her.

And Alicent was dreaming about her.

Alicent wanted her.

Warmth bloomed in her chest, and her magic crooned happily.

Leaning down, she pressed a soft kiss to Alicent’s forehead, and then another to her cheek. “My
Love,” she cooed.

Alicent sighed happily.

Rhaenyra continued kissing her face, though she took care not to kiss Alicent’s lips. While her
bondmate had given her permission to kiss her awake, kissing Alicent’s lips whilst she still
slumbered felt wrong.

Alicent’s eyes finally fluttered open, and they were about two shades darker than normal. “Good
morning, Safa.”

Rhaenyra shuddered at the huskiness of her bondmate’s voice. Whether it was from sleep or desire,
she didn’t know. Nor did she much care. “Good morning, Ali.”

Alicent reached up and drew her down to kiss her lips. “I was dreaming about you, My Nyra.”

“I know.” Rhaenyra brushed the tip of her nose against Alicent’s. “You said my name in your
sleep.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed, but her ravishing smile didn’t waver. “May I?”

Rhaenyra nodded at once, not much caring what exactly her bondmate wished to do to her, for she
was certain that she would enjoy whatever it was that Alicent wanted.

Grinning, Alicent sat up and gently pushed against Rhaenyra’s shoulder, urging her to lie back.
A pleasant shiver rippled down Rhaenyra’s spine in response to the way that Alicent was gazing
down at her—with unabashed desire and unending love.

Need pooled between her legs when Alicent climbed atop her, and her hands instinctively moved to
her bondmate’s hips to help steady her.

Alicent smiled. “Thank you, My Nyra.” Her loving smile shifted into a teasing smirk. “Would you
care to know exactly what I was dreaming about?”

Rhaenyra shuddered, her grip on Alicent’s hips tightening. “If you wish.”

“I very much do.” Alicent leaned down and captured her lips in a blistering kiss.

∞∞

Rhaenyra didn’t recall tearing through the front of her nightdress, but she certainly must have,
because cool air was kissing her left nipple, and Alicent’s warm mouth had captured her right. Her
eyes squeezed shut when she felt her bondmate’s teeth nip at her stiffened nipple before swiftly
soothing the bite with her impossibly soft and wet tongue, which swirled and flicked exactly how
Rhaenyra preferred.

Seven Hells, her Alicent was magnificent.

“Ali,” she panted, “if you could—?”

Alicent’s hand slid upwards to cradle her neglected breast, and clever fingers began to roll and
gently pinch her other nipple. “How is this, My Love?”

“Perfect, Ali. Sweet Mother Relle, you’re so perfect.”

Her bondmate smiled around her nipple and rewarded her with a quiet hum that sent lightning
crackling throughout Rhaenyra’s body and made her toes curl.

She groaned, arching her back in an effort to receive more of Alicent’s perfect caresses and
wonderful licks.

Over the past month, Alicent had been both thorough and methodical in her explorations and
“studies” of Rhaenyra’s body, learning what she enjoyed most and responded to best with an
unwavering enthusiasm that was as delightful to witness as it was pleasurable to experience.

Sometimes, Rhaenyra wondered if she ought to be discomfited by the fact that Alicent was keeping
detailed notes about her reactions in bed, but how could she be, when Alicent’s diligent efforts had
given Rhaenyra numerous peaks that nigh always left her feeling dazed and sated and desperate to
bring Alicent to the same heights.

Besides, Alicent had promised to burn all of those notes should Rhaenyra wish it.

An unhappy whine escaped her lips when Alicent’s mouth suddenly abandoned her nipple.

“Open your eyes, Safa.”

She didn’t remember closing them.

Upon seeing Alicent’s face hovering over her own, a wicked glint in her bondmate’s deep brown
eyes, Rhaenyra immediately fisted the sheets as she clenched her thighs together. Want and need
clawed at her insides, and her cunt ached with how much it desired her Alicent’s touch. She could
feel her own wetness soaking her smallclothes, and she was fairly certain that even Alicent must be
able to smell how much she wanted her.

Her clit was begging for attention, and she briefly wondered if she might perhaps offer herself
some small amount of relief—

Rhaenyra swiftly dismissed the thought.

Alicent took great pride in her ability to give Rhaenyra pleasure, and Rhaenyra didn’t wish to make
her bondmate feel guilty for not yet being ready to see or touch her cunt.

Besides, she knew that she would find release soon enough.

“You’re beautiful, My Nyra.” Alicent’s fingers stroked her cheek before sliding lower to trace
along the line of her jaw, not quite touching her neck, but teasing her with the promise that she soon
would.

Rhaenyra turned her head slightly to offer better access. “Please, Ali? I need—”

“Shh.” Alicent leaned down and claimed her lips in a fervent kiss.

Tingles rippled down Rhaenyra’s spine, and she gasped when she felt Alicent’s tongue on her lips,
and she moaned when she felt Alicent’s tongue sliding against her own, when she felt it caressing
and stroking and teasing and—

Seven bleeding Hells, how was this the same woman who had squeaked with surprise and blushed
and stuttered the first time that Rhaenyra had mentioned kissing in this fashion?

Rhaenyra’s hips bucked as she imagined Alicent’s talented tongue licking between her legs, teasing
her clit with flicks and twirls and small circles, lapping eagerly at her folds and drinking her
pleasure, sliding inside her soaked cunt and curling—

“I haven’t yet told you about my dream,” Alicent panted against her mouth when they parted. Her
fingers ghosted over Rhaenyra’s neck, and Rhaenyra’s entire body stiffened at the sudden bolt of
pleasure that traveled from her neck directly down to her throbbing clit. “Nyra, are you all right?”

She nodded wordlessly, her breath hissing out from between her teeth. She wanted more, she
needed more. “Perfectly all right,” she finally managed once her body had gone slack beneath her
bondmate.

Alicent’s concern swiftly shifted into pride. “You’re pleased?”

“Always, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s fingers uncurled from the sheets, and she reached up to gently grasp her
bondmate’s hips, squeezing and caressing until Alicent’s face was beautifully flushed. “Everything
that you do pleases me, Safa.”

Alicent’s cheeks reddened further. “You told me that in my dream as well.”

“Did I?” Rhaenyra smiled up at her. “And were pretty words all that I offered you?”
Alicent shook her head as her hands found Rhaenyra’s breasts and began stroking them almost
absently. “You touched me as well, and,” she swallowed, eyes becoming impossibly dark, “and you
licked me.”

“Your nipples?” Rhaenyra couldn’t help but tease, knowing full well that wasn’t what her
bondmate meant.

“Yes, but also my . . .” Alicent’s hands stilled, a familiar shadow passing over her face.

Rhaenyra silently cursed herself. “My apologies, Ali—”

“My c-c—” Alicent scowled for a brief moment before shaking her head and refocusing her
attention on Rhaenyra. “You licked between my legs, and,” she shuddered, her hips rolling against
Rhaenyra’s stomach, “it felt so good, Nyra.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth watered at the thought of being allowed the pleasure of tasting her Sweet
Alicent, of becoming drunk on the scent of her desire, of sucking on her swollen clit and hearing
her cry out in ecstasy. “You need only ask, Ali.” Her voice sounded rough with want even to her
own ears, but she didn’t care.

She wanted to pleasure Alicent with her tongue until her safa reached her peak, wanted to feast
upon her until she was wailing and incoherent, wanted to worship her as she deserved.

Alicent gulped. “I, I do want that, Nyra, and I’ll be ready soon, I’m certain.”

That her Alicent didn’t apologize for not yet being ready warmed Rhaenyra even more than the
arousal gathering low in her belly.

Leaning down, Alicent brought her mouth close to Rhaenyra’s ear as she continued, “My breasts
were aching for your touch, and I begged you to please tend to them.” She pressed herself down
more firmly on Rhaenyra’s stomach. “But you denied me.”

“Why—?”

“You wanted me to touch them myself.” Alicent nipped her earlobe, and Rhaenyra jerked beneath
her. “You told me to be gentle, to only squeeze a little. You wanted to see me rolling my nipples
between my fingers, wanted to hear me moan for you.” Her bondmate’s words were becoming
breathier with each passing moment, and Rhaenyra wondered if she might peak simply from
Alicent’s enthralling voice and wonderful fondling.

“And did you moan for me?” Rhaenyra rasped, arching her back into Alicent’s touch.

“So loudly they I feared your knights would come barging in.” Alicent nibbled at her jaw. “You
told me that I make the sweetest sounds—almost as sweet as the taste of my pleasure.”

Rhaenyra’s hips bucked as she felt a flood of fresh slick soak her smallclothes. “You do make the
sweetest sounds, Ali.” Her eyes rolled back in her head when Alicent rewarded her by lightly
pinching her nipples.

Fucking Hells.

“When I reached my peak,” Alicent whispered, “I could feel how satisfied you were, how much
pleasure you received from pleasuring me . . . and I peaked for a second time.”
Rhaenyra shuddered, heart thundering in her chest as fire roared in her veins. Her magic howled,
and her stomach tightened. “Ali, please, My Love, I’m close.”

“I know.” Alicent kissed just below her jaw as she roughly squeezed Rhaenyra’s breasts. “May I
kiss your neck?”

She’d told Alicent before that seeking permission to touch or kiss her neck wasn’t necessary, and
yet Alicent still asked all the same.

And Rhaenyra adored her all the more for it.

“Yes, My Safa, always.”

Alicent’s mouth latched onto her neck, sucking harshly.

Rhaenyra moaned as white-hot pleasure seized her body. “Yes, Ali, yes, please, more. Seven thrice-
damned Hells, Safa, I need—”

Teeth grazed her throat, and Rhaenyra tore the sheets.

Her muscles were almost painfully tense, and her cunt clenched around nothing as her clit
throbbed.

Fuck, she was close.

“More, Ali, more, please, please, I need . . .” Her words dissolved into unintelligible noises as her
back arched and her hips rolled and she bared her neck for Alicent’s teeth.. She was teetering on the
edge, and the pleasure of Alicent’s mouth and tongue on her neck was almost too much to bear, and
yet she was both eager and desperate for more of anything that her bondmate could give her.

“Please, please, please. Ali, Safa, please.”

“I love you, Nyra.” So saying, Alicent’s teeth sank into her neck.

Rhaenyra howled as she broke, as she shattered, as she fell into a churning sea of bliss. Her eyes
rolled, and her hips bucked. Pleasure radiated from her neck and down throughout her body,
burning and consuming and so, so perfect. The inner walls of her cunt tightened and fluttered
around nothing, and she knew that she’d utterly ruined her smallclothes.

She couldn’t say how long her peak lasted, but it felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat before her
body went slack beneath her bondmate’s familiar and lovely weight.

“Mine,” Alicent mumbled into her neck.

“Yours,” Rhaenyra agreed, unable to make her lips form the words.

And when she felt Alicent’s tongue gently lapping at the place she’d bitten her, Rhaenyra imagined
that her safa’s teeth had broken skin, that the bite she was soothing with her tongue was a mate
mark.

One day.

∞∞
Rhaenyra’s fingers traced lightly over Alicent’s delicate collarbone as she savored the pleased and
sated smile gracing her bondmate’s perfect, kiss-swollen lips. Auburn curls were splayed out across
the pillow, messy and slightly tangled from Rhaenyra’s fingers and Alicent’s own writhing. Faint
bruises were blooming on Alicent’s plump breasts—the only bruises that her Ali would ever again
receive from another.

While tempted to trail her fingers lower and stroke the love bites that she’d given her bondmate,
Rhaenyra could see that Alicent was too tired for another peak at the moment, and she didn’t wish
to tease and deny her.

Besides, the All Mother was expected to arrive within a few hours, so they would soon need to rise,
bathe, and ready themselves.

“Nyra?”

“Yes, My Love?” Rhaenyra’s fingers stilled, but they swiftly resumed their movements upon seeing
Alicent’s smile begin to wither.

“Are Valyrians able to detect their own scent?”

Rhaenyra slowly shook her head, rather surprised that Alicent hadn’t already posed this question to
someone else. “Not truly, no.” She leaned down and nosed Alicent’s neck, earning a pleased laugh
as she allowed herself the indulgence of simply breathing in her bondmate’s warm bread scent. “A
woman mated and marked can technically detect her own scent, but by then, her scent has
intertwined with her mate’s, so it’s no longer truly her own.”

Alicent’s face scrunched in that adorable way that meant she was considering two seemingly
contradictory pieces of information. “Who told you that you smell like roses?”

“Laena.” Rhaenyra’s lips twisted slightly as memories of her early childhood swirled through her
mind. “I made the mistake of first asking Daemona, and I then spent nearly a decade convinced that
I smelled of rotting thistles.”

She’d been little more than a babe when she’d asked her eldest sister about her scent, but she still
remembered the gleam that had entered Daemona’s violet eyes—a gleam that she now knew was
something between mischief and spite.

Her mother had scoffed and ordered her to stop being so vain when Rhaenyra had later mustered
the courage to ask her about her scent, for she’d been certain that Daemona must be mistaken.

“That was unkind.” Alicent’s hand rose to stroke her cheek.

“Daemona is Mother’s daughter.” Rhaenyra shrugged. “Mysaria is perhaps her only redeeming
quality.”

Alicent laughed and tugged her down to connect their lips.

Rhaenyra’s eyes slipped shut as she reveled in the scent and taste of her bondmate, in her softness
and warmth, in her love and care.

When the parted, Alicent cocked her head slightly, curiosity shining in her eyes. “Safa, what do I
smell like?”
“Home.” The word came easily and without hesitation.

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Home?”

“You smell of warmth and comfort and calm.” Rhaenyra smiled softly, holding Alicent’s gaze as
she caressed her cheek. “Like freshly baked bread.”

A pretty blush was spreading across Alicent’s cheeks and down her lovely neck. “Truly?”

Rhaenyra nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve always smelled like home, My Safa.”
She smiled wryly as she brushed the tip of her nose against Alicent’s. “It simply took me a while to
realize as much.”

As Alicent anxiously inspected her reflection, she reached up to smooth down a loose strand of hair
and wondered if perhaps she should simply remove it. Perhaps she should have chosen a red gown,
or black, or both, as a show of respect. But when she’s mentioned as much to Rhaenyra the other
day, her bondmate had chuckled and kissed her and told her that she should wear whatever pleased
her because it would make no matter to the All Mother.

Perhaps there was still time to change her gown?

“My Love,” Rhaenyra suddenly appeared behind her, her arms wrapping around Alicent’s waist as
she rested her chin on Alicent’s shoulder, “you are a vision.” She gave her a gentle squeeze. “There
is no need to fret.”

“I disagree.” Alicent scowled when she saw that the same strand of hair had come loose once more.
“What if she finds me lacking?”

“I assure you, Ali, my grandmother will adore you just as I do.” Rhaenyra kissed her check. “Is
there anything that I can do to ease your nerves?”

Alicent shook her head. Her bondmate had done everything and more the night before and this
morning to calm her. The only thing that would soothe her now was actually meeting the All
Mother and learning whether she was considered a worthy mate for Rhaenyra and worthy of Relle’s
gift.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a brisk knock sounded from the other side of the door, followed
immediately by Vora Hylda’s voice. “Her Grace Lady Targaryen and Mistress Missandei to see
Your Majesty and Your Ladyship.”

An unhappy sigh escaped Alicent’s lips when she felt Rhaenyra’s arms unwind from around her
waist and she lost the warmth of her bondmate’s body pressed against her back.

Rhaenyra flashed her an amused smile before smoothing her features as she turned towards the
door. “Enter,” she called.

When the All Mother and Mistress Missandei entered the room a moment later, Alicent nervously
reached for Rhaenyra’s hand and squeezed tight, only relaxing somewhat when her bondmate’s
scent wrapped around her like a warm cloak in winter and waves of calm washed over her.
Somehow, despite the intervening one billion years and very visible aging, Lady Empress Daenerys
Targaryen, the First of Her Name, appeared much the same now as she did in her official imperial
portrait, which Alicent had spent over half an hour studying during her visit to the Songcrafter
Museum on the Feast of Prophetess Orestilla.

The All Mother’s silver hair gleamed brighter than the polished metal in the morning sun, as sleek
and shining as the artist had depicted. She stood with the same regal bearing, with her chin high
and her back perfectly straight. And while her fair skin had been allowed to grow lined with age, it
remained as glowing and ethereal now as it must have been in her youth. The shade of her violet
eyes reminded Alicent of the flaming skies at sunset, and they held the same sort of knowing
wisdom that she’d become accustomed to seeing in Dr. Arwen’s eyes.

Her resemblance to Rhaenyra was unmistakable.

But it wasn’t the silver of her hair or the fairness of her skin or the purple of her eyes or the shape
of her nose.

No.

It was the shadows that clung to her.

Ancient and insistent, dark and heavy, demanding that she succumb yet held at bay by sheer force
of will.

The shadows of grief and guilt, of loss and loneliness, of secrets unspoken and burdens unshared.

Alicent’s heart twisted as she suddenly found herself wondering if she was seeing a vision of her
bondmate’s future.

“Grandmother,” Rhaenyra swept forward—bringing Alicent along with her—a bright and beaming
smile gracing her lips, “may I introduce my bondmate and the light of my life, Alicent Hightower.”

The All Mother’s violet eyes were sharp, but not cold, as they swept over Alicent—as they seemed
to stare into her very soul.

After an impossibly long moment, a smile formed on the All Mother’s lips.

Alicent released the breath that she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

The All Mother offered her hand. “Good morrow, Lady Alicent. I’ve been very eager to meet you.”

Hoping that her smile wasn’t too rigid with nerves, Alicent accepted the offered hand and inclined
her head. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”

Something flashed in the All Mother’s eyes, but Alicent couldn’t say what it was. “And might I
introduce my beloved, Missandei Velaryon.”

Mistress Missandei offered a warm smile as well as her hand, which Alicent accepted with a smile
of her own.

The All Mother cleared her throat, eyes locking with Alicent’s. “I must ask, Lady Alicent, if you
are certain that this is what you desire.”
Some of the tension seeped from Alicent’s body as she squeezed Rhaenyra’s hand. “It is, Your
Grace.”

“Eternity is long, My Lady,” the All Mother tilted her head slightly, “and immortality is no more
easily removed than it is bestowed. You’ll not be able to make this decision twice.”

“I require only the once,” she assured her. She glanced over at Rhaenyra. “I’ve no more desire to
abandon My Nyra than she has to abandon me. I’ve grown rather fond of my life here on Valyria,”
she paused a moment, hoping that she wasn’t being impertinent, “and of being alive, as a general
matter.”

Rather than laughing at her attempt at humor, the All Mother nodded her approval. “You know
better than most that the latter is not always so. I am pleased to hear that living has become a joy
rather than a chore, My Lady.”

Alicent forced herself not to wince as memories of her old desires to die began creeping from the
recesses of her mind. “Much of that joy has come at the hands of your granddaughter.”

The sly, teasing smile that curled the All Mother’s lips was nigh identical to Laena’s. “I can well
imagine, My Lady.”

Alicent’s cheeks reddened, though she wasn’t entirely certain why.

“Shall we sit? There are a few matters that must needs be discussed before we begin.”

“Of course, Grandmother.” Rhaenyra snapped her fingers, and a pair of settees appeared.

The All Mother seated herself with the same grace and effortless elegance that Rhaenyra always
did, neatly folding her hands in her lap as her focus remained on Alicent. “While I’m afraid that
there is little and less I can offer you by way of detailed information regarding your
immortalization, I would prepare you as best I can.”

Alicent exhaled a relieved sigh. “I would very much appreciate that.”

The smile that the All Mother gave her was surprisingly gentle. “I understand that there is little
more terrifying than the prospect of being unconscious and at the mercy of another, Lady Alicent. I
may be old, but I’ve not forgotten that visceral terror.”

Alicent wasn’t certain whether to find that comforting or disheartening.

“Once we’ve completed this conversation, I shall ask Missandei and Rhaenyra to leave the room.
I’ll then ask your leave before using magic to render you unconscious. You’ll feel no pain or
discomfort, I assure you. It’s rather akin to somewhat abruptly falling asleep. I will be removing
you from Stone Garden afterwards. I’m afraid that such is necessary.”

Alicent stiffened. She hadn’t realized that she would be leaving her home. “There truly isn’t . . .”
She fiddled with her emerald orchid ring, instinctively shifting closer to Rhaenyra.

“I’m afraid not.” The All Mother spread her hands. “Performing the spell here simply isn’t
feasible.”

While tempted to ask why, Alicent was fairly certain that she wouldn’t receive an answer. “And
after you’ve removed me from Stone Garden?”
“I shall immortalize you, return you home, and you’ll awaken in this very room to the sight and
scent of your bondmate.” The All Mother paused, her expression becoming thoughtful. “I suspect
that you’ll find having your core awakened a more conspicuous change than becoming immortal,
though I can’t say for certain since I’ve only experienced one and not the other.”

Alicent shifted slightly, a blush creeping into her cheeks as she remembered the myriad of
wonderful sensations that had overwhelmed her when her core was awakened—sensations that she
now realized were exceptionally akin to reaching her peak. Considering that and what Dr. Arwen
had told her about becoming immortal, she was almost certain that the All Mother’s suspicion
would prove correct.

“I remember awakening afterwards and finding myself rather disappointed by how little seemed to
have changed. I certainly didn’t feel as if I’d been freed from the Reaper’s dread shadow.”

“Have you any additional questions, Lady Alicent?” The All Mother was gazing at her in that
same, curious and gently prodding way that Rhaenyra oft had when they’d first become friends.

One, but Alicent wasn’t certain whether she’d receive an answer. “Will there be pain?”

Rhaenyra gently squeezed her hand.

The All Mother’s expression didn’t change. “None that you will remember.”

Alicent supposed that she could ask for no more than that. “Then I’m ready.”

Daenerys slowly rose from settee once the door had closed behind Missandei and Rhaenyra, once
she’d heard the sharp click of the latch, once she was fairly certain that her granddaughter was no
longer listening for the sound of her bondmate’s heartbeat.

She motioned for Lady Alicent to remain seated as she approached, for there was no sense in the
other woman rising only to fall upon losing consciousness.

Once she was close enough, Daenerys extended her hand. “May I?”

Lady Alicent’s eyes flashed, but not with fear. “You may.”

Rather than touching her as she would have anyone else, Daenerys simply sent out a tendril of
magic to gently wrap around Lady Alicent’s mind and send her into a deep sleep.

Lady Alicent slumped down onto the settee, her breathing strong, even, and steady.

After carefully scooping Lady Alicent up into her arms, Daenerys teleported them both from the
Queen’s Keep to the caverns deep beneath Dragon Ridge. She and her sisters had built their
imperial city in the foothills of the mountains that they’d raised to serve as natural defenses, and
running beneath the city was an expansive warren of tunnels and caverns that few had ever
explored in their entirety.

It was here, to these tunnels, that High Command had been forced to retreat to during the Westerosi
War, and it was here that Rhaenyra had conducted her experiments on the captured soldiers, and it
was here that Daenerys had performed the immortality ritual twenty-eight thousand five hundred
and fourteen times during the Silver Age.
Leaving Lady Alicent to hover in the air—held securely by her telekinesis—Daenerys strode to the
center of the cavern that she’d chosen and swiftly cast several dozen shield spells to ensure that
they would not be disturbed and to ensure that none of what she was about to do could be felt by
those above.

Once all of her shields were in place, she spread her arms wide and then jerked her wrists inwards
and sharply pivoted her feet. The earth rumbled in response as the various entrances leading into
the cave closed tight, as rock and stone melded together at her behest, as she sealed them both
inside what could well have become her own tomb all those eras ago—had her ritual been
unsuccessful.

She sometimes wondered if she’d been mistaken in creating her ritual, if she should have allowed
them all to simply—

But no.

It had not been her people’s fate to perish.

They’d all survived far too many horrors to merely fade away.

I should have taken more care with knowledge of the ritual though.

If she had, perhaps Aerysa would not have plunged the Empire into war to prevent—

Had I immortalized her, the bloodletting would never have ceased.

Yet how could she dismiss the lives of those sixty-six thousand five hundred and twelve women as
necessary sacrifices to ensure Aerysa’s own demise?

As ever, she could not.

Shaking her head, Daenerys refocused on the task at hand.

Closing her eyes, she allowed the millennia to melt away, allowed the lines and marks of age to
disappear into smooth and unblemished skin, allowed her body to return to the age that it had been
when she’d immortalized her people.

Shifting between ages had always reminded her of the peculiar sensation of shedding her skin when
she was in the form of a snake. The loss of layers, of lifetimes, of experiences, and yet none were
truly lost, for all resided far deeper than the surface and appearance of her flesh.

Opening her eyes, she rolled her shoulders and shifted from foot to foot to reacquaint herself with
her younger body before raising her hands and making a sharp upward motion. Her fingers curled
and cupped as she twisted her wrists, and the earth quaked beneath her feet as slabs of rock rose up
around her and shaped themselves into a massive, impenetrable dome. She snapped her fingers
closed into tight fists, and a stone table emerged along with six stone bowls. Whilst twirling the
pointer finger of her right hand, she traced a series of runes in the air with her left.

The edges of the stone table groaned in protest as those same runes were carved deep into the rock.

After completing her runes, Daenerys teleported Lady Alicent inside the dome and gently laid her
down upon the stone table, carefully arranging her arms and legs to be perfectly straight. She
waved a hand to place four of the stone bowls at the table’s corners and the fifth and sixth at either
end. A snap of her fingers summoned the components that she’d gathered seven days prior from
where they’d been hidden away in her chambers.

Into the bowl sitting to the right of Lady Alicent’s head, she poured water from the River Calsidren.
Into the bowl sitting to the left of Lady Alicent’s head, she placed forty-nine small stones from one
of Stone Garden’s gravel paths. In the bowl sitting beside Lady Alicent’s right foot, she ignited a
fire using Lady Alicent’s body heat rather than her own. And in the bowl sitting beside Lady
Alicent’s left foot, she created a swirling orb of air.

She telekinetically uncorked a pair of silver vials and drained their contents into the fifth bowl at
Lady Alicent’s feet. Golden sap from two different silverwood trees—one from the oldest of the
Seven Sacred Groves and one from the grove that had been planted beside the Stone Garden
Temple—blended together in the bowl, bright and shining with life.

Turning her attention to the sixth bowl, she shifted the nails of her right hand into dragon claws and
then swiftly sliced across her left wrist.

Her claws were so sharp that she didn’t even feel her flesh cleaving beneath them, but she watched
her skin part like water before a blade, watched as silver blood flowed forth to fill the bowl.

Once she was certain that she had enough, Daenerys swiftly healed the cuts and then dipped her
fingers into her own blood to begin drawing additional runes on Lady Alicent’s palms and the
backs of her hands and on her forehead.

Her lips pursed as she expelled a heavy sigh. “Please forgive me, My Lady.”

Waving her hand, she removed Lady Alicent’s shoes, gown, chemise, and breast band so that she
could draw the final runes on the bottoms of her feet and on her breasts.

Would that she had been able to ask Lady Alicent’s leave before partially disrobing her, but even
the mere question would have divulged more than she dared.

The price of wyrd marks.

A shudder rippled through her body at the mere thought.

Memories of the horrors that her father, brothers, husband, and sons had inflicted upon her and her
family with such marks surged, snapping and clawing at her mind, howling and roaring for her
blood.

Shaking her head, Daenerys hurriedly cleaned her fingers with a handkerchief that she then burned
to ash.

Wyrd marks had corrupted the men of the Old World who had used them, had bent and twisted
them and their magic into something grotesque, had given them the power to subjugate women and
slaughter the dragons, had brought about the horrors of Wyrd Fall . . .

But no other form of magic held the strength needed for what must be done.

Her stomach clenched, but she ignored it.

There would be a debt to pay this day.

But it would be hers alone.

Inhaling slowly, she raised her hands and began to chant in a harmonious combination of Classical
Lyrian, Old Nørsk, and Ancient Cairdic. The syllables flowed from her tongue as the languages
blended together into something that was both all of them and yet none of them. Her hands and
arms danced in time with her words—soft and fluid as wending water.

The air crackled around them—around Alicent—as magic enveloped her in a swirling cloud of blue
and green, of red and orange, or silver and gold. The power roared with a life of its own, howled
with a desire to be fully unleashed, bellowed for blood and bone.

From deep within the whirling mist, silver light flared from the wyrd marks, and Lady Alicent
screamed.

Only once.

And for no longer than half a heartbeat.

But it was a bone-chilling sound that rattled Daenerys’ very soul.

A sound that she remembered well—from her own lips as her mortality was ripped away, from the
lips of every other member of the First Generation, and later from the lips of Aegon and his fellow
Kervanites.

Stealing herself, Daenerys continued incanting, continued calling upon Relle and the strength of the
ancient goddesses whose aspects Great-Grandaunt Septima had forged into a new deity, continued
summoning power from her own core such that she felt as if she was being torn asunder from
within.

A growl rumbled in her chest as her arms and legs went stiff, refusing to bend as her motions
became sharp and cutting and disjoined. The words of her incantation burned her throat, rising from
someplace deep in her belly where a dragon’s fire had once burned.

The light of the wyrd marks flared brighter still, slicing through the magic surrounding Lady
Alicent in a maelstrom of raw power and forcing Daenerys to close her eyes.

She could feel her own blood singing in response to the blood that had been used to draw the wyrd
marks.

Blood calls to blood.

When the light eventually receded, she opened her eyes in time to see the wyrd marks rise from
Lady Alicent’s flesh to hover above her unconscious body. While no longer blinding, the wyrd
marks still glowed with an unnerving and unnatural light that made Daenerys’ core recoil even as
she continued drawing power from it.

Slowly, the wyrd marks began to spin in a wide, almost lazy circle.

The cadence of Daenerys’ words shifted as the wyrd marks spun.

Faster and faster, until they were no more than a whirling blur of silver.

Faster and faster, until the whirling blur coalesced into a pulsating sphere.
Faster and faster, until the pulsating sphere lengthened into a glowing spear.

A glowing spear of silver blood now poised above the Lady Alicent’s left breast.

Now.

Inhaling deeply through her nose, Daenerys summoned the elements and the undying sap from their
bowls.

Water from the River Calsidren, which gave Lady Alicent life. Versatile and adaptable, fluid and
changing, persistent in all ways.

Earth from Stone Garden, which had been trod upon twenty-seven times both forwards and back.
Solid and unmoving, constant and dependable in a way little else was or could be.

Fire from Lady Alicent herself, ignited by the spark of life that resided within her. Fierce passion
and even fiercer protection, living and breathing as none of the other elements could.

Air from Valyria, from the world created by Relle Lightbringer for her temporal daughters. Free
and unbound, yet inextricably linked to Valyria and their Heavenly Mother.

Undying sap from a silverwood connected to Relle and a silverwood connected to Lady Alicent.
Unchanging and unaging, no matter how much time passed them by.

Daenerys swiftly shaped the elements and sap into spears identical to the one hovering above Lady
Alicent’s chest, twirled her fingers to urge them closer to the blood that sang and called to them,
watched as all six spears intertwined to form a single, deadly point.

Versatility, constancy, passion, and freedom—all bound together by unaging sap and immortal
blood.

Blood calls to blood.

Bringing her hands together in a thunderous clap, Daenerys sliced through the artery of Lady
Alicent’s upper right arm and watched as crimson blood spilled onto the stone floor.

Rhaenyra frowned slightly as she prodded her upper arm, attempting to determine the source of the
sudden sting that she’d felt a mere moment ago.

But there was nothing.

Strange.

Shaking her head, she returned the whole of her attention to Mistress Missandei, who was seated
across from her. After leaving Alicent and the All Mother, she and Mistress Missandei had retreated
to one of the solars in the Gardenia Tower for some tea and honey cakes.

Rhaenyra had yet to touch either.

At present, Mistress Missandei was attempting to distract her from thoughts of Alicent’s
immortalization by cheerfully regaling her with a tale about the first time that she’d attempted to
craft a glass three-headed dragon as a gift for the All Mother.

“It was utterly dreadful, in truth,” she was saying, “misshapen and rather a horror to look upon. I
intended to destroy it at once, and perhaps never attempt to blow glass again, but then Dany burst
into the room to inform me about something foolish that Maerelle had done. And when she saw
that ugly little dragon,” Mistress Missandei smiled, her scent warming as affection radiated from
her, “she laughed so hard that I feared she might collapse.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows rose slightly. That certainly wasn’t the reaction that she’d expected.

“I was mortified, but when I tried to destroy the thing, Dany snatched it away with her telekinesis
and asked if it was meant for her. I could hardly claim otherwise, and when I told her yes, she
clutched the little gargoyle to her chest and forbade me from destroying her gift.” Mistress
Missandei shook her head with a combination of fondness and exasperation. “She still refuses to
part with it, despite all of the other glass animals that I’ve made for her since. That horrid little
sculpture has been tarnishing the shelf above our bed since we took up residence at Dragonstone.”

A smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips at the sweetness of the tale, but a heaviness had settled in her
stomach as she thought about the glass sculptures residing in her and Alicent’s bedchamber.

Sculptures that had also been forged by Mistress Missandei’s hands.

Her throat tightened.

“Our people will see that House Targaryen does not tolerate corruption of any kind, nor do we
allow evil to simply fester. We cut it out. And we burn it.”

But burnings were not how their people punished those who broke the Golden Laws.

“Rhaenyra? Is everything all right?” Mistress Missandei was watching her worriedly. “I know you
must be worried, but Dany is certain that the spell will be successful.”

“I’m . . .” Rhaenyra shook her head. In truth, her own concerns about the immortalization were
entirely the result of Alicent’s worry rather than her own. She knew that the All Mother would
never risk killing another woman’s mate. “There is a matter that I’ve been wishing to discuss with
you.”

“Oh?”

“Might I ask,” Rhaenyra hesitated, lacing her fingers together as her black rose ring began to shift,
“when you forged the Great Glass Prisons—”

Mistress Missandei grimaced.

Rhaenyra lowered her eyes. “Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have raised the matter.”

“You needn’t apologize, Rhaenyra.” Mistress Missandei offered a reassuring smile that didn’t quite
reach her eyes. “If anyone has a right to inquire about the Prisons, it is you.”

And yet it was plain that the other woman had no wish to speak of them.

“My question was of no consequence.”

“You would not have posed it if that were so.” Mistress Missandei’s eyes caught and held hers,
refusing to release them. “What do you wish to know?”

Rhaenyra shifted slightly, her desire for an answer warring with her instinct to not discomfort a
member of the First Generation. “You forged them at Grandmother’s behest, did you not?”

“I did.” Mistress Missandei’s eyes became distant as they focused somewhere beyond what
Rhaenyra could see. “At the time, we thought it most efficacious. A prison from which escape is
truly impossible, that sustains the prisoner within so she requires neither food nor drink, that is
small in size and portable if need be, that isolates . . .” She shook her head. “But you know all this.”

So she did.

“The Prisons were only intended for a single individual then? No one ever contemplated placing
more than one woman in the same Prison?”

Mistress Missandei shook her head. “That would be impossible. Complete isolation is half the
punishment, even if time is somewhat . . . distorted within. Each Prison can house but one soul.
That was how I forged them, and the subsequent enchantments interwoven into that primary matrix
by the other members of the First Generation ensured that would remain so.” She cocked her head
slightly. “Surely you noticed when you wove in your own enchantment.”

Rhaenyra forced herself not to grimace at the memory of holding the Great Glass Prisons in her
hands the day after her ascension to the Dragon Throne, of enchanting each one with a seven-
layered interlocking shield spell, of her mother’s critical gaze upon her as she’d impatiently waited
for Rhaenyra to complete her duty. “I noticed, but I didn’t take the time to determine whether it was
bypassable.”

Mistress Missandei was giving her a strange look. “It is very much not bypassable, I assure you.”

“And was it the First Generation’s intention to punish both the condemned and her mate?”

Mistress Missandei winced. “No, of course not. At the time . . .” She sighed. “Twenty-eight
thousand five hundred and fifteen of us survived the Doom, the Long Travels, and the Black Fever,
Rhaenyra. And nigh all of us—” Her eyes closed for a brief moment. “There were but seven mated
pairs at the time. In truth, when creating the Great Glass Prisons, we did not much consider the
implications of what might happen if one day we had to imprison a mated woman. And with you
. . .”

She’d been unmated and without even a sweetheart, so there had been no need to consider the
matter.

“May I ask why you wish to know this information, Rhaenyra?”

“You may ask, but I’m not yet ready to offer an answer.”

A wry smile curled Mistress Missandei’s lips. “You sound very much like your grandmother.”

Rhaenyra’s cheeks flushed.

Mistress Missandei chuckled as she rose to her feet. “Might we take a stroll through the gardens
then? It’s been over an age since I last visited the Queen’s Keep, and your remaining here shan’t
hasten my Dany and your Alicent’s return.”

Rhaenyra stood from her chair and tilted her head slightly. “Is there any garden in particular that
you wish to visit?”

“One of the water gardens, if you please.” Mistress Missandei smiled wistfully. “They were my
favorite when Dany and I lived here.”

Considering the All Mother had ordered them built as a gift for her beloved, that was hardly a
surprise.

“It would be my honor to escort you, Mistress Missandei.” Rhaenyra offered her arm with a
flourish.

Amusement shone in Mistress Missandei’s golden eyes as she linked her arm with Rhaenyra’s.
“You are most certainly your grandmother’s granddaughter.”

Lady Alicent’s crimson blood stained the stone floor.

Daenerys’ incantation was swiftly approaching its crescendo.

She swept her arms upwards in a wide arc as lightning crackled between her fingers.

The spear fell lower, and its tip pressed hard against the flesh above Lady Alicent’s heart.

Inhaling a slow, measured breath, Daenerys’ hands fell, slicing through the air as her body became
rigid and she threw her head back with a dragon’s roar that shook the dome.

Lady Alicent screamed as the spear pierced her flesh and lanced her heart—as fire burned and
water soothed, as earth crushed and air expanded, as undying sap sealed her wounds and immortal
blood replaced what had spilled onto the unforgiving stone floor.

A concussive blast erupted outwards, shattering the dome.

Daenerys held her ground as the roar died in her throat.

Lady Alicent shuddered as the fire burned away what remained of her mortality, as the earth sank
deep into her bones to make them stronger than ever before, as the air filled her lungs with new
breath, as the water soothed her pain and granted her new life, as the undying sap infused her cells
to make them unaging, as the immortal blood flowed throughout her body.

Then.

Silence.

Stillness.

For seconds.

For heartbeats.
For an eternity.

Perhaps she ought—

Lady Alicent inhaled a sharp breath.

Daenerys released the one that she’d been holding.

It was done.

She approached the stone table with heavy, exhausted steps.

Soon, she would be able to rest.

Soon, she would have Missandei’s scent filling her lungs.

Soon, she would return home with her beloved and seal away these memories.

Lady Alicent’s expression was peaceful as she slumbered.

As it should be.

Pressing two fingers against Lady Alicent’s forehead, Daenerys found the memories that the other
woman couldn’t be allowed to keep.

Agony seized her body—so great and blinding that her legs almost failed her.

Her breath hissed out from between clenched teeth, but she endured.

She’d suffered this same pain thousands of times before.

She could do so again now.

The price of wyrd marks.

Alicent awoke to the feeling of gentle fingers caressing her cheeks and the sweet scent of roses
wrapping around her as warmly as one of Rhaenyra’s cloaks. Blinking open her eyes, she was
greeted by the ethereal sight of her bondmate haloed by the afternoon sun streaming in through the
windows of their bedchamber.

Rhaenyra beamed upon seeing that she was awake. “My Love.” She leaned down and kissed
Alicent’s lips—soft and sweet and much too short.

Grumbling, Alicent reached up and threaded her fingers through her bondmate’s hair so that she
could coax her back for a proper kiss.

Amusement glinted in Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes as she acquiesced, kissing her soundly.

A soft, muffled whimper escaped from Alicent’s mouth when she felt Rhaenyra’s tongue, and she
eagerly parted her lips to grant her entrance. Her grip on Rhaenyra’s hair tightened as her toes
curled and her magic surged within her.
 The sound of something large and heavy crashing onto the floor caused Rhaenyra to rear back and
whip her head towards the noise.

Alicent pushed herself up into a sitting position on the settee and followed her bondmate’s gaze,
warmth spreading through her cheeks when she realized that she’d accidentally overturned one of
the nearby tables. “My apologies, I didn’t mean—”

“You’ve nothing to—” Rhaenyra broke off when she turned her attention back to Alicent, eyes
widening with awe and shining with utter delight.

“Nyra?”

“My Alicent.” Rhaenyra’s hands rose to cradle her face, to brush her thumbs over the swells of
Alicent’s cheekbones. “My Safa.” She kissed her nose. “My Brilliant Bondmate.”

Alicent blushed all the more, though she couldn’t help but also preen at the praise.

“Your cheeks.” Rhaenyra grinned at her. “They’re no longer red.”

For a moment, Alicent stared at her blankly, then her eyes widened with understanding as she
scrambled off of the settee and rushed across their bedchamber to Rhaenyra’s vanity.

She sucked in a breath when she saw herself, when she saw her flushed cheeks.

They weren’t pinkened or reddened, but they were several shades darker than normal.

Alicent had known—

She hadn’t doubted—

But actually seeing—

“Mother Relle and All Her Faces,” she breathed as her hand rose to touch her flushed cheek.

Rhaenyra appeared behind her, grinning brighter than the sun as she wrapped her arms around
Alicent’s waist. “I’m yours.” She kissed the back of her neck. “And you’re mine.”

Alicent turned in her bondmate’s arms so that they were facing each other, a matching smile curling
her lips. “Until long after the stars go dark.”

She could imagine nothing better than an eternity spent with her Nyra.

Chapter End Notes

Reminder that I will not be posting a new chapter next weekend (December 2/December 3,
depending on your timezone) due to an eye procedure (see Chapter 45 endnotes). I just wanted
to let you know in advance so no one thinks that I've suddenly abandoned Silver Queen/was
hit by a bus.

Anywho, Alicent has been immortalized! Whoo!

Next Chapter: Rhaenyra does some sparring and Alicent has no chill about it.
 Love and Longing
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 48:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden– Ygritte Mormont, a Stone Garden
courtier, from Norden
– Hylda Westerling, Shadow Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Gelt
– Sabitha Vypren, Lily Knight of Queen Rhaenyra's Garden Knights, from Saevara

A special thanks to beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains a smut scene, which will be marked at the beginning
and end with double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Autumn Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

Alicent’s brow furrowed with concentration as she attempted to shape the ball of water that she’d
formed in the air into anything resembling an apple. In her mind, she could see the water smoothing
and molding itself into the likeness of an apple with a short, thin stem emerging from the top and
perhaps even a leaf or two, but the actual water in front of her refused to obey her desires.

Seated before her on a pair of settees, the members of her group stared at the undulating water in
consternation as they attempted to determine what it was meant to be.

Sabitha’s lips were pursed as she cocked her head to one side, while Gilly and Aly stared intently at
the water as if that would somehow make the amorphous sphere more recognizable. Rhaenyra’s
attention was shifting between her and the water, concern crinkling her brow every time that she
glanced at Alicent.

Seven Hells.

It had been at Margaery’s suggestion that they play charades tonight as a way for Alicent to
practice her elementalism and improve her dexterity and precision. And since she’d only recently
begun her lessons, her friends had agreed that she should be allowed to see her creation as she was
forming it, rather than having to turn her back and rely entirely on her ability to visualize.

While somewhat vexed that she was playing charades as a child would, she well-knew that she
lacked the skill to play as an adult.

The wretched excuse for a water apple hovering in front of her face was proof enough of that.
Teeth sinking into her lower lip, Alicent’s eyes narrowed with concentration as her hands began
circling each other in smooth ellipses. She knew that her control had been improving over the past
few months, and she knew that she could eventually shape the water into the likeness of an apple,
but she only had so much time before—

“Fifteen seconds remaining,” Margaery declared, her eyes focused on the tiny grains of sand
swiftly slipping through the narrow neck of the sandglass timer.

“A sphere?” Aly offered.

Sansa shook her head.

Alicent’s jaw tightened as the water at last began to—

“An orange?” Sabitha guessed.

Sansa once again shook her head, a triumphant grin already curling her lips.

She tasted blood—no longer quite as metallic as it had been before her immortalization—but she
ignored it as the surface of the water became smoother and the bottom part of the sphere tapered—

“A cone,” Gilly cried.

Sansa shook her head for a third time.

Rhaenyra was frowning now, her nose twitching.

Alicent pinched her fingers together and then hurriedly drew them apart as she attempted to quickly
form the stem before—

“An apple—”

“—Time!”

The water splashed back into the bowl, and Alicent’s arms fell heavily to her sides.

Rhaenyra looked as if she wanted to rush over to her, but her bondmate restrained herself from
making a fuss, for which Alicent was grateful.

As she returned to where the other members of her group awaited her, Alicent suppressed a grimace
as her teeth released her lower lip and she tasted fresh blood. I shouldn’t have bitten so hard.

By the time that she was once again settled upon her bondmate’s warm lap, arguments had begun
over whether Rhaenyra had correctly guessed Alicent’s prompt in time.

“The sands had clearly run out,” Ygritte snapped.

“Your eyes must be failing you, Sæta, because there were plainly half a dozen grains left in the
upper chamber,” Gilly retorted.

“Half a dozen invisible grains?”

“Don’t be cross simply because we’re now a point ahead.”

“You can hardly claim—”

Rhaenyra was gazing at Alicent worriedly. “Is your lip all right, My Love?”

Alicent nodded, embarrassment staining her cheeks. “It’s only a slight sting,” she assured her.

“May I?”

Alicent nodded once more, smiling when Rhaenyra’s thumb gently traced over her lower lip. A
pleasant shiver rippled down her spine as she felt the soft tingle of Rhaenyra’s magic healing the
small wounds left behind by her teeth. “Thank you, Nyra.”

“Of course, Ali.” Rhaenyra gave her an affectionate nuzzle as her arms wrapped more tightly
around her waist. “You made an excellent apple.”

“My apple was dreadful,” Alicent scoffed. “How you managed to guess what it was, was a feat in
and of itself.”

“Indeed,” Aemma agreed from the other side of the room.

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow at her seneschal. “Care to speak plainly, Aemma?”

Aemma spread her hands and offered an innocent smile. “I’m merely noting that your answer was
rather sudden and most opportune.”

Sabitha wagged a finger at Aemma. “Accusing Her Majesty of cheating is one matter, Lady
Aemma, but your accusation implicates the Lady Alicent as well, and we all know that such deceit
isn’t in her nature.”

Luwina guffawed. “Defending Alicent against accusations of duplicity but not your liege lady? For
shame, Vora.”

Amusement sparked in Sabitha’s eyes. “Only one of them has a history of sabotage.”

That earned a laugh from everyone in the room—including Alicent.

Rhaenyra grumbled as she rested her chin on Alicent’s shoulder.

Alicent patted her hand. “Your refusal to engage during the snow war was very sweet, Nyra, if
somewhat vexing for everyone else involved.”

“Don’t believe her sweet lies, Your Majesty.” Sabitha’s face was set with an expression of mock
severity. “The way that you hampered our efforts was exceedingly vexing.”

“Mind your tongue, Vora,” Rhaenyra warned, the brightness of her eyes belying her dark tone,
“elsewise I may have to order you to guard my door every night for the next decade or three.”

Aly gasped loudly, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, Your Majesty, I beg of you, please do not
punish me for my mate’s foolish words.”

Rather than chuckle, a frown tugged at Rhaenyra’s lips as shadows descended over her eyes.

Alicent lightly squeezed her arm. “My Love?”

Rhaenyra’s expression cleared at once as she said to Aly, “I suppose that I can be merciful—for
your sake.”

“My most heartfelt thanks, Your Majesty.” Aly was grinning cheerfully, but the earlier levity was
gone from the room.

Aemma cleared her throat. “I suppose that we can concede last round’s point.” Before anyone could
protest—though Alicent doubted that they’d intended to—she turned to Margaery. “I believe that
you are next in the rotation.”

Margaery rose to her feet and made her way to the front of the parlor, keeping her back to them as
she faced the wall. “What shall I be dazzling you all with this time?”

Alicent felt a series of gentle taps on her mental ward, which she swiftly lowered so that the other
members of her group could form links with her. She was still learning the mechanics of creating a
webbed communication network, so she was content to allow others to form the links rather than
embarrass herself.

“We ought to choose something exceptionally nebulous,” Aly thought with an impish grin.
“Perhaps something like truth.”

Gilly arched an eyebrow. “How would one even represent that?”

Aly shrugged. “You ask a question that would be for Margaery to answer.”

“Perhaps we should offer a somewhat less undefined prompt,” Alicent suggested. Much as she was
curious to see how Margaery would portray “truth” with the elements, she knew well Valyrians’
delight in exacting petty vengeance in games like this, and she had little interest in possibly
suffering whatever retribution Margaery might see fit to mete out in subsequent rounds.

Besides, Margaery’s group had been kind to her when they’d given her the prompt of “apple.”

“Happiness?” Sabitha offered.

“Elation,” Rhaenyra countered.

Aly sighed aloud. “I suppose that will suffice.”

“Shall I communicate it to her?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Might I try?” Alicent may not be able to help form a webbed communication network yet, but her
ability to swiftly form mental links with individuals aside from Rhaenyra was greatly improving.

Her bondmate and her friends assented at once.

Lips pursing with concentration, Alicent focused inwards on her core pulsing gently just below her
sternum, imagined it as a ball of yarn and that she was plucking but a single thread from the
jumbled mass.

Staring at the back of Margaery’s head, Alicent exhaled slowly, sending out the tendril of magic in
the direction of her breath—with her breath—in search of her friend’s mental ward.
She grimaced slightly when she found it, when her magic struck against something hard and solid
—so much so that it sent reverberations back along the invisible thread connecting her to Margaery.

The peculiar interconnectedness between the mental and the physical with regards to magic was
something that Alicent found endlessly fascinating.

Once Margaery’s mental ward lowered, Alicent’s thread of magic was immediately met by another
that swiftly intertwined with hers.

“You’ve made a decision then?” Margaery asked, amusement plain in her mental voice.

“We have.” Alicent paused a moment when she became aware of some fleeting thought brushing
past her link with Margaery, but not lingering long enough for her to discern it fully—not without
probing deeper. “Your prompt is elation.”

“Elation, hmm?” Margaery’s thoughts were already beginning to swirl, and Alicent swore that she
saw flashes of—

Margaery’s ward rose, severing the link.

Alicent shook her head a little at the abrupt loss of connection, her hand instinctively rising to
touch the place beneath her sternum, where she could feel her core pulsing softly as the thread of
magic that she’d sent outwards returned and enmeshed itself.

Margaery lifted a hand, her wrist flicking from side to side and creating a stiff breeze that swept
through the room to gather up the autumn leaves piled beside the bowl of water and the small stack
of stones.

The leaves spun and danced through the air for a few moments before condensing into the shape of
a woman, who was soon joined by a second woman made of rippling water trimmed by ice.

Alicent couldn’t help but smile as the leaf woman ran into the arms of the water woman.

“Reunion?” Aemma guessed.

“No,” Sabitha answered.

The water woman grasped her leafy companion by the waist and spun her around in a wide circle
before—

Alicent’s brow furrowed in confusion as the water woman seemed to gently lay the leaf woman
down upon her back.

“Taking care,” Luwina offered.

Aly shook her head, amusement glittering in her eyes.

The leaf woman beckoned to the water woman, and then—

Aemma gasped, eyes widening with shock.

Sabitha cleared her throat and shifted slightly as she glanced upwards at the ceiling.
Rhaenyra stiffened, and the slightly strangled sound that she made was one that Alicent had only
heard a handful of times before.

And Alicent could hardly blame her.

Merciful Mother above.

Margaery was the boldest and most unapologetic person that Alicent knew, but this . . .

The water woman was now atop the leaf woman, settled between spread, leafy legs, and it was
plain to everyone what the two of them were doing.

“Seven Hells,” Rhaenyra muttered.

Her bondmate’s cheeks were dark with mortification, and her eyes were gazing intently out the
window at the twinkling stars above.

Despite her own surprise and no small amount of disbelief that Margaery would choose to craft
such a bawdy display in her queen’s presence, Alicent couldn’t help but chuckle at Rhaenyra’s
reaction.

This was the same woman who only this morning had been nipping at her earlobe and playing with
her nipples whilst whispering how lovely Alicent sounded when she moaned.

Of course, Alicent supposed that this was also the same woman who had looked as if she might
faint when asked about a bedding position wherein one woman sat astride another’s face.

Alicent had been curious about the logistics of the position and whether it would be difficult for the
woman on the bottom to breathe.

Rhaenyra had stammered incoherently for several minutes before finally managing to assure her
that breathing would not be a concern.

Alicent had then spent several hours buried in her books with her Bedding Journal.

Glancing over at Sansa, Alicent saw that her friend’s expression was a rather peculiar combination
of utter exasperation and loving indulgence.

How oft does Margaery create bawdy scenes for charades?

She suddenly found herself wondering what Rhaenyra would have done if given the prompt
“elation.”

“Bedding,” Ygritte guessed.

“Half a minute left,” Gilly replied with no small amount of smugness.

The leaf woman began to writhe beneath the water woman.

“Ecstasy,” Sansa said.

“Twenty seconds.”
Aemma, Luwina, Ygritte, and Sansa shared a collective frown as they exchanged a series of looks
and nigh inaudible whispers.

“Pleasure?”

“Ten seconds.”

“Seven Hells,” Sansa growled. “Joy?”

“Five seconds.”

“Excitement?”

“Arousal?”

“Euphoria?”

“Rapture?”

“Time!” Gilly crowed.

Margaery groaned as she spun around to face her group. “It was elation!”

“How in Relle’s name were we supposed to guess that when you decided to depict two women
bedding each other?” Sansa demanded.

“Am I not always elated when you take me to bed, Safa?” Margaery spread her hands, head
cocking slightly to one side. “I thought that it would be obvious.”

Sansa huffed out an aggravated breath.

Margaery hurried across the room, sat down beside Sansa, and enveloped her mate in a tight hug.
“Please forgive me, Sans.” She nuzzled her cheek and brought her mouth close to Sansa’s ear to
whisper something to her.

“Margaery,” Sansa sputtered, her cheeks darkening along with her eyes, “you can’t—”

“Can’t I?” Margaery arched her eyebrows as a sly smile curled her lips.

Rhaenyra loudly cleared her throat. “I do believe that it is my turn now.” Without waiting for
anyone to agree, she swiftly rose to her feet and moved to the front of the room.

A few moments later, black fire ignited in the air behind her back, bright and roaring as it pulsed
with a heartbeat all its own. Tongues of inky flame spread outwards like sunbeams as the fire
stretched and reshaped itself.

Alicent’s eyes widened with awe even as a warm flush stained her cheeks.

Rhaenyra was using her fire to create a portrait.

Of her.

“Love,” she guessed, part of her feeling foolish for assuming, and yet how could she not?
Margaery was grinning like mad, and her eyes shone with mirth as she shook her head.

Water surged from the bowl, splitting into small, seven-pointed stars that froze to ice a moment
later. The ice stars danced through the air before nestling themselves amid the black flames to
frame Alicent’s face.

“Adoration,” Aly guessed.

“No.” Aemma was smiling as broadly as Margaery.

Gilly frowned as she inspected the flaming portrait. “Mate?”

“One minute left,” Luwina warned.

Sabitha suddenly barked a laugh as she clapped her hands together. “Perfection.”

Margaery, Sansa, Aemma, Luwina, and Ygritte groaned.

Alicent’s face was aflame, and were she still mortal, she knew that her cheeks and neck would be
redder than Sansa’s hair.

Grinning triumphantly, Rhaenyra returned to their settee and drew Alicent onto her lap before
pressing a warm kiss to her cheek. “Did you find the portrait pleasing, My Love?”

Alicent nodded wordlessly, not knowing how to articulate all of the thoughts swirling through her
mind. Rhaenyra telling her that she was lovely and perfect in the privacy of their chambers or when
they were alone was one matter, but to declare it so publicly . . .

“I love you.”

“And I adore you.” Rhaenyra gave her cheek another kiss as her hand lightly stroked Alicent’s
side.

“So I gathered.”

Rhaenyra chuckled aloud as she squeezed Alicent’s hip. “How could I have chosen anything else
when given the prompt of ‘perfection,’ hmm?”

“Flatterer,” Alicent mumbled, finally finding her voice.

“Be grateful that she remains so doting,” Margaery chuckled. “Soon enough she’ll be giving you
exasperated looks every other day.”

“You’re far less vexing than Margaery, Alicent,” Sansa assured her. “I’m certain that you have
nothing to fret about.”

Margaery made an offended noise and collapsed onto Sansa’s lap. “I’ve been felled by the cruel
words of the woman who holds my heart.”

Ygritte snorted, her tone dry and flat. “How utterly tragic.”

Margaery immediately sat back up. “Your mockery has revived me, Ygritte. My thanks.”
“If I say something nice will you be felled again?”

As her friends devolved into amiable bickering, Alicent snuggled deeper into her bondmate’s warm
embrace. “That was very sweet, Nyra. Your portrait.”

Rhaenyra beamed, chest puffing. “You deserve only the kindest of words and sweetest of gestures,
My Alicent.”

As ever, Alicent wondered what she could have possibly done to deserve so devoted and loving a
bondmate as Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Alicent hummed happily as Rhaenyra combed her hair, and she smiled to herself every time that
her bondmate paused to kiss the top of her head. The feeling of the comb’s wide, blunt teeth lightly
scratching her scalp was almost as soothing as when Rhaenyra would hold her close and gently
stroke her hair.

Rhaenyra combing and braiding her hair at night before they retired to bed was a rather recent
development, but Alicent adored it. Her bondmate’s nimble fingers were always so gentle, and
Alicent usually received an affectionate kiss and nuzzle once her safa was finished, though
sometimes Rhaenyra would scoop her up into her arms, carry her over to their bed, lay her down,
and kiss her breathless instead.

Regardless, Alicent always fell asleep with a smile upon her lips.

She knew that tonight she would receive a sweet kiss and a loving nuzzle.

The tender way that Rhaenyra was gazing at her in the mirror, the sweet warmth of her bondmate’s
scent, the unabashed affection shining in her eyes . . .

Rhaenyra wished to dote upon her this evening.

She wondered if it was because of her poor showing during charades.

Which reminded her.

“Nyra?”

“Yes, Safa?” Rhaenyra drew the comb through her hair one final time before setting it aside.

“How did you know that I was trying to make an apple?”

Rhaenyra was silent for a moment, and Alicent knew that her bondmate was considering how she
wished to phrase her answer. “The movements of your hands,” she finally said. “The way that you
were pinching and pulling,” she smiled slightly, wistfully, “Elaena always did the same when she
was trying to form the stem of a water apple.”

Alicent cocked her head slightly as Rhaenyra began dividing her hair. “Did you often play charades
with your sisters?”

“No.” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed a moment before her expression softened once more. “My daughters
though, they adored playing charades when they were children. Whenever they visited Dragon
Ridge, they always insisted on a game at least once a week.”

Alicent bit her lip to hide her surprise, for Rhaenyra rarely spoke about her daughters’ childhood.
She’d long ago concluded that it was because her bondmate didn’t wish to make her sad with talk
of children. “Did you ever play with them?”

Rhaenyra shook her head, guilt flashing in her eyes. “No. There was—it never felt as if there was
time. And I worried . . . I didn’t wish to disturb their games.”

Would they have considered it a disturbance?

She didn’t know.

None of her mothers had ever played much with her and her sisters, but they were not expected to.

Are empresses expected to play with their daughters?

She doubted that Viserra ever had, but that meant little and less.

“I was not a very good mother to my daughters,” Rhaenyra murmured, her eyes refusing to meet
Alicent’s. “The crown princesses belong first and last to the Empire, and so they are sent away.
Away to Saevara, Farnier, the Isles, Norden, Gelt, and Bellmar to ensure that they are raised
surrounded by the women that they shall one day rule. Away to Dragon Wood to ensure that they
learn the arts of ruling away from their mother’s shadow.” She expelled a quiet breath. “We
empresses are raised to be mothers to our people, but we learn little about mothering our own flesh
and blood.” A wry, almost pained smile curled her lips. “We revere motherhood so much that we’ve
created an entire dynasty of negligent mothers.”

“Nyra, you did as best you could, and I’m certain that you were a fine mother.”

Rhaenyra shrugged as she finished binding Alicent’s braid. “I was not always warm towards
Visenya. And I taught her many of the same lessons about what an empress owes to her people that
my own mother taught me. Duty above all else.” Her hand caressed Alicent’s hair as a wistful
expression came over her face. “I long ago forgot how many times I said that to her.”

Alicent reached back to claim her bondmate’s other hand. “Nyra, there is a vast difference between
teaching your heir about her duties and what Viserra did to you. You never harmed your daughters.
You never inflicted pain upon them.”

The smile that Rhaenyra offered her in return didn’t quite reach her eyes, but her expression was
less shadowed now. “I tried to be kind to them, but . . .” She shook her head. “Well, I suppose it
makes little matter now. That ink has dried, and there is naught that I can do to change their
childhoods.” She stepped back and offered her hand to Alicent. “You may judge for yourself
whether I’m deserving of their love when you see them at the Summit.”

Alicent’s stomach twisted nervously at the thought of facing Rhaenyra’s daughters for the first time
since the treaty signing, but she swiftly smothered the feeling so that she could focus on her
bondmate.

Taking Rhaenyra’s hand in her own, Alicent led her over to their bed and urged her to slip beneath
the covers.
Once her safa was comfortably settled, Alicent joined her and wrapped her arms around Rhaenyra’s
waist to draw her close. While it was not often that Rhaenyra needed to be held, Alicent knew well
the signs that her bondmate was in need of this particular sort of comfort and affection. She pressed
a kiss to Rhaenyra’s cheek. “You may have imparted the same lessons upon your daughters as were
imparted to you, but you are nothing like Viserra.”

She doubted that woman was even capable of fathoming the possibility that her actions were
wrong.

Rhaenyra made a soft sound as she pressed closer to Alicent. “Thank you, Ali.”

Alicent knew from Rhaenyra’s tone that her safa didn’t entirely believe her, but that was all right.
Her Nyra could take all the time that she needed, for Alicent knew well that these matters could not
be hastened.

“You are a good woman, My Love.” One of Alicent’s hands gently stroked her back while the other
squeezed her hip. “You are a bondmate beyond compare.” She kissed her softly. “And I’m certain
that you are a good mother.”

A quiet purr rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest. “Beyond compare, hmm?”

“Even attempting such an analysis would be a fool’s task.” Alicent pressed their foreheads together.
“Sleep now, My Love. I know that today was long for you.”

“Only because I was denied your presence for most of it.”

Alicent couldn’t help but laugh, and she rewarded the sweet words with a kiss. “Sleep, Nyra.”

“As My Lovely Lady commands.” Rhaenyra stole another brief kiss before relaxing in Alicent’s
arms and closing her eyes.

Alicent smiled softly as she listened to her bondmate’s breathing grow steadier and heavier, as she
listened to the quiet beat of her heart, as she listened to the gentle croon of her core.

Her own core sang in response.

It had been far too long since Rhaenyra had last held a sword in her hand, since she’d last heard the
song of steel striking steel, since she’d last danced with her knights. And Merciful Mother how she
had missed this—the simplicity of allowing her body to move without thought in the practiced
motions long ago learned and memorized, the satisfying exertion that came from exercising all of
her muscles as she ducked and dodged, stabbed and slashed, whirled and wove, and blocked and
parried, the peacefulness that settled over her mind as she allowed her worries to fade away to
nothing.

With the Dragon Summit less than two months away, preparations had been consuming most of her
time of late, and what time she had to spare, she had been dedicating to Alicent.

But her bondmate had noticed her restlessness the other day, had laughed and smiled and kissed her
and bid her spend some time in the training yard with her knights. “You look like a caged lion, My
Love. I would see you relaxed.”
Rhaenyra had given her a teasing smirk as she’d lightly squeezed her waist. “You’ve never seen a
lion, Ali. Caged or otherwise.”

“I have a very vivid imagination.” Alicent had shrugged and leaned in to nip at her jaw. “Would
you care to hear about some of the things I’ve been imagining of late?”

She sometimes wondered if Alicent meant to drive her mad.

And if that were so, she supposed that she could accept her fate if it came at Alicent’s lovely hands.

Besides, as far as Rhaenyra was concerned, Alicent was free to do as she liked with her sanity, for
how could she not be delighted by her Alicent’s confidence? How could she not be pleased by her
bondmate’s willingness—her eagerness—to express her desires? How could she not be enthralled
by her sweet safa’s positively wicked mind and words?

This was the same woman who had once flinched and cowered if anyone so much as looked at her,
who had been terrified of breathing too loudly, who had trembled at the very prospect of asking for
anything.

And now . . .

Now her Alicent had blossomed.

And Rhaenyra would happily trade her sanity for that.

A slight shift in the air drew Rhaenyra from her thoughts and had her swiftly sidestepping to avoid
a strike to the leg from Jonquil’s sword. Dancing back a few paces, she swiftly assessed her
knights’ positions before focusing her next series of attacks on Sabitha, who met her with an eager
smile and strong parries.

“You seem distracted this afternoon, Your Majesty,” her Lily Knight teased.

“Perhaps I simply wish to give the three of you a chance to win,” she retorted.

Hylda barked a laugh as she slashed at Rhaenyra’s side, catching the hem of her tunic and slicing
through the fabric. “You’ve been away for too long, Your Majesty. Your footwork has grown
sloppy.”

“Has it?” Rhaenyra pivoted and brought her blade around in a swift arc before dropping her arm at
the last moment to slice across Hylda’s abdomen when her Shadow Knight raised her sword to
block the blow. “It seems to be that your ability to anticipate has grown sloppy, Vora.”

Hylda growled as she redoubled her attack, Jonquil and Sabitha immediately joining her in perfect
coordination.

Rhaenyra grinned as she allowed herself to be driven back, leading her knights on a merry chase
about the training yard.

It rather reminded her of how Vaella used to provoke Jacaerya and Lucerya until her elder sisters
gave chase—only to then lead them into an ambush laid by Jaehaera or Visenya.

Rhaenyra had sometimes wondered if she ought to intervene, if she ought to order her younger girls
to leave their older sisters be, for the traps had grown more and more elaborate as the decades wore
on.

But she never had.

Until it was too late.

“Children must be disciplined,” her mother had insisted. “Allowing them to behave so will not
foster proper unity between the future queens.”

“Let the girls have their fun,” Aemma had advised. “So long as they are not harming each other,
there’s nothing wrong with a little sport between them.”

Rhaenyra had chosen to heed Aemma, not wishing to be overbearing, but when Visenya had come
to her one day in a panic because Lucerya had been injured . . .

She’d taken all of her girls to task after that, even Helaena and Aelora, who hadn’t been involved.

In retrospect, she probably should have left Helaena and Aelora be.

The sweetest of her girls—the ones least likely to cause trouble.

They’d been innocent, but she’d lectured them all the same.

“I’m certain that you are a good mother.”

Alicent didn’t know.

Her bondmate didn’t know about all of the nights that she’d spent fretting whilst pregnant with
Helaena, didn’t know about how terrified she’d been the first time that she’d held her eldest
daughter’s egg, didn’t know how Helaena shied away from her touch . . .

Rhaenyra had doted upon her eldest daughter the first year after her hatching. She had rarely
allowed Helaena out of her sight—always speaking gently and kindly to her, always holding her
close when she could, always kissing her and cuddling her as Aemma always had when she herself
was a child.

And Helaena had hated it.

Despite rarely ever speaking a word to her that first year, her daughter’s discomfort had been plain.
Helaena had oft shied away as much as her body would allow, had oft seemed to wilt whenever
Rhaenyra held her, had refused to meet her eyes when Rhaenyra spoke to her, had eventually taken
to rocking or blinking rapidly whenever Rhaenyra even approached her.

When Rhaenyra had asked what she was doing wrong, when she’d begged her daughter to tell her
how she might better love her, Helaena had simply looked away and begun rocking.

And so Rhaenyra had stopped asking.

She’d stopped giving her kisses and cuddles.

She’d stopped trying to speak with her every day.

She’d withdrawn from Helaena, and when Aelora had been born the following year, she hadn’t
even attempted to dote upon her.

Her own mother had taught her well the many lessons of imperial motherhood, that the crown
princesses belong to the Empire. First and last. That she had millions of other daughters to care for
aside from those of her own blood. That her own daughters were not truly hers to raise.

Remembering how her own mother—despite favoring Daemona—had taken care not to coddle her
and her sisters, she’d decided that a similar approach would be proper for her own daughters.

She’d thought that she was doing what was best for them.

She’d thought that she was doing what would best ensure the Empire’s continued prosperity.

She’d thought—

“I’m certain that you are a good mother.”

Alicent didn’t know.

Her gentle bondmate—for all her empathy and compassion—did not know what it was to look
upon a babe and be terrified of her.

And she had been terrified of her daughters, she now realized.

No.

Not terrified of them.

Of herself.

Of making a mistake.

Of making them resent her as some part of her had always resented her own mother.

So she’d withdrawn.

As I once did with Alicent.

Alicent had deserved better than that.

Her daughters did as well.

“I’m certain that you are a good mother.”

She hadn’t been.

Not in truth.

Her daughters loved her.

She didn’t doubt that.

And she loved them.

She hoped they knew as much.

But a mother shouldn’t have to hope for such a thing.

Words were wind.

Actions were stone.

She’d allowed her mother’s words and her own fears to guide her actions for far too long.

The Summit is an opportunity for new beginnings.

She ought to seize it.

She would seize it.

But before she could truly begin anew with her daughters, she must first settle matters with her
mother.

Alicent groaned as the last of her warships was decimated and sank to its watery grave. Her
stronghold was utterly exposed for a naval attack now, and she knew that Margaery and Sansa’s
allied navies would be upon her in the next turn.

Beside her, Ygritte growled softly. “We’ll need additional air support if we’re to last the night.”

“Unless you’ve drawn an alliance card in the last turn or two that I’m unaware of, we don’t have
any additional support to call upon. The remnants of our aerial legion that Sansa didn’t decimate
are still convalescing, as is our dragon.”

Ygritte cursed aloud.

“Something the matter, Ygritte?” Margaery asked sweetly.

“Not at all.” Ygritte’s smile was equally saccharine. “Alicent and I were simply discussing the best
way to obliterate your navy.”

Margaery smirked. “Have you spawned a fresh dragon?”

“It’s rather rude to inquire about a lady’s spawning habits, Margaery,” Alicent replied primly.

Sansa’s eyes widened with surprise.

Margaery stared at her incredulously for a brief moment before grinning and clapping her hands
together. “Merciful Mother, I never thought I’d see the day,” she cackled.

Ygritte snorted. “Don’t lie to her. Last month you staked fifteen pence on when Alicent would
make her first intentionally crass jape.”

Alicent arched an eyebrow at Margaery. “Have you now won?”

“Alas, no,” Margaery sighed. “It seems that I’ve underestimated you.”
“A grave mistake if ever there was one.”

“To be sure.” Margaery grinned at her. “But since you’ve mentioned you and your dragon, I must
ask, are you intending to arrive at the Summit on dragonback?”

“How much is my decision worth to you?”

“A shilling, but that’s beside the point.” Margaery snatched up a lemon cake from the tray on the
far side of the table and handed it to Sansa before selecting a honey cake for herself. “I’m
genuinely curious.”

The question was one that Alicent herself had been debating for quite some time now, ever since
the Feast of Saint Orestilla, to be precise. She’d meant what she’d said about not yet being ready to
ride upon her bondmate, and she’d thought that she would have more time before another
opportunity presented itself, but then she’d overheard a pair of women discussing the Dragon
Summit and how it was sure to be quite the spectacle with all of the Targaryens arriving as dragons.

Rhaenyra had yet to broach the matter with her, and Alicent suspected that it was because her
bondmate assumed that she would be disinclined to ride her.

But of late, Alicent had been pondering what it would feel like to climb atop Rhaenyra in that way,
to feel her bondmate’s armor-like yet supple scales beneath her hands and against her legs, to feel
the heat radiating from her safa in an entirely new way, to touch her smooth spinal ridge and
properly examine her horns . . .

“Have any of you,” her lips pursed as she considered how best to phrase her question, “I understand
that most Targaryens allow their mates to ride them, and that the Monarchs of the Blood oft fly
their knights and occasionally the members of their Small Council when the need arises, but that, as
a general matter, few have ever flown on dragonback.”

Sansa nodded. “This is so, yes.”

“Have any of you had the experience?”

Margaery chuckled, shaking her head. “I certainly haven’t.”

“Nor have I.” Sansa tapped her chin. “My sister, Arya, she’s serving as Queen Jacaerya’s Frost
Knight, and she flew on Her Majesty’s back once. She described it as the most terrifying and
exhilarating experience of her life.”

“That is how I would describe it as well,” Ygritte agreed, her nose twitching slightly, and Alicent
was suddenly reminded that her friend had been the Shadow Knight of Rhaenyra’s Aunt Baelora.
“Being so high,” she grimaced, “I doubt that even an Avenian could be comfortable so far above
the ground.”

Alicent twisted her emerald orchid ring around her finger. “I was wondering, regarding the
logistics, given their size . . .” Even if she were to find the narrowest part of Rhaenyra’s neck,
attempting to straddle her as she did a horse would snap both of her legs.

Ygritte chuckled, perhaps thinking the same as Alicent. “No one rides on dragonback without a
saddle. I’m not certain that it would even be possible in our natal form. The one that Queen Baelora
had commissioned for herself was something between a normal chair and the sort of saddle that
you would expect to see upon a horse.” She shrugged. “While not the most comfortable place I’ve
ever sat, it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable either.”

Margaery flashed Alicent a mischievous smile. “I’m certain that the saddle Her Majesty
commissions for your use when you ride her will be the pinnacle of comfort.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed at her friend’s suggestive tone.

Sansa gave her mate a stern look, but it was rather undermined by the amusement flashing in her
eyes. “Don’t tease her, Margie.”

“We’re all thinking it.” Margaery shrugged, utterly unapologetic as ever.

Ygritte rolled her eyes before returning her attention to Alicent. “If you’re concerned about wind
speeds or low temperatures, shields are always cast to protect against those.”

“And to prevent insects from spattering against you,” Sansa added with a laugh. “Arya was furious
the one time that she forgot to cast an insect shield and swallowed three tiger moths as a result.”

Alicent grimaced at the thought.

Margaery reached across the table and squeezed Alicent’s hand, her expression suddenly both
serious and reassuring. “Whatever your concerns about flying on dragonback, I’m certain that the
Queen will take care with you.”

“And if you don’t wish to fly to the Dragon Summit, Her Majesty will most certainly understand,”
Sansa chimed in.

“Flying on dragonback is the most terrifying honor in existence,” Ygritte added.

An honor. Yes. That was what it was, she knew.

An honor and a privilege that she doubted anyone save for herself had ever refused.

Did she wish to fly?

While the prospect was utterly terrifying, Alicent would be lying if she claimed to not be curious as
well.

Curious, and . . .

She wanted to share this experience with her bondmate.

As she did all others.

And she knew that it would please her safa immensely to go flying with her.

Her Nyra would take care with her, as she always did. Alicent knew that she would be as safe upon
her bondmate’s back as she was wrapped securely in her arms.

Margaery suddenly made a shooing motion. “Be gone with you, Lady Alicent. It’s plain that your
attentions are no longer with us. And you and Ygritte about to lose spectacularly anyway.”
Alicent hesitated, glancing at Ygritte.

Ygritte shrugged. “There’s no need for you to watch our stronghold burn, I suppose.”

“Her Majesty is still training with her knights at the moment, I believe.” The smile that Sansa
flashed her was as sly and teasing as any that Margaery had ever offered.

Heat blossomed in Alicent’s cheeks as she rose to her feet in what she hoped was a slow enough
fashion that her eagerness wasn’t appallingly obvious. “I’ll return later.”

“Perhaps.” Margaery shrugged carelessly. “And if not,” she winked, “do enjoy yourself, Alicent.”

Rather than respond to Margaery’s remark, Alicent bid her friends another farewell and then
hurried from the parlor.

It had been almost a year since she’d last had the pleasure of watching Rhaenyra spar, and the last
time that she’d seen her bondmate wielding a sword had been when they were still naught but
friends, when she was still learning to accept her own desires, when she still hearing her mother’s
voice calling her a wanton whore every time that her gaze lingered overlong on Rhaenyra.

And perhaps her eagerness to see Rhaenyra in trousers that accentuated her legs and a linen shirt
that clung to every sculpted contour and defined muscle of her upper body made Alicent a wanton,
but she could hardly be faulted for being entranced by so breathtaking a sight. Her Nyra was a
vision, and she was allowed to appreciate that fact.

Besides, Rhaenyra had assured her that she didn’t mind when Alicent’s stared at her.

“How could I not be flattered by your attentions, Ali?”

Alicent smiled to herself as she recalled the long and lingering kiss that she’d given her bondmate
in response to those sweet words.

After leaving the Keep, Alicent swiftly made her way to the briar hedge that separated the inner
ward from the outer ward. The thorny tendrils parted for her at once, and she stepped through them
without hesitation.

She heard the sound of steel striking steel long before she reached the training yard, and she could
easily imagine Rhaenyra’s sword slicing through the air as she attacked, or swiftly rising to parry a
blow.

A pleasant shiver rippled down her spine as she envisioned the way that her bondmate’s muscles
would coil and flex in response to those movements.

Upon entering the yard, Alicent’s attention was immediately riveted by the sight of Rhaenyra deftly
evading Sabitha, Vora Hylda, and Vora Jonquil’s attacks, and she nearly tripped over her own feet
as she quickly made her way to the stands at the edge of the yard where she could properly
spectate.

Seven Hells, her bondmate was a sight to behold.

∞
Rhaenyra had scented Alicent’s approach long before her bondmate had appeared in the yard. The
crisp, autumn breezes blowing off of Lake Halinor had carried the warm, rich scent of freshly
baked bread directly to her nose, and she’d nearly lost her footing when Sabitha had taken
advantage of her momentary distraction by striking at her legs.

She’d managed to avoid falling flat on her back, but only just.

Now, as she resumed her own attack, she could feel Alicent’s eyes upon her, could feel how they
followed her every movement and occasionally swept over her body.

And Rhaenyra couldn’t help but preen in response to her bondmate’s attention, couldn’t help but
add a few additional flourishes each time that she pivoted or parried or lunged, couldn’t help but
flex her muscles perhaps more than was strictly necessary.

She’d never felt the desire to flaunt herself whilst sparring before, but now . . .

Stealing a glance over her shoulder as she spun to avoid Hylda’s blade, she flashed Alicent a
playful smile, which earned her a blush and a grin in return.

Her bondmate’s eyes were noticeably darker than normal.

Oh.

Rhaenyra’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

She’d never considered sparring something particularly enthralling—not in that way—but it

seemed that Alicent did.

A shiver rippled down her spine as she imagined Alicent’s eyes even darker still and alight with
want and hunger, as she imagined Alicent’s hands clutching at her back, as she imagined Alicent’s
breathy moans and needy whimpers.

Seven thrice-damned Hells.

Alicent’s cheeks burned, and her heart was fluttering like mad in her chest, and her stomach was
twisting deliciously. She could feel her desire for her bondmate gathering low in her belly, and she
carefully pressed her thighs together in the vain hope of lessening the pressure demanding her
attention.

Now was hardly the time for thoughts of Rhaenyra flushed and panting beneath her to be flooding
her mind. Now was hardly the time for her to be imagining the enticing way that Rhaenyra’s arm
muscles would flex on either side of her head as her bondmate hovered above her and kissed along
the length of her neck. Now was hardly the time for want and need to be consuming her and
muddling her mind.

But it seemed that her body and mind were in disagreement on this matter.

Merciful Mother above, watching Rhaenyra spar should not be this alluring.

But how could she not be enthralled by the way that the beautifully defined muscles of Rhaenyra’s
arms coiled and flexed with every movement? How could she not be captivated by the elegant
grace on display as Rhaenyra deftly avoided Sabitha, Vora Hylda, and Vora Jonquil’s attacks? How
could she not be enticed by Rhaenyra’s impressive strength each time she went on the offensive?

How could she not imagine Rhaenyra sweeping her off her feet and—

Alicent gulped, attempting to banish the thoughts from her mind—at least for now—but they
refused to be locked away.

Rhaenyra lifting her off her feet as if she weighed nothing.

Rhaenyra hovering over her and gazing at her with unabashed hunger and desire.

Rhaenyra kissing her neck and palming her breasts and sucking on her nipples and gently parting
her legs—

The sound of steel striking steel drew Alicent from her lecherous thoughts, and her tongue darted
out to wet her lips when she saw the way that Rhaenyra’s muscles rippled as they absorbed the
impact of Vora Hylda’s blow.

She’d felt the strength of those arms wrapped around her for years, had felt the safety and comfort
that they’d always provided her, and now . . .

Now she wished to experience that strength in a different way.

She wondered absently if her bondmate would think her queer for wishing to kiss and caress the
muscles of her arms.

Nyra would probably give me leave even if she did think it strange.

Alicent’s fingers curled in the skirts of her gown.

Rhaenyra’s skin was practically glowing in the afternoon sun—perfect and unblemished.

The muscles of her neck, while not straining, were more prominent than unusual, and Alicent’s lips
curled into a smile as she imagined stroking and kissing those muscles, as she imagined Rhaenyra’s
pleased moans and desperate whimpers, as she imagined her bondmate stiffening and crying out as
she reached her peak—

Rhaenyra suddenly whirled and brought her sword down with such force that it sent Sabitha’s own
blade flying from her hands.

Alicent squeezed her legs together, teeth sinking into her lower lip when she felt the wetness that
had gathered.

The wind shifted.

Rhaenyra’s steps faltered.

Her knights’ cheeks darkened.

Alicent swiftly rose to her feet and hurried from the training yard.

She knew that her bondmate would not be far behind.

 ∞∞

Alicent well-remembered the first time that Criston threw her against a wall with such force that
she was left with a concussion and a bruised back. And she well-remembered the first time that he
shoved her up against the door of her bedchamber and held her aloft by her neck until she was
clawing as his hands in a desperate attempt to breathe.

She well-remembered the terror and pain, the desperation and helplessness, the sense of defeat and
resignation.

But when Rhaenyra’s hands lovingly grasped her waist and lifted her off her feet, when Rhaenyra’s
soft yet delightfully muscular body was flush against her own, when Rhaenyra’s lips claimed hers
in a searing kiss, she didn’t even notice that her bondmate was pressing her up against the wall.

And when she did, the realization ignited a fresh fire in her belly rather than filling her with dread.

Her Nyra was always gentle with her even at her most passionate. Her Nyra always took care with
her even when seeking to devour her. Her Nyra would never harm her.

And her Nyra would stop the very moment that Alicent expressed any unease or hesitation.

Teeth nipped at her lower lip, and Alicent gasped.

A warm tongue slipped inside her mouth, and Alicent whimpered.

A hand slid upwards to cradle her breast, and Alicent moaned, arching into the touch.

Rhaenyra was kissing her so soundly that Alicent felt almost drunk on desire, and when the hand
still cupping the back of her thigh to support her weight squeezed gently, she squirmed with delight.

Alicent whimpered softly against Rhaenyra’s mouth—desperate and needy and without shame.
Blood roared in her ears, and a demanding fire raged within her, and she clutched at Rhaenyra’s
back in a vain attempt to draw her even closer.

“Is this all right, My Love?” Rhaenyra whispered as her thumb brushed over Alicent’s stiffened
nipple.

Another whimper spilled from Alicent’s lips. She wanted—she needed—something more. When
she felt Rhaenyra pulling away, she whined and tried to hold her in place, but her bondmate was
still much stronger than her.

“I need you to use your words, Ali. Can you do that?”

“Y-Yes,” she stuttered, still tugging at Rhaenyra’s shirt. “Yes, please. Don’t stop.”

Rhaenyra grinned. “That’s my good girl,” she murmured, leaning back in.

Alicent’s entire body shuddered at those words, and she couldn’t contain her desperate moan.

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows arched in surprise, but then a wicked gleam entered her eyes. “Oh, do you
enjoy it when I call you a good girl, My Sweet?”
Face flushed with embarrassment and desire, Alicent nodded. “I . . . it’s nice. I enjoy it when you
tell me that I’m good.”

“You are,” Rhaenyra kissed her again, softer now, more sweetly, “so good, My Ali.”

A now familiar pressure was beginning to coil in Alicent’s lower belly, and she could feel fresh
slick pooling between her legs. “Bed,” she panted. “Please, Nyra, I—I want you. I need you.
Please? I’m,” she shuddered when warm lips found her pulse point, “I’m ready.”

Rhaenyra froze.

Alicent whined.

Raising her head, Rhaenyra’s eyes swept over her face—searching—before she locked their gazes.
“You’re certain, Alicent?”

“I am.” Alicent captured her bondmate’s lips in a searing kiss, but only for a moment before she
drew back again. “Please, My Love.”

Blessedly, Rhaenyra did not question her again.

Alicent grumbled when the hand on her breast retreated, but she was mollified by a series of sweet
kisses as Rhaenyra carried her over to their bed and gently lay her down upon the soft blankets.

“Above or below, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s fingers stroked her cheek, and her gaze was achingly tender
even as it burned with a ravenous hunger that made Alicent’s toes curl.

“Below,” she decided after a moment. She wanted to be surrounded by Rhaenyra’s scent and body
for this first time. She wanted the feeling of being held safe and secure. She wanted her Nyra to
know how much she trusted her to take care of her.

Rhaenyra climbed up onto the bed and then carefully settled atop her, straddling her hips. Her eyes
were dark with desire as her hands trailed up Alicent’s sides and paused beside her breasts. “May
I?”

Alicent nodded eagerly. “Yes, Nyra, please, I—” Her words dissolved into a satisfied moan when
warm hands gently grasped her breasts and began to fondle and caress them.

“Does this feel good, Ali?” Rhaenyra teased her nipples, and Alicent keened.

“Yes, yes, yes, Nyra, yes. It feels good.” Alicent squeezed her thighs together as her cu—as fresh
slick stained her smallclothes and the place between her legs began to throb.

Rhaenyra leaned down and latched onto her neck, sucking and nipping at her overheated flesh.

Alicent arched into her touch and tilted her head to offer better access to her neck. “Relle above,
Nyra, please don’t stop.”

“I love how responsive you are for me, Ali,” Rhaenyra breathed into her neck. “You’re so good,
My Love. So perfect. My sweet and perfect safa. You’re doing so well, Ali.”

Alicent shuddered, and her clit seemed to pulse in response to the praise. “More,” she gasped.
“Please.”
Rhaenyra tilted her head and began laying a trail of kisses along the line of Alicent’s jaw. “I love
your pretty neck, Ali. I love your soft breasts that fit so perfectly in my hands. I love how dark your
gorgeous eyes become when you’re desperate and needy. I love the sounds that you make when all
you desire is my touch or my mouth.” She nipped at her pulse point, and Alicent’s hips bucked. “I
love your sensitive nipples and how they’re always so eager and stiff for me. I love the way that
you whimper and whine and moan for me.” Her eyes found Alicent’s as she raised her head from
Alicent’s neck. “But most of all,” she kissed her lips, “I love you, My Alicent. Your kindness, your
humor, your fierceness, your strength, your compassion, and your brilliant mind.”

Alicent’s throat tightened, and she felt as if she was being consumed by some strange combination
of love and lust. “My Nyra,” she rasped, unable to form anything more coherent.

“My Ali.” Rhaenyra’s fingers began to roll Alicent’s nipples, making her writhe. “You’re so
beautiful like this, My Sweet. So desperate and needy for me.”

“Only for you,” Alicent panted, her hips rolling as she searched for some kind of friction to relieve
the ache between her legs. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” Rhaenyra smiled at her, soft and far too sweet, considering the wicked things that
her hands were doing to Alicent’s breasts. “Until the stars go dark.”

Alicent groaned when loving fingers gently squeezed her nipples. “Clothes,” she whined. “Off,
please.”

Her gown, undergarments, and breast band disappeared a moment later.

As did Rhaenyra’s.

Alicent moaned at the sight of her bondmate’s gorgeous body, and she shivered as Rhaenyra’s
heated gaze swept appreciatively over her breasts and stomach. Her mouth watered when she saw
how hard and peaked Rhaenyra’s nipples were, and she longed to suck upon them.

“Can you hear me, Ali?”

“Yes, Nyra, I hear you.”

“Tap please.”

Alicent raised a trembling hand and lightly tapped on her bondmate’s shoulder.

“Good girl.”

Alicent’s hips bucked, and she felt herself clench. “Don’t tease.”

“Oh, My Sweet Alicent, I’m not teasing you.” The mischievous gleam in Rhaenyra’s eyes belied
her words as her fingers traced over one of the scars marring Alicent’s right breast. “May I kiss
your breasts?”

Alicent nodded eagerly, eyes squeezing shut when a hot mouth claimed her nipple a moment later.
Her back arched when Rhaenyra’s talented tongue began flicking over the pebbled flesh before
swirling in lazy circles that occasionally teased the tip. Pleasure surged through Alicent’s body, and
she whined desperately. “M-More, Nyra, please.”
Rhaenyra released her nipple, and Alicent fisted the sheets at the feeling of cool air dancing across
her overheated flesh. “More what, Ali?”

“Everything,” she hissed, not knowing how else to articulate what she wanted. Her mind was hazy,
and her body felt unbearably hot. She knew that she’d ruined her smallclothes with her wetness,
and she yearned for the sweet release that she knew Rhaenyra could give her.

Amusement sparked in Rhaenyra’s eyes, but she didn’t demand further explanation as she returned
her attention to Alicent’s breasts, stroking and caressing and kissing and sucking until Alicent felt
as if she might burst.

“Oh, please, Nyra, please, I need—” Her back arched when Rhaenyra gave her breasts a tender
squeeze and her teeth barely grazed over her sensitive nipple.

She was close.

She was soaked.

She was aching with need.

The pressure in her lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, and she was throbbing almost painfully
between her legs.

“Nyra,” she whimpered. “Please.”

“You’re doing so well, My Ali. So good and perfect.” Rhaenyra kissed the crescent-shaped scar on
her left breast before gently dragging her tongue over the raised flesh.

Alicent moaned as she felt herself rushing towards the precipice.

“My Sweet Alicent,” Rhaenyra crooned as she kissed up from her breast and latched onto her pulse
point, sucking and lapping and—

Alicent cried out when Rhaenyra’s fingers claimed her nipples once more and unexpected
vibrations emanated from the peaks of her breasts and rippled deliciously throughout her body,
sending shockwaves of pleasure crashing over her as she writhed and keened.

Seven thrice-damned Hells!

“Nyra!” she cried.

Rhaenyra hummed against her neck, creating a second set of vibrations that made Alicent moan
whorishly.

Slick gushed from between her legs as she clutched at Rhaenyra’s back, her entire body trembling
and shaking as her peak washed over her and her muscles clenched around nothing.

“Nyra,” she whimpered. “Nyra, Nyra, Nyra.”

“My Sweet Alicent.” Rhaenyra gave her pulse point another gentle suck, making Alicent whine.
“You’re so beautiful when you come undone.”

“Only for you.”

Rhaenyra growled softly, her scent becoming heavier as it wrapped around Alicent like a warm
cloak. “Mine.”

“Yours.” Alicent’s chest heaved as she fought for breath, as her tongue—thick and clumsy in her
mouth—struggled to form words.

Gentle hands stroked over her sides, helping to settle her and bring her down from her peak.

When Alicent felt a light tap at her emotional ward, she swiftly granted her bondmate access,
gasping when warm waves of love and affection and adoration washed over her—almost as
intoxicating as the pleasure that still lingered and made her body tingle wonderfully.

“Safa,” she rasped.

Rhaenyra hummed quietly. Her eyes were soft and tender, but Alicent could sense her bondmate’s
hunger, could feel her desire for release as sharply as if it was her own.

Her Rhaenyra deserved pleasure.

And Alicent wished to see her peak.

With a sudden surge of renewed energy, Alicent reached up and tugged Rhaenyra down so that she
could connect their lips in a fierce kiss. She eagerly swallowed Rhaenyra’s pleased moan, and she
smiled to herself when she felt Rhaenyra’s hips roll against her stomach in search of friction, when
she felt a flare of needy desperation.

Good.

One of her hands abandoned its hold on Rhaenyra’s silver locks and trailed lower to settle upon her
neck. She allowed herself a moment’s indulgence to simply stroke over the taught muscles straining
beneath her bondmate’s perfect skin, but then she swiftly found one of the seven pleasure points
that she’d fastidiously memorized and began to stroke it rather roughly.

Rhaenyra keened, and her hips bucked as she rubbed herself against Alicent’s stomach.

Seven Hells, her Nyra was wet.

Alicent could feel Rhaenyra’s pleasure soaking through her smallclothes, could hear the sound of
slick fabric sliding against her stomach as Rhaenyra rutted against her.

She gently pinched the flesh of Rhaenyra’s neck, and her bondmate howled.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were almost black, and she was gasping and panting above her as she continued
rolling her hips against Alicent’s stomach. Her muscles were beautifully taut, and Alicent couldn’t
resist using her free hand to caress her bondmate’s sculpted arm, delighting in the tremors that
wracked Rhaenyra’s body.

“Ali,” Rhaenyra growled, her hips suddenly stuttering to a halt, “do you mind—?”

“I want to see you peak, Nyra.” Alicent reared up and wrapped her lips around one of Rhaenyra’s
nipples, sucking hard.

Rhaenyra moaned loudly as her hips resumed their movements.

Alicent’s teeth nipped at Rhaenyra’s nipple, making her bondmate stiffen above her.

“Ali, My Love, please, Safa, I need—” Rhaenyra groaned when Alicent’s fingers pressed down
against one of the pleasure points on her neck. “Teeth,” she panted. “Please.”

Swiftly releasing Rhaenyra’s nipple, Alicent tugged her closer and sank her teeth into the place
where Rhaenyra’s neck met her shoulder.

The place that she intended to eventually mark one way or another.

Rhaenyra’s fingers tore through the sheets as she shuddered and convulsed above her, her face
twisting with pleasure as she buried her face in Alicent’s neck and repeated her name over and over
again with all of the reverence of a prayer.

Alicent basked in the ecstasy that poured off of her bondmate in satisfied waves, and she delighted
in the headiness of her rose scent, the spice that infused it when her bondmate was aroused and
needy.

The ache between her legs had returned, and her desire to savor Rhaenyra’s peak warred with her
desire for Rhaenyra to remove the remainder of her smallclothes and at last see all of her.

Ignoring the burning need gathering in her lower belly, Alicent focused her attention on Rhaenyra,
lovingly stroking her back and whispering sweet nothings in her ear as her bondmate settled. “My
Nyra, I love you so much. Thank you for letting me see you peak. Merciful Mother, you’re so
beautiful moaning and panting for me.”

Rhaenyra growled softly, pressing a kiss against Alicent’s neck.

When Rhaenyra pushed herself back up into a sitting position, her eyes were still darker than a
moonless night and burning brighter than the sun. “Do you still wish—?”

Alicent nodded eagerly.

Rhaenyra climbed off of her, and Alicent immediately mourned the loss of her bondmate’s
comforting weight. But the loss was swiftly forgotten when she felt nimble fingers take a hold of
her smallclothes and slowly drag the drenched fabric down the length of her legs.

Alicent shivered as she was laid completely bare for the eyes of another for the first time in over
four years, and her teeth sank into her lower lip as Rhaenyra’s eyes swept over her and settled on
the soaked, auburn curls between her legs.

“Breathtaking,” Rhaenyra whispered, and Alicent could feel her bondmate’s yearning to touch, to
stroke, to taste . . .

The tension that Alicent hadn’t even realized had gathered in her muscles seeped away, replaced by
a pleasant warmth.

Rhaenyra’s hand stroked along Alicent’s side—earning another shiver and a pleased sigh—before
sliding down to caress her thigh. “Spread your legs for me, My Sweet.”

Alicent suddenly stiffened once more, her breath hitching in her throat.

«Spread your legs, Little Whore.»

«I said, spread your Sytarr-damned legs!»

«Such a slut, spreading your legs for so many men.»

«If your legs aren’t spread in the next five seconds—»

No.

“N-Nyra, wait, p-please—”

Rhaenyra’s hand had already retreated from her thigh and risen to cradle Alicent’s cheek as warm
lips kissed her forehead. “It’s all right, Safa. All is well. You’re safe. I’m here, and you’re safe,
Ali.”

She was safe.

Alicent released a shuddering breath. She knew that she was safe, and yet her legs still trembled.

Her eyes squeezed shut as she worked to banish the memories, to silence the voices. Why now?
She’d been doing so well, and she’d thought—

Leaning down, Rhaenyra pressed a loving kiss to her forehead, then another to her cheek, and then
another to her lips, again and again, until Alicent was relaxed and pliant once more, her breathing
steady and her heart no longer thundering in her chest.

∞∞

Opening her eyes once she’d calmed, Alicent stared up at Rhaenyra. “My apologies,” she
whispered, cheeks hot with shame. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, My Love.” Rhaenyra kissed her again, her thumb brushing
lightly over Alicent’s cheekbone. “May I know what upset you? Was it my words or my touch?”

“The words,” Alicent admitted quietly, hating that five such simple words could reduce her to a
trembling wreck. “I used to . . . before when . . .” She swallowed, allowing herself a few deep
breaths to calm her nerves. “He used to yell them at me, and,” she shuddered as Criston’s bellowed
commands echoed in her ears, “he used to . . . some nights he would . . .”

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Rhaenyra leaned back against the pillows and gathered
Alicent onto her lap, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. “You needn’t tell me, My
Safa.”

“But I want to.” Alicent nuzzled against her shoulder, breathing in her bondmate’s scent and taking
comfort in her familiar warmth. “I want to explain.”

“All right then.” Rhaenyra’s other hand moved to grasp Alicent’s.

Alicent squeezed the offered hand and kissed her bondmate’s cheek in thanks, but she couldn’t
quite bring herself to meet Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Some nights, he would bind me to the bed with—he
would tie my ankles together, and then he would order me to spread my legs, but I couldn’t move
and . . .”
 A low growl rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest, but her scent remained sweet and soothing. “He hurt you
for disobeying.”

Alicent nodded, one of the scars on her inner thigh beginning to throb with the remembered pain of
being sliced open in retaliation for failing to obey.

Rhaenyra expelled a harsh breath before pressing a soft kiss to Alicent’s forehead. “I won’t use that
phrase in the future,” she promised.

“Nyra, I didn’t . . .” Alicent’s lips pursed, her mind churning. He’d taken so much from her already,
and while she knew there were some things that she would never be able to bear hearing Rhaenyra
say to her, she didn’t wish for this to be one of them. Tilting her head, her eyes found Rhaenyra’s.
“I want you to keep using it.”

Uncertainty flashed in Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Ali, I . . .” She worried at her lower lip.

“Please, My Safa.” Alicent reached up to stroke her cheek. “I don’t want to think about him and
what he did to me when I hear those words. I want to think about you and how you make me feel
safe and loved and,” she smiled slightly, “and good.”

Rhaenyra’s cheeks darkened, but her chest also puffed slightly.

“I like the way that you touch me, Nyra,” Alicent squeezed her hand. “And I love having your
hands and mouth on me, and . . .” She didn’t have the words to properly describe how her skin
tingled pleasantly whenever Rhaenyra touched her, or how her body ached to be held impossibly
close, or how every kiss made her blood sing. “You give me pleasure that I never imagined
possible. I don’t wish for him to taint that.”

After another long moment, Rhaenyra nodded. “All right.” She kissed Alicent’s forehead. “If that is
your desire, My Love, then of course I will continue using those words.”

“Thank you, Nyra.”

Rhaenyra hummed, giving Alicent an affectionate nuzzle. “Do you still wish . . ?”

Alicent shook her head, offering her bondmate an apologetic look. “I don’t want any thoughts of
him marring my first time with you, Nyra.”

She wanted the first time that she gave herself to Rhaenyra to be a moment of pure joy and
pleasure, and she knew that that wouldn’t be possible today. Not now.

“As you will.” Rhaenyra kissed her softly. “Shall I draw us a bath?”

Alicent smiled slightly, warmed as she always was by her bondmate’s care for her and her lack of
annoyance at being denied once again. “That would be lovely, My Safa. Thank you.”

Chapter End Notes

Criston ruins everything 😡. But look at Rhaenyra deciding to do some reconnecting with her
daughters at the Summit! It's the small victories and all that.

Next Chapter: Rhaenyra speaks with the All Mother, and Alicent rides a dragon.
 Soft Confessions
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 49:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Daenerys Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone and Matriarch of the House Targaryen, formerly
the 1st Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Missandei Velaryon, a Dragonstone courtier, from the Dragon Court

A special thanks to beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Autumn Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

The sun was shining and bright overhead, the clouds pristine and white all around her, the autumn
wind crisp and filled with the scents of change. Far below, she could hear the babbling of a brook,
the skittering of tiny paws in the underbrush, the cheerful songs of birds bidding each other good
morning. Were she to look down, she would see the forests and meadows passing swiftly beneath
her, the animals fleeing from her shadow as she flew over them, the occasional town or village.

Kastrell was a sight to behold from the skies—lush and vibrant and so full of life.

Rhaenyra’s great wings beat the air in a steady rhythm as she flew towards Dragonstone, towards
what she knew would be a moment of reckoning, towards what she hoped would be an offering of
peace.

She’d flown over Golden Grove a little over half an hour ago, and she knew that the border must be
near—

Ah.

Rhaenyra sighed quietly as she felt the familiar tingle of the border spell rippling over her body, as
she heard the gentle call to her blood and magic. She’d once asked Laena and Laenora if they heard
the call when they crossed a Queendom’s border, but her sisters had only peered at her strangely
and shaken their heads. They felt the magic, but they couldn’t hear it sing.

She wondered if the All Mother could—if her ancestor was strong enough to hear the silent music.

Blood called to blood.

Blood and magic were inextricably intertwined.

And every realm’s border spell was linked to a reigning monarch’s core so that she was always
aware whenever someone came or went from her domain.
It wouldn’t be long now—less than two hours—until she felt the gentle tingle of the All Mother’s
border spell.

Rhaenyra expelled a slow breath as her claws flexed and her stomach clenched.

“Know this—I stand with you. And so will the rest of our House, if given the chance.”

She prayed that her aunt’s words proved true.

Alicent’s lips pursed as she inspected the gown, wondering for the tenth time in as many minutes if
she’d perhaps made a mistake, if she was being presumptuous to assume—

“I am yours for as long as you’ll have me, Safa.”

Rhaenyra would be pleased.

Of that, Alicent was certain.

While they had yet to seal their bond with mate marks—Nesryn was as certain as she could be that
it would be possible, once magic was used to sharpen Alicent’s canines—they belonged to each
other in every way that mattered.

There was no harm in announcing as much to the rest of the world.

Or at least to all those attending the Dragon Summit.

Her bondmate may have been jesting when she’d mentioned Alicent needing a new dress for the
Summit, but Mistress Damella was not one to jest about the necessity of proper attire for any and
all occasions. As soon as Alicent had confirmed that she would be accompanying Rhaenyra to the
Summit, Mistress Damella had snatched up several fresh sheets of paper and three rods of
sketcher’s graphim and thrust them all into Alicent’s arms.

“You will need a new gown,” she’d insisted. “The Queen as well, if she’ll allow.”

When Alicent had teased that she now at last knew the true reason for Mistress Damella’s decision
to employ her, Mistress Damella had laughed and assured her that, “Were that my true motivation
for hiring you, I’d have made Her Majesty a score of new gowns by now.”

In truth, the two newly-completed gowns that she was inspecting were almost entirely Alicent’s
own creations, for Mistress Damella was of the opinion that such was only fitting.

“As much as I yearn to clothe the Queen, she’s your mate, and she ought to be wearing a dress of
your making to the Summit.”

“Lovely work as always, Alicent.”

Alicent startled at the sound of her employer’s voice, but she managed to regain her composure
before shaming herself overmuch. “Thank you.” She tilted her head slightly. “It isn’t strange is it,
my decision regarding the colors?”
“Not at all.” Mistress Damella offered her a teasing wink. “It’s what anyone might expect from a
newly pairbonded couple such as you and Her Majesty.” She reached out to adjust the silver lace
adorning the neckline of Rhaenyra’s gown. “Will you be showing these to the Queen this evening?”

Alicent shook her head. “For now, I wish them to remain a surprise.”

Besides, she had other plans for this evening once her bondmate returned from speaking with the
All Mother.

A conversation that she prayed would go well.

Though she couldn’t imagine that it wouldn’t.

While she’d only spoken with the All Mother but once, she well-remembered the gentle, maternal
affection that had been glowing in the other woman’s eyes.

Daenerys Targaryen did not seem to Alicent the sort who would ever resort to crippling a child.

“Well,” Mistress Damella said, her voice drawing Alicent from her thoughts, “when you do decide
to gift this gown to Queen Rhaenyra, I expect to hear all about her reaction on the morrow.”

Alicent arched an eyebrow. “You don’t wish to hear about her reaction to my new gown?”

Mistress Damella snorted and swiftly shook her head, though there was a fond and almost
indulgent sort of mirth behind her words when she responded. “I can well imagine Her Majesty’s
reaction, Alicent, and I’ve little interest in learning about what all goes on in the privacy of your
chambers.”

A hot flush stained Alicent’s cheeks and swiftly spread down her neck.

As had happened her last visit, Mistress Missandei greeted Rhaenyra when she landed, and then
swiftly led her through the winding halls of Dragonstone and then up the spiraling staircase to the
uppermost floors of Silver Dragon Tower. But unlike when she’d last sought an audience with the
All Mother, Mistress Missandei led Rhaenyra deeper into the All Mother’s chambers—into her
study, to be precise.

The All Mother, who awaited her with a steaming pot of tea and a tray of fruit tarts, greeted
Rhaenyra with a warm smile before motioning for her to sit.

Mistress Missandei slipped from the room and silently shut the door behind herself.

“Two visits in less than half a year.” The All Mother arched an eyebrow, and though her tone was
light, there were shadows in her eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra respectfully inclined her head as she laced her fingers together in her lap. For all that she
was certain about her course of action, now that the time had come, she found that her tongue felt
thick and clumsy in her mouth. “I,” she hesitated a moment, “I come seeking your counsel,
Grandmother.”

Which was true enough.

“I see.” The All Mother poured them both a cup of tea and slid Rhaenyra’s over to her. “And does
this matter have anything to do with the conversation that you had with Missandei regarding the
Great Glass Prisons?”

Rhaenyra nodded, not at all surprised to hear that Mistress Missandei had told the All Mother about
their discussion. “I’ve been . . . Well, of late, I’ve been thinking about when I nearly des—about
what happened. When I was young.”

The All Mother’s gaze sharpened. “Rhaenyra—”

“I told Alicent.” She forced herself not to wince at interrupting. “I told her everything.”

“How—?” The All Mother shook her head, waving away her own question as a wry smile curled
her lips. “Of course, any Seal that I placed on you would only hold for as long as you allowed it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “If I may, did you tell her before or after you were pairbonded?”

“Before.”

“Hmm.” The All Mother was silent for a moment as she stirred her tea. “And how did your Lady
Alicent respond?”

“She was upset.” Rhaenyra’s gaze remained focused on the All Mother’s face as she awaited her
reaction.

The All Mother’s jaw tightened, and her eyes sparked, but her voice remained calm and steady.
“Why, pray tell?”

“Because she is privy to knowledge regarding certain events that you are not.”

Confusion furrowed the All Mother’s brow, and her stirring slowed . “When I asked what
happened, you told me that you lost control.” She frowned slightly. “Was that a lie?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “No, but it . . . it wasn’t the entire truth, either.”

“I see.” Setting her tea aside, the All Mother leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers together.
“And you’ve come here to tell me the entire truth?”

“I have.”

“Why now?”

Rather than answering—for to answer would reveal more than she was yet ready to say—Rhaenyra
asked, “Why didn’t you take action after I nearly destroyed the planet?”

The All Mother’s lips pursed. “You mean why didn’t I punish you as you asked me to?”

As she’d begged her to.

As some part of her still wished to be.

“Rhaenyra, you were obviously distraught over what had happened. What good would it have done
to punish you for something that you hadn’t intended to do?” The All Mother leaned forward and
reached across the table to squeeze her arm. “Besides, in that moment, I was far more concerned
with ensuring your well-being than anything else.”

“Shouldn’t your concern have been for the Empire?”

Duty above all else.

Those were the All Mother’s own words that had been passed down from empress to empress, from
queen to queen, for two hundred and fifty generations. Every woman of House Targaryen had been
hearing that phrase since before they were born.

It was etched into their very souls.

It was the guiding principle for all of their decisions as rulers.

It was the reason that she was obligated to move against her mother.

“The Empire was safe. Because of you.” The All Mother smiled gently. “I could afford to allow
myself a moment of being your grandmother rather than the All Mother.”

“The Empire was only ever in danger because of me. Because of my magic,” Rhaenyra reminded
her, old guilt twisting her insides even though she knew that it shouldn’t.

It hadn’t been her fault.

The net breaking.

And yet . . .

“Rhaenyra, you weren’t in control of your magic when that happened. All that power in the hands
of a child . . .” The All Mother shook her head. “In truth, I had expected something of that nature—
though certainly not so . . . severe—to happen much sooner.”

And it might have, but for Mother’s net.

“Weren’t you afraid afterwards? Of me? And what I’d shown myself capable of?” Surely at least
some part of her must have been. Rhaenyra had certainly been terrified of herself. And a part of her
still was, though she wasn’t entirely certain how much of that fear was her own and how much was
her mother’s lingering whispers.

The All Mother drummed her fingers on the table as she considered. “Perhaps I was, yes, but only a
fool allows fear to guide her actions.”

“Is that why you chose to keep what happened a secret?” She’d often wondered if some of the guilt
that had gnawed at her for so long might have been assuaged had everyone known the truth, had
they been able to judge for themselves whether or not she was a threat.

She supposed that she would find out soon enough.

If the All Mother blessed her plan.

“It was, yes. There was no need to cause a panic by informing our people of anything beyond your
saving them.” The All Mother’s lips pursed, old sadness flashing in her violet eyes. “Besides, I had
no desire to make matters difficult for you. I well-remember the fear that many expressed when you
displayed Maegor’s flames and my sister’s immunity. Why raise old specters when there was no
need?”

“How did you know that there was no need? How did you know that I wouldn’t lose control
again?” She herself certainly hadn’t known, and her mother had been convinced beyond a doubt
that her control would break once more.

“The fact that you were able to halt the destruction so easily told me all that I needed to know about
your ability to wield your magic.” The All Mother shrugged. “I may not have known what caused
the initial loss of control,” she gave Rhaenyra a pointed look, “but it was plain to see that you were
in command upon your return home.”

Rhaenyra’s hand rose to fiddle with her fire opal pendant. “What if I hadn’t been in control?”

The All Mother’s eyebrows drew together, and she was silent for a moment as she considered. “In
that case,” she said finally, “I would have seen to it that you learned.”

“How?”

“By whatever means were necessary.”

Rhaenyra forced herself not to stiffen, forced her scent not to sour, forced her voice not to sharpen
as she asked, “Such as casting a stasis net?”

The All Mother grimaced. “Why in Relle’s name would I cast a stasis net on you if my intention
was to help you learn control?”

“To prevent my magic from causing damage without my leave.”

“Rhaenyra, temporarily severing your connection to your core would hardly have helped you learn
to control your magic. It would have done the opposite, if anything.” The All Mother’s gaze was
sharp and piercing as her eyes roved over Rhaenyra’s face. “Besides, stasis nets only remain viable
for half a day, so casting one would hardly be a long-term solution.”

“What if you modified the net so that it would remain viable for as long as you needed?”

A growl rumbled in the All Mother’s throat, and her eyes sparked. “Casting such a net on anyone—
never mind a child—would be a cruelty of the highest order, Rhaenyra. Surely you must realize
that.” Her scent had become bitter and scorched, and Rhaenyra found great comfort in it. “Severing
a woman’s connection to her core for an extended period of time,” the All Mother shook her head,
“you might as well tear out her heart.”

Rhaenyra would have rather suffered that pain than what her mother’s net had inflicted.

“I created the stasis net as a spell of last resort,” the All Mother continued. “It was originally only
ever meant to be cast on the men of the Old World. Monsters who couldn’t be trusted with access to
their magic when not in a power-looped containment cell, but who also needed to be moved on
occasion. And even then, I made certain to include both active and passive termination nodes.” She
paused, her expression suddenly becoming pensive. “I never actually intended to teach the spell to
anyone outside of our family, but my sisters thought that every woman should have the option to
learn the spell, should she ever need to subdue an active threat.”
“What about an imminent threat?” That was what her mother had always called her, what Rhaenyra
had eventually come to believe herself to be.

“Define imminent.” The All Mother was frowning now, and as she spoke, Rhaenyra saw that her
canines had lengthened and sharpened. “If you mean that a woman is about to use her magic to
destroy a building and I have but a moment to prevent her from doing so, then yes, I would cast a
net over her core. But if you mean that I know for certain this woman intends to destroy a building
within the next hour, then no, I wouldn’t resort to a net. Such would be a preemptive strike, and you
know as well as I do that preemptive strikes are the tools of the cowardly and lazy. ‘The wicked
attack; the good defend.’”

Rhaenyra had read that verse more times than she could count. She’d learned from Grandmother
Alysanne that preemptive strikes were for cowards. And yet she’d never . . .

“You are always an imminent threat, Rhaenyra. Don’t you understand? A single, momentary lapse
of control could level the Valerian Mountains. I did what was necessary to prevent you from
causing untold amounts of destruction.” Her mother had sighed heavily as she’d taken Rhaenyra’s
face between her hands. “I realize that you may as yet be too young to appreciate this fact, so I
eagerly await the day that you’re wise enough to see that I did what was in everyone’s best
interests. Including yours, Child.”

But the net hadn’t been in anyone’s best interests.

It had contained her magic, but it hadn’t taught her control.

She knew that.

She knew—

“What happened after Mother’s net broke was not your fault—”

“Mother was the one who erred, Rhaenyra, not you. If she hadn’t wrapped your core in that thrice-
damned stasis net, perhaps your magic wouldn’t have erupted as violently as it did.”

“My magic . . . the way that it ravaged the world—”

“Was a direct consequence of your mother’s actions. She should have known that a stasis net
wouldn’t contain your magic forever, and she should have realized that holding all of that power
inside could only lead to disaster.”

Had her mother known that?

Surely she must have.

And yet that question—that doubt—continued to plague Rhaenyra’s mind. She knew that her
mother loved the Empire and their people, that her mother would never intentionally harm either of
them, and yet . . .

“Rhaenyra,” the All Mother waited until their eyes met, “what do these questions have to do with
the ‘entire truth’ that you came here to tell me?”

She’s already guessed.

Rhaenyra could scent it on her, and she could sense the rage simmering within her grandmother.

Relief washed over her then, and the tension that had been tightening her shoulders since she’d
awoken this morning at last eased. “You know that I lost control of my magic that day, but what
you know,” she released a trembling breath, “is that my mother encased my core in a stasis net
when I was seven.”

Purple fire ignited in the All Mother’s eyes, but her voice remained deceptively calm. “And it
remained viable all that time? For one thousand seven hundred and seventy years?”

Rhaenyra nodded. “That was why my magic reacted so violently when it was released.”

Had Mother not cast that net—

Or had I acted sooner . . .

She shied away from the latter thought.

“Of course. One cannot hold back a flood indefinitely.” The All Mother’s teeth flashed for a brief
moment as she expelled a harsh breath. “Tell me what happened, Rhaenyra. All of it.”

And so she did.

For the third time in her life, Rhaenyra recounted how she’d nearly decapitated her mother and then
fled from Dragon Ridge, how her mother had rendered her unconscious before casting the net, how
she’d awoken feeling as if her soul had been torn from her and replaced by crushing emptiness.

The All Mother remained silent, but her scent burned even more than her eyes.

“I told her that it hurt, when I awoke, but she told me that it was a necessary pain, to ensure that I
caused no harm.” Rhaenyra looked down at her hands. “And I . . . I believed her. I’d seen the sort
of destruction that my magic would wreak when I lost control, and I thought . . . I know now that
she was wrong. I know now that the justifications she gave me for the net were wrong. It didn’t
protect our people from the danger that I posed, not in truth. And it didn’t make me stronger. And it
wasn’t necessary to prevent Valyria’s destruction.”

The net was what had caused Valyria’s near destruction.

The net—

And me.

No.

That was what her mother had been telling her, but her mother had been wrong.

Shaking her head, she told the All Mother how she’d begged Aemma not to speak about the net for
fear of how others would react, and she told her how she’d used the blood oath to prevent Hylda
from exposing the truth.

That had been the first and only time she’d ever invoked the oath.

Doing so had filled her with shame at the time.

And that shame still remained, despite her having released Hylda from the order long ago.

Had she allowed Aemma and Hylda to speak, perhaps—

She explained how her mother’s modified net had allowed small tendrils of her magic free when
her mother had willed it, and how she’d been allowed to practice a few basic spells over the
centuries under her mother’s strict supervision.

The All Mother’s lips had twisted at those words.

“My sisters didn’t learn of the net until after it broke.” Until after her magic had leveled Valeria and
nearly torn them apart. “After I halted the destruction, Mother found me. She was,” Rhaenyra
stifled the growl that rose in her chest as she recalled her mother’s wroth, as she recalled her
mother’s certainty that she would be cast down for what she’d done, as she recalled her mother’s
insistence that everything had been Rhaenyra’s own doing along, “she was furious. And she told
me that now everyone would see me for the monster that I was.”

Rhaenyra fell silent, a strange sort of exhaustion settling in her bones.

The same sort that she’d felt after telling Alicent and Dr. Alfadora, and yet somehow different as
well.

When she’d told Alicent about the net, she’d believed everything that her mother had told her.

When she’d told Dr. Alfadora about the net, she’d believed that her mother wasn’t entirely wrong.

But now . . .

She knew better.

She knew that her mother’s actions had been wrong.

She knew that she hadn’t deserved to suffer as she had.

She knew that the guilt still gnawing at her insides was misplaced.

And she knew that it was her duty to see that the Empire learned of her mother’s actions.

Rhaenys had been correct about that—their people must know that no one was above the law.

Including the women of House Targaryen.

Her mother had broken the law, and so she must answer for it.

As must I.

The All Mother’s expression was unreadable as she slowly rose to her feet and closed the short
distance between them.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened with surprise when the All Mother’s arms wrapped around her a moment
later and drew her into a fierce hug. “Grandmother?”
“I am so sorry that you suffered all those centuries, alone and in pain, Rhaenyra,” she drew back
and brought her hands up to cup Rhaenyra’s cheeks, “and I am so sorry that you have been carrying
the burden of this secret for so long.” She pressed a gentle kiss to Rhaenyra’s brow. “You deserved
none of what Viserra did to you.”

Without another word, Daenerys released her face and strode over to the nearest window.

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows drew together in confusion as she watched her grandmother open the
window, shift into a bird, and fly from the room.

Why in Relle’s name—?

A thunderous roar split the air.

And the mountain trembled.

Rhaenyra’s teeth rattled.

And glass shattered.

The palace quaked.

And stone split.

The door flew open with a harsh bang as Mistress Missandei burst into the room. She rushed over
to the window, and upon peering outside, her lips parted in shock. “Merciful Mother,” she breathed.

Fire ignited in the skies above, scorching the clouds as another bellowing roar filled the air.

“I’ve not seen her so furious since—” The words died on Mistress Missandei’s lips.

And Rhaenyra knew that it hadn’t been of her own accord.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she peered at the other woman.

What had she been about to say?

And why was it protected by a Seal of Secrecy?

Before she could ponder further, Mistress Missandei shifted into falcon and soared into the sky.

Rhaenyra’s teeth rattled as her grandmother continued to roar and breathe great torrents of flame
from her massive jaws. She watched as Mistress Missandei—her falcon form almost laughably
small compared to the silver dragon raging across the heavens—flew to Daenerys’ side.

Dragonstone shook as Mistress Missandei endeavored to calm her beloved.

And by the time that Daenerys returned to her study, Rhaenyra was certain that every woman
within a thousand kilometers must have heard her roars.

Daenerys strode over to the table and retook her seat across from Rhaenyra before motioning for
Mistress Missandei to join them.
The fierce hug and gentle kiss on the top of her head that Rhaenyra received before Mistress
Missandei sat down told Rhaenyra that her grandmother had shared—if not everything—enough
with her beloved.

Though barely-leashed fury still radiated from her, Daenerys’ voice was calm and cool as she
steepled her fingers together and gazed at Rhaenyra with determined eyes. “You told me that you
came here seeking my counsel. Might I presume that it has to do with seeing that justice is at last
carried out?”

Rhaenyra nodded. “It does.”

Her grandmother spread her hands. “Tell me what you wish to do, and it shall be done.”

Alicent frowned as she gently nudged the fork so that it lay parallel with the knife beside it. Taking
a step back, she carefully inspected the table to ensure that everything was in its proper place and
perfectly arranged for her and Rhaenyra’s supper this evening.

The silverware was newly polished and glinted softly in the dim orb light, the chalices she’d chosen
were from her bondmate’s personal collection, she’d set out the porcelain plates decorated with
intertwined black roses and emerald orchids that Aemma and Luwina had gifted Rhaenyra for her
last birthday, and Sansa had been kind enough to fold the napkins into soaring dragons.

Artfully arranged at the center of the table was their supper of roasted quail, baked potato wedges,
sliced apples, and a desert of chocolate tarts, which Alicent had spent the afternoon preparing
following her return from Mistress Damella’s shop. While certain that she knew the outcome of her
bondmate’s conversation with the All Mother, her Nyra deserved to return home to her favorite
supper.

Besides, there was something that Alicent wished to tell her, and this seemed an apropos way to do
so.

Turning at the sound of approaching footsteps, Alicent reached up to hurriedly smooth down any
stray hairs before letting her hands fall to her sides as she awaited her bondmate’s arrival.

“My Love, did you—?” Rhaenyra broke off as she entered their privy chamber, her sharp eyes
swiftly sweeping over the dimmed light-orbs, the perfectly placed tableware, and their supper
before settling on Alicent.

A beaming smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips as she closed the distance between them in three long
strides, swept Alicent up into her arms, and began lavishing her face in loving kisses. “To what do I
owe this unexpected pleasure, My Darling Safa?”

Alicent’s eyes slipped shut as she basked in her bondmate’s affection and attentions. “Can a woman
not simply cook a nice meal for her bondmate once in a while? Must there be an occasion?”

“A woman may do as she pleases.” Rhaenyra kissed the tip of her nose. “But I know you well
enough to be certain that you did not prepare this lovely meal, set out the plates that Aemma and
Luwina gifted me, and just so happen to choose my two favorite chalices from among the dozens
that I own simply on a whim.”
Alicent hummed to acknowledge the words without confirming them, instead nuzzling her
bondmate’s cheek. “Earlier this afternoon, we received word that the roars of a dragon could be
heard as far as the border, and that women saw fire scorching the skies.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I hadn’t realized that the sound would carry so far,” she
murmured, more to herself than to Alicent.

“Care to tell me why a certain dragon was so wroth?” Alicent prompted.

A small smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips as she gave Alicent’s hip an affectionate squeeze.
“Grandmother was quite infuriated when I told about the net.”

Despite her bondmate’s blithe tone, Alicent couldn’t help but notice the wonder shining in her
amethyst eyes.

Rhaenyra’s shoulders suddenly slumped as she sighed and hugged Alicent even closer. “I feel like
such a fool, for being so terrified all this time that others would condemn me if they knew.”

Alicent turned her head to press a kiss to Rhaenyra’s cheek. “Your mother spent your entire
childhood manipulating you and convincing you to see yourself as she does, Nyra. You can hardly
be faulted for believing her lies.” She drew back enough so that their eyes could meet. “Do you
think me a fool for believing the things that my mother and Criston told me?”

As expected, Rhaenyra immediately shook her head. “Of course not.” She kissed her nose. “And
while I understand your meaning and know it to be true, part of me cannot help but draw
distinctions between our circumstances.”

Which was understandable enough.

“What matters is that you are telling others now.” Alicent reached up to stroke her bondmate’s
cheek. And that they are responding as they ought.

Rhaenyra hummed in agreement, though her expression remained pensive for a moment longer
before she seemed to shake herself and her eyes brightened. “Grandmother approved my plan for
the Summit.”

Alicent beamed. “That’s wonderful, Nyra.” She’d never doubted that the All Mother would give
her blessing, but she knew that her safa had been fretting about the matter.

Amusement twinkled in Rhaenyra’s eyes, as she evidently guessed what Alicent was thinking.
“You may gloat about being right if you wish, My Love.”

Alicent responded with an exaggerated pout. “Well now you’ve ruined the fun of gloating by
saying that I can do it.”

Rhaenyra laughed as she kissed away Alicent’s pout. “Perhaps that was my grand scheme all
along.”

“Hmm. In that case,” Alicent pecked her lip, “I suppose that your success this evening bodes well
for your other grand scheme.” Slipping from Rhaenyra’s arms, she took her hand and led her over
to the table. “Now sit. Before our food grows cold.”
“As My Lady commands.” Rhaenyra offered a low bow before taking her seat, and she smiled as
her eyes swept over the dishes. “Supper looks delicious, My Love.”

Alicent preened as she sat down across from her. “Thank you, Safa.” She watched her bondmate
intently, waiting for the moment when Rhaenyra inevitably reached for her napkin to unfold and
spread it across her lap.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip when Rhaenyra carefully picked up the dragon napkin, and she
held her breath when her safa frowned in confusion and looked down at the silver cloth.

With aggravatingly slow and deliberate care, Rhaenyra set the napkin back down and plucked the
little folded paper person from where it had been nestled upon the dragon’s back. “Ali, why—?”
She broke off, her eyes widening with understanding that swiftly transformed into gleeful
excitement as she dropped the paper person, leapt to her feet, and swiftly came around the table to
sweep Alicent up into her arms and lavish her face with kisses.

Alicent couldn’t help but laugh at her bondmate’s enthusiasm. While she’d known that Rhaenyra
would be pleased, she hadn’t anticipated this amount of elation. “Is the prospect of my riding upon
your back truly so worthy of celebration?” she chuckled.

Rhaenyra paused in her kissing only long enough to answer with a simple, “Yes.”

By the time that Rhaenyra set her down, Alicent was feeling rather dazed in the best way possible.
“Had I known that you would react so, perhaps I would have acquiesced sooner,” she teased.

“I would only desire your acquiescence if it was true.” Rhaenyra cradled Alicent’s face in her
hands, thumbs brushing over the curves of her cheekbones.

Alicent leaned into her touch. “I would prefer it if we might fly at least once before the Summit, so
that I know what to expect.

Rhaenyra grinned at her. “Of course, My Love. We can go flying whenever you wish.” Her chest
puffed slightly. “I had a saddle commissioned for you some time ago.”

She wondered absently if that had been before or after their first kiss. “Have you the time
tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Rhaenyra was practically vibrating with excitement. “And even if I did not, I would
certainly make the time.” She pressed a brief kiss to Alicent’s forehead. “You will adore your
saddle, My Safa. I’m certain of it.”

Alicent yelped as she stumbled over an uneven part of the ground, though she was swiftly steadied
by Rhaenyra’s hands on her waist and arm.

“Please forgive me, Ali. I should have warned you.” Rhaenyra paused, and Alicent could well
imagine the eager and hopeful look that her bondmate was giving her. “Perhaps if you allowed me
to carry you . . .”

Five stumbles ago, Alicent would have insisted that she could make her way to wherever it was that
Rhaenyra was leading her—eyes closed so as not to spoil the surprise—without being carried, but
she was growing weary of not being able to see as she was led around outside the city walls. “All
right, My Love.”

The words had hardly left her mouth before Rhaenyra was scooping her up into her arm and
cradling her against her chest.

Alicent couldn’t help but sigh happily as she was enveloped by her bondmate’s scent, and she tilted
her head to rest it against Rhaenyra’s shoulder.

Not even five minutes later, Rhaenyra was setting her down and gently turning her, presumably so
that she stood facing her new saddle. “You can open your eyes now, Ali.”

Upon doing so, Alicent’s eyes flew wide with shock as she stared at the so-called saddle that
Rhaenyra had commissioned for her.

The other day, Sabitha had shown her the dragon saddles that the knights had been using since
Rhaenyra’s ascension to the Rose Throne. Those saddles were rather akin to the kind that one
would place on a horse, save that the back and front were much higher, and the seat much lower.
There was also a rather distinctive lack of stirrups, though Sabitha had explained that she and the
other knights secured their legs with straps of leather.

“I’m certain that the saddle Her Majesty commissions for your use when you ride her will be the
pinnacle of comfort,” Margaery had teased the other day.

Alicent had never doubted that, but for all that she’d been expecting a saddle that was a little too
lavish, she certainly hadn’t been expecting this.

What Rhaenyra had commissioned for her couldn’t be considered a “saddle” by any stretch of the
imagination. It was far more akin to one of Stone Garden’s gazebo than it was to anything
resembling so much as an ornate chair, never mind a saddle.

Standing some ten feet tall and gleaming bright and golden in the afternoon sun, the structure was
heptagonal in shape, with a tiered roof of greenish-blue that was decorated with ornate, golden
finials that swept upwards into elegant points. Adorning the tiered base were dozens of enormous
emerald orchids so lifelike that Alicent half-believed she could smell them, and silver dragon heads
festooned the base’s uppermost tier. Elegant, golden lattice formed the seven walls, three of which
were dominated by large windows so that she would be able to see out from within.

Merciful Mother Relle and All Her Faces.

Beside her, Rhaenyra’s eyes were bright and eager as she studied Alicent’s reaction. “Are you
pleased, Ali?”

“It’s beautiful, Nyra, but—”

Rhaenyra’s smile fell. “Is it too open? Too exposed? I considered not requesting so many windows,
but I didn’t wish for you to feel trapped. And much of the joy of flying comes from being able to
see the world around you from so high up. But perhaps you would prefer fewer windows?”

Alicent swiftly shook her head. “I like the windows,” she assured her, “and I’m certain that I’ll not
feel trapped. The . . . saddle seems very spacious.”
Considering it was larger than most of Stone Garden’s gazebos.

“But I find myself thinking,” she offered her bondmate a playful smile, “that sitting within an
enclosed litter can’t really be considered riding on dragonback.”

Rhaenyra cocked her head slightly. “Would you prefer a more traditional saddle?” Her teeth
worried her lower lip uncertainly. “I commissioned this kind of saddle because I thought that you
would feel more comfortable—safer—with a roof over your head and windowed walls surrounding
you.”

She most certainly would, and she said as much, which caused some of the worry to leave her
bondmate’s face. “But I don’t think that you can call that gazebo any kind of saddle,” she teased.

“Oh, I most certainly can.” Rhaenyra flashed her a cheerful grin as she offered her arm. “Have you
read anything about elephants?”

Accepting her bondmate’s arm, Alicent was silent for a moment as she searched her memory for
the word. “Elephants are kin to mammoths, yes?” She admittedly knew far more about the latter
than the former, since mammoths were among the megafauna that dragons ate.

Rhaenyra nodded. “Elephants are large enough that, somewhat similar to a dragon, attempting to
straddle them as you would a horse isn’t possible.” Her eyes twinkled. “But that didn’t prevent the
Kartagians from riding them into battle, nor did it prevent the Varshi from riding upon their backs
for travel.”

Alicent’s steps faltered as she turned to her bondmate. “Your ancestors used such elephant saddles
as guides for their dragon saddles, didn’t they?”

“Indeed.” Rhaenyra kissed her cheek as she led her around to the back of the “saddle,” where one
of the walls swung open on silent hinges. “The Varshi placed what were essentially canopied seats
upon the backs of their elephants when they rode them.” She helped Alicent up into the saddle. “I
simply expanded upon the concept.”

Upon entering the gazebo, Alicent couldn’t help but hum happily at the warmth that enveloped her.
A crisp autumn breeze had been nipping at her cheeks and hands for the past few minutes, but the
interior of the saddle was as warm and comfortable as their chambers.

Insulation enchantments? Or had her bondmate cast some other spell to maintain a certain
temperature?

“Your saddle is protected by all of the same enchantments that women usually cast before riding on
dragonback,” Rhaenyra explained, evidently guessing Alicent’s thoughts. “And the windows are
keyed to you. Should you wish to feel the wind upon your cheeks whilst we fly, you need only
touch the glass.”

Alicent doubted that she would—at least this first time—but perhaps in the future.

Her eyes swept over the furnishings that her bondmate had selected, noting that most of them were
similar in style to things that she’d purchased for herself since she’d begun working for Mistress
Damella.
A lavish rug patterned with pleasingly symmetric geometric designs covered the floor, and
decorative pillows of various sizes and shapes were scattered throughout. In the middle of the room
was a large chair nigh identical to the one that Alicent had laid claim to on the third floor history
section of the library. Only the bands of braided green leather, which she assumed were meant to
secure her to the chair—similar to the straps that she’d seen on Sabitha’s saddle—distinguished this
chair from the one in the library.

Alicent arched an eyebrow when she saw the small table standing beside the chair. “Nyra, why in
the world would you place a table in here?”

“For your books.” Rhaenyra offered her a crooked smile. “Or anything else that you may wish to
bring with you when flying.”

Were it not for the earnest sincerity shining in her bondmate’s eyes, Alicent might have laughed at
the absurdity. “My Love, while I appreciate your efforts to ensure my comfort, all of these
furnishings seem rather . . . hazardous.” She could well imagine that table slamming into her should
Rhaenyra bank sharply or suddenly veer or abruptly increase or decrease her speed.

Rhaenyra made a sound of mock offense, pressing a hand to her chest. “You doubt my ability to
offer you a calm and steady flight?”

“I worry about the unexpected.”

“As do I.” Rhaenyra walked over to the table and shoved it with such force that it should have
careened into the nearest wall.

But the table didn’t move so much as a centimeter.

Surprised and intrigued, Alicent quickly made her way to Rhaenyra’s side and curiously pressed
her own hand against the table.

It rocked in response.

She turned her attention to Rhaenyra, who was already smiling proudly. “What kind of magic is
this?”

“Gravitational enchantments.” Rhaenyra’s arms swept out with a grand flourish. “All that you see
shall remain exactly where it is until you physically move it.” She pointed to the chair. “And once
you’re seated, nothing save for your own desire to stand again shall dislodge you.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion at that. “Then why are there straps?”

“I thought that you might feel more comfortable having a physical way to secure yourself, but I
didn’t know for certain,” Rhaenyra’s lips twisted into a grimace, “and I’ve no intention of ever
forcibly binding you.”

Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s chest as she reached for her bondmate and drew her close to press a
fervent kiss to her lips.

When they broke apart, Rhaenyra’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were shining. “Are you
ready to fly, My Love?”
Alicent nodded, though she followed Rhaenyra out of the saddle because she wished to watch her
shift into her dragon form—despite knowing that there was nothing to actually see.

Rhaenyra swiftly made her way across the meadow, only stopping when she evidently deemed
herself far enough away that her enormous draconic body wouldn’t crush Alicent or the saddle.

Her bondmate seemed to waver for a split second, and then she was gone, replaced by an enormous
silver dragon with ruby-red horns and wickedly sharp claws of onyx.

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat.

Rhaenyra looked just as majestic as she had been on Seventh Night, but now, Alicent was able to
see her bondmate in all her glory, without the shadows of the oncoming night obstructing her view.

Merciful Mother, Rhaenyra was magnificent.

Without thinking, Alicent began to approach.

Rhaenyra watched her curiously for a moment before slowly sinking down and laying her head
upon the ground.

Alicent couldn’t help but marvel at her bondmate’s sheer size, at the way she towered above her
even when almost flattened upon the ground, at the way her every breath seemed to rattle the
nearby trees.

A gentle tug on their mental link was followed by Rhaenyra’s voice in her mind. “Is something the
matter, Ali?”

“Not at all.” Alicent smiled as she came to a halt in front of Rhaenyra’s head. “May I?”

“Of course.”

Alicent slowly reached out and pressed her hand against Rhaenyra’s scaled cheek, marveling at the
heat and the smooth texture, at the way the scales rippled with even the smallest of movements, at
how her Nyra felt at once impossibly hard and indescribably supple and soft. She gently stroked her
bondmate’s cheek, nearly leaping from her skin when a thunderous purr shook the ground and
vibrated in her very bones.

“I didn’t know that dragons could purr,” she murmured, wondering how she’d never come across
that information.

Rhaenyra chuffed as quietly as a dragon could. “They can’t, but I’m not a true dragon.”

Alicent couldn’t help but laugh as she realized that Rhaenyra had shifted her larynx and various
muscles within her throat simply so that she could reclaim her ability to purr and express her
contentment with Alicent’s touch.

She allowed herself a few more minutes to explore Rhaenyra’s new body, running her fingers along
her smooth jaw spikes—though she took care to avoid the deadly points—examining her lethal,
ebony claws, touching the thick, flexible membrane of her wings, and even pressing a brief kiss to
the corner of her bondmate’s scaly mouth, which earned her a happy trill.
By the time that Alicent had satisfied her initial curiosity, she knew for certain that she would be
asking Rhaenyra to shift for her in the future so that she could take the proper time to learn more
about her dragon form.

Amusement glinted in Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes and echoed in her mental voice as she asked,
“Shall we fly, My Love?”

Alicent nodded, tilting her head back to watch as the saddle suddenly appeared on Rhaenyra’s back,
nestling between two of the spikes of her spinal ridge. Thick straps suddenly emerged from the
gazebo’s tiered base to wrap around Rhaenyra’s chest and belly and secure the saddle in place,
though Alicent suspected that those straps were primarily for her peace of mind.

Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly. “May I teleport you into the saddle, Ali?”

“You may, thank you, Nyra.” Alicent shivered with a queer sense of delight when she felt the warm
and pleasant sensation of her bondmate’s magic enveloping her. The world around her wavered for
a brief moment before coming back into focus to reveal the inside of her saddle.

After snatching up one of the pillows from where it lay on the floor, she swiftly made her way over
to the chair and sat down. Her lips pursed as she contemplated the bands of braided leather. They
were pretty, in their own way, which she suspected was purposeful. Her Nyra had likely instructed
whoever was responsible for making them to craft something that looked as little like a restraint as
possible.

“Once you’re seated, nothing save for your own desire to stand again shall dislodge you.”

Alicent trusted her bondmate’s words.

And I can always secure the straps later, if need be.

Settling back into the chair, Alicent hugged the pillow to her chest as she tugged on her and
Rhaenyra’s mental link. “I’m ready.”

“I’m going to stand now, My Love. And I’ll warn you before I take flight,” Rhaenyra promised.

“Thank you.”

Alicent’s hold on the pillow tightened when the world shifted beneath her as Rhaenyra slowly rose
to her feet. Turning her head, she looked out the window and couldn’t help but marvel as the
treetops swiftly came into view. Tension coiled in her shoulders, and yet she felt a thrill of
excitement as well.

She was about to fly.

A terrifying yet exhilarating prospect.

And she knew that Rhaenyra would take care with her.

That her bondmate would sooner return to a Great Glass Prison than let her fall.

“I’m going to take a few steps forward and then leap into the air,” Rhaenyra warned her.
Alicent almost laughed aloud at the thought of anything so large as Rhaenyra’s dragon form being
able to leap into the air. “I’m ready.”

Despite her words, she yelped when Rhaenyra suddenly surged forward, and she instinctively drew
her knees up to her chest when she felt the sharp jolt of Rhaenyra taking to the skies.

For a brief moment, she felt almost weightless.

Then she watched as Rhaenyra’s great wings snapped out to catch an updraft, allowing her to soar
skyward towards the clouds. Her stomach dropped, and her eyes squeezed shut as she waited for
the moment when Rhaenyra would straighten and begin the easy glide that her bondmate had
promised her the night before.

Alicent breathed a sigh of relief when she felt the world shift back into place, when she was sitting
upright once more and the angle of their ascent was no longer pressing her against the back of the
chair. Her grip on the pillow loosened somewhat, and she opened her eyes to peer out the window.

Her breath caught in her throat.

They were surrounded by clouds.

Merciful Mother above.

Alicent’s head swiveled so that she was looking out the front window, and she couldn’t help but
gasp when she saw the way that the sunlight was reflecting off of Rhaenyra’s silver scales and ruby
horns.

Her Nyra was a sight to behold.

As were the clouds swiftly passing them by.

She dared not attempt to calculate how fast Rhaenyra was flying, but she was certain that the force
of the winds would have torn her from Rhaenyra’s back were it not for whatever spells her
bondmate had cast to hold her in place.

Her heart thundered in her chest, and whether it was from fear or exhilaration, she couldn’t say.

Perhaps it was something of both.

“Ali, are you all right?”

Alicent almost laughed aloud, because—somewhat to her own surprise—she was all right. She was
flying Relle only knew how many miles above the ground at a speed that she was certain shouldn’t
be possible given Rhaenyra’s size. She was inside a gazebo-saddle that was secured to the back of a
dragon by no more than a dozen leather straps. And she was sitting in a chair with the bands of
braided leather meant to help hold her in place lying limply over the arms.

And yet . . .

She felt safe.

Because she was with Rhaenyra.

“Yes, My Safa, I’m all right.”

A triumphant trill filled the skies, and Alicent laughed because she knew without needing to see
that her bondmate’s chest was puffed with pride. “I love you, Nyra.”

“And I love you, Ali.” The trill went silent, replaced by a thunderous purr that caused Alicent’s
entire body to vibrate. “Thank you, My Love, for agreeing to fly with me.”

“You needn’t thank me, Nyra. Flying is . . . more enjoyable than I expected.”

Rhaenyra’s amused chuff caused the nearby clouds to scatter. “Considering your fears of falling off
of my back, I would imagine that nigh anything else would be more enjoyable than you expected.”

Alicent rolled her eyes even though Rhaenyra couldn’t see her. “You know very well what I mean.”

“So I do.” And Rhaenyra’s mental voice was somehow as tender and sweet as it would have been
whispered in her ear. “I know not what I’ve done to deserve you, My Alicent, but I thank Relle
every day for allowing our paths to cross.”

Alicent’s throat tightened, and she wished that she could touch her bondmate. “You’ve made me
happier than I ever believed possible. You know that, yes?”

Another purr rumbled beneath her feet and echoed across the heavens. “I’ve certainly done my best
to ensure your happiness, Safa.”

“And you’ve succeeded.”

In every way that mattered, her Nyra had succeeded.

Behold! Alicent's dragon "saddle."

Chapter End Notes

Yay! Dany knows that Viserra is the worst now! And she's approved whatever plan Rhaenyra
has cooking for the Summit!
Apologies for the lack of smut to those of you who enjoy that 😔. Next chapter shall hopefully
provide acceptable restitution. 😉😏

Next Chapter: Alicent rides a dragon – Part II . . .

 Markings
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 50:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar

A special thanks to Octavas and NewLeeLand for beta reading this chapter, and to
LesbianLightbringer for sensitivity reading various sections.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains two lengthy smut scenes, which will be marked at the
beginning and end with double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over them.

Gentle Readers, this chapter is a beast (and like 45% sex), apologies/you're welcome in
advance. Happy Holidays!

Behold! The Shield Sister Society's sigil!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Wheat Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

Alicent awoke to the tantalizing smell of sweet cakes, eggs, and sausages, and she awoke to the
feeling of gentle lips lavishing her face in tender and loving kisses. Without opening her eyes, she
reached for her bondmate to draw her closer, wanting to feel Rhaenyra’s weight settled atop her,
wanting to feel Rhaenyra’s breasts pressing against her own, wanting—

Rhaenyra didn’t allow herself to be moved, instead placing a brief kiss upon Alicent’s lips.
“Apologies, My Love, but we haven’t the time.”

Opening her eyes, Alicent pouted up at her bondmate. “You should have awoken me earlier then.”

Rhaenyra laughed as she placed the silver tray bearing their breakfast upon Alicent’s lap before
climbing up onto their bed and settling beside her. “I thought that you would appreciate another
hour of rest.” She handed a fork to Alicent before using her own to spear one of the sausage links.
“You seemed quite exhausted last night.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed as she hurriedly gathered some of the scrambled eggs onto her fork and
shoved them into her mouth. The day before had been tiring, in part because she’d spent what had
perhaps been a rather excessive amount of time practicing her fire elementalism with Margaery and
Sansa so that she’d could give Rhaenyra a demonstration that evening, and in part because she’d
been completing a rather elaborate gown commissioned for the Dragon Summit by Mistress
Wythers.

But she knew that Rhaenyra wasn’t referring to either of those activities.

A pleasant shiver rippled down her spine as memories of Rhaenyra’s warm and wet tongue circling
her nipples flashed through her mind, along with memories of Rhaenyra’s teeth gently nipping at
her throat, of Rhaenyra’s hands stroking her breasts and squeezing her ass, of Rhaenyra’s eyes dark
with desire as she writhed beneath Alicent, of Rhaenyra’s moans sounding like music to her ears.

She’d been quite exhausted when sleep had eventually claimed her.

Swallowing her eggs, Alicent turned to look at Rhaenyra. “All the same, I would have enjoyed
being able to pleasure you this morning.”

Her desire for Rhaenyra had been growing by the day, it seemed, burning brighter and brighter as it
threatened to consume her entirely.

And she found herself rather excited by the prospect of being so consumed.

“I’ll be certain to wake you next time, Ali,” Rhaenyra promised, her voice drawing Alicent from
her lustful thoughts.

“Thank you.” Alicent impaled a piece of scrambled egg and offered it to Rhaenyra, who smiled at
her before accepting the food. As her bondmate chewed, Alicent asked, “Will we be attending
service this morning at the Stone Garden Temple or the Flowering Temple?”

“The Flowering Temple,” Rhaenyra answered after swallowing, “since it’s the Feast of the
Warrior.”
Alicent had assumed as much, but she’d wanted to be certain. “And then the pageant is in the
afternoon, yes? Two o’clock?”

Rhaenyra nodded as she gave her a playful wink. “I believe that you’ll find the show to be a very
enjoyable experience.”

A faint flush warmed Alicent’s cheeks in response to her bondmate’s tone, but she held Rhaenyra’s
gaze as she said, “I’m certain that I will.” She reached out to lightly brush her fingers up the length
of her safa’s arm. “You know that I find historical accounts quite stimulating.” Her fingers curled
around Rhaenyra’s upper arm. “And when offered visually,” she squeezed her bondmate’s arm,
“I’m oft rendered breathless and ever eager for more.”

“I do indeed know well your passion for the histories, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s lips curled into what could
only be described as a coquettish smile. “And I can assure you, the pageant will offer you many
entrancing sights.”

Alicent almost groaned aloud at the indecent promises lurking beneath her bondmate’s words,
suddenly even more vexed that they didn’t have enough time before service to quell the heat that
she could already feel gathering low in her belly. “I’ve no doubt that I will be utterly enthralled.”

“Good.” Rhaenyra leaned in and pressed an all too fleeting kiss to her lips. “As ever, My Safa, I
endeavor to please you.”

“And please me you do, Nyra.” Alicent smiled softly, her hand leaving Rhaenyra’s arm to cradle
her cheek. “In all ways, My Love. You please me.”

Rhaenyra preened.

And Alicent’s smile widened.

“True strength is rooted in compassion, empathy, forgiveness, mercy, and the desire to help and
protect others. True strength manifests as emotional fortitude, vulnerability, and love, not simply
the ability to vanquish one’s opponents. True strength means choosing love and compassion over
cruelty and malice. True strength means choosing kindness and self-sacrifice over aggression and
belligerent egotism. True strength is service and sacrifice, loyalty and honor.”

Cleric Alinora’s words from the morning’s service still echoed in Alicent’s ears as she and her
friends made their way towards the Hyacinth Amphitheater. Any Westerosi would have sneered and
scoffed at such sentiments, but Alicent had eagerly listened to all that Cleric Alinora had had to say
about honor and loyalty, about courage and strength. And she’d smiled with a combination of
embarrassment and pride when Rhaenyra had leaned over and whispered in her ear, “You are the
strongest woman that I’ve ever had the honor of knowing, My Alicent.”

Alicent remembered shivering when Rhaenyra’s thumb had gently brushed over the scar encircling
her wrist, when Rhaenyra’s lips had tenderly kissed her cheek, when Rhaenyra’s scent—spicier
than usual, but in a way that Alicent had come to relish these past months—had filled her senses
and wrapped around her like a comforting yet enticing cloak.

The desire to kiss her bondmate breathless had been almost overwhelming, but she’d restrained
herself and instead settled for resting her head on Rhaenyra’s shoulder for the remainder of the
service.

Afterwards, Rhaenyra had bid her an affectionate farewell and kissed her cheek before departing
with her knights to prepare for the pageant. Alicent had returned to the Keep for her lesson with
Margaery and Sansa and spent the next several hours performing various telekinetic exercises until
Aemma and Luwina had appeared to remind them that they ought to leave soon.

Now, as Alicent and her friends passed through the amphitheater’s arched entrance, which was
carved with creeping vines and blooming flowers, anticipation thrummed within her at the prospect
of watching her bondmate lead her knights in a series of mock battles against a cohort of visiting
shield sisters. Aemma had proudly told her the other day that Rhaenyra was the first monarch since
the All Mother to participate in these ceremonial reenactments of significant Old World battles.

Once Alicent and her friends had made their way up one of the wide flights of stone stairs to the
amphitheater’s seventh row and taken their seats—Margaery and Sansa on her right, and Aemma
and Luwina on her left—Alicent’s eyes roved over the wide, open space surrounded on all sides by
tiered, concentric circles of seats.

She’d only ever visited Osmera’s Hyacinth Amphitheater once before, and she remembered being
fascinated by the shield spells cast to prevent anything from falling upon the central arena or the
tiered seats, as well as the insulation enchantments cast to ensure that the spectators remained
comfortably warm or cool, despite the lack of a roof.

At the time of her previous visit, the amphitheater had been empty and devoid of any trappings, for
it usually remained vacant save for athletic events and the annual pageant celebrating the Feast of
the Warrior. But today, the amphitheater was festooned with wreaths of gladioli and streamers of
red and gold, with silver swords and ruby shields, with light constructs of clasped hands and open
arms and signed treaties.

Alicent found the various light constructs to be the most interesting of the decorations. Before
coming here, the concept of making peace as a demonstration of strength had never even occurred
to her, but she’d since come to understand why the Valyrians would consider the ability and
willingness to reconcile a strength.

“Violence ought only ever to be a means to an end, never an end in and of itself,” Cleric Alinora
had declared during her oration that morning, and Alicent remembered how Rhaenyra had stiffened
beside her and lowered her eyes, remembered the pang of guilt that she’d sensed before her ward
had flared.

When Alicent’s eyes fell upon the various models of different cities that encircled the
amphitheater’s central arena, she frowned and leaned forward in order to appraise the stone cities
more closely. The architecture was both foreign and familiar—sharp and angular in a way that
Valyrian architecture was not, austere and dull and utilitarian in a way that almost reminded her of
—

Alicent’s eyes widened with realization.

Luwina looked over at her curiously. “Has Old World architecture become a new interest of late,
Alicent?”

She shook her head, feeling a fool for not understanding at once. “This architecture is very
reminiscent of the styles favored by my—by ancient Westerosi.”
Interest sparked in Luwina’s eyes as she turned her attention to the models. “I suppose that is to be
expected,” she mused, “considering the Old Worlders who fled to Westeros would have assuredly
introduced their own architectural styles after establishing themselves as the new ruling class.”

Alicent nodded in agreement, briefly wondering whether any native Westerosi architecture had
survived the conquest, or if it had all been destroyed to make way for what the Old Worlders had
favored, but then she remembered what Nesryn had said about the Old Worlders conquering
Westeros when its people were still in the infancy of their social evolution.

The ground beneath their feet suddenly rumbled, and a hush immediately fell upon the gathered
crowd.

At the very heart of the arena, the earth split, and a woman clad in dragon-scale armor emerged
from the fissure. Sunlight reflected off of the dozens of gemstones set into the already jewel-like
dragon-scale, almost blinding when the light struck just so. Bright emeralds, gleaming topazes,
lustrous pearls, shining sapphires, glittering starstones, glowing moonstones, blazing sunstones,
polished opals, brilliant diamonds, flawless rubies, and a number of other stones that Alicent
couldn’t identify. The knight’s helm had been forged to resemble a faceted gemstone, and resting at
her hip was a sword with a bejeweled hilt.

“Presenting Top Shield Morrighan Lydden of the Shield Sister Society,” a disembodied voice
boomed, “once holder of the titles Jewel Knight of Empress Daenerys the Silver’s Draconic
Knights and Eighth First Shield of the Shield Sister Society.”

Applause filled the air, and Alicent clapped along with everyone else even as she leaned over to
whisper to Sansa, “Does Top Shield Morrighan come to present the pageant every year?” For all
that she’d been anticipating the Feast of the Warrior, she’d done precious little research about the
holiday. Her days were filled with work and lessons and Rhaenyra and her friends, and what time
she did have for reading, she’d been devoting to learning about the queens, princesses, matriarchs,
matrons, mother lotus, prelate, dragon queen, and archons who would be attending the Summit.

Sansa shook her head. “The All Mother’s Draconic Knights have an annual rotation among the
Queendoms. Brynhild Glover visited the previous year, and Yael Redfort the year before that. The
current First Shield introduces the pageant for Valeria.”

Margaery leaned forward so that she could catch Alicent’s eye. “The Feast of the Warrior is as
much for the Shield Sister Society as it is for Relle Shieldbreaker. Before the War, this day was one
of the few times that they were properly honored.”

Guilt flashed in both Sansa and Margaery’s eyes.

“Their knowledge of warfare not dependent upon magic was all that prevented us from being
decimated before Queen Rhaenyra returned,” Margaery continued. “Sansa’s younger sister
effectively commanded the entirety of House Stark’s forces during the War.”

Alicent recalled Sansa mentioning that her younger sister was a knight, and she recalled Margaery
noting that it was quite unusual for a member of a Great House to join the Shield Sister Society.

A wry yet fond smile curled Sansa’s lips. “Under any other circumstances, Arya would have
gloated for centuries about taking command of our House as a leftenant general.”
“She conducted herself quite admirably, as I recall,” Aemma noted from where she sat on Alicent’s
other side. “She led one of the final attacks that expelled the Westerosi from Norden, did she not?”

“She did.” Sansa’s lips curled slightly into a grim yet satisfied smile even as her hand stole to her
stomach, which—as Alicent understood it—had been struck by an ion cannon during that battle.
“I’d never realized the extent of her ferocity before the War.”

Alicent could well imagine. Vora Arya’s shield sister training in conjunction with the strength of
her core likely made her among the most lethal women on the planet.

“In truth,” Sansa mused, “I’m rather surprised that Her Excellency hasn’t yet issued an edict
requiring that all women receive basic training with arms.”

“It would certainly give Lady Empress Rhaena’s mate and other career shield sisters more to do,”
Margaery chuckled.

Alicent’s ears pricked. “Lady Empress Rhaena the Ninth?”

Margaery nodded. “Her mate—Mistress Melony Piper—is among the few shield sisters
uninterested in seeking knighthood. Lady Rhaena has been mapping the Remkar Ocean for the past
reign whilst Mistress Melony offers her services as a self-defense tutor.”

An oceanic cartographer certainly wasn’t the occupation that Alicent would have envisioned for a
former empress, but she supposed that after serving the Empire for some fifteen million years,
women were entitled to do as they pleased.

Since learning about what Viserra had done to Rhaenyra, Alicent had grown rather curious about
Rhaenyra’s great-great-grandmother, who had served as Viserra’s first advisor and raised her
following her three hundredth birthday.

Alicent opened her mouth to ask another question, but thunderous applause prevented her from
doing so, and she suddenly realized that she hadn’t heard a word of Top Shield Morrighan’s
introduction for the pageant.

Damn it.

Down below, Top Shield Morrighan retreated back to one of the stone cities where she was joined
by an additional seven knights who immediately arranged themselves in a wedge formation behind
her.

On the other side of the arena, there was a blinding flash of silvery-red light.

When the dark spots cleared from Alicent’s vision, her eyes widened, her teeth sank into her lower
lip, and her thighs clenched.

Merciful Mother.

She’d known that Rhaenyra would be wearing her ceremonial armor for the pageant, but her safa
had steadfastly refused to allow Alicent to see it before today.

“I wish for you to be surprised, My Love,” she’d claimed, but Alicent had known from the gleam in
her bondmate’s eyes that “surprise” was not the only reaction that Rhaenyra hoped to elicit from
her.
And by Her Faces, had her bondmate succeeded.

Alicent’s mouth watered at the sight of Rhaenyra clad in shining dragon-scale plate the color of
sunset and wielding a shadow steel sword whose blade seemed to drink in the surrounding light. A
draconic helm was tucked beneath one arm, and it was plain that her bondmate’s armor had been
forged and molded to specifically fit the shape and contours of her body. The dragon-scale perfectly
displayed Rhaenyra’s sculpted arms and legs, and Alicent’s fingers longed to feel those lovely
muscles bare and flexing.

Her Rhaenyra was magnificent.

An utter vision beyond compare.

More perfect than any sculpture and more beautiful than any painting.

Alicent’s tongue flicked out to wet her lips.

“Her sword is named Blackthorn,” Margaery whispered, her quiet voice nearly making Alicent leap
from her skin.

When she turned to look at her heart friend—who had at some point exchanged seats with Sansa—
Alicent’s cheeks darkened upon seeing the knowing glint in Margaery’s blue eyes. “It’s a,” she
swallowed a little, “a lovely sword.”

“So it is.” Margaery gave her a playful nudge. “Her Majesty is quite striking in her armor, is she
not? Rather dashing, one might say.”

Alicent nodded in agreement, though, in truth, she was finding it rather difficult to focus on
Margaery’s words when Rhaenyra was now donning her helm and leading her knights into battle.

The song of steel meeting steel soon filled the air, and Alicent swore that she could feel every blow
of Rhaenyra’s sword as a throb of her cu—as a throb between her legs. Each flex and extension of
Rhaenyra’s arms as she swung and parried reminded Alicent of the way that her bondmate would
envelop her in warm embraces and hold her close. Each swift step of Rhaenyra’s feet as she pivoted
and dodged reminded Alicent of how eagerly her bondmate would always close the distance
between them when they’d been apart for the day. And each fluid movement of Rhaenyra’s body
reminded Alicent of how breathtaking her bondmate looked when hovering above her or writhing
beneath her.

Alicent’s core thrummed happily—insistently—beneath her sternum, and she could feel herself
growing damp between her legs as she eagerly drank in the sight of Rhaenyra’s elegant precision
and lethal grace.

Perhaps she ought to be embarrassed for having such thoughts about her bondmate when
surrounded by thousands and when flanked by her friends, but she couldn’t find it within herself to
feel ashamed for wanting her safa so.

Rhaenyra was hers.

And she was Rhaenyra’s.

Alicent was allowed to want her.

Down below, Rhaenyra’s blade flashed in the afternoon sun as she struck Top Shield Morrighan’s
shield with such force that the shield seemed to nearly crack in two.

A shudder rippled down Alicent’s spine.

She knew that this battle represented a pivotal moment in history for the women of the Old World,
that it was part of an ancient tradition stretching back to the Founding, that it was meant to
encourage women to reflect upon the meanings of honor, loyalty, courage, and strength.

But all her mind would allow her to contemplate was how much she desired Rhaenyra, how much
she wished to kiss her and be held and caressed by her, how much she desired her Nyra’s mouth
and hands, how much she—

Margaery cleared her throat beside her and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Alicent, might I
suggest focusing your attention elsewhere? Or allowing me to conceal your scent?”

Alicent’s eyes widened, mortification heating her cheeks as she immediately tore her gaze away
from Rhaenyra.

Seven Hells, what had she been thinking?

“My apologies,” she mumbled.

But Margaery only chuckled. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Alicent. It’s perfectly natural to
desire your bondmate.”

Alicent felt a gentle tap on her mental ward and swiftly lowered it to allow Margaery to establish a
link.

“Whenever Sansa constructs anything from snow or ice, whether for Yule, herself, or some other
reason, I cannot help but be aroused by the sight.”

Alicent nearly choked on air, and her fingers fisted her skirts. Part of her was tempted to sever the
link and return her focus to the battle—this time with her attention on Sabitha or Vora Hylda or one
of the other knights—but another part was perversely curious to know why Sansa creating snow or
ice constructs would arouse her heart friend.

“Care to know why?” Margaery teased, eyes glinting.

Despite herself, Alicent nodded, allowing her curiosity to overcome her.

“I detest the cold, and winter as a general matter, but once every century on my birthday, I allow
Sansa to whisk me away to Stark Province for the day.” Margaery smiled softly. “Sansa then uses
her water elementalism to craft the most beautiful and elaborate ice sculptures that you can
imagine as a birthday gift to me.” Her smile turned sly as she winked at Alicent. “And afterwards,
she takes me home, lays me down in front of a roaring fire, and makes me scream her name.”

Alicent gulped as her mind was suddenly consumed by thoughts of Rhaenyra lighting a fire in the
hearth of their bedchamber, slowly removing all of her clothes whilst sweetly and hungrily kissing
her, laying her down upon a thick rug in front of the warm flames, and then pleasuring Alicent with
her fingers and tongue until Alicent was panting and delirious.

Relle above, she wanted all of that.

She wanted all of Rhaenyra.

She wanted her mark—

Oh.

Alicent’s magic thrummed within her, practically purring.

Beside her, Margaery smiled as she severed their mental link.

Alicent was ready.

She was certain that she was.

And she was certain that she would go mad if she wasn’t.

Dreams of Rhaenyra—wonderful, tantalizing, pleasurable dreams—had been haunting her and

ensuring that she always awoke somewhat breathless and rather damp between her legs. Most of
her mornings these past few weeks had begun with her either pouncing upon her bondmate, or—on
the occasions that Rhaenyra had already departed from their bed—bringing herself to completion
using her own fingers and imagination.

She’d been tempted half a dozen times this past week to ask Rhaenyra to properly bed her and
claim her, but she’d bitten her tongue every time, for some small part of her had still been hesitant,
and she dared not ask her bondmate to bed her until she was certain—or as certain as she could be
—that she would not freeze or panic again.

Absolute certainty, she knew, would remain forever elusive, but after weeks of dreaming about
Rhaenyra bedding her and marking her, and after an entire day consumed by thoughts of the same,
she knew in her bones that she was ready.

In her bones . . . and in her core as well.

For her magic had been humming soft and low since this afternoon.

And as Alicent readied herself for supper in the great hall, she knew that by sunrise, she would
have Rhaenyra’s mate mark upon her neck.

The thought sent a thrill of pleasure rippling down her spine to settle low in her belly.

As she reached towards her wardrobe to find an appropriate dress for her intentions this evening,
the sleeve of the gown that she currently wore shifted to reveal the scar encircling her wrist.

Her lips pursed.

“You survived unspeakable horrors, Ali. There’s nothing ugly about that. There’s nothing shameful
about that.”

“I’m in awe of you, My Love. In awe of what you survived, in awe of how you’ve healed, in awe of
how you’re thriving.”
“They don’t diminish my love for you, Ali, they don’t diminish your beauty, and they don’t make me
want you any less.”

Resolve stiffened her spine as she pushed aside her various gowns until she came upon the one that
she’d hidden away some weeks ago.

She’d made this dress with every intention of not donning it until the Dragon Summit.

But not a one of her other gowns was more suitable for her intentions this evening.

A smile curled her lips as she imagined Rhaenyra’s reaction upon seeing her.

The great hall was alive with conversation and laughter as the women of Stone Garden awaited
their supper. Golden banners bearing Relle Shieldbreaker’s ruby shield hung on all of the walls,
interspersed with crimson banners displaying the Shield Sister Society’s sigil of a golden shield.
The light-orbs hovering overhead shone ruby and gold as well, and standing at the ends of every
table was a shining suit of armor adorned with the golden rose of Kastrell, a Tyrell rose, or one of
the seven Clans’ sigils.

From her place seated at the high table, Rhaenyra impatiently awaited her bondmate’s arrival.
Unlike every other evening that they’d dined with others since being pairbonded, Alicent had
refused her assistance in dressing for supper, insisting that Rhaenyra depart for the great hall
without her.

The behavior was baffling, but Rhaenyra had done as her safa wished.

“You’re certain that you don’t wish for me to attend the Summit with you?” Rhaenys was frowning
as she peered at Rhaenyra, though whether it was out of concern or vexation was hard to say.

Likely some combination of both.

“I’m certain, Aunt Rhaenys.” Returning her attention to her aunt, Rhaenyra flashed her a teasing
smile. “I think that it would be best if the Summit does not begin with attempted kinslaying.”

Rhaenys waved dismissively. “You insult my self-control.”

“The whole of Stone Garden heard you roaring for my mother’s head on Seventh Night.”

“And yet the rumors of that evening seem to have remained almost entirely restricted to Stone
Garden.” Her aunt gave her a pointed look. “I wonder how that was managed.”

Before Rhaenyra could respond, her attention was captured by the beguiling aroma of freshly baked
bread.

She eagerly turned her attention to the back of the great hall in time to see Alicent enter.

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat.

Mother Relle and All Her Faces.

Her Alicent was a vision.

Dressed in a gown of sable brocade slashed up the front and sides to reveal underskirts of crimson
silk, Alicent glowed as warm and inviting as an ember. The flowing sleeves of the dress were so
long that they almost brushed the floor, and they trailed in her wake like elegant shadows.
Embroidered upon her bodice was a magnificent white tower burning with an emerald-green signal
fire, and coiled around the tower was a silver dragon with eyes of amethyst.

Rhaenyra gulped, her mouth suddenly dry.

Alicent has come to supper dressed in her colors.

A declaration even more unabashed than the scent of roses that surely clung to her skin.

The urge to sweep down from the high table and envelop her bondmate surged within Rhaenyra.
She wanted to kiss her Alicent breathless, she wanted to see that gorgeous gown lying discarded
upon their bedchamber floor, she wanted to stroke and tease and caress her sweet safa until Alicent
was panting and begging for more.

Warmth was gathering low in Rhaenyra’s belly, and she could feel a hot flush staining her cheeks.
Her fingers twitched with the need to touch, and her canines ached with the need to bite and claim.

Her exquisite Alicent.

Her precious safa.

Her sweet mate.

Rhaenyra’s stomach clenched deliciously, and she could feel herself growing wet as she imagined
slowly unlacing Alicent’s gown and watching it slide to the floor, as she imagined freeing Alicent’s
hair from its elegant braids and watching auburn waves cascade over perfect shoulders, as she
imagined laying Alicent down upon their bed and watching her arch and writhe.

Her magic thrummed in her veins and roiled in her core at such thoughts.

Alicent’s eyes met hers, and the delight shining those achingly expressive brown pools was almost
enough to conceal the mischievous anticipation lurking just below the surface.

Her Alicent knew exactly what sort of effect she was having.

Rhaenyra’s canines sharpened in her mouth.

“Rhaenyra.”

Fighting the urge to growl at being forced to look away from her resplendent bondmate, Rhaenyra
reluctantly returned her attention to her aunt. “What?”

Rhaenys smirked, amusement gleaming in her lilac eyes. “You seem rather flushed, Dear Niece.
Flushed and,” she nose twitched, “distracted by your bondmate.”

Rhaenyra could hardly even bring herself to care that she must reek of arousal pheromones, not
when Alicent was gliding towards the high table with the most dazzling and coy smile gracing her
lips.

Seven thrice-damned Hells.

Her Alicent meant to kill her.

Alicent knew that Rhaenyra must sense how pleased she was with herself, but she didn’t mind. For
how could she not be pleased when her bondmate was responding exactly as she’d desired?

The way that Rhaenyra’s eyes had followed her every movement as she’d entered the great hall, the
heat of her gaze, the brief moment when her tongue had darted out to wet her lips—Alicent had
needed neither her empathy nor their mental link to know the kinds of thoughts consuming her
bondmate’s mind.

Rhaenyra’s warm and rich scent had enveloped Alicent the moment that she’d taken her place by
her safa’s side, and Lady Rhaenys had flashed her an amused smile. Mistress Corla had seemed to
be stifling a laugh, while Mistress Bartima and Mistress Lymna had exchanged knowing looks.
Archmagister Elysara and Dr. Gerarda had pretended not to notice, and Mother Lemore had begun
rather loudly discussing how pleased she was with the festivities this year.

Alicent had left Rhaenyra in relative peace during the first course. Aside from allowing her gaze to
linger overlong and occasionally touching her arm, her most indecent deed had been telepathically
asking her bondmate’s leave to touch her thigh, which Rhaenyra had granted, though Alicent had
yet to act upon that permission.

When a bowl of soup was placed in front of her for the second course, Alicent decided that the time
of innocent enticements was at an end.

Rhaenyra was discussing a trade agreement with Lady Rhaenys and Mistress Lymna, something
that Alicent would have normally wanted to hear in order to better understand inter-Queendom
relations, but not this evening.

Picking up her spoon, Alicent dipped it into the soup and then brought it to her lips. The low,
pleased hum that she made as the rich flavors danced across her tongue wasn’t exactly a moan, but
it was near enough to the kinds of noises that Rhaenyra had been eliciting from her these past
months.

Rhaenyra’s spoon fell from her hand, and it was prevented from splashing into the soup only by
someone’s swift, telekinetic intervention.

Alicent turned to look at her bondmate, widening her eyes worriedly. “Are you all right, My Nyra?”

If anyone else at the high table noticed that her voice was about half an octave lower than usual,
they gave no sign of it.

Rhaenyra expelled a slow breath through her nose before offering a slightly too-polite smile. “I’m
perfectly fine, Ali.” Her eyes shifted between Alicent’s face, the soup, and back again. “It certainly
sounds as if you’re enjoying your soup.”

“I am.” Alicent grinned at her before bringing another spoonful to her mouth and swallowing it
down. And this time, the noise that she made was unmistakably a moan.

A growl rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest. “Alicent.”

“Yes?” Without giving her bondmate the opportunity to respond, Alicent set her spoon down and
leaned forward to catch Lady Rhaenys’ eye. “My Lady, might I trouble you to hand me the carafe
of water?”

Lady Rhaenys’ eyebrow arched for a brief moment, and then a knowing gleam entered her eyes as
she politely acquiesced. “Of course, Lady Alicent.”

But rather than use her telekinesis—as was normal—Lady Rhaenys grasped the handle of the
carafe, picked it up from the table, and then offered it to Alicent.

Alicent leaned over and reached out with her right hand to accept the carafe. And as she did so, she
placed her left hand upon Rhaenyra’s thigh to steady herself.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched.

Alicent gently tugged on their mental link. “Do you wish me to remove my hand, Nyra,” she asked,
well-remembering the number of times that her own thighs had been touched without her leave.

Her bondmate responded with an embarrassed shake of her head and an unabashedly affectionate
smile.

Once she had the carafe, Alicent settled back onto her chair and poured herself a fresh glass of
water. “Would you care for some water, My Love?” She held up the carafe with her right hand
whilst her left squeezed and caressed Rhaenyra’s thigh. “I would not wish to deny you the
opportunity to slake your thirst.”

Rhaenyra’s cheeks were several shades darker than usual, and Alicent could see her pupils
beginning to expand. “Some water would be much appreciated, Safa. My mouth has suddenly
become rather dry.”

Alicent tsked as she poured her bondmate a glass of water. “Well that won’t do at all. Proper
wetness is rather important. For one’s mouth.”

Rhaenyra stiffened, and her scent sharpened—though not enough to conceal the spice of arousal
that had infused it. “Merciful Mother, Ali, do you mean to torment me all evening?”

“I’ve no idea what you mean, My Love.”

Her bondmate snorted aloud.

“I don’t believe that I ever properly thanked you for breakfast this morning, Nyra.” Alicent offered
a smile so sweet that it was almost simpering. “It was delicious.”

“And had you awoken me earlier, I would have demonstrated the true extent of my gratitude.”

In her mind, Alicent conjured vivid images of Rhaenyra naked and writhing on their bed as Alicent
nipped and nibbled at her neck, of Rhaenyra moaning shamelessly as Alicent swirled her tongue
around her peaked nipples, of Rhaenyra crying out Alicent’s name upon reaching her peak.

Rhaenyra’s eyes slipped shut as her teeth sank into her lower lip, and her breathing was becoming
somewhat labored as the flush in her cheeks spread down the length of her neck.
“Are you well, Dear Niece?” Lady Rhaenys asked, sounding for all the world like no more than a
concerned aunt.

Opening her eyes, Rhaenyra snatched up her glass of water and gulped down over half of it before
turning to face her aunt. “Quite well, Aunt Rhaenys.”

Alicent stroked her thigh.

The arousal pheromones suffusing Rhaenyra’s scent grew almost stifling. “Shall we call for the
next course?” Her words were little more than a strained growl.

None of the other women seated at the high table made comment on the fact that Rhaenyra had yet
to even taste her soup.

Rhaenyra’s mind was hazy with want and able to focus on little save for Alicent’s hand caressing
her thigh and the heady scent of her bondmate’s own desire. While she’d had the presence of mind
to hurriedly cast a spell masking their arousal pheromones between the second and third courses so
that the members of her Small Council were no longer being subjected to them, that hardly changed
the fact that they’d all scented how much she wished to pounce upon Alicent and claim her
thoroughly.

And it didn’t change the fact that they could certainly hear the innocently suggestive words that
Alicent kept whispering in her ear, and they must surely be able to hear how her heart thundered in
her chest as Alicent continued tormenting her in the most wonderful ways possible.

Seven bleeding Hells, how was the woman sitting beside her and smiling so coyly as she touched
her beneath the table the same woman who had once flinched whenever Rhaenyra so much as
looked at her?

Because she’s a wonder beyond words.

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at the thought, couldn’t help but cherish the knowledge that she’d
played a part in helping Alicent recover from the horrors inflicted upon her, couldn’t help but
delight in the fact that Alicent wished for her to remain by her side for an eternity.

A hiss escaped Rhaenyra’s lips when Alicent’s hand suddenly shifted to gently pinch the flesh of
her inner thigh. Fresh wetness seeped into her smallclothes, and the heat in her belly ignited into a
ravenous blaze. She wanted to grab Alicent’s hand and press it against her cunt, wanted to feel
Alicent’s clever fingers play with her clit until she came undone, wanted to draw Alicent close
enough to sink her teeth into her neck and mark her.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have given Alicent leave to touch her thigh . . .

But while she knew that she could rescind her permission whenever she wished, the thought of
losing Alicent’s touch made her magic howl.

“Is something the matter, My Darling Nyra?” Alicent’s voice as she whispered in Rhaenyra’s ear
was a low croon that sent pleasant tingles spreading throughout her body.
“Why are you tormenting me so, My Love?” The neediness in her own voice was plain, but
Rhaenyra couldn’t bring herself to care.

Alicent looked at her with such earnest curiosity that Rhaenyra almost believed it. “How do you
mean, Safa? I’ve simply missed you is all. We’ve been apart for much of the day.” She smiled
slightly. “Though watching your performance in the pageant was certainly a sight to behold.”

“I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself, Ali.” Rhaenyra had nearly tripped over her own feet on
several occasions when the wind had shifted and carried to her nose the unmistakable scent of her
bondmate’s arousal, and the heat of Alicent’s gaze as she’d watched her had been a dreadful and
wonderful distraction.

“As you promised, I was very stimulated.” Alicent shifted slightly, seemingly in order to reach for
one of her forks, but the movement also just so happened to enticingly present her breasts to
Rhaenyra’s gaze. “I’d been worried, in truth, that I might be somewhat cold in the amphitheater, but
I was quite warm the entire time.”

“The insulation enchantments are certainly a marvel,” Rhaenys drawled from Rhaenyra’s other
side, her lilac eyes gleaming. “I suspect that there were none who were particularly chilled this
afternoon.”

Alicent blinked a few times, as if she’d forgotten that there were others sitting around them, but
then she offered Rhaenys a polite smile and amiable nod. “I’m sure that you are correct, My Lady.”

“I always am.” Rhaenys chuckled to herself as she turned to say something to Corla, but Rhaenyra
didn’t bother attempting to hear what was being said, for Alicent was gently tugging on their
mental link.

“It’s always such a pleasure watching you spar, My Love.” Alicent lightly squeezed her thigh. “The
way that you move, the elegance and strength . . . Utterly enthralling and alluring.” She smiled
slightly. “Perhaps tonight I might show you how eager I was to watch you?”

Rhaenyra almost groaned aloud when she was suddenly assailed by thoughts of Alicent panting and
breathless beneath her, of Alicent sweetly whimpering and begging for more, of Alicent’s eyes
glazed with pleasure and alight with yearning.

Merciful Relle and All Her Faces.

How was she meant to endure the remainder of supper?

Their bedchamber door had barely closed behind them before Rhaenyra was capturing Alicent’s
lips in a searing kiss. Alicent eagerly responded, looping her arms around Rhaenyra’s neck to draw
her close and parting her lips to welcome her bondmate’s warm tongue. For all that she’d been
nervous the first time Rhaenyra had kissed her this way, she’d come to adore the feeling of
Rhaenyra’s tongue dancing with her own, and she couldn’t help but imagine how exquisite her
safa’s talented tongue would feel between her legs.

When her lungs began to scream, Alicent reluctantly broke their kiss, panting for breath and
absurdly envious of her bondmate’s superior lung capacity. Her vexation was somewhat abated
when she saw the darkness of Rhaenyra’s eyes and the flush of her cheeks, when she smelled spice
of arousal permeating Rhaenyra’s scent, when she felt eager hands sliding up and down the length
of her back in silent question, though Rhaenyra made no attempt to actually loosen or even fiddle
with the laces of her gown.

Alicent turned around to offer her back. “If you would, My Love?”

Rather than freeing Alicent from her dress, Rhaenyra instead wrapped her arms around her waist
and pulled her close. “What are your intentions this evening, Ali, hmm?” One of her hands slid
upwards to lightly brush along the underside of Alicent’s breast. “Why did you spend the entire
evening with your hand upon my thigh? Why were you crooning such crass things in my mind?
Why was your scent so wonderfully heady?”

Alicent’s breath hitched in her throat as she pressed her back more firmly against Rhaenyra’s front.
“You know why.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

Of course she did.

Alicent had realized months ago that, while her bondmate’s desire for her to articulate what she
wanted was primarily a means of ensuring that Alicent was comfortable, Rhaenyra also enjoyed
using it to tease.

“I want you to bed me tonight,” she panted, her eyes closing blissfully when her words were
rewarded by soft lips kissing the back of her neck and warm hands cupping her breasts.

“You’re certain, My Safa?” Rhaenyra’s hot breath on her neck made Alicent shiver.

“Yes. Please, Nyra. I’m ready.” She could already feel herself soaking her smallclothes, and her cun
—the place between her legs ached, and her neglected clit was throbbing and begging for attention.

“Are you now?” Rhaenyra kissed her neck once more, her thumbs lazily swiping over Alicent’s
hardened nipples. “So if I were to help you remove this exquisite gown, that would please you?”

Alicent nodded, her head falling back to rest against Rhaenyra’s shoulder as she arched into her
touch. She needed more, but she was certain that her bondmate intended to make her wait.

And beg.

Valyrians had a fondness for exacting petty vengeance.

“And if I were to remove your undergarments, would that please you, My Sweet Alicent?”

“Yes, Nyra, it would. Please—” Her words dissolved into a desperate moan when Rhaenyra’s
fingers gently vibrated against her nipples.

Seven thrice-damned Hells.

“And if I were to remove your smallclothes? If I were to free your perfect breasts and then slide the
soaked fabric covering your pretty c—” Rhaenyra broke off, her hands stilling. “Alicent, what
should I—?”
“Say it.” Alicent had spent months trying to say the word within her own mind, but when she did—
she needed to hear the word from Rhaenyra’s lips, needed to hear it spoken in her safa’s voice. Just
as Rhaenyra had been gently asking her to spread her legs over the past few weeks to help her
reassociate the request. “Please.”

Rhaenyra spun her around so they were facing each other once more, and her hands rose to cradle
Alicent’s face. When she spoke, her tone was achingly tender and sweet—in sharp contrast to the
vulgarity of her words. “If I were to slide the soaked fabric covering your pretty cunt down your
legs, would that please you?”

Alicent’s legs almost gave out from under her, and she clung to Rhaenyra to keep herself upright.

“Ali?”

“Please,” Alicent whined, “I want all of that, Nyra. Please? I need you, My Love.”

Relief sparked in Rhaenyra’s eyes, though it was swiftly overtaken by a wicked gleam. “Soon, Ali.”
She kissed her softly. “I have a few more questions for you.”

Alicent grumbled unhappily, though she was somewhat mollified when Rhaenyra turned her back
around and began playing with her breasts once more.

“If I were to slide my hand down and grasp your thigh, would that please you, Ali?”

Suddenly realizing what Rhaenyra was doing, why she was teasing her so, Alicent’s heart fluttered
and swelled with affection and love for her considerate—if utterly exasperating—bondmate. “Yes,
Nyra, it would please me.” Her eyes closed when she felt one of Rhaenyra’s hands abandon her
breasts and slip down the length of her body to gently caress her thigh.

“Is this all right, My Love?”

Alicent nodded, enjoying the tingles of pleasure that her Nyra’s touch elicited, though it did little to
soothe the ache between her legs.

“And if I were to touch and squeeze your lovely ass, would that please you?” Rhaenyra purred in
her ear.

“It would.” Alicent’s breaths were coming in shallow pants as she remembered the first time that
Rhaenyra’s hands had cupped her ass and fondled her until she was begging for more.

Rhaenyra kissed her neck. “And if I were to carry you over to our bed, lay you down, and ask you
to spread your legs, would that please you?”

Alicent shuddered.

“Spread your legs for me, Ali?”

“Will you spread your legs, My Love?”

“Please spread your legs, My Sweet Safa?”

“You’re so beautiful with your legs spread wide for me.”

The sweetest of words, whispered to her almost every night so that Alicent could grow used to
hearing them spoken with love and reverence.

“Alicent?”

“It would please me beyond measure,” Alicent assured her, arching her back to press her breast
more firmly against Rhaenyra’s hand. “Please, Nyra, no more teasing.”

Rhaenyra gave her thigh an affectionate squeeze. “All right, My Alicent. No more teasing.”

Alicent almost wept with relief.

∞∞

The number of times that Rhaenyra had dreamt of this moment—of Alicent granting her the
privilege of bedding her—was rather mortifying. Far too many times these past five months, she’d
caught herself imagining Alicent naked and writhing beneath her, imagining Alicent’s face flushed
and scrunched with pleasure, imagining Alicent begging and whining for more, imagining Alicent’s
cries of ecstasy as she peaked, imagining Alicent’s taste and the feeling of her swollen clit between
her lips.

Rhaenyra shuddered as she made swift work of the laces of Alicent’s gown. And while a part of her
longed to simply use her magic and disrobe her bondmate in a twinkling, she wanted to savor the
moment. She wanted to enjoy slowly revealing Alicent’s body and kissing every scar that she saw.
She wanted to indulge in Alicent’s insistent little whines as her bondmate grew more needy and
desperate. And she wanted to drown in the scent of Alicent’s arousal that perfumed the air and
made her mind hazy with desire.

When the last of the laces came undone, Alicent hurriedly removed her gown and rather carelessly
tossed it aside.

Catching the sartorial masterpiece with her telekinesis, Rhaenyra returned the magnificent creation
to its place inside Alicent’s wardrobe.

Alicent began to turn towards her, but Rhaenyra placed a hand on her safa’s hip to still her, which
earned a grumble of displeasure. “You promised no more teasing, Nyra.”

“I’m not teasing, My Love.” Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around Alicent’s waist and drew her
close, smiling when she heard the way that her bondmate’s heart fluttered in her chest. She swiftly
relieved Alicent of her petticoats and then reached down to grasp the hem of her chemise. “May I?”

“Please.”

The word sounded more like a demand than a request, and Rhaenyra obeyed at once.

As ever, her jaw clenched upon seeing Alicent’s back, but she swiftly buried her fury in favor of
appreciating the precious gift that she knew this sight to be, and cherishing Alicent’s willingness to
trust her with every piece of herself.

Leaning down, Rhaenyra kissed the burn scar on Alicent’s right shoulder, listening to her breath
hitch. Her fingers trailed up along one of the jagged scars that Alicent had received after Lochlain
as she whispered in her ear, “You are remarkable, Ali. Everything about you is utterly remarkable.”
Alicent leaned back against Rhaenyra’s chest, turning her head to reveal eyes that were almost
black with desire. “Nyra, please, I need you.”

Realizing that her bondmate’s patience was nearing its limit, Rhaenyra scooped Alicent up into her
arms and carried her over to their bed.

The pleased noise that slipped from Alicent’s mouth nearly caused Rhaenyra to stumble, but she
swiftly righted herself.

Alicent flashed her a saccharine smile.

A growl rumbled in Rhaenyra chest, and her canine ached as she lay Alicent down upon their bed,
making certain that her safa’s head was comfortably supported by the pillows. “Above or below,
Ali?”

“Below.” Alicent tugged at her sleeve to draw her closer, then frowned as her eyes traveled up and
down the length of Rhaenyra’s body. “You’re wearing far too many clothes,” she chided.

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but chuckle at her bondmate’s indignant tone, and she waved a hand to
teleport her clothes onto the nearest chair.

She would properly care for them later.

Alicent’s hungry gaze swept over her body, and Rhaenyra felt her cunt clench in response. “You’re
stunning, Safa.” Her voice was nearly an octave lower than usual and rough with desire.

Rhaenyra’s eyes strayed down to Alicent’s neck, and the instinct to sink her teeth into her
bondmate’s tender flesh and claim her at last was almost overwhelming. “I want you, Ali.”

The words slipped from her mouth unbidden, and she silently cursed herself for—

Alicent arched her back, and a needy whimper filled their bedchamber. “I’m yours, Nyra. Always.”

Blood roared in Rhaenyra’s ears as she swiftly climbed up onto the bed and settled atop her
bondmate, straddling her hips.

Alicent groaned as she shifted beneath her. “I can feel how wet you are, My Love.”

“My current state is entirely your doing.”

“As is mine.” Alicent arched her back once more, her hardened nipples visible through the fabric of
her breast band. “And I swear by Relle if you don’t—”

The breast band disappeared, and Rhaenyra claimed one of Alicent’s nipples between her lips less
than a heartbeat later.

Alicent keened.

Rhaenyra suckled greedily, her tongue swirling around the pebbled flesh as she sought to elicit
more of those intoxicating sounds from her safa. Relle above, how she adored her Alicent’s
responsiveness, her sensitivity, her neediness.

She’s so perfect.
Switching nipples, Rhaenyra’s hand rose to tend to Alicent’s abandoned breast, gently rolling the
slick nub between her fingers. Rhaenyra’s eyes slipped shut as she savored the symphony of needy
and wanton moans that filled their bedchamber. The lovely sounds made her own cunt flutter and
her clit throb. She ached to be touched and filled, but more than anything, she desired her Alicent’s
pleasure.

“Is this what you wanted, Ali?” she purred in her safa’s mind. “My mouth upon your breasts? My
fingers teasing your nipples until they ache?”

“Yes,” Alicent gasped, arching further into her touch. “Yes, My Love. Seven Hells, I love your
mouth. You always make me feel so good.” Her panting breaths were becoming rapid and shallow
in a way that Rhaenyra knew meant she was nearing her peak.

And that wouldn’t do at all.

Reluctantly, Rhaenyra removed her mouth and hand from Alicent’s breasts and sat up. Her heart
thundered in her ears, and she could hear Alicent’s heart beating just as swiftly. Fresh slick dripped
from her cunt onto Alicent, soaking the already-drenched fabric that still separated them.

She would need to remedy that.

Alicent scowled up at her. “Why did you stop?”

Rhaenyra smiled slightly as she caressed Alicent’s cheek. “Because, My Needy Safa, I intend for
you to peak only after I’ve properly worshipped your cunt.”

The desperate moan that tore from Alicent’s throat was silenced by Rhaenyra’s lips, and when their
tongues met a moment later, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but press her cunt down onto her bondmate,
who was kind enough to roll her hips in response.

Breaking their kiss, Rhaenyra stared down at Alicent—at her flushed cheeks and blown pupils, at
her heaving chest and pebbled nipples, at her tousled hair and parted lips. Her safa was a vision of
utter perfection. “I love you, Ali.”

“Then show me.” Alicent’s words were little more than a frustrated growl, and she looked as if she
might attempt to roll them over.

Rhaenyra gave Alicent’s lips a final kiss before trailing her mouth lower. She kissed along Alicent’s
jaw, nipped at her pulse point, suckled on first one nipple and then the next, lavished her scars with
tender attentions, and whispered words of love against her skin.

All the while soaking in Alicent’s whines and whimpers and moans.

While she would have enjoyed worshipping every centimeter of her sweet safa, Rhaenyra was
fairly certain that, if made to wait much longer, Alicent might banish her from their bed and then
tend to her arousal with her own hands.

Alicent huffed unhappily when Rhaenyra climbed off of her, but she was wriggling with eager
anticipation a moment later when Rhaenyra began dragging her drenched smallclothes down her
legs. “Yes, Nyra, yes, please.”
Tossing aside the ruined fabric, Rhaenyra allowed herself a moment to simply admire her naked
bondmate, who was so pretty and flushed and needy and desperate for her touch. She traced her
finger over Alicent’s hipbone, earning an impatient hiss. “Spread your legs, Ali, if you please?”

Alicent opened her legs without hesitation, revealing her flushed and dripping cunt in all its glory.
Her plump lower lips were slick with want and glistening invitingly, and her pretty clit was swollen
and begging for attention. The insides of Alicent’s thighs were soaked with need, and fresh wetness
was already gathering at her fluttering entrance.

Rhaenyra growled at the breathtaking sight, and she could feel her canines lengthening and
sharpening in her mouth. “You have such a perfect cunt, Ali.”

The flush already staining Alicent’s cheeks spread down the length of her neck, but she was smiling
—almost shyly. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Rhaenyra licked her lips as her eyes roved over Alicent’s swollen folds and the drenched
auburn curls at the apex of her lovely thighs. Her bondmate’s clit was peeking out from beneath its
hood, and she longed to lavish attention upon the sensitive nub. “I want to taste you, Ali. May I?”

Alicent’s breath hitched as she nodded eagerly, spreading her legs even wider. “Yes, Nyra, please. I
want that. I want you.” She raised her hips in offering. “Please, Nyra, please. I need you. I need to
feel you.”

Seven Hells, Alicent sounded so sweet when she begged.

Settling herself between Alicent’s spread legs, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but groan as she brought her
face close to Alicent’s lovely cunt, as the scent of her bondmate’s arousal enveloped her and made
her mind hazy with desire. “So swollen and wet for me,” she murmured as she pressed gentle kisses
to the sensitive flesh of Alicent’s inner thighs. Her own cunt clenched when her bondmate’s
wetness coated her lips, and she longed to dart her tongue out for a taste, but she restrained herself.

Not yet.

Alicent was panting above her, squirming and desperately rolling her hips.

That wouldn’t do.

Rhaenyra slid her hands beneath Alicent’s ass and squeezed gently. “Can you be still for me, My
Sweet?”

Alicent whined, but nodded.

“Good girl.”

A shudder wracked Alicent’s body, and fresh slick spilled from her cunt.

With a ravenous growl, Rhaenyra surged forward, pressed her mouth against Alicent’s cunt, and
licked from her dripping entrance up to her swollen clit.

Blessed Mother Relle.

∞
Alicent keened as the feeling of Rhaenyra’s hot tongue on her c—on her cunt sent lightning bolts of
pleasure crackling throughout her body, making her toes curl and her head spin, making her breath
catch and her back arch, making her clit throb and her cunt clench.

Seven thrice-damned fucking Hells!

“Nyra,” she moaned, “don’t stop. Please, please, please don’t stop.”

The mere thought of losing Rhaenyra’s tongue almost brought tears to her eyes.

She’d never felt pleasure like this before.

Not from her own fingers rubbing at her clit.

Not from Rhaenyra’s hands playing with her breasts.

Not even in her dreams where Rhaenyra sometimes licked her.

Her entire body thrummed with pleasure, and her hands fisted the sheets as she fought to remain
still as her bondmate had asked.

But oh, she didn’t know if she could.

Rhaenyra’s tongue simply felt too good as it explored her folds—swirling and stroking, licking and
flicking, caressing and lapping.

“N-Nyra, p-please, I can’t—”

Rhaenyra’s mouth immediately retreated as she raised her head.

Alicent almost sobbed at the sudden loss of pleasure.

“My Love, is something the matter?”

“N-No.” Reaching out with a trembling hand, she settled it atop her bondmate’s head and gently
stroked her hair, earning a happy purr. “Your tongue is incredible, but I can’t,” she bit her lip, “I
can’t be still for you.”

Rhaenyra blinked at her a few times, eyes slightly glazed with a combination of desire and
confusion, but then understanding sparked. “Oh.” She laughed a little, her head lowering to press a
sweet kiss to soaked curls between Alicent’s legs. “You needn’t remain still any longer, My Safa.
Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t move at all.”

Suddenly feeling foolish for thinking as much—Rhaenyra would never order or demand such of
her—Alicent’s head fell back against the pillows. “I’m a fool,” she mumbled.

Rhaenyra clicked her tongue. “None are allowed to speak about my precious safa in such a way.”
She gave Alicent’s hip an affectionate pat. “And that includes you.”

Alicent snorted, even as her heart swelled. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Rhaenyra flashed her a sly smile. “Might I continue showing you how much?”
“Yes, please, I—Seven Hells!” Alicent’s words dissolved into unintelligible moans as Rhaenyra
began licking her once more.

This time, her bondmate’s tongue wasn’t simply exploring. Every swipe and swirl and flick and
lick was deliberate and achingly precise.

She means to kill me.

Alicent found that she didn’t mind.

“Don’t stop, Nyra,” she panted. “Please, don’t stop.” Her mind was awash with pleasure—nigh
delirious with it—and her body was thrumming with sensations beyond words. She pressed herself
more firmly against Rhaenyra’s face, searching for more contact, desperate to peak for her.

“Does this feel good, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s warm breath puffed against her sensitive folds, making
Alicent’s hips buck. “Do you enjoy having my mouth on your cunt?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “I love it.” Her inner walls clenched around nothing, and a familiar pressure had
coiled low in her belly. She could feel herself growing impossibly wetter, and she could feel
Rhaenyra’s tongue eagerly lapping at her entrance but taking care not to go inside.

Alicent moaned helplessly, eyes squeezing shut as she writhed against her bondmate’s perfect and
talented tongue.

It was too much, and yet not enough.

She was so close, and yet her peak eluded her.

She needed more.

She needed—

My clit.

For all that Rhaenyra had methodically explored her to determine what she enjoyed, her safa had
avoided her clit entirely.

“Nyra,” she whimpered, “please.”

She felt a gentle tug on their mental link, followed by, “Please what, Ali? Can you use your words
and tell me what you want?”

Alicent groaned, her hips rolling against Rhaenyra’s tongue. “More. I—I need—”

Her thoughts were interrupted by a mischievous squeeze of her ass, and she clamped her legs shut
as best she could with Rhaenyra between them.

“Apologies, My Love.”

Alicent could hear her bondmate’s laughter through their link, and she could feel it against her cunt.
Her toes curled, and she felt as if she might burst into flames at any moment. “P-Please, I, I need—
My clit, please—” She yelped when she felt warm lips wrap around her sensitive bundle of nerves
and suck.
Her back arched, and her vision began to blur around the edges.

Close.

On the precipice.

She only needed a little—

Rhaenyra’s vibrating tongue swirled around her clit.

Alicent howled and cursed as shockwaves of pleasure the likes of which she’d never even imagined
possible crashed over her, making her moan and writhe in ecstasy. She felt as if she was falling—or
perhaps flying—and she reveled in the sensation. Her eyes squeezed shut as her vision went white,
and she knew that the sounds she was making were whorish, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
All that mattered was the fire consuming her—the wonderful, satisfying, rapturous fire.

Spasms wracked her body as her toes curled so tight that she feared they might break. Her back
arched off of the bed, and her hips rolled in search of more contact with Rhaenyra’s glorious
tongue. Muscles that she hadn’t known existed clenched and clamped, and she felt as if she might
shatter entirely. Her mind felt deliciously hazy, and fresh slick flooded from between her legs.

Rhaenyra moaned as she swallowed down everything that Alicent’s body had to offer.

The additional vibrations caused Alicent to begin convulsing anew, and she realized distantly that
Rhaenyra had brought her to a second peak before her first had even finished.

Merciful Relle, her Nyra was so incredible.

While not as strong as her first, Alicent’s second peak brought tears to her eyes that she couldn’t
seem to blink away. Her breaths were coming in harsh, exhausted pants, and sweat beaded on her
brow. She felt as if she was floating and melting all at once, and her mind couldn’t seem to focus on
anything save—

Rhaenyra was still alternatingly licking at her cunt and suckling on her clit, as if she was
determined to draw every drop of pleasure from Alicent’s body.

Alicent’s second peak had receded, and Rhaenyra was pushing her towards a third.

“N-Nyra,” she whined.

The quiet hum that she received in response made her hips jolt, and she cried out quietly.

“No more,” she whimpered. “Please.”

Rhaenyra retreated at once, and when she raised her head from between Alicent’s legs, her satisfied
smile curdled to alarm in an instant. “Ali, did I hurt you?”

Alicent blinked at her blearily and shook her head. “No. Why?”

Crawling up the bed to lie beside her, Rhaenyra reached out and gently swiped away a tear from
Alicent’s cheek. “You’re crying.” While she was no longer alarmed, concern still crinkled her brow.
“Oh.” Alicent managed a small, tired smile. “You made me feel good, Nyra. Very good.” She
chuckled breathlessly. “I don’t mind shedding a few tears when they’re from pleasure. Or from
happiness,” she added.

Rhaenyra grinned as she caressed her cheek. “Then I shall endeavor to ensure that those are the
only kinds of tears you ever shed.”

Alicent was tempted to tell her bondmate that tears born from sadness had their place, but she was
too tired.

Later. Once I’ve rested.

∞∞

Alicent whined softly when she felt tender fingers stroking her cheek. She didn’t want to open her
eyes. She was wonderfully exhausted and deliciously boneless. And she wasn’t entirely certain that
she could move even if she wished to.

Her entire body still tingled with the remnants of pleasure that Rhaenyra had given her, and her
cunt throbbed pleasantly. Her heart still thundered in her chest, and she could feel her own wetness
cooling between her legs. Her mind was still hazy from her peaks, and she could feel sweat drying
on her brow and elsewhere.

“My Love, will you open your eyes for me?” Rhaenyra’s warm breath caressed Alicent’s cheek,
making her sigh contentedly. “Please, Ali?”

Grumbling unhappily, Alicent did as she was asked. “Yes?”

Amusement glittered in Rhaenyra’s eyes as she leaned down to press a sweet kiss to her forehead
before sitting up and revealing a small, silver chalice set with diamond-cut emeralds. “Would you
care for some water, Safa?”

Suddenly realizing how dry her mouth was and how raw her throat felt, Alicent offered her
bondmate a grateful smile. “Yes, please, Nyra. Thank you.”

She expected Rhaenyra to help her sit up and then offer her the cup to drink from, but instead, she
watched as Rhaenyra’s fingers twirled and a small sphere of water rose from the chalice and floated
over to hover above her mouth.

Rhaenyra cocked her head slightly. “Is this all right? Or would you prefer the chalice?”

“This is fine.” Alicent opened her mouth, and the water descended. Her eyes closed as the cool
liquid touched her dry tongue and then slid down her throat as she swallowed.

After a few more mouthfuls of water, Alicent gave a small shake of her head. “That’s enough.
Thank you, Nyra.”

“Of course.” Rhaenyra reached behind herself, and when her hand reappeared, it was holding a
crystal bowl filled with sliced strawberries. “Are you hungry, My Love?”

Alicent flashed her a teasing smile as she arched her eyebrow. “Must I sit up to eat?”
“Not unless you wish to.” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed slightly. “Though I believe eating whilst lying
down increases the possibility of you choking.”

So it did.

And as weary as she was, she had little interest in testing the bounds of her new immortality by
choking on strawberries.

“My limbs refuse to move.” She smiled wryly. “Which is entirely your doing.”

Rhaenyra didn’t even bother concealing her proud smile, and Alicent could sense her delighted
satisfaction at having left her in such a state. Leaving the bowl of strawberries to hover in the air,
she offered her hands. “May I?”

Once Alicent nodded her assent, Rhaenyra lifted her up and helped settle her into a sitting position
with her back resting against the pillows.

Rhaenyra climbed up onto the bed beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders.

Alicent hummed happily as she leaned into her bondmate’s warmth.

Plucking a strawberry from the bowl, Rhaenyra brought it to Alicent’s lips.

As she accepted the strawberry into her mouth, Alicent couldn’t resist the temptation to nip at her
safa’s fingers.

Rhaenyra snatched her hand away, eyes wide with surprise. “Seven Hells, Ali, why—?” She broke
off when Alicent began to laugh, rolling her eyes. “You do know that most would consider
wounding a queen treason, yes?”

“Oh, Nyra, if you’re unable to endure my teeth on your fingers,” Alicent’s eyes slowly swept up
and down the length of her bondmate’s elegant neck, “how ever will you endure when I mark
you?”

Rhaenyra shuddered, her eyes darkening as a growl rumbled in her chest. “You should eat, Ali.
Replenish your strength.”

“I adore how eager you are for my touch, Safa,” Alicent purred.

“Always, My Sweet.” Rhaenyra offered her another strawberry, and this time, when Alicent ate it,
she gave Rhaenyra’s fingers a gentle suckle.

Another growl echoed throughout their bedchamber. “You’re a dreadful tease.”

“And yet you love me all the same.” Alicent leaned in and kissed her bondmate’s cheek.

Rhaenyra turned her head and briefly captured her lips. “And I shall continue to love you until long
after the stars go dark, My Darling Alicent.”

Alicent’s heart swelled, and her throat suddenly felt tight. She could not have asked for a sweeter
woman to share her life with.

To share an eternity with.

Her eyes drifted from her bondmate’s face down to her elegant neck, and Alicent’s heart quickened.
“My Love?”

“Hmm?”

“Once we’re finished eating, would you mind sharpening my teeth?”

Rhaenyra responded with an ardent kiss.

∞∞

Alicent pounced upon her bondmate the moment that Rhaenyra finished lengthening and
sharpening her canines, which tingled pleasantly from her safa’s magic.

Rhaenyra laughed as she allowed herself to be pushed onto her back. “Eager, are we?”

“Always for you.” Alicent lay down beside her and draped one leg over her bondmate’s hip before
reaching out to cup Rhaenyra’s breast and tease her nipple, which was still hard and peaked from
earlier. “It seems I’m not the only one of us who’s eager.”

Amusement sparked in Rhaenyra’s darkened eyes. “Do you expect me to somehow not be aroused
by the sight of your peaking for me? By the smell of your desire? By the taste of your pleasure?”

Alicent shivered as her heart fluttered, and when she gulped in a breath, she could smell how much
her Nyra wanted her.

It was intoxicating.

As she continued playing with Rhaenyra’s breast and nipple, Alicent couldn’t help but allow her
eyes to wander over her bondmate’s body—her gaze lingering first on Rhaenyra’s unblemished
neck, and then on the apex of her thighs.

Despite the water that she’d drunk earlier, Alicent’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

Rhaenyra arched her back, already panting and beautifully flushed. “Ali,” she rasped, “if you
could?”

Pretending to consider the request, Alicent sat up enough so that she could lean forward and
capture one of Rhaenyra’s stiffened nipples between her lips. She smiled to herself when Rhaenyra
gasped and arched even further off of the bed. Her other hand found Rhaenyra’s neglected breast
and began to fondle it, taking care to stroke and squeeze the exact places that she knew made her
bondmate mad with desire.

She’d read enough about mate marking to know that it was painful, and she knew that that was one
of the reasons why Valyrians tended to mark each other whilst in the throes of pleasure.

“Ali,” Rhaenyra groaned, her legs spreading to offer Alicent access to her cunt, “please, Safa, I beg
of you.”

For a brief moment, Alicent considered ignoring the request and continuing to suckle at and swirl
her tongue around the hardened nipple between her lips. But while she was tempted to continue
teasing until Rhaenyra was incoherent, her desire to see her bondmate come undone and then mark
her was far stronger.
Releasing Rhaenyra’s nipple, Alicent raised her head and caught her bondmate’s eyes. “May I
touch you, My Love?”

Rhaenyra’s expression was somewhere between affection and exasperation as she stared back at
her. “Touch me however you like, Ali.”

Alicent grinned as she settled her hand upon Rhaenyra’s upper chest, just below her collarbone.
“What if I only touched you like this, Nyra?”

A growl rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest, the vibrations traveling up Alicent’s arm and making her
shiver. “Have you not teased me enough this evening?”

“I’ve not yet decided.” Alicent leaned in and pecked Rhaenyra’s lips as she slid her hand higher to
gently stroke her bondmate’s throat.

Rhaenyra arched her neck in offering, and Alicent was sorely tempted to accept.

Not yet.

She would give her Nyra pleasure first.

Abandoning Rhaenyra’s neck, her hand glided down the length of her bondmate’s body, pausing
twice to first fondle her breasts and then caress the defined muscles of her stomach.

Rhaenyra groaned when Alicent’s hand came to rest upon the smooth mound above her cunt. “Ali,
please. I want to feel you.”

“Are you not feeling me now?” she teased.

“You’re a cruel woman,” Rhaenyra grumbled as she rolled her hips in a way that was somehow
both insistent and beseeching.

The movement caused Rhaenyra’s hipbone to rub against Alicent’s cunt, and she inhaled a sharp
breath as sparks of pleasure ignited in her belly.

“You shouldn’t call your beloved bondmate cruel, My Nyra.” Alicent latched her mouth onto
Rhaenyra’s pulse point and sucked harshly as her hand slipped between her bondmate’s spread legs.

They both moaned as soon as Alicent’s fingers touched Rhaenyra’s slick and swollen folds.

Merciful Mother and All Her Faces.

Rhaenyra’s cunt felt exquisite.

Entrancing whimpers spilled from Rhaenyra’s lips as Alicent’s fingers began to explore her cunt, as
Alicent stroked and teased and rubbed and tapped and gently pinched. She slid her fingers between
soaked folds, circled Rhaenyra’s dripping and twitching entrance, brushed over her throbbing clit.
She couldn’t help but marvel at how soft and warm Rhaenyra’s cunt felt, couldn’t help but revel in
how slick and ready her bondmate was for her, couldn’t help but savor the scent of her safa’s ever-
growing need for her.

“Fuck, Ali,” Rhaenyra moaned, her hips rolling in search of more contact as she pressed her neck
against Alicent’s mouth. “Seven bleeding Hells, that feels good. Please don’t stop, Safa, please. I
need more.”

Alicent preened, proud to have reduced her bondmate to begging so swiftly. Her newly sharpened
teeth grazed over Rhaenyra’s neck, earning a needy keen of pleasure. “Are my fingers not enough
for you, My Love?” she crooned, enjoying the way that Rhaenyra was struggling to find the correct
words.

Rhaenyra suddenly whined—high and wanting and desperate. “Inside,” she panted, “please.”

Despite having known that Rhaenyra would eventually ask this of her, Alicent’s fingers still
faltered, suddenly terrified by the prospect of pushing inside, of perhaps hurting Rhaenyra as—

“Please, Ali.” Rhaenyra was gazing at her with wide, desperate eyes, her voice low and husky with
desire. “I want to feel you inside me. Please.”

Alicent’s cunt clenched, and she nodded. “All right, Nyra.” Her fingers slipped lower, finding
Rhaenyra’s dripping entrance, which fluttered in response to her touch. “You’ll tell me if you’re
uncomfortable? If I hurt you?”

“Yes, Ali. I’ll tell you,” Rhaenyra promised with an eager—rather impatient—nod.

Slowly, gently, and with the utmost care, Alicent pushed a finger into Rhaenyra’s cunt.

Merciful Mother Relle, Rhaenyra felt so good around her finger—soft and silky and tight and slick.
Her bondmate was utterly drenched. Because of her.

Rhaenyra keened, her back arching off of the bed. “Yes, Ali, yes. Mother above, yes, please, please,
please.”

Surprised but delighted by her bondmate’s enthusiastic response, Alicent partially withdrew her
finger—earning a whine as Rhaenyra’s cunt clenched—and then pushed back in.

“Yes!” Rhaenyra’s hips bucked as Alicent continued sliding her finger in and out of her bondmate’s
cunt.

Remembering what she’d read about pleasuring a woman with her fingers, Alicent took care to
study Rhaenyra’s face to determine what she favored and disfavored. She rubbed gently against
Rhaenyra’s inner walls until she found the place that made her safa sing, and she made certain to
offer pressure to Rhaenyra’s swollen clit with every thrust inwards. “Does this feel good, My
Nyra?”

“Fuck, yes, Ali. It feels wonderful.” Rhaenyra raised her hips to meet the movements of Alicent’s
finger, her eyes rolling backwards with pleasure. “I love you,” she moaned, “so much.”

Alicent preened as she slipped her other hand between Rhaenyra’s legs to carefully tease her outer
lips and stroke the slick flesh on either side of her bondmate’s clit, reveling in the sounds of her
fingers and the heady scent of her safa’s arousal. “You feel incredible around my finger, Nyra.
Utterly perfect. You’re so warm and tight, My Love.”

Rhaenyra growled and widened her legs as she stared up at Alicent through hooded eyes. “I need
more, Ali, please. I can take another.”
Alicent hesitated only a moment before adding a second finger, her own cunt clenching around
nothing at the feeling of Rhaenyra’s warm, wet walls enveloping her, welcoming her, drawing her
in.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were squeezed shut as she panted and moaned, words spilling from her lips in a
rapid jumble that was almost indecipherable, though what Alicent was able to discern made her
heart swell.

“You’re so perfect, Ali. So perfect. I love you. I love you so much. My pretty safa. I love your
fingers. Your scent. Your smile. Your mind. Perfect. So perfect. Beyond words. I love you. I love
you. I love you—”

Alicent curled her fingers and nipped at one of Rhaenyra’s pleasure points.

“Fucking Hells!” Rhaenyra began to convulse, her back arching off the bed as she twisted her head
to bare her throat.

Without hesitation, Alicent sank her teeth into her bondmate’s neck.

Warm flesh gave way beneath her sharpened canines, and hot blood welled from the wounds to wet
her tongue.

Rhaenyra keened and her arms rose to wrap around Alicent in a fierce embrace. “Ali, Ali, Ali, Ali,”
she panted—soft and reverent and fervent as a prayer.

Unfastening her teeth, Alicent drew back as much as her bondmate’s hold on her would allow,
watching as rivulets of silver blood slowly wended their way down the smooth column of her
Nyra’s neck—strangely beautiful and utterly entrancing.

Leaning forward—somewhat in a daze—Alicent gently lapped up the little streams of silver to seal
their matebond. Pleasurable shudders wracked her body as Rhaenyra’s blood sang on her tongue,
and her core roared.

Rhaenyra’s pleased moans echoed throughout their bedchamber.

Warmth pooled in Alicent’s belly and between her legs, and she unthinkingly pressed down against
Rhaenyra’s hipbone in search of friction for her throbbing clit and aching cunt.

“Ali.”

Alicent’s hips froze as she offered her bondmate a sheepish smile. “Apologies, Nyra.”

She shouldn’t be pleasuring herself with Rhaenyra’s body when her bondmate was still recovering
from her peak and from being marked—

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat.

The wound on her safa’s neck was healed and scarred just as her friends and books had assured her
that it would be once the blood was drawn and lapped up.

A true mate mark.

Unmistakable and impossible to replicate or recreate through magic.

She’d marked Rhaenyra.

Merciful Mother Relle above, she’d marked Rhaenyra.

A heady sense of elation washed over her, almost as intoxicating as the pleasure of the peaks that
she’d been given earlier.

Rhaenyra was hers, and she was Rhaenyra’s.

Forever.

Rhaenyra suddenly surged upwards into a sitting position, her hands finding Alicent’s hips and
gently maneuvering her so that she was properly straddling her safa’s muscular thigh.

Alicent shuddered, barely resisting the urge to press down and rub herself shamelessly.

“Never apologize for seeking your pleasure, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s voice was low and rough, yet sweet
and tender at the same time. The amethyst of her eyes had been eclipsed by the black of her pupils,
and her sharpened canines flashed as she spoke. “I am always happy to give you what you want.”
Her lips curved upwards into a hungry smile. “Especially when it accords with what I want as
well.”

A soft whine slipped from Alicent’s lips as her hands rose to grip Rhaenyra’s shoulders. “I want
your mark,” she panted. She didn’t care if it hurt, she didn’t care that Rhaenyra would be drawing
her blood, she didn’t care that she would be left with a new scar.

All that mattered was sealing their matebond and binding themselves to each other.

“And I want to mark you,” Rhaenyra growled, claiming Alicent’s mouth and swallowing her
answering moan.

When Alicent felt Rhaenyra’s tongue entering her mouth, she whimpered and rolled her hips,
pressing her swollen clit against the flexing muscle of her safa’s thigh.

Rhaenyra broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together. “Take your pleasure, Ali.” Her hands
gently squeezed Alicent’s hips, making her gasp. “I would very much like to see how pretty you
look when you come undone for me.” She flashed her sharpened canines as her lips curled into a
smile that was equal parts loving and lustful. “And I long to see my mate mark gracing your perfect
neck.”

Alicent couldn’t help the wanton moan that escaped her upon hearing those words. The pressure in
her lower belly coiled even tighter, and she could feel herself growing impossibly wetter. She knew
that she must be soaking Rhaenyra’s thigh, and she didn’t much care.

Rhaenyra leaned forward and flicked the tip of her tongue over Alicent’s stiffened nipple, sending
lightning crackling throughout her body. “Ali, would you like some assistance?”

“No,” she panted, “I can, I can—” She couldn’t find the words. Her mind was so wonderfully hazy.
But she knew that she didn’t want Rhaenyra moving her about, knew that she didn’t want—

Another gentle lick.

Alicent’s hips bucked against Rhaenyra’s thigh. “Oh, Nyra, please. More?”
Warm lips wrapped around her nipple, suckling gently and making Alicent writhe as pleasure
radiated from her breast.

Seven thrice-damned Hells, Rhaenyra’s mouth felt so good.

Trembling with need and panting with want, Alicent’s hold on Rhaenyra’s shoulders tightened as
she began pressing and rubbing herself against the taut muscles of her safa’s thigh. She felt her
swollen folds parting in response to her movements, felt a wave of fresh slick further wetting
Rhaenyra’s thigh, felt her clit—

“Seven bleeding Hells,” she gasped, tremors wracking her body at the wonderful feeling of her
throbbing clit rubbing against hard muscles.

“You’re so wet, My Love,” Rhaenyra crooned into her breast. “So wet and needy. Does it feel
good, Ali? Your pretty cunt sliding over my thigh?”

“So good,” Alicent whimpered, burying her face in Rhaenyra’s neck and kissing her mate mark as
she continued chasing the pleasure that she could feel cresting within her, as she rubbed faster and
harder in her desperation for more friction.

“You’re so beautiful, Ali.” Rhaenyra kissed her breast before she began lavishing the same
attention on the other one. “And you’re doing so well, My Sweet.”

Alicent whined, her hips rolling furiously as she sought her peak. The coil in her belly was near
snapping, and she felt as if she was being consumed by want. Her cunt throbbed, and her clit ached,
and she wanted—

She could hear the sound of her own wetness, knew that if she looked down, she would see
Rhaenyra’s thigh glistening with her slick. Rhaenyra was panting against her nipple, her tongue
relentless in the most wonderful way. Alicent’s own breaths were coming in pleading whimpers and
desperate whines. She needed—

I’m too wet.

The thought almost made her laugh aloud.

Too wet.

Merciful Mother above.

She was so slick that her cunt was gliding over Rhaenyra’s thigh rather than rubbing against it.

“Nyra,” she whimpered, “I need . . .”

“What, My Love?” Rhaenyra lifted her head from Alicent’s breast, her eyes black with desire and
yet still shining with tender affection. “What do you need?”

“Touch me, please. I, I need you—” Alicent whined as she pressed down as hard as she could,
hoping that the pressure on her clit would be enough.

She was poised upon the precipice of pleasure, so, so close.

Rhaenyra’s hand slipped down between them. “Is this what you want, Ali? My fingers on your
clit?”

Alicent nodded frantically. “Please, Nyra, please, please. I need—”

Two fingers swiped over her clit.

Alicent shattered.

Rhaenyra’s teeth sank into her neck.

And pleasure the likes of which Alicent had never felt before crashed over her.

∞∞

Alicent couldn’t say for certain how many times she peaked that night, but she knew that it was
sometime during the first hours of the following morning that she finally whimpered with
discomfort and weakly pushed Rhaenyra’s face away from her aching cunt. “No more, Nyra,” she
panted.

Raising her head from between Alicent’s legs, Rhaenyra’s tongue languidly swiped around her lips
to gather up the glistening remnants of Alicent’s pleasure and swallow them down. Her eyes
slipped shut for a brief moment, and something between a pleased hum and a self-satisfied purr
rumbled in her chest. “You’re certain?”

Alicent’s mind was still hazy from the pleasure that her mate’s mouth had given her, and her
thoughts were still muddled from the toe-curling sensations that her Nyra’s clever fingers had
elicited. Her throat felt raw—but not pained—and her tongue felt thick and clumsy in her mouth.
Exhaustion had seized a hold of her body, and she could muster little more than a raspy,
“Oversensitive,” as her own eyes closed and her head fell back against the pillows. Her entire body
was still tingling from her last peak, and she knew that if Rhaenyra attempted to touch her swollen
clit once more that it would hurt rather than please her.

Rhaenyra hummed in acknowledgement and pressed a gentle kiss to her thigh. “Is this all right?”

Alicent nodded, still not opening her eyes. She was wonderfully exhausted, and sleep was
beckoning to her, though she doubted that she would be able to fully succumb until her bond—until
her mate—was properly beside her again. A contented smile curled her lips at the thought.

Rhaenyra was her mate.

Now and forever, they would be bound to one another.

“I’m yours, and you’re mine,” Rhaenyra murmured, echoing Alicent’s thoughts. “Thank you, My
Love, for marking me, and for letting me mark you in turn.”

Rather than answering aloud, Alicent lightly tugged on their mental link. “You’ve no need to thank
me, Safa. I would have been quite cross had we not marked each other.”

She would have all the world know that Rhaenyra was hers and that she was Rhaenyra’s.

Rhaenyra chuckled softly against the still-trembling flesh of Alicent’s inner thigh, and Alicent
realized that she must have communicated that final thought through their link as well. “All the
world shall most certainly know that our matebond has been sealed, My Safa. Our bonding shall be
the most glorious celebration that the Empire has ever seen. Not even the All Mother’s own
coronation shall compare.”

One of Alicent’s eyes opened, and she managed to lift her head enough to catch her mate’s gaze.
“Oh?”

Rhaenyra tenderly kissed her knee, and her voice was low and gentle with a soft sort of yearning
that told Alicent her mate had been contemplating these matters for quite some time. “We shall
have seven days of feasting, or seventy-seven, if you would prefer. And performers from across the
Empire will vie for the honor of entertaining you and our guests. There will be pageants and
masques and plays and singing and dancing and anything else that your heart desires. Singers will
compose songs praising your intelligence and kindness, your beauty and ambition, your strength
and perseverance. All of your favorite dishes will be prepared, of course, and we’ll have sweet
cakes with every meal. Prelate Sif shall perform the ceremony, whether that be here or Saint
Septima’s Sanctuary is your decision. I’ll see to it that Mistress Hertha Uller herself forges our
bonding bracelets, and your bonding robes shall be the most magnificent ever crafted.
Archmagisters and high lotuses and anyone else that you may wish to speak with will be invited,
and you can spend as long as you like asking them questions and seeking their insights. All of the
guests shall be required to bring you a book, so that you may begin creating a library all your own.”
Her hand rose to lovingly caress Alicent’s hip. “And I shall see to it that you have all of the
trappings befitting a queen’s mate, My Sweet Safa. A diadem crafted from the finest silver and set
with the most perfect green diamonds, and a throne so that you might sit beside me during open
court if you wish. Greenwood perhaps? Carved in the shape of a blooming emerald orchid?”

A flush crept into Alicent’s cheeks at the thought of such extravagance, but she was too tired to
debate the reasonableness of her mate’s various desires at present, so she said, “We’ll discuss that
on the morrow.”

“As you say.” Rhaenyra flashed her a teasing smile. “Though it might be best if you decide whether
you want seven or seventy-seven days of feasting sooner rather than late.”

“Seventy-seven days of feasting is excessive,” Alicent yawned, beckoning for Rhaenyra to come lie
beside her. A contented sigh slipped from her lips when she was enfolded within her mate’s warm
embrace a moment later, when strong arms drew her close so that her back was flush with
Rhaenyra’s front. She shifted to press herself more firmly against Rhaenyra, savoring her warmth
and the affection that she could feel emanating from her mate in fierce yet tender waves.

Her mate.

Alicent almost giggled aloud at how lovely—how right—those words sounded in her own mind.

Rhaenyra kissed the back of her head. “Perhaps seventy-seven days is excessive,” she conceded,
“but you deserve all of the ceremony and pageantry that Valyria has to offer, My Safa.”

“Hmm. Is it your desire that our bonding last for seventy-seven days?” If that were so, she would
reconsider her earlier words, for it was still rare that Rhaenyra asked anything of her.

Rhaenyra was silent for a moment as she considered. “No,” she admitted. “I would not wish to
share you for so long.” Her fingers briefly left Alicent’s hair to caress her mate mark. “Especially
since it’s tradition that a newly mated pair take a long and—if they so choose—private holiday
together after their bonding.”
Alicent shivered as thoughts of all the things that she and Rhaenyra might do together flitted
through her mind. “You’re insatiable.”

“As you are,” Rhaenyra replied with a chuckle, and then her warm lips were pressing against
Alicent’s neck and trailing downwards until they found her mate mark.

Alicent’s heart quickened in her chest at the pleasant sensations of Rhaenyra kissing and nuzzling
the new scar on her neck.

The only one that she would ever wear with pride.

One of Rhaenyra’s hands left Alicent’s stomach and slowly glided up her side, pausing occasionally
so that her fingers could trace over Alicent’s other scars. “You are exquisite, Ali.”

Alicent’s cheeks warmed, and she couldn’t help but tease. “Because I’m insatiable?”

Rhaenyra laughed—warm and rich and slightly raspy. “No, nothing so base as that.” She paused, as
if considering. “Although,” her voice dropped to a low purr that made Alicent’s breath hitch,
“seeing you in the throes of pleasure, hearing you moan and cry out my name as you came undone,
tasting you as your pretty cunt clenched—that was a delight unlike any other.” She gave Alicent’s
mate mark another lingering kiss, and suddenly her voice was soft and gentle and achingly tender.
“But even if you’d never allowed me the privilege of pleasuring you, I would still know you to be
exquisite beyond compare.”

Alicent’s throat tightened. “You’re going to make me cry again,” she whispered.

“I believe you were the one who said that you don’t mind shedding a few tears when they’re the
result of happiness,” Rhaenyra’s tongue glided over Alicent’s mate mark, making her shiver, “or
pleasure.”

“Safa,” Alicent shifted slightly away from her mate’s talented tongue, “much as I would enjoy
peaking for you again, I can’t manage another one.”

Rhaenyra immediately retreated from her neck. “Apologies, My Love.”

Releasing Rhaenyra’s hand, Alicent rolled over so that they were facing each other. “You needn’t
apologize, Nyra. I love how much you want me. I love how you make me feel desirable even
though—”

Rhaenyra’s lips captured her own in a fervent kiss, demanding and gentle all at once, fierce yet
tender, insistent yet sweet. “No caveats,” she growled softly when they parted. “You are desirable,
Ali. Every part of you.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed as she buried her face in Rhaenyra’s neck, and now it was her turn to
nuzzle against her safa’s mate mark. “Thank you, Nyra.”

“You needn’t—”

“Not simply for the reassurance.” Alicent kissed Rhaenyra’s mate mark, earning a shudder and a
rumbling purr. “For everything. For saving me, for giving me a choice, for making me feel safe, for
offering me the chance to be happy, for befriending me, for wanting me, for loving me,” she
swallowed a little, “for choosing me.”
 Rhaenyra leaned in closer and pressed their foreheads together. “I should be the one thanking you,
Ali. You’ve brought so much joy and light into my life, far more than I think you realize. I’m at
peace now in a way that I never thought possible because of you, because you saw me. All of me.
And you didn’t flinch or choose to turn away. Even after learning of my worst actions. You
defended me when I wouldn’t defend myself, and you trusted me even when you had no reason to.”

Fingers brushed over Alicent’s cheek—gentle and reverent. Tears stung her eyes, and her throat
was too tight for words.

“I’m yours, Alicent Hightower. However you’ll have me.”

Alicent wanted to respond, but the words wouldn’t come, so she gently tugged at their mental link.
“And I’m yours, Rhaenyra Targaryen. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Rhaenyra kissed her softly.

And Alicent’s magic sang.

Chapter End Notes

Thus ends Arc 5.

They did ze sex! And they're mated and marked now! And it didn't require another 300k
words to happen!

Next Chapter: The Dragon Summit begins!

 The Dragon Summit Begins
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 51:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar
– Lucerya Targaryen, 250th Queen of Saevara
– Aelora Targaryen, 250th Queen of Gelt
– Aemona Strong, a Trident Point resident and magister, from Saevara
– Mayara Yronwood, a Silver Vale resident and Blue Lotus surgeon, from Farnier
– Visenya Targaryen, 250th Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Velsinnia Azurewing, 1013th Queen of the Dragons

A special thanks to Octavas and NewLeeLand for beta reading this chapter.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains a smut scene, which will be marked at the beginning
and end with double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over it.

Behold Alicent's diadem!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harvest Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

The Monument of Queen Caladria Moonwing was considered by many to be the Eighth Wonder of
the World. Commissioned by Empress Saerella the Preserver following Queen Caladria’s death,
hundreds of stonemasons, architects, and sculptors had been summoned from across the Empire to
fashion a massive piece of marble—the largest ever mined on Valyria—into the Moonwing’s
likeness.

House Lannister had gifted two enormous emeralds for the eyes, and silver mined from the deepest
depths of the Silver Vein Mountains had been forged into the Great Dragon’s horns. Hundreds of
enchantments had been cast upon the monument following its completion to ensure that it would
never weather or fracture, and the great statue appeared as pristine now as it had all those hundreds
of millions of years ago.
As she gazed upon it, Rhaenyra could feel the gentle thrum of magic emanating from the
monument. It was the same sort of thrum that she always felt when near objects that had been
invested with considerable amounts of magic—the doors connecting the queen’s bedchamber to her
consort’s, the Flower Crown of Kastrell, the briar hedge separating the inner and outer wards, the
Great Glass Prisons . . .

Shaking her head to clear it of the unwanted thoughts and memories, Rhaenyra’s eyes swept over
the vast expanses of uninhabited land surrounding her. While the Golden Laws forbid anyone from
living or building within seven kilometers of the monument, enforcement of that particular edict
had never been a concern, since the considerable majority of Valyria remained uninhabited by
Valyrians.

Exhaling a slow breath, Rhaenyra closed her eyes and began to delve into her core. Her magic
thrummed happily, welcoming her and beckoning her deeper—ever deeper.

Grandmother Alysanne had always referred to her core as a well of power. “Most women
eventually find its bottom, discover the limits of their strength when they push themselves beyond
the threshold of what they can or should endure. But for you, My Dear Girl,” her great-
grandmother had smiled softly at her, had gently stroked her hair, “I’m not certain that such a
threshold even exists.”

At the time, her great-grandmother’s pronouncement had seemed like a curse, for her mother’s
warnings about the horrors that would befall them all should Rhaenyra’s control slip had been
echoing loud in her ears.

“Calm yourself, Child. That temper of yours will be the death of us all.”

“Control yourself, Child, lest your magic flare and cause harm.”

“Do not allow your emotions to rule your actions, Child.”

“Fires and floods, Child, is that what you would wish for the Empire?”

“Our people should not have to suffer because you lack control.”

“Do you wish to destroy all that your ancestors have built?”

Some part of Rhaenyra had known that Grandmother Alysanne’s words had been meant to
encourage her, to please her, to make her think of herself as blessed by Relle, but she’d been unable
to consider them as such.

But now . . .

Rhaenyra raised her hands.

And the earth trembled.

Alicent knew that she was being an impolite hostess.

She knew that she ought to be seated at the table with Aemma and Lady Rhaenys, that she ought to
be offering to pour them second and third cups of tea, that she ought to be amiably conversing with
them rather than forcing them to question her about the members of Rhaenyra’s family in order to
evaluate her knowledge of them and whether or not she was prepared to meet a number of them on
the morrow.

Merciful Mother.

For all that she’d been elated to be invited to the Summit, for all that she was delighted to be
attending as Rhaenyra’s mate, for all that she was curious and eager to meet the members of
Rhaenyra’s immediate family, she was also petrified at the thought of being judged and assessed by
those closest to her mate.

For while she knew that it was foolish to fear the possibility of them finding her lacking and
deeming her unworthy of Rhaenyra—she knew without a doubt that Rhaenyra would continue to
love and adore her even if every Targaryen in existence utterly despised her—she wanted
Rhaenyra’s family to like her. She wanted them to think her a worthy mate. And she wanted to
impress them in some way.

During Yule, Laena had seemed charmed by Alicent’s knowledge of her Queendom, reign, and
personal history, so she hoped that perhaps such a showing might serve to please the other women
of House Targaryen as well.

Hence why she’d spent the past few months reading about the recent generations of her mate’s
family when she wasn’t otherwise occupied by her mate, friends, lessons, work, and other research.

Hence why names and dates and occupations and various extraneous knowledge were all swirling
relentlessly through her mind at present.

Hence why she’d sought Aemma and Lady Rhaenys’ help.

Help that seemed to be coming at the cost of some of her dignity, for despite her ward, she could
still sense traces of Aemma and Lady Rhaenys’ amusement as they watched her pace about. In
truth, she wasn’t certain whether to be relieved that they weren’t offended by her lack of manners
or vexed that they found her current state humorous.

“Who are the four most recent royals of Gelt?” Aemma asked before taking a sip of her tea.

“Royal Princess Rhaena, who will be the First of Her Name when she ascends the Crystal Throne,
Queen Aelora the Second, Dowager Queen Daemona the Second, and Lady Queen Nymella the
Third.” She had taken especial care learning about the Geltic queens in order to avoid saying
something foolish that would allow Daemona to mock her.

Or worse, somehow use Alicent’s ignorance to mock Rhaenyra.

“Who is Queen Aelora’s mate?”

“Mistress Mayara Yronwood.”

“Whose occupation is what?”

“She’s a physician of the Blue Lotus Sect.” Which was one of the reasons why Alicent hoped to
find the time to speak with her at the Summit. “An orthopedic surgeon, to be precise.”

“And who is Dowager Queen Daemona’s mate?”

“Mistress Mysaria Darke.” Who Rhaenyra insisted was pleasant despite her occasionally brusque
manner and dark humor.

“Where is Princess Rhaena in the birth order?”

“She is Empress Visenya’s,” Alicent hesitated a moment as she envisioned the expansive family
tree that she’d spent the last few hours studying, “sixth daughter.”

Aemma nodded her approval, her eyes warm and her smile warmer still. “All correct.” She looked
over at Lady Rhaenys, who in turn arched an eyebrow at Alicent.

Alicent responded with a brisk nod as she continued her pacing.

“Tell me about the four most recent Avenian royals.”

Alicent wasn’t particularly surprised that Lady Rhaenys would ask about them, since she’d recently
learned that Lady Daella was Lady Rhaenys’ favorite sister.

A fact that brought Alicent a rather petty sense of satisfaction.

“Royal Princess Melisandra is Heir to the Mountain Throne and will one day be the Third of Her
Name. Queen Helaena the Sixth currently wears the Ruk Crown, and she was preceded by
Dowager Queen Laenora the Fifth, who was preceded by Lady Queen Daella the Third.” Alicent
looked over at Lady Rhaenys and was met with an expectant expression. She asked for more than
merely names.

“Queen Helaena has a passionate interest in insects and arachnids, and has written six—no, seven
—books on different species that she’s come to favor over the millennia.” Alicent’s lips pursed as
she searched her memory, certain that she’d read which species the Avenian Queen had written
about. “Her first volume was on stardust butterflies, then she wrote about night bees, followed by
lacewing dragonflies, Farnish scorpions, crescent spiders, ten-step millipedes, and divination
beetles.” The last of which she intended to read one day.

“Dowager Queen Laenora has been described as the most carefree of her generation, and her love
of flying is said to be rivaled only by her love of the sea, such that there were many who were
surprised when she chose to rule the Avenian Isles rather than Saevara when it came time for the
Choosing Ceremony.” Alicent personally thought that the dowager had chosen the Isles so that she
could enjoy both of her loves. “She met her mate whilst visiting Skull Point, and—”

Alicent broke off at the sound of rapid knocking on the door of the parlor.

“Enter,” Lady Rhaenys called, already rising to her feet.

A woman that Alicent didn’t recognize dressed in House Tyrell colors entered a moment later,
accompanied by Mistress Sherida. “Lady Felicity is here to see Her Majesty on behalf of Lady
Tyrell.”

Lady Rhaenys swiftly crossed the room to where Lady Felicity stood. “Her Majesty is away at
present. Might I know the matter?”

Lady Felicity hesitated, glancing over at Alicent and Aemma. “If we might speak elsewhere, My
Lady Hand?”
“Of course.” Lady Rhaenys looked back over her shoulder at Alicent. “My apologies, Lady
Alicent.”

“There is no need for apology,” Alicent assured her. She would never begrudge anyone their duties.

Once the door had closed behind Lady Rhaenys, Lady Felicity, and Mistress Sherida, Aemma
beckoned to Alicent. “Please sit, Dear. You’ve been on your feet for most of the day now.”

So she had, and yet neither her legs nor feet had offered any protest.

All the same, she did as Aemma asked and walked over to the table and sat down. “I know that I
must seem foolish—”

“Not at all,” Aemma assured her, reaching across the table to pat her hand. “It’s perfectly natural to
fret over meeting your by-bonds.” She smiled slightly. “When I met Luwina’s mother for the first
time, I utterly embarrassed myself by garbling my own name. I had to repeat myself thrice before I
managed to say it correctly.”

Alicent bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing, but she allowed herself to chuckle a moment
later when Aemma herself chortled. “And how did Luwina’s mother respond?”

“She seemed more amused than anything else, thank Relle, and by the end of the evening, we were
getting on quite well.” Aemma squeezed her hand. “Laena already adores you, Alicent, and I’m
certain that Rhaenyra’s other sisters will as well.”

“Even Daemona?”

Aemma snorted. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with Daemona’s opinion. She is far too much
Viserra’s daughter.” She paused. “If you happen to come across Mistress Mysaria though, don’t
hold her being Daemona’s mate against her.”

Rhaenyra had advised much the same.

“And Rhaenyra’s daughters?” Considering her mate’s intentions to improve her relations with
them, she didn’t wish to give them any reason to be displeased with or disapproving of her. But
unlike Rhaenyra’s sisters, her daughters had met her before, and they undoubtedly remembered the
quaking and terrified woman that she’d been after the war. And while she didn’t know how that
knowledge might alter their opinion of her now, she worried that it would.

Aemma was silent for a moment as she considered. “I cannot imagine them disliking you, Alicent.
If nothing else,” she smiled teasingly, “they all have far too much of their mother in them for that.”

Alicent arched an eyebrow. “So they’re predisposed towards fondness for me?”

Aemma grinned. “Exactly.”

Would that I shared your confidence.

In truth, raising mountains had never been a particularly demanding task for Rhaenyra—she oft
raised them on uninhabited planets or moons or asteroids when her temper refused to grant her
peace—but raising them in the precise way that would allow her to later lower them without
difficulty, raising them in the precise way that did not disrupt the surrounding areas, raising them in
the precise way that was aesthetically pleasing and conformed to the vision in her mind—that
required actual concentration and effort.

She sharply twisted her wrist, and another spire was formed. She snapped her fingers, and three
gaping caverns rumbled into existence. She pivoted her feet whilst making a crisp dragging motion,
and a pair of stone bridges emerged with a grating shriek from one of the far mountains to connect
the peak to its nearest neighbors.

Raising her arms, she crossed her wrists then swiftly brought them down and apart diagonally
along the length of her own body. Another mountain roared into being, soaring higher and higher
until it towered above all of the other mountains that she’d raised to create an elaborate edifice
large enough to house a Great Council and an Archonate Parliament.

A few swift strikes of her earth elementalism sheared off several parts of the mountain to create a
pair of twin thrones upon which Visenya and the Azurewing could seat themselves, with neither
being higher than the other.

Curling her fingers inwards, she tilted her head and carved out a cavern beneath the twin thrones in
which the Azurewing’s mate could comfortably rest. The yawning opening was large enough that
King Galaeron would be able to easily fly inside without grazing or disturbing the stone balustrade
that she raised at the cave mouth’s edge. Rhaenyra pinched her fingers together and made a series
of swift tugging motions, and from behind the balustrade, an elegant seat arose with a high back
and wide arms.

She recalled Visenya once mentioning that Elysande detested chairs without arms.

A small smile tugged at her lips at the thought of Elysande Celtigar. Of all her daughters-by-bond,
Visenya’s mate was perhaps her favorite. She found the petite silversmith’s penchant for crafting all
manner of items and trinkets for Visenya charming. Everything from the pins in Visenya’s hair, to
the plates, silverware, and goblets at her table, to her personal crown, to nigh all of the jewelry that
she wore were Elysande’s personal creations.

A fact that she’d heard utterly devastated the other silversmiths residing in Valeria.

“Food eaten from a plate not forged by my Ely does not taste as good,” Visenya had told her once,
a gentle smile upon her lips.

Rhaenyra had once considered learning one of the smithing arts, but her mother had told her that
such wasn’t proper for a future empress.

“Once you’ve finished your service to the Empire, then you may take up whatever occupation that
you wish. But until then, you should not fritter away your time with such pursuits.”

Sometimes, Rhaenyra had wondered what exactly her mother would do once she’d completed her
fourth and final reign of service to the Empire, once Daenora ascended the Dragon Throne and no
longer had need of a first advisor. She supposed that she’d always assumed her mother would
remain involved in the Empire’s politics, as a Hand or minister or magistrate perhaps.

She doubted that her mother had ever harbored ambitions to become a self-defense tutor as
Grandmother Alyssa had, or to become an orange lotus professor as Great-Grandmother Alysanne
had, and she knew for certain that her mother would never follow in Great-Great-Grandmother
Rhaena’s footsteps and become an oceanic cartographer.

Her mother had never much cared for the oceans.

But she supposed that it made no matter now.

Or at least it wouldn’t for quite some time.

Because of her.

A soft sigh escaped Rhaenyra’s lips as she returned the whole of her attention to her work. She
needed to remain focused so as to ensure the edifice’s completion before nightfall, for she had little
interest in disturbing Lady Jaselyn in the hours after her shop was officially closed.

The last time that she’d done as much, Lady Jaselyn had spent a good hour clicking her tongue and
tsking about the inconvenience of being summoned away from her mate’s side whilst the two of
them had been enjoying a nice supper together.

Rhaenyra had learned far more about Mistress Johanna Westerling’s eating habits that night than
she had ever needed to know.

Best to avoid that, if I can.

When Alicent returned to her and Rhaenyra’s chambers that evening, she was surprised to find her
mate waiting for her.

Surprised, but also delighted.

Swiftly crossing the room, she wrapped her arms around her mate’s waist and pressed a brief kiss
to her cheek. “I thought that you had business with Lady Tyrell this evening.”

While Lady Rhaenys had offered precious little detail as to what exactly Lady Felicity had wanted,
Alicent had gleaned enough to know that her mate had traveled to Highgarden this evening to
speak with Lady Tyrell about some matter having to do with the Summit.

“Only brief business.” Rhaenyra turned her head and pecked Alicent’s lips. “My true task this
evening was fetching your diadem.”

Alicent’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “I hadn’t realized that Lady Jaselyn would finish so soon.”

Considering how long Lady Jaselyn had spent crafting her emerald orchid ring and Relle stone
necklace, she had assumed that her diadem wouldn’t be completed in time for the Summit.

Rhaenyra smiled wryly. “According to Lady Jaselyn, you granting her ‘actual’ creative freedom
and forbidding me from ‘hovering and impeding her artistic process,’ meant that she was able to
complete your diadem far more swiftly than she did your necklace and ring.”

Alicent couldn’t help but laugh, which earned her a pout that she easily kissed away. “My Love, are
you not pleased that I will be able to wear my diadem to the Summit?”
Her sweet mate had been rather insistent that she have one, and when Alicent had hesitated—
concerned about how others might perceive such a thing—Rhaenyra had assured her that all of the
other Targaryen mates would most certainly be wearing diadems as well.

“Of course I’m pleased.” Rhaenyra brushed the tip of her nose against Alicent’s. “But this means
that I’ll now be pressed to offer Lady Jaselyn similar ‘creative freedom’ in the future.”

“My understanding was that she is wont to do as she likes even when not given explicit
permission.”

Lady Rhaenys had told her about Lady Jaselyn flagrantly ignoring Empress Visenya’s request to
use rubies rather than emeralds in a piece that the empress had commissioned for her mate.

“So she is,” Rhaenyra conceded.

Evidently deciding that they’d spent enough time speaking about Lady Jaselyn, Rhaenyra stepped
out of Alicent’s arms and retreated a few paces. With a flourish, she clapped her hands together,
and a silken pillow decorated with emerald orchids appeared in the air. A snap of her fingers, and a
shimmering trail of rainbow-colored sparks materialized to dance and spiral through the air before
swiftly coiling atop the pillow and vanishing like morning mist.

In their place now sat an elegant circlet of shining silver set with seven diamond-cut emeralds—
Alicent had refused her mate’s offer of another seven green diamonds—the exact same shade as the
emerald orchids that she so loved. Surrounding the emeralds were small, rectangular rubies,
amethysts, blue topazes, and peridots, and connecting the jewel clusters were gracefully looping
infinity symbols of pale blue enamel.

Her mate had wished for spring-green enamel, but Lady Jaselyn had vehemently insisted that blue
would be best.

Alicent had deferred to Lady Jaselyn judgment on both the enamel and all other design matters—
much to Lady Jaselyn’s clapping delight and Rhaenyra’s grumbling displeasure.

Seeing the diadem now, Alicent didn’t regret her decision, for the circlet was certainly as beautiful
as Lady Jaselyn had promised it would be. And while far simpler than what Rhaenyra had initially
proposed, the diadem was still grand enough for the mate of a queen and former empress.

Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly. “If the Lovely Lady Alicent Hightower would allow?”

The words should have sounded silly—perhaps even teasing—but the sincerity and quiet reverence
of Rhaenyra’s tone made them anything but.

Alicent nodded her assent, watching as Rhaenyra carefully lifted the diadem from its pillow with
all of the delicacy that one might use when handling the most fragile of spun glass.

Rhaenyra closed the small distance between them and raised the diadem above Alicent’s head. “By
Relle’s will did I find you. By your will do I keep you. By my will do I cherish you above all
others. I am yours, and you are mine. And all of the stars shall go dark before anyone save you or I
changes that.”

The cool kiss of metal settling upon her brow made Alicent shiver.
And the searing kiss of Rhaenyra’s lips upon her own made Alicent whimper.

Strong arms wrapped tight around her waist, drawing her close and causing their breasts to press
against each other.

Rhaenyra soon deepened the kiss, and Alicent eagerly welcomed her mate’s tongue into her mouth,
savoring the taste of her and delighting in the way that Rhaenyra’s tongue massaged her own. The
hunger of the kiss ignited a fire in her belly, and she whimpered once more when she felt
Rhaenyra’s hands slip lower to grasp her ass.

One of Alicent’s own hands rose to press against the back of Rhaenyra’s head, whilst the other
settled upon her mate’s neck, which earned her a throaty growl.

Alicent’s knees trembled.

The hands on her ass began to squeeze and caress, gentle and demanding all at once.

What little breath that Alicent had left fled her lungs.

“Nyra,” she gasped when her thrice-damned need to breathe forced them apart. Her cheeks were
hot and flushed, and her heart was beating wildly in her chest. The desire clawing at her insides
was unmistakable and unrelenting.

And it seemed to be shared.

Considering how dark Rhaenyra’s eyes were as they slowly swept over her body. “Yes, My
Sweet?” she purred.

Alicent shuddered, both at the heat of her mate’s gaze and the low—nigh indecent—tone of her
voice. “Take me to bed, Nyra. Please.”

Rhaenyra grinned, flashing her sharpened canines. “By My Lady’s command.”

∞∞

Alicent didn’t recall being relieved of her gown. No more than she recalled the loss of her
undergarments and smallclothes. But suddenly she was naked and lying on her back upon their bed.
Her breath hitched as Rhaenyra climbed up onto their bed—her own clothes gone as well—and
began to slowly prowl towards her.

Relle above.

Rhaenyra looked as if she wished to devour her.

The inner walls of Alicent’s cunt fluttered eagerly at the prospect, and her clit throbbed.

“My Alicent,” Rhaenyra crooned, her silken voice low and caressing and dripping with desire,
“won’t you spread your pretty legs for me?”

Alicent obeyed without thought, gasping when she felt scorching fingers trailing up her leg to
teasingly stroke her inner thigh. “Nyra,” she whined, high and needy, even to her own ears.

Seven Hells, how could already she be so desperate when her mate had barely even touched her?
“Shh, My Sweet.” Rhaenyra smiled at her, soft and wicked all at once. “Let me take care of you,
hmm?”

Alicent nodded wordlessly, allowing herself to sink back onto their bed.

Settling between her legs, Rhaenyra hummed quietly as her fingers danced over the sensitive flesh
of Alicent’s inner thighs. “You have such a pretty cunt, Ali, all swollen and slick with your desire.”

Despite having heard those words rather often since she and Rhaenyra had marked each other,
Alicent couldn’t help but blush at the vulgar compliment. She never could have imagined that
hearing such words would please her so, that they would fill her with a peculiar sense of pride, that
she would want her cunt to be considered pretty.

But only by Rhaenyra.

A moan tore from Alicent’s throat when nimble fingers began exploring her soaked folds, touching
and stroking and teasing just the way that she most enjoyed. “Nyra,” she panted, “I—oh, that feels
good.”

“I’m glad.” One of Rhaenyra’s fingers trailed lower, circling around Alicent’s quivering entrance,
but taking care to do no more than that. “I desire nothing so much as your pleasure, My Love.”

“It’s yours.” Alicent’s eyes squeezed shut when she felt two fingers sliding up and down either side
of her clit without actually touching her aching bud. “I’m yours.”

Rhaenyra rewarded her with the briefest of kisses to her clit, which sent tantalizing sparks of
pleasure throughout Alicent’s body. “Mine, hmm? Are you my Sweet Alicent?”

“Yes,” she panted, squirming as she sought more of her mate’s touch.

“Are you my lovely mate?”

“Yes, yes, Nyra.” Her hands fisted the sheets as need clawed at her insides.

“Are you my good girl?”

Alicent’s hips bucked, and her cunt clenched.

Fresh slick spilled from between her legs, and she nearly screamed when Rhaenyra’s hot tongue
eagerly lapped up what her body offered.

All too soon, Rhaenyra’s tongue retreated.

“Nyra, please,” Alicent cried, not caring how desperate she sounded or how wanton she must seem.
“I need you. Please, Safa.”

Cruelly, Rhaenyra simply continued playing with Alicent’s folds and pointedly ignoring her
neglected clit. “I love how you taste, Ali.” Her tone was somehow both rough with desire and
infuriatingly conversational. “If I could feast upon you at every meal, I would.”

“You could be feasting upon me now,” Alicent huffed, frustration sharpening her tone.
One of Rhaenyra’s fingers ghosted over her clit, and Alicent’s body spasmed. “What would you
have me do, Ali? Shall I stroke your swollen clit with my fingers until you scream my name? Or
shall I use my mouth and tongue to pleasure you until you’re boneless and trembling beneath me?
Or perhaps you would prefer to rub your needy cunt against my thigh until you peak?”

Alicent nodded frantically, to which option, she couldn’t say, but she wanted more than what was
being offered to her now. She needed more.

And Rhaenyra knows it.

Fire was crackling in her veins, and the ache between her legs was becoming unbearable. The heat
pooling in her lower belly had transformed into an insistent coil winding tighter and tighter within
her but unable to snap.

“I’m still awaiting an answer, My Sweet,” Rhaenyra drawled.

“Nyra, please.” Tears of frustration pricked Alicent’s eyes, and she was half-tempted to shove her
mate away and simply use her own hands to find release. “You said that you would take care of
me.”

“And so I shall, My Sweet. Always.” Rhaenyra tenderly kissed Alicent’s slick inner thigh. “But I
need you to tell me what you want, Ali. My mouth? My fingers? My thigh? Or something else?”

Alicent could hardly think through the haze of desperation that had settled over her mind.

She wanted Rhaenyra’s touch.

She wanted Rhaenyra’s tongue.

She wanted her own thrice-damned release.

“Nyra, I—” Her words dissolved into a needy groan when hot breath blew against her clit and
fingers swiped over her entrance to gather some of her wetness.

“I, I want your m-mouth,” she finally managed.

Rhaenyra didn’t hesitate.

And Alicent nearly peaked the moment that she felt Rhaenyra’s mouth upon her cunt.

Her mate’s tongue glided through her slick folds, gathering up her wetness as low moans sent toe-
curling vibrations directly to Alicent’s clit.

Alicent’s hips bucked, and her back arched as pleasure seized her body and made it sing. “Yes,
Nyra, yes! Please, please, please don’t stop!”

Rhaenyra’s eager and deliciously dexterous tongue lapped at Alicent’s dripping entrance, massaged
her swollen folds, and swirled around her aching clit.

The noises spilling from Alicent’s lips were little more than a mindless cacophony as she writhed,
desperate for more as she chased the peak that she knew was swiftly approaching. Tremors rippled
throughout her body every time that Rhaenyra’s lovely nose bumped against her clit, and she could
feel her cunt clenching every time that Rhaenyra’s teeth oh so delicately grazed her inner lips or
offered the most gentle of nips to her outer ones.

“There is no better taste in all of creation than your pleasure, My Sweet.” Rhaenyra’s voice echoed
in Alicent’s mind, and Alicent moaned loudly in response. “Fuck, yes, Ali. Moan for me. Let me
hear how much you’re enjoying my mouth upon your pretty cunt.”

Even if she hadn’t wished to, Alicent was helpless but to obey, for the moans and whines and
whimpers spilling from her lips could not be silenced or swallowed.

“That’s my good girl.”

Alicent howled, hips bucking as she rubbed her aching cunt and throbbing clit against Rhaenyra’s
face. “Please, please, please. Nyra. Please. I, I need—”

Warm lips wrapped around her clit and began to suckle.

Without thought, Alicent’s fingers tangled in Rhaenyra’s hair to tug her closer to her aching cunt.

Rhaenyra grunted in surprise, but she didn’t protest or pull away, instead allowing herself to be
guided by Alicent’s own mindless desperation. “Take your pleasure, Ali. You’ve been so good for
me. Take whatever you need.”

Close.

So close.

Alicent’s legs quivered.

Desperate whines spilled from her lips.

The coil in her belly grew tighter and tighter.

Rhaenyra’s tongue flicked over her clit, and her fingers teased Alicent’s entrance. “Peak for me,
My Sweet. Let me hear you. Let me taste you.”

“Nyra!” Alicent screamed as the coil snapped, as her body spasmed, as her cunt gushed.

Satisfied moans and delighted whines filled their bedchamber.

But they weren’t Alicent’s.

Not all of them.

The sounds of pleasure coming from between Alicent’s legs as Rhaenyra’s tongue and lips eagerly
tended to Alicent’s twitching folds and clenching cunt and pulsing clit were almost enough to make
Alicent peak for a second time.

Shudders wracked her body, and her legs trembled with the instinct to snap shut.

“You’re so good for me, Ali. So good and beautiful when you peak. My perfect, brilliant mate. I
love you more than words, My Alicent.”
Alicent almost wept at the combination of pleasure crashing over her in delicious waves and the
overwhelming love filling her heart.

∞∞

While it was impossible to say how long Rhaenyra managed to extend Alicent’s peak, eventually,
she began to descend from the heights of her pleasure, lovingly helped along by Rhaenyra’s soft
licks and gentle rubs and sweet words.

Alicent was still trembling from the aftershocks when Rhaenyra slipped from between her legs and
crawled up the bed to lie beside her.

“Are you thirsty, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s voice was no longer husky with desire, and while the amethyst
of her eyes was still somewhat obscured by the black of her pupils, her gaze was soft and tender
rather than burning and hungry.

“A little,” Alicent rasped, realizing belatedly that she’d screamed herself hoarse.

Rhaenyra leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose before disappearing from their bed.

Alicent shivered at the sudden loss of warmth.

Her mate returned a moment later with a glass of water in one hand and a small bowl of blueberries
in the other. The smile that curled her lips was at once triumphantly self-satisfied and sweetly
earnest as she presented the water and berries to Alicent. “For you, My Safa.”

Much as she would have liked to sit up and partake, Alicent was far too boneless for such exertion.

Rhaenyra chuckled as she realized this, taking a hold of the water and berries with her telekinesis
so that she could use her hands to help Alicent. “It does so please me when I manage to exhaust
you so,” she teased.

“When you ‘manage’?” Alicent scoffed. “I’ve yet to not be exhausted after you’ve had your way
with me, Nyra.”

Pride sparked in Rhaenyra’s eyes. “And does that displease you, My Love?”

“Not at all.”

Rhaenyra kissed her softly before climbing up onto their bed and settling herself beside Alicent.
“Water or berries first?”

“Water please.”

When the cool liquid touched her tongue and then slid down her throat a moment later, Alicent
hummed happily. And when Rhaenyra began feeding her blueberries once she’d drunk her fill,
Alicent sighed contentedly. “You always take such good care of me, Nyra.”

“I would be a poor mate if I did not.” Rhaenyra fed her another blueberry before offering Alicent’s
cheek an affectionate caress.

Alicent turned her head to kiss Rhaenyra’s palm before flashing her mate a sly smile. “Then I’ll
make certain to take excellent care of you once I’ve regained my strength.”
Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “As ever, My Love, I eagerly await
whatever you intend for me.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you should not be so eager, Nyra.” Alicent smirked as she reached out to lightly
stroke her mate’s neck. “After all, there is a debt to be paid.”

And Rhaenyra’s entire body shuddered in response.

When Alicent awoke the following morning, she was greeted by the lovely sight of her mate in the
process of dressing herself for the day. Rolling onto her side, she propped her head up on one arm
and allowed herself the indulgence of simply drinking in the sight of her Nyra.

Rhaenyra’s back was to her, but Alicent didn’t doubt that her mate knew she was awake. The
muscles of Rhaenyra’s shoulders and back flexed—far more than was necessary—and the slide of
silken fabric over smooth skin as her gown cascaded over her body was much slower than it should
have been.

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat when Rhaenyra turned to face her.

The gown that she’d made for her mate was richer and more costly than anything that Alicent had
ever crafted before—much to Mistress Damella’s amused delight.

Full, layered skirts of emerald-green samite were slashed up the front and back to reveal
underskirts of cerulean satin decorated with silver three-headed dragons picked out in silvery-white
diamonds. Adorning the hem were small white watchtowers made of pearl, and tiny bits of onyx
had been sewn into the fabric to create the undulating outlines of roaring flames. The tight bodice
was slashed down the front almost to Rhaenyra’s waist, and the deep vee was covered with a panel
of ornate Nordish lace that matched her mate’s lovely hair in color. Diamond-cut rubies bordered
the lace panel, and anyone who looked closely enough would inevitably notice the intertwined Rs
and As hidden among the fine strands of silvery thread. The cloth of silver that lined the flowing
sleeves was festooned with embroidered emerald orchids in various states of bloom.

The elegant neckline was such that Rhaenyra’s mate mark was perfectly displayed—a happy
accident, since Alicent hadn’t known that they would be mated and marked by now when she’d
designed the gown.

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow as her lips curved into a teasing smile. “Are you pleased with your
creation, My Love?”

“You’re a vision,” Alicent breathed.

Rhaenyra preened.

Sliding from the warmth of their bed, Alicent swiftly closed the distance between them and claimed
her mate’s mouth in a fervent kiss.

Strong arms wrapped around her at once, drawing her close and making Alicent sigh when full
breasts pressed against her own. She almost became lost in the intoxicating sensations of her mate’s
soft lips and sweet scent, but then she remembered why Rhaenyra was wearing this particular dress.
Reluctantly, Alicent broke their kiss, earning a rumble of displeasure from her mate. “I ought to
dress,” she murmured, though she made no effort to escape from Rhaenyra’s arms.

Rhaenyra grumbled, but unwound her arms from around Alicent’s waist. “Might I assist you?”

“I would love nothing more.”

Save for perhaps Rhaenyra bedding her before breakfast.

Unfortunately, she didn’t think that there was time enough for that.

They would need to depart for the Summit as soon as they finished eating.

Once Alicent was dressed in her gown of sable brocade and crimson silk, she offered her mate an
elegant spin.

Rhaenyra’s eyes visibly darkened as they swept over her and lingered on her bodice, which was
embroidered with a magnificent white tower burning with an emerald-green signal fire, around
which was coiled a silver dragon with eyes of amethyst.

Alicent’s cheeks warmed beneath her mate’s hungry gaze, and her stomach fluttered.

“Would that I could see that dress discarded upon our floor once more,” Rhaenyra murmured, as
much to herself as to Alicent.

Alicent tsked and playfully wagged her finger. “A queen ought to be above such vulgar thoughts.”

“I’m your mate first and last.” Rhaenyra’s voice was low and husky, and it sent an all too pleasant
tremor rippling down Alicent’s spine. “Considering what happened when last you wore that grown,
the sight of it can hardly be expected to elicit innocent thoughts.”

“I suppose that is true,” Alicent conceded as she held out her hand. “Alas, we haven’t the time to
indulge in whatever licentious thoughts you might be having.”

Rhaenyra smirked as she accepted Alicent’s hand and gently tugged her to her side. “I suspect that
my thoughts are the same sort that you were having when you saw my gown.”

“Perhaps.” Alicent pecked her cheek.

“Most certainly,” Rhaenyra corrected.

Alicent merely responded with her most innocent smile.

Despite this being the seventh time that Alicent had flown on dragonback, she still found the
experience somewhat nerve-wracking.

She knew that she was safe upon Rhaenyra’s back.

She knew that she would not fall and plummet to the ground.

She knew that Rhaenyra would never allow any harm to come to her.
And yet being so high up that they were soaring above the clouds did not bring her the same joy
that it did her mate.

She doubted that it ever would.

What did bring her joy was knowing how utterly delighted Rhaenyra was to be sharing the skies
with her.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Alicent’s cheeks flushed when she suddenly felt invisible fingers
trailing up her leg beneath the sable and crimson skirts of her gown. “Nyra,” she chided, knowing
that her mate could hear her even through the walls of her saddle and over the winds that must be
roaring in her ears.

Beneath her, she felt the rumbling laugh of a dragon. “Yes, My Sweet?”

Merciful Mother, such simple words should not be sending pleasant shivers down her spine.

She blamed the fact that Rhaenyra tended to reserve that particular term of affection for when they
were abed together.

“Now is hardly the time for you to be touching me so.”

“I beg to differ.” The peculiar combination of amusement and longing was palpable in Rhaenyra’s
thoughts. “You are always deserving of the sweetest pleasures, My Alicent. And did we not discuss
my helping you reassociate the feeling of hands upon you that you cannot see?”

They had, and Alicent did not object to Rhaenyra using her telekinesis to help her undress or to
gently stroke her hair in the mornings and evenings, but touching her whilst they flew to the
Dragon Summit was hardly appropriate.

And she communicated as much to her mate.

The vibrations of Rhaenyra’s harrumph traveled through the base of the saddle and up into
Alicent’s feet and legs. “As you will, My Safa.”

“Thank you, Nyra.” Alicent sank back into her chair, eyes closing as she allowed herself to become
lost in the steady drumbeat of her mate’s great wings.

One day, she hoped that she would grow comfortable enough riding upon Rhaenyra’s back that she
could read a book or carry on a conversation at length with Rhaenyra whilst they flew, but as of yet,
that day seemed quite far away.

Though her anxiety was lessening with each flight they took.

Alicent didn’t recall sleep claiming her, but she was startled awake by a gentle tug on the mental
link connecting her to Rhaenyra. “Yes?”

“We’re approaching the Summit, Ali. I think that you’ll wish to see it from this vantage point before
we land.”
Curiosity piqued, Alicent carefully rose from her chair and slowly made her way over to one of the
windows.

A small smile curled her lips, and some of the tension left her body when she felt a gentle hand
upon her waist.

When she reached the window, her eyes widened with awe as her breath caught in her throat.

Towering mountains the likes of which she’d never seen before rose so high into the sky that some
of their peaks brushed the clouds. Great caverns had been carved into the sloped and craggy faces,
so large that at least half a dozen dragons could comfortably settle themselves within. Arching
bridges carved with hundreds of seats connected the mountains, and soaring spires disappeared
amongst the clouds.

At the heart of the mountainous edifice were what could only be described as elaborate twin
thrones. A single mountain rose high above all the others, carved and sculpted into a pair of seats
upon which both the Azurewing and Empress Visenya in her dragon form could sit.

Beside the thrones was another, somewhat shorter mountain that had been formed into an elegant,
but less ornate throne. Already seated atop the carved peak was a silver dragon with crimson wings
and horns like onyx.

The All Mother, Alicent presumed.

“By Relle,” she breathed, her eyes sweeping over the magnificent architecture of the mountain
range that had been raised and shaped into a palace massive enough to house hundreds of dragons
and Valyrians.

Alicent knew that her mate must feel her awe as acutely as she could feel Rhaenyra’s pride. “It’s
exquisite, Nyra.”

The pleased rumble that she received in response nearly sent her tumbling, and her hands swiftly
reached out to grasp the latticed sill of the window.

Rhaenyra’s telekinetic arms immediately wrapped around her waist to help steady her. “Ali, are you
all right? Please forgive me, My Love. I did not mean to unbalance you.”

“I’m all right, Nyra,” she assured her. Lips pursing, her teeth sank into her lower lip in
concentration as she attempted to create a telekinetic hand so that she could gently stroke her
mate’s scaled cheek.

Rhaenyra made a surprised sound, but it soon transformed into a gentle purr.

A few minutes later—after a booming voice had announced their arrival—Rhaenyra swooped
down and landed within one of the smaller caverns where two other dragons and their riders were
already waiting. The two women’s eyes widened slightly when they saw the “saddle” perched atop
Rhaenyra’s back, while the dragons made low chuffing sounds that vibrated Alicent’s bones.

Rhaenyra carefully lowered herself to the ground before teleporting Alicent and the saddle off of
her back.
When Alicent stepped out of the gazebo, the other two women—both of whom, she was relieved to
see, wore diadems upon their brows just as she did—were there to greet her. One had ebony hair
and eyes to match, while the other was sapphire-eyed and white-haired. They offered her polite
smiles in greeting that Alicent instinctively returned.

The white-haired woman swept forward first and offered her hand. “Lady Alicent Hightower, I
presume?”

“You presume correctly.” Alicent accepted her hand with as firm a grip as she could muster. “And
am I correct to presume that you are Mistress Aemona Strong?”

Behind Mistress Aemona, the silvery sea-green dragon with coral-pink horns and white-blue wings
—Queen Lucerya—made a soft sound of surprise.

Mistress Aemona grinned. “Either my reputation precedes me, or yours for research is entirely
true.” She winked. “Do allow me to believe the former. It will bolster my self-esteem.”

“As if that needs any bolstering,” the dark-haired woman scoffed. She arched an eyebrow at
Alicent. “And I am?”

“Dr. Mayara Yronwood. Queen Aelora’s mate.” Alicent silently thanked Relle that she’d thought to
examine a few portraits the week before.

Queen Aelora—shining silver and black in the morning sun—made an approving sound before
turning her attention to Rhaenyra.

Glancing over her shoulder, Alicent saw that her mate’s chest was puffed with pride, and she felt
her own chest swell in response with the knowledge that she must be making a favorable
impression for now.

“Come sit with us, Lady Alicent.” Dr. Mayara began ushering her over to a set of three stone chairs
placed behind an elegant stone balcony at the mouth of the cavern. “Your mate went through the
trouble of crafting all of this. We ought to enjoy it.”

As Alicent allowed herself to be herded, she couldn’t help but steal a peek at the two queens, who
were watching her with unblinking eyes. She wished that she could probe their emotions, wished
that she could know what they thought of the woman that she’d become since they’d last met.

“—quite well for the current rulers,” Mistress Aemona was saying. “Queen Helaena and Mistress
Lunerys required their own cavern, of course, and with Her Excellency and Elysande seated on the
Imperial Mont with the Azurewing and King Galaeron, that created an even division for the rest of
us.”

Meaning that Queen Jaehaera, Queen Jacaerya, and Queen Vaella were presumably in one of the
neighboring caverns. Alicent wondered absently how the other generations of rulers had been
divided, if Rhaenyra’s sisters and her six elder granddaughters were similarly in groups of three,
and if the imperial princess was alone in a cavern with Viserra and Alaura.

Perhaps morbidly, of all her mate’s granddaughters, Alicent was most curious to meet the Heir to
the Dragon Throne—the girl raised by Viserra that Viserra herself had said would make a fine
empress one day.
Upon reaching the chairs, Alicent couldn’t help but chuckle when she saw that the backs had all
been carved with different sigils—a lotus for Dr. Mayara, the three rivers of Clan Strong for
Mistress Aemona, and an emerald orchid for herself.

As ever, she couldn’t help but marvel at her mate’s magical strength—to have created such an
elaborate and detailed edifice in less than a full day . . .

Her Nyra was truly a wonder and a marvel.

Rhaenyra couldn’t recall the last time that she’d felt so nervous in the presence of any of her
daughters. Even when she’d been breaking the Golden Laws to ensure that Alicent remained on
Valyria, she hadn’t felt nervous. Determined and somewhat concerned that they might thwart her
efforts, certainly, but not nervous.

Dr. Alfadora had assured her that nerves were to be expected, considering her decision to improve
her relationship with her children, to begin anew now that she was less . . . haunted by some of the
fears that had once plagued her, and by the poisonous whispers of her mother.

Lucerya and Aelora both seemed pleased enough to see her.

My daughters have always seemed pleased to see me.

She suddenly wondered if their pleasure had been the result of daughterly affection, or because
they’d simply been happy that she was paying them mind and offering them attention.

Rhaenyra well-remembered how delighted she’d been whenever her own mother had offered her
anything resembling a kind word, so desperate had she been for maternal affection.

Had she starved her daughters in the same way?

The thought made her stomach clench.

Aelora greeted her first, as had always been her way. “It is good to see you, Mother.”

“You as well, Aelora. You seem,” she hesitated, suddenly unsure what to say that wasn’t a mere
platitude, “I’ve been greatly anticipating seeing you and your sisters.”

If Aelora was surprised by her mental words, she gave no sign of it.

“We have been eager to see you as well, Mother.” Lucerya smiled at her, revealing her teeth. “And
we have been especially eager to see the Lady Alicent once more.” She glanced over to where
Alicent was speaking with Mayara and Aemona before returning her attention to Rhaenyra.
“Congratulations, Mother, on marking your mate.”

“Thank you, Lucerya.” She shifted slightly, suddenly wishing that she were in her natal form so
that she might somewhat distract herself with her rings. “Alicent and I hope that you will all attend
our bonding.”

Aelora snorted, sending a cloud of steam billowing from her nose. “Naught in all of creation could
prevent us from attending, Mother.”
Rhaenyra’s heart swelled with affection even as it was lanced by old guilt.

There had been times—seven, to be precise—that a small, shameful part of her had been frightfully
envious of her daughters, of them finding their mates and being able to mark them without fuss, of
them all celebrating their bondings before their one millionth year of life.

She’d been happy for them, of course, but a part of her had resented them as well.

A mother should never resent her daughters.

Lucerya cocked her head slightly, causing her horns to flash. “Have you decided upon a date?”

They hadn’t, for they knew that much and more would be occurring before they could be properly
bonded.

“Not as of yet, but we hope to have an idea of when soon.”

Amusement sparked in Aelora’s eyes. “Should we expect seven days of feasting or seven years,
Mother?”

Now it was Rhaenyra who snorted. “Alicent thought that seventy-seven days of feasting was
excessive. I doubt that she would countenance seven years.”

And she herself had no wish to wait a full seven years to retreat with her perfect mate to the quiet
valley that she’d discovered in her youth, to the little cottage that she’d built on a whim when she’d
been feeling unusually hopeful about perhaps one day finding her mate.

That cottage had sat untouched for so long that it would have crumbled to dust long ago had she not
cast preservation enchantments to ensure that would not happen.

She was certain that Alicent would adore the cottage.

But I ought to discuss the matter with her at some point.

Perhaps her mate would wish to holiday elsewhere.

Or perhaps Alicent would wish to travel—visit the Alcazar, the Great Library, the Seven Wonders
of the World.

“Well, it is good to know that our stepmother has proper sense.” Aelora’s amusement was plain to
hear, and Rhaenyra could not even bring herself to care about her daughter’s teasing tone, not after
she’d so readily referred to Alicent as their stepmother.

Lucerya chuffed softly. “Once we are no longer in dragon form, I look forward to properly meeting
her.” Guilt flashed in her eyes then, and she shifted from foot to foot. “Mother, do you know if Lady
Alicent holds any lingering . . . displeasure over what happened during the Treaty signing?”

Rhaenyra stretched her neck and gently butted her head against her daughter’s. “Alicent forgave me
for what I did that day long ago. I doubt that she even much considers what role, if any, you all
played.”

“Whether she considers it or no, we did have a role to play, for good or ill.” Lucerya looked over
at Alicent, who was being herded towards the chairs at the mouth of the cavern.
Aelora nodded in agreement, her own eyes focusing on Alicent as well. “Lady Alicent is family
now, and she deserves the courtesies that come with that.”

Rhaenyra’s throat tightened slightly. “Alicent will be pleased to know that you already think of her
as family.”

Her daughters both turned their attention to her then, their mental voices incredulous as they asked,
“What else would she be?”

Once seated beside Dr. Mayara—Mistress Aemona’s chair was on the physician’s other side—
Alicent allowed her eyes to sweep over the massive complex, noting that the vast majority of the
caverns were empty, though nearly all of the seats were filled with women dressed in extravagant
gowns, flowing robes, and refined doublets and breeches.

It seemed that the dragons had yet to arrive.

Beyond the central mountain, which she presumed was what Mistress Aemona had called the
Imperial Mont, she caught a flash of green-gold scales that she knew must belong to Queen
Helaena.

She turned to Dr. Mayara. “Is Queen Helaena—?”

Her question was interrupted by a thunderous roar cracking across the skies above.

Rhaenyra and her daughters immediately slid forward to the mouth of the cavern, settling
themselves on either side of where Alicent, Dr. Mayara, and Mistress Aemona sat.

From high above, the sound of deafening wingbeats shook the earth as dozens upon dozens of
dragons descended from above the clouds, each of them roaring at a slightly different pitch to
create an almost painful cacophony.

The loudest crashes of thunder imaginable could not even begin to compare to the sound of some
one hundred dragons flying and roaring in tandem.

Fires scorched the heavens, nearly blinding in their intensity as the dragons tipped their heads back
and bathed the clouds in reds and golds and oranges.

“A Scorched Thunder Salute,” Rhaenyra noted, her mental voice at once impressed and utterly
unsurprised.

Alicent recalled reading that a Scorched Thunder Salute—also called the Silverscale’s Salute—was
usually reserved for the passing of a great dragon queen. The First Queen—Selonara Silverscale—
had received one, as had Queen Caladria Moonwing.

The last such salute had been given in the wake of Queen Balmira Diamondhorn’s death during the
reign of Empress Melisenda the Sixth.

It was plain that the Azurewing wished to make a spectacle of her arrival.

She wondered what Empress Visenya would do for her own entrance.
The majority of the dragons swooped downwards and landed as one upon the Summit edifice, and
Alicent instinctively winced, expecting the mountains to crack and crumble beneath the sudden
influx of weight.

Tremors shook the earth, forcing Alicent to grip the arms of her chair, and the mountains groaned
in protest, but they did not shatter or fracture.

Not so much as a single fissure appeared.

Rhaenyra glanced down at her, amusement glinting in her amethyst eyes. “I would never craft
anything that was not strong enough to keep you safe, My Love.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed at the tender way her mate’s mental voice caressed her mind.

A dozen dragons still flew overhead, still beating their wings to scatter the clouds, still breathing
their flames to scorch the skies.

When a booming voice suddenly eclipsed the clamor of wings and roars and flames, Alicent feared
that her hearing might be lost before the day was done.

The voice was deeper than any that Alicent had ever heard before, and certainly deeper than any
that she’d heard since coming to Valyria.

And there was no doubt in her mind that it was a male dragon who spoke.

“BEHOLD AND TREMBLE,” he roared, “FOR NOW COMES HER FLAMING

MAGNIFICENCE VELSINNIA AZUREWING, THE ONE THOUSAND AND THIRTEENTH
QUEEN OF THE DRAGONS, THE HEIR OF SELONARA SILVERSCALE, AND THE FIRST
OF THE AZURE-WINGED QUEENS. DAUGHTER OF QUEEN VALKYRIA
SAPPHIRECLAW, THE LAST OF THE SAPPHIRE-CLAWED QUEENS. FIRST BLOOD OF
QUEEN CALADRIA MOONWING, THE FIRST OF THE FIRST DRAGONS. FIRST BLOOD
OF QUEEN SELONARA SILVERSCALE, THE FIRST DAUGHTER OF THE FIRST FIRES.
FROM THE ETERNAL FLAMES WAS THE AZUREWING BORN, AND TO THOSE FLAMES
SHALL SHE ONE DAY RETURN.”

A piercing shriek split the air then, and a female dragon came swooping down towards the Imperial
Mont. Her spiraled horns glowed ruby-red in the morning sun, and claws like iron flashed as she
dove towards them. Scales the color of morning mist with faint undertones of blue covered her
enormous body, and wings of the deepest azure beat powerfully at the air.

The Queen of the Dragons was certainly a sight to behold, Alicent conceded, but when she glanced
over at her mate—at the rippling, sculpted muscles beneath her silver scales, at the almost
seemingly delicate membrane of her pearlescent-white wings, at her wickedly sharp onyx claws
and elegant ruby horns—she couldn’t help but think that Rhaenyra was a far more breathtaking
sight.

Queen Velsinnia alighted atop the Imperial Mont with far more delicacy and grace than one would
expect from a creature of her immense size. Her azure wings folded neatly against her back as she
seated herself upon the throne carved with seven flaming volcanoes. Her violet eyes gazed out
across those gathered—Valyrian and dragon alike—expectant.
The other dragons who had still been flying when their queen arrived swiftly made their way down
to the edifice. One of them, a steel-grey dragon with black wings, flew into the cavern carved
beneath the thrones of the Imperial Mont.

King Galaeron Nightwing, Alicent presumed.

No sooner had the final dragon settled when purple lightning suddenly split the skies overhead.

Alicent wondered if the Valyrian Empress and Dragon Queen would be engaging in such theatrics
were they not still rather cross with each other.

Atop the Imperial Mont—directly above the throne marked with the likeness of Queen Caladria
Moonwing—a swirling vortex of rainbow light appeared. The reds and greens and blues and golds
and silvers and whites and purples and pinks and oranges somehow managed to both remain
perfectly distinct whilst also swirling together into some shining color that had no name.

More lightning crackled, followed by seven rainbows arcing overhead.

Beside her, Rhaenyra made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

Alicent glanced over at her mate, but it was nigh impossible to read her expression when she was in
her dragon form.

Another booming voice sounded from above, but this one was noticeably more feminine.

“Presenting Her Imperial Excellency Visenya Daenerys Aeliana Saerella Laenora Laena Rhaenyra
Targaryen of the House Targaryen, the Sixth of Her Name, Empress of the Valyrian Empire, Keeper
of the High Mysteries, Speaker of Wisdom and Good Counsel, Empress of the Silverbloods, the
Dragon Empress, Protector of the Realms, Lady of the Dragon Court, Lady of Valeria, Lady of
Dragon Ridge, Full Blood of House Targaryen, Monarch of the Blood, Seventh Tier Master, and
Archmage. Called One-Eye. Once holder of the titles Crown Princess of the Valyrian Empire,
Princess of Dragon Wood, Heir to the Dragon Throne, Princess of the Silverbloods, the Dragon
Princess, and Lady Imperator of the Valyrian Military.”

The roar of a dragon sounded seemingly all around them, and a moment later, Empress Visenya
emerged from the vortex of light.

Catching an air current that was likely of her own making, the empress swooped upwards to
perform an elaborate series of flips, spirals, twirls, and somersaults. She wove among the great
spires of the edifice, danced across the skies, and roared so loudly that Alicent was once more
barely resisting the urge to cover her ears.

Rhaenyra glanced over at her, evidently sensing her discomfort.

A moment later, the sound of Empress Visenya’s roars quieted.

“Better, My Safa?”

“Yes, Nyra. Thank you.” Alicent reached up and pretended to tuck back a loose strand of hair,
which allowed her to surreptitiously rub her ear.

“I can ask Laena to assess your ears later, if you like. My apologies, Ali. I should have cast
dampening enchantments the moment that the Scorched Thunder Salute began .”
Alicent gave a small shake of her head. “I’m all right, My Love. You needn’t apologize.”

Turning her attention back to Empress Visenya, she watched as Rhaenyra’s youngest daughter
performed a final somersault before gliding down to the Imperial Mont and taking her place upon
the throne beside the Azurewing.

The empress and the queen greeted each other by briefly touching noses before they both turned to
look at the All Mother.

No, Alicent suddenly realized.

Not at the All Mother.

But rather, at Mistress Missandei, who rose from the small stone chair that had been hewn from the
All Mother’s mountainous throne.

Standing beside the All Mother’s dragon form, Mistress Missandei seemed almost comically small,
though Alicent supposed that she and all of the other women mated to members of House
Targaryen must appear the same.

She glanced up at Rhaenyra, who was watching Mistress Missandei intently. Rather of its own
accord, her hand extended and began stroking her mate’s smooth and surprisingly supple scales.
Considering they were nigh impenetrable, she would have expected them to be hard and
unyielding.

Rhaenyra shifted slightly beside her. “Is something the matter, Ali?”

Alicent’s hand swiftly returned to her lap, heat rising in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the
warmth radiating from her mate. “No, My Love, not at all. Please forgive me, I suppose I was . . .
distracted.”

“By me?” Amusement echoed in Rhaenyra’s mental voice.

“You’re very distracting.” Alicent reached out again and lightly patted her mate’s leg.

“Well, as much as I enjoy being the focus of all your attention, My Ali, you’ll want to be watching
—and listening—to Mistress Missandei soon.”

Before Alicent had the chance to ask why, Empress Visenya began to speak.

“Welcome, Sisters and Brothers of the Flame. May the Silverscale light your days.”

Mistress Missandei opened her mouth, and what came forth was a series of guttural noises and
fractured sounds that scraped against Alicent’s ears and made her wince.

Merciful Mother.

She may not be intimately familiar with the anatomy of Valyrian vocal folds, but she was certain
that they shouldn’t be capable of making such sounds.

The Azurewing responded in the same harsh and grating tongue.

“And may the Moonwing illuminate your nights,” Mistress Missandei announced.
Alicent pressed her hand against Rhaenyra’s leg once more, this time in excitement. “Mistress
Missandei has the gift of tongues?”

She’d read that a true dragon’s ability to learn any language upon hearing it once had long been
considered among the greatest of their gifts, that many had coveted the gift and sought to acquire it
before the Purges, that Old Worlders had spent millennia attempting to replicate it with magic.

But they’d never succeeded.

Not entirely.

Alicent still recalled the drinks that she’d been given after Penrhyn and during her first night at the
Queen’s Keep, still recalled her utter fascination at suddenly gaining fluency in two languages that
she’d never once spoken or attempted to learn, recalled wishing to better understand how the
strange drinks functioned.

Rhaenyra gave a small, nearly imperceptible nod in answer to Alicent’s question. “The dragons’
language, customs, and culture died with them during the Purges, so when the Targaryen Sisters
hatched the Moonwing and ushered in a new age of dragons, the First Dragons needed someone to
raise them and teach them the forgotten ways of their ancestors. The All Mother and her sisters
were forging an Empire, so the task fell to Mistress Missandei. She was a translator long before
becoming a glassmaker, for she had a talent for languages even before the Moonwing made an
offering of her blood to bestow upon her the gift of tongues.”

“So Mistress Missandei taught them using the knowledge contained within the Dragon Scrolls?”
As ever, Alicent couldn’t help but frown slightly at the name given to the various written records
preserved by Old World scholars following the Dragon Purges, for the dragons had never written
on paper, much less created scrolls. Rather, their records were carved upon sheets of stone as thin
as paper but harder than diamond.

Evidently sensing her familiar displeasure with the misnomer, Rhaenyra offered Alicent’s shoulder
an affectionate squeeze with a telekinetic hand. “Mistress Missandei taught them using the Dragon
Scrolls, yes. She was given the gift of tongues to allow her to speak the dragons’ language, since it
would have been impossible otherwise.”

Alicent nodded slowly, though a frown curled her lips as she watched Mistress Missandei continue
her translations of Empress Visenya and the Azurewing’s words. “But why must she serve as a
translator now? Simply by hearing Empress Visenya speak, did all the dragons not learn High
Valyrian?”

A low chuckle rumbled in Rhaenyra’s great chest. “They did, but it is something of a tradition that
a translator be used—at least initially—for meetings between dragons and those who are not
Targaryens.”

That seemed rather foolish and inefficient to Alicent, but she chose not to communicate as much to
her mate.

“On this, the Fourteenth Day of the Moon of Last Harvest in the 1,000,125th Year of the Reign of
Empress Visenya the Sixth, called One-Eye, a Great Council of Valyria does come to this place and
meet with an Archonate Parliament of Queen Velsinnia Azurewing of the Dragons,” Empress
Visenya declared.
 Mistress Missandei translated the Azurewing’s response soon after the empress finished speaking.
“On this, the Fourteenth Day of the Gold-Fire Moon in the 534,611th Year of the Reign of Queen
Velsinnia Azurewing, the One Thousand and Thirteenth Queen of the Dragons, an Archonate
Parliament under the aegis of Queen Velsinnia Azurewing does come to this place to meet with a
Great Council of Empress Visenya One-Eye of the Valyrian Empire.”

When next the Azurewing spoke, it was in smooth and lyrical High Valyrian, and in tandem with
Empress Visenya. “Children of Fire, Sisters and Brothers of the Flame, we welcome you this day to
the first gathering of such kind between Valyrians and dragons in the long history of our shared
world. Let us speak freely with one another, and let us exchange once more the vows of love and
kinship that have bound us together since the days of the Silver Empress and the Moonwing, for we
are all daughters and sons of fire. Let the grudges of the past be forgotten, and may new beginnings
for us all be ushered forth this day. Beneath the warm Light of Relle, and by the Eternal Flames of
the First Fires, we welcome you to the Dragon Summit!”

Chapter End Notes

I know this was rather a lot of set up and lore, but I hope that you enjoyed it all the same.

Next Chapter: Alicent spends time with some dragons, and we meet a few Targaryen grannies.
 An Orchid Among Dragons
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 52:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Syrax Sunwing, Archon of the Sunwing Parliament, resides in Kastrell
– Daenerys Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone and Matriarch of the House Targaryen, formerly
the 1st Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alyssa Targaryen, a self-defense tutor, residing in Westerling Province, Gelt, formerly the
247th Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alysanne Targaryen, an Orange Lotus Professor, residing at the Great Library, formerly the
246th Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Rhaena Targaryen, an oceanic cartographer, residing in Piper Province, Saevara, formerly
the 245th Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Visenya Targaryen, 250th Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Lucerya Targaryen, 250th Queen of Saevara
– Jaehaera Targaryen, 250th Queen of Farnier– Helaena Targaryen, 250th Queen of the
Avenian Isles
– Jacaerya Targaryen, 250th Queen of Norden
– Aelora Targaryen, 250th Queen of Gelt
– Vaella Targaryen, 250th Queen of Bellmar

A special thanks to Octavas and beepboop (permanganato) for beta reading this chapter, and to
LesbianLightbringer for sensitivity reading various sections.

A reminder that dragons are freaking huge.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Harvest Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

No sooner had Empress Visenya and Queen Velsinnia finished their opening remarks and bid
everyone spend some time socializing than Queen Lucerya and Queen Aelora were sliding from the
cavern and taking flight.

Dr. Mayara and Mistress Aemona offered Alicent matching smiles and pleasant farewells before
disappearing.

For a moment, Alicent’s surprise at the abrupt—rather discourteous, in truth—departures eclipsed

all else, but then anxiety seized her body, and her head snapped towards Rhaenyra, who had
resumed her natal form. “Did I do something to offend them?”

She knew that should have offered the queens a low curtsy and proper greeting, but she’d thought—

“Not at all, My Love.” Rhaenyra held her hand out, and once Alicent accepted, warm fingers curled
to offer a gentle squeeze. “Lucerya and Aelora were called away by Visenya, and I am almost
certain that my daughters are scheming.”

That didn’t explain why Dr. Mayara and Mistress Aemona had left so swiftly, though she supposed
that they could be involved in whatever scheme Rhaenyra thought her daughters were concocting.

“And what kind of scheme would that be?”

Rhaenyra shrugged. “I’m not entirely certain. My daughters’ machinations have oft been a mystery
—” She frowned suddenly, expelling a soft sigh. “Mayhap if I knew them better, I would be able to
discern their intentions.”

Alicent tugged Rhaenyra closer and drew her into a fierce hug. “This is a day for new beginnings,”
she reminded her, “and you have plenty of time to grow as close to your daughters as you wish. Is
that not one of the benefits of immortality?”

“So it is.” Rhaenyra kissed her softly, and Alicent’s eyes fluttered closed as her grip on her mate’s
waist instinctively tightened. “Thank you, My Love,” she murmured against Alicent’s lips when
they parted.

“Perhaps you might thank me with another kiss?” Alicent was only partly jesting.

Amusement sparked in Rhaenyra’s eyes, but rather than leaning in, she drew back and extricated
herself from Alicent’s arms. When she saw Alicent’s pout, she gave her hand another squeeze. “I
shall kiss you breathless later,” she promised, “but at present, there is someone that I wish for you
to meet.”

“Oh? Who?” There was certainly no shortage of women that Alicent was interested in being
introduced to before the Summit was done.

“Syrax Sunwing.” Rhaenyra flashed her a cheerful smile. “And she is quite eager to meet you as
well.”

The thought of a dragon eager to meet her almost made Alicent laugh aloud.

For all her research, for all that she had seen her mate’s dragon form and ridden upon her back, for
all that she was surrounded by them now, dragons in many ways still seemed more fable and
concept than anything else.

She supposed that that would soon change.

Rhaenyra cocked her head slightly. “May I?”

Alicent nodded, and she couldn’t help the startled squeak that escaped her lips when Rhaenyra
immediately scooped her up into her arms and cradled her against her chest.

A pleasant shiver rippled down Alicent’s spine at how easily her mate had lifted her off of her feet
and at how effortlessly Rhaenyra held her now—as if she weighed nothing. There was something
so utterly intoxicating about this particular display of her safa’s strength. Intoxicating and—

“My Sweet Alicent,” Rhaenyra crooned, her voice suddenly low and husky, “whatever are you
thinking about?”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed, and she wet her lips as she met Rhaenyra’s darkened gaze. Her
treacherous stomach was fluttering eagerly, but now was hardly the time for such thoughts and
desires. “I’m thinking about how nice it will be to meet Archon Syrax.”

Rhaenyra barked a laugh, tilting her head down to press her forehead against Alicent’s. “Is that
so?” Her nose twitched, and her teeth flashed as she gave Alicent a smile that was both loving and
smug. “My nose tells a different tale.”
Mortification made Alicent shrink against her mate.

She hadn’t realized—

Seven thrice-damned Hells.

She could hardly venture outside if everyone that she encountered could smell—

“I’ll mask your scent, Ali, please don’t fret.” The huskiness was gone from Rhaenyra’s voice,
replaced by tender reassurance.

Alicent calmed upon hearing those words, though she found herself still clinging to her mate. “You
must teach me how to perform that spell,” she muttered.

As of yet, Margaery and Sansa hadn’t allowed her to practice actual spellcraft, insisting that she
should first learn to control—if not master—her ordered magic abilities before she began wielding
her raw magic.

“Do you suspect that you’ll be in need of it often?” Rhaenyra teased, her amethyst eyes glittering
with something between mirth and pride.

“I suspect that I’ll be in need of it at least often as you are,” Alicent replied primly.

Rhaenyra laughed once more before kissing Alicent’s forehead and carrying her over to the mouth
of the cavern. “Ready, My Safa?”

Alicent tightened her grip on her mate and nodded.

Rising up to hover several feet above the ground, Rhaenyra flew over the balustrade and out of the
cavern into the open air.

As the wind tugged at Alicent’s hair and dragged against her skin, she silently thanked Relle that
she’d chosen a braided style for the day—and that Rhaenyra had cast a spell to hold it in place—for
she was certain that her hair would be in disarray otherwise. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and she
snuggled deeper into her mate’s warm embrace.

“Are you well, My Love?”

“I am.” Alicent offered her a reassuring smile. “I’m simply not used to flying.”

Rhaenyra kissed her forehead, eyebrows arching as a teasing smile curled her lips. “Do you prefer
flying like this or upon my back?”

Alicent was silent as she considered. While she enjoyed being held in her mate’s arms, she was
fairly certain that this position wouldn’t be as comfortable as the chair in her saddle were they to
travel over a long distance. Tilting her head back, she pressed a swift kiss to the underside of her
mate’s jaw. “I’ll never object to being held by you, Nyra, but if we were taking a long journey, I
think that riding upon your back would be more comfortable.”

A purr rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest, and she briefly tilted her head down to press their forehead
together.

“My Love, shouldn’t you be watching where you are flying?”

“I’m perfectly aware of my surroundings, I assure you.” Rhaenyra winked. “Besides, we’ve
arrived.”

It was only then that Alicent became aware of the warmth surrounding them—the sort of warmth
that she knew could only radiate from a dragon.

Rhaenyra’s shoes whispered upon the short grass as she landed, and after setting Alicent down, she
pressed a swift kiss to her forehead.

Alicent allowed herself a moment to simply enjoy the sensation of her mate’s lips before she slowly
turned to face the enormous, golden dragon towering overhead. The fine hairs on the back of her
neck were standing on end, and nigh every one of her instincts was screaming at her to retreat. For
despite having grown used to seeing Rhaenyra’s dragon form, there was a vast difference between
standing before a dragon that she knew was her mate and standing before a true dragon.

Archon Syrax Sunwing gazed down at her with eyes as green as the Grass Moon that rose in the
night sky each Bud Moon. Her four horns were gently curved and swept backwards from her long
face rather than protruding upwards. The corners of her mouth were slightly tilted in what Alicent
was fairly certain was meant to be a smile.

Rhaenyra grinned up at the archon. “Syrax, may I introduce to you my incomparable mate and the
light of my life, Lady Alicent Hightower.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed as her eyes swiftly searched the dragon’s expression for any indication
that Archon Syrax thought Rhaenyra’s introduction silly, but there was none to be found.

Or at least none that she could identify.

The facial expressions of dragons remained something of a mystery to her.

Clasping Alicent’s hand in her own, Rhaenyra flashed her a soft smile as she said, “Safa, may I
introduce to you Syrax Sunwing, the Fourteenth Archon of the Sunwing Parliament.”

Offering a polite smile, Alicent slipped her hand from Rhaenyra’s so that she could give the archon
a proper curtsy. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Archon Syrax.”

Rather than responding with words, Archon Syrax lowered her head until her eyes were almost
level with Alicent’s, and then she gave her a firm nudge.

Alicent yelped as the force of the impact caused her to stumble backwards and lose her footing.

Rhaenyra caught her almost before she was even fully aware that she was falling, one arm sliding
behind Alicent’s shoulders whilst the other wound around her waist. Her eyes were round with
worry as they swept over her. “Are you all right, Ali?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Mortified, to be sure, but she wasn’t injured.

“My apologies, Lady Alicent,” Archon Syrax rumbled. “I did not mean to topple you.”

Despite the dampening enchantments protecting her ears, Alicent could still feel the vibrations of
Archon Syrax’s booming voice in her bones, and she instinctively glanced around, expecting to see
the eyes of women and dragons upon them.

But no one in the vicinity had so much as turned in their direction.

It was then that she noticed the faint shimmer in the air surrounding them.

Rhaenyra must have cast a silencing spell and attached it to the air molecules.

She supposed that that would be the only way to converse with a dragon in private.

Aside from telepathic links, of course.

Returning her focus to the archon, Alicent hurriedly straightened herself and smoothed down the
skirts of her gown. “There is no need for apology, Archon. I know that you meant only to greet
me.”

Archon Syrax nodded as her great body began to move and shift, slowly lowering to the ground
with the sort of care that Alicent assumed was meant to avoid causing too many tremors. “I have
been anticipating this meeting for quite some time, Lady Alicent. Rhaenyra spoke often and highly
of you whilst she helped cleanse my parliament’s lands of the contaminants left by the Westerosi.”

Alicent glanced over at Rhaenyra, both surprised and not to learn that her mate had been telling
Archon Syrax about her during what had been the early days of their friendship. “Rhaenyra can be
rather effusive at times when she speaks of me,” she heard her mate scoff beside her, “and I fear
that she may have given you an overly flattering impression.”

Amusement sparked in Archon Syrax’s eyes. “She seems to have been quite correct with regards to
your modesty, Lady Alicent. And considering the majority of her praise was for your intelligence
and you have already demonstrated that with the aid that you offered my parliament, I do not
believe that you need concern yourself with my having an overly flattering impression of you.”

What aid she’d been able to offer had had less to do with her actual intelligence and more with the
fact that she was simply familiar with the chemical formulas and compounds her people favored
when waging war, but it wouldn’t be polite to say as much to the archon, so Alicent inclined her
head. “I was happy to help right some of the wrongs that my people inflicted upon yours.”

Archon Syrax cocked her head. “Do you still consider them your people, Lady Alicent?”

Alicent hesitated a moment, not certain how to answer. She could hardly even recall the last time
that she’d thought of the Westerosi as her people, and yet she was still a Westerosi. Wasn’t she? At
least biologically. Although . . . Westerosi don’t have silver blood or access to their magic. But she
certainly wasn’t a Valyrian. Not truly.

“At the time the damage was done,” she said slowly, “the Westerosi were my people.”

If the archon was dissatisfied by the response, she offered no sign of it—or at least none that
Alicent could discern. “Allow me the pleasure of congratulating you, Lady Alicent, on your and
Rhaenyra’s marking each other. I know that the matter has long weighed upon my cousin.”

“Thank you, Archon.” Alicent didn’t bother to conceal or restrain her pleased smile, and her hand
began to wander upwards to touch the place where Rhaenyra had marked her, but then she thought
better of it and instead brushed her fingers over the moonstone and sunstone pendant resting
beneath the hollow of her throat. “And may I offer my own congratulations on organizing this
Summit.” She didn’t have to feign the admiration in her voice as her eyes swept over the grand
edifice in which they stood, as she allowed herself a moment to drink in the sight of hundreds of
dragons and women all speaking and laughing with one another. “I’ve no doubt that the
preparations were exhausting.”

“I suspect that the preparations were far less exhausting for myself than they were for your mate.”
Archon Syrax’s words were accompanied by a low and warbling trill from deep in her massive
chest. “Unlike Rhaenyra, I have learnt the art of delegation.”

Alicent couldn’t help but laugh, which earned her an offended sound from her mate that only made
her laugh all the more.

Rhaenyra harrumphed as she looked between the two of them and folded her arms across her chest.
“My willingness to delegate certain responsibilities and tasks has greatly improved these past few
years, I’ll have you know.”

“Which is no doubt entirely the result of the Lady Alicent’s influence and presence in your life,”
Archon Syrax chuffed. Her green eyes glimmered in the sunlight as she peered down at Alicent.
“Did Rhaenyra inform you of how she endeavored entirely on her own to dispose of a great
mountain of waste using her dragon fire? She had no intention of seeking aid, despite the fact that it
would have greatly reduced the amount of time expended on the task.”

“It was a matter of safety,” Rhaenyra grumbled.

“It was a matter of your inability to allow others to share your burdens, Cousin.” If she’d had them,
Alicent was certain that Archon Syrax would be arching her eyebrows at Rhaenyra. “Your people
believe that seeking aid when needed is an honor, not a weakness, do they not?”

“They do,” Alicent answered before Rhaenyra could.

Archon Syrax nodded and leaned down to stare at Rhaenyra with unblinking eyes. “You seem to
have not properly learned that lesson, Cousin,” she rumbled.

Rather than arguing further, Rhaenyra simply shrugged. “None of us are ever truly finished
learning.” She glanced over at Alicent. “And there are times when certain lessons must be
unlearned.”

Archon Syrax cocked her head slightly, but didn’t press for an explanation. Instead, she returned
her attention to Alicent. “The Sunwing Parliament owes you a debt for your services, Lady Alicent.
My mavens informed me that the damage to our waters and soils would have been significantly
worse had you not so swiftly identified the toxins poisoning them. Ask of us what you will, and we
shall endeavor to see it done.”

Alicent’s first instinct was to refuse the archon’s kind offer and assure her that there was no debt
that needed to be repaid, but she swallowed the words before they could spill from her lips.

Refusing a dragon’s gift was considered an act of the utmost disrespect.

She glanced over at Rhaenyra, who was grinning proudly, before tilting her head back to look up at
the archon. “If I could have time to consider the matter?”
Archon Syrax’s nostrils twitched slightly, but she nodded. “Very well. I suppose that there is no
great rush for you to decide, now that you are a Silverblood.”

Alicent absently wondered if the archon knew because of her earlier blushes, or if there was
perhaps some other sign that only dragons could detect. “My thanks, Archon.”

Before Archon Syrax could respond, someone cleared her throat nearby.

Turning, Alicent hurriedly swept a low curtsy when she saw the All Mother approaching them.

The All Mother motioned for her to rise. “There is no need for that, Alicent.” Despite her words,
she inclined her own head to Archon Syrax. “Greetings, Flame Sister.”

“Greetings, Sky Sister.” Archon Syrax offered the All Mother the same gentle nudge that she had
Alicent.

The All Mother swayed, but didn’t stumble. “Please forgive me for interrupting, but I require a
word with my granddaughter.”

Archon Syrax dipped her head. “Of course, All Mother.”

For a moment, Alicent was surprised to hear that the dragons used the same honorific as the
Valyrians, but then she remembered that Daenerys Targaryen had used her own blood and dragon
fire to hatch Queen Caladria.

The mother of two peoples, I suppose.

Rhaenyra lightly touched Alicent’s arm and gently tugged on their mental link. “Do you mind, Ali?
I needn’t—”

“You can hardly deny the All Mother’s summons, Nyra.”

“I can for you.”

Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s chest even as exasperation colored her mental voice. “I would never
ask that of you, Safa.”

“If you did though, I wouldn’t hesitate.” Rhaenyra leaned close and pressed a brief kiss to Alicent’s
cheek. “Should you have need of me, My Love, call out, and I will hear.”

“The Lady Alicent has nothing to fear here, Rhaenyra,” Archon Syrax scoffed.

“Save for perhaps being trampled,” Alicent teased.

The archon and the All Mother both chuckled.

Rhaenyra frowned at the prospect.

“Please come with me, Granddaughter. We’ve matters to discuss that won’t keep, I’m afraid.” The
All Mother held out her hand.

Rather than accepting the All Mother’s hand, Rhaenyra waved her own, and a small blue journal
with a textured cover reminiscent of scales appeared in the air, along with a quill and inkwell. All
three items floated into Alicent’s arms, and Rhaenyra flashed her a cheerful grin and a wink.
“Should you have need of them.”

So saying, Rhaenyra lightly pecked Alicent’s lips and then strode over to where the All Mother
awaited her.

Alicent watched as her mate and the All Mother shifted into birds and soared skywards towards the
Imperial Mont.

Specifically to King Galaeron’s now-empty cavern.

While she could certainly guess the matter that Rhaenyra and the All Mother would be discussing,
she couldn’t help but wonder at the specific reason for another meeting here and now.

Shaking her head, she turned back to Archon Syrax, the various queries that she’d been compiling
in her mind ever since she’d first begun researching dragons all surging forth now that she had her
dragon journal in hand, as well as a way to take notes.

Relle above how she adored her considerate mate.

“Archon Syrax, might I ask you a few questions about dragons and draconic society?”

Amusement sparked in the golden dragon’s eyes. “Rhaenyra warned me to expect a vast host of
questions from you, Lady Alicent. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps she had been mistaken.”
She stretched her neck a moment before settling her head upon the ground beside where Alicent
stood. “You may ask your questions, Lady Alicent. I find myself rather intrigued to learn more
about the inner workings of your mind.”

The archon’s long tail suddenly swept around and settled behind Alicent. “You may find yourself
more comfortable were you to sit, Lady Alicent.”

Alicent hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the tip of Archon Syrax’s tail, which was tapered
enough to be a reasonable height for sitting, but it felt wrong to seat herself upon another sapient
creature in such a way.

Perhaps guessing her thoughts, Archon Syrax snorted. “I would never allow anyone to ride upon
my back as Rhaenyra and the other Targaryens do, but I understand that bipeds find it easier to
write whilst sitting as opposed to standing.”

Still, Alicent had to ask, “You’re certain?”

“I would not have offered otherwise.”

Somewhat gingerly, Alicent slowly sat on the archon’s tail, noticing at once the heat that radiated
from her. She set the inkwell down on the ground and then opened her journal upon her lap.

One day, she would be able to hold both journal and inkwell telekinetically.

Her quill poised above a fresh page, she found Archon Syrax’s eyes and asked, “Regarding a
dragon’s inner fire, is that analogous to a Valyrian’s core of magic?”

The archon was silent a moment as she considered. “Yes, I suppose that is one way to conceptualize
it. Our inner fire is our essence—the very heart of our being—and were it to be extinguished, we
would die.” Her claws flexed and sank deep into the earth. “That was one of the methods by which
the men of the Old World slaughtered my ancestors. Using wyrd marks, they created fell sorceries
capable of freezing a dragon’s inner fire.”

Alicent wondered if perhaps the All Mother had utilized the foundational principles of that spell
when she’d created the first stasis net.

“The fire that we breathe is drawn from that which resides within,” Archon Syrax continued,
“which is, I suppose, somewhat similar to how Valyrians call upon their magic and extend it
outwards to influence the world around them. While we are unable to wield raw magic as they do,
the control that we can exert over our fire is quite akin to what Valyrians are capable of with their
elementalism.” Her chest puffed then, pride gleaming in her green eyes. “We dragons were the first
elementals, you see. The people of the Old World saw how true dragons utilized our inner fire, how
lindwyrms bent stone and earth to their will, how lungs manipulated water, and how amphipteres
rode the winds, and eventually learned to do the same.”

The soft scritch and scratch of Alicent’s quill filled the air and she hurriedly wrote down the
archon’s words, and she silently mourned for the fact that this journal would now have to become
one of notes rather than finalized thoughts and analysis.

“You said that the Old World men used wyrd marks to extinguish dragons’ inner fire.” Alicent
paused, not entirely certain if she dared ask her next question. The worst that she can do is refuse to
answer.

Or burn her.

She supposed that that was another possibility.

Though a hopefully unlikely one.

Stealing herself, Alicent met the archon’s eyes once more. “What would have happened if they had
simply tried to . . . bind your fire?”

Archon Syrax’s eyes narrowed as her voice sharpened. “Why would you wish to know such a
thing?”

“I’m attempting to better understand the mechanics of stasis nets.”

Which wasn’t a complete falsehood.

The archon’s eyes remained little more than slits, but her tone was once again calm and collected.
“We dragons have never approved of stasis nets. They are an anathema to us, given our history.”
She paused. “Be that said, we understand why the All Mother would create such a spell. The Old
World men who survived the Doom needed to be leashed. We do not deny that.”

“But you don’t believe that stasis nets have a place in the world any longer?”

Archon Syrax’s claws sank deeper into the ground, and green fire sparked in her eyes. “We are all
creatures of magic, Lady Alicent. Severing our connection to the essence of our magic—even
temporarily—seems to me tantamount to condemning the victim to a living death.”

∞
Upon entering King Galaeron’s cavern beneath Visenya and the Azurewing’s thrones, Rhaenyra
was greeted by the sight of her Grandmother Alyssa, Great-Grandmother Alysanne, and Great-
Great-Grandmother Rhaena, who all immediately rose from their stone chairs and offered the All
Mother respectful bows and curtsies.

“There is no need for the formality, My Daughters.” Grandmother Daenerys motioned for Rhaenyra
to seat herself on one of the vacant chairs beside Grandmother Alyssa. “You have my thanks for
arriving so swiftly.”

“When the All Mother calls, we don’t hesitate to answer.” Grandmother Alysanne’s voice was as
soft and pleasant as Rhaenyra remembered, but she knew well that there was steel lurking beneath
those silken tones.

“Quiet displays of authority are oft far more effective than bombastic and blustering displays,” her
great-grandmother had told her. “A monarch who can command the attention of an amphitheater of
women without raising her voice demonstrates greater control over herself and her subjects than
one who must shout and roar her orders.”

“But might we know why we were summoned, Grandmother?” Grandmother Alyssa’s voice was
not half so sharp as it would have been if she were addressing anyone else.

“Because Rhaenyra and I thought it best that you be informed of what is to come before day’s end.”

Grandmother Rhaena frowned slightly. “Informed of what?”

Rhaenyra wet her lips as she expelled a slow breath. She and Grandmother Daenerys had discussed
at length who all ought to be informed of her mother’s crimes before she made her formal
accusation. They’d agreed that her daughters—as the current rulers and her children—must needs
know. And they’d agreed that the Azurewing and Lady Tyrell ought to be informed that an
accusation would be made at the end of the Summit, though the specifics had not been disclosed.
But whether or not to inform her grandmothers of all or part had been a somewhat more
contentious matter.

“They deserve to know,” the All Mother had insisted. “Alyssa is Viserra’s mother, Rhaena raised
her, and Alysanne raised you. Aside from your daughters and Daenora, I can think of no women
who will be more affected by these accusations.”

But Rhaenyra misliked the thought of telling so many others beforehand, misliked feeling as if she
was conspiring against her mother.

She wasn’t.

This wasn’t a matter of conspiracy or even punishment—much as her aunt, sisters, Hylda, and
Aemma seemed to desire otherwise.

This was a matter of justice.

This was a matter of demonstrating that not even a Targaryen empress could break the Golden
Laws with impunity.

This was a matter of ensuring that their people learned of the crimes that her mother had proven
herself capable of committing.
And, perhaps selfishly, this was a matter of at last allowing everyone to know the truth of what had
happened the day that the net broke.

None of those various purposes, in her opinion, necessitated informing her grandmothers
beforehand.

But she’d deferred to the All Mother’s wisdom in this matter.

And she supposed that there was something to be said for offering forewarning to these particular
grandmothers, considering what was to come.

She glanced over at Grandmother Daenerys, who had seated herself beside Grandmother Rhaena.

You’ve told this story thrice before.

A fourth time ought to be but a small matter.

And yet . . .

She suddenly realized that she feared her grandmothers’ reactions far more than she had the All
Mother’s.

Daenerys was at once closer to and farther removed from her mother’s actions in ways that
Grandmothers Rhaena, Alysanne, and Alyssa were not, for while the net may have been Daenerys’
creation, she had not raised Rhaenyra’s mother or ever been a mother to her.

Would Grandmother Alyssa be willing to believe that her own daughter was capable of abuse?

Would Grandmother Alysanne understand that her failure to notice Rhaenyra’s pain was because
Rhaenyra herself had made every effort to conceal it?

Would Grandmother Rhaena refuse to accept the truth because of how such ugliness might reflect
upon her own abilities as a first advisor and caretaker?

“Know this—I stand with you. And so will the rest of our House, if given the chance.”

The fingers of Rhaenyra’s right hand curled around her fire opal pendant, whilst those of her left
gently stroked the embroidered emerald orchids adorning the inner lining of her flowing sleeves.

“This is your journey, My Love. Your story. No one else’s. Whatever actions you choose to take or
not take, all that matters is that they’re your own.”

Alicent’s soft voice echoed in her ears, and her mate’s gentle touch still lingered on her cheek. Her
safa’s eyes had been so warm the night before as she’d laid curled in Rhaenyra’s arms—soft and
sleepy, pliant and pleasantly exhausted.

Rhaenyra allowed herself three more calming breaths.

Her story.

“My mother,” she paused, glancing at Grandmother Alyssa, whose expression remained simply
curious, “when I was seven, my mother cast a modified stasis net over my core to contain my
magic. She said—”
“She did what?” Grandmother Alyssa had half-risen from her chair, and it was only Grandmother
Alysanne’s hand on her arm that kept her from fully standing. “Rhaenyra—”

“Please, Alyssa,” Grandmother Daenerys motioned for her to sit, “allow her to finish.”

Her grandmother obeyed.

“I know that—Mother wasn’t entirely wrong to be concerned about my magic. There were times
when it overwhelmed me, when it was too much for me to control. I know that many across the
Empire feared my potential because of my flames and immunity.” Rhaenyra’s grip on her pendant
tightened slightly. “Mother feared me more than anyone else did, and she was certain that I posed a
threat to the Empire, so she sought to neutralize me.”

Grandmother Alyssa’s mouth had formed a thin line.

Grandmother Alysanne’s eyes were growing steadily wider.

Grandmother Rhaena’s fingers drummed upon her knee as she gazed at Rhaenyra.

“I don’t know when she made the decision to modify the net—”

“No such spell is on record.” Grandmother Alyssa was shaking her head, but her words weren’t as
fierce as Rhaenyra might have otherwise expected. She looked to the All Mother then, her eyes
almost pleading.

“Viserra never informed me about any modified stasis net spell,” Grandmother Daenerys said
simply.

Grandmother Alyssa’s fingers curled into fists.

“When I was seven, we had an argument, and I lashed out.” Rhaenyra forced herself not to wilt,
forced her voice to remain steady. “I nearly took off her head.”

Grandmother Alysanne and Grandmother Rhaena exchanged a brief glance.

“I fled from Dragon Ridge in shame, and when Vora Aelinor brought me back,” she swallowed,
remembering the coldness of her mother’s eyes, the grim determination, the absolute certainty,
“Mother rendered me unconscious before I could even utter a word of apology, and when I woke up
. . .”

Releasing her pendant, Rhaenyra’s hand drifted down to settle just below her sternum. “There was
an emptiness. A yawning chasm within me that I couldn’t . . . I felt wrong. As if something had
crawled inside of me and devoured whatever it is that makes me, me. The air around me smelled
stale, sounds were, they were deadened in a way, and colors . . . they were suddenly less vibrant,
less full of life and possibility. I couldn’t breathe at first. It hurt to do so, as if shards of glass were
shredding my lungs each time that I tried to inhale. My entire body ached, and I could feel . . . I
was numb, yet not, all at once.”

Grandmother Alysanne’s face had gone white, and she was now clutching at her orange lotus
medallion. “Rhaenyra, I—was that pain . . ? Merciful Mother, I would have noticed . . .”

Rhaenyra reached over and gently clasped her great-grandmother’s trembling hand. “I had nearly
three hundred years to learn how to conceal and ignore the pain, Grandmother. You didn’t notice
because I didn’t wish for you to notice.”

“But I should have noticed.” Grandmother Alysanne shook her head, her shock swiftly
transforming into wroth. “I should have seen, should have realized, but I—I was stupid enough to
believe Viserra when she told me that your not using magic was simply a demonstration of the
control that you did have.”

“I believed her when she told her that the pain would make me stronger.” Rhaenyra squeezed her
great-grandmother’s hand, thinking about how Alicent oft sought to comfort her when she said
such things about herself. “Do you think me stupid for believing her?”

“You were a child. I should have known better. Seven Hells, I should have realized that something
wasn’t right,” Grandmother Alysanne snarled. “I noticed your melancholy, but I simply assumed
. . .”

“How could Viserra do something so vile?” Grandmother Rhaena was staring out beyond the
cavern, her eyes having grown distant. “She never . . . I raised her, guided her, taught her, and she
never demonstrated cruelty as a girl, and I made certain . . .”

“She believed that she was doing her duty.” Rhaenyra forced her voice to remain steady. “She
believed that she was helping to preserve the Empire by ensuring that my magic was,” she
grimaced slightly, “that it was leashed.”

“Leashed,” Grandmother Rhaena repeated slowly, her eyebrows beginning to knit together. “But
that . . . Without any form of release, surely your magic would have . . . That much power simply
cannot be contained . . .” Her eyes widened, and her head snapped towards Rhaenyra. “She didn’t
remove the net, did she? You broke it.”

Rhaenyra gave a small nod, steeling herself.

“Seven thrice-damned Hells,” Grandmother Alyssa snarled, on her feet now and prowling about the
cavern as she rapidly shifted from a small dragon to a bear to a fox to a panther and back again. “So
it was your magic that ravaged the planet?”

Rhaenyra winced. “It was.”

“Her magic would not have been in such an uncontrollable state had it not been forcibly leashed for
so long by a thrice-damned stasis net,” Grandmother Alysanne snapped. “Viserra—”

“Viserra believed that she was doing her duty.” Grandmother Alyssa’s claws scraped against the
stone floor, causing them all to shudder. “I’ll not defend how she went about it, but she believed
that her actions were righteous.”

“Then why didn’t she tell me about the net?” the All Mother asked quietly.

Grandmother Alyssa froze, and for a moment, her shape flickered rapidly between nigh three dozen
different animals before finally settling as a tiger.

The roar that echoed throughout the cavern was filled with unspeakable rage and heartbreaking
sorrow and something that seemed to be ripping itself directly from her core.

Or perhaps her heart.

Rhaenyra’s magic howled in response.

Grandmother Rhaena was shaking her head and muttering under her breath.

This wasn’t what Rhaenyra had wanted.

But it was exactly what she had feared.

Relle forgive me for the turmoil that I will soon unleash.

“Lady Alicent.”

Alicent’s head turned at the sound of her name, and her eyes widened when she saw who had called
to her.

Standing several meters away from her was Empress Visenya Targaryen, the Sixth of Her Name,
who Alicent had last seen in her natal form over four years ago during the treaty signing. The
empress had had but one eye at the time, but it seemed that she’d since visited a regenerative
surgeon, for it was two lavender eyes that appraised Alicent now.

And the empress was not alone.

Alicent swallowed nervously as she hurriedly rose to her feet and smoothed out the black and red
skirts of her gown.

Arrayed on either side of the empress were her six sisters, all of whom were watching her with
bright eyes that were at once so similar to Rhaenyra’s and yet entirely different.

The shape, the color, the gleam, the delight—she saw pieces of her mate in all of them.

But none were looking at her with the warm, open affection and gentle sweetness that she’d grown
accustomed to seeing in Rhaenyra’s eyes.

Which was to be expected, considering all seven were themselves mated and bonded.

Belatedly remembering her manners, Alicent swept a deep curtsy, almost lowering herself to her
knees. “Good aft—day, Your Excellency, Your Majesties.”

She winced at the clumsiness of her own words, but she wasn’t entirely certain if it was afternoon
yet. While she knew that she’d been speaking with Archon Syrax for several hours now, she hadn’t
the chance to consult her pocket watch to know if midday had come and gone.

More like than not it has. I should have simply said “good afternoon” rather than attempting to
correct myself.

Amusement sparked in Empress Visenya’s eyes as she motioned for Alicent to rise. “Considering
the circumstances, I don’t believe that there is a need for such formality,” her lips curled into a
teasing grin, “Stepmother.”

Alicent stiffened, her heart constricting in a way that it hadn’t in over two decades, constricting in a
way that—
She released a shaky breath, cheeks darkening as she rose from her curtsy and clasped her hands in
front of herself to prevent them from trembling.

The amusement was gone from Empress Visenya’s eyes, and Alicent wondered if the term had
merely been a somewhat petty jest, wondered if these women—all monarchs in their own right who
had been sitting their thrones for over one million years now—considered it an insult to have to call
her “stepmother.”

“I cannot imagine them disliking you, Alicent,” Aemma had assured her, but what if her heart
friend had been mistaken?

While she’d known that she would encounter Rhaenyra’s daughters before the day was done, she’d
thought that she would have her mate by her side. She’d thought that the sweet scent of roses would
help stave off the memories of the last time that she’d seen these seven women. She’d thought that
she would be able to clasp Rhaenyra’s hand when she felt her stomach twist with remembered
dread from that day.

Merciful Mother, how it all seemed like a lifetime ago.

And yet her body had not forgotten the visceral terror that she’d felt when she’d believed that she
would spend the remainder of her short life subjected to the Firestorm’s torturous experiments and
sadistic whims.

The seven sisters were exchanging glances with one another, and Queen Vaella shrugged in answer
to whatever question had been posed to her.

Alicent knew that she ought to say something—anything. These were Rhaenyra’s daughters, and
she—

It was Queen Aelora who finally approached her—her silver hair and purple eyes nigh identical to
Rhaenyra’s, save that they were perhaps half a shade lighter.

“She’s the sweetest of my daughters,” Rhaenyra had told her the other day with a fond smile.
“Which is a miracle, in truth, considering she was raised in Daemona’s court.”

Queen Aelora stopped in front of Alicent and offered a warm smile that brightened her face the
same way that Rhaenyra’s welcoming smiles always did. “Might I hug you, Alicent?”

Alicent blinked owlishly. Of all the requests that she might have expected, a hug had not been one
of them.

She knew that she could refuse.

Deep in her bones, she knew.

But she didn’t wish to.

“Yes, you may.”

The arms that wrapped around her did not feel much like Rhaenyra’s, but they reminded her very
much of Aemma’s.
Alicent’s throat tightened as she was suddenly taken back to her first birthday at Stone Garden,
when Aemma had offered her sweet cakes and a hug, when she’d cautiously and rather confusedly
accepted the seneschal’s offer, when she’d then received a truly warm and gentle hug for the first
time in decades.

She’d nearly wept that day.

Part of her feared that she might weep now.

Foolish, she knew, but how could she not be relieved?

Queen Aelora didn’t squeeze her, nor did she even hold her particularly tight. There was a caution
to her embrace, a care, a silent assurance that Alicent could easily break the hold if she so chose.

When Queen Aelora drew back, her bright smile hadn’t dimmed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at
last. Properly, that is.”

Alicent absently wondered whether the queen was referring to the treaty signing or to that morning
as their “not proper” meeting.

She supposed that it didn’t much matter.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you as well.” Alicent bit her tongue to prevent herself from offering
the platitude that Rhaenyra had spoken of them often, for that would be a lie, and she feared that
they would know it.

Taking one of Alicent’s hands in her own, Queen Aelora led her over to where Empress Visenya
and the other queens still stood. The introductions that the Geltic Queen offered were unnecessary,
but appreciated.

“And this is Helaena,” Queen Aelora finished.

Queen Helaena offered her a cheerful smile, a wave of her hand, and a brief flutter of her wings,
but she didn’t meet Alicent’s eyes as she did so.

Empress Visenya looked between Alicent and Archon Syrax a moment before her gaze settled on
Alicent. “Our apologies for interrupting, but we were hoping that we might speak with you a
while.”

“Our conversation was nearing its conclusion, I believe, was it not, Lady Alicent?” Archon Syrax
rumbled.

“It was,” she agreed.

The last of her questions could be asked another time.

Empress Visenya smiled, but it no longer entirely reached her eyes. “Wonderful. Then if you could
please come with us, Alicent?”

Despite the inflection of Empress Visenya’s words being that of a question, there was an
unmistakable undercurrent of command in her tone.

Alicent wondered if the empress even realized this.

The All Mother spoke in a similar manner, as did Viserra. And even Rhaenyra—for all that her
mate had always taken care to speak kindly and gently to her—had often spoken to Alicent using
such a tone when she’d first come to Stone Garden.

While she couldn’t recall the exact moment when that instinctive note of command had left
Rhaenyra’s voice, she was willing to bet every coin she had that it had been sometime after their
quarrel and the beginning of their friendship.

She wondered absently if Mistress Missandei, Alaura, and Mistress Elysande noticed the difference
in how their mates spoke to them as opposed to everyone else, for she was certain that not even
empresses—perhaps especially empresses—were willing to command their mates in such a way.

Not after what the First Generation had suffered.

“Alicent?” Empress Visenya was gazing at her expectantly.

The other sisters were watching her similarly.

“Of course.” Alicent retreated a few steps to hurriedly gather her journal, quill, and inkwell. As she
closed her journal and tucked it under her arm, she resisted the instinct to pat Archon Syrax’s tail
and instead offered a respectful incline of her head. “Thank you for indulging my questions,
Archon.”

Archon Syrax smiled a dragon’s smile down at her as she slowly pushed herself to her feet. “It was
a pleasure speaking with you, Lady Alicent.” Her head swiveled slightly, eyes alighting on Queen
Helaena. “Queen Helaena, Aeyla Dreamfyre sends her regards and hopes that you will visit soon to
meet her new hatchlings.”

Queen Helaena beamed as her slate-grey wings spread just enough so that they could flap and
flutter.

Alicent couldn’t help but notice how Queen Vaella and Queen Jaehaera had—without a word or
hesitation—taken three steps to the side the moment that they’d heard Kyron Aeyla’s name.

“Thank you, Archon.” Queen Helaena’s wings were still fluttering as she spoke. “Please give Aeyla
my regards as well.”

Archon Syrax nodded and then offered Empress Visenya a respectful bow of her head before she
turned and walked away.

The earth trembled beneath her great feet.

Empress Visenya turned her attention back to Alicent and held out her hand. “Shall we?”

When Alicent accepted the empress’ offered hand, she couldn’t help but notice that it was nearly as
warm as Rhaenyra’s.

But not quite.

Three of Rhaenyra’s daughters had inherited her silver hair and purple eyes, but none of them could
ever be mistaken for their mother for more than a moment.

And at a distance.
“I cannot imagine them disliking you, Alicent. If nothing else, they all have far too much of their
mother in them for that.”

She prayed that Aemma was correct.

The cavern that Rhaenyra’s daughters ushered Alicent into was rather small compared to the
majority of the other caverns—seemingly only meant to house Valyrians rather than dragons. A
round stone table had been raised near the back, and a single light-orb nigh as bright as a miniature
sun hovered overhead to illuminate the otherwise shadowed space.

“Please forgive me if I upset you earlier by addressing you as ‘stepmother,’” Empress Visenya was
saying as she led Alicent over to one of the stone chairs. “I should have asked before presuming.
We will of course address you as Alicent, if you would prefer.”

Alicent’s teeth sank into her lower lip, not entirely understanding her own yearning to be called
“stepmother” by these women who would never and could never truly be daughters to her.

Not when they were so much older.

Not when one of them was already a mother herself.

Not when she’d had even less of a hand in raising them than other stepmothers.

And yet . . .

“I’ll accept either form of address,” she replied, ignoring the quiet voice whispering “coward” in
her ear. Deferring the decision to them, refusing to make it herself, choosing to ignore her own
quiet yearning . . .

Coward.

Once Alicent was seated, she found herself flanked by Queen Helaena and Queen Vaella, and
directly across from Empress Visenya and Queen Aelora.

For a moment, the sisters were deathly silent, though Alicent was certain that they were mentally
conversing amongst themselves, considering the glances that they were exchanging.

At last, Empress Visenya expelled a heavy breath and focused her attention on Alicent. “There are a
few reasons that we wished to speak with you today, Alicent, but perhaps first and foremost, we
wish to apologize.”

Alicent’s eyebrows rose sharply. “You needn’t—”

The empress held up her hand, but then swiftly lowered it. “We ask that you let us say what must
needs be said, if you please.”

Closing her mouth, Alicent nodded and clasped her hands in her lap, her thumb gently brushing
over the diamonds of her emerald orchid ring.

“The seven of us owe you an apology, Alicent.” Empress Visenya’s voice was soft with remorse—
her eyes were softer still—and while her rings remained unmoving on her fingers, she was tapping
lightly on her bonding bracelet in a way that immediately reminded Alicent of Rhaenyra. “That day
at Dragon Ridge, both our actions and inactions hurt you, and for that, we beg your forgiveness.”

Alicent’s right hand shifted, her thumb sliding higher to touch the scar encircling her wrist.
Memories of her first tea with Rhaenyra in the glass garden, of her mate sinking to her knees before
her and begging her forgiveness, of their first hug all swirling through her mind.

She’d known well that Rhaenyra had been consumed by guilt for what she’d done that day, but
she’d never much considered if Rhaenyra’s daughters would be similarly haunted.

“If nothing else, they all have far too much of their mother in them.”

So it seemed.

“We saw you that day, just as Mother did. We saw more than enough to know how you were being
treated, but we . . .” Empress Visenya’s cheeks darkened. “We were all prepared to do nothing. To
simply look away and pretend that we had not seen your suffering. Because you were a Westerosi
and therefore not our responsibility.” Her jaw clenched for a brief moment in a way that Alicent
had come to recognize meant that the empress was consciously preventing her canines from
lengthening and sharpening. “‘The woman who turns her back on her sisters does more harm than
any man.’ We’ve all been taught those words since we were babes, and yet we would have ignored
them that day, if not for Mother. It should not have fallen to her alone to offer you aid.”

Alicent wasn’t entirely certain that it would have made much difference, had all seven of them been
in complete agreement with Rhaenyra’s plan. Outwardly, they had been, and that was all that had
mattered at the time. Although, she supposed that she could understand why they would feel guilty
for protesting the additional provision.

But they needn’t.

“The way that Mother went about offering you aid was not ideal, but she felt that she had no other
option. And perhaps she didn’t.” Empress Visenya’s lips pursed. “Or perhaps another solution
might have been found, had we been working in concert. Perhaps we might have been able to help
you without frightening you as we did.” She spread her hands, and her sisters did the same. “You
are our mother’s mate, and for that alone, we would be seeking your forgiveness for what we did
and did not do. But more than that, you are a woman who was in desperate need of help, and we
did not offer it when we could. We hope that you will accept our apology.”

Alicent looked around the table, and even though she already knew what she would sense, she
briefly lowered her emotional ward enough to be momentarily inundated by waves of guilt and
regret and remorse. She swiftly raised her ward once more and allowed herself three deep breaths
before speaking. “Your mother apologized to me years ago for how she went about helping me. I
forgave her then, and I am more than willing to forgive the seven of you now. That ink has dried,
and I am more than content with my life as it is. I thank you for your apology, and willingly accept
it.”

Empress Visenya released a soft sigh of relief—the same sort that Alicent had heard Rhaenyra
release countless times before.

Beside her, Queen Helaena’s wings fluttered softly.

“Thank you, Alicent.” Empress Visenya inclined her head, and her sisters followed suit.
Alicent offered them a warm smile, feeling far more relaxed than she had been before. Perhaps
because she now knew that Rhaenyra’s daughters had been as nervous about this meeting as she
herself had been.

“If you’ll allow,” Empress Visenya waved her hand, and a plump parcel wrapped on black cloth
and secured with a crimson ribbon materialized in front of Alicent, “there is also something that we
wish to give you.”

“And to show you,” Queen Aelora chimed in, flashing her another of her bright smiles as she
snapped her fingers.

A heavy tome embossed with the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen appeared upon the
stone table between them. The onyx-black cover was so dark that it seemed to swallow the
surrounding light, and the flames spilling forth from the dragon’s jaws appeared to flicker as
Alicent’s eyes swept over them.

Empress Visenya nodded to Queen Aelora. “Sister, if you would.”

Queen Aelora lifted her hand, and the book opened to reveal a beautifully detailed family tree
beginning from Empress Aenara the Ice Dragon. Her fingers fluttered, and the pages began flipping
rapidly, revealing the occasional flashes of what appeared to be coats of arms.

“For two hundred and forty-seven generations, our House was able to complete the Bond Arms of
one generation before it came time to begin the next. Until Mother.” Sadness briefly flashed in
Queen Aelora’s lilac eyes, but it was swiftly eclipsed by eager excitement. “At last,” her gaze
briefly fell upon Alicent’s mate mark, “two generations of arms have been completed.”

The pages slowed and stilled.

Alicent’s breath hitched in her throat.

The page on the left displayed a magnificent coat of arms presenting eight sigils. The central sigil
was the silver gauntlet on scarlet of Clan Glover, and of the seven surrounding sigils, she
recognized six of them as those belonging to the Clans of Rhaenyra’s sisters’ mates.

And the seventh . . .

Directly beneath the sigil of Clan Glover was a stunning emerald orchid on pale blue. The green
petals had been rendered in such intricate and lifelike detail that Alicent was half-tempted to brush
her fingers over them and feel their softness. The silver stem and leaves gleamed brightly,
reminding her of Rhaenyra’s hair.

The page on the right displayed a similar coat of arms, save that the emerald orchid sigil occupied
the central position, and surrounding it were the sigils of Clan Strong, Clan Blackmont, Clan
Waynwood, Clan Celtigar, Clan Swann, Clan Yronwood, and House Stark.

“We hope that you will forgive our presumption, Stepmother,” Queen Aelora was saying, “in
choosing an emerald orchid to represent you rather than the white watchtower of your natal
House.”

Alicent’s throat felt tight, and her eyes stung.

She’d come across mentions of the Bond Book of House Targaryen—the ever-growing volume in
which each Targaryen woman’s mate was honored with a masterful rendering of her House or
Clan’s sigil—but she’d never managed to gather the nerve to ask Rhaenyra if her own sigil might
be included.

“It’s beautiful,” she finally managed, her eyes meeting those of each of Rhaenyra’s daughters—
save Helaena—in the hopes of better conveying her sincerity and how moved she was by their
gesture. “You honor me.”

“You honored our mother, when you chose to love her.” Empress Visenya smiled slightly, but it was
a sad sort of smile. “She always did well to hide it, but we noticed her sadness whenever we
introduced her to our mates.”

“Not that we ever faulted her for her sorrow,” Queen Jacaerya assured Alicent hastily. “It would
have been more troubling had she not been saddened.”

“And yet, despite her sadness,” Empress Visenya continued, the black-wrapped parcel sliding
closer to Alicent, “she always treated our mates warmly. And before our bondings, she gave each of
them a gift. We hope that you will accept this gift from us, and that it pleases you.”

Alicent’s cheeks were warm with embarrassment, and her chest warmer still with an emotion that
she couldn’t quite put to words, though it reminded her somewhat of how she’d felt upon realizing
that her companions had become her friends.

Untying the crimson ribbon, she carefully set it aside and began removing the sable cloth to reveal
a rather thick journal set with small green and silver stones arranged in the shape of a blooming
emerald orchid.

She looked up and offered a bright smile. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“It’s enchanted,” Queen Helaena declared cheerfully. “We cast a duplex transcriptor enchantment
upon it so that you can easily and directly transfer notes from this journal into another if you wish.”
Her wings fluttered with excitement, and her eyes were bright even as they didn’t quite meet
Alicent’s. “Now you may take all notes you like and then transfer them elsewhere when you
desire.” She cocked her head. “Are you pleased, Stepmother?”

“Very pleased,” Alicent murmured, opening the journal and flipping through the blank pages. They
looked no different from those of any other journal, and she couldn’t sense any sign of the magic
attached to it, though she suspected that Rhaenyra might be able to.

The desire to test her new journal nigh made her fingers itch, but she resisted.

She raised her head only to lower it again respectfully. “This is a wonderful gift. Thank you.”

The purrs that suddenly filled the cavern were a symphony, somehow both similar to Rhaenyra’s
yet utterly distinct.

Empress Visenya reached across the table and clasped Alicent’s hand. “It is a pleasure to welcome
you into the family, Alicent.” Her lavender eyes twinkled as she winked. “And I speak for us all
when I say that we’re greatly anticipating attending your bonding in the near future.”

∞
By the time that Grandmother Alyssa’s roar died in her throat, Rhaenyra had begun to fear that the
sound would somehow pierce the shield that Grandmother Daenerys had cast over the cavern’s
entrance to ensure that no one overheard their conversations.

Upon returning to her natal form, Grandmother Alyssa stood staring at the far wall of the cavern,
her shoulders shaking. “How could any daughter of mine . . ?”

Grandmother Rhaena rose to her feet and swiftly came to stand beside her granddaughter before
drawing her into a fierce embrace. “I should have done more to foster her compassion, but I never
saw any indication . . . She was studious, dutiful, and her love for our people unfailing. She should
have been . . . She never should have . . .”

“My mother’s actions were her own, Grandmother Alyssa, Grandmother Rhaena.” Rhaenyra’s
stomach had twisted itself into a knot, and she sorely wished that Alicent was here to help soothe
the turmoil roiling within her. “Her decisions had naught to do with you.”

“She is my daughter, Rhaenyra,” Grandmother Alyssa practically snarled.

“I’m the woman who raised her,” Grandmother Rhaena said at the same time.

How can we not feel responsible for what she became?

The unspoken question echoed throughout the silent cavern.

And, despite herself, Rhaenyra found herself agreeing with them. She twisted her black rose ring
around her finger as her teeth sank into her bottom lip. It wouldn’t be right to blame her
grandmothers for her mother’s actions, but . . .

More times than she could recall, her mother had made some cutting remark or other in the
presence of their family—in the presence of her grandmothers.

Grandmother Alysanne saw my melancholy.

Grandmother Alyssa and Grandmother Rhaena heard how Mother spoke to me.

Should they have noticed?

Should they have realized?

Aemma had noticed her pain.

Alicent had recognized what was happening.

Had her grandmothers chosen to be blind as she herself had?

Perhaps.

Rhaenyra expelled a slow breath as she looked at her grandmothers. “I don’t blame you for my
mother’s actions, and I forgive you for not wishing to see what was happening.”

How could she not forgive them?

When she’d been so willfully blind herself?

“Whether you blame us or not, we owe you an apology.” Grandmother Alysanne reached over and
clasped her hand. “I should have asked more questions rather than simply accepting Viserra’s word.
I failed you in that, and I apologize.”

“Viserra spoke to me often of her worries about your strength,” Grandmother Rhaena murmured. “I
should have realized, when you suddenly stopped using your magic, that something was amiss. But
I couldn’t imagine . . .” She shook her head. “My apologies, Rhaenyra, for refusing to see what was
happening in front of me.”

“And I hope that you can forgive me, Rhaenyra, both for not knowing my own daughter well
enough to realize that she was capable of something like this,” Grandmother Alyssa’s cheeks
darkened as she lowered her eyes, “and for what I said earlier about your magic.”

“You weren’t wrong in that, Grandmother Alyssa. It was my magic that ravaged the world and
nearly destroyed it.” And while her mother may have been responsible for creating the
circumstances that led to her magic being unleashed as it was, she couldn’t deny the part she’d
played as well—even beyond her magic itself.

Aemma had wanted to confront her mother.

As had Hylda.

But she’d ordered both of them to remain silent and do nothing.

Perhaps if she hadn’t . . .

Her magic was the ultimate reason that Valyria had nearly perished.

It might not have been her fault, but that fact remained.

She and her mother both deserved to face their people’s judgment for what happened the day that
the net broke.

They’d both had their parts to play, and they both bore responsibility for it.

Perhaps even her mother would agree with her on that.

Or perhaps not.

Considering the lengths that her mother had gone to ensure that no one ever learned about the net.

“What do you intend to do, Rhaenyra?” Grandmother Rhaena was watching her with an expression
that was somewhere between guilt and sadness and determination.

Rhaenyra lifted her chin and met her great-great-grandmother’s eyes. “I intend to ensure that all the
world knows what my mother did, and I intend to see justice done.”
 Behold! The Bond Coat of Arms for Rhaenyra and her daughters!

Chapter End Notes

No Alicent shall ever be stepmother to someone younger than her. So has it been written.
Next Chapter: Rhaenyra has a chat with mother dearest.
 Daughters and Mothers
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 53:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Daenora Targaryen, Princess of Dragon Wood and Heir to the Dragon Throne
– Viserra Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Kastrell, formerly the 248th Empress of the Valyrian
Empire
– Laena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Bellmar
– Elaena Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Saevara
– Maegelle Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Farnier
– Laenora Targaryen, Dowager Queen of the Avenian Isles
– Aerea Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Norden
– Daemona Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Gelt
– Alaura Glover, a Dragon Wood courtier, from Norden
– Visenya Targaryen, 250th Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Lucerya Targaryen, 250th Queen of Saevara
– Jaehaera Targaryen, 250th Queen of Farnier
– Helaena Targaryen, 250th Queen of the Avenian Isles
– Jacaerya Targaryen, 250th Queen of Norden
– Aelora Targaryen, 250th Queen of Gelt
– Vaella Targaryen, 250th Queen of Bellmar

A special thanks to Octavas, beepboop (permanganato), and NewLeeLand for beta reading
this chapter, and to LesbianLightbringer for sensitivity reading various sections.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harvest Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

Rhaenyra’s stomach churned as she flew down from King Galaeron’s cavern and began scenting
the air in search of her mother. The edifice was awash with hundreds of scents, and a low drone of
voices filled the air and echoed in her ears. Glancing to her left, she caught sight of Lady Lannister
and Lady Martell speaking with a pair of archons whose names she couldn’t recall, but whom she
was fairly certain hailed from Norden, given their coloring.

Alicent would know.

Her mate could probably name every woman and dragon who had gathered this day, if given the
chance.

Mother above, her Alicent was a wonder.

Shaking her head to clear it, Rhaenyra focused her attention on locating her mother’s rosewood
scent and silently prayed that she would be alone or only accompanied by Alaura.
A foolish hope, perhaps, considering her mother had been invited for the specific purpose of
escorting Daenora.

Her lips pursed slightly at the thought of her youngest granddaughter. So young yet—still no more
than a child—but a promising future empress according to all reports.

Including her mother’s.

“She will make a fine empress when the time comes. I’ve no doubt that she will always consider the
good of the Empire first and foremost, and always place the needs of her people above her own
petty desires.”

The fate of her granddaughter—in the event of her mother’s conviction—was among the many
matters that had plagued her mind these past months.

And one of the reasons why she’d agreed with Grandmother Daenerys to inform her other
grandmothers of her plans.

Daenora had not even reached her first millennium yet—Rhaenyra personally couldn’t understand
why Visenya had waited so long to have her heirs, but such was her prerogative—and there was
much and more that the child still needed to learn before the time came for her to sit the Dragon
Throne.

Should her mother be condemned, Daenora would be in need of a new first advisor, and the most
logical option was Grandmother Alyssa. And while Rhaenyra was loath to demand that her
grandmother once more place herself in service of the Empire, there would be little choice if the
Imperial Court found her mother guilty.

Part of her also feared how her granddaughter would react to the revelation, for she was almost
certain that her mother had never done any harm to Daenora.

And if she had—

Rhaenyra swiftly buried the thought.

While she’d not spent much time around her youngest granddaughter, Daenora had never displayed
any signs of the melancholy that she herself had evidently shown for much of her life.

But not all women react the same way.

Her jaw clenched.

If her inaction had caused her granddaughter harm . . .

All the more reason for judgment.

A slight shift of the wind at last brought her mother’s scent to her nose, and she swiftly adjusted her
course.

Rather surprisingly, she didn’t smell her stepmother’s individual scent.

How strange.
Once she’d landed and shifted back to her natal form, Rhaenyra took a moment to smooth down
her skirts and tidy her hair. The crown resting upon her brow suddenly felt heavier than it had mere
moments ago.

She wished that Alicent was with her so that she could draw upon her mate’s strength.

I’ve confronted Mother before.

But never like this.

Grandmother Daenerys, Rhaenys, Laena, Aemma, and Hylda had all protested this particular aspect
of her plan, insisting that it was foolish to offer even the smallest hint of warning, and insisting that
her mother did not deserve any further words from her.

“It would be best to remain away from her until the time comes,” her grandmother had advised.
“That is certainly what I myself intend to do.”

Considering the lightning that had been crackling at Grandmother Daenerys’ fingertips when she’d
spoken those words, Rhaenyra had been inclined to agree that it would be best for the All Mother to
remain away until the end of the Summit.

But that did not mean that Rhaenyra herself must needs do the same.

She knew well what her actions would herald, and even now, she found herself hesitating for fear
that she was perhaps making a mistake.

Her mother’s actions had been wrong, she knew, but her own inaction had certainly had its part to
play as well. Had she told the truth sooner, or had she allowed Aemma and Hylda to do so, perhaps
...

But that ink had dried.

And Mother crafted a dangerous spell without leave that she never registered with the Spell
Committee or the All Mother.

For that alone, there must needs be consequences.

There was a reason that Empress Aeliana had created the Spell Committee, after all.

But as to the other matter . . .

“Mother was the one who erred, Rhaenyra, not you. If she hadn’t wrapped your core in that thrice-
damned stasis net, perhaps your magic wouldn’t have erupted as violently as it did.”

“If you had even half of the control that Cassella does, perhaps that stasis net around your core
wouldn’t be necessary.”

Her mother had done wrong, but Rhaenyra would not move against her unless absolutely necessary.

Blood called to blood, and Mother Relle was rather fond of forgiveness.

Something that Rhaenyra knew she herself was oft guilty of not extending to others.
Steeling herself, she began walking in the direction of her mother.

When she scented her granddaughter a moment later, she silently swore.

Daenora should not be anywhere near for this.

Relle willing, Mother will think the same.

“Grandmother!”

Despite her misgivings, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Daenora rushing towards
her, moving at a pace that was not at all befitting the Princess of Dragon Wood. Her
granddaughter’s white braids bounced with each step that she took, and her blue eyes were bright
with excitement.

When was the last time that I saw her?

Before she’d departed for her Wander Century, to be sure.

Daenora’s arms wrapped tight around Rhaenyra’s waist the moment that she reached her. “You’ve
not visited me in centuries, Grandmother.” Her head tilted back to look up at Rhaenyra, her lips
twisting in a way that made plain she was forcing herself not to pout.

Rhaenyra was rather surprised that her granddaughter was even struggling, considering who had
been raising her. “Please forgive me, Daenora, I’ve been unable to find the time.”

“Grandmother Viserra says that family must make time for each other when none is to be found.
That was why she left Dragon Wood this past Yule.” Daenora cocked her head slightly. “Have you
resolved your quarrel from Yule, Grandmother? Grandmother Viserra was quite cross when she
returned.”

I’m sure she was.

Before Rhaenyra could respond aloud, her mother appeared behind Daenora wearing an expression
that was both admonishing and indulgent. “An empress ought to be above frivolous gossip,
Daenora,” she chided, but it was lacking the bite that Rhaenyra recalled from her own childhood.
“You shouldn’t pry into your Grandmother Rhaenyra’s personal affairs.”

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow at her mother, who offered only a placid expression in return.

Daenora sighed as she released Rhaenyra from her embrace and took a small step back, respectfully
inclining her head as she clasped her hands in front of herself. “My apologies for prying,
Grandmother.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Dear.” Rhaenyra reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder.
“Curiosity is only natural, and you should never be afraid to ask questions.”

“Then may I ask after your mate?” Daenora’s eyes glittered with interest. “She’s here, is she not?
Your Lady Alicent?”

“She is.” Rhaenyra didn’t bother trying to hide or restrain her grin, not much caring if her mother
thought it unqueenly. “And I’m certain that she will be pleased to meet you.”
“I look forward to meeting her as well.” Daenora peered up at her hopefully. “Would now be
acceptable?”

Part of Rhaenyra was tempted to say “yes,” to take her granddaughter by the hand and lead her
away from her mother so that they could go in search of Alicent, but she knew that she couldn’t.

Not yet.

“I’m afraid that I have matters to discuss with Grandmother Viserra at present, but I will make
certain that you and Alicent meet later.”

Disappointment flashed across Daenora’s face, but it was there and gone in a twinkling. “Of course,
Grandmother.”

Her mother cleared her throat and lightly touched Daenora’s other shoulder. “Daenora, why don’t
you go in search of your aunts while I speak with Grandmother Rhaenyra? I’m certain that they
will be pleased to see you.”

“Yes, Grandmother Viserra.” Daenora swept a shallow curtsy before turning and flashing Rhaenyra
another smile. “I will see you later?”

“Of course, Dear.” As Rhaenyra watched her granddaughter scamper away, she couldn’t help but
notice her mother’s lack of comment on the way that Daenora was walking.

“Don’t scurry so, Rhaenyra.”

“An empress must always be poised and dignified.”

“How can I trust you to control your magic when you cannot even control your physical
movements?”

“She can be overeager at times,” her mother chuckled, perhaps guessing her thoughts, “but she’ll
learn in time.”

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow. “Considering her age, I would have expected you to have less
patience for her by now, Mother.”

“Daenora is still but a child, Rhaenyra,” her mother tsked. “We cannot expect perfection from her
as of yet.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened as she recalled the dark scowl that her mother had given her the day that
she hatched. “Oh? I was not aware that you had amended your interpretation of the word ‘child,’
Mother.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her mother frowned slightly as she glanced over at her.

Turning so that they were properly facing each other, Rhaenyra loosely clasped her hands in front
of herself and locked their gazes. “I recall being reprimanded for the way that I ‘scurried’ when I
was less than half Daenora’s age.”

“Then it seems that your memory is failing you, Child.” Her mother waved dismissively. “I only
ever offered words of guidance. Not rebukes. What use would there be in scolding a child still
learning to control her own limbs?”
“What use indeed.” Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly. “Am I misremembering all of the times that
you criticized my ‘clinging nature’ as well?”

“Your insistence on being cosseted and coddled was an impediment to your development, so yes, I
sought to correct you.”

“Yet you allowed Daenora to hug me far longer than most would deem seemly given that we are in
public.”

Her mother’s frown deepened. “Why are you being so harsh towards your granddaughter,
Rhaenyra? Would you prefer that she be cold towards you? As you were towards your own
daughters?” She clicked her tongue. “Not all of us are so callous towards family.”

Rhaenyra forced herself not to flinch, forced her teeth to remain blunt, forced her scent not to
sharpen.

She would not give her mother the satisfaction.

“An empress must be mother to millions, not only seven. Was that not what you told me once?”

Her mother was silent for a moment before delicately shrugging her shoulders. “My own mother
and later great-grandmother told me much the same when I was young. How you chose to interpret
and live by that statement was your own decision, Rhaenyra, not mine.”

She hated the knowledge that those words, at least, were true.

“I’m assuming that you did not seek me out to debate the manner in which I am molding our next
empress. So speak plainly, Rhaenyra. What is it that you wish to say to me?”

Rhaenyra had actually intended to be somewhat more oblique about the matter, but if her mother
desired forthrightness, then so be it. “I wished to speak with you about the net.”

Her mother stiffened slightly, and her scent sharpened, but her tone remained cool and calm. “Is
that so? I think we’ve said all that need be said on that matter many times before, Rhaenyra.”

“I disagree.” Rhaenyra flicked her finger and cast a shield to ensure that they wouldn’t be
overheard. “I think that there is much and more we still need to discuss.”

“I see.” Her mother expelled a heavy, long-suffering sigh. “Very well then. Say what you will,
Child.”

“When you cast that net over my core, did it even occur to you to ask my leave first?”

It was a question that had plagued her even before Alicent had helped open her eyes. She’d always
been certain that she would have consented to the net had her mother asked her, and that certainty
hadn’t abated these past months. At the time, considering how convinced she was of her mother’s
good intentions and care for her, she would have eagerly agreed to have the net cast over her core.

Her mother was silent for a long moment as she seemed to consider the question. “Perhaps. Had
you not nearly taken my head off mere hours earlier, I might have felt safe enough to seek your
leave. But considering your recent attempt to butcher me, how could I be expected to trust your
intentions, hmm? I had to act as I did, for you had proven yourself so utterly unable to control your
own magic.”
“There was time before the argument, Mother.” Rhaenyra’s eyes searched her mother’s face,
desperate to find something—some speck of regret or even simply remorse. “I may not know when
you chose to create the net, but I know enough wizardry to know that you couldn’t have altered the
net in the amount of time that it took for Vora Aelinor to find me and bring me home.”

“It was always my hope that you would prove yourself capable of enough control that the net
would prove unnecessary.” Her mother shrugged. “My apologies if my efforts to avoid frightening
you have since caused you upset. I saw no reason to worry you with the possibility of binding your
core when a chance still remained that it might not come to such drastic measures.”

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow. “So you agree that the net was a drastic measure?”

Her mother’s eyebrows drew together slightly, and indignation flared from her. “Are you seeking to
imply that I am unaware of the gravity of what I did, Child? Do you think that I don’t realize that
the net was a trial to be endured? Do you think that I did not suffer seeing you unable to perform
even the most basic of First Tier spells? Believe me, Daughter, you were not the only one who was
hurt by your forcing my hand.” She raised her chin, eyes flashing. “But I did what was necessary to
protect the Empire, as any empress before me would have done. As you yourself did during the
War. I took no pleasure in binding your core, but what else was I to do? You were uncontrollable,
and our people’s needs were far more pressing than your comfort.” Her fingers flicked, and
Rhaenyra felt the shield dissipate. “I’ll not apologize for doing my duty and placing it above all
else, so if that is your reason for raising these specters, then I’ve no more to say on the matter.”

As her mother turned to leave, Rhaenyra reached out with her telekinesis and grabbed her arm.

“Rhaenyra,” her mother warned.

“You hurt me, Mother.” Rhaenyra swallowed a little, trying to force down the lump that had formed
in her throat as her mother spoke. “I was in pain every day that net bound me. Why didn’t you
care?”

Her mother sighed once more, shaking her head. “As ever, Rhaenyra, you exaggerate the matter. I
know that the net was uncomfortable for you, but did I not explain how being empress oft requires
that you disregard your own comfort for the sake of others?”

“Uncomfortable?” Rhaenyra’s telekinetic grip tightened. Her mother had used the same word when
she’d first awoken, and at the time, she’d bowed her head and accepted the pronouncement.

But she would not do so now.

“The net was not merely a ‘discomfort,’ Mother. I spent nearly two thousand years feeling as if—”

“As if a piece of you had been torn out and as if someone was forever removing your innards
slowly and one by one,” her mother finished. “You’ve said as much before, Child, and so I will say
to you now what I said then. Whatever pain you were experiencing was predominantly in your own
mind.” She came closer then, lowering her voice to a hiss. “Do you think I cast that net without
first conducting tests? Do you truly think me so callous and careless with my magic? No. I
performed numerous trials beforehand, and that ‘debilitating’ pain that you so oft complain of was
never once mentioned.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened with surprise as she searched her mother’s face for any hint of a lie, but
she found none.
For all that she’d been ruminating on her mother’s actions before casting the net, she’d never
considered the possibility that her mother had first cast it on others.

No.

Not “others.”

One other.

For there was only one woman in all the world that her mother would have trusted in this.

“You cast the net on Alaura.”

It wasn’t a question, but her mother nodded all the same. “I did. And never once did she complain
as you did. She noted some discomfort when the net was upon her core, but no more than that.” Her
mother’s lips pursed. “I could never understand how a girl so adept at tolerating other forms of pain
could be so . . . weak regarding the net.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t contain her growl then as she stepped closer so that their noses were almost
touching. “Perhaps you should have taken my complaints to mean that the pain was truly that
severe.”

“You mean that I should have taken my mate for a liar?” Her mother shook her head and waved her
hand. “Alaura has never given me reason to doubt her word. You have. Why would I have believed
you over her?”

“Perhaps because a sample size of one is not sound science,” Rhaenyra hissed, her blood roaring in
her ears and burning in her veins. “Or perhaps because I am your thrice-damned daughter!”

“But there exists a great difference between daughters and mates, does there not? I chose Alaura,
but I didn’t choose you, did I?” Her mother’s voice was suddenly soft, almost . . . almost
melancholy. “I didn’t choose to have children, no more than you yourself did. Tell me true,
Daughter Mine, if forced to choose between one of your daughters and your precious Lady Alicent,
who would it be?”

Rhaenyra hesitated.

And she hated herself for it.

“Blood may call to blood, Child, but we don’t choose with whom we share blood, do we?” Her
mother didn’t allow her the opportunity to respond. “No, we do not. Blood demands that we have a
care for family, but our mates are different. They are the women that we choose to love—”

“And our daughters are not?” Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow, not bothering to leash the fury that she
knew must be radiating from her. “Is that what you mean to say, Mother? Because I must disagree.
By your own words, you should have loved me. And considering how you treated my sisters, you
certainly could have loved me. But you chose not to—”

The slap would have echoed.

But it didn’t.
Rhaenyra’s grip on her mother’s wrist was bruising, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “Careful,
Mother. We wouldn’t wish to cause a scene.”

Her mother’s eyes blazed. “Don’t you ever say that I don’t love you, Rhaenyra.”

“You have a rather peculiar way of demonstrating your care.” Rhaenyra released her mother’s wrist
and stepped back. “I only wished to know whether or not you regretted what you did to me.
Whether you felt even a shred of remorse. I suppose that I have my answer now.”

“And as ever, you speak without care or substances, Child.” Her mother shook out her hand and
raised her chin. “My actions have only ever been those of an empress seeking to preserve her
people and her Empire. Have I been the most doting and affectionate mother to ever draw breath?
No. But you yourself can hardly make such a claim either. We are empresses first and last. The
mothers of millions, not merely seven. I’ve no regrets regarding that net, nor do I have any
remorse. I did what was necessary, and you are delusional if you truly believe that you would not
have done the exact same thing in my place.”

Rhaenyra expelled a slow breath through clenched teeth. This was not at all how she’d intended for
their conversation to progress.

But she supposed that the best laid plans were oft little more than that—plans.

I should have better leashed my temper.

“Mother, if I might ask one more question of you.”

“I believe that we have said more than enough.” Her mother spread her hands. “But as you are my
daughter and I do love you, you may ask your question.”

“You say that you have no regrets, no remorse.” Rhaenyra held her gaze. “Does that include for
your decision to not inform anyone about the net?”

If her mother would only—

“It does.” Her mother’s eyes closed for a brief moment as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I
truly do wish that you could understand, Rhaenyra, the burden that I was bearing all of that time. It
was no easy task, but I endured for the sake of the Empire, my people, and you. Your inability to
understand the sacrifices that I made simply proves that I was correct to fear that others would not
either.”

Rhaenyra could bring herself to offer no more than a stilted nod in response, watching as her
mother whirled around and strode away in a flurry of purple and gold skirts. Her magic roiled
within her core, and her heart felt far heavier than she had anticipated that it would.

She’d expected to feel some measure of . . . relief, upon learning whether it would be necessary to
execute her plan, but all she felt was hollow.

“I didn’t choose to have children, no more than you yourself did.”

As ever, despite the harshness of her mother’s words, they were not without a grain of truth. She’d
oft found herself wondering if she would have birthed her daughters had the Golden Laws not
required her to do so, and she’d oft found herself reaching a rather uncomfortable conclusion.
She loved her daughters, but she hadn’t . . .

All the same, I would never have treated them as Mother treated me.

And perhaps they would have had the fortitude to oppose her if she had.

She couldn’t imagine Visenya ordering others to remain silent and do nothing.

Grandmother Alysanne had once told her that doing nothing was at times far more difficult than
acting.

Rhaenyra had discovered over the past nine million years that this was so in any number of
instances.

But not always.

Sometimes . . .

“The woman who turns her back on her sisters does more harm than any man.”

Alaura had turned her back on her more times than Rhaenyra could count.

But she’ll not be able to turn her back when Mother stands accused.

And perhaps that was no more than her stepmother deserved.

All the same, Rhaenyra soon found herself leaping into the air and shifting into her dragon form.

Alicent had hardly finished bidding Rhaenyra’s daughters farewell when she suddenly found
herself surrounded by Rhaenyra’s sisters. She instinctively clutched her new journal to her chest as
she forced her thundering heart to calm. There was no need to be frightened, she knew. If nothing
else, she knew that Laena was fond of her. Besides, she was determined to see to it that her mate’s
other sisters came to like her as well.

“It is so lovely to see you once again, Alicent.” Laena beamed as she wrapped her in a warm hug.

After managing to free one of her arms, Alicent returned the hug as best she could. “You as well,
Laena. I was hoping that I would see you again before the day was done.”

“Did you doubt that I would seek you out?” Laena gasped in mock offense as she released Alicent
and offered her arm. “That would make me a rather poor sister-by-bond, I should think.”

Alicent smiled as she accepted Laena’s arm. “I would never dare accuse you of such.”

Laena grinned as she turned to address the other women surrounding them. “See, Sisters, how
intelligent our new sister-by-bond is?”

“Which begs the question of why she chose Rhaenyra,” Dowager Queen Laenora chuckled, only to
receive a chiding swat from Dowager Queen Maegelle. She then made a show of gently nursing her
arm as she gazed at Alicent with wide eyes. “Do avoid Maegelle, Lady Alicent. As you can see,
she’s a dreadful scold who insists upon striking the innocent.”
“You’ve not been innocent since the day we were hatched,” Dowager Queen Maegelle scoffed.

“I beg you not to inform Jorella.”

Dowager Queen Elaena and Dowager Queen Aerea snickered.

Laena rolled her eyes, but they were bright with amusement. “As you can see, Alicent, Laenora has
convinced herself that she is quite amusing.”

Dowager Queen Laenora lifted her nose high into the air. “Was I not the first to make Rhaenyra
laugh after Mother cast that thrice-damned net upon her?”

Laena gave her sister a sharp look, as did Dowager Queen Maegelle.

Clearing her throat a little, suddenly looking sheepish, Dowager Queen Laenora inclined her head
to Alicent. “Please forgive me, I should not have spoken so flippantly.”

“There is no need for apology, Your Eminence.” She found it heartening that another of Rhaenyra’s
sisters was expressing such a low opinion of the net. While her mate had assured her that all of her
sisters supported her—or at least did not oppose her—it was nice to hear as much from Dowager
Queen Laenora’s own lips. “Nyra told me how you managed to make her laugh by making . . .” She
paused, pretending to ponder. “I believe that she described it as, ‘the most inelegant and amusingly
clumsy landing since Avenians first gained wings.’”

Laena and her sisters all laughed.

Dowager Queen Laenora threw her hands into the air. “Traitors, the lot of you, to mistreat me so.”

“Come, come, Nora,” Dowager Queen Elaena patted her arm, “you ought to be flattered that
Rhaenyra found your clumsiness memorable enough to share with her mate.”

“Hmm. I suppose that is true.” Dowager Queen Laenora tapped her chin thoughtfully as she peered
at Alicent. “What else has our dear sister told you about me?”

“That I should believe only half of what you say.”

Dowager Queen Aerea chortled. “Rhaenyra is most certainly correct in that.”

“You hush.” Dowager Queen Laenora flicked her finger, and a gust of wind suddenly slammed into
Dowager Queen Aerea, sending her stumbling into Dowager Queen Daemona, who growled in
response.

The Nordish and Geltic dowagers immediately turned their attention to Dowager Queen Laenora
wearing matching scowls.

Laena sighed as she patted Alicent’s hand. “Whilst they sort themselves out, why don’t the rest of
us find someplace to share a nice pot of tea?”

Alicent glanced over at the three dowagers, who seemed to have entirely forgotten about her.
“Should we not intervene?”

“Those three were oft clashing as children,” Laena winked, “and they never truly ceased. We’ve
learned that it’s best to let them do as they like in these instances.”
Dowager Queen Maegelle and Dowager Queen Elaena nodded in agreement.

The sound of ice shattering against stone made Alicent grimace. “All right then.”

“Wonderful.” Laena beamed as she began leading Alicent away. “I’m certain that you’ll enjoy
hearing all of the stories about your mate’s childhood that she insisted I not reveal during Yule.”

Alicent couldn’t help but smile at the prospect. “That sounds lovely.”

Rhaenyra found her stepmother with little fuss—alone, thank Relle.

Alaura’s eyes widened with surprise at the sight of her, but then she offered the same gentle and
pleasant smile that she always did whenever they encountered each other.

It was a smile that Rhaenyra had always considered sweet and kind before, but she’d since begun to
wonder.

“Rhaenyra, I was not expecting you to seek me out.” Alaura reached out and gave her arm a brief
squeeze. “Congratulations on marking Lady Alicent.”

“Thank you, Stepmother.”

If Alaura noticed that her voice was not as warm as it usually was, she gave no sign of it. “Daenora
was ecstatic when word reached us that you and Lady Alicent had sealed your matebond. I think
that she is quite enamored with her step-grandmother already.”

“I gathered as much when I spoke with her earlier.” Rhaenyra didn’t miss the hint of worry that
flashed in her stepmother’s eyes. “I intend to introduce them before the day is done.”

“I’m sure that will please Daenora.” Alaura’s smile no longer entirely reached her eyes. “Might I
ask, when you spoke with Daenora, did you—?”

“I spoke with Mother as well, yes.” Rhaenyra stepped closer to her stepmother, who did not retreat
in response. “Which was why I wished to speak with you as well.”

Alaura nodded slowly. “I see.” She glanced around, no doubt as aware as Rhaenyra was that they
were hardly in private. “Shield or cavern?”

Rhaenyra waved her hand in response. “I wish to speak with you about the net.”

Her stepmother sighed softly. “I assumed as much, considering what happened during Seventh
Night.”

When you warned Mother to say no more.

But was that for my sake?

Or Mother’s?

At the time, she hadn’t thought that it much mattered.

She was no longer of that opinion.

“During our conversation, Mother told me something that I hadn’t known before.” Rhaenyra leaned
closer, lowering her voice even though doing such wasn’t necessary. “Was it your decision to have
the net cast over your core, or hers?”

Alaura made an affronted sound as she stepped away from her. “I do not appreciate your
implication, Rhaenyra. Viserra would never demand that I aid her in such a manner.”

“So it was your decision then?” She’d suspected as much, and yet a part of her was still surprised.
Her stepmother had always seemed so . . .

“Malignantly passive,” Dr. Alfadora had called her.

But perhaps Alaura Glover was not as passive as she appeared to be.

“It was, yes.” Alaura raised her chin, determination flashing in her eyes. “Your mother took every
precaution possible when crafting her modified net, and that included conducting proper trials.”

“On you.” Rhaenyra barely managed to conceal the disgust from her voice.

“Yes. On me.” Alaura’s eyes shifted slightly, but then she shrugged. “She trusted no else with
knowledge of her endeavors.”

“Not even the All Mother?”

Alaura hesitated a moment before slowly nodding.

“And that didn’t strike you as wrong?” She had never before considered her stepmother a fool, but
she was beginning to wonder if perhaps she ought to reevaluate that opinion.

“What do you wish for me to say, Rhaenyra?” Alaura spread her hands out in front of herself,
almost pleadingly. “Your mother did what she thought was best. What she thought was right. She
protected you from yourself, and the Empire from your magic. She did what she did for the sake of
duty, yes, but also for the sake of love. For you.”

For a moment, Rhaenyra could only stare at her, wondering how she had never noticed her
stepmother’s misapprehensions, and yet also understanding far more than she would have
preferred.

Had she herself not spent over nine million years believing the same lies?

“Do you truly believe that, Alaura?”

“Do you not?”

Not anymore.

But she bit back those words and instead asked, “When Mother cast the net over your core, did you
feel any pain?”

Alaura’s lips pursed, but she nodded. “There was some discomfort. Rather like something was
squeezing my chest. But it certainly wasn’t unbearable.”
Rhaenyra searched her stepmother’s face for any sign that she was lying or understating her pain,
but she found none.

Her own lips pursed.

She hadn’t been imagining the pain of her mother’s net. It had been her constant companion for
nearly two millennia. And she wasn’t misremembering the pain as worse than it had been. Of that,
she was certain.

Perhaps it’s simply a matter of our differing strength.

She would discuss the matter with Alicent and the others at a later time.

Alaura’s expression softened, and she reached out to squeeze her arm once more. “I know that you
felt as if the pain was worse than that, Rhaenyra. And while I’ll not pretend to know what you
experienced, have you considered that perhaps some of the pain was merely a phantom sensation?
Born from a child’s lack of understanding of why her mother would ever cause her even the
smallest amount of hurt?”

Rhaenyra shook off her stepmother’s touch and swallowed the growl threatening to rip from her
throat.

Seven Hells, was this how she had sounded to Alicent when she’d been defending her mother’s
actions?

Ali has far more patience than I do.

She met her stepmother’s eyes and held her gaze. “The pain was not a phantom sensation, Alaura. I
assure you.”

Alaura simply inclined her head. “Of course.”

Her tone wasn’t patronizing, and yet Rhaenyra felt patronized all the same.

“Did you ever attempt to dissuade her?” That, more than anything, was the question that must
needs be answered.

Her stepmother slowly shook her head and then offered another of her gentle smiles. “You are her
daughter, Rhaenyra, and you belong first and last to the Empire. It was not my place to dictate how
she reared you. I offered what advice I felt proper, but it was your mother’s duty as empress to
make the final decision.”

“Even if it was the incorrect decision?”

Alaura cocked her head slightly. “Are you an empress who has never made a mistake?”

“That wasn’t what I asked, Stepmother.” She knew well the mistakes that she had made, and she
had done what she could to ensure that she was punished for them in one manner or another.

As I am doing now.

Alaura’s lips pursed. “Your mother has made mistakes. This I will grant you, but if you are asking
for my opinion, I believe that she did the best she could under the circumstances.”
Rhaenyra didn’t know why she was struggling not to recoil. Her stepmother’s answer was exactly
what she’d been expecting.

And yet she still felt as if she’d been dealt a blow.

“Rhaenyra?” Alaura peered at her worriedly. “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly all right.” Rhaenyra didn’t make any effort to smile, but she did soften her tone
somewhat. “My thanks for your candor, Alaura. If you’ll excuse me.”

She didn’t bother awaiting a response before she swiftly retreated a safe distance so that she could
shift and take to the skies in search of her daughters.

“It was an excellent reminder of why amphitheaters ought not to have roofs,” Laena chuckled.
“Rhaenyra would have utterly destroyed it when she called down that lightning to secure her side’s
victory.”

“A victory that nearly saw her opponents’ electrocution,” Dowager Queen Daemona muttered.

Dowager Queen Elaena gave her a chiding look and leaned over to whisper something in her ear
that made Dowager Queen Daemona harrumph in response.

“There is nothing in the rules of navita forbidding the use of lightning.” Laena’s voice had lost
some of its warmth as she addressed her eldest sister, and Alicent once more found herself
wondering at the presence of the Geltic dowager, who did not seem to be on particularly amiable
terms with any of her sisters.

Blood calls to blood, I suppose.

“And plenty of other women have called down lightning to capture additional territory during their
army’s turn of the sandglass,” Dowager Queen Aerea chimed in.

“Never to the extent that Rhaenyra did.” Dowager Queen Daemona’s lips pursed a moment before
she added grudgingly, “It was quite impressive, in truth.”

“None had ever seen black lightning before,” Dowager Queen Laenora explained to Alicent with a
bright smile.

Alicent herself hadn’t either. What few times she’d seen her mate wield lightning, it had always
been white or blue or some combination of the two. She wondered if that was because Rhaenyra
was making a conscious effort to have her lightning appear “normal.”

Something to ask this evening.

“Mother was quite cross with the display,” Dowager Queen Maegelle murmured, her voice somber.

The mirth seemed to flee the cavern at once.

While she could guess the reason for Viserra’s displeasure, Alicent couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”
“She thought that Rhaenyra’s use of lightning of that particular magnitude was excessive. She spent
a good hour scolding her for not finding a less destructive manner in which to win.” Laena’s lips
twisted. “As if she herself didn’t once use her fire to completely incinerate her opponents’ defenses
during a game of navita.”

Dowager Queen Daemona opened her mouth, but then closed it.

Alicent fiddled with her emerald orchid ring beneath the table. “Might I ask, was this before or
after the net broke?”

“Before,” the sisters answered together.

Meaning that her ordered magic abilities were the only way by which Rhaenyra had been able to
bleed off even a fraction of the raw power residing within her.

It’s a wonder that her core remained contained for as long as it did.

“We should have realized that something was amiss before that day.” Dowager Queen Laenora’s
eyes were focused on the tea steaming in her cup, yet it was still plain that she was speaking to
Alicent.

“We did notice that something was amiss,” Laena reminded her. “The day after Mother cast that
abomination, we all noticed that Rhaenyra was in pain.” A low growl rumbled in her chest. “But
when we asked about it, she insisted that it was nothing.”

“And then she refused to leave her chambers for nearly three months,” Dowager Queen Maegelle
sighed, shaking her head. “We should have pressed her.”

“We should have pressed Mother,” Laena growled.

Alicent’s ward flared as waves of old guilt threatened to overwhelm her, surging high and crashing
against the back of her mental version of Rhaenyra, who hugged her tighter in response. She
expelled a slow breath to help center herself, and wondered whether any of Rhaenyra’s sisters had
therapists of their own.

For they all certainly seem in need of one.

Laena suddenly firmly shook her head and snatched up one of the teapots to pour herself a second
cup. “We’ll soon enough have the opportunity to right the wrongs of the past.”

“Or establish that the guilt gnawing at the five of you is misplaced,” Dowager Queen Daemona
muttered.

“Now is not the time for this,” Dowager Queen Elaena hissed at her.

Dowager Queen Maegelle chose that moment to loudly clear her throat. “I must ask, Lady Alicent,”
she telekinetically pushed the tray of tarts and small cakes closer to her, “was it Lady Jaselyn who
crafted your diadem, and how . . . fastidious was Rhaenyra with the specifications?”

While part of Alicent had been rather curious to hear more about how Rhaenyra’s sisters perceived
their mother’s actions, a larger part was grateful for the change in subject. “With all due respect,
Your Eminence, before I answer that question, I would very much like to know which wagers I will
be settling with my responses.”
Dowager Queen Maegelle grinned.

Dowager Queen Laenora chortled.

And Laena squeezed her arm.

The first thing that Rhaenyra noticed upon finding her daughters were the lingering traces of her
mate’s scent that clung to them.

Interesting.

She hoped that that introduction had gone well.

Surely it must have.

Her mate was an utter delight and charming besides, and Alicent had spent so long learning all that
she could to ensure that she made a favorable impression.

In a manner of speaking, she supposed that it was just as well that she hadn’t been present. Alicent
could be certain now that whatever Rhaenyra’s daughters’ reactions to her had been, they were
genuine rather than mere politeness for the sake of their mother.

Visenya smiled upon seeing her land, and swiftly approached once Rhaenyra returned to her natal
form. “Mother, we were hoping that we might see you before formalities began.” She reached out
and claimed one of Rhaenyra’s hands, squeezing tight. “Congratulations on sealing your matebond,
Mother.”

Her other daughters echoed Visenya’s words, and Rhaenyra could sense their genuine warmth and
pleasure, which caused some of the tightness in her chest to uncoil.

“Thank you,” Rhaenyra’s cheeks warmed as she was reminded of yet another of her more recent
failings, “and my apologies for not personally informing—”

“We all recall how it is when we were first mated,” Aelora assured her. “We weren’t at all offended
by the lack of being called upon.”

“In truth, we were wagering on whether you would even come to the Summit, Mother.” Jacaerya
flashed her a mischievous grin. “Sara and I hardly left our chambers for the entire month after we
marked each other.”

Jaehaera swatted her arm. “Mother doesn’t need to hear about your and Sara’s bedchamber
activities. Nor do the rest of us.”

“We spoke with Stepmother,” Helaena suddenly said, her wings fluttering and wisps of her hair
dancing as little breezes swirled around her. “She is very lovely, and she seemed quite pleased with
our gift.”

“Gift?” Rhaenyra’s eyebrows drew together at that.

“You always offered our mates a small gift when showing them the Bond Arms once their sigil was
added, so we decided to do the same for Alicent,” Lucerya explained.
“Your gifts were always delightful, Mother,” Helaena added cheerfully. “Lunerys adores her
seeking star charts, and she uses them often when gazing beyond the Belt.” Her wings fluttered
faster, and Vaella stepped further away from her in response. “And she recently found a new
constellation in one of the Far Skies that she says resembles a divination beetle, so she’s seeking to
have it named in my honor.” Slate-grey wings were now beating the air with such force that the
grass beneath bowed low. “She says that she wouldn’t have found it without your charts, and she
asked me to pass along her regards.”

Rhaenyra’s throat tightened slightly. She’d oft wondered whether Helaena’s mate was actually fond
of her. “If I don’t see her before the end of the Summit, please tell her that I’m glad she has found
the charts helpful in her work, and that her regards are much appreciated.”

“I will,” Helaena promised.

Visenya was peering at her curiously, her expression thoughtful in a way that Rhaenyra recognized
from the War. “Mother, is something the matter?”

Rhaenyra swiftly glanced around, noting that Mistress Stokeworth, Mistress Belmore, and Mistress
Dayne were well within hearing distance, as was a group of Farnish archons. “Might we retire
someplace more private?”

Her daughters acquiesced without protest, and soon enough, they were all seated in one of the
lower-lying caverns with a triplex shield protecting them from prying ears.

Folding her hands in her lap, Rhaenyra willed her heart to slow as she felt her daughter’s eyes
boring into her. “There is a matter that I must forewarn you about, but first I,” she wet her lips, the
words that she’d been rehearsing these past few weeks suddenly seeming insufficient for all that
she wished to say, “I owe all of you an apology.”

Several confused glances were exchanged, but her daughters remained silent.

“I was not . . . That is, I could have—I should have—been a better mother to you.” She forced her
eyes not to lower, forced her gaze to travel from one daughter to the next, though she took care not
to directly meet Helaena’s eyes. “I withdrew from you when you were young, was distant whilst
you matured, and I went out of my way to avoid spending too much time with you. And for that, I
beg your forgiveness. I thought . . . I told myself that I was acting in your best interests, but I see
now that I was actually acting in my own. I,” she expelled a slow breath, “I was terrified of making
a mistake with you, of somehow harming you and . . . I allowed my fear to rule my actions, which
is not proper behavior for a mother or an empress. I should have been braver, but I was not.” Her
hand drifted up to her fire opal pendant, fingers curling around the dainty silver filigree. “I am
hoping that you might one day forgive me for failing you, and I am hoping that we might begin
anew. Starting today.”

Her daughters were silent for several agonizingly long minutes, and Rhaenyra knew that they were
telepathically speaking amongst themselves.

And while she knew better than to attempt to intrude, she couldn’t help but notice Jacaerya’s frown
and Vaella’s pursed lips, the small shake of Jaehaera’s head and the slight clenching of Lucerya’s
jaw, Helaena’s almost imperceptible rocking and Aelora’s fiddling with her bonding bracelet. She
couldn’t help but notice Visenya’s all too practiced blank expression.
After what seemed an eternity, Visenya gave a slight nod, and Aelora spoke. “We thank you for
your words, Mother. And we appreciate them, but why—?”

“Why now?” Jacaerya’s eyes bored into her, sharp and demanding, but also . . .

There was a vulnerability there as well.

Rhaenyra forced herself not to flinch at the sight of it. “I’ve owed you all an apology for a long
while. I should have said this sooner, but I . . . I could never seem to find the words.”

“But now you have?” Lucerya’s voice was too calm, too empty.

“I would like to think so.” But she could see from her daughters’ expressions that this was not so.
“I suppose . . . there are reasons for my behavior, but I know that they are not an excuse. You were
owed a mother’s love, and I denied you that.”

Aelora offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You loved us as best you could, I
think.”

“I wanted to love you better. Truly, I did. I wanted to dote and,” Rhaenyra swallowed, forcing her
voice to remain steady. “I wanted to keep all of you close. I wanted to be as present as your rearing
would allow. I wanted to make every effort to ensure that you knew exactly how much I loved
you.”

Her daughters fell silent once more as they began exchanging a series of swift looks and likely even
swifter thoughts.

Rhaenyra finally allowed her eyes to lower to her lap, unable to help but think about how her own
mother had never been half so distant. For all her mother’s failings and flaws, for all that Rhaenyra
had dreaded when her mother would visit for Yule, it could not be said that Viserra Everlasting
never spent time with her daughters.

“Grandmother Viserra says that family must make time for each other when none is to be found.”

She could have done the same.

Some part of her had wanted to do the same.

But she hadn’t.

Because she was a coward and—

“Mother.” Visenya’s voice drew her from her thoughts, and Rhaenyra raised her eyes. “We never,”
she paused, lips pursing slightly, “we’ve never doubted that you love us. We knew that you did—
We know that you do, but . . . But we’ll not deny the truth of your words. There were times when
we needed you, or would have wanted you present, but you weren’t there, and we didn’t know if
you would heed us had we called for reasons unrelated to duty.”

Rhaenyra’s throat tightened. “I know. And I hope . . . I hope that you might one day forgive me for
failing you so.”

More silent looks were exchanged.

And it was Helaena who spoke next. “We want to, Mother. We know . . . Aelora speaks true when
she says that you loved us as best you could, but . . .”

“But I should have loved you better,” Rhaenyra finished. “And I will love you better, in the future,
if you’ll allow.”

Visenya slowly leaned forward and reached out to clasp her hands. “We would like that, Mother.
We believe you when you say that you will do better, and we certainly hope that is so. And we can
forgive you the past in order to look towards the future, but truly beginning anew . . . I’m not
certain that is possible. Too much has been done and not done, and while we can forgive, I’m not
certain that we can entirely forget.”

“I understand.”

And she did.

She’d been expecting worse, in truth.

Rhaenyra expelled a slow, shaking breath, relieved to have finally said the words that she should
have said long ago. “Thank you. All of you. I promise to make every effort to be better in the
future.”

By all seven of Mother Relle’s blessed faces, she would be better.

“We believe you, Mother. And you have our thanks as well, for the apology.” Visenya then offered
her a warm smile that reminded Rhaenyra very much of Laena’s.

Part of Rhaenyra longed to rise to her feet and embrace her daughters, but she wasn’t certain if that
would be acceptable.

Besides, there was yet more than must needs be said.

Evidently guessing her thoughts, Visenya asked, “Now what was this matter that you wished to
offer us forewarning about?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes closed a moment as she gathered herself, steeling her nerves and offering a brief
prayer to Relle that her daughters would prove as understanding as the other members of her family
had thus far. “Before the day is done, I shall be formally accusing my mother of child abuse.”

The cavern went deathly silent.

Visenya’s eyes narrowed.

Helaena’s wings flapped and fluttered.

Aelora’s jaw shifted slightly with her canines.

And the burning reek of aggression pheromones began to suffuse the air.

Rhaenyra swallowed past the lump in her throat. “My mother has feared my magic since the day
that I hatched, and that fear eventually led her to create a modified stasis net that she used to sever
my connection with my core and—”
A furious snarl tore from Visenya’s throat as purple fire ignited in her eyes.

Growls rumbled in her other daughters’ chests, and their burning scents grew suffocating.

Rhaenyra sagged with relief, not even caring that her eyes were beginning to water from the
scorching scents or that her wards were thrumming gently to block the sudden onslaught of
emotions that were evidently pouring forth from her daughters.

“Tell us everything, Mother.” Visenya’s words were clipped and cold, a stark contrast to the fire in
her eyes and the heat of her scent.

And her tone . . .

It was not that of a daughter to her mother, but rather of an empress to her subject who had suffered
a wrong.

The story came easier this time.

Perhaps because she now knew without a doubt what must be done.

Whatever her remaining personal and emotional reservations about accusing her mother might be,
duty demanded that she act.

Her mother had demonstrated a flagrant willingness to violate their laws, and she must answer for
that.

And I shall answer as well, for the part that I played.

There was a comfort in that knowledge, in knowing that what had happened the day she shattered
her mother’s net would necessarily have to be revealed.

She only prayed that there would be some amount of leniency.

For Alicent’s sake.

The thought of leaving her mate alone—

There will be time enough to worry about that.

“The All Mother has given her blessing, and my hope that is you—”

Visenya held up a hand to halt her words, and Rhaenyra felt a gentle telekinetic prod urging her to
stand.

Obeying the silent order, she began to rise from her chair, but before she was even fully on her feet,
a warm weight was crashing into her.

Followed immediately by another.

And another.

And another.

And another.
In less than a heartbeat, six sets of arms had somehow all managed to find purchase upon her,
squeezing her so tight that her lungs and chest grumbled in protest.

Only Helaena remained seated, her head cocked just slightly as she plucked at her fingers and
fluttered her wings.

Before the old hurt that had long ago lodged itself in Rhaenyra’s heart the first time that Helaena
had flinched away from her touch could flare, a seventh set of arms—unseen, but certainly not
unfelt—wrapped around her waist.

Rhaenyra’s throat tightened, and her eyes stung.

Helaena offered a small, awkward smile—the same sort that she’d often flashed as a child when
Rhaenyra had attempted to encourage her to play with her younger sisters.

And something within Rhaenyra that she hadn’t even fully realized was broken seemed to mend
itself.

It was impossible to say for certain how long Rhaenyra remained standing amidst her daughters’
tight embrace, but suddenly a thunderous roar split the air and rattled their bones.

The signal that the time for socialization had come to an end and that official ceremonies would
soon commence.

Her daughters’ arms released her one by one, each of them bidding her a warm farewell and
offering her a word or two of reassurance before they departed the cavern and took to the skies.

First Visenya.

Followed by Jacaerya.

Then Vaella, Jaehaera, Lucerya, and Aelora.

Until the only one who remained was . . .

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows arched when she suddenly found herself alone with Helaena.

She hadn’t been expecting her firstborn to linger. And she certainly wasn’t expecting Helaena to
hurriedly approach her with fluttering wings and a determined expression. “Helaena, is something
—?”

One of Helaena’s hands darted out to clasp hers and squeeze tight. “You deserved better, Mother.”
She squeezed again. “We’ll see to it that Grandmother answers for what she did.”

Releasing her hand, Helaena offered another of her small smiles before following her sisters out of
the cavern.

And Rhaenyra could only stare after her.

∞
Following a surprising but pleasant introduction to and conversation with Imperial Princess
Daenora—who had practically pounced upon Alicent just before she’d parted ways with
Rhaenyra’s sisters—Alicent had gone in search of her mate because she’d known that the official
ceremonies would soon commence.

She’d found Rhaenyra in time to witness Queen Helaena affectionately squeeze her hand before
flying off. Rhaenyra had remained standing at the entrance of the cavern staring up at the skies with
wide, somewhat dazed eyes, and with her hand still hovering in the air.

When Alicent had approached her mate and drawn her from her stupor, she hadn’t asked Rhaenyra
why she’d reacted in such a way to having her hand squeezed. She hadn’t asked why Rhaenyra had
drawn her into a crushing embrace the moment that she’d noticed her. And she hadn’t asked why
there were tears shining in Rhaenyra’s eyes.

Her mate would tell her when she was ready.

Rather than dwell on the matter and worry herself over things that she knew were beyond her
control, Alicent had instead chosen to devote her attention to the Summit’s many ceremonies and
formalities.

And to holding Rhaenyra’s hand, giving her the occasional kiss and nuzzle, and offering whatever
other comfort that she could.

All of which had earned her soft purrs and loving kisses in return.

She’d listened as Empress Visenya and Queen Velsinnia recited the long history of the dragon’s on
Valyria—from the hatching of Queen Caladria Moonwing until the present Summit. She’d watched
as the queen and the empress used their dragon claws to carefully cut the other in order to mix their
blood in an open brazier, which roared and hissed in response to the offering of dragon’s blood.

The formal introductions of every woman and dragon in attendance at the Summit lasted hours, and
even Alicent had found herself growing weary of them halfway through.

Rhaenyra had traced random patterns upon the back of her hand and playfully teased her through
their mental link to prevent her eyes from drooping.

The exchange of vows of amity and sisterhood had been sealed with an impressive aerial display
that almost rivaled the dragon dance that Alicent had witnessed on Seventh Night. Had there been
more dragons participating than the empress and queen, perhaps this display would have surpassed
the dance.

Following their mates’ performance, the dragon king and Mistress Elysande had presented their
own dance, and Alicent had been riveted by the way that the enormous steel-grey dragon had
swooped and whirled and spiraled through the skies alongside a large swan the color of a golden
dawn.

As the hours passed by, Alicent became more and more acutely aware of the tension gathering
around them. At first, the slowly winding coil was no more than a faint, rather distant sensation that
was easily overlooked or ignored, but as the insistent loop drew tighter and tighter, it became
impossible to disregard.
While the All Mother’s expression was nigh indecipherable in her dragon form, Alicent noticed the
way that the silver dragon’s violet eyes returned again and again to Viserra’s cavern. And beside
her, Mistress Missandei’s lips had begun to form a thin line.

Atop the Imperial Mont, Empress Visenya’s claws began slowly and almost imperceptibly sinking
into the hard stone beneath, and Queen Velsinnia’s muscles seemed to be growing tenser. When
Alicent reached out with her empathic senses, she easily identified the simmering fury radiating
from Rhaenyra’s other daughters, as well as her Grandmother Alyssa, her Great-Grandmother
Alysanne, and her Great-Great-Grandmother Rhaena.

The end of the Summit was swiftly approaching, and the air had become heavy and almost choked.
Alicent wondered what those unaware of Rhaenyra’s intentions thought about the pall now hanging
over the Summit.

Beside her, Rhaenyra’s scent had sharpened, and faint lines had formed at the corners of her eyes—
lines that were different from her smile and laugh lines. Her muscles were coiled tight with
apprehension, and Alicent couldn’t help but notice the barely perceptible downturn of her lips.

She reached over and covered Rhaenyra’s clasped hands with her own, squeezing gently as she
tugged on their mental link. “All will be well, My Love.”

Rhaenyra expelled a slow breath, and she turned her head to pressed a brief kiss to Alicent’s
forehead. “Thank you, Ali.”

“Is there anything that I can do to help?”

“You’ve already done more for me than I could ever ask of you or repay. And your presence is a
greater comfort than any other that I might find.” Rhaenyra flashed her a loving smile, and Alicent
was relieved to see that it reached her eyes.

“By Targaryen Fire and Blood were we reborn,” the Azurewing intoned, her booming voice
causing several small stones to come loose and clatter down the sides of the Imperial Mont, “and
by the blood spilled this day and fed to flames do we renew the bonds forged so long ago during the
Dawn Days.”

“We are, all of us, the Children of Fire, the Daughters and Sons of the Eternal Flame.” Empress
Visenya’s words echoed throughout the edifice, and Alicent could feel them in her bones. “May the
blood spilled this day and fed to flames mark an end to the strife that has plagued us these past
years, and may the cracks of disunity never again form.”

“May the First Fires—”

“May Blessed Mother Relle—”

“—consecrate our sisterhood and mark this new beginning.”

The final words were barely finished before thunderous applause and the deafening sound of
dragon feet beating against stone filled the air.

Alicent winced—despite the spell protecting her ears—even as she clapped along with the
Valyrians.
 As the applause began to fade, Rhaenyra rose to her feet.

And a moment later, she disappeared from the cavern.

She reappeared hovering beside the Imperial Mont.

And a hush immediately fell upon the Summit.

Alicent’s mate mark tingled.

And her magic stirred.

Rhaenyra cleared her throat, and when she spoke, her voice was as resounding as any dragon’s.
“Sisters of the Flame, Daughters and Sons of Fire, before the eyes of Relle and by the Rites of the
First Fires, I formally accuse Viserra Everlasting of the House Targaryen, Two Hundred and Forty-
Eighth Empress of the Valyrian Empire, of child abuse in violation of Article II, Section 4 of
Aeliana’s Golden Laws.”

And the Summit immediately erupted into chaos.

Chapter End Notes

Prepare all ye living and dead! The coming of Viserra's comeuppance hath begun!

Next Chapter: The immediate fallout of Rhaenyra's accusation.

 Fallout
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 54:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Visenya Targaryen, 250th Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Viserra Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Kastrell, formerly the 248th Empress of the Valyrian
Empire

A special thanks to beepboop (permanganato) and NewLeeLand for beta reading this chapter,
and to LesbianLightbringer for sensitivity reading various sections.

Disclaimer: The Valyrian due process depicted herein does not reflect my views of how due
process should work in the real world. Additionally, while the justice system that I've created
herein probably has some shades of the American/English judicial system (courtesy of my
being American), it is not meant to directly reflect, parallel, or indict any existing legal system
in the real world. Just wanted to put that out there because I know the "justice" system, such as
it is, can be a thorny subject matter.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains a smut scene, which will be marked at the beginning
and end with double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over it.

Behold once more the Imperial Coat of Arms of the Valyrian Empire.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Harvest Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

The tumult of voices and bellows was deafening—dizzyingly so. And despite the dampening
enchantments that Rhaenyra had cast on her ears, Alicent still felt as if she was being by physically
battered by the rough and grating speech of the dragons discordantly blended together with the
incoherent cacophony of Valyrians shouting over one another. Her ward flared again and again, but
the crashing waves of outrage and fury, of disgust and horror, of shock and sorrow would not be
denied, and she felt as if she was drowning in them all. Her head pounded, and her bones trembled,
and her body ached.

And yet—

Roaring waves of crimson and gold flames spilled from caverns and the places where the
matriarchs and matrons sat, bathing the mountains in the fires of their wroth.

Sheets of ice doused the flames before they could reach the grass, and frozen spikes slammed down
hard into the ground and sank deep into the soil.

The mountains groaned as great cracks began to form and shards of stone tumbled down the steep
slopes.

Howling winds swirled all around them, feeding the flames and sending several rocks and spears of
ice flying in different directions.

More sharpened canines were flashing than Alicent had ever seen before, and dozens of women
were on their feet and shouting to be heard.

Lightning crackled, and thunder rolled, and clouds gathered dark and ominous overhead.

An instinctive shiver rippled down Alicent’s spine at the terrifying display of rage and wroth, and
yet . . .

She well-remembered the first time that she saw Rhaenyra consumed by her own black flames, the
first time that she’d truly seen the Firestorm and felt the blistering heat of her fury.

But she hadn’t been afraid then.

And she wasn’t particularly afraid now.

Despite the ferocity of the flames, the savage chill of the ice, the thunderous rumbling of the
mountains, and the shrill screams of the wind, she wasn’t afraid.

A small, petty part of her was filled with a mean sense of satisfaction, in truth.

This was exactly the kind of reaction that she’d been expecting—the only proper reaction to
learning what Viserra had done.

Had she been able to access her magic at the time, Alicent wondered if her own smoldering anger
that First Night of Yule would have manifested itself as shards of ice and frozen winds.

But what satisfaction she felt was marred by the knowledge that this was also exactly the kind of
reaction that her mate had feared.

“If I speak, it will bring about chaos, Ali. I know that . . . Mother did wrong, and she ought to be
punished, but . . . but a good empress seeks to preserve peace, and I’ve already caused such turmoil
. . .”

Alicent’s eyes found her mate, who hovered in the space between the Imperial Mont and the All
Mother’s throne. Rhaenyra blazed as bright as the emerald beacon fire that Alicent’s ancestors had
once used to call their banners, standing upon the air with her back painfully straight and her head
held high, her amethyst eyes gazing ahead without so much as a shadow of doubt or hesitation.

But her arms seemed almost limp at her sides, and the tightness remained in her jaw.

A flash of movement briefly drew Alicent’s attention, and when she peered past her mate and the
Imperial Mont, she caught sight of Queen Helaena with her hands pressed over her ears and her
wings flapping furiously. Another woman hurried to her side, and as soon as she touched the
queen’s arm, they both disappeared.

Alicent couldn’t fault them. Much to her own shame, she herself was half-tempted to ask Rhaenyra
to teleport her elsewhere until the uproar subsided, but she wouldn’t abandon her mate in such a
way.

Rhaenyra needed her, and so she would remain.

Her mate mark tingled, and her magic purred.

All would be well, of that, she was certain.

Rhaenyra had expected to feel a sense of relief once she’d said the words aloud. She’d expected to
feel lighter or perhaps . . . freer, in some way. She’d expected to feel unburdened as she had when
she’d first declared to her sisters that what her mother had done to her was wrong.

But in that moment, all she felt was guilt.

Her stomach twisted, and she was strangely cold inside. She would have expected her magic to be
roaring with triumph, but it was nigh silent. The world around her seemed distant—the sounds
muffled, the sights not quite focused, the scents more subdued.

She’d done what was necessary.

She’d done what was right.

So why didn’t she feel—?

Mother believed that she was doing what was necessary and right as well.

Rhaenyra inwardly recoiled from the thought, and her magic hissed with displeasure, but she
outwardly forced her countenance to remain calm and her body unmoving.

She dared not show weakness now.

Her mother had broken the law, and she must answer for it.

Creating the modified stasis net spell and not registering it, rendering her unconscious in order to
cast the net over her core, knowingly and willfully causing her physical and emotional torment for
nearly two thousand years . . .

Her mother must answer for those crimes.

Empress or no, she must answer.

So then why do I feel as if I’ve betrayed her?

Everything around Alicent faded away to nothing the moment that she felt a pang of guilt that was
not her own lance through her heart. She tugged gently on their mental link. “My Love, are you all
right?”

Rhaenyra didn’t look at her, but Alicent felt a telekinetic hand gently caressing her cheek. “Yes, Ali.
I’m all right.”

Even without her empathy, she knew that her safa was lying, but now wasn’t the time to press the
matter. This evening, once they were home and safely tucked away in their chambers, once they’d
undressed and slipped into their nightgowns, once they were seated on their favorite settee with hot
cups of tea, then she would ask Rhaenyra about her worries, and she would offer her mate whatever
comfort she wanted or needed.

It’s been a while since I’ve played for her.

Her evenings of late had been devoted to her studies of one kind or another.

Or spent bedding Rhaenyra.

Shaking her head, Alicent swiftly banished the thought back to where it belonged. Now was hardly
the time for such things.

I’ll play her Erlina’s Sablewood Song. That always makes her smile. And perhaps a few Kastrellan
ayres as well.

They might also play a game or two of cyvasse tonight. She’d been honing and refining her
strategy with Margaery, Sansa, and Ygritte these past few months. Mayhap she might even win for
once. Chess was another option. Or cards.

It’s been near a year since we played a game of primera.

Rhaenyra had sworn—with a delighted smile upon her lovely lips—that she would never play
against her again after Alicent had won nearly two crowns from her one evening.

A pittance, compared to the forty that I spent months returning to her.

Once Mistress Damella had hired her, Alicent had begun finding ways to covertly return the dozens
of crowns that Rhaenyra had granted her for a “weekly allowance.”

She’d eventually given the remaining seventeen crowns to Mistress Bartima—who she knew also
managed Rhaenyra’s personal accounts—and she was fairly certain that that act had earned her the
mistress of coin’s eternal gratitude and affection.

Perhaps she might—

“ENOUGH!”
The roared command somehow managed to rise above the deafening clamor, making Alicent
wince.

Her grimace soon transformed into a frown when she realized that it was Viserra’s voice that had
called for silence.

She watched as the purple dragon crowned with golden horns swooped down from her cavern and
flew to hover in front of Rhaenyra.

Dwarfing her and casting her in shadow.

Alicent’s jaw tightened.

Beside her, Dr. Mayara and Mistress Aemona growled softly.

She was rather surprised that they hadn’t demanded any answers of her during the commotion.

Perhaps their mates had already informed them.

She didn’t need to glance over to know that Queen Aelora and Queen Lucerya were vibrating with
barely leashed fury.

She could feel the tremors.

And she could sense their ire despite her ward.

“Dragons are not hovering creatures,” Mistress Aemona muttered under her breath.

Dr. Mayara nodded in agreement. “It’s unnatural for her to be looming so.”

“But not unsurprising.” Alicent well-remembered the way that her mother and Criston had always
loomed over her to make her feel small.

Rhaenyra had never loomed over her.

Not once.

“This,” Viserra’s voice trembled with rage, “is a vile accusation.”

Rhaenyra stared up into her mother’s enormous eyes, her own voice strong and steady and calm.
“Do you deny that you abused me, Mother?”

Viserra’s wings flapped furiously. “You dare—?”

“That is enough, Your Eminence,” Empress Visenya interrupted sharply.

Viserra stiffened a moment, causing her to lose some altitude before she collected herself.

The Azurewing thumped her tail against her throne. “The Everlasting speaks true when she says
that these are serious charges, Cousin.”

Her tone was formal and disinterested, so much so that Alicent knew someone must have given her
forewarning.
“Indeed,” Empress Visenya agreed before shifting her focus to address all of the women and
dragons gathered, “and the protocols are clear in situations such as this, are they not?”

Murmurs of agreement arose from the Valyrians—including the four seated around Alicent.

The way that Empress Visenya then looked at her grandmother made Alicent certain that her
eyebrow would have been raised if she’d had one. “If you would return to your natal form, Your
Eminence.”

Steam billowed from Viserra’s nostrils, but she obeyed all the same.

Considering Viserra couldn’t fly in her natal form as Rhaenyra could, Alicent absently wondered
whether she was using her telekinesis or her air elementalism to hold herself aloft.

Empress Visenya twisted her neck to look behind herself. “Sister?”

A moment later, Queen Helaena—who had returned without Alicent’s notice—swooped out of her
cavern. She’d shifted back to her natal form as well, and her state-grey wings beat the air as she
flew to where her mother, grandmother, and sister awaited her. Held between her hands was a clear
glass case in which something was crawling about.

While Alicent’s sight wasn’t sharp enough to make out the details of the little creature within, she
knew that it was a spider with a head and body darker than a starless night, and legs more white and
luminous than the fullest of moons.

A drysa spider.

Queen Helaena had written an entire treatise on their historical and present use within the judicial
system—both discussing the benefits of its venom when used to obtain confessions and admissions,
and offering many a warning about believing every word to fall from a woman’s lips once she’d
been bitten.

“There exists both Objective and Subjective Truth, and much as we might wish otherwise, we are
oft times only privy to one.”

That fact was why Westerosi had rarely utilized truth serums even once scientists had perfected
them, and Alicent found it fascinating that Valyrians would use this method for extracting
confessions even when they knew its fallibilities.

Viserra grimaced when she saw the spider, but she also didn’t hesitate to slide back her sleeve and
offer her bared arm to her granddaughter.

Queen Helaena’s expression was impassive as she reached into the glass case and withdrew the
spider, which swiftly crawled from her hand and onto Viserra’s exposed wrist.

Despite herself, Alicent couldn’t help but wince when the spider sank its fangs into Viserra’s flesh,
well-remembering the many times that she’d been stabbed with needles for one reason or another.

Viserra’s lips twitched, but nothing more.

After returning the spider to its case, Queen Helaena flew back to her cavern.

Silence had engulfed the Summit like a dense fog—heavy and stifling and nigh tangible.
Empress Visenya allowed the silence to stretch on and on.

Alicent fidgeted with her emerald orchid ring.

Dr. Mayara and Mistress Aemona’s frowns deepened.

Queen Aelora and Queen Lucerya exchanged swift glances.

At last, Empress Visenya finally spoke. “Lady Tyrell, does your quill stand ready?”

From her place on the Matriarch’s Bridge, which arched behind the Imperial Mont and connected
the mountain into which Queen Helaena’s cavern was carved and the mountain in which nearly a
dozen archons sat, Lady Tyrell raised her quill in answer. “So stand it does, Your Excellency.”

“Very good.” Empress Visenya turned her attention to Rhaenyra. “Queen Rhaenyra Flameborn, you
have formally levied an accusation of child abuse against your mother, Dowager Queen Viserra
Everlasting. Please restate and specify the charges for the official record.”

Rhaenyra’s head slowly swiveled so that she was staring directly at her mother, who was pointedly
ignoring her. “My mother committed the crime of child abuse in violation of Article II, Section 4 of
Aeliana’s Golden Laws when she cast a modified stasis over my core and severed my connection to
my magic for over seventeen hundred years.”

Alicent flinched when crashing waves of shock and horror and rage slammed into her.

Her ward flared, and her jaw clenched as she focused on preventing herself from being
overwhelmed again.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed for a brief moment.

The tumult of emotions abruptly ceased.

“Thank you, My Love.”

“Of course, Ali.”

The dragons were rumbling furiously, and when Alicent found Archon Syrax, the golden dragon’s
eyes were blazing with green fire.

“We are creatures of magic, Lady Alicent. Severing our connection to the essence of our magic—
even temporarily—seems to me tantamount to condemning the victim to a living death.”

Queen Velsinnia roared a command, and the dragons fell silent.

Empress Visenya’s lavender gaze shifted to her grandmother. “Dowager Queen Viserra Everlasting,
do you deny these charges?”

“I do. They are ludicrous and—”

The empress’ raised claw silenced the dowager queen. “Dowager Queen Viserra, have you ever
abused your seventh-born daughter, Rhaenyra Flameborn?”

Beside Alicent, Dr. Mayara nodded approvingly. “Good specification.”

Alicent was inclined to agree. Queen Helaena’s treatise had explained that those bitten by a drysa
spider must be asked very specific kinds of questions if the interrogator wished to elicit a true and
accurate answer.

“For while the drysa spider’s venom compels a person to speak the truth, Truth itself could be
slippery at times, and a question without sufficient details and caveats can be answered falsely
without telling a lie.”

Had Viserra simply been asked if she’d abused her daughter, she could have answered “no” with
ease, for such an answer was true for six of her seven daughters. Of course, too much specificity
could result in a similar problem, for a single inaccurate detail within the question offered the
ability to speak falsely without lying. And even questions that managed to strike that delicate
balance did not guarantee an accurate answer when—

“No. I did not.” Viserra’s words came without a moment’s hesitation.

While not surprised by the answer, Alicent’s jaw clenched as she fisted her skirts. She’d been fairly
certain that Viserra was sincere in her belief that her actions weren’t abusive, and now she knew for
certain.

Low growls arose from the assembled Valyrians and dragons.

Empress Visenya scored her claws across the stone seat of her throne to silence them. Her gaze was
cold, and her eyes unblinking as she asked her grandmother, “Did you cast a modified stasis net
upon the core of your seventh-born daughter, Rhaenyra Flameborn?”

This time, Viserra hesitated. But only briefly. “I did.”

The dragons began to thunder once more, though a look from their queen brought silence.

“And did this modified stasis net remain in place and viable for over seventeen hundred years?”

“It did.”

Empress Visenya’s eyes sparked, but her voice remained calm and collected as her eyes swept over
those gathered. “You have all heard the confirmation given by Dowager Queen Viserra Everlasting
in response to the accusation made by Queen Rhaenyra Flameborn. By my authority as Empress of
the Valyrian Empire, I hereby declare that sufficient information has been given to support the
charges and demand a trial to determine possible mitigation. Therefore, I order that Dowager
Queen Viserra Everlasting be placed under arrest and taken into custody forthwith.” She paused a
moment, briefly glancing at Rhaenyra before asking, “Do the queens oppose?”

Alicent’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise.

Considering the severity of Viserra’s crime, Empress Visenya had the authority to order her arrest
without seeking consensus from the other members of the Imperial Council.

“The Crystal Throne does not oppose,” Queen Aelora declared, her voice ringing throughout the
edifice.

“The Shell Throne does not oppose,” Queen Lucerya agreed.

“The Unicorn Throne does not oppose,” Queen Vaella echoed.

“The Pine Throne does not oppose,” Queen Jacaerya called.

“The Fire Throne does not oppose,” Queen Jaehaera announced.

“The Mountain Throne does not oppose,” Queen Helaena answered.

“The Rose Throne recuses itself.” Rhaenyra’s voice didn’t waver, and her expression remained as
serene as ever, but Alicent knew her mate well enough to be certain that her safa’s throat was tight
and that she was forcing back tears.

Empress Visenya nodded briskly. “And so we have a quorum of seven.” Her gaze fell upon Viserra
once more. “By my order as Empress of the Valyrian Empire, you are hereby placed under arrest
for the crime of child abuse in violation of Article II, Section 4 of Aeliana’s Golden Laws. You
shall be held in the dungeons of Dragon Ridge until such time as—”

“You cannot be—” Viserra snapped her mouth shut, taking several deep breaths before speaking
once more. “Your Excellency, as is my right, I formally protest the conditions of my arrest.”

Empress Visenya’s eyes narrowed, but she inclined her head. “Your right is recognized and
acknowledged. Speak now, Your Eminence.”

“Imprisoning me prior to my trial is entirely unreasonable given the circumstances. I’ve offered
confession under the influence of a drysa’s venom, which has established that I did not abuse
Rhaenyra, regardless of what she might believe. I am a former empress and none can question my
devotion to this Empire. My duty demands that I continue on in my role as First Advisor to Her
Imperial Highness Daenora Targaryen. And might I remind everyone gathered that when Rhaenyra
Flameborn returned to us covered in the still-cooling blood of millions of demons and smelling of a
broken world, she was not imprisoned prior to her trial, despite her own requests for such.” She
locked eyes with Empress Visenya. “The men of the Old World imprisoned and executed innocent
women beyond count—”

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to our fallen sisters,” Lady Lannister suddenly snarled from
where she sat between Lady Martell and Lady Stark upon the Matriarch’s Bridge. “You sully their
very memory with your audacity—”

“Your Grace,” Empress Visenya interrupted gently, “now is not the time.”

The Old Lioness seemed ready to protest, but a low whisper from Lady Martell and a gentle hand
on her arm kept her silent.

If Viserra was at all shamed by the matriarch’s words, she gave no sign of it. “Relle Scaleholder
judges us all and reminds us that emotions should not be what guide our decisions in these matters.
It is not our way to imprison a woman before she has been properly tried and convicted.”

It is also not your way to abuse children.

Alicent’s teeth sank into her lower lip, and she silently prayed that the empress would not be
swayed by Viserra’s words, though she knew that such was unlikely.

“The folly of men so quick to condemn shall not be replicated here.”

Her eyes found the All Mother, and she wondered if the other woman regretted that particular
declaration.

Empress Visenya growled softly, though it now seemed more in frustration than anger. “Your words
are not without merit, Your Eminence, and your long and leal service to the Empire has been
remarked upon by many, I’ll not deny. You are also correct that it is not our way to imprison before
conviction. For those reasons, I shall grant your request to not be held in a dungeon prior to your
trial.”

Viserra smiled.

“However,” smoke billowed from Empress Visenya’s nose and the corners of her mouth,
“considering the charges levied against you, I no longer believe you fit to serve my daughter as her
first advisor. Indeed, I hereby decree that you shall not come within seven hundred meters of any
child until such time as you have been judged innocent or your actions justified.”

“Your Excellency, Princess Daenora needs—”

“The needs of Her Imperial Highness are no longer your concern, Dowager. You are hereby ordered
to leave this place—accompanied by your mate, if she so chooses—and travel to Dragon Ridge
where you shall be lodged under guard until such time as your trial begins.”

“Your Excellency,” Viserra was nigh speaking through her teeth, “did you not agree that
imprisonment—”

“You’ll not be imprisoned, Your Eminence.” Empress Visenya smiled a dragon’s smile. “As is our
way, you shall be free to come and go as you like, so long as you are accompanied by the shield
sisters that I assign to you.” Her teeth flashed. “And as is our way, should you attempt to elude your
guards, then such action shall be deemed an expression of guilt without mitigation, and you shall be
arrested and imprisoned accordingly.” She cocked her head slightly. “Do you find these terms
disagreeable?”

“Exceedingly so, but I shall accept them all the same.” Viserra swept a low curtsy before
disappearing.

Alicent didn’t doubt that Alaura had disappeared with her.

Rhaenyra was exhausted in a way that she hadn’t been since the aftermath of the War, and she
desired nothing so much as to return home with her darling Alicent and rest her head upon her
mate’s soft lap. Alicent would surely offer to card her fingers through Rhaenyra’s hair and lightly
scratch her scalp in the way that always made Rhaenyra purr. And they would whisper soft words
to one another and exchange even softer kisses, and Alicent would assure her that the guilt gnawing
at her insides was misplaced, would stroke her cheek and smile lovingly and tell her that she did the
right thing.

She shouldn’t need such reassurance.

And yet she craved it.

Specifically from her Alicent.

Who was waiting so patiently as Rhaenyra was swarmed by more women and dragons than she
could count.

The dragons who offered her words of sympathy and promises of blood should she call upon them
were appreciated, as were the gentle touches and empathetic looks that the matrons gave her. The
matriarchs’ barely leashed wroth and palpable disgust brought her comfort, as did her daughters’
promise that they would see justice done. Her sisters’ warm hugs and praise filled her heart, as did
her granddaughters flocking to her and asking worriedly if she was all right.

She misliked causing her granddaughters concern.

Especially Daenora, whose face was so utterly devastated.

Which was why she drew the child aside after her sisters came and collected her six elder
granddaughters. “Daenora—”

“Grandmother Viserra has always been kind to me.”

Rhaenyra forced herself not to wince. “I don’t doubt that.”

She knew full well that her mother was kind—or at least courteous—to everyone save for her.

And Alicent, when she flashed her fangs at her.

That memory still ignited a fire in her blood, so she swiftly buried it.

Daenora’s teeth worried her lower lip for a moment, but then she seemed to remember herself.
“When Grandmother Viserra taught me about stasis nets, she said that they were a spell of last
resort.”

“They are,” Rhaenyra agreed. And she didn’t doubt that her mother had been convinced that she
had no choice.

“Why would Grandmother Viserra cast such a spell on you then?” Her granddaughter didn’t sound
incredulous—thank Relle—only confused.

Rhaenyra expelled a heavy breath, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder to where Alicent
stood waiting beside her saddle, knowing that it wouldn’t be fair to demand that her mate offer the
words that she herself was struggling to find. “My mother . . . She feared me. I suppose that is the
heart of it. She feared what I was capable of, and she feared my inability to control my magic.”

“But you and your magic saved the world.” Daenora cocked her head slightly, eyebrows drawing
together. “How could she be afraid when you’ve done such good?”

For a moment, Rhaenyra sorely wished that Daenora would simply discern the truth for herself—as
Grandmother Rhaena had—but she knew that wasn’t fair of her.

Don’t be a coward.

“Daenora, you . . . My mother’s fears were not unfounded, in truth. I’ll not pretend that they were. I
did lack control. And as for,” she swallowed, her heart clenching as she steeled herself for her
granddaughter’s censure, “as for when I managed to halt the destruction of our world, it was my
magic that placed Valyria in danger to begin with.”
Daenora’s eyes widened, and horror briefly flashed across her face. “Your magic . . . Why? Why
would you—?”

“It was an accident.” The words sounded weak and pitiful even to her own ears. “When I broke my
mother’s net, it caused a . . . a shockwave of power that in turn sparked countless disasters. I didn’t
realize what I’d done until later, and by then . . .” She shrugged helplessly, her stomach twisting as
she remembered the scents of burning fields and forests, the sights of boiling seas and broken
mountains, the sounds of death and destruction.

When her granddaughter finally spoke again, her voice quavered. “Would all of that have
happened, if Grandmother Viserra hadn’t cast the net?”

“I don’t know,” Rhaenyra answered honestly. “Perhaps it might have, or perhaps not. It’s possible
that, without the net, I still would have had the occasional surge of uncontrolled magic, but those
would have been smaller and less destructive as I learned proper control in a more . . . natural
fashion.”

The latter was what Laena, Aemma, Rhaenys, and Dr. Alfadora insisted would have happened.

But it was impossible to know for certain.

Daenora suddenly lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Rhaenyra’s waist, squeezing tight.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Grandmother.”

Rhaenyra’s throat tightened as she returned the hug, a storm of emotions roiling within her and
nearly making her head spin. “Thank you, Daenora,” she whispered, “and I apologize for depriving
you of your first advisor—”

Drawing back from her, Daenora’s young face scrunched with confusion. “Why are you
apologizing for that, Grandmother?”

“I . . .” Rhaenyra hesitated, suddenly not even entirely knowing herself.

She knew—intellectually—that she shouldn’t be—

It wasn’t as if she’d ever meant or intended—

Yet she was still responsible, wasn’t she?

If not for her magic, none of this would have happened.

Sighing, she gently pulled Daenora closer to give her another hug. “Regardless of what she did to
me, my mother was kind to you, and I know that you loved her.” She kissed the top of her
granddaughter’s head. “And I would spare you all heartache if I could.”

Daenora gave her an affectionate nuzzle. “I love you as well, Grandmother.” She tipped her head
back. “Will you and Lady Alicent come visit Dragon Wood? Once everything is settled?”

The last time that Daenora had asked her that question—albeit without the inclusion of Alicent—
had been some four hundred years ago.

Rhaenyra had gently denied her.

She couldn’t even say why.

No.

That wasn’t true.

She knew why.

But she disliked the answer.

She’d never visited her daughters when they were children living at Dragon Wood or in their future
Queendoms. Her fear of coddling them, of smothering them, of displeasing them in some way had
always prevented her from doing so.

By the time that Daenora had been old enough to invite her to Dragon Wood, some part of her had
begun to regret never visiting her daughters, and she’d thought—foolishly, she now realized—that
it would be wrong to make time for her granddaughter when she’d never done the same for her
daughters.

Almost unthinkingly, she tugged on her mental link with her mate. “Safa.”

“Yes, Nyra?”

“Daenora has invited us to Dragon Wood once matters with my mother are settled. Do you wish
—?”

“Yes.”

Rhaenyra almost laughed aloud at the anticipation that she could sense through their link.

Returning her attention to her granddaughter, she raised a finger and lightly tapped Daenora’s nose.
“Alicent and I would be honored to come visit you, My Dear.”

Daenora grinned, eyes bright with excitement, and warm contentment saturating her scent. “Thank
you, Grandmother.”

“You needn’t thank me, Daenora.” Rhaenyra pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “It’s long past time
that I visited you.”

It was long past time that she did a great many things.

Alicent had barely closed the door to her and Rhaenyra’s bedchamber before her mate rather
dramatically collapsed upon their favorite settee.

Or perhaps not so dramatically.

She could feel the genuine exhaustion radiating from Rhaenyra in slow, listless waves.

It was different from the physical exhaustion that she’d sensed the day of their quarrel and when
Rhaenyra had overburdened herself helping Archon Syrax, and it made Alicent’s heart ache.
When they’d returned from the Summit, Aemma, Rhaenys, and Hylda had been waiting to greet
them. Evidently, word of Rhaenyra’s accusation had already begun to spread, and the women of
Stone Garden and Osmera were in an uproar over it.

As they should be.

Aemma had given Rhaenyra a fierce hug and promised to clear her schedule for a few days so that
Rhaenyra could rest and gather herself.

Rhaenys had cupped Rhaenyra’s face between her hands, kissed her forehead, and promised that
she would look after the Queendom during that time.

She’d also taken a moment to rather smugly preen over the fact that she’d been entirely correct
about how the other members of House Targaryen would respond to learning about Viserra’s
crimes.

Hylda had squeezed Rhaenyra’s shoulder and promised that she would remain entirely undisturbed
until she ordered otherwise.

Afterwards, Alicent and Rhaenyra had teleported to their chambers so as to avoid encountering
anyone else.

The courtiers and staff were a matter for the morrow.

What remained of the evening was for her and Rhaenyra alone.

Latching the door, Alicent strode over to the large fireplace with a marble mantel that dominated
the wall closest to their bed. She smiled when she saw that fresh logs and tinder had been placed
within. Her eyes narrowed as she inhaled slowly through her nose and then exhaled just as slowly
through her mouth, focusing on the warmth of her own body, on the heat of the blood flowing
through her veins.

Raising her hand, she felt the now-familiar tingle of her magic just beneath the surface of her skin
—warm and eager to be set free.

She flicked her fingers outwards.

And the twigs ignited.

Alicent couldn’t help the giddy grin that spread across her face as she watched the little flames that
she’d created dance. She swiftly made a series of zigzagging motions with two of her fingers,
urging the fire to grow and spread to begin consuming the logs as well.

“Don’t lose focus on your breathing, My Love.”

The sound of Rhaenyra’s voice from behind her nearly made Alicent leap from her skin.

Red-gold flames flared in response.

Alicent hurriedly steadied her breathing and returned her attention to the fire, stoking it gently until
it was a healthy blaze.

She could sense some of her mate’s exhaustion being eclipsed by approval and admiration.
Once the fire was crackling merrily in the hearth, Alicent made her way over to the table where
someone—presumably Aemma—had left a fresh pot of tea and a pair of porcelain cups for them.
Sniffing the air as she poured, she knew that Aemma had provided Rhaenyra’s favorite jasmine tea.

Picking up both cups, she carried them over to where her mate had now pushed herself up into a
proper sitting position. Alicent placed the steaming cups of tea down on the table next to their
settee and pressed a gentle kiss to her mate’s cheek before asking, “May I?”

The smile that Rhaenyra gave her in response was warm with affection and gratitude and soft with
anticipation and yearning. “Of course, Ali. Always.”

But before Alicent could even brace her hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder, strong arms were wrapping
tight around her waist and gently tugging her down onto her mate’s warm lap.

Alicent laughed as she loosely draped her arms around Rhaenyra’s neck and pressed their foreheads
together. “I am capable of sitting down on my own, Nyra. You do know this, yes?”

Rhaenyra absently caressed her knee as she nodded, her scent noticeably warming as it wrapped
around Alicent like a favored cloak. “I do.” She pecked Alicent’s lips. “But I’m an impatient
woman.”

Alicent couldn’t help but snort, thinking about how endlessly patient Rhaenyra had always been
with her. “Yes. You’re dreadfully petulant and impatient, My Love. It’s a wonder that I can stand to
be around you.”

“You jest, but ask Aemma if you wish to hear about my childish petulance.” Rhaenyra’s eyes
twinkled, her exhaustion from earlier fading. “I assure you, it was quite unbecoming.”

“Hmm.” Alicent couldn’t help but wonder if those were her mate’s own opinions, or the lingering
echoes of Viserra’s.

Reaching for one of the tea cups sitting on the table, Alicent carefully picked it up by the handle
and offered it to her mate, who accepted the dainty cup with telekinetic hands. She allowed
Rhaenyra some time to simply sip her tea in peace before quietly asking, “How are you feeling,
Nyra?”

The sight of Rhaenyra’s unshed tears following the brief moment when Queen Helaena had
touched her hand still worried at Alicent’s mind, as did the guilt that she’d sensed after Rhaenyra
had accused Viserra.

Rhaenyra swiftly finished her tea—far more quickly than anyone actually capable of noticing
scalding temperatures could have—and offered Alicent a tender smile. “I’m well, Ali. Or as well as
can be expected,” she amended upon seeing Alicent’s raised eyebrow. “I don’t feel . . . I thought
that I would feel more unburdened than I do now, but I’m certain that will come with time.”

Alicent certainly hoped so.

“Almost more than anything, I think that I feel relief over how my daughters responded. I thought
. . . Part of me feared that the repercussions might prove crushing with them, but . . .” She
shrugged, her eyes growing distant. “I didn’t hug my daughters enough when they were children.
Even before they left Dragon Ridge. Mother warned me against coddling them, and Helaena’s
aversion to touch . . .”
Alicent’s jaw tightened, but she swiftly smothered her anger in favor of caressing her mate’s cheek.
“I’m certain that Helaena not wanting your touch has nothing to do with you, Safa.”

“I know.” Rhaenyra squeezed her knee. “It took me far longer than it should have to understand,
but that is simply Helaena’s way.” She sighed quietly. “But knowing that has done little to soothe
the hurt that I still oft feel when she shies away from me or won’t meet my eyes.” A soft smile
tugged at her lips. “Though I suppose it also makes the rare occasions when she does allow contact
all the sweeter.”

“Such as today?” She recalled reading in a chronicle documenting Queen Helaena’s time as Crown
Princess of the Avenian Isles that most at court had swiftly became aware of her aversion to touch,
but she’d—shamefully—not given much thought to how such an aversion might have affected
Rhaenyra’s initial attempts to become close with her daughters.

“Such as today,” Rhaenyra agreed. “I can count on one hand the number of times that Helaena has
touched me of her own volition. And two of them were during the War.”

Alicent arched an eyebrow at that. “A rather unusual time to seek out a mother’s comfort, is it not?”

“She wasn’t seeking my comfort. She was offering hers.” Rhaenyra’s eyes drifted upwards to a
small display case resting upon one of the shelves that lined the walls. Inside was a pinned butterfly
and a large feather, the latter of which, Alicent now realized, had probably come from one of
Helaena’s wings.

“She came upon me when I was feeling particularly upset,” Rhaenyra murmured. “Helaena has
always been sensitive to the emotions of others, has always felt things deeply. So much so that I
actually thought that she might be an empath for a time.” Her fingers absently traced over Alicent’s
knee. “Both times that she touched me were for only a brief moment, but when I felt her hand—her
actual hand—upon my shoulder—” She swallowed a little. “Aelora is the sweetest of my
daughters, but Helaena has always been the kindest and gentlest. Even if she doesn’t demonstrate
those traits as most would.”

Alicent nodded, thinking about the way that Queen Aelora had approached her first and how eager
Queen Helaena had been to explain how exactly her transcriptor journal functioned.

“When I told them what Mother had done,” Rhaenyra’s lower lip trembled slightly, “their reactions
. . . The ferocity that I felt from them, the righteous wroth, the, the love . . .”

“Their love surprised you?” Alicent’s throat tightened, and her heart clenched, even as fresh ire
ignited within her.

“In a way.” Rhaenyra shrugged, her eyes focusing on Alicent’s lap. “I know that I shouldn’t have,
but . . .” She sighed. “Such fears were foolish.”

“Nyra.” Alicent waited until Rhaenyra’s eyes met hers. “Your fears were valid, My Love. All of
your feelings are valid.”

Rhaenyra smiled slightly—wry and affectionate all at once. “But that doesn’t make them true,” she
finished.

Alicent returned the smile. “Dr. Alfadora tells you the same?”
“I’m fairly certain that all psychologists have said that to their patients at one time or another.”

“It’s good advice.”

“Yes.” Rhaenyra pressed their foreheads together. “But it’s dreadfully difficult to believe, is it not?”

Alicent gently pecked her mate’s lips. “It is, but you’ll come to believe it in time.”

“As you did?” Rhaenyra’s words were soft and low—hopeful, in a way.

“As I did.” Alicent leaned in and gave her mate an affectionate nuzzle. “And if it is any comfort, I
was also terrified about meeting with your daughters.”

Rhaenyra frowned slightly. “That went well, did it not?”

“It did. Very well.” Alicent shifted slightly on Rhaenyra’s lap, enjoying the way that her mate’s
arms instinctively tightened around her. “They were all very kind and welcoming to me, but I
wasn’t certain that they would be. I wasn’t certain,” she shrugged, “I wasn’t certain that they would
be pleased to have a Westerosi for a stepmother.”

A growl rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest. “You, Alicent Hightower, are the most wonderful and
remarkable woman to ever draw breath. How could they not love you?”

Rather easily, had they so chosen.

She found one of Rhaenyra’s hands and tangled their fingers together. “You’re very sweet, My
Nyra, but we both know that they could have rejected me for very valid reasons.”

The expression on Rhaenyra’s face made plain that she disagreed.

Alicent squeezed her hand, deciding that it would be best to move on from the matter. “I was
thinking that I might play something for you tonight. Would that be all right?”

Rhaenyra brightened at once. “Of course, Ali. You know that I adore hearing you play.”

Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s chest and cheeks, despite having heard those words countless times
before. “Allow me up, if you will, and I’ll fetch my lute.”

In response, Alicent’s lute appeared in her lap.

And she didn’t bother stopping herself from laughing aloud.

Rhaenyra knew that Alicent wished for further discussion as to how she felt about formally
accusing her mother, and she was grateful that her mate had yet to press the matter, for she hardly
knew herself what she was feeling aside from guilt.

Her Sweet Alicent had gifted her with over two hours of entrancing music before her fingers had
begun to grow sore. The moment that Rhaenyra had noticed the slight hesitation in Alicent’s hands
that indicated discomfort, she’d asked her mate to stop. She’d then gathered Alicent’s precious
fingers into her own hands and relieved them of pain with gentle kisses and a simple soothing spell.
Afterwards, Alicent had suggested that they play a game of cyvasse, and Rhaenyra had eagerly
agreed, knowing that the activity would keep both of their minds well-occupied.

They’d played two games in rather rapid succession, and both had ended with Rhaenyra capturing
Alicent’s empress and then stealing a kiss from her pouting mate.

This game, Alicent was proving much more of a challenge.

Rhaenyra watched as Alicent moved her dragon across the board and broke through one of her
lines of heavy horse and crossbow women defending a mountain pass. “You could have simply
flown over them,” she noted wryly.

“I could explain why I did not,” Alicent grinned at her, “but you’re not so charming that I’ll divulge
my entire strategy to you.”

Pressing a hand to her heart, Rhaenyra shifted her vocal cords to allow herself to make a mournful
trilling noise before sorrowfully declaring, “You wound me, Alicent.”

Alicent didn’t even so much as glance up at her as she continued to survey the board. “I’m certain
that you’ll recover, Safa.”

“Or perhaps I’ll perish here and now.”

At that, Alicent did look up, a slight frown curling her lips. “Please don’t jest about that, Nyra. Not
today.”

Rhaenyra’s smile fell.

Alicent’s eyes lowered. “Please forgive me, My Love, I shouldn’t have—”

“You need never beg my forgiveness, Ali.” Rhaenyra reached across the board and gently tilted her
mate’s chin up. “I thank you for allowing me these hours of distraction.”

“I know that you don’t wish to discuss your feelings about your mother yet.” Alicent’s eyes were
still soft with apology. “I ought to respect that.”

“You have.” Rhaenyra expelled a heavy sigh. “In truth, Ali, I cannot quite articulate what I feel. I
thought that it would be something of a relief to finally speak those words aloud for all to hear, but
in that moment, all I felt was . . .” She trailed off, the word there and yet not all at once, on the tip
of her tongue, but unable to fully form.

“Guilt,” Alicent finished quietly.

She wasn’t surprised that her mate had noticed. “I know that she wronged me, and I know that what
I did was right, but . . .” The fingers of her hand not holding Alicent’s chin fisted the skirts of her
gown. “I feel as if I betrayed her. I feel as if . . . as if I’m somehow a terrible daughter for saying
what I did about her. And I feel as if I’m going mad from all of these jumbled emotions!” She
swiftly uncurled her fingers for fear of tearing through the fabric and lowered her hand from her
mate’s chin. “I should be . . . I should be happy, or at least relieved, should I not? I should feel as if
I’ve taken a step towards balancing the scales. But all I feel is this gnawing shame, as if I’ve
wronged her for telling others what she did to me.” Her eyes found Alicent’s, pleading with her to
offer some answer, some comfort.
Rhaenyra knew that it wasn’t fair to demand such from her mate, but she—

“The first time that I admitted aloud that my mother abused me,” Alicent wet her lips, “I felt as if I
was somehow spitting in her face. And it didn’t fill me with joy or satisfaction. I . . . I recoiled from
it. Hid from it.” She reached across the table and gathered Rhaenyra’s hands in hers, squeezing
tight. “My mother is millions of lightyears away. She will never know the things I’ve said about her
here on Valyria, and yet I still felt wicked and vile for telling Dr. Arwen that her actions were
abusive.”

Rhaenyra’s throat tightened, and her stomach churned, and yet her mate’s words were like a cool
balm upon an open wound.

Alicent understood.

As ever, Alicent understood.

And she no longer feels guilty, so perhaps, one day, I won’t either.

“What you did, Nyra, confronting your mother at the Summit, I don’t,” Alicent’s voice cracked, “I
don’t think that I would have been brave enough to do something like that with my own mother.”

Rhaenyra wanted to protest, wanted to tell her mate that of course she was brave enough to do the
same, but she knew that Alicent wasn’t in need or want of reassurance at the moment.

“Despite everything that they did to us, they’re still our mothers, and I—I don’t think that we can
help but feel loyal to them. Mothers are supposed to love their daughters, care for them and protect
them. And daughters are supposed to love their mothers, honor them and respect them.” Alicent
rose to her feet, keeping a hold of Rhaenyra’s hands as she came around the table to stand in front
of her. “Our mothers failed us, Nyra,” she leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to Rhaenyra’s
forehead, “but some part of us still seeks not to fail them.”

Tears stung Rhaenyra’s eyes. “When will the guilt cease?”

“I don’t know, My Love.” Alicent brought one of her hands up to gently caress her cheek. “The
path ahead of you is long and shadowed, but I will be by your side for every step of it.”

Rhaenyra knew that.

She’d never once doubted it.

But she eagerly drank in the words and tucked them away in her heart all the same.

“Thank you, Ali.” Her cheeks felt wet, and her eyes closed when a gentle thumb brushed them dry.

“I wish that there was more I could do.”

“You do more than enough, My Safa.” Rhaenyra reached up to gently pull her mate closer so that
she could kiss her, her eyes fluttering shut once more as she allowed herself to become lost in the
softness and perfection that was her Alicent’s sweet lips.

When they were forced to break apart, Alicent was panting and flushed in a way that made
Rhaenyra’s blood thrum. “Why don’t we retire to bed, My Nyra?” A loving, teasing smile curled
Alicent’s lips. “I can capture your empress on the morrow.”
And, despite everything, Rhaenyra found herself laughing.

The first time that Alicent had washed Rhaenyra’s feet before bed, she’d been methodical and
rather cold about the whole endeavor. She’d been trying to perfectly follow the specific steps that
Rhaenyra always did and that she’d read about—somehow forgetting that the entire purpose of
washing another woman’s feet was the simple intimacy and care of the act.

Rhaenyra hadn’t protested or commented on how she’d gone about everything.

Which had only made Alicent feel guiltier once she’d realized her mistake.

She’d promised herself that she would do better in the future.

Now, as she gently massaged some lavender lotion into her mate’s left foot whilst the right one lay
nestled in her lap, Alicent was pleased beyond measure by the calm and relaxed smile that graced
her Nyra’s face, by the warm contentment of her rose scent, by the occasional happy little sighs and
hums that spilled from her mate’s lips.

Her own feet currently rested upon a silk pillow—at Rhaenyra’s insistence—clean and soft and
relaxed after their washing. She’d wanted to wash her mate’s feet first, but Rhaenyra had desired
otherwise.

“I’ll want only to have you in my arms once my feet are clean, Ali. So won’t you please let me wash
yours first?”

How could Alicent have denied her mate after that?

A shiver rippled down her spine when Rhaenyra suddenly moaned, and Alicent’s grip on her mate’s
foot tightened without her leave.

Rhaenyra’s eyes blinked open slowly—slightly glazed and utterly pleased. “My apologies for
startling you, Ali.”

Alicent genuinely wasn’t certain whether her mate was being sincere, or if she was merely teasing
in the hopes of provoking a specific response. “It’s all right, Nyra.” She carefully watched
Rhaenyra’s face as she pressed her thumbs into the ball of her foot and kneaded in the way that
she’d learned Rhaenyra always enjoyed.

A thunderous purr filled the room.

“Thank you, My Ali,” Rhaenyra sighed—breathy and low. “Your lovely hands always feel so
good.”

The final word was nothing less than another moan.

Provocation then.

All the same, Alicent lightly tapped Rhaenyra’s ankle to draw her attention, waiting until her mate’s
breathtaking amethyst eyes were opened and focused on her. “Are you sure, Nyra?”
Rhaenyra smiled tenderly, leaning forward and reaching down to caress Alicent’s cheek with such
loving affection that it made Alicent’s heart flutter madly in her chest. “I wish to be close to you,
My Love. I wish to hold you in my arms. I wish to feel your body pressed warm and soft against
mine. I wish to have your exquisite scent engulfing me until the rest of the world falls away and
there is nothing left but you.”

Alicent gulped, and her hand rose to cover Rhaenyra’s. She turned her head to kiss her mate’s warm
palm. “I want that as well.”

She wanted to give Rhaenyra everything that she needed.

She wanted to take care of her mate as Rhaenyra always took care of her.

She wanted to give her Rhaenyra all of the comfort and pleasure that she possibly could.

“Then come to bed, My Sweet Alicent.” Despite the way that Rhaenyra’s eyes had darkened with
desire, they remained alight with unmistakable reverence.

And Alicent loved her for it.

∞∞

Alicent knew well her mate’s passion, and she knew well her mate’s tenderness.

Now, as she slowly removed Rhaenyra’s clothes and cast them aside, she was coming to know a
different facet of her beloved safa.

Soft.

Open.

Vulnerable.

In ways that Rhaenyra never had been before.

Not in their bed, at least.

Not like this.

“Let me take care of you, My Nyra,” Alicent whispered against the shell of her mate’s ear as her
hands slowly explored her naked body—stroking and caressing and fondling with the utmost care.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched. “All right,” she whispered.

Alicent kissed her softly then, and when her tongue slipped from her own mouth into Rhaenyra’s,
she greedily swallowed her mate’s pleased moan. “You’ll tell me if you wish to stop or if I do
something displeasing?”

“Yes, My Sweet. Always.”

While Alicent knew that the endearment wasn’t meant to entice, she’d so often heard those words
purred in her ear with wicked promise and teasing intent that her cunt clenched all the same, but
she ignored it in favor of lavishing her mate with all of the attention that she deserved. “Thank you,
Nyra.”

Rhaenyra’s back arched when one of Alicent’s hands cupped her breast.

Rhaenyra gasped when Alicent began rolling her hardened nipple.

And Rhaenyra moaned when Alicent kissed her mate mark.

“Oh, Ali, My Love, please . . .” Rhaenyra turned and tilted her head to offer more of her neck.

Alicent laved her tongue over the scar marking Rhaenyra as hers until the stars went dark, and she
swore that she felt her own mate mark thrum in return. She pressed her lips against the bite,
savoring Rhaenyra’s quiet whimpers. “You’re so beautiful, My Nyra,” she crooned as her other
hand slid upwards to attend to her mate’s neglected breast. “You’re so responsive and eager.”

“Only for you,” Rhaenyra panted.

“Because you’re mine?”

“Always.”

Latching onto Rhaenyra’s mate mark, Alicent sucked gently whilst her tongue lapped at the
sensitive flesh.

Rhaenyra moaned—loud and shameless.

Like music.

“I love the way that you moan for me, Nyra. I love seeing you so unrestrained.”

“Ali,” Rhaenyra gasped, “please—”

“Shh. I know.” Alicent had settled herself atop Rhaenyra, but also between her mate’s spread legs,
so she knew exactly how wet her safa was for her. “I can feel your desire soaking my skin, Nyra.
And it feels wonderful. Every part of you feels so wonderful and perfect.”

“Oh, Relle.”

“Alicent,” she corrected teasingly.

Rhaenyra laughed aloud. “Blasphem—Seven Hells!”

Alicent had sunk her teeth into Rhaenyra’s neck—not hard enough to break skin, but evidently hard
enough to send her beloved mate tumbling over the edge.

“Ali, Ali, Ali,” Rhaenyra mumbled over and over as she bucked and writhed beneath her.

Fresh wetness flooded from between Rhaenyra’s legs, and the rich scent of her mate’s peak
engulfed Alicent and made her head spin deliciously. She continued to suckle at her safa’s neck and
play with her breasts and nipples to prolong Rhaenyra’s pleasure, wishing to savor every moment
and ensure that Rhaenyra received all that she deserved. “I love seeing you peak, Nyra. You’re truly
magnificent when lost in the throes of passion. I love you, Safa. More than words.”
Rhaenyra whined softly. “And I love you, My Alicent. So much it aches.”

Alicent gave her nipples a gentle squeeze, earning another whimper. She knew by the heaviness of
Rhaenyra’s breath, the soft undulation of her hips, and the slowing thrum of her heartbeat that
Rhaenyra’s peak was subsiding—that soon she would be ready for another.

When Alicent’s mouth retreated from Rhaenyra’s neck, her mate whimpered plaintively until
Alicent kissed her.

One of Rhaenyra’s legs hooked around Alicent’s whilst a hand gently grasped her hip.

“No, My Love,” Alicent panted as she hurriedly broke their kiss. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Rhaenyra’s hand obediently fell away, and her leg returned to its spread position.

“Thank you, Safa.” Alicent kissed her nose and lightly squeezed her breast. “I told you that I would
take care of you, and so I shall.”

Rather than returning to Rhaenyra’s lips, Alicent’s next kisses trailed along the sharp line of her
mate’s jaw before meandering down the smooth column of her neck. This time, she only allowed
herself a few moments spent with Rhaenyra’s mate mark, which earned an unhappy grumble and
pleading whine.

Both of which Alicent ignored.

From Rhaenyra’s neck, she slowly slipped further and further down her body—kissing her
collarbones, her breasts, her nipples, and the defined muscles of her stomach—until she was
comfortably settled between her mate’s spread legs.

As ever, the sight of Rhaenyra’s glistening and swollen cunt made Alicent’s mouth water and her
heart stutter. She could feel her own walls fluttering, and her clit throbbed, but she paid them little
heed so that she could focus on the tantalizing offering before her.

“Ali,” Rhaenyra growled, “I need you. Please.”

“You have me, My Safa.” Alicent gently caressed her hips. “Always.”

Rhaenyra purred happily even as her hips bucked impatiently.

Ignoring their shared desire for Alicent to at once begin feasting upon Rhaenyra’s cunt, Alicent
instead leaned down and pressed her lips against the supple flesh Rhaenyra’s inner thigh, delighting
in the way that she felt the muscles twitch in response. While not an unfamiliar sensation, she
couldn’t help but revel in the little ways that her mate’s body reacted to her various attentions.

As she continued kissing her way closer and closer to Rhaenyra’s glistening cunt, her eyes slipped
shut as the rich scent of her mate’s desire filled her senses and made her mouth water even more. “I
love the smell of your need,” she breathed, “and how much headier it is after you’ve just peaked.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, breathlessly. “Do you?”

“I do.” After placing a final kiss upon the crease of Rhaenyra’s inner thigh, Alicent allowed herself
an indulgent moment to simply enjoy the sight of her safa’s slick and swollen cunt, to simply savor
the knowledge that Rhaenyra’s lower lips were plump and flushed because of her, to simply revel
in the fact that no one else would ever be allowed to look upon her mate this way.

Mine.

Leaning in, Alicent extended her tongue and pressed it flat against the slightly parted seam of
Rhaenyra’s cunt before slowly licking up the length of those swollen folds.

The musky and almost tart flavors of her mate’s slick danced across her tongue, and she shuddered
as her own cunt fluttered in response.

Seven Hells, it was obscene how much she enjoyed Rhaenyra’s taste.

Once Rhaenyra’s folds had fully parted beneath her gentle licks, Alicent kissed her mate’s dripping
entrance before circling it with the tip of her tongue the way that she knew her Nyra liked best.

Rhaenyra groaned, and when Alicent glanced up, she was pleased to see that her safa’s chest was
heaving and flushed. “More, Ali,” she panted, “please?”

Any other day, Alicent would have teased until Rhaenyra was truly begging, but tonight was not the
time for such behavior.

She had promised that she would take care of her precious mate.

Alicent’s tongue glided over Rhaenyra’s cunt, her path made smooth by the abundant wetness.
Moving higher, she slipped her tongue between her mate’s folds in search of her clit whilst bringing
her hand up to circle Rhaenyra’s twitching entrance with first one finger and then two.

“Is this all right?” she asked.

Rhaenyra’s hips bucked as her head fell back to bare her throat. “Inside, Ali. Please, My Love. I
need to feel you inside me.”

“As you wish, My Safa.” As Alicent slowly slipped her fingers into the silken heat of Rhaenyra’s
tight cunt, she couldn’t help but shiver at the indescribably magnificent sensation of having her
fingers eagerly welcomed by warm, wet walls that fluttered and clung to her and sought to draw her
in deeper and deeper.

Something between a pleased moan and a contented sigh slipped from Rhaenyra’s lips as she was
filled, and her hips rolled impatiently against Alicent’s hand. “Yes, Ali, just like that. If you could
—?”

Already knowing what her mate desired, Alicent pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the top of
Rhaenyra’s cunt, her tongue flicking out to swirl thrice around her safa’s swollen clit before she
began giving the sensitive bud gentle little licks. Her fingers curled as she thrust them in and out of
her mate’s greedy and grasping cunt.

“Is this what you wanted, My Darling Nyra? My fingers buried inside your perfect cunt and my
tongue lapping at your throbbing clit? Does this please you?”

The vulgar thoughts came swiftly and with little effort, and she delighted in the way that
Rhaenyra’s slick walls tightened around her fingers in response. She still couldn’t bring herself to
say such bawdy things aloud, but she could communicate them through their mental link, which
seemed to please Rhaenyra well enough.

Rhaenyra gasped above her, and muscular legs trembled on either side of Alicent’s head. “Fuck,
Ali, yes, just like that. Please don’t stop, My Love. Fuck, you’re so good. My good girl.” Her hips
bucked. “You please me so well, Safa. Always. You always . . .” Her words dissolved into a
combination of sweet moans and throaty groans of pleasure as she fervently rocked her hips against
Alicent’s hand. “Ali, Ali, Ali,” she panted. “My Sweet, you’re so, so perfect. So good—fuck!”

Pride swelled in Alicent’s chest at how swiftly she’d brought her mate to the brink of complete
incoherence.

Wrapping her lips around Rhaenyra’s clit, she began to suckle upon it.

Rhaenyra’s back arched—so sharply that it seemed almost painful.

Alicent curled her fingers once more as she rubbed against the front wall of Rhaenyra’s cunt in
search of that special place that always made her mate howl and wail in ecstasy.

“Fuck, yes!” Rhaenyra cried, her hips bucking against Alicent’s hand, against her face. Pleasure
twisted her features—a lovely sight that Alicent would never tire of seeing. “Faster, Ali, please,”
she panted, “please. Faster.”

Increasing the pace of her thrusting fingers, Alicent also began to suck harder upon her mate’s clit,
knowing that the need for swifter strokes nigh always coincided with a desire for harsher suckling.
“Is this what you need, My Nyra?”

“Yes, Ali, yes. So good. I love you. So perfect. Good girl. My Sweet. Ali, Ali, Ali. Fuck, more,
please, please, please.” Rhaenyra’s words tumbled from her lips in such rapid succession that it was
nearly impossible to understand them. “So perfect. Perfect Ali. Mine. My mate. Fuck, yes, Ali.
More. Close, Safa. Close. Please, please. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop,” she promised. “You deserve as many peaks as I can draw from you, My Love, and I
intend to continue like this for as long as possible.” Alicent hummed loudly around Rhaenyra’s clit
as she found the place that always made her mate sing. She curled her fingers and rubbed roughly
the way that she knew Rhaenyra liked.

Rhaenyra howled as she peaked for a second time, her entire body quaking as her hips bucked
against Alicent’s face and her fingers tore at the sheets. The walls of her cunt clenched around
Alicent’s fingers, hard enough that they were forced to still, even as fresh wetness flooded from
between Rhaenyra’s legs.

Releasing her mate’s clit, Alicent lowered her mouth to eagerly swallow the slick that gushed out
around her fingers. She could feel the warm liquid sliding down her chin, knew that she would look
utterly debauched when she eventually lifted her head from between Rhaenyra’s legs.

She didn’t care.

In truth, she reveled in it.

Her tongue eagerly lapped at Rhaenyra’s spasming cunt, gathering as much wetness as she could
and gulping it down.
Seven Hells, her mate was delectable.

Rhaenyra shuddered, one of her hands abandoning the sheets to settle lightly atop Alicent’s head.

Alicent paused for a moment, wondering if her mate wished for her to stop, but when she felt
gentle fingers beginning to stroke her hair, she knew that Rhaenyra simply wanted additional
contact.

As she continued licking Rhaenyra’s dripping cunt, Alicent felt the tightness around her fingers
loosen enough that she could slip them free if she wished. But she instead lingered for a while
longer as she finished gathering the remainder of her mate’s warm pleasure.

“Merciful Relle, Ali,” Rhaenyra mumbled when Alicent slowly withdrew her fingers.

Alicent smiled at her. “Did I please you, My Love?”

Rhaenyra responded with a breathless chuckle and a crooked finger.

Rather than heeding the gentle summons, Alicent instead brought her fingers to her lips and sucked
them into her mouth, moaning happily at the taste of her mate.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened slightly, and a growl rumbled in her chest.

Alicent finished cleaning her fingers and withdrew them from her mouth with the same care and
slowness that she’d used when withdrawing them from Rhaenyra’s cunt.

Her mate appeared half a breath from pouncing upon her, and she knew in her bones that they
would both be utterly exhausted by the time that sleep claimed them this night.

Not that she minded.

∞∞

Rhaenyra yawned as she drew Alicent closer and placed a tender kiss upon her temple. She adored
when Alicent was like this—soft and sleepy and sated. Her own body felt deliciously boneless from
the pleasure that Alicent had given her, and she couldn’t help but marvel—as she oft did—at how
well her mate knew her body.

Would that they could remain like forever—warm and content and untroubled.

As her fingers absently carded through Alicent’s tousled auburn curls, she wondered if she ought to
remind her mate to braid her hair before sleep claimed her.

Alicent hummed happily as she nuzzled closer, and for a brief moment, it almost sounded as if she
was purring.

She wondered—

“My Love,” Alicent murmured, her warm breath dancing across Rhaenyra’s bare skin, “why are
you still awake? Did I not properly exhaust you?”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly and lightly scratched her mate’s scalp, earning a pleased noise. “I was
thinking about your hair.”
 A teasing smile curled Alicent’s lips then. “About how much you enjoy tangling your fingers in it?”

Rhaenyra snorted, and she was briefly tempted to playfully tug her safa’s hair. “About how snarled
it will become if you don’t braid it.”

“Considering I still can’t feel my legs, it seems that you’ll have to help me with the knots on the
morrow.” Alicent batted her lashes. “If you would be so kind?”

“Always, My Safa.” Rhaenyra gave her a gentle squeeze and a loving kiss.

Mother above, Alicent’s lips were so soft and perfect.

Alicent sighed when they parted, and one of her hands rose to caress Rhaenyra’s cheek. “How are
you feeling, Nyra?”

Rhaenyra was silent a moment as she considered. She certainly felt more relaxed now than she had
when they’d first returned from the Summit, and her mind was no longer plagued by worries of
what was to come, but she suspected that this would prove fleeting.

But those were troubles for the morrow.

“Better, Ali.” She nuzzled against her safa’s soft palm. “Thank you.”

She suspected that Alicent knew exactly what she was thinking, but her mate was kind enough not
to press.

There would be time enough to fret over her mother and the trial and all that would come with it.

For now, she wished to enjoy basking in her mate’s warmth and love.

Chapter End Notes

We're entering the trial arc proper, Folks.

Disclaimer: The Valyrian due process depicted herein does not reflect my views of how due
process should work in the real world. Additionally, while the justice system that I've created
herein probably has some shades of the American/English judicial system (courtesy of my
being American), it is not meant to directly reflect, parallel, or indict any existing legal system
in the real world. Just wanted to put that out there because I know the "justice" system, such as
it is, can be a thorny subject matter.

Next Chapter: Preparations for the trial!

 Preparations
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 55:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alaura Glover, a Dragon Wood courtier, from Norden
– Viserra Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Kastrell, formerly the 248th Empress of the Valyrian
Empire
– Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the Queen, formerly the 248th Queen of Bellmar
– Corla Velaryon, Mistress of Laws, from the Dragon Court
– Tywinna Lannister, a prosecution barrister, residing in Lannister Province, Gelt (Valyrian
counterpart of Tywin)
– Olenna Tyrell, a music mistress, residing in Lannister Province, Gelt
– Margaery Tyrell, a Stone Garden courtier, from Kastrell
– Sansa Stark, a Stone Garden courtier, from Norden

A special thanks to beepboop (permanganato) and NewLeeLand for beta reading this chapter,
and to LesbianLightbringer for sensitivity reading various sections.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains a smut scene, which will be marked at the beginning
and end with double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harvest Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

There was a great difference, Alaura had learned in the millions of years since she’d first met her
mate, between Viserra’s anger and her feeling aggrieved. One was blistering and oft nigh
overwhelming. The other was colder and quieter, but much longer lasting.

While her Viserra was not particularly swift to anger, when her temper was roused, it was a
fearsome thing to behold.

Which Alaura supposed was to be expected of a dragon and a fire elemental.

And yet, for as burning as Viserra’s wroth could be, her flares of temper tended to be swift and
short.

The same could not be said when her mate was affronted.

Viserra was not a woman who easily forgot a slight.

But then, what empress was?

“It should never have come to this,” Viserra snarled as she paced about the bedchamber that would
be theirs until after the trial concluded.

The apartments that Empress Visenya had chosen for them were on the uppermost floor of the
Garden Tower, so high up that Alaura felt as if she could touch the clouds.

So high up that it would be a simple matter for those below to forget that she and Viserra were
present.

A small cadre of knights stood guard in the corridor outside their chambers, and while her mate had
not been forbidden visitors, none had come calling in the day and a half since she and Viserra had
arrived from the Dragon Summit.

Not even Daemona.

Which she knew pained her mate, even if Viserra refused to say so aloud.

Few understood how deeply her Viserra felt things.

She herself had hoped that at least a handful of loyal women might visit, but she supposed that had
been a rather foolish hope.

“After all that I’ve done to ensure her well-being, she dared stand and accuse me of abuse?” Viserra
whirled to face Alaura, eyes burning with purple fire. “What kind of daughter would betray her
mother so? What kind of daughter would say such slanderous things about the woman who has
loved her since before she drew her first breath? And before a Great Council no less! Has she no
care for me at all?”

Alaura sighed as she rose to her feet and swiftly crossed the room. Taking her mate’s hand, she led
her over to one of the nearby chairs and urged her to sit. “You know as well as I do that Rhaenyra
has never been able to fully appreciate your sacrifices, Darling.” She leaned down and pressed a
brief kiss to Viserra’s somewhat overheated forehead.

For all that Rhaenyra had grown and matured since the days of her tempestuous and petulant youth,
she’d never entirely outgrown her own inability to forgive and forget.

One of the many traits that she shared with her mother.

A grave pity that they could never embrace their similarities.

The world would certainly be better for it if Rhaenyra had simply—

But that ink had dried.

Her stepdaughter’s words had plunged the entire Summit into chaos, and that chaos would only
continue spreading as more and more women learned of what she’d said.

Foolish child.

Her mate had always believed that Rhaenyra’s temper would be what doomed them all, but Alaura
was of the opinion that it would be her inability—or perhaps unwillingness—to fully consider the
consequences of her actions before barreling forward with whatever it was that she believed was
right.
As we all saw with the Treaty.

Shaking her head, Alaura telekinetically drew one of the nearby chairs closer so that she could sit
down in front of her mate. “Viserra, it hardly matters now what Rhaenyra was thinking when she
said those things—”

“She betrayed me,” Viserra growled, “and what is worse, she has already managed to weave her
webs and turn others against me! Abuse,” she scoffed, “what I did was ensure that one of her
tantrums didn’t tear Valyria asunder.”

“You needn’t justify your actions to me, Sæta,” Alaura sighed, “but it seems that you will need to
justify them before the Imperial Court.”

“I shouldn’t have to defend myself.” Viserra’s eyes sparked, but her tone was cold.

“You shouldn’t,” Alaura agreed, patting her hand, “but Rhaenyra has left you with no choice.”

“Choice is a luxury only fools deny having,” Viserra grumbled.

“And your only other choice is to allow these slanders to remain as they are.” Alaura arched an
eyebrow. “Is that your desired course of action?”

Viserra expelled a heavy breath, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back in her chair. “I’ve
served the Empire faithfully for over twelve million years.” She spread her hands, eyes wide and
almost pleading. “How can they all so easily forget?”

“It’s the nature of the charges against you. Nothing more.” Had her mate been accused of anything
else—save for rape—there would be many still supporting her or at least willing to hear what she
had to say.

But there was no woman of sound mind on the planet who would ever offer succor to an abuser, or
risk being seen as sympathetic to one.

Alaura reached out and clasped her mate’s hands. “Darling, all will be well. I’ve already begun
making inquiries into defense barristers—”

Viserra snatched her hands away. “I will not dignify this farce by employing a barrister.”

“Yes, you will,” Alaura snapped, grabbing her mate’s hands once more. “Viserra, these accusations
can and will result in your imprisonment if we don’t mount a proper defense to demonstrate that
your actions were justified. And I refuse to allow you to spend reigns wasting away in a Great
Glass Prison for the sake of pride. You will find a defense barrister, you will hire her, and you will
do as she instructs in order to prove to the Empire that you are not guilty.”

Viserra was silent for a long moment, her eyes searching Alaura’s, but at last she inclined her head.
“Very well, Darling.”

One Week Later

Rhaenys sighed as she sank down into her favorite chair and accepted the mulled wine that Corla
offered her. She knew by the scent that it was her favorite of her mate’s many brews. “Thank you,
Dear.”

“Of course, Nysa.” Corla kissed her cheek before sitting down in the chair across from her and
waving a hand to summon her own wine, which smelled far more strongly of citrus than Rhaenys’.
“Preparing some spiced wine for you to enjoy this evening was naught compared to what you’ve
been managing this past week.”

More hawk messages than she could count.

More calls by mirror than she could possibly answer in a day.

More requests for audiences than she knew her niece would be comfortable with.

And far more demands than she’d ever received any of the other times that she’d ruled Kastrell in
Rhaenyra’s absence.

Of course, those other times hadn’t been in the midst of a socio-political crisis.

Every woman on the planet wanted information of some kind, it seemed, and Rhaenys couldn’t
even bring herself to blame them for that. Nothing of this like had ever happened before in the
Empire’s long history. The only two events that could possibly be compared—the All Mother’s trial
following the Betrayal and Rhaenyra’s trial after she destroyed the frost demons—weren’t truly
comparable at all.

For all that they were immortal and had long ago escaped the Reaper’s dread shadow, killing and
death were somehow still more understandable than a mother abusing her own child.

Abuse should have died with the Old World.

Along with husbands and sons and fathers and brothers.

Women raising their hands against one another in such a way . . .

A growl rumbled in her chest as her canines fought to sharpen and lengthen, and she once more
wondered how she hadn’t seen the darkness that resided within her sister. How had she never
realized . . ?

“I closed my eyes to the truth. I see that now. I should have . . .”

Her mother’s words from earlier that week echoed in her ears and twisted her heart.

Had she closed her eyes as well?

Surely she must have.

Alicent had seen the truth at once.

Expelling a heavy sigh, she once again thanked Relle for Alicent Hightower.

“Tell me your troubles, My Dear, and I’ll give you the stars.”

Rhaenys flashed her mate a small smile as she sipped her wine, purring at the blended flavors of
sweet and smokey. “It’s no one trouble in particular. I’m simply reflecting on all of the good that
Lady Alicent has brought into Rhaenyra’s life.”

“She’s most certainly filled Rhaenyra’s life with much happiness,” Corla agreed, and then her lips
curled into a teasing smile, “and your purse with much coin.”

Rhaenys snorted and telekinetically swatted her mate’s arm. “Don’t be crass, Corla.”

“I speak only the truth, Safa,” Corla chuckled, using her own telekinesis to lightly caress Rhaenys’
cheek. “There are many who think that you and Margaery Tyrell were colluding, you know. The
timing of their marking each other was simply too impeccable for the two of you.”

“I was hardly in control of any of that.” Her decision to stake three crowns on Rhaenyra and
Alicent marking each other a week before the Summit had had nothing to do with any nefarious
scheming and everything to do with the fact that it was plain as day how much the two of them
desired each other. She’d been certain that Alicent would wish to wear Rhaenyra’s mark upon her
neck to the Summit, and she’d been equally certain that her niece desired the same.

The mere thought of the two of them the day after they’d sealed their matebond brought an amused
smile to her lips.

Rhaenyra had worn a gown that proudly bared her neck and shoulders, and she’d even foregone the
flower necklace that Alicent had gifted her so that nothing obscured the mate mark now adorning
the place where her neck met her shoulders. Her scent had been dripping with the sort of satisfied
delight that only a newly mated woman’s could, and she’d rather shamelessly taken every
opportunity possible to mention her mark and her newly intertwined scent.

And Alicent . . .

Her flaunting had somehow managed to be both more subtle and more blatant all at once. She’d
never once said a word about her mark or scent—or the fact that Rhaenyra had spent the day
practically draped over her—instead simply finding any and every excuse to touch her neck and
draw attention to the scar that now graced it. And the sheer number of times that Alicent had turned
her head and arched her neck just so in order to display her mark had left Rhaenys wondering if she
might accidentally strain a muscle.

Had that happened, she had no doubt that Rhaenyra would have spent the remainder of the day
cooing and clucking over her mate and gently massaging her neck whilst frowning in that particular
way that seemed to be entirely reserved for when she was fretting over Alicent.

Ah to be young and newly mated.

There was nothing quite so thrilling as that.

“You may not have been in control of when they finally marked each other,” Corla was saying, “but
don’t tell me you didn’t stoke the flames, My Dear.” She arched an eyebrow and gave her a pointed
look. “Handing Lady Alicent that carafe as you did? As if you didn’t know exactly where her hand
would land.”

Rhaenys couldn’t help but chuckle as she recalled the way that Alicent had teased Rhaenyra
throughout that particular supper—and several others since.
None had been surprised when Alicent and Rhaenyra had emerged from their chambers the
following morning with mate marks on their necks. Not after the way that Alicent had swept into
the great hall wearing a striking gown of Targaryen black and red.

Alicent had looked so pleased with herself that night, and Rhaenyra had looked so smitten . . .

Neither of them had looked pleased or smitten when Rhaenys last saw Alicent wearing that
particular gown.

Rhaenyra had looked utterly exhausted when she’d returned from the Summit, and Alicent’s
expression had been pinched with worry for her mate.

She suspected that such would not change in the coming months, though she hoped that it would be
otherwise. Viserra should not be allowed to ruin the joy that came in the wake of marking your
mate.

Rhaenys’ smile fell then, and her laughter faded as she met her own mate’s eyes. “Corla, tell me
true, do you think me a fool for not realizing the truth?”

The question had plagued her since Seventh Night, and it had been born anew when she’d begun
contemplating her sister’s trial, for she was certain that one or both sides would wish to question
her about what she knew and when and why she’d remained silent or why she’d never noticed.

Corla’s own smile disappeared in a twinkling as her expression became serious. “None of us saw it,
Nysa. Not your mother, not your grandmother, not your great-grandmother, not even her own
sisters until after the net broke.”

“Aemma saw it.”

“Aemma spent every day in Rhaenyra’s company. You saw her, what, once a millennium or so?”

“And when I did see her, when Viserra was there as well . . .” Rhaenys shook her head as she
remembered the few holidays that she’d spent in Rhaenyra and Viserra’s presence when the net
would have been in place. She recalled that Rhaenyra’s smiles had at times seemed brittle, recalled
the one time that she snapped at Viserra, recalled the way that Viserra had responded by clicking
her tongue and warning Rhaenyra to leash her temper. She’d noticed all of that, but she’d told
herself that such was simply the nature of Viserra and Rhaenyra’s relationship. Not all familial
bonds were particularly warm, and she’d assumed . . . “Viserra was always critical in a way that I
thought unfair, but I never said anything save for once. I should have done more.” Even if her sister
hadn’t heeded her, she still should have defended her niece more than the one time.

“I think it fair to say that we all failed Rhaenyra in one way or another,” Corla sighed. “Save for her
Alicent.”

Rhaenys hummed in agreement. “Rhaenyra will be in need of her mate now more than ever.” She
set her wine aside and leaned forward to grasp Corla’s hand. “And us as well.”

“And she shall have us.” Corla squeezed her hand. “You needn’t fret, Nysa. All anyone will need to
hear is Rhaenyra’s description of what it was to have her connection to her core severed. There is
no question that Viserra will be convicted.”

“You underestimate my sister.”

“You underestimate our judicators.” Corla brought Rhaenys’ hand up to her lips and pressed a
loving kiss to the back. “Peace, My Dear. Justice will be done.” Her eyes sparked in the flickering
firelight. “By one means or another.”

Seven days.

They‘d been given seven days of peace.

The same amount of time that has once been afforded for deep mourning before the
Immortalization.

Alicent supposed that it was fitting, for Rhaenyra was indeed mourning, in a way.

The loss of the false peace that she’d grown accustomed to.

The loss of normalcy that she’d created for herself.

And, in truth, the loss of her mother.

For regardless of what came to pass in the coming months, Rhaenyra’s relationship with Viserra
had met its end.

Part of Alicent wished that she could be entirely relieved by that fact, relieved that Viserra would
no longer plague Rhaenyra as she had been for so long, but how could she be, when it so clearly
weighed on her mate?

And Alicent couldn’t fault her that. She’d found herself ruminating quite often this past week about
how she would respond in this situation, how she would feel if given the chance to confront her
mother and watch her fall.

Such thoughts tended to leave her feeling rather hollow and in need of Rhaenyra’s embrace, which
her mate was always happy to provide.

Rhaenyra hadn’t much left her side since they’d returned from the Summit. Her mate had wanted—
needed—her close, and Alicent had not wished to be anywhere else. She’d been more than happy
to spend their days together doing everything and nothing of import in each other’s company. She’d
enjoyed being able to lounge about in bed with her mate as the sun rose higher and higher in the
sky without worrying about one obligation or another. She’d enjoyed being able to stroll through
the gardens and take tea together without fear that some matter would arise requiring her mate’s
attention. She’d enjoyed being able to visit museums and theatres and other such entertainments
with no concerns other than savoring her mate’s company.

And she’d enjoyed being able to grab Rhaenyra’s hand and drag her to their bedchamber whenever
the desire struck.

Which wasn’t to say that she and Rhaenyra had secluded themselves entirely. They’d also spent
time with their friends—all of whom had respected the silent understanding that there was to be no
talk of the Summit or the upcoming trial or Viserra when Rhaenyra was within hearing distance—
playing games and attending plays and taking tea together and even going on a few rides through
the autumn woods.
This past week had been a lovely respite after all of the worry and fretting and preparing for the
Summit, as well as the Summit itself.

Alicent knew from her friends that word of Rhaenyra’s accusation and Viserra being kept under
guard at Dragon Ridge had reached every corner of the Empire by now, and she knew that all of
Rhaenyra’s daughters—Alicent’s stepdaughters—had made official statements that the dowager
would be punished to the fullest extent allowed by law if her actions were deemed unjustifiable.

There was much and more that she and Rhaenyra would need to do in the coming months before
the trial began—not least of which included selecting a prosecutor—but they’d both endeavored
not to think overmuch on those matters. Far better that they instead enjoy their time uninterrupted
with each other.

Far, far better.

Seven days.

Seven days of laughter and teasing and enjoying each other’s company.

Seven days of music and reading and games and conversations.

Seven days of cuddles and sweet kisses and being bedded.

All of that would come to an end on the morrow.

But they still had tonight for themselves.

“My Love?” Rhaenyra’s soft voice drew Alicent from her thoughts, as did the feeling of blunt nails
lightly scratching her scalp.

They’d retired to bed not quite an hour ago, after sharing a warm bath together and a few fleeting
touches besides. Rhaenyra had dried and combed her hair and then woven it into a braid, and then
Alicent had done the same for her mate. After slipping on their nightgowns, Rhaenyra had carried
Alicent to bed and laid her down upon the soft mattress before joining her. They’d easily settled
into their familiar positions of Rhaenyra flat on her back and Alicent half atop her with her head
resting upon her mate’s full chest.

Alicent tilted her head slightly to meet Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Are you ready for the morrow, Nyra?”

Rhaenyra was silent a moment as she considered. “As much as I can be.” She smiled softly as she
caressed Alicent’s hair. “With you by my side, I know that I have nothing to fret over.”

Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s cheeks and chest, and she instinctively tried to turn her head away,
but gentle fingers prevented her. “You’re too kind,” she murmured.

“There is no such thing as being too kind to you, My Alicent.” Rhaenyra’s fingers briefly stroked
her cheek before trailing lower to trace the line of her jaw. “You’re perfect in every way, My Safa.
Everything that I ever dreamt of and more.”

Alicent’s throat felt tight as she wrapped an arm around Rhaenyra’s waist and squeezed as hard as
she could. “I never even dreamed that someone as wonderful as you might exist, My Nyra. That
someone as wonderful as you could exist. It was simply beyond my comprehension before coming
here.”
Rhaenyra drew her up and connected their lips in a gentle kiss, her touch soft and reverent as she
ran her hands over Alicent’s body, sending pleasant shivers rippling down her spine. “My Sweet
Alicent.”

“Yes, My Darling Nyra.” Alicent held her mate’s cheeks in a loose grip, thumbs stroking over soft
skin and marveling as she always did that someone so exquisite could be hers. “I love you, Nyra.
So much.”

“And I you.” Rhaenyra deepened their kiss, and Alicent whimpered when she felt a warm tongue
slip inside her mouth, when she felt strong hands settling upon her ass, when she smelled the spice
of her mate’s desire for her. “Ali, may I—”

“Yes. Please, Nyra. I want you. I always want you.”

“You have me, Ali.” Rhaenyra broke their kiss to allow Alicent to catch her breath, pressing their
foreheads together and purring quietly as she crooned, “Always, My Sweet.” Her voice was low
and husky, and the sound of it went directly to Alicent’s needy cunt. “I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

“Until the stars go dark,” Alicent rasped. Her grip on Rhaenyra’s face tightened, and her hips rolled
when she felt Rhaenyra squeeze her ass in response.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were dark with desire as she gazed up at her. “Above or below, Ali?”

Alicent shivered. “Above, if you please.”

A delighted smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips. “I’m certain that I’ll be greatly pleased, My Love.”

When Rhaenyra awoke the following morning, Alicent was still slumbering sprawled atop her. Her
mate’s hair was in disarray from the night before, and the love bites scattered across her neck had
darkened very prettily. She hoped that Alicent wouldn’t ask her to heal or conceal them before they
left their chambers.

Her own neck still tingled pleasantly from the many places that Alicent had nipped and licked and
bitten her, and she intended to wear her marks with pride. Let all who saw her know that she
belonged to Alicent and that her mate was as passionate and loving as she was intelligent and
charming. Let them all see how well her Alicent loved her in every way.

A soft smile curled her lips as she gazed upon her sleeping mate, whose nose was slightly
scrunched in that adorable way that meant she was dreaming about something that pleased her. She
was still clutching at Rhaenyra as she had been the night before, and her fingers flexed slightly in
her sleep as she mumbled something incoherent under her breath. And when she shifted slightly, it
was to burrow deeper into Rhaenyra’s embrace.

Merciful Mother, how had she been so blessed?

She’d meant what she said the night before. Alicent was perfect, and far better than any mate that
she’d concocted for herself in her foolish youth. Her Alicent was kind and gentle and
compassionate, but also fierce and commanding when she wished to be. She was passion and fire
and courage and love. Her brilliant mind was beyond compare, and her loving care for Rhaenyra
and everyone else that she’d taken into her heart was a gift beyond words.
Her Alicent was precious.

And bold.

And enchanting.

And considerate.

And worth every moment of sadness and grief and anger and fear that Rhaenyra had experienced
whilst waiting for their paths to cross.

The next few months would be a time of testing, she knew, but there was no doubt in her mind that
Alicent would help her weather the coming storm.

Alicent was her safety and her shield, her shelter and her sanctuary.

Alicent was her home.

Rhaenyra’s magic purred in agreement.

Three Weeks Later

(Winter Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI)

Rhaenyra sighed inwardly as set aside yet another missive regarding her mother’s trial. Merciful
Mother above. Her aunt had warned her about the deluge of calls and letters and requests for
audiences, but she had hoped that those would lessen in time.

Evidently not.

She had a stack of some fifty letters sitting on the corner of her desk asking about her mother, and
she was willing to bet a crown or more that at least half of the unopened letters that awaited her
were somehow related to her mother as well.

Seven Hells.

Even setting aside every other problem that this trial presented, there was still the simple logistical
nightmare of how much time she would have to set aside for both proper preparations and for the
trial itself.

Time that Aunt Rhaenys could only manage so much of, considering she would be expected to
attend the trial as well and was like to testify.

A headache.

A grand headache was what this was.

A grand dereliction of duty, as Mother would say.

Growling softly, she snatched up a fresh sheet of paper and began penning a missive to Jacaerya
regarding the foodstuffs to be sent north in the coming months.
“Nyra?”

“Yes, Ali?” Rhaenyra immediately set her quill aside and looked up to focus on her mate.

Seated as she was beside the largest of the windows in Rhaenyra’s study, Alicent was a vision of
ethereal beauty beneath the light of a rare winter sun. The thick auburn curls framing her perfect
face were practically glowing, and her brown eyes sparkled as they met Rhaenyra’s. “Do you recall
when I asked you about the logistics of how a woman would breathe if her bedding partner was
sitting astride her face?”

The inkwell shattered, sending sprays of black liquid in all directions.

“Damn it,” Rhaenyra snarled as ink spattered across her face and bodice.

Alicent—eyes wide with surprise and worry—was on her feet and already hurrying towards her.
“Please forgive me, My Love, I didn’t mean—”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Ali,” Rhaenyra hastened to assure her. A brief wave of her hand and a
momentary thought about the ink’s molecular structure summoned it back to her, where it
immediately coalesced into a gently undulating sphere. She smiled at Alicent as she motioned to
her now-clean gown and face. “See? Nothing to fret over. I was startled is all.”

And not merely by the ink.

Merciful Relle, of course she recalled their conversation about that particular bedding position.
Dreams of Alicent sitting atop her face and moaning wantonly as she took her pleasure had plagued
Rhaenyra for weeks after that discussion.

Alicent’s eyes were still wide, but now they were shining with curiosity as she examined the inky
sphere. “Did you use a standard summoning spell whilst focusing on the molecular formula of the
ink within this vicinity? Or is there a specific evocation for ink?”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to Alicent’s cheek, delighted—as she
always was—by her mate’s splendid intellect. “The former, My Love.”

Alicent hummed thoughtfully, her brow furrowing in that special way that meant she was plotting
her future research.

When Alicent eventually returned her attention to Rhaenyra, she cocked her head. “May I assume
your destruction of that poor inkwell means you recall our conversation?”

Rhaenyra snorted and gave her mate an affectionate swat on the arm. “Do you think me likely to
forget the day that you asked me whether I’d have trouble breathing with you seated upon my
face?”

Merely saying the words aloud sent a thrill of desire rippling throughout her body as she imagined
being so utterly surrounded by Alicent’s scent in such a way, imagined the way that Alicent’s
wetness would drip down into her eager mouth, imagined the feeling of Alicent’s cunt and clit
pressing and rubbing against her face as her mate panted and moaned and desperately bucked her
hips.

Seven Hells she wanted—

“I was wondering if we might perhaps try that position sometime soon?” Alicent’s tone was all soft
innocence and gentle sweetness, but the smile curling her lips and the glint in her eyes were
anything but.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched as images of Alicent’s rolling hips and bouncing breasts, of Alicent’s
flushed face and parted lips, of Alicent’s arched back and bared throat flooded her mind.

To watch her mate come undone in such a way . . .

Reaching out, Rhaenyra’s hands found Alicent’s and gently squeezed. “You need only say the
word, My Safa.”

Alicent grinned happily as she leaned forward to connect their lips in a sweet kiss. “Thank you, My
Love.”

“You needn’t thank me, Ali.” Rhaenyra flashed her a playful leer. “At least not until I’ve left you
feeling boneless and too exhausted to speak.”

“Is that a promise?” Alicent’s eyes were growing darker, and her entrancing voice had fallen nearly
an octave.

“Do you wish it to be?”

Alicent nodded, pressing herself more firmly against Rhaenyra’s body.

“Then I promise, My Beloved Mate, with Mother Relle as my witness, that when the time comes,
I’ll not rest until you’re begging for a reprieve and unable to walk.”

Alicent shuddered in her arms.

And Rhaenyra beamed, half-tempted to make good on her promise here and now . . .

But she had a meeting with her Small Council in less than half an hour, and Alicent deserved better
than fleeting kisses and a rushed peak.

Besides, there was much and more to be discussed before trial preparations stole her away from her
actual duties.

Reluctantly, she stepped away from her mate and returned to her chair. “My apologies, Ali, but I
must finish these letters before my meeting.”

Alicent sighed loudly, but she was smiling as she did so. “Very well, I suppose that I can allow you
to attend to your duties.” She reached out and lightly caressed Rhaenyra’s cheek, her soft touch
making Rhaenyra smile without thought. “But you’re mine once that meeting is over. I have a very
nice luncheon planned for us.”

“I’m always yours, My Safa,” Rhaenyra turned her head to kiss Alicent’s palm, earning a pleased
hum, “and I would never decline a meal with you.”

Rhaenyra still recalled with perfect clarity the day that she’d met Lady Olenna Tyrell and Lady
Tywinna Lannister. She’d been visiting Casterly Rock on progress during her mother’s imperial
reign, and Lady Tywinna had been serving as interim Lady of the Rock whilst Lady Lannister spent
a few centuries at Sunspear with Lady Martell.

She well-remembered the polite, if slightly stiff, way that Lady Tywinna had bowed to her,
remembered the brisk tone that she’d used when introducing the other members of her family,
remembered the way that Lady Tywinna’s expression had at last softened when Lady Olenna had
swept forward and chided her for performing “a ghastly impression of your rocky halls.”

Lady Olenna had then flashed her a dazzling smile and thanked Rhaenyra for providing “a most
wonderful excuse for a little extravagance.”

Rhaenyra had found her brief stay at the Rock to be the most enjoyable of her visits that progress—
save for the time that she’d been able to spend with her sisters whilst visiting their cities—in no
small part because of Lady Olenna.

Nearly eight million years later, when she’d received a courtier request from Lady Margaery
accompanied by a letter of advocacy from Lady Olenna, she hadn’t even needed to read Lady
Margaery’s letter to know that she would be happy to have Lady Olenna and Lady Tywinna’s
granddaughter as a member of court.

And every time that she saw Alicent laughing with or at Lady Margaery, every time that she saw
them strolling arm-in-arm through the garden, every time that Alicent relayed some amusing
anecdote about her heart friend, Rhaenyra was all the more pleased with her decision to accept
Lady Margaery as one of her courtiers.

Lady Margaery had proven a most wonderful friend to Alicent, and for that alone, Rhaenyra would
always treasure her. That she was also a delight in her own right—more oft than not—made that
treasuring all the easier.

A week after the Dragon Summit, Lady Margaery had quietly promised Alicent to do all that she
could to ensure that justice was done.

Rhaenyra hadn’t quite known what to make of such a vow when Alicent had told her.

She supposed that she did now.

Lady Tywinna and Lady Olenna had risen the moment that she and Alicent entered the parlor, and
now they were both offering a deep bow and curtsy. Neither had changed at all since she’d last seen
them, which wasn’t particularly surprising. Women of their age tended to be quite set in their
appearances. Both still looked to be in their late-seven thousands and as hale and healthy as ever.

As was her wont, Lady Olenna wore rich green brocade festooned with golden roses that shone
brighter than the metal itself in the afternoon sun. Half a dozen rings glinted on her fingers, the
most prominent of which was a lion’s head nestled within the petal of a blooming rose. The sleeves
of her gown had been cut just so to draw the eye to her bonding bracelet, and, as ever, her hair was
swept up beneath an elaborate headdress also bearing her House’s sigil.

To this day, Rhaenyra had no idea what color Lady Olenna’s hair actually was.

Looming beside her mate like a dark and elegant shadow, Lady Tywinna somehow managed to
stand tall and proud even as she bowed low—a lingering reminder, perhaps, that the Lannisters had
once ruled over the Old World’s Cairdic Empire from their seat on the Great Isle of the Shattered
Continent. For all that her House’s colors were gold and crimson, Lady Tywinna had always
favored long doublets of black brocade with subtle geometric patterns that were nigh invisible, and
simple black pants and boots.

Rhaenyra glanced over at Alicent, wondering if her mate had known that these were the guests
Lady Margaery had insisted they come and greet, but Alicent seemed as surprised to see Lady
Margaery’s grandmothers as Rhaenyra herself.

More so, in truth, considering the way that her eyes were roving over them—Lady Tywinna in
particular—with unabashed interest.

Or perhaps her mate was simply still unused to seeing women with short hair.

Returning her attention to her guests, Rhaenyra offered a warm smile and motioned for them to
return to their seats. “Lady Olenna, Lady Tywinna, welcome to Stone Garden.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Lady Tywinna inclined her head as she sat down, her back perfectly
straight.

“And thank you for so swiftly finding the time to come speak with us.” Lady Olenna’s posture was
as perfect as her mate’s, and Rhaenyra sighed inwardly when she realized that she wouldn’t be able
to sit comfortably with her back resting against the soft cushions of her chair as she might have
otherwise wished.

“I always make an effort to ensure that my guests are not waiting overlong for a proper greeting.”

Grandmother Alysanne had always been rather insistent on that particular piece of decorum.

As had Aemma.

Which was why she’d swallowed her complaints when Lady Margaery had interrupted her and
Alicent’s luncheon a few minutes ago. Alicent had been telling Rhaenyra about her most recent
magic lesson when Lady Margaery had suddenly appeared to request their presence in the
Honeysuckle Tower where a pair of newly arrived guests awaited them.

Rhaenyra had felt them enter the inner ward, but she’d thought little of it at the time.

Perhaps she should have paid closer attention.

Or insisted on knowing who had come.

When she’d first asked, Lady Margaery had offered no more than an enigmatic smile in response,
and Alicent’s amusement had kept her from pressing further.

Well, that ink has dried.

Neatly folding her hands in her lap, Rhaenyra briefly looked between the two women.

Lady Tywinna’s expression was impassive, but her sharp and incisive gaze was anything but. For
all that the women of her family enjoyed likening themselves to lions, Rhaenyra had always
thought of her as more akin to a raptor.

She certainly has the eyes to match.

As for Lady Olenna, one look at her made plain from whom Lady Margaery had inherited her easy
grace and charm—as well as her mischievousness—but no one with even a little familiarity would
be foolish enough to believe that Lady Olenna Tyrell was no more than a pleasant smile.

“I must confess,” Rhaenyra began, “that we were not expecting you.”

Lady Tywinna frowned slightly.

But Lady Olenna chuckled and patted her mate’s knee. “It seems that our granddaughter wished to
surprise all of us.”

Lady Tywinna sighed. “Then please forgive our intrusion, Your Majesty. Margaery led us to believe
that she was acting with your knowledge.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Lady Tywinna.” In truth, sitting now as she was before Lady Tywinna
and Lady Olenna, Rhaenyra was relieved and grateful that Margaery had evidently decided to take
the matter of securing a barrister to represent the Dragon Throne into her own hands.

For all that Rhaenyra had spent the past three weeks contemplating the trial and all of the attendant
matters, she’d found herself strangely reluctant to select a barrister. Since she was the woman who
had been harmed by her mother’s crime, it was both her right and her duty to choose who would
represent the Dragon Throne—or to delegate the task to someone else. But something about the
finality of officially selecting the woman who would be directly responsible—in a manner of
speaking—for ensuring her mother was imprisoned—or worse—had made her balk.

So she’d delayed.

Aemma, Hylda, Sabitha, her sisters, her daughters, her aunts, and Corla had all had much and more
to say about that.

As had Grandmother Daenerys, Grandmother Rhaena, Grandmother Alysanne, and Grandmother

Alyssa.

And even Alicent had been growing concerned of late, though her mate was kind enough not to
press.

Rhaenyra looked over when she felt a soft hand covering hers, and she flashed her mate a
reassuring smile in response to the faint crease forming between Alicent’s eyebrows. “I’m all
right.”

“I can sense your roiling thoughts, Nyra.”

“Roiling yes,” she conceded, “but not in a bad way.”

Some of the tension left Alicent’s shoulders then. “I was worried that Margaery had overstepped.”

“Not at all. I’ll owe her my thanks, in fact.”

Alicent smiled at that. “She’s going to be insufferably smug.”

“I don’t doubt it.” When Rhaenyra turned her attention back to her guests, Lady Olenna was
wearing the exact sort of pleasant yet self-satisfied smile that she was certain would be curling
Lady Margaery’s lips in short order. She cocked her head slightly as she addressed Lady Tywinna.
“Would it be presumptuous of me to assume that you’re here because Lady Margaery persuaded
you to represent me?”

“Persuaded?” Lady Olenna waved her hand dismissively. “I assure you, Your Majesty, there was no
persuasion necessary. Tywinna was more than happy to offer her services as a prosecutor.” She
leaned forward, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “She’s never been particularly fond
of Viserra, truth be told.”

“This isn’t a matter of fondness,” Lady Tywinna tsked, though she didn’t deny her mate’s claim.
“It’s a matter of holding a woman who has violated one of our most sacred laws to account.”

“And if doing so just happens to involve verbally eviscerating Viserra on the stand . . .” Lady
Olenna smiled slyly as she spread her hands. “So much the better, no?”

Rhaenyra couldn’t actually say for certain, in truth, much as she wished that she could.

“I’ve heard tell that Eddara Stark has been retained to represent Viserra,” Lady Olenna continued,
her tone more serious now, “so you’ll most certainly want my Tywinna opposing her. Honorable as
she is, I’m certain that Eddara will provide the most robust defense possible. The Dragon Throne
deserves a prosecutor who will do the same.”

Yes, Rhaenyra supposed that it did.

And perhaps, so did she.

Nearly six hours later, Rhaenyra was mentally and emotionally exhausted from sharing all that she
could about what her mother had done and what information she’d gleaned over the millennia and
at the Summit about the modified stasis net.

She was no longer foolish enough to think that the story of the net and its breaking would become
less harrowing the more times that she told it.

Lady Olenna and Lady Tywinna had hardly batted an eye when she’d told them the truth about her
“saving” Valyria, but that meant little and less.

Tywinna Lannister was rather known for her stoicism.

Olenna Tyrell had once been a Judicator of the Imperial Court.

And both women were One Hundred and Twenty-Seventh Generation.

They’d been perfecting the art of masking their feelings for nearly half a billion years.

Despite knowing all of that, Rhaenyra had found herself absurdly comforted by their lack of
reaction.

Foolish, she knew, and she suspected that her feeling of “comfort” was entirely because she was
simply relieved that they hadn’t openly condemned her for what she’d done.

Regardless, by the time that Lady Tywinna decided that she had enough information to begin her
preparations, Rhaenyra was in desperate need of a kiss and a cuddle and perhaps a song from her
mate.

Alas, manners—and stomachs—demanded otherwise.

Alicent had evidently informed Aemma about Lady Olenna and Lady Tywinna’s presence and
intention to remain at Stone Garden until the trial concluded, for when the four of them had at last
emerged from the parlor, a small host of women had been waiting to guide Lady Olenna and Lady
Tywinna to the apartments that had already been prepared for them, and to help them teleport any
belongings that they felt they might need for the duration of their stay.

Rhaenyra had quietly thanked Aemma once her guests were no longer within hearing distance, to
which her old heart friend had responded by drawing her into a warm and crushing hug.

Her Darling Alicent had then asked if she wished to retire to their chambers and enjoy a private
supper together, and while Rhaenyra had been sorely tempted to say “yes,” she’d shaken her head
instead. It would have been impolite not to dine with Lady Tywinna and Lady Olenna this evening.

Which was why she and Alicent were now in their personal small dining hall supping with Lady
Tywinna, Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery, and Lady Sansa rather than sequestered away in their
apartments and curled up together on their favorite settee reading a book or simply talking quietly
with each other.

Alicent had been the one to suggest that Lady Margaery and Lady Sansa join them—ostensibly so
that they could spend time with Lady Tywinna and Lady Olenna, but Rhaenyra knew the true
reason was that her mate was taking measures to ensure that she would not need to converse unless
she wished to.

Her Alicent was so utterly perfect in that way.

And Rhaenyra would make certain to demonstrate her gratitude after supper. In truth, it had been
some time since she’d last spent an evening doting upon her mate. Since the Summit, Alicent had
been the one cossetting her and offering her any and all comforts that she could—from pretty songs
and loving kisses, to warm cuddles and quiet reading, to enjoyable conversations and whispered
sweet nothings—to ensure that Rhaenyra remained well-occupied and content.

It was high time that Rhaenyra reciprocated.

Unbidden, thoughts of her and Alicent’s conversation from this morning rose to the fore of her
mind.

“I was wondering if we might perhaps try that position sometime soon?”

She was fairly certain that Alicent hadn’t meant tonight when she said those words, but perhaps . . .

Rhaenyra glanced over at her mate, who was a vision in green and silver this evening, and the
exhaustion that had seized a hold of her some hours ago began to dissipate.

“I’m actually somewhat surprised that Mother agreed to represent the dowager, in truth.” Lady
Sansa’s voice drew Rhaenyra from her own thoughts and focused her attention on the other woman
in time to see her pluck a lemon cake from the tray in the center of the table. “Mum has never much
liked Viserra.”
Rhaenyra’s eyebrows arched in surprise at hearing those words. While she wouldn’t claim to know
Lady Eddara’s mate well . . . “Lady Roberta has never given me that impression.”

“Of course she hasn’t.” Lady Sansa shrugged. “Mum may be brash and behave exactly as one
would expect of a storm-maker, but she’s not a fool.”

Lady Margaery snickered.

Lady Sansa rolled her eyes. “She isn’t.”

“She very much was ten Yules ago.”

Lady Sansa swatted her mate’s arm before returning her attention to Rhaenyra. “I believe, Your
Majesty, that you’ll discover in the coming months that there are many who are not very fond of
your mother.”

Lady Tywinna nodded in agreement, her lips twisting slightly. “Viserra Everlasting well-
demonstrates that being a good ruler is not synonymous with being a good woman.”

“Viserra ensured that the Empire didn’t crumble,” Lady Olenna sniffed, “but that is hardly a feat
during times of peace.”

“Most empresses have ruled during times of peace, Grandmother,” Lady Margaery chuckled.

“And most empresses haven’t been particularly impressive.” Lady Olenna paused a moment, her
attention shifting fully to Rhaenyra. “With all due respect, Queen Rhaenyra. You were quite
impressive, and continue to be.”

Rhaenyra’s cheeks flushed at the unexpected praise, but she forced herself not to look away. “You
flatter me, Lady Olenna.”

Lady Olenna snorted and waved dismissively. “Not at all. I don’t believe in wasting my breath on
empty words.”

Beside her, Alicent was beaming.

Alicent sighed happily as Rhaenyra’s hands kneaded the muscles of her back, easily expelling the
tensions and aches and making her feel as if her body had become liquid. Her eyes slipped shut as
she briefly lowered her wards to share her contentment with her mate, who purred quietly in
response.

“Does this feel good, My Love?” The feeling of Rhaenyra’s warm breath on the back of her neck
made Alicent shiver, as did the words themselves.

She must know exactly what she is doing to me, what effect those words would have.

In various little ways, her mate had been teasing her ever since they’d returned to their chamber
after supper—the huskiness of her voice as she’d read aloud to her, the playful smile that had
graced her lips much of the evening, the way that her fingers had lightly stroked the back of
Alicent’s neck as she combed and braided her hair, the lingering, smoldering gazes and soft
caresses . . .
The offer to massage her back.

Alicent knew that her mate was seducing her, and she didn’t mind at all.

It was still a rather rare occurrence—Rhaenyra seeking to bed her.

More oft than not, Rhaenyra waited until Alicent initiated.

We’ll need to speak about that eventually.

But not tonight.

Not when Rhaenyra’s hands were sliding lower to caress her ass. Not when Rhaenyra’s lips were
kissing her neck. Not when Alicent could feel Rhaenyra’s yearning.

Her mate wanted her.

And Alicent was eager to be taken.

∞∞

Rhaenyra smiled lazily, her eyes still slightly glazed from her peak as they raked over Alicent’s
naked body in a way that somehow still brought a flush to Alicent’s cheeks. “Come here, Ali.”

Curious, Alicent’s didn’t hesitate to crawl up the length of her mate’s body, though she did pause
every so often to simply enjoy the little shivers that she elicited every time she allowed her fingers
to brush over Rhaenyra’s heated skin. “Yes, My Love?” she asked once she’d settled beside her
safa.

“May I?”

Despite not having any inkling as to what her mate sought permission to do, Alicent nodded. She
trusted her Nyra to take care of her and to not ask for more than Alicent felt comfortable giving.

Strong hands grasped her hips a moment later, and then she was being lifted up into the air and
repositioned so that her knees rested on either side of her mate’s head and so that her cunt hovered
mere centimeters above Rhaenyra’s face.

Alicent’s breath hitched, and she felt her clit throb with desire when she realized what Rhaenyra
wanted, what she was offering.

“Is this all right, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes gazed up at her from between Alicent’s spread
legs, and the sight alone nearly brought Alicent to her peak. Warm hands caressed her hips and
thighs before wandering further to grasp her ass.

“I,” Alicent gulped, her mouth impossibly dry even as her cunt grew so wet that she feared she
would drip onto Rhaenyra’s chin, “I was about to ask you that,” she finally managed.

Much as she wanted to simply lower herself at once and become lost in the pleasurable sensations
of her Nyra’s fervent lips and talented tongue, she wanted to be certain that Rhaenyra’s desire
matched her own.
Rhaenyra gave her ass an affectionate squeeze. “I want to taste you like this, Ali.” She licked her
lips. “I want you to take your pleasure, if you wish.” Her tongue flicked out to lap up some of the
slick that glistened on Alicent’s inner thigh, making Alicent shudder, and forcing her to grip the
headboard to steady herself. “I want to feel your pretty, swollen cunt upon my face,” Rhaenyra
purred. “I want to taste your desire as it drips onto my tongue and covers my lips. I want to drown
in your scent until I’m unable to think of anything but you and your pleasure. I want your lovely
thighs clenching so hard around my head that all other sounds disappear. Please, My Sweet? Won’t
you allow me that pleasure?”

“Merciful Mother,” Alicent panted, her heart thundering in her chest and her cunt clenching at the
words as need coiled tight in her belly. “All ri—Seven thrice-damned Hells!”

The slick warmth of Rhaenyra’s tongue sliding over her swollen clit drove all other thoughts from
Alicent’s mind, and she instinctively pressed her cunt down onto Rhaenyra’s face, which earned her
an approving moan.

“Good girl, Ali. Let me feel how much you want this.”

Alicent whined, her grip tightening on the headboard as she instinctively rolled her hips in search
of more friction.

Rhaenyra obliged at once, lavishing her cunt with eager licks and her clit with the occasional
suckle.

“Nyra,” she gasped, her thighs already trembling from the delicious shocks of pleasure assaulting
her clit and cunt. “Please, please, please.”

“Is this what you wanted, My Sweet Safa? My tongue lapping at your soaked cunt? My lips kissing
your pretty clit?”

“Yes!” The word was little more than a strangled moan as fresh waves of pleasure crashed over her
when telekinetic hands began playing with her nipples and Rhaenyra’s actual hands squeezed and
stroked her ass. “Your mouth feels so good, My Love,” Alicent panted, her hips bucking when
Rhaenyra’s nose brushed over her aching clit. “Please, don’t stop. Please.”

Rhaenyra shifted slightly beneath her, and now her tongue was licking the full length of Alicent’s
cunt again and again and again, pausing after each stroke to tease Alicent’s clit with little flutters
that weren’t quite enough to send Alicent careening over the edge.

Alicent moaned and writhed as she tried to rub herself against Rhaenyra’s face, but her mate’s hold
on her ass had tightened to keep her in place and prevent her from rolling or bucking her hips.

Frustration made Alicent’s jaw clench as Rhaenyra continued to tease and taunt her, pushing her to
the edge again and again, but never letting her fall.

“I love the taste of your pleasure, Ali.” Rhaenyra’s hot tongue was still lapping eagerly at Alicent’s
slick folds—but now purposefully avoiding her clit—whilst her telekinetic hands fondled Alicent’s
sensitive breasts and teased her hard nipples. “I love hearing you moan for me. And I adore seeing
you so eager and impatient for your release.”

“Safa, please,” Alicent begged, not caring how desperate she sounded.
She was desperate.

And needy.

And wanton.

“Please, Nyra.” She bucked her hips as best she could, whining when Rhaenyra blew hot breath
over her cunt in response. “Please. I need more.”

“My pretty mate,” Rhaenyra’s voice cooed in her mind, infuriatingly loving and tender. “Tell me
what you need, My Sweet.”

“More,” Alicent keened.

She was close.

She was so close.

And while she couldn’t begin to say how long Rhaenyra had been mercilessly licking and sucking
and stroking her only to then refuse her release, she knew that it had been for far longer than her
mate usually teased and denied her.

The coil in her belly was so tight that it was almost painful, and she felt unbearably hot. Fresh slick
was flowing freely from her cunt into Rhaenyra’s eager mouth, and her clit ached for proper
attention. Her mind was hazy with desire, and her whole body thrummed with tension that was
driving her mad.

“Please what, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s mental voice taunted. “Use your words, My Darling Safa. Tell me
what you want. What you need.”

“Please,” she gasped.

“Please what?”

“Nyra, I, I need . . .”

“What do you need?”

“I need you to—oh, Relle—I need . . .”

“Words, My Sweet. Use your—”

“Fuck me!” Alicent cried. “Please, please fuck me!”

Rhaenyra’s tongue froze.

Alicent howled with frustration.

Then warm lips wrapped around her clit and sucked.

Alicent screamed her mate’s name.

Rhaenyra growled against her cunt, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling throughout Alicent’s
body.
“Oh, yes, Nyra! Yes, yes, yes!” she babbled, her mind awash with pleasure and needing more—
muddled and eager and desperate as words spilled from her lips without thought. “Fuck! Please
don’t stop! Please don’t stop! More, please, more! I’ve been good! Please don’t stop!”

“Take your pleasure, Ali.”

Alicent’s hips bucked, and she realized that Rhaenyra’s hands had abandoned her ass and settled
upon her hips to hold her steady, but no longer still.

Without hesitation or thought, she began to rut against Rhaenyra’s face, chasing her pleasure with a
desperation that she’d never felt before.

“Good girl.”

Rhaenyra’s tongue vibrated against Alicent’s clit as she gave the swollen bud another hard suck,
and invisible fingers pressed down against Alicent’s mate mark.

Alicent shrieked as white-hot pleasure crashed over her and her body convulsed with the force of
her peak.

Slick gushed from her cunt to soak Rhaenyra’s face as the coil in her belly blessedly snapped, and
Alicent felt as if she was falling and flying all at once.

The last thing that she saw before darkness claimed her were Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes shining
with love and adoration as they gazed up at her from between her quaking thighs.

∞∞

Alicent’s eyes fluttered open slowly, and she was greeted by the sight of Rhaenyra’s face hovering
over her own. Her mate’s expression seemed torn between satisfaction and concern, which might
have made Alicent laugh had she the energy.

“Welcome back, My Safa.” Rhaenyra’s hand found her cheek and cradled it softly. “Did you enjoy
your dōna ēdrugon?”

“My . . .” Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. Her mind still felt hazy and slow, her
limbs impossibly heavy and tingling, her tongue thick and clumsy. “Sweet sleep?” she finally
managed.

Rhaenyra leaned down to brush the tip of her nose against Alicent’s. “Your peak was so strong that
you lost consciousness.” Pride gleamed in her eyes as she spoke. “And you utterly soaked my face
and the sheets.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed. She wanted to reach up and touch her mate’s face, but she was far too
tired and boneless for such exertion, and her mind couldn’t focus enough to use her telekinesis.
“You,” she blinked sleepily, her eyelids feeling heavy, “you’re a marvel.”

Rhaenyra preened for a moment before closing the distance between them and kissing her softly.
“And you,” she murmured against her lips, “are perfect.” Drawing back, she cocked her head
slightly. “Shall I fetch your nightclothes?”

It was only then that Alicent noticed her mate was no longer naked. “Yes, please.”
The bed shifted beneath her as Rhaenyra disappeared for a moment to fetch her long-smallclothes
and nightgown. Upon returning, she gently lifted Alicent up onto her lap so that she could dress
her, and as warm fabric settled over her skin, Alicent realized that Rhaenyra must have cleaned her
whilst she slept, for she was no longer wet and sticky between her legs.

“Thank you, Nyra,” she yawned once they’d settled back onto the bed, her back flush with
Rhaenyra’s front.

Rhaenyra lightly kissed her neck. “There is no need for thanks, My Alicent.” Her fingers traced
absent patterns over Alicent’s stomach. “If anyone is owed thanks, it is you, Safa, for how well
you’ve taken care of me these past weeks.”

Alicent smiled slightly as the light-orbs extinguished and their bedchamber was plunged into
darkness save for the glowing Geltic crystals that adorned their bedside tables. “Considering how
well you’ve cared for me all these years, what I’ve been doing has been but a small matter.”

“Not to me,” Rhaenyra murmured, squeezing her tight. “Never to me.”

And Alicent’s heart fluttered.

One Month Later

(Frost Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI)

This had always been Olenna’s favorite of her mate’s trial preparation rituals—when Tywinna
would write down all of the information that she’d gathered thus far, along with every note and
thought that she’d had regarding the matter at hand, and then sort through and arrange all of her
papers as if she was organizing her thoughts.

There was something strangely charming about Tywinna’s need to see her own mental processes set
down in ink.

Especially since the majority of these papers would be burned by the end of the night so that the
information would be safely locked away in her mate’s mind once more.

And mine as well.

She supposed that that was perhaps the true reason why she enjoyed this particular ritual more than
any other. Nothing in the world could quite compare to the delight that was discussing legal
strategy with her mate, who remained one of the only women in the world capable of fully
understanding the inner workings of Olenna’s own mind.

And she knew well that this case—far more than any other before it—would require meticulous
planning and painstaking preparation.

Especially the questions.

Always the questions.

Questions, questions, questions.

More oft than not, every case turned on asking the correct question in the exact right manner.
Tywinna had once noted that over half of litigation was simply knowing how to ask the right
questions, for while drysa spiders ensured a witness’ honesty, they certainly didn’t ensure that the
ultimate truth would be revealed.

Truth was a rather tricky business.

As this case would most assuredly demonstrate.

“Rhaenyra herself shall prove our most significant liability,” Tywinna sighed, pinching the bridge
of her nose as she pushed aside a set of papers. “Her belief that what happened when the net broke
was her fault offers Eddara an opening that I greatly mislike.”

“Well, strictly speaking, she did cause all of that destruction,” Olenna drawled as she watched her
mate scribble down another note. “But for her magic, none of what happened that day would have
come to pass.”

“Indeed, but her being an actual cause of the destruction does not negate Viserra’s status as the
proximate cause.” Tywinna flashed her a wry smile. “Were we to follow the logic of actual
causation, we would have to blame the All Mother herself for leading the First Generation to
safety.”

“Or the Ice Dragon—Relle bless her soul—for birthing the All Mother.”

“And back and back and back,” Tywinna finished.

Olenna patted her mate’s arm. “Regardless of what Rhaenyra believes, the facts couldn’t be more
clear. Viserra cast an unregistered, clandestine spell upon her child—whilst said child was
unconscious—that severed her connection to her core and caused her immense physical, mental,
and emotional anguish for nearly two thousand years. She did so knowingly, with intent, and with
callous disregard for her daughter’s suffering.”

“She did so believing in her bones that what she was doing was right.”

“Her belief does not make a thing so.”

“No, but it does present the possibility of mitigating circumstances.” Tywinna slid a sheet of paper
over to Olenna. “You know as well as I do that such circumstances are what is truly at issue in this
case. Viserra has admitted to the actual crime of casting that net. All that remains is whether she
can justify her actions.”

“An impossible task.” Olenna accepted the paper, her eyes swiftly sweeping over her mate’s
elegant—if severe—handwriting. “Regarding your foundational witnesses, I would call the All
Mother first in order to establish the severity of the net.”

“My thinking was that it would be best to first establish the stakes as Viserra conceived them by
calling Mistress Anastasia. For all the good that she has done, you know as well as I that many
feared Rhaenyra’s potential when she was first born.”

Her mate included.

Olenna well-remembered the day that they’d received word of the then-imperial princess’ birth.
“Her flames were blacker than a starless sky the night of the new moon.”

“She created a crown of seven flaming stars without moving so much as a finger.”

“The black fire touched her hair and her flesh, but she did not burn or even cry out.”

“Maegor Reborn.”

“Aerysa Come Again.”

“The Daughter of Prophecy.”

“A Daughter of Doom.”

Such words had echoed throughout the halls of Casterly Rock, Highgarden, and nigh every other
home across the Empire for years.

She remembered.

And so would the judicators.

Olenna arched an eyebrow at her mate. “You wish for the judicators to empathize with her fear so
that when the time comes, they’ll better understand how such fear didn’t actually justify her
actions.”

“Exactly.” Tywinna shuffled around another set of papers, frowning as her eyes raked over the
various scribbles and words. “Have you seen—?”

“Here.” Olenna plucked up the paper with draft cross-examination questions for Vora Hylda and
held it out.

“Thank you, My Dear.” Tywinna puffed out a breath as she frowned at her questions. “I know that
it must be mentioned, but I find myself concerned about raising the matter of Rhaenyra invoking
the blood oath as she did, especially since her mother did the same.”

Olenna tilted her head slightly, her eyes sweeping over her mate’s face to determine whether
Tywinna was truly concerned or simply wished to debate the matter to better organize her own
thoughts.

Her mate’s lips were pursed in a slightly crooked manner, and her eyes glinted.

Debate then.

“Indeed you should be. You intend to portray Viserra as unreasonable for invoking the oath against
Vora Aelinor, and yet Rhaenyra did the same.” She paused. “And for the same reasons as well.”

“The motivations were different. Viserra acted for the sake of her own self-perseveration. Rhaenyra
sought to preserve her mother.”

“Rhaenyra herself will testify that she gave the order because she feared how others would react to
the truth,” Olenna countered. “How is that not acting for the sake of her own self-preservation?”
“Because she only feared other people’s reactions because her mother convinced her to be afraid.”
Tywinna set the paper down and turned in her chair to properly face her. “We can establish through
Vora Aelinor as well as Rhaenyra the kinds of things that Viserra said to her long before she cast
the net. We can demonstrate a pattern of manipulation that would inevitably result in a young child
believing to her bones that her mother was correct in all things.”

Olenna nodded in agreement. “Eddara will try to soften Viserra’s actions to those of a mother
genuinely concerned for her daughter’s well-being.”

“She may certainly try to do so.” Tywinna picked up the small sheaf of papers listing the names of
every potential witness organized by those who had agreed to testify and the likelihood that
Tywinna would actually call them. “And I do not at all envy her that task.”

“Nor I, but that being said, were anyone other than Eddara representing Viserra, you’d not have to
expend any effort at all to ensure a proper conviction.” Olenna took the witness list from Tywinna
and began to read over it.

“Indeed.” Tywinna tapped her quill on the side of her inkwell as she produced a fresh sheet of
paper. “Alas, despite Viserra’s heinous nature, I’ve no doubt that Eddara will marshal every
resource at her disposal to mount the strongest argument that she can.”

“Her only viable argument is that Viserra was doing her duty when she cast that net.” Olenna
frowned as she set one of the pages down and tapped on the topmost name of the left column. “You
ought to plan on calling Dowager Queen Daemona to the stand.”

“She would be an uncooperative witness at best, considering how close she is to Viserra.”
Tywinna’s lips pursed. “Calling her might hurt our case.”

“All the same, you should endeavor to call her before Eddara does, because if you don’t, then
Eddara will, and it would be better if you controlled whatever narrative Daemona has to tell.”

Tywinna arched an eyebrow at her. “Is this your opinion as my mate, or as a former judicator?”

“Why not both?” Olenna flashed her a teasing smile. “You know that I’m always right, Dearest.”

Tywinna snorted, but added a note to prepare questions for the Geltic dowager. “I’ll travel to
Glasglain on the morrow. Dragonstone as well.”

Olenna frowned slightly, knowing that there was only one reason for her mate to visit Dragonstone.
“You intend to ask the All Mother to lift the Seal.”

“You don’t approve?”

It wasn’t that she disapproved so much as she worried about what would come from that particular
revelation. Rhaenyra’s belief that she was in part to blame for what happened when the net broke
was one matter, but informing everyone . . . “Eddara could use what happened when the net broke
to argue that Viserra was correct to fear Rhaenyra’s power.”

“To which I would respond that the outpouring of Her Majesty’s magic was only so drastic because
it had been improperly contained for so long.”
“But we cannot know that for certain. And Rhaenyra herself will admit to causing all manner of
small disasters when her temper flared as a child.”

“Exactly. Small disasters. Nothing on the scale of what we all witnessed.”

“All the same, women remember the near destruction of the planet even more viscerally than they
do their initial fear of Rhaenyra’s potential, and the latter arguably justifies the former.” Olenna
expelled a heavy breath, drumming her fingers on the table. “It would be best if word of what
Rhaenyra’s magic did happened to slip free before the trial so that Eddara cannot present it during
direct and raise everyone’s blood.”

Tywinna arched an eyebrow. “You and I both know that isn’t possible.”

“Indeed, but that doesn’t change the fact that it would be advantageous.” She smiled playfully as
she reached out to nudge her mate’s side. “If not us or Eddara, Roberta would certainly do.”

Tywinna snorted, amusement glinting in her eyes. “I doubt that Roberta has been informed. She and
Eddara don’t have the same sort of relationship that we do.”

“No one does.”

“Exactly.” Tywinna caught her hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “But all the same, given
Roberta’s nature, she’ll not have been informed of such sensitive information—Seal or no.”

Olenna smirked. “That woman is more boar than stag, isn’t she?”

“That isn’t particularly kind, My Dear.”

“But it is particularly true, is it not?”

“Considering she challenged her cousin to a duel over some petty slight ten or so Yules past,”
Tywinna chuckled, “I don’t disagree.”

“Our Sansa inherited far more of her disposition from Eddara than she did Roberta, thank Relle.”
Olenna paused. “Although I will say, boisterous temper aside, Roberta is certainly a loyal mate, if
nothing else. She’s been living in Norden for what, three reigns now?”

“Four.”

“Merciful Mother.” The mere thought alone was enough to make Olenna shiver. “It still shocks me
that Roberta agreed to live in that frozen wasteland for Eddara.”

“Margaery spent all of Queen Rhaenyra’s imperial reign in that ‘frozen wasteland’ for Sansa, and
she’s far more a Daughter of Summer than Roberta.” Tywinna shrugged. “The sacrifices we make
for our mates, no?”

“Hmm.”

Tywinna arched an eyebrow. “Do you mean to tell me that you would not live in Norden for my
sake?”

Olenna raised her chin, pitching her voice slightly as she assumed an exaggerated Dragon Courter
accent. “It would depend entirely on your willingness to keep me warm when needed.”
A sly smile curled Tywinna’s lips. “When have I ever been unwilling?”

Rather than answering with words, Olenna leaned forward and gave her mate a lingering kiss that
earned her a rumbling purr.

When she drew back, Olenna whispered, “Regarding the disasters, what if Eddara argues that
Viserra had no way of knowing that they would not increase in scope? Therefore making the net
necessary to avoid such harm?”

Tywinna didn’t hesitate. “Then she should have taken those concerns to another rather than plotting
in secret.” She cocked her head. “Would that satisfy you, Judicator?”

“I would want to hear testimony that she didn’t.”

“Hence why I intend to call the All Mother later.”

“You’ll want to call Viserra’s mate as well. Considering her part in the experiments, ”

Tywinna grimaced. “A rather unappealing prospect. But a necessary one, I’ll grant you.” She
shuffled her papers until she found what she was looking for. “We must establish a timeline early,
demonstrate that Viserra was scheming well before she could know for certain that Rhaenyra posed
a true threat.”

“Assuming that she was scheming.”

“That is an assumption I’d be willing to stake a sovereign on. Viserra and Alaura admitted at the
Summit that experiments were conducted. Such things cannot be done overnight or in the short
amount of time between when Rhaenyra lashed out and when Aelinor Westerling brought her
home. Viserra must have begun tinkering with the net at least a few years in advance.”

“At a time when the All Mother was off-world,” Olenna noted. “Were I Eddara, I would argue that
Viserra couldn’t seek the All Mother counsel as a result.”

“The All Mother was off-world in the early years after Rhaenyra was born, yes, but she returned
nearly a century before the net broke. And she’s only left a handful of times since.” Tywinna spread
her hands. “Viserra remained silent all that time.”

“As did Rhaenyra.” Olenna steepled her fingers together as she considered. “Eddara will have no
choice but to try and deflect at least some of the blame onto her.”

“Which would be a mistake.”

“One that she may nevertheless deem necessary.” The thought of anyone employing such a tactic
made her stomach roil, and she knew that Eddara would be loath to do so, but if that was the only
option . . . “The current judicators are young women, and further removed from the First
Generation besides. I’m simply recommending that you be prepared for such arguments.”

“But of course.”

Olenna’s eyes briefly flitted over the papers scattered across her mate’s desk. “And you’ve prepared
questions for Viserra, yes? She’ll no doubt speak on her own behalf.”

A grim, cold smile curled Tywinna’s lips then. “I hope that she does.”
Chapter End Notes

Gentle Readers, I’m so sorry to do this to you all, but these past two (three? What is time?)
weeks have been exhausting in terms of work (I’ve been clocking 10-11 hours minimum at the
office since the beginning of January), so I will be taking a week hiatus, and Chapter 56 will
be posted on February 10, 2024 (Lunar New Year!).

That said, I will be dropping a new chapter of The Failed Seduction of Alicent Hightower?
that has been languishing in my folders (because I’m keeping up my year and two weeks
streak of posting content at least once a week if it kills me).

Anyhow, yes, I did make Olenna and Tywin(na), and Eddard(a) and Robert(a) mates here. I
have no regrets. You can yell at me about it in the comments.

Next Chapter: The trial begins!

 The Opening Salvo
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 56:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Damella Rowan, an Osmeran dressmaker, from Kastrell
– Tywinna Lannister, a prosecution barrister, residing in Lannister Province, Gelt
– Eddara Stark, a defense barrister, residing in Stark Province, Norden (Valyrian counterpart
of Eddard)

A special thanks to Octavas, beepboop (permanganato), and NewLeeLand for beta reading
this chapter, and to LesbianLightbringer for sensitivity reading various sections.
And an additional thanks to TheReadingWriter for helping me bounce around ideas.

Smut Warning: This chapter contains a smut scene, which will be marked at the beginning
and end with double infinity signs (∞∞) if you wish to skip over it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Snow Moon/1,000,125 Visenya VI

“Is the Queen nervous for the morrow?”

Alicent didn’t look up from her sewing, not wishing for Mistress Damella to see the worry that she
was certain must be glinting in her eyes. “She’s confident that justice will be done, and she’s done
all that she can to prepare.”

If Mistress Damella was bothered by her lack of answer, her voice offered no sign of it. “With Lady
Tywinna serving as her barrister, I cannot imagine her being anything less than perfectly prepared.”

So women had been saying for months now.

And so Alicent was inclined to agree.

Tywinna Lannister was a determined, uncompromising, and cunning woman. Terrifying, in her own
way, but not without her own form of kindness and consideration. These past months had been both
a flurry and a slog of preparations as Lady Tywinna and Lady Olenna had strategized with each
other and summoned hundreds of women to them over a matter of weeks in order to determine who
among them should be offered as witnesses. Countless sheets of paper had been sacrificed to their
endeavors, as had dozens of quills and Relle only knew how much ink.

Every woman selected as a witness had been subjected to at least an hour of questioning each day
without fail or exception in preparation for the trial, and Lady Tywinna had insisted upon twelve
different mock proceedings to better familiarize everyone with what to expect once the appointed
day came, as well as to experiment with different witness orders should Lady Eddara call someone
before Lady Tywinna had the chance. No detail had been considered too small or insignificant to be
practiced to perfection, no question had been considered too outlandish to prepare for, and no
potential impropriety had been dismissed as too unlikely.

During the practice trials, Lady Tywinna had subjected Rhaenyra and all of her witnesses to
ruthless cross-examinations of the sort that Sansa had assured Alicent her mother would never
resort to. When Lady Tywinna had overheard those words, she’d simply said that they must be
prepared for every eventuality.

“It would be neither proper nor precedented, but there is nothing in our laws preventing the
accused from posing her own questions during cross-examination, and considering all that Viserra
has done to both protect her secret and justify her actions, we must be prepared.”

Alicent hadn’t been able to disagree, and neither had Rhaenyra.

So they’d endured Lady Tywinna’s questions.

And Alicent wouldn’t lie by claiming that she didn’t feel more prepared because of the experience.

She knew that her mate felt the same.

But she also knew that Rhaenyra was still nervous for the morrow, despite all that they had done to
prepare. Her mate hadn’t been sleeping particularly well of late, and she oft seemed distracted and
lost in thought. An air of pensive melancholy had settled over her, and for a time, she’d begun
overexerting herself as she once had before they’d been pairbonded.

When Alicent had expressed her concern about the change in her mate’s behavior, Rhaenyra had
flushed and looked away and quietly admitted that this was simply how she coped. Alicent had
asked if there was anything that she could do to help, and Rhaenyra had kissed her softly and
assured her that her presence was more than enough.

While Alicent was of the opinion that Rhaenyra’s penchant for exhausting herself until her own
body forced her to rest by collapsing wasn’t at all healthy—nor was it conducive to ensuring that
Rhaenyra remained mentally acute for the trial to come—she’d refrained from pushing further,
understanding her mate’s need to cope in her own way.

About a month and a half later—during which time Rhaenyra had been eschewing their bed in
favor of work and her duties—Rhaenyra had come to her looking far more haggard and exhausted
than she should have after a “mere” eight weeks without sleep. With tired eyes and a scratchy
voice, she’d conceded that perhaps the coping mechanisms that she’d developed in her youth were
not particularly healthy.

“I know that I should rest more, and I will, but my mind . . . If you could perhaps remind me in the
evenings? Sometime between seven and eight o’clock?”

Alicent had agreed at once.

And since then, Rhaenyra had actually required relatively few reminders. More oft than not, when
the clock struck half-past-seven, she was setting aside her work and seeking Alicent out instead—
asking if they might sit together on their settee and read a while, requesting that they play a game
of cyvasse or kenska or agricola together, joining Alicent and their friends in charades, accepting
Alicent’s offers to play her lute for her, agreeing with an amused smile to play cards if Alicent
promised not to win too much money from her, and nigh any other activity that they could think of.

On the nights when her mate needed reminding of her promise to rest, Rhaenyra usually required
only a few words of coaxing, and recently, that coaxing had become more of a game between them
than anything else.

One that Alicent actually enjoyed, in truth.

And yet, she still wished that she could do more, wished that she could banish the shadows from
her Nyra’s eyes and relieve her of the guilt and doubts that still gnawed at her, but she was nigh
certain that the kind of peace her mate sought and deserved could not be given by another.

“Alicent,” Mistress Damella’s voice drew Alicent from her thoughts and refocused her attention, “if
I might ask . . .” She hesitated, which told Alicent exactly what her employer wished to inquire
about.

In truth, she was rather surprised that Mistress Damella had waited so long.

Since the Summit, she’d been inundated with countless courteous questions about her mate and the
accusations that she’d made against Viserra.

“How does the Queen fare?”

“Will Her Majesty offer elaboration on the abuse beyond the net?”

“Did you know what Her Majesty intended at the Summit?”

“Was that why she suggested the Summit? To formally accuse her mother?”

“Did you know about the net before the Summit?”

“Did her daughters know about the net?”

“Was this why Lady Rhaenys was demanding the dowager’s head on Seventh Night?”

“When did Her Majesty tell you about the net?”

“Was the Queen truly but seven when the net was cast?”

“Have you spoken with Her Majesty about her intentions for the trial itself?”

At first, Alicent hadn’t known whether she ought to answer any of these questions. On Westeros,
such matters would never have been discussed before the trial, but Lady Olenna had assured her
that it would be best to disseminate as much information as possible about Viserra’s crimes before
the trial.

“Most have held a high or neutral opinion of her as an empress for millions of years. We should be
making every effort to disabuse women of that notion.”

All the same, she’d still sought Rhaenyra’s leave before she began responding to the inquiries.
Her mate’s expression had been relieved when Alicent had raised the issue, and she’d realized then
that Rhaenyra preferred for Alicent to be the one explaining matters so that she herself didn’t have
to do so.

And considering Rhaenyra would soon have to lay herself bare during the trial, Alicent could
hardly blame her mate for being reluctant to do so more than was strictly necessary in the months
beforehand.

“I’ve heard,” Mistress Damella’s lips pursed, and Alicent felt a brief flash of anger before her ward
flared in response, “during the Summit, a few of the matrons witnessed a conversation between the
Queen and her mother. They couldn’t hear what was being said, but at one point . . . Mistress
Mallister said that the dowager raised her hand to Queen Rhaenyra. Was that so?”

Alicent’s grip on her needle tightened, her own ire flaring as she recalled Rhaenyra telling her
about that confrontation when they’d returned home that evening.

“She’s never raised her hand to me before, but I knew . . . There was a look in her eyes, before
she’d even begun to move . . . It was the same look that she had just before she cast the net.”

“It was so,” Alicent said simply, not daring to say more, lest she devolve into a tirade.

Such was better saved for when she was in session with Dr. Arwen.

Mistress Damella’s eyes narrowed, and a low growl rumbled in her chest.

Alicent had lost count of how many times she’d witnessed such a reaction these past three months.

And they never became any less heartening.

Rhaenyra knew that she should be paying better attention as her Small Council discussed the rather
important matter of governing the Queendom and Stone Garden whilst she, Rhaenys, and Aemma
were in Valeria attending the trial, but her mind refused to focus, and she knew that she was
absorbing precious little.

“The under seneschals can of course manage the palace upkeep in Lady Aemma’s absence,” Lymna
was saying, “but I worry . . .”

Sunlight was streaming in through the windows of the Small Council chamber—bright and cheerful
and such a stark contrast to the relatively dull and grey gloom of the past three months. It was a
nice contrast, to be sure, but one that also filled her with a gnawing sense of foreboding that she
wished would simply leave her be.

But she knew that it wouldn’t.

Today should have been the beginning of Spring Equinox festivities.

They ought to be celebrating the turning of the year with feasts and masques.

They ought to be bidding farewell to winter with great bonfires and boisterous music.

They ought to be welcoming spring with ribbon dances and flower crowns and laughter.
She ought to be spending time with Alicent and their friends. She ought to be listening to her
mate’s musical laughter and scenting her warm contentment. She ought to be seeing her safa’s
dazzling smile and feeling her unabashed joy. She ought to be twirling Alicent around the great hall
or allowing herself to be drawn into a dance circle in the city square.

What she shouldn’t be doing was thinking about her mother and the trial that would begin on the
morrow. What she shouldn’t be doing was feeling half-sick with dread and nerves as she
contemplated all that would be said and revealed in the coming days. What she shouldn’t be doing
was regretting in some ways ever opening her mouth at the Summit.

Everyone—from her aunts to her sisters to her daughters to her heart friends to Alicent—had been
assuring her that all would be well and that her mother would face the consequences of her action.
Such words, she knew, should have comforted her and filled her with a sense of . . . Relief,
perhaps? Or vindication? Something pleasant, she was certain. And, in truth, those words usually
did comfort her.

For a time.

But the feeling never lasted long before doubts began to creep back in.

They were utterly foolish, she knew.

Lady Tywinna was confident in the verdict.

Grandmother Daenerys was even more confident.

She knew, in her bones, that all would be well, and yet . . .

Her mother deserved to be punished.

Her mother deserved to face the censure of their people.

Her mother deserved to be subject to the justice that she’d so long eluded.

The scales must needs be balanced.

Rhaenyra knew this.

And yet her mother’s words from the Summit had been haunting her for months.

“I’ve no regrets regarding that net, nor do I have any remorse. I did what was necessary, and you
are delusional if you truly believe that you would not have done the exact same thing in my place.”

Dr. Alfadora had been attempting to help.

As had her darling Alicent.

Rhaenyra knew that she would have never inflicted the pain of her mother’s net upon any of her
daughters. And she knew that she would have never even considered testing any spell of any kind
on her Alicent—regardless of whether Alicent volunteered.

But she also knew that she was perfectly capable of inflicting unspeakable pain upon those that she
believed had done wrong or were deserving of it . . .
She knew that she was willing and able to do far worse than her mother ever had.

And she knew that she was capable of committing horrors without a moment of regret, or an ounce
of remorse.

What she’d done to Criston Cole . . .

She didn’t regret it.

And she felt no remorse.

She would do far worse in a heartbeat if given the chance.

That thrice-damned vark deserved an eternity of agony for what he’d done to Alicent.

Her actions had been righteous.

There was not a sliver of doubt in her mind that she’d done right.

And she would never apologize for exacting the vengeance that she had.

So how does that make me any different from Mother?

Rhaenyra fisted her skirts, her magic hissing in response.

“I’ve no regrets regarding that net, nor do I have any remorse. I did what was necessary, and you
are delusional if you truly believe that you would not have done the exact same thing in my place.”

She would have never cast a stasis net over her daughters’ cores.

But she would destroy planets for them.

For her Alicent.

For Valyria.

She had destroyed a planet for Emalia—

“Your Majesty?”

Rhaenyra swore silently as she returned her attention to the members of her Small Council, who
were all looking at her expectantly. She forced a smile to her lips. “My apologies, could you please
repeat that?”

Bartima exchanged a brief glance with Lymna before speaking. “I was asking if you’ve had an
opportunity to review the tax filings I gave you earlier this week. Regarding the annuities still to be
paid for post-War work.”

She hadn’t so much as glanced at those reports after placing them on her desk five days ago. “I’ll
review them tonight.”

“I didn’t mean . . .” Bartima shifted slightly in her chair. “I realize that there is much occupying
your mind, Your Majesty. And I can always—”
“I’ll review them tonight,” she repeated. “Thank you for reminding me.”

She’d been hoping to spend the entire evening with Alicent.

It was the eve of the new year, and by all rights, they should be planning their bonding, not . . .

Perhaps she should have waited to accuse her mother until after they’d held their bonding
ceremony. Her Alicent didn’t deserve being forced to wait—

Seven Hells, what had she been thinking?

They should be celebrating the Equinox together—their first as mates—but instead, she was here,
and Alicent was occupying herself with work and her studies and her friends. Which was all well
and good, of course—Rhaenyra would never be displeased to hear that her mate was pursuing her
own interests—but she felt wretched that she didn’t even have the option to spend the day with
Alicent. Not when—

Damn it.

Rhaenyra hurriedly rose to her feet, forcing her councilors to do the same. “My apologies, but I
must be going.”

She was nearly five minutes late for her meeting with Lady Tywinna.

“Whatever other matters remain for discussion, Lady Rhaenys speaks with my voice.” She was
already halfway to the door as she spoke over her shoulder.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Merciful Mother how she wished this trial was over and done, and it hadn’t even yet begun.

Rhaenyra frowned as she read over Lady Tywinna’s finalized witness order—all twenty-seven
versions of it—for she couldn’t help but notice that all of the possibilities seemed to be premised on
the assumption that the prosecution would be calling the first witness. And while it had been over
six million years since her own trial, the combination of Lady Tywinna’s relentless preparations
and Alicent being kind enough to read aloud to her from legal texts and treatises whilst Rhaenyra
rested her exhausted head in her mate’s lap had brought all of those memories to the fore.

So she knew that there was a chance Lady Eddara would be granted the Right of First Witness.

When she asked as much of Lady Tywinna, the other woman didn’t even look up from her writings
as she answered. “The burden shifted the moment that your mother admitted to casting the net. It is
up to Lady Eddara to demonstrate mitigating circumstances or justification. Considering past
precedent, the likelihood is exceedingly low.”

Past precedent being her own trial and the All Mother’s.

“But it is possible—”

“If it will set your mind at ease,” Lady Tywinna waved her hand, and a new paper appeared on the
desk between them, “Olenna drew up her own lists to counter mine.” A small smile played at the
corners of her mouth. “She was also quite insistent about the slim possibility of Eddara being
allowed the Right of First Witness.”

Rhaenyra’s frown deepened when she read over the first scenario that Lady Olenna had
contemplated. “The rules of criminal procedure don’t allow for the accuser or the accused to be
called first.”

“Indeed, but my mate wished to be thorough.”

And Rhaenyra supposed that she couldn’t much complain about that.

Lady Tywinna set her quill aside and snapped her fingers to dry the wet ink before raising her eyes
to meet Rhaenyra’s. “Would you care to begin practice cross, Your Majesty, or shall we continue
discussing litigation strategy?”

She’d prefer the latter, in truth, but she knew that the former would be more productive. “Would
you care to fetch the drysa spider, or shall I?”

Rhaenyra groaned inwardly as she stared down at Bartima’s indecipherable scrawl, wondering—
not for the first time—if she ought to order her mistress of coin to enchant a thrice-damned quill so
that it wouldn’t mimic her handwriting and be done with it. Sitting back in her chair, she dragged
her spectacles from her face and allowed them to carelessly fall onto her desk.

She ought to take more care with them, she knew, but she was so exh—

“Nyra?”

A good portion of her fatigue evaporated when the warm, rich scent of freshly baked bread reached
her nose and wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. She turned her head to see Alicent
standing in the doorway of her study, clad in a pretty spring-green nightgown that perfectly
complemented her entrancing eyes and glorious auburn curls.

Alicent’s expression was soft and warm—beauty and love incarnate—as she gazed at Rhaenyra.
“My Love, will you please come to bed? The hour grows late.”

The clock had struck eight not even a full minute ago.

Rhaenyra bit back a smile as she made a show of looking over at her desk and the papers that she’d
told Bartima she would review tonight.

Four remained.

A voice was hissing in the back of her mind that she shouldn’t shirk her responsibilities. Not when
she would be away from her duties for an indeterminate amount of time.

But that voice sounded very much like her mother’s.

There would be time in the morning.

Evidently, she must have taken too long to answer, because Alicent was across the room in an
instant, soft hands settling onto Rhaenyra’s shoulders and squeezing lightly.
Not quite touching her neck, but dangerously close.

“I’ve missed you, Nyra.” Alicent’s warm breath ghosted across Rhaenyra’s cheek, making her
shiver. “And our bed is cold without you.” She squeezed her shoulders once more, her scent
becoming headier with each word that she spoke. “Come. You need your rest.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes slipped shut when she felt her mate’s perfect lips pressing against the back of her
neck, and a shudder rippled down her spine.

Merciful Mother, Alicent was a menace.

A perfect, beautiful, alluring menace.

Wetting her lips, she barely resisted the instinctive urge to tilt her head and offer more of her neck
to her mate. “Rest does not seem to be foremost on your mind, My Love,” she teased, though even
to her own ears, her words sounded breathy.

“You oft rest better once exhausted I’ve found.” The fingers of Alicent’s right hand glided from
Rhaenyra’s shoulder and began tracing random patterns upon the sensitive flesh of her neck. “And
while I’m certain that deciphering Bartima’s reports is exhausting,” she stroked teasingly over one
of Rhaenyra’s pleasure points, “I can think of better ways for you to properly tire yourself.”

Rhaenyra gulped, unable to help but squirm beneath her Alicent’s dexterous fingers. This was
entirely unfair.

Which she supposed was Alicent’s purpose.

“Alicent—Oh Relle!”

Alicent’s warm tongue swiped over her pulse point a second time before she crooned into
Rhaenyra’s neck, “Yes, My Safa?”

Rhaenyra swiftly rose to her feet and spun around to face her mate. Blood roared in her ears and
pulsed eagerly beneath her skin. Her heart was thundering in her chest, a haze of desire had already
begun to settle over her mind, and her teeth ached. “May I?”

The words were little more than an insistent growl.

Alicent grinned at her, fluttering her eyelashes. “You may.”

Without hesitation, Rhaenyra lifted Alicent up into her arms and rushed towards their bedchamber.

∞∞

Alicent trailed her fingers over the enticing swells of Rhaenyra’s breasts, delighting in the way that
her mate’s nipples hardened in response, begging for the attentions of her mouth and tongue.

Attentions that she would soon offer.

Rhaenyra’s cheeks were beautifully flushed, and her eyes were almost black as she gazed at Alicent
with unabashed hunger and yearning and need. “Ali,” she panted, “have you not teased me
enough?”
“I think not.” It hadn’t even been a full hour yet since Rhaenyra had laid her down upon their bed
and asked, “above or below,” and Alicent had eagerly replied, “above.”

Her Nyra hadn’t hesitated to lie down upon her back for her, nor had she hesitated to remove her
nightgown when Alicent had bid her do so.

Alicent gently pinched one of Rhaenyra’s stiffened nipples, earning a low groan that made her own
cunt clench with desire. “I’ve missed you, My Love, and I wish to savor you and your pleasure.”

“You wish to torture me,” Rhaenyra muttered as she arched her back in an attempt to push her
breast into Alicent’s hand.

“None of that now,” Alicent chided. She pressed her hand against Rhaenyra’s stomach, urging her
back down onto their bed. “You promised to do as I wished this evening.” She cocked her head.
“Has that changed?”

Rhaenyra swiftly shook her own head. “My will is yours, Ali.”

Alicent rewarded her with a kiss, her eyes slipping shut as she relished the feeling of her mate’s
warm tongue sliding against her own and swirling in that special way that always made Alicent’s
toes curl when Rhaenyra was licking her cunt.

Rhaenyra whined when Alicent’s drew back. “You’re a cruel woman, Alicent Hightower.”

“Would you have preferred that I ignore my need to breathe?”

“No.” Rhaenyra shifted slightly, her fingers clutching the sheets to prevent herself from touching.

Alicent’s hand left Rhaenyra’s breast and slid higher to hover near her neck—directly above her
mate mark.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched.

“You’ll tell me if I do anything that you mislike, yes?”

A soft smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips then, adoration swiftly eclipsing the need shining in her eyes. “I
promise, Safa.”

“Good.” Alicent’s hand descended, and she lightly brushed her fingers over Rhaenyra’s mate mark.

The moan that tore from Rhaenyra’s lips—low and desperate and needy—made Alicent’s cunt drip.
“Fuck, Ali,” she growled. “More? Please?”

Alicent denied her, simply continuing to gently stroke the elegant column of her mate’s neck with
the tips of her fingers. “My thoughts have been consumed by you for much of the day, Nyra.” She
clicked her tongue as she pressed the pads of her fingers against Rhaenyra’s mate mark, making her
shudder. “It was quite distracting.” She smiled pleasantly. “Would you care to hear about my little
imaginings?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes were squeezed shut as she panted shallowly, and she otherwise remained silent.

Alicent’s hand abandoned her mate’s neck.

Rhaenyra’s eyes snapped open. “Ali, please—”

“You weren’t answering me.” Alicent pouted. “It wounded me deeply.”

The sharp breath that Rhaenyra inhaled seemed to be equal parts frustration and desperation. “I
always wish to know your thoughts, My Love.”

Alicent kissed her nose and returned one of her hands to Rhaenyra’s neck whilst the other slowly
trailed down her body. She always enjoyed the feeling of her mate’s soft skin beneath her fingers,
enjoyed the warmth and the way that she could feel Rhaenyra’s muscles rippling beneath. “I was
supposed to be performing my water elementalism exercises, but suddenly I found myself unable to
focus on anything save for thoughts of you.” She cradled Rhaenyra’s breast and swiped her thumb
over her nipple. Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched with the effort of not arching her back.

“What kinds of thoughts?”

“Rather vulgar ones,” Alicent murmured, her voice low and soft—as if she was sharing a secret—
but also raspy in the way that she knew always enticed her mate. “I found myself imagining how
lovely it would be if you suddenly swept into our bedchamber and scooped me up from my chair. It
would be so easy for you, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re as light as a feather, My Sweet,” Rhaenyra panted.

Warmth bloomed in Alicent’s chest and cheeks, and she gave Rhaenyra’s breast a firm squeeze
before sliding her hand lower. “I imagined you setting me down atop my desk and asking if you
could lift my skirts. I acquiesced, of course. How could I not, what with the way that you were
looking at me.” She tapped Rhaenyra’s hip in silent request.

Rhaenyra responded by spreading her legs at once.

Alicent’s hand slipped between her mate’s thighs and cupped her cunt, inhaling sharply when she
was greeted by slick and swollen folds that were nigh hot to the touch and eager to part for her.
“Seven Hells, Nyra,” she breathed as her fingers slid through the slick mess that her mate had made
of herself, “you’re so wet.”

“For you, My Love.” Rhaenyra’s chest was heaving, her eyes black. “All for you.”

Alicent grinned as her fingers continued to explore her mate’s sticky heat. “I said much the same, in
my daydream.” She found Rhaenyra’s hard and swollen clit and began slowly circling the sensitive
bud with two fingers. “You were so pleased with me when you felt how wet and willing I was for
you. You kissed my inner thigh and called me your good girl.”

They both shuddered, and Rhaenyra’s hips bucked against Alicent’s hand.

Alicent leaned down so that her lips brushed against Rhaenyra’s ear. “You were on your knees by
then,” she whispered, “and my legs were spread so wide for you. I was begging for you, for your
mouth and for your tongue.” She nipped at her safa’s earlobe. “But you insisted on teasing me.”

“Is that what this is then?” Rhaenyra gasped, her hips bucking once more when Alicent lightly
tapped her clit. “Vengeance for something that an imagined version of me did?”

“No,” Alicent chuckled. “This is me enjoying my mate.”

“Tormenting your mate,” Rhaenyra corrected with a huff.

“That as well.” Alicent gave Rhaenyra’s clit another tap before her fingers glided lower in search of
Rhaenyra’s entrance. “When your tongue finally touched my cunt—Mother above, Nyra—it was
nigh enough the make me immediately peak for you.” She shifted slightly so that she could more
comfortably access Rhaenyra’s jaw. “You were so impatient to have me. I love that about you. How
much you enjoy pleasing me.”

Rhaenyra grinned at her, mischief and love flashing in her eyes. “You’re beautiful when your face
twists in pleasure, My Alicent.”

“As are you.” Alicent nipped at the sharp line of her mate’s jaw, delighting in the quiet whimpers
spilling from Rhaenyra’s lips in response. “I love seeing you peak for me.”

“If you would—”

“Soon, My Love.” Alicent slowly circled Rhaenyra’s entrance with one finger, enjoying the eager
flutters of her mate’s walls as they begged for her to thrust inside. “You’re always so eager for me,
Nyra.” She kissed Rhaenyra’s neck, earning a breathy whine. “I love the feeling of your warm cunt
beneath my fingers, Safa.”

As expected—Alicent knew well by now how much her mate adored whenever she used vulgar
language—Rhaenyra released a throaty moan in response, her hips bucking in an attempt to force
Alicent’s fingers inside.

Alicent tsked as she moved her hand away.

“Ali, please,” Rhaenyra whined. “I need you.”

“I know.” And it delighted her in a way that she couldn’t begin to describe. “And I’ll give you what
you want.” She pressed her lips against Rhaenyra’s neck once more, sucking harshly on the
sensitive skin as she rubbed small, tight circles over her mate’s pulsing clit.

Rhaenyra’s neck arched as a strangled moan tore from her lips. “Seven Hells, Ali!”

“Tell me how much you want me, Nyra.” Alicent’s teeth nipped at Rhaenyra’s throat, determined to
leave a few marks before the night was done.

“I want you,” Rhaenyra gasped. “More than anything. Please, Ali, please!”

“Do you want my fingers inside you?” Alicent teased her mate’s entrance with two fingers,
knowing that Rhaenyra could handle both at once. “Do you want me to fill you, My Love?”

“Yes, Safa, yes! Please, I need you inside me.”

Alicent’s teeth found Rhaenyra’s mate mark as she pushed her fingers inside, marveling as she
always did at the silken softness and warm wetness of her mate’s inner walls, which clung to her so
tightly even as they dragged her deeper. “I love how eager your cunt always is for my fingers,” she
cooed into her safa’s mind.

“Nothing compares to being filled by you, Ali,” Rhaenyra groaned, her hips canting to meet
Alicent’s thrusts. “Your fingers are so perfect.”
Alicent abandoned Rhaenyra’s neck and captured her lips in a fierce kiss, swallowing her mate’s
pleased moan as she curled her fingers to drag them against the front wall of Rhaenyra’s fluttering
cunt. The muffled sounds of her safa’s pleasure and the feeling of slick inner walls massaging her
fingers nearly made Alicent’s peak herself, but she ignored her own need so that she could better
focus on Rhaenyra’s.

Rhaenyra’s back arched, and she keened when Alicent’s thumb pressed down on her clit. “Fuck,
Ali, yes,” she gasped. “I’m close, My Love, please—”

Alicent couldn’t help but preen at how quickly she’d brought her Nyra to the brink. Her thumb
swiped over Rhaenyra’s throbbing clit, earning a sharp cry and clenched walls and an arched neck.

“Please,” Rhaenyra whimpered.

Never one to deny her mate—more oft than not—Alicent sank her teeth into Rhaenyra’s neck as
her fingers rubbed harshly against the front wall of her mate’s cunt and her thumb stroked her clit.

Rhaenyra howled and thrashed beneath her, moans rapidly spilling from her lips to fall upon
Alicent’s ears like the sweetest music as she came undone.

“Ali, Ali, Ali,” Rhaenyra cried, over and over again as pleasure wracked her body.

Alicent squeezed her own thighs together, somehow able to hear the soft sound of her own wetness
over her mate’s throaty moans and high whines. The inner walls of Rhaenyra’s cunt clamped down
around Alicent’s fingers, rippling with the effects of her mate’s peak, and slick flooded from
between her legs to pool in the palm of Alicent’s hand.

Unfastening her teeth from Rhaenyra’s neck, Alicent gently lapped at the fresh bite mark. “I love
you, Nyra.” After giving her mate’s neck a final lick, she sat up so that she could watch with rapt
attention as Rhaenyra’s face continued to twist and contort with pleasure. “You’re so beautiful
when you peak for me, My Love,” she murmured as she gently rubbed her mate’s swollen clit with
her thumb to help bring her down.

Rhaenyra growled softly, eyes squeezing shut as she panted for breath.

Alicent brought her free hand up to lovingly caress her mate’s flushed cheek, earning a rattling
purr. “Was that good, Nyra?”

A tired snort was all that she received in response.

∞∞

Rhaenyra’s body still tingled from the aftereffects of her peak, and she could smell that Alicent
wished to continue, but when she attempted to sit up so that she could give her sweet safa her own
release, a gentle hand pushed against her shoulder. Her eyebrows drew together as she looked up at
her mate, whose cheeks were so beautifully flushed and whose eyes were so enticingly dark. “Ali?”

“Not tonight, My Love.” Alicent’s hand caressed her cheek once more, drawing another purr from
deep within Rhaenyra’s chest. “This was all for you.”

“But—”

“Shh.” Alicent leaned down and claimed her lips in a gentle kiss. “You should rest, Nyra.”
The reason was left unsaid, but it hung over them like an unwelcome shadow.

“I’ll make you see stars tomorrow night,” Rhaenyra promised. Whatever might happen during the
trial, she would give her mate pleasure once they returned home.

Alicent smiled softly. “I always see stars when I’m with you, My Love.”

And Rhaenyra’s heart swelled so full that she feared it might burst. “I don’t deserve you.”

The words slipped from her lips unbidden.

Sadness flashed in Alicent’s eyes, but it was there and gone in a twinkling. “You deserve the world,
My Nyra.” She kissed her again, soft and sweet. “Happy New Year, Safa.”

“Happy Equinox, My Alicent.”

Nine Hours Later

(Spring Moon/1,000,126 Visenya VI)

When Rhaenyra awoke to an empty bed and naught but Alicent’s lingering scent, a frown curled
her lips. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and was about to slip from bed to go in search
of her mate when the door to their bedchamber opened and Alicent strolled inside carrying a silver
tray in her hands.

Rhaenyra swallowed, for the desire to leap from their bed, sweep Alicent into her arms, and kiss
her breathless was almost overwhelming. “You’re too kind,” she said instead when Alicent reached
the bed and placed the silver tray down upon her lap.

“You’ve never done any less for me.” Alicent gave her cheek a swift kiss before making her way to
her side of the bed and climbing up to settle herself beside Rhaenyra. “Besides, you deserve every
kindness, My Love.”

When Alicent said such things, Rhaenyra believed them.

She did deserve kindness, she knew.

Her mother had been wrong to deny her such.

And yet she oft still found herself “lapsing into negative thought patterns,” as Dr. Alfadora
described them.

Perhaps it would be easier once her mother was incarcerated.

Her stomach twisted.

She ignored it.

I will enjoy this morning with my mate even if it kills me.

“I know that we haven’t much time before we need to leave for the Imperial Courthouse, but I
thought that we might enjoy breakfast together before then.” Alicent was slicing one of the
hotcakes into small pieces, a furrow forming on her brow as she also attempted to telekinetically
lift a few sunberries from the bowl and offer them to Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra’s heart swelled, and her magic crooned. Were she not worried that it would break her
mate’s concentration, she would lean over and kiss her soundly.

A sunberry struck her nose a moment later.

Alicent’s eyes widened, the fork and knife clattering onto the plate as she reached for Rhaenyra.
“I’m so s—please forgive me, Nyra. I didn’t mean—”

The laugh that burbled from Rhaenyra’s throat was one that she hadn’t heard since she was a child,
and she swiftly teleported their breakfast onto Alicent’s bedside table as her laughter made the
entire bed tremble.

She clutched her stomach, not even knowing why she was laughing so hard, but it . . .

It felt like a release.

“Oh, Ali,” she wheezed, “you needn’t—you’ve no need to apologize, Safa.”

“So I’m hearing.” Alicent’s own voice was somewhere between amused and confused.

Rhaenyra felt a soft hand on her cheek, and she instinctively nuzzled against it, taking in great
gulps of her mate’s comforting scent as she laughed and rocked upon their bed.

Merciful Mother, she couldn’t recall the last time that she’d laughed like this.

Alicent had garnered many a laugh from her over the years, but never—

Her stomach was clenching and twisting as she wheezed, her chest growing tight as she gasped for
breath. Memories of laughing with her sisters flooded her mind, of chasing them through the halls
of Dragon Ridge, of hiding from their mother—

Of Mother’s disapproving scowl and clicking tongue, of her long-suffering sighs and stern chiding,
of her—

“Nyra? My Love?”

Rhaenyra blinked a few times, suddenly noticing that her vision was blurry, and when she felt the
gentle press of a soft cloth against her cheeks, she realized that they were wet with tears.

When had she begun crying?

When had her laughter turned to tears?

When—?

“Come here, My Safa. Come here.” Alicent’s voice was a gentle croon, and her bread scent was
warm and laden with calming pheromones as she drew Rhaenyra close. A loving hand stroked her
hair, and soft lips kissed her face. “My Nyra.” Slender arms hugged her tight—so tight. “It’s all
right to cry, Safa. You’ve been holding so much in for so long. I’m here, My Love. I’m here.”

Rhaenyra clung to her.

Unthinking.

She clutched and squeezed and gripped and sobbed.

Alicent hugged her even tighter, soothing waves of love and affection pouring off of her. “I’m here,
Nyra. Always.”

“I know,” she rasped, burying her face in Alicent’s shoulder. “I know, Ali.”

The Imperial Courthouse, in Alicent’s opinion, was far more akin to a small palace than it was to
anything else. She’d thought as much when she and Rhaenyra had visited during the Feast of Saint
Orestilla, and her impression was no different today than it had been then.

Built atop the Hill of the Judge near the center of the city, the Courthouse stood seven stories tall
and was made from equal parts pristine white and inky-black stone. Each of the dozens of windows
was cradled in a shallow, semi-circular sill carved to resemble the plates of a scales, and rising from
the walls themselves in bas-relief were the strings, pillar, beam, and base of the scales. The corbels
decorating the border of the roof were condors in flight, and guarding the front doors was a pair of
rearing lions sculpted from gold and with eyes of sapphire.

It was beautiful.

Magnificent.

Grand.

A pity that it’s only ever witnessed heartache and tragedy.

When she and Rhaenyra had visited on the Feast of Saint Orestilla, her mate hadn’t been able to
bring herself to actually set foot in the beautiful edifice. “Too many specters haunt those halls,”
Rhaenyra had murmured, her voice flat and her eyes distant.

Alicent had simply nodded and asked if they might visit Saint Septima’s Sanctuary instead.

Her mate would no longer have the option of remaining outside.

She looked over at Rhaenyra, who had chosen to wear the gown that Alicent had gifted her the year
before. Her mate’s expression was carefully blank, and the set of her jaw was far too tight. The
tension coiled in her shoulders was plain for Alicent to see, and her scent was sharper and more
bitter than normal.

But there wasn’t even a hint that she’d been sobbing not half an hour ago.

While Alicent knew that it was a good thing that Rhaenyra had released some of the emotions that
had likely been festering for several million years now, it still hurt her heart to see Rhaenyra crying,
to hear her choked and muffled sobs, to smell the traces of salt in her scent, to feel her trembling in
her arms.

Part of Alicent had wished to send word to the judicators that the trial would need to be briefly
postponed. Beginning on the day of the Spring Equinox was entirely for symbolic reasons rather
than being related to anything substantive.

Lady Olenna had snorted when they’d received word of the date that the trial would begin and
questioned why the judicators had not chosen the Feast of the Mother or the Feast of the Judge. “If
their decisions are now being guided by whether a date is poetic, they could have chosen a better
one.”

Alicent was rather inclined to agree, though, for Rhaenyra’s sake, she was glad that the trial would
be over and done with sooner rather than later.

When the last of Rhaenyra’s tears had dried, she’d kissed Alicent softly, thanked her for being
“perfect,” and then asked if she would help her dress.

All of Alicent’s thoughts about postponing the trial had evaporated upon hearing those words.

The sound of someone clearing her throat behind them drew Alicent from her musings, and she was
suddenly reminded that she and Rhaenyra were far from alone on the steps of the Imperial
Courthouse. They’d been accompanied by Lady Rhaenys, Aemma, Dr. Alfadora, and all seven of
the Garden Knights.

Alicent offered her hand—palm up—to her mate. “Nyra?”

Rhaenyra expelled a slow breath before raising her chin and accepting Alicent’s hand.

The interior of the Imperial Courthouse hadn’t changed at all since Rhaenyra had last stepped foot
inside these black and white halls. They remained as grandly austere as ever, with no art to brighten
the walls and precious little decoration aside from a few statues of Relle Scaleholder and Empress
Aeliana the Golden.

Her grip on Alicent’s hand tightened slightly as her knights’ footsteps echoed behind them. Despite
being a sound that she’d grown accustomed to long ago and often even took comfort from, here, in
these halls, it filled her with a twisting sense of remembered dread and guilt.

For reasons that she still couldn’t fathom, the sounds of boots striking against stone and of dragon-
scale armor shifting with every step that the knights escorting her took had haunted her dreams for
millennia after her trial.

When she’d been alone in the empty void of the Great Glass Prison, she’d sometimes thought that
she’d heard the sound of a knight’s footsteps echoing off of walls that were both there and not. She
remembered once even calling out to whoever might be there, convinced that she was no longer
alone.

But of course, she had been alone.

Utterly alone.
“I’m here, Nyra. Always.”

She didn’t ever want to be alone like that again.

“The All Mother agreed to lift the Seal. My intent is to reveal what happened when the net broke
before Eddara has the opportunity, but depending on her order of witnesses, that might not be
possible, so you ought to be prepared for both eventualities.”

Some part of Rhaenyra had been preparing for the day that the world learned the truth since
Grandmother Daenerys had first bound them to secrecy.

For much of that time, she hadn’t cared what happened to her once everyone knew the truth. She
had hoped for the censure and punishment that she deserved. But now . . .

She looked over at Alicent, whose hand was tucked into the crook of her elbow as it had been
countless times before. Her mate’s warm scent was suffused with calming pheromones and had
been enveloping Rhaenyra in its comforting embrace since this morning.

Alicent had been demonstrating ever-increasing control over her scent of late, which shouldn’t be
possible.

But then, what was Alicent, if not the impossible made flesh?

Rhaenyra didn’t want to leave her.

Not ever.

But surely she deserved—

“Your Majesty.”

Rhaenyra’s steps faltered, and she looked over her shoulder at Hylda. “Yes?”

“You should allow one of us to open the door for you.”

Oh. She hadn’t even noticed that they’d reached the courtroom.

Breathing in Alicent’s scent once more, she offered her Shadow Knight a small smile. “Of course,
Hylda, thank you.”

Hylda and Jonquil broke formation and swiftly made their way to the enormous doors leading into
the imperial courtroom.

Steeling herself, Rhaenyra gave Hylda a short nod.

The doors swung open on silent hinges, and Hylda announced, “Presenting Her Royal Majesty
Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen of Kastrell, and Her Ladyship Alicent of the House of Hightower.”

When Rhaenyra swept into the cavernous chamber a moment later, she saw that her mother and
Alaura had already arrived. Both were seated at the front of the room—her mother beside Lady
Eddara at the defense’s table, and Alaura behind them on an otherwise empty bench.
Her mother’s gaze was locked on her as she and Alicent made their way down the aisle—sharp as a
dragon’s claw and twice as cutting. And yet the smile that curled her lips was perfectly benign and
almost banal. Her hands were neatly folded in her lap, and her scent was utterly unremarkable.

No doubt the result of a concealment spell.

Shaking her head a little, Rhaenyra shifted her attention to the prosecutor’s table, where Lady
Tywinna sat alone save for the books and papers stacked about her. Lady Olenna was on her feet
and hovering beside her, whispering something in her mate’s ear.

The courtroom hummed with a low drone of voices, for the numerous benches on which spectators
could sit and observe were already filled to capacity.

Dozens of mirrors had been hung in various places and at differing angles to ensure that those
unable to attend the trial could still observe it if they wished.

Rhaenyra’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

Alicent squeezed her arm and gently tugged on their mental link. “You’re not alone, My Nyra. For
whatever you need, we’re all here.”

Images of Aemma, Hylda, Sabitha, Cassella, her other knights, her aunts, her sisters, her daughters,
her granddaughters, and her grandmothers flashed through her mind.

“Thank you, Ali.”

The glint in Alicent’s eyes told Rhaenyra that her mate wished to kiss her, and Rhaenyra was sorely
tempted to spit upon decorum and simply do so.

But no.

Not with so many watching.

Not with her mother mere meters away.

Rhaenyra settled for covering Alicent’s hand with her own and giving it a soft caress.

When they reached the cushioned bench directly behind Lady Tywinna’s table, Rhaenyra motioned
for Alicent to sit first so that her mate could be seated at the end rather than crushed between two
people.

Alicent flashed her a grateful smile, and Rhaenyra couldn’t help but preen, which earned her a
chiding look from Lady Tywinna and an amused smile from Lady Olenna.

Once Rhaenyra was settled beside her mate, Alicent’s hand found hers and tangled their fingers
together. She felt the churning in her stomach ease a fraction, and some of the tightness in her
shoulders diminished.

On her other side, Aemma gently squeezed her arm. “We’ll not fail you a second time, Rhaenyra.”

Before Rhaenyra could even open her mouth to assure her old heart friend that no one save for her
mother had failed her the first time, the doors at the front of the courtroom opened, and a
procession of nine women dressed in flowing robes of black or white strode inside.
“Hear ye, hear ye, court is now in session!” the court steward standing in front of the judicators’
bench bellowed.

A few meters away, the court magister’s quill sprang to life and began writing, whilst the magister
herself watched carefully as the words were set down.

“All rise and be at attention for the Prudent and Sagacious Judicators of Her Imperial Excellency’s
Judicial Court.” The steward paused and waited until all nine judicators were standing in front of
their chairs before continuing. “Presiding today over Case Number 250-AGL-0000001-VT, Queen
Rhaenyra Flameborn and the Dragon Throne versus Dowager Queen Viserra Everlasting, are Chief
Judicator Alexandrina Mertyns, Judicator Kelia Mormont, Judicator Corvina Dayne, Judicator
Elizabetta Cargyll, Judicator Luserena Belmore, Judicator Abelora Umber, Judicator Jennora Darry,
Judicator Celia Velaryon, and Judicator Josephinia Manderly.”

Rhaenyra’s hand drifted upwards to fiddle with her fire opal pendant. Chief Judicator Alexandrina
and Judicator Elizabetta had both presided over her own trial after she’d returned home from
destroying the frost demons. As she recalled, Judicator Elizabetta had been inclined towards
clemency, whilst Chief Judicator Alexandrina had agreed with Rhaenyra herself that punishment of
some kind must be meted out.

She wondered if their views on such matters had changed during the intervening six million years.

Once all of the judicators had taken their seats, Chief Judicator Alexandrina tapped her gavel thrice
and bid everyone be seated before nodding to the steward, who immediately produced a scroll from
inside her doublet.

“On this, the First Day of the Moon of New Spring in the 1,000,126th Year of the Reign of
Empress Visenya the Sixth, called One-Eye, we do congregate for the criminal trial of Her
Eminence Viserra Everlasting, Dowager Queen of Kastrell and First Advisor of Her Imperial
Highness Daenora Targaryen. Dowager Queen Viserra has been charged with the crime of child
abuse in the first degree in violation of Article II, Section 4 of Aeliana’s Golden Laws, the crimes
of malicious concealment in the first and second degree in violation of Title 1, Section 032.1 and
Section 032.2 of the Imperial Criminal Code, and the crime of failure to register in violation of
subsection SCC 3 of the Imperial Administrative Code.”

“Thank you, Madam Steward.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina waved her hand, and the doors at the
back of the courtroom swung shut. “Your Holiness, since you are in attendance, might you bless
these proceedings?”

“It would be an honor, Madam Chief Judicator.”

Rhaenyra turned slightly to look over her shoulder as Prelate Sif rose to her feet from where she
was sitting a few dozen rows back amongst a sea of clerics, priestesses, abbesses, and sages.

As ever, the prelate wore a silver chasuble above her gold cassock and a blue pallium around her
shoulders. The seven silver septagrams decorating the pallium—one on each hanging lapel and five
on the circular part of the band draped around her shoulders—glowed in the morning sun streaming
in through the windows. A bejeweled septagram of pure silver inset with a sapphire, an emerald, an
amethyst, a tourmaline, a zebra opal, a ruby, and an onyx for Relle’s faces hung from her neck, and
a silver diadem of seven stars graced her brow.
When Prelate Sif raised her right hand, Saint Septima’s golden signet ring caught and reflected the
light. “Beneath the warm gaze of Mother Relle, we gather this day to adjudge Dowager Queen
Viserra Everlasting of the House Targaryen. May Relle Scaleholder guide our esteemed judicators
so that they might reach a just and proper pronouncement. May Relle Wiseone and Relle
Springheart sharpen and illuminate their minds as they deliberate upon the evidence, and may Relle
Songcrafter aid them in considering all of the facts with the creativity and versatility of an artist’s
hands. May Relle Lifegiver ensure their compassion when they pass their sentence, and may Relle
Shieldbreaker grant them the fortitude to do what must be done.” Her eyes settled upon Rhaenyra’s
mother for a brief moment. “And may Relle Darklight offer the accused whatever mercy she may
deserve.”

Soft murmurs of “May Relle guide them well,” arose from the hundreds of women who had
gathered to watch the trial, and Rhaenyra found herself echoing them by instinct.

“Thank you, Holy Mother.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina inclined her head and waited until Prelate
Sif was seated once more before turning her attention to the front of the room. “We’ll begin by
taking appearances. Prosecution?”

Lady Tywinna rose to her feet. “Thank you, Madam Chief Judicator. On behalf of Queen Rhaenyra
Flameborn of Kastrell and on behalf of the Dragon Throne, Lady Tywinna Lanna Tytania Lannister
of Casterly Rock.”

“Be it so noted. And defense?”

Lady Eddara stood. “Thank you, Madam Chief Judicator. On behalf of Dowager Queen Viserra
Everlasting of Dragon Wood, Lady Eddara Branna Lyarra Stark of Winterfell.”

“Be it so noted.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina steepled her fingers together, eyes shifting between
Lady Tywinna and Lady Eddara. “And let it be known that, after reviewing the Petitions for Right
of First Witness tendered two weeks past, my sister judicators and I have decided that the
prosecution shall be afforded the honor of calling the first witness. Does the defense wish to offer
any verbal objections?”

Lady Eddara shook her head. “No, Madam Chief Judicator.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows rose slightly at that. She herself had insisted that her counsel yield the Right
of First Witness, but she hadn’t been interested in defending herself. She glanced over at Lady
Tywinna, but if the other woman was surprised or suspicious, she gave no sign of it.

“Very well. Then let us hear opening statements.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina nodded to Lady
Tywinna. “Counselor.”

Once more, Lady Tywinna rose to her feet. “Thank you, Madam Chief Judicator, and may it please
the Court.”

A hush had fallen—deafening and stifling.

Rhaenyra’s grip on her pendant tightened.

When next Lady Tywinna spoke, her voice resounded throughout the courtroom and commanded
the attention of every ear. “A mother’s love is as endless as it is unfailing. Or so we are taught by
our family, by the Codex, by tutors, and by all of those around us. Or so most of us learn through
actions both great and small—through the smiles and hugs we receive, through the kindness and
encouragement, through the protection and warmth, through the compassion and understanding. A
mother’s love is as boundless as the sea and just as deep.

“And what is an empress? But a mother to us all? What is she, if not a guide? A comfort? A
protector?

“By all rights, Dowager Queen Viserra should have loved her daughter. She should have embraced
her with kindness and compassion, with warmth and affection, with an empress’ care and a
mother’s love. She should have protected her, defended her, and guided her on her journey.”

Lady Tywinna paused long enough to slowly meet the eyes of each judicator. “But Viserra
Everlasting did none of those things. She did not protect. She did not defend. And she most
certainly did not guide.

“No, instead she allowed her own suspicions and, worse, her own arrogance to dictate her actions.

“From the moment that Rhaenyra Flameborn hatched, Dowager Queen Viserra feared her.” Lady
Tywinna spread her hands and raised her shoulders in a small shrug. “Now, perhaps you might
think this an understandable fear, for who among us was not given pause when we learned that the
Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Drawn Breath was blessed with the Betrayer’s immunity and
wielded Maegor’s flames?” She stabbed her finger into the air. “But fear cannot justify a
preemptive strike. Nothing can justify a preemptive strike. Justice is balancing the scales. Attacking
unprovoked is at best malice and at worst cruelty.

“And those were the things that Dowager Queen Viserra offered her daughter every day for
millennia. Cruel words and malicious remarks. Relentless insults both subtle and overt. Comment
after comment, action after action—all meant to provoke and enrage.

“But why? If she was truly so frightened of Queen Rhaenyra’s potential, why would she provoke
her so?”

Why indeed?

Rhaenyra had listened to Lady Tywinna give versions of this opening twelve times prior, and this
question gnawed at her as much now as it had when it was first posed.

Why?

She knew what Lady Tywinna would say next. She knew the answer that everyone around her had
settled on.

But she herself couldn’t quite accept it.

“As shall be explained by our witnesses and demonstrated through abundant evidence,” Lady
Tywinna continued, “the answer is simple.

“Dowager Queen Viserra spent millions of years purposefully provoking and tormenting her
daughter because she was desperate to prove herself right, to demonstrate that she was correct to
fear and hate a child, that her actions were somehow worthy of any title other than abuse. For that
is what Dowager Queen Viserra’s actions were, Madam Judicators. Abuse. Plain and simple. And
there is no justification for this heinous crime that should have died with the Old World.
“There is no justification for inflicting unrelenting physical pain upon a child—your own daughter
—for almost two millennia. There is no justification for being so dismissive and contemptuous
towards your daughter and her suffering that she knows in her bones that she is unloved. There is
no justification for manipulating your daughter into believing herself a monster so that she won’t
protest her own mistreatment.”

Was that truly what her mother had done?

Had that been her intention?

Did it matter?

Rhaenyra knew well the results of her mother’s treatment. She’d experienced them in one form or
another every day for millions of years.

But had her mother’s motivations truly been so malicious and cruel?

Her mother’s actions had been wrong, to be sure—cruel and malicious, as Lady Tywinna had said
—and her mother’s refusal to even consider the possibility that her actions might have been wrong
was troubling, but had she intended—?

“Dowager Queen Viserra’s fears may have had some merit, but her actions most certainly did not.
Her act of perverting the All Mother’s stasis net spell, her act of casting that spell on a girl of seven
who she first rendered unconscious, her act of concealing what she had done by any means
necessary, even going so far as to exploit the blood oath given to her by Vora Aelinor Westerling—
none of these can be justified.

“Queen Rhaenyra was a child who had committed no crime and done no wrong. And yet she was
made to suffer worse than the monsters of the Old World.”

A low, rumble of growls was beginning to rise from the women seated behind them on the benches
and above them in the gallery.

“Twelve hours.” Lady Tywinna’s voice had fallen to a solemn whisper. “That is how long a stasis
net is meant to last.”

Lady Tywinna turned to stare at the defense table—at Rhaenyra’s mother—and her voice
sharpened. “The net cast by Dowager Queen Viserra upon her unconscious, seven-year-old
daughter was in place for seventeen million eight hundred and forty-six thousand four hundred and
fifty-five hours.

“With every breath she took, Queen Rhaenyra experienced the pain of being severed from her very
essence—from her soul. But she never complained, never protested. Because her mother had
convinced her that she deserved to suffer, that she was a monster worse than Maegor, worse than
Aerysa, worse than any man to walk the Old World.”

Lady Tywinna’s head whipped back around to address the judicators. “How can anyone justify such
actions? How can any mother justify such heinous treatment of her own daughter? I have no doubt
that the defense will attempt to do just that. I have no doubt that you will be offered explanation
after explanation, excuse after excuse, justification after justification.
“But words are wind. Actions are stone. And Viserra Everlasting’s actions put a lie to whatever
pretty words she may try to offer you now.

“Viserra Everlasting abused her daughter. Physically. Mentally. And emotionally. No amount of
pretty words can ever wash away such a stain.” Lady Tywinna clasped her hands in front of herself,
her voice becoming low and solemn once more. “A mother’s love is meant to be unfailing. But
Dowager Queen Viserra’s failed time and time again.”

Rhaenyra’s ward flared against the onslaught of emotions surging from the other women in the
courtroom, and beside her, Alicent winced. She immediately wrapped an arm around her mate’s
shoulder and drew her close, not caring if the judicators or anyone else present thought it
unqueenly. “Are you all right, My Love?”

Alicent pressed against her side, eyes closing a moment as she breathed deeply. “Yes, Nyra. Thank
you.”

The tide of emotions had only somewhat begun to ebb when Lady Eddara stood to give her own
opening statement. Her voice was not as commanding as Lady Tywinna’s, but there was a layer of
warmth and amiability to it that Lady Tywinna’s lacked.

“Duty above all else.”

Lady Eddara allowed the words to linger a moment before continuing. “A phrase that I’m certain
we are all familiar with, but none of us more so than the women of House Targaryen. Duty above
all else. Whispered to them not from the moment that they’re born, no, but from the moment that
the fourth quarter begins—the moment that they are developed enough to understand their mother’s
words. Duty above all else. Whispered to them whilst they are still in their eggs. Recited every day
after they’ve hatched. Told to them over and over throughout their childhoods until the words
become so ingrained that not considering them with every action would be inconceivable.

“Duty above all else,” Lady Eddara repeated, her eyes sweeping from one judicator to the next.
“Above personal feelings. Above personal morals even. Above love and affection. Above selfish
desires and arrogant assumptions. Duty to the Empire, duty to their people, these are the lessons
learned by every woman of House Targaryen.

“The All Mother herself once said that rulers are the slaves of their people. Bound by the chains of
duty. And make no mistake, those chains are heavy ones. They take a toll on all those who wear
them, for that is the price of power. Our empresses know well that the right to rule is inextricably
linked with the duty to serve and the obligation to place the needs of their people above all else.”

Rhaenyra found herself nodding without meaning to, and she hoped that the judicators hadn’t
noticed.

But how could she not agree? She well-remembered hearing those words whispered to her before
she’d hatched, and she well-remembered how they had been repeated to her over and over again by
every member of her family.

Duty above all else.

Duty first and last.

Her mother had taught her that to allow herself to become engaged with anything other than her
duty was tantamount to turning her back on the Empire.

She’d since come to understand that such teachings had been flawed, but there was still truth to be
found in her mother’s words.

“Viserra Everlasting learned well the lessons of duty and sacrifice, of placing the needs of her
people above her own no matter the personal cost.” Lady Eddara swept her arm outwards towards
the other women seated in the courtroom. “We’ve all read the chronicles. Most of us here today
lived under her reign. And in all of that time, no one has ever questioned Her Eminence’s character,
her dedication to her people, or her abilities as an empress and later queen.

“No one,” Lady Eddara paused and briefly looked over at Rhaenyra, “until today.” She returned her
attention to the judicators. “Madam Judicators, throughout this trial, you are going to hear a story,
told and retold in any number of ways, about a woman so wicked and vile that she would eagerly
and remorselessly abuse her own daughter without a single shred of regret. You’re going to hear
told that Dowager Queen Viserra is not the dutiful, judicious, honorable, and dedicated monarch
that we have every reason to believe her to be. I’ve no doubt that those tales will be persuasive. I’ve
no doubt that some of you may even be convinced.

“But as Lady Tywinna herself noted—words are wind. Actions are stone. And Dowager Queen
Viserra’s actions whilst she sat the Dragon Throne and the Rose Throne speak for themselves.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pursed as she thought back to the Dragon Summit and her mother’s words and
actions that day.

Both had made plain her mother’s lack of regret and remorse.

“We are a people ruled by laws as well as monarchs,” Lady Eddara was saying, “and while the
penalties we impose upon those who dare violate the Golden Laws are high, so too is our standard
for conviction.

“Certainty.

“You must be certain that there are no excuses for Dowager Queen Viserra’s conduct—no
justifications, no mitigating circumstances, no reason for leniency or clemency. You must be certain
that the woman sitting before you today is the monster that the prosecution will seek to portray her
as.”

On either side of her, Alicent and Aemma’s scents sharpened, and Rhaenyra felt some of the
disquiet that had been twisting her insides throughout Lady Eddara’s opening ease.

“All of us here abhor abuse. Of that, I am certain. We abhor it, and our very instinct is to revile and
denounce those accused of it.” Lady Eddara raised a finger. “But instinct is not the standard.
Whatever your personal feelings may be on this matter, they must be set aside now as you listen to
the evidence presented, and they must be set aside when the time comes to deliberate. Because that
is your duty.

“And as we all know,” Lady Eddara spread her hands, “duty must come above all else.”

Rhaenyra watched as Lady Eddara sat back down, watched as her mother leaned over to whisper
something in her ear.
 She felt a light tap on her mental ward, which she lowered a moment later when she recognized
Lady Olenna’s magic.

“It was a good opening, I’ll grant you, but Eddara’s pretty words cannot conceal the rot of your
mother’s actions, I assure you.”

“Thank you, Lady Olenna.”

In truth, considering that even she could now see that her mother’s actions had been wrong, she
wasn’t much worried about Lady Eddara somehow justifying what her mother had done to her.
Rather, she found herself far more occupied by ruminations about the exact motivations behind her
mother’s actions.

“Thank you, Lady Eddara.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina looked over at Lady Tywinna. “You may
call your first witness, Counselor.”

“Thank you, Madam Chief Judicator.” Lady Tywinna inclined her head before rising to her feet.
“The prosecution calls Mistress Anastasia Sunderland, once the Fifth and later the Twenty-Ninth
Oracle of Relle Wiseone, to the stand.”

Chapter End Notes

Folks, please don't be mad at Eddara for doing her job.

rousing debate about it in the comments).
🥺 (Or if you are, please have a
Next Chapter: Presenting the first witnesses!
 The Oracles and the Sister
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 57:

– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alexandrina Mertyns, Chief Judicator of the Imperial Court, residing in Valeria
– Tywinna Lannister, a prosecution barrister, residing in Lannister Province, Gelt
– Eddara Stark, a defense barrister, residing in Stark Province, Norden
– Anastasia Sunderland, a silk weaver, formerly the Oracle of Relle Wiseone, residing on
Samara, Avenian Isles
– Isabera Cassel, a stone carver, formerly the Oracle of Relle Wiseone, residing on Cassel
Province, Norden
– Aelinor Westerling, Top Shield of the Shield Sister Society, residing in Valeria
– Daemona Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Gelt

A special thanks to NewLeeLand and TheReadingWriter for beta reading this chapter, and to
LesbianLightbringer for sensitivity reading various sections.
And an additional thanks to Jobama1 for helping me bounce around ideas.

Here be a map of Valyria.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

 Spring Moon/1,000,126 Visenya VI

When Alicent had first entered the imperial courtroom—which was plainly enchanted so that the
interior space was significantly larger than the exterior dimensions would indicate—she’d
immediately noticed the presence of well over a hundred Monarchs of the Blood. She hadn’t been
at all surprised to see Rhaenyra’s sisters—including Daemona—her five other aunts, and all seven
of her daughters in attendance. And considering they were scheduled to testify during the trial, she
also hadn’t been surprised to see the All Mother, Lady Empress Aeliana the Golden, Lady Empress
Saerella the Preserver, and Rhaenyra’s Grandmothers Alyssa, Alysanne, and Rhaena.

As for all of the other Targaryens who had gathered, she could only guess at their reasons for
coming, though she suspected that they ranged from simple curiosity to wishing to see Viserra
punished for her crimes.

She’d recognized nearly all of Rhaenyra’s family members, much to her own delight.
There was Lady Empress Bellamena the Third, whose egg Rhaenyra had smiled at when they’d
visited the White Rose Museum, as well as Lady Empress Althea the Peaceful, Lady Empress
Baela the Wise, and Lady Empress Naerys the Devout.

Lady Empress Mother Maegelle—the only empress to ever raise her daughters at Dragon Ridge
rather than sending them away when her heir turned three hundred—sat near the front of the
courtroom surrounded by all seven of her daughters—Lady Empress Messalina the Unready and
the Cossetted Queens.

The Flower Empresses, the Gemstone Empresses, and the Rainbow Empresses had filled the front
benches of one of the upper galleries. Lady Empress Verania the White-Handed—the first empress
to receive full blue lotus training—had been whispering something to the Hyacinth Empress—
Azmera the Second—whilst casting dark looks at where Viserra and Alaura sat. The Diamond
Empress and the Amethyst Empress had been watching Viserra and Rhaenyra—their respective
namesakes—with thoughtful expressions that had occasionally given way to disdain when their
attention focused on Viserra. Lady Empress Sarafina Snow-Summoner’s milk glass eyes had been
locked on Viserra, narrowed and cold.

The Great Elementals, who shared their collective sobriquet with Rhaenyra, had also come to
observe the proceedings. Lady Empress Visenya Stormwind, Lady Empress Ellimere the
Leviathan, Lady Empress Melinora Weather-Binder, Lady Empress Venora Shatter-Stone, Lady
Empress Inara the Whirlwind, and Lady Empress Alura Azure-Flame were all clustered together a
few rows behind the Dragon Twins and the Triplet Queens.

Alicent had briefly wondered whether Lady Tywinna or Lady Eddara might call upon Lady
Melinora to testify, for she was the only woman in the history of both Valyria and the Old World to
have an affinity for three elements, but then she’d remembered that neither of the barristers had
included Lady Melinora on their respective witness lists.

Among the women who were included on both lists were Lady Melinora’s mother—Lady Empress
Melesina the Fifth—Lady Empress Alera the Creator—the third most powerful empress in the
history of Valyria—and Lady Alera’s mother, Lady Empress Baelora the Fifth.

In addition to the numerous lady empresses and lady queens, hundreds of members of the First
Generation—including the All Mother’s remaining sisters and all seven matriarchs—had claimed
every square inch of space in the upper galleries not occupied by a Targaryen. Their expressions
ranged from carefully blank to openly contemptuous, and a dark cloud of displeasure seemed to
hang over them.

Prelate Sif, Mother Lotus Minnora Arryn, and First Shield Alondra Westerling were also present,
along with several dozen members of their respective organizations.

Considering the Temple’s teachings against preemptive strikes, the lotuses’ vows to heal and
preserve, and the fact that First Shield Alondra was Vora Hylda and Vora Aelinor’s first cousin
twice removed, Alicent was quite curious to know what those three women in particular thought
about all of this.

A pity that none of them will be called to testify.

She still found it rather strange that Valyrians didn’t allow for “surprise” witnesses the way that the
Westerosi did, and yet they did allow barristers to commandeer each other’s witnesses as they
pleased. The fact that Lady Tywinna and Lady Eddara had an equal right to summon any listed
witness to the stand, and thus decide the scope of her questioning, seemed both peculiar and
illogical.

As did the fact that Lady Tywinna and Lady Eddara would be calling witnesses in an alternating
sequence rather than each barrister presenting her entire case and all of her witnesses as a cohesive
narrative. Allowing one prosecution witness, followed immediately by a defense witness, followed
immediately by another prosecution witness seemed far less orderly than the Westerosi system.

Perhaps it was because Valyrian trials served more to establish a woman’s motivations rather than
her actual guilt.

“The prosecution calls Mistress Anastasia Sunderland, once the Fifth and later the Twenty-Ninth
Oracle of Relle Wiseone, to the stand.” Lady Tywinna’s voice drew Alicent from her thoughts, and
she watched as a woman who appeared to be in her mid-seven thousands strode down the central
aisle of the courtroom and made her way to the heptagonal well in which Alicent knew that a chair
awaited her—the recreations of the imperial courtroom that Lady Tywinna and Lady Olenna had
constructed for the mock proceedings had been exceptionally detailed, and had thus far proven
entirely accurate.

Once Mistress Anastasia was seated, the court steward approached her with a small glass case in
which a drysa spider was crawling about. Alicent forced herself not to grimace as she watched the
spider bite Mistress Anastasia.

By now, she knew well the feeling of those needle-sharp fangs sinking into her flesh and flooding
her blood with its venom. She knew well the feeling of her tongue loosening and tightening all at
once. She knew well the feeling of not being able to so much as shake her head “no” or nod her
head “yes” unless she truly meant the words.

She found the entire experience extremely uncomfortable and disquieting, and she’d said as much
to Rhaenyra after the first time that she was bitten.

Her mate had immediately agreed with her assessment and then offered to instruct Lady Tywinna to
remove her from the witness list. “I myself find the lack of control over my own body quite
unsettling, so I can only imagine how distressing it must be for you, My Love.” She’d kissed
Alicent then, soft and sweet. “If you don’t wish to suffer the drysa’s venom, I understand, Ali.”

Alicent had scoffed and told her that nothing short of a Second Doom would prevent her from
speaking on Rhaenyra’s behalf at the trial.

Rhaenyra’s eyes had glistened, and her next kiss had been almost desperate as she’d clutched
Alicent close and enveloped her in the warm cloak of her scent.

Alicent hoped that Mistress Anastasia’s mate had come with her today.

Lady Tywinna cleared her throat and allowed herself a moment to smooth the nonexistent wrinkles
in her clothes.

Even after all these months, Alicent still found it somewhat queer that Lady Tywinna always
dressed in pants and a tunic or doublet—though the latter two items were oft hidden beneath by a
long coat that reached the tall woman’s knees.
In truth, Alicent found much of Lady Tywinna’s appearance rather baffling. When she’d first laid
eyes upon her, she hadn’t even been certain that she was looking at a woman. There was an
angularity to her features that reminded Alicent much more of Gwayne’s face than it did most
women’s. And while her jawline was as sharp and defined as Rhaenyra’s, it was more squared than
her mate’s, and her chin was noticeably more prominent.

And yet it would be entirely unfair to say that Lady Tywinna looked like a man.

She somehow managed to be both and neither all at once.

Alicent found it peculiar as well as fascinating.

“If you would please state your name and current occupation for the record.” Lady Tywinna’s voice
filled the courtroom, resolute and commanding as it echoed off of the domed roof.

“Anastasia Sunderland.” Mistress Anastasia’s own voice was not half so resonant as Alicent had
been expecting, considering the woman had twice served as Relle’s Oracle. “I am currently
working as a silk weaver in Sunderland Province on Samara.”

“And what was your occupation before becoming a silk weaver?”

Amusement flashed in Mistress Anastasia’s eyes, which seemed rather inappropriate to Alicent,
considering the circumstances. “Oh, I’ve had more occupations than I could possibly count. I leave
that particular bit of recordkeeping to my mate. But the most important of my callings was serving
as the Oracle of Relle Wiseone.” She slid back her left sleeve to reveal the faded outline of a
lantern. “The Crone has marked me twice now. The first time was two days before Empress
Arianna the First abdicated, and the second was about a week after Empress Evanora the Fourth
took the Dragon Throne.”

Alicent wondered if all former oracles retained an outline of the Mark of the Crone, or if the outline
was itself a mark announcing that Mistress Anastasia had served as Relle’s conduit more than once.

Lady Tywinna tilted her head slightly. “And did anything of note occur during your service as
Mother Relle’s Oracle?”

The mirth immediately fled from Mistress Anastasia’s expression as she briefly glanced over at
Viserra, but then her eyes grew distant in the way that Alicent recognized as meaning that she was
delving deep into her own memories. And when next she spoke, her voice was somehow distant
and booming all at once. “It was on the seventh day of the seventh month of the seven hundred and
seventy-seventh year of the reign of Empress Baela the First. The clock had not yet struck twelve,
and I recall that there was a most peculiar scent in the air—like lightning, but with undertones of
something both bitter and sweet. Tears, perhaps.

“There was no question asked beforehand, no curiosity in need of sating. Mother Relle simply
wished to speak and be heard.

“And so she was.

“The words that she spoke through me that day would echo for the next two hundred and twenty-
four reigns.”
Mistress Anastasia’s eyes had become glassy as she stared at something none of the rest of them
could see. Her voice was eerily high and sweet, low and resonant, grating and soothing. “Hear me,
Daughters of My Blood, and forget not my words. On the day of seven falling stars shall come a
Child born to light and shrouded by shadow, a Child born to shatter the sky and kindle the suns. On
the day of seven falling stars shall come a Princess with the power of the heavens in her hands, a
Princess with magic paralleled by none and beyond anything ever seen before or shall ever be seen
again. On the day of seven falling stars shall come an Empress capable of creating and destroying
worlds in a twinkling, an Empress capable of shaping destiny to her whim. By her kindness may
civilizations rise, or by her wroth may they fall. By her joy may new life bloom into being, or by
her sorrow may it be drowned. Daughter of Prophecy, Child of Destiny, the Stars Shall Light Her
Way.”

Against her will, Alicent felt a cold shiver ripple down her spine at the former oracle’s words.

“ By her kindness may civilizations rise, or by her wroth may they fall.”

She knew that her mate was gentle and kind, considerate to a fault and sweet besides, but she also
still remembered what it was to be utterly terrified of Rhaenyra and how it felt to fear so much as
breathing incorrectly in her presence.

“ A Child born to shatter the sky.”

“A Princess with the power of the heavens in her hands.”

“An Empress capable of shaping destiny to her whim.”

Merciful Mother.

Nothing could ever justify Viserra’s actions, but . . .

But I can understand her fear.

How could anyone not be at least somewhat terrified after hearing such a prophecy?

What she couldn’t understand was why Viserra had decided to belittle and abuse Rhaenyra as a way
of preventing her from bringing harm to the Empire.

“By her wroth may they fall.”

“By her sorrow may it be drowned.”

How had Viserra heard those words and concluded that cruelty was the proper response?

Alicent couldn’t help but shudder to think of what might have happened had Rhaenyra turned her
pain outwards rather than focusing it inwards.

How many worlds would have perished had Rhaenyra been a different kind of woman?

She felt a tentative tap on her mental ward, and her heart clenched when she recognized her mate’s
magic.

Rather than lowering her ward, she instead tugged gently on their link.
“Alicent?”

The vulnerability—the fear—in Rhaenyra’s mental voice was heartbreaking.

As was her use of Alicent’s proper name.

“Are you . . . are you frightened of me now?”

Not of you, she was half-tempted to say, but rather of what you might have become.

But she knew that those words would only upset her mate further.

“No, Nyra. I’m not.” Alicent leaned over to briefly rest her head on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. “I’ve not
been frightened of you for a long time.”

Sadness glimmered in Rhaenyra’s amethyst eyes, but she nodded her understanding. “I never
wished to frighten you, Ali. I’ve never much wished to frighten anyone.” Her lips twisted for a brief
moment as her eyes sparked. “Save for a select few.”

Such as every man on Westeros.

Alicent’s teeth sank into her cheek at the thought, and, not for the first time, she found herself
wondering about Gwayne. In truth, she didn’t much care what happened to the other men of her old
world, but she would be lying if she claimed to no longer have any affection for her eldest brother.

Before the war, she’d thought of him often, wondered if he knew what was happening to her,
wondered if he was sickened or angered by the knowledge, wondered . . . if he thought that she
deserved to suffer so.

The Gwayne of her childhood had been gentle and kind, had protected her as best he could and
made her feel as if she was worth something.

She couldn’t say what sort of man he’d become in the decades since.

She couldn’t even say if he still lived, in truth.

Criston and his wives had taken care to ensure that she remained ignorant of what was happening
outside the walls of Wasran Palace, and she’d stopped caring about the outside world less than a
year after she’d been declared barren.

She liked to think that Gwayne would have been horrified to learn what Criston was doing to her,
liked to think that he would have tried to intervene.

But who could say.

Inwardly shaking her head, Alicent refocused her attention on Rhaenyra. “I know that you never
meant me any harm, Nyra. And I know that you rarely mean others harm either.”

“‘Rarely.’” Rhaenyra’s lips pursed. “Rarely is not ‘never.’ The Oracle spoke true about my ability
to destroy worlds in a twinkling, about civilizations falling because of my wroth and life being
extinguished by my sorrow.”

“The Oracle also spoke true about your ability to create new worlds and make new life bloom.”
“Those rock creatures weren’t truly alive.”

Alicent bit back her chuckle. Her mate had told her much and more about the planet that she’d
created after fleeing Valyria when the net broke, about terraforming the barren rock into a
flourishing world with over half a dozen ecosystems, about raising mountains and filling oceans
and crafting rivers and growing forests.

It had been Laena who had told her about the semi-sentient stone creatures that Rhaenyra had made
to keep herself company on her new world.

“I was referring to the plants, My Love.”

“Oh.” Rhaenyra’s cheeks flushed slightly.

Alicent flashed her a soft smile. “The Oracle called you ‘born to light and shrouded by shadow.’
She didn’t call you evil or wicked or a monster.” Her hand found Rhaenyra’s and squeezed tight. “It
sounds to me that Relle deemed you neither good nor evil. Your choices were what made you so,
and I think that you’ve made rather excellent choices in your long life, all matters considered.”

The sadness and sparks had fled Rhaenyra’s eyes, replaced by warm adoration and tender affection.
“My choices brought me to you. So yes, I would certainly say that they have been excellent.”

Now it was Alicent’s turn to flush, and she swiftly returned her attention to Mistress Anastasia
before she did something foolish to embarrass them.

Such as kissing her mate breathless.

“—Her Excellency worried what might happen if the child proved wicked,” Mistress Anastasia was
saying, “but the All Mother insisted that there was no use worrying until the babe was born.”

“And did you think that wise?” Lady Tywinna asked.

Mistress Anastasia’s lips pursed. “Relle did not say that the child would be evil, so preparing for
such would be premature, but she also did not say that the child would be good, and considering the
power that she was to wield . . .” She shrugged. “I couldn’t say then, and I cannot say now, in truth,
whether it was wise or reckless at the time.” She glanced over at Rhaenyra, smiling slightly. “What
I can say is that history has proven the All Mother wise.”

“Mistress Anastasia, in your opinion as Relle’s former conduit and the woman who foretold Queen
Rhaenyra’s birth, do you believe that your prophecy justified placing a stasis net upon a girl of
seven?”

“I don’t believe that my prophecy would have justified placing a stasis net upon a woman of any
age. Not as a preemptive strike.”

“Thank you, Mistress Anastasia.” Lady Tywinna’s head turned as she addressed the judicators. “I
have nothing further for this witness.”

“Thank you, Counselor.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina looked over at Lady Eddara. “Does the
defense have any questions?”

“Only a few, Madam Chief Judicator.” Lady Eddara rose to her feet and offered Mistress Anastasia
a polite greeting before asking, “Mistress Anastasia, when you received this prophecy about Queen
Rhaenyra, it felt different from the other times that Mother Relle spoke through you, correct?”

Mistress Anastasia nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“And could you please explain how it felt different?”

“Well,” Mistress Anastasia’s brow furrowed slightly as she considered, “I felt warmer, I suppose, as
if I was standing in front of an open flame.”

“You describe the difference as ‘warmer,’ but would it be more accurate to say that it felt
scorching?”

“Yes,” Mistress Anastasia admitted, shifting slightly on the chair.

“It felt akin to having boiling oil poured over you, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Or as if you had been set afire?”

Mistress Anastasia offered a small nod.

“And when you disclosed the prophecy to Empress Baela, her sisters, and the All Mother, you also
told them about how it felt different, correct?”

“I did.”

“You told them that it ‘felt as if my skin was melting from my bones,’ correct?”

Alicent grimaced, and beside her, Rhaenyra had become stiff once more. She wondered who had
relayed the former oracle’s words to Lady Eddara—Mistress Anastasia herself, or one of the
women that she’d told.

She also couldn’t help but think that any Westerosi attorney would have objected half a dozen times
to such questions. Despite knowing by now that such was simply the Valyrian way, she still found it
queer that Valyrians limited their barristers to only nine objections save for in exceptional
circumstances.

“I told them that, yes.” Mistress Anastasia clasped her hands together. “The feeling was but
fleeting. It ended the moment that Mother Relle finished speaking.”

“But that feeling as if you were being burned still troubled you afterwards, did it not?”

Mistress Anastasia nodded slowly. “Yes. It did.”

“And the prophecy itself continued to trouble you for the next nine hundred million years or so,
correct?”

“I—” Mistress Anastasia grimaced in the way that Alicent recognized as the drysa’s venom
preventing her from speaking a lie.

Or perhaps preventing her from saying something that she didn’t entirely believe.
The venom was rather alarmingly precise in that way.

“I was troubled, yes, but those fears have since been allayed.”

Lady Eddara arched an eyebrow. “Were they allayed when Queen Rhaenyra was born?”

Mistress Anastasia opened and closed her mouth a few times before grudgingly shaking her head.
“No. They were not.”

“In fact, when you heard that Queen Rhaenyra had been born with Maegor’s flames and the
Betrayer’s immunity, your fears increased, correct?”

“They . . . They did. Yes. But I certainly took no action against Her Majesty because of those
fears,” Mistress Anastasia added hastily.

“But that was arguably simply because you never had the opportunity, correct?”

Mistress Anastasia frowned. “Arguably.”

“You told Lady Tywinna earlier that you don’t believe your prophecy justified placing a stasis net
over Queen Rhaenyra’s core as a preemptive strike. But would you agree that a stasis net would be
an appropriate response had Queen Rhaenyra proven herself a danger to herself or others?”

“Preemptive strikes—”

“With all due respect, Mistress Anastasia, I’m not asking about a preemptive strike.” Lady Eddara
spread her hands. “I’m asking about a reactive strike. Had Queen Rhaenyra done something that
proved herself a danger to herself or others by some definitive action or actions, do you believe that
a stasis net would be appropriate, yes or no?”

Mistress Anastasia’s jaw tightened, and it was plain to Alicent that she was struggling against the
venom.

I wonder if it’s as plain to everyone else.

Lady Olenna had mentioned that relatively few were all that familiar with a drysa’s venom, given
the nigh nonexistence of criminal trials.

Mistress Anastasia expelled a harsh breath. “In the specific instance that you described, yes.”

“Thank you, Mistress Anastasia.” Lady Eddara shared a brief look with Viserra before saying, “I
have no further questions, Madam Judicators.”

“Very well then.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina turned to Mistress Anastasia. “Thank you for your
time, Mistress Anastasia. You’re excused.”

As Mistress Anastasia was returning to her seat, Judicator Luserena motioned to Lady Eddara.
“You may call your first witness, Counselor.”

“Thank you, Madam Judicator. And as to its first witness, the defense calls Mistress Isabera Cassel,
once the Twenty-First and later the Forty-Fourth Oracle of Relle Wiseone, to the stand.”
Alicent’s eyebrows rose slightly at that, surprised that Lady Eddara would not only begin with
calling one of Lady Tywinna’s witnesses, but also that she would choose another oracle rather than
someone certain to be helpful to Viserra’s argument—such as Daemona or even Lady Rhaena or
Princess Daenora.

Why call Mistress Isabera?

Rhaenyra forced herself not to fidget as Mistress Isabera testified, forced her rings to remain still,
forced her expression to offer no hint of her inner thoughts.

Seven Hells.

She’d made a mistake.

Fool. Thrice-damned fool.

These past months, she’d bared more of herself to Lady Tywinna than she had to anyone save Dr.
Alfadora, but she’d somehow forgotten . . .

Merciful Mother above, how could she have forgotten?

“There were a host of portents accompanying Queen Rhaenyra’s birth,” Mistress Isabera was
explaining, “each pertaining to the holy numbers of three, five, or seven. There wasn’t a doubt in
my mind that the heir of Empress Viserra the Sixth would be the child prophesied by Oracle
Anastasia.”

Rhaenyra swallowed past the growing lump in her throat.

“Nyra?”

Expelling a quiet breath, Rhaenyra prayed that her mental voice wouldn’t expose her worry. It was
foolish, for Alicent knew far worse things about her—far, far worse—and yet— “Yes, Ali?”

“Are you all right?”

Damn it.

She didn’t wish to lie—never to Alicent—but she didn’t want . . .

“No. But you needn’t worry, Safa. All will learn soon enough.”

Alicent’s lips pursed slightly, and Rhaenyra could sense her displeasure, but her mate was kind
enough not to press. “Very well, My Love. Might I instead ask you then why some women began
murmuring when Mistress Isabera mentioned portents?”

Rhaenyra swiftly quashed the urge to tug Alicent close and kiss her. “Portents and omens are the
domain of seers, like the Seer of Korr Oldone on Kervan, just as visions and prophecies were the
domain of prophetesses and prophets, such as Prophetess Orestilla. It’s unusual for oracles to
receive signs from Relle rather than simply channeling her voice.”

“Perhaps the portents were for the rest of you.”

Rhaenyra grinned. “That has become the general consensus, yes.”

How she adored her clever mate.

“Queen Rhaenyra’s laying began seven minutes past seven o’clock in the morning on the twenty-
first day of Winter Moon, which was also the seventh day of the third week of the month,” Mistress
Isabera explained. “Dowager Queen Viserra labored for exactly twenty-seven minutes, and she was
attended by five women—Mistress Alaura Glover, Lady Alyssa Targaryen, Lady Lysandra
Targaryen, Lady Rhaenys Targaryen, and Dowager Queen Laena of Bellmar.”

Lady Eddara nodded slowly. “I see. And at the time of these happenings, did you inform Dowager
Queen Viserra of your suspicions?”

Mistress Isabera hesitated, and Rhaenyra wondered if the former oracle had also realized why Lady
Eddara had called her to testify rather than allowing Lady Tywinna to determine which questions
might be asked of her. “I did. Yes. I informed Her Eminence that I was nigh certain her heir would
be the Foretold Empress.”

“And how did the then-Empress respond?”

Once more, Mistress Isabera hesitated, her eyes thrice shifting between Rhaenyra and the defense
table before she finally answered. “Her Eminence was elated.”

Quiet murmurs rippled throughout the courtroom.

Judicator Celia leaned over to whisper something to Judicator Jennora, and Judicator Corvina
frowned slightly.

Rhaenyra instinctively moved closer to Alicent, seeking her comfort, which Alicent provided at
once by offering a warm wave of calming pheromones.

She shouldn’t be able to do that.

Once the trial was over and done, they ought to discuss the matter with Dr. Nesryn.

Lady Eddara loudly cleared her throat. “Mistress Isabera, could you please elaborate on the
Dowager Queen’s elation?”

“Well,” Mistress Isabera shrugged, “she seemed quite joyful, I suppose you could say, proud as
well, to learn that her heir would be the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath.”

Rhaenyra wondered when that joy had turned to ashes in her mother’s mouth.

A foolish thing to wonder.

She knew exactly when.

“Your mother has always adored you, Rhaenyra,” Alaura had told her once, gently rubbing her
back. “When she learned that you were the Daughter of Prophecy, she could not have been more
pleased. Perhaps if you speak with her again, more calmly this time?”

Rhaenyra couldn’t even recall anymore why she’d been upset or what Alaura had wished for her to
discuss with her mother. But she remembered the feeling of her stepmother’s hand upon her back,
remembered her warm scent and soothing words.

She’d thought . . .

“Viserra does not wish to see you suffer, Rhaenyra. You know this, don’t you?” Alaura’s tone had
been so kind, so coaxing.

Rhaenyra had nodded.

Of course she had.

She’d spent over nine million years clinging to the knowledge that her mother had been elated to
learn of her power before she’d hatched. She’d desperately clung to and gripped and coveted that
knowledge, certain to her very bones that it was evidence of her mother’s love . . .

“She does love you, Princess Rhaenyra. Her words simply come from fear.”

A frown stole across Rhaenyra’s face as Lyonella Cargyll’s words echoed in her mind. She glanced
over her shoulder, searching the room with her nose and eyes for Cassella’s mother.

Lyonella had been in the room that day when her mother had mentioned the net. Had she—?

There.

Cassella’s mothers were seated near the back beside Daemona and Mysaria.

Lyonella Cargyll was her mother’s dearest heart friend . . .

But Vora Otrera Tyrell, who had been among those assigned to guard her mother at Dragon Ridge,
had assured her that not even Lyonella had visited.

Did she know?

She’d never much wondered about the extent of Lyonella’s knowledge, but surely she must have
suspected, given what her mother had said that day.

“If you had even half of the control that Cassella does, perhaps that stasis net around your core
wouldn’t be necessary.”

Had her mother made a mistake? Allowed anger to loosen her tongue?

Or had Lyonella always known?

She would need to say something to Lady Tywinna, if time permitted.

“When next Her Eminence came to me,” Mistress Isabera was saying, “it was about a month after
Queen Rhaenyra’s hatching. She was . . . well, she was much changed from when last I saw her.”

“Changed how?”

“She appeared . . . more haggard. As if she hadn’t been sleeping well. She asked Mother Relle what
her daughter would become, if she would bring destruction to the Empire.”

“And what did Mother Relle have to say in answer?”

Mistress Isabera’s lips pursed for a moment, her finger tapping upon her bonding bracelet. “Our
Heavenly Mother did not see fit to speak through me that day.”

“Did she answer Dowager Queen Viserra’s question in some other way?” Lady Eddara pressed.

“She . . . did . . . yes.” Mistress Isabera’s face was becoming flushed as she squirmed on her chair.

“Did Mother Relle answer you with a vision?”

Mistress Isabera glanced up at the judicators in silent question.

It was Judicator Josephinia who answered. “Please respond to the question, Mistress Isabera.”

A harsh breath was followed by another long moment of silence before Mistress Isabera finally
muttered, “Yes.”

“And what was that vision of?”

Mistress Isabera’s eyes flashed for a brief moment. “I told her that visions are less definitive than
channelings—”

“With all due respect, Mistress?”

“Fires and floods,” Mistress Isabera growled. “Mother Relle showed me broken mountains and
howling winds, boiling seas and burning fields.”

Shocked murmurs filled the courtroom.

Rhaenyra fisted her skirts to keep her hands from trembling.

“What else did she show you?” Lady Eddara pressed.

“Dying dragons.” Mistress Isabera’s face was scrunched with displeasure. “She showed me sea
serpents screaming as they were boiled to death and ruks struck down by lightning as they tried to
flee to safety. She showed me women from all eight Great Houses trying and failing to save the
planet.”

“She showed you what could only be described as a Second Doom, yes?”

“Yes,” Mistress Isabera gritted out.

“And you described your vision to Dowager Queen Viserra?”

“Yes, and I also told her that the vision lacked context. Plainly, Mother Relle was showing me the
disasters that Queen Rhaenyra was destined to save us from.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but flinch.

On the other side of the courtroom, she sensed the briefest spark of triumph from her mother.

Lady Eddara inclined her head to Mistress Isabera. “Thank you for your time. I have no further
questions.”
Lady Tywinna was on her feet almost before Chief Judicator Alexandrina finished asking if the
prosecution had any questions. “Mistress Isabera, you informed the accused about this lack of
context, correct?”

“I did. Emphatically so.”

“Why emphatically?”

“Because the look on her face . . .” Mistress Isabera shook her head. “I didn’t understand it at the
time. It wasn’t pleasure, of course, but it wasn’t entirely fear either. There was a . . . grimness to it,
but something else as well. It wasn’t until today that I finally realized what I was seeing.”

“And what were you seeing?”

“Vindication.”

Rumbling, harsh growls.

Sharpened scents.

A few hisses.

Rhaenyra’s eyes closed. She remembered that day. Remembered perfectly the way that her mother
had looked at her for the first time as if she was a monster. Before, there had been a sort of
wariness, but after visiting the Oracle . . .

“You left me no choice, Child. Had I not bound your core, you would have destroyed us all. The
Oracle foretold it so.”

Her mother’s eyes had been cold, and her voice colder still when she’d spoken those words shortly
after Rhaenyra had awoken with the net encasing her core.

She’d believed those words.

And in a way—

“This doesn’t change the fact that your mother’s actions were wrong, Nyra.” Alicent’s voice was
fierce in her mind, filled with fire and determination.

“Doesn’t it? The Oracle—”

“Received a vision, which she just said was less definitive than a channeling. And even with
channelings, there is still a chance for ambiguity, Nyra. Mother Relle told you that your mate
would be mortal, but there was so much else that she didn’t say as well.”

That was true enough, Rhaenyra supposed.

“Perhaps the vision was meant to be a warning of what your mother shouldn’t do.”

...

Perhaps . . .
Rhaenyra swallowed a little, some of the tightness in her throat easing.

On her other side, Aemma reached over and gently touched her arm, and a moment later, Rhaenyra
felt the telekinetic hands of well over a dozen other women as well.

She knew instinctively that they were those of her sisters, daughters, and aunts.

“To your knowledge, did Dowager Queen Viserra share this vision with anyone else?” Lady
Tywinna asked.

“Not to my knowledge, no.”

“And did you inform anyone else of this vision?”

“I did not, no.”

“Not even the All Mother?”

“Had she been on Valyria at the time, I would have.”

Lady Tywinna arched an eyebrow. “Why did you not inform her when she returned?”

“Because by then, Queen Rhaenyra was no longer using her magic. Everyone knew of her mother’s
edict, and I assumed that was Her Eminence’s way of attempting to prevent my vision from coming
to pass. I never imagined . . .” Mistress Isabera’s lip curled. “I couldn’t even fathom a mother doing
something so cruel as casting a stasis net over her daughter’s core.”

“Even taking your vision into account?”

“Even then.” Mistress Isabera raised her chin. “As I said, visions are far more subjective than even
prophecies, and certainly more subjective than channelings. There is much more room for free will
to have a hand in matters.”

Lady Tywinna leaned forward slightly. “Do you mean to say that, theoretically, Dowager Queen
Viserra’s own actions might have had a part to play in making your vision come to pass?”

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat, her muscles coiling without her leave.

Mistress Isabera’s eyebrows arched slightly, her head cocking as she seemed to consider the
question.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she nodded. “Yes, I suppose that is one way to frame the
matter. I meant more that Mother Relle’s vision could well have been a warning to ensure that a
Second Doom didn’t come to fruition, but I suppose that the opposite could also be true. That
actions can both make and unmake a vision, as it were.”

“That actions can both make and unmake a vision, as it were.”

The words echoed in Rhaenyra’s ears, repeating again and again and again.

If her mother’s hadn’t—

But there had been ambiguity, and it was reasonable—

It’s hardy reasonable to not seek any sort of assistance, surely—

But the All Mother had been off-world at the time, and her mother could hardly—

There were over two hundred generations of empresses and queens that she could have consulted.

So why hadn’t she?

“Thank you, Mistress Isabera.” Lady Tywinna looked up at the judicators. “I have no further
questions for this witness.”

Laena was called next, and Alicent couldn’t help but notice that Rhaenyra’s sister didn’t even
bother trying to hide her contempt for their mother’s actions. Her voice simmered with fury as she
described Viserra scowling at Rhaenyra nigh the moment that she hatched and as she spoke about
how Viserra was forever criticizing and admonishing and belittling Rhaenyra in ways both great
and small.

“I should have intervened. I should have done something, but I didn’t . . . It’s so clear to me now,
what Mother was doing, but at the time . . . She was subtle about it, I suppose you could say.
Gradual. She didn’t begin publicly provoking Rhaenyra all at once the way that she does now. It
was small things at first. A tsk here. A clicking tongue there. Nothing particularly worthy of note or
comment. She was conditioning Rhaenyra to accept her mistreatment, but she was also
conditioning the rest of us, in a way. To ignore what she was doing, or to dismiss it as no more than
normal behavior. I could . . . some part of me knew that it was hurting my sister, but I didn’t . . . I
should have done more.”

Rhaenyra’s expression had been unreadable as Laena had said those words, but Alicent had sensed
her mate’s inner turmoil. Whether it was because she knew Laena spoke true or because she was
only now realizing the extent of what her mother had been doing remained unclear.

Alicent intended to speak with her about it this evening.

Lady Eddara’s questions to Laena had been brief and focused on different times when Rhaenyra’s
control had lapsed and she’d caused unintended damage of one form or another.

Beside her, Rhaenyra had seemed to grow smaller with each word that her sister spoke.

Alicent and Aemma had been quick to remind her that she was only a child taught to fear herself,
but she wasn’t certain how much good those words had done.

Somewhat surprisingly, neither Lady Eddara nor Lady Tywinna used Laena to reveal what had
happened when the net broke.

Alicent supposed that the both of them wished to unveil that particular revelation at a more pivotal
moment—using a more pivotal witness.

Once Laena finished testifying, Lady Eddara called Vora Aelinor Westerling to the stand. “Could
you please tell us about the first time that Queen Rhaenyra lost her temper?”

Vora Aelinor rubbed her forehead for a moment, her eyes looking past Lady Eddara to a white-
haired woman sitting several rows back and also dressed in armor. “Her Majesty was still a babe at
the time,” she began slowly, “little more than a month old, if I recall. She was, well, she was upset
because she and her eldest sister had quarreled. The dowager chastised her for making a spectacle
of herself in public, and Her Majesty . . .” She hesitated, glancing between Rhaenyra and Viserra
for a brief moment. “She became quite wroth, and . . . Well, the walls . . . They began to melt.”

“These were stone walls?”

“They were, yes.”

Lady Eddara cocked her head slightly. “And why were these stone walls melting?”

“Her Majesty was,” Vora Aelinor shifted slightly, her armor clanking softly, “she was engulfed by
her own fire, and the heat was such that the nearby stone was melting.”

Alicent couldn’t stop her eyebrows from rising slightly, for she’d thought that her mate was only
consumed by her flames when exceptionally wroth. Being chastised—

“Considering the particular kind of mistreatment that Viserra inflicted upon her, I wouldn’t be
surprised if Her Majesty was rather easily provoked when she was a child. Swift to anger and more
likely to devolve into a blind fury, if you will.”

Dr. Arwen hadn’t been particularly enthused about attempting to analyze Rhaenyra’s trauma
responses, but Alicent had wanted to better understand in the hopes of improving her own ability to
help her mate.

This would have been before Dr. Alfadora was summoned, so Rhaenyra hadn’t yet begun learning
to manage her responses.

A peculiar combination of sadness and anger twisted her stomach as Vora Aelinor told anecdote
after anecdote about the different times that Rhaenyra’s temper had flared for one reason or another.

Nigh all of them had been because of Viserra’s own goading or provocation, though Lady Eddara
took care to make that fact less obvious.

“She was not quite one when she first crushed a mountain.”

“That single scream shattered every window in the Dragon Tower.”

“She created her first whirlwind a few months after her second birthday.”

“Her Majesty flung the Dragon Throne across the room and nearly shattered it.”

“I couldn’t believe my eyes the first time that she teleported through sheer force of will.”

“Her wroth was such that a shockwave of magical energy erupted from her and nearly brought the
tower down around our ears.”

“It shouldn’t have been possible. She was only five at the time, and no one had taught her any
transmogrification spells, and she didn’t utter a single word, but suddenly the stuffed toy in her
hands was a boulder, and she was hurling it at her mother’s head.”

With each tale, Alicent found herself in some ways understanding Viserra’s fear, though she mostly
simply wished to give the other woman a firm shake and demand to know how she could have
treated Rhaenyra in such a way. And the desire to simply wrap herself around her mate, kiss her
gently, and reassure her that she was loved was almost overwhelming.

She wouldn’t deny that, based on Vora Aelinor’s testimony, her mate’s magic and temper had been
rather volatile, but Rhaenyra had been a child at the time, and much of her volatility seemed to
have been the result of Viserra’s own provocations and harassment.

“Did Her Eminence ever express concern over her daughter’s behavior?” Lady Eddara asked.

Vora Aelinor nodded slowly. “She did, yes.”

Lady Eddara leaned forward slightly. “Could you be more specific, Vora? After the first
transmogrification incident, what exactly did Her Eminence say to you regarding her daughter’s
behavior?”

“She said,” Vora Aelinor expelled a heavy sigh, “she said that ‘my daughter will be our Doom if
she does not learn to control herself and her magic.’”

“So you would agree that Dowager Queen Viserra was concerned about the well-being of her
people and the Empire?”

“I, I would. Yes.”

“And that concern appeared to be guiding her actions, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Vora.” Lady Eddara inclined her head to the judicators. “I have no further questions.”

“Thank you, Counselor.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina nodded to Lady Tywinna. “Your witness.”

Lady Tywinna rose to her feet, clasping her hands behind her back. “Vora Aelinor, when did you
come into Dowager Queen Viserra’s service?”

Alicent’s brow furrowed slightly, wondering why Lady Tywinna wasn’t immediately attempting to
rebut the earlier testimony about Viserra acting out of concern for the Empire. She glanced over at
Lady Olenna, who didn’t seem at all perturbed or surprised by the current line of questioning.

Once again, Alicent found herself wishing that the mock proceedings had included being allowed
to view other witnesses’ questionings, but Lady Tywinna hadn’t wished to inadvertently influence
anyone’s testimony, since the effects of a drysa’s venom were so inextricably linked to a woman’s
own beliefs and biases.

“She selected me to serve as her Wolf Knight following her generation’s Choosing Ceremony. The
dowager wished for all of her knights to be members of the Starshield Cadet Branch, and I was the
most senior member who hadn’t already sworn a blood oath to another.”

“And being chosen as Her Eminence’s Wolf Knight means that you swore a blood oath to her,
correct?”

“Yes, and I continued in my position as her Blood Sworn during both her imperial reign and her
royal reign.”
Lady Tywinna swept her arm out. “And could you please describe for the court the purpose and
function of the blood oath?”

Vora Aelinor was silent for a long moment as she seemed to gather her thoughts before finally
saying, “A blood oath essentially binds a knight to her liege lady’s will. When the oath is invoked,
your will is hers. The All Mother’s Draconic Knights all swore blood oaths to her following the
Betrayal so that she would have guards incapable of betraying her, and the purpose of the oath has
always been protective, if you will.” Her lips pursed slightly as she glanced over at Viserra, and
something between guilt and betrayal flashed in her eyes then. “The oath is a demonstration of
loyalty, yes, but also of trust. A Blood Sworn Knight offers absolute loyalty to her liege lady when
she swears the oath, and in return, a liege lady is expected to honor the trust given to her by not
invoking the oath for petty matters.”

Alicent remembered the shame that had colored Rhaenyra’s face when she’d confessed to using the
blood oath against Vora Hylda in order to force her silence about the net.

“I shouldn’t have done it. It was a gross misuse, but I . . . I was terrified of what others would think
if they knew the truth. I was certain that . . . I was a coward.”

She knew that her mate regretted invoking the blood oath, but she highly doubted that Viserra did.

“You said that a liege lady must ‘invoke’ the blood oath.” Lady Tywinna raised an eyebrow. “Does
this mean that not every order given is compulsory?”

“Yes, exactly. Her Eminence could have ordered me to leave a room, but unless she willfully
invoked the oath, I would be free to disobey if I wished.”

“Would it be fair to say that most liege ladies never invoke the blood oath?”

Vora Aelinor nodded without hesitation. “The All Mother never invoked the oath the entire length
of her seven-million-years-long reign, and I believe that only a handful of monarchs since her have
ever done so.”

“And was Dowager Queen Viserra among that handful?”

“She was.”

Alicent looked across the aisle to where Viserra sat—impassive as stone—and wondered how it
must feel to watch a woman who had been by her side for nearly twelve million years testify
against her. She knew that Rhaenyra considered Vora Hylda among her heart friends, so perhaps
Viserra had viewed Vora Aelinor the same.

She also couldn’t help but wonder—considering Vora Hylda’s position on this whole matter—what
might have been had Vora Aelinor supported Viserra.

Something akin to what we shall see when Lady Rhaenys testifies, perhaps.

“Can you describe what it feels like when the oath is invoked?” Lady Tywinna asked.

Vora Aelinor’s lips pursed. “Well, it somewhat depends on the order. If your liege lady commands
you to do something physically, such as leave a room, I’ve been told that it’s rather akin to when
someone else moves your limbs telekinetically. Your body is moving, but not of your own volition.
And when the order is something . . . mental, I suppose you could say, such as not sharing specific
information, then it’s rather akin to a Seal of Secrecy. The words die on your lips before you can
even fully form them, never mind speak them aloud. Or the thought flees your mind before you can
communicate it telepathically. Or your hands seize before you can write it down, and so forth.”

Alicent shuddered at the thought of being controlled in such a way. The drysa spider’s venom was
uncomfortable enough, but not even being able to form a thought?

Merciful Relle, had Criston been able to exert such control over me . . .

She recalled when Sabitha had first explained the blood oath to her, recalled thinking that it
sounded horrid even if it was nothing like the blood oaths that the Westerosi of old had once used,
but Sabitha hadn’t offered these particular details.

What would happen if a monarch ordered her Blood Sworn to do something that she wasn’t
physically capable of doing?

Alicent wasn’t certain that she even wanted an answer to that particular question.

Lady Tywinna was watching Vora Aelinor closely, her eyes boring into the other woman. “Is it
uncomfortable when the blood oath is invoked?”

“Only if you try to fight the order. Attempted disobedience causes the entire body to seize and
sometimes spasm. It . . .” A faint shiver seemed to ripple throughout Vora Aelinor’s body, but she
swiftly composed herself before Alicent could even be certain. “There’s a sort of burning sensation,
in your blood, when you attempt to disobey.”

Lady Tywinna remained silent for several long moments—allowing Vora Aelinor’s words to linger
and take hold—before saying, “You said earlier that Dowager Queen Viserra has invoked the blood
oath before. What can you tell us about that?”

“I was ordered to keep a secret.” Vora Aelinor paused, her eyes shifting to Viserra, who held her
gaze without flinching or even a hint of shame. “And I’ve kept that secret as ordered for over nine
million years.”

“Were you not released from your blood oath after Dowager Queen Viserra abdicated the Rose
Throne?”

“I was, but the order remained in effect until Her Eminence revoked it.”

Merciful Mother.

“And when did she revoke it?”

“This morning.” Vora Aelinor’s head tilted slightly as her gaze rose to settle upon where the first
three empresses sat in the upper gallery. “By order of the All Mother herself.”

Alicent remembered Lady Tywinna mentioning that she’d had to petition the Imperial Court for an
order instructing Viserra to revoke her order.

And that the All Mother had had to intervene.

How does Viserra convince herself that her actions are righteous?
“And what secret did Dowager Queen Viserra order you to keep?”

Rather than addressing Lady Tywinna, Vora Aelinor’s next words were directed at every woman
gathered in the courtroom. “That she indefinitely bound Queen Rhaenyra’s core in a modified stasis
net when Her Majesty was but seven years old. And that she’d created the modified net at all.”

Rumbling growls and furious snarls rippled throughout the courtroom.

“Barbaric.”

“It’s not right.”

“How could any woman . . ?”

“Her own daughter.”

“Thrice-damned—”

Judicator Elizabetta loudly rapped her gavel on the square-cut block in front of herself. “We will
have order, or this courtroom will be cleared.”

Silence immediately descended.

Lady Tywinna briefly glanced over at Viserra before returning her attention to Vora Aelinor. “Why
did the Dowager Queen issue these orders?”

Vora Aelinor’s eyes narrowed as she stared Viserra down. “Because she knew that I wanted to
inform the All Mother about what she’d done.”

“What made you willing to go against your liege lady in such a way?”

“I could see that Queen Rhaenyra was in pain.” Guilt twisted Vora Aelinor’s face as her eyes
lowered to her lap. “It was about a year before Her Majesty learned to fully conceal her pain, you
see, and those first few days . . . The way that she would wince and tremble so, it was as if the mere
act of breathing hurt her.”

Alicent’s heart clenched, and she immediately reached out to wrap an arm around her mate, not
much caring if the judicators or anyone else disapproved of the break with decorum. “Nyra?”

“Vora Aelinor . . . she would oft give me these looks . . . I didn’t . . . I knew that she knew, but I
didn’t realize that she thought what Mother had done was wrong . . .”

Images of Viserra scowling and Vora Aelinor frowning as well, of Viserra clicking her tongue and
chastising whilst Vora Aelinor glowered, of Viserra shaking her head in disapproval as Vora
Aelinor’s jaw tightened flashed through Alicent’s mind.

“I always assumed that she was angry with me as well . . .”

The air around them suddenly chilled.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened slightly as she turned to look at Alicent. “My Love, it’s all right. All of
that is in the past now.”
Except that it wasn’t.

Not truly.

“I know well my daughter’s temper, Lady Alicent. When her control lapses, she is not at all like the
woman you’ve come to know.”

“Lady Alicent, I do not mean to speak rudely, but I know my daughter far better than you do, so
please heed me when I tell you that her temper can be roused for many reasons other than to
protect others.”

“You did not see her after she returned from exterminating those demons, My Lady. Perhaps if you
had, you would understand why it is wise to fear her wroth.”

“Lady Alicent, I have no doubt that Rhaenyra is full of remorse, but how many regrets do you think
she has?”

The net may have broken millions of years ago, but that had hardly been the end of Viserra’s abuse.

And she ought to be punished for all of it.

Alicent swallowed a little, somewhat disquieted by the ferocity of her own thoughts.

“Queen Rhaenyra told her mother of the pain when she awoke after the net was cast on her,” Vora
Aelinor was saying, “and I informed Her Eminence as well when I noticed the princess wincing.”

Lady Tywinna’s head slowly swiveled to look at Viserra. “And how did Dowager Queen Viserra
respond when you told her about her daughter’s pain?”

Vora Aelinor’s own gaze was now locked on Viserra as well, and her lip curled slightly to reveal
elongated canines. “She ordered me to say nothing. And when I refused that order, she invoked the
blood oath.”

Rhaenyra had been five hundred and two when her mother had first ordered that a sword be placed
in her hands.

But she’d been one hundred and sixty-seven when Vora Aelinor had first shown her the proper way
to hold a dagger. Her hands hadn’t been able to actually grasp the hilt, and she’d certainly been
utterly unable to physically wield the blade, but Vora Aelinor had shown her the correct placement
for her hands and then sat with her until she was able to use her telekinesis to manipulate the
dagger with the same finesse as a trained shield sister.

She’d been upset about something—she couldn’t even recall what—and Vora Aelinor had come to
her chambers to offer what comfort she could.

Aemma had been rather annoyed that that comfort had involved unrebated shadow steel, but there
had been a softness—a gratitude—in her eyes as she’d shooed Vora Aelinor from the room.

How had she forgotten about that?

Probably the same way that I somehow forgot about Isabera Cassel’s vision of my near destruction
of Valyria.

This was an absurdity.

An utter and absolute absurdity.

Viserra had expected this nonsense from Rhaenyra, Laena as well, in truth, and she had been
prepared for much the same from those closest to her daughter, but Aelinor?

Merciful Mother and All Her Faces.

Aelinor had been by her side since Viserra was a girl of three hundred. Aelinor had protected her
and guarded her back for nearly twelve million years. Aelinor knew her, understood her in a way
that few aside from Alaura and Lyonella did.

Or so Viserra had thought.

How could she betray me so?

Answering questions posed whilst under the drysa’s venom was one matter, but the way that
Aelinor had looked at her . . .

“She ordered me to say nothing. And when I refused that order, she invoked the blood oath.”

There had been contempt in her former Blood Knight’s eyes.

Contempt and judgment and scorn!

What have I done to deserve such mistreatment?

During Eddara’s questioning, Viserra had been certain that the judicators and the women gathered
to observe the trial were beginning to properly understand the danger that Rhaenyra had posed, that
they would comprehend at least somewhat that Rhaenyra’s magic had needed to be leashed for the
sake of the Empire.

Were they not paying mind when Isabera spoke of her vision?

Viserra would never forget that day, no more than she would forget the moment that she saw her
newborn daughter create a crown of seven flaming stars to grace her head.

Psychic elementalism not five minutes after hatching should have been impossible.

And that display of Maegor’s flames and the Betrayer’s immunity.

A cold shiver rippled down her spine at the mere thought.

She’d known.

Much as it had pained her, she’d known.

Would that she’d been able to trust her daughter’s ability to control herself and leash her temper.
Would that she’d been able to be certain that Rhaenyra wouldn’t destroy them all in some fit of
pique.

Would that she’d never been forced to make that thrice-damned net and cast it over Rhaenyra’s
core.

If only Rhaenyra had minded her.

If only she’d proven herself capable of control.

If only she hadn’t taken every opportunity she could to demonstrate the threat that she posed.

Hylda Westerling was being called to the stand, but Viserra didn’t pay much mind to her, for she
already knew what Tywinna would be asking of Rhaenyra’s Shadow Knight.

About Rhaenyra’s supposed melancholy.

About Rhaenyra being “manipulated.”

About Rhaenyra’s claims of pain.

And she knew what Eddara would ask in response.

About Rhaenyra’s own use of the blood oath on Hylda.

About Rhaenyra’s motives being no different from Viserra’s own.

About Rhaenyra having little care for Hylda’s wants and desires and discomfort.

“Oh, Viserra. Don’t you see? You and Rhaenyra have more in common than either of you are
willing to admit. If you could only . . .” Alaura had sighed at her, shaking her head, and part of
Viserra had wanted to understand, if only so that she could better understand her mate, but at the
time . . .

Would it have come to this if I’d instead made Rhaenyra see that we are in truth two sides of the
same coin and that hers requires my guidance?

Perhaps.

Although . . .

Rhaenyra has always stubbornly refused to heed me or remember my many lessons.

She’d spent millions of years showering that girl with sense, but all of it had simply slid from her
like water off of a dragon’s wing.

Viserra’s eyes swept over the nine judicators—two of whom had sat in judgment at Rhaenyra’s trial
—and prayed that their own mothers’ efforts had been more fruitful than hers.

Daemona was the final witness of the day.

Rhaenyra felt her jaw tighten on instinct as she watched her eldest sister take the stand.
She and Dr. Alfadora had discussed Daemona’s behavior at length this past year, and while she now
better understood her sister, that hardly made Rhaenyra any more fond of her.

Lady Eddara’s questions were exactly what Rhaenyra would have expected—more stories about
her childhood tempestuousness, testimony about their mother’s care for all of them, and praise of
their mother’s dedication to her duty and the Empire.

“Rhaenyra’s uncontrolled magic nearly leveled the Valerian Mountains when she was little more
than a babe.”

“Something I said angered her, and not a moment later, I was surrounded by her black fire.”

“Lady Aemma was oft forced to hurriedly remove her when her temper flared.”

“Mother loved us all. I’ve no doubt of that.”

“However she may have treated Rhaenyra, I’ve no reason to doubt her genuine love for my sister.”

“Mother could be critical, this is so, but she was no different in that regard than any other empress
ensuring that her heirs are worthy of their thrones.”

“Our mother did not share her burdens or cares often, but whenever she did, it was plain how
much the needs of the Empire weighed on her.”

“Mother was beside herself in the months after she cast the net. I could tell from the set of her
shoulders, the hardness of her eyes, the . . . tension that seemed to be coiled in every muscle.”

“I do believe that it pained her to cast the net, yes. And I do believe that she thought she had no
choice.”

“Mother’s most pressing priority has always been the good of the Empire. First and last.”

Throughout her sister’s direct examination, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but notice how Daemona’s eyes
kept leaving Lady Eddara to settle upon her mate, and when Rhaenyra had allowed herself to
briefly glance over her shoulder, she’d been met by the sight of a disapproving scowl curling
Mysaria’s lips.

The reason for that rather forceful scowl became clear the moment that Lady Tywinna began her
cross-examination.

“You and Dowager Queen Viserra have had discussions about Queen Rhaenyra in the past,
correct?”

“We have, yes.” Daemona’s eyes flitted from their mother to Mysaria and back again, guilt briefly
flashing across her face before she regained control over her expression. “Mother felt more
comfortable sharing her concerns about Rhaenyra with me than she did my other sisters.”

“And she felt more comfortable discussing these matters with you because your relationship with
Queen Rhaenyra has always been the most contentious, correct?”

Daemona’s lips pursed with displeasure, but she nodded all the same. “Rhaenyra and I have never
been particularly fond of each other.”
“Isn’t it true that you once challenged Queen Rhaenyra to a cathalla over a petty slight?”

“The slight was hardly petty,” Daemona gritted out.

Rhaenyra forced herself not to snort aloud at those words.

They’d been debating the continued efficacy of messenger hawks and she’d insulted Daemona’s
cognitive reasoning abilities.

“Isn’t it true that you once challenged Queen Rhaenyra to a cathalla because she insulted your
ability to think critically?”

Daemona expelled a harsh breath. “Yes.”

“And isn’t it true that your mother later praised you for this?”

“She . . .” Daemona once more glanced between their mother and her mate before sighing and
nodding. “She did, yes.”

“And was it your belief at the time that your mother praised you because she wished for you to
antagonize Queen Rhaenyra?”

“That was not my belief at the time, no.”

“But is that your belief today?”

Guilt flickered in Daemona’s eyes—their mother’s eyes—as she lowered her head. “Yes.”

Low murmurs filled the courtroom.

Rhaenyra inhaled sharply when she was suddenly struck by a wave of shock and hurt and
confusion that she knew at once was her mother’s.

And she would be lying if she claimed that her mother’s shock did not match her own.

Daemona had never apologized to her.

Not once.

And while this was by no means an apology . . .

It somehow felt akin to one.

Foolish, she knew.

And yet . . .

Alicent’s warm scent wrapped around her, and she suddenly realized that her entire body had
tensed. “An unexpected development, My Love?”

“Most unexpected.”

She’d assumed that any cross-examination of her eldest sister would have been monosyllabic at
best, and she’d been certain that Daemona would have been practicing ways to answer questions
 without actually revealing anything.

But it seems that Mysaria is less lenient about such things than Alaura.

She wondered what exactly her sister-by-bond had said to Daemona, for she knew well how mates
had a way of opening your eyes to that which you had previously not wished to see.

Glancing over at Alicent, fresh warmth bloomed in her chest.

“Your Eminence, in the time since your mother first cast the net over Queen Rhaenyra’s core, have
you come to believe that such an action was wrong?”

“I . . . I understand my mother’s reasoning.” Daemona looked over at their mother once more,
apology written across her features for all to see. “Rhaenyra’s temper was terrifying, and she did oft
seem a danger, but . . .”

Their mother sat stiffly in her chair, eyes boring into Daemona in a way that was somehow both
insistent and pleading.

“I no longer agree with what she did.”

Daemona’s voice was soft and low, rather reticent, in truth.

But she’d said the words.

Which meant that she believed them.

Merciful Mother.

Rhaenyra’s mind churned, and her magic roiled.

If Daemona—

No.

Not “if.”

Daemona believed, which surely—

“Your Eminence, would you agree with me that Dowager Queen Viserra casting a modified stasis
net over Queen Rhaenyra’s core was an act of abuse rather than duty?”

Daemona was staring down at her hands, and her shoulders were trembling in a way that Rhaenyra
had never seen before, but not in the way that indicated she was attempting to fight the drysa’s
venom.

“Your Eminence?” Lady Tywinna prompted.

“Yes,” Daemona growled, slowly raising her head, “I would agree with you, Counselor.”

Chapter End Notes

Please reassure me that this didn't bore you to tears (or yell at me in the comments and say that
it did).

Next Chapter: The All Mother testifies.

 The Falcon and the All Mother
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 58:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Eddara Stark, a defense barrister, residing in Stark Province, Norden
– Roberta Baratheon, a blacksmith, residing in Stark Province, Norden
– Tywinna Lannister, a prosecution barrister, residing in Lannister Province, Gelt
– Olenna Tyrell, a music mistress, residing in Lannister Province, Gelt
– Viserra Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Kastrell, formerly the 248th Empress of the Valyrian
Empire
– Alaura Glover, a Dragon Wood courtier, from Norden
– Daenerys Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone and Matriarch of the House Targaryen, formerly
the 1st Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Missandei Velaryon, a Dragonstone courtier, from the Dragon Court
– Aemma Arryn, Seneschal of Stone Garden, from the Avenian Isles

A special thanks to NewLeeLand and TheReadingWriter for beta reading this chapter, and to
LesbianLightbringer for sensitivity reading various sections.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Spring Moon/1,000,126 Visenya VI

Rhaenyra was exhausted.

She’d attended many a trial whilst traveling—as an attorney, as a witness, as a juror, as a judge, and
simply as a spectator—and not a one of them had been this emotionally draining.

Which was to be expected, she supposed.

For the past five days, she’d sat in that courtroom—quietly and with as placid an expression as she
could manage—whilst dozens of women dissected and analyzed her every action and inaction since
before she’d even hatched. Witness after witness had been called to the stand. Question after
question had been asked of each woman called. And answer after answer had been given in
response.

Lady Tywinna had called Grandmother Aeliana to discuss the Golden Laws and the necessity of
punishing those who violated them, whilst Lady Eddara had asked about times when the Golden
Laws had been preempted by some dire need.

“Under the definition set forth in Article II, Section 5, Subsection (C)(4) of your laws, Queen
Rhaenyra’s actions constituted the ‘buying of slaves,’ correct?”

“But she was never charged or even tried, was she?”

“Because the circumstances surrounding that particular act were such that punishment was not
warranted, yes?”

“Even though she was guilty under the Golden Laws?”

Rhaenyra had been sorely tempted to snap that she would have gladly accepted any punishment
that the Imperial Court or her daughters had seen fit to impose.

Alicent’s hand on her arm, a sharp look from Lady Olenna, and the simple knowledge that such an
outburst would not be looked upon with favor had stayed her words.

Grandmother Saerella’s testimony about the necessity, importance, and function of the Spell
Committee, as well as the laws and administrative codes she’d put in place to govern the
registration of new spells, had been short, technical, and quite dull.

When Lady Eddara had called Visenya to the stand, she’d focused on the matters of an empress’
duty to her people and the Empire, the weight of responsibility that rested upon the shoulders of
every woman to wear the Scale Crown and sit the Dragon Throne, and the many morally
questionable decisions and actions that had been made and taken during the War in order to ensure
the survival of the Empire.

“Would you have sanctioned Queen Rhaenyra’s experiments on the captured Westerosi during
times of peace?”

“It was the War that necessitated such drastic measures, correct?”

“So you would agree with me that, as empress, there are times when you must take drastic, perhaps
even immoral actions, in order to preserve your people and the Empire, yes?”

Her other sisters and daughters had all testified, as had five of her aunts.

Grandmother Alysanne had been questioned about Rhaenyra’s childhood melancholy, while
Grandmother Rhaena and Grandmother Alyssa had been questioned about her mother’s polite and
agreeable nature, her good character, and her unwavering sense of duty.

“Queen Rhaenyra never actually told you about the net whilst it still encased her core, did she?”

“Did your great-granddaughter ever give you reason to think her cruel or malicious?”

“Aside from Queen Rhaenyra’s word, you’ve never had reason to believe your daughter capable of
abuse, correct?”

And then Lyonella Cargyll had been called . . .

“Did you know about the net?”

That had been the only question that had truly mattered, and Lady Tywinna had not wasted time or
minced words after calling her to the stand.

“I . . .” The look that Lyonella had given Rhaenyra then had been filled with remorse and regret
and apology. “I knew that Viserra had cast a net over Queen Rhaenyra’s core when she was a child.
She said as much in my presence once. But I assumed . . . I didn’t know that it was permanent.
She’d never mentioned modifying the All Mother’s net, and I . . . I convinced myself that it must
have been a temporary measure in response to some immediate danger. I didn’t . . . I should have
pressed more, I see that now. I failed Her Majesty when she was a girl, and for that, she has my
apology.”

Were it not for the drysa’s venom, Rhaenyra would have been harder pressed to believe Lyonella’s
claim that she hadn’t known.

But while she believed her, she hadn’t yet decided how she now felt about Cassella’s mother.

Dr. Alfadora had spent hours discussing her professional insights and analyses regarding the long-
term effects of her mother’s abuse.

Rhaenyra had mentally retreated for the majority of her therapist’s testimony.

Much to Rhaenyra’s own shame, during Daenora’s testimony, she’d found herself growing more
and more envious with each anecdote that Lady Eddara elicited from her.

“Grandmother Viserra was very pleased the first time that I managed a full shift. She hugged me
close and stroked my hair and told me that she was proud of me.”

“Grandmother Viserra used to read to me at night, yes. Oft she would select educational texts, but
sometimes she would read me children’s tales or even make up her own.”

“I . . . Yes, I almost flooded the Tower of Guidance once.”

“No, Grandmother was not wroth. I . . . yes, I suppose you could say that she was amused by it.”

Rhaenyra well-remembered when she’d accidentally summoned a flood.

Her mother had looked at her as if she’d just snapped a bird’s neck.

It was wrong, she knew, to be jealous of her own granddaughter, but how could she not be? How
could she not wish that her mother had shown her even a fraction of the care and affection that she
did Daenora?

Seven Hells how Rhaenyra wished that this dreadful business would be over and done.

But there were still two more days yet, by Lady Tywinna’s estimation, and tomorrow—

“Nyra?”

The sweet sound of her mate’s voice drew Rhaenyra from her gloomy thoughts and returned her
attention to the present, to the warm lap beneath her head and the slender fingers carding through
her hair.

Alicent was too kind to her.

Rhaenyra knew that she’d been sullen and anxious and snappish this past week, but her safa
remained as ever gentle and loving and compassionate.

We ought to be planning our bonding and rehearsing for our first duet, not . . . not this.
Alicent’s unoccupied hand rose to caress her cheek. “Tell me your troubles, My Nyra. I’ll give you
the stars.”

“There aren’t enough stars.”

Amusement glinted in Alicent’s eyes as she lightly tapped Rhaenyra’s nose. “Don’t be
disagreeable.”

“But such is my nature.” Rhaenyra gazed up at her mate with an innocent expression. “Surely you
were paying attention when Lady Eddara questioned Grandmother Alysanne about it.”

Alicent grimaced. “That question was inappropriate. And it didn’t particularly comport with the
others that Lady Eddara has been asking.”

“I suspect that it was one of my mother’s questions.” Rhaenyra shrugged, turning her head slightly
to silently ask that her mate scratch her scalp. “In truth, I’m rather surprised that more of Lady
Eddara’s questions haven’t been Mother’s.”

It spoke well of Lady Eddara’s persuasiveness that she still seemed to be in control of the trial
strategy.

Alicent hummed, her expression growing thoughtful. “Nyra, there is something that I’ve been
meaning to ask you.”

“You know that you can ask me anything, Ali.”

A soft smile curled Alicent’s lips. “I’ve been wondering why you don’t weave dreams for me
anymore.”

Worry immediately seized Rhaenyra as she began to sit up. “Have you been having night terrors of
late?”

Surely she would have felt them happening.

Surely she would have noticed.

Surely—

Alicent swiftly shook her head, her scent becoming laden with calming pheromones as she gently
pushed Rhaenyra back down. “No, My Love. It’s been almost a year since my last.”

“Oh.” Rhaenyra breathed a sigh of relief as she allowed herself to relax once more. “I’m glad.” She
peered up at Alicent curiously, wondering why her mate would raise the matter of dream weaving if
her nights weren’t being plagued by ill memories. “Do you wish for me to begin weaving dreams
for you again, Ali?”

She certainly would, if that was her mate’s desire.

Alicent shook her head once more. “I enjoy the dreams that my own mind conjures for me.” She
paused, lips pursing a moment before saying, “You’ve not been sleeping well.”

The words were a statement, not a question, for they both knew that Rhaenyra’s sleep had been
troubled since the trial began.
“I’d like to help you.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows briefly rose before drawing together as she at last understood her mate’s
intentions. “You wish to learn how to weave dreams?”

Perhaps she shouldn’t be so surprised, considering her mate’s wonderfully insatiable thirst for
knowledge, but there existed a vast difference between learning about dream weaving and actually
learning to dream weave.

Only about one in a thousand women were even capable of weaving dreams, and only about one in
a million ever attained mastery of the art.

But those with empathy have a better chance of learning than those without.

And her mate’s empathic abilities were nothing to scoff at.

Reaching up, Rhaenyra gently drew Alicent down so that she could connect their lips in a loving
kiss, and when they were forced to part, she asked, “Shall we begin your lessons tonight, My
Love?”

Eddara pinched the bridge of her nose as she stared down at her notes—all of them written in the
code that she’d developed long ago to ensure that anyone who caught sight of what she was writing
wouldn’t be able to discern her thoughts.

“Any barrister worth her core has her own code.” Olenna’s tone had been brisk and left no room
for argument as she’d tapped the blank sheet of paper that she had placed in front of Eddara. “I
expect a proper code by the end of the week if not before.”

The code that Eddara had eventually offered her mentor hadn’t been particularly complex—nothing
like the multilayered, elaborate latticework cyphers that Olenna and Tywinna used—but it had
served well enough for the time, and Eddara had refined her own code in the millions of years since
Olenna had deemed her prepared to practice on her own.

She expelled a heavy breath as her eyes swept over the various and sundry things that she’d written
over the past five days of the trial.

The past five, utterly exhausting days.

And not least because Dowager Queen Viserra had proven herself a dreadfully obstinate and
demanding client.

It was quite strange, in truth, experiencing this particular facet of her personality.

Eddara had met the dowager queen on several occasions prior to representing her, and Viserra
Everlasting had always seemed to her a polite and pleasant woman—aloof at times, to be sure, but
such was the way of those who ruled. Grandmother Stark could hardly be called especially warm,
but she was still a loving matriarch in her own way. None could claim that she didn’t love her
family, that she wasn’t fiercely protective of them as well as every other woman under her care.
She simply didn’t express her affection in the same way as most.

More like than not because it wouldn’t be considered proper.

The monarchs and matriarchs and matrons may be their mothers in name, but the expectations
placed upon them were not particularly conducive to maternal behavior, in Eddara’s humble
opinion.

But there exists a great difference between being an aloof mother and being—and acting as the
dowager queen did.

Merciful Mother above.

Eddara groaned, eyes closing as she rubbed at her temples. It wasn’t her place to judge Viserra’s
actions. Not at present. Such was not her role in all of this.

She’d known—somewhat—the challenge that she was accepting when she’d agreed to represent
Viserra, but every woman was entitled to a robust and proper defense.

The law and justice and honor demanded no less.

Whatever Viserra had done, it was not their way to condemn and punish without learning all of the
facts first.

A pity that nigh every fact revealed is rather damning . . .

Perhaps the morrow would prove more fruitful.

Opening her eyes, Eddara drummed her fingers upon her desk as she read over the questions that
she’d prepared for the All Mother.

Five days.

She and Tywinna had been circling each other for five days now.

Waiting.

Delaying.

Prevaricating.

Every time that one of them had called a witness, the other had held her breath.

Aeliana.

Saerella.

Visenya.

Rhaena.

Alysanne.

Alyssa.

Daella.

Laenora.
Baelora.

Maegelle.

Jacaerya.

Aelora.

Alfadora.

Daenora.

And dozens more.

But never the ones that they both truly wished to call, never the ones that everyone else most
assuredly wished to hear testify.

Too soon.

They’d both known that it was too soon.

“A litigator is telling a story, in truth,” Olenna had oft told her. “You must lay a solid foundation,
create a sense of suspense for the judge or judicator, and then—at the precise moment—you unveil
the pinnacle of your tale.”

One of them would call the All Mother on the morrow.

That much was plain.

And even now, for all of her careful planning and preparations, she couldn’t say for certain whether
she would rather be the one to call the All Mother, or whether it would be better if Tywinna did so.

In either event, we both know what knowledge must needs be revealed.

Viserra had wished to divulge the truth on that very first day through Laena, but Eddara had
managed to dissuade her, arguing that it would be best to not allow the judicators overlong to
ruminate and reflect upon the knowledge, lest they create justifications for themselves.

Alaura had agreed with her.

And so Viserra had begrudgingly capitulated.

“Edda.”

Eddara turned to see Roberta standing in the doorway of the study, her arms crossed over her chest
as she impatiently tapped her foot. “I’ll be to bed soon,” she promised.

“So you said some three hours ago.” Roberta marched into the room and came to a halt beside
Eddara’s chair, her large frame casting Eddara’s notes in shadow. “It’s past time you come to bed,
Edda. The hour grows unreasonably late, and we both know that you’ll be awake long before the
sun rises come morning. You need a proper rest.”

So her mate had been telling her.

“I’ve a few more questions—”

“To the lowest of the Seven Hells with those questions,” Roberta interrupted—though her tone was
without anger or rancor—as she waved dismissively. “Edda, you have been planning and practicing
for months. And sleeping precious little to do so. You are as prepared as a woman possibly can be.”
She settled one of her hands on Eddara’s shoulder, squeezing with the gentleness that she reserved
solely for Eddara and their daughters. “You are prepared,” she repeated, “of that, I am certain.”

Eddara glanced back at her notes, at the multiple sets of questions that she’d prepared for the All
Mother. She knew them forwards and back, but she also knew that all the preparation in the world
could never account for every possibility or eventuality. The All Mother could say something
entirely unexpected—perhaps something that she had not revealed during Eddara’s prior meetings
with her—and then what?

“A barrister unable to think swiftly in the moment and recalculate the entirety of her strategy in a
twinkling ought not to be a litigator.”

Olenna had trained her well.

Eddara didn’t doubt that, and yet—

“I’ll drag you to bed if I must,” Roberta suddenly warned, her sable eyebrows drawing together as
her mouth twisted into a stern frown.

Eddara bit back a chuckle. “It has been quite some time since you’ve displayed that particular sort
of passion,” she drawled. “I was beginning to fear that you’d simply grown too old.”

Roberta’s eyebrows arched as she made an affronted noise. “You dare insult me so?”

“I do.”

In a twinkling, Eddara was being lifted from her chair and crushed against her mate’s chest in a
tight hug.

“Do you think yourself able to mock me with impunity, My Quiet Wolf?”

This time, Eddara didn’t hold back her laughter. “Millions of years’ of evidence certainly suggests
as much.”

“Does it now?” Roberta set her down and snapped her fingers.

Eddara’s notes disappeared.

“Roberta—”

“If you truly wish to remain awake until dawn, then I’ll return your notes. Of course.” The mirth
left Roberta’s eyes as her expression became serious. “But are you not the one oft saying that a
good night’s rest before an important happening is always a boon?”

So she was.

But that was hardly the point.

Eddara blinked a few times, nearly scoffing aloud at the weakness of her own internal argument.
“Perhaps you are correct about my needing rest,” she conceded.

Roberta puffed and preened in response.

Viserra was incensed.

Utterly and entirely furious.

Thunderously wroth and enraged.

How in Mother Relle’s name had it come to this?

After all that she—

It wasn’t right.

It simply—

Seven thrice-damned Hells, how could they—?

Madness.

They’ve all gone to madness.

There was no other explanation for the farce that she’d been forced to endure these past five days.

She well-remembered Rhaenyra’s trial. She well-remembered sitting in the upper gallery, certain
that the world would finally understand the threat that her daughter posed, would finally see that
Rhaenyra’s temper was a dangerous thing, would finally grasp exactly how little control Rhaenyra
had over herself.

But no.

The judicators at the time had decided that Rhaenyra was somehow justified in her destruction of
an entire planet.

“Considering the extenuating circumstances . . .”

“Her Imperial Highness was plainly in the throes of a blood rage . . .”

“None of us can understand the pain of losing a beloved mate, of watching her die . . .”

Except that Terran girl hadn’t been Rhaenyra’s mate.

And Rhaenyra had still exterminated an entire species for her.

“We must also consider all of the harm that the frost demons have caused . . .”

“Archmagister Tessaria has testified that the frost demons have been butchering other beings
across that section of the multiverse for countless centuries . . .”
“Whatever else she may have done, it cannot be denied that the Imperial Princess has saved
countless lives by destroying those wicked creatures, therefore . . .”

Rhaenyra should have been punished far more harshly than she was, considering her crime.

But she hadn’t been.

And now . . .

Now those same women—more or less—saw fit to sit there in judgment of her!?

A snarl tore from Viserra’s throat as she wheeled around, shifting into a bear as she did so.

Never in her long life had she ever sat through something so utterly infuriating and exhausting.

Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised though.

Perhaps she should have expected this.

Considering how swiftly they’d all turned after the Summit . . .

And yet—

No!

It wasn’t right.

After all that she had done for them!

Nearly a decade spent tinkering with that thrice-damned net.

Casting and testing it again and again and again until it was perfected.

Living in terror every day that Rhaenyra would unleash her magic and destroy them all.

Suffering Aemma’s silent yet incessant judgment because she’d allowed her affections for
Rhaenyra blind her so.

Viserra would gladly suffer it all again for the sake of her people and Empire.

Because such was an empress’ duty, and she had never shied from it.

Why could no one understand that all she’d done had saved them?

For the past five days, she’d sat in that wretched courtroom—quietly and with a composed
expression on her face—whilst dozens of women dissected and analyzed her every action and
inaction since before Rhaenyra had even hatched. Witness after witness had been called to the
stand. Question after question had been asked of each woman called. And answer after answer had
been given in response.

Her elder daughters—

Thrice-damned traitors, the lot of them.

She’d expected Laena and Laenora to side with Rhaenyra.

Maegelle, Aerea, and Elaena as well.

But Daemona . . .

Her firstborn had always been the one with the clearest sight, the only one of her daughters to truly
see Rhaenyra for what she was and to understand the very real danger that Rhaenyra posed. Nigh
since Rhaenyra’s hatching, Daemona had been the only one of her daughters who had never
wavered, never flinched, never allowed sentiment to interfere with duty.

Daemona had always been her favorite, but now . . .

A low grow rumbled in her chest.

Listening to her daughters testify had been trial enough, but then all of her sisters—save Rhaenys—
had taken the stand as well.

Viserra’s stomach twisted as she recalled the way that they had looked at her, the disdain in their
eyes.

Even gentle Daella.

“My sister has always been most dutiful, yes, and she deals fiercely with enemies, but . . .” Daella’s
eyes had found her then, soft and hard, furious and sorrowful, confused and disgusted all at once.
“I cannot fathom how she could ever look upon her own daughter and see an enemy.”

Viserra had been sorely tempted to snap that Daella hadn’t been there when Rhaenyra had first
frozen time through sheer force of will. None of her sisters had seen how utterly careless her
daughter had been when wielding power strong enough to rival that of some gods. None of them
understood Rhaenyra’s caprice. None of them had witnessed her cold fury, which made her hot
anger seem as a kitten beside a shadow-tiger.

Alaura’s hand on her back, a cautioning look from Eddara, and the simple knowledge that such
words would only fall upon deaf ears had stayed her tongue.

When her mother had testified, Viserra had found some small comfort in the obvious discomfort
that had radiated from her mother.

“Viserra was not a cruel child, no. She was always gentle with her sisters, kind to others as well.”

“Yes . . . I suppose you could say that she has her pride, but what woman does not?”

“I . . . There were times when she would snap at Rhaenyra. I should have realized, but I thought
. . .”

Her mother still had a care for her.

Of that, Viserra was certain.

But she’s too politically astute to stand with me now.

Once the trial finished and Viserra was restored to her proper place, she would invite her mother to
tea and all would be as it had been before the Summit.

Merciful Mother above, how she longed for this dreadful business to be over and done.

But Eddara had warned her to expect another two days yet, and on the morrow—

“Sæta.”

The lovely sound of her mate’s voice made Viserra’s furious steps falter, and she paused in her
pacing to swing her great boar’s head in Alaura’s direction. Her mate was seated upon the edge of
her chair, hands folded in her lap and shoulders tensed.

Alaura had been oft tense of late.

Which wasn’t at all surprising.

Her mate was a worrier.

“Yes, My Love?”

“The hour grows late. Perhaps we might retire?” Alaura’s eyes were indeed weary, and some of
their natural sparkle had dimmed.

Viserra detested seeing her so.

Her gentle Alaura should never know a moment’s sorrow.

Causing her mate distress was one offense that Viserra wasn’t certain she could forgive her
wayward daughter.

“I’m not yet ready to retire.” Viserra resumed her natal form so that she could offer her mate an
apologetic smile. “I find my mind far too occupied to settle.”

“Tomorrow will be trying,” Alaura agreed, “and the day after even more so.”

“I’m certain that the All Mother will offer some sense to balance the madness that seems to have
gripped everyone.” Viserra swiftly crossed the room and leaned down to press a reassuring kiss to
her mate’s forehead. “She, of all women, will understand why I acted as I did.”

The All Mother had killed her own twin above the Bitter Sea to protect the Empire.

Surely she would understand that Viserra had simply been doing the same—albeit her actions had
been less drastic.

The good of the Empire must come first and last.

Sentiment could not be allowed to interfere or overrule.

She will understand.

Alaura smiled softly as she reached up to caress Viserra’s cheek. “I’m certain that you’re correct.
The All Mother is wise and possesses experiences more similar to your own than anyone else
alive.”

“Exactly.”

And once they were all made to understand, the judicators would agree that she had been justified.

The net had been a bad business, she would not deny that.

But it had been a necessity for the good of all.

And the ends justify the means.

Tywinna drummed her fingers on her desk as she stared at the three names scrawled on the sheet of
paper that sat between her and Olenna. Each of those names had an important story to tell, an
important piece to offer, and by Relle how she wished that she could be the one deciding which
order they would speak.

But such was not to be.

“Considering how we ended today, it would be wise to call Aemma next,” Olenna was saying as
she stirred her tea. “She can speak to Rhaenyra’s self-destructive behaviors, her melancholy—”

“Lady Alysanne already spoke to the latter,” Tywinna reminded her.

“Lady Alysanne did not notice her pain. Aemma noticed at once. We both know who truly
mothered the Queen, and it would do everyone good to be reminded that, first and last, Rhaenyra
was but a little girl when all of this was done to her. Hardly more than a babe.”

“A babe capable of leveling mountains,” Tywinna sighed. She’d known, of course, that Eddara
would be certain to elicit from every witness at least one anecdote about Rhaenyra’s fearsome
temper. Particularly in her younger days, it had been quite the thing to behold, all who knew her
had agreed.

There is a reason that she earned the sobriquet the Iron Dragon.

All the same, Tywinna had seen the way that the judicators had glanced at each other every time
someone mentioned Rhaenyra shattering windows or cracking mountains or engulfing rooms in
flame or uprooting trees.

It would be good to hear from one of the women who loved Rhaenyra best, and who had been by
her side practically since the day that she’d hatched.

“If I call Aemma, then Eddara must call Rhaenys or the All Mother.” Neither of which much
pleased her. “If she calls Rhaenys, it will be but a simple matter to avoid mentioning the Seventh
Night dinner to prevent me from doing the same.”

“Calling the All Mother before Rhaenys would be foolish in terms of providing a cohesive
narrative.” Olenna’s lips pursed. “Of course, she wouldn’t particularly wish for you to set the
scope. But she calls the All Mother first—”
“She’ll have no choice but to then reveal what happened when the net broke,” Tywinna finished,
“and there is good reason we have both avoided mentioning it thus far.”

“Something that I still mislike, but I understand your reasoning.” Olenna sipped her tea. “Given
that, I would assume that Eddara will simply cede the All Mother’s direct to ensure the witness
order.”

“Perhaps.” Tywinna herself expected the same, but still. “There remains a possibility that Eddara
will do the unexpected.”

“Such is not her way.”

“But it is your way, My Dear.” Tywinna reached across the table and clinked her bonding bracelet
with Olenna’s, filling the room with the distinctive chord that only matched Herthian steel could
make. “And you told me once that Eddara Stark was one of your finest apprentices.”

“One of, but not the, and there is reason for that.” Olenna shrugged, though there was a smile on
her lips, the same sort that always formed when their bracelets sang together. “Eddara is too set in
her ways, more oft than not.”

“True enough.” And while she knew that being the first to ask the All Mother questions would be a
boon, she also knew well the risks. And there are certainly potential benefits to be had, should
Eddara perform direct . . . “In any event,” she slid the paper aside and replaced it with another,
“we’ve seven witnesses left—”

“And only four are of any true import,” Olenna finished.

“Indeed.” Tywinna arched an eyebrow when she saw the way that her mate was now frowning at
the four names. “Olenna, surely you agree with me that unveiling what happened when the net
broke now will be more of a shock?”

“Most women can deduce.”

“Deduction is not confirmation. We’ve given them one. Now they shall have the latter.”

And she prayed to Relle that every woman in that courtroom—and the rest of the Empire—would
respond as they hoped rather than as Viserra most certainly anticipated.

The dragons, ruks, and sea serpents will be another matter entirely.

But that was not something to dwell upon for now.

“We’ll be confirming a great many things for them.” Olenna leaned back in her chair, her gaze
briefly turning upwards. “How many, would you say? And which ones?”

“Celia, Kelia, and Luserena, I’m certain. Josephinia, Abelora, and Corvina, perhaps. Jennora seems
inclined, but I believe that her respect for the dowager has prevented her from truly seeing. As for
Alexandrina and Elizabetta, they are perhaps now better understanding both Rhaenyra and Viserra’s
behavior during Rhaenyra’s own trial. What that means regarding their deductions, I cannot say.”

Olenna flashed her a teasing smile. “The great insights of my mate, stymied by a pair of women not
even seven reigns old.”
Tywinna rolled her eyes. “Does your analysis differ?”

“It does not.” Olenna finished her tea and rose from her chair. “But you should know by now that I
hold you to an impossibly high standard, My Dear.” She held her hand out. “Now, come to bed.
The sun retired long ago, and my old bones wish to do the same.”

“Old?” Tywinna scoffed as she accepted her mate’s hand. “You could be a member of the First
Generation, and still you would not be ‘old.’”

Olenna batted her lashes in the exaggerated way that always made Tywinna laugh. “You flatter
me.”

“I flatter myself.” Tywinna kissed her cheek. “Considering I’m over eight centuries your elder.”

“Is that all?” Olenna reached out and prodded her cheek. “You’ve far more wrinkles than one
would expect then.”

Tywinna batted her hand away. “You wound me, My Lady.”

“You’ll recover,” Olenna sniffed. “The ‘young’ always do.”

“Part of me wishes that they would simply clear the courtroom,” Daenerys sighed as she moved her
cleric to capture one of Missandei’s pawns that had begun to encroach on her territory. “It would
certainly make matters simpler.”

“Rhaenyra is unlikely to allow such.” Missandei clicked her tongue. “She’s rather eager that all
should know the part she played all those years ago.”

Which Daenerys could most certainly understand. Secrets weighed heavier than anything else in all
creation—especially secrets laden by guilt—but there was oft good reason for them.

Oft, but not always.

There had been good reason for this particular secret.

She didn’t regret casting the Seal, but that wasn’t to say she felt no remorse.

Had she known . . .

But that ink has dried.

“Neither Tywinna nor Eddara have any reason to ask you questions pertaining to . . .” Missandei
waved her hand.

The Seal would have allowed her beloved to speak further, since it was only the two of them, but
not every woman residing at Dragonstone was a member of the First Generation, and it was always
best not to tempt such matters.

“Perhaps not, but if either of them asks if there are any other secrets that I’ve kept for the good of
the Empire . . .” She shook her head. “We know the Seal is stronger than a drysa’s venom, but it
will raise more questions than I’m comfortable with if I remain silent rather than answering.”
“Perhaps we should speak with Eddara and Tywinna beforehand. Warn them that there are certain
matters they’re not to touch upon.” Missandei captured one of Daenerys’ knights with her
remaining matriarch. “They’ll be curious, but they both know better than to question.”

Daenerys chortled, shaking her head. “That would be highly inappropriate, Darling.”

Tempting, but inappropriate. It wouldn’t do to interfere with the trial in such a way, even if her
meddling wasn’t for the express purpose of ensuring a particular outcome.

Missandei shrugged. “If it provides you peace of mind, I would do it.”

“I know that you would, which is why I would never ask such of you.” Daenerys offered her a soft
smile then, reaching across the board to clasp her beloved’s hand.

Mates they may not be, but she couldn’t imagine loving anyone more.

A sly smile curled Missandei’s lips then, and her golden eyes twinkled. “Since when has a request
been necessary?”

Grim amusement curled Daenerys’ own lips at that as she recalled the strangled, gurgling noises
that Ajax had made as he’d succumbed to the poison now known as widow’s grip.

A kinder fate than he had deserved.

Considering what he had done to their daughters.

“Please, Mother, help me . . .”

“I can’t . . . it hurts . . . Mother . . .”

“NO!”

Daenerys swiftly slammed shut the door to those memories.

Sometimes, she wondered if she shouldn’t rid herself of them entirely.

But she knew that she never would.

Her girls deserved better than a mother who cowered from such things.

Missandei’s smile had fallen, and she was squeezing Daenerys’ hand tight. “Please forgive me,
Dany. I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Daenerys returned the squeeze. “We all have our ghosts.”

She knew well that Missandei had never escaped the specters of her father and brothers.

“Tomorrow will be a trial in all ways,” Daenerys sighed, “but we shall weather this storm as we
have all others.”

Missandei hummed in agreement before cocking her head slightly. “Would it set your mind more at
ease if I gave you some practice cross?”

Daenerys grinned. “You know me too well.”

“I should certainly hope so.”

Rhaenyra twisted her black rose ring around her finger as she watched Aemma take her place on
the witness stand, knowing in her bones that this testimony would be as uncomfortable to sit
through as Dr. Alfadora’s had been. Much as she adored Aemma, there was something intensely
disquieting about being spoken of by a woman who knew her so well—a woman who knew all her
faults and many of her secrets, a woman who had seen the worst parts of her . . . a woman who
somehow loved her still.

She glanced over at Alicent, who wore a gown of Arryn-blue today that had white lace adorning
the sleeves and collar. Her mate’s auburn curls were mostly loose about her shoulders, save for
those bound up by a set of silver hair combs spangled with emeralds that Rhaenyra had gifted her
for Yulemas.

Breathtaking, as ever.

Alicent caught her staring a moment later, and a pretty flush entered her cheeks even as she smiled
softly.

Rhaenyra wanted to kiss her.

She wanted to escape from this courtroom, take to the skies with her mate, and kiss her breathless.

Perhaps once the trial is over.

Assuming the judicators didn’t imprison her for her crimes.

Her magic growled in response.

None of that now.

On the stand, Aemma grimaced as the drysa spider sank its fangs into her wrist.

Not for the first time, Rhaenyra wished that she’d been allowed to be present when Lady Tywinna
had prepared Aemma for her testimony, wished that she knew what all Aemma would be asked to
reveal in the coming hours, wished—

“All will be well, My Love.”

Alicent’s gentle voice in her mind and her warm scent laden with calming pheromones wrapping
around her made Rhaenyra’s eyes slip shut as she allowed herself to become lost in the sweet
comfort of her mate for a time.

Soon enough, she was forced to open her eyes and return her attention to the witness stand, though
she oft found herself glancing across the aisle at her mother as well, who seemed somehow more
relaxed today than she had previously.

I wonder why?

Perhaps she would learn later.

Lady Tywinna’s initial questions of Aemma were of little interest—how she’d come into the
service of House Targaryen, when she’d first met Rhaenyra’s mother, when she’d been assigned as
Rhaenyra’s governess, and so forth.

Aemma answered each question promptly, and the judicators listened with expressions ranging
from unreadable to uninterested.

“Could you please tell us about when you realized that Queen Rhaenyra’s connection to her core
was severed?”

At that question, all of the judicators’ gazes sharpened.

Rhaenyra’s grip on her black rose ring tightened.

“It was around midday. I remember because when I’d gone to Her Majesty’s chambers that
morning, she hadn’t been in her bed. I’d thought it strange, but not alarming. As a child, Queen
Rhaenyra would oft wander the palace grounds, for such was her nature.” Aemma paused, her eyes
briefly settling on Viserra—cold and hard and filled with utter disdain. “When I finally found her,
she was seated in front of a window, staring out at the mountains. She was trembling in a way that
I’d never seen before, and when she turned to look at me . . .”

Rhaenyra swallowed.

She’d scented Aemma’s approach.

Had she still been able to access her magic, she might have fled.

But she’d been so exhausted, and it had been so hard to breathe, so she’d remained where she was.

“There was a . . . a deadness to her eyes, and yet they were also shining with pain.”

Across the aisle, her mother’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment before she remembered herself.

Rhaenyra doubted that anyone else had noticed.

“I asked her what was wrong, but she insisted that all was well.” Aemma shook her head, clearing
her throat. “I didn’t press the matter at the time, hoping that it was nothing, but over the next few
weeks . . . Her sisters noticed as well, and they pressed. Rhaenyra responded by locking herself
away in her rooms, but she couldn’t shut me out entirely, and whenever I was in a room with her
. . .” She expelled a harsh breath, her scent sharpening. “That pained look never left her eyes, and
she was more subdued than I’d ever seen her before. She would wince often, and sometimes her
breaths would rattle in her chest as if she had the influenza or the sweat or the winter sickness.
Every time that I asked what ailed her, she insisted that all was well, and when I finally forced her
to see a lotus . . .”

Rhaenyra had pretended that she was fine. She had swallowed the pain and forced herself to behave
just as she had before the net. When she’d been pronounced perfectly healthy and sound of body,
she’d realized that it was possible to fully deceive others and had then set about practicing until
she’d perfected the farce.

By the time of her sisters’ Choosing Ceremony, none who had looked upon her had thought that
anything was amiss.
“When she finally confessed what her mother had done,” Aemma’s jaw clenched, and fury
scorched her scent, causing several judicators’ noses to wrinkle, “I had half a mind to tear Viserra’s
head from her shoulders myself.”

Quiet murmurs rippled throughout the courtroom, but no gasps of shock or sounds of disapproval.

Rhaenyra wondered if this was why Lady Tywinna had delayed in calling Aemma for so long. Had
the barrister known that Aemma would say something like this? Something that would only be
acceptable once more of her mother’s actions had been exposed?

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and this time, she did not bother smoothing her expression.

Chief Judicator Alexandrina raised her gavel slightly, and the women swiftly silenced themselves.

“We’ve heard previously about Queen Rhaenyra’s melancholy.” Lady Tywinna tilted her head.
“Has Her Majesty displayed any other concerning behaviors whilst you’ve known her?”

“She has.” Aemma’s answer came without hesitation. “Depriving herself of sleep, not eating for
long stretches, insisting that her knights spar with her until she’s bruised and bloodied, working
herself to the point of exhaustion and well beyond, refusing to tend to her own physical and
emotional needs, and finding many and sundry ways to punish herself because she feels that no one
else will.”

Rhaenyra wilted in her seat, wondering if there might be some way to excuse herself before
Aemma elaborated.

Alicent’s hand found her arm, squeezing tight.

She silently cursed herself for causing her mate distress.

Only to remember a moment too late that she ought to be doing less of that.

Seven Hells.

“—conducted what she called a ‘sleep study,’” Aemma was saying, “wherein she deprived herself
of sleep for multiple consecutive months. Hylda and I tried to force her to rest, but what more could
we do than plead with her and beg her to not mistreat herself so? I eventually called Dowager
Queen Laena in the hopes that Her Majesty might listen to her sister, but Queen Rhaenyra remained
unyielding.”

Rhaenyra remembered Aemma threatening to lock her in her chambers if she didn’t sleep, but
they’d both known that the threat was a hollow one.

“When she finally collapsed from exhaustion after what I can only describe as a manic break, I
prayed that she might see sense, but upon waking, she insisted that now she knew exactly how long
she could remain ‘high functioning’ without sleep and proceeded to begin a new sleep study to
determine how long she could endure if she allowed herself a few hours once a month.”

Beside Rhaenyra, Alicent was trembling.

“My Love?”

Alicent expelled a harsh breath through her nose. “How many times?”
“Twelve.”

She’d needed to corroborate her findings.

“Seven thrice-damned bloody Hells.”

Under nigh any other circumstances, Rhaenyra might have teased her mate for cursing.

Alicent’s eyes burned as she looked over at where Rhaenyra’s mother sat, and for a brief moment,
Rhaenyra felt a chill in the air.

“Ali, I no longer do such things,” she reminded her. “I haven’t since you bid me sleep when I was
exhausting myself helping Syrax.”

The fire died in Alicent’s eyes, replaced by sorrow that broke Rhaenyra’s heart. “And I am glad of
that, My Safa, but to think of you suffering so for so long . . .”

Rhaenyra wished to say that Alicent had suffered far worse on Westeros, and much of what she
herself had suffered had been self-inflicted and therefore less comparable, but Dr. Alfadora’s words
about not “comparing traumas” stayed her tongue.

Alicent grabbed Rhaenyra’s hand and brought it to her lips, pressing gentle kisses to the back and
palm.

A low purr rumbled in Rhaenyra’s chest, but she swiftly stifled it.

When she felt a hand on her shoulder a moment later, she glanced behind herself to see Laena
offering her a small, sad smile.

And Rhaenyra wondered how callow and callous she must have been to have never truly realized
how much her behaviors had hurt those who loved her.

Selfish—

No.

Mother had always told her—

But she couldn’t blame her mother for all that she herself had done, could she? She couldn’t use her
mother’s abuse as an excuse for her own decisions and her own mistakes.

“Reasons are different from excuses, Rhaenyra.”

Dr. Alfadora’s words, insistent in a way that her therapist often was not.

“Hylda was horrified the first time that she accidentally drew blood during a training session,”
Aemma herself sounded as fretful now as she had that day, “but Rhaenyra was delighted and
insisted that they continue. ‘She has the heart of a true warrior,’ her other knights declared, but
Hylda and I knew better.” Her old heart friend’s eyes met hers, and Rhaenyra forced herself not to
look away. “Some part of her wished to be hurt, I think, to be punished. This was after she’d taken
her place as Princess of Dragon Wood, so her mother was no longer always around her, but the
mere removal of a knife isn’t enough to heal the stabs and slashes left behind.”
Aemma turned her head to address the judicators. “The wounds that Viserra’s abuse inflicted upon
Queen Rhaenyra were many, and I’ve watched them bleed rivers for over nine million years now.”
Her eyes shifted, finding Alicent, and for the first time since she’d taken the stand, something other
than sorrow and fury graced her features. “The Codex tells us that not all loss or pain can be erased
by a mate, and this is most certainly true, but I’ve also seen for myself how the Lady Alicent has
helped Queen Rhaenyra finally begin to heal.”

Alicent’s throat felt tight, and tears stung her eyes, but she swallowed past the lump and forced
herself not to cry.

She’d known . . .

Rhaenyra had told her most of what Aemma was testifying about now—the lack of sleep, refusing
to eat, Viserra’s criticisms and disregard, Viserra’s quiet cruelty, Viserra’s callous remarks after
Rhaenyra returned from the Oracle—but her mate’s way of speaking about Viserra’s abuse was far
different from Aemma’s. It wouldn’t be fair to call it detachment, but there was oft lacking a certain
. . . Rhaenyra spoke about her childhood carefully, almost as if she feared the possibility of
becoming overly emotional about it. Her mate might weep afterwards on occasion, but until that
moment, there was always a sort of coldness to her voice and to her face.

As had happened often throughout the trial, Alicent yearned to wrap her arms around Rhaenyra,
hug her close, stroke her hair, and kiss her softly.

She also found herself wishing with far more fervor than she was entirely comfortable with that
Viserra would suffer even a fraction of what she’d inflicted on Rhaenyra. She well-remembered the
righteous wroth that had gripped her during that supper over a year ago now, well-remembered the
fire that had ignited in her blood, well-remembered what she’d since come to realize was the urge
to slap Viserra across the face.

She’d never felt that particular urge before.

But in that moment, she’d perhaps understood somewhat how her own mother might have felt in
the seconds before she’d struck her.

But Alicent hadn’t actually raised her hand to Viserra.

Nor would she.

Much as some part of her might wish otherwise.

Looking over at Viserra now, Alicent was sorely tempted to reach out with her empathic senses and
probe the other woman’s emotions, but she didn’t doubt that Viserra’s wards would be solid and
strong, and she dared not risk being caught and possibly expelled from the courtroom.

So she instead contented herself with pressing closer to her mate’s side, intertwining their fingers,
and offering Rhaenyra gentle waves of comfort and affection.

Rhaenyra remained tense beside her, but her safa pressed a brief kiss to her forehead all the same in
thanks.
 ∞

“Lady Aemma, you testified earlier that you raised Queen Rhaenyra as if she was your own, and
that she looked to you as she would a mother, correct?”

Aemma nodded in agreement. “Yes. I cannot speak for certain as to Queen Rhaenyra’s feelings, of
course—only she may do so—but I know that she loves me well.”

“But that has not necessarily protected you from Queen Rhaenyra’s temper, has it?”

Olenna suppressed a grimace at Eddara’s words. She and Tywinna had discussed what might
happen should such a question be posed, once they’d learned that there had been several instances
when Rhaenyra’s temper had flared in response to something that Aemma had done.

Something that appeared for all the world like confusion furrowed Aemma’s brow as she peered at
Eddara. “My apologies, but could you perhaps rephrase the question? I’m not certain that I
understand what you’re asking.”

Eddara’s lips pursed.

Olenna bit back a smile.

Her former apprentice of course knew what Aemma was doing, but that was the beauty of this
particular strategy.

“It’s true, is it not, that there have been times when Queen Rhaenyra’s wroth has been turned on
you?”

Aemma immediately shook her head. “No. Queen Rhaenyra’s wroth has never risen against me.”

Eddara’s fingers drummed briefly on the table before she asked, “Was there ever a time when
Princess Rhaenyra’s wroth or irritation rose against you?”

This time, Aemma hesitated.

Olenna supposed that she ought to be pleased that Eddara had been paying mind to her lessons, but
it was certainly a pity that Viserra couldn’t have chosen a less competent barrister.

None other would have defended her half so fiercely.

“Yes,” Aemma finally answered.

The corner of Viserra’s mouth twitched.

Olenna almost snorted aloud.

“And could you please elaborate on one of those incidents?”

“Her Majesty,” Aemma shifted slightly on her chair, lips twisting in a way that Olenna knew the
judicators would recognize, “I . . .” She straightened suddenly, her eyes meeting Eddara’s. “We
were having an argument about her need for more rest. Queen Rhaenyra was in her early two
thousands at the time and had returned home some five months ago after visiting Dragon Ridge and
her sisters. She’d been insisting that she must compensate for lost time by working thrice as hard as
usual. It had been nearly five months since she’d last slept, and over a month since she’d last eaten
a proper meal. She was haggard and quick to anger by then, as most women would be, I suspect.
When I suggested for the fifth time that day that she allow herself a few hours rest, she hurled a
fireball at my head and ordered me from the room.”

Low murmurs filled the courtroom, and Olenna resisted the temptation to glance over her shoulder
at Rhaenyra and Alicent.

“She chose well,” Tywinna’s voice whispered in her mind.

Olenna hummed in agreement. “Indeed she did.”

“I shouted at her that she could not persist like this,” Aemma continued, “and she screamed back
that—”

“Thank you, Lady Aemma.” Eddara’s voice was as calm as ever, but Olenna knew her well enough
to notice the tension in her shoulders and the slight sharpening of her scent. “That was all I needed
to know.”

“Madam Judicators, if I may be heard?” Tywinna asked.

Judicator Abelora nodded her assent.

“It seems rather improper that Lady Eddara would prematurely end Lady Aemma’s response to her
question. For the sake of a complete record and in the interest of ascertaining all of the pertinent
facts, I request that Lady Aemma be permitted to finish answering.”

Eddara cleared her throat. “Madam Judicators, if I may?”

“You may,” Judicator Celia replied.

“I am entitled to ask what questions I will of a witness on cross-examination, so long as they

remain within the scope established on direct. It is also not unheard of or unacceptable for a
barrister to request that the answering witness restrict her response in a certain way.”

“Such restrictions are usually done in order to prevent her from discussing some matter outside the
scope or violating a court rule,” Judicator Abelora noted. “It seemed to me that you were seeking to
avoid Lady Aemma answering in a way unfavorable to your case, Counselor.”

“Which also has precedent, Madam Judicator.”

“In civil cases.”

Eddara inclined her head. “With all due respect, Madam Judicator, but there is precious little
precedent to be found in prior criminal cases. The All Mother’s trial was conducted under similar
rules, but the Golden Laws and current procedures had not yet been set down. And during Queen
Rhaenyra’s trial for genocide, Her Majesty was not much interested in actually defending herself.”

“We will thank you to refrain from making inflammatory statements, Lady Eddara.” Judicator
Luserena was frowning slightly as she spoke. “The matter of Queen Rhaenyra’s previous trial is not
the issue at present.”

“My apologies, Madam Judicator.”

“Lady Eddara’s words do have merit though.” Judicator Kelia drummed her fingers on the smooth
silverwood separating the judicators from the rest of the courtroom. “Both regarding there being
precious little criminal precedent and counselors interrupting witnesses.”

“All the same, I don’t believe that precedent is applicable here,” Judicator Josephinia countered.

What followed was a silent conversation whilst the rest of the courtroom waited impatiently.

“It was a mistake for Eddara to interrupt Aemma as she did.”

Olenna nodded in agreement. “Quite good for us though.”

“Indeed.”

Whichever way the judicators ruled, Eddara’s actions had struck a blow for her own side.

Were it anyone else, Olenna might be reveling in the blunder more. Eddara should have known
better, though she supposed that Eddara may have felt that she had no choice, for whatever Aemma
had been about to say would have surely been damning.

But would it have been more damning than leaving everyone to wonder and imagine what those
unspoken words might have been?

That was the question.

Eddara had gambled.

And in a way, she’d already lost.

Chief Judicator Alexandrina cleared her throat, immediately drawing all eyes back to the bench.
“Lady Aemma, please finish what you were about to say.”

Aemma was silent for a moment—perhaps trying to remember what she’d been saying, or perhaps
simply increasing the sense of suspense. “The princess screamed at me, ‘I cannot rest! I will not
rest! I am an empress-in-waiting, and rest is for the weak! Mother told me so! And I will not! Be!
Weak!’”

Lady Eddara was swift to end her questioning after that, and Chief Judicator Alexandrina then
decided that they ought to recess for luncheon. Rhaenyra wasn’t particularly hungry, but after
listening to Aemma testify about the various times that she’d forgone meals, she’d felt obliged to
eat a little something.

And Alicent had brought for her half a dozen chocolate tarts.

Her mother would have scoffed at such, but Rhaenyra didn’t much care.

When they returned to the courtroom that afternoon, Rhaenyra was stopped by several members of
her family insisting on hugging her. None of them mentioned the trial or the charges against her
mother—such would have been improper at the moment—but it was plain enough that none of
them thought that her mother had been justified.
She wondered if they would still feel the same after Grandmother Daenerys testified.

Once everyone had returned to their seats, Chief Judicator Alexandrina tapped her gavel thrice.
“Let us return to the record.”

The soft scratch of an enchanted quill on parchment followed her words.

“Lady Eddara, please call your next witness.”

When Lady Eddara rose to her feet, there was a slowness to her movements—almost a hesitance.

Strange.

“The defense calls Her Grace Daenerys Targaryen to the stand.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, and Alicent let slip a sound of surprise.

Even Lady Tywinna and Lady Olenna actually turned to look at each other, no doubt exchanging a
series of rapid thoughts between them as they did so.

It should have been Rhaenys.

Her aunt was already half-risen from her seat.

Calling Grandmother Daenerys first—

“Madam Judicators, if I may?” Lady Tywinna was on her feet now. “This is highly irregular—”

“I’m allowed to call any witness I like so long as her name was on one of our lists,” Lady Eddara
interrupted. “The All Mother’s name was on both.”

“The All Mother is not just any witness,” Lady Tywinna retorted. “Madam Judicators, may we
approach?”

Chief Judicator Alexandrina beckoned to them, and once the two barristers were standing in front
of the bench, Lady Tywinna tapped her own temple once, and a moment later, the chief judicator’s
face paled. She was on her feet in an instant, as were her sister judicators. “Our chambers. Now.”

Rhaenyra shifted nervously, and when she stole a glance across the aisle, she saw that her mother
and stepmother had their heads close together, not saying a word aloud, but most certainly speaking
with one another.

“All will be well, Nyra.” Alicent’s soft voice drew Rhaenyra’s attention, as did the feeling of her
hand on her arm. “Regardless of who questions the All Mother first . . .”

Both parts of the truth would inevitably be revealed.

A thought that would have pleased her more even just this morning, but now . . .

“ Finding many and sundry ways to punish herself because she feels that no one else will.”

Was that what she’d been doing, what she’d been wanting all this time?
Yes, of course, she knew that she sought punishment for what had happened when the net broke,
but . . .

“I protected you and our people as best I could with that net. For over seventeen hundred years, I
ensured that no one was harmed by your magic because you couldn’t manage to control yourself.
But now? Now everyone will see you for what you are.”

She’d wanted that.

For so long . . .

“Some part of her wished to be hurt, I think, to be punished.”

There was nothing amiss about wishing to see justice done, but . . .

Her eyes found Alicent’s.

“And my mother wouldn’t have needed to slap me for the first time had I not been so clumsy and
caused a servant to spill wine on the floor.”

Alicent hadn’t meant those words.

Her mate—heart friend, at the time—had been making a point.

One that I was unready to heed.

Perhaps—

The judicators and barristers reappeared in the courtroom at their respective places, and Chief
Judicator Alexandrina rapped her gavel. “There will be order.”

The women quieted—somewhat grudgingly.

“After speaking with Lady Eddara and Lady Tywinna regarding the subject matter of their
respective questions, my sister judicators and I have decided that the circumstances warrant a small
break from usual procedure.”

Surprised murmurs rippled throughout the courtroom, and Rhaenyra wondered what Grandmother
Aeliana and Grandmother Saerella thought of this particular development.

“In the interest of ensuring that all questions are asked and answered to ascertain all of the
necessary facts for our deliberation, we shall be allowing a bifurcated direct and cross. Both Lady
Eddara and Lady Tywinna shall be asking an initial set of questions pertaining to one subject
matter, and then both shall have the opportunity to engage in a second round of questions pertaining
to a different subject matter.”

Rhaenyra knew exactly how the two barristers’ questions had been divided, and she suspected that
those who knew the truth did as well.

As for every other woman in the courtroom, she could sense their confusion even through her
wards.
She searched the judicators’ faces for any hint as to their thoughts about what she had done, but all
nine wore practiced, impassive expressions.

Once Grandmother Daenerys had been bitten, Lady Eddara wasted little time. “Your Grace, why
did you create the stasis net spell?”

“It was necessary during the Long Travels to have a way by which to prevent the surviving Old
World males from using their magic against us.” Grandmother Daenerys’ words were calm and her
expression composed, but there was an edge to her voice as well. “All of those men had the blood
of women on their hands. Even the youngest among them had taken part in his elder sister’s
torment. They each had a long history of violence and an especial propensity for violence against
women. We couldn’t allow them unfettered access to their magic when we were all in such close
quarters on the starships, so I created the stasis net to contain their cores as an added security
measure.”

“Would you agree with me that the net was an unfortunate necessity?”

“At the time, yes.”

“Would you also agree that the net continues to have its place in our society today?”

Grandmother Daenerys’ lips twitched slightly as she glanced over at Rhaenyra’s mother. “The net
that I created for the Long Travels perhaps still has a place in our society, yes.”

If Lady Eddara was bothered by the specificity of the answer, she gave no sign of it. “When you
cast your net over those men’s cores in order to protect your people, did any claim to be in pain?”

“Not that I was made aware of,” Grandmother Daenerys answered after a moment.

“Did any of them show signs of being in pain?”

“No.”

“Have you ever had cause to cast a stasis net since the Long Travels?”

“Yes.”

“And did the person complain of any pains?”

Grandmother Daenerys’ gaze briefly left Lady Eddara and traveled upwards, no doubt to find
Mistress Missandei. “Not from the net, no.”

Rhaenyra wondered what the woman’s source of pain had been then.

“Your Grace, do you regret creating the stasis net spell?”

Grandmother Daenerys slowly shook her head. “No, I do not. I regret only that it was so
perverted.”

A low murmur rippled throughout the crowd, and a myriad of scents grew sharper.

Lady Eddara grimaced and released a breath that sounded very much like a sigh. “I have no further
questions on this subject, Madam Judicators.”
Aemma and Alicent were smiling slightly.

Rhaenyra wanted to as well, but she didn’t dare.

Not yet.

Lady Tywinna rose to her feet and briefly smoothed down her doublet before clasping her hands
behind her back. “Your Grace, did Dowager Queen Viserra even consult you regarding your stasis
net?”

“No.”

The murmurs grew louder, and in the mirror, Rhaenyra saw dozens of her grandmothers
exchanging disapproving looks.

“So she never came to you with her worries about Queen Rhaenyra’s magical strength?” Lady
Tywinna asked.

“She did not.”

Lady Tywinna allowed the words to linger a while before saying, “Your Grace, earlier you told
Lady Eddara that the stasis net was only an ‘added security measure.’ Were the nets not sufficient
to keep the Old World men from causing trouble?”

“They were not, no. Even without access to their magic, those males could still prove dangerous
through other means.” Grandmother Daenerys’ posture somehow managed to straighten even
further. “And even discounting that, I created the net to have a termination element woven into the
core matrix so that it would dissipate after twelve hours.”

“Why place such a time limit on this necessary security measure?”

“In order to prevent the net’s misuse or misapplication. Make no mistake,” Grandmother Daenerys
leaned forward, her voice resounding through the courtroom, “the casting of a stasis net was only
ever meant to be an action of last resort. And I certainly didn’t create it to serve as a permanent
measure of any kind.”

“Why not? Did you not just testify that none of the men ever complained of pain?”

“Making the net a permanent measure was never something that I contemplated.” Violet fire blazed
in Grandmother Daenerys’ eyes. “As dangerous as those males were, and as vile and despicable as
they’d proven themselves to be, indefinitely severing their connection to their core would have
been a cruelty. They may have been monsters incapable of kindness and care, but we are not.”

Grandmother Daenerys’ burning gaze settled upon Rhaenyra’s mother. “And while those males
were utterly undeserving of compassion or mercy after all that they had done, I had no wish to
debase myself by engaging in the sort of petty cruelty that they had so delighted in.”

Her mother flinched.

Lady Tywinna arched an eyebrow. “Your Grace, do you mean to say that you intentionally made
the stasis net temporary because casting a permanent stasis net on another living being—even one
as despicable and abhorrent as an Old World male—would be cruel?”
“Cruel, malicious, and morally indefensible. For all that they deserved to suffer, not even the men
of the Old World deserved that particular kind of torment.”

Viserra’s mouth felt strangely dry, and her stomach had twisted itself into an uncomfortable knot.

Cruel?

No.

She had not been cruel.

She’d only—

“Cruel, malicious, and morally indefensible.”

Except that what she had done was defensible.

While Rhaenyra had never committed the atrocities that the men of the Old World had, she’d
committed a far worse crime that those men had not.

None of them were powerful enough to destroy planets on a whim.

Surely the All Mother could grasp the difference.

An impermeant stasis net had been appropriate for monsters whose magic had been of
comparatively little consequence, monsters who had spent much of the Long Travels in cells
protected by power loops.

But for Rhaenyra, a permanent stasis net had been the only feasible solution.

Viserra had been faced with the challenge of restraining a child possessing magic to rival a
goddess.

That was a far cry from the All Mother’s task of restraining several thousand beasts with weak
cores.

Once they learn how Rhaenyra nearly brought about a Second Doom, they will understand.

They must.

“Your Grace, we’ve heard much testimony regarding the tempers and rages that Queen Rhaenyra
was prone to as a child. Did you yourself ever witness such?” While there was nothing
objectionable about Lady Eddara’s tone, Alicent bristled at her choice of words.

They sounded far too much like Viserra’s.

“I did not, no.” The All Mother seemed calmer now than she had during Lady Tywinna’s questions
—not half so full of righteous fury. “Rhaenyra always seemed to me a gentle and kind girl.”

“You did not often visit with her when she was young though, did you?”
The All Mother hesitated a moment before shaking her head. “I’m afraid that I did not.”

“We’ve heard previous testimony from other lady empresses that your first and last duty is to the
Empire and protecting your people. Would you agree?”

“Yes, but duty cannot justify harming an innocent child.”

“Innocent,” Lady Eddara repeated slowly.

Lady Tywinna’s mouth tightened slightly, and Lady Olenna began tapping her fingers on her knee.

Rhaenyra had grown tense beside her, and Alicent’s own muscles were beginning to coil as well.
She was certain that the women here and elsewhere would understand that Rhaenyra had not been
at fault, and yet . . .

“An empress’ duty to protect the Empire does not truly end when she abdicates the Dragon Throne
and later the Rose Throne, does it, Your Grace?”

The All Mother shook her head once more. “All of the women of House Targaryen are expected to
serve the Empire if called upon. Such is the price of ruling.”

“And all of the women of House Targaryen were indeed called upon to serve the Empire in the
6,405th Year of the Reign of Empress Viserra the Sixth, called Everlasting, correct?”

“They were.”

Alicent could hear the women behind her beginning to stir and whisper. Of course they were. They
all knew that year. It was one of several that was as seared into their memories as 2057 AD, when
the All Mother had been chosen to be the first empress by the Empire’s first Great Council.

“And the women of your House were called upon to prevent a cataclysm, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Could you please describe this cataclysm?” Lady Eddara prompted.

The All Mother’s eyes closed for a moment, though whether it was to reach into her own memories
or to steal herself, Alicent couldn’t say, though she suspected that it was the latter. “I was at
Dragonstone that day,” she began slowly. “We were discussing a matter to do with that year’s
harvests when we heard . . .” She paused, shifting slightly. “It wasn’t thunder, we knew that at once,
but it was a sound akin to . . .”

“The sky shattering?” Lady Eddara offered.

“Madam Judicators, Counsel should not be answering for the witness,” Lady Tywinna called.

“Are you raising an official objection, Lady Tywinna?” Judicator Jennora asked.

“I’m making an observation, Madam Judicator.”

The judicators swiftly exchanged glances before Chief Judicator Alexandrina said, “Lady Eddara,
please refrain from answering for the witness, and Lady Tywinna, please refrain from interrupting
unless it is to object.”
Both barristers inclined their heads in acknowledgement.

“The ground trembled beneath our feet,” the All Mother continued, “and when we looked out the
window . . . The skies were ablaze, but not like when the sun sets. There was a great torrent of
flame rising from Dragon Ridge to engulf the clouds, and the rumbling beneath our feet . . .”

Rhaenyra had practically folded in on herself, shame radiating from her so strongly that Alicent
wondered how even those without empathy couldn’t sense it.

She clasped both of her mate’s hands in her own and squeezed hard. “It wasn’t your fault, Nyra.”

“It was my magic,” Rhaenyra practically wailed in Alicent’s mind.

“. . . later learned that Valeria had been leveled, and much of the Mountains as well . . .”

Alicent wanted to release her mate’s hands and grasp her face, but she dared not. “My Love, you
didn’t mean—”

“I didn’t even see the fire that Grandmother just described. I was gone before that. Nigh the
moment that the net broke and my magic was unleashed, I was gone. I fled and Valyria suffered for
it.”

“Valyria suffered because your mother thought that she could contain a storm of thunder and
lightning in a thin glass bottle.”

Rhaenyra sucked in a trembling breath.

Alicent sent forth waves of calm and comfort.

“Volcanoes were erupting, yes, and the seas boiled. Mountains cracked, and fires raged. Forests
were consumed, and fields rotted in seconds.” The All Mother’s tone was somehow both
dispassionate and fierce all at once. “Must I continue? I believe that we all recall what happened
that day.”

Judicator Elizabetta delicately cleared her throat. “With all due respect, Your Grace, please allow
Lady Eddara to ask the questions.”

For a brief moment, the All Mother seemed as if she might ignore the request, but then she gave a
brusque nod.

All the same, Lady Eddara did not ask for any further descriptions of the destruction. “You were
unable to halt the devastation, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And you were aided at the time by every empress who had sat the Dragon Throne after you, yes?”

“I was.”

“Could you please tell the court who else was aiding in these efforts?”

“Every member of House Targaryen who was on Valyria at the time, as well as all of the women of
the Great Houses and all of the matrons.”
 “The strongest sorceresses on the planet at that time, all working in concert, were not enough to
prevent this Second Doom?”

“We were not.”

Lady Eddara paused a moment.

Rhaenyra’s face had gone pale.

“Your Grace, was it Queen Rhaenyra’s uncontrolled magic that nearly destroyed Valyria that day?”

The collective gasp from the hundreds of women gathered in the courtroom seemed to steal the air
from the cavernous chamber.

The All Mother’s eyes briefly alighted upon Rhaenyra, an apology shining in their violet depths,
before she answered, “Yes.”

And the courtroom immediately erupted into chaos.

Chief Judicator Alexandrina slammed her gavel down upon the block. “There will be order!” she
bellowed.

No one seemed to hear her.

Alicent’s ears were ringing, and she could hardly even discern the words being shouted in and from
all directions, but when she happened to glance across the aisle, she saw what could only be
described as a contented smile curling Viserra’s lips.

Her magic snarled.

And icy frost was suddenly coating the bench beneath her.

“Your Grace!” Lady Tywinna roared, her thunderous voice somehow managing to be heard above
the tumult. “What caused Queen Rhaenyra’s magic to be unleashed that day!?”

When the All Mother answered, it was not with words, but rather with a thought that somehow
managed to echo in all of their minds—despite their wards.

“Viserra’s net finally broke.”

Chapter End Notes

The secret is out! Hope Rhaenyra's psyche is able to handle it (I'm sure she'll be fine. Alicent
and Co. are on the case).

Next Chapter: The Rhaenicent testimonies!

 The Orchid and the Dragon
Chapter Notes

Dramatis Personae for Chapter 59:

– Rhaenyra Targaryen, 250th Queen of Kastrell and Dowager Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Alicent Hightower, a Stone Garden resident, from Westeros
– Viserra Targaryen, Dowager Queen of Kastrell, formerly the 248th Empress of the Valyrian
Empire
– Daenerys Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone and Matriarch of the House Targaryen, formerly
the 1st Empress of the Valyrian Empire
– Tywinna Lannister, a prosecution barrister, residing in Lannister Province, Gelt
– Eddara Stark, a defense barrister, residing in Stark Province, Norden

A special thanks to Octavas, beepboop (permanganato), NewLeeLand, and TheReadingWriter

for beta reading this chapter, and to LesbianLightbringer for sensitivity reading
various sections.
And an additional thanks to Jobama1 for helping me bounce around ideas.

Trigger Warning: Discussions of past domestic abuse and past child abuse.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Spring Moon/1,000,126 Visenya VI

The floor beneath their feet cracked open, and the courthouse shuddered.

Viserra gripped the table to steady herself, struggling to breathe through the aggression pheromones
choking the air. She could hear the crackling of nearby lightning, the roll of thunder overhead. The
chamber snapped from freezing to sweltering as ice and fire battled, and winds howled and tore at
her clothes.

Madness.

They’ve all gone to madness.

And over what?

“Viserra’s net finally broke.”

No.

She shook her head, swiftly casting a shield around herself, Alaura, and Eddara to protect them
from the elemental onslaught.

It was Rhaenyra’s magic that had nearly destroyed them all, Rhaenyra’s lack of control and
inability to leash her temper.
Her net was the only reason that a Second Doom hadn’t befallen them sooner.

Why in all Seven bloody Hells did no one seem to understand that?

As if in response to her question, windows began to shatter.

Rhaenyra groaned as she sank down into the warm water of the bath, eyes slipping shut as the
gentle waves lapped at her skin. That she could actually feel the heat told her the water must be
scalding, and part of her mourned the fact that this meant her mate would not be able to join her for
a time.

She wished to feel her Alicent wrapped in her arms.

Soon.

Soft hands settled upon her shoulders, kneading the coiled muscles with practiced ease and
efficiency.

“Mind the water, My Love,” Rhaenyra murmured, though even as she spoke, she used her
elementalism to push the scalding water away from her shoulders to ensure that Alicent’s fingers
were not accidentally burned.

A kiss was pressed to the back of her head in response, followed by an amused assurance. “I’m
taking care, Nyra. Please stop fretting.”

Impossible.

But she would try.

For Alicent.

Mother above she was exhausted.

Her head still pounded from the thunder of voices that had filled the courtroom, and she swore that
the outrage, shock, and ire that had poured forth from nigh every woman in that chamber in
unforgiving waves were still singing in her blood. Her bones still ached from the tremors and
quakes of the Hill of the Judge nearly being torn asunder beneath their feet as the floor of the
courtroom had cracked open, and the furious accusations spilling from hundreds of lips still echoed
in her ears.

“Did Her Majesty intend—!?”

“Why was this kept secret!?”

“How could this have happened!?”

“Why was no one ever informed!?”

“All of that destruction—!”

“All of the dead!”

“Never should have—!”

“—answers—!”

“Justice!”

“The dragons—!”

“The sea serpents!”

“Torn from the skies!”

Such wroth.

No more than she’d expected.

Less, in truth.

And after Grandmother Daenerys had answered Lady Tywinna’s question . . .

“Was she mad!?”

“—cannot bind lighting in a bottle!”

“Inevitable—!”

“Foolishness!”

“Arrogant—!”

“Shortsighted—!”

“How could she not have realized—!?”

“—causing such—!”

“—but a child, she could not—!”

“A proper empress—!”

“A proper mother—!”

“Barbarity—!”

“Monster—!”

“What else did she expect!?”

“Beastly behavior unbefitting—!”

“Guilty!”

Grandmother Daenerys had been forced to cast a silencing spell on all of them.
Rhaenyra had been tempted to do so herself when she’d seen how the cacophony was hurting her
mate. But she’d known that doing so might cause unnecessary upset under such circumstances, so
she’d shielded Alicent’s ears instead.

The look on her mother’s face had been indecipherable.

Initially, there had been a sort of . . . satisfaction, but then when the shouts had turned entirely
against her . . .

Some strange combination of indignation and genuine confusion had beset her features then, but
there had been a . . . a sort of exhaustion as well.

Chief Judicator Alexandrina had adjourned the proceedings for the day and directed them to return
on the morrow. “In a calmer condition, if you please. This Courthouse has already been leveled
once.”

Even now, Rhaenyra wasn’t certain whether those words had been meant for her, or for her mother.

She assumed that someone was being summoned to mend the floor of the courtroom.

As well as the windows that she’d heard shattering in the distance.

It was a wonder that the roof hadn’t collapsed atop them.

Fires, ice, rending stone, tempests . . .

As she and Alicent had left the Courthouse, she’d heard the roars of dragons in the distance.

The Azurewing would be demanding an audience with her soon. Of that, she was certain.

The sea serpents and ruks as well.

They deserved no less.

And her own people would also be demanding their due, assuming her testimony on the morrow
didn’t satisfy them.

Seven Hells.

The morrow.

Rhaenyra groaned aloud once more, earning a concerned noise from her mate, though Alicent did
not ask her what was wrong. “Part of me feels that I can still hear their whispers,” she confessed
quietly. “Monster. Victim. Child. Destroyer.”

Alicent squeezed her shoulders. “You’re not a monster, Nyra.”

“I . . .”

She wanted to say that she knew that. She wanted to assure her mate that she was no longer
heeding the words that her mother had hurled at her throughout her childhood without ever actually
speaking them aloud.
“Dangerous.”

“Tempestuous.”

“Uncontrollable.”

“A threat to us all.”

Her mother had never called her a monster.

Not in so many words.

But Rhaenyra had understood.

“Do you think anyone will ever look at me the same way again?” Rhaenyra whispered.

“Yes.” Alicent’s answer came without hesitation. Her hand found Rhaenyra’s cheek and gently
turned her face so that their eyes met. “Do your sisters still look at you the same way? Does Lady
Rhaenys? Aemma? Hylda? The All Mother?”

They did.

Perhaps with more sadness now than before—from time to time—but they didn’t look at her with
fear or contempt or resentment.

Rather, they all still looked at her with . . .

“They love me,” she said slowly, “but they’re also my family—in name, if not in blood.”

“Ah, yes,” Alicent nodded sagely, “because family always forgives at once and is never wont to
hold grudges.”

Rhaenyra stared at her with wide eyes for a long moment.

Then—rather absurdly—Rhaenyra laughed aloud.

She didn’t know why she was laughing.

But she couldn’t stop herself.

Her hands clutched the side of the tub as she wheezed, and she felt Alicent’s hand carefully rubbing
her back, felt her mate’s scent enveloping her. She puffed and panted as she fought for breath,
fought to stop laughing like a madwoman and have a proper conversation with her safa about all
that had happened today.

“Some part of her wished to be hurt, I think, to be punished.”

“The mere removal of a knife isn’t enough to heal the stabs and slashes left behind.”

“I’ve also seen for myself how the Lady Alicent has helped Queen Rhaenyra finally begin to heal.”

Her Alicent.

Her darling Alicent.

Who had seen what Rhaenyra had refused to see.

Who had coaxed her gently and loved her unflinchingly.

Who hadn’t fled in terror when Rhaenyra had displayed her wroth.

Who hadn’t turned away in disgust when Rhaenyra had confessed her sins.

Which was far more than Rhaenyra’s own mother could ever claim.

The rim of the tub cracked beneath her fingers as she gasped for breath, and her vision was
suddenly blurred with tears.

Her mother’s dark scowl.

The disapproving clicks of her tongue.

And fear—sharp and bitter in her scent, cold and burning in her eyes.

From the moment that she’d displayed her black flames, her mother had feared her.

Long before Rhaenyra had actually given her true reason to be frightened.

But Alicent . . .

Alicent had had every reason to fear her, to despise her, to disbelieve her good intentions.

“You promised that you would never harm me, Nyra, and you always keep your promises. You’re
my friend, and I trust you.”

Why hadn’t her own mother been able or willing to offer her that same trust?

“She became quite wroth, and . . . Well, the walls . . . They began to melt.”

Rhaenyra gulped, shudders wracking her body and churning the water.

She’d always taken care to leash her temper around Alicent. She’d always been mindful of her,
vigilant, cautious.

But she’d never once displayed such care with her mother.

“Come near her, Mother, and I won’t hesitate to make you a head shorter.”

She didn’t regret those words.

And she’d meant them.

What sort of daughter did that make her?

What sort of woman?

Perhaps the sort that deserved to be alone for so long.

Perhaps the sort that deserved to be trapped in a glass prison where she couldn’t—
Rhaenyra was suddenly brought back to herself when she felt slender arms wrapping around her
waist, when she felt a soft body pressing firmly against her back, when she felt warm lips kissing
her mate mark.

“I’m here, My Nyra. I’m here.” Alicent’s breath caressed her cheek, and her bread scent enveloped
Rhaenyra. “You’re not alone, My Love. You’ll never be alone like that ever again.”

Again?

“W-What do you mean?” Her voice sounded rough and raspy even to her own ears, and she
suddenly wondered how long she’d been crying and gasping for air.

Alicent hesitated, her grip on Rhaenyra’s waist tightening. “You were speaking about the Great
Glass Prison, about how alone you were for all that time.” Her voice was soft and slightly watery.

Rhaenyra swiftly turned her head and saw that her mate’s eyes were glistening. “Oh, Ali, please
don’t cry. I didn’t mean to say those things.”

Somehow, Alicent’s expression managed to become sadder even as exasperation twisted her
features. “Nyra, please don’t apologize. I want to know about your past. As much as you’re
comfortable sharing with me. I wish to know all of you, remember?”

“I detest upsetting you.” Rhaenyra reached up to cradle Alicent’s soft cheek.

“I know, My Love,” Alicent turned her head to kiss Rhaenyra’s palm, “and I detest upsetting you as
well, but would you have me remain silent about Criston or my mother when memories of them
trouble me simply to avoid upsetting you?”

Of course not.

Rhaenyra sighed as she leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “I must be a most
exasperating mate.”

“At times.” Alicent pecked her lips. “But you’re my exasperating mate, so I don’t mind.”

Warmth bloomed in Rhaenyra’s chest, and her magic purred contentedly. “I love you, Ali.”

“And I love you, Nyra.” Alicent’s eyes were soft and so, so lovely. “Would you like to discuss what
happened just now?”

Rhaenyra shrugged, not entirely knowing herself. “I . . . I don’t know what came over me earlier.”

“I would posit anxiety and your needing a way to release it in some way.”

An amused chuckle slipped from Rhaenyra’s lips at Alicent’s immediate answer. “My Clever
Mate.” She tilted her head and connected their lips once more, hoping to convey even a small
fraction of her affection and adoration.

When they parted, Alicent’s cheeks were beautifully flushed, and Rhaenyra was tempted to kiss her
again until her mate was panting and desperate.

They probably ought to have a proper conversation first, but Alicent’s lips were so pretty and
plump and begging to be kissed.
“Nyra.” Alicent’s eyes twinkled with amusement, but her mouth was set in a determined line. “We
ought to discuss what happened during the trial today.”

“Must we?”

The women in that courtroom had been furious and shocked and incensed. They’d wanted answers,
and Lady Tywinna had given them one. They’d wanted to know who to blame, and Lady Eddara
and Lady Tywinna had both offered them a focus for their ire. They’d wanted to know the full
story, and they would receive that on the morrow.

The dragons, sea serpents, and ruks would have demands of their own, she did not doubt.

Alicent’s lips pursed a moment, but then she sighed. “If you don’t wish to speak about it tonight,
then of course we needn’t.” She found Rhaenyra’s hand beneath the water and squeezed. “But
know that I’m here to listen whenever you’re ready.”

“I know.” Rhaenyra leaned in and nuzzled her cheek. “And thank you, Ali, for everything.”

“You would do no less for me, Nyra.” Alicent hugged her tight, and for the first time since she’d
awoken that morning, Rhaenyra felt herself truly relax.

Upon entering the courtroom the following morning, Rhaenyra had been struck at once by the
pungent scent of barely-leashed aggression, and she’d found herself wondering why more women
hadn’t done as her mother had and masked their scents.

Whatever the reason, the tension saturating the courtroom was nigh suffocating.

Rhaenyra’s wards thrummed softly to prevent the flood of emotions from drowning her, and she
found herself glancing over at her mate again and again to assure herself that Alicent’s own ward
was providing her enough protection.

Each time that Alicent caught her staring, the smile that she offered in return was equal parts fond
and amused.

When the judicators filed into the courtroom and took their places upon the bench, the tension
eased almost imperceptibly.

“You may be seated.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina waited until everyone was settled once more
before turning her attention to Magister Marilee. “Considering the rather chaotic note on which we
left yesterday’s proceedings, if the final two questions and answers could be read back, please?”

Magister Marilee cleared her throat. “Question by Lady Eddara: ‘Your Grace, was it Queen
Rhaenyra’s uncontrolled magic that nearly destroyed Valyria that day?’ Answer by the All Mother:
‘Yes.’”

Quiet mutters rippled through the crowd, though they were silenced a moment later when Judicator
Jennora gave them a look of warning.

“Question by Lady Tywinna: ‘Your Grace! What caused Queen Rhaenyra’s magic to be unleashed
that day!?’ Answer by the All Mother: ‘Viserra’s net finally broke.’”
A low chorus of snarls and growls sounded behind them.

Chief Judicator Alexandrina tapped her gavel. “Order, if you please.”

Alicent reached over and gave Rhaenyra’s arm a squeeze as she flashed her a smile that plainly
said, “See?”

Rhaenyra nodded, the corners of her own mouth tugging upwards as well.

“Thank you, Magister Marilee.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina turned her attention to the barristers.
“Now then, Lady Tywinna, Lady Eddara, it is my understanding that you reached an accord
regarding any further questioning of the All Mother?”

“We have, Madam Chief Judicator,” Lady Eddara answered. “My question regarding the
destruction that Queen Rhaenyra’s magic wrought was my final one. I have nothing further.”

Lady Tywinna’s scent sharped for a split second, but her voice was perfectly composed when she
spoke. “My question regarding that destruction being the inevitable result of Dowager Queen
Viserra’s unilateral decision to bind her daughter’s core with an unregistered modified stasis net
was but the first of my cross questions, Madam Chief Judicator.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed slightly, and Rhaenyra felt a gentle tug on their mental link. “The way that
Lady Eddara phrased her response didn’t seem very proper. Or much like her.”

“It wasn’t,” Rhaenyra agreed.

“Your mother?”

“Perhaps.” She herself had oft been whispering in her barrister’s mind during her own trial.

Chief Judicator Alexandrina was frowning at both Lady Eddara and Lady Tywinna. “If you would
please refrain from testimonial answers in the future, Counselors, it would be much appreciated.”

“Yes, Madam Chief Judicator,” they responded together.

Rhaenyra wondered absently if Chief Judicator Alexandrina was beginning to rue her appointment.
Many judicators went their entire careers without ever presiding over a single trial—Alexandrina
Mertyns had presided over two.

And two criminal trials, at that.

Perhaps this case would be what prompted Chief Judicator Alexandrina to retire from the bench for
a time. If she recalled correctly, the woman had been serving as a member of the Imperial Court for
nearly five reigns now.

Which was even longer than the women of her own House served the Empire—at least officially.

Assuming she wasn’t arrested and imprisoned for nearly destroying the planet, her own service
would end once Daenora abdicated the Dragon Throne, and then . . .

Ali and I will be free to do as we please.

Without the weight of her crown and duties tethering them to one place. They could travel where
they would, live wherever they liked, sojourn off-world if the fancy struck them. There was much
and more of simply this small section of the multiverse alone that she wished to show her curious
mate—things that would delight and awe, invigorate and enthuse, fascinate and baffle.

Alicent may not be a wanderer by nature, but she had the intelligence and curiosity of a woman
always seeking more beyond what the eye could see.

“Your Grace,” Lady Tywinna’s voice drew Rhaenyra from her thoughts and returned her attention
to the front of the courtroom, where Grandmother Daenerys had once more taken the stand, “the
day before, you blamed the breaking of Dowager Queen Viserra’s net for the near destruction of
our planet. Could you please elaborate?”

“Had Viserra not used a perversion of my stasis net to sever Rhaenyra’s connection to her core for
nearly two thousand years, her magic would not have pressurized as it did, and Valyria would not
have almost perished,” Grandmother Daenerys said simply.

“That’s not—”

Her mother’s words were interrupted by a sharp rap of Judicator Luserena’s gavel. “The accused
will be silent during the examination of other witnesses.”

Rhaenyra’s nose wrinkled slightly when her mother’s rosewood scent sharpened—bitter and
burning.

But only for a moment.

“Please forgive me, Madam Judicator.” Her mother apologetically inclined her head, her expression
calm and serene once more.

Lady Tywinna cleared her throat. “Your Grace, considering all the testimony that we’ve heard
regarding the numerous small disasters that Queen Rhaenyra’s magic caused, do you believe that a
cataclysm of the scale that we witnessed when the net broke was inevitable?”

“Not at all. Had Rhaenyra received proper training and guidance rather than being magically
suppressed and emotionally terrorized, she would have eventually learned to control her power just
as she did once the net was no longer in place.”

Rhaenyra wondered if that was entirely true.

“So you don’t believe that Queen Rhaenyra’s magical outbursts were cause for concern?” Lady
Tywinna asked.

Grandmother Daenerys’ lips pursed for a moment before she answered. “I would say that these . . .
surges, if you will, of her magic were no different from how any woman’s magic reacts in response
to particularly strong emotions. As we all saw yesterday.”

The sounds of rustling fabric filled the courtroom, and Rhaenyra didn’t even have to glance up at
the nearest mirror to know that at least half a hundred women were shifting about with flushed
cheeks.

And she suddenly wondered how calculated all that had happened yesterday had been.
“Mind you, I’ll not deny that Rhaenyra’s surges were of a significantly higher caliber, but that is to
be expected,” Grandmother Daenerys continued. “I’ll not deny that these surges may have been
frightening at the time, but Viserra was a fool to think that casting a stasis net over Rhaenyra’s core
would result in anything other than disaster.”

Lady Tywinna arched an eyebrow. “And why is that, Your Grace?”

“Have you ever attempted to contain all of the raw power and strength of a hurricane in a mundane
glass bottle? I suspect not, for such would be a fool’s endeavor. But in her hubris, Viserra thought
herself capable of just that.” Grandmother Daenerys clicked her tongue, her violet eyes settling on
Rhaenyra’s mother and boring into her. “There is a reason that we bleed energy from hurricanes
and blizzards rather than allowing such storms to strike full force. Viserra’s net did little more than
ensure that when Rhaenyra’s magic was unleashed, it would be entirely beyond anyone’s control.”

Rhaenyra’s teeth sank into her lower lip as she considered her grandmother’s words, as she
remembered the feeling of the net breaking and her magic erupting with such speed and ferocity
that she hadn’t even had time to form a coherent thought before she’d suddenly found herself
standing amidst the shattered remains of the imperial capital.

That feeling . . .

Even after all this time, she still had no words to describe it.

Like being torn asunder and made whole all at once.

It had been a breaking and a joining.

A death and a rebirth.

A terror and a joy.

Utterly devastating and yet indescribably right.

For a brief moment—perhaps for the first time in her young life—she’d felt at peace.

But then she’d seen the price of her momentary peace.

And she’d fled in horror.

A cold shiver rippled down her spine at the memories, and her throat tightened.

“You said ‘when,’” Lady Tywinna was saying, “but isn’t it possible that Dowager Queen Viserra’s
net could have remained in perpetuity as she intended?”

“No.” Grandmother Daenerys’ answer came without a moment’s hesitation. “Rhaenyra’s magic
spent nearly two millennia fighting that net, and I suspect that it was primarily Rhaenyra’s own
determination to restrain herself that prevented the net from shattering much sooner.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows arched slightly at that.

“Do you mean to say that the net remaining in place was Queen Rhaenyra’s own doing?”
Had she not known any better, Rhaenyra might have believed that Lady Tywinna’s confusion was
genuine.

“I mean to say that Viserra succeeded in making Rhaenyra so terrified of her own potential that of
course she endeavored to restrain herself.” A shadow passed over Grandmother Daenerys’ face
then, and a coldness flashed in her eyes. “Rhaenyra’s behavior was little different from the way that
we members of the First Generation learned to hold our tongues in a man’s presence on the Old
World. Our submission and silence was not a matter of acquiescence or aiding in our own
subjugation. It was a matter of survival and doing as we’d been trained to do.”

Her words hung in the air for a long moment, and Rhaenyra couldn’t help but notice that the
matriarchs and matrons in attendance were all nodding in agreement. She glanced over at Alicent,
remembering how her mate had once kept her eyes lowered, never spoken without first being
prompted, and immediately begged forgiveness if she’d so much as breathed too loudly.

As she’d been trained to do.

Had her mother—?

“Considering what happened when the net broke,” Lady Tywinna cocked her head slightly, “do you
believe that Dowager Queen Viserra was at all justified in her fears?”

“I’ve never thought that Viserra was unjustified in her fears, only in her actions. What she did
brought about the very cataclysm that she sought to prevent,” Grandmother Daenerys’ tone
sharpened, “something that she should have realized was inevitable.”

Across the aisle, her mother’s jaw tightened.

Lady Tywinna loosely clasped her hands behind her back as she asked, “So you don’t believe that
Dowager Queen Viserra’s actions with regards to her treatment of Queen Rhaenyra were justified?”

“I believe that we are all very lucky that Rhaenyra is not the sort of woman that Viserra imagined
her to be. Elsewise,” Grandmother Daenerys’ gaze settled upon Rhaenyra’s mother, “I suspect that
we’d all be dead by now.”

Alicent had known that she would be called once the All Mother had finished testifying.

“You are by far our most sympathetic witness, My Dear,” Lady Olenna had told her, “and you
possess insights into maternal abuse that even the members of the First Generation lack.”

She still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the fact that Lady Tywinna intended to use her as an
“expert” witness on this particular matter, but she understood the strategy and reasoning behind it,
she understood that her words would be accorded more weight than nigh anyone else’s because of
what she’d experienced with her own mother.

For most Valyrians, abuse was an academic concept—an ancient evil that had long ago been
eradicated and no longer plagued them, something that they instinctively reviled and intellectually
knew about, but perhaps didn’t truly understand.

Not the way that the women of the First Generation did.
Not the way that Rhaenyra did.

Not the way that Alicent did.

There was a reason that Viserra had chosen Dr. Alfadora rather than a woman of the First
Generation to be Rhaenyra’s therapist.

Rhaenyra had assured her on multiple occasions and in various ways that she needn’t testify if
doing so was too upsetting.

“If you don’t wish to suffer the drysa’s venom, I understand, Ali.”

“I know that you’re not accustomed to speaking in front of so many, My Love, and I suspect that
most of the Empire will be watching.”

“Lady Tywinna intends to ask much and more about your mother’s abuse, Safa, if you don’t wish to
relive those memories, you needn’t do so.”

Alicent had eventually taken her mate’s face between her hands and reminded her—firmly, but
gently—that she knew her own limits.

She’d received a sheepish smile and an apologetic kiss in return.

Alicent suspected that she was far less unsettled about testifying than her mate, in truth, for unlike
Rhaenyra, she had no qualms about seeing Viserra punished for what she’d done. She was also
simply more accustomed to discussing her trauma after four years of seeing Dr. Arwen.

When the court steward approached her with the drysa spider, Alicent suppressed a grimace as she
offered her wrist to the dreadful little creature.

Sharp fangs sank into her flesh a moment later, but she didn’t flinch.

“May I, My Lady?” the steward asked, glancing down at the blood beginning to well from the bite.

Alicent nodded and offered a grateful smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

The steward’s healing magic felt different from Rhaenyra’s.

It wasn’t as warm, and there was no pleasant tingling.

Which was just as well.

Expelling a quiet breath, Alicent resisted the urge to shake out her hand. She could already feel the
venom taking a hold of her, spreading swiftly through her blood and seizing her tongue and other
muscles. As ever, the venom’s effects on her body reminded her unnervingly of the paralytic that
Larys Gnorts had occasionally administered on nights when Criston had wanted her to feel
everything without being able to so much as flinch away from the pain.

For now, she could still move how she liked, but once a question was asked of her, she knew that
her movements would become limited to only those that offered a truthful answer.

The first of her answers came easily and without hesitation—her name, her occupation, where she
resided, her status as Rhaenyra’s mate, and her familiarity with Viserra.
“Lady Alicent, could you please describe your first encounter with Queen Rhaenyra?”

Terrifying was the first word that the venom pushed to the fore of her mind and the tip of her
tongue, but she swallowed it down and said instead, “Rhaenyra saved my life. Criston Cole would
have killed me sooner or late. I’ve no doubt about that. At the time,” she paused, glancing at her
mate, whose eyes were sparking, “at the time, I didn’t much care if I lived or died, but Rhaenyra
did. She saw that I was in need of help, so she acted. I was terrified of her when we first met, I’ll
not deny that, but I was terrified of most things back then. Such as asking questions or touching
food without permission. Until I met Rhaenyra, I could count on one hand the number of people
who had ever shown me genuine kindness.

“Whatever Viserra or others may think of her methods, Rhaenyra did what was necessary to ensure
that I didn’t continue to suffer. And she’s apologized to me for how she went about helping me. My
very first night at Stone Garden, she apologized. And when we became friends, she apologized
again. During our first tea together, Rhaenyra lowered herself to her knees, and she begged my
forgiveness. ”

Several women’s eyebrows rose at that.

Viserra’s lips pursed.

“I’ll concede that my first encounter with Rhaenyra was not particularly pleasant, but she has more
than atoned for what she did then, and I forgave her years ago.” Alicent offered her mate a soft
smile before her gaze fell upon Viserra and hardened. “I was too frightened to realize it at the time,
but Rhaenyra showed me that first night that she is a woman willing to recognize her own failings,
apologize for when she’s done wrong, and then make every effort to correct her behavior and not
repeat the same mistake twice. Not every woman can claim the same.”

Viserra’s eyes narrowed, and behind her, Alaura was frowning.

Alicent turned her attention back to Lady Tywinna, and she did not miss the approving smile that
curled Lady Olenna’s lips.

“Speak well, My Dear, and speak long,” Lady Olenna had told her when they’d first been preparing
her to testify. “When feasible and when appropriate, provide as much information as possible in
response to every question posed to you—whether by Tywinna or Eddara—but take care that what
you’re saying serves our purpose.”

“You’ve gained a reputation as an erudite woman,” Lady Tywinna had agreed. “It would be foolish
not to take advantage of that. And Eddara is unlikely to interrupt you.”

When she’d asked how she would know when it would be appropriate to provide more information
than requested, Lady Olenna had simply smiled and assured her that, “By the time spring comes,
you’ll know.”

And so she did.

More or less.

Lady Tywinna cocked her head slightly. “And could you please describe your first encounter with
Dowager Queen Viserra?”
“We were introduced to each other when she came to visit Stone Garden two Yules ago. During our
first meeting, she had the audacity to insinuate that Rhaenyra might be mistreating me,” Alicent
didn’t bother concealing the displeasure in her voice, “and a few nights later, she made a thinly
veiled attempt to interfere with our budding matebond by suggesting that Rhaenyra would hurt me
if she grew wroth enough.”

Low growls echoed throughout the courtroom at those words.

Judicator Abelora swiftly silenced them.

“You didn’t believe that her warning was a genuine show of concern?” Lady Tywinna asked.

Alicent hesitated. She’d sensed Viserra’s relief upon hearing that Rhaenyra had been treating her
kindly, so she knew that the other woman’s motives haven’t been entirely vile. “I believe that if
she’d truly been concerned, she would not have waited over four and a half years to determine
whether or not I was safe. I would think that if Viserra genuinely believed that Rhaenyra was
abusing me then she would have intervened sooner. Elsewise . . .” She shrugged. “I believe it was
Empress Cassiana Stark who said that ‘the woman who turns her back on her sisters does more
harm than any man.’”

As she spoke, her eyes settled on Alaura, whose own gaze noticeably wavered before hardening.

The next questions were little more than asking her to recount Viserra’s behavior during Yule—the
acerbic comments that she’d made both to and about Rhaenyra, the cold looks that she’d given, the
dismissiveness that she’d displayed, her cruel words that had led to Rhaenyra telling Alicent about
the net, and, of course, everything that she’d done at the Seventh Night supper.

“That was when Rhaenyra told me what happened after the net broke,” Alicent explained, taking
note of the narrowed eyes and flashing elongated canines—particularly amongst the lady empresses
and members of the First Generation. She wanted to recount everything that Rhaenyra had told her,
all of the details that she remembered from that night, but she knew that Lady Tywinna wished for
Rhaenyra tell the full tale, so she summarized what had happened when the net broke and instead
focused on Rhaenyra’s reactions.

“At the time, she was still convinced that she’d deserved to suffer at Viserra’s hands. She told me,
‘if I’d been able to control my magic from the beginning, Mother wouldn’t have needed to cast the
net at all.’”

In the upper gallery, Lady Martell and Lady Stark scowled, whilst Lady Baratheon and Lady
Lanniser’s lips were drawn back in silent snarls. Lady Arryn and Lady Tully were sharing dark
looks, and Lady Tyrell’s face was twisted with something between fury and sorrow. Several
matrons wore similar expressions, and the lady empresses—particularly those whose daughters had
been blessed with strong magic—were staring down at Viserra with what could only be described
as disgust.

If Viserra noticed the hostility, she gave no sign of it.

“I tried to reassure her,” Alicent continued, “but she wasn’t ready to listen that night. She blamed
only herself for everything that happened that day,” she glanced over at Rhaenyra, wishing that she
could hug her when she saw the shame coloring her mate’s cheeks, “and she still blames herself
more than she should.” Her head turned so that she was looking up at the judicators. “My mate
would have you punish her for what happened when the net broke, but I can assure you, she’s been
punishing herself every day for over nine million years now.”

Please don’t take her away from me, she wanted to add, but such an entreaty wouldn’t be proper,
and she didn’t wish to give Lady Eddara grounds for an objection.

She turned her attention back to Lady Tywinna, but her words were not for the barrister. “Rhaenyra
called herself a monster that night, but I was raised by one monster and then wed to another.
Monsters are cruel and uncaring, they hurt the innocent without regret or remorse and call
themselves righteous, they twist the truth until it’s unrecognizable to serve their own ends and
convince you that you’re irrational or vile for questioning them, they revel in the suffering of others
or simply turn away from it, and they are swift to lash out when challenged or denounced for what
they are.”

The matriarchs and matrons were nodding in agreement.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were warm with adoration.

Viserra’s blazed with fury.

Alicent found that she was quite pleased by all of these reactions.

And while Lady Tywinna wasn’t smiling, Alicent could sense that she was pleased as well. “To
whom were you referring when you said that you were ‘raised by one monster’?”

“My mother. She was the first person to raise a hand to me, and,” Alicent swallowed a little, her
stomach twisting despite herself and all that Lady Tywinna and Lady Olenna had done to prepare
her, “and she is the reason that I spent most of my life thinking that I deserved every horror that
Criston inflicted upon me.”

A furious snarl sounded on her right, and when she looked over, it was to see Judicator Luserena
flashing her teeth as Judicator Celia whispered for her to remain calm.

Lady Tywinna’s voice when she next spoke was not gentle, per se, but there was a softness that
hadn’t been there before. “Could you please tell us something about the abuse you suffered at your
mother’s hands, Lady Alicent?”

“Objection, Madam Judicators.” Lady Eddara was on her feet, her expression somewhere between
determined and . . . apologetic. “What is the relevance to this line of questioning? We are here to
determine whether or not Dowager Queen Viserra’s actions were justified.” She glanced over at
Alicent, inclining her head. “With all due respect to what Her Ladyship survived, the Lady
Alicent’s past abuse is not material to this case.”

Judicator Kelia arched an eyebrow at Lady Tywinna. “Care to respond, Counselor?”

“I would, yes. Madam Judicators, I believe that it was my esteemed colleague who said that you
must be ‘certain’ that Viserra Everlasting is the monster we know her to be—”

“Madam Judicators, counsel is testifying,” Lady Eddara interrupted.

Judicator Corvina held up a hand. “Peace, Lady Eddara, it would not do for you to waste two
objections on this matter.”
Alicent bit back a smile at the judicator’s choice of words.

Lady Tywinna waited a moment longer before continuing. “As I was saying, Lady Eddara herself
said that you must have certainty, Madam Judicators, and I intend to provide just that. Presented
before you now is the question of whether circumstances exist that can possibly justify maternal
abuse. The Lady Alicent is uniquely positioned to speak on that matter due to her personal
experiences. She possesses an understanding of this particular form of abuse that not even the
members of the First Generation can claim.”

Low murmurs of agreement were coming from the galleries, and none of the judicators attempted
to silence them.

Alicent wondered if it was because they’d already made their decision or because they didn’t feel
comfortable silencing women of the First Generation on matters of abuse.

“Aside from Queen Rhaenyra, Lady Alicent is the only woman on the planet—Relle willing—who
has actually experienced maternal abuse. Therefore, her insights are not only exceedingly relevant
to these proceedings, they provide what is perhaps a necessary point of comparison, considering we
are here at all seeking to justify what cannot—”

Judicator Corvina held up her hand once more. “Thank you, Lady Tywinna. Please reserve
whatever you were about to say for closing arguments.”

Lady Tywinna inclined her head.

The judicators spent not even a full minute deliberating before Chief Judicator Alexandrina
declared, “You may answer the question, Lady Alicent.”

Alicent cleared her throat a little as she tapped lightly upon her scarred wrist.

She’d told this story before—to Dr. Arwen, to Rhaenyra, to Lady Tywinna and Lady Olenna—and
she could certainly do so again.

“The first time that my mother struck me,” the sharp, bitter scent of burning roses made her nose
wrinkle, “at least that I can remember, I was not much older than three.”

Mistress Redwyne growled.

“I was hurrying to my seat at the dinner table, and I accidentally bumped into one of the servants.
The impact caused him to spill wine all over the floor, and some of it splashed onto my dress.” She
could still remember the smell of that wine as it soaked into her clothes, could still remember
wrinkling her nose at it and wondering why her parents enjoyed the taste so much. She could still
remember the horrified expression on the serving man’s face even as a nearby service bot had
swooped in to begin removing the spill.

And she could still remember the silence.

It had been deafening.

“My father frowned at me, but he didn’t raise his voice or hand because it was my mother’s
responsibility to discipline me. My second mother feigned concern to conceal her delight at my
mother’s indirect humiliation, and my other mothers wouldn’t look at me.”
Roka and Zelma had turned away first, focusing their attention on their meals rather than her. Lora
had opened her mouth, but she’d held her tongue when she saw how her sister-wives were
responding.

Lora’s silence had hurt far more than anyone else’s.

Her brothers had looked away as well.

All of them except for Gwayne.

“My mother was furious. I could see it in her eyes and the set of her jaw, could hear it in the chill of
her tone. But she leashed her fury until we’d finished our meal, then she dragged me from the
dining hall and back to the nursery.” The feeling of her mother’s nails digging into the flesh of her
arm had quickly become a common occurrence after that day. “Once the door was closed behind us,
Mother rounded on me and slapped my face.” Her hand drifted up to her cheek, remembering the
sharp sting, the sound of the impact, the loss of balance as she’d stumbled backwards.

Rhaenyra’s jaw was clenched—just as it had been the first time that Alicent had told her this story.

The First Generation women in the upper galleries were seething, and for a moment, Alicent swore
that she could smell their fury.

Viserra was frowning, indignation shining in her eyes, and Alaura’s lips were pursed.

“It was an open-handed strike,” she continued, “and she used her palm rather than the back.” That
particular blow hadn’t been nearly as painful as some that her mother would deliver later, and even
her mother’s hardest strikes had paled in comparison to Criston’s. “My lip split open, and a few
drops of blood fell on the collar of my dress.” They had been so red, those tiny droplets, and the
gown that she’d been wearing was white, so they’d been all too easy to see. “The blood earned me
a scolding about cleanliness in addition to a scolding about clumsiness. My mother then proceeded
to ignore me for the rest of the week. She wouldn’t speak to me, wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t
even acknowledge my presence when we were in the same room together.”

That had hurt far more than the slap.

“A mother is meant to be a protector and nurturer,” Dr. Arwen had told her after Alicent had
shared this particular memory. “Discipline is not the same as cruelty. Ignoring someone of any age
the way that your mother did would be petty at best, but doing so to a child, that goes far beyond
mere pettiness. Children need to feel seen by their parents. They need to feel as if they can rely on
them for love and affection and affirmation.”

“When I told Rhaenyra that story,” Alicent’s eyes shifted to her mate, whose own eyes softened the
moment that they met hers, “she offered me a hug and held me as I cried.”

They’d still been in the early days of their friendship at the time, but Alicent remembered
instinctively burrowing further into Rhaenyra’s warm embrace, not fully knowing why she was
seeking comfort from her, but knowing in her bones that she would find it.

“She told me that no child deserves such cruel treatment.” Alicent paused.

The courtroom waited.

“At the time, Dr. Arwen had been treating me for not quite two years, and I knew—intellectually—
that what my mother had done was wrong, and yet my first instinct when Rhaenyra told me that I
hadn’t deserved to be struck was to defend my mother and say that the slap had been a proper
punishment for my clumsiness.”

When she stole a glance at the judicators, she saw that all of them wore grave, solemn expressions.

“My mother spent decades conditioning me to believe that I deserved to be mistreated, that I
deserved to be punished harshly for even the smallest infraction. Before coming here, I had never
once questioned her lessons.” She expelled a harsh breath, her stomach twisting as anger sparked to
life within her. “Considering Viserra spent millennia teaching Rhaenyra those same lessons, it’s
small wonder that, even now, she yearns to be punished for things that were not her fault.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes lowered to her lap, and her hand rose to clutch at her fire opal pendant.

Alicent’s heart clenched.

Lady Tywinna lightly cleared her throat to draw Alicent’s attention back to her. “Do you know
whether Viserra ever raised her hand to Rhaenyra the way that your mother raised her hand to
you?”

“Rhaenyra told me that the Dragon Summit was the first time that Viserra tried to strike her.”

Mistress Mallister and Mistress Beesbury wore matching scowls, reminding Alicent that they’d
both witnessed the attempted slap.

“But even if Viserra never laid a physical hand on Rhaenyra, she most certainly laid the magical
equivalent on her when she forcibly rendered my mate unconscious and then cast a stasis net over
her core without her leave and without provocation.”

Lady Eddara’s quill scratched quietly.

“Our mothers may have hurt us in different ways, but they both employed similar tactics to make us
obedient to them and accepting of their abuse.” Alicent’s fingers curled tightly around her wrist,
squeezing hard as she remembered all of the veiled and unveiled insults that her mother had hurled
at her over the years. “The way that Rhaenyra would speak about what Viserra did to her oft echoed
what I myself used to say about how my own mother treated me. That she deserved it, that her
mother had only been correcting her, that such correction wouldn’t have been necessary had she
simply ‘been better,’ that she isn’t worthy of comfort or care, that she deserved far worse than what
was done to her. Our mothers taught us to view ourselves as different, cursed, lesser, and therefore
undeserving of the basic rights and protections afforded to others.”

The barely leashed fury choking the room should have been alarming, but Alicent found comfort in
it, and she hoped that Rhaenyra did as well.

“Do you believe it possible to justify your mother’s actions, Lady Alicent?”

“No. Nor do I think it possible to justify Viserra’s actions, which were arguably even less
defensible than my mother’s.” The words fell heavy from her tongue, for while they were true and
she believed them, she also misliked attempting to compare her mother’s abuses to Viserra’s.

“How do you mean?”

“My mother is a Westerosi. Abuse of a person isn’t even a concept on Westeros.”

Those words earned several horrified murmurs, and Judicator Kelia made a sound of disgust.

“And culturally, her cruelty was to be expected, in a way, considering my birth left her barren, but
Viserra . . .” Alicent slowly swiveled her head so that her eyes locked with the dowager queen’s.
“Viserra Everlasting is a Valyrian. She knows well that there are few crimes more heinous than
abuse, and she was most certainly taught that it is a vile thing. The horrific way that she treated
Rhaenyra, her decision to create a modified stasis net in secret and then cast it on Rhaenyra without
warning or consent—I was given to understand that such actions are unacceptable in Valyrian
society.”

The matriarchs and matrons were nodding in agreement, as were most of the Monarchs of the
Blood.

Lady Alyssa’s face was pale, but her eyes were hard.

Lady Tywinna spread her hands out in front of herself as she asked, “Lady Alicent, how would you
characterize Dowager Queen Viserra’s treatment of Queen Rhaenyra?”

Alicent answered without hesitation, and the venom in her blood sang. “I would characterize it as
abusive. And I cannot imagine how anyone who has been listening to the testimonies given this
past week could conclude differently.”

The beginnings of a smile curled Lady Tywinna’s lips as she inclined her head. “Thank you, My
Lady.” She looked up at the judicators. “I have no further questions.”

“Very well then.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina nodded towards Lady Eddara. “Does the defense
have any questions for this witness?”

“Yes, Madam Chief Judicator.” Lady Eddara stood from her chair, and when she turned to address
Alicent, her discomfort was unmistakable.

As Alicent had expected.

“Lady Alicent, you said earlier that you do not believe your mother’s actions justifiable. Are you of
the opinion, then, that there is never an excuse for child abuse?”

“I also said that it is not possible to justify Viserra’s actions,” Alicent reminded her. “And I was
given the impression that Valyrians were of the same opinion in that regard. Considering the
veneration of motherhood here and the abhorrence of abuse, I should think that maternal abuse
would be considered an especially vile act.

“Dr. Arwen once told me that children need to feel as if they can rely on their parents for love and
affection and affirmation. I know for certain that Rhaenyra never felt as if she could rely on her
mother for those things. I know well the pain of a mother’s scorn and relentless displeasure.” She
swallowed a little. “It rips open a wound that is slow to heal, and even then, the scar remains. So
no, I do not believe that there is ever an excuse for child abuse, and regardless of her motivations,
what Viserra did was most certainly abuse, and she ought to answer for it.”

“When you’re able, include as much damning information as possible before your actual answer,”
Lady Olenna had advised. “Eddara may object and see that information stricken, but even so, the
words themselves shall remain in the judicators’ ears. Once the cow’s been milked, there’s no
squirting the cream back up her udders.”

Lady Eddara was frowning slightly, but she didn’t object, instead asking, “So you don’t believe in
mitigating circumstances?”

“Not in this case.”

“What of other cases?” Lady Eddara pressed. “If we give no weight to motivations and intentions,
then all killings would be equivalent, would they not? Do you believe that killing in self-defense
should be punished the same way as malicious murder?”

“With all due respect, Counselor, you’re making a false equivalency. Taking a life can be done for
righteous reasons such as self-defense or defense of others, but what excuse can there be for
harming a child who has done no wrong?” Alicent paused a moment, steeling herself for the
bombardment of emotions that she knew was about to come. “I think that you would have an easier
time justifying rape.”

It was a bold statement, she knew.

And an inflammatory one as well.

But it produced the desired effect.

Horrified gasps filled the courtroom, and several members of the First Generation furiously leapt to
their feet.

Lady Eddara’s eyes were wide as she sputtered, “I beg your pardon?”

Alicent’s ward was flaring, and her stomach was twisting with discomfort, but she maintained her
composure as she answered, “The Golden Laws provide for a single potentially mitigating
circumstance for the crimes of rape and sexual assault, do they not? I recall reading that if the
perpetrator was herself forced by another to perform the acts, she might be spared summary
execution. I wasn’t aware of any similar caveat for harming a child.”

The women who had risen in anger were seated once more, exchanging looks and frowns and
shakes of their heads.

Lady Eddara peered at her through narrowed eyes. “So you believe that rape can be justified?”

Even without the drysa’s venom coursing through her veins, Alicent would never be able to bring
herself to say such a thing. “No. Empress Aeliana the Golden made that determination when she
wrote her laws. I’m simply stating a fact as I understand it. While I personally do not believe that
there is any justification for forcing yourself upon another, Empress Aeliana the Golden included
that caveat for a reason. However, she did not include a caveat of any kind in her provisions
regarding abuse.”

Lady Eddara was silent a moment before asking, “You said earlier that there is no excuse ‘to harm a
child who has done no wrong.’ So you agree that a child who has done wrong may be punished
without it being abuse?”
“A child who has misbehaved may be disciplined within reason, yes, but discipline is not the same
as cruelty, and what Viserra did was neither a punishment nor a form of discipline.” Alicent raised
her chin. “‘The wicked attack; the good defend,’ and what Viserra did was plainly a preemptive
strike.”

“The defense calls Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen to the stand.”

Shocked murmurs rippled throughout the courtroom.

Lady Tywinna was on her feet in an instant.

But Rhaenyra barely heard them.

She was far too occupied by her mate’s words echoing in her mind over and over again.

“Considering Viserra spent millennia teaching Rhaenyra those same lessons, it’s small wonder
that, even now, she yearns to be punished for things that were not her fault.”

Not her fault.

Alicent had been saying that to her since Rhaenyra had told her what happened when the net broke.

“My magic . . . the way that it ravaged the world—”

“Was a direct consequence of your mother’s actions. She should have known that a stasis net
wouldn’t contain your magic forever, and she should have realized that holding all of that power
inside could only lead to disaster.”

The All Mother had said much the same, had she not?

“Viserra’s net did little more than ensure that when Rhaenyra’s magic was unleashed, it would be
entirely beyond anyone’s control.”

Perhaps that was so.

No. Not perhaps.

She remembered the feeling of raw power the likes of which she’d never experienced before or
since exploding outwards, remembered the feeling of being torn asunder and made anew all at
once.

How could she have hoped to control such a destructive force?

But it had still been hers, had it not? Even in that moment.

She should have been able—

“Have you ever attempted to contain all of the raw power and strength of a hurricane in a
mundane glass bottle? I suspect not, for such would be a fool’s endeavor.”
But she was the Most Powerful Valyrian to Ever Draw Breath. How could she lay claim to such a
title when she hadn’t even been powerful enough to control her own magic?

She hadn’t been a mere child when the net broke.

Perhaps if she’d done more beforehand—

But was the net breaking inevitable?

The All Mother seemed to believe it was, and Rhaenyra was now remembering the way that she’d
felt something writhing within her whenever her temper had flared when the net had still been in
place.

“Rhaenyra’s magic spent nearly two millennia fighting that net, and I suspect that it was primarily
Rhaenyra’s own determination to restrain herself that prevented the net from shattering much
sooner.”

Her own determination, yes. She’d made every effort to leash her temper as her mother had
instructed her, had made every effort to control herself in the hopes of one day being able to control
her magic, had—

The breaking may have been inevitable, but if I’d only spoken sooner . . .

She’d certainly had the opportunity.

Aemma had been horrified when she’d learned of the net, had wished to confront her mother at
once.

But Rhaenyra had stayed her hand.

Hylda’s eyes had blazed when she’d been told the truth, her scent scorching and sharp and biter.

Rhaenyra had invoked the blood oath to force her silence.

“Attempted disobedience causes the entire body to seize and sometimes spasm. It . . . There’s a sort
of burning sensation, in your blood, when you attempt to disobey.”

Shame twisted her insides.

When she’d invoked the oath, she hadn’t been thinking about such consequences. She’d simply
acted, terrified of what would happen . . .

“Rhaenyra has always been rather impulsive.”

She couldn’t deny that, she did act on impulse at times, despite herself.

Her eyes shifted towards Alicent.

“ I forgave her years ago.”

If she’d—

No.
That ink had dried.

“I’ll concede that my first encounter with Rhaenyra was not particularly pleasant, but she has
more than atoned for what she did then.”

Alicent had forgiven her, and her mate did not wish for her to continue tormenting herself further.

But have I forgiven myself?

That was a question Dr. Alfadora had been asking her rather often of late.

“It is difficult to accept the forgiveness of others when you are unwilling to offer yourself the same
grace.”

Alicent had said that Rhaenyra still desired punishment for what had happened when the net broke.

Her mate was not wrong.

But are those thoughts entirely my own? Or the echoes of my mother’s?

She well-remembered the feeling of her mother’s fingers digging into her arm as she’d held her
fast, well-remembered the combination of righteous wroth and terror and . . . vindication, Rhaenyra
now realized, that had been shining in her mother’s eyes.

“Now everyone will see you for what you are.”

Perhaps if—

“The defense calling the victim is an absurdity.” Lady Tywinna’s voice—sharper than she’d heard
it before—drew Rhaenyra from her thoughts.

“There is no procedural rule forbidding it,” Lady Eddara replied.

“The spirit—”

“The letter—”

“Peace, Counselors,” Chief Judicator Alexandrina ordered. “We agree that this is highly unusual
and completely unprecedented, but we are going to allow—”

“Madam Chief Judicator—”

“Lady Tywinna,” Judicator Jennora warned.

“We are going to allow Lady Eddara to call Queen Rhaenyra,” Chief Judicator Alexandrina
continued, “but take care, Counselor, for you will not be given leeway in your lines of
questioning.”

Lady Eddara inclined her head. “Thank you, Madam Chief Judicator.”

The eyes of the entire courtroom were upon Rhaenyra as she rose to her feet and made the short
walk to the witness stand, as she seated herself upon a cushioned silverwood chair and offered her
wrist to the court steward and the drysa spider that she carried, as she answered Lady Eddara’s
preliminary questions whilst the venom seized hold of her.

“Your Majesty, we’ve heard recently from your mate about the similarities between your mother
and hers. Do you believe that your mother loved you?”

She knew that it would be best to say “no,” but her tongue wouldn’t heed her, and her lips remained
firmly sealed. The muscles in her neck had grown tight, preventing her from shaking her head or
offering any other indication that she didn’t think her mother loved her.

For that would be a lie.

“I . . .” She cleared her throat. “I believe that my mother loved me as best she knew how.”

The truth—one that could be interpreted in several ways.

“And do you believe that Lady Alicent’s mother loved her?”

“No.”

“Do you agree with prior testimonies that you had little control over your magic when you were a
child?”

Rhaenyra hesitated, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to disagree. “I was trying my best to control
my magic.”

“Trying, but not succeeding, correct?”

“I leashed my temper as best I could.”

“But you weren’t always successful, were you?”

She swallowed, memories of melting stone and cracking mountains, of icy winds and raging storms
churning in her mind. “No,” she admitted.

“In fact, you lost control of your temper and your magic just before your mother cast the stasis net
over your core, correct?”

“Not just before.”

“Less than twelve hours prior,” Lady Eddara amended.

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched, and her magic hissed as her blood burned. “Yes.”

“You nearly decapitated your mother, did you not?”

“I did.” She could still recall with perfect clarity her mother’s terror—the sight, the smell, the
sound, the feel of it.

Evidently guessing what she was thinking, Lady Eddara asked, “Was your mother frightened by
this?”
“How could she not be?” Before Lady Eddara could ask her next question, Rhaenyra added, “But I
don’t think that her fear in that moment matched the terror that I felt when I awoke with my core
bound by her stasis net.”

Lady Olenna flashed her a brief smile.

Lady Tywinna didn’t smile, but her expression was approving.

Alicent’s expression was carefully blank in the way that Rhaenyra knew meant she was concealing
her anger.

Lady Eddara’s lips pursed a moment. “Would you agree that your mother bound your core in
response to you nearly beheading her?”

Yes, but it was more than that.

“I believe that she bound my core because she feared my magic. Even if I hadn’t lashed out at her
that night, she would have eventually had a reason to bind my core.”

“Did you oft give her reason?”

“Objection, Madam Judicators.” Lady Tywinna was on her feet in an instant. “Lady Eddara’s
question is casting blame directly upon the victim of this crime, which is both improper and
morally repugnant. This is not a case of self-defense.”

“But it is a case of an empress acting in what she believed was the best interests of her Empire and
her people,” Lady Eddara retorted. “We’ve established that Dowager Queen Viserra believed her
daughter to be a threat—”

“If you have established as much, then why must Queen Rhaenyra answer such an insulting
question. We would never ask a rape victim if she’d given her attacker ‘reason’—”

“This is not a rape case.”

“My point—”

“That is enough, Counselors.” Chief Judicator Alexandrina rapped her gavel. “Lady Tywinna’s
objection is sustained. Magister Marilee, please strike Lady Eddara’s improper question from the
record.” She frowned slightly as she gazed down at Lady Eddara. “Tread lightly, Counselor.”

Lady Eddara bowed her head. “Yes, Madam Chief Judicator. My apologies.” She turned her
attention back to Rhaenyra. “Had your mother asked, would you have consented to her net?”

Rhaenyra shifted slightly, her muscles tensing as the lie longed to fall from her lips, but she knew
that it would not. “She didn’t ask, but if she had, yes, I would have.”

“Because you believed that your magic posed a threat to the Empire?”

She forced herself not to wince as she remembered the terror that she’d felt when she’d nearly
destroyed the Dragon Tower. “Yes.”

“It’s been mentioned that the net caused you pain, but such pain was never reported by anyone else
upon whom the net was cast, correct?”
Rhaenyra raised her chin. “My stepmother told me that she experienced discomfort when my
mother cast the net on her.”

Shocked gasps filled the courtroom.

Chief Judicator Alexandrina gave them a warning look.

Lady Eddara cleared her throat, eyes shifting to the side for a brief moment before she asked, “But
Mistress Alaura did not report any pain, correct?”

“My mate hypothesizes that the difference was the strength of our cores.” Rhaenyra allowed herself
a brief smile as she looked over at Alicent. “She believes that because the Old World men’s cores
were weak, they felt little pain, and while Alaura’s core is stronger, her strength does not compare
to mine.”

Alicent had used the analogy of damming a stream compared to damming the ocean.

“Had you known about the pain, would you have still consented to the net?”

Rhaenyra glanced over at her mother, then at Lady Tywinna and Lady Olenna, and finally at
Alicent. “My mother once told me that pain is the price I must pay for my power,” she said slowly,
remembering the intensity of her mother’s gaze and voice, the sharpness of her scent. “I believed
that pain was my due, so yes, I still would have consented.”

Because she’d believed . . .

“Rhaenyra’s behavior was little different from the way that we members of the First Generation
learned to hold our tongues in a man’s presence on the Old World.”

Lady Eddara glanced down at her notes—the first time that she’d done so all trial, Rhaenyra was
certain. “Before it broke, you never told anyone aside from Lady Aemma about the net, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you prevented both Lady Aemma and Vora Hylda from confronting your mother or informing
anyone else, correct?”

Rhaenyra forced her voice to remain steady even as memories of Valyria on the cusp of destruction
invaded her mind. If she’d only— “That is correct.”

“If your mother’s treatment of you was so horrid, why did you never tell anyone?”

“I . . .” Rhaenyra wet her lips, searching for an answer that wouldn’t condemn her.

“Why did you never tell anyone about the net?”

“I was afraid.” The words were as low as the drysa’s venom would allow.

“Of your mother?”

“Of everyone else.” The words scraped against her tongue and burned in her throat, but she could
utter no others. “My mother told me that they would fear me if they knew that I couldn’t control my
magic, and I . . . I didn’t wish for that.”
Lady Eddara frowned for a brief moment before her expression smoothed. “You could have told the
All Mother about the net after your magic nearly destroyed Valyria, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t inform her, did you?”

Rhaenyra twisted her black rose ring around her finger as she shook her head.

“You didn’t inform anyone about your mother’s actions for over nine million years, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Long after you were no longer a child.”

“I . . . That’s correct.”

“Had you told someone about the net, it might have been removed before your magic was
unleashed so violently, correct?”

“Yes.”

She should have . . .

“So you allowed your magic to grow stronger and stronger until it burst forth, correct?”

“My mother could have removed the net if she’d chosen to.”

“And you could have spoken up if you’d chosen to—?”

“Objection, Madam Judicators.” Lady Tywinna was on her feet once more. “Counsel is once again
seeking to cast blame upon the victim in order to justify the accused’s actions.”

“I am seeking to understand Queen Rhaenyra’s actions in the context of her mother’s. “We’ve
established that her magic—”

“Viserra’s net—”

“Counselors,” Judicator Kelia interrupted. “Lady Eddara, rephrase your question or move on.”

Lady Eddara dipped her head before turning back to Rhaenyra. “If your mother’s actions were truly
so unwarranted, why did you hide them for so long? Why did you order Lady Aemma to remain
silent and invoke the blood oath against Vora Hylda? Why did you conceal what your mother had
done?”

“Object—”

“I was a child.”

The words slipped from her mouth without thought.

But the venom had allowed them.

Because—
“I was a child,” she repeated slowly, her mind feeling unbearably ponderous as she rolled each
word around thrice over. “I was a child and . . . and she was my mother.” Her head slowly swiveled
as she locked eyes with her mother, who stared back at her with an unreadable expression. “She
told me . . . she told me that I was dangerous, and I believed her. She told me that the world would
fear me, and I believed her. She told me . . . How could I not believe her?”

“Our submission and silence was not a matter of acquiescence or aiding in our own subjugation. It
was a matter of survival and doing as we’d been trained to do.”

Training.

Conditioning.

Laena had used that word as well.

As had Alicent.

Her mother—

Their mothers—

She could have allowed Aemma to speak.

She could have allowed Hylda to speak.

But she hadn’t.

Because . . .

“I believed her,” she murmured aloud, her mind churning. “Everything that she said. I’ve believed
her for over nine million years because . . .”

She could have said something before—

If she’d only spoken earlier—

The net would have—

“You left me no choice, Child. Had I not bound your core, you would have destroyed us all. The
Oracle foretold it so.”

Her magic had nearly destroyed them all, but only . . .

Rhaenyra raised her head—she didn’t recall lowering it—and locked her gaze with Lady Eddara’s.
“I am guilty of many things, My Lady. I’ll never deny that. But the net, and what happened when it
broke, that was not my fault.”

Elation slammed into her with such force that it took her breath away before her ward flared.

Alicent.

Aemma.

Hylda.
Laena.

Her other sisters.

Rhaenys.

Alfadora.

Rhaenyra gulped, throat tightening, but not because of the venom. “My mother . . . she warned me
to remain silent for my own good, and I believed her. Show me a child who doesn’t trust her
mother’s words. I thought . . .” She’d thought a great many things, clung to them.

She hadn’t deserved the net.

She’d known that, but . . .

“What she did brought about the very cataclysm that she sought to prevent, something that she
should have realized was inevitable.”

Yes.

Her mother should have realized.

So why didn’t she?

“My mother was wrong about a great many things. I’ve been realizing this of late. I am guilty of
waiting over nine million years to reveal what she did, this is true, but I’m no longer waiting.”

Her mother began to rise from her bench, eyes blazing.

Alaura grabbed her arm and tugged her back down.

Rhaenyra was certain that the judicators noticed.

Lady Eddara’s shoulders were not slumped, nor was her head bowed, but she suddenly seemed
exhausted as she said, “Thank you, Your Majesty. I have no further questions.”

Chief Judicator Alexandrina looked over at Lady Tywinna. “Have you any cross questions,
Counselor?”

“I do, thank you.” Lady Tywinna slowly rose to her feet and smoothed down her doublet. “Your
Majesty, I’ve only three questions for you. If you’ll allow.”

Rhaenyra nodded.

“Before today, did you believe that your mother’s actions could be at least somewhat justified by
what happened when the net broke?”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“I no longer believe that.”

 The words tasted sweet on her tongue, and something inside her felt . . .

Peace wasn’t the correct word, but it was close.

“And why is that?”

“Because I’ve finally realized that what happened when the net broke was not my fault.” She
glanced over at her mother, whose eyes were cold. “It was my mother’s.” Her magic purred softly.
“She should have realized that the net was doomed to fail before she ever cast it, or she should have
sought another solution when I told her that I was in debilitating pain. But she didn’t.” Her eyes
found Alicent’s, and her mate mark tingled pleasantly. “There is no excuse for what my mother did
to me. I see that now.”

Chapter End Notes

Yay! Round of applause for Rhaenyra! She's had another big breakthrough!

Next Chapter: Viserra finally testifies (so does Alaura)!

End Notes

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