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Part 1: Revelations
Queen Alicent Hightower’s wine goblet had been full to the brim, just like her schedule for the day. Now the cup was empty, much like her ambition. There weren’t enough spirits in the world to make seemingly endless meetings with men any more tolerable. Even so, it was an honor, as a woman, to be allowed into their space. Rhaenyra Targaryen, the King’s daughter born of the late Queen Aemma, was also allowed a seat at the table due to her position as the King’s heir. The Hightower took it upon herself to become involved in politics, knowing a woman’s perspective was imperative. The fact that it often went ignored was disappointing. Alicent’s title as Queen only intensified this gnawing sense of dissatisfaction that worsened with every passing day. Quite frankly, all she desired on this night was to take a hot bath and embrace the peace of sleep with open arms. The last thing she wanted to deal with was another emergency, but sometimes life provides you with what you need rather than what you desire at the moment.
Even in her fatigue, Alicent’s immediate response to coming across a woman outside her chamber doors, naked as the day she was born, was one of protection. Her pace quickened.
“Forgive me for my state, your Grace, but-“ she began, head down and straw-colored hair covering most of her face. Her long arms folded to preserve as much modesty as she could.
The Queen shushed the other woman soothingly, placing an arm around her shoulders, which was only possible because the tall woman was hunched over in embarrassment. “It’s alright, darling,” she replied, her voice soft. She nodded to her guards, who opened the chamber doors and allowed them through. Once inside, she sent the guards away. “Here, sit,” Alicent encouraged, leading the woman to a bench and fetching a blanket for her.
“Thank you, your Grace,” she replied, taking the blanket the Hightower had wrapped around her shoulders. “Gods, I’m so embarrassed,” she confessed with a little laugh.
“Of what, dearest?” Alicent wondered, parting light hair and tucking the stray strands behind the woman’s ears.
The woman was nearly frozen at the gesture. In a second, she snapped out of her daze and clarified. “Of finally meeting the esteemed Queen Alicent Hightower in a state of such indecency.” A small hand cradled her face, ornate rings cool against her cheek.
“What’s your name?” Alicent asked.
“Anya, if it pleases you,” the woman replied, a blush creeping across her cheeks at the prolonged proximity.
“Anya, this is your body in the image of The Mother. It is nothing to be ashamed about. It’s sacred, even,” Alicent claimed, her wide eyes boring into hazel. Her hand dropped as she rose to her full height. “What’s indecent is that, I assume, someone put you into this state against your wishes,” she said with a sigh, the action bringing her shoulders forward as if there was suddenly a physical burden upon them. “Which of the boys was it?” She wondered, eyes closed while she braced herself for a response.
Anya’s long fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “Forgive me, your Grace, but I’ve only recently arrived to King’s Landing, and I’ve been appointed to assist the Princess Rhaenyra, who wasn’t in her chambers when I fled. I confess I don’t know all of the children apart at this time.”
Alicent turned, her back to Anya, as she smirked. She, too, had a difficult time remembering which of Rhaenyra’s children was which, and she has been living with them for years now. She can imagine it was only worse for a new lady-in-waiting who had to identify five different children. At least it was glaringly obvious which ones were siblings, she thought, her eyes rolling. “Dark hair or light hair?”
“Light,” Anya replied, her eyes on the rug beneath her bare feet.
With another sigh, Alicent turned to face the other woman once more. “One of mine, then.” Alicent didn’t know why she bothered to ask. The likelihood that it was anyone but her firstborn, Aegon II, was slim. “Did he hurt you?” She inquired, her teeth gnawing lightly at the skin around her fingernails in a display of nerves for a moment before she caught herself and clasped her hands tightly together instead.
“N-no, your Grace. I was about to take a bath when I realized the bedclothes I set out had disappeared. Then, he chased me ‘round the castle. I’m not sure if he would have hurt me if he caught me. It seemed more for entertainment. You know, boys will be boys,” she said with a half-hearted chuckle, the sadness in her eyes contradicting her attempt at a blasé response.
“No.”
“No?”
The Queen kneeled before the other woman, her hands resting on her bare legs. “No. That is the kind of attitude that allows this sort of thing to continue. If he ever does this again—any of them—you tell me straight away, and I will handle it. Do you understand?”
Anya nodded, hope glimmering in her eyes.
Alicent knew that if a handmaiden or a lady-in-waiting spoke out, they could lose their tongue. The bittersweet thing about being a mother is you are free to discipline your children as you see fit. Although the few people who had seen such discipline from her would likely claim her to be too heavy-handed with her son, Alicent would argue that it wasn’t heavy enough considering Aegon II hadn’t changed his ways. Sometimes it would deter him for a few weeks, but as the sting of a strike faded with time, so did his inhibitions. While she loved him, she also felt terrible enough about bringing him into this world. The least she could do was be the only one brave enough to treat him as he deserved in those moments. Seeing women like Anya, time and time again, made Alicent’s heart ache. She knew all too well what little agency women were afforded in this life. The craving to be seen, heard, and understood had taken up a permanent residency, like the lesions on her dying husband’s skin. It seemed only another woman could salve the wound that men insisted on picking at tirelessly. While the King had a swarm of maesters working to attend to him, women were not as lucky. Even in the company of other women, they often found themselves alone to cope. She couldn’t be the only one to feel this way.
Maybe she could be the maester for the women of the realm.
“Would you like that bath you needed? I already have one drawn and ready after days like today,” she offered as the idea popped into her mind.
The woman’s eyes flicked down to the hand on her leg then back up into big, brown eyes. “Here? In your chambers? Y-you’ve already been so kind, my Queen. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” Her teeth bit into her lower lip.
“You are not a bother, darling. Don’t allow people to tell you that for so long that you believe it. Your presence—your life—is a gift, and anyone who refuses to see that will be truly deprived,” Alicent replied, squeezing the knee under her hand.
Anya let out a thready breath, her eyes glossy. “You are a most generous Queen. Forgive me if this is out of place, but it is a shame to see you so confined to the castle. I know a lot of women who benefit from knowing your kindness,” she stated, allowing her hand to rest over the Hightower’s.
Alicent’s heart swelled. “That's very kind of you to say. Every woman has this fundamental understanding inside of her, and yet we feel so alone in this world of men. It is why we need to look out for one another. Now, how about that bath?”
Anya nodded her head.
And so the Queen washed the lady-in-waiting with the same attentive eye and tender hand that she used with her aging King. At first, Anya was awkward, believing herself to be undeserving of such care. She became more comfortable as Alicent asked about her upbringing and listened with genuine interest. Eventually, small hands stilled.
“It’s becoming tepid. Let’s get you dry and warm before we send you off,” Alicent proposed, wringing out the rag and hanging it on the edge of the bath. The Queen rose to her feet, her dress now wrinkled from kneeling. In her haste to attend to Anya, she had only removed her rings prior. She retrieved linens for the woman, wrapping them around Anya’s body as she stepped out of the bath.
“And what of you, your Grace? I cannot allow you to treat me with such care with nothing in return,” Anya offered, holding the linens close.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary, dear. Affection should not be transactional.”
“Forgive me for saying it, but I can see the fatigue in your eyes. Surely you would like a bath as well? It’s the least I can do,” Anya offered, biting her lower lip.
Alicent could deny it all she liked, but if the truth was as plain as the woman pointed out, there was no point. After the day she had, she would really, really like a bath. “Alright,” she agreed with a small smile. “I’ll, erm, get undressed as you heat the water.”
Anya busied herself with preparing the bath.
Although Alicent’s dress did not have a corset on this day, it still took time to escape its confines without the help of a lady-in-waiting. It was hung up and her shoes put away. Gold earrings, necklaces, and hairpieces were removed and put back in their boxes. Once the Queen was in nothing but her smallclothes, she found herself staring back at her reflection. Without all of the grandeur, she was simply Alicent. Simply Alicent wanted desperately to separate from the façade she had been putting on for so long that she often fooled herself. She wanted to live outside of the rules and follow her heart. She gazed at her figure, matured and forever altered by the pregnancies that were expected of her and the stress she couldn’t seem to escape. It was the body of a daughter, a woman, a mother, a wife, and a Queen. And this was the reason she could not do as she pleased.
And though this concept felt as strong as law, she knew of one woman who had been doing whatever she wanted for her entire life and faced little consequence. Rhaenyra Targaryen. The Princess wasn’t just Alicent’s step-daughter, she had once been a friend, and a loyal one, at that. The two girls of status and similar age had grown up together and been nearly inseparable. Their constant proximity and affection had always made Alicent’s father uncomfortable, but he allowed it so long as it strengthened his seat as Hand of the King. Alicent spent so much time here that King’s Landing felt as familiar as her birthplace in Oldtown long before her father ordered her to court the King following the death of Rhaenyra’s mother.
She hadn’t wanted to wed the King nor take up the immense responsibility of the title that came with it. Young Alicent was simply a pawn in her father’s master plans, but Rhaenyra took the marriage as a personal affront. The Princess had always been bullheaded and impulsive, but without the fastidious and well-mannered Alicent to guide her, she became even worse. No matter the trouble she found herself in, the King would excuse her, or worse, ignore the actions entirely. Rumors of the reckless Princess spread like wildfire, and most of them were true. Watching Rhaenyra deny her duties and act freely and without consequence while Alicent spent her entire life toiling at the hands of men, who denied her humanity and choice, infuriated the Queen. It also brought with it a deep-rooted jealousy.
Why couldn’t all women be afforded this freedom? Why couldn’t Alicent say the words that clawed at the back of her throat? Why couldn’t Alicent pursue a pretty face if it turned her head?
Her knees hit the ground before she had even decided to pray, the act automatic at this point. She said a prayer to The Warrior for strength—strength to shed her fears and act on her own volition, at least in the privacy of her own chambers. She was still praying when Anya returned, the bath ready. She leant the woman some bedclothes, removed her own smallclothes, and they made their way to the bath.
When lengthy fingers guided a warm rag along her body, they lingered just a bit too long. Hazel eyes drank her in rather than the polite inattentiveness that the Queen was used to when being bathed. The attention was strange. “What is it?” Alicent found herself asking when Anya realized she’d been caught staring.
A blush formed across her cheeks. “Forgive me, your Grace. The smallfolk speak to your beauty, but it is another thing to behold it oneself.”
The words twisted around in Alicent’s stomach, like a dragon in the clouds, until she couldn’t help but ask. “You wait on Rhaenyra, do you not? Targaryen beauty far surpasses mine.” It was not meant as an insult to herself; she believed it to be so. Rhaenyra’s long silver hair shone like the moon at night. Her eyes were violet with magic and glimmered with mischief. Her signature smirk was as endearing as it was annoying. Alicent had never met anyone as beautiful as Rhaenyra, though it seemed all Targaryens were blessed with dashing good looks. She suddenly sensed the flicker of jealousy that Anya was lucky enough to behold Rhaenyra as she was made, but she tried to extinguish the thought as soon as it appeared.
“Rhaenyra is beautiful, of course, but” Anya began before biting her tongue.
Alicent nearly rolled her eyes. “Speak plainly.”
“She’s very muscular, her body scarred, her hands large and calloused,” Anya continued, having the decency to look guilty.
The Queen’s mind wandered, imagining the sweat-sheened body of Rhaenyra after a bout of training, those hands taking her own, making them look so small in comparison. She could almost feel her rough skin against her body. The thoughts created a heat that spread until the lady-in-waiting finished her sentence.
“And she smells…well, I haven’t quite placed it yet.”
The comment bubbled up a chuckle from the Queen. “It’s dragon. You get used to it,” she smiled, recalling the familiar scent with ease. When they were children, the only thing Rhaenyra loved more than Alicent was her dragon, Syrax. The Targaryen was always trying to convince her companion to fly with her when they were young. She was never brave enough to say yes.
“I just think women that have darker features are more comely,” Anya admitted, the rag in her hand slowly traveling up Alicent‘s neck. “Ones with full heads of curled hair and feminine faces, ones more…delicate,” she added, her voice low.
Alicent took in the woman before her: light-featured, tall, and long-limbed. The woman’s hands were also calloused, but likely from very different kinds of activities than the Targaryen. She interpreted her words as self-depreciating. “We won’t have any of that, now,” she decided, tilting her head.
Anya’s eyes widened, terrified she had offended the Queen with her straightforward response, but before she could speak, Alicent continued.
“All women are made in the image of The Mother. All women are beautiful and deserving of love and appreciation. I am. Rhaenyra is. You are,” she urged, reaching up and stroking the other woman’s hand with her thumb.
“Men don’t seem to think so,” Anya muttered, looking down at their hands.
“Well, we don’t need men to tell us we’re desirable, do we?” Alicent countered with a smirk, tucking the blonde hair that had fallen in front of Anya’s face behind her ear.
The lady-in-waiting’s mouth parted, and she gazed into big, brown eyes, searching for something. In a moment, her mouth was on Alicent’s, moving languidly, appreciatively.
The Queen’s head was spinning. The last thing she had expected was to be kissed, but her initial shock and rational thinking were quickly overcome. She couldn’t bring herself to stop it. Anya’s lips were soft, her movements calculated. She allowed Alicent to return the affection rather than try to control it. Once a tongue swiped across her bottom lip, Alicent gasped, allowing it further entry. A moan escaped her, a sound so foreign to herself she didn’t realize it had come from her at first. She had been kissed before, but nothing like this since…she pushed that memory down to appreciate the present. Her hands reached up, taking Anya’s face and feeling her jaw muscles work as she kissed her.
Alicent couldn’t have her close enough, and before long, the lady-in-waiting pulled back just enough to mumble “Your Grace,” against pouting lips. “If you pull me any closer, I’ll end up in the bath with you,” she pointed out.
The Queen looked on with half-lidded eyes, realizing the other woman had been craning awkwardly over the bath in order to kiss her. She laughed, a sudden sort of thing that would become hysterical if she didn’t contain it. After a few moments to calm herself, she stood up, water sliding down her bare body. Her hand reached down, guiding the other woman to stand via a hand on her jaw. Then, she leaned in, bringing their lips together once more. “Then we better move this to the bed,” she relayed with a smirk.
* * *
After the first night with Anya, something awakened in Alicent; it was something the Queen carried with her all her life but forced to remain dormant. It wasn’t every woman she came across, but it was many. It was enough for her to notice the change, the subtle ways her body responded to some women. Enough for her to crave female companionship until she felt akin to a horse dying of thirst because it stubbornly refused the water it was offered. She wouldn’t be so foolish as to parch herself when the water was abundant, not anymore. Other women noticed the change, too, or perhaps Alicent had just finally opened her eyes. Shy smiles, appreciative glances, lingering touches, and the cadence of a compliment were all footprints laid in the dirt, and all the Queen had to do was track them down.
It wasn’t every woman, but it was many. Most wouldn’t notice the pattern, but Alicent wasn’t daft. Women with certain features were more likely to be called upon than others. She reveled in towering over otherwise tall women and the sight of her hands tangled in long, light hair. Her hands itched to hold a dimpled chin or a strong jaw and explore toned yet feminine musculature. Her lips graced many scars and lopsided grins. Knowing she had the ability to transform an overconfident woman into a whimpering mess was absolutely intoxicating. She might have felt bad if not for the fact that every single woman that found herself in bed with the Queen returned wanting more. Enthusiastic consent was sexy. None of the women were Her, but each one offered a piece of what Alicent was missing.
She hoped to provide something for these women that was missing in their lives as well. Alicent, a devoted person by nature, showed them what it was like to be truly appreciated—to be seen and loved for who they are. She must have been succeeding in her mission because, before long, she had dozens of women trying to get an audience with the Queen. Women from all over traveled to hang about outside of King’s Landing just to get a glimpse of emerald green, praying they’d see that dimpled smile in their direction.
As not to raise suspicion over the increase in doting followers, Alicent devised a plan.
* * *
“A women-only weekly gathering in the Sept at King’s Landing? Do you need to know the Faith?”
“No, but she may take onto you faster if you’re at least familiar.”
“She may ?”
“Well, she doesn’t pick everyone .”
“ Anya .”
“She doesn’t appear to have any clear preferences, so I can’t guarantee anything. Well, I can’t guarantee anything apart from if you are chosen, it’ll be the best night of your life. I haven’t seen her in years, but I pray I see her in my dreams when I close my eyes every night.”
Rhaenyra Targaryen had spent all morning with her head in the clouds, quite literally. There was nothing like the shine of Syrax’s golden scales in the sunlight, and the Princess was thankful for the morning free of obligations. Unfortunately, most people were not as comfortable with the peculiar scent that came along with spending time with her favorite companion, so she was due for a bath before she could meet with some important men later in the day. Before she left for her flight, she directed her trusted lady-in-waiting, Anya, to make sure a hot bath was ready when she arrived. In her presence, her ladies often did not speak unless spoken to, so Rhaenyra’s curiosity got the best of her when she arrived to her chambers a bit earlier than expected and overheard some chatter. The princess hid until the conversation appeared to be over, punctuated by knowing chuckles.
“Who are we going on about?” She asked, making her presence known.
The metallic clang of a water pail hitting the edge of the tub before falling into the water with a splash lingered in the air. A deep blush crept across the tanned chest of her newest lady-in-waiting, a woman by the name of Evanei. Whether the embarrassment was from being startled, being overheard, or nearly throwing the pail, was unclear. “Y-your Grace,” she greeted, bowing her head.
Anya bowed as well, much more collected than usual having grown accustomed to the Princess seemingly appearing out of nowhere on numerous occasions. “The Woman Maester, my Princess,” Anya answered. If she hadn’t given the woman anything, Rhaenyra could be quite annoying in trying to draw something out. It was best to offer at least a morsel to chew on.
“The Woman Maester?” Rhaenyra repeated, the title rolling around in her mouth as she pondered it. “And when did the Septons change their mind about allowing a woman to be a maester? It must have been recent if I haven’t heard anything about it. If it was so recent, how could this woman be so skilled already?” She asked, each question a challenge.
“She has to practice in secret, your Grace,” Anya provided.
“At one of the Queen’s women-only days at the Sept?” Rhaenyra’s eyebrows raised. Alicent was the most uptight, straight-arrow person she knew. If the Faith declared women unfit to be maesters, she couldn’t imagine her allowing such a clear violation of the rules. “And she knows about this and allows it?”
Evanei began to speak, but a sharp glance from Anya had her holding her tongue.
“The Woman Maester knows women in ways a man cannot. It is for the greater good of the kingdom to allow her to operate,” Anya supplied, choosing every word carefully.
“And who has decided that?” The Princess inquired, knowing the answer already. Alicent did always think she knew best, but this was still a stretch.
“Perhaps your Grace could benefit from a personal visit,” Anya suggested boldly, a single eyebrow raised along with a quirk of her lips.
Evanei’s eyes flicked to the taller woman nervously.
Rhaenyra’s head cocked, intrigued by the change in tone. “And what ailment do you presume this Woman Maester could assist me with?”
“Sometimes, one is not aware what void requires filling until they experience it,” Anya said vaguely. “But, if I may be so bold, Princess, I have a feeling you already know.” Hazel eyes bore into violet knowingly.
The gaze was too intense, and Rhaenyra felt as though her private thoughts were on display. With a sharp intake of breath, she dismissed the ladies, needing some time alone to collect herself. Her thoughts raced until the water grew cold. When she finally rose from the bath, she had made up her mind.
Part 2: Reconnections
Rhaenyra couldn’t recall the last time she was in the Sept, but in her memories, Alicent was still a few inches taller than her. It looked exactly the same as she remembered apart from how busy it was on this night. In her youth, the Sept was usually empty save a few Septas and Septons here and there. Now, there were women lined up from wall to wall, all filing in and taking their places in an orderly fashion. Rhaenyra followed suit, trying to blend in. She pulled the hood on her cloak down as far as she could to keep her face in shadow.
At the head of the room was Queen Alicent Hightower. She was facing away from the group, kneeling in silent prayer, but the Princess would recognize those flowing red locks anywhere. One thing stood out in striking contrast to the monotonous orange glow of the candlelight, and that was Alicent’s outfit. It was common to see the Queen in her house color of emerald green, or even a soft blue, which Rhaenyra knew to be her true favorite color. On occasion, Alicent could be convinced to don red and black in support of her Targaryen husband’s house. Today, her gown was slate grey. Fastened to said gown was a cape bearing the seven colors of the rainbow. It was so long that it cascaded down several steps behind her. It was truly a sight to behold.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rhaenyra scoffed, shaking her head. She braced herself for the hour ahead, needing to remind herself that she was here on her own accord. It wasn’t long before the last few women squeezed in and the chatter died down.
There was a chime of some sort to signal the beginning of the ceremony. Then, the Queen rose to her feet and turned slowly to face the crowd. Audible gasps could be heard from amongst the crowd, and Rhaenyra scanned the faces around her to see everyone looking to the Queen with stars in their eyes.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. It’s so lovely to see so many familiar faces as well as some new ones. I hope you find comfort in the company of your fellow women while in the house of The Seven. Now, shall we begin with a song?”
To be honest, it was all quite boring. Readings from various holy books were recited, songs were sung while everyone held hands, and prayers to each of The Seven were guided by Alicent. While the Queen appeared to be quite at home leading worship in the Sept, not every woman was as dedicated. Well, they were committed, just not to The Seven. Rhaenyra would have had to be blind to miss the way these women acted around Alicent, watching her every move and hanging onto every word. The worst part of it was the way the Queen responded to it all. It was almost as if she was seeking out the most dazed women to approach, to place her hands on, to give a little smile to. It made Rhaenyra’s skin itch.
It couldn’t be over fast enough.
“Rise,” Alicent commanded, and the crowd did as they were told. Some of the younger women helped the older ones to their feet.
With a contented smile, Alicent announced “That will be all for tonight. May The Seven grant you a peaceful sleep.”
One by one, the women began to leave the Sept, many stopping by her Grace, the Queen, for a more personal goodbye. Alicent granted each one of them equal attention, returning whatever gesture she received. For some, it was a simple holding of hands and exchanging of words; for others, it was a long embrace. Each woman, young and old, looked to the Hightower with admiration. With time, the queue that formed to bid the Queen goodbye dissipated, leaving only one hooded figure looming in the dark.
The Sept was silent save for the footsteps growing louder, alerting Rhaenyra to the other woman’s proximity. Suddenly, the room was quiet again. Even with the hood of her cloak up, the Targaryen could practically feel Alicent’s breath on her neck.
“Foolish of you to show your face here,” she said, her voice clear.
Rhaenyra suppressed her instinct to scoff. She turned, facing the figure before her. The fiery hue of her hair, the curve of her lips, and that ever-present sadness in her eyes were so familiar and yet they felt so distant. “I’m in disguise,” she pointed out.
Alicent smiled, the dimple in her cheek making an appearance.
The Targaryen hated how the sight of it made her stomach flutter, even now.
“You can cover that snow-white hair all you like, but your eyes will always speak to your lineage.”
The comment was neutral enough, but it seemed as though Rhaenyra couldn’t resist being the first one to poke the fire. “Oh, don’t you know? There are plenty of violet-eyed bastards amongst the smallfolk now. Your son made sure of that.” It was a low blow, and she knew it, but she didn’t come all this way for small talk, after all.
Usually a comment like that would rile the Hightower up in an instant, but this time, she remained still, save for the clenching of her jaw. “Your brother , who might take more closely after you in that regard,” she replied, raising her chin in challenge.
It was always the same old story with Alicent. Rhaenyra was well aware that her childhood friend whispered about the legitimacy of her children behind her back, but she wasn’t often this brazen. “Are you making an accusation?” She challenged.
Alicent took a step closer—too close, perhaps. With no one but the gods to witness, the Queen was emboldened. “You know the histories. I toiled during our youth to make sure of it,” she reminded Rhaenyra. “A single brown-haired Targaryen was a farce, but three? Now it’s downright insulting to ask your people to feign ignorance,” she stated, her annoyance coming off of her in waves. Targaryens had light hair, and yet, the smallfolk honored Rhaenyra’s sons all the same. This was due largely, if not entirely, to the fact that the King had decided to value the word of his firstborn above all else.
“How long have you been waiting to say that so plainly to my face?” Rhaenyra wondered, a hint of amusement to her tone. “I thought you were smarter than that. My father’s word is law, and-“
The Hightower rolled her eyes. Though their friendship had deteriorated in their youth, or perhaps set ablaze was a better description, that kind of closeness granted Alicent a unique perspective on the other woman. Rhaenyra could bark until her voice was hoarse, but it was rare she could be pushed to bite. If Rhaenyra wanted to feign ignorance, then Alicent would have to treat her like the dog she was and shove her nose into the truth. “Please, if your father didn’t feel so guilty about Aemma, he wouldn’t be too stubborn to admit the rumors are true.” Having said her piece, Alicent turned, but a large hand grabbed her upper arm, keeping her in place.
“I could have your tongue for such heresy,” Rhaenyra asserted, her violet eyes alight in the dim corner of the Sept.
The Queen leaned in, so close that the Targaryen could have counted her eyelashes if she so wished. “You could have my tongue anywhere you like if you weren’t such a cunt,” she said lowly, the corner of her mouth rising when the other woman’s eyes flicked down at her lips. She knew she’d won that round.
In the Princess’s shock, her grip loosened, allowing Alicent to pull free and make her way across the room. She lit a candle before continuing. “State your business here. You’ve always been a thorn at my side, Rhaenyra, so, what? You’ve come to prick me again just to watch me bleed? I can’t fathom you’re here to learn of the Faith.”
The words finally snapped the Princess out of her stupor. “To learn of the Faith?” She scoffed. “Is that what’s going on here?”
To her credit, Alicent simply leaned against a pillar, the picture of nonchalance. “Whatever do you mean?”
Rhaenyra’s eyebrows raised, and she looked about the Sept as though it could give her an answer. “I’ve heard whispers,” she started vaguely.
“Everyone whispers,” the Hightower replied, bored. “But you saw with your own eyes. So? What did you see?” she asked, her scrutinizing gaze never leaving the other woman.
If she were being completely honest, the gathering itself did appear to be genuine. It was the pitiful, longing looks and lingering hands that marred the image of purity. It might have gone unnoticed by most, but Rhaenyra knew all too well what it looked like to be putty in the hands of Alicent Hightower. “You’re a bit more touchy than most teachers of the Faith,” she goaded, approaching the other woman.
Alicent smirked in amusement, but there was a bite to her words. “Some find the touch of another woman to be a great comfort, Rhaenyra. You might know that if you didn’t pit yourself against every single one that you’ve met.”
The Princess grew solemn, her head hanging in thought. If the truth was spoken aloud, it could calm the storm that was brewing, but she’d have to reveal herself in the process. Maybe it was worth it. “It wasn’t every woman.”
For a moment, the hardness in the Queen’s eyes softened. Then, a sneer crawled across her face. “And yet here we are. Constantly at battle, even now that you’ve left King’s Landing, your own home, because you couldn’t stand the sight of me. So much for friendship eternal,” she spat, looking to the ceiling and crossing her arms defensively.
Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched, and she shook her head. Her words came rushed and hushed. “We kissed, and you told me you loved me! A week later, you said we could never do it again. Then you go and wed my father as soon as you’re fertile? Forgive me for finding that difficult to swallow!”
“I had no choice!” Alicent shouted, her hands balling into fists.
“Right,” Rhaenyra scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“You spoiled yourself after knowing how much your father and I were doing for you, trying to find you a suitable match. Worse still, you lied to me about it! To me ,” Alicent cried, her voice breaking. “You swore on your mother’s memory , Rhaenyra! And I defended your honor to every single person that came sniffing out answers just to find out I’d been the fool. Forgive me for finding that difficult to swallow.” The words echoed in the empty room, leaving a stinging pain in both their hearts for even longer.
To that, Rhaenyra had no rebuttal. Nothing she said could justify her actions.
They remained in uncomfortable silence until Alicent spoke again, her voice revealing her exhaustion. “Why are you here?” She asked again, emphasizing each word.
“I came to meet The Woman Maester,” Rhaenyra whispered.
“You what?” The surprise was evident.
The Princess cleared her throat, speaking up. “I came to meet The Woman Maester.”
“Whatever for? Are you ill?” Alicent asked, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.
“No, but-“
“She only reveals herself to women who need her.”
Rhaenyra chuckled unkindly. “Yeah, I saw plenty of that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” There was a hint of fear in her voice.
“It’s pretty clear what’s really going on here, Alicent,” Rhaenyra stated, her gaze unwavering. “It’s not only absurd, it’s downright blasphemous to be doing such a thing…in the Sept, of all places!”
Though her eyes were glossy, her voice was steady. “And what would you know of blasphemy? You care not for the teachings of the Faith!”
“Alicent…”
The Queen stood tall. “I take no coin for what I do. I produce no bastards. I force no hand. I’m teaching these women devotion, generosity, courage,” she began, looking Rhaenyra up and down before adding “obedience.”
The words sent a shiver down the Targaryen’s spine, and a blush overtook her cheeks.
“The acts aren’t done here. The Sept simply provides a safe space for these women and affords them the opportunity to take something more from this,” Alicent explained, her fingers fidgeting.
“Oh, I’m sure they’re all taking as much as they can get,” Rhaenyra mumbled, her boot scraping across the ground.
“I don’t have time for this,” Alicent declared, grabbing her cape and turning, allowing it to fly behind her in a dramatic flourish.
The sight of the Queen receding into the distance, leaving her so readily, quickened Rhaenyra’s pulse. She became desperate, impulsive. “Why? Because you have a woman waiting in your chambers? Ready to kneel at your feet and worship at the altar of your body just so you can know what it’s like to feel important for a night?” She called, regretting the words as soon as they left her lips.
Alicent turned on her heel, hastily approaching the other woman with a ferocity the Princess had not seen from her. And then, they were just a breath away. Alicent’s big, brown eyes darted between her own with a shocking intensity. Was it hate? Was it love? Given their history, it seemed the two were destined to bleed together. Rhaenyra’s breath hitched, clinging to every second. Would she strike her? Would she kiss her? Which did she deserve?
When the Queen spoke, it was slowly and clearly. “You are not entitled to me.”
Each word pushed the knife in further, and the rejection stung more than any blade ever could.
“I don’t want to see you back here unless you’re willing to repent,” Alicent declared. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting.”
* * *
That night at the Sept gave Rhaenyra a lot to think about, and every thought in her idle time was painted in red and green. It was a familiar picture, one she admired for countless hours in her youth, when things were easier. Sure, other paintings were beautiful as well. Prince Daemon Targaryen, her uncle and first, painted her thoughts for a while. Their similarly fiery personalities were what attracted them to one another, but it was ultimately why they were doomed to combust. He was wed to another shortly after her own wedding. A fleeting fling with Ser Criston Cole ended abruptly and violently when the man allowed his jealousy to cloud his mind. Her husband of political advantage, Ser Laenor, was a sweet man who Rhaenyra had hoped to create a beautiful family with. She was aware of and respected his proclivity towards men, but she could not come to accept his unhealthy relationship with spirits or his wanderlust. While her husband drowned in his cups or simply took every opportunity to leave the castle, Rhaenyra turned her attention to the Captain of the City Watch, Ser Harwin Strong. While Harwin was a good lover and protected the three children they brought into being together, he wasn’t the one. Rhaenyra had love for him but was not in love with him.
Most people spend less than a minute looking at a single painting. Rhaenyra kept returning to the same one time and time again. She’d stare at it until the image was seared into her mind, the ghost of it overlaying her sight even when she looked away. It was the oldest painting she could remember and the most complex. The desire to be close to Alicent, to see her and know her, was always there, even when harsh words were spoken. It was this pull that constantly brought the Princess back into the other woman’s orbit.
She was back in the Sept in seven days time.
Their eyes met shortly after the chime, like magnets drawn to one another, but not even a quirk of a brow gave a glimpse into what the Queen was thinking. Week after week, Alicent ignored her. Rhaenyra almost would have preferred to be yelled at again; at least that would have provided some feedback. Still, she persisted.
By the seventh week, Rhaenyra had come to learn more about the Faith than she ever had as a child being forced to. Even the lyrics to some of the more favored hymns came easily to her. Even if she didn’t necessarily believe, she understood why the Faith of the Seven brought comfort. These meetings, being surrounded by women, also brought with it a certain comfort. It was almost surreal to be in a space completely free of men.
While kneeling during the seven minutes of personal silent prayer, Rhaenyra felt a hand upon her shoulder. Her eyes blinked open, and her head tilted up, already knowing whose gaze she would meet. Alicent loomed over her, but her eyes were soft and her touch was feather-light. Her free hand cradled the Princess’s jaw, her thumb fitting into the dimple of her chin. The action was so tender that Rhaenyra’s legs felt weak. Had she not been kneeling, she surely would have wavered.
The Queen leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of Rhaenyra’s ear. “The Woman Maester will see you tonight, if you feel you are in need of her services,” she whispered.
The Princess’s lips parted in surprise, but her throat was suddenly too dry to voice a response. Instead, she nodded her head.
“You know where to find me.”
She caught a glimpse of a small smile before she closed her eyes and hung her head, returning to silent prayer. The end of the ceremony couldn’t come fast enough.
Rhaenyra was one of the first women to leave the Sept after dismissal, and she easily found her way to the Queen’s chambers. The guard let her in with a greeting of “Princess,” and an odd sort of smirk that led her to believe he knew exactly what transpired behind this door once a week. It was so strange to be in the same room that her mother once resided in and find it so unfamiliar. All traces of Targaryen imagery had been replaced with banners of green, Hightower sigils, and icons of the Faith. Yes, this was certainly Alicent’s chambers now. Unsure of the proper protocol, she sat down on the edge of Alicent’s bed. Seconds later, she moved to a bench instead. After a few minutes there, she rose to her feet and found herself pacing the room.
She hadn’t been in Alicent’s chambers since the birth of her youngest son, Joffrey, months ago. She remembered that day and how just moments after he was born, one of Alicent’s ladies was sent to retrieve him. Rhaenyra, being as stubborn as she was, brought the babe herself, leaving a trail of blood and afterbirth throughout the castle just to spite the other woman. The memory left a bad taste in her mouth. Gods, what was it about the two of them? When they were young, their contrasting personalities only led to playful banter. Ever since Rhaenyra’s wedding, it seemed as though they couldn’t even be in the same room without being at each other's throats.
The phrase catapulted her mind back in time once more, to a night when lines blurred and hearts soared higher than a dragon in the skies. Young Princess Rhaenyra had spent much of the morning training in swordsmanship and managed to convince Lady Alicent Hightower to watch a few sparring matches in the afternoon. With a smirk, she requested a favor from her companion, who chuckled at the idea of it but offered one of the rings off her finger regardless “for luck”. Rhaenyra won every match, the crowd beaming with pride at how impressive The Realm’s Delight had become. The Princess basked in the attention and arrogantly stated she intended to win every battle from there on as long as she held the Lady Alicent’s favor. Alicent blushed furiously at such a public display, but the weight of the proclamation left her unable to hold back her pleased smile.
The happiness played at her lips until Rhaenyra brought her round the dragon pit to give Syrax dinner before turning in for the night. With a few honeyed words, Rhaenyra managed to coax the other girl into the pit. While the Hightower refused to watch the meal itself, she did allow the Targaryen the compromise of being so close to the creature for the very first time. “Come meet her, Alicent. Please.” Pearly teeth chewed on a lower lip as Alicent approached with careful steps. Rhaenyra’s eyes softened. “Syrax and I are one, Alicent. Her heart is my heart. She would never hurt you,” she claimed, taking Alicent’s small, trembling hand in hers and guiding it up to golden scales. The dragon closed her eyes at the touch, a great rumble of a sigh vibrating through the walls and her exhale causing Alicent’s fiery mane to dance in the air. The Targaryen’s heart swelled so much at the sight of her two favorite things in the entire world coming together that she feared she might break. The Hightower’s eyes were closed as well, and when they opened, hot tears trailed down her cheeks.
“Hey, hey,” the Princess cooed, reaching up with her free hand to wipe at the other girl’s cheeks.
“I felt it, Rhaenyra,” Alicent whispered, her watery eyes locked into violet with a sort of newfound wisdom that made Rhaenyra’s heartbeat quicken.
The Princess shook her head, a silent display of her confusion. Then, two hands were holding her face, and two soft lips were on hers.
“I love you, too,” Alicent breathed, her forehead resting against Rhaenyra’s for a moment.
She’d been on dragonback ever since she could walk, but never had she felt closer to the heavens than in that moment. An incredulous laugh escaped her. Sure, she believed Alicent felt the same way, but to hear it so clearly from her was another thing entirely. She kissed her Lady with lips tight from smiling too wide, and Alicent reciprocated with equal enthusiasm.
Following a bubble of laughter, Syrax nudged the Princess in the back end, sending her body tumbling into the other girl’s with a squeak of surprise. Alicent ended up with her back against the blackened pit wall with Rhaenyra flush against her. The new position changed the mood, and the Targaryen’s eyes darkened. Brown eyes flicked down to her lips, and they closed the gap once more, their kisses slower now. Alicent’s body was warm despite the cold, cavernous walls, and the Targaryen was cold-blooded, seeking to be close to that heat. The air smelled of grime and blood and dragon, but it also smelled of pine trees and lavender and possibility. The only thing preventing their lips from ever parting again was the annoying need for oxygen, and so Alicent reluctantly pulled away. Rhaenyra’s superior breath capacity thanks to flying allowed her to continue, her lips merely moving to connect with the Hightower’s neck instead. Alicent moaned Rhaenyra’s name, and she wished only to hear it like that forever on. The sound vibrated against her mouth, and the Targaryen resisted the urge to bite into flesh, to bury herself inside and make a home there, never to emerge.
And then Syrax roared, and three hearts skipped a beat. The dragon’s heavy footfalls approached an intruder to the dragon pit. Despite her alarm, she knew she couldn’t take action. For even in the dim lighting, it was clear who had caught them: Otto Hightower.
“I must admit, Rhaenyra. You’ve surprised me,” Alicent’s voice sounded, breaking Rhaenyra out of the haze of her memories. “When you first came to one of my ceremonies, I was sure you’d come to expose the whole thing. When you left, I waited and waited for some sort of action but…nothing. Then, seven days later, you return to the Sept. You’ve cost me quite a bit of sleep,” Alicent explained with a playful glare.
“I heard whispers and was curious about this Woman Maester and why you would allow her to…operate out of your holy place,” Rhaenyra supplied, her gaze flitting about the room.
“You didn’t know it was me,” Alicent realized. A single chuckle escaped her before she shook her head and made her way to her vanity. She began removing her jewelry and accessories.
“How would I have possibly known it was you?” Rhaenyra wondered, annoyance dripping from her voice.
“I have the means. They’re my ceremonies,” the Queen stated plainly, removing her shoes.
“Yes, but you’re-“ Rhaenyra began, biting her tongue.
“I’m what? Alicent called from across the room, her chin raised.
The Princess examined the patterns on the ornate rug beneath her.
“Do you not think me capable of being discreet?” Alicent asked next, her bare feet padding slowly across her floor, bringing her closer to the other woman. “Do you not think me desirable, Rhaenyra?” She asked, but the lilt to her voice made it clear the question was rhetorical. She didn’t need the Princess to confirm it. It was obvious in their youth and as adults from the lingering looks the Targaryen never bothered to conceal, even in the presence of their husbands. In fact, Rhaenyra wouldn’t be here, in her chambers, if she didn’t think it to be true. Finally, she arrived, standing before the Princess and studying her. A grin appeared when violet eyes flicked down to her lips. “No, that’s not it. What am I, Rhaenyra?”
The Targaryen considered her words, her furrowed brow proof of her deliberation. Finally, she decided on “religious.” It was the kindest way she could put her thoughts into words.
Alicent chuckled, rolling her eyes. “So you think me prudish, do you? You do realize I have three children? You’re well aware of how that happens?”
Rhaenyra’s blood simmered at the mockery. She narrowed the gap between them. “You’re well aware of how you disappeared for weeks after you kissed me . And when you finally come back, you’ve got a seven-pointed star ‘round your neck and spend half your day in the Sept?”
“You just don’t get it, do you? The Faith isn’t what damned us; it was my parents!” Alicent cried. “When my father told my mother what he’d seen, she told me it was unnatural—that it was wrong. She made me swear by The Seven to never do it again and pray for guidance. I kneeled for days , Rhaenyra, my knees were black and blue!” She revealed, her voice breaking as if speaking the memory aloud for the first time.
The Princess’s heart ached, and her expression smoothed. “I didn’t know,” she said gently.
Alicent took in a steadying breath. “Mother passed shortly after, and I was a wreck, as you know. I couldn’t help but think it was divine retribution for my feelings. All I had left was my father, so of course I clung to him. He never looked at me the same way since that night in the dragon pit, but I hoped if I was good enough, if I did everything he asked of me, he would love me again. All he did was see an opportunity in the face of a weeping child,” she said, the energy spent ranting leaving her tired. “And then I lost you, too.”
The Targaryen’s jaw clenched, her eyes meeting the floor once more. Despite the sting of rejection, Rhaenyra comforted Alicent after her mother’s death. Even after wedding the King and bearing his first child, Alicent reached out again and again, hoping to find Rhaenyra’s gentle touch. Any reconnections made were always short lived. Rhaenyra’s wedding was the final nail in the coffin, or so she thought. There were so many years wasted in loneliness when they could have sought comfort from one another.
Alicent closed her eyes, allowing the sadness to dissipate. “I’ve spent more time praying after my mother’s death than ever, and do you know what religion has done for me, Rhaenyra? It’s shown me that every single person was created with divine intention. Outside of all of this political bullshit, once we are stripped of our titles and our clothing, we are all made the same, and we are all loved in the eyes of The Seven. It’s society that warps the mind. It’s people like you that further the idea that certain people are born superior.”
“Me?” Rhaenyra balked. Alicent’s speech had taken her on a lot of emotional twists and turns, but this was not the ending she was anticipating.
“Yes, you! You can have as many trysts as you like, creating a whole litter of illegitimate children with no consequence, but it’s such a stretch to believe I can bed a single woman out of wedlock?” Alicent snapped.
Rhaenyra scoffed, the hairs on the back of her neck bristled. “It’s hardly been a single woman,” was all she had to say. Not even the Princess could deny that the Queen’s words were true, she just couldn’t believe the woman had the gall to speak it.
“Get on your knees,” Alicent barked.
“What?” Rhaenyra asked, not sure if she heard correctly.
“Get on your knees, or get out of my chambers.”
The Princess donned an incredulous little smile, one that faded with the passing seconds in which Alicent’s stern expression did not waver.
She was serious.
This forced Rhaenyra to make a decision. She could leave, suffering the humiliation of Alicent rejecting her yet again and setting them back in their unending quest for reconnection, or she could kneel and see where this went. Curiosity got the best of her, or perhaps it was the way the other woman was looking at her expectantly. She kneeled.
Big, brown eyes lit up, pleased with her decision. Then, her expression schooled, and she paced before the Targaryen.
“We’re going to have to lay some groundwork before we begin. Firstly, The Woman Maester assesses each woman and provides what they need, so experiences will vary. You are to call me by my name, not my title. Here I am not your Queen, I am simply Alicent. It is a privilege for you to be selected, so if I find you to be unworthy, I will ask you to leave. If you do not abide, I will have you forcibly removed. That being said, if you decide at any point that you do not wish to continue, you are free to go. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Rhaenyra said, looking up at the other woman.
“Lastly,” A little self-satisfied half-smile, not unlike the ones the Princess was known for, appeared on Alicent’s face. “Tell no man of The Woman Maester.”
“Understood.”
“Rhaenyra Targaryen. You are the firstborn child of the King, and you have captured his full attention, leaving nothing for your half-siblings,” came Alicent’s initial accusation.
“My half-siblings who bear the Hightower colors and have no inclination to politics,” the Princess nearly scoffed.
“Only because their mother is the only one who gives them the time of day!” Alicent shouted, leaning over the other woman. “And Aemond is interested in politics, which you’d be aware of if you made any effort to get to know him.”
“My father is capable of making his own decisions, and he named me heir. How am I at fault for that?” Rhaenyra inquired, her eyebrows furrowed.
Alicent closed her eyes in frustration. “Do not speak unless you are spoken to. If you are good, this restriction will be lifted. Do you understand?”
“This is ridiculous,” the Princess muttered to herself, smiling in disbelief.
“It’s the door or the mirror, Rhaenyra,” Alicent offered, gesturing to her chamber doors. “Can you not stand to see yourself for who you’ve become? There is strength in honesty—with others and with yourself. There is strength in humility . So what will it be?”
Rhaenyra clenched her jaw. “I won’t interrupt you.”
The Queen continued. The more she spoke the more emotional she became. “While naming you heir was his decision alone to make, you use your father’s favor to your advantage at every opportunity, even to the detriment of your brothers and sister, who have done nothing to you. You believe you are entitled to everything that you desire simply because of your name. You wish for everyone to bend the knee and look the other way, even when you misbehave, and you get away with it, too!” Alicent cried, shaking her head. Once she collected herself, she turned, bending down so she was eye level with the kneeling woman. “You are a spoiled brat, Rhaenyra Targaryen.” Finally saying the words out loud was a weight off her shoulders.
Rhaenyra did not answer verbally, only glaring up at Alicent from her position on the floor. Although it stung to know this is what the woman thought of her, she couldn’t deny the gooseflesh that sprouted in response. Alicent had been admonishing her for her entire life. When they were young it was amusing; as they got older it was annoying. This was something else entirely. She found herself staring at the lips that cursed her, wishing they would swallow her whole.
It was easy to tell where her sightline had fallen, and the Queen resisted the urge to lunge forward and claim those lips with her own. She had to be temperate. If she let herself be consumed in the dragon’s flames, the Targaryen would never learn. “Get on the bed.”
Rhaenyra swallowed and rose to her feet, padding over to the Queen’s bed. The edge of the mattress dipped with her weight, and her hands fumbled awkwardly, unsure where to place them.
Alicent stalked closely behind. Once Rhaenyra was seated, she nudged the woman’s knees apart with her own, standing between them. It was the closest the two had been in years, and she could feel the unnatural heat of the Targaryen’s skin radiating off her body and through her clothing.
It was the same magical blood that ran through her husband’s body and through that of her children. Some people in court whispered that the Queen was cold. As an outsider in this house of dragons, the sting of the comment lingered. The truth of it was physical, undeniable. At times, she felt as though the Targaryens stole all the warmth from her, hoarding it for themselves. And could she fault them? It was in the dragon’s nature. No. She could only keep them close, hoping the proximity to these creatures kept her alive in the frigid darkness of their lairs.
Her hands reached out, trembling slightly as they pulled at the strings keeping Rhaenyra’s cloak secure. It was a drab old thing, meant to allow the Princess to blend in with the smallfolk in the Sept. The cloak puddled around the woman’s hips, revealing an equally unremarkable tunic. It was odd to see Rhaenyra in such plain garments. Even when clad in pants and a coat suitable for dragonback or sparring, the princess always embraced a keen sense of style. Alicent wondered if dressing down once a week to come see her had humbled the other woman at all.
The skin of Rhaenyra’s neck was exposed in the tunic, and the Queen ran her fingers along it, appreciating the way her protruding collarbones looked especially well sculpted. Rhaenyra had always been picturesque, and Alicent itched to fill in the gaps that only her imagination had explored for so long. Her lungs arched, and she realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled, reluctantly removing her hands and clasping them together. “Take off your clothes.”
“Do-“ Rhaenyra started, but the pressure of a hand around her throat stopped her.
“Forgetting our rules already, are we?” Alicent wondered, her eyebrow raised. The thrum of the woman’s pulse quickened against her palm.
Violet eyes glimmered in challenge. No words were spoken, but it was obvious she was biting her tongue.
“Permission to speak,” Alicent granted, lessening the pressure on her neck but not removing it entirely.
“Do you want me to remove my smallclothes as well?” the Princess inquired, the vibrations traveling through the Queen’s hand and down to her core.
Pouty lips parted, and pupils widened, almost completely overtaking brown. “Yes,” she husked, her throat suddenly dry. She allowed her hand to fall, but made no move to distance herself from the other woman.
The tunic was long, forcing Rhaenyra to lean forward to grasp the bottom edge. Due to Alicent’s proximity, the Targaryen’s face ended up dangerously close to the woman’s chest, the corset of her gown creating a tasteful display of cleavage. Once the tunic edge was in hand, Rhaenyra pulled it up as far as she could before she needed to stand, her hips meeting Alicent’s thighs briefly before she sat back down. Now that the material was loosely around her waist, the Targaryen pulled the garment over her head slowly, taking care in her movements as not to knock into the other woman.
She watched Alicent closely in hopes to gain some sort of insight into what she was thinking. The Queen could be still as a statue, but it was the little things that gave her away—subtle reactions that only someone who had been as close as Rhaenyra could pick up on. The way her breath ceased and her eyes greedily consumed every inch of skin that was revealed to her told the Princess that Alicent desired her. Even if her lips never spoke the words, the evidence was damning. Once her clothing was removed, Rhaenyra gathered the items and tossed them unceremoniously onto the floor.
The Hightower watched with fascination at how the muscles in Rhaenyra’s arms worked as she moved them. She reached out, allowing her fingertips to explore the Targaryen’s body. She began at her neck, both hands resting gently on either side. Her left hand made a home on the space just under her ear, her fingers barely entering her hairline. The other hand traveled downwards, on the column of her neck and over those collarbones that drove her mad. It paused for a moment on Rhaenyra’s chest, the previously feather-light touch now a full palm over her heart. Big, brown eyes flicked up, meeting violet.
The Princess swallowed, the gesture sweeter than anticipated. There was a heavy thrumming, but it was unclear if it was coming from her heart or from the woman’s hand. Perhaps it was both, beating in time and connecting them further.
The moment was fleeting. Alicent’s hand moved between her breasts and down to her torso. There, her blunt nails raked across softly toned abs, ending their descent at the start of Rhaenyra’s smallclothes. Her fingers twitched, and the Princess did her best to fight back a smirk. She had been wanted by many men, but there was something about the way another woman appreciated the female form. It was reverent. Her chest swelled with pride.
When the Queen was finally able to tear her eyes away, they noticed the strange glint in the Targaryen’s and the hint of amusement at her lips. She squinted suspiciously and cleared her throat. “Are you going to take those off, or what?”
“Apologies, Alicent. You just seemed so keen on touching me that I wondered if you might want to do it yourself,” Rhaenyra quipped.
The Hightower rolled her eyes, but the flush of her cheeks gave her away. “I think you’re more than capable of doing it yourself,” she remarked, taking a step back to give the woman some room.
“As you wish.” She stood to full height, slipping off her smallclothes and allowing them to remain on the floor. Although it didn’t bother her in the slightest to be stark naked in front of the Queen, she believed it to be rather unfair that Alicent remained nearly fully clothed. Her hands reached out, running along the Hightower’s waist and to the laces on the back of her dress, wasting little time. Her exploration was short-lived, as small hands firmly grasped her wrists like shackles.
“No,” Alicent scolded, forcing the Princess’s hands back.
Silver hair spilled over her shoulder as her head tilted in confusion. “No?” She parroted stupidly.
“I know you don’t like to hear that word, but you must know that you can’t always do as you please,” Alicent asserted.
She scoffed. “I want to see you,” the Targaryen complained, all but pouting.
“You can’t see me until you really see me, Rhaenyra,” Alicent declared, releasing one of the woman’s wrists in order to reach up and tuck a lock of silver hair behind her ear.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rhaenyra wondered, her frustration growing.
“When you know then you may return,” Alicent stated, cupping the Princess’s jaw. “For tonight, we will focus on you.” Her thumb extended, running along her lower lip until Rhaenyra nipped at it gently. The Queen allowed the interruption, the playful gesture giving her nostalgia for a memory that never existed. A very real memory was brought to the front of her mind once the Targaryen lunged forward. The Queen turned her head at the last second, but Rhaenyra was not deterred, her lips attaching to the Queen’s pulse point. That was all it took, and Alicent was back in the dragon pit.
Emboldened by the passage of time and the experience that comes with it, Rhaenyra didn’t hold back. Gone was the nervous girl in the dark all those years ago. Kissing along Alicent’s jaw, neck, and chest, the Targaryen was on a fast track to leave every bit of exposed skin ravaged.
The Hightower’s mind raced. Memories of them in the dragon pit transformed to ideas of how she wanted Rhaenyra here tonight. Those thoughts unraveled like a pulled thread as the woman sucked her flesh, biting into it before soothing the sting with her tongue. She generally did not allow this kind of behavior, knowing how difficult it was to conceal the evidence for days afterwards. This time, the thought of seeing the marks—Rhaenyra’s marks—left on her like a brand only fueled her desire. The idea had her moaning the woman’s name before she had the sense to restrain herself.
It was the second time in her life that the Princess had heard Alicent say her name with
such veneration. Time had aged Alicent’s voice like wine, her once girlish lilt now deep and liquescent. The sound was addictive; once heard, Rhaenyra only wanted to hear it again and again until she was drunk with it. Her hands gripped the Queen’s hips, her thumbs digging into her hip bones through the material of her gown.
The action only added fuel to the fire, and already, Alicent was dangerously close to throwing caution to the wind and letting the woman do as she pleased. When Rhaenyra came back up for a kiss on the mouth, the Hightower saw her opportunity to regain some semblance of control. Right before their lips met, she grabbed Rhaenyra’s face with her hand, halting her approach.
The Targaryen’s surprise was evident. The second of vulnerability was exploited as she found herself pushed backwards by that same hand, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of the bed. The Queen’s free hand pressed against her bare chest, and Rhaenyra allowed herself to fall back onto the bed.
The Princess was a beautiful sight to behold, her silver hair radiating from her head across the pillow. It was almost saintly, like the way halos are depicted in religious art. With a steadying breath, Alicent hiked up her dress enough to join Rhaenyra on the bed. Her feet barely left the floor before the Targaryen leaned forward, her strong hands taking the woman by the waist and pulling her squarely into her lap. The sureness of the move renewed the fire settled low in her belly. For the sake of her confident façade, she hoped her smallclothes concealed the evidence of her arousal from Rhaenyra.
The anticipation of finally putting her lips on Rhaenyra’s skin had her trembling. Under the intensity of the other woman’s gaze, she feared her nerves were obvious. She decided to dive right in, not allowing herself the time to reconsider her position.
Rhaenyra leaned in to meet her, but the Queen turned once more, the kiss falling onto her jaw. Her annoyance manifested in a whine. Her hands rose, attempting to guide the Queen back, but the Hightower was undeterred.
“Hands to yourself, Rhaenyra,” Alicent warned, catching the woman’s wrist and releasing it after it lowered on its own. She licked along the column of the pale neck before her, and the Princess’s hands moved to her waist, squeezing a bit before traveling upwards. Right when they reached the edge of the Queen’s corset, Alicent took action. This time, she sat back just enough to grab Rhaenyra’s hands and pin them to the bed. “What did I just say?” she asked.
“I thought-“ the Targaryen mumbled.
“You thought, what? It’s been all of thirty seconds since I told you last. Am I going to have to tie you up?” Alicent inquired, the evenness of her tone convincing Rhaenyra that her threat was serious.
While the Princess wasn’t completely against the idea, she figured perhaps if she played nice she would be allowed to touch her later. It didn’t take long for Alicent to reinstate her speaking privileges, after all. “That won’t be necessary,” she muttered, eyes downcast. Her hands balled into fists. How hard could it be to contain herself?
Rather than answer, Alicent returned to her work. Her kisses were not as aggressive as the Targaryen’s, but that didn’t mean she was any less enthusiastic. Her lips moved along exposed skin slowly and appreciatively. Small hands glided across the panes of the Princess’s body. Every freckle, every scar, every little feature that made Rhaenyra who she was was revered. Alicent’s eyes, mouth, and fingertips worked in tandem to commit these details to memory. She paid particular mind to avoid erogenous areas for as long as possible.
It wasn’t that Rhaenyra wasn’t enjoying the feeling of Alicent’s soft lips and hands after thinking about them for so many years. It was great, really—divine, even. It was simply becoming harder and harder for her to ignore how other parts of her were aching for the same meticulous attention. When Alicent’s fingers caressed the undersides of her breasts, the Princess squeezed her legs together unconsciously. At this point, the pulsing between her legs was much stronger than that of her heart in her chest.
“Something wrong, Rhaenyra?” Alicent wondered in a way so disingenuous that the Targaryen would have laughed if she wasn’t so needy.
Her options were slim, each one more unappealing than the next. She could try to guide the Queen’s hands and surely get scolded for it at the least and punished for it at the worst. She could pretend that nothing was wrong and maybe sometime in the next fortnight Alicent would get to where she really wanted her. Or she could beg. Her eyebrows drew together, the inner corners raised. She looked absolutely pitiful in her desperation. “No, Alicent,” she replied, the effort of holding her tongue physically paining her.
The corners of the Queen’s lips raised, pleased with the display. “Good. It would be such a shame to have to stop now, don’t you think?” she asked rhetorically. Just after, she leaned forwards, running a flat tongue over an already hardened nipple.
The Targaryen sighed so deeply it was almost as if she melted right into the bed. Her hands flew upwards, wanting desperately to find purchase in red curls. She stopped herself last minute, fearing the newfound attention on her breasts would cease. Instead, she found her balled-up fists striking the bed before gripping a handful of sheets to ground her to something, anything that wouldn’t get her in trouble. If she couldn’t pull Alicent closer, she would have to improvise. Her back arched, bringing her chest closer to the woman’s mouth.
The motion seemed to spur the Hightower on. She worked at Rhaenyra’s breasts, licking, sucking, and kneading with practiced motions that spoke to her experience. All of the little moans and whimpers of encouragement went right to Alicent’s head. Knowing she had this kind of effect on the other woman calmed her nerves and inflated her ego. Her right hand wandered, tracing light patterns across a prominent hip bone and ghosting lower from time to time.
“Alicent,” came her hushed plea. She spoke before she even realized the words escaped her lips, the frailty to her voice foreign to her ears.
The Queen lifted her head to look into violet eyes. “What, Rhaenyra? What is it you want?” she asked passively, her fingers toying lazily with a perked nipple.
Rhaenyra clenched her jaw, attempting to bury her instinct to command anything out of the Queen. “Touch me,” she answered weakly.
“I am touching you,” Alicent countered, pouting and furrowing her brows in a mocking manner.
It should have annoyed the Targaryen, but, incidentally, it only worsened her desire to kiss her. “Please,” she added, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t roll them. With her vision impaired, she heard the Hightower’s dress shuffle against the sheets and lamented the loss of the woman’s weight on her waist. Two sure hands gripped her knees, making room to nestle between them. When her eyelashes fluttered open, Alicent was unabashedly staring at the apex of her thighs with an intensity that surprised the Targaryen. She swallowed.
At times, Rhaenyra used honeyed words to get what she wanted, even if it went against her true beliefs. As soon as the Queen made her home between the Princess’s legs, she knew this wasn’t one of those times. The woman’s desire for her was plain as day, and she resisted the urge to gasp. “Feel for yourself,” she prompted.
The Targaryen’s fingers were running through her center in a heartbeat, eagerly taking any kind of contact she was allowed, even if she would have preferred the touch of another. She sighed heavily at the feeling. It would have been embarrassing if the Queen wasn’t looking at her like she wanted to devour her herself. The mental images that formed following that thought only worsened Rhaenyra’s condition. It wasn’t long before her digits were fully coated.
“You’re so beautiful, Rhaenyra,” Alicent hummed, her voice low. Her hands ran across pale thighs, her gaze flicking between the woman’s languid movements and her face. She thought of how many times she’d seen those same eyebrows furrowed in annoyance or anger and almost chuckled at how different the circumstances had become. “I bet you taste just as good as you look,” she stated, the corner of her mouth curled upwards. “Won’t you take a taste for me?”
The Princess’s face twisted in confusion; she’d never done that before. The Hightower looked on expectantly. What did she have to lose? Rhaenyra brought her fingers to her lips, tentatively tasting herself on them. When she caught sight of the way Alicent’s eyes glossed over, she placed her two digits into her mouth fully, her lips closing around them. The act felt absolutely filthy, and a blush creeped across her chest. The Queen’s brown eyes were nearly black now, her pupils blown into an abyss she wouldn’t mind falling into.
A moan rumbled out of the woman, and Alicent’s lips parted at the sound. It appeared as though the Targaryen was closely gauging her reactions, possibly dramatizing her own actions just to get a rouse out of the other woman. If that was the case, it was working. “Keep touching yourself,” she instructed. The Princess was all too eager, spreading her legs even wider as to give Alicent a better view. The Queen’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the woman’s ministrations, almost mesmerized.
Rhaenyra’s fingers glided through slick folds, circling a hardened bud and dipping into her entrance from time to time. Even though she was effectively putting on a show, the motions, paired with the clear effect they were having on the Hightower, were working her up swiftly. She focused her efforts on her clit, and her breathing became more erratic. Little whimpers escaped her lips despite her efforts to contain them. “Alicent,” she breathed, seconds away from her end. Just before her release, a hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her still-glistening fingers away from where she needed them most. Violet eyes flashed with surprise and annoyance, and she voiced a needy whine. Her free hand flew to replace the old, barely grazing her aching bud before that wrist was captured as well.
The Targaryen fought her restraints, but the Queen sat up, climbing atop Rhaenyra and using her body weight to pin the woman’s arms to the bed. Although the Princess was stronger, Alicent had the advantage in this position. The smirk that formed in response proved she knew it. “Oh, Rhaenyra,” she purred. “I didn’t say you could come, now, did I?”
The Princess replied with an honest-to-gods growl, a testament to her frustration. A little gasp escaped the Hightower’s lips, whether in fear or desire, it was difficult to tell. If Rhaenyra couldn’t pull her way out, there were other methods to turn the tide. In the struggle, Alicent’s body had shifted to straddle just below the other woman’s bare hips. Her grey, lacy gown was bunched up around her waist. This provided the Targaryen with the opportunity to raise her leg, pressing her thigh between the other woman’s legs and flexing it.
Much to Alicent’s chagrin, she found her hips instinctively bucking against it. While the feeling was divine, there was surely irrefutable, physical evidence of her arousal now. The sudden loss of composure startled the Queen, whose grip loosened.
In the same moment, Rhaenyra seized the opportunity and freed herself. She sat up and took either side of the Hightower’s face, trying to capture the other woman’s lips once more. A small hand grabbed a fistful of silver hair, holding her back while their lips were just a breath away. The Targaryen huffed. “Kiss me!”
“You’ll get what you deserve, Rhaenyra.” Alicent urged, rolling her eyes. The other woman had been doing so well. It seemed as though once her base needs were heightened, her mind became clouded. It was a bit disappointing but nothing the Queen couldn’t work with.
The Princess let out a breath through her nose, her eyes flicking about the room. No verbal response was needed; her annoyance was radiating off of her in palpable waves. Nevertheless, she was released.
Alicent moved down the bed, sitting on the back of her legs. “Get on your hands and knees,” she instructed. “Face the headboard.”
Rhaenyra‘s jaw clenched, but she complied. It was a lowly position to be in, and her cheeks burned. She peeked back across her shoulder to check in.
The Queen had her hands clasped together in her lap, the picture of composure. “Face forward.”
She did as she was told, her silver hair hanging on either side of her face like curtains. “Does this please you, your Grace?” Rhaenyra asked snidely. Her hardened expression expanded to that of utter shock as Alicent’s flat palm struck her bare buttocks. The sound echoed in the spacious room, much like how the sting lingered on for seconds after contact. A bigger surprise than the contact itself was the way it made Rhaenyra feel. It was almost as though a jolt of lightning traveled from the other woman’s hand right to her clit, and the Princess found herself choking back a moan.
“That’s another rule broken. I have reason to send you out of my chambers. Is that really what you want?” the Queen inquired, her voice stern. When she received no reply, her pulse quickened. Perhaps she’d gone too far. “Answer me.”
“No,” came Rhaenyra’s quiet reply.
“No, what?”
“No, Alicent. I wish to stay,” she clarified, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip.
The Hightower was pleased with the response, her hand slowly rubbing at the red mark that was already beginning to fade. “If I allow you to stay, you will hold off your release until I permit it. Do you understand?” She knew it was a lot to ask of the other woman, but there was no harm in trying. Due to her position, the Princess’s response was unclear. To the Queen, it sounded an awful lot like it was followed by a scoff. In an instant, her body was draped across Rhaenyra’s back, their bodies molded together. Her hand once again took a fistful of hair, pulling back just enough so her lips were at the shell of Rhaenyra’s ear. “What was that?” The woman inquired.
She felt the question more than she heard it, the Queen’s breath hot, and the vibrations from her voice creating gooseflesh in their wake. Three distinct thoughts went through the Targaryen’s mind. The first thought, albeit fleeting, was that it felt nice to have Alicent’s body pressed against hers, even if there was a layer of fabric between them. The second was that some men in the past had handled her roughly and spoken down to her in the secrecy of their chambers, but it never felt like this. Even with the Hightower’s grip in her hair tight, her voice stern, and her fingers digging into a pale hip, Rhaenyra felt completely safe. This deep-seated trust allowed her to let her guard down and completely surrender to the moment and whatever feelings may arise from it. The last consideration was that the way Alicent’s hip bones were pressed into her rear was driving her mad, leaving no room for any additional thoughts. She shifted her weight backwards, intensifying the feeling. “I said I will try,” Rhaenyra divulged. She didn’t sound very convincing.
A smirk played at Alicent’s lips, and she allowed it to flourish with only the gods as her witnesses. Her left hand loosened its punishing grip on Rhaenyra’s hair but remained in place. Her right hand migrated from the woman’s hip down to the apex of her thighs. Seeing how wet the woman was earlier was one thing, but feeling it for herself had her chest expanding with pride. A pleased little gasp escaped her lips, the sound mingling with the Targaryen’s resounding moan. “You feel so good, Rhaenyra. Is this all for me?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
The Queen allowed her fingers to explore, mapping out the other woman and cataloging every detail to her memory. Each time her fingertips would travel to the northmost point of the woman’s center, Rhaenyra’s backside would roll back into the Hightower’s hips once more. Although the Princess was handling the teasing surprisingly well considering her recent outburst, Alicent had the heart to hasten her release. Her focus shifted to the woman’s clit, circling it and taking in any minute direction that may be given away by Rhaenyra’s reactions. It wasn’t long before she picked up on the woman’s preferred approach, like a hound hot on the trail.
She didn’t want it soft. She didn’t want it slow. Rhaenyra was burning up, and her hunger could only be properly satiated by touches of equal intensity.
The Queen set about an appropriate rhythm, her finger moving so quickly it was nearly vibrating. It was embarrassing how little time it took between her first real touch and Rhaenyra teetering on the edge of her release. Her body grew tense, and her breathing became increasingly shallow. Alicent could feel as much, as she was pressed so closely their bodies almost felt like one. She wasn’t going to be unnecessarily cruel. “Alright, Rhaenyra. Let yourself go.”
The woman didn’t have to be told twice, immediately succumbing to the pleasure that crashed through her body in waves. Paired with the feeling was a sting between her neck and her shoulder blade, where Alicent had taken her skin into her mouth, creating an unyielding suction that was sure to leave a mark. She didn’t let go until Rhaenyra’s body finally stilled. The flesh ached even after the weight of the other woman disappeared. Only the hand running through her hair remained. The Targaryen didn’t dare look back.
“You did so well that time, Rhaenyra,” The Queen praised, admiring the defined muscles of the woman’s arms, flexed while they held herself up. “Although, it’s strange. Even after your little death, you seem very much alive. Perhaps you need a little more to send you off,” she mused. “What do you think?”
The Princess shook her head with an incredulous little smile, the expression safely hidden due to her position. Then, she realized the motion could be interpreted as a refusal. A vocal reply was necessary, no matter how she wished to avoid it. “Yes, please.”
“So polite,” Alicent remarked, the pleased surprise coloring her tone. From her position behind Rhaenyra, she reached between the woman’s legs. “Since you asked so nicely,” she said, a single digit sinking into the Princess’s center to the last knuckle. It was an easy fit, needing little time for adjustment. The welcome intrusion was paired with a soft sort of sigh, which, while a lovely sound, was not the sort of reaction the Queen wanted. She began a slow pace and pondered aloud. “For a woman with such a loud mouth in the public eye, I’ll admit I’m a little disappointed that you’re so quiet in my chambers. Are you embarrassed to be with me?”
Were it not for the current distraction, the Targaryen would have balked at the question. In their youth, Rhaenyra adored parading the Hightower around the castle, making it glaringly obvious who was in her favor. She would have burned cities for her. Throughout the years, she could not have cared less what people thought about her feelings for the woman. Whether it was love, lust, yearning, annoyance, or resentment, she never masked how she felt for Alicent. “No, Alicent. Never,” she remarked.
“What is it then? Do you need more from me?” The Queen asked, slipping another finger into the Princess, who let out a little moan as her hips pushed backwards. Her ears perked at the sound. “That’s better,” she praised, still moving slowly to allow a moment for the woman to adjust. “But I think you could give me more. Don’t you think?” She steadily increased her pace, almost removing her fingers entirely just to drive them back in as far as she could reach.
The new rhythm was better suited for the impatient Targaryen, who began moving her hips with purpose. When the other woman began curling her fingertips at the deepest point of her reach, Rhaenyra’s moans became more pronounced. The angle was working wonders for her.
“That’s it. Now, I won’t trammel your release this time, Rhaenyra, but I do ask one thing of you. When you do reach your end, I want you to say my name. Can you do that for me?” Alicent asked, voice steady despite her rapid motions.
Her brain clouded with arousal, the Princess nearly forgot to provide a verbal response. “Y-yes,” she stuttered, already approaching her climax. “Keep going; I’m close,” she provided, her eyebrows twisting up in concentration.
The Hightower nearly rolled her eyes in amusement. She had no intention of stopping until she was sure Rhaenyra wouldn’t be able to think of anything else but their time together. And so, when the time came and the Targaryen’s walls pulled at her deliciously, her voice crying out with not one but two moans of her name, Alicent did not stop. The sound of her name called on Rhaenyra’s lips so wantonly was enough to have her clenching her own thighs together, her left hand tugging at the hair it held. She wanted more. “Louder, Rhaenyra!” She commanded, adding a third finger without slowing her rhythm. “I don’t want my name spoken like a secret.” The hand in Rhaenyra’s hair pushed downwards until the Princess’s cheek was pressed firmly against the pillow. “I want the guards outside my chamber doors to hear. I want everyone in the castle to know. I want you to say my name so loud that each of The Seven can hear it up above!”
With the addition of a third finger, the Queen managed to reach even deeper than she had previously, and Rhaenyra met each of the woman’s punishing thrusts with greedy enthusiasm. While the feeling of being so filled by the Hightower was exceptional, she found herself desperate not only for her release, but to fulfill Alicent’s request. For her entire life, what more did Rhaenyra want than for Alicent to want her just as fiercely as she did her? Finally, the Hightower wanted to claim her, and gods be damned if she wouldn’t completely and totally surrender to that. Her arousal built until every cell in her body screamed for release, and when she let go, it was Alicent’s name shouted from her lips over and over and over again until she was a mumbling fool. This time, the Hightower slowed her pace, allowing the woman to ride every wave of her climax until she was a sweaty, panting mess. The position the Queen had placed her in was comfortable enough—Rhaenyra had confidence even her strong arms would be of little use to keep her upright at this point.
At this time in her life, Alicent had had many women under her thumb, had heard her name called from many lips, but nothing compared to this night, this woman in particular. Her Rhaenyra, finally setting aside all of the arguments and all of the misunderstandings to forget the outside world and just be together, if only for a night. Every woman she had ever entertained was only a small facet of her true desire, a simple brushstroke that, when completed, was a painting of the Princess before her. Each detail was beautiful in their own right, but now that Alicent had witnessed the full portrait, she feared there was nothing else for her.
Gooseflesh covered her entire body, but the air held no bite. This feeling the Targaryen had planted deep within her in their youth had finally been allowed to blossom. Gazing upon Rhaenyra, face down and rear in the air, the evidence of her arousal quite literally dripping down her inner thighs, had the Queen feeling almost giddy. “You’re trembling,” she remarked, noting the way the Princess’s legs were weakened after her climax. “Lay down, darling,” she allowed.
Rhaenyra was glad to be released, collapsing and turning over to lay on her back. With Alicent’s proximity, her legs ended up on either side of the woman’s body, giving her a generous view. Violet eyes were closed and a pale chest was heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
“You did so well,” Alicent purred, gaze drinking in the sight before her. “You may have your kiss now, Rhaenyra,” she allowed.
The Targaryen’s heartbeat skipped at the prospect, but her eyes remained closed. The pressure of the woman’s body on hers never came. Instead, soft lips planted a kiss directly to her clit. Violet eyes snapped open, only to close again when the sight of the Queen looking up from between her legs with her big, brown eyes was too much. What started fairly chaste, considering the location, quickly became increasingly ostentatious, the woman's tongue circling the bud several times before taking it fully into her mouth and sucking on it. The Princess’s body tensed up in response. “Seven hells, Alicent; you’re going to be the death of me,” she claimed between breathy sighs.
“Do you want me to stop?” The Hightower asked rhetorically.
Rhaenyra looked down at the other woman, who bore a wry smile that brought out that infuriatingly adorable dimple of hers. “Not a chance,” she replied with a cheeky grin of her own. To her surprise, Alicent took hold of her hand and placed it in her hair. She eagerly took a handful of the woman’s fiery mane, but kept her pressure light as she guided her back where she wanted her.
The Queen did not waste any more time, diving back in to lap up the mess she had made earlier. Her tongue slid through slick folds, dipping into the woman’s center now and then and appreciating the way it gripped her, as if trying to pull her deeper. Equally tantalizing was the chorus of whines, sighs, and whimpers that fell from the Targaryen’s lips. As Alicent focused her efforts back to her clit, that arrangement grew louder. Much like her fingers, her tongue flicked impressively fast. It wasn’t long before two toned thighs were pressed firmly to either side of her head, unfortunately muting Rhaenyra’s vocal release as her hips stuttered against the Hightower’s face.
The Princess’s body relaxed completely, save for her heavy breathing, and the sight elicited a pang in Alicent’s chest. It couldn’t be over. Not yet. She collected the newfound wetness with the eagerness of a bear at fresh honeycomb, and Rhaenyra’s chest tightened, as did her grip.
“Alicent, I-I don’t know if I can,” the Targaryen admitted, her eyebrows drawn together and her teeth biting into her lower lip.
“Come on, Rhaenyra; you can do it. One more, just for me?” She asked, looking up at the woman through her long eyelashes.
The Princess nodded a few times in quick succession, and was immediately greeted with two fingers and a tongue working together with an energy that was particularly impressive in her exhausted state. If all of that wasn’t enough, Alicent’s free hand reached up, pawing at Rhaenyra’s breast and pinching at the erect nipple found there. The various means of stimulation built up her arousal, and it was as if all means of control had escaped her. She found her hips rising to chase the Queen’s thrusts and her wicked tongue; her cries of pleasure were loud and unrestrained. Nothing else mattered in this moment but Alicent’s body on hers.
The Queen could hardly breathe, and her body was getting worn out, but she didn’t allow herself a moment of rest. She took in every sound, every expression, every bead of sweat, and only wanted more. When Rhaenyra’s body shuddered with her release, Alicent welcomed the sting of the grip in her hair and the wave of hot, liquid arousal that coated the lower half of her face and her hand. She felt drunk with it, more intoxicated than any spirits could ever come close to. She wanted to stay in this moment forever.
The Princess became limp once more, the trembling of her exhausted muscles even more pronounced now. She removed her hand from the Queen’s curled mane and covered her eyes with it.
Alicent stared ahead, admiring the aftermath of her efforts. Her fingers dragged lazily through wet, swollen folds. “Gods, you feel so good, Rhaenyra. I knew you could take it,” she praised, her voice gravelly.
“I can’t feel much of anything at all right now, actually. I’m numb. I think you’ve broken me,” Rhaenyra jested with a smile and a blush. She remained sprawled out in the bed in blissful contentment.
“Then I’d say my work here is done,” Alicent decided, sliding off the bed and walking to a table near the fireplace. She grabbed a rag and dipped it into a bucket that sat near the flame, squishing out the excess water and using the article to wipe off her face and hands. Afterwards, she retrieved most of Rhaenyra’s discarded clothing from the floor and tossed them unceremoniously onto the woman’s body.
The Princess opened her eyes and blinked at the Queen in confusion. “So that’s it then?” She scoffed, but it held no ire. There was an odd glint in her eye, like she found the situation more intriguing than offensive.
“Are you not satisfied with your experience?” Alicent asked, her tone light.
Rhaenyra chuckled, her head falling back against the pillow gently. “Oh no, I’m quite satisfied, thank you. I’ll be sure to recommend your services to all my friends,” she jested, rolling her eyes. Her smallclothes were thrown onto her face, and she chuckled, grabbing them and putting them on. “But what of your pleasure?”
The Hightower’s self-satisfied smirk evened out, leaving her expression rather blank. “The Woman Maester only takes pleasure in the knowledge that she has helped a woman in need.”
The Targaryen’s eyebrows furrowed, taking in the information. “And you are never, yourself, a woman in need?”
“The hour is growing late, Rhaenyra. It’s best you return to your chambers before you become the subject of speculation,” the Queen suggested impassively, already making her way over to her chamber doors to see the woman out.
“Wow, you really are kicking me out,” she laughed, pulling her tunic over her head. “Alright, alright.” Her cloak, stockings, and shoes were next. Once fully dressed, Rhaenyra stood and walked to the door with unsteady feet.
Alicent pulled her lips into her mouth, attempting to hide her pleased amusement at the obvious struggle of the woman to get about so soon after so many little deaths in quick succession.
The Princess faced the Queen at the door, looking at her with a silly sort of expression. “I’m not sure what the protocol is; do I thank you, or?” She wondered. The other woman offered a soft smile before lifting her small hands to cup her face. She leaned in, finally pressing her soft lips to Rhaenyra’s, who was so taken aback at finally receiving her kiss with such tenderness that she nearly forgot to reciprocate. The highs of her several recent climaxes were nothing compared to this. It was as if her heart had grown so large that it began to invade every part of her, radiating from her chest all the way out to her fingers and toes and the top of her head. And then it was over. Unwilling to fully retreat, they remained just a breath away for a while. “Are you sure I can’t sleep here tonight?” The Targaryen inquired, her tone light but her eyes dark.
A girlish grin overtook Alicent’s face, making her look years younger. Gods, how long had it been since she felt this happy? “Goodnight, Rhaenyra,” she replied with finality.
And there it was, that signature little half-smile of Rhaenyra’s that never failed to make the Hightower’s heart flutter. “Goodnight, Alicent.” The immeasurable feeling thrumming through the Princess’s body immediately ceased upon her exit of Alicent’s chambers. It was almost as if her blood ran cold as she came face-to-face with Ser Criston Cole. It shouldn’t have surprised her to see him posted outside the door considering she was well aware he was the Queen’s sworn protector. Still, the current situation she found herself in made the encounter incredibly awkward. There was such a kaleidoscope of emotions on his face that it was impossible to pinpoint his thoughts, not that she particularly desired to know what he was thinking at that moment anyway. Thankfully, Alicent called for him, and it did not have to last any longer.
Once Criston entered and the door was closed, he muttered “I thought I recognized her voice.”
Alicent rolled her eyes, making haste to stand before her mirror, catching sight of several red marks left behind on her neck and chest. Her breath hitched at the sight. She shook her head, as if the action itself could clear her mind. “Undo my corset, will you?” She asked him, holding the front of her dress up.
He began undoing the laces, taking much longer than Alicent’s nimble-fingered ladies-in-waiting. “I’m surprised you didn’t have Rhaenyra do it for you. I imagine she would have been more than willing,” he said, a bite to his tone.
“That’s enough, Ser Criston,” Alicent chastised, shooting his mirrored reflection an equally assertive glare. He said no more of it. Once the laces were loosened enough, she dismissed him. “I’ll see you in the morning. May The Seven grant you a peaceful sleep,” she wished, but the words were colored with annoyance.
He bowed in reply, leaving the Hightower alone in her chambers. As soon as she heard the sound of her heavy doors closing, the Queen shrugged out of her dress, letting it puddle around her feet with no concern for dirt or wrinkles. She couldn’t even be bothered to hang the dress up or even drape it over a bench. There was a more pressing concern in the immediate moment. She kicked off her smallclothes, and they joined her dress on the ground. Then, Alicent made her way to her bed, crawling in and doing something she had never done before. A finger sank into her center, the embarrassing amount of liquid sin that had accumulated making it much easier than she would have anticipated. The feeling was too much, and she brought her hand to her mouth and bit down on it to quiet her moan. The events of this evening played in her mind, the details all too easy to recount while fresh in her mind. It wasn’t long before she realized attempting to keep quiet was of no use. She released her free hand from her mouth, putting it to good use kneading her breasts while her finger worked between her legs. Her hips thrust in time with her ministrations, chasing a high that had been pent up from the moment she found the Princess in her chambers. She could still taste the woman on her tongue, the thought driving her over the edge as her own velvety walls clenched around her finger. As soon as the fluttering ceased, Alicent was right back at it again, the need for the other woman lingering even after climax. After her second and third release thereafter with no complete satisfaction, she feared the Targaryen had started a fire that could not be quenched. Still, she tried, spending hours in her bed until her sheets were damp with sweat and her throat was dry from calling out for her Rhaenyra.
* * *
“That looks amazing!”
King Viserys looked up at the sound of his daughter’s voice. The motion was so swift that it left his head spinning a bit. “Rhaenyra! I didn’t know you were in King’s Landing! Please, take a seat!” He said, his face lighting up in delight.
“Thank you, father. I flew in yesterday evening,” Rhaenyra informed him, nodding to her half-siblings around the table and trying to avoid the questioning gaze of the Queen. From the quick glance she offered, she noticed that Alicent was wearing a dress with a high collar. Her lips quirked, knowing exactly why she would have chosen that particular outfit today.
“I don’t know how you couldn’t have noticed, father. I barely slept with Syrax howling all night,” Aegon complained, the dark circles under his eyes proving his claim held some substance.
“She’s a dragon, not a wolf,” Aemond said to his brother, rolling his eyes.
“Could have fooled me,” Aegon replied, taking a hearty gulp from his goblet.
A blush crept across Rhaenyra’s cheeks.
The Hightower cleared her throat. “I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us for breakfast,” she said, a bit unkindly.
“Alicent,” Viserys said, the word a warning to his wife to watch her tone. “I wasn’t aware you wouldn’t be joining us for dinner last night,” he brought up.
“It was Thursday, father,” Aemond reminded him.
“Ah, yes. Your night at the Sept. Must have slipped my mind,” Viserys apologized. “How was the fish?” He wondered.
“Nice and moist, thank you,” Alicent answered, sparing a glance at the Princess who sat across from her.
The insinuation wasn’t missed by the woman, her blush spreading to her chest.
“I don’t know how you can eat so much fish. It’s nothing compared to real meat,” Aegon declared, stabbing a piece of pork on his plate and shoving it into his mouth gracelessly.
Aemond, ever the intuitive one of the family, had picked up on his mother and step-sister’s odd behavior. “Do you eat a lot of fish in Dragonstone, Rhaenyra?” Aemond inquired. The question seemed innocent enough, but his demeanor was odd. The boy was very still, his eyes studying Rhaenyra’s reaction closely.
She felt itchy under his gaze. “I suppose so.”
The boy narrowed his eyes.
“So what brings you home, my dear? Were your ears burning?” Viserys wondered, oblivious to the potential implications of the previous exchange.
“Why, father? Were you talking about me?” Rhaenyra asked, glad to have the subject changed.
“I’m always talking about you, Rhaenyra,” Viserys smiled.
“I actually came to attend one of Alicent’s weekly gatherings,” Rhaenyra admitted. “I…remembered how nice it was when we spent time in the Sept together when she reached out after mother’s death.”
If it were possible, Viserys' smile grew even larger. “Oh, how delightful! How did you find it? Men aren’t allowed, you know; I’ve always been a bit curious.”
Rhaenyra chewed on some bread, giving herself time to think of an appropriate response. “It was enlightening,” she decided.
“And did Alicent play nice for you?” Viserys inquired teasingly.
All eyes on Rhaenyra, only the Princess was able to see Alicent’s smirk.
“Yes, father.”
“I didn’t know you were of the Faith,” Aemond commented, the same odd expression on his face as before.
“I’m not; it can just be…comforting at times,” Rhaenyra explained.
“Did something happen recently that you found yourself in need of such comfort?”
“Aemond, please. This is breakfast, not an interrogation,” Alicent sighed deeply, taking a drink of her wine.
“Sorry, mother,” he apologized, not appearing the least bit apologetic.
“Yes, yes. Let us enjoy this blessed breakfast together as a family,” Viserys decided, reaching out his hand to place over Rhaenyra’s.
The Queen gazed at the Princess from behind her goblet. Violet eyes met brown, and that infuriating half-smile was sent in her direction. She found that her thighs clenched together in response, a reaction so unexpected and embarrassing that she was thankful it was well-hidden under the table. Oh yes, this was going to be interesting.
* * *
Part 3: Rules
Queen Alicent Hightower lived a highly structured life. There were restrictions on every aspect of her life as a daughter, a mother, a wife, and a Queen. The limits that caged her in were set by men, and she had no choice but to remain in the confines of the patriarchy when assuming those roles. This was all she knew how to do. It was only natural that, given the novelty of her…extracurricular activities, that she impart a set of rules for “simply Alicent” to ensure she remained in control.
Rule number one: Never bed the same girl twice.
“Rhaenyra?” Next to no one came knocking on Alicent’s chamber doors apart from Ser Criston or her ladies-in-waiting, especially this late in the evening. She certainly wasn’t expecting to see Rhaenyra, of all people.
The Princess was also clad in her bedclothes, speaking to the spontaneity of the visit. She walked past the other woman and into the room, their shoulders brushing.
“By all means, come right in,” Alicent said, rolling her eyes.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” the Princess said in lieu of a greeting. The door to the room closed, and the two women were alone.
“A truly celebratory occasion,” Alicent quipped, leaning against her heavy door.
Rhaenyra turned to face the other woman, their eyes meeting across the room. “I’m sorry,” she stated.
A lump formed in the Queen’s throat, her hand reaching up to touch it lightly out of habit. Her mind raced. Had Rhaenyra regretted their night together? Had she managed to make their already complicated relationship completely unsalvageable? She cleared her throat. “Whatever for?”
“For not seeing you, all this time.” Rhaenyra said, closing the distance between them and taking the Hightower’s wrist. “Really seeing you. I understand why you would want to take power where you can.”
“I don’t take anything from any of these women that is not freely given,” Alicent huffed, taking her hand back and crossing her arms. “It’s not about power, Rhaenyra,” she said, her eyes boring into the woman’s. “It’s about choice! It’s about having some sort of agency in this world of men!”
Rhaenyra’s eyes fell to the floor, chewing over the information. “You’re always taking care of everyone else. You were a child raising children. You tend to my father in his old age and declining health. You sit in on every meeting you’re allowed, ensuring the hot-headed Targaryens are tempering the fire,” she smirked before returning to sincerity. “Everything you do is in service to the realm, and you get nothing in return. It’s been that way for so long.” Her hand reached out again, and Alicent allowed her to take hold of it. She marveled at the size difference now that they were grown. She could easily remember a time when she had to look up to meet Alicent’s eyes. Now, the Hightower seemed so small. “There was never anyone to take care of you.”
The Queen took in a steadying breath, her entire body tuned into the thumb brushing along the back of her hand. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “You did. For a while, at least.”
“Let me do that for you again, Alicent. Please. Let us put all this ridiculous fighting behind us. It’s better late then never,” Rhaenyra urged.
Alicent couldn’t recall the last time she had seen the Princess appear so sincere. It didn’t take much convincing to give in. It was what she truly wanted, at the core of her very being. Last night only confirmed her theory. So she reached out, her hand taking the back of the Targaryen’s neck and bringing the woman closer. When their lips met, they moved together with the grace of a carefully choreographed dance. The Hightower thought it amusing that their kisses, though few in number, had never once been tentative or awkward. Kissing Rhaenyra had always been as easy as breathing, and capturing her mouth with hers again felt like coming home.
Rhaenyra’s hand came up to hold Alicent’s face as she deepened the kiss. Her touch was gentle despite the impressive size of her hand in comparison to the Hightower, who moaned at the feeling of the woman’s tongue sliding against hers. The longer they kissed the more eager the Queen became, her hands bunching up in the Princess’s bedclothes and tugging to encourage her to walk. Rhaenyra allowed herself to be led, finding herself sitting on the edge of Alicent’s bed. Once there, the woman broke from the kiss, the Targaryen nearly pouting at the loss. That is, until she realized Alicent had only stopped them so that she could remove her bedclothes.
She removed the garment in one swift motion, allowing it to fall, forgotten, on the ground. She stood before her Princess, exposed but not ashamed. With the way violet eyes took in the sight before her, lips parted in awe, how could she? Rhaenyra looked at her like she was something precious, and for the first time in a long time, she truly felt like she was.
“Gods, Alicent; you’re so beautiful,” Rhaenyra breathed. Her hands raised up, itching to touch the woman, but she hesitated, remembering all the rules she was required to follow just last night.
The restraint was apparent, and while she appreciated the respect, the Hightower did not want her to feel apprehensive about anything this time. She took the woman’s hands, leading them to her stomach. “Please touch me, Rhaenyra. Tonight, I am not The Woman Maester. I am simply Alicent, and I am yours.”
Yours . Gods, what a concept. If you would have asked Rhaenyra two days ago if she thought she would be on good terms again with the Queen, she would have laughed. But here she was, her hands running appreciatively along the feminine dips and curves of Alicent’s bare body while the woman declared herself to be hers. It felt absolutely surreal, like a dream from her youth. If it was merely a dream, then she was going to do her damnedest to stay asleep as long as possible. In mere moments, her lips became jealous of her hands and eyes, needing to participate in the exploration of the woman before her. She leaned forward, slowly kissing along the soft skin of her abdomen. Extra time was given to the stretch marks left along her stomach and the moles peppered here and there. The discovery of these little details delighted the Princess, who was thrilled to know of the little secrets of the woman’s body. Yours . The word echoed in her mind.
The Queen’s breath quickened as Rhaenyra turned her attention to her chest. Her tongue dragged across rosy nipples, feeling them harden in response. A low moan came from the Hightower, whose hand moved to silver hair. She kept her grip loose, allowing the Targaryen the freedom to move between her breasts, kneading them and sucking them, her teeth gently grazing from time to time. With her eyes closed and her mind sufficiently distracted, Alicent did not notice the woman’s free hand wandering from her hip until she felt a firm squeeze to her backside, causing her body to arch further into the Princess’s touch.
The feeling of the woman’s hot mouth and strong hands was setting the Queen’s body alight, and she craved to be closer to the flame, to let it consume her. Reluctantly, she pushed Rhaenyra away, but only far enough that she could begin to undo the ties that held the woman’s bedclothes together. It was more of a long shirt than Alicent’s silky dress-like one, which meant it was a bit more difficult to remove.
Once the Targaryen caught on, she joined her, starting at the bottom. They met in the middle, and she nearly ripped the garment off in anticipation. Now bare, she took the Hightower by the hips, pulling her into her lap and attaching her lips to the woman’s neck. The marks left along her skin from the night prior still looked a bit sore, so she restrained her urges to bite this time. Instead, she left sloppy, wet kisses in her wake, feeling the vibrations of the Queen’s hums of encouragement. She wasn’t sure which was sweeter: the woman’s woodsy scent, her soft skin, her delicious vocalizations, or the way she was constantly pawing at her and clinging to her as if she couldn’t have her close enough. When Alicent took her by her face, forcefully bringing her into a kiss, Rhaenyra decided it was the latter that she liked best.
The slow and steady kisses from earlier were long gone, turned to ash by the fire that was now burning freely. The Hightower deepened the kisses, licking into the woman’s mouth and moaning when their tongues met. When Alicent suddenly sucked on Rhaenyra’s tongue, the noise she made was absolutely sinful. Though their bodies were flush, she needed her closer.
Rule number two: Never let them touch you there.
The Queen took the woman’s wrist, leading her hand to the space between her legs. The Princess pulled back from their kiss, searching expressive eyes. “Are you sure?” She asked, not wanting to push her to do anything she would regret.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Alicent declared, tucking a lock of hair behind Rhaenyra’s ear and cupping her cheek.
The Targaryen leaned in to press a reassuring kiss to her lips, caught up in the moment of tenderness. She nodded in silent confirmation, allowing her fingers to explore.
Alicent sighed deeply and let her head fall forward, resting her forehead against the other woman’s. The more confident the touches became, the more she rocked her hips, chasing the feeling that had begun to stir.
“Gods, I feel like I’ve waited forever to touch you,” Rhaenyra breathed, eyes carefully taking in the woman before her in awe. “You feel so good, Alicent.”
The woman in question whined at the statement. “I need you inside,” she announced, lips pouting as the Targaryen’s fingers circled her clit.
“Alright, love,” Rhaenyra agreed, retracting her hand, much to the dismay of the other woman. She couldn’t help the chuckle at her sudden change in expression. “Just wait,” she said, gently urging Alicent off her lap so she could move backwards on the bed until she was sitting with her back against the pillows.
“I think I’ve waited long enough; don’t you?” Alicent countered, her fingers drumming along the sheets.
“Yes, but a sage woman recently taught me the value of patience,” Rhaenyra jested, opening her legs and patting the space between them.
The Hightower rolled her eyes at the comment, eagerly crawling over to the woman, who took her by the waist and turned her around. Large hands gathered up her flowing curls, so long that they grazed the bed while she was sitting. They were moved over her shoulder, out of the way. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the Princess pulled her until her back was settled against the woman’s front. Strong arms wrapped around her body and pulled her close. She couldn’t remember the last time she was held like this—certainly never as a woman grown. An intense wave of comfort washed over her, the feeling almost overwhelming. Her vision blurred. How strange, she thought, to feel so safe that you are moved to tears. Rhaenyra kissed along her shoulders and neck, her hand returning to the apex of her thighs. Alicent’s head fell back, falling into the crook of the woman’s neck.
“Tell me if something doesn’t feel right or you need me to stop, okay?” The Targaryen said, her breath tickling the Queen’s ear.
Another few tears flowed down her cheeks. The way Rhaenyra insisted on checking in with her first meant more than she likely realized. The Hightower nodded in reply, her hand coming up to pull the woman in for another kiss. The angle was awkward, but they quickly found themselves unable to continue the kiss regardless as the Princess teased Alicent’s center with a single finger.
“Is this okay?” She wondered again, wanting to make sure the woman was comfortable.
While she was wet, her entrance was still tight. Though she had touched herself just the night before, the Targaryen’s fingers were longer and thicker than her own. The Queen nodded again, allowing time for herself to adjust before beginning to gently roll her hips. Soft sighs of pleasure escaped her lips as she reveled in the feeling of the soft touches paired with the kneading of her breast in the woman’s capable hand. With time, Rhaenyra’s finger was able to glide more easily, and Alicent asked her to add another. This intrusion, though welcome, was more difficult to take.
Attentive to her needs, the Targaryen paced herself, going between circling the woman’s bud and pushing just a little deeper into her each time. “You’re doing so well, love; almost there,” she encouraged, continuing her soft kisses along Alicent’s neck, which was becoming more flushed by the minute. Once she could reach no further, she whispered “there you go.”
The Hightower hummed, pleased that her body had finally caught up to her mentality. Now that the woman was all the way in, she curled her fingers, causing the Queen to gasp and instinctively buck into the feeling. Simultaneously, Rhaenyra had positioned the bottom of her palm in such a way that each thrust into her core provided friction to her clit. She moaned deeply, her hips canting with purpose to chase the pleasure that was building both inside and out.
“That’s my good girl,” Rhaenyra praised, her breath hot against Alicent’s ear. “Take whatever you need from me, my love.”
The comment caused a rush of gooseflesh despite the heat, and the Hightower whined, her thrusts increasing their pace. As the pleasure built up inside of her, her heart seemed to grow in turn. Being here, so close to Rhaenyra that they felt as one, was what true bliss felt like. She wished she could prolong this moment forever, but she was only mortal. When she could no longer contain the feeling, she fell apart. The waves of her pleasure tore throughout her body. Her back arched into her touch, and her hips stuttered against the woman’s hand, drawing out every last second. She did not cry out, her throat dry and her mind at a loss for words.
Even after her body stilled, Rhaenyra remained, her body wrapped protectively around the smaller woman. She peppered small kisses against her skin as Alicent caught her breath, her body buzzing pleasantly like a bumblebee after getting its fill of nectar. They sat like that until the Hightower’s heartbeat had slowed to a steady thrum.
“Do you want another?” The Princess inquired, to which her Queen shook her head. She freed herself from the woman’s embrace, pulling her in for a sure kiss before pushing her to lay down. Her legs were on either side of her hips, straddling Rhaenyra. A contented sigh escaped, her hands gliding along pale skin. They moved not to arouse but to appreciate. After tonight, Alicent thought she would want for nothing more.
Rule number three: Never admit any feelings
“You going to kick me out again?” Rhaenyra wondered, only half kidding. It wouldn’t be a surprise to her if she was shown to the door again, but she hoped things would be different now.
“You’re welcome to leave if you’re finished. Most women take the secret passageway, but you are free to use my chamber doors again if you like,” Alicent jested, a cheeky smirk on her lips that brought out her dimple.
“Your chambers have a secret passageway?”
Rhaenyra gasped.
“The castle is full of secret passageways. Once Criston told me of the one in your chambers, I was determined to find one in mine. Took me weeks.”
It didn’t take long for Rhaenyra to draw a reasonable conclusion as to why the woman failed to offer her the discreet way out. “You wanted him to know,” she accused, tilting her head.
The Queen pouted her lips, her hands running along the woman’s bare chest. “So what if I did?”
“Cheeky bastard,” Rhaenyra clucked.
A sly smirk creeped across her face. “He also told me you’d asked him to be your whore once you married Laenor.”
“Hey, those are his words, not mine,” Rhaenyra clarified. “He was too proud,” she added, shaking her head.
“He was foolish,” Alicent said, causing the other woman to raise her eyebrows.
“Is that so?” The Princess hummed, taking in the sight of the woman before her. Alicent was relaxed and happy, something that up until today Rhaenyra wouldn’t think was possible anymore. She had managed to transform this chronically tense and sad woman into the girl she knew in her youth. They were good for each other. “And what of you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you too foolish to pass up that opportunity?” Rhaenyra asked pointedly, her eyes boring into the Hightower’s, whose grew wide with surprise.
Her hands ceased their soothing exploration of the body beneath her, and her breath caught in her throat.
“I don’t want this to be just a one time thing.” Rhaenyra claimed.
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Well, technically, it would be a two time thin-“
“Alicent,” Rhaenyra cut her off, not allowing her to minimize the moment. She took the woman’s trembling hands in hers. “I would like it very much if we continued this arrangement. We’ve produced enough heirs to husbands that have no real interest in us. Let us have this for ourselves.”
The Queen was still save for the tears that collected in her eyes. “Do not offer things you do not mean,” she warned, gaze on their intertwined fingers. She couldn’t take the disappointment if this could all be attributed to post-coital bliss.
“Gods be good, Alicent! I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t serious,” the Princess urged, kissing the woman’s knuckles.
Two large tears streamed down the Queen’s cheeks, the beginning of many that would soon follow. She nodded her head, unable to properly express in words how much the offer meant to her.
“Yeah?” Rhaenyra asked, looking for confirmation. With another enthusiastic head nod, she got her answer. A huge, dopey grin overtook her face, and she released the woman’s hands in order to take her face gently in them instead. She led the Hightower down into a kiss, a slow, sweet thing that ended with both of them smiling too much to properly reciprocate. Their foreheads rested together for a moment before Alicent dismounted the woman, opting to curl up next to her instead, her head on the Targaryen’s chest. Strong arms wrapped around her. One of Rhaenyra’s hands played with her fingers, the other drew patterns on her arm absentmindedly.
After several moments of enjoying the peace that came with each other’s company, Alicent spoke up, attempting to sound casual. “I never imagined you dragons could be so tender.”
Apparently, it was too casual because Rhaenyra responded with “My body is quite tender after last night, but that’s no one’s fault but your own.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Alicent sighed, but both of them donned amused smiles.
After a few moments of contented silence, Rhaenyra spoke again. It was quiet, almost as though she wasn’t sure if it should be said aloud. “Was my father not…tender with you?” She wondered, not sure if she really wanted to know.
“Was Daemon?” Alicent snapped, her body tense. After she said it, she regretted it. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, burying her face into Rhaenyra’s neck.
The Princess held her a little tighter. “I only ask because you’ve always seemed quite fond of him.”
“Everyone is multifaceted, Rhaenyra. He’s bullheaded, arrogant, and dismissive—like all you Targaryens—but he is also kind. We fulfilled our duties because we needed to, nothing more. He certainly feels like my husband, and I his wife, and I’m thankful for the children we have brought into this world. As far as tenderness? Love? There is no way I could compare to what he felt for Aemma—not that I want to,” Alicent explained, sighing. “In this world we live in, women are just pawns in a man’s game, and as far as where I ended up on the board, well, there are much worse men to be wed to.”
Rhaenyra took a few minutes to think about the woman’s words, her hands continuing to caress her body. “I’m sorry that you had to go through everything that you did.”
“It wasn’t all bad,” Alicent decided. “I have lived in comforts unknown to many in the kingdom. I love my children. I got to live here with you.”
“Which you hated,” Rhaenyra scoffed good-naturedly.
“Only because you’re insufferable,” the Queen countered, pinching the woman’s waist. They shared a chuckle before the mood shifted once more. “Even when I can’t stand the sight of you, I don’t want to be apart,” Alicent revealed. She drew her lips into her mouth, conflicted about how much she should share. Now that Rhaenyra knew her intimately, what was the point in holding back? “I feel incomplete when you’re not around, like I’m tethered to you. It’s always been that way.”
The admission was heavy, but it didn’t scare the Targaryen away. In fact, it only made her heart yearn for the woman even more. No one had ever understood her like she did. “I know exactly what you mean.”
The Queen was more taken aback by the lack of surprise she felt than hearing Rhaenyra say those words. They both felt this way, and they always had. “Is that what love is supposed to feel like?” Alicent wondered aloud, sounding more small than she had in years.
The Targaryen swallowed, feeling a pang in her chest that was both lovely and terrifying all at once. She pulled the woman even closer. “I suppose it is.”
“Gods, we’ve wasted so much time fighting,” Alicent said, exhaustion coloring her voice.
Rhaenyra placed a kiss to the woman’s beautiful red hair. “Then we will have to make it up by loving now.”