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Chapter Text

Alicent smiled sleepily when she felt the bed dip and shift behind her, when she felt a warm hand on her hip gently rolling her over, when she felt herself enveloped in the familiar embrace of her wife’s arms. “Mm. Hello, My Love.” It had been a long, tiring day, much of it spent away from her princess and instead by the side of the king, who grew weaker and more sickly with each passing moon. She’d been hoping that Rhaenyra would come to her tonight.

Soft lips pressed against her forehead. “Hello, Ābrazȳrys.”

A pleasant shiver ran down her spine, as it so often did, whenever Rhaenyra spoke in High Valyrian to her. The musical language flowed so smoothly from her wife’s tongue, far more smoothly than it did from Alicent’s own, despite her years of practice. She could feel a familiar heat beginning to coil in her belly as she drank in the lovely sight of her wife’s face illuminated by the moonlight that streamed in through the windows of her bedchamber. Though more than a decade had passed since they’d first lain together, her Rhaenyra was as breathtaking now as she had been then.

Her desire must have shown on her face, because Rhaenyra smirked at her. “Do you wish to ravish me, My Love?”

Alicent sighed quietly. The answer, of course, was “yes.” She couldn’t imagine ever not desiring her wife, but Rhaenyra had given birth to Victerys but two weeks passed, and she knew well both from her own experience birthing four children and from the births of Jace and Luke that her wife must still be sore and tender. “Not tonight, Nyra.” She kissed her softly, savoring the taste of lips. “I don’t wish to hurt you.”

“I could still give you pleasure, Ali.”

She could. Gods be good, she most certainly could. But Alicent could see, despite the mischievous smile curling Rhaenyra’s lips and the desire glinting in her violet eyes, that her wife was tired. Such was the unavoidable price of bearing children. Though Rhaenyra had a far easier time being with child than Alicent herself ever did—her wife practically flourished each day that she grew rounder and heavier—she could think of no woman who would ever claim that the actual birthing of a child was a simple and painless matter.

Well, except for herself, of course. Once, long ago, when she’d been little more than a foolish child clumsily attempting to bring her dear friend some measure of comfort.

Stroking her wife’s cheek, Alicent gave her a soft smile. “Perhaps in a few weeks, My Love, once you’ve had time to heal and your milk has dried.” It was the same thing she’d said to her after Jace’s birth, and then Luke’s. And she knew exactly the response that she would receive.

Rhaenyra pouted, suddenly looking so very much like the girl she’d once been—impatient and headstrong in a way that only the young could be. “I don’t think I can wait that long to have you again, Ali.” She paused. “But, if you insist, I suppose I can wait that long for you to have me.”

Alicent’s smile grew wider at those familiar words. Since they’d been secretly wed on Dragonstone all those years ago, this was the dance they’d done with one another after the birth of each of their children.

When she’d given birth to Aemond almost ten years ago—an ordeal nearly as difficult as her labors with Aegon—Rhaenyra had been fretful and anxious, hesitant to touch more than her hands and face. She’d spent nearly three weeks by Alicent’s bedside, refusing to leave save for when Alicent herself forced her from the room so that she could perform her duties as heir.

But once Rhaenyra had been assured that Alicent would survive her most recent battle in the birthing bed, her wife had become quite . . . amorous.

Alicent had known, of course, that all she would need to do was tell Rhaenyra to leave her be and that her wife would obey—unlike her husband. But a part of her had relished the way that Rhaenyra would gaze upon her when they were alone, as if she wished to worship and devour her. She’d adored having Rhaenyra kiss her hungrily and run her hands up and down her thighs in order to tease her. And she’d savored how Rhaenyra would tenderly stroke her still-soft belly each night and whisper both quiet praise and vulgar filth in her ears.

It was a heady feeling, to be so desired even after the travails of childbirth.

After delivering Aegon and Helaena, she’d been grateful for the reprieve from Viserys, though it had never lasted as long as she would have wished. Especially after Aegon’s birth, when her husband had begun summoning her to his bed once more barely a moon’s turn after her labors. But after Aemond, she’d found herself yearning for her wife’s touch, even as her still-sore body had protested the very thought.

So she and Rhaenyra had compromised—somewhat—in that Alicent had been allowed to indulge in Rhaenyra’s body, but Rhaenyra had not been permitted the same, not until Alicent was fully healed.

They’d struck the same bargain a few years later, after Alicent had delivered Daeron. Rhaenyra had given birth to Jace not nine moons later, and once Alicent had recovered from her terror that Rhaenyra might die in childbed as Queen Aemma and her grandmothers had, she’d suddenly understood the desire that had so consumed Rhaenyra in the wake of Aemond and Daeron . . . as well as the frustration.

Even now, as she cuddled against her wife’s warm body, she felt the yearning to touch and stroke and caress until Rhaenyra was panting and disheveled beneath her. She longed to slowly drag the hem of Rhaenyra’s sleeping gown up her strong thighs—beautifully muscled from years of dragon riding—and kiss each inch of newly exposed flesh. She desired to give her wife such pleasure that she would forget all of the pains of childbirth.

But she could not. Not yet.

As if to prove the truth of her thoughts, Rhaenyra suddenly grimaced, shifting away from her.

Alicent swiftly sat up and then helped her wife to do the same. “My Love, is it your breasts? Shall I send for a cold compress?”

Rhaenyra managed a small, playful grin even as she began tugging at her nightgown so that the silken fabric was no longer touching her swollen breasts. “Why, Your Grace, what ever will the servants say if they find the princess in the queen’s bedchamber at so late an hour?”

An amused smile tugged at Alicent’s own lips in response. “Tongues may wag, but the only ears that matter won’t hear of it.” Since their reconciliation all those years ago, servants had found Rhaenyra within her chambers at what most would consider “inappropriate hours” on multiple occasions. Most accepted their explanation that they’d merely been whiling away the evening together—as dear friends were wont to do—and had forgotten the hour.

And while a few rumors had begun to spread over the years—particularly after someone had finally noticed that Rhaenyra was almost always wearing her nightclothes when she was found in Alicent’s bedchamber—only a handful of people were inclined to believe them. While the court gossips delighted in speculating about Laenor and Joffrey’s relationship, it seemed that few could even comprehend the notion that two women sharing a bed might involve more than mere slumber.

The one time that a lord deep in his cups had been fool enough to speak one of the rumors in Viserys’ presence, the king had immediately dismissed the words as scurrilous gossip and demanded to know who would dare spread such vile calumnies about his wife and daughter, vowing to have their tongues for it.

None had tried to bring such whispers to the king’s attention since.

Alicent gently rubbed her wife’s arm, hating the pained expression that twisted her lovely face. She well-remembered the aches that had plagued her breasts in the days following the births of her own children. They would lessen soon enough, once the milk dried up, but until then, there was little to be done that would ease the discomfort. “Let me help you to a chair, Nyra.”

Normally, Rhaenyra would have made some teasing comment about her fussing, but the pain must be particularly bad at present, because she relented without a word, allowing Alicent to help her from their bed and walk her over to the nearest chair. “Thank you, Ali,” she sighed as sat down. “And my apologies, for the bother. I know your day has been a long one.”

That her day had been long because she’d spent it tending to her sickly husband was left unspoken.

Alicent leaned down to press a warm kiss to Rhaenyra’s lips. “I do not mind, My Love.” And it was true. Caring for Rhaenyra had never felt like a burden, not the way that it did with Viserys. Perhaps it was because she knew that Rhaenyra would grow strong again, with time, instead of continuing to waste away. Or perhaps it was because caring for her wife was a choice that she’d made for herself, rather than being a duty imposed upon her.

Rhaenyra caught her hand before she could leave her side, bringing it to her lips so that she could kiss the back. “My Sweet Alicent. You always take such good care of me.”

Alicent smiled slightly, heart swelling, as it always did, even after all these years, at Rhaenyra’s sweet words. “As you always have me.”

Six Weeks Later

Sometimes, Alicent still marveled at the fact that she’d somehow become an unofficial member of the king’s Small Council. Her initial presence in this chamber had been a matter of necessity more than anything else. The king had needed her by his side to tend to him, and so she’d been allowed a seat at the table.

For the first few moons, she’d remained silent, as was expected of her, simply listening as the men and Rhaenyra discussed the business of the realm and quietly proud of her wife every time that she made a sound suggestion and swayed the other members to her side. In the evenings, they would often continue discussions from the day’s meeting, which was what had led Rhaenyra to encourage her to begin speaking up. She’d demurred.

But then Lord Tyland had made some foolish suggestion about how to best handle a wool shortage, and her own thoughts on how to manage the situation had spilled from her lips before she could think better of them.

The room had gone deathly quiet.

Lord Tyland and Lord Wylde had finally broken the silence by sniggering, Lord Wylde reminding her that she was not there to have opinions.

Rhaenyra had looked ready to leap across the table and strangle the man.

But thankfully, her wife had had enough sense to instead simply tell him—with all of the chilling authority one would expect from a displeased monarch—that if the queen wished to voice her opinions, then she was welcome to do so.

Lord Wylde had looked to the king, who had simply waved his hand in a way that they all knew meant he had no interest in deciding the matter and that the word of whoever had spoken should prevail.

No one had objected to her speaking at meetings since.

“It is Lord Blackwood’s contention, therefore,” Lord Wylde was droning, as he had been for some fifteen minutes, “that the Brackens moved the boundary stones in the dead of the night and put their horses to graze in his field.”

Alicent resisted the urge to rub her temples in frustration. The petty squabbles between the Blackwoods and Brackens had been increasing significantly of late. It seemed that every other day members of the two Houses were levying grievances against one another. “Why was this issue not brought before Lord Grover Tully?” she asked once it seemed that Lord Wylde had at last finished. “Has he grown so feeble he cannot settle a quarrel over rocks?”

Her words were unkind, she knew, and certainly not of the sort that she would have dared say even a few years ago. But she was exhausted and feeling more irritable than was usual. With so much of Rhaenyra’s time now occupied by Little Vic—as was to be expected—the burden of ensuring the good behavior of their other six children had fallen almost entirely on her shoulders. And even after all these years, she still felt woefully ill-equipped—more oft than not—to properly care for her and Rhaenyra’s ever-growing brood.

Laenor and Joffrey offered what help they could, training with the boys in the yard alongside Ser Criston and Ser Harwin, or escorting them to the Dragon Pit for their lessons with the dragon keepers, but there were simply so many duties that only a mother could fulfill.

Not helping matters was the fact that she and Rhaenyra had been unable to share a bed in nearly two weeks. Vic had decided that sleep was an optional activity, and he seemed determined that all around him should experience the same. Rhaenyra had been spending most nights in the nursery with him, and while Alicent would never begrudge their son the comfort of his muña’s presence, she never slept as well without Rhaenyra by her side.

Never mind the fact that it had been far too long since she and Rhaenyra had properly taken each other to bed. Her wife was well healed by now, her breasts no longer aching and hard to the touch, though for some reason her milk had yet to properly dry up. Alicent had been eagerly anticipating the moment that she was at last able to properly ravish Rhaenyra once more, and being denied night after night did nothing to improve her mood.

“I’ve heard tale that Lord Tully’s son now rules Riverrun in all but name,” Lord Wylde explained, breaking Alicent from her thoughts.

“In that case, he can be the one to see to this matter. The Blackwoods and Brackens are Tully bannermen, so this remains a Tully problem.” The sound of a soft snore to her right drew her attention, and when she glanced over, she saw that Viserys was half-asleep. Reaching out, she gently touched his arm to lightly prod him away.

The king did not startle—thank the gods—merely opening his eyes a bit wider to show that he was once more alert.

“I would agree,” Lord Tyland declared loudly before anyone else could say more about the feuding Houses. For reasons that Alicent could not begin to fathom, he’d been quite agreeable of late—him and Lord Wylde both, now that she thought about it—oft supporting her suggestions during council meetings. “If we may move on, My Lords—”

“And yet,” Rhaenyra interrupted, her fingers lightly stroking her attendance orb in a way that had Alicent imagining her wife’s talented fingers stroking her in a similar fashion, “the Brackens and the Blackwoods will use any excuse to spill each other’s blood. So this dispute bears looking into.”

Despite the fact that she was ostensibly addressing the entire council, Rhaenyra’s gaze remained locked with Alicent’s as she spoke, unabashed hunger smoldering in her pretty violet eyes. Realizing that her wife was purposefully caressing that blasted stone orb in what could only be described as a seductive manner, Alicent silently cursed her even as she felt familiar heat coiling low in her belly and desire dampening her smallclothes. Seven Hells, Rhaenyra, we are in a council meeting, she wanted to hiss at her. Gods be good, her wife could be appallingly shameless at times.

The faintest hint of a smirk curled Rhaenyra’s lips, so slight that none but Alicent would notice, just as Alicent was certain none but she would realize that the princess was brazenly staring at the queen with naked lust in her eyes. Thank the gods for small mercies. The obliviousness of men to the desires of women was surely the only reason that she and Rhaenyra had never been discovered.

As Rhaenyra’s fingers continued gliding over the smooth surface of the black orb, she subtly curled her pointer and middle fingers in the exact way that always made Alicent see stars when they were abed together. Alicent gulped, knowing that a flush must be spreading across her entire face and praying that the men would assume it was merely caused by the summer heat.

Her wife was a monster.

At last, Rhaenyra’s fingers stilled and she broke eye contact with Alicent, turning her attention to Lord Strong, who sat beside her. “There will be countryfolk who know where the boundary lines have been drawn for generations. Inquire with them as to which lord has the right of it.”

Lord Strong inclined his head. “That is easy enough.”

“Who will you send, My Lord Hand?” Alicent asked, struggling to conceal the breathiness of her own voice and barely resisting the urge to glare at Rhaenyra when she saw a grin flash across her face.

Gods be good. If her wife insisted upon making this dispute the Crown’s business, the least she could do was be less distracting. Who was sent to inspect the boundary stones mattered. Her princess’ suggestion was wise enough, but they would need to take care with their choice of envoy. Having the Crown decide a boundary dispute from afar was one thing, but sending someone to question a lord’s smallfolk—thereby implicitly declaring their distrust of that lord’s word—could create additional problems.

“I shall go myself, Your Grace. There is business at Harrenhal requiring my attention, so it will be but a small matter to continue journeying on to Stone Hedge and Raventree Hall once it has been resolved.” Lord Strong turned to address the king. “With your leave, Your Grace, I would like to have my elder son accompany me as well. It is high time that Harwin gain some practical experience in ruling.”

Viserys simply nodded, his words prevented by a series of loud coughs.

Once he’d finished, Alicent reached over to gently dab with her handkerchief some of the spittle left behind on the corner of his mouth. The task had the additional benefit of quelling her rising desires and allowing her to think more clearly.

Lord Tyland briefly looked around the table before launching into his own business. “We should address the latest developments in the Stepstones, My Lords.”

“Will we ever be shut of that blasted place?” Viserys muttered.

Lord Beesbury suddenly sat up straight in his chair. “If you ask me, I think the Blackwoods have the upper hand.”

Grand Maester Orwyle shook his head, leaning over to quietly correct the old lord. “We’ve moved on to the Stepstones, Lord Beesbury.”

“And the Triarchy’s new alliance with Dorne,” Lord Tyland shouted across the table, his words slow and overly-enunciated, as if that would somehow make old Lord Beesbury better remember the subject of their discussion.

Viserys rubbed his chin, appearing more alert now. “I was hoping our negotiations with Sunspear might persuade them to see reason.” He coughed lightly. “To trust a Martell is to be disappointed.”

“And where, I wonder, is our Prince Daemon?” Lord Wylde drawled. “Or I suppose I should call him King, as he styled himself when he won a battle there . . . once.”

Alicent sighed inwardly. Daemon and Laena’s wedding some seven years ago had caused such a scandal that the both of them had left for the Free Cities upon the backs of their dragons, only returning in time for the births of their twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena. Since then, Daemon had seemed content enough to remain on Driftmark with his wife’s family.

Lord Tyland snorted at Lord Wylde’s words. “That was a decade ago, and he has since left the region undefended.”

“We have left it undefended,” Rhaenyra corrected, her tone sharp with a mixture of command and admonishment, which caused a small shiver to run down Alicent’s spine. “There should’ve been fortifications built. Watchtowers, a fleet of ships, a garrison of soldiers sent to hold our ground.”

“We could not afford it,” Alicent reminded her. The fortification of the Stepstones, or rather, the lack thereof, was one of the few things on which she and her wife had never been able to come to an agreement, both within this chamber and their own. By now, it was simply habit to remind Rhaenyra of the practical problems any attempt to hold the Stepstones posed.

She realized her mistake in drawing Rhaenyra’s attention a moment too late. Damn it.

“As I believe Lord Beesbury can attest, Your Grace, the Crown’s coffers are great.” Rhaenyra’s words were as silken and smooth as a caress, in contrast to the almost aggressive movements of her fingers, which were once more stroking her attendance orb.

Alicent swallowed past the lump in her throat, unable to stop herself from shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “Our coffers are great, Princess, but not infinite. We must consider the cost to our subjects.” That her voice did not waver pleased her almost as much as the subtle twitch of her wife’s left eye at being called “princess.”

“I must agree,” Lord Beesbury put in. “The cost of defending the Stepstones—”

“The cost of war is greater,” Rhaenyra interrupted, “but we have been lax, and the old monster now lifts its head.”

Alicent was about to respond, but then she noticed the small, darkening patches of moisture on her wife’s gown. Gods be good. Against her will, her eyes remained fixed on her wife’s lovely breasts, admiring their shape and fullness, for they were still plumper than normal due to the milk now leaking from them. Her mouth went dry even as fresh desire pooled between her legs. She wanted . . .

The damp patches were growing larger as milk continued seeping into the fabric, becoming more noticeable—

Swiftly rising to her feet, Alicent hurried to her husband’s side and made a show of fussing and clucking over him. “The king needs his rest. Let us be finished. The Stepstones can wait until the morrow.”

Thankfully, Viserys nodded in agreement.

The other council members looked slightly confused, but none protested as they began gathering their things.

Rather than immediately helping the king to his feet as she usually would, Alicent gave his frail shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Husband, would it be acceptable if the servants accompanied you back to your chambers? The princess and I have matters to discuss concerning her children.” Viserys may not pay much attention to the four children that she had given him, but he adored his grandsons and would undoubtedly release her for their sakes.

As soon as she received an acquiescing nod, she hastened to her wife’s side, taking her by the arm and turning her away from the men as she did so. “Your gown, Rhaenyra.” Her eyes flicked downwards.

Rhaenyra followed her gaze and saw for herself the evidence of her leaking milk. “Oh, Seven Hells,” she swore, swiftly bringing her arm up to cover her breasts.

“Let us return to your chambers,” Alicent whispered. “If you walk close by my side and at a slight angle, no one will notice.”

Her wife offered her a grateful smile, already shuffling closer to her. “Thank you, Ali.”

It was all Alicent could do not to grab her face and kiss her soundly.

∞∞

Alicent pushed her wife down onto her back and straddled her stomach, earning a breathy laugh in response that swiftly transformed into a needy moan when Alicent gently cupped her breasts. Her thumbs brushed over the sensitive nipples, causing Rhaenyra’s hips to buck beneath her. A grin spread across Alicent’s face at the sight of her wife so deliciously flushed and wanting. Gods be good. It had been too long since she’d been able to indulge in her beautiful wife. While she’d certainly enjoyed the nights that Rhaenyra had pleasured her and brought her to completion, she’d missed being able to return the favor.

“Ali,” Rhaenyra panted, “please don’t tease.”

“And why should I not?” Alicent abandoned her wife’s breasts, earning a displeased whine. “Was that not exactly what you were doing to me during that meeting?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened with feigned innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Alicent.”

“Hmm. So you weren’t stroking that orb and imagining that it was me beneath your fingers?” As she spoke, Alicent began caressing Rhaenyra’s breasts, mimicking her wife’s own movements from earlier and watching as pearlescent drops of milk leaked from her hardened nipples. “You weren’t imagining yourself atop me? Your hand between my legs? Stroking and teasing me until I’m half-mad with want for you? Making me beg for release? We both know how much you enjoy making me beg.”

“You do it so prettily,” Rhaenyra panted, back arching as she sought more contact. “And you can hardly blame me if I was imagining such things. We haven’t fucked in weeks, and I’ve missed you.”

Softening, Alicent leaned down and captured Rhaenyra’s lips in a searing kiss, savoring the taste of her. Despite the awkward and slightly uncomfortable angle, she continued playing with her wife’s leaking breasts, the soft flesh becoming slick beneath her fingers from the milk. A moan ripped from her throat a moment later when she felt warm hands slide down her back to grasp her ass.

Breaking the kiss, Alicent rested her forehead against her wife’s as they both caught their breath. “You still should not have put on such a . . . display during a council meeting,” she murmured. “Those men—”

Rhaenyra interrupted her with a sharp smack to her ass. “No talk of men while you’re in my bed,” she chided.

Alicent shuddered from the blow, fresh slick pooling between her legs and further wetting her wife’s stomach.

Rhaenyra smirked. “I don’t know why you’re scolding me about earlier, Ali. I could feel how wet you were the moment that you climbed atop me.” She emphasized her words by shifting beneath her, rubbing her stomach against Alicent’s aching cunt. “Some part of you enjoyed it,” she insisted. “Enjoyed knowing how much I desire you, how much I yearned to tear that lovely gown from your body. I would have fucked you right then and there had you allowed me. I would have bent you over that table and made you scream my name for the entire Keep to hear.”

A soft whine escaped Alicent’s lips as she imagined Rhaenyra taking her in such a way. She could imagine the feeling of her wife’s strong hands bending her over the table, manipulating her body until she was in the exact position that Rhaenyra desired. She knew instinctively that in such a scenario, Rhaenyra would not be gentle with her, that her thrusts would be harsh and demanding as her hand worked roughly between her legs. She could practically hear her wife whispering in her ear what a good girl she was being for her.

Shaking her head to clear it of such thoughts, Alicent gave her wife’s nipple a sharp pinch in retaliation when she saw the smug smile on her face.

Rhaenyra yelped, wincing. “Not so rough, Ali. Please.”

Eyes widening guiltily, Alicent immediately leaned down to soothe the pain with her tongue. “I’m sorry, My Love. I wasn’t thinking.” She lapped gently at the pebbled flesh, surprised by how sweet her wife’s milk tasted. Taking her nipple between her lips, she suckled softly, earning several gasping moans in response.

“Seven Hells, Ali,” Rhaenyra groaned. “That feels so good. Don’t stop.”

Fingers tangled in her hair, gripping tightly to hold her head in place, and Alicent couldn’t help but smile slightly as she continued to suck. Shifting and squirming until she was lying on top of Rhaenyra rather than straddling her, she slipped one hand down between her wife’s legs and cupped her soaked cunt.

Rhaenyra’s back arched almost violently in response, a loud moan echoing through her bedchamber. “Ali,” she gasped, “your fingers, please. I need—” Her words dissolved into another moan when Alicent thrust two fingers into her wife’s dripping cunt. “Fuck, yes! Just like that. Please, My Love, please. Keep fucking me. Don’t stop, Ali!”

Alicent delighted in how desperate Rhaenyra was for her, drinking in the sound of her moans and listening to the faint, wet noises that she could hear every time she thrust her fingers inside. The grip on her hair had tightened almost to the point of pain, but she didn’t care. She could feel her wife’s walls fluttering around her fingers, could hear the quiet hitches in her breath that told her she was close. Slamming her fingers inside, she curled and twisted them while her thumb rubbed against her clit.

Rhaenyra’s entire body tensed, the walls of her cunt clamping down hard on Alicent’s fingers as her back arched off of the bed. For as vocal as her wife tended to be beforehand, her peaks were surprisingly quiet, usually accompanied by no more than a soft whine.

When her wife’s grip on her hair finally went slack, Alicent raised her head to enjoy the sight of Rhaenyra’s blissful expression. Gods be good. Her wife was always beautiful, but there was something particularly special about the way she looked after reaching her peak. Delightfully disheveled, beautifully flushed, eyes slightly glazed, she was a vision.

Slipping her fingers from her wife’s cunt, she brought them to her mouth and began licking them clean, earning a groan from Rhaenyra.

“You’re trying to kill me,” she accused with a pout.

“I could say the same of you earlier,” Alicent quipped.

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow. “Are you annoyed about that, Ābrazȳrys?”

“Very. We were in public, Nyra. You—” Alicent’s words were cut off when Rhaenyra suddenly grabbed her by the waist and flipped them over. Her eyes squeezed shut as hot, wet kisses bathed her neck, making her gasp and squirm beneath her wife’s warm weight. When she felt a hand on her breast, her back arched in response.

“My Beloved Wife,” Rhaenyra crooned against her neck, “what can I do to earn your forgiveness?”

Alicent’s chest heaved as she fought for breath, struggling to form coherent thoughts as her wife’s lips and hands continued to lick and suck and stroke and tease. “Show me,” she panted. “Show me what you were thinking about doing to me.”

Rhaenyra lifted her head from the crook of her neck and pressed a loving kiss to her lips. “With pleasure, My Love.” One of her hands slipped between Alicent’s legs to begin caressing the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.

Soft whimpers spilled from Alicent’s lips at the teasing touches. She needed more, and her wife knew it.

Rhaenyra brought her mouth to Alicent’s ear, her warm breath puffing against her cheek. “I was imagining you on your back for me, just like this. Spread out and dripping. So wanton and needy.” She nipped her earlobe. “My Sweet Alicent. Always so ready and wet for me.” Her fingers slid higher, parting Alicent’s slick folds. “Is this all for me, My Love?”

“Yes,” Alicent gasped, hips bucking as she sought more contact. “Only for you.”

“Good girl,” Rhaenyra praised, rewarding her with a kiss on the cheek.

Alicent’s entire body quaked at those words. Her wife had discovered years ago that she had a special weakness for them, and she never wasted an opportunity to take advantage. A whine tore from her throat as Rhaenyra began stroking her just as she had that stone orb, her fingers gliding over her swollen and aching cunt to tease and taunt until she was a writhing mess beneath her.

“You’re so pretty like this, Ali. So very pretty. All flushed and needy and dripping for me. And only I get to see you this way. Yes?”

“Yes.” Alicent nodded frantically. “Only you, My Love.”

“And why is that?” Rhaenyra’s fingers brushed over her clit, making Alicent spasm.

“Because I’m yours,” Alicent moaned.

“That’s my good girl.” Rhaenyra’s voice was a husky purr in her ear.

Alicent felt as if her body was on fire. Desperation clawed at her insides, need coiled in her stomach, and her cunt clenched around nothing. She knew what her wife wanted, what she always wanted. More oft than not, she was able to resist longer, but it had been so long since Rhaenyra had last given her release, and her wife’s earlier teasing during the meeting alone had left her desperate and wanting. “Please, Nyra,” she whined.

“What was that, Ābrazȳrys?”

Were she not on the verge of lustful madness, Alicent would have smacked her wife’s arm. “Please, My Love,” she begged. “I need you. I need you so much it hurts. Please, Nyra, please.”

“What do you need, Ali?” Rhaenyra’s fingers began teasing her clit once more. “Tell me, My Love. Be a good girl for me and use your words.”

“Your mouth,” she whimpered, back arching as pleasure seared through her body. “Please, Nyra. I want your mouth. I need your tongue.”

Rhaenyra’s hand retreated from between her legs, and Alicent felt frustrated tears pricking her eyes. But then her wife kissed her softly and cradled her cheek. “Don’t fret, Ali. I’ll give you what you want.” She gave her a final kiss before sliding down her body and settling between her legs.

Alicent spread her legs as wide as she could to better accommodate her wife, and shivered at the feeling of warm hands lovingly caressing her hips before gripping them tightly. She knew that her inner thighs were slick with her own desire, that she soaking the sheets beneath her, that she probably looked as if she belonged in a pleasure house, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her cunt was aching and swollen, and she knew that Rhaenyra would bring her relief. Little else mattered but that.

The feeling of warm breath between her legs made her hips buck, but Rhaenyra held her steady. The feeling of an even warmer tongue licking from her entrance to her clit made her wail, but she swiftly stifled her cries with a pillow. And the feeling of that tongue pushing inside her cunt made her see stars as she writhed in her wife’s bruising grip.

Moans and whimpers and whines and squeals fell from her lips as Rhaenyra fucked her with her skilled tongue. She knew that she sounded like a wanton whore, but she also knew that Rhaenyra adored the noises that she made. The vibrations caused by her wife’s own moans sent her hurtling towards her peak. “Don’t stop,” she begged. “Please, please, please, don’t stop. I’m so close, Nyra. So close.”

When nimble fingers roughly stroked her clit, Alicent shrieked as blinding pleasure seized her body, causing her to jerk and writhe and bite down hard onto the pillow she’d been using to muffle her cries.

Rhaenyra eagerly drank down all that Alicent’s cunt had to offer, lapping almost feverishly at her twitching and puffy lower lips.

When Alicent whimpered with slight discomfort, she felt the strokes of her wife’s tongue become softer and more languid in response, helping her come down rather than trying to send her soaring again.

Panting to catch her breath, she watched through hooded eyes as Rhaenyra crawled up the length of her body and lay down beside her. A pleased sigh escaped her lips when strong arms wrapped around her and drew her close, enveloping her in familiar warmth. She burrowed deeper into her wife’s embrace. “I love you, Nyra.”

Rhaenyra kissed her softly and then nuzzled her cheek. “I love you too, Ali.”

Chapter Text

Three Weeks Later

Of all her children, Helaena was the one Rhaenyra understood the least, a sentiment that she knew was shared by her wife. Ever since she was a babe, their daughter had been rather . . . touched. Not simple-minded, by any means, but often distracted by her own thoughts and entirely unaware of the world around her. She seemed to spend more time in her own head than any other child that Rhaenyra had ever met. Helaena was a sweet girl, to be sure, gentle and kind, but still rather strange.

Then there was her inability to properly look people in the eyes when speaking to them and her skittishness with physical contact. Helaena’s discomfort with touch had been evident almost from the moment that she was born. Rhaenyra well-remembered how, as a babe, Helaena would cry and wail whenever Alicent held her, something that still pained her wife to this day. Once Helaena had grown old enough to actively avoid touch, she’d done so without fail—shying away from hands seeking to pat her cheek or stroke her hair, fleeing from hugs regardless of who offered them, and never sitting closer to anyone than was strictly necessary.

Of all their daughter’s peculiarities, Rhaenyra knew that it was her fascination with insects that Alicent found most distressing. Her wife had spent years attempting to coax their daughter to shift her attention to nigh anything else, only ceding the fight when it became abundantly clear that she would not prevail.

For Rhaenyra, it was the way that Helaena would mumble and mutter to herself that she had always found most troubling. Some children simply enjoyed insects. Some never learned the art of proper eye contact. And many a maiden was shy to be touched. But the muttering . . . a sign of madness, some might say. And while she did not think her daughter mad, she could not help but be troubled.

Troubled, but also curious.

Sometimes, the words her daughter spoke, while puzzling, seemed almost like warnings. Such as the day of the Flea Bottom riot this past spring, when Helaena had clung to Alicent’s skirts—something she never did—and begged her not to leave the Keep. Rhaenyra had begun to wonder, then, if perhaps there was more to her daughter’s ramblings than mere absentmindedness and peculiarity. Theirs was the blood of Daenys the Dreamer, after all.

So when Helaena had come to her this morning with tales of tongueless fireflies and burning rivers and melting towers, she’d listened. She hadn’t understood what her daughter was trying to tell her, but she’d listened. And when Helaena had begun to weep over Rhaenyra’s lack of comprehension, she’d resisted the instinctive urge to gather her sweet girl into her arms and hold her close, instead waiting for her to calm enough so that they might speak sensibly.

Even now, as Rhaenyra searched the training yard for Harwin, she did not entirely understand what Helaena’s warning meant, but she knew that it was a warning. And a dire one, at that. Her daughter had managed to make clear enough that Harwin and his father must remain here in King’s Landing. For their own safety.

She did not know what fate awaited Harwin outside the city gates, but she knew that she did not wish for him to meet it.

Over the years, Harwin Strong had become a dear friend, in no small part because of how well he got on with her sons, who all adored him. Laenor sometimes even quipped that Jace and Luke secretly wished it was Harwin who had sired them. Alicent, whenever she heard such talk, would tsk at Laenor and scold him for saying such things even in jest. Rhaenyra always supported her wife’s position, for she knew that Alicent was particularly sensitive to any whispers and rumors that might call their Velaryon sons’ legitimacy into question.

Laenor’s preferences had caused many at court to openly speculate about whether he was even capable of siring children on her. Dark rumors had swirled around the Red Keep the first time that she’d announced she was with child. Vile, disgusting insinuations that had made Alicent bristle, had nearly driven Laenor and Joffrey to challenge men to duels on three separate occasions, and had tempted Rhaenyra to inform the gossips of just how exactly Laenor had gotten her with child simply for the satisfaction of seeing their shocked horror.

Thankfully, Jace had been born with silvery-white locks and eyes of Valyrian-purple. None who looked upon him could ever doubt that Laenor was his sire. That all three of her sons with Laenor resembled him so strongly was a blessing, though Alicent always insisted that Jace, Luke, and Vic had Rhaenyra’s eyes, which her wife maintained were a much prettier shade of purple than Laenor’s.

At last, she found Harwin in the middle of a bout with Laenor, the two men demonstrating proper sword techniques to Aegon, Aemond, Daeron, Jace, and Luke. Aegon, as was his way, was leaning on his practice sword and looking rather bored, while Aemond was watching with rapt attention. Jace, who had decided some moons ago that he wished to be just like Aegon, was attempting to feign boredom, but the excited gleam in his eyes made a lie of his efforts. Daeron was stealthily trying to steal Aegon’s practice sword from him, which would likely result in Aegon toppling over onto the ground. Luke was plainly just pleased to be spending time with his brothers.

While a part of her knew that she should remain where she was—out of the way and not distracting her boys—until Harwin finished his bout, a larger part had been missing her sons.

Motioning for her guards to remain where they were, she approached her boys on silent feet. As soon as she was within striking distance, she snatched Luke up and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. He squealed loudly, causing his brothers and half of the yard to whip around in their direction.

Her other sons rolled their eyes at her antics, while the men of the yard either did the same or smiled indulgently. Alicent would say that her display was undignified, but Rhaenyra was of the opinion that she was entitled to a few undignified moments every once in a while. At least one per moon, she should think. Although, I suppose in Ali’s mind, I’ve already had my undignified moment for this moon.

Three weeks later, and her darling wife was still giving her stern looks of warning every time they attended a Small Council meeting.

As if that would somehow make her less likely to tease . . .

Setting Luke back down on his feet, Rhaenyra gave his hair an affectionate ruffle, which earned her a wide grin from her sweet boy.

“What brings you to the yard, Sister?” Aegon drawled, leaning on his wooden practice sword.

Rhaenyra resisted the urge to grimace. While she knew well that Aegon calling her “sister” was primarily for appearance’s sake—and partly because the little imp had reached the age where he thought it great fun to purposefully aggravate his mothers—she always disliked the reminder that, in the eyes of the world, Aegon was not truly hers.

She and Alicent had taught all of their children to call her muña, but in the case of Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron, they’d also had to teach them that they could not call her such in the presence of others. While most would not recognize the High Valyrian word for “mother,” neither she nor Alicent wished to risk one of their children making a mistake in front of someone who did know the language.

“I’m actually here to speak with Ser Harwin.” Rhaenyra smiled as Jace and Daeron both sidled up to her in the way that she recognized as them desiring a hug but thinking themselves too old to initiate it. She wrapped one arm around Jace’s shoulders and the other around Daeron’s, giving them each a loving squeeze.

She half-hoped that Aemond might approach her as well, but he only smiled at her. It was a warm and affectionate smile, to be sure, but of all their children, Aemond was the most like Alicent had been in their youth. Quiet, serious, dutiful, and a little bit shy, though he made more of an effort to conceal his shyness on account of being a boy. Behind closed doors and away from the prying eyes of the court, Aemond was a much more openly affectionate child.

Harwin jogged over to them, smelling of exertion and with sweat glistening on his brow. He stopped in front of her, bowing low and kissing the back of her hand when she offered it. “Princess, to what do we owe the honor?”

“I would speak with you, Ser.” She gently shooed her sons back towards Laenor and their lessons before motioning for Harwin to walk with her. As they left the yard, she could feel eyes upon them, but she paid them no mind. Who she chose to befriend was no one’s business but her own, and Harwin had proven himself a dear and valuable friend on many an occasion, most recently being when he’d escorted Alicent safely back to the Red Keep during the Flea Bottom riot.

She waited until they were as alone as possible in one of the less traveled corridors to begin speaking. “I understand that you and your father leave for Harrenhal in two days’ time.”

Harwin nodded, expression slightly confused. “Yes. Father wishes for me to aid him in settling a few local disputes, then we’re traveling to Raventree Hall to sort out the latest Blackwood and Bracken quarrel.”

“Hmm.” Her lips pursed. She’d spent much of the morning trying to decide how exactly to broach this issue. For all that Harwin loved her children, she could not very well say to him outright that he could not leave King’s Landing because Helaena had had a vision. “I do not think it wise for you to accompany your father to the Riverlands at this time.” If she could, she would dissuade Lyonel from leaving as well, though she knew that she had little hope of actually succeeding.

Harwin frowned slightly. “Why?”

“There has been unrest in the city of late.” That was true enough. “Now is not the time for the Commander of the City Watch to be deserting his post.”

“My captains—”

“Are not you.” She stopped and turned to face him. “It was not so long ago that we had a riot in Flea Bottom. I’ve been told that similar rumblings are beginning again, and I would not leave our gold cloaks without a leader, should they be called upon to quell another disturbance.”

Harwin’s expression softened, and she knew that it was because he now assumed her words were born from a place of worry for Alicent’s safety, which was just as well. “Princess, I know that the riot gave you a fright, but Queen Alicent returned unharmed. If your concern is so great, surely it would be simpler to have her remain in the Keep until my father and I return.”

Rhaenyra set her jaw. “I’ll not make the queen a prisoner in this castle.”

“But you would make me a prisoner in this city?” He cocked his head slightly, sounding more confused than angry. “Princess.” He paused. “Rhaenyra, is something the matter? You do not seem quite yourself.”

And perhaps she was not. After all, her actions were being entirely compelled by Helaena’s riddles, which no one else ever paid heed to, having long ago concluded that they were no more than the strange ramblings of a strange girl. Even her own father, who himself believed so fervently in the dragon dreams, had never once even considered that Helaena might be a dreamer.

Of course, in order to have such a consideration, he would need to actually spend time with her. She quickly set aside the uncharitable thought in favor of focusing on Harwin. “I wish that I could explain more, Harwin, but I cannot.” Not yet, at least. “So I am asking you, as your friend, please remain here in King’s Landing.”

And Harwin—gentle, amiable, and loyal Harwin—looked truly pained as he shook his head. “I am sorry, Rhaenyra, but my father has ordered me to accompany him. I cannot simply disobey him without good reason.”

She’d feared as much. With an internal sigh, she squared her shoulders, holding his gaze with her own. “Very well then. I command you. As your princess and the heir to the throne, you are commanded to remain in King’s Landing at your post.”

He stared at her for a long moment, a myriad of emotions swiftly playing across his face—confusion and surprise being the most prominent—but at last, he bowed low at the waist. “As My Princess commands.”

∞

When Alicent entered her bedchamber that evening, she was pleased to find Rhaenyra already waiting for her. Good. That meant they could speak at once. Striding over to her wife, she gave her lips a swift peck before turning around and offering her back so that Rhaenyra could begin unlacing her for bed. She smiled to herself at the familiar feeling of nimble fingers easily loosening the laces that held her dress in place. “So, care to tell me what exactly happened with Ser Harwin this afternoon?”

Rhaenyra sighed behind her. “Are your spies truly so skilled that they overhear even the most private of conversations, My Love?”

“My spies? No,” she chuckled. “Our sons, however, were quite eager to tell me all about you stealing their favorite instructor away for a ‘private conversation.’” Years ago, when she was younger and less secure in her relationship with Rhaenyra, she might have been jealous, might have even allowed a hint of suspicion to cloud her mind. But she knew her wife, knew that she was loyal to her, and her alone. Rhaenyra may have bedded Laenor for duty, and she may love Harwin in her own way—as the brother she’d never had—but she’d only ever offered her heart to Alicent.

Another sigh, this one slightly exasperated. “I should have known.”

“You should have,” Alicent agreed. While the network of servants that she’d created over the years to keep herself apprised of the goings on within the Red Keep was as effective as it was expansive, their sons were horrid tattles and always eager to report their muña’s movements to her.

Feeling the last of the laces come loose, Alicent slipped out of her gown and allowed it to pool on the floor, smiling to herself when she heard her wife’s breath hitch slightly at the sight of her in only her shift and smallclothes. Even after ten years together, Rhaenyra always insisted that Alicent was as desirable now as she had been when they were young. And Alicent would be lying if she said that those words did not please her.

She darted away when she felt her wife’s warm hand on her back, strolling over to her wardrobe to fetch a sleeping gown. “What did you need to discuss with Ser Harwin?” That Rhaenyra did not respond at once gave her pause, and Alicent glanced over at her worriedly. “Nyra?”

Rhaenyra rubbed her face with her hands. “I am trying to decide how best to explain myself without you thinking me mad.”

Misliking the agitation that she could hear rising in her sweet wife’s voice, Alicent swiftly returned to her side and ushered over to the settee. Once they were seated beside each other, she took Rhaenyra’s hands in hers and began rubbing soothing circles on the backs with her thumbs. “You know that you can tell me anything, Ābrazȳrys.”

A smile curled Rhaenyra’s lips at hearing Alicent speak her mother tongue—as was always the case—and she relaxed visibly. “I asked Harwin not to accompany his father back to Harrenhal, and when he refused,” she hesitated a moment, expression chagrinned, “I ordered him to remain here.”

Alicent’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. It was a rare thing for Rhaenyra to use her position in such a way—at least with those she cared for. “Why?”

Once more, Rhaenyra hesitated a moment before replying, voice soft, “Because I believe that something terrible awaits him outside of the city. Him and Lord Strong both, but I could not order Lyonel to remain, although I did attempt to do so.”

“Why?” she repeated, for her wife’s explanation was hardly any explanation at all.

“Helaena. I . . . I believe that she may be a dragon dreamer. And she came to me earlier today with what I believe was a warning.”

Alicent couldn’t help but stare at her wife incredulously. While she adored their daughter, everyone knew that Helaena’s ramblings were only that: ramblings. Their daughter was a kind and gentle soul, to be sure, and she understood indulging her by listening whenever she rattled off her riddles, but to actually act upon one? “I don’t understand.”

Rhaenyra sighed, leaning against her, and Alicent instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Do you remember when I told you about the Conqueror’s dream? And how some with the Blood of the Dragon have a gift for prophecy?”

She remembered. At the time—she must admit—she’d been rather skeptical. What Rhaenyra had been saying had reminded her very much of Viserys’ drunken ramblings during Aegon’s second nameday. The king’s slurred speech about his vivid dreams of having a son born wearing the Conqueror’s crown had sounded to her like no more than the nonsensical mutterings of a drunkard, so she had dismissed them as such.

But Rhaenyra had not been drunk when she’d told her about Aegon’s dream, and Alicent knew that her wife was not one to be easily taken in by children’s stories.

So she had listened and tried to understand.

While a part of her still remained incredulous about Targaryen prophets, she could admit that there must be at least some truth to it. Everyone knew that it was Daenys the Dreamer who had saved House Targaryen from the Doom, and Daenys’ blood had been passed down to the first Aegon and all of the Targaryens who had come after him.

But to think that Helaena—starry-eyed Helaena, who was never so happy as when she had some horrifying insect in her hands—was a dreamer the likes of Daenys and the Conqueror? It strained belief.

And yet . . . as Rhaenyra explained what had happened that morning, explained how frantic their daughter had been, how heartbroken when Rhaenyra had not understood, how pleased when Rhaenyra had tried to understood, Alicent could at the very least see why her wife had been willing to listen. She still wasn’t certain that it made sense to order Ser Harwin to remain in King’s Landing, but she respected her wife’s decision, and there was ultimately no harm in it.

When she said as much to Rhaenyra, her wife smiled with relief and kissed her soundly.

∞∞

Perhaps it was unfair of Rhaenyra to have assumed that Alicent would be disinclined to believe her about Helaena’s warning. But in her defense, her wife had always evinced a certain amount of skepticism about dragon dreams. Rhaenyra did not blame her, of course. For all that she’d grown up in King’s Landing, Alicent was still a daughter of Oldtown, still tied to the maesters and their silly notions and incredulities in ways that Rhaenyra would never be able to truly understand.

So to say that she was pleased to have her wife’s support in her decision to heed Helaena’s warning would be a gross understatement.

She was ecstatic. And relieved.

And she intended to reward her darling Alicent for her faith in her and their daughter.

Besides, it had been nearly two days since she’d last properly fucked her wife, since she’d last been gifted with the enthralling sight of her Sweet Alicent in the throes of passion.

Far too long for her liking.

And oh, what a vision her lovely wife was. 

Auburn curls splayed out on the pillows, pretty brown eyes squeezed shut, full lips slightly parted as she gasped and whimpered, face beautifully scrunched as waves of pleasure wracked her body. The way her wife’s breasts heaved as she fought for breath was so enthralling, the pink stiffness of her nipples so enticing. And the glistening wetness of her cunt—displayed so exquisitely before her as Alicent spread her legs wide in a silent plea—called to her as nothing else could.

“Please, My Love,” Alicent whined, her desperation music to Rhaenyra’s ears. “I need you to touch me.”

Smiling impishly, Rhaenyra reached out and cupped Alicent’s perfect breasts, caressing and teasing them in the way that she knew her wife both adored and detested. Her Sweet Alicent’s breasts had always been sensitive, but after Daeron, Rhaenyra had discovered that it was possible for her wife to reach her peak simply from having her breasts and nipples played with.

But Alicent considered such peaks inferior to those Rhaenyra could give her by licking her cunt or stroking her clit.

“Nyra,” Alicent huffed, opening her eyes to glare up at her. “I need you to touch me properly.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure you’ll be able to find your release if I only touch you properly, Ali.” Rhaenyra pinched Alicent’s left nipple while gently rolling the other one between her fingers.

Alicent’s responding moan went straight to Rhaenyra’s own cunt, making her clench around nothing and drip even more than she already was. Her clit was throbbing and begging for attention, begging for a touch of any kind. And part of her yearned to slide lower on Alicent’s body, to straddle her wife’s thigh and rut against it until she reached her own peak. She’d done so many times before—when particularly desperate—and she knew that Alicent enjoyed seeing such desperation from her, knew that her wife relished feeling the evidence of Rhaenyra’s pleasure coating her thigh afterwards.

But no. Not yet. Alicent first.

Her wife’s pleasure would always come first.

Because the gods know no one else has ever cared for her pleasure.

Rhaenyra swiftly shoved the thought aside, refocusing on her wife’s pleading eyes. She ought to take mercy on her and give her what she wanted. This was meant to be a reward, after all. Oh, but Alicent’s lips were far too tempting. One kiss first, she promised herself. Then I’ll give her what she needs.

Leaning down, she captured her wife’s sweet lips, savoring her taste and drinking in her soft whimpers. Even after all these years, Alicent’s kisses could still make her head spin in the most delightful of ways. She smiled slightly when she felt slender fingers tangling in her hair and tugging her closer. And her smile widened even further when she felt Alicent’s hips bucking beneath her, her wife’s cunt plainly desperate for attention.

Breaking the kiss, Rhaenyra grinned at the sight of Alicent’s flushed cheeks and nearly black eyes. “I love you,” she murmured.

Alicent practically snarled at her. “Then show me.”

“How, My Love?” Rhaenyra kissed her forehead. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. No more teasing. I promise.”

Some of the irritation drained from her wife then, for they both knew that Rhaenyra would never break a promise to Alicent.

“I need your mouth and your fingers, Nyra.” Alicent squirmed beneath her. “Please, My Love.”

“Anything for you, Ali.” Rhaenyra gave her lips a swift peck before she began kissing her way down Alicent’s body. She gently nipped at her throat, taking care not to leave any marks. The last time she’d done that, Alicent had refused to bed her for almost two weeks. When she reached her wife’s breasts, she captured one nipple between her lips and sucked harshly while she gently plucked at the other one with her fingers.

The dual sensations had Alicent arching up against her, gasping and moaning as her nails raked over Rhaenyra’s back. “Gods, Nyra. Please. Please. Please.”

The slight pain of her wife’s nails clawing at her back made Rhaenyra shudder, and she pressed her thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache between her legs. Seven Hells she was wet.

Switching to Alicent’s other nipple, Rhaenyra rolled her tongue over the pebbled flesh, earning more breathy whimpers. Her free hand slipped down between their bodies and roughly cupped Alicent’s cunt. A firm squeeze coupled with her teeth grazing her wife’s sensitive nipple sent Alicent careening over the edge.

Alicent gasped and moaned beneath her, face twisting with pleasure as shudders wracked her body. “Nyra,” she panted. “Gods. Fuck.”

Rhaenyra continued lavishing attention on Alicent’s breasts, nuzzling and kissing the soft mounds to prolong her wife’s peak as much as possible. How was it that Alicent had such perfect breasts? Firm and plump and so warm and supple. They’d always fit so well in her hands, as if they’d been made for her—and her alone—to hold and caress.

“My Love,” Alicent whimpered, still trembling from the aftershocks, “please. It’s too much.”

Halting at once, Rhaenyra lifted her head and gave her wife’s hip an apologetic squeeze. “I’m sorry, Ali.”

Alicent affectionately stroked her hair in response. “It’s all right, Nyra. Just give me a moment.”

While she waited for her wife’s pleasure to subside, Rhaenyra pressed gentle kisses to her forehead and cheeks, earning soft sighs and happy hums. When she at last felt Alicent still beneath her, she sat up and gently tapped her wife’s hip. “Spread your legs for me, Ali. I still owe you my mouth and fingers.”

Alicent blinked up at her in surprise, but she was quick to obey.

Rhaenyra grinned, reaching up to give her cheek a loving caress. “That’s my good girl,” she cooed, earning a soft whine and an eager roll of Alicent’s hips.

Once settled between her wife’s legs, Rhaenyra inhaled deeply, breathing in the heady scent of her arousal and allowing herself a moment to admire Alicent’s sweet cunt. Her lower lips were puffy and swollen, desperate for her touch, and fresh slick was even now leaking from her entrance. If she peered close enough, she swore that she could see her wife’s inner walls twitching and clenching around nothing, begging for her fingers and tongue. Alicent was drenched in her own desire, her lovely clit fully emerged from beneath its hood and throbbing before Rhaenyra’s eyes.

“Fucking Hells, Ali,” she breathed. “You’re so beautiful.” She kissed the top of her mound, receiving a whine. “So perfect.” She kissed her slick inner thigh, earning a whimper. “So good for me.” Her tongue lightly flicked over Alicent’s clit, causing her wife to spasm and her cunt to clench. “And all mine.” She parted her wife’s soaked folds with her tongue and gave her a long, languid lick.

Alicent wailed above her. “Yes, Nyra, yes! I’m yours. Only yours. Nyra, Nyra, Nyra, please, My Love.”

“Such a good girl,” she mumbled, knowing that even if Alicent couldn’t understand her words, she would still feel them. She lapped eagerly at the wetness covering her wife’s cunt, drinking it down and relishing her unique flavor. While she adored everything about her Sweet Alicent, she would be lying if she said that she didn’t have an especial fondness for the taste of her pleasure. Seven Hells, her wife was better than the finest wines from the Arbor.

Rhaenyra brought her fingers up to gently tease at Alicent’s entrance, smiling when she felt her silken walls flutter in response. Reluctantly raising her head from between her wife’s legs, her breath hitched at the sight of Alicent’s flushed face and wide, desperate eyes. A fresh wave of arousal flooded from Rhaenyra’s cunt, further soaking her inner thighs. The fingers of her free hand sank into the soft flesh of Alicent’s thigh, lest they be tempted to sneak between her own legs to soothe the ever-growing ache.

She brushed a finger over Alicent’s clit, causing her hips to buck and also drawing her wife’s attention to her. “My Love, may I go inside?” She always asked for permission first, before fucking Alicent with her fingers. It had taken years for her wife to feel comfortable having anything inside her other than Rhaenyra’s tongue, and she would sooner hurl herself from the Keep’s highest window than cause her wife discomfort or bring her pain.

She still remembered the first time that she’d tried to slide her fingers into Alicent’s clenching warmth, still remembered the way that Alicent had stiffened almost imperceptibly. Had she not noticed, there was no doubt in her mind that Alicent would have remained soft and pliant beneath her, that she would have allowed Rhaenyra to fuck her cunt without protest or complaint, and that knowledge broke Rhaenyra’s heart.

She’d never tried again after that first time, not until Alicent herself had asked for it.

Now, Alicent nodded eagerly, hips bucking against her hand. “Please, Nyra. I want to feel you inside me.”

As she carefully worked one finger into her wife’s slick cunt, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of just how tight she still was, at how deliciously her inner walls clung to her finger. No matter how wet and willing her Alicent was, Rhaenyra always had to enter her slowly at first to avoid causing her pain.

Not that she minded, of course.

She adored watching Alicent’s eyes roll back with pleasure as she was slowly stretched, relished hearing Alicent’s little whimpers as she begged her to continue pushing inside, savored feeling Alicent’s cunt fluttering eagerly and soaking her finger with even more wetness.

“You’re so good for me, Ali,” she praised, leaning down to cover her face in kisses as her finger sank deeper into her cunt. “Such a good girl. Always so wet and eager for me. You’re taking me so well, My Love.” She kissed her wife’s lips as Alicent writhed beneath her, swallowing her delightful moans. One of these days, she would need to take Alicent back to Dragonstone so that she could fuck her without needing to worry about the noise. “Does it feel good, Ali? The way that I’m stretching your tight cunt?”

“Yes, Nyra, yes.” Alicent clung to her as her hips rolled against Rhaenyra’s hand, soaking her even further. “Please, move. I’m ready. I can take it. Please, please, please.”

“All right, My Love.” Kissing her cheek, she slowly withdrew her finger, feeling Alicent shudder and quake beneath her. The tension in Rhaenyra’s lower belly coiled tighter in  response to her wife’s pleasure, but she ignored it to focus on Alicent. “My good girl,” she crooned, smiling when Alicent’s walls spasmed around her finger and her entire body trembled.

Rhaenyra set a swift pace after that, her finger thrusting in and out of her wife’s drenched cunt as quickly as Alicent’s tight walls would allow. Each time she withdrew, Alicent’s walls would clench in an attempt to keep her inside, and her wife would whimper and whine in her ear. Rhaenyra would never tire of those sweet sounds, of the fire that they always ignited in her belly. Alicent just sounded so pretty when she begged, when she was all needy and wanton for her.

Alicent’s moans when Rhaenyra began curling her finger and rubbing against the front wall of her cunt with each stroke were positively whorish.

Seven fucking Hells. Rhaenyra’s clit throbbed, her cunt ached, and all she wanted was to beg for Alicent’s touch. But her darling wife deserved to have all of her attention, so instead she brought her mouth close to Alicent’s ear and began whispering to her. “I love the way you moan for me, Ali. So wanton, so desperate for me to fuck you harder. I love how wet you always are for me. How you’re so eager for my touch. I love the way your cunt clenches around my finger every time I tell you what a good girl you are.”

Alicent’s walls immediately tightened in response.

“Yes. Just like that, My Love.” Rhaenyra began pressing the heel of her hand against Alicent’s swollen clit each time she thrust inside, and her wife’s hips eagerly rose to meet her hand. “Gods, Ali, no matter how many times I fuck you, you’re still as tight as a maiden.” She lightly nipped at her throat, earning a surprised gasp. “Your cunt is so perfect, My Love. As are you. My perfect, brilliant, good wife.”

When she kissed Alicent’s neck, Rhaenyra felt her inner walls begin to pulse in the way that meant her wife was nearing her peak. “Yes. Good girl. I know you’re close now. I expect you to moan my name when you peak. Can you do that for me, Ali?”

Alicent’s eyes were squeezed shut, sweat beading on her forehead as she panted and moaned, but she managed to nod all the same.

“Good girl.” Pushing her finger deep inside the pulsing heat of her wife’s cunt, Rhaenyra roughly stroked her sensitive front wall while her thumb circled Alicent’s swollen clit.

Alicent thrashed twice more before her back arched off of the bed and her cunt began convulsing around Rhaenyra’s finger. “Rhaenyra!”

“That’s my good girl.” Rhaenyra captured her lips in a rough kiss, muffling further moans as Alicent’s body quaked beneath her. She would never tire of this, never tire of watching her wife come undone, of feeling it. Gods, Alicent was so perfect.

Rhaenyra gasped, hips jerking when she suddenly felt slender fingers slide between her legs, parting her folds and easily finding her clit.

Below her, Alicent’s eyes were glazed, and she was still shaking with pleasure, but her mouth was set in a determined line as her fingers roughly stroked Rhaenyra’s clit.

“Seven Hells, Ali,” she gasped, rolling her hips in search of additional friction, but there was none to be found. So much slick coated her cunt that each of her wife’s rough rubs felt like a smooth, teasing glide. She needed something else. Now. She was so close. Just— “Inside,” she panted. “I need you inside, My Love. Please. I need the stretch—”

Alicent thrust into her with three fingers.

Shockwaves of pleasure tore through Rhaenyra’s body at the sudden stretch, at the sudden fullness. Yes. Yes. Yes! The aching pressure that had been building within her from the moment that Alicent’s gown had pooled on the floor was at last released, making her head spin as her cunt clamped down hard on the fingers filling and stretching her so perfectly. Tremors wracked her body, and her arms shook with the effort of holding herself up so that she didn’t collapse onto her wife.

“It’s all right, Nyra.” Alicent’s smile was far too sweet and innocent, considering three of her fingers were buried knuckle-deep in Rhaenyra’s cunt. “I want to feel every inch of you pressed against me.”

With a relieved grunt, Rhaenyra obeyed and lay down atop her wife. Her hips rolled as she gently fucked herself on Alicent’s fingers, savoring the final waves of pleasure that washed over her. “I love you,” she sighed, burying her face in the crook of her wife’s neck.

“I love you, too, Nyra.” With her free hand, Alicent gave her hip an affectionate squeeze before slowly withdrawing her soaked fingers.

Rhaenyra whined at the loss, the walls of her cunt fluttering mournfully. She was half-tempted to beg her wife for another peak, but the exhaustion of the day was setting in  fast, and she already felt deliciously boneless.

Lifting her head from Alicent’s neck, she captured her wife’s lips in a sweet kiss. And when Alicent kissed back, that was more than enough.

Three Weeks Later

Rhaenyra hurried through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste.

In the distance, she could hear her son’s wails.

Seven Hells. She’d only meant to be gone for fifteen minutes—at most—only long enough to visit her father’s chambers and relay the morning’s news to him. Such meetings had become a part of their daily routine in the weeks since Lyonel had left for Harrenhal. Without even meaning to, she’d assumed the majority of the Hand’s responsibilities, which left her feeling exhausted at the end of most days. She was fairly certain that she would have snapped by now if not for Alicent, who always had some helpful suggestion or clever solution whenever Rhaenyra came to her with a problem.

When she rushed into the nursery, she was surprised to find Alicent already there.

Her wife was standing in front of the window, her back to her as she attempted to soothe Vic, whose piercing cries seemed to only be growing louder.

“Alicent.”

Alicent spun to face her, a bit faster than she probably should have with Vic in her arms. “Rhaenyra. Thank the gods.” She swiftly crossed the room and handed her their son.

Almost as soon as Vic was settled in Rhaenyra’s arms, he quieted.

“It seems our son doesn’t realize how rude it is to choose a favorite mother so early,” Alicent tsked, but her words held no bite, only warmth and fondness.

Rhaenyra smiled slightly, playfully nudging Alicent’s hip with her own. “It would be much more polite for him to wait until he’s older, hmm? As Aemond did?”

“Exactly.”

Before either of them could say more, one of her father’s servants hurried into the nursery with a summons from the king for “his lady wife.”

Rhaenyra swiftly smothered the spark of resentment that always flared whenever she was reminded that Alicent was married to her father, that Alicent was his wife in the eyes of the realm.

Alicent was hers.

With a placid smile that did not reach her eyes, Alicent assured the servant that she would be along in a moment.

As soon as the servant was gone, Alicent turned to her with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, My Love. I will see you this evening?”

The question was so soft and hopeful that it was all Rhaenyra could do not to lean over and kiss her wife’s sweet lips. “Of course, Ali. I’ll come to you as soon as I’m able.” And then I’ll give you such pleasure that you won’t even remember your own name, never mind my father’s.

Some part of her knew that her jealousy was irrational, that Alicent loved her, and her alone. But every time someone referred to Alicent as her father’s wife, it made her blood boil. It made her want to claim Alicent in every way that mattered. It made her want to leave marks all over Alicent’s neck so that anyone who looked at her would know that she was Rhaenyra’s.

Had Alicent not told her on several occasions that she greatly enjoyed the nights that Rhaenyra felt the need to claim her, she might have made an effort to curb her jealousy. But as it was, she saw no need if her wife did not mind.

Leaning forward, she gave Alicent a quick kiss on the cheek, the same sort that they’d oft given each other as girls. “Vic and I will be in the godswood for the next few hours. If you’re able to get away.”

Alicent squeezed her arm in response, brown eyes warm with adoration, before hurrying out of the nursery to answer the king’s summons.

Rhaenyra sighed as she watched her go, but when she looked down at their son, her mood lightened at once. While their youngest boy had inherited many of Laenor’s features—including his nose—she liked to think that he had Alicent’s chin. “Let’s go to the godswood, hmm?” she cooed. “I can show you all of the places your mother and I liked to spend our time when we were girls together.”

Vic only blinked up at her, but he didn’t resume crying, so she accepted it as a victory.

∞

“Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra looked up from Vic’s peacefully slumbering face, a smile beginning to form on her lips because she recognized Harwin’s voice.

But then her mind registered his tone, and her eyes caught sight of her friend.

His voice was rough, and she saw now that it was rough with unshed tears. Moisture glistened in his brown eyes, and his whole body was trembling.

In his fist was clutched a raven scroll.

Rising to her feet, she hastened to him as swiftly as she could without disturbing Vic. “Harwin, what’s happened?”

“My father . . .” Harwin’s jaw clenched as he blinked rapidly. “I just received word that there was a fire. He—” He sucked in a breath, eyes closing for a brief moment as he composed himself. When his eyes opened once more, they bored into her. “Rhaenyra, why did you order me not to return with him to Harrenhal? Why?”

Rhaenyra’s own eyes had gone wide with horrified understanding. A fire at Harrenhal. Smoking towers beside a great body of water—the Gods Eye. Lyonel Strong dead. The sigil of his house—the three forks of the Trident—set ablaze. This was Helaena’s vision come to pass.

And Harwin had been meant to die as well.

Two Weeks Later

Her father had wanted to host a tourney to celebrate her being named Hand, but she and Alicent had dissuaded him, pointing out to him that it would be in poor taste, considering why the position was vacant. He’d relented easily enough—as he so often did whenever she and Alicent stood united on an issue—and agreed to have a simple ceremony in the throne room instead.

Now, as she stood at the base of the Iron Throne wearing the Hand’s pin, Rhaenyra’s eyes could not help but search for Larys Strong among those gathered to witness her investiture. She found him easily enough, standing beside Harwin as he was. Lord Larys’ expression was perfectly sedate, and while he was not clapping with everyone else, that could be excused by his infirmity. For as always, he was leaning heavily on his cane.

Her gaze shifted to Alicent, who was watching her with a soft smile on her lovely face and clapping as enthusiastically as her position allowed.

Much as Rhaenyra would have preferred to continue beholding her exquisite wife, her eyes returned again and again to Lord Larys.

“Beware the grasping beast with darkness in his eyes,” Helaena had said.

At the time, she had not known who her daughter meant. And even now, she could not be certain. But there was something about Harwin’s brother that had always troubled her. And she well-remembered what Alicent had told her all those years ago. How it had been Lord Larys who had approached her wife in the gardens and whispered poison in her ears, how he had been the one to tell Alicent about the moon tea.

Rhaenyra had never trusted him after learning of that conversation, and she knew that her wife distrusted him as well. But their personal dislike of the man and Helaena’s riddles were hardly proof of his guilt. Assuming he was guilty at all, she and Alicent would need to gather actual evidence to present to her father if they wished to bring Lord Larys to justice.

Once more, she found Alicent in the crowd. Whatever the truth, she had little doubt that the two of them working together would discover the proof they needed soon enough. The likes of Otto Hightower and Larys Strong had sought to divide them once, because they’d known, even back then, that when she and Alicent acted as one, there was nothing they could not accomplish.