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Chapter Text

“And here we are,” Rhaenyra says, leading a group of sunburned tourists into the castle’s library. Most of them are clad in cargo shorts and t-shirts, straps of cameras and water bottles slung around their necks, hats and sunglasses sitting on their heads. “Sadly, at the end of our two hour long tour.”

Alicent’s eyes cautiously follow Rhaenyra as she leads the group further into the room. She’s careful not to stare, her eyes moving back to the book laid out on the circulation desk in front of her as the group comes closer. 

The Targaryen girl swings a replica of Blackfyre carelessly in one hand as she says, “Hope it wasn’t too torturous for you all.”

Rhaenyra smirks as her audience titters with self-conscious laughter. Alicent glances up once again. The groups are always like this when Rhaenyra leads a tour of the Red Keep–star struck, slightly insecure under the weight of their own feelings of awe. Attempting to enjoy their tour but trying not to seem as though they’re enjoying it too much. It’s a testament to the Targaryen legacy that even under democracy, their name and status continue to instill both fear and admiration in the common people. 

“As you have probably ascertained from all of the books around us,” Rhaenyra says, her eyes scanning the walls of bookshelves towering around the group. “This is the library.” She finally stops walking, just short of where Alicent sits behind the service desk, letting the plastic tip of her fake sword fall onto the stone between her feet, resting her hands on its hilt. 

“Most notable about this particular library is that we have a vast collection of rare books that, together, form an archive of Westerosi history and culture throughout the years. Patrons are free to check out books from this collection as long as you remain inside the library and return them before you leave. The rest of the books, however, are fair game to take home and return in two weeks, though if you have traveled a bit too far from home to check out a library book, you can also peruse books for purchase in the gift shop to your right.” 

Alicent leans forward against the desk, watching Rhaenyra. As much as she knows Rhaenyra despises the fact that her father has forced her into giving a few tours a week for the sake of good publicity, Alicent can’t help but think that she’s sort of in her element. Rhaenyra has always had a flair for performance, and nothing is more performative than prancing happily around the castle your family once ruled the Seven Kingdoms from (now Westeros’ largest tourist trap), listing off fun facts about your ancestors. 

“And, if you have any questions regarding the library,” Rhaenyra says, stepping to the side and swinging her sword around, its tip now pressing against Alicent’s collarbone. “Please speak to our wonderful library assistant, Alicent.”

A smile tugs at the corners of Alicent’s mouth as she locks eyes with Rhaenyra. She pushes the sword away and looks to the group to see if there are any takers. Not this time. The group has already begun disbanding, most of them headed in the direction of the gift shop where they’ll inevitably buy a plastic replica of the crown or a plush dragon. 

“God,” Rhaenyra says, walking behind the desk to join Alicent, taking up residence on the empty stool next to the girl. “It’s just agony at this point…”

Alicent rolls her eyes. “It’s two hours after school a couple days a week, and you get paid as much as the other tour guides–like you need the money,” she says with a huff, her tone more amused than scornful. Her own shift won’t be over for another three hours, though Rhaenyra nearly always keeps her company. “Plus, you’ve known the tour like the back of your hand since you were six years old, and you don’t even have to wear all the garb.” 

The rest of the tour guides are required to wear period-appropriate attire, but Rhaenyra skirts this rule. Today, she’s wearing a red bandanna, tufts of short blonde hair poking out from underneath, a sweatshirt with the arms cut off, and a pair of gym shorts. It’s ridiculous for her to give a tour looking as if she’s just rolled out of bed, but Rhaenyra has a way of enchanting people into accepting her abnormal behavior. All Targaryens do. 

“Well, I told my father I’d break into the display cases and behead him with the real Blackfyre if he made me wear a dress,” she says to Alicent, her demeanor playful. “And I do need the money,” she continues. “It’s my weed and juul pods fund.” 

Alicent lets out a small laugh, shaking her head as she returns to her book. Rhaenyra, in her typical fashion, doesn’t allow it. She scoots her stool closer, allowing herself to look over Alicent’s shoulder. “What are you reading?” she asks, genuinely curious, before resting her chin in the crook of Alicent’s neck, her hand rubbing the girl’s back. 

Alicent sighs and pulls away from Rhaenyra, though the girl’s hand remains on her back, fingers tangling themselves in the auburn ends of her hair. “It’s called Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit ,” she replies, closing the book as she looks back at Rhaenyra, furrowing an eyebrow as if to emphasize the fact that she’s being bothered.

“What’s it about?” Rhaenyra asks. 

“I’d rather not say,” Alicent replies. 

“Will it go in my corner?” 

She’s referring to the corner of the library in which a small shelf is dedicated to Rhaenyra’s book recommendations–commonly referred to as Rhaenyra’s Recs. Viserys came up with the idea when the girl first learned how to read, and the library keeps the tradition going even though Rhaenyra hasn’t read any work of literature (outside of school) that isn’t under the smut tag on Ao3 since year eight. When Alicent started working in the library two years ago, she took up the job of managing Rhaenyra’s recommendations, often putting up her own favorite books.

“No,” Alicent answers with a scoff. “If anyone pays attention to that shelf, which I’m not sure they do–”

“Oh, they do,” Rhaenyra says with a smug expression. “I’ve gotten plenty of people on Twitter complimenting my reading taste. Trust.” 

“ My reading taste,” Alicent corrects, and she ignores Rhaenyra’s claim, being unable to contradict it, as she refuses to download Twitter. “It would be something of a PR nightmare for your father if this book ended up on that shelf.”

“Really?” Rhaenyra says curiously, picking the book up and turning it over to read the synopsis on the back. To Alicent’s horror, she reads it aloud:

“This is the story of Jeanette, adopted and brought up by her mother as one of God’s elect. Zealous and passionate, she seems destined for life as a missionary, but then she falls for one of her converts. At sixteen, Jeanette decides to leave the church, her home, and her family for the young woman she loves,” Rhaenyra reads, eyebrows raising as she looks back to Alicent. “Saucy,” she comments. 

Alicent groans, smacking the girl in the stomach. “Shut up,” she says. 

“Seems a little close to home, no?” Rhaenyra says, a taunting smile playing on her lips as she leans closer to the girl. 

Alicent lets out a soft breath as she stares into the penetrating blue of Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Leave me alone,” she says, her tone flippant in an attempt to brush the conversation off. 

Over the last year, the two girls have been engaged in a dance of confusion regarding this topic. It started in a particularly cursed setting–the Lannister twins’ birthday party–and spiraled from there. Rhaenyra and Alicent wandered off from the rest of the group halfway through the night with a half-drunk bottle of tequila. Once the bottle was empty and there was nothing left to do, Alicent kissed Rhaenyra. She blamed the alcohol and proceeded to pretend that nothing had happened for several months. Rhaenyra didn’t press a conversation about it, which Alicent was grateful for at the time. Then it happened again on an otherwise unremarkable Sunday evening. They proceeded to have an ambiguous conversation on the subject in which Alicent vehemently denied having any real gay urges, insisting that she was only curious and that it would stop. To no one’s surprise, it did not stop. In fact, the instances in which she found herself kissing Rhaenyra only became more frequent. It was just in the last few months that Alicent had truly come to terms with the fact that she was a lesbian–a truth so unfortunate and frankly unwelcome in her life that she’s still surprised she’s come to the realization at all. Her relationship with Rhaenyra, however, evades her. They’re friends, of course. Best friends since before she can even remember. But there’s always been that push and pull between them, even before things got messy–they’re never balanced on the scale. 

“Perhaps we should visit the dungeon tonight,” Rhaenyra remarks. 

Alicent stiffens in her seat, her thoughts lingering on their most recent excursion to the dungeon. She is typically averse to visiting that particular part of the castle for obvious reasons (horrible vibes), but Rhaenyra convinced her to take a stroll down the Traitor’s Walk and led her to the black cells a week ago. Alicent has since come to the unfortunate conclusion that there’s something quite erotic about fear. 

Before Alicent can respond, the sound of someone clearing their throat comes from behind them. She turns in her seat to see Larys Strong, her co-worker and the most miserable boy she’s had the displeasure of getting to know, standing before them. 

“Rhaenyra,” he says coldly, staring at the Targaryen with a restrained rage in his eyes. “You’re sitting on my stool.” 

“Oh, how silly of me, Larys,” she replies with an air of nonchalance, standing up and bowing to him as she steps away. 

“I thought we agreed on no outsiders behind the circulation desk,” Larys says, his gaze softening as it lands on Alicent. 

“Her dad owns the castle, Larys,” Alicent replies without looking at him, beginning to pick at her nails. “Including the stool you just asked her to move from. She can do whatever she pleases.” 

Rhaenyra snickers, moving to stand behind Alicent and running her hands up the girl’s back. Alicent sighs as Rhaenyra begins to massage her shoulders, looking over at Larys. “I thought you were reshelving,” she says without bothering to hide her distaste for the boy.  

“I finished,” Larys replies simply, eyes locked on Rhaenyra’s hands. “Rhaenyra, you’re quite the distraction today.” 

Rhaenyra raises her eyebrows and smirks at him. “I didn’t know you fancied me, Larys,” she says. “I’m flattered, really. But I’ve got to be honest with you. I’m not interested in…whatever it is you’ve got going on over there.” 

As she says it, she gestures vaguely to Larys, and Alicent can’t help but snort. The boy is wearing flip flops, cargo shorts, and a Minecraft t-shirt. To top it all off, the plaid fedora that everyone at school jokes is glued permanently to his head is tilted forward at an angle that Alicent thinks should be illegal. His expression contorts to one of anger and embarrassment at Rhaenyra’s response. She has a penchant for being able to press every single one of his buttons and never fails to get a rise out of him. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he says through clenched teeth, his fists balling up on the table. He pulls one clenched hand up angrily, opens it, and closes it again. “Do you plan on staying long?”

“I suppose just until Ali’s shift is over,” she says tauntingly. Rhaenyra lets her hands fall down Alicent’s arms, gripping her just above the elbows and pulling her back on her seat, against the front of Rhaenyra’s body. She enjoys watching Larys squirm over what he can’t have. 

“Unless,” Alicent says, smiling and batting her eyelashes at Larys. “My favorite co-worker covers for me.” 

Larys looks conflicted, eyes flickering from Alicent to Rhaenyra to the table as he thinks. Eventually, he sighs and says, “Fine.” 

“Thanks, Larys,” Alicent says, hopping off of her stool almost too eagerly. “I owe you one.” 

*****

“ I owe you one ?” Rhaenyra says with a scoff as they walk the halls of the castle. “You realize you’re saying that to the guy who posts his creepy poems about you to Instagram, and tags you in all of them?” 

Alicent shrugs. “It slipped my mind,” she says. 

“Not to mention the fact that he always pretends his limp is worse than it really is just so he can literally fall all over you in attempt to feel you up,” Rhaenyra continues, working herself up. “And let’s not forget about the time that he became an altar boy because he thought he’d get to be around you more at church. Oh yeah, and the fact that he snuck his way into this job about a month after you started–”

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent stops walking as she cuts the girl off mid-sentence. 

Rhaenyra is three strides ahead before she realizes, and she nearly falls over as she halts in her step and turns to look back at Alicent. “What?” 

“Are we going to the dungeon?” 

Rhaenyra’s eyes glisten at the question, a small smile fluttering across her lips. “No,” she says after a long moment, tilting her head slightly. “I want to go to the King’s chambers.” 

*****

“This would be my father’s room if he were King,” Rhaenyra remarks smugly, running her finger over the smooth wood of the bed frame. 

Alicent chuckles from across the room. She holds a stone figurine of a dragon that she took from the mantle. One of Rhaenyra’s ancestors (history seems to have forgotten which) had obsessively carved figures of one specific dragon (Balerion, experts have guessed, from historical drawings). There are real ones and plastic copies scattered across the castle as decor, and of course, there are replicas for tourists to buy in the gift shop. This one that Alicent holds now is real, she can feel as much in the weight of it, the roughness of the stone under her fingers. “You speak as if he’s not currently Prime Minister,” she replies. 

Rhaenyra tilts her head, deep in thought. “I would be his heir,” she says. “And upon his death, this would be my bedroom as the Queen.”

Alicent makes a face. “I’ve always thought that was sort of gross,” she says. “Think about it…all of your ancestors except for the ones over the last two hundred years or so shagged exclusively on that bed.” 

“Well, I’m sure not exclusively,” Rhaenyra says as she walks around to take a seat on the foot of the bed. “And they probably changed the mattress out every couple of years anyway. Surely they did after a new heir ascended the throne.”

“They barely bathed, and they married their siblings,” Alicent replies with a laugh. “I highly doubt they cared about whether their dad shagged their mum on the same mattress they lay their head on every night.” 

Rhaenyra’s hands find her knees, and she leans back slightly. “You dare mock the royal family?” she teases. 

Alicent places the dragon figurine back on the mantle and turns to look at Rhaenyra. “It’s not mockery if I’m stating facts,” she says with a playful grin on her face. 

“Either way,” Rhaenyra says, a sigh escaping her lips. “If things were how they were then, I would have your head for that.” 

Alicent approaches the foot of the bed and suddenly becomes self-conscious with Rhaenyra looking at her the way that she is. She runs her hands down her thighs and kneels on the floor in front of the Targaryen girl, making herself comfortable. “It’s tragic to live in the 21st century with running water and human rights, I suppose,” Alicent comments, eliciting a grin from her friend. 

Rhaenyra knows it’s ignorant to romanticize the past–specifically her family’s rule. Still, she can’t help but feel a twinge of grief in her heart for a lost future. Sure, her family still has their fingers on the pulse of the political landscape of Westeros. Her father has been prime minister for all seventeen years of her life, and before that, her grandfather held the title. Not to mention the fact that a large sector of the extended family held seats in office as well. But she doesn’t particularly care for partisan politics. Rhaenyra has never planned on running for office when she’s older–not that she’s ever dared to tell her father that. It’s preferable to be handed power rather than to desperately strive for it. 

“Well,” Rhaenyra says, looking down at Alicent. “This would be my bedroom when I became Queen, and I would do whatever I wanted in it.” 

“Is that not what you’re doing now?” Alicent asks. 

“I suppose you’re right.” 

“Knowing you, it’d be a whorehouse in here,” Alicent says, pushing herself up from the floor and collapsing on the mattress next to the girl. 

“I resent that statement,” Rhaenyra says. 

“Take my head for it, then,” Alicent replies. 

The way Alicent dismisses her. The girl’s nonchalant disregard for her lineage. How she always pokes fun at Rhaenyra about it. It’s one of the things that Rhaenyra likes best about her. Rhaenyra rolls over so that she’s on top of the girl, her hand snaking its way up to her neck. “Don’t tempt me.” 

Alicent’s breathing hitches, but it doesn’t stop the giggle from escaping her lips. “Stupid,” she murmurs with a roll of her eyes before gazing fondly up at Rhaenyra. She reaches out and brushes her fingers across the girl’s cheek. “Stupid, beautiful incest baby,” she adds, shaking with laughter under Rhaenyra’s grasp. 

Rhaenyra smiles and removes her hand from the girl’s neck, her thumb gently resting in the notch between Alicent’s collarbones. “We haven’t been incestuous in ages, okay?”

“I just find it hard to believe,” Alicent says, shaking her head. “How do you all still have that gorgeous blonde hair?” 

“Superior genes,” Rhaenyra replies with a shrug. “I dunno.” 

“It’s quite suspicious.” 

“Isn’t making fun of incest ableist in some way?” Rhaenyra ponders. 

“Not me being ableist to your great great great great great grandpappy because he chose to marry his daughter to his son. I mean, cancel me already. Social justice warriors rise. I deserve it.” 

“Okay, you win,” Rhaenyra says, her laughter muffled as she buries her face in the crook of Alicent’s neck, breathing in the scent of the girl’s hair. A mix of jasmine and the incense that’s constantly burning in the library. She presses her lips to Alicent’s neck, embracing the warmth of the girl underneath her. 

Alicent makes a noise that stirs something low in Rhaenyra’s stomach. A combination of a sigh and a low hum. She wants to hear it again and is compelled to continue kissing up the girl’s neck, trying to elicit the same response. When her lips reach the girl’s jaw, Alicent finally lets out the same sound again, and Rhaenyra pulls away for a moment. 

Alicent raises her chin slightly in reaction to the break in contact, doe eyes gazing up from beneath long lashes. Pleading. Rhaenyra takes a long moment to appreciate the beauty laid out beneath her–candlelight casting a warm glow over Alicent’s features, her chest rising and falling, lips parted, as if tormented with need. This sort of thing happens a lot between the two of them–more than both of them know is normal. But Rhaenyra’s not thinking about that as she leans in and kisses the girl. The way Alicent receives her is as natural as the tides coming and going, her hands reaching up and caressing Rhaenyra’s face, pulling her in deeper. 

Once again, the sound that put them in this position rings out, the soft whimper vibrating against Rhaenyra’s lips as Alicent’s tongue slips between them. Rhaenyra doesn’t mean to, but a similar sound comes out of her own mouth. Alicent’s hands immediately move under her shirt, fingertips brushing up against the Targaryen girl’s waist, simultaneously shifting her own hips to grind down on Rhaenyra’s thigh. This is the part that always makes Rhaenyra weak. Her pious Alicent, so desperate for friction between her legs. Rhaenyra knows that even now, even with a better understanding of her sexuality and ever-conflicting feelings about the church, Alicent will be off to the confessional booth as soon as she gets the chance, pleading forgiveness for lustful actions. But, in the last month, Alicent hasn’t bothered taking off the gold cross necklace she always wears. It’s a ritual of their copulation that has suddenly been omitted, and the symbolism of that isn’t lost on Rhaenyra. Alicent is not worried sick with guilt for the moment. She’s moving her hips and panting, one hand on Rhaenyra’s neck, licking her lips as she tilts her head back. 

A warm sensation settles itself below Rhaenyra’s stomach and begins to build as Alicent gazes up at her, the familiar pulsating sensation between her legs returning as the fabric of her shorts tightens around her length. Alicent feels it against her thigh and slows the movement of her hips to a stop, her legs falling open. Rhaenyra clears her throat, her heart racing as she pulls away. She watches Alicent begin to unbutton her jeans and Rhaenyra reaches down, untying her shoes and pulling them off for her. She then helps the girl tug the jeans down her legs, discarding them on the floor. Rhaenyra runs her hands over the soft skin of Alicent’s thighs, spreading them open. The girl’s underwear is pink cotton, a small bow of the same color in the middle of the waistband. The fabric stretched between her legs is damp, and Rhaenyra sighs, running her hands up Alicent’s body to her face. 

“So pretty,” she murmurs, mostly to herself, as she leans in and captures the girl’s lips with her own again, pressing their hips together. 

This is as far as they ever go. Kissing, touching over the clothes, layers of fabric between their bodies as they grind against one another. Alicent fears that some things feel too good, that depriving herself is the righteous path to walk. Rhaenyra never presses the matter, never bothers to question if they should, too afraid that the rejection would bring Alicent back to the place she was when they first started this charade–closeted, afraid. This is the best that either of them dare to hope for. 

Alicent’s breathing hitches after several minutes of continuous contact, her lips trailing down Rhaenyra’s neck. “Oh god,” she whispers, hands clenching Rhaenyra’s hips. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, legs shaking as her hips buck faster, the orgasm washing over her body. Rhaenyra presses her hand over Alicent’s mouth as she cums, stifling her moans. She always does this, no matter where they find themselves. As Alicent comes down from the high of her release, she pulls Rhaenyra’s hand from her mouth. “I told you to stop doing that,” she says, her tone harsh, though she leans up and presses a kiss to the corner of Rhaenyra’s mouth as she says it. 

“You’re so loud, though,” Rhaenyra responds, chuckling as she rolls over onto her back next to Alicent. “It’s sort of necessary.”

Alicent feels the absence of Rhaenyra’s weight on top of her and bristles. “Are you not going to?” she cuts the question short, embarrassed. 

Rhaenyra shakes her head, patting Alicent on the thigh affectionately. “I refuse to walk around the castle with a cum stain on my crotch, so no.” 

Alicent’s eyes wander down to the bulge in Rhaenyra’s shorts. “Is that any better?” she asks. 

“This will go down in a few minutes,” Rhaenyra says, reaching down to adjust herself in her shorts. 

“We can do it until you’re about to,” Alicent suggests, eyes moving back to Rhaenyra’s face. “Then we can stop before you actually do.” 

Rhaenyra smiles at Alicent, confusion written into her expression. “Why?”

“Because I know you want to,” she says simply, pushing herself up and climbing over the girl, straddling her. 

Rhaenyra feigns annoyance, rolling her eyes as she tilts her head back. “Whatever,” she mumbles, placing her hands on Alicent’s legs, fingers pressing into soft flesh. 

Her eyebrows furrow, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches Alicent begin rolling her hips slowly against her. “Fuck,” she breathes, her hands moving up to Alicent’s waist, pushing up the girl’s shirt to expose her stomach. 

A smile tugs at Alicent’s lips as she looks down at Rhaenyra. There’s something she loves about how delicate the would-be Targaryen princess looks under the spell of her touch. She’s quite sure that no one–not even the others she knows Rhaenyra has been similarly intimate with–have seen her in such a vulnerable state. The girl obsessively dominates in all aspects of her life, yet one caress from Alicent, and she can be as docile as a puppy. 

“You’re so hard for me,” she whispers as she finds her rhythm. She reaches down with one hand, pushing Rhaenyra’s shirt up, her palm resting against the girl’s stomach. 

A flash of mischief gleams in Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Well, that’s typically what happens, Ali,” she remarks sarcastically between pants. 

Alicent tilts her head, watching Rhaenyra’s lower stomach begin to cave. “You’re close,” she says, and she feels the girl’s length throb against her. 

Rhaenyra’s expression changes drastically, mouth going slack, eyebrows furrowed, seemingly unable to respond as her eyes are locked on Alicent’s hips. 

“Fuck,” Rhaenyra finally says, placing a hand on Alicent’s hips to stop her. “Fuck,” she breathes again, pushing her hand under the waistband of her shorts, freeing her cock. It only takes a few strokes before she’s whimpering, her release spilling onto her stomach. 

Alicent giggles as she moves off of Rhaenyra’s lap, eyes still on the girl. “Can’t even control yourself,” she teases.

Rhaenyra stares at the ceiling, breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed as her hand slows its pace. “It’s your fault,” she replies. “Now you’ll have to clean it up.” 

Alicent locks eyes with Rhaenyra as the girl turns her head toward her. She glances down at the Targaryen girl’s midriff. The sight is nothing short of obscene–Rhaenyra’s length, still stiff in her hand, abs covered in cum, stomach moving up and down with each breath. Alicent averts her gaze after a moment as Rhaenyra pulls her shorts back up over her hips, though the image is seared into her brain, certain to return the next time she gets bored in Calculus. It’s no secret that Rhaenyra is well endowed–she’s felt as much–but she’s only actually seen the girl’s cock on the rare occasion that she can’t risk releasing in her pants. Even then, Rhaenyra sometimes turns away or obscures herself from Alicent’s view. Today is evidently different, if only for a moment. 

Once Rhaenyra is mostly clothed again, Alicent leans over her, dipping her head down and slowly running her tongue across the girl’s stomach, lapping up the girl’s release. Rhaenyra clears her throat as Alicent pulls back slightly. “Ali,” she says, placing a gentle hand on the back of the girl’s head. “I didn’t mean–um,” she stutters as Alicent’s eyes meet hers. “I just meant that you should find something to clean it up with.” 

Alicent’s cheeks go red as she sits up fully, the taste of Rhaenyra still lingering on her tongue. “Right,” she says, looking around the room. Her gaze drifts back toward Rhaenyra and her eyes narrow slightly before she reaches over and unties the girl’s bandana, removing it from her head. Alicent lets out a self-conscious chuckle as she uses the fabric to wipe at Rhaenyra’s stomach. She shakes her head as she murmurs to herself, “Stupid.”

*****

Alicent sits on the carpet of the Targaryen living room with Rhaenyra, taking turns pushing Baelon in his swing. Originally, the infant had a little plastic contraption to swing in, but the boy loved it so much that Viserys had a real swing specified to his son’s size and comfort, installed permanently in the corner of the room. A physical testament to his affection for his children–Rhaenyra is similarly spoiled. 

“Your father was a real git tonight,” Rhaenyra comments as she reaches out and gives her brother a gentle push on the stomach, rocking the swing back. Otto Hightower had graced them with his presence for dinner, remaining on his phone for the duration of the meal, looking up only to make a remark about the neckline of his daughter’s tank top, and fleeing as soon as he had stayed a socially acceptable amount of time. 

“I thought he was quite pleasant actually,” Alicent replies casually, catching one of Baelon’s feet as he swings forward again, eliciting a giggle from the boy. She lets go as he swings back again. 

They look at each other for a moment and both of them smile, Rhaenyra rolling her eyes at the girl’s comment. Alicent laughs and grabs a hold of the front of Baelon’s swing, pulling him up further so that he goes higher when she releases him. When she does it, the boy shrieks with excitement. 

“He loves this so much,” Rhaenyra comments, watching her brother swing back and forth. “So sad he doesn’t know it’s time for us to be rid of him.” 

With that, she promptly stops the swing and pulls Baelon out of it, shushing and rocking the boy in her lap as he begins to cry. 

“You’re evil,” Alicent says, shaking her head. 

“He’s perfectly fine,” Rhaenyra replies as Baelon begins to calm down, sniffling. The girl turns her brother to face Alicent. His little face is red, the remnants of the tears shed during his short-lived fit still on his cheeks, his lips formed into a tiny pout. “See?” 

“Happiest I’ve ever seen him,” Alicent says, reaching over and squishing the boy’s cheeks together before leaning in and giving him a kiss on the nose. This seems to cheer him right up, as he giggles and grabs onto a lock of Alicent’s hair. 

“He always wants you,” Rhaenyra sighs, handing her brother over to Alicent in defeat. “It’s getting to be rude at this point, Baelon. No respect for your own flesh and blood. Am I just a servant who changes your disgusting diapers?” she says to the boy, tickling his stomach. 

Baelon giggles again, kicking at Rhaenyra’s arm and turning his head into the crook of Alicent’s neck. “Must you torment him?” Alicent teases, carefully pushing herself up from the floor. 

Rhaenyra gets up as well, watching Alicent slowly rocking side to side as Baelon curls into her chest, closing his eyes. “It’s my duty as his older sister to torment him,” she replies. “Now, come on, let’s get rid of him.” 

Alicent lets out a soft laugh as they head into the kitchen where Viserys and Aemma are sitting at the table, deep in conversation. 

“Looks like it’s someone’s bedtime,” Aemma coos at the sight of her little boy snuggled up in Alicent’s arms. She reaches out and gently takes him from the girl. “You have the magic touch,” she whispers to Alicent. “Usually, if we let this one push him in the swing before bed, he won’t go down for another hour.” 

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes dismissively and kisses her mother on the cheek, running a hand through Baelon’s white curls as the woman leaves to put him to bed. Alicent falters at the sight. The Targaryen household is always very domestic in comparison to her own. Since Gwayne went off to university, it’s only been Alicent and her father at the Hightower residence–Otto’s cold remarks and Alicent’s reluctant obedience are the only exchanges they ever share. Most of the time it’s silent, whether her father is away at work or not. Viserys and Aemma have been kind enough to embrace Alicent as if she’s a member of the family, even before her mother died, but seeing their dynamic up close this way still sparks a twinge of envy in her stomach. 

Two plates sit on the table, and Rhaenyra examines the crumbs left on them carefully. “Did you have cake?” she asks her father.

Viserys smiles. “Lemon cake,” he specifies, getting up from his seat and kissing his daughter on the forehead. “There’s more in the fridge. Help yourselves.” With that, he bids them goodnight and heads after Aemma. 

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow as she turns to look at Alicent. “Shall we?” she asks.

Usually, Alicent wouldn’t hesitate to say yes, but she ate far too much at dinner. “I’m still full,” she remarks, patting her stomach. 

“Then split a piece with me,” Rhaenyra says. 

Minutes later, they sit in the chairs Viserys and Aemma had vacated, sharing a large slice of cake. They eat in relative silence, alternating bites. Even though she’s full, Alicent is glad she decided to have some. Moments like this with Rhaenyra–simply sitting in silence, content to be doing any trivial thing together–are absolutely delicious. 

“Do you think you’ll ever have kids?” Rhaenyra asks suddenly, breaking the silence as she swallows down a mouthful of cake. 

Alicent sets her fork down, looking at the other girl and shrugging. “My father certainly expects me to,” she replies plainly. 

“Would you even if your father didn’t expect it of you, though?” Rhaenyra clarifies, wiping her mouth with a napkin. 

“Even if I did, it would never be in a way he would approve of,” Alicent says after taking a moment to think about it. “I dunno. There’s a part of me that would like to and a part of me that wants to run away at the very thought.” 

“I think I’d like to have about twenty of them myself,” Rhaenyra says, smirking at the girl. “Then I’d have an army of Targaryens.” 

Alicent snorts. “Can you ever be serious?” she asks.

“I’m partially serious,” the blonde responds. “I’d like a big family. Four or five children would be sufficient.” 

“Four or five,” Alicent whispers incredulously, raising her eyebrows at her friend. “Your future wife is going to hate you.”

“Who’s to say I won’t have a husband?” Rhaenyra asks. 

Alicent bristles, her gaze turning stern. “Men are so one-dimensional,” she responds callously. “What is there to do for a whole lifetime with such simple creatures?”

Rhaenyra laughs, though she knows Alicent is dead serious. “You say this as though you have any intention of marrying a woman.”

“My father has been eyeing Laenor for me recently,” Alicent responds, grinning. “Perhaps we could sort out an agreement.” 

Rhaenyra chokes, a piece of cake going down her esophagus the wrong way. “That’s absolutely ridiculous,” she says once she regains her composure. “Your father seems to think we live in the Middle Ages, the way he talks about marriage. Laenor is as out as one can be in my family–I’m surprised the news hasn’t made its way to Otto yet. Besides, Rhaenys and Corlys would never make him marry if he didn’t want it.”

“Rhaenys might if it was me he was marrying,” Alicent says. Rhaenys has always been fond of Alicent, to the point that it’s become an inside joke to the entire Targaryen family. Many times, Alicent has attended galas and parties with Rhaenyra where they run into an unfamiliar blonde head only for them to hear her name and exclaim, ‘Ah, Rhaenys’ good friend!’ “It’s preferable to other ideas my father’s had in the past, at least,” she murmurs. 

“Well, Laenor would never go for it,” Rhaenyra says, shaking her head. “He thinks you’re strange.” 

“You’d think he would’ve gotten over that feeling by now,” Alicent replies with a shrug. “Or is he still sore over the fact that Joffrey and I dated for two days in primary school?” 

“I’m sure it’s partially that,” Rhaenyra says, chuckling. “Also the fact that you never sit with us at lunch, you rarely keep the company of anyone aside from me and occasionally Orwyle, yet your station in the social hierarchy remains the same–everyone knows and adores you. Plus, you’re always whispering with Laena when the four of us do get together.” 

Alicent smiles. “If he’s so obsessed with status, marrying me ought to be at the top of his to do list then.” 

Rhaenyra makes a face and clears her throat, eyes roaming the kitchen. “I might marry a man,” she says after a moment. “It would be easier on my father, given his supposed stance on gay marriage.” 

Viserys Targaryen is a walking paradox. Less of a leader in the traditional sense, and more of a vessel for others to push their policy through–namely, Alicent’s father. Most of the things he spouts off in public, he doesn’t actually believe. Alicent wishes her father could compartmentalize the same way. 

Alicent rolls her eyes. “You’d be cheating on him left and right,” she replies. 

“Why would I marry someone just to torment them?” Rhaenyra says. “You think I’m cruel?” 

“No, I just think you will always want a taste of what you’re not supposed to have,” Alicent says. “I doubt you’ll ever marry anyway. It’s not in your nature.” 

“You’re so evil sometimes,” Rhaenyra remarks. Her tone is playful, though her eyes give away a deeper wound. “My wife will hate me for wanting children, I’ll cheat on my husband left and right–actually, forget both of those things, I probably won’t marry at all,” she mocks. 

Alicent is silent for a long moment, looking Rhaenyra up and down as one hand instinctively finds the other, nails picking away at her cuticles. “Yeah, sorry,” is all she can think to say. 

*****

“Oh, what is it now, dear cousin?” Laenor says as he approaches a sullen Rhaenyra standing up against the back wall of the school building. She’s hitting her juul so hard that she looks as though she might swallow the device whole, Laena’s hand empathetically resting on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me it’s the Hightower girl again. Are you finally rubbed raw from all the dry humping?”

“Shut it,” Laena says to him, her hand falling back to her side. 

“She didn’t even look at me today,” Rhaenyra says, her voice quiet, eyes fixed on the concrete beneath her feet. 

Laenor looks at Laena with raised eyebrows as he leans his shoulder against the wall next to Rhaenyra. “Oh, the drama,” he says wearily, fixing the collar of the girl’s shirt.  

“Did something happen?” Laena–the ever patient one out of her two cousins–asks. 

“No,” Rhaenyra replies. “I mean, I don’t think so. We hooked up in the King’s Chambers at the Red–”

“You what?” Laenor interrupts. 

Rhaenyra’s eyes meet his. “We hooked up in the King’s Chambers at the Red Keep,” she repeats, finishing her statement. 

“Kinky,” Laena comments, wiggling her eyebrows at her cousin in an attempt to bring up the mood. 

“But then we had dinner at my house,” Rhaenyra continues. “Afterward, we were eating cake–”

“Big surprise there,” Laenor says, a smirk on his face. 

Rhaenyra ignored him, continuing, “She kept making digs at me–you know, the way she does sometimes–and then she sort of got all quiet when I called her out on it. And now, she doesn’t spare me a single glance the entire day. And we sit next to each other in three classes.”

Laenor sighs. “This dance with Alicent is quite juvenile, Nyra,” he says. “Even for you.” The comment is met with Laena’s elbow poking into his gut. “Ouch. So rude, and you can’t even say it’s not true.” 

“Why don’t you just text her, love?” Laena asks, ignoring her brother. 

“Wouldn’t know what to say,” Rhaenyra huffs, crossing her arms, the juul hanging ridiculously from her lips as she inhales, exhaling the vapor through her nose.

“Poor little dragon,” Laena laughs, patting Rhaenyra affectionately on the cheek. 

“How about something along the lines of, ‘Hey, I actually fancy you quite a bit, and your religion isn’t real, so God can’t hurt you. Let’s shag properly next time and talk about our feelings for each other,’” Laenor says, his voice mocking Rhaenyra’s typical intonation. 

Laena can’t help but snort at the impression. “Right,” she says. “In a perfect world, maybe.” 

Rhaenyra lets her juul drop into one hand as she pushes herself off the wall. She walks away from them, crossing the car park to the wooded area beyond the concrete, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She nudges the toe of her shoe against a decaying log as she types. 

Rhaenyra: Are you still ignoring me?

Almost immediately, three dots appear in the chat. Alicent’s been waiting for her to say something. 

Alicent: No. 

Rhaenyra furrows her eyebrows at the message. Far too short for her liking. Alicent knows what she’s doing.

Rhaenyra: Don’t know what you could possibly be mad at me about tbfh…

Alicent: Never was mad, love x

Rhaenyra groans, chancing a glance back at her cousins. The two are staring at her–Laenor amused and Laena concerned. With two swift strokes of her fingers, she’s calling the girl, pressing the phone to her ear as the outgoing drone rings on. Alicent picks up the phone after three rings but doesn’t say anything. Rhaenyra hears her breathing on the other end–slow, steady. 

“Don’t say you haven’t been ignoring me all day,” Rhaenyra starts. She knows she’s begun badly, but she doesn’t care. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at practice right now?” Alicent asks. On the days that she’s not required to do tours of the Red Keep, Rhaenyra is typically on the basketball court once school lets out. 

“Skipped,” Rhaenyra says. 

“Why’s that?” 

“Just felt like it.” 

“I’m not supposed to be on my phone at work, so if there’s something you have to say to me, you should probably do it now,” Alicent says with a sigh. Rhaenyra chews at her bottom lip, the sound melting something inside her chest. 

“Ali,” she says, her voice quiet. “Will you come over after your shift tonight?” 

Alicent hums, uncertain. 

“Our spot then?” Rhaenyra offers. “The weather’s good for it.” 

“It wouldn’t be until later,” she replies. “I have tons of homework.”

“How late?” Rhaenyra asks. 

“One in the morning,” Alicent says. “Maybe two.”

“Really?” Rhaenyra knows Alicent doesn’t have enough homework to justify meeting at such a late hour, and even if she did, she’d have it done long before the early hours of the morning. 

“Forget it then,” Alicent says with a sigh, and Rhaenyra can practically picture the girl’s eyes as she says it, wide and melancholy. Perhaps Alicent did want to see her, though not without making her wait–a subtle punishment for God knows what little thing Rhaenyra did to set her off in the first place.

“Fine,” Rhaenyra replies. If Alicent is set on playing games, why shouldn’t she participate as well? 

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent says before the girl can hang up on her. 

“Yes?” 

“You look fit today,” she says, just above a whisper, likely scared of Larys overhearing. 

Rhaenyra smiles for the first time in hours. It’s something they’ve always said to each other when they’re feeling depressed– (Failed a test? Well, at least you look fit today. Didn’t sleep well last night? Doesn’t show, you look fit) –but since they started hooking up, Rhaenyra now reads a certain amount of innuendo into the statement. “Whatever,” she says before hanging up, though she knows the giddiness in her voice gives her away. 

She’s still grinning from ear to ear as she walks back across the car park to her cousins. 

“Were you just on the phone with her?” Laena asks, incredulous. 

Rhaenyra shrugs and nods, pulling a hit from her juul. 

“You both need to be diagnosed,” Laenor says. 

“Let me guess,” Laena says, crossing her arms as she leans against the brick building. “You’re off to see her now?” 

“What?” Rhaenyra scoffs. “No, I’m not that desperate.”

“Well, obviously that means she refused you,” Laena says with a knowing look on her face. “So why are you smiling like that?” 

“Because she’s deranged,” Laenor responds. “There’s no understanding a cunt-struck Targaryen, Laena, you should know this.” 

“Cunt-struck is generous,” Laena says, teasing. “Cunt-deprived perhaps.” 

Laenor laughs. “A cunt-deprived Targaryen is infinitely more dangerous.” 

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at them, plunging a hand into the pocket of her slacks and pulling out a joint, giving them a questioning look. “Anyone who wishes to partake can’t make fun of me for the rest of the day. Any takers?”

Laenor giggles, a hand shooting up to cover his mouth as if holding back another jab. “Did you know you’re my favorite cousin, Rhaenyra?” 

*****

“Laena,” Rhaenyra says. It’s a warning. She’s leaning over the car, parked in the driveway, peering into the backseat where Laena is sitting. The girl is just staring at the back of the headrest. “Don’t be fucking weird this time. My dad will kill me if he finds out I’ve been smoking pot.”

Laenor giggles from where he stands on the other side of the car, covering his face with his hands. “Rhaenyra, she’s gone. Leave her.”

Rhaenyra straightens her stance, looking over the top of the car at Laenor, fighting the smile threatening to break across her face. “Watch it,” she says. “You’re too happy right now.” 

Laenor groans. “Your parents are so square,” he says. “Like, I can’t even enjoy my high when we’re about to have lasagna for dinner? We should’ve gone to mine.” 

“Just help me,” Rhaenyra says as she grabs Laena’s hand, pulling her out of the car. 

“We can just say she’s having a rough day,” Laenor says as he walks over, shutting the car door as Rhaenyra lets go of Laena’s hand, fussing over the girl’s slightly mussed appearance. 

“Not to be rude, Nyra,” Laena says. “But the last person I want to see right now is your dad.” 

Laenor laughs at the comment and then doubles over in a fit as he watches his sister dart away from them, running through the backyard. 

“Laena!” Rhaenyra calls out, jogging after her half-heartedly, stopping where the driveway meets the grass. She watches the girl’s blonde curls disappear into the night. 

“Leave her,” Laenor says. “Let her frolick! She’s probably going home.” 

Rhaenyra turns to Laenor and sighs as she slings an arm around his shoulders. They walk arm in arm to the front door. Rhaenyra doesn’t have the wherewithal to find her keys, so she rings the doorbell relentlessly until the door swings open in front of them. 

Rhaenys is standing there holding a glass of wine, and for a moment, Rhaenyra thinks she’s brought them to the wrong house. “Oh, now it’s a proper party,” Rhaenys says, stepping back to let them file into the house. “Where’s my beautiful daughter?” she asks as Laenor greets her with a kiss to the cheek. 

“Got scared and ran home,” Laenor replies. 

Rhaenys tuts at the response, shaking her head. “That girl,” she murmurs, affection lacing her tone. 

“I didn’t realize dinner was a true family affair tonight,” Rhaenyra says, flashing a grin at her aunt as she and Laenor begin down the hall to the kitchen. 

“Well, I heard my children were coming,” Rhaenys says, following them. “And I was missing your little red headed friend, so I thought it’d be a fabulous opportunity to get together.” 

Rhaenyra furrows her brow as she listens to Rhaenys’ words, and it doesn’t dawn on her what exactly her aunt is saying until her eyes fall upon Alicent in the kitchen. The girl has her back turned to them, holding Baelon on her hip as she watches Aemma and Viserys pull a glass dish from the oven in a joint effort. 

“Alicent,” Laenor greets the girl, shaking his head as he approaches the opposite side of the counter. 

Alicent turns, her eyes glancing at Rhaenyra before landing on the girl’s cousin, lips curving up into a small smile. “Laenor, good to see you.” 

“I see you’re still up to your secret rendezvous with my mother,” Laenor chides. 

“Nothing secret about it,” Rhaenys interjects. “We haven’t had our weekly lunch date in ages, and Rhaenyra apparently had better things to do than to pick her friend up from work.” 

All eyes fall on Rhaenyra. She opens her mouth to say something, but the way Alicent’s eyes narrow as she looks her up and down renders her silent, offering only a small shrug to the rest of the group. 

“Alicent, you don’t have your license?” Viserys asks, brows furrowed as he pokes the middle of the lasagna with a fork. 

“She doesn’t have a car, love,” Aemma replies, running a hand over the man’s back. As much as Viserys tries to be an attentive father, these sort of things often slip through the cracks. Though Alicent has been coming around for ages, he hasn’t noticed the fact that Rhaenyra always drives her home. 

“Are you joking?” Viserys says, looking from Aemma to Alicent. “The amount of money I pay your father each year is obscene, and his daughter doesn’t have a bloody car?” 

Alicent bristles at the statement, rocking Baelon in her arms. Though she is hyper aware of her father’s attitude toward her, she resents hearing about it from others. “I suppose he believes I must earn it,” she says simply. 

“Nonsense,” Viserys says, shaking his head. “I’m shaken to my core by this knowledge,” he adds, completely serious. “Looks like we’ll have to dock his pay for a few months and set up a vehicle fund in your name.” 

“Dad,” Rhaenyra says, crossing over to the counter and picking a cube of cheese off a charcuterie board set in the middle of it, popping it into her mouth. “Stop.” 

Rhaenyra meets his gaze and raises her eyebrows pointedly as she chews. “Very well,” he says with a sigh. “Alicent, expect a large motorized gift for your birthday next year, courtesy of Rhaenyra.”

Alicent rolls her eyes, fighting a smile as she looks to Rhaenyra, who is grinning at her from across the counter. 

“Alright,” Aemma says, clapping her hands together. “I hope everyone’s hungry.” 

*****

Rhaenyra sits across the table from Alicent, Baelon on the end between them in his high chair. She watches the boy use his bare hands to shove cut up pieces of noodle at his face, aiming for his mouth. “You are so disgusting,” she says to him, though her affectionate tone contradicts her words. 

She reaches over with her own napkin and wipes at the lasagna residue on his face, which he squirms away from. Rhaenyra admits defeat, placing her napkin on the table. Baelon giggles and kicks his feet as he squishes a handful of noodles, staring at the mush before holding his arm out, seemingly offering it to his big sister. Rhaenyra sighs, taking in the sight of the mush, her brother’s grubby fingers coated in sauce. She leans over and lets him feed her anyway. Baelon has a habit of feeding other people the same way he feeds himself–by making a mess. Rhaenyra chuckles as she chews, wiping her face with her napkin. “Thank you, little dragon,” she whispers to him, poking his chubby thigh with her finger. 

Aemma, Viserys, and Rhaenys are absorbed in a political discussion, which separates them from the rest of the table. Despite being born into a political dynasty, Rhaenyra and Laenor have little appetite for it, and Alicent has never cared for the subject of her father’s obsession. Alicent looks from Laenor to Rhaenyra and back, contemplation written on her face as her fork slices into the lasagna on her plate. “Rhaenyra, do you remember that story we read in English last week?” 

Rhaenyra has gone back to devouring her plate of food after bothering Baelon, her face nearly in her plate. She looks up, still chewing and waits to answer until after she swallows and takes a sip of water. She looks at Laenor and giggles softly as she turns back to Alicent. “No.”

“It’s the one where the man gets stoned to death by those villagers,” Alicent replies casually. “For some reason, you two just reminded me of that.” 

Rhaenyra narrows her eyes slightly and glances over at her father, who is busy intently listening to Rhaenys, nodding emphatically. Laenor laughs with his mouth full at the exchange, shaking his head at Alicent. “Oh, you know what you’re reminding me of right now, Ali?” he says, his tone riddled with mischief. He lowers his voice as he continues, “A sort of insane out of control lesbionic demon.” 

Rhaenyra kicks his leg under the table and he squeals, giggling. Alicent’s face has contorted the way it always does when she’s offended–big sad eyes, the corners of her mouth turned down. “Funny,” she responds. 

Laenor rolls his eyes at the girl. “Always so wounded,” he murmurs to Rhaenyra. 

Alicent stands up from the table abruptly without a word and leaves the room. The action startles the adults, their collective gaze wandering to the two cousins. Rhaenyra sits in the silence for a moment before getting up and following after her friend. 

She finds her in the upstairs bathroom, pushing it open without knocking, accidentally bumping the Hightower girl in the side as she does so.

“Sorry,” Rhaenyra says, slipping into the small room and shutting the door behind her. “Sorry,” she murmurs again, reaching out and grasping the girl's arm, rubbing circles into the fabric of her shirt with her thumb. “So, are you still interested in marrying Laenor?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood. 

Alicent scoffs, rolling her eyes. 

“Kidding,” Rhaenyra whispers, tugging Alicent closer to her. 

“You should never have told him,” the red headed girl whispers, moving further into Rhaenyra’s space. It’s meant to be intimidating, but she can tell from the Targaryen girl’s smirk and the glimmer in her eyes that it has the opposite effect. “He could end up being the reason we get found out, and you know who’s going to take the brunt of that revelation if it’s out in the open.” 

Rhaenyra sighs, not feeling the same urgency as Alicent. Laenor can be a prick sometimes, but he isn’t in the business of outing people. “I thought you had tons of homework to do tonight,” she says, avoiding the topic at hand.

Alicent frowns, and Rhaenyra can’t think of anything cuter than the girl standing before her, looking like a wounded puppy. “Rhaenys insisted,” Alicent says.

Rhaenyra knows she’s telling the truth–her Aunt can be quite persuasive. “You care about Rhaenys more than you do me, I suppose.”

Alicent breaks her frown with a laugh, pressing her hand to Rhaenyra’s chest, pushing the girl back against the door. “Obviously.” 

“Are you going to kiss me?” Rhaenyra asks, tilting her head to the side, and it’s as if she’s begging for the girl to do it. 

“No,” Alicent replies. 

“That’s too bad,” Rhaenyra says, a smile breaking across her face. “I think I’m going to kiss you, though,” she murmurs, closing the distance between them, one hand reaching up for the girl’s jaw and the other running through her curls. Alicent attempts to pull away at first, but she gives in quickly when she feels Rhaenyra’s lips land softly against her cheek. 

Alicent sighs at the contact. The way Rhaenyra kisses across her face is so affectionate that Alicent can’t help but wrap her arms around the girl’s waist, pulling her in closer. After a moment, she turns her head to meet Rhaenyra’s lips with her own. When she pulls away, the Targaryen is reluctant to let go, a last kiss placed on the corner of the girl’s mouth. 

Alicent inhales deeply as she stares at Rhaenyra, her soft expression morphing into abashed modesty. “Right then,” she says awkwardly, clapping her hands together as if she’s a coach giving a pep talk. “We should go. They’re probably waiting on us.” 

*****

“Going to confession will not absolve you if there is no action taken to fight habitual sin.” 

Alicent balks at the statement uttered from her father’s mouth. Her cheeks are tear stained, fingers curled around each other on the kitchen table where he sits across from her, thumbing through the pages of her journal. At one time, she would have been shocked to hear this sort of sentiment come from Otto’s mouth. After all, confession was a core principle of their faith. Today, she’s not expecting him to say it, but she’s not completely surprised either. She has always been careful to hide any evidence of imperfection from her father, but today she’s made a grave mistake. In a rush to get to school, she forgot to put her journal in her backpack, leaving it out on the nightstand next to her bed. It could be worse, though she can’t quite see that right now. Too fearful to keep a true record of her life, she’s only written out each time she’s gone to confession for the last two years, along with the reason for each visit. The smallest of facts about her life and yet it is more than enough to upset her father. 

Otto sighs as he stops on one page, scanning its contents. “Ten times in one week,” he mutters, reading them out loud. “Lustful thoughts. Envy. Lustful thoughts. Disobedience. Lustful thoughts. Lustful thoughts. Gossip. Anguish. Self-hatred. Lustful thoughts.” 

Alicent cringes, squeezing her eyes shut as he utters the words, though she doesn’t respond. Otto stares at her for a long moment. “Confession is well and good for those who are truly devout, Alicent. But I fear you’re abusing it as a get out of jail free card.” 

Alicent holds her breath as he turns to the most recent pages in the small book. “You are struggling,” he says, anger brewing in his voice. “And yet I do not see you praying the rosary everyday. I see you zoning out during mass, running around with hooligans in your free time. I–” He stops speaking as he looks down at the page in front of him. “Lustful actions ,” he reads aloud, his face contorting into one of disbelief, his skin going pale. 

Alicent’s nail beds are red, bloody from picking at them over the course of the excruciating conversation. Her eyes are still squeezed shut, and she lets out a small sob, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “I’m,” she breathes in deep, her voice wavering. “I’m sorry.” 

“What have you done?” he asks, his voice strained. 

“It’s not what you think,” Alicent says, placing her head in her hands as she moves her arms to the table. “I promise, it’s not what you think,” Alicent whispers, wiping at her eyes, still unable to face him. “It’s-it’s not as bad as you think.” 

“Look at me.” Alicent is surprised by the softness of his tone when he says it, and she is almost about to turn her head when he reaches across the table and roughly grabs her by the jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I see you sitting here,” he says, voice still gentle. “The spitting image of your mother, yet she would be so disappointed.” 

*****

Rhaenyra: Couldn’t help but notice you blatantly ignoring me at work to giggle with Larys of all people.  Shady work, Ali.

Rhaenyra: Bummer you wouldn’t even look at me cuz I look fit as fuck today :) I’ll send a pic if you apologize 

Rhaenyra: What’s wrong?

Alicent stares at the messages on her phone, all sent in quick succession from Rhaenyra, as she contemplates answering. It’s been almost three weeks, and she hasn’t told the girl that she’s been grounded. Mostly, she’s ashamed of having to speak the reason out loud. She’s been avoiding Rhaenyra, and the girl–ever oblivious–has only recently caught on to it. But it’s not just that she’s covering up the trouble she’s in–not completely. She’s also trying to distance herself slightly from Rhaenyra for her father’s sake. As much as Rhaenyra being Alicent’s best friend is an asset to him, it also causes him undue grief. He considers the Targaryen girl to be something of a heathen after years of hearing Viserys’ qualms with raising her. If Otto were to find out about what’s really gone on between the two girls in the past year, Alicent’s not sure what drastic measures he might take. 

Alicent: Wasn’t meaning to ignore you, love. Larys had Lyonel talk to my dad saying I wasn’t being friendly :/

Rhaenyra: Disgusting 

Rhaenyra: Wish it was still okay to behead ppl :( 

Alicent: It is what it is

Alicent: I’ll take that picture though … :))

A few seconds later, Alicent’s phone buzzes. Rhaenyra’s trying to FaceTime her. Alicent sighs and gives in, accepting the call. Her father won’t be home for hours anyway. As soon as she answers, she sees Rhaenyra sprawled out on her living room floor in what she assumes is an attempt at posing like a model. She’s always slightly infuriating when she’s trying to be funny like this because all Alicent can think is that Rhaenyra actually could be a model. 

“Stop mewing,” she says after the bit has gone on for a few seconds too long. 

Rhaenyra laughs, breaking her pose as she brings the phone closer. Alicent can only see her face above the midpoint of her nose. “I wasn’t even, but thanks for the compliment.” 

“What are you doing?” Alicent asks. 

Rhaenyra flips the camera, showing Baelon attempting to stand up as he holds onto the couch. “Teaching my boy how to be strong,” she says as Baelon releases the couch cushion, standing incredibly wobbly on his feet. Rhaenyra’s arm comes into the frame as he tries to take a step toward her and falls against her hand. 

The camera flips again, and Rhaenyra has Baelon in her lap now, pressing kisses to the top of his head. “Say hello to Ali,” she murmurs, running a hand over his curls. Baelon babbles and leans forward, trying to grab the phone. 

There’s a moment where the image is paused, and all Alicent hears is shuffling sounds before Rhaenyra is back on her screen, appearing to be walking through the house. “What are you doing is the better question,” Rhaenyra says, raising her eyebrows as she walks into her room, shutting the door behind her and jumping onto her bed. “And why are you not here with me?” 

Alicent’s cheeks go pink at the question, thoughts about what they could be doing on Rhaenyra’s bed filtering through her mind. “Dad’s being weird about me being out late again,” she murmurs, rolling onto her side on her bed, cheek squished against a pillow. 

“I could come over there,” Rhaenyra suggests, a grin spreading across her face. “He won’t be back until the crack of dawn anyway, right?” 

“And what would we do here?” Alicent asks. 

“I dunno. Get each other off?” Rhaenyra says with a shrug. “Share a laugh afterward. Have a cuddle.” 

“That’s not sounding particularly appealing right now,” Alicent says, and it’s a lie, but she’s been so good these past few weeks that she’s starting to think she might be able to live without physical contact with Rhaenyra. Thoughts are one thing, but actions are an entirely different beast to tame–her father had shown her as much. 

Rhaenyra’s amused expression falters. “Really?” she asks quietly. 

“I’m sure it’s not to you either,” Alicent says, as if in an attempt to save the girl’s ego. “Why not just masturbate and be done with it?”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes. “Obviously, it’s not the same.” 

Alicent sighs. “I suppose I wouldn’t know.” 

Rhaenyra breaks out into a laugh. “I can’t deal with you still claiming to have never masturbated,” she says. “You’re so ridiculous.” 

“Believe what you want, but it’s true,” Alicent replies. 

“Well, if you let me come over, I could teach you,” Rhaenyra says, a devious smile playing on her lips. 

“Would you like me to hang up?” Alicent asks.

“So you don’t want me to come over at all?” Rhaenyra says, confusion written into her tone and expression. 

Alicent’s guilt weighs heavily on her from all sides, and Rhaenyra’s sad eyes don’t help the matter. “Fine,” she breathes. “You can come, but we’re not doing anything.” 

Rhaenyra climbs through her bedroom window ten minutes later, breathing heavily as she steadies herself against Alicent’s dresser. “I want you to know that I ran here,” she says between pants. 

Alicent is still sitting on her bed, bewildered at the girl’s appearance. “You know you don’t have to climb a tree and come through my window,” she says. “You could have just rang the doorbell. Nobody’s home but me.” 

“Well, that’s certainly less exciting,” Rhaenyra responds simply, shrugging her shoulders as she sits on the bed in front of the girl. Alicent rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t attempt to restrain the smile that crosses her lips. Rhaenyra’s eyes move over the girl’s figure as she leans closer, her hand reaching over and tugging at the green silk fabric around her thighs. “Cute nightie,” she teases, pushing the fabric up slightly, her fingers pressing into Alicent’s thigh. 

Alicent groans, removing Rhaenyra’s hand, though she immediately misses the warmth of the girl’s skin against her own. “I told you we’re not doing anything, so if you came thinking you could persuade me, you should probably just go.” 

Rhaenyra sighs, falling onto her back as she looks up at the ceiling. “What have I done to upset you so?” she asks, still playful.

“It’s really got nothing to do with you,” Alicent replies, leaning forward and running her fingers through Rhaenyra’s hair. Blue eyes lock on hers, and she can’t help but feel sorry even if she has little reason to be. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve found someone else,” Rhaenyra says, and though it’s evident she’s joking, the thought of it being true hardens her expression. 

“Just God,” Alicent says, and Rhaenyra’s expression shifts to one of concern, so she quickly follows up, “Sort of.” 

“Which could mean anything,” Rhaenyra says, annoyed.

Alicent contemplates what to say for a moment, unsure how to explain her predicament to Rhaenyra in a way that would be palatable to the girl. “It means I’m trying to be good,” she starts, but she’s quickly cut off by Rhaenyra. 

“That’s your father speaking through you with all of his brainwashing bullshit,” she says, sitting up and turning to Alicent, taking the girl’s hands in her own. “What about you isn’t good already, Ali? You get top marks in school, you rarely partake when the rest of us party and drink and smoke. You’re the most obedient teenage girl I know. What’s not good about you?”

Alicent pulls her hands out from Rhaenyra’s grasp. Typically, she would begin to pick at her nails, but she has the feeling Rhaenyra won’t let it slide this time, so she just sits on her hands and fights the urge. “You’ve never understood, Nyra.” 

“Then help me understand,” Rhaenyra says. “Because I think it’s more of a self-loathing issue at this point.” 

Alicent ignores the jab, though the knife of Rhaenyra thinking so lowly of her manages to cut deep, sinking heavily in her gut. “My father will never accept me as I am,” she responds. “I’ve come to the point that I can’t deny it, but that doesn’t mean I’m free from him. It’s better for me right now if I don’t do anything at all.” 

Rhaenyra’s demeanor softens. “But he doesn’t need to know.” 

“I agree, he doesn’t,” Alicent replies. “And what’s the best way to ensure that?” 

Alicent sighs at Rhaenyra’s response to the question, the girl’s face morphing into an expression of infantile disappointment. The only thing missing is her bottom lip poking out in a pout, and there would be no difference between the Rhaenyra sitting before her now and the Rhaenyra she knew as a child. It’s tempting to take everything she’s just said back. To lean in and kiss the girl, to make it up to her, to make everything better, but she can’t. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Alicent whispers instead, leaning forward and resting her forehead in the crook of Rhaenyra’s neck, her hands moving up to the girl’s shoulders. “I just can’t. For my own sake.”  

“I know,” Rhaenyra murmurs, her lips pressed into Alicent’s curls. She runs her fingers up and down the Hightower girl’s bare arms, trying to soothe her. Disappointed as she is, she thinks she can stand this. That Alicent hasn’t gone running back into the closet is a miracle in and of itself. If the girl has to do this, Rhaenyra’s glad she’s doing it this way. “It’s just…loads of fun to do other things with you,” she says, pressing a final kiss to Alicent’s head and pulling away. 

Alicent sits up on her knees, staring at Rhaenyra for a long moment. Before she can think of anything to say, Rhaenyra cuts in, her regular mischievous self returning, “Now you’re really going to have to learn how to masturbate.” 

Alicent rolls her eyes, giggling as she takes a pillow and hits Rhaenyra in the arm with it. “Perhaps I will,” she says boldly, widening her eyes at the girl. 

Rhaenyra is unphased by the joke, running a hand over Alicent’s hip, her touch still too familiar to pass off as friendly. “Perhaps I can come over and watch? To make sure you’re doing it right.”

The comment earns the girl a pillow to the face.

*****

“So, no more lezzing out for me anytime soon,” Rhaenyra says, dribbling the basketball between her legs before faking out Laenor and scoring a layup. 

“So she’s put a chastity belt on you too?” Laenor asks, breathing heavy as he bends over, placing his hands on his knees. Laenor always visits her after practice and never fails to challenge her to a scrimmage. Rhaenyra doesn’t know why he bothers when he’s historically averse to team sports and often refers to making a basket as scoring a touchdown just to annoy her. 

“No,” Rhaenyra says, holding the ball against her hip as she watches her cousin struggle to breathe. “We’ve never really delved into that topic, so it wasn’t discussed.” 

“You never talked about fucking other people?” Laenor asks. “Really?” 

Rhaenyra just shrugs, walking over to the ball cart on the sideline and tossing the ball onto one of the racks. “I know she doesn’t,” she says cautiously. “And she doesn’t need or probably want to know about what I do.” 

“Yet you haven’t been with anyone since the two of you started whatever the fuck it was you were doing together,” Laenor reminds her, a smirk on his face as he walks over to her. “Maybe it’s time to lez out properly.”

Rhaenyra makes a face, pushing past Laenor to make her way to the locker room. “I think I’m done with girls for the time being,” she comments. 

Laenor skips as he follows after her. “If you’re telling me Alicent Hightower has single handedly removed the LGBT DNA from your body, I might have to take drastic action against her in ways I promise you I’ve never even contemplated before.” 

“If I’ve learned anything from this, it’s that getting involved with girls is far too complicated,” Rhaenyra says as they cross into the empty locker room. “If I’m just looking for a good time, I might as well find a guy. There’s no feelings involved with them. They don’t get all wounded when you don’t take them for ice cream after, and if they do, they come off more pathetic than sweet, which is an easier burden to bear.” 

Laenor scoffs as he watches Rhaenyra squat down to open her locker. “Not true in the slightest, and I’m not sure where you got that idea.” 

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, pulling a change of clothes out from the locker and setting them in a pile on the bench behind her. “Maybe for you,” she says. “I dunno. I’ve had things with several guys and never cared if they lived or died while it was happening.”

“Because you’re an absolute freak whose only real romantic loyalty lies with your best friend, and you’re both too weird to admit that you have actual feelings for each other,” he says. “That’s not a man or woman thing. It’s a you being stuck in emotional limbo thing.” 

“Think what you must to help yourself sleep at night, Laenor,” Rhaenyra says. “The weirdest part of all of this is that, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get us together.” 

Laenor raises his chin and crosses his arms–always such a brat, Rhaenyra thinks. “You of all people should know that I strive to make the truth known, regardless of whether I like it or not.” 

Rhaenyra tosses a towel over her shoulder and picks up the pile of clothes from the bench as she rises back to a standing position. “Like I said, whatever helps you sleep at night. I’m still not shagging a girl anytime soon.” 

“You say that like you don’t know it makes you sound like a complete loser,” Laenor calls after her as she heads to the showers. 

It takes all twenty minutes of Rhaenyra’s shower for Laenor to pin down the root cause of his cousin’s aversion, and he voices it as soon as she comes around the wall of lockers, fully clothed with her hair wet, her towel draped around her neck. “You want her to be your first,” he says. 

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion as she looks at him, sitting smugly on the bench with his legs crossed, hands on his knees. She finds it unsettling that he knows her so well he can almost always speak her thoughts verbatim. “What are you on about?” she asks.

“I’ve given it some thought and considered the fact that you unfortunately never leave out the gory details of your affairs,” Laenor says. “And I realized that you’ve never gone all the way with any of the girls you’ve been with. You want Alicent to be your first. That, or perhaps there’s too much of a reminder of her in the female form.” 

The words hit Rhaenyra like a dodgeball, the kind that’s thrown hard, with malice. She pulls the towel from behind her neck and swats her cousin with it. “You’ve failed to consider one thing,” she replies with nonchalance as she tosses her towel in the bin by the door. “That you’re wrong.” 

“Come off it, Nyra,” Laenor says. “I’ve had you figured out since we were about five years old. I’m right, and you’re sore about it.” 

“Except I have gone all the way with a girl,” Rhaenyra lies. “So you’re wrong in this instance.” 

Laenor gives her a skeptical look. “Who?” 

“That one girl, Alia,” Rhaenyra lies. “In Driftmark last summer.” 

Laenor shifts where sits, evidently recalling the yearly family vacation to Driftmark. Alicent hadn’t come along with Rhaenyra for the first time in years–Otto kept her back in King’s Landing for some reason or another, whatever it was long forgotten. Rhaenyra had subsequently been bored to tears and befriended a local girl their age at the beach. The girl, Alia, bore a slight resemblance to Alicent, with red hair and big eyes–something Laenor and Laena had teased her relentlessly about. ( You’ve found yourself a clone of her, Nyra). It was feasible, at least, though Rhaenyra knew nothing more than a few drunk make outs had occurred. “Really?” he asks, eyebrows raised. 

Rhaenyra nods, looking away from him. “I didn’t want to give you and Laena the satisfaction of knowing,” she says. She can tell that Laenor believes her by the way he’s quiet for once, just ruminating on the knowledge. It’s enough to satisfy her, thinking he’ll back off trying to psychoanalyze her, at least for the time being. 

*****

Alicent sits in a pew, just in front of the altar. Light beams into the room from the stained glass windows, refracted into blues and reds and yellows across the space. It’s Saturday, and Alicent’s not sure why she’s here. She’s never sure why she comes to church outside of mass anymore. It’s more of a compulsory action when she’s feeling outside of herself. Her mother used to bring her whenever she would get into these anxious or despondent moods. She flips through the pages of the journal on her lap, fingers tracing the curve of the letters written out on the page. She hasn’t updated it since her father found it, and she doesn’t plan to, doesn’t even know why she hasn’t torn it to shreds yet. As much as she’d like to destroy the evidence of her transgressions, it seems more blasphemous than simply allowing them to remain on the page–her sins permanently composed in ink. It was her choice to write them out in the first place.  

“Mind if I join you?” 

The voice comes from behind her, and Alicent looks up to see Aemma standing just at the end of the pew, her hand resting hesitantly against the wood. The blonde looks beautiful, a hue of blue from the window encapsulating her form, and Alicent can’t help but think of how much Rhaenyra resembles the woman. 

“It’s alright to say no,” Aemma adds after a moment, a smile spreading across her face. 

Alicent shakes her head, smiling at the woman as she flips the journal closed. “No,” she says. “I’d like for you to join.” 

Aemma is slow in her movements as she takes a seat next to the auburn haired girl. She’s always been this way, even since Alicent was young–a calming presence, not prone to sudden action, reflective in a way that many, especially those in her family, are not. 

“You haven’t been around as much recently,” she says. 

Coming from anyone else, it would sound like an accusation, though from Aemma, it’s a simple observation, perhaps laced with the sentiment that she’s felt the girl’s absence deeply. 

“Yes, well,” Alicent says, tentatively. “I’ve been grounded. I didn’t want to tell Rhaenyra.” 

Aemma chuckles. “Sometimes I think the two of you are exactly as your mother and I were at your age,” she comments. “And then one of you does something like that, and I feel I may not understand your relationship at all.”

Alicent pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, looking down at her hands. Her cuticles are shredded, worse than usual. “I didn’t want her to think less of me,” she whispers, vulnerability laced in her tone. 

“Rhaenyra’s seen her fair share of shameful groundings, as you know,” Aemma replies. “And your father is quite…harsh.” 

Alicent stiffens at her choice of words, so careful as to not offend her, but still enough to indicate her mild distaste for Otto. “He is,” she says, nodding, unwilling to look the woman in the eyes.

“How long until you’re free from it?” Aemma asks. 

“Another month.”

“I don’t mean to prod, so tell me if I’m out of line,” Aemma says. “But what could you have done to be grounded for a whole month, Ali?” 

Alicent looks up with guilty eyes, still without making contact with the blue ones directed at her. “It’s been a month, actually. I have another one to go,” she says, taking her journal in her hands, holding it up to her chest. She hesitates before handing it over, placing it in Aemma’s lap. “That’s the reason,” she says. 

Aemma looks down at the book that’s been placed in her lap, brows furrowed slightly as she looks to the girl beside her. Alicent nods, a silent gesture of permission, and Aemma opens the cover, her eyes settling on the first page. She turns through the book after taking the words in, pages flipping with ease across her fingers. “I see,” she murmurs, closing the cover. 

Similar to Alicent’s mother, Aemma is a firm believer in the faith. Though unlike many of the men in their lives, Aemma has always emphasized the tenets of forgiveness and unconditional love in her practice. “I think your father forgets that you’re only human,” she says after a moment of thought. “It’s not entirely wrong to have bodily desires.” 

Alicent immediately bows her head, covering her hands with her face as she feels a blush creeping up her neck.

“Sorry,” Aemma says, laughing as she reaches over, taking one of Alicent’s hands in her own. “I don’t mean to embarrass you, love, but it’s true.”

Alicent sighs as she finally meets the woman’s eyes again, letting her other hand fall from her face. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“I don’t think I can tell you what to do,” Aemma says, her thumb rubbing circles over the girl's hand soothingly. “But I hope I can ease your mind a bit when I say that it’s okay. It’s quite normal, actually. And knowing you, I can’t imagine that you don’t love this person you’ve been thinking about.” 

All of a sudden, Alicent feels as though she’s going to cry. But she holds it back, fighting the lump forming in her throat, blinking back the tears fighting to fall from her eyes. “I think my mother would be ashamed,” she says quietly. “If she were here.” 

Aemma’s expression turns perplexed. “That’s absolute rubbish,” she says, her voice stronger than it has been this whole conversation, and Alicent knows that Aemma knows exactly who planted the seed of that thought in her mind. “She would be so proud of you,” she continues, her hand gently reaching for Alicent’s chin, and Alicent thinks she is definitely going to cry now. “Everyday, I wish she could see how you’ve grown into this beautiful young girl, inside and out.” 

And Alicent is a small child again, breaking into tears at the woman’s words. Aemma pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back. “There’s nothing wrong with you, dear,” she whispers, running a hand through the girl’s curls. And it’s another five minutes before Alicent can get it together, to stop sobbing, to wipe her tears from her eyes and pull away from the woman’s embrace. 

“People get old and they forget themselves completely,” Aemma says, and Alicent has never seen her this way–the look in her eyes is as close to rage as she’s ever seen. “Your father looks at you, and he looks into his past, he punishes you for what he’s been guilty of.” 

Alicent furrows her eyebrows, not quite following her logic. “What do you mean?” she asks. 

“I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t think it would alleviate your guilt,” Aemma says with a sigh. “Have you ever thought about how Gwayne was born almost exactly nine months after they married?” she asks. Alicent’s eyebrows shoot up at the insinuation in the woman’s words. “She never admitted this to me, but I think it was a marriage of convenience on your mother’s part, more or less.”