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Alicent’s rooms are dead silent and barely lit as Rhaenyra tentatively enters. She notes the lack of servants, and then the lack of personal possessions. When they were children, Alicent always had small things--things gifted to her father from Westeros and the Free Cities alike that he in turn gave to her. Now, Rhaenyra sees nothing at all of note.
Alicent is silhouetted by the light from the windows. King’s Landing always burns bright. Perhaps that’s why the Targaryens ended up here. “Please, Princess, have a seat,” she says, coldly. “You must take the weight off your poor feet.”
Rhaenyra brushes her stomach, thoughtlessly. She forgets she’s with child because of how inconvenient it is until the inconvenience becomes too much to ignore. She considers a moment, and stays standing, smiling at Alicent to indicate that she’s happy where she is. “I noticed the conspicuous absence of Ser Criston at your door,” she says, and Alicent half-smiles.
“Do you mean to do me harm, Princess?” she asks, a lightness in her voice Rhaenyra is near certain is a trap.
“Of course not, my queen,” Rhaenyra says, sweetly.
“Then I have no need for Ser Criston,” Alicent says. “The door is shut behind you?”
“Do you mean to do me harm?” Rhaenyra asks, and mostly intends it as a joke, but she feels a pit open in her stomach, and she feels herself trying to balance on the edge of it.
“Not tonight,” Alicent says.
“Not tonight?”
“Indeed, I am glad your ears are in working order, even if your other senses clearly are not.”
“Meaning?” Rhaenyra asks, her voice sharp, crossing her arms tight. It’s an instinct that held over from childhood. Part of her enjoys the clear and uncaring insults, if she’s honest. It’s something she’s very unfamiliar with. No one challenges her. Daemon, once, and now, Alicent.
“You are soon to birth another dark-haired dark-eyed bastard, are you not?” Alicent asks. “I said sit , Princess.”
Rhaenyra sits, and tells herself it is only because her feet do hurt. “Why does the appearance of my children concern you so very much?”
“Do not feign stupidity.”
“Whatever you desire, my queen,” Rhaenyra says, looking Alicent directly in the eye. “Why would you care if I had fucked men that weren’t my husband?”
“Oh, by all means, continue orchestrating your own downfall,” Alicent says. “I’m trying to keep an eye on you.”
“I’m sure you keep both eyes on me,” Rhaenyra says. “Are you angry you weren’t the first person I came to? Is that what this is?”
“Harwin Strong, Rhaenyra? Criston Cole? Your uncle ?” Alicent asks. “Men of violence, men with rocks in their skulls, men who will only worship you. I hoped you would learn. I hoped--”
“Haven’t you forgotten how to hope by now?” Rhaenyra asks. “I believe I have.”
“Oh, I have by now,” Alicent says.
“Besides, you must’ve bedded Ser Criston by now. I see the two of you together often.”
“Never.” Alicent holds Rhaenyra’s gaze. She isn’t lying. “He has upheld his vows since your incident and I believe he will continue to.”
“Punishment,” Rhaenyra says, laughing, looking away. “You’re punishing him?”
“I am punishing him for nothing, Rhaenyra, he is my friend,” Alicent says. “I do not approve of or condone actions he took before our friendship, but I take responsibility for him now. I understand why that may be difficult for you to grasp, since you clearly have difficulties restraining yourself--”
“Green may be a Hightower color, but envy is horribly ugly on you,” Rhaenyra says, cutting her off, smirking. “It eats you.”
“Whether you accept it or not, not everyone hungers for you and you alone, Princess.” Alicent’s voice is flat. “The men you befriend may desire you--well, save for your husband--but that does not mean--”
“Why did you summon me here?” Rhaenyra asks. If she interrupted Alicent during Council meetings, she would receive immense disapproval from her father, but here, alone, she doesn’t need to let Alicent have the upper hand, or the last word. “All you’ve done is insult me and make insinuations.”
“ Someone must keep you living in the real world,” Alicent says. “When we were children, I was always the one to remind you to stop playing pretend and come back to yourself. I believe it’s my duty to do that again, now that I am both your queen and your stepmother.”
Rhaenyra laughs. “You truly enjoy playing with the limited authority you have over me.”
“I do not think it’s quite so limited.” Alicent stands, and takes the few steps to sit next to Rhaenyra on the overstuffed and uncomfortable padded bench that Helaena often reads on. She sits close. Their shoulders touch. “If you continue on your current path, Rhaenyra, life will not be so safe for you and your children.”
“As long as my father lives--”
“He will not live forever,” Alicent says. “And then we shall see who Westeros favors.”
“I am the heir,” Rhaenyra says. “I am the next queen.”
“For now,” Alicent says. She takes some of Rhaenyra’s hair in her hands and begins braiding it, idly, like they’re children again.
“My half-siblings are either stupid or weak, save Helaena,” Rhaenyra says, and Alicent pulls her hair, making her wince in pain.
“Do not speak so ill of your family.” Alicent’s voice is cold and commanding. Her children are the only thing left that is hers. Rhaenyra does not have the same affliction.
Rhaenyra knows what she wants. She knows how to make this courtesy call end very discourteously. This is the trick to ending conversations with Laenor, and she believes it should work for Alicent as well, and if it doesn’t, it at least reflects poorly on both of them equally.
She turns, takes Alicent’s chin in her hand, and kisses her. Alicent slaps her hand away and shoves Rhaenyra back on the bench, kneeling on the floor next to her head, trailing her scarred and hardened fingers over Rhaenyra’s exposed neck, up to her own chin, which Alicent pushes up, until all Rhaenyra can look at is the faint light flickering on the ceiling. Fire is always a comfort, even just the implication of it.
“You cannot control me with your self-serving whims so easily,” Alicent says, breathless. She continues to force Rhaenyra’s head back, and trails the other hand over Rhaenyra’s breasts, over her stomach, down to the inside of her thigh. Rhaenyra feels that pulling in her core, and she can’t help but buck her hips, just slightly. An involuntary attempt to move Alicent’s hand to her cunt where it belongs. Alicent removes the hand from her thigh entirely.
“You would dare restrain the princess when she’s in no such condition to be handled roughly?” Rhaenyra asks, panting for air. Alicent doesn’t stop holding her head where it is.
“You don’t get to look at me,” Alicent whispers in Rhaenyra’s ear. They haven’t whispered to each other in so many long years. Her lips brush Rhaenyra’s ear, and Rhaenyra shudders. A sound escapes her. That ever-insatiable longing always gets worse when she’s carrying a child.
“I’ve seen enough of you, don’t worry.”
Alicent laughs. “For once in your life, Rhaenyra, I want you to give , not take. You always take.” She lets go of Rhaenyra’s head, but Rhaenyra doesn’t look at her, remaining obedient, just to see what it’s like. There’s a sound of cloth rustling, and then Alicent straddles Rhaenyra’s head, cunt in her mouth, dress over her eyes so she can’t see.
Startled, Rhaenyra starts to protest-- I can’t breathe , or something of the sort, but it’s muffled, and it would be a lie besides. She can breathe. She licks at Alicent, and Alicent’s entire body shudders, so she continues. She licks quick circles, reaches a hand up under Alicent’s dress to squeeze her ass tight, and feels Alicent experience actual pleasure for the first time.
Perfect, moralist Alicent falling apart on Rhaenyra’s tongue fills Rhaenyra with a sick pleasure, so she doesn’t stop, she goes faster, squeezes harder, even slides two fingers into Alicent’s ass. It doesn’t take long for Alicent to go limp with satisfaction, breathing heavily, all of her weight on Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra manages to push Alicent off of her and onto the ground with a soft thump. She sits up, and looks at Alicent, flat on her back on the floor, looking dazed.
“Do you understand now?” Rhaenyra asks, irritated, amused, aroused.
“I believe I do,” Alicent says. “It does not change anything.”
“So I am still an immoral, entitled whore parading my bastard children around King’s Landing, and you are still the sweet, innocent, dutiful queen mother?”
“Tonight did not happen,” Alicent says. “There was no light, there were no witnesses. Neither of us saw the other perform the act. Nothing at all occurred, nothing at all changes.”
“And will this ‘nothing’ happen again?” Rhaenyra asks, bitterly, crossing her arms.
“I do not know,” Alicent says. “I suppose you shall have to await my summons.”
Rhaenyra laughs, humorlessly, realizing she enjoyed playing into Alicent’s fantasies of power and masculinity. “And if I refuse them?”
“If you refuse them, I shall be forced to come to you.” Alicent’s voice is sweet. Rhaenyra wishes she could say she does not recognize the girl she used to be inseparable from, but in truth, she’s always thought Alicent had this coldness in her. Alicent cannot freeze her over, and she cannot melt Alicent.
“Then perhaps I will,” Rhaenyra says. She stands, and smoothes her dress, makes sure her hair is relatively in order, does all of her usual post-Harwin checks on herself. “I will see you tomorrow, my queen.”
“Indeed you will, Princess.”