The days heading towards the wedding, Alicent had been left in a daze. As she suspected, her father had torn through her room, searching for anything that Daemon Targaryen might have used to seduce his daughter. The letters had been burned, no evidence of his early attentions would be found. He saw the emerald but thought nothing of it. After all, Otto Hightower had more important matters to think over than his daughter's jewels.
There were threats, discussions about possibly sending her back to Old Town in secret or even induct her as a Silent Sister. He'd be more than willing to lose a valuable pawn than to let Daemon Targaryen debauch her. Alicent kept her silence, allowing herself to be pushed about, wary of the waves that sought to pull her into an undertow.
Perhaps there was some level of guilt. She had avoided Rhaenyra of late, remembering that her dear friend had shown a level of interest in her uncle. They had their secrets and it was clear she was a bit enamored with them. Now Alicent was set to marry him and it made matters awkward between them. Beyond that, what happened that night at the fete pushed against her deeply ingrained sense of duty and propriety, the strict morals and behaviors she had followed since young.
She loved what they did, but now the guilt was as heavy as a cloak. She reread the Pointed Star, she spoke to her Maester several times about proper behavior. At night though, her fingers teased between her legs, thinking of all they did.
The night before the wedding, she was nearly hurried secretly into a carriage, though the destination was not told to her. It was only when one of Otto's spies raced to his side and whispered in his ear that Otto relented. There was some reason that he could not follow through.
That he even gave her a way was remarkable. He muttered under his breath the whole time, reminding her to tell her all she learned about the prince before handing her over. The dragon leaves her nervous, the fire dangerous but inviting. Once the kiss is done, she licks her lips, tasting the blood left there.
love it
There were threats, discussions about possibly sending her back to Old Town in secret or even induct her as a Silent Sister. He'd be more than willing to lose a valuable pawn than to let Daemon Targaryen debauch her. Alicent kept her silence, allowing herself to be pushed about, wary of the waves that sought to pull her into an undertow.
Perhaps there was some level of guilt. She had avoided Rhaenyra of late, remembering that her dear friend had shown a level of interest in her uncle. They had their secrets and it was clear she was a bit enamored with them. Now Alicent was set to marry him and it made matters awkward between them. Beyond that, what happened that night at the fete pushed against her deeply ingrained sense of duty and propriety, the strict morals and behaviors she had followed since young.
She loved what they did, but now the guilt was as heavy as a cloak. She reread the Pointed Star, she spoke to her Maester several times about proper behavior. At night though, her fingers teased between her legs, thinking of all they did.
The night before the wedding, she was nearly hurried secretly into a carriage, though the destination was not told to her. It was only when one of Otto's spies raced to his side and whispered in his ear that Otto relented. There was some reason that he could not follow through.
That he even gave her a way was remarkable. He muttered under his breath the whole time, reminding her to tell her all she learned about the prince before handing her over. The dragon leaves her nervous, the fire dangerous but inviting. Once the kiss is done, she licks her lips, tasting the blood left there.
"Dracarys," she murmurs back.