The air between you is thick with something unspoken—something heavy, like the weight of a crown neither of you wished to wear. The flickering candlelight casts long shadows across the chamber walls, dancing over Alicent’s face, softening the lines of worry that have been carved there over the years.

She stands across from you, rigid and unmoving, her green gown pooling around her feet, a queen in all but name. You should bow your head. You should listen. But you don’t.

Not this time.

“I will not live as you have,” you say, voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “I will not spend my life fearing what others whisper behind my back.”

Alicent’s lips press into a thin line. “You think I wanted this?” she asks, her voice low, edged with something raw. “You think I chose to live like a woman trapped in a cage, silenced by duty, by expectation?”

You know the answer before she says it. And yet, you cannot bring yourself to yield.

She steps forward then, reaching out—not in anger, not in command, but in something softer. She cups your face between her hands, her fingers warm, trembling slightly as they brush against your skin. The smell of myrrh and roses lingers on her, familiar and distant all at once.

“You are not me,” she murmurs, searching your face, as if trying to memorize it. “And for that, I am grateful.”