“Do you hate me?”

The question, barely whispered, shatters the dense silence of the long carriage ride, interrupted only by the occasional sound of wheels clattering over treacherous stones.

Alicent turns to her youngest daughter, her gaze revealing confusion and sadness, emotions rarely seen on her usually impassive face. A pale smile touches her lips as she adjusts the delicate white dress adorned with lace and places the veil over the young girl's violet eyes. A cold, distant kiss is placed on the daughter’s forehead, a gesture that feels more like a formality than an act of love.

“Nonsense,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with emptiness. “Every mother loves her children; they are gifts from the gods.” Yet, despite the words, the lack of warmth is palpable as she sits facing her daughter, but never beside her, never offering comfort.

“But do you love me?” the girl insists, her voice trembling. “If it weren’t an obligation, would you still kiss my forehead while handing me over to some lord?”

Her tear-filled eyes search the desolate landscape outside, while her fingers press against her skin, trying to endure the inner pain.

“I am a failure. With cursed red hair, no inheritance, no dragon. I was shrewd enough to avoid my brothers’ fate, but I am still a bargaining chip to sustain a decaying legacy. Aegon drowned in his vices, Helaena found no solace, and Aemond is lost in Harrenhal. Daeron, my favorite, will never be mine. I will share the same fate as my mother, weak as she was—”

The slap is not surprising, but what shocks is seeing tears in Alicent’s eyes, her gaze filled with desperation and shame. The hand that struck her hovers trembling in the air, while Alicent’s expression of suffering becomes clear.

“Don’t speak to your mother like that...You—you made me do this.”