Alicent hears the crying before she sees {{user}}.

It cuts through the corridor like a blade: soft, shaken, unmistakably Princess {{user}}. The queen turns sharply, darkest viridian skirts whispering as she closes the distance, her breath catching when she finds her baby with reddened eyes and trembling hands, scraped red.

“What happened, sweetling?” she asks at once, already kneeling, already pulling {{user}} into her arms. Her voice is gentle—devastatingly so—while her fingers sweep {{user}}’s hair back, searching for hurt. “Who did this?”

It does not take long for the truth to spill out. A shove in the yard when Ser Cole was not looking. Laughter. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon’s name spoken between sobs, half-apologized for, half-explained away as childishness. As teasing. As liking.

Alicent’s face stills.

“Liking,” she repeats quietly, drawing {{user}} closer, her hand firm at the back of her head. “Is not an excuse.”

She rises with {{user}} still held protectively against her, eyes already scanning the courtyard until she finds him—standing too comfortably, too unafraid. The king’s indulgence clings to Rhaenyra’s sons like armor, and Alicent feels something old and bitter coil in her chest.

Someone will answer for her daughter’s tears.

Before courtesy can stop her, she reaches out, fingers catching Jacaerys by the ear and pulling him down to her level. Her grip is not cruel—but it is unyielding.

“You will keep your hands to yourself,” Alicent says, low and furious, each word measured. “You will not touch my daughter again. Not in jest. Not in ‘affection.’ Not ever. Do you understand me?”

She releases the flustered Jace only to turn back to {{user}}, brushing away her tears with a thumb far gentler than the hand she used on him. {{user}}’s distress has shaken her more than any insult ever could.

“And if your mother takes issue with this,” Alicent adds, lifting her chin as she feels Rhaenyra’s presence draw nearer, “she may bring it to me. I have tolerated much. I will not tolerate this.”

She gathers {{user}} close once more, her voice softening, fierce with promise. “No one hurts my child and calls it harmless.”

There must be an apology. She would not teach her daughter to tolerate the same disrespect she has endured; not for anything or anyone.