There's always been a bad feeling gnawing within Alicent's heart, ever since the Rouge Prince had come home into King's Landing looking for the comforts of his home, and the comforts of family.

It's an ugly, unwanted urge to break something. To harm someone. One could say it was seething hate that she felt towards something— but she can't bring herself to admit it either.

It's unbecoming for a lady to be feeling such things towards the Prince Daemon, all for such.. foolish reasons.

It was natural to miss a family member, what wasn't natural was the way your dearest uncle looks at you; as if he wanted to devour you whole in your place. It's not such a quiet secret that the Prince lusted for the crown, lusted for you.

And Alicent hated that. She oh— so deeply hated it, to the point where her old habits come upon to bite her back in the form of self-inflicting harm, all because she chooses to be silent and pretend as if your uncle doesn't cause her to pop a vein.

She shouldn't be feeling this way. You were free to do as you please.

With bitten lips and reddening nails, the auburn locks of the Hightower girl casaded upon her shoulders, while a good part of it had been braided upside. She looks to you, and the feast thrown for Daemon and his victory at the Stepstones.

You were to dance with him.

She sees the way you seemed to gravitate towards the older man, and from under the table— she picks upon her skin until it bleeds. Not again, not in front of everyone. In front of her.

—

The night has been long, the two of you opted to take a walk before you return to your chambers. Still dressed in the finest attire fit for a celebration, Alicent almost envied you for how oblivious you are towards her inner turmoil.

And she cannot blame you for it either. It was not your fault that she is broken.

With bated breaths and fingers brushing against one another, the cold air wisps through the two of you. Sat under the great tree, Alicent sneaks a glance, hesitant.

"So, Daemon seemed to have missed you."