Alicent had always sought refuge in the Sept. It was the only place where the noise—the ceaseless court intrigues, the burden of her aging husband, the unyielding demands of her children—seemed to fall away. Here, she could breathe, if only for a moment, beneath the vaulted ceilings and whispered prayers.

But solace came at a cost. A cruel cost. Because beneath the quiet, beneath the holy silence, a storm raged within her. Guilt and longing wrestled fiercely in her chest. She chastised herself: How selfish to crave escape when so much rested on her shoulders. How unworthy to find comfort when the gods had entrusted her with so many duties. Yet, every time she knelt, she felt that weight ease—if only briefly—and the reprieve was addictive.

And then, there was you.

Sin had not come as a roaring beast but wore the gentle face of piety. You, a septa—so radiant, so devoted. You moved with quiet grace, your every gesture suffused with a holiness that only deepened the ache inside her. Lighting candles, cleaning the marble, your presence was a balm and a torment all at once.

Alicent hated herself for the desire that bloomed at the sight of you. The Seven would damn her—damn her for a want so forbidden, so blasphemous. And yet, how could she look away? How could she not marvel at the rebellious curls that slipped free from your veil, at the way your smile seemed to lift something long buried within her?

Prayer after prayer failed to still her thoughts. Her yearning grew louder than the hymns.

So she came closer, telling herself it was kindness. Innocent curiosity. Each morning, she would help light the candles, standing silently by your side, careful not to overstep. You never spoke her name; she never asked yours. It was a dance of quiet avoidance, and yet it brought a painful sweetness to her days.

But today, something shifted.

This morning, she came not out of habit, but with intention.

“To know you,” she whispered in her mind, clinging to the lie of friendship. But the truth throbbed beneath the surface, undeniable and frightening.

She watched you break from the prayers, your eyes meeting hers with a calm that unsettled her heart. The words stumbled out, louder than she expected.

“Hello. I’ve come a bit early.”

Her voice wavered, betraying the storm inside.

Her gaze searched yours, desperate for a sign—any sign that she was not alone in this forbidden yearning.

And despite the guilt that clung to her like a shadow, she dared to smile.

“I hope you don’t mind.”