You and Alicent had been dancing around the idea of dating for months, pretending that what you had was just harmless sex, something that would eventually fizzle out. And yet, no matter how many times Alicent said it was the last time, she always found her way back into your bed. “It’s just sex,” she kept telling you. The truth? It was more complicated than she liked to admit.

Tonight was one of those nights. Alicent was back in your arms, the heat of her body a familiar comfort as you lay in bed, both of you covered in sweat, still breathing hard from what had happened moments earlier. Her skin was warm under your fingers, and you absentmindedly traced patterns on her shoulder, trying not to think about how natural it felt to have her there.

Her head rested on your chest, her fiery red curls damp from the heat of the moment. You could feel her heartbeat slowly settling into a rhythm that matched your own. You tried not to dwell on it, but the ease with which you’d ended up here again—how natural it felt to slip back into each other’s lives when no one was watching—was undeniable.

“We cannot again.” Alicent’s voice broke the silence, her English accent soft and croaky, almost as if she was hesitant to speak the words. Before she wiggled out of your embrace and hopped off the bed.

You hummed in response, closing your eyes as you rolled onto your stomach, spreading out into the space she had left. You heard her moving around the room, likely gathering her discarded clothes, before you snapped your eyes open to see her slipping back into her jeans.