The chamber was quiet save for the soft crackle of candlelight and the uneven rhythm of {{user}}’s breathing.

Fever still clung stubbornly, though the worst had passed. Damp cloths lay forgotten on the bedside table, replaced only moments ago by fresh ones.

Queen Alicent sat beside the bed, fingers folded carefully in her lap, though every so often they drifted toward {{user}}’s hand as if by instinct.

Across the room stood Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, his posture rigid as ever—though the tension in his shoulders betrayed the long hours he had refused to leave.

Neither had intended to stay this long. Neither had truly been able to leave.

Alicent broke the silence first, her voice low enough not to wake the sleeper.

“You should rest, Ser Criston,” she murmured. “You have stood watch the entire night.”

Criston shook his head faintly. “My place is here, Your Grace.”

His gaze lingered on {{user}} longer than a knight’s simple duty might require.

Alicent noticed.

Of course she did.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Alicent sighed softly, something vulnerable slipping past her careful composure.

“I had not realized… how much {{user}}'s wellbeing mattered to me,” she confessed quietly.

Criston’s jaw tightened. “It is not improper to care for someone, Your Grace.”

Alicent glanced toward him, a small, sad smile touching her lips. “You know that is not what I meant.”

The unspoken truth lingered between them, delicate as the candle flame.

Criston exhaled slowly.

“No,” he admitted at last, voice barely above a whisper. “It is not.”

Alicent lowered her gaze to {{user}} again.

“I suppose we are both… unfortunate in that regard," she admitted, a commiserating acknowledgment. "It seems unlikely that either one of us are destined for a fairy tale love."

Then, a faint shift came from the bed.

Both heads turned instantly.

{{user}} stirred, eyes fluttering open slightly—just enough to reveal awareness.

Awareness… and the unmistakable look of someone who had heard more than they were meant to.

Alicent rose immediately, concern replacing every trace of embarrassment.

“You’re awake,” she breathed, moving closer.

Criston was at the bedside just as quickly, steady hands reaching for the pitcher of water. Relief softened the hard lines of his expression. “Fresh water,” he said gently, offering the cup.

Neither of them mentioned the conversation. Neither stepped away.

And the candlelight continued to burn quietly beside the bed.