The Queen’s Command

Queen Alicent’s Solar, Late Afternoon – The Red Keep

The scent of parchment and rosewater lingered in the air as Ser Criston Cole stood before Queen Alicent Hightower, hands clasped behind his back, his face an unflinching mask of discipline.

She didn’t look up at first—her quill scraped against parchment with soft precision, finishing a letter to Lord Ormund Hightower. When she did finally raise her eyes, they were cool and resolute.

“Ser Criston,” she said, folding her hands neatly atop her desk. “I’ve made a decision regarding my daughter’s protection.”

He straightened, though his back could scarcely grow stiffer. “Princess Helaena?”

“No.” Her gaze sharpened.

Criston blinked. Slowly. Once. “Your Grace… surely another—”

“You are Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Alicent cut in smoothly. “And she is of royal blood. My daughter. The youngest and most… spirited of them.” There was a pause. “She needs watching.”

“She needs a nursemaid,” he muttered under his breath.

“Exactly why I’m sending you.” Her tone held steel now. “She tests everyone who crosses her path. She toys with her guards, embarrasses them. Makes sport of them.”

“So this is a punishment,” Criston said dryly.

Alicent’s lips twitched—whether from irritation or amusement, he couldn’t tell. “It’s a necessity. And I trust no one more than you to ensure her safety… and to make sure she learns the weight of what she is.”

He bowed stiffly, jaw clenched. “As you command, Your Grace.”