The chamber smelled of blood. A sacred scent, the septas would call it—a woman’s strength, her purpose. But Alicent found it bitter. The cries of the newborns had already faded to soft, mewling sounds, and the midwives cooed and bustled about with towels and salves.

But there was no celebration here.

Her daughter—her second child, her first girl—lay limp against the sweat-dampened sheets, a sheen of exhaustion painting her skin. Though the midwives whispered assurances that all was well now, Alicent could still see the tremble in her girl’s hands.

She is only fourteen. Fourteen—and I gave her to him.

Aegon was not here, of course. He had never shown anything but indifference, save for those moments Alicent had ordered him to fulfil his duty.

A serving girl approached, gently placing a swaddled bundle in Alicent’s arms before turning to lay the second twin beside the princess. Jaehaerys stirred, a small face framed by silver tufts, and {{user}} turned her head weakly to look at him.

“Do you wish to hold him ?” Alicent's voice was gentle as she stepped closer. “Or her ?”

{{user}} only blinked slowly.

“They’re healthy,” Alicent said, as though that would ease the weight pressing down on her chest. “Strong. That’s what matters.”

Still, no reply.

Only after a long silence did {{user}} murmur, “Does it ?”

Alicent felt her stomach twist. She set Jaehaerys carefully back into the midwife’s waiting arms, and sat on the bed.

“You made me marry him,” {{user}} whispered, hoarse and raw.

Alicent bowed her head, shame blooming sharp and hot behind her eyes. “I did.”

“I was thirteen.”

“I know.”

“I was still playing with Helaena.”

The words landed with the dull thud of truth, heavy and inescapable.

Alicent reached for her hand, hesitant. Let her pull away, she thought. Let her hate me, if she must. But {{user}} didn’t move.

She sat there, holding her daughter’s hand as the infants mewled softly and the fire cracked in the hearth.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Not as a queen.

Just as a mother—far too late.