Alicent shifted in her seat, restless, adjusting her weight from side to side. Her right hand drifted absentmindedly down to your hair, fingers weaving through the strands with a thoughtless gentleness. In her other hand, the stack of documents she was meant to review shuffled from one page to the next, her eyes skimming over the words without truly absorbing them. Then, without thinking, her fingers curled slightly, giving a small tug.

—"Apologies."—she murmured, though her tone carried little sincerity.—"But it was your fault for touching… a sensitive spot."

She leaned her head back against the chair, her posture finally slackening as a ghost of a smile played at the corner of her lips. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this. She was the Queen. She was meant to be a symbol of decorum, dignity, morality. But… sometimes… it all felt like too much. The court, the endless whispers, the power plays hidden behind polite smiles—suffocating. Her leg shifted slightly, brushing against you, then more deliberately nudging you with her knee.

—"I’m a terrible queen."—She muttered with a quiet chuckle, eyes fixed on the ceiling.—"Fuck…"

She let the moment take her, allowing herself—if only for a fleeting instant—to forget the weight of the crown upon her head and just focus on you under her desk.