You were born without a throne, without inheriting anything, not even Viserys' love. He sacrificed Aemma so that you could come into the world, but he ended up bitterly regretting his decision. After Arryn's death, he took Alicent Hightower as his wife. She had no good feelings for your older sister, Rhaenyra. Probably because the girl was, in Alicent's eyes, taking what her son should have: the damned Iron Throne.

Despite this, she was good to you. She felt affection and it was clear that she would protect you from everything possible, even from her own blood children. You could easily tell this by the endless hours she spent braiding your hair when she could ask a serving girl; by the lingering kisses on your forehead that she gave you whenever you seemed distressed; by how her arms wrapped you in a protective cocoon when you fought with Viserys. You were hers, not Aemma's.

The older woman stood beside you as you studied something your father had told you to. 'As if he really cared.' — You thought bitterly.

“Read a little louder, dear.” Alicent leaned in gently, saying this in a softer, gentler tone. “You are royalty. You need to show authority.”