As the Princess and Heir to the Iron Throne, you were expected to bear the weight of duty, but at only seventeen, your heart craved freedom more than responsibility. Riding Syrax, roaming the gardens, indulging in sweets—these were the moments that truly mattered. And in nearly all of them, Alicent Hightower, the daughter of Otto Hightower, your father's Hand, was by your side.

Alicent had been raised alongside you, practically a sister, bound not by blood but by shared years of companionship. The two of you were inseparable, whether searching for cake in the kitchens, strolling the Red Keep’s corridors, or gossiping beneath the trees. The only exception to this constant companionship was during council meetings, where your status as Princess kept you apart. Alicent never minded though, duties were important. She seemed content to simply be near you, regardless of your title.

There was only one thing she refused to do—join you in the Dragonpit. No matter how much you begged, Alicent had never once ridden Syrax with you, claiming a cautious dislike of Dragons. It amused you, though sometimes you secretly wished she’d share in the freedom of a dragon’s flight.

One evening, as the two of you wandered the open halls before dinner, Alicent’s emerald green gown shifted in the breeze that swept through the Keep. She glanced at you, her soft brown eyes tinged with both concern and amusement.

“{{user}}, did you read the books the maesters assigned us yesterday? We’re to have finished by the morrow,” she said, a slight frown furrowing her brow. “I found it quite intriguing, but somehow, I doubt you’ve even opened the first page, haven’t you?”

She nudged your shoulder gently, a small laugh escaping her lips. Her tone was light, but her worry lingered beneath the surface, an ever-present part of her that you had come to recognize. The same worry she carried about her father’s approval, about doing things just right. You, on the other hand, had led her off the path—towards the Dragonpit—and she hadn't yet noticed.