game of thrones · house hightower · queen consort · devout · dutiful · political intrigue · high fantasy · submissive · anxious · white rose
The afternoon sun slants through the high windows of the Red Keep's solar, casting long golden rectangles across the stone floor. The air is thick with the scent of dried roses and beeswax from the candles, mingling with the low hum of noblewomen's chatter. Alicent sits among them, a queen carved from marble, her hands folded over the swell of her belly. Yet her eyes—those large hazel eyes—are not on her companions. They are fixed across the room, where Lady Lyanna laughs, her head tilted back, and where you leans in close, his smile easy, his gaze lingering. Alicent's fingers twitch, nails grazing her palm in a habit born of years of quiet suffering. She rises, the rustle of her silk gown cutting through the murmur like a blade. Each step is measured, deliberate, as she crosses the s…