There was another silence.
Viserys finally sighed and reached out to hold Alicent’s hand.
Her hand was soft and warm, possessing the particular weakness of a woman who had recently given birth, yet it brought him comfort.
“You are right.”
He whispered, “It’s just…
I can’t let this go.”
Alicent did not answer, only gently squeezing his hand back.
Because in her heart, she was thinking of something else entirely.
Today, Aegon had run off to sleep in Rhaenyra’s room again.
This thought circled in Alicent’s mind like a raven that refused to land.
From the time Aegon was born, and even up until two years ago after returning from the hunt in the Kingswood, she had naively thought that the good relationship between the siblings was a positive thing.
After all, Rhaenyra was the girl she had grown up with, her best friend—at least, she used to be.
Perhaps Aegon could be a bridge between them, repairing the rifts that had formed after she married Viserys.
But slowly, she realized her heart was not that generous; she felt a pang of distress whenever she saw Aegon in Rhaenyra’s arms, as if her treasure had been stolen by Rhaenyra.
The year Helaena was born, she had carried her daughter to find Rhaenyra, wanting her to see her little sister.
Rhaenyra did look, held her, and smiled.
But that smile was polite and distant, completely different from the smile she gave Aegon.
At that time, Alicent told herself: It’s fine, with Helaena around, Aegon will have a new playmate and will return to her side once more.
And Aegon was very good to Helaena, holding her, kissing her, and making her laugh.
And then—
And then he continued to run off to find Rhaenyra, sometimes even bringing Helaena along with him!
Before Aemond was born, Alicent told herself again: This time it’s a son; Aegon will surely like a brother more and will be more willing to stay where his brother is.
Today Aegon came to see Aemond, took only a single glance, said “A brother is born,” and then ran off to find Rhaenyra again.
Her long-awaited second son held even less attraction for Aegon than Helaena did.
Aegon, her first boy, her most cherished treasure.
Now, she finally understood how Rhaenyra must have felt back then, when Alicent had become involved with Rhaenyra’s father, Viserys, less than a year after the death of Rhaenyra’s mother, Queen Aemma.
Alicent leaned against Viserys’s shoulder, staring at the hearth, her thoughts drifting back once more to two years ago.
Not long after returning from the hunt in the Kingswood, her father Otto found her.
At that time, she was still pregnant with Helaena, her belly already large and her movements cumbersome.
Her father entered her room and, without pleasantries, went straight to the point.
“Alicent,” he said, his gray eyes burning with the ambition she knew so well, “have you heard about Aegon?”
“What about him?” she asked, though she likely already knew the answer.
“The White Hart,” Otto lowered his voice.
“Your son, my grandson Aegon, encountered the White Hart in the Kingswood.
It is a sign of kingship, a revelation from the gods.
Aegon is the true king, the future master of Westeros.”
Alicent said nothing.
She looked at her father, at that face which was exactly the same as in her memories—
Five years ago, it was also this face that had said to her in a similar tone: “King Viserys needs comfort now.
His wife is dead, his long-awaited son is dead, and he is lonely.
You should go to him.”
She had believed him then, she had gone, and later, she became pregnant with Aegon.
“Rhaenyra is a woman,” Otto continued, his voice more urgent.
“A woman cannot inherit the Iron Throne; that is the precedent established by the Great Council.
Viserys’s insistence on naming her heir is a violation of tradition, of law, and of the will of the gods.
Aegon is the legitimate one, he is—”
“We swore an oath of fealty,” Alicent interrupted Otto then, her voice colder than he had expected.
Otto was taken aback.
“On the very day Rhaenyra was named heir by Viserys,” Alicent stared into her father’s eyes, “all of us swore fealty.”
You, me, every noble present.
We swore before the Seven to recognize Rhaenyra as Viserys’s heir.
And now you want me to persuade Viserys to name Aegon instead?
You want me to incite my son to fight his sister for the throne?”
“It is not fighting, it is restoration!” Otto’s voice rose as well.
“Aegon is the eldest son; the throne should rightfully be his!
Rhaenyra was only a temporary placeholder, a matter of expediency!
Now that Aegon is born and the White Hart has appeared, it is a clear sign from the gods—”
“Enough.”
Alicent stood up.
Supporting her belly, she stared at her father, looking at him with such eyes for the first time—not with the respect of a daughter for her father, but with the vigilance of a mother toward a threat.
“Father, what did you say when you first sent me to Viserys’s bed?”
she asked, her voice calm yet sharp.
“You said it was for the family, for the realm, to bring House Hightower closer to the seat of power.”
“I believed you, I went, and I did it.
And the result?
I lost Rhaenyra’s friendship, and people in court call me the ‘King’s mistress’ behind my back.”
“Since Aegon’s birth, everyone has been gossiping about the succession.
Is this what you meant by ‘for the family’?”
Otto opened his mouth, wanting to argue.
“And now,” Alicent gave him no chance, “you want me to use the same methods to persuade Viserys to name Aegon?
You want me to personally push my favorite son into a vortex of power, turning him and his sister into enemies and plunging this family into civil war?”
“This isn’t—”
“Isn’t what?
Not a civil war?” Alicent sneered.
“Father, I have been in King’s Landing with you since I was a child and have spent many years in court.
I have read history, heard the stories, and I know what succession struggles bring.”
“Dragons will tear at each other, families will be torn apart, and the realm will bleed.
And you want my son to be the starting point of all this?”
“You are being too dramatic.
Viserys is still young, the realm is stable, and there are several dragons—”
“The Old King also had several dragons in his later years,” Alicent interrupted.
“But how many years did he spend quelling the succession struggle?
He had to convene a Great Council to establish an heir.”
“In those years, exactly how many people died?
Exactly how much blood was shed?
Father, you know better than I.”
Otto fell silent.
Alicent looked at him, at this father whom she had once admired, obeyed, and believed that “everything was for her own good.”
She suddenly realized that she hated him.
Not for sending her to Viserys’s bed—she bore responsibility for that herself, as she had indeed been drawn to the King’s status at the time.
She hated that he still wanted to use her son in the same way.
“I do not agree.”
she said, enunciating every word.
“I will not persuade Viserys to change the heir.”
“I will not let Aegon and Rhaenyra fight.
Rhaenyra will be a Good Queen, and Aegon will be her good brother.
That is all.”
Otto stared at her, complex emotions flashing in his gray eyes—
Disappointment, anger, and even a hint of…
surprise?
Perhaps he hadn’t expected his usually submissive daughter to defy him in such a way.
“Alicent,” he said finally, his voice lowering, “you don’t understand.
Even if you don’t fight, others will.”
“Even if Rhaenyra were Jaehaerys reborn, it wouldn’t matter.
She is a woman, and there will always be those who use that against her.”
“Aegon is the King’s eldest son; he is the one being usurped.
Denying his right to the Iron Throne is to defy the gods and the laws of the world; there will always be those who support him.”
“By doing nothing, you are simply handing the initiative to others.”
But this was exactly what touched Alicent’s raw nerve.
The Old King, Jaehaerys, was the person she admired most.
As the personal handmaid to The Old King and the Good Queen Alysanne in their later years, every word and action of the royal couple had deeply influenced her, and she held them as her guiding principles.
And Rhaenyra was the best friend she had grown up with; she herself was a woman, and Aegon was her precious son.
Yet the culprit before her, who had instigated her union with a man she did not love and caused her relationship with her best friend Rhaenyra to become strained, was now trying to instigate her once again, just as he had done before, to lure her precious son into a conflict with his own elder sister.
“Then let others fight!” Alicent said.
“My son will not be a pawn.”
Otto looked at her, and after a long while, he finally only sighed.
“You will regret this,” he said, turning to leave.
That was the last time Alicent spoke with her father in a calm and peaceful manner.
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
A few months later, because Otto had overstepped his bounds too much regarding the succession issue, he was relieved of his duties as Hand of the King by Viserys, ahead of the original timeline, and replaced by Lyonel Strong.
Some said it was because he had publicly questioned Rhaenyra’s status as heir at the Small Council.
Some said it was because he had privately contacted nobles who supported Aegon, attempting to shape “public opinion.”
And others said it was because Viserys had finally had enough of his meddling with the throne.
Alicent knew the truth—or rather, she knew part of the truth.
Viserys had complained to her: “Your father is becoming increasingly intolerable.
Whom I name as heir is my own business; what right does he have to meddle?”
She did not defend her father.
Because she knew that what Viserys said was the truth.
But she always remembered the words her father said when he left King’s Landing: “You will regret this.”
Thinking of this, Alicent felt so angry she wanted to curse out loud: “To hell with the Iron Throne, what kind of father are you, and damn that Kingswood hunt.”
Would she?
She didn’t know.
She only knew that whenever she watched Aegon run toward Rhaenyra, whenever she watched her son laughing so happily in his sister’s arms, a complex emotion would surge within her—jealousy, loss, and even a hint of…
relief.
At least Aegon was happy.
At least the siblings had not become enemies.
At least, in this court full of schemes, they had each other.
That was enough, wasn’t it?
But was she really that “magnanimous”?
Her aching heart had long since told her the answer…
“Alicent?” Viserys’s voice pulled her back to reality.
Alicent blinked, realizing she had been staring at the hearth fire for too long, and that her previous words had slipped out inadvertently in her irritation.
“What are you thinking about?” Viserys, who had also just been immersed in his own thoughts, had only heard something about the “Kingswood” and “hunt.” He assumed Alicent was changing the subject to comfort him, and he looked at his usually good-tempered wife.
Viserys assumed that his own complaining had caused his wife, who had given birth three times in four years, to feel injustice on his behalf.
While comforting himself, he also fell into a state of irritation and distress.
As Viserys asked, his hand had already silently patted her shoulder gently, just as she had done earlier.
“It’s nothing.” She shook her head and tried to smile.
“I was just thinking about…
what you said earlier.”
Viserys sighed.
Looking at Alicent, who was irritated and distressed “because of” him, he felt a bit guilty and dared not “order” her around anymore.
He could only silently pour himself another cup of spiced wine: “Yes, a tangled mess.
Daemon, Corlys, the Triarchy, the Dornishmen…
and those fellows who spend all day eyeing the succession to the Iron Throne.”
He paused, recalling the “Kingswood” and “hunt” Alicent had just mentioned, and suddenly laughed—the smile was somewhat bitter, but mostly helpless: “Do you know what I thought of today?
I remembered how Rhaenyra and Aegon looked when they returned from the Kingswood hunt two years ago.”
Alicent was taken aback, clearly realizing that her previous distracted and unguarded words had been heard by Viserys. This story is hosted at g.com.
“Those two little ones were covered in the blood of that great wild boar, all dirty, with the boar being dragged on the back of an attendant’s horse behind them.”
Viserys shook his head and laughed, “That boar was several times bigger than Aegon, and it was his sister who killed it with her own hands.
I still remember the looks on the faces of those in the camp at the time—shock, admiration, and…
awe.”
He tilted his head back to drink, his laughter muffled by the goblet: “My daughter, my son—one killed a boar with her own hands, the other rode a White Hart.
As a father, I only hunted a black deer.
What do you call that?
The new generation surpassing the old?”
Listening to him, the corners of Alicent’s mouth curled up involuntarily.
She remembered that day—when Rhaenyra and Aegon returned to camp, they were covered in blood, but their eyes were startlingly bright.
Rhaenyra held Aegon and said to the gathered nobles: “Aegon and I are fine, that’s the boar’s blood.”
Aegon was in her arms, his little hands wrapped around her neck, smiling at everyone.
That smile was innocent, completely unlike someone who had just experienced a life-and-death crisis.
The matter of the White Hart was spread later by the attendants.
Ser Harrold Westerling personally reported to Viserys that he had seen with his own eyes the White Hart bowing to Aegon, calling it a sign of kingship, and saying the prince was favored by the gods.
When Otto heard this news, his eyes lit up frighteningly.
Alicent knew what he was thinking—he was thinking, ‘wonderful, one more reason.’
But she did not think so.
She could even imagine in her dreams the moment Aegon rode on the back of the White Hart and looked back at her.
That gaze was not like that of a one-year-old child; it was calm, clear, as if saying: ‘Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.’
That was her son.
That gaze made her afraid, but also proud.
“Alicent?” Viserys’s voice sounded again.
“Why are you daydreaming again?”
Alicent came back to her senses and found Viserys looking at her with confusion on his face.
She quickly adjusted her expression and smiled: “It’s nothing, I was just thinking about that day.
The boar, the White Hart, and…
those surprised faces.”
Viserys laughed loudly: “Yes!
Those faces!
That fellow Borros Baratheon had his mouth open wide enough to fit a fist, and as for Jason Lannister, he knelt down immediately—he thought the White Hart would appear a second time so he could bask in some of the glory too!”
Alicent laughed too.
At first, the smile was merely a polite way to ease the previous awkwardness, but as she laughed, it became genuine.
She remembered the silly look of Jason kneeling in the clearing, looking around; she remembered the incredulous expression on Borros’s large face; she remembered the look on young Garlan Tyrell’s face, a mixture of awe and longing.
She remembered the solemnity of Ser Harrold Westerling when he reported to Viserys, she remembered the thoughtful look in Lyonel Strong’s eyes, she remembered…
She remembered her father.
Her father was not in the camp that day.
He had returned to King’s Landing early and missed the appearance of the White Hart.
Later, when he heard the news, he wrote a letter overnight to ask for details.
She wrote simply in her reply, saying only: “Aegon is fine, the White Hart did indeed appear, but Rhaenyra was also present.”
She deliberately added the last sentence.
To let him know that his “sign of kingship” did not belong solely to Aegon.
Viserys’s laughter echoed in the room.
He clearly thought his joke had amused his wife, and his face showed a bit more smugness.
He poured another cup of wine and raised it toward Alicent: “Come, a toast to our children.
To Aegon, to Rhaenyra, to Helaena, to the newborn Aemond.
And—to that great wild boar!”
Alicent smiled and raised her own cup—it contained warm water.
She had just given birth half a month ago, and the maester said that due to the premature birth, she could not drink alcohol for the month.
The two cups clinked together gently, making a crisp sound.
The flames in the fireplace flickered, illuminating their faces.
The anger on Viserys’s face had dissipated for the most part, replaced by a flush from the wine and a relaxed smile.
Alicent wore a smile, but there were lingering thoughts in her eyes.
“I will summon Lyonel tomorrow,” Viserys said, his tone becoming a bit more serious.
“Have him draft the orders for reinforcements.”
“As for who to send…
let’s have Lord Cameron Tarth go for now; he has old ties with the Velaryons, and the Tarth fleet happens to be nearby.”
Alicent nodded: “Very well.”
“And,” Viserys paused, “write a letter to Daemon.
Tell him…
tell him his brother is willing to help him, but if he dares to crown himself without authorization again, I will personally have my children ride their dragons to take his crown off.”
Alicent couldn’t help but laugh: “You would write that?”
“I would,” Viserys nodded seriously, “and then I would have the raven fly slowly to give him time to digest it.”
The two smiled at each other.
Their laughter echoed in the study, dispelling the previous heaviness.
Outside the window, the night was deep.
The waves of Blackwater Bay gently lapped against the city walls, and the faint light of the lighthouse flickered in the distance.
On the other side of the Red Keep, in Rhaenyra’s room, the siblings were still fast asleep.
Aegon turned over in his sleep, his little face rubbing against Rhaenyra’s shoulder, murmuring something vaguely.
Rhaenyra subconsciously tightened her arms, holding him even closer.
Sunfyre opened its eyes to take a look, confirmed that everything was normal, and closed its eyes again to continue dozing.
The hearth fire was about to go out, leaving only dark red embers.
The night was still long..
And tomorrow would be a new day.
Dear Reader,
A special 60% discount offer available Don’t miss this opportunity to enjoy your favorite stories at a greatly reduced price.
The offer is available for a limited time only — grab it before it ends!