My Best Friend's Sister

Rhaenyra - 18 Years Old & Alicent - 28 Years Old

The highway stretched out ahead of them in long, sun-bleached ribbons, dotted with signs for farm stands, antique stores, and sleepy diners promising “World’s Best Pie!” Alicent barely registered them. Her hands gripped the wheel at ten and two, knuckles pale against the leather, and her jaw had been clenched since they crossed the state line.

Eryk, riding shotgun, adjusted the air vents for the third time and turned down the mellow indie playlist humming from the speakers. “You sure you don’t want me to drive for a bit?” he asked, glancing over at her with that earnest, lopsided smile he always wore like a badge.

“I’m fine,” Alicent said, a little too quickly. Her voice was tight, even to her own ears.

Eryk nodded, not pushing it. That was one of the things she liked about him—he didn’t press. He was nice. Simple. Predictable in a way that was easy to manage. No wild moods or cryptic silences. Just a calm, sweet beta who opened doors and laughed at her terrible jokes and always remembered to bring extra chargers in case hers died.

And still, she couldn’t stop thinking about someone else.

It had been months since the ski trip. Months since she’d stood in the quiet hallway of her parents’ house, suitcase in hand, and told Dany—without meeting her eyes—that something had come up at work and she had to leave early. Months since she’d avoided looking at Rhaenyra, who had stood at the bottom of the stairs in sweatpants and a hoodie, her scent still sharp in the air, her expression unreadable. Alicent had walked out into the cold morning with her pulse racing, heart pounding, and hadn’t looked back.

She hadn’t seen her since.

They hadn’t texted. Not really. A few awkward exchanges over Dany’s group chat. One accidental like on a story. Nothing real. Alicent had pretended it didn’t mean anything. Pretended the night in the hot tub, the stolen glances, the slow-burning tension between them—that none of it mattered.

And now she was going home for Easter with her new boyfriend.

“Your mom’s making lamb, right?” Eryk asked, trying to break the silence.

Alicent nodded, keeping her eyes on the road. “Yeah. She always does.”

“I’ve never had lamb,” Eryk said, smiling like that was a fun fact instead of a reminder of how different his life had been from hers. “Should I be nervous?”

“You’ll be fine,” she said, forcing a smile.

The car rolled on, Vermont trees blurring past in green and gold. The air smelled like early spring—mud and melting snow and something clean. Alicent cracked her window, letting the chill wash over her.

She hadn’t told Eryk who might be there.

Dany had mentioned it offhandedly over the phone. “Rhae said she’d come, I think.”

Alicent hadn’t asked for clarification. She didn’t want it. Didn’t want to plan for the possibility that Rhaenyra would be there, older now, eighteen and officially not a kid, not in the legal or practical sense. She didn’t want to think about what that might mean. What it might do to her carefully reconstructed sense of normalcy.

“Are you nervous?” Eryk asked, his tone light. “You’ve been quiet since this morning.”

Alicent’s fingers tapped the steering wheel. “Just tired,” she lied. “Didn’t sleep well.”

He reached over and squeezed her knee. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

She nodded, but didn’t speak. Instead, she focused on the road, on the mountains in the distance, on the way her stomach tightened with every mile closer to home. Every mile closer to the girl she’d spent all winter trying not to remember.

Rhaenyra would be eighteen now.

And Alicent had no idea what she would do if she had to look her in the eye.

///

The front door swung shut behind Rhaenyra as she stepped inside the Hightower’s home, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. She paused to brush the damp off her jeans, glancing down at the tulips cradled in her arm—soft yellows and pinks, the nicest bunch the corner market had.

The house smelled like Easter: glazed ham, citrus, something floral and sweet. Dany had said her mom was pulling out all the stops this year. Rhaenyra could already hear her laughter from the kitchen, layered over clinking silverware and a man’s voice she didn’t recognize.

She set the flowers down gently on the console table, straightening her spine a little before heading toward the noise. When she turned the corner, the sight hit her before she had time to brace for it.

Alicent was standing by the window, glass of white wine in hand, dressed in soft neutrals—white blouse, tan trousers, sleeves pushed to her elbows. And next to her, hand brushing against hers as they laughed at something Dany’s mom said, was a man.

Rhaenyra stopped short in the doorway.

He was plain-looking. Brown hair, button-down shirt tucked a little too carefully into chinos. Beta. That much was obvious from the way he moved—calm, unobtrusive, not a trace of alpha posture in his frame. His hand rested briefly on the small of Alicent’s back as he reached for a deviled egg, and Rhaenyra’s stomach turned unexpectedly.

“Rhaenyra!” Dany called, waving her over from the table. “Finally.”

Alicent looked up then, eyes meeting hers. For a second—barely a flicker—something passed between them. Surprise, maybe. Hesitation. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a polite, careful smile.

“Hi,” Alicent said. Her voice was smooth, pleasant. Familiar and suddenly strange.

“This is Eryk,” Dany added, oblivious to the way Rhaenyra had gone still. “Alicent’s boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.

Rhaenyra blinked. Her gaze shifted to him again—Eryk—who offered her a warm smile and a hand to shake.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

She took it without thinking. His grip was firm but not dominant, exactly what she’d expect from a beta. Someone safe. Simple.

“You too,” she managed, forcing a small smile before stepping back.

She’d seen him once or twice on Alicent’s Instagram, just enough to clock the fact that she was seeing someone. But this—bringing him here, introducing him to her family, to Dany—this was different. Alicent didn’t do this. Not in the entire time Rhaenyra had known her.

And maybe it shouldn’t have felt like something had shifted under her feet. Maybe she shouldn’t have been caught off guard by how easily Alicent stood there, talking and smiling with someone else. Someone who wasn’t her.

But she was. And it did.

///

The terrace was strung with soft lights, the kind Dany’s mom always brought out for holidays and summer nights. The evening was cool but not cold, the air scented faintly with jasmine and the lingering warmth of dinner. Jon was sprawled in one of the deck chairs, his wine glass balanced precariously on his chest, while Rhaenyra sat cross-legged on the outdoor sofa, nursing a half-empty glass of red. Dany was barefoot, perched on the edge of the lounge chair across from her, swirling her wine like she was someone’s rich aunt.

No one cared that they were drinking. They were all eighteen now, and the parents had long since stopped pretending to be strict about it—especially on holidays, when the kitchen was still cluttered with dessert trays and leftover ham and half-empty bottles of wine no one would miss.

They were laughing about something stupid Jon had said—some half-drunken theory about the moon being fake—when the patio door slid open and Alicent stepped out, Eryk trailing behind her with two fresh glasses in hand.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Dany called, grinning as she made room beside her.

Alicent smiled, slipping gracefully into the seat beside her sister, while Eryk settled into the empty chair beside Jon. Her blouse was slightly wrinkled now, her hair pulled back into a low twist. She looked casual and elegant in that way only she could. Rhaenyra, who hadn’t looked at her since dinner, let her gaze drift over the rim of her wine glass and then quickly away.

“What’d we miss?” Alicent asked lightly.

“Jon thinks the moon is government propaganda,” Dany deadpanned.

Eryk raised his brows. “Honestly, not the worst theory I’ve heard this week.”

Jon lifted his glass in salute.

The conversation flowed easily after that—wine-softened and aimless. Someone put on music low through a Bluetooth speaker, and Dany was mid-story about her roommate’s pet ferret when she gestured toward Rhaenyra without thinking.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because Rhaenyra’s ditching all of us for New Jersey. Princeton,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “She’s going to become an academic weapon and leave me to rot in state school.”

A beat of silence.

Alicent blinked, her head turning slightly. “Wait—what?”

Rhaenyra looked up, startled. “What?”

“You got into Princeton?” Alicent asked, the smile gone from her face, her voice too even. “Dany, you didn’t tell me that.”

Rhaenyra hesitated, then shrugged, eyes dropping to her wine. “It’s not a big deal.”

“What do you mean, not a big deal?” Alicent said, sitting forward a little. “That’s—Rhaenyra, that’s incredible.”

“I told you,” Dany cut in, suddenly too casual, her tone light and pointed all at once. “You haven’t really been around.”

Alicent’s mouth opened slightly, then closed again.

There was a flicker of something unreadable in her expression—something that didn’t match the quiet pride in Eryk’s, who smiled and said, “That’s amazing. Congratulations.”

Rhaenyra nodded, murmured a quiet thanks, but her eyes didn’t leave Alicent. She wasn’t sure what she expected—pride, maybe, or surprise. But instead, Alicent looked unsettled, her glass forgotten in her hand, her smile nowhere to be found.

And Rhaenyra just sat there, unsure why it mattered so much that Alicent hadn’t known.

///

The house was quiet now. The soft murmur of the dishwasher was the only sound inside, and outside, the crickets had taken over, their chorus echoing through the warm night air. Rhaenyra and Alicent sat on opposite ends of the terrace couch, the string lights above them swaying gently with the breeze. The bottle of wine on the table between them was nearly empty.

Eryk had gone to bed earlier, claiming he was exhausted from the drive and the wine, and Alicent hadn’t argued. He’d kissed her cheek, said goodnight to the group, and disappeared upstairs before the real quiet settled in.

Dany had just walked Jon to the front, her voice echoing faintly through the hallway before the door shut behind her. It left a strange kind of silence in her absence—soft, suspended, but humming with something unspoken.

Alicent leaned back, stretching her legs out and taking another sip of her wine. Her cheeks were pink, whether from the alcohol or the warmth of the night, Rhaenyra wasn’t sure.

“Princeton’s a huge accomplishment,” Alicent said suddenly, her voice low but sure, like the thought had been building for a while and finally pushed its way out. “You should be proud.”

Rhaenyra glanced at her, surprised by the softness in her tone. “Thanks.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Alicent swirled her glass slowly, her gaze fixed on the wine like it could anchor her.

Rhaenyra leaned back, resting her head against the cushion. Her eyes found the stars above, then slid sideways to Alicent’s profile. “Soo…” she started, voice slow and casual, but too deliberate to be offhand, “Eryk.”

Alicent blinked, turning her head slightly. “What about him?”

Rhaenyra shrugged, her voice light but loaded. “Do you… is he the one?”

Alicent let out a laugh—short, startled, almost a scoff. She tilted her head back, rubbing her palm over her face, her wine sloshing a little in her other hand. “Jesus, Rhaenyra,” she muttered, still smiling.

“What?” Rhaenyra said, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “It’s a fair question.”

“I don’t know.” Alicent’s smile faded slowly, her thumb running along the rim of her glass. She thought about a few months ago—sheets tangled, a stranger’s hands, and her own breath catching for someone who wasn’t even there. The memory flashed too easily, sharp and bright like a bruise being pressed.

She took another sip, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the deck. “He could be.”

Rhaenyra looked at her for a long moment, unreadable. “But you don’t know.”

Alicent’s throat tightened. “I don’t know,” she echoed, quieter now.

And for a second, neither of them looked away.

///

Alicent had been home for a few days after Easter, long enough to feel the shift in the house—the subtle quiet of it, the way certain doors stayed closed, certain mugs stayed in the cabinet. Rhaenyra was noticeably absent. Not gone, exactly. Just… not there. No clatter of her boots in the mudroom, no low music drifting from Dany’s room where she usually lingered.

Alicent didn’t know if she should feel relieved or not.

Mostly, she felt restless. Like she was holding her breath without realizing it. She didn’t ask where Rhaenyra was, and no one volunteered the answer. Maybe that was better. Maybe it would have been worse to know.

Instead, she busied herself with Eryk. She showed him around their hometown—took him to her favorite bookstore, the coffee shop by the water where she used to study in high school, even drove past her old campus without meaning to. He was sweet, earnest in the way only betas seemed to manage. He listened to every story, nodded at every small anecdote like it meant something.

But the whole time, her thoughts kept drifting. Not to the past, not exactly. But to something just out of reach.

By the end of the week, they packed up and left. Rhaenyra never came home—not while Alicent was still there. And she didn’t see her again before she left. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t even know if Rhaenyra had been avoiding her on purpose or if it was just a coincidence.

But it stayed with her on the drive back to L.A.—the silence, the absence, and the vague, hollow ache of something unfinished.

///

Alicent slipped into the folding seat just as the announcer began to call names, her breath still shallow from the run across the parking lot. Her dress clung awkwardly after the rushed Uber ride, and her hair was frizzy from the humid East Coast air. She hadn’t even had time to greet her parents properly—just a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek and a whispered, “Sorry I’m late,” before sinking into the seat between them.

The flight had landed an hour behind schedule. She’d nearly missed the entire thing. But now, sitting here among rows of proud families and clicking camera shutters, she let herself breathe.

The speaker finished a few words about pride and beginnings, and then came the roll call.

Dany walked across the stage with her head held high, a wide grin splitting her face. The crowd whooped and clapped—her parents, Alicent too. She smiled despite herself. Dany had always loved the spotlight.

And then, a few names later: Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Alicent’s heart jumped.

Rhaenyra stepped into view, the maroon gown clinging to her shoulders, her cap slightly askew. She looked taller. Older. Her chin lifted with a quiet confidence as the announcer called her name, and the applause broke out again. Alicent clapped too, slower than before, her gaze fixed on her.

Rhaenyra didn’t look toward the crowd. Didn’t search for anyone in particular. She just accepted her diploma with a nod and walked off stage, expression unreadable.

Alicent swallowed hard, her pulse unsteady. She hadn’t seen her since Easter. Not once. Not even in passing. And now here she was, graduating. Moving on.

Alicent couldn’t tell if the tightness in her chest was pride or something else entirely. For now, she settled on pride. It had to be.

///

Dany ran up first, arms thrown wide as she barreled into her mother with a gleeful squeal. Her parents laughed, wrapping her in a tight embrace, Otto clapping her proudly on the back. Alicent smiled, feeling the buzz of it all—the noise, the warmth, the camera flashes. It was surreal, seeing her little sister graduate.

They were still laughing when Rhaenyra approached. She came slowly, almost shyly, a soft smile on her face, her maroon gown rustling with each step. Beside her was a tall, gray-haired man in a tailored navy suit—her father, Alicent realized with a small jolt. She’d seen him in a photo once maybe, but never in person. He looked older than she’d expected, much older than her own father. Serious. Reserved. Maybe a little distant. But he was there, and he leaned in politely to shake Otto’s hand, murmuring something low and respectful.

Rhaenyra stood a step behind him, eyes flicking briefly to Alicent. Her smile widened slightly.

Alicent stepped forward automatically. “Congratulations,” she said, arms going out before she could second-guess herself.

Rhaenyra hugged her, warm and solid and familiar, and Alicent smiled into her shoulder—until she inhaled without thinking.

It hit her like a punch to the lungs.

That alpha scent—stronger than it had been at Easter, steadier. Mature. It wrapped around her like heat rising from pavement, grounding and dizzying all at once. Alicent blinked hard, her grip tightening for half a second before she forced herself to pull back.

She smiled. She smiled through it.

“Thanks,” Rhaenyra said quietly, her cheeks a little pink as she tucked her hair behind one ear. “Kind of a big day, huh?”

“Yeah,” Alicent replied, her voice coming out thinner than she’d meant. “Huge. You did it.”

Their eyes met for a beat longer than they should’ve, and then the moment passed. Otto was asking Rhaenyra’s father where he’d traveled in from. Dany was tugging on her mom’s sleeve to get a photo. Everything blurred around the edges, but Alicent just kept smiling, her chest still tight from the breath she hadn’t meant to take.

///

Dany’s parents hosted a full sit-down dinner—white tablecloths, champagne flutes, a cake with her face airbrushed on it that she pretended to hate but secretly loved. Everyone clapped when she made a toast, half-drunk and glowing, and after the sun dipped low and the adults had hugged her goodbye and headed out, the house transformed.

The music got louder. Shoes came off. The real party started.

Dany was planted firmly on the couch now, barefoot and flushed, surrounded by a tangle of older cousins and friends from school. She laughed too hard at everything, sloshed her drink once or twice, and tugged Rhaenyra down next to her, all breathless affection and drunk sincerity.

“You’re my best friend,” she declared into Rhaenyra’s neck. “Like, you don’t even get how much.”

“I think I get it,” Rhaenyra said, smirking as she helped keep Dany’s glass from tipping over again.

Across the room, Alicent sat curled into the arm of the couch, drink in hand, laughing at something her cousin Margaery had just whispered. Margaery had only just moved to the city—twenty-one and effortlessly chic in a gauzy two-piece and gold hoops—and she leaned in like they were swapping gossip too good to share aloud. Alicent looked relaxed in a way Rhaenyra hadn’t seen in a while, her head tilted back, her fingers brushing her necklace as she laughed.

Rhaenyra looked away before she could linger. Dany had slumped her head into her lap and was scrolling aimlessly on her phone, giggling at memes she didn’t explain. The house was full of movement and chatter—empty wine bottles on the counter, open windows letting in the warm breeze, music bouncing faintly between rooms.

Rhaenyra should’ve felt happy. She should’ve felt full, surrounded by friends, celebrated, already accepted to Princeton, and done with high school. But across the room, Alicent’s laughter skimmed through her like static, and the sight of her with Margaery—bare legs tucked under her, eyes glittering under the soft kitchen lights—made something in Rhaenyra buzz, low and restless and hungry.

Dany elbowed her. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Rhaenyra said, eyes darting away. “Just the room.”

“You’re looking at Ali,” Dany said, eyes half-lidded but sharp as glass. “You’re always looking at Ali.”

Rhaenyra didn’t answer. She stared into her cup, swirling what little wine was left at the bottom.

“I’m serious,” Dany went on, pushing herself up slightly from Rhaenyra’s lap, her tone slurred but steady. “You’ve never had a girlfriend. You’ve barely even kissed anyone. Because you’re obsessed with my sister.”

Rhaenyra shrugged, but it didn’t land. Not when her throat felt tight.

Dany shook her head, loose strands of hair clinging to her temples. “Rhaenyra. You know if she liked you back—really liked you—she would’ve done something about it by now, right?”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched. “That’s not— It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” Dany said, suddenly more serious. “You’re barely legal. She’s—what, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? It wouldn’t be right if she went for it now, and you know that.”

“I’m not saying she has to do anything,” Rhaenyra muttered. “I’m not expecting—”

“Don’t do that,” Dany cut in, sitting up straighter. “Don’t play it down like that. I’m not mad. If anything ever did happen between you two? Whatever. I’m not gonna throw a fit. But I’m telling you this as your best friend—right now? It’s not happening. Not any time soon. And you’re wasting your life waiting for a ‘maybe’ that might never come.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth opened, some clumsy defense forming in the back of her throat, but Dany steamrolled over it, her voice quieter now but firmer.

“It was cute when we were younger, Rhae. Funny. Everyone could see it—you pining after her like some tragic poet. But now? You’re eighteen. You’re going to Princeton. You’re supposed to be living your life, not tying yourself to this what-if fantasy.”

Rhaenyra looked down again.

Dany exhaled. “Your whole high school experience, you’ve been hung up on her. And the only time you ever even kissed someone was that one night at the ski house—and you practically had a panic attack about it afterward.”

Rhaenyra didn’t speak. She just took a sip of her drink and tried to ignore the dull ache growing in her chest.

Dany softened, nudging her with her foot. “I just want you to have more than this, Rhae. That’s all.”

///

Margaery leaned back against the porch railing, sipping from her wine glass with a sigh that was far too dramatic to be fake. “God, all the alphas in New York are the same. They wear Aesop deodorant and think opening a tab at a jazz bar is the height of romance. Like—congratulations, you read The Art of War once.”

Alicent laughed, the kind of soft, quiet laugh that only came after a second glass of wine. “I mean, you’re the one who moved there.”

“Yeah, well, someone has to suffer for the aesthetic,” Margaery shot back, smirking. “Anyway, I don’t want someone impressive. I just want someone who’s… sweet. Steady. Safe. You know?”

Alicent swirled her wine, thoughtful. “That’s rare.”

Margaery glanced sideways at her. “You kind of seem like you found that, though. With Eryk.”

A small smile tugged at Alicent’s lips. She didn’t answer right away. “Yeah,” she said finally. “He’s… good. He’s nice.”

Margaery narrowed her eyes, immediately catching the tone. “But?”

Alicent let out a soft laugh. “There’s no ‘but.’ We’ve been together almost nine months. He’s patient. Steady. Doesn’t take himself too seriously. My parents love him.”

“But?” Margaery pressed again, grinning now.

Alicent hesitated. “It’s not that there’s anything wrong with him,” she said slowly. “It’s just…”

“Just?” Margaery echoed, raising a brow.

“Just that he doesn’t…” Alicent trailed off, then shook her head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“No, no, no,” Margaery said, bumping her elbow gently. “Say it.”

Alicent looked out over the backyard where the party was still going, Dany shrieking with laughter somewhere in the dark. “He doesn’t make my heart race,” she said, finally. Quietly.

Margaery was silent for a moment, then hummed, like she understood completely. “Yeah. That’s the worst part. When everything should be enough, but it still isn’t.”

Alicent nodded, lips pressed into a tight smile. “But he’s good. So I’m trying.”

And that was true. Even if something in her chest still felt strangely empty every time she said it.

///

The night had tipped into that late, rowdy stage where everything was funny and no one was keeping track of how many drinks they’d had. The music thumped low through the walls of the house, and someone had turned on a string of fairy lights out back, casting a soft glow over the terrace where the party spilled.

Dany, flushed from wine and laughing too loudly, stumbled up to where her sister and cousin were sitting near the edge of the patio. Margaery had one heel kicked off, her legs folded under her on the outdoor loveseat, a half-empty glass of rosé in hand. Alicent was beside her, still looking effortlessly put-together, but visibly more relaxed than usual, her cheeks warm and her hair a little looser than she’d started the evening.

Dany leaned against the back of the loveseat, grinning. “You two look cozy,” she teased.

Margaery tilted her head up with a smirk. “Your sister’s been entertaining me all night. You never told me she was funny.”

“I’m not,” Alicent said dryly, sipping her drink. “She’s just drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Margaery protested, which only made Dany and Alicent exchange a knowing look.

Dany flopped down beside them, her voice a little louder than necessary. “It’s so weird seeing you two actually talking. You’re like never in the same place.”

Margaery shrugged. “Well, I live in New York, and your sister’s all the way in LA, and you’re in suburban exile—”

“Chicago is not exile,” Dany interrupted.

Margaery waved a hand. “You know what I mean. It’s hard to catch each other. And I was, like, twelve the last time we all hung out at once.”

Alicent gave a small smile. “You’re older now. Still young, but—” she bumped her shoulder lightly against Margaery’s, “—finally legal to drink and have real conversations.”

“Which we’ve been having,” Margaery agreed with a mock-serious nod. “I’m wise now. I have dating horror stories and everything.”

Dany groaned. “Please, don’t encourage her.”

But Alicent was smiling, genuinely. “It’s nice,” she said, glancing at Margaery. “I don’t really get to talk to people in the family like this anymore.”

For a second, it was quiet between the three of them—comfortable, warm, and a little hazy with wine. Then Dany leaned back, peering over her shoulder at the rest of the party. “Where’s Rhaenyra?” she asked, more to herself than anyone else.

But Alicent’s smile flickered, just slightly, and she didn’t say anything.

Dany twisted around and caught sight of Rhaenyra lingering near the drinks table, talking to one of their old classmates. “Rhae!” she called, waving her over with the enthusiasm of someone who’d definitely had a few too many.

Rhaenyra blinked, surprised, but made her way over, tucking her hands in the pockets of her jeans as she approached the little trio on the loveseat. Her eyes flicked to Alicent—just for a second—and then to Margaery, who gave her a polite, curious smile.

“This,” Dany announced grandly, draping an arm around Rhaenyra’s shoulders like a proud mom, “is Rhaenyra. She’s basically family at this point. And! She’s going to Princeton in the fall.”

Margaery perked up, swirling the wine in her glass. “Oh, nice! That’s so close to the city—you’ll love it.”

Rhaenyra gave a small, sheepish smile. “Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“Well, if you ever want tips,” Margaery said easily, “I just moved to New York after college. It’s chaotic, but I’ve survived so far.”

Dany beamed at the exchange, clearly pleased with herself. “See? Everyone’s connected. We’re building a network.”

Alicent chuckled softly, sipping her wine, eyes flicking between Rhaenyra and Margaery. “Careful, Dany. You sound like our father.”

“I’m networking,” Dany said, undeterred. “Let me live.”

The conversation drifted into light chatter after that—nothing heavy, just easy small talk about the East Coast, weather, moving, the best food in the city. Rhaenyra was quiet but attentive, smiling when Margaery made a joke, nodding along. She didn’t say much, but she didn’t leave either.

///

The party had thinned to a quiet sprawl of soft laughter and half-empty bottles. Most of the guests had gone home or passed out in upstairs bedrooms, and Dany was inside, saying goodnight to someone. Alicent stood on the back patio, leaning against the railing in her white sundress, her wine glass mostly forgotten in her hand. The night air was warm, still buzzing faintly with summer.

Rhaenyra stepped out quietly, barefoot, carrying two beers. Her cheeks were flushed, her movements a little loose. She wasn’t just buzzed—she was drunk. But steady. Determined.

“Beer?” she asked, holding one out.

Alicent glanced over, hesitating. “I shouldn’t.”

Rhaenyra gave her a lopsided grin. “Come on. It’s graduation.”

Alicent relented with a soft smile, taking the bottle. Rhaenyra stepped in beside her, their arms brushing. For a moment, they just stood there in silence, looking out over the empty backyard. Crickets hummed in the distance. Somewhere inside, someone turned the music down to a slow, echoing hum.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Rhaenyra said eventually, her voice soft.

“So are you,” Alicent replied, not looking at her. “But I guess it’s a night for that.”

Rhaenyra hummed. “I think I’m just… in my feelings, maybe.”

Alicent turned slightly, eyeing her with a faint, amused smirk. “Deep thoughts?”

“Something like that,” Rhaenyra said. She stared ahead for a beat before asking, “Do you ever feel like you’re waiting for something to happen, but you don’t know what?”

Alicent blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in her voice. “Yeah,” she said. “I think about that all the time.”

Rhaenyra looked at her then—really looked at her. Her eyes were soft, a little too open, like she’d been carrying that question around for years. “Yeah?”

Alicent nodded. “It’s like you’re always one step away from some… shift. Like your life’s about to change, but you can’t see the shape of it yet.”

Rhaenyra’s breath caught. She turned fully toward her, her heart hammering behind her ribs. The way Alicent said it—it didn’t feel vague or general. It felt personal. Direct. It felt like she saw her.

She took a step closer, almost without realizing.

Alicent still wasn’t looking at her. “That feeling doesn’t go away. You just… get used to it.”

But the words fell flat when she finally turned and saw how close Rhaenyra was now. Her eyes wide and earnest, her breath soft with beer and hope.

And then she kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed—it was careful, deliberate. A hand at Alicent’s waist, another brushing her cheek, soft and reverent like she thought about this every night before falling asleep. It lasted only a second or two, but it knocked Alicent’s breath out of her.

She pulled away fast, startled, her eyes blown wide.

“Rhaenyra—” she said, but Rhaenyra was already stepping back, her face flooding with panic.

“I’m sorry,” Rhaenyra said quickly. “I—I thought—fuck. I thought—”

“No, no, no.” Alicent cut her off, her voice soft but firm, stepping in just enough to steady her without touching her. “You don’t have to explain. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Rhaenyra said, shaking her head. “That was stupid. I misread—I shouldn’t have—”

“You’re drunk,” Alicent said, and she tried to smile, to make it gentle, even as her pulse was still racing. “You just graduated. You’re overwhelmed. It’s… a lot.”

“But I meant it,” Rhaenyra said, her voice breaking slightly.

Alicent exhaled, the air sharp in her lungs. “I know. That’s why we’re stopping here.”

Rhaenyra looked at her, confused. Hurt. “Because I’m Dany’s best friend?”

“No,” Alicent said. “Because you’re eighteen. Because you’re at the beginning of your life, and I’m already halfway through mine.”

“You’re twenty-eight.”

“Exactly,” Alicent said, voice tight. “That’s a decade, Rhaenyra. And you might not think that matters now, but one day you will.”

Rhaenyra stared at her, jaw clenched, eyes glassy.

Alicent’s tone softened again, the careful older-sister mask settling over her face like armor. “You’re going to have so many firsts. You’re going to fall in love—really fall in love—with someone who’s not carrying around all the history we are. And when that happens, you’ll understand why this… can’t be it.”

Rhaenyra looked away, her voice small. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Alicent said gently. “And even if I’m wrong, it’s still not now. It can’t be now.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and sad.

“I should go,” Rhaenyra muttered, already backing toward the door.

Alicent didn’t stop her.

She just stayed where she was, holding the unopened beer in her hand, her heart racing like she’d just barely outrun something she couldn’t name.

///

The house had quieted, the buzz of the party now just a low hum of laughter and clinking glassware. Alicent stood in the kitchen, her hands rinsing the last few wine glasses in the sink, methodically drying them with a dishtowel. Her head was swimming—not from the wine, but from everything that had just happened. The way Rhaenyra had kissed her. The way she’d looked after, heart in her eyes and shame written across her face.

Alicent couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t stop thinking about how soft Rhaenyra’s voice had been. How careful the kiss had felt, like something offered, not taken. Like it had taken everything in her to do it.

She hadn’t known. Not really. She’d always brushed off that teenage infatuation years ago—chalked it up to one of those inevitable crushes, fleeting and innocent. She hadn’t thought it still lived in Rhaenyra, hadn’t realized it had grown into something real. Something tender. And now… God, she felt awful.

She glanced up, spotting Rhaenyra standing awkwardly by the front door with a few stragglers, her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets, eyes low. She wasn’t laughing. Just nodding along, that tight-lipped smile on her face. Alicent had to look away.

“You okay?”

The voice made her jump. She turned to find Dany leaning against the fridge, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Hey,” Alicent said, trying to compose herself.

“Where’s Margaery?” Dany asked casually, her cheeks still flushed from the drinks.

“She went to bed a little while ago,” Alicent replied, setting down a clean glass.

Dany nodded. “Cool. Well, a couple of us are gonna head out to Melanie’s grad party at the lake. You know, last hurrah before we all disappear for the summer.”

Alicent frowned. “It’s midnight.”

“Yeah, and?” Dany grinned. “Mom knows. She said it’s fine as long as we don’t drown.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Melanie’s place is right on the water. Someone almost fell in last year. It’s a thing.”

Alicent didn’t answer right away, her gaze drifting again toward Rhaenyra, who was still standing alone now, not saying much. A knot formed in her chest.

“You good?” Dany asked, nudging her lightly. “You seem… off.”

Alicent blinked, caught. “What? No. I’m fine.”

Dany tilted her head, unconvinced.

“I’m really proud of you,” Alicent said abruptly, stepping forward and brushing Dany’s hair back with a soft smile. “You’re a graduate. You deserve to go have fun.”

Dany grinned, softening. “Thanks, Ali.”

“But be careful,” Alicent added, more firmly. “And text me when you get there.”

Dany rolled her eyes, but nodded. “Yes, Mom.”

As Dany turned to grab her jacket, Alicent looked back toward Rhaenyra again. She still hadn’t left. Still hadn’t looked at her.

And Alicent couldn’t stop thinking about the way her hands had felt on her waist. Or how nervous her voice had sounded when she apologized. Or how guilty she felt for pushing her away when part of her—some small, treacherous part—had wanted to kiss her back.

She didn’t know what she was feeling. Only that whatever it was, it wasn’t simple. And it wasn’t going away.

///

The Uber ride was quiet. Too quiet.

Rhaenyra stared out the window, her jaw tight, the neon streaks of passing signs reflected in her eyes. Dany glanced at her a few times, trying to read her expression, but Rhaenyra didn’t give her much. She didn’t fidget, didn’t sigh dramatically, didn’t do anything except sit there, arms crossed, lost in whatever was burning up behind her silence.

“You good?” Dany asked finally, her voice light.

Rhaenyra nodded once. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Dany didn’t push it. She knew Rhaenyra well enough to know when she was building a wall, and tonight, that wall was concrete. Reinforced. So she let it go, watching the road instead as the car carried them deeper into the woods, toward the lake house where Melanie’s party was already in full swing.

As soon as they arrived, Rhaenyra didn’t hesitate. She beelined straight through the throng of bodies on the porch and made for the kitchen. Dany trailed behind her, slower, distracted by the music, the lights, the crowd.

By the time Dany caught sight of her again, Rhaenyra was at the counter with a bottle in hand. She poured herself a shot, slammed it back. Poured another. Downed it. A third. No hesitation.

Dany frowned, stepping forward, but before she could say anything, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Jon pressed a kiss to her shoulder, grinning.

“Hey, baby. Missed you.”

She smiled reflexively, turning in his arms. “Missed you too.”

And just like that, Rhaenyra slipped away—quiet and unnoticed. She drifted out the back door, her head down, steps unsteady but determined.

She didn’t stop until she reached the edge of the lake.

The water was dark and quiet, moonlight skimming across its glassy surface. She sat in the grass, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth, her elbows resting on her knees as she stared out at the reflection of stars. The sounds of the party behind her were muffled now—music, laughter, voices too loud and too far away to mean anything.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t move. Just sat there, the fire in her chest dull and aching.

She didn’t know what she was waiting for.

Maybe nothing at all.

///

Rhaenyra barely noticed the sound of footsteps until a soft voice broke through the quiet.

“Hey.”

She turned her head, eyes narrowing slightly in the dark. A girl stood a few feet away, her arms wrapped around herself like she wasn’t sure if she should’ve come over. Long auburn hair, soft features, bright blue eyes that stood out even in the low light. Rhaenyra recognized her—Sansa Stark. A junior. Cheerleader. Quiet, but always polished. They’d never really spoken before.

“Mind if I sit?” Sansa asked, nodding toward the grass beside her.

Rhaenyra shrugged. “Sure.”

Sansa lowered herself carefully beside her, smoothing the hem of her dress over her knees. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The only sounds were the gentle rustle of leaves and the low hum of bass from the party behind them.

“I didn’t think you were the kind of person to sneak off and sulk at a party,” Sansa said after a while, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Rhaenyra huffed a quiet laugh. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Sansa glanced at her, studying her face in the soft moonlight. “You probably don’t remember, but we had biology together last year.”

“I remember,” Rhaenyra said, her voice quiet but steady. “You sat in the second row.”

Sansa blinked, surprised. “You noticed?”

Rhaenyra gave her a sideways look. “You always knew the answers. Kind of hard not to notice.”

Sansa flushed, a pink tint coloring her cheeks. She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “Well, um… I noticed you too. I mean… I’ve kind of always noticed you.”

Rhaenyra stilled slightly, turning to face her more fully. “Yeah?”

Sansa nodded, looking up at her now. Her voice was softer, nervous but determined. “I’ve had a huge crush on you. For a while. I guess I just… I didn’t want you to leave for college without knowing.”

Rhaenyra didn’t speak at first. Her chest tightened in that familiar way—a complicated knot of surprise and confusion and something else she couldn’t name. She looked at Sansa again, really looked at her. The way her hands trembled slightly, the way she bit her lip after she spoke. She was pretty. Sweet. Clearly brave in her own way.

“I don’t really know what to say,” Rhaenyra said honestly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Sansa said quickly. “I just… needed to say it.”

The kiss caught her off guard.

One second Sansa was smiling nervously, sitting there in the moonlight, and the next she was leaning in—gently, slowly—pressing her lips to Rhaenyra’s. It was soft. Hesitant. Not at all like the kiss from earlier that night.

Not like Alicent.

That kiss had been heady, disorienting—like a wave crashing too fast. This one felt like dipping into warm water, unexpected but not unwelcome. Rhaenyra didn’t pull away. She let Sansa kiss her again. And again.

It felt different, but not bad. Just… different.

Sansa’s hand cupped her cheek, light and trembling, and her lips moved carefully against Rhaenyra’s, learning the shape of her mouth like she was afraid to do it wrong. Her breath smelled faintly of strawberry vodka. Rhaenyra could still taste the wine on her own tongue.

She closed her eyes and let herself feel it.

The night was cool, but Sansa’s body was warm, her hands sliding from Rhaenyra’s face to her shoulders. She leaned in closer, their knees brushing, then pressing. The damp grass beneath them gave slightly as Sansa straddled her thighs, easing herself into Rhaenyra’s lap like it was instinct. Her legs hugged either side of her hips, her dress riding up with the motion. The pressure of her weight was new, grounding. It made Rhaenyra gasp just a little—more from surprise than anything else—and Sansa kissed her harder.

The wind carried the scent of the lake—muddy and clean all at once. Water lapped gently against the shore. Crickets chirped in the distance. But all of it faded as Sansa’s mouth opened against hers, and Rhaenyra felt fingers thread gently into her hair.

She kissed back—really kissed back—hands sliding to the small of Sansa’s back, holding her there as they moved together, mouths fitting tighter now, more rhythm, more hunger. It wasn’t messy or clumsy like she thought it might be. It was smooth, easy, the kind of chemistry that asked nothing of her but to stay.

Her pulse beat hot in her throat. The hem of her shirt was bunched up, and she could feel the soft press of Sansa’s thighs bracketing her hips. Their noses bumped. Sansa laughed softly into her mouth and kept kissing her, more confident now, her hands sliding under the fabric at Rhaenyra’s waist, just enough to graze warm skin.

It didn’t feel like Alicent. Not even close.

But it felt good.

It felt good to be wanted. To be touched. To be seen.

Sansa shifted in Rhaenyra’s lap, her dress bunched high around her hips now, the soft fabric brushing against Rhaenyra’s thighs. Her lips moved eagerly along Rhaenyra’s jaw, trailing kisses down her neck. The heat between them was mounting fast, thick and intoxicating, drowning out everything else—the music thudding faintly from the house, the breeze off the lake, the distant laughter. It all blurred into the background.

Rhaenyra’s head tilted back, her hands gripping Sansa’s waist as she tried to keep steady. She was hard already, aching with it, her body thrumming under every brush of Sansa’s mouth and fingers. The alpha part of her—deep, instinctual—was pulsing at the edge of her mind, restless and wanting. Sansa could feel it, she had to.

Sansa’s fingers slid down Rhaenyra’s chest, trembling slightly as she reached for the belt at her waist. Her hands were clumsy, uncoordinated from the alcohol and the rush of it all. The leather slipped through the buckle once, twice, until finally she got it free, the faint clink of metal loud in the quiet between them.

“This okay?” Sansa whispered against her throat, her breath hot, her voice barely audible over the waves.

Rhaenyra swallowed hard, nodding once. “Yeah,” she breathed, her voice hoarse. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

It was messy, awkward—the ground uneven, the dirt soft and damp beneath her—but none of that seemed to matter. Sansa shifted again, legs tightening around her, and Rhaenyra let out a soft, involuntary groan as their bodies pressed tighter. The friction was dizzying. Her jeans were open now, her belt undone, and Sansa’s hand hovered just above her waistband, uncertain but curious.

She looked down at Rhaenyra then, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and glassy in the dark. “I’ve only done this once before…” she started, but trailed off.

“I’ve never done it at all,” Rhaenyra murmured, the words slipping out before she even thought them through.

And maybe that’s what made it easier—the shared inexperience, the uncertainty, the feeling that they were both just figuring it out as they went. No pressure. Just the sharpness of breath, the press of lips, the warmth of skin under fingertips.

Rhaenyra’s heart pounded as Sansa leaned in again, kissing her harder now, slower, with purpose. Every movement was electric, every brush of fabric and skin stoking the fire already building in her gut.

Sansa’s breath hitched as she lowered herself onto Rhaenyra, her hands gripping her shoulders for balance. The dirt was soft beneath them, uneven and cold, but none of it mattered. Rhaenyra’s hands slid to Sansa’s waist, trying to steady her, her fingers digging into warm, trembling skin.

For a moment, everything felt too fast, too surreal—the music still pulsing from the house, the cool night air brushing sweat-damp skin, the dizzying smell of earth and perfume and lakewater. Rhaenyra’s head fell back against the ground, eyes fluttering shut.

It was clumsy, yes—Sansa’s movements slightly awkward, the angle not perfect, the ground unforgiving—but none of that dulled the sensation that tore through her. It hit like a wave, sudden and electric, making her hips twitch upward, her breath stutter in her chest.

God.

It felt good. Better than she expected. Not just physically—the heat, the pressure, the way Sansa whimpered softly above her—but something else. Something she hadn’t even known she needed. Her body responded before her brain could catch up, instinct driving her to meet Sansa’s rhythm, her hands flexing at her hips, grounding them both.

Sansa leaned forward, their foreheads nearly touching now, her breath shivering against Rhaenyra’s mouth as they moved together.

Sansa’s breath trembled as she shifted above her, the hem of her dress rucked up around her hips, her thighs bracketing Rhaenyra’s hips in a way that felt almost possessive. Their movements were messy, awkward in the dirt, but neither of them seemed to care. Rhaenyra’s hands gripped Sansa’s waist, guiding her without thinking, her chest rising and falling with sharp, shallow breaths.

They were both panting now, mouths close but not touching, the heat between them building fast. Rhaenyra could feel Sansa’s heartbeat through the press of their bodies, quick and fluttering. Her own pulse thundered in her ears, and she was barely holding on.

“You’re shaking,” Rhaenyra murmured, her voice hoarse.

Sansa gave a breathless laugh, burying her face in the crook of Rhaenyra’s neck. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Rhaenyra exhaled hard, her hands sliding up Sansa’s back. “You’re not the only one.”

Sansa pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glassy but focused. “I always thought about this,” she whispered. “You. I didn’t think it’d ever actually happen.”

Rhaenyra felt something twist in her chest—surprise, maybe, or something heavier like guilt. Her hands slowed a little on Sansa’s hips. “You did?”

Sansa nodded, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. “You always seemed so far away. Untouchable.” She gave a shaky smile. “But now you’re here, and I’m… on top of you, god you’re inside me and it feels so good…I just can’t believe it.”

Rhaenyra didn’t know what to say. The words settled somewhere deep in her gut, with a mix of guilt as she thought of Alicent. Sansa leaned in and kissed her again, and this time it was slower, more deliberate—less frantic, more wanting.

And then the pressure returned, the tension twisting low in her stomach. Her breath caught, her body arching into the rhythm again as Sansa moved against her, steady now, purposeful. Rhaenyra gritted her teeth, her hands tightening. “Sansa,” she managed, her voice barely audible.

Sansa pressed her forehead to Rhaenyra’s. “I know,” she breathed. “I can feel it.”

It was too much. The heat, the closeness, the rawness of it—all of it crashing into her at once. Rhaenyra clutched at her like she might break apart otherwise, and when it hit, it hit hard. Her body jerked beneath her, every nerve singing, and she gasped out and she finished inside her.

Sansa held her through it, one hand on her chest, steady and grounding, as Rhaenyra slowly came back to herself, breath by breath.

The lake was still. The music in the distance had faded. And for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

///

The front door creaked open, the soft slam muffled by the music still pulsing low from the basement speakers. Rhaenyra stumbled in first, cheeks flushed, her hair slightly messy from the lake breeze—and Sansa close behind, giggling, her hand still half-tugging on Rhaenyra’s hoodie.

Rhaenyra adjusted her belt quickly, trying to be subtle about it, but the leather squeaked in protest as she tightened it, fingers fumbling with the buckle. Her shirt was untucked, her jaw flushed, and she looked like someone who’d been thoroughly kissed—or more.

The foyer light caught them in its glow.

Dany, who’d been halfway through sipping from a solo cup at the kitchen island, turned at the sound—and froze.

Her eyes immediately landed on Rhaenyra’s disheveled appearance, then drifted to Sansa, whose lipstick was smeared just slightly at the corners of her mouth. Rhaenyra didn’t notice the stare at first, too busy yanking her shirt down and running a hand through her hair like that would fix anything.

But then Dany let out a slow, exaggerated “Ohhh…” under her breath.

Rhaenyra looked up.

Dany’s eyebrows shot high. “Seriously?”

Rhaenyra blinked. “What?”

Sansa just laughed nervously and gave a little wave before disappearing down the hallway, the sound of her heels fading fast.

Dany pointed her cup at Rhaenyra like it was some kind of evidence. “You and Sansa Stark?”

Rhaenyra scratched at the back of her neck, suddenly feeling about five degrees warmer. “It’s not— I mean, I don’t know.”

Dany gave her a look—one that held curiosity, mild judgment, and just a flicker of surprise. “Okay… well. Damn.”

Rhaenyra didn’t answer. She just stood there awkwardly, tugging her hoodie straight and running her tongue over her teeth like she could erase the taste of someone else’s mouth.

And behind it all, just beneath her skin, the echo of Alicent still pulsed like a bruise.

Dany didn’t say anything. She just looked at Rhaenyra—really looked at her before setting her cup down with a soft clink. “I mean… hey. I’m glad,” she said. “Seriously. I’ve wanted this for you. For like… ever. For you to stop waiting around and actually live a little.”

Rhaenyra shifted her weight, rubbing a hand along the back of her neck. Her belt was crooked again, but she didn’t fix it this time.

“But…” Dany continued, eyes narrowing slightly, “you look weird.”

Rhaenyra frowned. “Thanks.”

“No, not like—bad weird,” Dany clarified. “Just… not like someone who just got thoroughly laid by a hot cheerleader by the lake.”

Rhaenyra gave a quiet laugh under her breath and didn’t answer.

Dany tilted her head. “Was it bad?”

“No,” Rhaenyra said quickly. “No. It wasn’t. She was sweet. It was… nice.”

“Nice,” Dany repeated, her brows arching like that was the most suspicious word in the world.

Rhaenyra looked away, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her silence was louder than anything.

“Okay,” Dany said finally, slowly, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “Then what’s going on?”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth—then closed it again.

Dany watched her carefully, her tone softening. “Rhae.”

Rhaenyra swallowed. “I just thought it’d feel different,” she said after a beat. “Or maybe I’d be different.”

Dany didn’t say anything, just let the words sit between them for a moment.

Rhaenyra looked up, her voice low. “It was good. I wanted it. But I still… it’s like she wasn’t really the one I was thinking about.”

And Dany finally understood.

Her expression shifted—less teasing, more quiet, aching empathy. “Alicent,” she said softly.

Rhaenyra didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

Dany’s mouth was already open, ready to launch into one of her classic late-night, half-drunk pep talks—full of sharp edges and affection—but Rhaenyra cut her off, voice flat and quiet:

“I kissed her.”

It took a second for the words to register. Dany blinked. “Wait. What?”

“I kissed Alicent,” Rhaenyra said again, barely louder than the first time.

Dany just stared at her. “You… kissed my sister?”

Rhaenyra nodded once, stiff and awkward.

“Oh my God,” Dany breathed, eyes going wide. She looked like someone had just dropped a chandelier on her. “Like… recently? Like tonight recently?!”

Rhaenyra gave a hollow laugh. “Couple hours ago. Out on the patio.”

Dany looked like she might fall over. “Holy shit. I—okay, wow. I didn’t think you actually would. I mean, I knew you liked her, but like… I thought it was just… a thing. A crush. I didn’t think you’d actually—God, Rhae.”

Rhaenyra looked away, her jaw tense.

Then Dany’s expression shifted, her voice softening. “And she… what, rejected you?”

Rhaenyra didn’t answer right away, but the silence was enough.

“Shit,” Dany said again, quieter this time. “I’m sorry.”

Rhaenyra shrugged, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. “I don’t know what I thought would happen. I was drunk. It was stupid.”

“No,” Dany said, shaking her head, stepping closer. “Not stupid. Just… shit, Rhae. That must’ve taken everything for you.”

“It did,” Rhaenyra whispered, and Dany’s heart cracked a little at the way she said it—like she’d been carrying it for years.

“I didn’t know it was still like that,” Dany said. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I’m so sorry.”

Rhaenyra finally looked up at her, eyes tired and red-rimmed, but dry. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. And Dany knew that.

///

The early morning was quiet—still, the kind of stillness that only came with the tail end of a sleepless night. Alicent sat on the edge of the patio couch, hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had gone cold. She wasn’t really drinking it—just holding it like an anchor, her eyes unfocused on the pale blue sky beginning to stretch over the backyard. She hadn’t changed out of the dress from the night before, just thrown on a cardigan over her shoulders, her hair twisted into a messy bun.

She barely registered the creak of the screen door behind her, or the shuffle of slippered feet across the wooden deck. Dany sank down next to her in oversized flannel pajamas, her hair an unbrushed mess, the makeup from last night smudged beneath her eyes. She looked like hell—hungover and grumpy—but she didn’t say anything at first. Just sighed and let her head fall back against the couch cushion, closing her eyes against the soft morning light.

For a long stretch of time, they just sat there. Silent. The birds chirped faintly in the distance. Somewhere inside, the coffee machine hissed.

“She told me,” Dany said eventually, her voice hoarse and quiet.

Alicent didn’t even blink. She just took a slow breath through her nose. “I figured she might.”

Another pause. Dany rubbed at her temple and squinted out at the yard. “I know it’s complicated,” she said. “And I know you didn’t do anything wrong. But… I don’t think you realize how hard that was for her.”

Alicent’s brows pulled together slightly. She finally turned her head, met Dany’s tired eyes. “I was gentle,” she said. “I didn’t mock her. I didn’t make it weird. I just let her down as kindly as I could.”

“I know,” Dany said quickly. “I know. You weren’t cruel or anything, it’s just… you don’t get it. You’re my sister. To you she’s probably my best friend—just a kid. But to her? That moment? She’s been carrying it for years. And whatever you said—it really fucked her up.”

Alicent’s mouth parted slightly. “I didn’t say anything bad.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“Then what are you saying?” Alicent asked, sharper now. Her tea sloshed slightly in the cup.

Dany sighed again, this time deeper, heavier. “I don’t know. I guess it just needed to happen. She needed to get it out of her system.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means… nothing,” Dany muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

“Dany,” Alicent said, dropping the older-sister voice like a hammer. “Tell me.”

But Dany just shook her head, lips twitching into a tired smile. “It’s not important.”

Alicent frowned, suspicious. “Dany.”

“Look,” Dany said, turning to face her finally. “She kissed you. You turned her down. That’s probably what she needed. To realize it wasn’t gonna happen. That it’s not a possibility. And once she got that… I think she was able to move on.”

Alicent blinked. “Move on?”

Dany nodded, her expression unreadable.

“What—like she has a girlfriend now or something?” Alicent asked, half-laughing, trying to make it sound like a joke, but it didn’t land right. Her voice sounded off even to her own ears.

Dany glanced at her, then looked away.

Alicent’s stomach twisted. “Wait—does she?”

Dany snorted. “No, no—nothing like that. But…” She smirked, rubbing her eyes. “She did finally get laid last night.”

Alicent stood up so fast she nearly knocked over her tea. Her heart lurched violently in her chest, a rush of something cold flooding her limbs.

“That’s… good,” she said, her voice clipped, distant. “That’s good.”

She turned toward the door, already stepping away.

Dany blinked up at her, caught off guard. “Wait—what? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Alicent said over her shoulder, too quickly. “Just—I need to shower.”

And then she was gone, the screen door banging shut behind her.

Dany sat there for a second, blinking at the space where her sister had been. Her brows furrowed slowly, confusion tightening in her chest.

“…What the fuck was that?” she whispered.

Because suddenly, everything didn’t feel quite so simple anymore.

///

Jon sat on the edge of Dany’s bed, still in his sweats from the night before, hair damp from a rushed shower. He was half-listening at first, nodding along as Dany paced the room in her pajama pants and oversized T-shirt, still clutching a half-empty bottle of Gatorade like it was holy water.

“No, but seriously,” she said, turning sharply toward him. “It was weird, Jon. Like—weird weird.”

Jon blinked, finally looking up. “Okay, slow down. Back up. Your sister did what?”

“She found out Rhaenyra hooked up last night with someone—like actually hooked up—and then she just stood up and walked away like someone slapped her.”

Jon frowned. “Wait… your sister was upset?”

Dany gestured wildly. “That’s what I’m saying!”

He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. “But I thought she rejected Rhaenyra.”

“She did,” Dany said. “She said she didn’t see her that way, that she was too young, all the expected things, right? Which—fine. Whatever. But then when I told her Rhaenyra slept with someone last night, she looked like she was going to throw up.”

Jon’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah, that’s actually… kind of weird.”

“Right?” Dany flopped down onto the edge of the bed. “Like, if she didn’t care, why would she react like that?”

Jon shrugged slowly, thoughtful. “Maybe she does care. Just didn’t want to admit it?”

Dany stared at him. “Okay but like—what am I supposed to do with that?”

He snorted. “Why is this your problem?”

“Because I’m the one in the middle,” Dany groaned, rubbing her face. “Rhaenyra is my best friend. Alicent is my sister. I didn’t even think this was a real thing. I used to tease Rhaenyra about it when we were kids, but I never thought—”

Jon leaned over and took her Gatorade. “Sounds like they’ve got some deeply repressed shit going on.”

Dany groaned again, flopping back onto the mattress. “I knew letting them drink together was a mistake.”

Jon nudged her with his elbow. “So what are you gonna do?”

Dany sighed. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to stay out of it. But part of me thinks I’ve been telling Rhaenyra for years that Alicent doesn’t want her—and maybe I was wrong.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “And if you were?”

Dany stared up at the ceiling. “Then I’ve been the world’s biggest cockblock.”

Jon burst out laughing. “Babe—don’t say that.”

“I have! What if I told her not to hope for something that was actually maybe real?”

Jon leaned over, brushing a hand over her hair. “Well… maybe now it’s time to stop deciding for them.”

Dany sighed and stared at the ceiling a beat longer. “God, they’re gonna ruin everything, aren’t they?”

Jon grinned. “Probably.”

///

Alicent stood by the upstairs window, the phone pressed between her shoulder and ear, one hand resting on the sill. Outside, the backyard was quiet, the remnants of the party cleaned up hours ago—just the faint glow of string lights still flickering over the patio. Eryk’s voice came through the phone, muffled slightly by the spotty signal in her childhood home.

“…anyway, I told them I couldn’t cover for Marcus again. He’s always disappearing when it gets busy, and I’m not doing that double shift anymore. Not my problem.”

Alicent made a quiet noise of agreement, nodding like she was listening, but her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes tracked the yard below absently, but she wasn’t really seeing it. She was hearing Dany’s voice again—she finally got laid last night—and the strange way that had landed in her chest like a punch.

Eryk kept talking. “They said we’ll circle back after the weekend, but I’m honestly thinking about asking to switch departments.”

“That sounds smart,” Alicent said, her voice faint. She didn’t even know what she was agreeing to.

She thought of Rhaenyra—her flushed face, the nervous, hopeful way she’d looked at her on the patio. And then the kiss. The way her hand had cupped her cheek so gently, like it meant something. Like she meant something.

Eryk kept going. “Do you remember that guy from the wedding? The one with the crooked tie?”

Alicent blinked. “Uh—yeah. Sure.”

She shifted her weight, heart thudding dully. She didn’t want to be thinking about it. About Rhaenyra. About how small her voice had sounded when she’d backed away, or the guilt that had curled in Alicent’s gut afterward. She didn’t want to admit that Dany’s offhanded little reveal had made her stomach flip.

Rhaenyra had slept with someone. Probably some girl at the lake party. Someone her age. Someone who wanted her, who didn’t hesitate, who didn’t say you’re too young or this isn’t fair. Someone who had every right to say yes.

Eryk laughed on the other end of the phone. “—and then he spilled champagne on the officiant. It was chaos.”

Alicent smiled tightly, forcing out a small chuckle. “Sounds like it.”

But her fingers had curled slightly against the window frame, her nails digging into the wood. She didn’t know why she felt so unsettled. She had no claim to Rhaenyra. No reason to feel… anything. And yet here she was, nodding along to her boyfriend’s story while her head spun with memories of a kiss she hadn’t seen coming—and couldn’t seem to forget.

///

A few days later, Alicent was rinsing out her wine glass at the sink, the kitchen dim and quiet except for the faint laughter drifting in from the living room where Dany and Jon were queuing up the movie. She heard the creak of the floorboards behind her and knew who it was before she turned.

“Hey,” Rhaenyra said, pausing just inside the doorway.

Alicent glanced over her shoulder. “Hey.”

They stood there for a second too long in silence. The kind that had weight. Rhaenyra lingered near the island, her hands tucked in the pockets of her hoodie, looking at anything except Alicent.

“You’re not staying?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice low, casual in the way people pretended not to care.

Alicent shook her head, drying her hands with a dish towel. “No, I’ve got an early flight. I just wanted to say goodnight.”

Rhaenyra nodded, rocking back slightly on her heels. “Right. Makes sense.”

Alicent stepped closer, stopping just short of being too close. “It was good to see you,” she said, forcing her voice to stay light.

Rhaenyra looked up then, and their eyes met. Something flickered there—uncertainty, memory, ache. Alicent felt her breath catch for half a second, a strange warmth blooming in her chest.

“Yeah,” Rhaenyra murmured. “You too.”

A beat passed. Too long.

Alicent gave a small, practiced smile. “Goodnight.”

She turned to leave, brushing past Rhaenyra in the narrow kitchen walkway. It was a small touch—barely anything—but the contact was enough to spark something in Alicent’s chest. A jolt that hit her harder than she liked. And then her brain betrayed her.

Rhaenyra flushed, breathless, someone’s mouth on her neck.

Hands at her belt, dirt beneath their knees. The heat of skin.

A slip of a dress.

A sharp inhale escaped Alicent before she could stop it, and she stiffened.

She didn’t know where the images had come from—fragmented and blurry but visceral—and she hated the way they made her feel. She blinked fast, willing them away. Rhaenyra was still standing there, still watching her, brows slightly furrowed now.

“You okay?” Rhaenyra asked.

Alicent nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just—tired.”

Rhaenyra didn’t press. She just nodded and stepped aside, letting her pass.

Alicent walked out of the kitchen like her spine was made of glass, brittle and straight. As she stepped into the hallway, her heart was hammering against her ribs and her stomach felt strange—tight, sick. She told herself it didn’t matter. That whatever Rhaenyra did, whoever she was with, it wasn’t her business.

So why did it feel like it was?

///

The snow was already starting to fall outside Rhaenyra’s dorm window as she zipped up her last bag. Her roommate Layla was sprawled across the bed, scrolling on her phone and half-watching as Rhaenyra double-checked her checklist for the fifth time.

“You packed like you’re going to the Arctic,” Layla said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s Vermont,” Rhaenyra muttered. “Basically the same thing.”

She was nervous—nervous in a way she hadn’t let herself be in months. Not about the cold, or the trip, or even seeing Dany again. She missed Dany. They FaceTimed all the time, sending each other blurry selfies in the middle of the night or cramming for finals with coffee-stained notes. But this trip wasn’t just about Dany.

It was about Alicent.

She hadn’t seen her since the kiss. Since the rejection. Since Alicent left the morning after movie night without saying goodbye. They hadn’t texted, hadn’t spoken. Just a few lingering likes on Instagram, like they were pretending none of it ever happened.

After Alicent flew back to LA in August, Rhaenyra spent the rest of the summer with Sansa. They hadn’t defined anything—they both knew it wasn’t going to last once fall came. Sansa had cried a little the night before Rhaenyra left, and Rhaenyra had felt guilty, but also… relieved. She didn’t want anything that tied her down.

Freshman year at Princeton had been a whirlwind. Pre-med wasn’t for the faint of heart—her classes were brutal, her professors worse. But she was good at it. She kept her head down, made a few good friends, hooked up with a beta guy for a few weeks at the beginning of the semester. He was nice. Normal. Predictable.

But none of it stuck. Nothing really filled the space she didn’t like to think about.

Now she was going back. Back to the ski house. Back to where everything had started to get complicated. She didn’t know what she was walking into. She didn’t even know if Alicent would be there the whole time. But part of her hoped she would be. Part of her dreaded it.

“Text me when you get there,” Layla said, waving her off as Rhaenyra pulled her duffel over her shoulder and headed out the door.

As she stepped outside into the biting wind and the growing snow, she pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and muttered under her breath, “Here we go.”

///

Alicent didn’t think about Rhaenyra anymore.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself. That’s what she practiced, day after day—quietly, efficiently, with the precision of someone who had made a career out of compartmentalizing her emotions. The kiss, the awkward patio moment, the gut-twisting reaction to hearing Rhaenyra had slept with someone else—it had all been… a blip. A weird, emotionally confusing blip. That was all. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.

After that summer, she stayed with Eryk a little longer—long enough to make it look like she’d really tried. He was kind. Attentive. He liked early morning hikes and strong coffee and asked her about her cases, even if he didn’t always understand them. And yet… nothing stuck. Every kiss felt muted. Every weekend away, dull. She ended it in early fall. Cleanly. He took it well. Of course he did. He was Eryk.

Since then, her life had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Work, work, sometimes dinner with friends, then more work. Her firm was in the middle of a big class-action case, and she’d volunteered to take the lead. It was easier than thinking about anything else. Easier than thinking about Vermont or graduation parties or flushed cheeks and soft kisses and the way her chest had felt like it was caving in when Dany said, “She finally got laid.”

Alicent had laughed it off. She always did. She was good at pretending things didn’t matter.

And yet.

Every now and then, late at night, she’d catch herself staring at her ceiling, blinking into the dark, wondering why she’d reacted the way she had. Why it still sat in her chest like a pebble in her shoe, small but relentless. Why it had mattered. Why she’d felt sick. She hadn’t seen Rhaenyra since that awkward movie night back in August. And still, she sometimes remembered the heat of her palm on her waist, the way her voice sounded when she asked, “Is he the one?”

Alicent didn’t have an answer then. She still didn’t.

She shook the thoughts off and returned to her case files, scrolling through motions and redlines like she hadn’t just been thinking about a girl almost ten years younger than her, someone she shouldn’t have let get that close. Someone who had slipped under her defenses when she wasn’t looking.

Rhaenyra was off at college now. Starting her life. Living the kind of messy, beautiful chaos Alicent had long since aged out of. That’s what she told herself when her phone buzzed with a group text from Dany—something about winter break and the ski house.

Alicent stared at the screen a little too long before replying.

Of course, I’ll be there.

///

The air was biting cold, the kind of chill that sank into your clothes no matter how many layers you wore. Alicent stepped out of her car, the wheels of her suitcase crunching lightly over the gravel drive as she glanced up at the familiar silhouette of the ski house. Snow lined the rooftops and the porch railings, already settled deep into the season. It was later than she’d planned to arrive—work had kept her in L.A. longer than expected, but she was here now.

A soft glow pulsed in the backyard where the fire pit crackled. Alicent rounded the side of the house, and sure enough, there they were—Dany, Jon, and a cluster of vaguely familiar college kids, huddled around the fire with bottles in their hands and red cheeks from the cold and alcohol alike. Someone had brought a Bluetooth speaker; faint music pulsed behind their laughter.

Dany spotted her first. “Ali!” she called out, clearly tipsy, waving a hand in the air. “You made it!”

Alicent forced a smile, pulling her coat tighter as she walked over. “Hi,” she said, eyes sweeping over the group, already calculating how many people were here, how many were drinking, and how likely it was someone had already spilled something on the couch.

“You’re a few days late,” Jon added, holding out a beer as if to offer it to her. Alicent declined with a shake of her head.

“Work,” she said simply, eyeing Dany with the beginnings of that familiar older sister look. “Mom and Dad only agreed to let you guys use the house early because I was going to be here.”

Dany gave an exaggerated groan. “Don’t worry, Mom, no parties. This is like… a gathering.”

Alicent lifted a brow, taking in the half-dozen empty bottles lining the patio table. “Mhm.”

“Seriously, it’s been chill,” Dany said, brushing her hair off her face. “We’ve been skiing, making dinner, drinking responsibly—whatever. Nobody’s burned anything down.”

“Yet,” Alicent muttered, but her tone was more tired than harsh. Her eyes scanned the group again. A little part of her—the part she refused to acknowledge—was looking for someone in particular. But Rhaenyra wasn’t there. And she wasn’t by the fire. She wasn’t sitting on the patio steps. She wasn’t leaning on the railing with a drink like she always used to, that quiet presence hovering just behind the noise.

Alicent kept her voice casual. Or she tried. “Where’s Rhaenyra?”

Dany blinked. The question clearly wasn’t a surprise, but her reaction was… unreadable. She hesitated just a beat too long. “She’s upstairs.”

Alicent looked up toward the darkened windows. “She didn’t feel like coming out?”

“She’s got research,” Dany said, grabbing another drink off the table and twisting the cap off. “Some project with a doctor she’s doing over break. She’s been on calls and writing papers since she got here. Like full-on pre-med nerd mode.”

Alicent nodded, something complicated tightening in her chest. “Of course she is.”

Dany’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, but she didn’t push. “You want me to let her know you’re here?”

“No,” Alicent said quickly—too quickly. She softened her tone. “No, it’s late. I’m sure I’ll see her tomorrow.”

She stood there for a moment longer, listening to the wind whip softly around the trees and the laughter crackling under the fire. Then she turned toward the house, dragging her suitcase behind her and telling herself she wasn’t disappointed. Not really.

Just tired.

///

The house was quiet in that soft, hazy way only early morning could bring. The kind of silence that settled deep into the bones of the walls, undisturbed by clattering mugs or the thud of boots yet. Everyone else was still sleeping off last night’s drinks and late-night card games, but Rhaenyra padded down the stairs in an oversized hoodie and thick socks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, hair a wild, unbrushed mess.

She reached the bottom step and paused.

The back patio door was cracked open, letting in a gust of cold air. And beyond the glass, she saw her.

Alicent sat cross-legged on a wooden patio chair, a steaming mug of tea cupped in her hands. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, nose a little red, hair pulled into a soft, low ponytail that made her look painfully good without even trying. And she was wearing this ridiculous matching pajama set—lilac with tiny stars, the shorts barely covering the tops of her thighs, the sleeves of the button-down a bit too long on her wrists. She looked like something out of a dreamy sleepwear ad, or worse, a fantasy Rhaenyra had definitely had once.

She groaned internally, dragging her fingers through her hair. Fuck me.

Still, her feet carried her forward.

The screen door creaked as she stepped out onto the patio, the chill hitting her face immediately. “You’re up early,” she said, her voice hoarse from sleep.

Alicent looked up, surprised, and then offered a soft smile. “So are you.”

Rhaenyra rubbed at her eyes, blinking against the sunlight glinting off the snow. “Only because I smelled coffee and thought it might save my life.”

A quiet laugh. “Tea, actually. I was going to make coffee in a bit.”

Rhaenyra eased down into the chair beside her, pulling her hoodie sleeves over her hands. “You’re not cold?”

Alicent shrugged, her nose wrinkling slightly as she sipped from her mug. “A little. But I like it. Wakes me up.”

Rhaenyra tried not to look at her bare legs, tried not to think about the faint freckle on her thigh or the curve of her waist where the fabric of her pajama top clung just right. She stared out at the snow-covered trees instead, pretending she wasn’t completely unraveling.

“This is nice,” Alicent said after a moment, voice quiet. “Being here again.”

Rhaenyra glanced at her, heart lurching. “Yeah. It is.”

They didn’t say much else. The silence was comfortable. Familiar. But Rhaenyra could feel every inch of it, the air humming with unspoken things. She sipped her tea when Alicent offered her some, and nodded along as they talked about skiing later, about how the snowpack was actually better this year.

But through it all, all she could think was: I’m so in love with her. I’m so incredibly, hopelessly screwed.

///

The ski lift creaked softly beneath them as it carried them higher into the trees, the slope below glittering in the morning sun. Rhaenyra adjusted her gloves, trying not to look directly at Alicent beside her—tight ponytail tucked into her helmet, cheeks flushed from the cold, goggles pushed up on her forehead. She looked infuriatingly good, as always.

They’d all gone up the mountain together, but somehow Rhaenyra and Alicent had ended up sharing a lift—just the two of them, legs dangling over the snow, boards and skis strapped to their boots.

Alicent broke the silence first. “So, how’s Princeton?”

Rhaenyra glanced over. “Hard. Like… way harder than I thought it’d be. But good, I guess.” She shrugged, mouth tugging into a crooked smile. “I’ve got a good group. And my roommate doesn’t suck, which feels like a miracle.”

Alicent smiled, and something about it was so familiar—so warm—that Rhaenyra had to look away. “I’m not surprised. You were always a smart kid.”

Rhaenyra looked out at the trees, quiet for a beat, then glanced back. “How about you? Still seeing Eryk?”

There was a slight pause. Alicent exhaled, watching her breath fog in the air. “No. Not for a while now.”

“Oh.” Rhaenyra’s voice was quieter now. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry or anything.”

“You didn’t,” Alicent said gently. And then, after a breath, “It just wasn’t right.”

Rhaenyra nodded again, unsure of what to do with the flicker of something she felt. She didn’t want to read into it. That’s what got her into trouble in the first place.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” she said suddenly, too fast. Her voice barely carried over the wind, but Alicent heard it.

“Rhaenyra—”

“No, seriously.” She shook her head, cheeks burning. “I was drunk and stupid and it was my graduation and I don’t know what I thought was going to happen but… I made things weird. And I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t mean to.”

Alicent was quiet, her gloved hands folded in her lap. Her expression was unreadable, but her body was turned slightly toward her now.

“You’re really important to me,” Rhaenyra said, softer this time. “Not just because of Dany. Your whole family—this house, the trips, the holidays… it’s been a home for me in ways I didn’t have growing up. And I don’t want to mess that up. I already feel like some stupid kid who got a crush on her best friend’s older sister and didn’t know how to let it go.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “God, it’s so dumb when I say it out loud.”

“It’s not dumb,” Alicent said, and her voice was soft—softer than Rhaenyra expected. “Rhaenyra, you didn’t mess anything up.”

Rhaenyra looked at her, brows knit, lips parted like she wasn’t sure she believed her.

“I mean it,” Alicent continued, her tone firmer now. “You’re not just Dany’s friend. You’re part of this family, too. You always have been. And yeah, I was surprised. But I don’t think you’re ridiculous or—whatever you’re telling yourself in your head. I get it. I do.”

Rhaenyra swallowed hard, biting the inside of her cheek. She didn’t know what to say to that.

Alicent offered her a small, steady smile. “Let’s just… go back to how we were. I’d really like that.”

Rhaenyra nodded slowly, eyes stinging slightly though she blinked it away fast. “Yeah. Me too.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, not heavy or awkward this time—just quiet. Rhaenyra leaned back a little in her seat, and Alicent stayed beside her, gaze fixed ahead, the wind tugging at loose strands of her hair. It was almost like nothing had happened at all.

Almost.

///

Alicent was at the kitchen table, half-reading a case brief on her laptop, half-listening to the low hum of the space heater clicking on and off in the hallway. The house was unusually quiet for once—Dany and the rest of the college crew had finally crashed after staying up too late drinking by the firepit. Alicent hadn’t even bothered to clean up their mess in the den. She figured Rhaenyra would probably do it out of some overly responsible instinct before she even had a chance to look.

She was halfway through a paragraph when she heard her sister’s voice echoing from upstairs—loud and sharp as ever. Alicent sighed, tilting her head just enough to catch the words drifting down the stairs.

“Okay, enough is enough,” Dany said. “My parents are flying in two days, and you’ve barely done anything fun since you got here.”

Alicent arched an eyebrow. She didn’t mean to listen. She just… wasn’t closing the laptop.

Rhaenyra laughed, low and quiet. “I’ve been doing stuff.”

“Yeah. Research. Upstairs. Alone. That doesn’t count.”

Alicent’s lips quirked. She couldn’t help it. Rhaenyra had always been like this—disciplined, focused, even over the holidays. There was something deeply familiar and quietly admirable about it. It reminded her, painfully, of herself when she was younger. She’d worked through every winter break, every summer vacation, every long weekend. She could respect the grind. Even if it was frustrating how much Dany never seemed to.

“I just have deadlines,” Rhaenyra replied, more patient than Alicent would’ve been.

“Mhm,” Dany said, clearly not buying it. “Well, too bad. We’re going out tonight.”

Alicent leaned back in her chair and reached for her tea, trying to tune them out. But her sister’s next words were like a spotlight aimed directly at her nerves.

“Don’t kill me, but there’s a party at Mysaria’s.”

A beat of silence.

Then Rhaenyra, cautious. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I just mentioned it to a few people and now we’re going. It’ll be fun.”

Alicent sat up straighter without realizing. Mysaria. That name hit harder than it should have. She hadn’t thought about her in ages—not since Rhaenyra had come home years ago with flushed cheeks and a new awkward confidence. Alicent remembered hearing about it from Dany. She’d told herself then it was just a weird older-sister reaction. Protective. Dismissive. Not jealous.

Right.

“Didn’t she start dating some guy from a D1 school?” Rhaenyra asked flatly.

“They broke up,” Dany said breezily. “Come on. You didn’t end on bad terms. You guys barely even started anything. It was one or two makeouts. Maybe this’ll help get your mind off of things.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed. Things? What things? Her jaw clenched.

“I’m not hooking up with anyone,” Rhaenyra replied, voice a little sharper now. “I’m just trying to focus. That’s all.”

God, Alicent thought. Let her. She’s doing something with herself. You don’t need to drag her to every drunk hookup reunion.

“Oh my god, I’m not telling you to hook up,” Dany groaned. “I’m saying have some fun. Sansa was a summer fling. Clarke was just some guy. You are way too buttoned up.”

Sansa. Alicent blinked, tension flickering through her chest. So there had been more. She wasn’t sure why that detail twisted her gut the way it did.

“I can enjoy life without sleeping with people,” Rhaenyra said, her voice low and firm.

Alicent swallowed thickly and forced herself to look at her laptop screen again, even though her eyes weren’t moving.

“Look, I get it,” Dany said. “You’ve been hung up on ‘she-who-shall-not-be-named’ forever—”

“Oh my god, Dany—”

“I’m just saying,” Dany pushed on, voice sing-songy now, “at least try to look like you’re not in love with someone who’s literally never going to touch you.”

Alicent’s stomach turned. She shut her laptop.

It was too much. Too loud. Too close. Too accurate in ways she wasn’t going to admit to herself. And it wasn’t like Rhaenyra had said anything back. At least, not that Alicent could hear. That should’ve been a relief.

Instead, she sat frozen, staring down at her cooling tea and wondering why her chest was so tight.

And why, when Dany said things like that, she couldn’t decide who she was angrier at—her sister, or herself.

///

Mysaria’s hand cradled the back of her head, holding her close, grounding her. The other moved lower, past the waistband of her jeans. Rhaenyra froze—but Mysaria didn’t push. Just waited. Breathing with her.

Rhaenyra gave the smallest nod.

The first touch was a shock—fingers sliding over her, slick already, as if her body had been waiting for this long before her mind caught up. She whimpered, barely a sound, just a breath that caught in her throat. Mysaria’s fingers moved slowly, gently, exploring without rush, like she had all the time in the world. Rhaenyra’s hips moved with her, messy and instinctive, chasing pressure she didn’t know how to ask for.

She couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Only feel—each stroke, each flicker of contact building on the last. Her hands clutched at Mysaria’s shoulders now, nails digging in, grounding herself in the closeness, the sweat-slick slide of skin, the breath shared between mouths that never stopped meeting and parting.

The heat coiled tighter—low in her belly, rising like a wave she couldn’t stop. Every movement of Mysaria’s hand sent her closer, breath louder now, gasps turning to soft, desperate sounds she didn’t recognize as hers.

Mysaria’s breath was hot against her throat, her fingers curled into Rhaenyra’s shoulder as their bodies moved in a rhythm that felt half instinct, half reckless urgency. The room was dark but flushed in the faint orange hue of a bedside lamp left on—enough to cast shadows across the sharp line of Mysaria’s jaw, the slow, focused way her mouth parted with every push of Rhaenyra’s hips.

Rhaenyra’s hand gripped the edge of the mattress, the sheets tangled beneath her knees. She was sweating. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Every nerve felt exposed, lit up, raw—but not in a bad way. It felt good. Physical. Simple. Mysaria’s nails dragging down her back, her thighs wrapped tight around Rhaenyra’s waist—it was something to hold onto. Something immediate.

Mysaria tilted her head back with a breathy moan, and Rhaenyra’s rhythm stuttered slightly. Her own breath caught, and for a second she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure building low in her stomach or something else—something heavier.

Mysaria’s hands found Rhaenyra’s face, her touch gentler now as she pulled her down into a kiss. “You feel good,” she murmured against her lips, and Rhaenyra could only nod, because words felt too far away.

But somewhere—beneath the haze of it, the sweat and friction and the soft creak of the bed—Rhaenyra’s mind flickered. Just for a second.

A flash of a patio. A white sundress. The smell of tea and cold morning air.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Don’t do that.

Mysaria kissed her again, deeper this time, and Rhaenyra moved faster, grounding herself in the physical, in the now. She wanted this. She did. She wanted to want this.

The belt she’d struggled to undo earlier hung open now, her jeans shoved low on her hips, one of Mysaria’s hands gripping her thigh to guide her, the other braced beside her head. Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that was almost mechanical—steady, practiced, and fast. Sweat slicked their skin, making each press hotter, messier. Rhaenyra’s nails scraped the curve of Mysaria’s spine as their hips collided again, again, again.

It was good. She couldn’t deny that. It felt good.

Her breath stuttered. A low sound escaped her throat.

She focused on the little things: the wet sound of their bodies moving, the uneven hitch in Mysaria’s breath, the press of her knee pinning Rhaenyra down. The sharp smell of sweat and perfume. The burn building in her thighs. The squeak of the headboard against the wall.

Mysaria moaned—soft, then louder—her voice catching as she shifted her angle. Rhaenyra gasped, her body jerking reflexively at the sudden rush of sensation. Her hands slid from Mysaria’s waist to her ribs, fingertips brushing the edge of her bra. She held her there, steadying her, grounding herself in the slick, shivering contact.

And still, through all of it—through the heat, the pressure, the dizzy drag toward release—there was something hollow underneath. Something missing.

Not bad. Just… empty.

She kept her eyes closed.

But for a moment, in the dark behind her lids, she saw a different mouth, a different touch. She saw soft lips and careful hands and someone else’s green eyes blinking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

She blinked hard. Let it go. Focused on the way Mysaria was moving now, fast and relentless, dragging her closer to the edge.

Her thighs tightened, hips stuttering. “I—” she choked, not knowing what she was trying to say. Just that it was too much. Just that it wasn’t enough. Just that—

Then it broke.

Her whole body arched, clenched, came apart in pieces. A cry slipped out—shaky, raw, honest. Her legs trembled, chest heaving against Mysaria’s.

Mysaria collapsed half on top of her, laughing quietly, breath tickling her collarbone. “Told you,” she whispered, a smile in her voice. “You missed out last time.”

Rhaenyra didn’t answer right away.

She was still catching her breath. Still trying to make her heart slow down. Still staring at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of answer.

“I definitely did,” she said, her voice hoarse.

///

The sun had barely crested over the pine trees when Alicent stepped into the kitchen, hair still damp from her morning shower, a mug of black coffee warming her hands. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old floorboards and the low hum of the fridge. She preferred it this way—early, still, predictable.

But even as she sipped her coffee and looked out at the snow-laced backyard, her thoughts were drifting. Not to work. Not to the case briefs sitting in her overnight bag.

To Rhaenyra.

Dany stumbled in ten minutes later, wrapped in an old sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, her hair a tangled mess, eyes still puffy with sleep. She looked vaguely hungover and mildly amused.

Alicent glanced at her over the rim of her mug. “Where’s Rhaenyra?”

Dany blinked, heading straight for the cabinet to grab a bowl and cereal. “Morning to you, too.”

“Good morning,” Alicent said crisply. “Where is she?”

Dany shrugged, pouring cereal like it was a perfectly ordinary day. “She’s not here.”

A beat of silence passed. Alicent set her mug down a little too hard. “What do you mean she’s not here?”

From the couch, Jon snorted, his voice muffled as he flipped through his phone. “She’s with that girl,” he said, not looking up.

“Jon,” Dany hissed, shooting him a glare. He just grinned wider, entirely unbothered.

Alicent’s jaw clenched. “That girl… you mean Mysaria?”

Dany stirred her cereal a little too fast, her face unreadable. “She stayed the night there, yeah.”

There was a long pause.

“So,” Alicent said, carefully, her voice flat, “she slept with her?”

Dany lifted a brow. “I mean, they didn’t exactly play chess, Ali.”

Alicent blinked, her mouth tightening. She looked down at her coffee like it had personally offended her. Her stomach twisted, hot and sharp and confusing.

Dany watched her, chewing absently, then frowned. “Okay… I’m just gonna say it. I don’t get it.”

Alicent didn’t look up. “Get what?”

“Why you care.”

That made Alicent glance up, her jaw tightening. “I don’t.”

Dany let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Right. You’re practically burning a hole in the countertop over your coffee because you don’t care.”

Jon, still on the couch, stiffened slightly and glanced toward the kitchen like he could feel it coming. After a beat, he muttered, “I’m gonna go… shovel. Or something,” and grabbed his coat before slipping outside without waiting for a response.

The second the door shut behind him, Dany leaned forward over the counter. “Seriously, Ali. You’ve been weird about this since the second she walked in this house. You’ve been weird about her since graduation.”

“I’m not being weird,” Alicent snapped, sharper than she meant to.

Dany raised both brows. “Really? Because the last time someone got this flustered over who Rhaenyra slept with, it was you this last summer.”

Alicent exhaled, slow and tight. “She’s just… she’s young.”

“She’s eighteen.”

“She’s your best friend.”

“She’s not yours,” Dany shot back, folding her arms. “She’s not yours to obsess over or monitor or whatever this is.”

“I’m not obsessing,” Alicent said through gritted teeth.

“Then why do you look like someone personally betrayed you because she had sex?”

“I never said that Dany, Jesus,” Alicent said indignantly.

Dany rolled her eyes. “Maybe not with words.”

Alicent stared down into her coffee again, her lips pressed tight, like she wanted to say something—anything—but couldn’t.

“Look,” she said finally, her voice lower now, quieter. “I care about her. She’s family, okay?”

Dany didn’t move, just watched her.

Alicent rubbed her fingers over her temple. “I know you think this is some kind of… reciprocal crush or something, but it’s not. That’s not what this is. I just—” she exhaled, struggling to find the right words. “I relate to her. I see how hard she works. How serious she is. And she’s young—she’s really young. And I feel like she’s pushing herself into these sexual situations she’s not even ready for….I mean, Dany, be real. She’s only eighteen years old. Same as you.”

Dany blinked, unimpressed. “Yeah? And?”

“That’s… you’re both so young. That’s all I’m saying.” Alicent looked down into her coffee like it might save her from the conversation, from the sick twist in her stomach she couldn’t shake. “It would be completely inappropriate.”

Dany raised an eyebrow. “You keep saying that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“I’m not.” Alicent’s tone was too fast, too defensive. “I just—she’s your best friend, Dany. She’s basically family. I’ve known her since she was a kid.”

“Yeah, and she’s not one anymore,” Dany said, voice quiet but firm. “Look, I’m not saying you have to feel something. I’m not even saying you do. But you keep acting like this is just about her being some teenager making bad choices. Like you’re this distant, protective adult who’s just watching from the sidelines.”

“I am,” Alicent said quickly, too quickly. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Dany tilted her head, skeptical. “Then why are you spiraling?”

“I’m not spiraling,” Alicent said, her grip tightening around her mug. “She’s… she’s impulsive, and she gets in over her head. She’s focused and smart and works hard, and maybe I identify with that a little, okay? That doesn’t mean there’s anything else going on.”

Dany just stared at her for a second before murmuring, “You sound like you’re trying to narrate your own alibi.”

Alicent opened her mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come.

“And for the record,” Dany added, leaning back in her chair, “me and Jon have been together for years, and you’ve never once commented on our sex life.”

Alicent made a face. “Oh my God, Dany.”

“Exactly,” Dany said with a smirk. “So why does this bother you so much?”

Alicent didn’t answer. She just stared into her coffee, too proud to admit the truth and too rattled to ignore it anymore.