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satanicscreams · 6 months

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— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓.

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK !!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: alicent hightower x fem!targaryen!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2449

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which a targaryen princess lusts after a queen who does not feel the same way about her

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark themes, strong language, minimal talk of homosexuality being shunned, stalking, lack of understanding of personal boundaries, mentions of patriarchal values...yuck, reader does not know what rejection and unrequited love means...she's borderline psychotic, no use of “y/n”

𝐕. 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 — no cause episode six through ten alicent has me drooling (respectfully)...my mommy issues are getting out of hand

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃 memories of trading meaningless topics with a renowned nobleman during a feast she could barely recall tore her apart from the inside. She certainly felt disgusted for having to associate with the man, but the girl felt the need to wonder if his wife was attractive. The platinum-haired Princess pictured said wife in a beautifully revealing nightgown that left little to nothing for her imagination. She fantasized about what it felt like to be beneath a woman whilst the softness of a mattress comforted her back. What it felt like to be kissed by one—touched by one.

And with all these erotic thoughts storming in her pretty head, the young beauty experienced thoughts where the subject of her imagination was female—a drastic change from her masculine ones.

But she dismissed it.

The Targaryen also ignored the constant tingle between her thighs when thinking of a woman in such an explicit manner.

It was a heroic attempt, the ignorance.

The dragoness just did not do it well enough because those feelings remained. And they became even more demanding when her father suddenly married Alicent Hightower many years prior. Inevitably, that was the beginning of the end for her already faltering sanity.

The event was still fresh in the girl's mind. She, herself, had only reached the tender age of thirteen when she witnessed her mother be replaced by an insecure and introverted auburn-haired girl—a noble lady only four years her senior who she now had to refer to as her stepmother.

The younger Targaryen mourned her mother for many moons and that was in fact true. However, unlike her older sister, the girl only grew to appreciate Alicent more and more as the years passed. While Rhaenyra competed with her childhood friend for the adoration of the King, the older Princess's sister—by age fourteen—was sneaking through unlit corridors, pursuing Alicent in silence and analyzing her every move: who she spoke to, what she did, where she went. The girl with the overwhelmingly ominous disposition knew all of it.

And once the second daughter of King Viserys reached age sixteen—a fruit ripe for the picking and intended to be given away to a lord from a notable house—it was then she discovered that she could not commit to a proper life without Alicent by her side.

The beauty of sixteen was oblivious to the many eyes constantly observing her...making assumptions...believing she was a strange young woman. After all, that all too familiar Targaryen madness reflected off her like a polished mirror. If not in her speech—often being a monotonous and highly insensitive spiel about the individuals around her...even her own family then during the many occasions in which she threatened to harm herself and others when she wasn't allowed to be around Alicent.

Family needed to be strong enough to prosper and protect their reputation. And each time the girl viciously lashed out either verbally or physically, her sister never abandoned her. Rhaenyra—as she promised from her dear sister's birth—protected the younger girl from the possible shame and gossip that threatened to befall her, but not even Rhaenyra's determination could save the girl. In truth, her family was losing faith in the younger Princess.

Rhaenyra, of course, made many valiant attempts, aching to better her sister's mental well-being, but it was nearly impossible and the older Princess's patience was wearing thin.

Viserys, as much as he cared for his two daughters, worried more about his position as King. Thus, the girl's dangerous behavioral problems were the least of his concerns.

As for the girl's undisciplined uncle, had he been given the power to do so Daemon would have certainly banished the young woman from the family. The man claimed that she was profoundly unwell from her seventh name day. His instincts did not lead him astray. A strange child was indeed a strange child.

And in such an instance, beauty did not trump insanity.

As the sharp-eyed Targaryen watched the Queen from afar, she concluded that Alicent Hightower was perfect. Albeit not an ideal match for her, the girl did not mind.

It was not customary for a woman to marry a woman nevertheless a married woman who was also her stepmother, though the platinum-haired royal was willing to challenge societal expectations...and ruin her father's second marriage. Gnawing on her lower lip, the Princess leaned against a stone pillar, head tilted uncomfortably against the frigid material as her amethyst eyes followed Alicent stroll by, only gracing her with a soft smile. In those hazel eyes were severe distress, but the Hightower woman hid it relatively well. The younger girl's presence put her on edge most of the time. Alicent truly cared for the second daughter of the King—her now husband—and was well aware of the girl's condition. The Targaryen took Alicent's smile as an invitation for conversation.

"I do believe you promised me a walk around the gardens earlier in the day. Have you found someone more formidable to occupy your time with?"

That aforementioned smile Alicent displayed immediately faltered—that perfected mask of excellence nearly slipping away. The auburn-haired woman never stopped walking, however. She didn't dare make full eye contact either. In the Princess's voice, there was a sort of...envy which did not go unnoticed. Merely thinking about the prospect of Alicent associating with others caused her blood to boil. The dragoness ominously stalked out of the shadows like a beast on the prowl for a good, hearty meal. That extravagant onyx dress trailed behind her, much like a bad omen as she moved closer to her Queen...her stepmother...the woman who was the center of her obsession. With a glint in those amethyst eyes, the girl scanned over the back of Alicent's figure which the woman, quite clearly, felt and acknowledged. That random and eerily serene chuckle of the girl's which slipped past her lips was what truly prompted the auburn-haired woman to halt, as if on command.

Reserved and obedient, Alicent Hightower turned around to look upon her stepdaughter—having the utter displeasure of coming face to face with those haunting, bleak eyes and the strange curve of her plump lips which could only be described as the foremost transition into a frown. It was the frown of a girl who had no right to frown. The Princess had a remarkable life—riches and glamor surrounding her around every corner of the castle her father presided over. Truthfully, there was no reason to frown. Oh, but from a different perspective—from the spoiled Targaryen's perspective there was a perfectly well-grounded reason to be frustrated. She had not claimed Alicent's heart yet.

"I would not test your patience, Princess. Nor would I lie to you, so I say this with a heavy heart: our walk must be deferred. I've much too many duties to attend to. I am Queen...and should be addressed as such out of respect—"

Attempting to draw a minimal vision of elation upon the girl's lips, Alicent persisted in staying not only levelheaded but cordial when addressing the Princess. Though, the Queen's benevolence, in the moment, meant nothing. Not when she was swiftly interrupted by the girl raising her hand, gesturing for silence. The irony stung the Hightower. It ate away at Alicent's heart to play into the platinum-haired girl's games and forget to hold power in her presence. With the younger Targaryen around, Alicent seemed less than—less like a mighty Queen and much like a courtier. She held power over Alicent like no other individual. Though it appeared the girl ruled the entirety of King's Landing with an iron fist. She was mad, yes, that much was true, but the young woman was also a conniving force who seemingly controlled her own father. Whatever she wanted, she got. And as of right now, all the Princess vied for was a private excursion into the royal gardens with Alicent by her side.

"'Respect.' Such a compelling concept. However, I do not believe a woman of your standing—a woman who willingly sold herself to a King—would understand the value of respect. I greatly admire you, I truly do, though that does not mean I am fond of how you've come into power. You've taken a throne undeservingly."

The sixteen-year-old lowly hissed, pure poison pouring from her mouth with each utterance of an embittered statement. She even had the gall to steadily walk over to Alicent—hips swaying ever so slightly with each step—and interlock their arms. Skin to skin, the two noblewomen began to move, on account of the girl slightly pulling Alicent along and once more, demonstrating the power she possessed over her auburn-haired stepmother. Alicent's guards followed after them, trailing behind partially which left the Queen whimpering to herself.

With baseless accusations laid against her, Alicent felt like a cornered animal as her eyes darted around the long hall, never turning her head to look at the hands desperately clinging to her. From Alicent's peripheral, the girl could be seen with eyes void of emotion as she bit down on her lower lip, barely bothering to conceal a self-satisfied smirk. All of the Princess's claims were false. Alicent knew this...the girl—the concoctor of lies—knew this. There was nothing 'undeserving' about the way the Hightower became Queen which was exactly why Alicent felt her lips quiver at the displeasing assertions. She had been nothing but congenial when it came to the fair-complexioned Targaryen.

All her life, the auburn-haired Queen made no effort to speak ill about her husband's second daughter. And yet, this was how the girl repaid her. Endless psychological torment built upon selfish desires. It was only then that Alicent became hyper-aware of how frigid the girl's arm was in comparison to hers. And how tightly it was wrapped around her own. Alicent bit down on nothing, her jaw nearly popping at the tension. A mantra in her subconscious reminded the Hightower to hold back tears of internalized agony.

"That is a mere fabrication of the truth conjured up by courtiers who wish to see me fall. You understand the veracity of the events which have transpired—You have been subjected to the circumstances in similar ways as I and you doubt my righteousness?"

The incredulous tone of Alicent's inquiry did not go unnoticed by the young woman. It held desperation, a bit of hostility, and most of all, trepidation. The way her stepmother vehemently attempted to remind her of the past—of the events that had transpired which prompted the Targaryen Princess to slyly smile. The girl remembered. All too well, in truth. Though she meant to mentally break Alicent. Whatever the girl wanted, the girl got. It was as simple as that. The Princess—with Alicent's arm still entwined with hers—could feel the increasing pulsating sensation coming from the crease of the Queen's arm.

It pleased the girl to be the physical manifestation of fear preying upon the hearts of people. In the most condescending of ways, the platinum-haired young woman began trailing the tips of her fingers up and down Alicent's forearm, eliciting a shiver. Alicent was beside herself as tried to she maintain regality and calmness. All she wished to understand was why the Princess was doing such a thing. What she would benefit from doing such a thing. Choosing to understand the girl's unhinged actions seemed all for naught.

"My Queen, you must be confused. You have no righteousness. You've successfully supplanted my mother and taken her title after a most gruesome death. I am certainly a purveyor of sincerity and with only a slip of my tongue, I can undo your scheme. The only Hightower Queen in history shall be instantly banished...a whole house of green humiliated for centuries. Unless, of course, you join me for a stroll in the gardens. Memories seem to conveniently vacate my mind in the fresh air."

Alicent nearly hiccuped on a stray breath that unknowingly slipped past her lips once the girl concluded a monologue filled with insincerity and enough elaborate blackmail to rival a spymaster. The Hightower felt like she was sinking in the midst of a freezing ocean with no one to rescue her. And the wicked Targaryen beauty was the metaphorical anchor weighing her down as Alicent was consumed by the words thrown her way. The second child of King Viserys was willing to forge a lie—a lie with enough strength to break down one's reputation—if she didn't get her way. A walk in the gardens with Alicent was what the girl wanted and she was determined to accomplish it in the only way she knew how.

In the meanwhile, the Hightower Queen deliberated amongst her options whilst hoping to keep her emotions at bay. There were in fact tears welling in those hazel orbs that threatened to stream down her cheeks. The girl adored witnessing the moisture come to surround Alicent's eyes. In the Princess's opinion, the Queen was oh-so-pretty when she was on the verge of weeping. Composing herself, Alicent blinked away those pesky tears and cursed herself for allowing her stepdaughter to control her so effortlessly. But Alicent Hightower had no choice for she did not wish to bring shame upon her house. She chose to save her prestige, thus giving in:

"...Very well. You demand a stroll. I shall entertain the idea...though I cannot indulge for too long."

A heartfelt little laugh emitted from the Princess's mouth—a contrast to her previous cold, maniacal demeanor. The spoiled girl got what she asked for and now she was content. Unexpectedly, and with a burst of overconfidence, the dragoness pulled her arm away from Alicent and on her own accord, decided to hold the auburn-haired woman's hand. The action caused Alicent to flinch and nearly, reflexively pull her hand away.

"Yes, of course. Our rightful Queen has much too many responsibilities. She needn't spare much of her time for headstrong stepdaughters. We shall be finished rather soon."

Those mind games of hers left Alicent Hightower in mental ruin. Now, after granting the Princess what she wanted, Alicent was suddenly dubbed the 'rightful Queen.' How convenient. Those whispers about the Poisoned Fruit of House Targaryen told no falsehoods.

She was a curse personified.

#hotd one shot #hotd imagine #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower imagine #hotd x reader #alicent hightower fanfic #hotd fanfic #alicent hightower one shot

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satanicscreams · 6 months

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— 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑.

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK !!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4038

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which the estranged cousin finally steps foot in king's landing after so many years only to capture the attention of many...especially the heir apparent's

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: strong language, brief mention of nudity, talk of a toxic family dynamic, a one sided crush (rhaenyra is super smitten), daemon is an awful father...no surprise there, reader’s hair color is mentioned, no use of “y/n”

𝐕. 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 — okay,, so technically the reader isn't a hundred percent targaryen in this one (you'll see) so my apologies for the false advertising

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐀𝐑𝐃 was uncharacteristically empty and quiet. That large patch of dirt aligned by weapons and a few dolls made of straw was seldom so tranquil. The brutish grunting of men and their steel swords clanking together was absent. All for the better, Princess Rhaenyra supposed as she made her way down the stairs that led into the yard. A gentle summer breeze bellowed through the air, picking up stray stands of Rhaenyra's otherwise neatly styled, braided hair which cascaded down her back closely resembling freshly fallen snow. The impulsive-natured young girl solely focused on the one figure present in the training yard as she stepped closer and closer, eager to not make a sound. In the midst of the yard, stood the most beautiful of people wearing dull brown trousers and a green tunic which aided her movements during her strenuous practice.

Rhaenyra harshly swallowed whilst examining the young woman of seventeen years as she pulled another arrow from the quiver resting in the dirt. Without even taking notice, the Targaryen Princess began silently—or at least she believed the action to be silent—kicking at the ground beneath her foot as excitement consumed her. The boyishly dressed female archer took her stance with her chest puffed out and back perfectly straight, legs spread apart ever so slightly. With the arrow nestled against the wooden frame of her bow and pulled back with those thin, yet surprisingly nimble fingers, Rhaenyra watched on with pure amazement. Stretching the bowstring to its full potential, the light brown-haired archer felt the pressure of her weapon against her skin and through her arms.

With that, she proceeded to shut one eye and continued to steadily breathe as she inspected the distance between herself and the target. The archer lacked no concentration...not even with a platinum-haired Princess boring two holes into the back of her head by staring so hard. The seventeen-year-old smirked to herself, forcing out an exhale through the minimal gap that had appeared between her lips. Arms tensing when she heard Rhaenyra move closer, the brown-haired beauty dared not release the arrow even if her fingers begged her to do so. With her hands clasped behind her back, the Princess prided herself on remaining hidden and soft-footed like a cat in the night, though she gave herself too much of that pride.

"I advise you to not stare for too long, dear cousin. My fingers do tend to tense up when so much judgment is cast upon me all at once. Those prepossessing eyes of yours are much too eager to understand my motives."

The lady archer teasingly admitted, that previous smirk never once going away. That customary smugness could be heard in her tone of voice and attributed to the infamous man who fathered her. A sudden hue of crimson overcame the apples of Rhaenyra's cheeks the very moment she was addressed. In resemblance to that of a hummingbird's, the platinum-haired girl felt her heart beat in an unnaturally fast manner when hearing her breathtaking older cousin's saccharine voice for the first time in...well, a very long while. The notion of composing herself nearly slipped Rhaenyra's mind as another short-lived gust of wind swept through the training yard.

The younger girl smelled her cousin's natural scent consisting of wild berries and the neutral aroma of perspiration after standing in the sun for an extended time. Rhaenyra loved her cousin. Perhaps a little bit more than she had ever intended. The heir apparent oftentimes battled with overly detailed thoughts of sharing intimate moments with her beloved cousin which would prove as sacrilege were anyone else to learn about such a secret. Two young women were never meant to engage in such sinful activities. All the more reason Rhaenyra shamed herself for imagining such things...still, she never stopped. The Princess relied heavily upon her limitless imagination to create a bountiful courtship between herself and her cousin.

"I was not—There was no judgment, cousin. Merely an intrigue. Never have I witnessed such natural aptitude through archery. My uncle—your father, must be satisfied with the talents you possess—"

With the unexpected and audible swish of an arrow, followed by the dull thump as the pointed piece of wood wedged itself into the center of the target, Rhaenyra lost sight of her compliment—utterly interrupted. Her cousin wordlessly made it clear that she wished to hear no such thing. Especially when it involved her loathsome father. The platinum-haired girl, in the meanwhile, observed the target with an arrow sticking out the middle of it, the image serving as a reminder that her cousin was a masterful archer—a true warrior.

And when Rhaenyra felt the older girl's hand gently latch onto her wrist, she had no choice but to meet those familiar amethyst eyes she often dreamed about—the eyes which were primarily reserved for members of House Targaryen. Whether the brown-haired young woman liked it or not, she was half a Targaryen by blood. Her father had cursed her with those amethyst eyes alongside a foolhardy demeanor. However, the aspiring archer was sedulous—something her father was not and a trait she had inherited from her mother.

"Do not be so foolish, Rhaenyra. My father, though I wish to not name him as such, has never been attentive nor loving. In truth, it was his will to return to King's Landing so he could assert himself as someone of high importance. I was content in the Reach beside my mother. The letter I received from him held a sort of directness and self-centered view of what he felt he was deserving of. He yearns to rule alongside a hideous lack of respect for compassion. That callous disregard was what my mother deemed a sense of adventure when stumbling into bed with him. Perhaps she was a lovesick child. But I am no fool. If he wishes to dismiss his responsibilities as a father then he does not deserve the love of a daughter. I have no further qualms with him for I am truly a daughter of war rather than a dragon."

Rhaenyra listened attentively to what her cousin had to say in regard to her uncle Daemon, though the Princess remained skeptical of whether or not both father and daughter had truly resolved their differences. The Rogue Prince was stubborn and his daughter even more so. And while Rhaenyra took in the rather emotionally charged words, she became hypnotized by her cousin's natural beauty. The young woman's complexion was partially tanned—completely void of that pale Targaryen skin that Rhaenyra herself boasted.

As for her hair, it was shorter than most noble ladies would have worn it, though the archer wasn't a noble lady. Light brown hair reached just above her shoulders and resembled the shade of chestnuts. And of course, her amethyst eyes sparkled in the midday sunlight. Rhaenyra's endearing gaze was sadly not noticed by her cousin on account of the older girl being distracted. With thoughts of her father no less. More specifically their journey to King's Landing. It was a miserable endeavor to travel from the Reach to King's Landing atop a dragon with Daemon. Caraxes, the young woman did not mind, but her father...that was another matter entirely. She vividly recalled the conversation upon their arrival.

"It has been ten trivial years since you have been granted the rare privilege to step into the Red Keep and intermingle with nobility. While your mother restricts your freedom and keeps you locked away in that insufferable village, I offer you opportunities not many women of your standing can encounter. Still, you have not shown how grateful you are."

The young woman deemed her father's self-righteous monologue to be painful and a waste of time. Still, her reply was coated in sarcasm, meant to defy:

"I am forever indebted to you, father. Perhaps if this dress was not constricting every portion of my body then I could bow down like a true, obedient lowborn. My assumption remains unchanged: you adore to remind me of my lack of repute."

"I have made many sacrifices on your behalf. This is your wretched mother's doing. She feeds you these fictitious tales of how I am this monstrous creature who you should loathe—"

"Do not speak ill of my mother! You abandoned her once she spoke of conceiving a babe! You abandoned me! Your only living child and only hope for becoming a better man!"

Many idle individuals, mostly knights, witnessed the heated dispute between the young woman and her father as they neared the extravagant castle on foot. The brown-haired beauty's lips were curled up in disgust while Daemon's eyes held scorn like no other.

If looks could kill...

"What was I supposed to do!? Your mother was a lowborn whore and I was—I am a prince belonging to an ongoing legacy. And you...you were the outcome of failed judgment."

Daemon's daughter incredulously scoffed and rolled her light eyes at the deeming words used against her and her mother—the lovelorn woman who dared give her heart and body to a destructive Targaryen man. Said man held no regard for anyone. All he cared for was himself.

"Once, when I was young and foolish, I defended your actions. I attempted to preserve your honor. However, you've proven what sort of hatred you are capable of. The shame of being your daughter is debilitating."

"I rather despise witnessing you become a daughter of war...a disposable soldier for whichever lord is determined to have you serve his house. You have a much greater purpose here...with me."

Rhaenyra softly murmured, too apprehensive to boldly speak her mind in the presence of the young woman who would most certainly believe her to be a foolish little girl if she were too confident with her response. The Princess's cousin only gave a heartfelt smile and shook her head when looking at the starry-eyed girl.

The brunette had knowledge about just how much Rhaenyra adored her which did not help the dismal quality of the heir apparent's words. The last time she visited, Rhaenyra acted nearly identical—not bearing to let her leave and begging for her skillful cousin to remain in King's Landing so they could gossip and stir up trouble whenever possible. It was sweet...like a younger sister wishing for attention. Even so, the brunette had a swift response to her royal cousin:

"Gaudy dresses and jewelry do not tempt me to remain in King's Landing, Rhaenyra. I am no Princess. I am no Lady. And I prefer to live out my days without any prestigious titles. My father's vile reputation is the sole reason many courtiers do not know of me. I do not wish to be revered in any sense."

Rhaenyra felt idiotic all the more after hearing such a string of words counter hers. The Princess cursed herself for being so ignorant and impetuous. Of course, her older cousin wouldn't wish to remain in King's Landing and live like a proper lady. Upon a second glance at the seventeen year old's masculine attire, Rhaenyra frowned slightly at the prospect of never being able to change the mind of the only person she truly, truly loved. The Targaryen girl was infatuated by the essence of her cousin—the way she spoke so fiercely, the way she acted so bravely, and the way she appeared like a goddess amongst men. In the midst of her daydream, Rhaenyra was not thinking rationally, hence why she inquired:

"Would you care to join me and Alicent in the gardens after supper?"

The way her cousin shook her head, signaling a nonverbal "no" was the only answer Rhaenyra Targaryen needed. Though it only broke the platinum-haired girl's heart further when her cousin decided to further elaborate.

"Gossip regarding handsome men does not tempt me either. I suppose you and that green little bitch will disregard the prospect of discussing battle plans and other such strategic considerations—"

The young woman supposed correctly which forced Rhaenyra to bite down on the insides of her cheeks as she began toying with the pretty gold pendant around her neck...then she suddenly stopped once the jewelry reminded her of who she was: a spoiled child of a King. A proper girl who had enough riches to her family name to rival all other houses. Rhaenyra felt a wave of insecurity washing over her since, in comparison to her cousin, she was given everything she desired.

The Princess began feeling like a burden in the presence of the gorgeous brown-haired young woman. As for the archer, even the mere thought of interacting with Alicent Hightower for a second time made her skin crawl. They could both trace their beginnings back to the Reach and still, the two young women did not find each other compatible. Alicent was much too polite—the embodiment of a highborn woman with plenty of judgment to spare. In her eyes, the daughter—the bastard daughter of Daemon Targaryen was much too wild...and slightly frightening.

"No. W-We shall not do such a thing."

Vehemently, Rhaenyra denied the truth. Though her voice betrayed the younger girl when it shook unwillingly. In return, the Princess was blessed with the melodious, twinkling sound of the brunette's laughter as she leaned down to collect another arrow from her quiver. Again, the young archer took her stance and prepared to shoot but not before lining up her weapon with the target.

"You are a dreadful liar, dear cousin. A natural beauty, but a dreadful liar I'm afraid. Give my condolences to that Hightower companion of yours. She seems to have an equally abhorrent father. We have that in common."

The Targaryen barely had time to comprehend her cousin's words before that all too familiar swish of the arrow cut through the air and unsurprisingly, made it to the center of the target—right beside the other one. The brown-haired young woman hummed in approval when assessing her capabilities. Rhaenyra knew her cousin had too much potential to waste in King's Landing and that prospect placed her in a limbo between contentment and melancholy.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★

"I do wish I could kill you."

The brunette said without any humor at all as she valiantly attempted to bite back an oncoming shiver caused by the cool water which had been splashed onto her skin. She had not succeeded as proven by the goosebumps steadily appearing on her fully nude form. The difference between the temperature of her sweat-covered body and the sea water was not a pleasant one. It also seemed worse when having to witness the coy smile on Rhaenyra's lips. The young Princess had been the culprit who scooped up a handful of briny water and threw it in her cousin's direction.

After a rather lengthy training session, all the brunette wished to do was take a dip in the sea. Rhaenyra had granted that wish by dragging the older girl to a rather secluded area of shoreline attached to the Red Keep, though what the platinum-haired girl did not expect was for her cousin to strip away all her clothing and display a body that was surely envied by most women: toned arms and long legs complimented by proportionate curves along her hips. Rhaenyra found those inquisitive eyes of hers trailing up and down—almost instinctively lingering on the ample breasts presented to her.

Of course, the girl's cousin meant it as an innocent gesture to undress, but Rhaenyra could not seem to bear the sight of the ideal female physique. She wished to join the brunette and step into the water, but she didn't dare shed her dress—the outcome of slight bashfulness and not wishing to be caught in the nude by any of her courtiers. Thus, the Targaryen sat herself down on the sand and rocks, occasionally fanning herself with her hand to battle the blistering heat.

"Lies. You stand in awe of me. Besides, senseless killing is a deed committed by men who think themselves superior. You are no man, thank the Gods."

Rhaenyra's retort forced an unladylike snort out of her cousin as the brown-haired young woman placed her hands on her hips, staring out at the vastness of the blue water. With the young woman's back turned, Rhaenyra had the opportunity to examine the bare flesh before her once more. Though she felt her face grow hot—and not only because of the sun—which made her shift her focus onto the rocks which littered the ground.

The Princess only looked back up when she heard the jostling of bare feet against the pebbles, instantly noticing the way her cousin lowered herself into the water and rolled onto her stomach so the two of them could make proper eye contact. With her lower half still in the water, the brunette took pleasure in the sloshing of the water and the way the waves drew in and out. Propping herself up on her arms, she stared at Rhaenyra with a playful glint in her eyes, which caused the girl in question to blush even more.

"You're quite right, Rhaenyra. Though I must admit, if I were a man, I would not be such a craven as to butcher a princess—a beautiful young girl who has the utmost potential to uphold the laws of the realm and make it prosperous. No, if I were a man, I would take pleasure in slaughtering those who truly deserve it. Most tempting of all to envision: if I were born a man, I wager I'd be blessed with both a glorious physique and many other desirable attributes. I do believe I would be envied."

It seemed Rhaenyra could not fight the unrefined chuckle that she let out after hearing her cousin's unrelenting narcissism. The Princess greatly enjoyed it. She always had. There were no talks of...proper things—the concepts she discussed with Alicent regularly. Conversations with her cousin consisted of topics a lady wouldn't dare utter in the presence of others. It was one of the many reasons Rhaenyra adored her older cousin so much. There were one too many in all honesty.

"All this talk of killing...Dare I assume that you and Daemon are more alike than you both care to admit?"

Rhaenyra felt her words turn sour once they left her lips and the platinum-haired girl soon enough felt herself shrinking underneath the brunette's murderous expression. Though such a strong reaction wasn't directed at Rhaenyra. No, not at all. The Princess's cousin had an entirely different issue.

"You spoil the day by merely alluding to him. My fath—Daemon Targaryen forced me to accompany him to King's Landing. He is disillusioned enough to believe that there is no greater privilege than residing amongst nobility...or the flock of gossiping hens he deems as the idyllic example of nobility. I cannot stand to be in close proximity to prudish noble ladies who turn pale at the mention of bloody battles. Still, I have yet to speak of the hilarities regarding my predicament: your uncle bids me to make merry with these women and find companions with a true feminine perspective. So tell me, Princess, how might I accomplish this task without further dampening the spirit of the man who dragged me all this way? I seem to be a thorn in his side."

The young woman did not receive a genuine solution from Rhaenyra. The platinum-haired girl could only shrug and let out an exasperated breath as she thought of her uncle and how cruel he could be. Rhaenyra wished to provide an answer, but how could she? She was regularly having difficulties with her own father and she did not wish to care.

"I truly have no knowledge of the quandary between you and my uncle, though I am aware of how...bothersome Daemon can become when he does not get his way. If he wishes for you to behave as a civilized, noblewoman should then perhaps you should consider not heedlessly flaunting your bare tits about."

"My condolences, Princess. I did not expect my tits to cause such a great hindrance to your focus. I cannot say that I hold blame for that. They are appealing...and very firm...and much bigger than yours."

The brunette expertly countered her royal cousin's joke, prompting Rhaenyra's eyebrows to raise and her mouth to part in complete surprise. Perhaps what her cousin said was true, but even so, Rhaenyra did not expect such a mischievous insult to be hurled at her so effortlessly. Picking up a rock that rested near her, Rhaenyra tossed it into the water and was unimpressed by the lack of distance the object got as it sank beneath the surface of the waves. The girl sighed and feigned hurt in her rebuttal:

"Oh, good. My cousin who strays farther from her family than her own father—the cousin whom I barely speak with, decides to insult me upon a rare visit."

"Don't pout. It was a mere jest. You're still young. I am certain that you shall grow into your womanly beauty rather quickly. Now, tell me of Syrax. No, no. Tell me when you are able to show me the Realm on dragon back. I'd rather like to see the Narrow Sea from above."

Chewing on the insides of cheeks—as it had become a recent habit of Rhaenyra's—the Princess could not find it within herself to continue the conversation without revealing her feelings...just not in the appropriate manner.

"I wish for you to stay in King's Landing for all eternity. By my side. Then I would be able to show you the Narrow Sea on dragon back on every occasion you desire. I adore your company all too much. You are the only one who truly understands my troubles. You are the only one capable of defending my irrationality in the presence of my father."

Rhaenyra heard her voice nearly fall silent by the end of her speech and it was then that she frowned while staring down at her hands, attempting to hold back tears for sounding more juvenile than she would have preferred. Hearing the brunette chuckle pushed Rhaenyra closer and closer to shedding tears. The Princess felt oh so childish. Her cousin did not understand. She would never understand.

"A fair assertion. I would take great pleasure in riding atop your dragon whenever I wanted. Though I would go entirely mad if I had to endure King's Landing for too long. And my mother would be distraught. As would my betrothed."

"Your 'betrothed'?"

Rhaenyra felt her tears dry up instantly once she heard the cursed word that had once or twice made it into her conscience and bothered her to no end while also furthering the notion that her cousin would one day leave her completely. Rhaenyra should have expected it—most young women of seventeen were betrothed or already married. It was, in every sense, an upsetting concept for Rhaenyra to know of the existence of some man who had won her cousin's heart. The Princess already despised the man, having not ever met him. No man was good enough for the brunette. No man was worthy of her love.

"Mhm, yes. A handsome, albeit a rather delinquent knight to House Redwyne—"

Rhaenyra's headstrong attitude combined with her determination to say something disallowed her cousin to continue to speak about the young knight who had been charming enough to tempt the brunette's desires. Oblivious to the Princess's jealousy, the brown-haired archer cocked an eyebrow in intrigue as she listened to her cousin's off-topic and rather desperate utterance.

"Vow that you'll travel to King's Landing with regularity that will rival all your previous visits. Swear this to me...Please."

The urgency in those words could not be brushed aside nor would the young woman still positioned on her stomach, halfway in the water. She could never be so heartless as to ignore her cousin's wishes.

"I swear it, Rhaenyra..."

The brunette trailed off as she came to rest her head in the palm of her hand, ultimately sharing a glance with Rhaenyra Targaryen and giving her a smile—a smile that made the young girl's heart melt.

"...You, dear cousin, shall make a fearsome Queen one day."

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