hii can u write an alicent hightower fic where reader is sir cristen’s younger sister ?? plss the lack of alicent fics on this app is killing me 🥀🥀
Pairings: Alicent x Fem!Reader
Summary: You came to King’s landing to meet your brother after years apart. Unfortunately, he has to depart for war, leaving you in the Queen’s care.
WARNINGS: reader is Crispin’s sister, lesbians, Alicent is wipped, fluff, hurt to comfort
A/n: I’m so lesbian for her icl
THE MORNING had settled over King's Landing with a biting cold. It was enough to breathe for the icy air to scrape your throat and slip beneath layers of wool and leather, slowly reaching your bones. Dawn had spread a blanket of milky gray across the sky, so uniform that it was difficult to tell where the sea ended and the horizon began. The first light of day barely reflected off the walls of the Red Keep, which loomed over the city from atop Aegon's Hill, austere and unapproachable. Its sharp towers and reddish stone walls seemed even more imposing in that cold, muted light, while below, the capital was slowly beginning to awaken. Thin columns of smoke rose from chimneys in the lower districts, the distant tolling of bells mingled with the calls of merchants opening their shops, and the cries of seagulls drifted in from the harbor, carried on the briny scent of the Narrow Sea.
And yet, within the Red Keep, the day had begun hours earlier. In the inner courtyard, there was no trace of quiet. Squires too young to bear armor rushed back and forth clutching bridles, saddles, and tack, trying to keep up with the sharply delivered orders of older knights. Blacksmiths struck their final blows upon steel plates, the ringing of metal forming a steady rhythm that seemed to mark the entire morning. Sparks flew into the air before dying against the frost-damp stone floor, while stablehands struggled to calm the restless horses that snorted impatiently, pawing at the ground and tossing their manes. The smell of freshly oiled leather mingled with that of iron, coal, and wet straw, creating a sharp, heavy scent that felt as though it had always belonged to that place.
You pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders, trying in vain to preserve what little warmth the fabric could still hold. Your fingers, hidden within your sleeves, were cold despite the heavy wool gloves you wore, and your breath formed small white clouds before your lips, vanishing almost as quickly as they appeared. You had never been to King's Landing before. For years you had listened to stories about the capital: tales from merchants returning from their journeys, accounts from soldiers, and the chronicles of minstrels who described the magnificence of the Red Keep, the intrigues of the court, the lavish feasts, and dragons that darkened the sky with their wings. Each story had added a different piece to the image you had built in your mind, yet none had prepared you for reality. The walls were higher than you had imagined, the castle seemed to stretch endlessly with courtyards, towers, and passageways, and every corner teemed with life. Servants, guards, ladies, knights, and officials moved with a confidence you did not yet possess, as though each of them knew perfectly well their place within that immense organism called court. You, on the other hand, felt almost like an intruder, a silent presence drawn there only by the desire to embrace the one person who truly tied you to that place.
Your eyes continued to wander curiously among the knights gathered in the courtyard. Some checked the edges of their swords, others tightened the straps of their armor, while a few spoke quietly among themselves before departure. They were men hardened by training and war, their faces marked by scars and their gazes stern with the knowledge of what it meant to bleed on the battlefield. And yet, despite the multitude of unfamiliar faces, your gaze kept returning to the same man. You would have recognized him anywhere, even among a hundred knights dressed the same. Criston, your older brother. For years, you had shared only increasingly distant memories and letters that arrived months late, when they arrived at all. Life had drawn him ever closer to power, until he became the Hand of the King, while you remained in the Crownlands, growing up without knowing whether fate would ever allow you to meet again. You had learned to live with his absence, to fill that void with the few words he managed to write and with the stories of those who claimed to have seen him at court. When, at last, permission had come for you to join him in King's Landing, you had spent days convincing yourself that the letter was real and not one of the dreams that had so often deceived you during the years of your separation.
Now he was there, just a few steps away from you. The white armor of the Kingsguard reflected the cold morning light with silvery gleams, perfectly polished as his rank demanded. The long white cloak fell without a crease over his shoulders, stirred only slightly by a faint breeze crossing the courtyard. His face was the same one you held in your childhood memories, but time had left its marks. His features had grown sharper, his jaw more defined, his eyes more tired and more watchful, those of a man forced to notice every detail. There were small scars along his cheekbones that you did not remember, and a constant shadow in his gaze that the years at court seemed to have sewn into him. And yet, the moment his eyes met yours, all that rigidity seemed to crack. For a single instant, he was no longer the Hand of the King nor the commander of the Kingsguard, but simply your brother.
"You still have that lost expression."
You smiled, unable to stop yourself, feeling a lightness you had not known in years. "I'm trying to figure out how you manage to breathe in that armor."
Criston let out a short laugh, quiet but genuine, one he rarely seemed to allow himself anymore. "You get used to it, little sister."
You nudged him lightly with your elbow against his armored arm. The blow was entirely useless and only earned you a faint grimace as the pain shot up to your elbow, while he remained perfectly still. "Such a kind brother."
"It's the plain truth, sister."
You both laughed, and the sound seemed to push everything else away. For a few minutes, the weight of the years spent apart almost vanished, as though time had decided to grant you a brief reprieve. You told him about the long journey to the capital, the inns where you had stayed, the villages you had passed through, and the fields beginning to yellow with the coming of winter. You spoke of the people left behind in the Crownlands, of neighbors who still asked after him, and of the friends you had made in recent years, while he listened with a quiet attentiveness that made you smile more than once. Yet whenever you tried to ask about his life in King's Landing, about his days beside the king or the responsibilities now resting upon his shoulders, his answers grew short, measured, almost rehearsed. He shifted the conversation with ease, guiding it back to you or your journey, as though the court were ground he preferred not to tread. It took only a glance to understand that something far heavier lay behind that silence than he was willing to admit. You did not press him. After so many years apart, you did not want to turn your first meeting into an interrogation. It was enough simply to have him beside you.
It was at that very moment that the courtyard changed. The sound of hammers ceased almost in unison, the squires slowed their pace, and even the horses seemed to settle, as though the entire castle had drawn in a breath. That sudden silence was almost louder than the noise that had preceded it. Following the movement of the others, you slowly turned your head toward the great stone staircase leading to the royal apartments.
You observed her discreetly, trying not to stare for too long, and yet you found yourself unable to look away. You had never seen Alicent Hightower in person before. For years you had heard stories of her beauty, her elegance, and the devotion with which she had served the realm, but no description seemed to do justice to the figure now descending the steps of the Red Keep. Her dark green gown, embroidered with fine threads of gold that caught the morning light, fell with impeccable grace to the stone floor. Every step was measured, composed, without the slightest hesitation. Her long brown hair flowed in soft waves down her back, catching faint glimmers beneath the gray light of dawn. Her face held an almost austere elegance, difficult to interpret. Her lips were relaxed, her expression calm, yet her eyes revealed a constant awareness of everything around her.
Her gaze moved slowly along the line of knights ready for departure, lingering on each of them with the natural authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without raising her voice. Then her eyes reached Criston. Only a moment later, they inevitably settled on you as well.
You felt your heart quicken before you could stop it. For a moment, you even forgot how one was meant to behave in the presence of the Queen. You lowered your gaze slightly, as respect and etiquette required, trying to maintain a composure that would not betray your curiosity and the faint nervousness stirring within you. Beside you, Criston moved immediately. He bowed with the ease of someone who had performed that gesture a thousand times, his voice breaking the silence of the courtyard with the steady tone that defined him. "Your Grace."
The Queen approached without haste, accompanied only by the soft rustle of her gown brushing against the stone. There was nothing ostentatious in her movements, no theatrical gesture. Her mere presence was enough to lower gazes and slow every activity around her. The pale morning light caught in the coppery strands of her hair. When she stopped before you, her gaze first rested on Criston, as naturally as one accustomed to his daily presence. "Ser Criston." Her voice was soft, almost gentle.
Only then did she turn her attention to you. Her eyes settled calmly upon your face, studying you without hurry. There was no suspicion in her gaze, nor the veil of superiority you might have expected from a queen. Instead, she seemed guided by a sincere curiosity, as though trying to understand who you were through every small detail: the way your hands were gathered before your cloak, the barely perceptible uncertainty in your posture, the wonder you had not yet managed to conceal since setting foot in the Red Keep. "I do not believe I have had the pleasure."
Criston turned slightly toward you. It was an almost imperceptible movement, yet enough for you to notice something you had not before. His face, so stern before the other knights, softened just a little. The hardness that had defined his expression throughout the morning gave way to a warmth that belonged only to your childhood memories. "Your Grace, this is my younger sister." For a brief moment, his tone softened, and those simple words seemed to surprise you almost as much as they did the Queen herself. "She arrived only last evening. We have not seen each other in many years."
Alicent's lips curved faintly as she inclined her head with elegant grace. "Ah, is that so?" she asked, and there was genuine interest in her voice rather than mere courtesy.
You suddenly felt the full weight of her attention settle upon you. You drew in a slow breath, trying to recall everything you had been taught about court etiquette during your journey. You gathered your cloak with both hands and offered a respectful bow, lowering your gaze just enough to show deference without appearing awkward. "It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace."
"The pleasure is mine." The few words were accompanied by the faintest smile, so subtle it might almost have gone unnoticed.
For a few moments, no one spoke. The silence was not uncomfortable, yet it seemed filled with a tension difficult to define. You could sense Criston's gaze shifting between you and the Queen, as though he were searching for the best way to continue the conversation without overstepping the bounds of protocol. After so many years at court, he seemed to have learned to weigh every word before speaking it.
It was Alicent who broke the quiet once more. She observed you more closely, lingering on the features of your face as though searching for a detail she had missed. "You resemble each other greatly. You have the same eyes."
Her words caught you completely off guard. You blinked in surprise, instinctively turning toward your brother. He, too, seemed to stiffen slightly, holding back a sigh that felt almost resigned.
"A tragedy, I would dare say." The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them. You realized it only a moment after speaking, when the silence fell over the courtyard once more, heavier than before. Heat rushed quickly to your cheeks.
Criston shot you a scandalized look, his eyes widening slightly.
You immediately lowered your head, mortified. "Forgive me..."
For a brief instant, you truly feared you had overstepped. You expected a reprimand, or at least a disapproving expression. Instead, Alicent let out a soft laugh. "Do not worry."
Those simple words were enough to release the tension that had stiffened your shoulders. You slowly lifted your gaze and found that same gentle smile on her face, as though she had found your spontaneity amusing.
It was Criston, however, who ended that moment. He glanced toward the other knights, who had nearly finished their preparations. Some were already mounted, others held their reins, waiting only for the order to depart. "I believe it is time for me to go."
The joy of your reunion gave way to a painful knot in your stomach. You had only just found him again, and already he had to leave.
Perhaps he read your thoughts, because his expression softened once more. He stepped closer and placed a heavy, gloved hand upon your shoulder. The gesture was awkward, almost unfamiliar for a man more accustomed to swords than embraces, yet it conveyed all the care he could not express in words. "I will return."
You nodded slowly, though you were not sure how much you believed it. "Be careful."
"Always." Then he turned again to the Queen, bowing his head slightly. "Your Grace."
Alicent returned the gesture with her usual elegance. "Do not worry, Ser Criston. Your sister will keep me company in the coming days and will be treated with every courtesy."
Criston nodded without hesitation. He seemed to trust those words completely. He mounted his horse with a swift, practiced movement, gathered the reins, and together with the other men of the escort, passed slowly through the great gates of the Red Keep. The sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard as the group rode off toward the city, until they disappeared beyond the walls.
You remained still, watching your brother's figure until the white cloak of the Kingsguard became nothing more than a small, indistinct point in the distance. Only then did you lower your gaze, realizing that the Queen had not yet moved away from your side.
"While your brother is away, you shall be my guest." she said at last.
You looked at her in surprise, almost unsure you had heard correctly. "Your Grace..."
"Criston serves me with a loyalty I have rarely found in other men." Her voice retained that calm reassurance that seemed natural to her. "Knowing that his sister is alone in a place she does not yet know would not sit easily with me."
You instinctively lowered your gaze. "I would not wish to be a burden."
"You will not be." The smile she offered you this time was warmer than before. She turned slowly, inviting you to follow her into the castle. "I would be pleased to show you around."
You could not hold back a smile. "I would like that very much."
Alicent nodded gracefully and resumed walking along the wide corridors of the fortress. You followed her, taking in everything with wide-eyed wonder. You passed through halls with towering ceilings supported by stone columns, corridors lit by large windows that let in a cold but clear light, and inner courtyards where the noise of the city seemed to vanish entirely. She showed you the royal family's libraries, with shelves so tall they seemed endless and volumes from every corner of the continent; the inner gardens, where even in the cold season flowering shrubs and small evergreen trees survived; and finally her apartments, bright and refined without being excessively lavish. There, her handmaids prepared a warm, fragrant tea, which you shared seated by the windows as the Queen began to tell you, with surprising simplicity, about daily life within the Red Keep, gradually transforming that vast and intimidating place into something that, little by little, began to feel less unfamiliar.
The days had begun to slip by with surprising speed. It felt as though every dawn came too soon, and every sunset fell before you even had the chance to notice it. What had initially seemed like a forced stay at court had slowly turned into a routine you had, almost without realizing it, stopped wanting to escape.
Your days now followed a precise rhythm, marked by the same corridors, the same servants, the same halls illuminated by light filtering through tall windows. But above all, they were marked by the constant presence of the queen.
You spent more and more time together, until her company had become an integral part of your days. You had grown accustomed to her elegant figure appearing punctually at your side, to her green eyes capable of noticing every smallest detail without missing anything, to the firm tone of her voice and that almost unnatural composure that seemed to accompany her every gesture. And yet, despite everything, every time her gaze fell upon you, you still felt your heart quicken for a moment. You had found a strange kind of routine, made of long conversations, shared silences, and small moments neither of you seemed willing to interrupt.
The queen spent most of her days away from the rest of the court. When she was not occupied with Princess Helaena and little Jaehaera, she preferred to retreat to her chambers or to the inner gardens of the Red Keep, avoiding unnecessary receptions and the endless chatter of the nobles. Solitude seemed to have become an old friend to Alicent Hightower, a silent presence that had accompanied her for years without ever leaving her. Or at least, that was how it had been until your arrival. Because now that solitude was no longer complete. Wherever she went, you were there beside her.
Sometimes you spoke for hours; other times you simply read in the same room, immersed in a silence that was surprisingly pleasant. Words were not always necessary. You had realized that with the queen, silence never felt heavy, it was almost reassuring, as if you had both learned to understand one another without needing to speak.
That afternoon, the sun filtered gently through the large windows of the queen's private chamber, casting long golden streaks across the pale stone floor. The air smelled of warm tea and freshly baked sweets, while a light breeze made the ivory-colored curtains sway softly. At the center of the room, a small round table had been prepared, covered with an embroidered cream tablecloth. Upon it, porcelain plates were arranged with meticulous care, filled with custard pastries, butter biscuits, berry tarts, small sponge cakes coated in honey, and numerous fruit tartlets in bright, vivid colors. Beside the sweets rested two elegant white porcelain teacups adorned with delicate golden patterns, from which thin trails of fragrant steam still rose.
Seated across from you, Alicent kept her back perfectly straight, as though even in moments of quiet the weight of the crown did not allow her to fully relax. She slowly raised the teacup to her lips, taking a small sip before lowering it again with the same elegance that marked all her movements. Her eyes, clear and attentive, remained fixed on your face for a few seconds, studying every expression with that discretion you had learned to recognize.
Only then did she speak. "It seems our troops will return soon." Her voice was calm, neither enthusiastic nor cold. It was a simple observation, spoken while she continued to watch you as though your reaction mattered far more than the words themselves.
You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze fall onto the amber surface of your tea before looking back at her. A spontaneous smile spread across your face, lighting it with a naturalness Alicent had come to appreciate. "I heard the maids mention it." you replied, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. Your fingers tightened slightly around the teacup as you added, with an even brighter smile. "My brother will be back soon."
For the briefest moment, the queen's expression softened almost imperceptibly. It was such a subtle change that anyone else would have missed it, but by now you had learned to notice these small shifts. She liked seeing you smile. She would never admit it aloud, perhaps not even to herself, but there was something deeply reassuring in the light that appeared in your eyes whenever you spoke of your family.
Alicent nodded slowly, setting the teacup down on its saucer with great care. The faint clink of porcelain echoed softly through the room, breaking the silence.
Her gaze drifted over the table filled with sweets prepared especially for that afternoon. She had not touched a single one. She had never been fond of overly sweet flavors; she found them excessive, almost childish. You, on the other hand, seemed incapable of resisting the fruit tartlets the cook prepared so carefully. She had watched you choose them first, smile after the first bite, and continue eating them with a simplicity that always surprised her. So, without telling you, she had ordered an abundance of them that day. No one had told you, of course, but she found a quiet satisfaction in watching you reach for them and linger over them.
She continued to observe you for a moment. "Are you eager to see him?"
The question caught you off guard. You looked up almost immediately, as if you had not expected something so personal. For a few seconds, you studied her, trying to understand the reason behind that curiosity, but nothing in her expression betrayed her thoughts. "Of course. He's my brother. Who wouldn't be?"
The queen's lips curved into a faint smile, which disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. "I suppose so."
Her words lingered in the air as her gaze dropped briefly to the table. Neither of you added anything else. The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but it had taken on a different quality, heavier, as though both of you had become trapped in your own thoughts.
It was the soft sound of the door opening that broke the atmosphere. One of the queen's ladies entered with her usual measured steps, immediately bowing her head in a graceful curtsy. In her hands, she held a sealed letter, slightly worn at the edges but still perfectly legible. "A letter has arrived for Lady Cole, from her brother."
Her words made you look up at once. The young woman approached the table and carefully placed the letter in front of you, then curtsied again before withdrawing silently and closing the door behind her.
For a moment, you remained still, staring at the paper. Your heart had begun to beat faster before you could control it. You cast an instinctive glance at Alicent, almost unconsciously seeking her permission, and the queen responded with a slight nod, inviting you to open it. Your fingers quickly slid the letter from the envelope. You began to read carefully, your eyes moving swiftly over the familiar handwriting of your brother. At first, your expression remained calm, almost curious. Then, slowly, your smile began to fade. Your brows furrowed slightly, and the light that had moments before brightened your face seemed to dim little by little.
Alicent followed every subtle change in your expression without interrupting you. She was not truly interested in the contents of the letter; what she was watching was you. It was enough to see your lips turn downward and the way your eyes suddenly lost the liveliness she so liked to understand that something was wrong. A faint sense of irritation crossed her chest. She much preferred seeing you smile, hearing you speak endlessly, watching you grow excited even over something as simple as a fruit tart. That disappointed expression felt entirely out of place on your face.
With an almost imperceptible sigh, you slowly lowered the letter, letting it fall onto the table beside your plate. Your fingers remained still on the paper for a few seconds as your gaze drifted into the distance. Without thinking, you began to idly stir the spoon through the glaze of the strawberry tart you had left half-eaten, no longer having any appetite.
"Bad news?" Alicent asked calmly, watching you without taking her eyes off your pretty face.
You inhaled slowly before answering, almost hoping that saying the words aloud might make them less bitter. "My brother says their return has been delayed by a few weeks."
"Something must have happened, if they decided to postpone."
Alicent's voice broke the silence with its usual calm, carrying that rationality that seemed to accompany her in every circumstance. After speaking, she remained still for a moment longer, watching you as you continued to stare absently at the now-open letter on the small table. Then she rose slowly from her chair, with that elegance that made every movement seem effortless. The folds of her green gown brushed lightly against the stone floor as she crossed the room without haste. She reached the large window behind you and gently placed one hand against the stone. Her gaze drifted beyond the glass, toward the courtyard of the Red Keep. The sun that had illuminated the day until moments before was now almost entirely hidden behind a stretch of heavy, unmoving gray clouds that seemed to have gathered silently over King's Landing. The wind had begun to stir the branches of the trees in the inner garden, and a few leaves lifted from the ground, carried in small spirals. The entire landscape seemed to dim along with your smile, taking on the same cold tones that had suddenly settled within you.
You did not respond. The queen's words echoed in your mind without finding an answer. You simply lowered your gaze slowly to your lap, unable even to look at the letter. Your hands, almost without you realizing it, had begun to fidget with the fabric of your skirt. Your fingers intertwined, gripped the cloth, released it, and then started again in a nervous motion that betrayed all the agitation you were desperately trying to hide.
You tried to convince yourself it was probably just a delay caused by some inconvenience along the road, perhaps bad weather, but the more you attempted to calm yourself, the more your mind built worse scenarios. War had a habit of taking without ever giving anything back.
The silence stretched longer than expected. Alicent remained by the window for a few more seconds, waiting for a response that never came. It was that absence of words, more than any simple desire to look at you, that prompted her to turn back.
Your eyes, lowered toward your hands, glistened faintly. It was not the afternoon light that made them shine. They were tears. Held back, stubbornly refusing to fall, but no longer possible to hide. Your lashes trembled slightly as you tried to breathe without letting your breath break. On your face was an expression Alicent had never seen before. A deafening fear, restrained with all your strength, that seemed to have erased in an instant all the serenity built over those weeks.
Something tightened in the queen's chest. It was sudden, and unmistakably unpleasant. Seeing your face like that stirred an unease in her that was difficult to explain. She could not bear that lost expression, that way you seemed to be holding yourself back from collapsing. She would have preferred to see you animatedly discussing a book, laughing over an overly sweet pastry, or telling her a memory from your childhood. Anything would have been better than that look.
Without a second thought, she moved away from the window and returned to you. Her steps were slow but decisive. When she reached you, she did not remain standing above you as her position would have required. Instead, she lowered herself in front of your chair, bending her knees until she was kneeling on the ground. The heavy fabric of her dress gathered neatly around her as she sought your gaze, lifting her face slightly to meet your anxious eyes. With the utmost gentleness, she took both your hands in hers. Her fingers were cool, soft, and surprisingly light. She did not grip you, she simply held them carefully, as if afraid that any firmer gesture might hurt you.
It was precisely that tenderness that made everything so much harder. You immediately felt the knot in your throat tighten. It would take so little. If she pressed her fingers just a bit more, if she spoke another kind word, you were certain you would begin to cry in front of her and be unable to stop.
"I didn't mean to suggest the worst. I'm sure they are well." Her words were simple, but spoken with conviction.
You swallowed slowly, trying to push back the tears pressing against your eyelids. Only then did you seem to realize the position she was in.
The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was kneeling before you.
Your eyes widened in shock. "Your Grace, what are you doing on the floor? Please, get up." The words came out quickly, accompanied by an instinctive movement. You leaned toward her, reaching out to gently take her by the shoulders, ready to help her stand. Part of you found the scene almost unbearable. It wasn't right. She was the queen. No one should ever see her kneeling before anyone.
But Alicent slowly shook her head, as though that were the least of her concerns. Before you could insist, one of her hands slipped free from yours. She raised it toward your face. For a moment, you thought she might stop halfway.
Instead, her fingers truly reached your cheek. Her fingertip brushed your skin slowly, catching the single tear that had managed to slip past the control you had tried to maintain. She wiped it away with infinite care before it could reach your chin.
Your heart began to pound so strongly it almost hurt. You could feel every beat echoing in your ears. A sudden warmth rose at the base of your neck and spread slowly to your cheeks.
Alicent had never touched you like that. Until then, every contact between you had been limited to formality, a hand on your arm to guide you through a corridor, a composed gesture during conversation, nothing more. It was what decorum required. Two women, especially in your positions, did not linger in such intimate gestures.
And yet neither of you seemed to remember that.
You could only look into her eyes. They were so close, close enough for you to distinguish the lighter flecks in her irises, the long lashes framing her gaze, even the faint rhythm of her breath. You had long since stopped fighting what you felt. You had tried to convince yourself it was simple admiration, then gratitude, then affection. But none of those words were enough.
In silence, you had accepted that your heart belonged to her now, however forbidden, impossible, and terribly wrong it might be. You had never found the courage to confess it, not even to yourself aloud. You had simply hidden it in the deepest corner of your soul.
"Don't cry. Tears don't suit you." she said softly, as sweet as the pastries whose scent lingered in the air.
Your lower lip fell captive between your teeth without you noticing, as you tried in vain to steady your trembling breath. The warmth in your chest grew stronger, spreading until it filled every part of you. You could no longer look away from her.
The hand that had rested still against your cheek began to move again. Her fingers traced your cheekbone gently, following its line down to the edge of your jaw. Every touch seemed to last an eternity. Then her thumb brushed lightly against the outline of your lips, and stopped there.
For weeks she had fought that relentless desire, suffocating it each time your gazes lingered too long, or your smile threatened to crack the composure she had hidden behind for years. She had tried to convince herself it was only a moment of weakness, a consequence of the loneliness that had lived within her for far too long.
The only thought occupying her mind was how much she wanted to close the small distance still separating your faces, how much she wanted to kiss you.
And that was exactly what she did.
She pulled you toward her, pressing her lips to yours with impatience. A sound of surprise escaped your chest, and for a moment you thought you were dreaming. Her touch was as light as a feather, barely there against your lips, and yet it burned. It consumed you, reducing you to ash. Your stomach seemed to fill with fluttering butterflies, a warm and pleasant sensation like the sun in spring. It all happened so quickly, so suddenly, that before you could gather your thoughts and return the kiss, she pulled away.
She rose to her feet, brushing off her dress. She smiled in your direction, taking in the astonishment on your face. "I hope to see you at supper."
You jolted slightly, blushing. "Y-yes, of course!" you stammered, embarrassed.
Alicent nodded, then turned and left the room for good.
