Chapter Text
Rhaenyra blinked, her vision swimming. A pale fluorescent bulb flickered above her, bathing the concrete ceiling in a sickly light. Her head throbbed, her ribs ached, and her throat was so dry it felt like she’d gargled glass. She tried to move, but something tugged at her wrist. A restraint.
Her arm was strapped to the cot with a thick nylon band. She glanced down at her other arm: same thing. The restraints weren’t tight enough to hurt, but they were secure, buckled neatly at each of her wrists. The panic rose in her chest like a flood.
“What the fuck…” she whispered, pulling weakly against the restraints. Her body screamed in protest, her muscles stiff and useless. Her legs wouldn’t respond properly, and even tilting her head sent a sharp pain shooting down her spine.
The room was small and cold, with bare concrete walls and a steel door at the far end. A metal table near her bedside held medical supplies, all neatly arranged. It looked sterile, eerie, like the kind of room where terrible things happened.
Her breathing quickened. She tugged harder at the restraints, her chest heaving as memories came rushing back: Harwin’s voice on the phone, the road, the crash.
“Hello?” she croaked, her voice cracking. Her throat was so dry it felt like she hadn’t spoken in days. “Is anyone there?”
Nothing, no one.
Rhaenyra drifted in and out of consciousness after that. At some point, the door swung open, and she heard the faint shuffle of shoes on the concrete floor.
A figure moved in her peripheral vision, though too blurry for her to make out. The faint scent of antiseptic reached her nose as something cool pressed against her forehead.
Rhaenyra forced her eyes open, squinting against the light. “Who…?” she croaked. Her voice barely worked.
“Shh…”
It was a woman. She was sure now it was a woman. Her fingers brushed Rhaenyra’s wrist briefly, checking the restraints, before she stepped back.
“Wait,” Rhaenyra rasped, trying to lift her head. The pain made her gasp, her body too heavy to obey her. She blinked again, but the woman was already leaving, slipping out the door without so much as a glance back.
-
The next time Rhaenyra woke, the room was darker. Someone had dimmed the light, or maybe her vision was fading. She turned her head slowly, wincing at the pull of the bandages across her ribs. Her mouth was parched, her lips cracked, but she willed herself to focus anyway.
The woman was there again, standing at the foot of the cot. She wasn’t touching her this time, just standing there, still as a statue, watching.
Rhaenyra’s heart hammered in her chest. “What… what do you want?” she rasped.
The woman startled, her hand twitching like she hadn’t expected Rhaenyra to wake up. Her face was pale, cherub-like, and tightly composed. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if unsure what to say.
Rhaenyra’s voice came out stronger this time, louder. “What the fuck do you want with me?”
The woman flinched at her tone and began to creep backwards toward the door.
“Wait,” Rhaenyra said again, louder this time. “Stop!”
But the woman was already backing toward the door, her movements stiff and jerky, like she couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.
“Wait!” Rhaenyra called, struggling against her restraints. Her ribs protested, a sharp stabbing pain making her cry out, but she kept pulling. The woman paused, her hand on the door’s panel, and turned back for half a second.
Her eyes were big and brown. They lingered on Rhaenyra, looking very frightened. Then she turned, and the door clang shut.
-
Rhaenyra stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the bulb above her was painfully bright. Her muscles ached, her head throbbed, but she was awake now, too awake. Like she slept for a thousand years. Her hands clenched against the restraints. She needed to get out of this bed, out of this room, out of here.
Her sons were probably worried sick. Who knew what Harwin might have told them? How long had she even been gone? The car she'd wrecked, a 2024 Ford Mustang GT, sleek and new, not yet fully paid off, Harwin was going to lose his mind.
The bug-eyed woman, her captor, didn’t seem violent per say. But was it only her that was holding Rhaenyra wherever she was? There could be others. Big, scary men who were going to harvest her organs or worse.
The next time she heard the door clang open, Rhaenyra didn’t wait. She didn’t think.
Her body screamed in protest as she sat herself up, dragging her hands against the restraints. The woman was there again, her tray with water balanced perfectly in her hands, her bun as tight as it had been before. She froze when she saw Rhaenyra upright, her eyes widening as if expecting her to collapse.
“You need to take it easy,” she said, her voice awkward, like out of practice with conversation.
“What the hell is going on?” Rhaenyra rasped out, jerking her wrists to fight the restraints. “Why am I tied down?”
The woman hesitated, her lips parting slightly, her eyelashes fluttering with lingering shock at seeing Rhaenyra up and moving. “You were thrashing in your sleep,” she told her, setting the tray down on the table quickly, holding out her arms thereafter like she wanted to fuss over Rhaenyra. “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m awake now! Let me go! I’m not an animal,” Rhaenyra spat.
The stranger’s hands were perfectly still, folded in front of her like she was bracing herself. For what, Rhaenyra didn’t know. And then, without another word, she stepped forward and released the closest restraint on her wrist. The nylon strap came loose with a quiet click.
The woman leaned over her, close enough that Rhaenyra could see the faint freckles dusting her pale skin and the tiny flyaways of auburn red hair that had slipped free from her bun. She smelled faintly of antiseptic and something kind of salty, something… really good.
But all Rhaenyra saw was her chance.
Her now free hand shot out, reaching for the scissors on the table beside her. Pain flared in her ribs as her arm stretched, but she ignored it. Her fingers wrapped around the handle, and before her captor could register what she was doing, Rhaenyra swung them at her.
The woman gasped, stumbling back. The tray on the table clattered loudly, the glass of water toppling over and spilling onto the concrete floor. Rhaenyra lunged in such a way her injuries shrieked with agony, but the strike missed its mark, swiping through empty air.
“Stop!” The woman’s voice cracked, high pitched, panicked. She raised her hands in front of her like a shield, her eyes wide. “I’m just trying to help!”
Rhaenyra kept herself upright, ignoring the stabbing pain in her side. Her breathing was ragged, her body trembling from the effort of holding herself up. “Help?” she managed, though the exertion of her attack had made her vision go spotty. “You call this help?”
The woman took another step back, her shoes slipping slightly on the spilled water. Her eyes darted toward the door, then back to the scissors in Rhaenyra’s hand. Her whole body was tense, braced for another attack, but she didn’t run. Rhaenyra wasn’t sure why, probably only because one of Rhaenyra’s arms was still restrained.
“You were bleeding,” she explained, her voice faltering. “When I found you, you were… there was so much blood. I thought you were dead at first, but then…” She trailed off, looking at Rhaenyra with such a sincere, pleading face that was almost believable.
Rhaenyra hesitated. The scissors hovered between them, her hand shaking.
“I pulled you out of the car. I cut you free myself,” the woman said quickly, the words spilling out like she was trying to stop a flood. “It was wrecked. Crushed. The whole front was crunched, there was glass everywhere. You were still breathing, but just barely. If I’d left you there, you would’ve—”
“Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?” Rhaenyra interrupted, her voice rising.
The woman didn’t answer right away. Her hands were still raised, her eyes fixed on the scissors. “I’ll explain,” she said finally, somewhat defeated. “But you need to put that down first. And you need water. Food.”
Rhaenyra glared viciously. “You think I’m going to sit here and have a snack while you—”
“You’ll pass out again if you don’t,” the woman cut in. “You’ve barely moved in days. You have to eat.”
Rhaenyra’s stomach growled loudly. She winced, biting back the sting of humiliation, but her grip on the scissors didn’t loosen.
The woman watched her, then stepped back slowly, moving toward the metal door. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “I’ll bring something.”
And then she was gone.
Rhaenyra’s body sagged back against the cot as soon as the door clanged shut. The scissors slipped from her trembling hand, clattering to the floor. Her ribs screamed with pain, her arm heavy as lead, and her restrained hand throbbed from her futile attempts to wrench it free earlier.
But she wasn’t done yet.
Adrenaline surged through her veins, spurred by defiance and desperation. Gritting her teeth, she jerked against the restraints again, her free hand clawing at the tether around her wrist. The sharp motion sent fire through her ribs, making her gasp, but she kept struggling. Her vision swam, dizziness crashing through her and threatening to swallow her consciousness. Despite this, she kicked wildly, the thin blanket draped over her falling to the floor. It landed in the puddle of spilled water near the overturned glass, soaking up the mess as her breaths grew ragged.
The door creaked open, and the woman returned, this time carrying a plate of food in one hand and a fresh glass of water in the other. Rhaenyra’s eyes locked onto her, wild and filled with fury, her body trembling from exertion. She gave the restraint another tug, the sound of metal scraping against wood punctuating the little concrete cell.
“Stop it!” the woman’s voice cracked, sharp but pleading, like a cry caught between fear and frustration. She set the plate and glass on the table. Her retreat was quick, each step cautious, her hands trembling as she backed away to the far wall. “You’re hurting yourself.”
Rhaenyra’s defiance flared, pushing her to yank against the restraint one final time, even as her vision swam. The edges of the room blurred, black spots clouding her sight. She slumped forward with a ragged gasp, the fight draining from her limbs, leaving her wheezing and spent. Her gaze, dulled by exhaustion but still burning with anger, fixed on the woman.
“Afraid I’ll try and stab you again?” she rasped, her voice a fractured whisper.
“Yes,” the woman answered. There was no anger in her reply, only stark, vulnerable fear. It stopped Rhaenyra cold. Her glare faltered, her breath hitching as she struggled to make sense of the woman’s strange, disarming sincerity. She grabbed the glass with her free hand, the motion quick and wild, water sloshing over the rim. She drank deeply, the coldness cutting through the dryness of her throat in a way that hurt. When it was empty, she looked at it for a moment, her grip tightening.
Then she hurled it.
The glass sailed through the air, the force of it surprising even her. It struck the floor a few feet short of the woman, shattering into jagged shards that glittered and sailed skittered around the concrete floor.
The woman flinched violently, her shoulders hunching as if she expected the glass to strike her flesh. Her breath hitched audibly, a ragged, fearful sound. She stared at the broken pieces scattered on the floor, her wide eyes flickering with panic, as though the shards might rise up and cut her themselves.
Her voice, when it came, wavered. “That’s two glasses you’ve broken now. Please,” she said, her desperation bleeding through, “just calm down.”
Rhaenyra’s laugh tore from her throat, low and bitter, devoid of any mirth. It rasped like a rusted blade dragged across stone. “Fuck you,” she spat, all but snarling. Her body was coiled tight, trembling with fury, with agony, and her wrist raw from where the restraint bit into her skin.
The woman remained with her back pressed against the wall as though it might swallow her and hide her from Rhaenyra’s wrath. Yet, written all over her face, alongside the unmistakable fear, there was such a deep, agonized concern that must’ve been what kept her from fleeing again.
“Eat,” the woman pleaded, her voice breaking on the word. She stooped carefully, her movements jerky, to pick up the soaked blanket and the larger shards of glass. Her fingers trembled as she collected them, holding everything awkwardly in her arms. She didn’t turn her back to Rhaenyra, as though afraid she might be attacked at any moment.
Rhaenyra scowled, her fury unquenched, but hunger gnawed at her resolve. With a huff of frustration, she reached for the bread. The warmth of it startled her, a small shock against her cold, trembling fingers. For a moment, she hesitated, staring at the golden crust as if it didn’t belong in this dismal cell. She tore off a piece and shoved it into her mouth, chewing mechanically, barely tasting it. The bread disappeared quickly, and she moved on to the vegetables, their freshness an insult to the misery of her surroundings.
The woman stayed rooted in the corner, her back pressed flat against the wall. Her wide, frightened eyes tracked every one of Rhaenyra’s movements. She looked ready to bolt if Rhaenyra so much as twitched in her direction. The scissors in her hand were clenched so tightly Rhaenyra wondered if she’d come over and stab her to death.
Rhaenyra swallowed the last bite and leaned back against the cot, flinching from her body’s aches. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and shot a dark look at the woman. “Now explain why you kidnapped me before I throw the plate at you too.”
The woman flinched at the threat but didn’t move. Her lips parted, her voice emerging thin. “I told you,” she said, clutching the scissors tighter as if for reassurance. “Your car crashed. I found you—”
“And why didn’t you take me to the hospital?”
The woman’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” Rhaenyra demanded, her anger curling tighter.
The woman’s gaze darted toward the door, so quick it might have gone unnoticed if not for Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes. Her voice faltered. “I’ll explain,” she said, the words stiff and forced, as though dragged from her unwilling throat. “But not yet.”
“You can’t just keep me here,” Rhaenyra growled. “I have a family. People will come looking for me.”
The woman’s face twisted strangely but she held her ground. “Not yet,” she repeated, her voice cracking slightly on the words.
Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched, her glare burning holes into the woman’s fragile composure.
Finally, the woman stepped forward, picking up the empty plate with her eyes fixed downward as though avoiding Rhaenyra’s glare might somehow protect her. She turned toward the door.
Rhaenyra’s voice stopped her just as she reached it. “Who else is here?”
The woman froze, her back to Rhaenyra. She stood motionless for a moment, the tension in her shoulders so palpable it felt as though the air itself might crack under the strain.
“Who’s keeping me here with you?”
“There’s no one else,” she admitted. “It’s just me.”
-
Rhaenyra woke to the sound of her own breathing, shallow and rasping in the still air. Her ribs ached dully with each inhale, but it was the feeling of being watched that sent her snapping upright.
She wasn’t alone.
The woman stood at the foot of the cot, holding a fresh tray of food. Her head tilted slightly, like she’d been studying Rhaenyra. The fluorescent light above cast sharp shadows across her face, making the hollows of her cheeks and the curve of her brow seem more pronounced.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rhaenyra croaked, her voice still rough. She pushed herself further upright with her free arm, ignoring the way her ribs screamed in protest. “Are you just going to stand there and stare at me like some creeper?”
The woman blinked, her expression twisting into something that might’ve been guilt. “I didn’t want to wake you,” she said softly, holding up the tray like it was a peace offering. “You need the rest.”
“How long have you been standing there?”
The woman hesitated, her lips parting slightly as though to answer, but then she thought better of it and looked down at the tray instead. “Not long,” she said finally, though something about the way she said it made Rhaenyra’s skin crawl.
“You’re so weird,” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath, but her eyes drifted to the tray despite herself. The smell of something warm and savory hit her, and her stomach growled loudly. She bit the inside of her cheek, embarrassed, but the woman didn’t seem to notice.
“You mentioned you have a family,” the woman said suddenly.
Rhaenyra froze, her hunger momentarily forgotten.
“What?”
“Yesterday,” the woman clarified, her voice soft and careful. “You said… something about your family.”
Rhaenyra’s mouth opened, then closed again. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected her captor to say, but it wasn’t that.
She could picture Jace’s face so clearly it made her chest tighten. He was beautiful, with his stubborn little pout, the way his dark curls fell into his eyes, his stupid ugly Zumiez outfits. And Luke, her favorite, sensitive but the smartest, always trailing after his older brother with wide, eager eyes. And Joffrey, still a baby, still needing her in a way the older boys didn’t anymore.
She tried to tell herself they were fine. That they were with Harwin. But the thought didn’t soothe her.
Her mind flitted to Harwin next, and her stomach twisted. He’d been furious when she stormed out of the house, his voice hard and thundering after her.
She could still hear the frustration in his voice, the echo of that old argument looping endlessly between them. Harwin, with his patience stretched thin, his voice always gentle until it wasn’t. He was a good man. She told herself that all the time, repeating it like an affirmation. He was steady, reliable, kind, endlessly forgiving.
Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she thought of Daemon instead.
The thought came unbidden, painful and jagged. She didn’t want it, didn’t invite it, but there it was. His voice, his sharp teeth, slipping into her thoughts like smoke. He would’ve enjoyed it if he'd seen her like this. Weak. Tied down.
“I do,” Rhaenyra answered cautiously. “I have a husband. And three sons.”
The woman didn’t react at first, but then her shoulders dropped just slightly, her face falling in a way that was almost imperceptible. Except it wasn’t. She looked… disappointed. No, deflated.
“Why do you care?”
The woman didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped forward and set the tray on the table beside the cot, staring carefully herself out of Rhaenyra’s reach.
“Eat.”
Rhaenyra glanced at the tray. Eggs, toast, and some kind of meat. Ham, maybe. Maybe it was her broken body desperate for nourishment, but it smelled incredible. Almost thanks worthy. But she wasn’t about to give her captor the satisfaction of gratitude.
“Are you going to stare at me while I eat, too?”
The woman didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped once again toward the far wall, standing there like she didn’t know what else to do with herself.
Rhaenyra's hunger was much stronger than her pride. She reached for the fork, still eyeing the woman warily, and took a small bite of the eggs. They were annoyingly good. Light, buttery, fluffy, the kind of thing you’d expect in a diner, not a prison cell.
She ate in silence and tried to ignore the woman staring at her. Finally, she set down her fork. “Where am I?”
“A bunker."
Rhaenyra froze. The word dropped like a stone into her chest, dragging everything down with it. Her eyes darted to the steel door, its edges sealed so tightly it might as well have been welded shut. The room’s low ceiling seemed to press closer, the walls creeping inward. No windows. No cracks for light to seep through. Underground.
Her breath quickened, panic threatening to rise. “How far down?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, though her pulse roared in her ears.
The woman shifted, her body stiffening. “Far enough,” she said, her tone vague and evasive.
The non-answer made Rhaenyra’s stomach churn with unease. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to focus on the woman. She needed information. Anything that could help her piece together the madness of this situation.
“A bunker,” she repeated slowly, feigning calm. “That’s... um... okay. Do you live here?”
The woman nodded once.
“All by yourself?”
Another nod.
Rhaenyra studied her more closely, her eyes narrowing. The woman couldn’t have been much older than her. Mid-thirties at most. She was undeniably attractive. High cheekbones framed a pale complexion. Her red brown hair, unstyled but clean, tied up behind her. Her plain clothes, neutral and unassuming, did nothing to hide her beauty.
She didn’t fit here. Not in this tomb of steel and concrete. She looked like she belonged at a dinner party, on someone’s arm, surrounded by men who couldn’t take their eyes off her. Married, probably. Or pursued relentlessly, at the very least.
So why the hell was she here? Alone.
“You don’t seem like the loner type,” Rhaenyra said, tilting her head. “Why would someone like you live in a place like this?”
The woman’s expression didn’t change, but her hands betrayed her, twisting and fidgeting in front of her like nervous doves. “It’s safe here,” she said finally. Her voice was brittle, like a leaf about to crumble.
Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed. “Safe from what?”
The woman’s head tilted, her lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the door, as though something unseen might be listening beyond it. When she turned back, her eyes were unfocused. “There’s been an attack.”
Rhaenyra felt her stomach drop. “An attack?” she repeated, the words spilling out before she could stop them. Her voice rose slightly, cracking under the weight of her disbelief.
The woman nodded, her hands wringing together harder. “It isn’t safe to be outside anymore,” she said, each word delivered grimly.
For a moment, Rhaenyra just stared at her, unable to mask the incredulity in her expression. An attack. Unsafe. It was insane. She was insane.
Rhaenyra’s lips twitched into a faint, forced smile. “Right,” she said slowly, using the same voice she used with Joffrey, trying to keep the edge of panic from slipping in. “Of course. That makes sense.”
It didn’t. None of it made sense. But she wasn’t about to argue with a lunatic holding her underground. If she had any chance of getting out of here, she needed to play along. She needed to get on this woman’s good side, fragile as it seemed.
“Do you have a name?” Rhaenyra asked abruptly, her tone softening, the edges rounded out like she was coaxing a skittish animal.
The woman blinked, startled. “What?”
“A name,” Rhaenyra repeated, her voice lilting gently, aiming to remain calm. “Do you have one?”
The woman hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor as though the question required more thought than it should. “Alicent,” she said at last, the syllables falling awkwardly from her lips.
Rhaenyra hummed softly, tucking the name away in her mind. “That’s a nice name,” she said, leaning back against the cot. Pain flared in her ribs, but she ignored it. “So, Alicent, have you always lived here?”
Alicent’s brow furrowed, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. “No,” she said after a long pause.
“Where did you live before?” Rhaenyra pressed, keeping her tone light and conversational, even as her pulse raced beneath the surface. She studied Alicent closely, watching the way her hands fidgeted, her gaze flitting nervously as if searching for escape routes that didn’t exist. Alicent was clearly unhinged. Fraying.
Alicent stiffened, her shoulders drawing tight. “Denver.”
Rhaenyra blinked, startled by the sudden specificity. “Denver?”
“About thirty minutes from the airport,” she added, her words coming slowly, like each one had to be pulled out of her.
Her mind raced with the implications, trying to map out the landscape in her head. Where did that make them? She’d been driving back away from Boulder, far away, when she’d spun out on the ice. Where were they now? What direction? North? South? East? West? She fought the wild urge to demand more information. She wanted to scream, to shake the answer loose, to force Alicent to confess every detail.
But she didn’t. She bit back the rising panic and forced herself to breathe, to stay composed. She needed Alicent to keep talking, not to shut down or run off.
“I’m from Boulder,” Rhaenyra said. The words felt strange in her mouth, disarming, but she pushed forward. She remembered reading somewhere, maybe a true crime article or some podcast episode, that you should give killers as much personal information as possible, make them see you as a person. Maybe it would make them hesitate. Maybe it would keep you alive.
“My name is Rhaenyra Strong,” she added, her voice steadier now. She tried to summon another smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but maybe Alicent wouldn’t notice.
“Rhaenyra… Strong. And you’re from Boulder?” Alicent asked, slightly warmer and curious.
Rhaenyra nodded, watching her closely, trying to decide if the faint curiosity was genuine or calculated. “Yeah.” she said. “Been there about six years now.”
She wanted to say more, wanted to throw out details, streets, landmarks, anything to keep Alicent engaged. But she hesitated, worried about boring Alicent. She wasn’t sure if this was working yet, wasn’t sure what Alicent would do if the conversation turned the wrong way.
“I’ve been to Boulder,” Alicent piped in, her voice filling the space. “A few times. It’s nice.”
“Yeah. It is nice. Are we near Denver now?”
Instead of answering, she took a careful step closer, reaching for the tray on the table. Rhaenyra’s stomach tightened instinctively as Alicent approached. Her muscles coiled, ready to react, but she forced herself to stay still. Alicent’s hands trembled as she lifted the empty plate and glass. She glanced at Rhaenyra once, briefly, before retreating again. The cracks in Alicent’s shyness were there, widening with every exchange. She just had to figure out how to widen them further.
Alicent stopped just before stepping out, her fingers hovering near the door panel. "Are you really married?” she asked abruptly, her voice quiet but pointed.
The question surprised Rhaenyra.
“What?”
“You said you have a husband,” Alicent said without turning around. Her head tilted slightly to the side, her gaze fixed on some distant point ahead. “But you don’t have a ring.”
Rhaenyra’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as her hand twitched involuntarily toward her left finger: bare, as Alicent had noticed.
The memory hit her like a cold wind: Harwin’s voice rising over her own while they fought, the ring burning against her skin as she yanked it off, her hand trembling as she threw it at his face. Luke had seen it all, which she realized far too late. She couldn’t remember where the ring had landed.
She swallowed hard, forcing the memory back into the shadows of her mind. “I…” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then she straightened, her expression hardening. “I don’t need a ring to be married.”
Alicent turned slightly, just enough for Rhaenyra to catch a glimpse of her profile. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her brown eyes flicked down briefly, like she was measuring the truth in Rhaenyra’s words.
Rhaenyra felt her stomach twist, heat rising in her face. Alicent didn’t look convinced, but her expression remained frustratingly blank, giving away nothing. The urge to lash out simmered just beneath her skin, but she swallowed it down, forcing her face to remain soft, approachable.
Rhaenyra forced a sharp exhale, breaking the tense silence. “Look,” she said quickly, feeling the irritation creep in. “I don’t want to get into a debate about my marriage right now. I need to pee.”
Alicent blinked, startled.
“You know, the bathroom.” Rhaenyra said, trying not to roll her eyes, trying to stay as ‘nice’ as possible.
Alicent’s lips twitched, almost like she wanted to smile but wasn’t quite sure how to. She glanced down at Rhaenyra’s unbound wrist, then back at her face.
“Anything else?”
“Could I have another blanket? It’s freezing in here.”
“Of course,” Alicent agreed quickly. “I should have brought more earlier. But I was worried you might overheat… you were sweating so much before. I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“That’s… thoughtful,” Rhaenyra replied, allowing another faint, calculated smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. It felt unnatural on her face, but she held it steady, watching for Alicent’s reaction.
Alicent’s mouth twitched upwards too, the smallest hint of a smile breaking her otherwise frightened expression. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and Rhaenyra felt a flicker of satisfaction. Alicent was buying it. She just needed to lay it on thicker.
“And um… I’m sorry,” Rhaenyra forced herself to say, each word tasting bitter on her tongue. She dropped her gaze briefly, feigning guilt. “About earlier. For… attacking you.”
Alicent tilted her head again, her brow furrowing in a way that almost made her look sympathetic. Cute, even. “You were scared,” she said eventually, as if offering an excuse for Rhaenyra’s behavior.
Rhaenyra could hardly believe her luck. The killer was making excuses for her now? She hid her delight beneath a carefully composed expression, letting her fake smile warm just a touch. “That’s generous of you to say.”
Alicent hesitated, then nodded, her posture relaxing slightly. “It’s okay. I understand… and I forgive you.”
Rhaenyra wanted to scream at the absurdity of it all. Forgive her? While she was the one locked in a cell, deep underground, with no clue what kind of madness had led her here? But she kept her face calm, her tone even, as she replied, “Thank you, Alicent.”
Alicent’s eyes flickered briefly, a strange light passing through them, before she straightened and stepped toward the door. “I’ll be back,” she promised.
The door clanged heavily shut behind her, the echo vibrating through the room. Rhaenyra exhaled slowly, slumping back against the cot as the silence swallowed her again.
She was sure of it now. Who even noticed something like a missing wedding ring? Who just asked about it, like it was some casual observation? The whole interaction left a sour taste in Rhaenyra’s mouth, the conversation turning over in her head like a splinter she couldn’t pull out.
And yet…
She pressed her fingers against her bare ring finger, the ghost of the band still imprinted faintly on her skin. She couldn’t stop the memory from surfacing again: Harwin’s yelling, Luke’s cries, and… something else.
Her hand fell back into her lap.
Her sons. That’s what mattered. They were probably worried sick by now. And, even worse, Harwin might’ve told them something happened without explaining what. The thought of Jace, Luke, and Joffrey thinking their mother walked out on them sent a fresh surge of panic through her chest.
She couldn’t let that happen. She needed to get out of here. But the only way to do that was through Alicent. If she had to play along, to coax whatever humanity was buried in that fractured mind, then so be it.