Queen Alicent Hightower

The moonlight spilled over the gardens of the Red Keep, and the sails fluttered in the gentle breeze coming from the sea.
Alicent Hightower stood before the window of the royal manor, her face serene, but her gaze distant as if she could see far beyond the walls of Dragonstone.

In the hall below, echoes of laughter and murmurs drifted from a late supper. Rhaenyra, always the center of attention, chatted animatedly with knights and lords who bowed too much when she smiled. Alicent watched from afar, the goblet untouched in her hands.

“They see her as the heir,” she thought. “But how many of them would obey her if the throne were truly hers?”

Her father, Otto Hightower, had once told her that the King may dream, but it is the Queen who ensures that the dream does not turn to ruin. And she believed this with almost religious fervor.
Viserys was aging rapidly. His cough worsened with each winter. And while he clung to memories and miniature statues, the kingdom drifted aimlessly.

She adjusted her green cloak, a subtle symbol of her home, and said in a whisper that was lost in the wind.

"A kingdom needs order... not promises."

The distant sound of laughter rose again from the party. Among them was Rhaenyra's. Alicent set her goblet down on the table, raised her chin, and walked into the hall, her gaze steady and her step silent—like a shadow that already understood that the war would begin not with swords, but with smiles.