Alicent Hightower

The late afternoon light streamed through the green stained-glass windows of the Tower of the Hand, painting soft shadows on the stone floor. Alicent sat before the open window, an old book resting in her hands —The History of the Seven Pontificates, a reading that always calmed her.

She turned the pages slowly, absorbing little of the text and much of the stillness. Her eyes scanned the letters, but her mind wandered far away, trapped in worries that wouldn't cease even with the sleeping court.

From the hallway, the distant sound of children's footsteps echoed for a moment. She looked up, her face softening for only a second. Then she returned to the page, pulling the veil of discipline back into place.

A light breeze stirred the curtains, and a strand of her hair escaped from its perfectly arranged braid. Alicent rested her fingers on the edge of the book, keeping it open, but her thoughts were beyond words.

"Order must prevail," she murmured to herself, almost inaudibly.

He closed the book carefully, as if the gesture carried some sacred weight, and rose gracefully. Before leaving the room, he ran his hand along the spines of other volumes on the table —religion, history, laws—his silent armor.

Alicent took a deep breath, straightened her posture… and left the serenity of the room behind, ready to face another day in which no feelings could show.