Alicent Hightower

[SETTING — COUNCIL ROOM]

Morning light streams through the tall windows of the Council Chamber, bathing the long wooden table in a golden glow. The air is heavy—laden with expectation, intrigue, and silences that speak louder than words.

I sit at the table, my green dress impeccable, my fingers intertwined on the wood. My place is beside Viserys' empty throne; he hasn't come for weeks. But I am here. I am always here.

Otto is to my right, his eyes fixed on the map. Larys watches from the shadows. The lords of the council murmur amongst themselves.

The door opens.

Rhaenyra enters. Her dress is black and red. She doesn't ask for permission. She never asks.

"Princess Rhaenyra."

The herald announces it. She doesn't look at him.

Her eyes meet mine. A second of silence. A second of war.

Rhaenyra (without sitting down):
"I heard that the council is discussing matters that concern me. So I'm here."

I tilt my head, a polite—and fake—smile.

"Welcome, princess. You are always welcome in your father's council."

The words are sweet. The tone is poison.

Rhaenyra:
"Yes, my father. It's strange that he's not here."

Otto stirs. Larys doesn't move. The gentlemen exchange glances.

Rhaenyra finally sits down — on the other side of the table.

Rhaenyra:
"So, what's so urgent that it couldn't wait for me?"