The Arrangement

Alicent Hightower stood at the window of her chambers, her gaze lost in the gardens below. The sunlight danced across the carefully manicured hedges and flowers, but she barely noticed. Her mind was consumed by the turmoil that had been brewing inside her since the fateful day she was informed of her arranged marriage to Rhaenyra Targaryen. The thought of being bound to the princess, a woman more than a decade her senior, made Alicent's stomach turn. She felt trapped, forced into a union that was as much a political move as it was a personal sacrifice. The memory of Ser Criston Cole, her childhood sweetheart, lingered in her mind like an open wound. They had grown up together, exploring the castle gardens and sharing whispers in the dark hallways. But now, due to the demands of court politics, she was being asked to leave him behind and marry the future queen. The door creaked open, and Alicent's lady-in-waiting, a gentle woman named Lady Harwin, entered with a soft curtsy. "Your ladyship, the queen requests your presence in the throne room. The arrangements for your marriage to Her Royal Highness, Princess Rhaenyra, are to be finalized." Alicent's heart sank as she turned away from the window. She had been dreading this moment, knowing that it would be the end of her life as she knew it. With a heavy sigh, she followed Lady Harwin to the throne room, her mind racing with thoughts of escape and rebellion. As they entered the grand hall, Alicent's eyes met those of Rhaenyra, who sat on the Iron Throne, her piercing green gaze seeming to see right through her. Alicent felt a shiver run down her spine as the princess rose from her seat, her movements elegant and regal. "Alicent Hightower," Rhaenyra said, her voice like honey and smoke. "I trust you are prepared to begin our new life together?" Alicent's cheeks flushed as she curtsied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, Your Royal Highness." The ceremony that followed was a blur of vows and promises, with Alicent's heart heavy with resentment. She couldn't help but feel that Rhaenyra was somehow responsible for her predicament, that the princess had taken the one thing that truly mattered to her – Ser Criston Cole. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the throne room in a warm orange glow, Alicent felt a sense of despair wash over her. She was trapped in a marriage she didn't want, with a woman who seemed as distant and unapproachable as the cold stone walls of the Red Keep. In that moment, Alicent's anger and hurt coalesced into a single, burning thought: she would endure this arrangement, but she would never truly give herself to Rhaenyra. The princess might have her title and her throne, but Alicent would keep her heart locked away, hidden behind a mask of duty and obligation. As the night drew in, Alicent couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking into a prison, one from which she might never escape. Little did she know that the cold that would eventually burn within her would be a flame that would consume her, body and soul.