THE DRAGON'S HEART IS MINE || Geralt Targaryen [BEING REWRITTEN]

099▪️A BITTER AFTERGLOW

A chill silence settles over the chamber once their lips part. Geralt drops to one knee beside the bed, tugging at the last bandage on his chest. Alicent straightens her skirts, pressing her hands to her cloak to hide how her fingers tremble.

Geralt runs a hand through his hair, then finally meets her eyes with a slow, careful gaze. "Alicent... that was... unexpected." His voice is gentle but taut with restraint.

He looks away, out toward the waking city, the low murmur of King's Landing stirring beneath them. His chest, wrapped in blood-stained linen, heaves with each measured breath.

She summons a calm smile, though her heart pounds beneath her bodice. "My Prince.."

He holds up a hand. "I care for you. But..." He turns back, the weight of his words clear. "I'm not sure what this means. And I'm not sure you understand the gravity of this."

Alicent swallows. "Perhaps... we could simply get to know each other better?"

He shakes his head, rising to his full height. "Not like this. Not by... sneaking into my chambers and kissing me."

Her cheeks flame. "You kissed me back."

"Because you thought I was easy to get." He steps forward, she can feel the heat of his skin even through the wool of her skirts. "But now I see you're like so many maidens at court practiced in every art of flirtation, quick to assume affection."

Alicent's hands clench at her sides. "I... I did not..."

"Then explain what you expected. That a single kiss binds your heart to mine?" He crosses his arms. "If I were the petty sort, I'd have kept you here for... whatever you wanted. Friends with benefits, at your beck and call."

Her throat tightens with shame and something fiercer, a stubborn pride.

"But I'm not that man," he says, stepping back. "And you must drop this attitude. It's unbefitting of a lady....of you, Lady Alicent."

Her gaze snaps up. "So you think me undignified?"

"I think you let your emotions deceive you," he answers without hesitation. "You think good girls are harmless, but a 'good girl' can be the craftiest of all: polite, obedient, yet burning with ambition and jealousy, smiling while plotting in silence. One who pleases everyone but has no mind of her own."

His words land like blows.

Alicent closes her eyes, feeling both exposed and enraged. She forces a small, bitter smile, then turns on her heel. "I understand. I'm sorry I threw myself at you." She finds her cloak, drapes it over her shoulders, and lifts her chin. "Good-morrow, Prince Geralt."

She glides from the room, her skirts whispering against the stone.

Geralt watches the door swing shut. He draws a slow breath, lifts a hand to his lips, tasting the faint trace of her crimson stain, his heart knotted at the memory of her. "Berries," he murmurs, and turns back to the bed.