𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 - they called her mad (they will learn better)
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃. Alicent sat by the open balcony, watching the city far below her. The spires and dark streets of Hewn City stretched endlessly, shrouded in their usual gloom, lit only by the faelights that fought against the early darkness. A sharp wind slipped through the open space, catching the edges of her thin gown and tangling strands of her blonde hair.
Her tea had gone cold.
She hadn't taken a sip. Had barely even glanced at it since the servant had placed it beside her over an hour ago. It sat there, untouched, the delicate porcelain reflecting the light. A small, insignificant thing, and yet it unsettled her—proof of how long she had been sitting here, lost in thought unable to move.
She had been awake since before the sky even hinted at morning, lying stiffly in her bed, staring at the carved ceiling as a single, thought took root in her mind and refused to loosen its grip. It coiled in her chest like something alive, pressing against her ribs, winding tighter with each breath.
She exhaled slowly, forcing down the tightness in her chest, and reached for the cup.
She was wasting time.
That was what the voice in her head told her. Every second spent here, watching, waiting, breathing in the cold air, was another second slipping through her fingers. Despite this, she stayed. Because moving meant facing what came next. Facing the day, the people, Rhysand and his pathetic Inner Circle or whatever they were calling themselves.
Her fingers curled into the folds of her gown.
Alicent forced herself to look away from the city and focus on the cup before her. The surface of the tea had gone still, the warmth long since bled from it. A reflection, perhaps, of something inside her.
The knock came just as she set the cup back down, the soft clink of porcelain barely masking the sharp twist of irritation that shot through her.
She knew who it would be before the door even creaked open.
Alicent didn't turn as her father entered, his heavy boots clicking against the floor. He paused just behind her chair, but she could feel his stare.
He was livid.
The moment he stepped into her chamber, the atmosphere in the room changed—not with magic, but with the sheer force of his anger. It radiated from him like a storm, like he was one wrong word away from striking something down. His lips were already curled in a snarl, his posture stiff with fury as he stopped just past the threshold, staring at her with barely veiled rage.
„They'll be here within the hour," he said, his voice low, simmering with controlled fury.
Alicent did not turn to look at him. She remained where she was, seated by the open balcony, fingers wrapped loosely around the railing as the cold wind lifted strands of her hair. She did not flinch. Did not stiffen. Did not even acknowledge his presence beyond a slow inhale. „I know," she said simply.
