HOTD SI: The Bloody Prince (OC x Rhaenyra)(OC x Alicent)

Part 8

Chapter 8

ALICENT HIGHTOWER

The Hand of the King was a competent man, and a competent father. Alicent's relationship with her father was complicated.

Otto Hightower was not an expressive man, he was driven by duty and had obtained all he had through his own blood, sweat and tears. The man cared for her, yet she could not say if he loved her, and that would always bother her, for she thought many a time, did his father even think of her as a daughter, or simply as a chess piece to pawn off to the highest bidder.

Alicent had woken up early, as she oft would, trying to make time for herself so that she may go to the Sept and pray in solitude, and just as she was about to set off for her prayer, she was informed by one of her father's servants that he wished to see her.

And so she found herself outside of her father's solar, her mind buzzing in trepidation on what this sudden call was all about.

She knocked on the door softly.

"Come in," she heard him answer, knowing that only she would call on him in his office so early.

She entered his solar and found it a good representation of the man, Otto Hightower. It was a dry, dreary, but functional space filled with stacks of books and ledgers, all arranged in an orderly fashion.

Even so early in the morning, he was fully dressed in his robes, writing a missive, which he put to the side as he looked up at her.

"Good morning, Alicent. Come sit, there is something I need to talk to you about," he said as he beckoned her to sit opposite to him.

"Good morn to you as well, father. May I ask what this is about?" she said, and he nodded.

"It is about Prince Aegon," he spoke candidly without much.

And she had guessed as much. It was all the court could talk about. Prince Aegon's presence in the capital was the talk of many rumors, and stories about the Prince could be heard being murmured at every corner of the castle,

As for herself, she was intrigued and impressed by the Prince. He was quite a surprise for her. Despite his relationship with Prince Daemon, the Prince did not exude the same feeling of danger as the Prince.

He was humble and had a tongue as glib and sweet as Prince Daemon, though his intentions until this point seemed rather purely jesty, containing little of the little jibes and taunts often hidden in Prince Daemon's words.

"You have met him once. What are your thoughts on him?" he asked, and she should have expected as much. The nature of the antagonism between Prince Daemon and her father was well-known across the court, and if the rumors she had heard about the dinner last night were true, he may or may not have gained an ally.

Yet she was also disgusted at herself for being used like this, for being little more than a pawn for him in his and his House's bid for more power.

"He seems humble and polite enough. I am afraid I have not met him for enough time to make a better judgment," she replied, and if her lie and anger were seen through her father, gave a little indication for it.

"Humble and polite," he said with a raised brow.

"No son of Daemon Targaryen would ever boast any of these traits, especially one who has achieved as much as he has. You do know of how much power he holds in the Vale," he asked, and she nodded, frustrated at the role she was being forced to play.

Yet she was his daughter; daughters were often little more than pawns for many in the realm. And at that moment, she wished she had dreams like Rhaenyra, dreams to pluck herself out of the gilded cage she had been placed in, raised, and provided around as a jewel to further the interests of her father and, subsequently, his House.