THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

Broken Kindred Spirits

The wind howled outside, sending a chill through Alicent Hightower's chamber, but it was not the cold that kept her awake. No, her mind was restless, her body tense, twisting and turning beneath the silken sheets of her bed. Her emerald eyes, glowing softly in the moonlight, gazed out of the window at the midnight sky, yet her thoughts were not on the stars. Her mind kept drifting back to the events of the evening-the confrontation with Daemon Targaryen and the sharp sting of his words.

She looked down at the pin in her hand, the same one she had used to slash Daemon across the chest. It gleamed faintly in the moonlight, but Alicent knew it was far from an ordinary pin. It held a curse, a flesh-eating curse that had surely already begun its insidious work on Daemon's already wounded body. She could see it all too clearly-the torn flesh from the joust earlier in the day, worsened by her impulsive strike. A tear slipped from her eye, and she wiped it away quickly, her face tightening in determination. She could not allow him to die-not like this.

Throwing the blankets aside, she sat up quickly and reached for a cloak. Pulling it around her shoulders, the white fabric shimmered like the moonlight itself, casting her in a ghostly glow. Beneath it, her thin nightgown fluttered with each step, scandalously revealing more than she cared to think about at the moment. But there was no time for modesty. Her twins slept soundly in the next chamber, and Alicent, or rather, Sitara, silently cast a protection charm over them.

From a hidden compartment in her chambers, she retrieved the beaded bag Hermione had given her before departing to King's Landing, rummaging through it until she pulled out three vials-one to heal the flesh, one to ease the pain, and one for dreamless sleep. With her elder wand secured at her side and her hair pulled back with the yew wand once owned by Voldemort, Alicent slipped out of her chambers into the shadowed halls of the Red Keep.

The gaunt ring on her finger gleamed darkly as the Resurrection Stone caught the faint light of the torches lining the corridor. With swift but silent steps, Alicent approached the guarded door of Daemon Targaryen's chambers. She could see two guards stationed outside, and without hesitation, she whispered a sleeping spell that sent them both to the ground, snoring softly. She reached for the door, which was locked, but with a soft "Alohomora," it swung open quietly.

Inside, Daemon Targaryen lay in pain. His wound had worsened since Alicent's attack, and despite all the medicines he had applied, it refused to heal. He could feel something unnatural working against him, as if dark magic was at play. He heard a faint whisper-"Aloha... something"-and then, to his astonishment, the lock on his door opened. His head snapped toward the entrance, where none other than Queen Alicent Hightower stepped in. She was dressed in a nightgown that left little to the imagination, her collarbones and a hint of cleavage exposed.

Daemon's eyes widened, and instinctively, he drew his sword, Dark Sister, and held it to her neck, believing her to be an imposter. But instead of the sharp, defensive voice he expected, she said nothing. She reached out and rubbed something onto his exposed chest, right over the wound.

He flinched, but then, to his shock, a cooling sensation spread across his chest. He looked down and saw the redness fading, though heat from her hand lingered, making him uncomfortable with the sudden closeness between them. He could feel her warmth, their proximity heightened by the sword at her throat and her touch on his wound.

She took his sword hand and gently pushed it away from her neck. "Lay down," she ordered.

Daemon's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here, Alicent? Or should I call you Sitara?" he asked, his voice thick with suspicion.

"Lay down, Daemon," she repeated, more firmly this time.

Daemon's brows knitted in surprise. The last person who had scolded him like that was his own mother. No one else had dared speak to him in such a manner. "What are you doing here?" he demanded again.