THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

The Ties That Bind

In the dimly lit chambers, the air was tinged with the soft scent of lavender and myrrh as Alicent placed her Kids in their beds. Her gaze lingered on Sirion, who clung to Visenya’s hand even in sleep, a faint furrow creasing his tiny brow. Alicent’s heart twisted. Separating Sirion and Visenya had been excruciating, yet necessary. She’d been shocked by her son’s fierce behavior when it came to his sister, his possessiveness a troubling reminder of her suspicions.

Perhaps, Alicent mused, there was something to this soul bond theory, a thread that linked Sirion and Visenya together beyond mere family ties. Of all her children, Visenya’s magic pulsed the strongest, almost a tangible force within the room. It felt like a piece of her husband Daemon, chaotic and wild  Exactly the kind of magic that Daemon would have had yet was something else entirely. She wondered if Thanatos might have had a hand in their fates. Daemon’s words lingered in her mind: Sirion would never let Visenya go, not willingly, and one day, they might need to uphold the Targaryen tradition of siblings bonded by marriage. Sirion had inherited a trait not just from his father’s bloodline, but from his own past life, a possessiveness so intense it bordered on obsession.

Alicent felt that same possessive bond herself, but she was no stranger to the lengths Sirion would go to keep what was his. He clung to her fiercely, a silent protector even at his young age, wary of anyone outside their close circle—especially anyone outside the family. Even Viserys, his supposed father, was often met with a cold shoulder from Sirion. For Sirion, there were no pretenses, only loyalties.

As she gently tucked Visenya back into her crib, a knock broke through the quiet. Alicent looked up sharply, her brow arching in question. “Come in,” she commanded, her voice soft yet firm. She held her posture with regality, her flowing gown a deep shade of sapphire, embroidered with delicate silver threads that caught the flicker of candlelight. The fabric clung to her form, draping elegantly, while a thin silver circlet held her hair back, revealing a few loose waves framing her face.

The door opened, and in stepped Ser Criston Cole. His armor was polished to perfection, the white cloak flowing down his back bearing an unmarred purity—a sharp contrast to the shadowed look on his face. Alicent’s curiosity flickered into wariness. Ser Criston, Rhaenyra’s personal sworn shield, was the last person she’d expected to see here tonight.

The knight bowed deeply, bending one knee to the ground. “My queen,” he greeted her, his head bowed low.

Alicent’s gaze hardened, though she masked her suspicion with a soft smile. “Rise, Ser Cole. What brings you here at this hour?”

Without preamble, Ser Criston dropped to his knees again, this time closer, a haunted look in his eyes. “Forgive me, my queen, for I have sinned. I have tarnished the white of my cloak.”

Alicent’s eyes narrowed, though her voice remained smooth. “What have you done?” she asked, though she could already sense the weight of his words. King’s guards swore oaths, binding them from land, wife, or child. This sin was one she understood all too well.

“I have…lain with a woman,” he confessed, his voice breaking slightly. Alicent let out a sigh, relief mingling with exasperation as she raised her hand and placed it lightly on his shoulder, coaxing him back to his feet. “It is no matter, Ser Criston,” she said, her tone laced with a kindness that belied her true interest. “Your confidence is safe with me, and I thank you for trusting me with this burden.”

But Ser Criston’s face darkened further. “It was not just any woman, my queen.” He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the stone floor. “It was Princess Rhaenyra.”

Alicent felt the words as if they were a slap. Her hand fell to her side, her calm facade faltering for just a heartbeat before her mask returned. “Do you realize,” she murmured, her tone colder, “that what you speak of could be considered treason?” Her words were low and deadly, and with a flick of her fingers, she raised a privacy ward around them, the shimmering magic casting an eerie glow in the candlelight.