"Beast. Tyrant. Merciless. They whisper these names behind my back. But when I say, I love you, it is not out of desire, nor out of denial. It is not for my sake at all. I love you for what you are, for what you do, for how you fight. I have witness...
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“Welcome to King’s Landing, my ladies. Ser.” The steward bowed low, voice calm and precise.
“Thank you,” Alicent replied courteously, offering a shallow nod.
Naiomi smiled as if she were already royalty. “And thank you for waiting. Lovely place.”
Gwayne wasted no time. “Where’s the Tower of the Hand?”
“In the North Wing, Ser. I will lead you,” the steward replied promptly. Behind him, a group of servants bustled about, dismantling baggage and moving trunks with mechanical efficiency.
“And where is Lord Otto?” Gwayne asked.
“In council, Ser. With the Small Council,” the steward said, bowing again.
“And Charlotte?” Naiomi asked quickly.
The steward blinked. “Pardon?”
“Charlotte Hightower,” Naiomi repeated, exasperated. “Our sister. Where is she?”
Before the steward could respond, Alicent stepped forward, more concerned with her belongings. “Please be careful with that trunk. The paintings are fragile.”
The steward inclined his head and then answered Naiomi’s inquiry. “Lady Charlotte is presently in service to the Queen. She is not in the Tower at this time.”
Naiomi and Alicent exchanged a brief glance, a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.
“You may go,” Alicent dismissed gently. “And again, be careful with my belongings.”
The steward bowed and hurried off to direct the baggage handlers.
Gwayne took a slow, full breath as he gazed upon the red stone and ironwork of the Red Keep. “Magnificent,” he said softly.
Naiomi twirled playfully, then darted ahead. “Let’s start exploring then!”
“Naiomi, wait!” Alicent called, gliding after her.
Gwayne laughed and followed. “Three Hightowers loose in the Red Keep. If it starts raining cats and dragons, I won't be surprised.”
The trio moved through the main gates into the palace’s inner halls, led now by a silent page. The corridor they entered was high-vaulted and marbled, sunlight streaming in through colored glass, setting rainbows on the floor.
Alicent’s eyes wandered. Her green gaze took in every hanging tapestry, every noble sigil, every gilded arch. So did Naiomi’s. The palace pulsed with life nobles draped in velvets and jewels conversing in hushed tones, squires darting with scrolls in hand, guards at stiff attention.
“This…” Naiomi whispered, “…is what highborn means.”
She smirked, eyeing a noblewoman weighed in pearls. “Not Oldtown, where Aunt Lynesse wrestles with me over silk skirts.”
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