edited: 11/27/25 - 11/30/25
ﾟ+*:ꔫ:* 𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖘 Alicendria Targaryen, The 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔯. The 𝔦𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔲𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔢 is 𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 with her nephew, the 𝔬𝔫𝔢-𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢. How could someone so perfect be inlove with someone who is 𝖗�...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𓆰𓆪
Months had passed since the storm of the court had quieted. Life at the Red Keep moved with the relentless rhythm of duty and whispered secrets, but for Alicendria, some of that weight had lifted. Days were no longer filled only with anxious glances toward the throne or the faint echo of past betrayals; now, there were moments that made her chest flutter for reasons she could not quite name.
Gwayne Hightower had become a frequent presence in those moments. What had begun as polite conversation in the halls had grown into something more deliberate—lingering at her side during court functions, shared laughter over small absurdities in the council, the quiet comfort of someone who did not demand her to be a queen or a sister, only herself.
It was in the gardens where the shift became undeniable. Spring had draped the courtyards in the scent of jasmine and rose, and Alicendria found herself walking beside Gwayne under the dappled sunlight. He spoke of books she had not read, of distant cities he longed to see, and of small, trivial victories in jousts she had not thought could be so important. She listened, truly listened, and found herself drawn to the warmth in his voice, the ease in the way he moved around her.
"You always notice things," Gwayne said suddenly, his amber eyes studying her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. "Even the things no one else would see."
Alicendria blinked, caught off guard. "I... I suppose I do." She tried to mask the sudden heat creeping to her cheeks. "I notice many things."
He smiled, faint and almost shy, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them. There was no throne, no scandal, no eyes upon them—just the quiet, the sunlight on her hair, and the way his hand brushed hers when he shifted to step around a low stone fountain.
"I like that about you," he said softly. "You see the world... and you see people. It's... rare."
Alicendria's lips parted, words caught somewhere between wanting to protest modestly and the strange desire to confess that she felt the same. She laughed nervously, a sound lighter than she had heard from herself in months. "I think... maybe I only notice the things that matter," she said, and as soon as the words left her, she realized how close she had leaned toward him without meaning to.
