Rhaenyra tugs at the sleeves of her dress and kisses Alicent Hightower's cheek, saying, "It is an honor to have you marry my Papa, my lady." That's a lie, of course- if she thought she could get away with it, the new Queen would be dead by now, by poison or an unfortunate carriage accident, or something else, if she was feeling particularly inspired. Her new step-mother smiles benevolently and presses a kiss to her brow and clasps her hands, promising to love her forever, as if she was her own daughter. White-hot rage courses through the princess.
Liar, Rhaenyra thinks, The nerve you have to claim you would ever love me as well as Aemma Arryn did- But she doesn't say that. Instead, she forces an adoring smile and looks down at their joined hands, and says that would make her very happy.
It would not.
.
.
Within the first year of her father's marriage, his new Queen's belly swells. Rhaenyra chews at her lip when the news is brought to her attention, and Alicent, who at this point is still playing the role of doting step-mother, furrows her brow with concern.
"This child shall not replace you in neither your father's heart nor mine," she says, and it takes all Rhaenyra has not to laugh at the irony. "There is enough room here," she points at her chest, "For the both of you."
"I've always wanted a sister," the princess chirps, and Alicent smiles a small smile and replies:
"Let us hope for a brother first."
Rhaenyra embraces her, wraps her arms around her waist and burrows her face in the crook of her neck as she used to do with Aemma, the only mother she has ever known in either of her lives, and seethes.
.
.
Aegon is born right on schedule, in the hundreth-and-seventh year after the Conquest. He's an ugly baby, Rhaenyra thinks, though that may be her own personal bias showing. She doesn't let her distaste be known, however, and asks her father eagerly if she can hold him. He smiles at her, all softness and warmth and love, and tells her to sit down beside Alicent.
She does.
When baby Aegon, the child who will- would have, not will, never will- grow to be her murderer is set upon her lap, she regards him cooly. "I wanted a sister," she says, "But he'll do." The adults laugh, indulgent to what they believe are the whims of a child. She is only half-joking. Or japing, as she supposes. Things would have been so much easier, little one, had you been a girl, Rhaenyra thinks, tracing a finger across his cheek.
Her brother smiles up at her and giggles.
.
.
Aegon is presented to the court after he's lived for two moons. Rhaenyra is standing at the base of the Iron Throne when Alicent enters the room, dressed in a green-and-white gown, the coat-of-arms of House Hightower embroidered above her breast. Courtiers murmur, already preparing to try to worm their way to the victorious Queen's side if they haven't already, and Father climbs down the steps and kisses his son's forehead.
Rhaenyra does the same.
"I am sure he will be a great and wise prince and an even better King one day," she says, and she truthfully, if she did not know what is to happen, she would mean it. She doesn't want to be Queen, doesn't want to have to look for poison in her cups and daggers in the dark, doesn't want to treat with rebellious vassals and manage the pit of vipers that is King's Landing. In another life, if she had been able to marry some lord, whether he be great or middling, taken some lady as her lover while her husband has his mistresses, and had a few children of her own, she would have been happy.
Alas, this is not that life, and these words will be her last effort to replace herself with Aegon.
It is not too late yet. The realm can burn beneath him for all I care.
Alicent smiles warmly, and Rhaenyra is surprised by the affection in the look. Turning her gaze to her father, she hopes to see consideration there. Instead, she spies his signature stubborn frown, and curses mentally. It seems that he is still intent on keeping her as his heir.
(For someone who was Team Blacks when this was just a series, you'd think she'd be happier about that)
.
.
Rhaenyra is her father's cupbearer. That means she gets to see all the lickspittles cozying up to Alicent and that little shit, Otto, at Aegon's celebration feast. As Father includes her in his conversations and boasts about her academics, which Grand Maester Runciter has been quite impressed by, she sees the Hand frowning.
"Does something trouble you, ser?" she asks sweetly. He shakes his head and offers a bland smile.
"Adult matters, my princess," he replies. Rhaenyra's jaw clenches at the way he addresses her. He does not say, 'Your Grace,' as is the title befitting the heir to the Iron Throne, simply 'my princess,' as if she is just another royal broodmare. And yes, she has no desire to be Queen, but the blatant disrespect the man has shown her is enough to have her blood boiling.
I have been a Targaryen too long.
Father's face darkens beside her, and Rhaenyra knows he has picked up on Otto's words as well. Before he can say anything, a Hightower man raises a goblet of wine and shouts, "To Prince Aegon!"
"To Prince Aegon!" Everyone echoes.
"And to Princess Rhaenyra, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!" Father replies. He looks pointedly at his Hand.
Confused muttering breaks out, and fury flashes across Alicent's face before she smooths her expression back to a serene smile. Not for the first time, Rhaenyra wishes she was allowed more than a few sips of wine at feasts. In this life, she's going to fucking need the stuff.
.
.
After the feast, there is a change in the way Alicent treats her. The Queen's smiles are less bright, her embraces shorter. She spends more time with her ladies, and has less patience for whatever childish antics Rhaenyra feels like playing up.
The princess feels bitterness well up in her chest at this, as well as sympathy for her original counterpart. If she were truly a child, this would be quite damaging.
Father is too busy trying to gain her favor again to notice and Uncle Daemon is away, so that leaves her without allies, though the Rogue Prince barely constitutes as one. Her skin crawls at the thought of what he will try to do to her in a few years' time.
Rhaenyra has no dragon, either- she needs an impressive beast, and one that already has fame, not Syrax. If Father is intent on keeping her as his heir, she will need it sooner rather than later, and that means a trip to Dragonstone.
And while I am in the area, I might as well try to curry favor with the Velaryons.
.
.
"Papa," Rhaenyra says, "I want to go to Dragonstone." Her father looks up from his meal. Alicent is not dining with them- she is still wroth- so it's just them. His eyebrow raises.
"Whatever for, my love?" he asks.
She widens her eyes ever so slightly and fidgets in her seat, ducking her head.
"I want to get a dragon, Papa, and I want to meet Cousin Rhaenys and her family!"
Rhaenyra gives her father her patented puppy-dog eyes, and, as always, he crumbles.
"Very well," he chuckles, "Very well. As you wish, we shall go."
She beams. Rising out of her chair, she kisses his cheek.
"Oh, thank you, Papa! You have made me the happiest girl in the entire world!"
.
.
A few weeks later, the King on the Iron Throne takes a ship with his daughter to Dragonstone, where she will claim her mount. Leaning against the railing, Rhaenyra looks at the looming fortress before her and realizes that whatever happens here will be key to her future.