Alicent Hightower sits beside her ailing husband as the door swings open, and Daemon Targaryen strides into the hall. The King rises to his feet, but she does not. Arrogant bastard, she thinks to herself remembering how he had been the only person in attendance not to rise for her own entrance into what was to be a truly infamous feast. If there is one thing Alicent excels in, it is maintaining an inventory of slights against the crown – her crown, and that of her lord husband.

"Brother," says Viserys, extending his hands in a way that is frankly servile, in Alicent's silent opinion, "I am glad that you have come."

"It is an honor, your grace," says Daemon, bowing his head, though his eyes lay on the Queen, a smirk twisting on his lips.

The nerve of him, she thinks to herself, to refuse the King's first offer and then to walk back in and pretend to be gracious.

"You have been absent from court for far too long," says Viserys with a smile as he retakes his seat, "We have much to discuss."

"I look forward to it," says the prince.

A synchophant, Alicent thinks to herself and speaks: "Yes, Daemon, do tell us about your ventures at Dragonstone. Was it strange being a guest in what was once your home?"

"I assure you no stranger," replies the prince, "than seeing you this morning as you sit beside my brother. My how you have grown."

Viserys beams at both of them.

Alicent rolls her eyes. "You just saw me in Driftmark."

"Ah yes," says Daemon, "I hope you will forgive me. I was a bit. Distracted."

"Yes of course," says the Queen, "I am dreadfully sorry for your loss."

"As am I," replies the prince.

"Though it seems," she offers, "that you have since found a pastime. With your niece."

"It was good of her to see to me," says Daemon. "She and Ser Laenor have both stepped in. To help with my girls."

"I was surprised to see the two of you arrive in Driftmark together."

Daemon merely looks at her, his expression… unhelpful.

"Considering," the Queen continues, "your history."

"Alicent," says Viserys with a sigh, "he has only just arrived."

"I do not see," begins Alicent, "why we should avoid the matter."

"And what matter is that?" replies the prince blithely, though she detects just a flicker of anger in his eye.

"You are to return to court," says the Queen. "My lord husband means to save you from yourself. You are… distracted with grief. For Lady Laena. But it is no longer appropriate for you to remain at Dragonstone."

"So you have made a place for me here," says Daemon, his expression disagreeably bland.

"We are eager," interjects the King, "to offer you a seat beside the throne."

"I see," replies Daemon. His manner remains impassive.

"I should like," says Viserys, in a rather obvious attempt to change the subject, "to see your girls. How tired they must be from their long journey."

"Had I known you meant to transplant me, I should have brought them here," responds the prince, "but alas. I thought this was a social occasion. I have left them at Dragonstone."

"Left them at Dragonstone? With Rhaenyra and her children?" asks Alicent.

"Yes, my Queen," says Daemon with a courtesy that sets her blood aflame.

She cannot stay silent. She must speak. "My lord," she says, looking at Viserys and then again at the prince before doubling back to stare down her lord husband, "How can you continue to turn a blind eye to her – to this madness –"

"Do not forget yourself, Alicent," Viserys. "We shall discuss this matter at a later time."

"Ser Harwin Strong is still warm in his grave and she takes up with her – "

"ALICENT," booms the King, "That is enough."

The Queen flushes, her eyes darting to the stone floor involuntarily before she returns them to meet her lord husband's gaze. "I am sorry, your grace," she says before she chances a look at Daemon. She sees a hint of a sneer and knows she has succeeded in getting underneath his skin.

"This is not how I – " begins the King, clearly flustered. He starts again, "You must be tired, brother, after your journey here. I, too, must rest. These past few years have caught up with me, I'm afraid," he says with a pained grin. "I shall see you both at dinner."

One of the young knights rushes forward as Viserys hobbles to his feet to help him limp from the hall.

When they are finally alone, Daemon returns his attention to the Queen. "If I did not know better," he says softly, "I should think you jealous."

"Jealous?" spits the Queen, "I may have given you my favor once at a tourney as a girl but I can assure you I never –"

"That is not," replies the prince, "what I meant."

By the time his meaning dawns on her, he has walked from the room.