Chapter Text
Alicent Hightower stood by the rear exit of the small funeral chapel, watching droplets of Portland rain strike the sunken steps. She smoothed the sleeve of her dark coat, a Vince single breasted wool piece, chosen for its sleek lines rather than warmth. She inhaled slowly. Beneath the mild aroma of funeral lilies and stale coffee, she detected the faint metallic tang that always followed a death.
It was not the first funeral she had been to that year. She had attended two others. She had caused them all.
The main chapel was to her left, accessible via a dark corridor lined with plastic plants in cheap brass urns. That funeral home was cramped and outdated, less than what she had expected, given the Strong family’s moneyed reputation. Rain slid across the high windows, an uneven staccato. When the next hush of organ music lingered, she stepped forward, eyes on the door to the chapel.
Larys Strong had died quickly, if not pleasantly, and perhaps that was enough mercy for one so loathsome. She was there to celebrate. He had been an easy enough target, given his bad leg. She had stalked him for weeks, waiting for the right moment to strike. He had noticed her first, hitting on her when she was at work of all things, asking to see her feet over and over again while she had made his coffee. He had laughed when she rejected him. But she had followed him home that night, and every night after, learning his habits, his weaknesses.
He hadn’t expected her when she came for him. He had turned, startled, cane slipping from his grasp. Alicent had seen the realization dawn in his eyes, the sudden comprehension of what she was. The struggle had been brief.
Now she was here, contemplating Larys Strong and the wealth he had amassed, something she had only truly grasped after weeks of stalking him. She had initially thought of him as just another arrogant man with a bad leg and a smug leer, but the deeper she dug, the more she realized just how much he had. It had all been easily found online. Between his business dealings, property holdings, donations to far right politicians. Much like her own father, Otto, who had built his fortune on the backs of others and thought it would insulate him from consequence. It hadn’t. She had ensured that.
Larys had been an easy enough target. A man who indulged in his own excess, confident in his status, assuming no one would ever reach him in the dark. She had proven him wrong. Just as she had proven Otto wrong. The wealthy were parasites. They fed on the world, extracting from labor and suffering. Their removal was nothing short of pruning a diseased tree.
A staffer in a shapeless polo shirt rounded the corner, holding a tray of empty coffee cups. The staffer offered Alicent a subdued nod, apparently assuming she was a mourner. She returned a polite smile and stepped away from the rear exit, merging with a small group of guests funneling out from the chapel. Mumbled condolences drifted around the cramped space. People dabbed their eyes with crumpled tissues, or merely kept their gazes pointed at the floor.
Alicent moved discreetly behind them, scanning the small crowd. Black dresses, black suits, navy and charcoal ties, all the standard funeral attire.
Nobody stood out.
Nobody stood out, that was, until she caught a flash of white hair. The woman’s hair was pinned in a low twist, a single lock drifting free over one side of her face. She was tallish, maybe five seven, five nine in heels, and carried herself with a posture that suggested she was used to far more than this shabby funeral parlor.
In the gloom of the corridor, the woman’s features resolved further, a pale complexion, the subtle line of her jaw, the faint scowl on her mouth as she pressed a phone to her ear. Standing next to her was a broad shouldered man, dark curls, well built, presumably Larys’s brother.
Harwin Strong, if Alicent remembered the obituaries correctly. The woman gestured with her free hand, and Alicent discerned three children loitering near a vending machine behind them. The oldest, a boy of about twelve or thirteen, crossed his arms in a gesture of mild teenage rebellion. The younger two, both preteens, alternated between bored glances at the soda machine and whispers to each other. They shared the same dark hair as their father.
Alicent had not expected Harwin to show up with a wife and kids in tow, but of course that was the natural assumption. Larys had a brother, so that brother might have a spouse, a family. Why it had not occurred to her was a mystery.
She saw how the woman tried to corral the boys, saw how Harwin touched the small of her back, quietly offering comfort. The woman’s brow creased, lines forming around her eyes, though she was clearly not old, mid thirties, maybe late thirties. She held tension in her shoulders, radiating a controlled, simmering frustration. Grief, maybe. Or anger.
Alicent found herself transfixed. She had come to enjoy the aftermath of her kill, but that woman had unexpectedly become the focal point, as though the funeral was swirling around her. There was a fierce intelligence in the woman’s eyes, eyes that darted over her children, her phone, the corridor, never pausing on any single point for too long. Alicent wondered if she was always that alert, always scanning for threats or obligations.
A set of overhead lights flickered, revealing the sleek cut of the woman’s black blazer, a Saint Laurent design, if Alicent was not mistaken. The matching pencil skirt hugged her hips, and the hem fell exactly to the knee, showing slender calves in well polished black pumps. Certainly the outfit of a woman who knew how to dress.
Alicent became aware of her own posture, head slightly tilted, eyes bulging out while she stared. She forced herself to look aside, in case someone noticed her staring. The mourners shuffled, allowing the Strong family a path toward the exit.
The woman ended her phone call and tucked the device into a tasteful leather purse. One of the boys tugged at her sleeve, perhaps whining about hunger or boredom. She nodded, patting his shoulder, but her gaze had already moved on to the next thing.
Inside Alicent’s chest, something lurched. She did not know that woman’s name. But she wanted to. She wanted to know everything. The urge was so sudden and disorienting Alicent nearly bumped into an older man leaning on a cane.
Meanwhile, that woman continued forward, the children in tow, Harwin at her side, and the entire family passed within a few feet of Alicent. And for a fleeting instant, the overhead fluorescent glare lit the woman’s face with stark clarity. She had refined features, high cheekbones, and a strong nose.
Alicent heard a snippet of her voice as she murmured something to Harwin, “I’ll load them in the car.”
Harwin’s voice, hushed, “Alright, Rhaenyra.”
Rhaenyra.
The name snagged on Alicent’s mind like a fishhook. Oh, he had doomed her.
A hush vibrated behind her eyes. She nearly held her breath, letting the name rattle around in her head. Rhaenyra.
The figure drifted away down the corridor, children close behind. Alicent stood still, the hustle of departing mourners drifting around her. Then, with a slow exhalation, she turned on her heel and followed at a distance.
She did not approach them, of course. As that would’ve been too reckless, and far too soon. Instead, she observed from a vantage near a standing coat rack, flipping through some leftover funeral brochures as though searching for a name. When Rhaenyra, Harwin, and their children departed through the glass doors into the Portland drizzle, Alicent edged forward to watch.
Outside, a black SUV, German by the shape of its headlights, waited at the curb. The children clambered into the back seat, the oldest one rolling his eyes when the younger ones bickered. Rhaenyra stood near the driver’s side, rummaging in her bag for something, possibly keys. Harwin leaned in to speak to her, presumably checking if she was all right. She nodded, but her posture remained rigid.
Alicent’s gaze flickered to a white haired young man in an expensive looking black parka who extended a handshake to Harwin. Another relative, maybe? She saw a brief smile on Rhaenyra’s face, polite and distant, before she climbed into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and started the engine. The SUV pulled away, merging with modest traffic along the wet suburban road. Gone.
Alicent felt the corner of her own mouth twitch. She withdrew from the funeral home quietly, weaving past a few stragglers. Nobody noticed her. She was good at blending in, at appearing like a nondescript mourner or a distant family friend.
Before heading to her own car, a Subaru with tinted windows, she allowed herself one more glance at the receding taillights of the black SUV.
“Rhaenyra,” she whispered to herself, tasting the word.
Then, she left.
-
Three days later, Alicent was in her kitchen. She stood there, swirling a wooden spoon in a simmering pot of bone broth. She did not particularly like bone broth, but it made for a convenient, mindless meal when her real focus lay elsewhere.
Her phone rested on the counter, screen lit with an article about real estate trends in Portland. She had discovered, in the days since Larys’s funeral, that searching for ‘HARWIN STRONG’ inevitably led to mention of his wife, Rhaenyra Targaryen Strong, CFO or possibly CEO of a local real estate development firm. Her name popped up in philanthropic circles, in society pages, some mention of a donation to the Children’s Medical Foundation, a sponsorship for a downtown arts event.
There was a single photograph: Rhaenyra in a burgundy blazer, white hair pinned back, smiling radiantly for the camera.
Alicent had stared at that photograph for nearly half an hour the previous night. She memorized the shape of Rhaenyra’s jaw, the faint lines near her eyes suggesting either stress or laughter, the proud arch of her brows. She read the entire interview: Rhaenyra’s quotes about balancing motherhood and leadership, about building sustainable projects for a changing city. The words themselves were standard PR bullshit, but the presence behind them captivated Alicent.
She stirred the broth again. Harwin was once a collegiate athlete and now invested in smaller ventures, particularly in the sports training industry. The children, three boys, were enrolled in a private school. Rhaenyra had apparently lived in Portland for the last decade or so, though she was rumored to be from old money, some group that once owned property near the Columbia River. The details were fuzzy. Alicent wanted more.
She opened a new tab in her browser, ‘RHAENYRA STRONG PHILANTHROPIC BOARDS’.
Alicent bit her lip, scanning the search results. There was mention of an upcoming fundraiser for the Women’s Education Initiative, happening at a downtown hotel next month. The event’s chair, Rhaenyra T. Strong. A cluster of local business elites was slated to attend. Tickets were presumably expensive.
Perfect. That was a possible vantage point. The idea of seeing Rhaenyra in a formal setting, wearing designer couture, hosting donors. Alicent exhaled, imagining it, wanting it. She couldn’t appear there unconnected, though. She would need a reason, a plausible identity. That would take time.
For now, she could adopt other methods. Methods she had practiced before.
She ladled the broth into a ceramic bowl. Steam rose, carrying onions and parsley. She tapped her phone’s calendar app. It was Tuesday. She had no pressing obligations until Friday, when she was scheduled to work. That left ample time to indulge. She could begin by staking out Rhaenyra’s workplace, under the guise of exploring the downtown area. She could watch, glean patterns.
When did Rhaenyra arrive? When did she leave? Did she eat lunch nearby? Did she remain locked in an office until late?
-
The steady drizzle typical of Portland kissed the sidewalks with a fine, persistent mist. Traffic hummed along the streets near Pioneer Courthouse Square. Alicent had parked her Subaru on a side road, paid two hours’ worth of meter time, and walked three blocks to the address she had found for Valyrian Real Estate. It was a glass tower rising twenty stories, the bottom floor occupied by a chain cafe and a minimalist furniture showroom.
Alicent entered the lobby, letting her black trench coat drip onto the welcome mat. She briefly shook out her umbrella, no brand name, just black, before tucking it under one arm. She feigned interest in the building directory, scanning a list of office tenants.
‘VALYRIAN REAL ESTATE: SUITE 1702’
She glanced at her watch. It was 9:18am. Rhaenyra might have already been at work, or she might arrive soon.
She claimed a spot by a cluster of lounge chairs near the windows, fishing out her phone as though checking emails. The building’s security guard eyed her only briefly. She was dressed elegantly enough not to raise suspicion: a tailored black skirt from Theory, a gray silk blouse from Vince, low nude pumps from Banana Republic. To anyone else, she was just another businesswoman waiting for a meeting to start or a real estate agent waiting for a client.
Ten minutes passed. People came and went, scanning security badges at the elevator bank. Occasionally, a staffer from the coffee kiosk next door bustled in with a tray. Alicent saw no sign of Rhaenyra’s distinctive white hair among them. She grew restless. She checked her phone, pretended to read an article on interior design. She wondered if Rhaenyra might have used a different entrance or arrived earlier.
By 9:40am, she contemplated whether to retreat outside and watch the main door from the sidewalk. Then, a stirring. The elevator dinged, and a small group emerged, including a tall figure in a burgundy blazer carrying a black tote. The figure’s hair was pinned in a neat twist, white strands that gleamed under the lobby’s bright lights. Even from this distance, there was no question.
It was Rhaenyra.
Alicent’s heart gave a small leap.
She couldn’t risk standing up too abruptly. Instead, she sank lower in her seat, turning her body as though focusing on her phone. Through her peripheral vision, she observed. Two men in suits flanked Rhaenyra, presumably colleagues or subordinates, both carrying legal pads. Rhaenyra said something in a clipped tone. Alicent couldn’t catch the words, just the shape of them. They exited the building in a purposeful line, Rhaenyra in the lead.
Alicent hesitated, exhaling quietly.
Should she follow? Possibly.
She stood, gathered her coat, and trailed them at a distance, letting them exit the revolving door far enough ahead that she wouldn’t be noticed. Outside, the drizzle intensified, forcing Rhaenyra and the men to pop open a large black umbrella. They headed east, crossing the intersection, stepping around puddles. Alicent stayed a half block behind, umbrella angled to obscure her face should one of them glance back.
The group moved toward a cafe called Bridge City, which was pretty much one of Alicent’s workplace rivals. They slipped inside, presumably to hold a quick morning meeting or grab coffee. Alicent ditched her umbrella in a stand by the door, following so discreetly that, to any onlooker, she was just another customer. The smell of ground coffee beans and syrup saturated the warm air.
Rhaenyra led her small entourage to a corner table, dropping her tote on a chair. She gestured for the men to line up at the counter while she checked her phone. Alicent pretended to browse the pastry case. She glimpsed Rhaenyra’s reflection in the glass display, saw how her brow furrowed at something on her phone screen.
When Alicent’s turn to order came, she requested four shots of espresso and a big cookie. She couldn’t quite keep herself from glancing sideways. Rhaenyra was possibly waiting for her associates to bring her order, or maybe she would place her own. Alicent steeled herself, tried to remain calm. She stepped away from the counter, searching for a seat with a vantage on Rhaenyra’s table. The cafe was moderately busy, a few open chairs scattered. She claimed one near the window, diagonally across from Rhaenyra’s group, pretending to flip through her own phone.
The men returned with coffees and pastries. One handed Rhaenyra a cappuccino. Alicent could see the foam swirl. A small pastry bag followed. They began talking about something in subdued tones, referencing a site on 3rd and Hoyt, the timeline for a new developer, the next pitch. Apparently.
Rhaenyra spoke occasionally, her voice was low, carrying only snippets across the cafe’s background chatter.
Alicent’s drink arrived. She took a mechanical sip. It scalded her tongue, but she didn’t register the pain. Her pulse thrummed in her temples. This was the closest she had been to Rhaenyra since the funeral, a matter of a few yards. She wondered what would happen if she walked over, introduced herself, spun a story of being a potential investor or an admirer of Valyrian Real Estate’s work.
No. That was too brazen. She didn’t want to spook Rhaenyra. Watching was enough. At least, for now.
After roughly fifteen minutes of subdued discussion, the group stood. Rhaenyra slipped on her blazer more fully, smoothing the collar, and led the way out. They merged into the rainy sidewalk. Alicent waited a full, carefully counted out thirty seconds before following, leaving half her drink untouched.
Outside, the group headed north, turning onto a side street. She kept pace, umbrella hiding her face. They cut across an intersection. Alicent had to rush to beat the light, adrenaline firing. Soon enough, they returned to the tower from which they had come.
Rhaenyra and the men entered through the main doors. This time, they flashed keycards at the security gate. Alicent halted in the lobby, feigning interest in a directory sign. She definitely couldn’t follow them upstairs. She wasn’t an employee, and security was too tight. Rhaenyra vanished into an elevator, the doors sliding shut.
Alone again.
Alicent suddenly felt oddly, sluggishly deflated. She stood amid the swirling traffic of professionals coming and going, searching for a next move.
She could technically wait in the lobby, but that might grow suspicious. She could watch from across the street. Or she could just accept this as a successful reconnaissance mission and come back the next day or the day after.
Her phone vibrated with a text from her manager, inviting her to pick up a shift. She ignored it. Instead, she walked outside.
A sort of warm, sticky ache spread in Alicent’s chest. She wanted so much more. She wanted to see Rhaenyra in different contexts, how she interacted with her kids, how she unwound after a meeting, how her breasts looked. She suspected Rhaenyra contained fascinating multitudes behind her polished exterior.
Alicent sighed merged with the flow of pedestrians, heading toward back toward her Subaru.
-
Over the week, Alicent maintained her routine: running errands, working unenthusiastically at the coffee shop, and dodging her Tinder matches. Concurrently, she frequented Rhaenyra's world. She had grown adept at timing. She knew roughly when Rhaenyra might go for lunch, which days she had midday meetings, which days she left earlier to pick up her children.
That was how Alicent found herself on a drizzly Thursday afternoon, tailing Rhaenyra’s SUV from downtown Portland to the private school Oregon Episcopal. It required careful distance, no more than three or four cars behind, maintaining speed, avoiding obvious glances. She wondered if Rhaenyra noticed being followed, but dismissed the thought. Most people were too absorbed in their calls or podcasts to check their rearview that often.
The SUV parked in the school’s pickup line, behind a row of similar upscale vehicles. Mothers and nannies stood outside, chatting politely while waiting for the final bell. Alicent saw Rhaenyra remain in the driver’s seat, phone at her ear, brows knitted.
After a minute or two, children started trickling out the double doors. The youngest of Rhaenyra’s sons, a brown haired boy with big eyes, ran to the SUV, tugging the door handle. Rhaenyra leaned over to unlock it, presumably giving him a mild scolding for something. The middle child bounded up next, followed by the eldest at a more leisurely pace.
Even from across the lot, Alicent sensed the familial tension, the boys bickering, Rhaenyra’s exasperation. She wondered if Rhaenyra’s mind was already back at the office, or on dinner, or on some philanthropic event. Parenting these three must have been an endless cycle of demands. Despite Alicent’s own distaste for children, she found herself enthralled by the sight of Rhaenyra’s maternal role. The door slammed shut. A half second later, the SUV pulled away.
Alicent followed, weaving behind a clueless Honda that blocked her view. She was careful not to appear suspicious, dropping back whenever Rhaenyra hit a red light. The route meandered through leafy suburban streets, eventually reaching Dunthorpe. Rhaenyra turned onto a tree lined driveway, disappearing behind tall hedges and an automated gate. Alicent caught a glimpse of the little mansion, modern architecture, large windows, well tended landscaping. Then the gate slid shut, severing her line of sight.
She slowed, passing by as if searching for another address. Her pulse hummed.
So that was where she lived. She noted the house number, the style of the gate, the presence of a security camera perched overhead. She would have to be cautious if she ever came here again. Possibly she would return on foot, unassuming, or pose as a visitor with the wrong address if questioned.
But that could wait.
The day’s observation was enough to feed her for now. She headed back to the city.
-
Another week passed. Alicent refined her knowledge of Rhaenyra’s schedule, Monday morning staff meetings, Wednesday night spin classes at an upscale gym, Friday lunches with a business partner. She glimpsed Harwin occasionally, a hulking presence who picked up the kids if Rhaenyra had late meetings. In all these sightings, Rhaenyra never spotted Alicent.
Or if she did, she gave no sign.
One early evening, just before dusk, Alicent parked by a strip of boutique shops downtown. She knew Rhaenyra sometimes stopped here after work. There was a small organic market that Rhaenyra seemed to favor, based on Alicent’s repeated sightings of her car.
Sure enough, at 6:22pm, the black SUV glided into a street space just two cars ahead. Rhaenyra stepped out, wearing a tailored gray pantsuit, shoes clicking on the asphalt. She checked the meter, slid in a credit card, and headed inside the market.
Alicent waited a minute, then followed. Inside, produce bins gleamed under soft track lighting, kale, chard, microgreens, meticulously curated to attract the health conscious yuppie crowd. Rhaenyra stood at the prepared foods counter, scanning the day’s offerings behind the glass shield. Alicent pretended to examine a display of heirloom tomatoes.
Alicent snuck glances.
Rhaenyra frowned at a sign reading Vegan Lentil Loaf $14.99/lb, then shifted her gaze to the chef behind the counter, asking something that triggered the chef’s polite nod. Her phone buzzed. She dug it out of her blazer pocket, reading a message with a half scoff, half sigh expression.
Harwin? A colleague? One of the kids?
She bit her lip, resisting the urge to inch closer. But something about the tension in Rhaenyra’s face was different that night, more pronounced. She looked tired. Possibly angry.
Rhaenyra finished her order, collecting a small container from the chef. Then she headed to the next aisle, where sauces lined the shelves. Alicent, with her cart, tried a casual approach, scanning labels one aisle over, close enough to see Rhaenyra from the corner of her vision. Rhaenyra selected a jar of pesto, set it in her basket, eyed a saffron infused tomato sauce, then checked her phone again. Her lips pressed into that dissatisfied frown. She nearly set the sauce back but must’ve changed her mind, dropping it into the basket. She exhaled loudly, an audible sigh in the hush of the store.
Alicent could tell Rhaenyra wasn’t happy. Maybe she had a frustrating day at the office or an argument with Harwin. Maybe the children were causing trouble. Or maybe she was still grappling with the aftermath of Larys’s death. Did Rhaenyra suspect foul play? Even if she did, it likely wouldn’t point her to Alicent.
Rhaenyra moved on.
And so Alicent followed discreetly until they both reached the checkout lanes. Several people lined up, so Rhaenyra stood behind a young couple. Alicent lingered near a display of massively overpriced chocolate bars. Two lines over, she could observe Rhaenyra’s face in profile. She glimpsed the faint pulse in Rhaenyra’s temple, the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
At last, Rhaenyra stepped up to pay, sliding a metal credit card from a polished cardholder. Alicent heard a snippet of the cashier’s forced cheer, “Find everything all right today?” Rhaenyra nodded curtly, not in the mood for banter.
The beep of the scanner, a robotic voice confirming the transaction. Then Rhaenyra snatched her receipt, gathered her bag, and strode out. She was gone in seconds, leaving Alicent with a hollow pang of longing.
She wanted to stop her. She wanted to talk to her. But she couldn’t, not yet.
So she pretended to scan the chocolate bars, eventually grabbing one, 72% cacao with sea salt, and heading to a self checkout kiosk. When she emerged, Rhaenyra’s SUV was already pulling away from the curb, disappearing into the drizzle.
-
Back home, late that night, Alicent stood in her living room with the lights off. Her phone screen lit the darkness. She scrolled through an old article, a charity event from two years ago. There was a group photo with sponsors, and there, off to the side, stood Rhaenyra in a champagne colored sheath dress, her white hair falling in waves. She was smiling at the camera, flanked by two white haired men in tuxedos.
Alicent zoomed in, studying every detail of Rhaenyra’s posture, the shape of her teeth, her cupid’s bow, the lines around her eyes, the set of her shoulders.
She set the phone aside, thrumming with that peculiar ache. Alicent wanted to witness Rhaenyra’s unguarded face, to know the color of her eyes in direct sunlight, to hear the intonation of her laughter. If she ever truly laughed.
This was not typical for Alicent. She didn’t recall experiencing anything like it. She drew a slow breath, tried to center herself. She was very good at dissecting other people’s brains, good at reading small tells, but understanding her own was harder. She stepped to the window.
Outside, the city lights twinkled.
Could she ever approach Rhaenyra directly without revealing how much she knew? Possibly. She could craft a script, a plausible reason for crossing paths, an introduction through a shared acquaintance, a business inquiry. She pictured their first conversation, imagining Rhaenyra’s slight frown giving way to interest or at least polite tolerance.
What a pleasure that would be.
She checked the time, almost 11:00pm. Outside her bay window, the city lights of Portland shimmered below. She imagined Rhaenyra somewhere out there, possibly in bed in Dunthorpe or showering, maybe reading over tomorrow’s business pitch or tucking her children into bed. A twinge of jealousy gnawed at Alicent’s chest.
She would very much like Rhaenyra to tuck her in.
A fundraiser, not the big philanthropic one but a smaller networking event, had concluded an hour ago at a boutique hotel near the Pearl District. Alicent had lurked outside, hoping Rhaenyra might appear. She had read that Rhaenyra could be a guest speaker. Perhaps those plans had changed. Or perhaps Rhaenyra had slipped out early through a side door. Either way, there was no sign of her. Alicent, refusing to call it a wasted evening, decided to walk off her frustration.
She made her way through the drizzle in a black coat, wool and silk blend, over a simple sleeveless jumpsuit from Aritzia. Her shoes thumped on the pavement, echoes in the near empty streets. Occasional cars passed, tires hissing on wet asphalt.
Her mind drifted back to the funeral. Larys’ casket, the hush of organ music, the subtle scorn in Rhaenyra’s eyes as she guided her children out. Would Rhaenyra have that same scorn if she discovered the truth about Alicent? Or would she be grateful that Larys had been removed from her life? Alicent didn’t know. But the possibilities fed her obsession, making her want to see Rhaenyra’s face contort with the realization that she had been watched for weeks, if not months. But that was a fantasy too dangerous to indulge.
Alicent crossed an intersection, noticing a black SUV idling at a red light. For a heartbeat, her heart leapt. Could it be Rhaenyra’s? But no, the license plate was all wrong. She sighed and continued. Overhead, a flickering streetlamp bathed the corner in intermittent yellowish light.
Her phone vibrated, a call from her brother. She rejected it. The last thing she wanted was small talk about his bench press stats. She stood near a niche bookstore with the lights off, peering at her reflection in the glass door. Her red hair was pinned in a low bun, a few tendrils curling from the damp air. She looked tired, or maybe just restless, a line of tension between her brows.
She closed her eyes, picturing Rhaenyra instead. It steadied her, in a way. The thought that tomorrow she could try again, maybe discover some new detail, a coffee run, a board meeting, a midday errand. Something. Anything. She could watch from across the street, from a parked car, from behind a glossy magazine at a cafe.
She opened her eyes back up. A swirl of overhead lamp reflections caught in the glass door, distorting her eyes into something feral.
Alicent leaned in close, practicing her smile.
-
Alicent Hightower leaned against the driver’s seat of her Subaru Legacy, an older model but well maintained, and stared through the rain beaded windshield at a gated property in Dunthorpe. Outside, dusk gathered, turning the manicured pines and boxwood hedges into looming shadows.
The property belonged to the Strongs. For the past nine days, the gates had remained stubbornly closed, the driveway deserted except for the occasional comings and goings of Harwin Strong. Rhaenyra, the woman Alicent craved a glimpse of, had not emerged. Not even once. And the rumor, gleaned from a snippet overheard at a downtown cafe, was that she had been sick, or so someone at her real estate firm had claimed, apologetically, for her absence in an important meeting.
Sick.
Alicent’s gaze drifted to the second story windows. Some lights were on, others off. It was possible Rhaenyra was up there, quarantined in a plush bedroom, or maybe working quietly from a home office. Working from home. Alicent’s heart beat with slow frustration.
Nine days were a long time to see nothing. She fixed her eyes on the gate. It was tall, ornate, with wrought iron flourishes. A discreet camera was perched overhead, scanning the perimeter. From Zillow, she knew roughly what the interior of the home looked like. She tried to imagine Rhaenyra inside it, wearing a robe or lounge set, perhaps sipping tea, a flush on her cheeks from illness or the mild fever rumored to be going around.
In the passenger seat, a reusable grocery bag sat half forgotten, containing an insulated cup of matcha latte that had gone all shitty and tepid and watery. Alicent didn’t even like matcha that much. She found it grassy, but it was one of those small habits she had picked up after noticing that Rhaenyra frequented a high end tea shop downtown.
She was at the point of trying anything to feel closer, or more connected, to Rhaenyra. Even if through her preferences.
Now, the beep of her phone disrupted the hush. She glanced at the screen. Just some reminder she worked early tomorrow. She sighed, setting the phone aside. Why should she bother going in to work, anyway? Rhaenyra wouldn’t be there. She wouldn’t be anywhere but home, unless she miraculously recovered.
Harwin, meanwhile, came and went, usually alone, occasionally with one or two of their sons, but never with her.
Alicent bit the inside of her cheek. Fine. That left Harwin as her only vantage point. Except Harwin’s routine was painfully dull. She had trailed him a handful of times over the last several days, learning little more than that he went to the gym, occasionally stopped by a chain grocery store, picked up the boys from school, and headed back home. No interesting lunches. No side visits to see adulterous lovers. No secret deals. Just the gym, groceries, kids, home. Over and over, a cycle that yielded no new sliver of Rhaenyra’s world.
She exhaled, checked the time, 6:12pm, and contemplated leaving. If Rhaenyra hadn’t ventured out by then, she likely wouldn’t. She was about to start the engine when movement beyond the gate caught her eye, headlights bouncing along the driveway. A spark leapt in her chest. Possibly Harwin was heading back out. She flicked on the ignition, adrenaline already swirling.
Sure enough, the gate slid open. Harwin’s large green Jeep glided out, turning onto the main road.
Alicent waited two beats, then pulled away from the curb, leaving a respectful distance of four cars behind.
Following Harwin was easy. He wasn’t particularly cautious. And why would he be? He had no reason to suspect he was being tracked. Even his driving was boring. Straightforward, never speeding, never meandering. Though he clearly didn’t appear to check his mirrors much. His route led from Dunthorpe into Portland proper, weaving past the Willamette River.
Alicent kept her hands tight on the wheel, her heart pounding with delusional excitement that this might finally yield some lead, some reason to hope Rhaenyra might appear.
But her excitement dimmed when Harwin stopped at a Life Time Fitness. Another workout. She rolled her eyes.
Still, she found a vantage point in a corner of the parking lot, half hidden by a broad oak tree whose leaves glistened under a streetlamp. The trunk was thick enough to obscure her from any direct line of sight if Harwin walked that way. From there, she could watch the gym entrance.
Harwin stepped out of his Jeep, wearing gray sweats, a black tank top beneath, a pink duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Rain pattered him, but he didn’t hurry. He looked at his phone, cracked his neck in a slow roll, then headed inside. Alicent rolled her eyes yet again.
She sat back. She should call it a night. It wasn’t like Harwin was about to facetime Rhaenyra from the gym in front of her. But maybe something interesting still might happen. She set a silent alarm on her phone for 7:30pm, as that was about the time men like Harwin typically finished a routine. She would just wait. Meanwhile, she could amuse herself by browsing real estate listings in the city, mentally guessing which ones might connect to Rhaenyra’s firm. It was a small, pathetic comfort.
Time crawled. She tried a podcast, some murder mystery she usually found entertaining, but her mind drifted. Her gaze returned to the gym entrance, where people filtered in and out. The interior was brightly lit, though tinted windows made it hard to see more than shapes moving past the front desk. Harwin remained inside, presumably bench pressing. She pictured him, sweaty, ears stuffed with the newest airpods, eventually bragging to Rhaenyra about his new personal record. The thought irritated her.
She checked the clock. 7:09pm. Another twenty minutes until her alarm. She closed the podcast app, then flipped through her photo gallery. Multiple images of Rhaenyra appeared, screen captures from local business journals or philanthropic events. Alicent’s lips twitched at the corners, her stomach fluttering.
A sudden beep from the gym door made Alicent look up. But it wasn’t Harwin, just two women chatting. She slumped back and huffed. This was pointless. Then, another beep. A tall man in a hooded jacket hustled inside, presumably escaping the rain. The monotony was overwhelming. She was seconds from quitting when she saw Harwin’s broad silhouette near the front desk, chatting with someone.
The overhead lights highlighted the slope of his shoulders and a dark haired man next to him. They exchanged what looked like an enthusiastic, chest bumping handshake.
Alicent frowned. She leaned forward, squinting through the drizzle. The second man was well built, wearing a dark green tank top and black joggers. He had a distinctive jawline, curly dark hair cropped close. She couldn’t hear anything, of course, but their body language was relaxed, friendly. Harwin clapped him on the back, pointing at the gym interior as if to say, ‘let’s go again tomorrow’ or something equally gym bro.
Then Harwin nodded, said something else, and headed for the exit. The second man, younger, maybe early thirties, lingered, taking a swig from a protein shaker. He set it down on the front desk, stretching his arms over his head. Harwin passed through the glass doors, stepping into the rain.
Alicent’s pulse quickened. A friend? A coworker?
Harwin moved across the lot toward his Jeep, tossed the pink duffel bag in, and started the engine. Alicent braced, ready to tail him. But then she ended up just sitting there and watching as Harwin backed out, pulled away, and merged into traffic.
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. To tail him further or investigate the second man… Harwin was on a well tread path, back home, presumably. That yielded nothing new. The second man, however, might be a fresh variable. He seemed quite close with Harwin, someone Harwin saw regularly. That, in turn, might open a door to Rhaenyra.
Alicent tightened her lips. She flicked off the headlights and slid out of her car, flipping her hood up. Rain seeped into her shoes, but she didn’t care. She moved across the lot, head bowed, forging a strategy.
Once inside, she was greeted by the too bright fluorescent glare of the gym’s lobby. A bored looking desk attendant in a blue polo glanced up.
“Need help?” he asked.
“Day pass,” Alicent murmured, forcing a smile. “I’m thinking of switching gyms.”
He nodded, rummaging for a clipboard. “Sure, fill this out, show ID, first pass is free.”
“Thank you.”
Alicent scribbled through the form while she scanned the interior, a cluster of weight machines, elliptical trainers, a row of treadmills facing large windows. She didn’t see Harwin’s friend anywhere. She sucked her teeth and finished the form, handing it back.
“Cool,” the desk attendant said. “You’re all set. Towels are by the wall, locker rooms are that way.” He pointed.
Alicent nodded and stepped inside, acting as if she was about to check out the treadmills. But her real aim was to locate the guy. So she meandered, scanning faces. People in various states of exhaustion or focus grunted and breathed, clanging metal, the typical gym cacophony.
Then, at the far side near the free weights, stood the dark haired man. He was mid stretch, eyes on his phone screen, protein shaker at his feet.
Alicent picked up a nearby dumbbell, five pounds, nothing too strenuous, and pretended to do slow curls while inching closer. She could overhear a bit of his conversation. He was on a call. His voice was pitched louder than normal to compensate for the gym noise.
“Yeah, bro, tomorrow works. Harwin said same time, so I’ll be here.” A pause. “No, I don’t think she’s coming. She’s still sick or something. I guess we’ll see. Anyway, I gotta bounce. I’ll text you.”
Her chest constricted. He obviously meant Rhaenyra. This man seemed a far closer friend than any Alicent had initially hope.
He ended the call, pocketed his phone, and stood. Alicent saw a chance. She set her dumbbell aside, stepping into his line of vision. She ran a hand through her red hair, forcing a bright, friendly smile.
“Excuse me?” she said, feigning a feminine, timid pitch. “Hiya! Sorry, I’m new here. Would you mind showing me how the bench works?”
He blinked, lifted an eyebrow, then smiled with the obnoxious confidence only a man approached for help at the gym could have. “Sure, yeah. It’s actually pretty cake.” He stepped closer, knelt to demonstrate the lever mechanism. “You just tug this pin, set the angle you want, lock it in place. You got it?”
“Got it.” Alicent arched her eyebrows as though impressed. “Thank you. Sometimes these things are harder than they look.”
She was lying. They really weren’t.
He chuckled. “Yep, brand new stuff… always a learning curve. Heh.”
She glanced at the name patch on his gym bag, C. COLE. The bag was black and white, Nike. She tucked that detail away.
“I’m Alicent,” she said, extending her hand. She was careful not to sound pushy.
He smiled and without hesitation took her hand in his firm grip. “Criston,” he offered. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she replied, tilting her head. “So do you come here often?”
The line was intentionally cliché, but it worked on men like him.
Criston exhaled a laugh. “Oh, yeah, practically daily. My buddy Harwin drags me in, or I drag him in… trying to stay consistent, you know?”
“Ah, accountability partner, I get it.” She nodded, doing her best to appear casual. Inside, her pulse flipped. So he was a real friend. Perfect. “That’s cool. My old gym had no sense of community, so I’m… exploring my options.”
Criston offered another smile, crossing his arms over a well defined chest. “This place is cool. People are friendly, equipment’s good. It’s not super fancy, but the vibe is chill.”
“Yeah, definitely. So chill.” She fidgeted with the bench lever he had shown her, letting the conversation settle momentarily. She wanted to push further about Harwin or Rhaenyra but needed a natural segue. Finally, she feigned a shy grin. “I saw you talking to that big guy earlier… was that Harwin, like you said?
“Yeah. That’s him.”
“He looks like a beast.”
Criston nodded, brightening. “For sure! And he is! That’s my main gym bro. But he’s married, so.”
It took everything in Alicent not to roll her eyes as she replied, “Got it.”
“Yeah… totally married. With like, three kids. He’s training for a crossfit competition, so yeah, I help him out.”
“That’s awesome.” Alicent feigned an intrigued look.
Harwin training for a competition might be time consuming. Possibly that meant less time for Rhaenyra if she was recovering at home. She wondered if Criston was ever at Harwin’s house, if he had met Rhaenyra in a more social setting. “So do you guys, like, grab dinner after, or…?”
“Sometimes. But he’s kinda busy these days. Family stuff.” He shrugged, eyes flicking around. “His wife’s under the weather, so he’s been on kid duty. I guess it’s a little crazy at home right now.”
Alicent’s heart thrummed at the mention of Rhaenyra.
Yes, busy. Sick. Possibly bored, stuck in bed… all alone…
She met Criston’s gaze, letting her curiosity show. “Aw, that’s tough. Hope she’s okay.” She caught the risk in that statement, so she quickly added, “I mean, I don’t know them, but I hate being sick.”
Criston was oblivious enough not to question it. “Yeah, I’m sure she’ll bounce back soon. She’s unstoppable, from what I hear.”
Alicent tucked that tidbit away like a precious gem. Rhaenyra was unstoppable. Course she was. She pictured Rhaenyra powering through an illness out of sheer stubbornness. “Well, hey,” she ventured, as though an idea had just popped into her head, “I don’t really know anyone here yet… would you maybe want to… work out together sometime? Like, show me the ropes?”
Criston’s lips parted in a smile that was half flattered, half amused. “Sure. I mean, always down to help a newcomer. I can’t promise that I’m, like, a certified trainer or anything.”
She laughed lightly. “Oh, that’s fine. I just want some guidance. And it’s better than working out alone, right?” She slid the bench to a lower angle, testing the lever. “Anyway, I’ll probably do some free weights now, but maybe next time we can spot each other?”
He nodded, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his joggers. “Definitely. I’ll be here tomorrow around six thirty. If you come out, I can walk you through a routine.”
“Awesome,” she said. “Thanks, Criston.”
They exchanged numbers and goodbyes. Criston wandered off to retrieve his protein shaker, presumably heading for the locker room. Alicent picked up a random dumbbell again, but her mind was a frenetic swirl.
She had a lead.
-
Alicent showered, meticulously applying a gentle face scrub, Dermalogica, and a retinol serum, Paula’s Choice. She styled her hair in neat waves, sometimes pinned with gold clips she had found at a thrift shop but polished to look brand new.
Then she entertained herself by scrolling through Rhaenyra’s limited public presence, business websites, philanthropic rosters. And she wondered about Rhaenyra’s ‘unstoppable’ nature, in particular. If she Rhaenyra was lying in bed with a laptop, feverish but still valiantly answering emails, too proud to let an illness slow her down.
Hot.
-
Alicent ran errands in the city, sometimes scouting new vantage points near the Strong property, though rarely hanging around, lest the neighbors grow suspicious.
She checked social media for any mention of Rhaenyra or Harwin, though Rhaenyra kept a tight lid on personal accounts, apparently. She also browsed local shops, half hoping to spot Rhaenyra’s children or a nanny. Anything to feel closer. She had discovered, from a snippet of rumor, that Rhaenyra’s middle son was on a soccer team, though she hadn’t found out where they practiced yet.
-
She met Criston at the gym and flirted discreetly. She asked about Harwin’s crossfit, about how their last session had gone. Criston shared small updates, Harwin’s new personal best on deadlifts, his frustration that his wife was still stuck at home with a fever, how he was pulling double duty with the kids.
Alicent nodded with feigned sympathy offering mild comments like, “That must be tough on them both,” or, “She must be so annoyed at being sick, if she’s such a go getter.”
Criston never suspected her deeper motives. He was surprisingly easy to read, a decent guy, proud of his gains, enthused about cryptocurrencies, vaguely lonely, eager for a new friend. Or, much to Alicent’s discomfort, a new girlfriend.
After workouts, they sometimes grabbed a smoothie from the gym’s overpriced juice bar. Criston always paid for his with a credit card, covering hers, too. She feigned shy gratitude each time.
-
Alicent stood at her living room window, staring over the streetlights, phone in hand. She reread her notes on Rhaenyra: birthday, philanthropic events, rumored clients. Then she fiddled with online searches, looking for even the most obscure references.
Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra’s face, specifically. Hm. And how it might appear this very moment. All drained from illness, but still radiant, of course. How she might bark instructions at Harwin if he failed to meet her standards. Ha.
Though the thought that Rhaenyra needed a caretaker at that moment rattled Alicent, strangely. She fantasized about being the one to fluff Rhaenyra’s pillows, to brew her tea. But only to see her helpless and vulnerable.
Only that, really.
-
On one drab Saturday, the gym was closed for maintenance, and Criston texted her: “No workout today, see you Monday.”
Alicent experienced an unwelcome surge of restlessness. The day yawned open, cold and rainy. Harwin was likely sequestered at home or maybe ferrying kids to weekend activities. No leads.
Bored and fixated, she decided to try something new, cooking the sort of meal Rhaenyra might appreciate. She had found a recipe online, some spin on roasted root vegetables, thyme, and saffron rice.
In her snug kitchen, she arranged the ingredients like a painting, bright carrots, purple potatoes, fresh thyme sprigs. She set the saffron threads in a small dish, inhaling their musky sweetness.
She imagined Rhaenyra in a plush robe, opening the oven, steam billowing around her regal face.
“Stop that,” she scolded herself, turning on a bluetooth speaker to distract from her fantasies.
She prepped the vegetables, drizzled them with extra virgin olive oil, sprinkled salt, pepper, and thyme. She slid them into the oven at 400 degrees. Moving on to the rice, she carefully bloomed saffron in hot broth. She wondered if Rhaenyra had a personal chef or if Harwin attempted to cook. Probably not. She suspected Rhaenyra’s taste ran gourmet.
Alicent set a single place at her small dining table, placing a neatly folded linen napkin, a polished fork, and a slender wine glass with half pours of a decent Oregon Pinot Gris. She sat, taking slow bites. It was delicious enough, but she was alone. Rhaenyra wasn’t there to share it.
She ended up storing half in Tupperware, imagining if the leftover could somehow be delivered to Rhaenyra’s gate with a love note.
But that would be insane, suicidal for her secrecy. So she dumped it in the trash and slammed the lid shut.
-
Monday evening Alicent stepped into the gym a few minutes past six thirty. Criston was already there, leaning against a pillar, checking his phone. He brightened when he saw her and waved.
“Hey, Alicent,” he said. “Missed you on Saturday.”
“Ugh, same.” She lied, setting her water bottle down. “Ready for leg day?”
He grimaced in a playful way. “Does anyone ever want leg day?”
Alicent forced out a smile, suppressing her urge to grimace.
“But yeah, let’s do it.”
They found an open squat rack. Alicent focused on her form, but her mind remained half on Harwin and Rhaenyra. She wondered if Criston had any updates. She used idle moments between sets to steer the conversation that way.
“How was your weekend?” she asked during a lull, leaning on the bar.
Criston wiped his brow with a small towel. “Not bad, hit up some crypto meetup,” he said. “I’m gonna be rich someday, you know.”
Alicent bit her tongue.
“Oh, and I was supposed to chill with Harwin, but he canceled last minute. Wife’s still under the weather, apparently.”
“Wow, that’s been a while.”
Criston nodded. “Yeah, for sure. He’s kinda run ragged, I think. He texted me this morning that he might skip the gym all week if she doesn’t perk up soon.”
Fuck.
“That’s rough,” Alicent murmured, stepping aside for him to rack the bar. “So does he basically handle everything if she’s sick?”
Criston gave a half shrug. “Well, I think they usually have help, a nanny or something? But Harwin said the nanny’s out of town or there’s some scheduling conflict. I didn’t ask. He’s a great dude, always tries to handle stuff himself. I feel for him. Three kids is no joke.”
Alicent nodded. Ugh. Rhaenyra alone in bed, maybe moaning from a fever, while Harwin stumbled around trying to manage a household. Part of her wanted to swoop in, provide perfect assistance. But that was impossible, so Alicent just offered a sympathetic hum, then did another set of squats.
After the workout, they migrated to the juice bar. They sat at a small table, a laminated ad for a local crossfit competition stuck under the plastic.
Criston leaned back, rolling his shoulders. “So, you liking the gym so far?”
“It’s great,” she said. “And I appreciate you! Like, so much… I’d probably just walk on the treadmill otherwise.” She feigned a bashful laugh. “I was hoping to meet some new people, too.”
He perked up. “Yeah? I mean, I know some folks. I could introduce you. Harwin’s a big connector, once his schedule frees up.”
Jackpot. “That’d be awesome.”
Criston nodded. “For sure. Actually…” He slurped his shake. “I’m supposed to meet Harwin for dinner sometime soon. If he’s not slammed with family stuff, maybe you could come along.”
Alicent’s heart leapt. A dinner with Harwin meant potential adjacency to Rhaenyra. Maybe she wouldn’t attend, but at least it put her one step closer. She stifled her eagerness. “That’d be cool, if he’s okay with it.”
“Oh, he’s cool with new faces,” Criston said with confidence. “He’s a guy’s guy, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind an extra person.” He downed more shake and set it aside. “I’ll text him tonight… and like he might say no if the wife’s still sick, but eventually. We’ll do it.”
“Sounds good,” Alicent said, half quivering with delight.
Finally, some momentum.
-
A day passed, then two, then three. Criston gave updates after each gym session. Harwin’s wife was still recovering, he said. He wasn’t free yet. Alicent fought an urge to scream into her pillow. She envisioned Rhaenyra quarantined in the house for weeks, the entire plan stuck in limbo. Meanwhile, Criston remained friendly, but her patience wore thin. She couldn’t exactly demand they set a dinner date. She had to let it come in Harwin’s own time.
One evening, around seven, Alicent’s phone buzzed. Criston. She answered quickly, stepping away from the elliptical to find a quieter corner.
“Hey,” she said, breath short from exercise. “What’s up?”
He sounded apologetic. “Hey, sorry to bug you. Just found out Harwin’s skipping out again. The kids got sick, too. He’s basically in crisis mode. Looks like dinner’s off for the foreseeable future.”
Her stomach twisted with frustration. “Oh, that’s too bad. I hope they’re all right.”
“Yeah, me too.” Criston sighed. “Anyway, I know I promised to set that up, but no luck yet. We can still go if you want, though… just the two of us.”
She forced a neutral tone. “That’s sweet, but I don’t want to impose on your plan. I’ll wait till Harwin can join.” She tried not to let her desperation seep through. If they went alone, that did nothing for her ultimate goal.
“All right, well… guess we’ll see, then. I’ll keep you posted if he resurfaces,” Criston said with a grim laugh. “He’s basically MIA.”
“MIA.” Alicent repeated in disbelief.
“Yeah, ‘missing in action’.”
“I know what MIA means.”
Without a goodbye, Alicent ended the call. She stared at her reflection in the gym’s mirrored wall. The face that stared back was taut with frustration.
-
Three days later, it was a gray Sunday afternoon. The Portland skies were heavy with clouds, spitting off and on drizzle. Alicent had spent hours parked on various suburban streets, again watching Harwin’s ugly Jeep vanish into grocery store lots, then reappear with loads of supplies. She had tried to guess if he was picking up gatorade for Rhaenyra, or medicine, or easy to make dinners. Alicent was certain Rhaenyra would prefer her cooking to Harwin’s.
But anyway, nothing she saw helped. Rhaenyra remained invisible. No sign of improvement.
By five, she was at the end of her tether. She sat in her Subaru near a dog park, a short distance from the main road Harwin used, the steering wheel cold beneath her fingers.
She contemplated giving up this watch, at least temporarily. What was the point? Rhaenyra could stay cooped up for weeks more. Her entire strategy, hinging on dinner invites or a chance meetup, looked worthless. She couldn’t just barge into their house or rope Criston into forcing the issue.
Her phone pinged. A text from her boss, asking if she wanted more overtime. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. The normalcy of her day job felt like an insult to her deeper obsession. The idea of steaming milk, politely remaking stupid people’s drinks, while Rhaenyra recovered behind those gates…
She was about to slip the key into the ignition when her gaze drifted up the street. Harwin’s Jeep glided by, heading east.
Now? She checked the time, 5:07pm.
The gas station, grocery stores, and gym were in the opposite direction.
Why that way? Curiosity flared.
She started the engine, pulled out, and kept a two car gap. If this was another fruitless loop, so be it. She could handle one more.
He drove for fifteen minutes, eventually crossing into a part of Portland Alicent recognized, near a row of chain restaurants, a large sporting goods store, and a small martial arts studio. The drizzle intensified, streetlights flicking on in the gloom. Harwin signaled a left turn into a half empty strip mall parking lot.
Alicent’s brow furrowed. The strip mall had a big neon sign for some kind of game store, plus a vape shop, and a secondhand bookstore. No grocery store or gyms. He parked near the game store. She slid in a ways behind, killed the engine, and watched.
Harwin stepped out wearing a hoodie and jeans, glancing around. He pocketed his keys and headed for the game store.
A gaming store? This was new. Possibly picking up a gift for the kids. Boring, but unusual enough to pique her interest.
She stifled a yawn and flipped open her phone, scrolling aimlessly.
Then, a second car pulled up a couple of spaces from Harwin. Out stepped Criston Cole, wearing a purple shirt, black jacket, and jeans. He and Harwin exchanged an enthusiastic greeting, fist bumps, a brief clap on the shoulder. Then they stood under the store’s bright overhang, chatting, both looking relieved to see each other. Harwin gestured at the store, as if explaining something. Criston laughed.
Alicent inhaled sharply. It was an insult. It was exclusion. It was the sharp, biting edge of dismissal, a decision made in some unspoken conversation where she had never been considered, never been factored in. Harwin and Criston had made plans. They had chosen a place, a time, a reason. They had coordinated their little outing, exchanged their texts, confirmed with some easy, thoughtless agreement. And she had not been included.
And her? What was she supposed to do? Accept it? Accept that she was not part of this, that she was meant to be somewhere else, doing something else, existing on the fringes while they enjoyed their little break from whatever life they found so suffocating? Harwin, overwhelmed by home life. Criston, probably tired of her not putting out.
She herself had no life.
And so here she was. Unnecessary. Superfluous. Not even an afterthought. If she could approach them both, maybe she could glean something. At the very least, she could talk to Criston, feign surprise at running into them. But how to make it look accidental in a gaming store she had no reason to frequent?
She dashed out of her Subaru, pulling up her hood. Rain dripped onto her hair. She hovered near the entrance to the secondhand bookstore next door, peeking around the corner.
Meanwhile, Harwin and Criston entered the game store, out of sight. The sign in the window read Card Kingdom: MAGIC, POKÉMON, BOARD GAMES. A half lit neon wizard waved a wand. Ridiculous.
She steeled herself. She could slip in, pretend to browse. They might not even notice her. Alternatively, she could wait for them to exit, but that might mean missing a conversation. The store’s large front windows showed racks of colorful card decks, fantasy themed posters, a cashier in a rainbow polo with spiky hair. Harwin and Criston were inside, near the back. She saw their backs moving past displays.
Okay. She would do it.
She yanked open the glass door, an electronic chime sounding. Warm air hit her, carrying the smell of cardboard and that stale gamer funk that reminded her of teenage basement gatherings. She stifled a grimace and quietly headed toward the first aisle. Posters for new expansions lined the walls. A cluster of customers chatted near a table stacked with booster packs.
Her eyes flicked around, searching for Harwin and Criston. A display rack near the back offered figurines of dragons and knights. Harwin stood in front of it, rummaging for something, while Criston gestured animatedly, possibly giving him suggestions. The aisle next to them was empty.
Alicent glided there, half listening.
“Yeah the kids want these, but I have no clue,” Harwin was saying. “I guess it’s for some card game? Jace or Luke or something.”
Criston laughed. “Dude, it’s Magic: The Gathering, not that complicated. Well, okay, it’s complicated, but they just want the cool cards. You can do a starter deck.”
Harwin grunted. “Starter deck, yeah. I’ll buy a few. Jace and Luke keep begging me, so maybe it’ll keep them busy. The baby’s sick now, too. I’m going insane.”
Alicent’s heart raced at the mention of the children. Her mind flickered, Jace and Luke were the older two, right? So Joffrey was the baby? She had gleaned that from previous online references.
“I feel you,” Criston said sympathetically. “How’s your wife doing?”
Harwin sighed. “Better, I think, but still not a hundred percent. She’s been holed up in the office, says she’s working, but she can barely talk without coughing… she’s stubborn, you know how she is.”
“Oh yeah, Rhaenyra the unstoppable?” Criston grinned.
Harwin chuckled tiredly. “That’s the one. But unstoppable or not, she’s human, right? She’s gotta rest.”
“True,” Criston said. He exhaled, shaking his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he was about to say something important. “I swear to God, I’m so done with women right now.”
Harwin snorted. “Oh yeah?”
Criston laughed, but there was nothing funny about it to Alicent. “It’s like they cannot decide what they want. It’s like they expect you to read their minds but I know the second I do, she’ll just need to focus on herself or whatever the fuck…”
Harwin glanced at him. “I mean, maybe she just wants a friend.”
Criston clicked his tongue. “No, it’s a test. It’s always a test. They push just to see if you’ll chase. It’s just how they are.”
She listened to him, cataloging the words, the cadence, the tone, the smug certainty of a man who thought he understood something he would never be capable of understanding. It was not just the words themselves but the casual way they were spoken, the ease with which he boiled women down to predictable, interchangeable problems. The same way a man like him might complain about traffic, about long lines at a coffee shop, about a machine at the gym being taken when he needed it.
She had spent years listening to men like Criston Cole. They were everywhere, unavoidable, their voices filling locker rooms, sidewalks, social media feeds. They told the same stories, repeated the same grievances, muttered the same tired complaints about the unknowable nature of women while never once considering the possibility that they themselves were the problem.
She should kill him. Alicent’s fingers twitched at her sides.
“By the way,” Criston said. “That girl from the gym, Alicent, wanted to meet you. But I told her we’d wait till your wife’s better.”
Alicent’s pulse jumped at hearing her name.
“Yeah, sure, another time. Right now, I can’t do squat, man. The kids are all over me.” He picked up a blister pack of cards, scanning the label. “This the right one?” Criston stepped closer, taking the pack. “Yeah, that’s a decent starter. Might as well grab two or three. They can each have their own.”
Alicent exhaled quietly, stepping behind a tall cardboard cutout to keep from being spotted. So Criston was bridging her introduction to Harwin. That was acceptable. She wouldn’t kill him anymore. Once Rhaenyra recovered, maybe the possibility of a group dinner or a casual hangout would arise. She clung to that hope.
Harwin and Criston drifted toward the register. Alicent inched down the side aisle, scanning the colorful card sets with disinterest. She heard the cashier greet them. They rang up a handful of magic decks. The transaction was quick, but Harwin lingered in small talk. Something about expansions. Possibly, he was trying to look like a competent dad.
Then she heard Harwin say, “Hey, let’s get dinner after this. I need real food.”
Criston agreed. “You pick, dude. I’m good anywhere.”
They thanked the cashier, stepped away from the register, and headed for the exit. Alicent glimpsed them crossing the threshold. She moved to the front of the store, peering through the windows. The parking lot lights reflected on puddles. Harwin stashed the new cards in his Jeep while Criston stood by, phone in hand. They talked a moment longer, then got into their respective vehicles and drove off.
Another missed chance to intercept them. But she had gleaned so much. Rhaenyra was feeling somewhat better, even if still ill. The kids were messing with some card game. Harwin was open to meeting her once everything stabilized.
Alicent remained in the store, wandering aisles aimlessly. She pretended to admire a figurine of a yellow dragon.
Now she was unstoppable.
-
Back home, she stood in her kitchen, rummaging for a snack. She ended up with a Greek yogurt, staring at it blankly. She wasn’t hungry, but she needed to do something.
She pictured Rhaenyra perched at a home office desk, feverish but unstoppable, typing fierce emails, maybe calling subordinates to boss them around. She wanted to watch Rhaenyra do that.
She set the yogurt aside, pulling out her phone. A few new notifications. Spam, nothing interesting. She tapped on her conversation with Criston, scrolling up to read their chat history. Mundane messages about workout times, macros, the occasional cringe worthy meme. She wondered if she should text him something flirty or casual but decided against it. She didn’t want to push him away. She wasn’t interested in him beyond using him as a conduit to Rhaenyra’s orbit. If she pressed too hard, he might get the wrong idea.
Instead, she tapped out a quick text: “Hey, saw your buddy Harwin at the card store. Let me know when he’s down to meet.”
She hesitated, then deleted it. Too suspicious. So she retyped: “Catch you at the gym tomorrow? :)”
That was neutral, normal. She sent it.
The phone remained silent for a few minutes, then buzzed: “Yep! Will do.”
Brief, to the point. Fine.
Alicent paced the living room, flicking the overhead switch on and off until she landed on a low lamp glow. She powered up her laptop, sinking onto the couch. If she couldn’t see Rhaenyra in person, at least she could revisit some older articles. She found a youtube snippet. ‘RHAENYRA STRONG’S KEYNOTE AT THE WOMEN IN BUSINESS GALA’. It was from last year, a short clip. She had watched it before. She clicked anyway.
The camera was shaky, presumably someone’s phone. Rhaenyra stood at a podium, wearing a crisp white blazer. She spoke about the importance of mentorship, about blazing paths for women in corporate leadership. Alicent enjoyed every gesture. The subtle lifts of her chin, the poised set of her shoulders, the slight narrowing of her eyes when she emphasized a point. Rhaenyra’s presence was magnetic, even in 480p.
She replayed the clip, pausing at the moment Rhaenyra flashed a faint half smile. She zoomed in. The pixels distorted. She couldn’t see it clearly.
But Alicent knew that one day, she’d see that smile in person.
-
Days stretched on, each one a new repetition of the same cycle. Alicent met Criston, flirted lightly, gained incremental tidbits about Harwin’s predicament, about Rhaenyra’s slow recovery. She cruised past the Strong property in Dunthorpe, saw no one except the gate opening for Harwin or a grocery delivery truck. She tried not to dwell on the possibility that Rhaenyra might remain hidden indefinitely. Eventually, she had to reemerge.
Then, late one Thursday night, Criston texted her: “Harwin’s open to hanging out this weekend.”
Alicent’s heart flipped. Finally.
She sent back: “Count me in!”
-
Saturday, Criston came over beaming. He tossed his gym bag onto the couch, at which Alicent suppressed a flicker of annoyance at the disarray, while he announced, “Harwin says tonight’s definitely on. They want to do dinner at their place, but we can bring dessert or something!”
Alicent, sitting at the kitchen island with her laptop, felt a thrill course through her veins. So it was decided: a couples’ dinner at the Strongs’ home. Her official first meeting with Rhaenyra.
She schooled her expression into mild acceptance, glancing up with a tilt of her head. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said. Then she wrinkled her nose, as though uncertain. “But is Harwin sure his wife is feeling better? I’d hate to inconvenience them.”
Criston shrugged, rummaging in the fridge for the protein drinks he’d started to stash at her place. Yuck.
“Harwin said they’re used to hosting. Something about they have a big dining room and the kids can stay upstairs.” He cracked open the drink, taking a long gulp. “I said fuck yeah, let’s do it. Unless you have strong objections?”
Alicent tapped her nails on the countertop, measuring out her next line. She wanted to appear cooperative, but also to nudge them into the future she truly desired.
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said lightly.
“Yeah, for sure. Harwin said we could do a double date next time. They’re big on that stuff, apparently.”
A double date? He was getting a little delusional with that one. Alicent gave a disapproving hum, turning back to her laptop. On the screen, she pretended to browse a recipe site. In truth, her mind was on high alert: Rhaenyra’s home. The prospect both excited and unnerved her.
Criston downed half his protein shake in one go, then pointed the bottle at her. “Think you’ll bake something for dessert, maybe?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, I suppose so.”
“You really should.”
“Do not tell me what to do.”
Criston didn’t pick up on the barb. He just shrugged and finished his drink. “Okay, whatever. I’ll text Harwin to confirm.”
She inhaled, shutting her laptop. A faint patter of rain tapped the windows. She’d walk into Rhaenyra’s domain, face her at close range, see how she truly behaved in her own territory.
Alicent wondered how it would feel to see Rhaenyra up close, to notice the details of her skin, her smell, her gestures, her voice. Standing, Alicent paced to the large window overlooking downtown. She felt the pulse in her throat quicken. It couldn’t come soon enough. Already, she was mentally rehearsing possible conversations, planning small ways to impress Rhaenyra. A carefully chosen anecdote, perhaps, or an unexpectedly refined palette for wine. She’d let Rhaenyra see glimpses of her wit, her flair, her unusual but not too creepy brand of curiosity.
Would Rhaenyra be charmed by her? Would Rhaenyra find her pretty? Did that even matter?
It did, she realized.