( nodding, alina's chin tips under the blade-point of alicent's touch. imperial defiance, even as her neck strains under the weight of an invisible crown. not for alicent, no. but those that would see them as movable pawns on a board, two queens stripped of the protection of their knights and rooks. for the way they must want her to feel cornered into their checkmate, weak and vulnerable. easy to own, easier to control. a victory they might have succeeded in, if aleksander had not taught her the hard lesson of how to play a gruesome game.

a harsh swallow bobs her throat, the ragged line of scar tissue at her throat pulling taut. the soreness lingers, but it's a pleasant pain — secondary to the hole in her chest, keeping paul close to the chest, like a burial plot. )

Aemond wants to know who I've slighted. ( the corners of her eyes crinkle, but there's no spark of warmth in her eyes. just something vacuously tired, grimly resigned to the reality they live in. her fingers reach out, cuffing alicent's wrist, a ghostly light touch. ) I think it would be easier to list who I haven't insulted, lately.

( a breath billows out of her, though there's no sign of alina deflating, held taut to attention. rest, so many had said before. you should be resting. as if there's any peace in hiding away under the covers, and pretending the monster in the corner away. as if she can trust them with paul's justice. as if she isn't the voice who speaks for him, when his own can't. )

He views it from a place of pride. ( no insult meant to aemond, but it's what's to be expected of princes, upheld by their titles. nikolai would take it much the same — another point in favor of his vanity. she strokes, idly, over alicent's pulse point. ) But the only men who have ever hunted me were sick with obsession.