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The sun rises on Centennial, Wyoming and Alicent gets to work. Her overalls are loose on her frame—she hasn’t quite gained back the weight she lost since the war rations. If Gwayne were here, he’d probably make a skeleton joke, but she’s been working to feed herself as best she can now that they don’t have to ration anymore. Five years since the war and things still aren’t the same—yet still, the sun rises and Alicent works. January is deadly so Alicent grabs her brother’s jacket and shrugs it over her shoulders, shoving her feet into work boots as her braided hair tucks into her collar to stay out of her way (and out of the way of her rambunctious mare’s teeth). Bucky, her cattle dog, swirls around her feet, anxious to get out with her even though the cattle are all inside for the winter. He still likes to bother them, barking when they step out of line. Not that she has many cattle left—she had to sell or eat most of them during the war and since Gwayne and Criston never came back, it’s been difficult to get her numbers back up. She’s barely making enough to keep the mortgage on the house, which means she can hardly pay anything for help.
Her farmhands hardly last a season since she pays them almost dirt, but it’s almost calving season and Alicent, as capable as she may be, can’t handle much alone. She was never meant to be out here doing any of this anyway. For the first ten years of her life in Centennial, all she did was garden, cook, and go to church on Sundays. Then, Criston shipped off and Gwayne came to town to help her figure out how to handle her own. Then she lost both of them in the blink of an eye. A couple farmhands over the years have helped her get a better grip on what she’s supposed to be doing, but she still feels like she’s stepping in boots too big for her to fill. If she were a smart woman, she’d sell the farm and move on, but she can’t. She’s glued to this place like a ghost—cursed to wander the halls, praying for visitors so she may finally be heard. The wood creaks beneath her feet as she steps onto the porch, overlooking the snowy landscape.
To her left, she gazes at the Snowy Range Mountains. They seem so large, even from this far away. She stands on the porch for a long moment, lighting a cigarette to fight the chill between her ribs. Everything is so quiet when it snows, like someone has swathed her town in a blanket. The crunch of her first footfall into the white powder ricochets against her ears. One after another, she heads off towards the field. Most of the cows when it snows remain tucked in their bedded pack that lines the edge where the barn meets the field. The windbreak keeps them from facing too severe of the weather, but unfortunately, a windbreak can’t keep out snow. Bucky runs out ahead of her, his paws digging into the snow and leaving defined paw prints behind. Alicent’s own footsteps run parallel to the path he sets.
Alicent worries Bucky grows restless with so few cattle, but it’s such a large field, during the summers he’s never bored since the few that remain like to wander. During the winter, though, he runs through the pack barking and yipping at the cows. She walks past the paddock and into the barn where she stores the feed, dumping bales of hay into her wheelbarrow. She drops her cigarette into the snow, watching the smoke rise before the flame gets snuffed out. Her mare, a chestnut Percheron named Meadow, nips at her as she walks by. Alicent just chuckles, running a hand down her nose affectionately as she prepares the feed. She hates the winter because the cows have to eat twice as much, but Alicent isn’t making any more money. Calving season will hit in about a month if she’s lucky and a month after that, she’ll start taking her oldest cows to the beef market. Meadow’s the only draft horse Alicent kept after Gwayne and Criston died, since her cattle drives were cut in half and then quarters. No use having three horses and a dog when she can barely get a dozen cows out to Torrington every spring. The barn feels so empty with just Meadow and Gwayne’s old riding horse, but at least it’s less stalls to muck.
She can feel sweat building on her neck despite the snow, the price she pays for lifting hay by herself. It used to be even more difficult, but over the years, she’s managed to build up muscle in her arms and it’s gotten easier. All of it’s gotten easier, even if she wished it didn’t. Taking the wheelbarrow, she shoves open the doors that lead into the pack, greeted by the sight of her couple dozen cows lying on the ground. Raising Angus cows during the war was a small godsend since the army paid handsomely for meat, but after Germany surrendered, the army never paid to replenish her stock and that money ran out quick. The cows greet her with quiet regard as she dumps and separates the hay, feeling the chill creep up her spine. Not much snow gets in here since the windbreak keeps anything from blowing in, but the cold is unbeatable. Nothing stops it from seeping through a place like this. A cloud forms in the air with every breath of hers, huffing slightly as Bucky brushes alongside her legs.
She brings a hand down to ruffle between his ears, whispering a quiet, “Good boy.”
Alicent checks the water supply before yanking the hose out, praying it didn’t freeze in the night. Thankfully, after a bit of hesitation, water pours out of the spout and Alicent fills up their supply. One of the cattle comes over to lick up the water as it pours and Alicent chuckles softly, rubbing its head as it drinks. Most her heifers are nearing the end of their gestation right now and she should get a vet out here as soon as possible to make sure there aren’t any complications. She’s got to go into town anyway, so she may as well chat with Orwyle while she’s there.
With the cows taken care of, Alicent heads back into the barn, dropping some feed into Meadow’s trough before heading over to the stall with Gwayne’s old horse—Rocker. He’s getting up there in years, but since he doesn’t ride as much anymore, his joints aren’t as bad as they would be for a typical riding horse his age. Alicent knows he’s kind of dead weight, especially if he’s not being ridden, but she can’t bring herself to get rid of him. After all, Gwayne didn’t leave much else for her. And all she has from Criston is this damn farm.
Bucky beats her back to the house, sitting on the porch as he awaits his owner’s arrival. Alicent’s boots thunk against the porch as she rubs her hands together through her gloves, trying to come up with some warmth. She opens the front door, Bucky running inside while she follows. Still reeling from the cold, she doesn’t take off the jacket quite yet as she heads towards the kitchen where her pot of coffee has finished brewing. Alicent pulls a mug down from the cabinet and pours herself a cup. On the old kitchen table—it used to be white but most of the paint has chipped away over the years—sits her help wanted poster. She only needs one farmhand for calving season, but even that’ll stretch her dollars more than she’d like. And that’s if she can find anyone in the first place. She sips her coffee, letting it burn her tongue because at least the pain means warmth.
Finally, Alicent shrugs off her jacket, turning on the old, creaking hunk of metal she calls a stove and grabs a pan. A small pad of butter begins to sizzle as Alicent watches it swirl around, cracking an egg on top of it and scrambling it quickly before it starts to cook properly. She’s starting to get sick of eggs, but it’s all she’s got recently. Maybe if she has a good month, she can go and pick up some flour, make some pancakes for herself. But there’s little use in making some grand breakfast when she’s the only one eating it. When the eggs are done, she dumps them onto a plate, stealing a small piece and tossing it off to the dog.
Breakfast is always a quiet affair—she doesn’t get the paper this far on the edge of town, so she just shovels eggs into her mouth and drinks her coffee in silence while Bucky pants at her feet, quietly begging for more eggs even though he knows damn well he already ate this morning. Her plate goes in the sink and Alicent tugs her sleeves off, washing it quickly before placing it on the drying rack. Outside the kitchen window, she watches the field. It’s empty save for the snow. If she squints, it looks like it goes on forever, all the way until the base of the snow-covered mountains. The farmhouse stands alone against oblivion.
She tugs her sleeves back down grabs her jacket once more, this time letting her long, thick braid hang loose as she grabs the keys off the rack by the door—(She neglects to call them her own keys because the truck is Criston’s, even after these years it still reeks of him). Heading outside, she opens the back of the truck, sweeping out the snow with the brush she keeps in the cab. She knows by tomorrow, it’ll just be replaced by more, but she’d hate to let water pool in the meantime. Bucky hops in the passenger seat as she settles behind the wheel, the old Chevy roaring to life. The truck is old, mid-30s and it sounds like it. Criston always said he’d buy a new one after the war. Then, he didn’t come home and now Alicent is stuck with this hunk of shit.
The poster crinkles beneath Bucky’s weight in the passenger seat, but Alicent doesn’t mind so long as he doesn’t tear it. She takes off down the long drive, feeling the truck bounce and shake against the snowy drive. She used to shovel the drive when it snows, but since she goes into town so rarely, she stopped seeing the point. Sometimes, if she gets bored (which she often does), she’ll shovel it anyway just to give herself something to do.
The drive to town always feels longer in the winter, though in reality it can’t be longer than thirty minutes. About ten minutes in, she gets radio signal again and the news starts to pour through. Alicent switches it over to music and That Lucky Old Sun fills the car. She’s never been a huge fan of Frankie Laine’s voice, but it’ll have to do.
Centennial is a quiet town that at times, feels like it never left its old frontier roots. This early, it’s a ghost town, but Alicent doesn’t mind. She likes it that way. Someone at least has come out to clear the roads and she appreciates the smoother drive as she rolls into town, feeling her control on the steering will increase. Alicent’s first stop is the general store, run by an old, raggedy man named Kent who lost his wife a handful of years ago and has been worse off for it. He’s swathed by his beard and he operates with a shotgun by his side, but he’s kind enough to Alicent.
The bell rings as she opens the door and he greets her quietly, not looking up from the paper. The Green River Star is the only one they get out here, though since the war, the paper’s been nothing too pressing for Alicent to care much about it. Not much happens out here anyway. She pins her poster on the corkboard by the register and bids goodbye to Kent.
Her next stop is close so she just hoofs it, despite the chill wrapping around her bones. Bucky follows alongside her, never leaving her side. She wishes she remembered a hat because she can feel the tips of her ears turning red, but it’s not a morning for regrets. The vet office opens at seven and Alicent wasn’t sure she made it, but when she tugs on the handle it gives.
The receptionist smiles at Alicent when she enters, asking, “That time of year already?”
Alicent nods softly. “Just about. He in the back?”
She nods and Alicent pushes past her into the back area where Orwyle is milling about with paperwork in his hands. He greets her warmly with a smile, “Alicent, what a pleasure to see you. How are your heifers doing?”
“Seems good, but you know more than I do,” Alicent grumbles with a shrug, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I’m expecting my first few in about a month if you don’t mind when you have a free afternoon and it’s not too chilly.”
Orwyle is quick to nod, turning around to look at the appointment calendar on the wall. Most of it looks like unintelligible scrawl to Alicent, but he seems to make sense of it well enough. “I can be out there by the end of this week. You’ve got a farmhand for calving season yet?”
“No, but my poster’s up so here’s to hoping. I’ll call if I need you, though, for it,” Alicent brushes him off. She’s sure someone will come through, but if no one does, Orwyle just comes up and helps her out a bit. It’s nice to have hands close by, though, instead of a thirty minute drive.
“And how’s Bucky doing?” Orwyle asks, leaning down to pet the dog who is now determined to sniff every last corner of this office. “My best boy, you taking care of your mother?”
Alicent snorts at this, “He does his job, even if all the cattle do these days is eat and sleep. Too cold for wandering.”
“Well, he’s wrangling more than just cattle,” Orwyle comments, eyes flicking up to Alicent. “If I hear of any farmhands looking for work passing through, I’ll send them over to you. You should come to town more, you’re becoming a ghost story,”
This earns a scoff from Alicent, muttering, “Well, every ghost story’s got a hint of truth in it. I’ll see you by week’s end.”
She pushes out of the office with Bucky close behind, the dog trotting alongside her as she heads back to the truck. As Alicent approaches the truck still parked outside the general store, she sees a figure she doesn’t recognize heading inside. At first, she thinks it’s a man since their hair is short, cropped to the nape though clearly it’s been a bit since it was last cut, but a brief turn reveals a woman’s face beneath the cowboy hat and man’s jacket. A stranger in town is always fodder for interest and Alicent won’t pretend her gaze doesn’t linger, but she tears her eyes away quickly, opening the door for Bucky to hop into the truck.
Alicent heads back to the farm, this time with the radio off. A ghost story, Orwyle calls her. Five years ago, Alicent would have laughed. Now, she just finds it truer than she would like.
A day later, Alicent gets up to feed the cattle the same as yesterday. Though, this time, as she returns from the barn with beads of sweat on her lip, Bucky barks, eyes glued to the drive. Alicent pauses, squinting as a rickety red truck pulls up the driveway, leaving fresh tracks in the snow that covered Alicent’s tracks from yesterday. She reaches into her pocket, lighting a cigarette as she watches the truck approach. It’s newer than Criston’s but still older. No one’s got money for a 1950 Chevy these days, everyone’s running on rust.
Alicent isn’t sure how she knew—but when the truck reaches the end of the drive, facing the quaint, decrepit farm house, out steps the stranger. The woman cowboy. She’s pretty up close—pretty the way boys are. Her features are strong, her nose a bit crooked like it’s been broken before, a jawline sharp enough to cut should Alicent run a finger along it. Alicent just meets her eyes, cocking her head towards the door of the farmhouse before stepping inside.
The stranger follows her in as Alicent shrugs off her jacket and heads to the kitchen. She follows suit, hanging her jacket beside Alicent’s along with her hat before she’s standing in the doorway, wringing her hands together.
“I heard you was looking for help?” the woman asks, her voice a smooth velvet that drips like honey. Despite the snow, her voice feels warm as it echoes against the barren walls of the kitchen. The pot of coffee is done and for the first time in over a season, Alicent pulls two mugs down from the cupboard. She places both of them down on the kitchen table, taking a seat. The woman hesitates at first before eventually settling down and wrapping her hands around the warm mug.
“I can’t pay you much, but it’s free room and board,” Alicent explains, drumming her fingers against the table. “It’s calving in a month, I’ve only got a couple dozen or so cattle, but most of them are due around the same time. Then, in March, I’ll need you for the drive to Torrington, should have about six or seven headed up there this season. It’s not much, but it’ll be honest work and a roof over your head.”
The woman nods. “Sounds like a dream.”
Alicent scoffs, “Wait until you see your check.”
“Just you up here?” the woman asks in lieu of responding to Alicent’s statement. Alicent nods, taking a sip of her coffee. “How’s a woman end up with all this land?”
“War left a lot of women like me alone.”
“Most would probably sell it, get something in town.”
“I’m not most people.”
The woman eyes Alicent curiously, tracing her form with her gaze as if trying to crack her. Alicent shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra Targaryen.”
She reaches her hand across the table for a shake and for a moment, Alicent just looks at it. She’s never had a female farmhand, but if she can do it, then there’s no reason this Rhaenyra can’t. Eventually, Alicent reaches across the table and grabs her hand. “Alicent…” she hesitates. “Hightower.”
Rhaenyra’s hand is warm against hers, her hands rough with callouses that match Alicent’s own. The hand of a woman who has worked in her life. Years ago, Alicent’s hands used to be smooth, never doing much more than tugging weeds. Funny how much can change so quickly. Rhaenyra’s hand is layered with callouses, though, Alicent can feel the ridged skin against her palm. This is a woman who’s been working for decades.
Alicent pulls her hand away quickly, standing up from the table and heading for the entryway where another set of keys hangs. Rhaenyra follows her, looking out of place in the small, cramped house. Alicent tosses the keys and she catches them with ease. “House is over by the barn, it’s a piece of shit, but the heat works and it’s clean. Cows eat at dawn, Bucky’ll want to come out with you just to bark at ‘em, so feel free to open the back door over here and let him out. House should have everything you need, but I got fresh coffee here every morning if you can’t be bothered to make your own. Any questions?”
Rhaenyra is just watching her, something Alicent can’t formulate in her eyes. Despite the fact that the heat is very much working in the house, Alicent feels a chill run down her spine. After a while, she asks, “Hey, do you ever shovel the drive? That thing sure was gnarly gettin’ up here. Almost missed the turn because it looked abandoned.”
“Nowhere for me to go,” Alicent shrugs. “Make yourself at home.”
With that, she disappears up the stairs, leaving Rhaenyra to settle in.
A week passes and the heat goes out in the farmhouse. Alicent wakes up shivering as Bucky licks her face. She bats him away softly, climbing out of bed and reaching to pull pants on over her long johns, scrambling for an old yellow sweater that’s seen better days and pulling it over her head. She stumbles down the stairs with Bucky beside her, white knuckles gripping the freezing wood of the railing, grabbing her tools and heading for the radiator in a vain attempt to figure out why it’s not working. The house is kind of falling apart, but Alicent can’t afford to repair most of it, meaning the heat goes out just about every winter no matter what she does.
Alicent bangs around it for a moment before resigning herself to freeze to death. She gets up and starts the pot of coffee. She accidentally slept in today, the sun already higher than she would like, though it brings little warmth with it. As the coffee brews, she grabs Gwayne’s jacket and tugs it over her shoulders, starting a flame on the stove to light her cigarette before using it to warm her hands. Out the window, she sees Rhaenyra crossing the field towards the house.
Breakfast is still quiet, only this time, Alicent pours two mugs of coffee. It’s become routine in a short amount of time to expect Rhaenyra in the morning, though half the time Alicent is out there with her if only to visit the horses. It’s nice having someone else around—Alicent always likes having company alongside the help.
The kitchen door opens and Rhaenyra curses immediately, “Christ it’s colder in here than it is out there and it’s damn freezing out there.”
Alicent just stares at her, smoke billowing from her lips as she pushes a mug towards her. Around her cigarette she mutters, “Radiator’s out.”
Rhaenyra grabs the coffee and takes a scalding sip before stalking towards Alicent. Their shoulders brush as Rhaenyra rubs her hands together above the flame, teeth chattering as the cold seeps into their bones. After she seems satisfied enough, she grunts out, “Alright, let me take a look at it.”
She gets started on breakfast while Rhaenyra works, though she’s sure the point is moot. The radiator is shit and it’s probably about time she heads into town to get new parts for it anyway. It’ll just be cold for a couple nights until she does, but Alicent has bore worse. She sighs, watching the eggs sizzle and scramble in the pan. Surprisingly, though, by the time she’s scraping the eggs onto two separate plates, she hears the heat clicking on.
Rhaenyra re-enters the kitchen, a satisfied grin on her face as she takes the plate from Alicent and settles down at the kitchen table.
“How did you—” Alicent asks, waving in the general direction of the radiator.
“I’m determined when it’s that fucking cold,” is Rhaenyra’s only answer as she digs into breakfast. Alicent sits across from her, Bucky settling at her feet curled in a ball. Outside, snow starts to fall again and Alicent groans as clouds overtake the sky. “Should have calves in a couple of weeks. Orwyle came yesterday and checked everyone out, everything’s looking peachy, he says. Looks like we’ll gain more than we lose, which’ll be nice for next year since there’ll be bigger numbers. Have you thought about taking on more since the war’s over?”
Alicent shakes her head. “I don’t turn enough profit to keep regular help and it’s already too much for just me.”
“Whose farm was this before it was yours?” Rhaenyra asks.
Alicent knows exactly what she’s trying to figure out, so she gives her a quick answer. “My husband’s. When his number got called, my brother came down to help out. Then, the unlucky lottery got him, too and the war ended and they never came back. Since then, it’s just been me.”
“That’s a long time to be alone,” Rhaenyra comments softly, leaning back and crossing her arms as she looks at Alicent. This is the most they’ve spoken since that first day they met, but Alicent finds herself strangely endeared to the conversation. It’s been too long since someone tried to get to know Alicent, it almost feels foreign. “Don’t you ever get scared out here?”
She shrugs, leaning with her elbows on the table and her chin resting on clasped hands. “I know my way around a shotgun and a rifle, only thing I gotta worry about’s the wolves, but they like sheep more than they like cows so I don’t really even have to worry about them too often. It’s… quiet out here. It’s nice.”
She’s only partially lying. The majority of the time, she enjoys the solitude. It’s only in the darkest months with the shortest days where sometimes, in the middle of the night, she’ll yearn for a warmer bed. She hasn’t been with anyone since Criston and even when they were together, it never really felt like they were together. But she’d rather be alone together than have him dead on foreign soil, yet here she is. Alone.
When Rhaenyra doesn’t respond, Alicent shifts. “How’d you end up here anyway? No one winds up in Centennial on purpose.”
“Looking for work, kinda just keep heading north until I find it,” Rhaenyra answers with a shrug, her gaze landing on the snowfall outside the window. “I used to work on my father’s farm, never had any brothers or nothing to help him, so all he got was me. Then, he died and I needed money and something to do with my hands so… Wyoming.”
“Sorry about your father.”
“Sorry about your husband,” Rhaenyra retorts, “And brother. Christ.”
Alicent sighs wearily, feeling the comfortingly familiar weight of grief and loneliness pressing down on her shoulders. “It is what it is. We keep going, do we not?”
“We do,” Rhaenyra affirms.
Alicent just hums, standing up from the table and grabbing the dishes. The instincts of a good housewife have never left her. Standing at the sink, she stares out at the snow, following the path of angry wind toss it every which way. “That’s turning into a bit of a storm if you’d like to hang out here for a bit. You should enjoy the fruits of your labor anyway, now that the heat’s up and running.”
She isn’t sure why she offers—the storm is getting bad, yes, but no so bad that Rhaenyra couldn’t make the short trek across the field. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of having someone else in the house with her. Alicent isn’t sure. She walks into the living room, tossing wood into the fireplace and lighting it with a sigh. Her book rests on the coffee table—an old and battered translation of The Plague by Albert Camus. She finds it funny—Camus wrote of an epidemic sweeping across Oran in the 1940s. War is an epidemic of sorts, Alicent thinks sometimes. Needless death and decay, bodies rotting in the streets. It’s all the same, all the same. When Alicent closes her eyes at night, she imagines her brother among them. She shakes the images from her mind now.
Rhaenyra wanders around the house—Alicent can’t blame her, after all, all she’s really seen is the kitchen. She continues with her novel with only the quaint noise of the crackling fire and Bucky curled at her feet. The wind whistles outside the window and every time Alicent looks up, she sees nothing but white. She fears slightly for the cows, but the windbreak should hold and the pack will keep them dry.
She hears Rhaenyra go upstairs and for a moment, she pauses, wondering if she remembered to close her bedroom door. Not like there’s much to hide in there, but something about it still feels intimate. She’s already surprised she’s let Rhaenyra encroach on her space this much, but something about her is just… warm. And Alicent has been cold for far too long.
After a while, Rhaenyra comes back downstairs, announcing. “Faucet was leaking. Fixed it.”
Alicent doesn’t look up from her book. “Can you stop fixing my house, please? I like it nice and broken.”
Rhaenyra scoffs, settling down on the old armchair that rests beside the couch. Bucky hops down and sniffs at Rhaenyra’s feet, jumping up and pawing at her jean-covered thighs until she pats her laps and Bucky deems himself allowed to jump on her lap. Alicent smiles slightly as she turns the page.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a housewife read Camus.”
“Well, I’m not doing much reading if you’re talking to me,” she retorts, looking up to meet Rhaenyra’s eyes. “And I haven’t been a housewife in years. I read now. See?”
She motions to the bookshelves that line the walls of the living room. Rhaenyra gets up, much to Bucky’s chagrin, eyeing Alicent’s collection. Her fingers run along the spine until she eventually asks, “A bible? I didn’t peg you for the type.”
Alicent shrugs. “Last time I step foot in a church was Gwayne’s funeral. I found it profoundly hard to believe a God would allow such brutality under his watch. And if He did, then it did not deserve to be a God of mine. That bible was my father’s, though, I cannot part with it.”
“Gwayne was…?”
“Brother,” Alicent answers the unfinished question, tucking her marker into her book before setting it back down on the table. “My husband was named Criston.”
Alicent tugs her legs into herself, wrapping her arms around her knees as she watches Rhaenyra. The woman pulls away from the bookshelf and settles on the opposite end of the couch, propping her feet up on the table. “What was he like?”
“Criston?” Alicent asks and she nods. “He was… a complicated man. I think he felt bad that I grew up wealthy just to marry him and be poor. That was a guilt he carried with him no matter what I said. I married him because I thought I liked him, but things… things weren’t the same once it was just us out here. He was never cruel, not in any meaningful way, just… cold. I think this place brings a certain loneliness out of people. I don’t know. It was nicer when he was gone and Gwayne was here—I know that’s terrible to say, but it’s not like I didn’t worry for him. I was a perfect distraught housewife, but having my brother here made it feel a bit more like home. With him gone, I just feel like I’ve been aimless. Orwyle calls me a ghost.”
“You are disturbingly pale,” Rhaenyra comments with a teasing grin and Alicent rolls her eyes. “I think that’s the most words I’ve ever heard from you in one go. If being here is so miserable, why don’t you leave?”
Alicent sighs, watching the snow out the window. It’s nothing more than a flurry of white, but she watches it anyway. “Where else would I go? If I don’t have the cattle, then I have nothing. There’s nothing for me to do out there. This is all I know. It’s either work the farm or be married again and I don’t want to do it again, I didn’t like it much the first time. It’s like… asking you why you wander. You know it. You don’t have anything else to do.”
“And now we’ve both ended up here,” Rhaenyra nods slowly, eyes drifting away from Alicent. “I think it’s clearing up, I should probably head back.”
It still looks as bad as it was before, but Alicent lets her leave anyway. As she picks her book back up, she finds, weirdly, that she misses her.
They welcome sixteen calves over the course of the month. The seventeenth, though, something goes wrong. It’s the middle of the night, fresh after a blizzard, and Alicent holds a flashlight between her teeth as she and Rhaenyra struggle to extricate the calf. Alicent can feel it in her gut that something is wrong. Finally, after one final tug, the calf falls to the ground.
“Shit,” Rhaenyra curses, holding out a clean hand for the flashlight. Alicent wipes off her hands and hands it over, watching the beam of light shine over the calf. It’s not stillborn, but it won’t live long. Its head is malformed, split into two soft faces. It won’t live more than a week and that’s if it makes it through the night. Alicent had this happen once—ten years ago. Criston had grabbed his shotgun from the house and put it out of its misery right then and there. Alicent had grimaced as guts splashed onto her dress.
“We should kill it now,” Alicent remarks, watching the mother begin to lick her calf clean. Her heart swells at the sight. She can’t help it even though she knows this calf will die and the mother will drive to market one day. “It’s just going to die anyway.”
Rhaenyra looks at the calf and then looks at her. “He’s kinda cute.”
Alicent scoffs, pushing Rhaenyra’s shoulder slightly. Rhaenyra pushes her back before slinging her arm around Alicent’s shoulders and tugging her close. “He’s going to die.”
“No reason for us to speed it up,” is Rhaenyra’s response to this. Her body is warm against Alicent’s—an unfamiliar feeling for her. She basks in her warmth despite the cold air from outside seeping into her clothes. “Let’s just see if he makes the night, okay?”
Alicent kneels down in the hay, watching the calf as he takes his first breaths. He is kind of cute in an odd sort of way. He’s brown all the way through, like most Angus cows, but there’s a little white spot where the forehead splits. Alicent brushes her thumb against it, even though it’s still soaked. She’ll have to shower anyway—calving is never a clean process.
“Freak of nature,” she whispers, acutely aware of Rhaenyra watching her. “I hope you get to watch the sun rise.”
With that, she stands and meets Rhaenyra’s gaze. “I think that’s the only one for the night, there’s only a couple more heifers expecting, we’re almost out of it.”
“Yeah,” is all Rhaenyra says, sounding breathless as she looks at Alicent. A charged moment passes between the two of them and Alicent swears in the dim light of the flashlight, Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker down to her lips. After a moment, though, she clears her throat and takes a step back. “I should probably be getting back to bed.”
“Me too,” Alicent breathes out, still caught up in the way Rhaenyra was looking at her. Their eyes remain locked on each other and neither of them move. Alicent feels as if her feet are glued to the ground. Beneath her, the two-headed-calf nestles against his mother. The rustling in the leaves and hay bring her back to attention. “Right. Goodnight, then.”
“Night, Alicent,” is all Rhaenyra offers, running a rough hand through her hair before taking off towards the house at a quicker pace than usual. Alicent bristles, uncomfortable with the feeling stirring within her. She glances at the calf once more before heading back up to her own home.
The two-headed-calf lasts three days. Alicent wipes a faint tear as Rhaenyra grips her upper arm tightly, a similarly distraught expression on her face. Through the kitchen window, she watches Rhaenyra spend all afternoon digging, trying to break through frozen ground. It’s almost dinnertime by the time Rhaenyra is gently dropping the calf, wrapped in cloth, into the grave. She watches Rhaenyra sit by it for a moment, running a hand over her face. Alicent looks away before she can toss the dirt back in.
The snow relents a bit by March, and they start the drive. To Torrington, it’ll be about an eight day drive. Since they’re taking so few to market, they can get away with a bit more distance in one day than a larger herd would. If Alicent were still wealthy, she would invest in a cattle truck, but until the numbers start adding up, she and Rhaenyra pack bedrolls and supplies onto their horses and prepare for the journey.
Most of the trip passes without incident—these days Alicent takes back trails since the roadways have become more and more infested with cars and she can’t afford to lose a marketable cow. It doesn’t snow until about six days in and they find what cover they can, but it’s still freezing. They keep the fire burning all night.
Alicent isn’t sure what time it is when she hears the flap of her tent get brushed aside. Rhaenyra seems to be hesitating, so Alicent grumbles out, “Quit letting the cold air in. If you’re freezing, just get in here.”
Rhaenyra mutters something to herself before stepping in and tying up the flaps behind her. She sets her own bedroll up next to Alicent, the tent barely big enough for two people, meaning that when she lies down, she’s almost entirely pressed up against Alicent. Alicent is just grateful to feel any warmth at all when her teeth are chattering. It’s late in the season for snow and Alicent dreads to think about how it’ll affect the cattle. Still, right now, Rhaenyra’s front is warm against her back and that’s all she can focus on. Outside, their horses bristle at the cold. Rhaenyra is riding Gwayne’s old horse, even though he’s not as prone to cattle driving as Alicent’s is, he gets the job done well enough.
Craving more of her warmth, Alicent pushes back against Rhaenyra, breathing in the smell of her cologne. In her ear, Rhaenyra whispers, “I’m gonna buy a scratch ticket just so I can buy you a fuckin’ cattle truck.”
“Why don’t you just go find a farmer that can afford a damn cattle truck?” Alicent retorts, annoyance and exhaustion lacing her voice, though she bites back a chuckle.
Rhaenyra is so close, her face almost rests in the crook of Alicent’s neck. Something in her seems tense, like she’s hesitating. Alicent can feel the brush of her knuckles against her back so she sighs and reaches behind her for Rhaenyra’s arm and tugs it around her waist. “It’s too damn freezing for you to be shy on me now.”
“I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable, since—” Rhaenyra starts and then pauses, something choking her up.
“I know,” Alicent whispers, relishing in the shared warmth. She clocked Rhaenyra for a queer the first time she saw her at the general store, but she didn’t linger on it for more than a second. When Rhaenyra turned up on her doorstep, she didn’t give a damn what she was, she just needed help and she wasn’t going to turn away a working pair of hands.
“Okay,” is all Rhaenyra says in response. Neither of them seem to feel the need to say anything more.
Alicent isn’t sure how many nights pass where she dreams of Rhaenyra’s arm around her waist, her breath fanning across her neck. How easy it would have been for Rhaenyra to turn and press a kiss to the supple flesh of Alicent’s neck and the line of her jaw. In her dreams, Alicent never dares admit this to anyone else, Rhaenyra kisses her.
With calving and the drive done, there’s not much more for Rhaenyra to do. As spring creeps over the horizon, Alicent knows she should turn her loose so she can find better work for the summer on a proper farm that needs cowboys and farmhands, but she’s feeling selfish, lately. For the first time in five years, she doesn’t feel completely alone. It’s nicer than she thought it would be.
The beginning of April is unseasonably warm so Alicent busts out one of her nice dresses once the farm work is done—it’s an older style, since the last thing she’s wanted to spend her money on is a damn new dress, but it’s navy blue with a sweetheart neckline and a center front bow. It goes down just below her knees with a slight flare and a keyhole in the back that leaves a classy amount of flesh exposed. Alicent likes when it’s warm, when the sun that beats through the window actually brings warmth alongside its golden rays.
Rhaenyra comes in through the kitchen door, boots tracking in the telltale mud of spring as she hangs her hat by the door. She looks like she’s about to start rambling about something until she catches sight of Alicent and pauses completely. “You got a date or something?”
Alicent laughs, shaking her head as she finishes up with the dishes. Earlier in the week, Rhaenyra had driven into town and picked up some flour—the two of them had made pancakes that morning. “It’s warm, I thought I’d give the overalls a rest. Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”
Rhaenyra chuckles nervously, “You just look good is all. Thought you might be trying to impress someone.”
“Only you,” Alicent answers with a shrug, crossing her arms as she faces Rhaenyra while leaning back against the counter. “We can’t all dress like boys all the time, one of us ought to be a lady every once in a while.”
“A lady,” Rhaenyra gasps, leaping to wrap her arms around Alicent’s waist and run her fingers along her sides in an attempt to tickle her—an attempt that succeeds in eliciting an embarrassing amount of laughter from Alicent. Rhaenyra stops as Alicent swats her hands away, but instead of pulling away entirely, her arms just rest around Alicent’s waist. Both of them are out of breath as Alicent looks up at Rhaenyra with wide eyes. “You make a very fine lady indeed, Alicent.”
“Don’t do that,” Alicent whispers, her eyes searching Rhaenyra’s before dropping down to her lips. She should pull away from her grasp, but she doesn’t dare move. “Don’t flirt with me like I’m one of your girls.”
Rhaenyra shrugs, “Aren’t you?”
This time, Alicent does pull away, turning away from the woman entirely. Rhaenyra recants immediately, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Alicent sucks in a deep breath before turning around to face Rhaenyra, stepping forward until she’s crowding Rhaenyra up against the counter. Their lips are so closed they almost brush—a physical manifestation of everything Alicent has thought about since that night they shared a tent on the cattle drive. It hadn’t snowed after that and it hadn’t gotten cold enough to warrant sharing again, though Alicent yearned to ask. She yearned to steal a bit of Rhaenyra’s warmth every single night, even long after they returned home. Home. Alicent hadn’t thought of it as home in years. Not until she had Rhaenyra.
“Alicent, what are you doing?” Rhaenyra whispers, watching Alicent’s every move. Alicent braces one hand against her chest.
“You want it, too, right? I can’t be the only one,” Alicent whispers, desperation lacing her voice. Her eyes slip closed as Rhaenyra remains taut beneath her. “You know exactly what you’re doing, too. You come up my drive in that rickety old truck with that crooked grin looking for work. You fix my radiator and my leaky faucet and you make pancakes and you tell me to let the calf live—”
“The calf,” she repeats, one hand finally moving to slide around Alicent’s waist. Alicent can practically hear the smile in her voice. “That was the first night I thought I might actually kiss you.”
“I wish you did,” Alicent breathes in her ear, so close they could almost touch. She opens her eyes and pulls her face back from Rhaenyra’s, searching her expression. She pounds her fists against Rhaenyra’s chest with no real malice to them. “I wish you did so I didn’t have to spend the last two months wondering what it might be like. You’ve ruined me, Rhaenyra.”
Rhaenyra’s eyes flick to hers, eyeing her carefully like any wrong move will send Alicent running. Alicent isn’t quite sure she won’t run. Bucky comes in through the back door and circles around their feet, herding them together. Rhaenyra’s hands on her waist feel like home, Alicent isn’t sure she could pull herself away if she tried.
“Alicent,” Rhaenyra breathes against her lips, their faces so close that a simple stumble could bring them together. Alicent chuckles as Bucky’s nose bumps against her leg, trying to push them together. Rhaenyra looks down with a small laugh, “He’s herding us.”
“He’s good at his job,” Alicent whispers, eyes shifting away from the dog and back onto Rhaenyra. This close, Alicent can see a spattering of freckles across her nose, a mark of working in the sun most of her life. Sun-kissed, Alicent thinks, even in the wintertime. She lets her nose brush against Rhaenyra’s, the small bump of flesh against flesh sending a thrill through her veins. Her cheeks flush red, blushing at the closeness.
Alicent sucks in a bated breath, finally closing the gap between them. The first tentative brush of Alicent’s lips against Rhaenyra’s is gentle, fearful as if Rhaenyra is afraid to kiss her back. It only takes the breath of a moment, though, before Rhaenyra’s hand finds her cheek and presses forward, kissing her with all the months of want and desperation that have been pent up all this time. Alicent gasps into it, feeling herself come alive for the first time in a very, very long time.
Rhaenyra’s grip on her waist is unyielding as she kisses Alicent with immeasurable passion. The kiss deepens as Alicent pushes herself further against Rhaenyra, feeling the press of the button of her jeans against her waist, the line of every crease of her shirt, Alicent needs more. She needs more of Rhaenyra as soon as possible. Her hands tug Rhaenyra’s button-ed up shirt out of her jeans, creeping up beneath the fabric to run her palms against her toned stomach. Alicent gasps at the feeling and Rhaenyra uses it as an opportunity for the kiss to deepen further, her tongue dipping past Alicent’s lips. Alicent moans into the kiss, pleasure and desire thrumming through her veins. Her hands continue to roam beneath Rhaenyra’s undershirt, climbing up the sides of her torso as she relishes in the warmth of her skin.
“Careful,” Rhaenyra chuckles against Alicent’s lips, “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”
Alicent pulls away, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows and asking, “You think I’m not grown enough to know when I want something?”
Rhaenyra laughs, an affectionate look in her eyes. “No, I didn’t say that. I’ve just… there’s been women that get a little taste and think they want more, but then they freak themselves out and take it out on me. It’s easy when I look the way I do, act the way I do. They can assign some sort of freak label on me since I already look the part.”
Her expression shifts into one of sympathy as she looks at Rhaenyra, reaching up and running a hand through her hair. “I’d never call you such a thing. If wanting you the way I do makes me a freak, then that’s what I am. I don’t care anymore, I haven’t cared much what other people thought about me in a long damn time.”
She can barely get the last words out before Rhaenyra surges forward to kiss her again, pushing back against her until the small of Alicent’s back presses against the kitchen table. She brings one hand back to press flat against the table, practically sitting on the rickety old thing as Rhaenyra’s hands grip her skirt—not quite lifting it, but Alicent can feel the intention in her bones. Desire like she’s never known in her life flows through her veins—so unlike the droll obligation she felt towards her husband in their years together. Rhaenyra grips her thigh and brings it up the side of her waist, her skirt falling back slightly with the movement.
She pants into Rhaenyra’s mouth, one hand carefully pressed against her chest as she uses her other hand to hike her skirt up. She had forgone stockings since being alone on the farm has caused her to lose her sense of propriety, but right now she’s nothing short of grateful as Rhaenyra’s strong, calloused hands brush against her bare thigh, sending electrified pulses through her skin.
“Alicent—” Rhaenyra breathes out, a silent question laced in her hesitant touch. Rhaenyra’s fingers are featherlight against her thighs as if scared the woman is going to run away at any moment. Little does she know Alicent wouldn’t dream of such a thing. She thinks she was always meant to end up right here, wrapped around Rhaenyra like a vine, intertwined, sewn together, impossible to distinguish from one another.
“Touch me, please,” Alicent begs, desperation lacing her tone. “I’ve waited long enough, don’t tease me anymore, I beg.”
Rhaenyra brings her lips to Alicent’s jaw, her touch climbing higher and higher on Alicent’s thighs as she whispers in her ear, “How long have you thought about this?”
“Consciously?” Alicent asks with a breathy laugh, her fingers twisting Rhaenyra’s button-up. “Since the cattle drive. But I think I fell straight damn in love with you after that calf was born—my husband shoots those things without a second thought, but not you, never you.”
“I’m not your husband,” Rhaenyra whispers, her lips finding Alicent’s neck. Alicent’s eyes slip closed, basking in the pleasure of it.
“And thank God for that,” Alicent groans, bucking her hips further up against Rhaenyra. “Please, Rhaenyra, I’m damn sick of waiting.”
Rhaenyra grips her thighs tightly, fingers inching up towards the pulsating desire between her legs. Her lips continue tracing a trail down Alicent’s neck, dipping down to her chest and pressing against the neckline of her dress. “God, this fucking dress, Alicent.”
“I should’ve known you’d only like me in my little housewife attire,” Alicent chuckles, though her voice lacks any real heat.
Rhaenyra just shakes her head, “I wanted to take you in the overalls too, this is just a bit easier access for me.”
They share a comfortable chuckle as Alicent grips the back of Rhaenyra’s neck, just about fully sitting on the kitchen table. It’s a miracle it hasn’t broken beneath her yet, but Rhaenyra reinforced the legs on it about a month ago—she seemed to make a habit of fixing up this shitty house of hers, something Alicent finds endlessly endearing. Rhaenyra hikes her skirt up to her hips and tugs her underwear down to the floor. Alicent kicks them off without much thought, just desperate for Rhaenyra to touch her.
Rhaenyra steps between her legs and brings Alicent closer by her thighs until their hips are almost flush with one another. Her mouth continues leaving soft red marks along her neck as her hand finally lines the crease of her thigh, dipping into her dripping folds in an exploratory motion. Alicent throws her head back, Rhaenyra’s other hand holding her up by the back of her head as she devours the flesh of her neck. Rhaenyra’s fingers find her clit, teasing the bundle of nerves in a way Alicent has never known before. She never knew something could feel this good—that sex could exist without purpose, that it could be about her.
“I’m not gonna break,” Alicent mutters, her voice laced with wanton neediness. She doesn't care about begging or sounding desperate—there’s no use lying when Rhaenyra can certainly feel how badly Alicent wants her. “Just fuck me, please, Rhaenyra.”
“Never knew you had such a mouth on you,” Rhaenyra mutters against her flesh and Alicent can feel the way her smile brushes against her skin. Despite her teasing, she listens to Alicent’s pleas and her fingers dip low to Alicent’s soaked entrance. She teases—because of course she does, two fingers brushing against her entrance yet not quite pressing into her. Alicent moans at the feeling, trying to buck against Rhaenyra’s hips and will her to just give her what she wants.
Finally, Rhaenyra presses in with two fingers, going slowly despite Alicent’s assurance that she’s not nearly as fragile as Rhaenyra might believe. The feeling of being filled up makes Alicent insatiable, immediately craving more as a soft, broken moan falls from her lips. Alicent whines as Rhaenyra begins to fuck into her at a slow pace, coating her fingers in Alicent’s wetness as she slides in and out with little resistance. She spreads her fingers out inside of Alicent with each and every inward press, her blunt nails and calloused fingertips brushing against her inner walls and sending ripples of pleasure through Alicent that she feels in her core.
Alicent grips Rhaenyra’s shoulder tightly, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt as Rhaenyra begins to pick up the pace. Alicent is a mess of broken and whimpered moans, unable to contain the pleasure she feels. She did not realize just how badly her body had craved Rhaenyra until she had her this close. Every nerve ending in her body cries out to Rhaenyra, begging for more and more as Rhaenyra fucks into her at a quickened yet still gentle pace.
She can feel the pressure building within her—a release that her body has been waiting for since the moment she first laid eyes on Rhaenyra. Alicent had to have known somewhere deep in her subconscious that they would end up here, like their bodies had called out to each other as Rhaenyra’s old, busted truck had rattled up her drive that January morning.
“Rhaenyra, fuck,” Alicent breathes out, her voice sounding nothing short of wrecked as she leans back. If not for Rhaenyra’s grip on her, she probably would have let her head thunk against the wood, fallen almost completely against the table as she’s overwhelmed with pleasure.
Rhaenyra presses inward and Alicent clenches around her, not willing to let Rhaenyra go as her orgasm rattles through her, crashing into her like a wave. She cries out for Rhaenyra, hands tangling in her hair and tugging, searching for purchase as her body falls apart beneath Rhaenyra’s touch. Rhaenyra kisses gently up her neck, lining Alicent’s jaw with her lips as she comes down, her fingers pulling softly out of Alicent and resting instead on the crease of her thigh.
The come down is gentle, more intimate than Alicent is used to. Rhaenyra doesn’t seem to want to separate from her nor does Alicent. She sighs as Rhaenyra kisses against her neck, shifting her head so their lips can meet once more. Alicent hums against Rhaenyra’s lips, never wanting to let go of her.
“Don’t go,” Alicent mutters against her lips, “Stay here for the summer. I don’t need you for work, I just don’t want you to go.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Rhaenyra whispers, hanging her head so her forehead rests against Alicent’s and their eyes can meet. “I’d stay here forever if you asked, darling, I wouldn’t dream of leaving.”
Alicent chuckles softly, letting her skirt fall down into its place as she sits on the table wrapped in Rhaenyra’s arms. She feels warm and alive, like everything has suddenly fallen into place. “God, I can’t believe we didn’t even make it upstairs.”
“The day is young,” Rhaenyra laughs, scooping Alicent up in her arms with ease and eliciting a joyous laugh from the woman. Chuckling, she hoists Alicent over her shoulder—which is no small feat considering Alicent is five feet five inches of lean muscle and Rhaenyra isn’t much taller than her. Alicent laughs and lets her fingers tangle in her hair, kissing her temple gently as Rhaenyra heads for the stairs.
Rhaenyra pushes into Alicent’s room, tossing Alicent gently down onto the bed with a laugh. She leans down and kisses her gently, whispering against her lips, “There we go. Made it.”
Alicent laughs, throwing her head back against the pillows as her hands reach for Rhaenyra. She reaches for the buttons of her shirt, shoving it down her shoulders and leaving Rhaenyra in just her white undershirt. Rhaenyra tsks, reaching for the tie at the small of Alicent’s back and undoing it, loosening her dress. Alicent just chuckles as the fabric hangs off her form, tugging the sleeves down her arms and letting the fabric fall to the floor, leaving her in just her bra.
“Well, this is just far too much fabric,” Rhaenyra mutters as she eyes Alicent’s bra, reaching around and undoing the metal hooks, tossing that to the floor as well.
With Alicent fully bare against the mattress, she kicks off her boots and climbs onto the bed on top of Alicent, the metal frame creaking beneath her form. Rhaenyra settles between her legs, strong hands on Alicent’s thighs pulling her legs apart. Alicent just hums lightly, head falling back as Rhaenyra’s lips find her inner thigh. She relishes in the pleasure of it all, her body still craving more despite the fact that she only just came.
“You’re trying to kill me,” Alicent breathes out as Rhaenyra kisses a gentle line up her thigh. Her cunt aches for more, already dripping just by having Rhaenyra near to her.
“Gotta make up for lost time,” Rhaenyra shrugs before her tongue first dips into Alicent’s folds, lapping up the remainder of her prior orgasm. Alicent shudders at the warmth between her thighs, resisting the urge to clench her legs around Rhaenyra’s head. Strong hands hold her still and she bucks beneath Rhaenyra’s grip as the woman’s tongue dances around her clit, paying an excruciating amount of attention to the aching bundle of nerves, sending ripples of pleasure through Alicent’s core.
Rhaenyra takes her time with her tongue, drawing out mewls and moans from Alicent—sounds she didn’t even know she could make until now. Her gentle hands grip Rhaenyra’s hair, tugging at her scalp as the woman keeps her pressed against the mattress. Alicent groans, throwing her head back further against the pillow, relishing in the feeling of finally, finally having Rhaenyra in her bed. So many nights she has dreamed of such a thing, waking up in the early hours of the morning with a shameful wetness between her thighs, knowing it would never come to fruition—until it did.
Her clit is still sensitive from her first orgasm, meaning the levels of pleasure are almost overwhelming, her leg twitching as she loses more and more control over her body, every nerve ending screaming for more of Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra’s tongue dips down towards her entrance, just barely pressing inside of her and tearing a delicious sounding moan from Alicent’s throat. She already knows she’s not going to last long, not after already coming once. She lets Rhaenyra devour her, clamoring against the mattress, her moans begging for more and more and more. She never wants to leave this bed.
“Rhaenyra,” the word sounds dreamy on her lips as her second orgasm is pulled from her like a loose thread, taut and tugging until finally, a gentle release. Rhaenyra laps up every last drop Alicent gives her, pressing kisses to the crease of her thigh and nipping her thigh gently, eliciting a giggle from the woman against the bed. “God, you’re good at that.”
Rhaenyra chuckles, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she crawls up to kiss Alicent. Alicent can still taste her own desire on Rhaenyra’s tongue, but she doesn’t mind. She just wants to kiss Rhaenyra as much as she can. Part of her still isn’t sure this isn’t just a dream—that she’ll wake up in the morning with wet thighs and a cold bed. Rhaenyra crawls up and falls against her, her arms wrapped around Alicent’s bare form as they pant through languid kisses.
Rhaenyra kisses slow down Alicent’s neck and chest, humming against her flesh as she kisses Alicent without purpose. Never in her life has someone spent so much time to just worship her, Alicent isn’t quite sure how to get used to such a thing. She just smiles lazily and tugs Rhaenyra closer to her. Her hands slip under Rhaenyra’s shirt, just resting against her stomach as the two of them become completely and utterly tangled in one another.
“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” Alicent whispers. “Tell me I’m not gonna wake up with you in the house across the way and my bed empty.”
“You’re not dreaming,” Rhaenyra mumbles against her stomach. “God, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re just trying to butter me up,” Alicent scoffs, tugging Rhaenyra up so the two of them can lie facing each other, seeing eye to eye.
“For what? I’ve already made it to your bed,” Rhaenyra teases, tugging Alicent in closer by her waist. “Unless you’re planning on kicking me out any time soon.”
Alicent shrugs, “If only so we can make it to the bath.”
“God, I’ll take you in every room in this goddamn house if you want me to, Alicent,” Rhaenyra mutters, leaning in and kissing Alicent’s neck. “I’ll do whatever you want, I’m yours, I’ve been yours from the moment I saw you.”
Alicent balks, her cheeks flushing red as her forehead nudges Rhaenyra’s. “I never took you for such a romantic.”
“I just think we could have a good life here,” Rhaenyra whispers, sounding almost shy. “We already do. Mornings on the farm, Bucky racing around our ankles, you and your coffee and breakfast. Only thing that would make it better is me not having to walk across the damn field every morning just to see you.”
She chuckles, stealing a kiss from Rhaenyra’s lips. “Yeah, I like the sound of that. That sounds real nice, Rhaenyra.”
And so, for the first time in five years, Alicent keeps a farmhand for more than one calving season. And Kent never sees Alicent post a help wanted poster again.