THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

Shadows and Light

Exhausted. There was only one word that could describe the condition of Sitara. She was adjusting to the body of Alicent Hightower, and truly, the children were not the source of her fatigue. The burden of being ensnared in the web of court politics weighed heavily on her, dragging her spirit into shadows.

The people Alicent surrounded herself with were either neglectful, indifferent to her plight, or only cared for her as long as she remained the perfect puppet to their actions. The one who resented her was her apparent ex-best friend and current stepdaughter, Rhaenyra, whose gaze was often a dagger, cutting through the flimsy threads of their former bond. The one who overlooked her, neglecting her completely, was her dearest husband, Viserys Targaryen, a man trapped in his own world of illness and half-hearted attempts at leadership. The one who used her was her own father, Otto Hightower, who maneuvered her like a pawn on a chessboard, his ambitions always lurking just beneath the surface.

Sitara almost had the urge to bang her head against the wall, frustration building as she finally understood the true dynamics of her situation. No wonder Alicent had been so powerless to push back against the vultures circling the throne. She was already too mentally exhausted, a mere husk of a woman burdened by the weight of her responsibilities. To her, death must have felt like a release—a door to escape from this suffocating reality. But if there was one thing Sitara was a master at, it was navigating uncomfortable situations. She had survived wars, betrayals, and the heartache of loss. She could handle this.

In the midst of her internal chaos, the only delight in her life came from the twin boys, Aegon and Sirion, who contrasted each other so profoundly. Just one week old, yet Sirion already demonstrated flashes of the intelligence that had defined him in her past life. He would fix his deep, knowing gaze upon her in moments that made her heart swell, as if to say, “I know who you are.” He was a lovely little boy, calm and collected, hardly ever fussy. Aegon, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of cries and demands, a vibrant ball of energy that seemed to soak up every ounce of attention in the room. Both of them had become the anchors she desperately needed, even as they drained her.

Her heart swelled with love for them. They refused to leave her side, insisted on sleeping only when nestled against her, and would only eat if she was the one feeding them. Such a strong bond had formed between mother and children, a tether that anchored her amidst the chaos. Aegon would sometimes tolerate others—though not easily—while Sirion had a strict no-policy against anyone who wasn’t his beloved mother. He was showing early signs of becoming a mama’s boy, a notion that brought a smile to Sitara’s lips. It was laughable, really, considering Sirion was the son of a man who had once tried to murder her. Yet, that only deepened her affection for him; they shared a common goal: to protect Aegon at all costs.

As she sat by the crib, the warm sunlight filtering through the windows, she took a moment to bask in the joy of their presence. Aegon cooed softly, his tiny hands grasping at the air, while Sirion watched with a serious expression, as if calculating the world around him. “Look at you two,” she whispered, her voice laced with affection. “You’re going to be strong, just like your mother.” Sirion turned to her, a soft gurgle escaping his lips, and she felt a rush of warmth fill her heart.

Yet, beneath the surface, unease simmered. Sitara thought about how weak Alicent’s body was, the limitations she had to contend with. This body was fragile, but it was her responsibility to strengthen it. She had agility in her past life, a gift that had served her well in combat and survival. That was something she needed to develop over time. She’d learned the hard way how vital agility was during the wars that had defined her previous existence, and she wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away.

But there was more troubling her mind. The magic that coursed through her veins felt volatile, unsettled after giving birth. The stresses of her new life compounded the discomfort she felt within, the familiar sense of chaos swirling around her. She understood the nature of witchcraft well enough to know that magic was often capricious after childbirth, and being thrust into such a high-stakes environment only amplified her discomfort. Every time she thought about her powers, a shiver ran down her spine. Was she truly ready for what lay ahead?