THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

A Knight's Bond

The crowd in the tourney grounds was as loud as ever, the clamor of cheers and gasps echoing through the air, yet within the Royal Box, an altogether different tension hung over the women seated there. Alicent Hightower, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, sat poised in her seat, her hands resting delicately in her lap, while beside her, Hermione and Emily leaned forward with eager curiosity. Both had been invited personally by the Queen, a gesture Alicent made partly out of formality and majorly out of a need for familiarity. The Queen’s life had become a carefully crafted series of appearances, and today was no different.

Alicent winced as she saw her brother in this life, Ser Gwayne Hightower, get unseated by a knight from the Westerlands. She squinted, trying to recognize the colors. Probably a vassal of House Lannister, she thought to herself. Her concern for Gwayne faded quickly as the next name was announced, her attention snapping back to the arena with an intensity she hadn’t expected

“Prince Daemon Targaryen,” the announcer bellowed, the crowd erupting into loud cheers. Alicent’s posture stiffened at once. There he was—the Rogue Prince, swaggering toward the jousting field with a confidence that always seemed to ignite something volatile between them.

Her relationship with Daemon was complex at best. Their interactions shifted like the winds—one moment filled with biting words, the next with playful quips, then sharp glares and mutual disdain. Yet it had always been more than that. They shared something intangible, something Alicent couldn’t quite put into words, especially after the day they had witnessed Aegon’s dragon hatch. That day had changed things, leaving a lingering warmth in her heart and a memory that felt like an unspoken promise.

She watched Daemon with unreadable eyes as he approached the Royal Box. He had never been one for formalities, yet today he was all grace as he extended his lance towards Rhaenyra.

“May I have the Princess’s favor?” Daemon asked, his voice dripping with charm. Rhaenyra’s face lit up instantly, her eyes sparkling as she reached for her favor. Sliding it onto his lance, she did so with a smile that could only be described as flirtatious.

Alicent watched, her lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, it’s Rhaenyra, she thought, but there was no bitterness—only the resigned acceptance of someone who had played this game long enough. She watched as Daemon mounted his horse, the favor from the Princess fluttering in the wind. The crowd roared in approval as the joust began.

Daemon was unstoppable. One by one, he unseated three knights, the cheers growing louder with each victory. Alicent’s eyes followed him, her thoughts drifting as the familiar fire between them simmered just beneath the surface. Yet, as she watched him prepare for his next opponent, her attention was suddenly pulled away by a hushed voice beside her.

Emily leaned in, her breath warm on Alicent’s ear. “That is a Stark of the North,” she whispered, her words laced with intrigue. Alicent blinked, surprised, turning her gaze toward the approaching knight.

Beside her, Hermione also perked up, leaning slightly forward to get a better view.

The Stark knight rode toward the Royal Box, his armor gleaming beneath the sun. Daemon, now ready for another victory, raised an eyebrow as the knight extended his lance—not to Rhaenyra, but to Alicent.

A familiar voice rang out, deep and rich with emotion. “May I have the favor of the Queen?”

The voice struck Alicent like a lightning bolt, her breath catching in her throat. Her heart pounded as she recognized it—the voice of Sirius Black, her godfather, her father figure from another life. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them away, her composure held tightly as she reached for her favor.