Chapter Text
The days after the AMAs didn't feel real.
Rhaenyra kept checking her phone like it belonged to someone else. Two million followers when she'd gone to sleep, two-point-three by the time she'd finished her coffee, the little number climbing while she watched, a live thing, a pulse. Every platform was the same, clips of the pre-show cut into fifteen-second loops, the win, the kiss, the walk down the carpet. People who'd never heard of Seven Hells three weeks ago were captioning her face with heart emojis and arguments about her bone structure.
It was absurd. It was intoxicating.
She hated how much she liked it.
Alicent's numbers surged too, though the comments underneath hers split down the middle like a wound. Half the internet wanted to marry her. The other half, the same pocket of men who'd never once asked what Criston Cole actually did to her, called her a whore, a liar, a woman who'd traded one rich man for a rockstar and would trade again. She'd stopped reading them weeks ago. Only she and Rhaenyra knew how it really was, and that was enough.
The Rainbow sat on Sunset like it had since before either of them were born, dark wood, red booths, decades of rock photographs staring down from the walls like ancestors.
They took the corner booth. Alexa brought the whiskey herself, a tray of it, no questions asked, because she clearly knew Harwin and Harwin clearly paid. Robb watched her set the glasses down with his mouth slightly open, and Rhaenyra caught it and said nothing.
"I have to admit," Harwin said, raising his glass, "it never crossed my mind this band could actually win an award. Not because you're not good." He shrugged, the rumpled suit shifting on his shoulders. "It's that this genre's never been all that commercial. We all know what moves the world. Pop. Rap. That's what sells. Rock and metal, you don't just casually appreciate. You have to understand it. You have to value the instruments."
Robb finally pulled his eyes off Alexa. "He's right. Nobody I know who plays real instruments listens to what's on the radio."
"Exactly." Harwin drank. "I'm happy for you guys. You earned it."
They raised their glasses and drank, and for a moment the booth was warm and easy, the red light making everyone look like a photograph.
Then Harwin set his glass down and kept talking.
"And let's be honest, Rhaenyra. That whole thing with Alicent Hightower was brilliant."
She frowned at him.
"What?"
"Oh, don't worry. I know it's real. I know how complicated it's all been." He waved a hand. "But from a business angle, it helped. Everybody loves a rockstar dating a supermodel. It's free press every single day."
"We still haven't fully dealt with the Cole mess," Rhaenyra said, licking her lips. "We're not free yet."
"Yeah, I heard he's conscious now. Losing his mind watching everything collapse on him." Harwin grinned.
"Good," Cregan said. "He deserves it."
Mysaria stubbed her cigarette into the ashtray.
"Something you should all know. My contact at the hospital called. There's police stationed outside his hospital room, he's under arrest, but he's under guard. His lawyers are arguing he isn't mentally fit yet to give a statement."
Rhaenyra turned her glass slowly on the table. "So the trial… is it going to be a problem?"
Harwin pressed his lips together. "Let's just hope the jury gets it right. They have the final word. But trust me, the Cole family won't make it easy." He drained his whiskey. "They have money. Money buys time."
"You should've just killed him," Robb said.
Everyone looked at him.
"What?" He shrugged, tattooed knuckles tight around his glass. "Because of him the whole band's had nothing but problems. If he'd never existed, Rhaenyra could've just been with Alicent without any of this fucking drama."
Rhaenyra stared down into her whiskey, watching the light move through it. She didn't answer. There was nothing to say that wouldn't have been a confession.
"That's just how the world of fame and money works," Harwin said, more gently than he usually spoke. "Get used to it. It's all part of the journey, the alcohol, the trouble, the drugs, the sex, the women. You want to be rock legends, you have to live it." He gestured at Alexa for another round. "Nobody legends anything by being careful. Now, the hard part is not destroying yourself along the way."
They nodded. They drank. More whiskey arrived and the booth got warmer and the night loosened its grip.
Later, Harwin brought up the festival. A week away. More bands, huge crowds, tickets already moving fast. Rhaenyra clinked her glass against his and tried to feel like a person who belonged in this room.
****
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Rhaenyra asked, fixing her hair in the bathroom mirror.
She checked herself, black shirt, black leather jacket, still her style, but the fabric was better now, cut for her shoulders instead of hanging off them. She'd started buying real clothes. It was strange, spending money on yourself after years of not.
Alicent stood in the bedroom doorway, fastening an earring. Skirt, knee-high boots, a blazer Rhaenyra assumed cost more than her first van. Hair styled, makeup flawless, every inch of her assembled.
"No," Alicent admitted. "It's not a great idea. But he insisted. He's in LA a couple days, he wanted to see me, talk." She smoothed the front of her blazer. "It's been a lot of months. A lot of change."
Rhaenyra stepped out of the bathroom and nodded. Alicent crossed to her, kissed her quickly, grabbed her bag.
They drove out toward the hills in Alicent's Mercedes, quiet. Rhaenyra had the wheel. Alicent watched the city slide past the window.
Rhaenyra didn't like this. Meeting a girlfriend's father was already strange, but Alicent almost never talked about Otto, and when she did it was with a flatness worse than hatred, which didn't promise much. Worse still: Rhaenyra knew, from Laena's files and Alicent's rare, reluctant mentions, that Otto had always liked Criston. Had liked him enough to push the wedding.
They parked in the restaurant's private lot and got out. Their hands found each other without either of them reaching.
Inside, the maître d' greeted them without blinking. Stars were common here.
Rhaenyra saw him first. A man against the wall facing the terrace, light brown hair, combed back too neatly, trimmed beard, a hard set to the eyes that didn't move even when he spotted his daughter. Rhaenyra stopped walking.
Alicent noticed, gave her a puzzled smile.
"What? Scared to meet your girlfriend's dad?"
Rhaenyra exhaled.
"It's not that. I once met a girlfriend's father at seventeen who also happened to be my homeroom teacher. Not a great precedent."
Alicent laughed, soft. She knew about Ashara.
"Come on," she said, tugging Rhaenyra's hand. "It's fine. Though… my father isn't exactly pleasant, honestly. I just want to hear what he has to say. If it goes badly, we leave. Okay?"
Rhaenyra nodded slowly and let herself be led.
Otto rose as they approached. His face didn't change, no smile, no softening.
"Alicent. It's been a while, sweetheart."
"Dad." Alicent leaned in for a brief hug. His arms barely closed.
Then his eyes shifted to Rhaenyra. She kept her face blank, the way she'd learned.
"And you must be… Rhaenyra, is it?"
She extended her hand. "Rhaenyra Targaryen."
He took it, held it a beat too long, and looked her over, boots, tattoos at the collar, the silver at her throat. "Quite the… extravagant style."
Rhaenyra let out a short, dry laugh. She'd heard it before, in different words.
"It's her style, Dad," Alicent cut in. "Rhaenyra's a singer. She has a band."
"I know." Otto's mouth did something that wasn't a smile. "Just trying to make sense of it next to yours. Strikes me as odd, that's all. Don't mind me."
Rhaenyra clocked the venom under the joke and let it go. They sat, Alicent across from her father, Rhaenyra beside her. Alicent ordered lemonade, because she was driving back. A waiter explained a wine Rhaenyra knew nothing about, and she nodded along until he left.
While they waited, Alicent caught her father up, Santa Barbara, his real estate, her brother Gwayne, who apparently didn't get along with Otto and lived in Canada now. Rhaenyra mostly listened. The food arrived. Alicent mentioned she'd signed yesterday with Greens, the agency Arianne was with, the one Criston had always blocked, because he'd controlled her representation himself.
Otto let that land. Then, the cutlery barely clinking, he broke the ice with surgical precision.
"From what I've seen lately," he said, eyes fixed on his daughter, "your relationship with Criston fell apart completely. In every sense of the word."
Alicent nodded slowly, swallowing before she answered.
"Yes. It was a hard road, Dad, but I'm free of it now. I found a lawyer with an incredible team."
Otto's smile was thin, without warmth.
"And here I thought you two were getting married. The wedding was set for February."
Rhaenyra froze with her glass halfway to her lips. February. The phantom wedding, the plans Criston had woven around a woman who'd never once wanted them, laid out on a table like a fact.
"No, Dad. I could never have married a man like that." Alicent's voice was firm, no room in it. "I'm grateful every single day I got out. It's an incredible kind of freedom."
Otto shook his head, brow furrowing with quiet judgment.
"I don't understand it. Criston couldn't have been that bad-"
A short, sharp laugh cut through him. Bitter. Contemptuous.
His eyes snapped to Rhaenyra, hardening instantly.
"He was worse than that, sir," she said, not bothering to soften it.
Otto's eyes narrowed. She watched him connect the dots in the worst possible order, his posture shifting into something accusatory.
"It was you, wasn't it," he said, low and cutting. "The one who put him in the hospital over some savage incident at a club."
Rhaenyra didn't shrink. She tilted her head slightly and nodded, not with guilt, but with something defiant lighting her eyes from behind.
"Yes," she said, no hesitation. "And I'd do it a thousand times again. He earned that and worse."
Otto went still, lips parting. The silence that followed was thick enough that the room seemed to fall away, the distant clink of other people's forks going thin and far.
He took several seconds to recover, eyes traveling from Rhaenyra to his daughter, searching Alicent's face for regret, fear, submission. He found none. Only calm. The look of a woman who'd been chained too long and would burn the world down now without flinching.
"Do you understand what you're saying?" His voice dropped to a whisper, fury pressed underneath. "Do you have any idea of the legal consequences of admitting something like that to my face? This isn't a tabloid scandal, Rhaenyra. You're talking about serious injuries. The police-"
"The police already know exactly who I am, sir." She leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, easy as a cat. "And Cole isn't under guard at that hospital by accident. He earned every broken bone. If your protégé tried to cross a line he shouldn't have, he learned the hard way there are consequences."
"But-" Otto started.
"Enough, Dad." Alicent cut in, firm, killing whatever was coming. "I didn't come here to put that club on trial, or to debate whether you liked the idea of my wedding. That wedding never existed anywhere but in your head and in Criston's obsession. If it bothers you to see that I'm alive, that I'm free, and that I have someone beside me who actually protects me, you're welcome to leave whenever you'd like. The bill's already paid."
Otto blinked. Genuinely thrown.
"You're blinding yourself, Alicent," he muttered, jaw tight, dropping his napkin onto his untouched plate. "This woman is dragging you into a media circus you won't know how to escape. The fashion industry doesn't forgive scandals this size. Tomorrow your new agency will be fielding calls from every tabloid, and your career-"
"My career is safer than it's ever been." Alicent cut him off again, cold enough that he had no counter left. "Because for the first time, I'm the one running it. And if the tabloids like the show, let them enjoy it."
Rhaenyra allowed herself a small smile and lifted her wine for a slow sip. Whatever happened in court, whatever ran on the front page tomorrow, the past didn't own either of them anymore.
****
Saturday night, the band went out.
Sunday was the festival, so they took the night to unwind, driving north away from the Hollywood noise, up toward Acton, near the reservoir. A bar Robb had heard about from some new friends, off the highway near the small town proper. They piled out of Cregan's truck, a classic roadside place, the kind the same men had been drinking in for decades, neon beer signs, a pool table nobody was using, the whole room smelling like old cigarettes and spilled lager.
Heads turned the second they walked in. Leather, piercings, ink on full display. Enough to draw stares.
They took a table, ordered beer and cigarettes, and talked about everything and nothing. Euronn told a story about a tone he'd been chasing for three days. Robb chimed in about a promoter who'd tried to short them. Talk turned to tomorrow, the crowd, the energy they'd need, whether the sound guy would be worth a shit.
Maybe an hour in, Rhaenyra noticed a group of men nearby watching them. One in particular. Bald. Mustache.
Her phone buzzed against the table.
Alicent: Miss you. What time are you back?
Then a photo. Alicent in black lingerie, stretched across Rhaenyra's bed, MacBook propped beside her, hair loose.
Rhaenyra bit back a grin, listening to the guys laugh around her.
Rhaenyra: If you tell me you'll wait like that, I'm coming back right now.
Alicent: Come. I'll be waiting.
Rhaenyra's jaw tightened. They'd had a fair few beers. Euronn was the most sober of them by far. He'd drive.
"Alright, guys," she said. "Last beer and we're out. I don't want a hangover tomorrow."
Robb pushed back his chair. "I'll grab them."
He walked to the bar, where the men from before closed in around him immediately.
Rhaenyra couldn't hear what was said, but Robb's body language said it wasn't friendly. He stepped in too close to the bald one, shoulders squared.
"Shit," Cregan said, already up. Euronn and Rhaenyra followed.
Cregan got an arm between them.
"Okay. Okay, what's going on?"
Robb jerked his chin at the bald man. "He's trying to kick us out. Says we're not welcome here."
Everyone looked at the man, bald, poorly kept mustache, hostile down to the bone.
"This bar's for locals," he said. "Not devil worshippers."
"Ah," Euronn said. "He's a religious nut."
Cregan laughed. "It's the clothes, right? Didn't know leather and black were reserved for Satan, dumbass."
More of the man's group closed in, drifting off their stools.
"Let's go, guys," Cregan said again. "Let's get out of here."
"Oh, you're definitely leaving," the bald man said. "I know exactly who you are. That shitty band that's been all over the place lately."
"Shut your fucking mouth," Robb said, stepping forward.
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and stepped up. "Alright, let's just go. Don't waste time on these idiots."
The bald man's eyes landed on her. Narrowed. Then a smile spread across his face, wet, malicious, slow.
"Oh… I know you. I've seen you." His voice shifted, oily and hungry. "You're the one from the billboards. You're the one dating that model. The Hightower girl."
Rhaenyra's eyes went hard at the name.
His mouth twisted into open contempt, the look of a man who'd spent his life objectifying women and never once been hit hard enough for it.
"Yeah. I recognize you now. All that band shit, the Calvin Klein campaign, that whole-" He waved a vague hand. "-rockstar aesthetic. That's you. The one who's supposedly fucking Alicent Hightower."
"What the fuck did you just say?" Rhaenyra spat.
"Hey, hey." Cregan grabbed her arm, pulling her back. "Rhaenyra. Let's just go."
"Oh, I'm just saying." The bald man shrugged, the bravado of a man who thought himself untouchable. "You're not what I pictured. Alicent's been one of my favorites for years. Years. I've got magazines. A poster. I-" He laughed, wet and ugly. "I've got a whole folder of her on my phone. You know the ones. The magazines spreads, the candid shots, the ones where she's barely wearing-"
"Keep talking," Rhaenyra said, her whole body locking up. "Keep talking, you piece of shit, and I swear to god-"
Cregan still had her arm. The man didn't look scared. Fear had been replaced by something else, the recklessness of a man given a captive audience for his fantasies.
"That body," he said, dropping his voice like it was a secret between them. "You've seen it, obviously. You're the one fucking her, after all. The rest of us have to imagine it. And I have. Believe me. That ass-I'd do anything for one night with that ass. Just bend her over and-"
Rhaenyra lunged. "Shut your fucking mouth-"
Robb was shouting too, and Euron had already squared off against another man beside the bald one.
"And those lips." The man kept going, oblivious, uncaring. "God. I've jacked off to pictures of those lips a hundred times. Imagining how they'd feel wrapped around my-"
Rhaenyra didn't know where the strength came from. She heard Cregan shout No, Rhaenyra! and she was already on him.
The bar erupted.
Fists, everywhere. She took a hit to the jaw that lit her vision white and another to the ribs that folded her sideways, the pain distant and abstract under the adrenaline. Someone's elbow caught the ridge of her brow and something warm ran into her eye. She swung blind and felt her knuckles connect bone. Cregan was roaring somewhere to her right. Robb was on the floor with two men on him, and Euronn, Euronn was dragging a man off Cregan's back by the collar.
Then she saw it. A blade in the bald man's hand, light from the neon sign sliding down the edge.
Not a brawl anymore.
Cregan kicked one man off her and hauled her up by the arm, pure adrenaline in his grip. "MOVE. NOW."
Keys flew. Euronn caught them, and they were scrambling, Robb up off the floor, all four of them crashing through the door into the cold night, and behind them the bald man and two others spilling out after them, and one of them had a rifle, searching the lot, but the truck was already roaring, tires screaming on the pavement, and then the highway, and then nothing but dark.
"Ugh. Fuck." Rhaenyra pressed a hand to her stomach. Everything hurt. Even her ribs. Her face burned, blood tracking from the cut above her brow down into her eye. The world tilted and slid.
"Shit," Euronn said from the driver's seat. "Not one word to Mysaria or Harwin, you hear me?"
She tried to focus on the road but her eyes kept sliding shut.
"Rhaenyra." A hand on her cheek. "Rhaenyra?"
*
She didn't remember anything after that.
Just black. Voices, far away. The sensation of being lifted, an arm over each shoulder.
"Hey! Is everything okay? Is Ms. Targaryen alright?" The doorman's voice, alarmed. "Should I call an ambulance?"
"No, no," Robb said. "We're fine. Just had a little trouble."
"Let's just get her upstairs," Cregan said.
She cracked her eyes open in the elevator and closed them again.
"Euronn, get her keycard. Should be in her jacket pocket."
Fabric rustled. Someone searched her pockets.
"Got it."
"Ugh, fuck, my leg hurts. The asshole actually got a knife in. Just a scratch, but it hurts." Cregan complained.
Rhaenyra mumbled something that wasn't words.
"Harwin's going to kill us," Euronn said. "The festival's tomorrow and we're a mess."
The elevator chimed. Fifteenth floor. They carried her down the hall. A card swiped. A door opened.
"Babe, finally, I was waiting-"
A scream. Rhaenyra caught a blurred glimpse of Alicent in lingerie under an open silk robe before the robe was yanked shut.
"Shit! Alicent, sorry, it's just-" Cregan, yelping.
Then Alicent's voice again, sharp and rising.
"What-Rhaenyra? Rhaenyra!"
Hands on her face, warm and shaking.
"God. What happened to you?" Then, louder, to the room: "Get her to the bed. Now."
Rhaenyra felt the mattress touch her back as she was laid down. She shut her eyes and listened.
"There was some asshole at a bar," Cregan started. "Started running his mouth about us. Then about you. And Rhaenyra… snapped."
"About me?" Alicent said.
"Yeah. And rightfully so," Robb said. "If I heard some prick talking about my girlfriend like that, I'd have killed him on the spot."
"Honestly," Euronn said, "that was basically Rhaenyra's plan."
"Shit-should I call someone?" Alicent's voice caught. "Her face is a mess. You guys too. You need anything?"
"Don't call anyone," Cregan said. "Or this turns into a fucking circus again."
"Shit," Robb muttered. "I think I need to stop picking where we go drinking."
"You again?" Alicent snapped. "You're an asshole."
"Yeah. I know," Robb said. "We're heading out. Call us if you need anything, okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Thanks for bringing her home."
The front door clicked shut. Rhaenyra half-opened her eyes and saw Alicent sitting on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around herself, then one hand resting on Rhaenyra's thigh. Then the dark took her.
***
"Your phone's ringing."
Sunday. Noon. Rhaenyra stood at the bathroom mirror taking stock, the cut above her brow, her split lip, her bruised cheekbone, one eye gone black, a bruise along the line of her jaw. Her ribs ached when she breathed. Her legs. Her arm.
She picked up the phone. Mysaria.
"Where the hell are you?" Mysaria snapped. "You should've been here an hour ago, goddammit. The guys are already here. Move your ass, now. Harwin is going to lose it."
She sighed and answered.
"I, uh-"
"No 'I, uh.'" The cigarette in Mysaria's voice. "You'd better get here. This can't be cancelled, Rhaenyra. You have no idea how many people are out there. Hurry up."
The line went dead.
Rhaenyra's jaw tightened. She stared at the phone.
Alicent leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with something close to sorrow.
"You can't go like this," she said, gentle.
Rhaenyra looked at her. Alicent stepped closer, hands rising to cup her face, brows knitting.
"God. Look at you." Her thumbs traced the bruises with a feather's weight. "Look what they did to you."
Rhaenyra closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, but her mind was already racing, sharp and cold despite the warmth of Alicent's palms against her bruised cheek.
Cancel.
The word sat in her chest like a stone dropped into still water. She couldn't. Not this. Not after everything, the AMAs, the viral clips, the two million followers that had turned into three, the festival organizers who'd taken a chance on a band still soaked in scandal. If she pulled out now, the cancellation would echo. It would be proof to every promoter, every booking agent, every industry vulture who'd ever whispered that Seven Hells was a flash in the pan, a novelty act built on a tabloid romance and one lucky night.
She could already see the headlines.
Rhaenyra Targaryen No-Shows Festival After Bar Brawl. Band Implodes Before Big Break.
No.
She opened her eyes. The bathroom light was harsh, carving every shadow in her face deeper, but she didn't flinch.
"I can't cancel," she said, her voice low, hoarse from last night's screaming. "I can't." She pulled back from Alicent's hands, just enough to meet her gaze. "This is everything. The whole reason we drove three thousand miles across this fucking country. Cregan left his job. Robb shipped his amp in a goddamn Greyhound. Euron hasn't spoken to his family in months. If I don't show up today, it all means nothing."
She reached for the sink, knuckles white against the porcelain. Her reflection stared back, a wreck, a disaster, a woman who looked like she'd lost a fight with a moving truck. But her eyes were still sharp.
"I'll figure it out. Makeup. A cold pack. Painkillers and grit. I don't fucking know." She straightened, ignoring the pull in her ribs. "I've played through worse. Not much worse, but-I'll do it. I have to."
Rhaenyra just hoped the festival wouldn't be a fucking disaster.