Cooke and Eve Best deliver a verbal showdown that’s twice as thrilling as the Kingsguard swordfight. Alicent brings out all the old saws: Supporting Rhaenyra has left Rhaenys with two dead children, bastards for grandsons, and a grievously wounded husband. “We do not rule, but we may guide the men who do,” the queen finishes.

Dexter's vocals are competent enough: his timbre is thin and eternally teenaged, but he can go apeshit on the hiccupy histrionics like no one's business.

“There never was a dearer or a blesseder young lady than is my young lady, Sir,” said Susan, […]

set out to the full height ; there nor wants Imbosture nor embroidery