Chapter CXX: Quiet
The war council gathered in Rosehall’s grand chamber, the air thick with tension. Isabella sat at the head of the table, her calm and composed demeanor masking the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her mind. The lords surrounding her discussed strategies, each trying to find a way to stave off the inevitable retaliation from the Dragon King. Their victory in reclaiming Rosehall had been hard-won, but now, everyone knew that it was only a temporary reprieve. The Dragon King would come again—and with greater force.
“The Dragon King will rally his men soon,” one of the older lords spoke, his voice gruff. “We’ve gained ground, but this is far from over. He’ll strike harder next time.”
Another lord chimed in, nodding in agreement. “We need reinforcements. If we don’t strengthen our forces, we won’t be able to withstand his next assault.”
Isabella remained silent, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her chair’s armrest. Her eyes scanned the faces of the men speaking before her, but she offered no immediate response. Her stillness contrasted sharply with the anxiety radiating from the room.
One of the younger lords, eager and sharp-minded, leaned forward. “Your Majesty,” he began, “there is one option we’ve yet to fully consider. The Theran Islands remain under the Dragon King’s control, but they are restless. Queen Isabella, with your bloodline, you could claim your rightful place as their queen—declare yourself the true heir of Theran.”
There was a murmur of agreement around the table, the idea sparking a sense of renewed hope. “The Therans may rise to your call,” the lord continued. “They would support you and give us the additional strength we need. With the Therian army at our side, we could turn the tide of this war.”
Isabella remained calm, her gaze steady as she took in the suggestion. Her silence stretched for a moment, long enough to make the room feel even more stifled. The lords watched her expectantly, waiting for her to respond.
Finally, she spoke, her voice measured and thoughtful. “All possibilities will be considered,” she said. “Especially if it means avoiding more bloodshed.”
There was a ripple of quiet murmurs as her words sank in. The lords exchanged looks, some relieved that the idea had been received well, others unsure of the next steps. But Isabella’s expression remained impassive, betraying nothing of the emotions she kept hidden beneath the surface.
Sensing that the conversation had reached its end, Isabella rose from her seat. “You are all dismissed for now. We will reconvene tomorrow to discuss further.”
The council members bowed and began to leave the room, but Lord Pallor lingered behind, his eyes watching Isabella closely. He waited until the room had emptied, then approached her, his brow furrowed with concern.
Once they were alone, Pallor stepped forward. “My queen,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of caution. “You were unusually quiet today.”
Isabella, still standing by the table, glanced up at him, her expression softening slightly. “There wasn’t much for me to say,” she replied evenly. “The lords have their ideas. I’m listening.”
Pallor studied her carefully, his concern deepening. “You seemed distant. I know you’re thinking of something, but you didn’t speak your mind.”
The tension between Isabella and Lord Pallor was thick, the silence heavy as they stood in the fading light. Pallor’s brow furrowed as he watched her, sensing the emotional distance she had put between them ever since the second battle at Rosehall.
“You’ve been distant,” Pallor said, his voice low but steady. “Avoiding me.” His eyes softened, searching her face. “Does this have anything to do with your encounter with the Dragon King?”
Isabella remained quiet, her fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of her gown. Her gaze lingered on the floor, refusing to meet his. The weight of Pallor’s question hung in the air between them, and for a moment, it seemed as though she wouldn’t answer.
Pallor took a step closer, his tone gentle but firm. “You don’t have to avoid me, my queen. I’m not just the general of your army. I’m your lord husband. I’m here to listen to you, to care for you, whatever it is.”
Isabella’s lips trembled slightly, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. She inhaled sharply, as if the act of speaking would unleash a flood of emotions she had worked so hard to contain.
"Ikkar was baptized at the Temple of Flames," she began, her voice fragile, like a thread barely holding together. “They baptized him as the Dragon King’s heir. The priestesses called him the continuation of his legacy, the future of his fire. After the ceremony, one of them approached me and whispered… that they had seen my future.”
Her eyes finally lifted to meet Pallor’s, her gaze full of a deep, aching sadness. “They said if I ever lay down with the Dragon King again… there would be war. I just never imagined it would be me the one to start it.”
Pallor’s heart ached at her words, but he shook his head. “That’s not true,” he said firmly. “This war was started by the Dragon King years ago, long before Rosehall fell. All you’ve done is fight back, my queen. You’ve defended what was rightfully yours.”
Isabella’s lips twisted bitterly, her voice trembling with self-recrimination. “I spent a day and a night with him, Pallor, when Ikkar was conceived. I didn’t know it then, but that was my fate—to give him an heir, to be nothing more than that.” She paused, her breath catching as another tear slid down her cheek. “I should never have come to his bed again. I should never have loved him.”
Pallor watched her, his expression full of sympathy and anger—for her, for the Dragon King, for the tangled mess of fate that had ensnared them both.
Isabella’s voice cracked as she continued. “I fled his palace and started this conflict for many reasons. But I can’t deny that heartbreak was part of it. My love for him… it drove me insane.”
Pallor stepped closer, his hand resting gently on her arm. His voice was low and earnest. “I’ve never seen insanity in you, my queen. Only strength. Strength, sacrifice, and courage.”
Isabella suddenly pulled away from him, her eyes flashing with frustration. “Why do you vouch for me so much, Pallor? Why don’t you see me for what I am? I’m just a whore pretending to be queen!”
The rawness of her words echoed in the chamber, and Pallor’s expression darkened with a mixture of hurt and disbelief. He took a step back, but his voice, when he spoke, was full of conviction.
“I took an oath,” he said, his voice rising with passion, “before your father, and then before the gods, to protect you and fight for you until the day of my death.” His eyes blazed with intensity as he continued. “I see you for who you truly are. You are not a whore. You are our queen. You are my lady wife, and nothing will ever change that.”
Isabella’s defenses shattered in that moment. Tears streamed down her face as she choked out, “I don’t deserve all this, Pallor. I don’t deserve your loyalty.”
Pallor, unable to bear seeing her so broken, grabbed her face gently but firmly, holding her gaze. “Of course, you do,” he said, his voice softening. “You are my queen. You are the woman I vowed to serve, to protect. And no matter what you think of yourself, I will continue to serve you while I breathe.”
For a moment, Isabella said nothing, her breath uneven as she stared into Pallor’s eyes. She saw the loyalty, the fierce devotion in his gaze, and it crushed her heart even more.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
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