Chapter CXXVI: Theran

Isabella stood at the edge of the courtyard, the cool morning air brushing against her skin as she prepared for her journey to Old Theran. Before her, the sleek black form of Massin, her dragon, rested patiently, its great wings folded at its sides. She renamed the creature in honor of her mother, Massima, a reminder of the strength and resilience she needed for the path ahead.

Her heart felt heavy as she kissed each of her children goodbye. Little Zayr was still fast asleep in Alicent’s arms, while Ikkar played with his toys, unaware of the dangers his mother faced. Rya clung to her nursemaid, watching her mother with wide eyes. Isabella bent down and kissed her daughter’s cheek, whispering promises she hoped she could keep. “I will return soon, my loves,” she said softly. Even if they couldn’t understand her fully, she knew it was important to say the words aloud, to believe in them herself.

She turned to Pallor, who stood nearby, his face unreadable but his eyes filled with quiet concern. Isabella placed her hand gently on his arm, her voice low. "Take care of them," she said, her eyes flickering from her children to him.

Pallor met her gaze, nodding solemnly. “I will, my queen,” he said, and then he leaned forward to kiss the top of her forehead, lingering just a moment longer than usual.

Isabella smiled, though the weight of the goodbye tugged at her. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, a gesture of both gratitude and farewell. He had always been loyal, always there. She knew she could count on him.

Finally, she turned to Massin, the dragon lowering its head for her to mount. With practiced ease, Isabella climbed into the saddle, her heart beating fast with the anticipation of the flight. She gripped the reins, glancing back one last time at Pallor and her children. She would fly behind her entourage, who had set out by ship weeks earlier. She would meet them soon in Theran, where she hoped to rally the lords and gain the army she so desperately needed to defeat the Dragon King.

Massin stretched his wings, the wind catching beneath them as they lifted off into the sky. Isabella’s heart surged with a mix of fear and exhilaration as they ascended higher, the ground disappearing beneath them. Flying had given her a strange sense of freedom, and though the journey ahead was fraught with danger, for a brief moment, all she could feel was the wind in her hair and the thrill of the skies.

She practiced flying every day since she tamed Massin, growing more confident with each ride, sometimes even pushing herself and Massin toward dangerous speeds, flying close to the edges of enemy territory—the Dragon King’s palace. It was reckless, but it made her feel powerful, as if for just a moment, she was the master of her fate.

As Massin soared higher, Isabella kept her eyes fixed on the horizon, the distant lands of Old Theran calling her forward. She knew this journey was the only way to secure Allendor’s future. She had to convince the lords that her bloodline and their hatred for the Dragon King were good reasons to join her cause. There was no turning back now.

Isabella’s heart raced as she descended into Theran, the sprawling cities stretching below her like a mosaic of chaos and color. The bustling streets were filled with merchants hawking their wares, the air thick with the scent of spices and the sounds of haggling voices. Here, the remnants of a once-great kingdom were layered atop one another, a testament to centuries of conflict that had torn the land apart.

As Massin landed with a thud, the ground shook slightly beneath her. Isabella dismounted gracefully, taking a moment to absorb the sights and sounds. She had heard tales of this place, of how the old Therian royalty had long since abandoned their homeland, leaving behind a patchwork of lesser lords who ruled not by birthright but by their wealth in trade and commerce. The streets were alive, yet there was a distinct air of desperation and disarray that hung over the crowded city.

Isabella’s arrival did not go unnoticed. People stopped in their tracks, eyes wide with astonishment as they took in the sight of her dragon. It has been centuries since these people had seen a dragon that had come to them without hostility, which was sad, considering that the Therians claimed to be the first people to tame the wild beasts of Tzal.

Isabella noted the signs of decay and neglect that marred the city. Buildings crumbled under the weight of time, and the faces of the people reflected a weariness born from years of war and struggle. Most of the old nobility had scattered, seeking refuge in distant lands, leaving behind only the lower families who thrived through trade. Her mother, Queen Massima, descended from one of those royal families who left Theran during its golden age.

Isabella stepped into a place they called “Royal Hall”, it was located in the ruins of an ancient castle. The hall was filled with the echoes of voices, a cacophony of murmurs and laughter, as the lords of Theran gathered to hear her plea.

Seven lords sat before her, their faces a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. They were dressed in fine but worn garments. The air was thick with tension, and Isabella felt the weight of their gazes upon her. She was taught their language as a child, one of the many languages her royal tutors made sure she learned. She had practiced her words, but now, standing before them, doubt crept in.

Drawing a deep breath, she began. “I am Isabella, Queen of Allendor,” she declared, her voice steady despite her nerves. “Years ago, my kingdom was seized and conquered by the mighty Dragon King and his fire army. I am the only child and heir of my father, King Aldrus. When Allendor fell, I was taken to the Dragon King’s Court of Fallen Queens, his royal harem, where I served him as his concubine and bore him children.”

A murmur rippled through the lords at her words, and Isabella noticed some exchanging incredulous glances. She pressed on, her resolve hardening. “I escaped his palace and reclaimed my rightful place on Allendor’s throne. I have won a few battles, but this war is far from over. The Dragon King will not rest until he has melted my crown with the fire of his dragons.”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, her gaze sweeping over the lords. “I am Queen of Allendor by my father’s blood, but my mother was Queen Massima Amatan of the Amatan clan of old Theran. I stand before you not only as a foreign queen but as a daughter of this land, pleading for your support.”

The lords listened intently, their expressions shifting from skepticism to something more contemplative. Isabella could feel the tension in the air as she continued. “What I ask of you is simple: lend me your strength. The Army of Thorns is not great enough to intimidate the Dragon King for long. I wish for peace, but more than anyone, I understand that to negotiate with him, I must first show him that I can and will put up a good fight. In exchange for that, I offer my friendship. I’ve brought gifts and gold as a sign of my good faith.”

She gestured to the attendants who began to unveil the treasures she had brought—a display of intricately crafted jewelry, fine silks, and gold coins, all laid out as a sign of commitment to the alliance she sought to forge.

One of the lords, a stout man with a hearty laugh, raised an eyebrow and quipped, “You should’ve started with that!” The room erupted into laughter.

“Indeed,” another lord chimed in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s been centuries since a monarch set foot on these godforsaken lands. Well, you have the blood of old Theran, a dragon at your command, and a very pretty hair! I’m in.” He flashed a grin that elicited a ripple of chuckles from the other lords. “I will gladly lend you my support, Queen Isabella,” he continued, bowing his head slightly in respect.

The sentiment spread like wildfire. “And I as well,” another lord added, his voice firm. “You have my allegiance.”

One by one, the remaining lords echoed their support, their expressions now reflecting a sense of hope and purpose. The first lord, still chuckling, lifted his goblet high and declared, “Long live Queen Isabella of Allendor!”

The hall resonated with the call, voices rising in a chorus of unity. “Long live the queen!” they shouted.