Chapter CXXIX: Likely
The king let the letter fall from his hands, staring blankly at the paper as it fluttered to the floor. His mind reeled with the weight of Lady Belet’s words. There was a chance—no, a likelihood—that Isabella had been pregnant when she fled the palace.
The king’s mind spun as he recalled the words of the man who had infiltrated Rosehall: a pair of twins. Isabella had twins. Could they… Belong to him? Before Alaric could make sense of the thoughts crashing through his mind, there was a sharp knock on his door, pulling him from this spiral.
“Enter,” he barked, still trying to process everything. A guard stepped in, followed by one of his knights, their faces pale with urgency.
“What is it?” The king demanded.
The knight bowed, but his words were rushed. “Your Majesty, there is news from Allendor.”
“What news?” the king asked, impatience bleeding into his tone.
The knight hesitated for a moment before answering, “The Red Queen… She burned the troops to the ground.”
***
Isabella watched in stunned silence as the Dragon King’s troops burned beneath her. The roar of Massin’s fire filled the air, the sight of flames consuming the enemy both terrifying and surreal. She had just unleashed the full might of her dragon—she had done it. But as the last of the soldiers fell to the inferno, a wave of nausea surged within her.
Her eyes caught something in the distance—an arpon, massive and deadly, aimed at Massin. They were ready to shoot her dragon from the sky. With a panicked tug on the reins, she turned Massin and flew back to the palace, the smoke of the battlefield still clinging to her.
She landed in the courtyard and rushed into her chambers through the window. Alicent was there, hiding with her children. The moment Isabella saw them—her two precious little ones, unharmed—a flood of relief washed over her.
“Thank the gods,” Isabella breathed, coughing as the acrid smell of smoke filled the room with her.
Alicent was coughing too. “What happened? Isabella, what’s going on?”
Isabella slammed the window shut, trying to block out the stench. “It’s over,” she said, her voice tight. “I stopped them. The army… they won’t reach the palace.”
Before Alicent could respond, a commotion sounded from the hall outside. Raised voices, hurried footsteps. Isabella's heart skipped a beat, panic tightening in her chest.
“Stay here,” Isabella ordered, her voice urgent. “Don’t leave with the children.”
She bolted from the room, her mind racing. What now? What could have gone wrong?
As she descended the staircase, her breath caught in her throat. She saw two soldiers, their faces grim, carrying a figure between them. A figure soaked in blood. Pallor. His body, limp and pale, hung between the men as they laid him down on a table in the main hall.
“No,” Isabella whispered, her steps quickening into a sprint. “No! Pallor!”
She reached him and dropped to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she shook him, trying to rouse him. His chest was slick with blood, his face drained of color. She pressed her hands against his wound, but it was too late—his body was cold, lifeless.
Isabella screamed, her cries echoing in the hall. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched him, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Pallor, please..." she begged through her tears, shaking him harder, as if willing him back to life. But the fatal wound on his chest had claimed him long before she arrived.
She wept over him, her world crumbling beneath the weight of his death. Pallor, the man who had loved her, protected her, was gone. He had given everything for her, and now she was left with the blood of his sacrifice staining her hands.
Isabella cried and cried, the pain consuming her entire being.
The victory against the Fire Army was a hollow one. They had stopped the enemy from breaching Rosehall's walls, and the few soldiers who didn’t perish in the flames had retreated. But the cost had been too great. Pallor, their beloved king, was gone.
Pallor had fought tirelessly for Allendor, never hesitating to don his armor and defend his people, even in his final moments. Isabella couldn’t fathom the reality of his death—he had died protecting her, just as he promised. She had asked him to take care of her children, and he had done so with unwavering loyalty, giving his life in the process.
Though Isabella never loved him as a lover, Pallor had been a good husband, a true friend, and a man of honor. His death left a void in her heart that she hadn’t expected. She found herself grieving for him deeply, knowing he had been the one constant by her side when she reclaimed her throne. He had fulfilled his duty until the end, leaving behind a legacy of sacrifice and loyalty.
As Isabella mourned, her belly grew, an unmistakable sign of her pregnancy. But she made no official announcement. Grief consumed her days, and whispers spread through the court. There were quiet murmurs, hushed voices speculating that the child she carried might not be Pallor’s. Isabella, however, paid no mind to the rumors. Her focus was elsewhere—on the kingdom, on arming and training the Therians who had joined her army.
With Pallor gone, she took on more responsibility, working with her generals to prepare for the war ahead. The Therians, though untrained, were willing to fight, and under her command, they would become a force to be reckoned with. But the grief lingered, ever-present, even as she steeled herself for what was to come. The Dragon King was still out there, and her battle was far from over.
One morning, the quiet tension in the palace was shattered by a cry from the sentries stationed atop the castle walls. A dragon had been spotted in the skies above, flying towards Allendor.
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