Chapter CXXXIII: Reunited
The Dragon King was escorted through the palace corridors by the guards. But now, the shackles were gone, and he was led not to a cell but to one of the palace’s opulent rooms. When he entered, his breath caught in his throat.
Isabella stood near the window, the sunlight casting a golden hue around her. On the floor, sitting on a thick, plush carpet, was Ikkar—his son. The boy was playing quietly, stacking small wooden blocks, unaware of the moment that was about to unfold.
Alaric's heart raced. He had not seen his son in a long time, and the memory of him as a small infant was distant now. But here he was, his boy, older, stronger, and yet still so young.
He knelt down beside him, the weight of the moment causing his chest to tighten. Ikkar paused, looking up at the stranger kneeling next to him with curious and confused eyes. There was no recognition in the boy’s face, only uncertainty.
Isabella’s voice broke the silence, soft but firm. “Go to your father, my love.”
The boy hesitated, glancing at his mother for reassurance, then back to Alaric. Slowly, cautiously, Ikkar rose from the carpet, taking tentative steps toward the Dragon King. Alaric’s heart swelled as the boy approached, his small form dwarfed by the man who had longed for this moment.
When Ikkar was close enough, Alaric gently pulled him into his arms, hugging him tightly as though he might vanish if he let go. The boy was stiff at first, uncertain, but then slowly relaxed in his father’s embrace.
Alaric kissed Ikkar’s cheeks, marveling at the feel of his soft skin. “You’ve grown so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “So big… since I last saw you.”
Tears welled in Alaric’s eyes as he held his son, realizing how much time had been lost, how much he had missed. But for this moment, he let himself feel the joy of reunion, the wonder of holding his child again.
The king stood slowly, lifting Ikkar into his arms. He looked toward Isabella, his voice gentle as he asked, “What about the twins?”
Isabella turned toward the far side of the room, where two cribs sat side by side. She motioned for Alaric to follow. He walked with her, Ikkar still resting against his chest, and when they reached the cribs, he gazed down at the two tiny figures lying within. Zayr and Rya, the children he had never met.
The twins were peacefully asleep, their small chests rising and falling with each quiet breath. Alaric’s heart clenched at the sight. He had missed the chance to hold them in their first moments of life, to watch them grow this much alongside their brother. The weight of that loss pressed on him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the present.
“They're beautiful,” he whispered, his voice almost reverent.
He longed to hold them, to feel the warmth of their small bodies in his arms as he had with Ikkar, but he knew better than to disturb their sleep. He let his hand hover above their cribs, close enough to feel their presence but not close enough to wake them.
“What have you named them?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on the twins.
Isabella’s voice was soft when she replied, “Zayr and Rya.”
Alaric's brow furrowed slightly as the names registered. “Both names mean fire in the Old Tongue,” he said, a touch of surprise and admiration in his tone.
Isabella nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “I know,” she said quietly.
Alaric's gaze remained fixed on the twins as he spoke, his voice low and heavy with unspoken frustration. “How could you leave me knowing you were pregnant?”
Isabella’s posture stiffened, but her voice remained calm. “I didn’t know,” she replied. “Not until halfway through the journey. By then, there was no going back.”
“You could have always come back to me,” Alaric said, his eyes searching hers, as if hoping to unravel the years that had torn them apart.
“To what, Alaric?” Isabella asked, her voice sharper now, her eyes meeting his with defiance. “To the punishments you would give me for running away? To that sweet little gilded cage you kept me in while forcing me to share it with another woman and child?”
Alaric’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. Isabella’s words came fast now, her tone a mix of pain and bitterness.
“It doesn’t matter that Dara deceived you,” she continued. “For a moment, we both believed it was true, and in that moment, you made the decision to keep her and her child in the palace. To raise her son alongside mine, knowing full well the consequences it would bring.”
Alaric’s face softened, his eyes reflecting the weight of her accusations. He opened his mouth to say something, but Isabella wasn’t finished.
“I was resigned to the heartbreak of it all,” she admitted, her voice breaking for just a moment. “I would have spent the rest of my days in misery, but I would’ve stayed. It was when Dara began to insinuate a dispute for the crown that I knew I had to run. I couldn’t stay and watch my son’s life be threatened like that. As a mother, my place was to ensure his safety, and if that meant running away, reclaiming my crown, raising an army, and waging war against his own father… Then I would do it all over again if I had to.”
Her words hung in the air, the raw honesty of them cutting through the space between them.
Alaric sighed, the weight of years of mistakes and regrets heavy on his shoulders. “I could accuse you of many things, Isabella,” he said, his voice soft, “but not being a great mother isn’t one of them.” He paused, glancing down at Ikkar. “I’m sorry for letting Dara deceive me. She played on something that maybe she figured that was my one true weakness…”
Isabella watched him, her face impassive, as Alaric held Ikkar. He spent time with the boy, talking softly, trying to remind him that he was his father. Ikkar was hesitant at first, but curiosity eventually brought him closer and he seemed happy to play with him. Alaric kissed his son’s forehead, cherishing this moment of fragile reconnection.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
