Chapter CXXXVII: Deal

Isabella was in agony, her body wracked with pain as the midwives maneuvered her, trying desperately to turn the baby into the right position. Each movement sent waves of pain so intense that she felt as if she might lose consciousness, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to stay strong. She couldn’t let go, not now. Eleven grueling hours passed as her body fought to bring her child into the world.

Outside the door, Alaric stood like a statue, refusing to move. He did not eat, drink, or rest. Servants brought food, but he waved them away, his mind fixed on the sounds from behind the door—her screams, the midwives' whispered instructions, and the ominous silence in between. He silently prayed, over and over, that he would hear the cry of their baby and then see Isabella’s smile soon.

The hours dragged on, each one heavier than the last, but Alaric did not leave her door. He paced, fists clenched, heart racing with every agonizing second that passed. His mind wavered between hope and fear, imagining the worst but desperately clinging to the vision of his family, whole and happy. He couldn’t stand the idea of losing Isabella, the mere thought was absurd. She couldn’t die… She wouldn’t die. He made tons of promises to whatever gods would listen to him to save her. Nothing else mattered.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he heard it. A faint cry, a small but unmistakable sound of life coming from the other side of the door. His heart stopped for a moment, and then he rushed forward, opening the door with trembling hands.

Inside, the room was a chaos of blood and sweat, but there in the middle of it all, Isabella lay on the bed, soaked in blood and utterly exhausted. But she was smiling—a soft, weary smile—and in her arms, cradled close to her chest, was their newborn child.

Alaric knelt by the bed, his eyes filling with tears as he gazed at their child. His prayer had been answered. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then gently caressed the baby’s tiny hand, overwhelmed with gratitude and love.

Isabella, still trembling and weak, looked up at Alaric, her eyes filled with love and exhaustion as she whispered, "It's a boy." Alaric’s chest tightened, and a wave of relief washed over him. He smiled, grateful beyond words, someone had listened to his prayers. Both Isabella and their son were alive. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her pale lips, savoring the warmth of her presence.

The midwives continued cleaning her, though the room was still filled with an overwhelming amount of blood, reminding him of how close he had come to losing her. Isabella’s breaths were shallow, her strength drained, but her will remained unbroken. She looked up at him, her voice quiet but determined. "I thought I was going to die... several times... but I couldn’t give up. I had to live—for our children, to meet him… And to become your wife."

Alaric held her hands, kissed them softly, his voice full of emotion. "Death wouldn’t dare take you from me, Isabella."

Tears rolled down Isabella’s cheeks as she looked at their newborn son in her arms. She smiled through the pain, her voice shaking. "What... what are we going to name him?"

Before Alaric could answer, the doors to the room suddenly burst open, the sound of heavy boots echoing through the chamber. A group of guards stormed in, followed closely by three of Isabella’s lords. The room filled with tension as the lords stood before the king and queen, their faces grave.

Alaric immediately stood, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword, though he wasn’t armed. Isabella’s heart raced, her exhausted body unable to react fast enough, but her mind was sharp. She tightened her hold on their son, her eyes flashing with both fear and fury as she tried to understand what was happening.

“What is the meaning of this? Get out of here!” Isabella demanded, clinging to her baby.

Lord Hargrave stepped forward, his voice cold and commanding. “Isabella of Allendor, you are under arrest on the accounts of adultery.”

Isabella, still reeling from childbirth, could barely process the words. Her heart pounded, her body too weak to respond, her mind struggling to catch up. "What?" she repeated in disbelief, her voice hoarse.

Hargrave’s expression was unrelenting. “You are accused of becoming pregnant with a bastard child while still bound by marriage to the late King Pallor.”

Before Isabella could react, Alaric’s voice rang out, sharp with fury. “You can’t do this. This wasn’t part of the deal.”

Isabella's head snapped toward him, her eyes wide with confusion. “Deal? What deal?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Alaric hesitated, his gaze faltering as Lord Hargrave spoke up again, his tone urgent. “There have been changes in the plan.”

Alaric’s jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Not now, Hargrave. You can’t do this now, she’s just given birth!”

Isabella's mind whirled, and her panic deepened. She turned to Alaric, her voice shaky. “What is he talking about, Alaric? What deal is this?”

Hargrave’s eyes gleamed with cold triumph as he explained. “The Dragon King agreed to help us put an end to your reign, Queen Isabella.”

“No… no… no...” Isabella whispered, shaking her head as she looked at Alaric. Her heart broke as she saw his silence. He stood there, his face unreadable, his mouth tightly shut.

***

In the dimly lit chamber, Lords Hargrave, Caswell, and Ridley huddled close, voices low and tense as they plotted their next move. Despite their grievances against Isabella, they acknowledged one undeniable truth: she was a formidable ruler, both feared and respected.

"She's not the perfect queen," Lord Ridley muttered, "but her military victories speak louder than any scandal. She took back Rosehall, tamed a dragon, and commands an army of Therian soldiers loyal to her personally—not to Allendor."

Lord Caswell nodded, grimacing. "The people don't follow her because of her purity. They follow her because she wins. And with that dragon…"

Suddenly, a voice cut through the room. "You're all fools."

The three lords spun around, their hearts leaping in their chests. Standing casually in the shadows was The Dragon King, Alaric. His eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he stepped forward, his presence as commanding as ever.

The lords were visibly shaken, Lord Hargrave the first to find his voice. "What are you doing here?"

Alaric sauntered closer, folding his arms over his chest as he sized them up. "Isabella is too powerful to be dethroned in the way you plan. She could have cheated on your late king with a thousand men and their horses, and it wouldn’t change the fact that she is probably the most powerful military ruler your kingdom ever had. She recovered your capital and has a dragon no one else can ride or control. You cannot simply accuse her of adultery and hope she will step down quietly."

Lord Caswell paled. "Why are you telling us this?"

Alaric smirked, the air thickening with tension as the lords waited for his response. "You need my help. And believe me when I say, I have a vested interest in seeing Isabella dethroned as well."

Hargrave narrowed his eyes, his suspicion evident. "Why would you help us? Last we heard, you wanted to marry her."

Alaric's smirk deepened into something more menacing. "Isabella has caused me significant trouble. She burned a part of my army, defied me, and marrying her would be more of a burden than an advantage. If she were dethroned and proclaimed dead, I could take her from here and bring her to my palace in secrecy."

The lords exchanged shocked glances, unsure whether to trust him.

"You’re not powerful enough to dethrone Isabella without my help," Alaric said, his voice a deep, measured rumble. "Nor are you smart enough to carry out a plan without her catching on. She already suspects that something is wrong. The only thing keeping her vulnerable now is her pregnancy."

The lords exchanged uneasy glances. Lord Hargrave cleared his throat. "What are you suggesting, then?"

Alaric’s lips curled into a knowing smile, one that sent chills down their spines. "A public trial wouldn’t be interesting. She is still too loved, too feared by her soldiers and the people. You’d risk a civil war in her name. And you would probably lose."

Caswell nodded slowly, understanding creeping in. "So… what do we do instead?"

"You trial her in secret," Alaric said calmly. "Announce to the people that Isabella of Allendor died in childbirth. Or after it, doesn’t matter. It’s quite believable, given her current condition."

Hargrave’s brow furrowed, skepticism lingering. "And the child?"

"I’ll take our children with me," Alaric said, his tone nonchalant, as if discussing a minor inconvenience. "I’ll be the bad guy again, taking the heir of Allendor by force. That way, there will be no immediate heirs to the throne. No one to rally around."

Lord Ridley’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. "If she’s dead, and the children are gone…"

Alaric finished the thought for him. "Then you’ll have a window of opportunity to install a new government. The people will mourn, but they’ll also be desperate for leadership. Without an heir to challenge you, you’ll have control."

Alaric continued, his voice smooth as silk. "Think about it. You get rid of her without a public spectacle. I’ll take her children with me—there will be no heirs left in Allendor. The throne will be empty. You'll have the opportunity to install a new government. A clean slate."

Ridley swallowed, glancing nervously at the others. "And Isabella?"

Alaric’s gaze darkened. "She’ll live, but as my captive again. Hidden away in my palace like she should’ve been all along. Never to set foot in Allendor again."

Hargrave, still cautious, asked, "Why should we believe you'll stick to the plan?"

Alaric chuckled darkly. "Because I want her, not her crown, not her army. This way, she is no longer your problem or mine. You get your throne, and I… get her."

The lords were silent for a moment, weighing the risks and rewards. Then Hargrave, speaking for the group, nodded. "Fine. We have a deal."