Chapter CXXXVIII: Deserve

Isabella stared at Alaric, her face pale and twisted with disbelief. Her heart pounded in her chest, not from the lingering pain of childbirth, but from the sharp sting of betrayal. She could barely catch her breath as she looked at him—the man she had trusted above all others.

"How could you do this to me, Alaric?" she asked, her voice a whisper of anguish. "You… You conspired against me."

Alaric took a step toward her, his expression torn between regret and determination. "I know, Isabella. But I need you to trust me, please. I know what I’m doing, everything will be fine."
She shook her head, disbelief hardening into something darker. The love she once felt for him, the safety she thought she had in his arms, shattered in that moment. Before she could respond, Lord Hargrave stepped forward, his voice cold and commanding.

"That’s enough. You both will have plenty of time to discuss your issues. Guards, carry her out."

The soldiers moved forward, and Alaric’s face tightened. He raised a hand, trying to intervene, but Isabella spoke first, her voice firm despite the tremble in her body.
"Fine," she said, her eyes never leaving Alaric’s. "I’ll go. But no one is going to carry me."

She slowly pushed the covers off, revealing her blood-soaked nightgown. The sight of it was horrifying—a brutal reminder of what she had just endured, the birth that had nearly killed her. The pain shot through her body as she moved her legs to stand, every inch of her trembling from exhaustion and agony. Her face contorted in pain, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to show weakness. She held her newborn baby tight and told herself she couldn’t fall because of him.

Alaric rushed to her side, trying to steady her as her body swayed, but she pulled away from him, her eyes filled with fury. She would not let him touch her now, not after this. She would stand on her own, even if it killed her.

She wobbled, nearly collapsing from the pain, but she forced herself to stand upright. With a determined glare, she walked forward, each step more agonizing than the last. Alaric’s hand reached out again, but she did not take it. Instead, she held tight on the baby, walking past him as the guards closed in around her.

Surrounded by guards, Isabella walked through the grand, dimly lit hallways, her body trembling from exhaustion and pain. The blood in her nightgown was the proof of the battle she had just endured to bring their child into the world. In her arms, she held the newborn tightly, cradling him as she fought against the agony in her limbs. Each step sent sharp waves of pain through her hips, but she refused to stop.
Alaric was beside her, his arm hovering near, trying to steady her. But Isabella pulled away, determined to walk without his help.

"I'm so sorry, Isabella," Alaric murmured, his voice barely audible. He sounded broken, defeated. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this."

Isabella’s eyes flashed with fury, her voice laced with venom as she shot back, "Shut up. You betrayed me. You conspired with my enemies to dethrone me just to make me your prisoner again."
"Isabella, I’m truly sorry—" he began.

"I don’t care that you’re sorry," Isabella interrupted, her voice rising with every word. "I spent eleven hours in more pain than you’ll ever feel in your entire lifetime, bringing your fourth child into this world. And all that time, while I was pregnant and sick, you were conspiring behind my back, making false promises." She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to keep walking despite the burning ache in her dislocated hips. "Now, I’m forced to walk with a dislocated hip, because apparently I’m about to be tried for adultery like no king ever has."

Alaric’s face was tight with regret. He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a serious tone, "I know you must hate me now. But you need to trust me."

"Trust you?" Isabella hissed, her rage and pain boiling over. "Don’t you dare speak to me about trust. You don’t deserve my trust, or a single drop of the blood I spilled to birth your children. I should’ve never believed you when you said you loved the woman I became. You just want me bound to your harem again."

Alaric stopped, his expression shifting from regret to something deeper, something more urgent. He spoke slowly, his eyes locking with hers, "I know I don’t deserve you, Isabella. But I need you to trust me."

She met his gaze, her heart torn between fury and confusion. Everything in her screamed not to trust him—he had shattered the one bond she had thought unbreakable. And yet… there was something in his eyes, something that didn’t align with the cold betrayal she had felt moments ago. It was desperate, sincere.

She didn’t know if she could trust him. But she knew for certain that she couldn’t trust anyone else around her.

Isabella glanced out the window, her heart sinking as she saw her dragon, Massin, soaring in the distance, free but out of reach. Lord Hargrave, noticing her gaze, sneered, “Don’t even think about it. The Dragon King has released your dragon. You cannot escape.”

Her chest tightened with longing as she watched Massin circle the skies, the dragon’s powerful wings cutting through the air, a symbol of the freedom that now felt impossible. Her heart ached at the sight.

Alaric leaned in close to her, his breath warm against her ear. “When I tell you to run, you must go to your throne. Hide behind it.”

Isabella blinked in confusion, barely processing his words, but before she could ask, they were led into the grand throne room. Hargrave, Caswell, and Ridley flanked her, their grim faces set on delivering her to her fate. The guards marched her forward, towards the tower entrance where her imprisonment awaited.

Then, Alaric whispered again. "Go."

Without a second thought, Isabella bolted. Pain seared through her body, but she forced herself forward, racing up the steps toward her throne. The guards shouted, rushing after her, but Alaric’s body collided with them, taking down anyone who came too close. He fought with a ferocity she had never seen, holding them back as she crawled up the last steps, clinging to her newborn baby.

Her breath was ragged as she collapsed behind the throne, the marble cold against her back. She could still hear the chaos—Alaric, fists flying, blades clashing—but she didn’t understand what he was planning. She pressed her baby close to her chest, trembling.

Suddenly, she saw Alaric pause in the middle of the chaos, his eyes closed, lips moving in a barely audible chant. Time seemed to shift—everything slowed, the guards’ movements dulled as if the very air had thickened. And then, a deafening crash shattered the room.

The windows above the throne room exploded into shards, and Massin burst through, the dragon’s massive form filling the space. Isabella gasped, the beast’s presence consuming everything, its roar shaking the walls.

Massin’s eyes met hers briefly before the dragon turned, its jaws widening. Alaric’s voice echoed in her memory—hide behind the throne. She ducked down, her back pressed firmly against the stone, shielding her baby beneath her.

A blinding orange glow filled the room as Massin unleashed its fiery breath. The heat was overwhelming, the roar of the flames deafening. Isabella peeked around the corner of the throne just in time to see the lords and the guards consumed by fire, their bodies writhing in agony, some already falling to the ground in death.

But one figure stood untouched by the flames: Alaric. Isabella’s eyes widened in shock, her breath caught in her throat. He turned slowly toward her, and she saw his eyes—a brilliant golden amber, glowing like a dragon’s eyes.

Alaric strode toward Isabella, stepping through the smoldering remains of the throne room. The curtains and banners still burned, casting an eerie glow over the scene. Flames danced across the walls, the heat stifling, but Alaric seemed unaffected as he moved closer to her.

"I promised you I would burn anyone who dared to come against you," he said, his voice steady, though his body was visibly weary.