Chapter CXLVI: Another lives

Isabella poured her focus into preparing the palace to receive Lord and Lady Wendell, the regents of Allendor, letting the whirl of activity serve as a balm against the raw ache of her recent loss. It was the first time, since Alaric’s ascent to the throne, that a noble delegation from Allendor would enter his court, a visit charged with both political and personal significance. The once-conquered nation, once held under the harsh dominion of the Dragon King’s armies, now sent representatives willingly—not as subjugated subjects, but as sovereign allies. And Isabella, once Allendor’s champion and its rightful queen, had fought to restore that sovereignty alongside her husband.

For Isabella, everything had to be flawless, each detail carefully attended to: fine Allendorian wines and herbs, familiar to the Wendells and their retinue, graced the tables; tapestries woven in Allendor’s iconic reds and silvers were draped along the grand hall, symbolizing the unity of their realms. She’d personally overseen the preparations for the feast, from the delicate pastries to the grand roast. Every flower, every banner, was a symbol—a gesture that this was more than politics; it was a celebration of trust renewed and loyalty freely given.

But Isabella couldn’t ignore that Alaric’s reception of the visit was… lukewarm. He wore a mask of cordiality for her sake, but she sensed the unspoken reservations beneath his polite nods and faint smiles. He might have accepted the alliance in the name of peace and for her, yet Allendor’s past rebellion and fierce independence likely lingered in his memory, the marks of a difficult past to easily put aside.

One afternoon, as they walked together along the courtyard discussing final preparations, Isabella caught a slight tightening of his jaw as she mentioned the visiting lords.

“You don’t seem excited about this visit,” she said, studying him.

Alaric gave a faint shrug. “Excitement isn’t quite the word I’d use. Perhaps… Wary.” He hesitated, then met her eyes without the slightest trace of vulnerability. “My history with Allendor is recent and brutal… And it’s not so easily forgotten, I think.”

Isabella reached for his hand, a gentle touch of reassurance. “It’s different this time, my love. They are coming here to honor the peace our union created and to pay their respects to their queen… And her king consort.”

Alaric’s face softened as he turned to her, his thumb tracing her knuckles. “Don’t bother pretending, dear. It’s because of you that they come. You’re the bridge between our kingdoms, your people still see me mostly as an enemy rather than your consort.” His gaze grew more intense, the fierce protector in him resurfacing. “But should any of them dare to forget that I am king here, Isabella, the peace we’ve built could splinter.”

“They won’t forget,” Isabella murmured with conviction, squeezing his hand. “No one will ever forget. You have my word.”

The Allendorian entourage arrived in grand fashion, waving their crimson banners proudly as they approached the palace gates. Isabella, standing tall beside Alaric, wore not the Dragon King’s crown—the one gifted to her when she was crowned his consort—but instead, the crown of her father, the one bearing the weight of Allendor’s legacy. Today was a day to remind her people of who she was, who she had fought for, and the sovereignty she had reclaimed.

Alaric stood regal beside her, draped in his dark velvet cape, his silver crown gleaming in the sun, an unmistakable symbol of power. Their four children stood beside them, squirming with barely contained energy. Alicent whispered frantically to keep them in line, her hands darting out to prevent Rya from tugging at her skirt or Ikkar from unsheathing his wooden sword in a show of boyish bravado. But as the carriage rolled to a stop, even the children seemed awestruck, momentarily subdued by the grandeur of the occasion.

The herald announced Lord and Lady Wendell’s arrival. The doors of the carriage opened, and Lord Wendell stepped out first, turning to help his wife as she descended. Isabella’s eyes were drawn to Clara’s hand as it pressed tenderly against her belly, a subtle yet unmistakable curve suggesting the early stages of pregnancy. A sudden pang struck Isabella—not of jealousy necessarily but of an intimate recognition. Clara, like herself, was no longer the carefree, bright-eyed teenage girl she once was but a grown woman carrying the weight of legacy, family, and responsibility.

Once at the palace steps, Lord Wendell and Clara bowed low before Alaric and Isabella. Lord Wendell’s eyes met the king’s briefly, and he held himself with quiet dignity as he addressed them both. “Your Majesties, we are honored to stand before you. Thank you for receiving us.”

With a warm smile, Clara stepped forward, breaking decorum to wrap Isabella in a tight embrace. “It’s been a long time, my queen,” she said softly, her voice filled with the warmth of old friendship and deep respect.
Isabella hugged her back, feeling an unexpected surge of emotion. “Far too long, Clara,” she replied, her voice laced with joy and nostalgia. "And I see that you and Lord Wendell brought one extra guest." She glanced meaningfully at Clara’s belly, and Clara smiled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

When they pulled back, Alaric extended a hand toward Lord Wendell, nodding with a restrained but courteous smile. “You and your family are most welcome here,” he said firmly, his voice carrying the strength and authority of his rule.

As the entourages exchanged formal greetings, Isabella’s gaze wandered to her children, who seemed to have momentarily forgotten their earlier impatience, staring up with wide eyes at the guests from their mother’s homeland. A deep sense of unity filled the air, as the ties Isabella had once fought so hard to secure—between Allendor and the Dragon King’s domain—stood visibly embodied in their alliance, witnessed by all who had come to celebrate this hard-won peace.

As they strolled through the palace corridors, Clara leaned in closer to Isabella, her hand resting instinctively on her belly. “I’m about four months now,” she murmured, a faint, radiant smile touching her face. Isabella matched her expression with a warm look of her own, leading Clara through the familiar halls, pointing out the new tapestries and additions that had transformed the palace since she been there over three years ago.

“I’m so happy for you, Clara, truly. Being a mother is… Well, it’s a blessing,” Isabella said, her voice affectionate but light with a playful edge. “It’s just a bit painful getting them out of there,” she added.

Clara laughed, her gaze wandering down the hallway and over the distant gardens. “I’ve missed these gardens. I used to tend them myself, remember? They looked much better back when I was here.” Her voice was tinged with nostalgia. “I think I miss it sometimes,” she admitted. “Being Elara… Sneaking out, walking around the village just to feel free for a little while. I don’t have the time for that anymore, much less for my flowers. And now with the baby…” Her words trailed off wistfully.

Isabella smiled knowingly, guiding Clara onto the balcony overlooking the very gardens they’d once escaped through. The lush greenery was woven with blooms that swayed gently in the breeze. “It does feel like another life, doesn’t it?” Isabella said. “So much has changed… And I suppose that leaving Rosehall in your hands was a great burden.”

Clara looked out over the gardens, a faint shadow in her eyes. “You left Rosehall in my lord husband’s hands, my queen,” she corrected, a note of irony in her voice. Isabella caught her look and gave her a knowing smile, raising an eyebrow.

After a moment, Isabella asked softly, “How have things been with Lord Wendell? In your marriage, I mean.”

Clara let out a thoughtful sigh. “He’s a good man. And he’s doing an admirable job as head of the council, truly. But the first year of our marriage… It wasn’t really easy.”

“Why?” Isabella asked, sensing there was more to the story.

Clara hesitated, then replied, “Well, it’s complicated. I married him for a reason not so different from why you married my father. I was worried I couldn’t establish myself as the Duchess of Pallor on my own after my father passed. Lord Wendell seemed like a wise choice. He was honorable, honest… Reliable.”

“You sound pragmatic,” Isabella murmured, her tone gentle but with a touch of concern. “Almost as if… It wasn’t a choice made with your heart.”

Clara’s gaze remained fixed on the gardens below, her expression pensive. “Not every girl can afford romance, my queen,” she said softly. “Not without a war.” She chuckled a bit, shaking her head.

Isabella’s laughter joined hers, a knowing laugh of shared understanding. “I do know what that’s like.”

Clara smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Despite everything, I’m making it work,” she said quietly. “But… I just wish my father were here. He’d know what to say to me, and he’d know how to make it all simpler. Even in his silence, he had a way of… Anchoring me. I wish he was here to meet his grandchild. I miss him.”

Isabella’s expression softened as she took Clara’s hand in her own. “He would be proud of you, Clara. And, you’re right, he would probably know what to say, what to do… I miss him as well.”