Chapter CLIII: Thirteen years

The glow of the evening sun filtered through the tall windows of the royal bedchamber, casting a warm, golden light that softened the edges of the room. Isabella sat at her vanity, brushing out her auburn hair, the strands still lustrous and vibrant despite the years. She caught Alaric’s reflection in the mirror as he stood near the window, arms crossed and eyes distant, watching the horizon as if seeking answers in the sky.

A soft smile touched her lips. “You’re thinking about Ikkar, aren’t you?” she asked, breaking the quiet that had settled between them.

Alaric turned, the furrow in his brow easing as his eyes found hers. He walked over, his steps as sure and commanding as they’d always been. The streaks of silver in his dark hair only added to his formidable presence, a mark of time that had made him all the more captivating to her. He leaned against the edge of the vanity, close enough that she could feel his warmth.

“He’s seventeen now,” Alaric said, his voice deep and thoughtful. “Hard to believe. He’s sharp, fierce… but reckless. I was his age when I became king.”

Isabella’s hand stilled in her hair, and she turned to face him. She understood his concerns, for they were her own as well. Ikkar, their eldest, possessed all the makings of a future king—the commanding stature, the quick wit, the charm that could sway armies. But he also had an appetite for testing the limits, pushing boundaries.

“Kai never gave us this kind of trouble,” she said softly, a wistful note in her voice. Kai, with his calm and steady nature, had grown into a prince who understood the gravity of his role from an early age. He bore the weight of his responsibilities with a maturity that often astonished her. Now, at fourteen, he was preparing to take his place in Rosehall, and the thought of his absence left a dull ache in her chest.

Alaric’s gaze softened as he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Kai was always different. Even as a child, he carried that quiet strength, as if he was born knowing the path ahead.” He paused, a small smile curving his lips. “But Ikkar, Zayr, and Rya… They inherited your kindness and your resilience… But also your temper.”

Isabella laughed, the sound low and warm. “Look who’s talking about temper.” She rolled her eyes. “Ikkar and Zayr sneaking out to the village, Rya trying to best the boys in everything, refusing to follow any rule she didn’t set herself…” She shook her head, but her eyes were bright with pride. “They’re wild now, but they’ll grow into their own, just like you and I eventually did. I have faith in them.”

Alaric watched her, a look of admiration settling on his features. Even after thirteen years of marriage and seven children, Isabella was as captivating as ever. The trials they had faced—the wars, the betrayals, the heartaches—had only made her stronger, and to him, more beautiful. The years had etched small lines at the corners of her eyes, marks of both laughter and sorrow, but they only added depth to the woman he loved.

“And you,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent, “how come you become more beautiful with every passing day.”

Isabella’s eyes met his, the familiar spark between them flaring to life as it always did. She reached up to touch his face, tracing the lines that time had left. “And you, my dragon, grow wiser, fiercer and also more handsome with each passing day… I just love that we get to grow old together.”

Alaric’s hand came up to cover hers, holding it against his cheek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A knock at the door interrupted the moment, and they shared a knowing glance. The soft giggle outside indicated it was Rya, undoubtedly with news or a daring request. Isabella sighed, her eyes alight with the fond exasperation only a parent could know.

“Come in, Rya,” Alaric called.

The door creaked open, and Rya burst in, her golden hair bouncing with her exuberance, eyes dancing with mischief. “Ikkar’s trying to convince Zayr that he can outshoot him from the stables,” she announced, her voice a blend of excitement and challenge. “Mother, Father, you should see them!”

Isabella stood, smoothing her dress, already imagining the scene. “I suppose we’d better prevent them from injuring each other,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

Alaric chuckled, pushing off the vanity. “Or let them try and learn a lesson.”

Rya’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “I think they’d like that! But if you do let them go, can I join? I want to show them both that I can shoot better.”

Isabella exchanged a glance with Alaric, who raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he said, amusement dancing in his voice. “I think we need to ensure you’re safe first, Rya.”

Rya pouted playfully. “But I’m already better than them! I just want them to feel miserable..."

The affectionate bickering continued as they made their way to the training yard, Isabella felt the familiar pull of love and pride in her chest. Their children were flawed, passionate, and full of life. They made mistakes, tested limits, and sometimes frustrated her beyond reason, but they were hers—magnificent and untamed, just as she and Alaric had once been.

As they approached the yard, the sight of Ikkar and Zayr, bows drawn and competitive spirits ablaze, brought a smile to Isabella’s face. She watched as Ikkar’s laughter rang out, a sound that was both joyful and reckless, the echo of a young man who was still learning the weight of his destiny. Zayr, with his dark hair and easy smile, was always eager to challenge his brother, and it was clear that today was no exception.

“Steady your aim!” Isabella called out, laughing as the boys turned to see their parents approaching. “And try not to shoot each other!”

Ikkar raised his bow with a playful grin, his bright blue eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry, Mother! Zayr and I have it all under control.”

Zayr smirked, “For now. Just wait until I show him how it’s done.” He nocked an arrow and released it, the shot soaring through the air and striking the target perfectly.

Alaric watched his children, pride swelling in his chest despite the occasional tension that came with raising them. He turned to Isabella, who stood beside him, her gaze warm with love as she took in the scene. “They grew up too fast,” he murmured, half to himself.

Isabella nodded, the weight of her thoughts heavy. “And yet, I feel as though they’re still just children in many ways. Ikkar thinks he knows everything, but he’s still learning what it means to be… Well, Ikkar..”

“That recklessness of his,” Alaric replied, a hint of worry in his voice. “It can lead him astray.”

“I know. But he’ll figure it out. We all did.” Isabella sighed, a mix of nostalgia and apprehension. “We can’t shield them from every mistake. Sometimes they have to fall to learn.”

As they watched, Ikkar stepped back, his laughter still ringing in the air. He seemed to absorb the sun’s rays, a young man full of promise and vigor, yet Isabella felt the shadows of doubt creeping in. He would be a leader one day, a king, and with that came responsibilities that he barely understood.

Suddenly, she caught sight of Rya, standing apart from the boys, her expression thoughtful. There was a fierceness in her gaze, a spark of ambition that reminded Isabella of her own youth. Rya had a spirit that defied rules and boundaries, and while Isabella admired that in her daughter, she couldn’t help but worry about what it might lead her to do.

“Look at her,” Alaric said, his voice low, as if reading her mind. “She’s already plotting her next challenge.”

“Just like her father,” Isabella teased lightly, though her heart was heavy. “I fear for the boys she chooses to entertain.”

“I’ll ensure they know to keep their distance,” Alaric said with a mock-seriousness.

As the laughter and shouts of their children echoed around them, Isabella leaned into Alaric’s side, taking comfort in the solid warmth of him. Despite their worries, this was a beautiful moment. They were a family, vibrant and alive, and Isabella felt the weight of her love for each one of them.