Chapter CLXVIII: When girls grow up

The kingdom buzzed with joy at the announcement of a new heir. As was tradition, the Dragon King ordered feasts, celebrations, and festivities across the land, uniting every corner of his realm in jubilation. At the royal court, there was a double cause for celebration. Princess Rya had returned from the Stormlands, triumphant in her mission to reopen the southern roads for trade—a feat no one had truly expected of her.

Isabella stood by her window, bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, as Talia tightened the last adjustments to her dress. The queen ran her hands over the smooth fabric and said with a light laugh, "Thank you, Talia. I can’t believe you managed to loosen the bodice just enough for me to breathe. I really wanted to wear this tonight, but my stomach has already started to show."  

Talia smiled as she finished securing the laces. “It’s a pleasure to help, Your Majesty. You look stunning, as always.”  

Isabella caressed her growing belly, a soft expression crossing her face. “I still can’t believe I’m pregnant again. Eight children...”  

Talia’s smile deepened. “It must be wonderful, my queen, to be blessed with so many princes and princesses.”  

Isabella chuckled warmly. “It is. Truly, the greatest honor of my life. But I won’t pretend I’m excited about going through childbirth for the eighth time... It’s always lovely to ‘get them in,’ but awful to push them out.”  

Talia paused, confused. “Get them in?”  

Isabella’s eyes widened, and then she burst into laughter. “Oh, gods, I forgot I wasn’t speaking to Alicent for a moment! Don’t mind me, sweetheart, you’ll know what I’m talking about when it’s your turn.” She smiled as she noticed Talia’s innocent expression and softened her tone. “Tell me, Talia, do you think about getting married?”  

The handmaiden shook her head quickly, looking down at her needlework. “No, Your Majesty. I haven’t considered it.”  

“Why not?” Isabella asked, her curiosity piqued. “You’re young, kind, and lovely. Surely, you must’ve caught someone’s attention around here.”  

Talia hesitated, keeping her eyes fixed on the fabric in her hands. “I wish to serve you as long as I’m needed, my queen.”  

Isabella tilted her head, studying her with a knowing look. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know. Many of my handmaidens eventually found love and left to get married—even Alicent. I’m always so happy for them when they find a good match.”  

Talia’s smile faltered, and her voice grew quiet. “Lady Alicent’s wedding dress... It was the last dress my mother ever made. I helped her embroider the train. It was so beautiful.”  

Isabella’s face softened. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Talia. But your mother must be somewhere really proud of the young woman you’ve become.”  

Talia smiled faintly, though her eyes glimmered with emotion. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I like to believe that too.”  

“Is your little sister well?” Isabella asked suddenly.  

Talia looked up, surprised that the queen had remembered she even had a sister. “Yes, my queen. Lady Alicent is still looking after her.”  

“Good,” Isabella said with a nod. “Alicent helped me raise my first four children. Your sister is in the best hands.”  

Talia’s smile grew, but she said nothing, her fingers deftly moving through the fabric.  

Isabella glanced out at the garden below, where the sunlight streamed across the stream like molten gold. Her voice turned wistful. “I grew up without my mother. There were so many things I wish she’d taught me...” She trailed off before turning back to Talia. “So, are there truly no boys in court who’ve caught your attention?”  

Talia froze, pricking her finger with the needle. Her face flushed as she stammered, “N-no, of course not.”  

Isabella laughed softly, shaking her head. “Please, Talia. A girl as pretty as you must have caught someone’s eye. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you can entertain the idea.”  

Talia blushed deeply, lowering her gaze. “I wouldn’t dare, my queen.”  

“Well, I certainly did.” Isabella leaned against the window, her expression warm with nostalgia. “When I was ten, during the Aladuramend Festival in Allendor, the court was filled with kings, princes, and lords—the finest men I’d ever seen, all my father’s guests. I ditched my maids, secretly drank a whole bottle of wine, and danced with all of them that night. Including, of course, the most handsome of them all—the Dragon King.”  

Talia smiled despite herself.  

“It’s a shame I barely remember it,” Isabella continued, laughing lightly. “I was a child and I was terribly drunk, but I remember having fun. Girls grow up and suddenly discover this fire inside them—this passion, this desire to love and be loved. It’s a gift, Talia. And when you find the right person, it’s a beautiful thing to share it.”  

Talia’s heart raced as Isabella’s words echoed in her mind. She forced a smile, but her thoughts betrayed her. Whatever fire she had inside of her... It burned for someone she could never have.

***

A grand feast welcomed the Dragon Princess home, and Rya, draped in a regal gown of deep blue, basked in the warmth of her family and subjects. For the first time, she felt the weight of her parents’ pride, the kind she had longed for her entire life. She had accomplished something truly meaningful, not just for herself but for the kingdom.  

After dinner, her father, the Dragon King, summoned her to his private office. Rya’s heart raced with anticipation as she stepped inside. Alaric stood by the large oak desk, a soft smile playing on his lips.  

"I have a gift for you," he said, his deep voice warm with affection. "A token of recognition for what you accomplished in the Stormlands."  

From a velvet-lined chest, he lifted a silver tiara, intricately adorned with diamonds that caught the candlelight like scattered stars.  

“This belonged to your grandmother,” he explained. “It was meant to be passed down to her eldest daughter. But I had no sisters on her side, so I saved it for you.”  

Rya’s breath hitched as she gazed at the tiara. It was beautiful—delicate yet regal. She smiled, her heart swelling with emotion, and stepped forward to embrace her father.  

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered. “It’s perfect.”  

Alaric returned the embrace, then gently placed the tiara atop her head. He stepped back, studying her with an expression that was both proud and melancholic, as if he saw something in her that she could not understand.  

Rya hesitated under his gaze, a flicker of unease brushing against her joy. *Does he know?* she wondered briefly, her mind flitting to her actions in the Stormlands. But she pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the gift before her.  

“I’ll wear it with pride,” she said, her voice firm. Alaric nodded, but before he could speak, Rya straightened and took a deep breath. “This tiara is truly lovely, but there’s something else I want, Father.”  

Her father’s brows knit together in mild confusion. “And what is that?”  

“I want the title of Duchess of Dragonspire,” she said, her voice steady but edged with determination.  

Alaric froze, his expression shifting to shock and uncertainty. “Duchess of Dragonspire?” he repeated, as if unsure he had heard her correctly.  

Rya nodded. “The title you were going to give Mother but never did.”  

His frown deepened, and he studied her as though trying to decipher her true intent. “Why?”  

“It doesn’t have to be now,” Rya said quickly. “I know I still have much to prove, but I want the chance to keep proving myself worthy of it.”  

“Rya,” Alaric said, his tone caught somewhere between bemusement and concern, “you’re a royal princess of dragon blood. Why would you aspire to be a duchess?”  

Rya met his gaze, her resolve unwavering. “Because ‘princess’ is not hereditary, Father. It doesn’t come with land or prospects. It comes with pretty dresses, endless etiquette lessons, and that’s it. I want more. I want a mission, a purpose, like all my brothers have.”  

Alaric leaned back, arms crossed, his sharp eyes assessing her. “And you believe a duchy will give you this purpose you’re after?”  

“One day, I’ll marry a fine lord,” Rya said, a faint smile softening her features. “Maybe he’ll give me a new title, a castle, and everything else that comes with it. But until then, I want to be more than the spoiled princess who has to fight and cheat to get her way. I want something that is *mine*. A title, land, responsibility—I want to *earn* it.”  

Alaric’s face shifted, his shock giving way to something more introspective. He exhaled slowly, as if weighing her words with the gravity they deserved.  

“You’ve thought this through,” he said at last.  

“I have.”  

He was quiet for a long moment, the tension in the room palpable. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained guarded. “I’ll discuss this with your mother.”  

Rya’s face lit up with gratitude. She stepped forward, embracing him tightly. “Thank you,” she said, her voice full of emotion.  

Alaric patted her back, his voice quieter now. “You’ve made me proud, Rya.”  

For the first time in her life, those words felt real.