Chapter CLXXIII: The right decision
Isabella entered Princess Amara’s chambers, her steps quiet but purposeful. She found Talia seated by the window, watching over the little princess, who was playing with her toys. The handmaiden stood immediately when she saw the queen, bowing her head in deference. But something in Isabella’s expression—a rare, stern seriousness—made Talia’s stomach tighten with dread.
“Your Majesty,” Talia began, searching for words to break the heavy silence.
Isabella studied her for a long moment before speaking. “Ikkar told me everything.”
Talia’s heart sank. She clasped her hands nervously and forced herself to meet the queen’s gaze. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I never meant for things to be this way.”
Isabella raised a hand, cutting her off. “I never expected *you,* of all people, to deceive me like this. To get involved with my son.”
“Deceive you?” Talia’s voice cracked, a mix of shock and desperation. “Your Majesty, I would never dishonor your house. Nothing has ever happened between the prince and me. It was a foolishness I entertained for a moment, years ago. And I will regret it for the rest of my life.”
The queen’s eyes bore into hers, searching. “Do you love him, Talia?”
The question struck like a thunderbolt. Talia’s face flushed, and she averted her gaze, the words refusing to come. She didn’t need to answer; her silence betrayed her.
“I need to leave,” Talia finally whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “For everyone’s sake. I don’t believe Prince Ikkar will give up on this madness, and I must go before—”
“Before what?” Isabella pressed, her tone sharp.
Talia hesitated, then forced herself to continue. “Before he tries to take me out of the palace himself. He told me as much. I don’t want this, Your Majesty. No matter what I feel, the last thing I want is to cause problems. That’s not the kind of woman I wish to be.”
Isabella’s stern expression softened just slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. She nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. This cannot continue.” She sighed, the weight of the situation evident in her voice. “I will arrange a carriage for you. You can go stay with Alicent in the north.”
Talia’s heart clenched at the finality of the queen’s decision, but she bowed her head respectfully. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Isabella’s gaze lingered on her, a flicker of regret in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Talia. But this is for the best. You’re doing the right thing.”
Talia nodded, her composure barely holding. “There’s no way out of this that doesn’t end with a broken heart,” she said quietly. “But I know it’s better this way.”
Isabella said nothing more. She left the room with a heavy sigh, leaving Talia standing alone, her heart aching with the weight of the choice she had no other option but to make.
***
Rya soared through the skies on Emberlace, her dragon, the powerful beats of its wings carrying her toward Dragonspire. From the air, the fortress looked as imposing as ever—a jagged crown of stone atop a steep mountain, its walls weathered by centuries but still unyielding. As they descended, Rya’s breath hitched at the view. From the parapets, one could see the endless stretch of the forest, the winding rivers, and the sprawling lands below.
Dragonspire had always fascinated her. It wasn’t adorned with the glittering luxury of the capital palace, but that was what Rya loved most about it. It felt untamed, raw, and brimming with strength. This was a place meant for legends. She often dreamed of calling it her own—a duchess in her rightful domain, ruling from the very seat her ancestors once held before her great-grandfather moved the crown to the capital.
As Emberlace landed in the courtyard, Rya noticed a small group of soldiers setting up camp on the edge of the fortress grounds. She caught sight of the red-cloaked figure she’d been looking for—Sir Ian Kastal. He stood among his men, directing their efforts, his armor gleaming even in the waning sunlight.
She dismounted gracefully, her dragon letting out a low growl that caused the men to freeze momentarily before bowing deeply. Her boots landed on the hard earth and she made her way toward the group, her eyes quickly finding Sir Ian.
Draped in his red cloak, he stood slightly apart from the others, his posture relaxed but commanding. He was every bit the image of a gallant knight, the firelight catching on his sharp features and the glint of his polished armor. When she approached, he met her gaze directly, unflinching—a rarity that stirred something unexpected within her.
“Your Highness,” he said with a faint smile, bowing slightly but without the obsequiousness she was accustomed to.
“Sir Ian,” Rya replied, allowing his name to roll off her tongue. “I hear you’ve been hunting. I thought I might join your camp for a while. Flying is tiring.”
Ian’s lips quirked in a knowing smile, his tone lightly teasing. “Tiring, is it? Some of us only have horses.”
Rya arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “I assure you, Sir Ian, flying might be faster, but it’s not for the weak.”
The soldiers shifted awkwardly, clearly unsure of how to navigate the sudden tension in the air, but Ian didn’t so much as blink. “Of course, Your Highness,” he said with a hint of amusement. “The hunt might feel dull by comparison, but we’d be honored by your company.”
The evening passed with Rya weaving her way into their camaraderie. Ian remained sharp and clever, answering her flirtatious comments with quick wit and subtle deflections. He didn’t stumble over his words or fumble beneath her gaze; instead, he met her charm with a cool confidence that only seemed to stoke her interest.
Later that night, she found a moment to pull him aside, away from the others. Beneath the silvery moonlight, the glade where they stood felt alive with tension.
“Tell me, Sir Ian,” Rya began, her voice low and melodic. “Can you keep a secret?”
Ian leaned casually against a tree, arms crossed. “That depends, Your Highness. I find life is simpler without secrets to keep.”
Rya took a slow step closer, her gaze never leaving his. “Don’t you think some secrets are worth keeping?”
His smile deepened, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. “Perhaps… But secrets have a way of becoming burdens, even the tempting ones.”
Rya tilted her head, her lips just barely curving upward. “Are you always this cautious, Sir Ian?”
“I like to think of me as simply careful,” he replied, his tone still light. “Some lines aren’t meant to be crossed.”
Her hand lightly brushed against his armored forearm, lingering for a moment as she stepped even closer. “These are just my favorite lines to cross…”
For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—desire, curiosity—but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. He straightened, his face carefully composed.
“Then I would say,” he said evenly, “that this a game best left for those who can afford to lose.”
Rya felt her breath catch, both impressed and infuriated by his ability to keep his composure. She wasn’t used to being resisted, and his quiet confidence only made her want him more.
“Well, Sir Ian,” she said, her voice turning playful again. “Perhaps I’ll just have to change your mind.”
“Perhaps,” he replied with a soft chuckle, stepping back to put a measured distance between them. “But for tonight, Your Highness, I think the stars will have to do.”
As he turned to walk back to the camp, Rya remained in the glade, watching him go with a mixture of frustration and fascination. Ian Kastal was not like the others, and that made him all the more irresistible.
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