Chapter CLXXVIII: A stupid title

Ikkar kissed her slowly, savoring the sweetness of her lips. With deliberate care, he turned her around, his fingers working to undo the laces of her bodice. He gently slid the sleeves from her shoulders, revealing her soft, delicate skin. He pressed his lips to her neck and shoulders, leaving a trail of kisses that sent shivers through her body.

Turning her back to face him, he captured her mouth in another deep kiss as her dress loosened and threatened to fall. Guiding her to the bed, he whispered for her to sit. Talia obeyed, perching on the edge of the mattress. Ikkar knelt before her, his hands parting her knees.

"No," she said, shaking her head as she reached for him, trying to pull him back to his feet. "You can’t kneel before me. You’re a prince—this isn’t right."

Ikkar chuckled, though her concern was sincere. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. "What is a stupid title compared to the legs of the woman I love?" he murmured with a teasing grin.

Before she could respond, he gently pushed her back onto the mattress, pulling her hips toward him as he lifted her skirts. His mouth found her soft folds, and she gasped at the unfamiliar sensation. It was strange at first, but as his touch grew more deliberate, pleasure began to unfurl inside her. Bit by bit, she let go of her remaining inhibitions, her body softening, her mind surrendering to the waves of bliss he gave her.

When he climbed over her, kissing her lips again, she met his gaze, her breath uneven. Then, standing before her, Ikkar began to remove his clothes, each movement deliberate, unhurried. Talia watched, mesmerized, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shimmering with desire.

He returned to her, settling above her as her body seemed to melt into his touch. "I love you," he whispered, his voice tender yet filled with want.

As he slowly entered her, the sudden sting of pain made her gasp. Ikkar froze, his expression full of concern. "I’m sorry," he murmured. "Do you want me to stop?"

Talia steadied her breath, her fingers curling around his arms. She shook her head softly. "No. Go on," she said, her voice a whisper, filled with trust.

He moved cautiously, his every motion careful as he worked to avoid hurting her again. Soon, the pain began to fade, replaced by a building sensation of pressure that blossomed into pleasure. His movements above her felt natural, perfect—almost sacred.

There was no guilt, no shame, no fear—only the overwhelming sense that she was meant to be his. She surrendered completely to his love, to his desire, and nothing else in the world mattered.

As his body tensed above her, his breath caught, and he collapsed against her in trembling spasms, warmth filling her as he found his release. Smiling, he kissed her lips softly, his weight a comforting presence against her.

Talia reached up to caress his face, her fingers tracing his jaw as she whispered, "I love you."

***

Rya found herself drawn to Ian in ways she hadn’t anticipated. He was clever and quick-witted, with a charm that was equal parts confidence and quiet strength. What stood out most to her was the way he carried himself around her—not like a boy awed by her title or terrified of stepping out of line, but like a man who understood the risks of his actions and chose to take them anyway.

She liked that about him.

Ian wasn’t afraid to challenge her, to match her sharp tongue with his own, and to meet her fiery temper with calm resilience. He didn’t worship her like some untouchable figure—he simply saw her, Rya, the woman behind the tiaras and gowns. And when they were alone, he didn’t hesitate. His touch, his kisses, his presence—all of it was deliberate, full of purpose and intent.

He was a good lover, one who knew how to leave her breathless and wanting more. And unlike the others she had entertained in fleeting moments of curiosity or rebellion, Ian didn’t bore her.

Weeks turned into months, and she realized that he was the only one she never got tired of. Ian intrigued her, challenged her, and somehow managed to keep her attention in a way no one else ever had. For someone like Rya, who grew restless so easily, that was no small feat.

Rya was leaving her room when she noticed Zayr’s dragon descending into the courtyard. Her heart leaped, and she hurried down the staircase, hoping for good news.

“Did you see him?” she asked breathlessly as she reached her brother. “Is he coming back?”

Zayr’s expression was a mix of frustration and defeat. “I’ve been with him,” he admitted, “but I couldn’t convince him to come back. He’s as stubborn as ever.”

Rya sighed deeply, disappointment etched across her face. “Father’s not going to like this,” she muttered. “And I miss Emberlace…”

Zayr looked grim. “Ikkar said he’d bring Emberlace back—if Father lets his dragon out of the enclosure.”

“Fuck… That’s never going to happen,” Rya said, shaking her head.

Together, they made their way to the royal office, the tension between them heavy as they prepared for another confrontation with their father. The matter of Ikkar’s disappearance had become a growing problem within the court. Gossip was spreading despite their best efforts to contain it. Mahir, Zayr, and even Queen Isabella herself had tried to reason with Ikkar, urging him to return. But Ikkar had refused every plea, standing firm in his demand: he would only come back if his father gave his blessing for him to marry Talia.

It had reached the point where even Isabella, usually a voice of unwavering support for Alaric, had begun pressing her husband to reconsider.

When Zayr recounted his failed mission to the north, Alaric’s patience snapped.

“That stubborn piece of shit!” the king bellowed, slamming his fist on the desk. “How dare he disobey me? How dare he impose conditions on my orders?”

The room fell silent. Isabella, Zayr, Rya, and Mahir exchanged uneasy glances, each treading carefully around Alaric’s temper.

Isabella broke the silence with a sigh, her voice measured and calm. “Alaric, perhaps it’s time to consider a compromise. Ikkar isn’t going to give up on that girl…”

“Compromise?” Alaric’s eyes blazed as he turned to her. “I will not compromise with an insubordinate boy! He thinks he can hold the crown hostage with his whims?”

“I’m not saying I agree with what he’s doing,” Isabella replied, her tone firm yet conciliatory. “But Zayr’s wedding is approaching. If Ikkar doesn’t attend, everyone will talk. There will be no way to hide this rift from the court.”

“Let them talk!” Alaric shouted, his voice echoing in the chamber. “I am the king, Isabella. I owe him nothing!”

With that, the Dragon King stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The remaining family members stood in silence, the tension lingering like smoke after a fire. Rya crossed her arms, exhaling sharply. “Well, that went about as well as expected,” she muttered.

Isabella said nothing, but the lines of worry on her face deepened. It was clear the rift in their family was widening, and the weight of it pressed heavily on them all.

Rya and Zayr walked side by side down the palace corridor, the echoes of their father’s outburst still ringing faintly in their ears. Rya cast a glance at her brother, a wry smile playing on her lips.

“Well, the climate seems just lovely for a wedding, wouldn’t you say?” she said sarcastically.

Zayr sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could be worse,” he muttered. “At least she’s not ugly.”

Rya rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Zayr. How are you feeling about all this?”

He took a moment, his jaw tightening as he weighed his words. “What Ikkar is doing right now is insane,” he began. “Our parents would be furious if he took that girl as a concubine, especially because she’s the maid who practically raised half our siblings. But they’d eventually tolerate it. Marrying her, though? Father will never allow it.”

“I know,” Rya said softly. “But that doesn’t answer my question. How are you feeling?”

Zayr exhaled sharply, his expression hardening into something resigned. “I never had any illusions that marriage would be anything other than duty,” he admitted. “I know my place, Rya. Alina is lovely, gracious, and kind. I’m sure she’ll make a good wife. And that’s all that matters.”

Rya’s heart sank at the weight of his words. “I just want you to be happy, Zayr,” she said earnestly. “Marriage shouldn’t be just about duty.”

Zayr turned to her, his gaze steady but laced with a quiet warning. “Be careful with your hopes, Rya. Our parents’ love story became a war that cost thousands of lives. And whatever price Ikkar’s little romance fantasy with the handmaiden demands… It’ll be paid by us.”

Rya fell silent, his words cutting deeper than she cared to admit. She looked away, her mind racing with thoughts of their family’s future. Zayr, ever the realist, gave her a small, tired smile and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“We do what we must,” he said simply.