Chapter CLXXXI: Legacies
“She’s expecting my child."
The impact of his words rippled through the room.
Alaric shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His face turned crimson, and his fists trembled at his sides.
Isabella gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she glanced at Ikkar with wide eyes. “A child?” she whispered.
"Yes," Ikkar said, standing firm despite the tension crackling in the air. "A child. Your grandchild."
Alaric took a deep, shuddering breath as Isabella tightened her grip on his arm, silently pleading for calm.
Alaric’s voice thundered through the chamber. "Congratulations, Ikkar," he said bitterly, his words dripping with venom. "Are you happy now? Having conceived a bastard child?"
Ikkar’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. "I wish things were different," he said quietly. "Truly, I do. I wish my feelings and my happiness weren’t a burden to our family... to our legacy. But this is happening, whether we like it or not."
Alaric slammed his fist on the table, his rage uncontained. "It’s your responsibility! You did this. If you want to ruin yourself by getting a servant girl pregnant, fine! But you’re not marrying that girl just because of this!"
Ikkar inhaled deeply, steadying himself against the storm of his father’s anger. "I understand," he said, his tone even but resolute. "I will respect your wishes on that matter. But I will not abandon Talia, nor will I abandon my child. There will be no bastards. I will take Talia as my sole, royal concubine. I will not marry another woman, nor will I take another for myself. And my child will be my legitimate heir."
Alaric shot to his feet, the chair behind him scraping violently against the floor. "You don’t get to make that decision!" he roared, his face reddening with fury. "You don’t dictate what is or isn’t legitimate in this family! Your heirs cannot be legitimate unless I say so!"
Ikkar met his father’s blazing eyes with a steady gaze. "I’m truly sorry," he said, his voice calm but heavy with emotion. "If you wish to disown me, that is your decision, and I will respect it. But I hope you can respect mine as well. I am stepping away. I will honor and provide for the family I have chosen to have."
A tense silence fell over the room as Alaric glared at his son, his fury barely contained. Isabella looked between her husband and son, her face pale and stricken with worry.
Ikkar gave her a faint, apologetic smile before bowing slightly. "Mother," he said respectfully. Then he turned to Alaric, his expression unreadable. "Your Majesty."
Without waiting for a response, Ikkar turned and strode out of the room, leaving behind an unspoken storm of emotions and an uncertain future.
Isabella hurried after Ikkar, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she called his name. "Ikkar!"
He stopped and turned to face her, his expression softening when he saw her. Before he could speak, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him tightly.
“You’re having a child,” she whispered, her voice trembling as though saying it aloud would make it real. She pulled back to look into his eyes, a faint smile breaking through her worry.
Ikkar smiled too, a rare, genuine expression. “I am,” he said. “And I’m happy, Mother. Truly.”
She cupped his face in her hands. “Your father is upset, and I understand why... but he will come to his senses. It might take time, but please, you *must* return to court. Bring Talia. The situation isn’t ideal, but it’s not impossible to fix.”
Ikkar’s smile faded, replaced by a quiet resolve. “I’m truly sorry,” he said gently, “but I can’t come back. Not like this. I can’t put Talia in that position. I settled in Acheron to spare her the scrutiny of being my mistress, so we could live as husband and wife, even without Father’s blessing. How can I bring her here, to live under the same roof as the man who refuses to let her be my wife?”
Isabella’s brow furrowed, and she placed a hand on his arm. “That man is your father.”
Ikkar nodded solemnly. “Yes. And soon I’ll be a father too. Maybe it’s selfish, maybe it’s complicated, but I have to do what’s best for my child and its mother.”
A tear slipped down Isabella’s cheek as she took a deep breath. She gripped his arm tighter, her voice firm but emotional. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him see reason.”
Ikkar’s lips twitched into a faint, sad smile. “That’s not your battle to fight.”
Isabella smiled back, bittersweet and knowing. “I started a war against your father because of you once before. You know I’d do it again.”
He sighed deeply, looking away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “I don’t truly blame him for being king. It’s not what I wanted, but I’ll live with the consequences of my actions. When Talia told me she was pregnant... I realized I regretted nothing. I’d make the same choices again.”
Isabella’s expression softened further. “How is she?”
“She’s fine,” he said, though his voice carried the weight of his inner turmoil. “Sometimes, I feel devastated that I can’t fulfill my promise to make her my wife. But she says she made that sacrifice the moment she chose me. We’ll face whatever comes, together.”
Isabella closed her eyes briefly, letting out a deep sigh. “I felt so angry at her for this,” she admitted, “angry at both of you. But I can’t deny I respect how you’ve both chosen to face this… I *want* to see my grandchild.”
Ikkar’s face lit up slightly at her words. “Come visit us in Acheron, as soon as you can. I’ll write often, I promise. But for now... I have to go.”
He leaned down and kissed her hand, a gesture of affection and gratitude. Then, with one last look, he turned and walked away, leaving Isabella standing in the corridor, torn between pride and sorrow as her son slipped further from the life he was born into.
***
The Dragon King stormed out of his office, anger and frustration etched across his face after the confrontation with Ikkar. His mind churned with the weight of his son’s defiance as he strode down the grand hallway back toward the wedding feast.
Then, a voice called out behind him.
"Your Majesty."
Alaric turned sharply, his eyes narrowing at the interruption. Before him stood a man dressed in the deep blues and silver of the Stormlands, his coat of arms prominently displayed on his chest.
The man gave a respectful bow. "Your Majesty, I am Bastian, the Duke of Belton and Lord of the Stormlands. We haven’t met before."
Alaric’s gaze raked over him, his expression unreadable. "Right," he said, his voice flat. He was clearly not in the mood for pleasantries. "What do you want?"
Belton straightened, his posture firm yet respectful. "I have something important to tell you... Regarding your eldest daughter, Princess Rya."
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