Chapter CLXXXVI: Not what's expected
Isabella sat at the table, enjoying her breakfast as the morning sunlight streamed through the windows of their chambers. Alaric was nearby, quietly sharpening a blade, his usual way of occupying his hands while his mind wandered. Isabella glanced at the pile of letters resting on the table beside her, her attention drawn to one sealed with the unmistakable dragon emblem.
She straightened and held it up. “A letter from Rya,” she said, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
Alaric looked up from his blade. “What does she want now?”
Isabella broke the seal and began reading. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she skimmed the lines. Without a word, she placed the letter on the table, her expression a mix of surprise and amusement.
“What is it?” Alaric asked, rising from his chair and coming closer.
Isabella met his gaze, still processing the news. “Rya… She’s pregnant.”
Alaric’s face fell, and he reached for the letter as though needing to see it for himself. He scanned the words, his brow furrowing deeply. When he finished, he set the letter down, staring blankly at the table.
“Alaric?” Isabella prompted, trying to stifle a laugh. “My love, are you alright?”
He blinked, his voice unusually hesitant. “This… Wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.”
Isabella couldn’t hold back her amusement. “She’s married, Alaric. What else could you expect?”
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “I don’t know! I thought she might… I don’t know, I actually thought she was going to decide to kill that man instead of going through with this marriage.”
Isabella laughed, standing and crossing to him. She placed her hands on his shoulders, grounding him. “Be happy,” she said softly, her smile warm. “We’re about to have a second grandchild.”
Alaric exhaled sharply, his expression caught somewhere between resignation and reluctant acceptance. “Well, the first legitimate one, at least.”
Isabella’s playful smile faded slightly, and she fixed him with a firm look. “Ikkar will not disown his son. And as long as you doesn’t disown him, that boy is legitimate.”
Alaric sighed heavily, leaning against the table. His voice was quieter now, tinged with a weariness that seemed to settle deep in his bones. “Isabella… When did we lose control over them like this?”
She regarded him thoughtfully, her hand sliding down to clasp his. “I surrendered that control the moment I realized I’d eventually have to send Kai away,” she admitted. “I’d have to let him fulfill a purpose he could never achieve under my wing. It’s rough, Alaric. It’s unfair. But we didn’t raise them for ourselves. We raised them for the world.”
Alaric didn’t respond immediately, but her words seemed to resonate with him. Finally, Isabella added gently, “You should take some time and visit your son in Acheron. He’d love to see you… And you should really meet your grandson.”
Alaric scoffed lightly, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Ikkar can bring the boy to me instead.”
Without waiting for her response, he turned and left the room, leaving Isabella shaking her head with a knowing smile. Despite his stubbornness, she knew the news had moved him more than he’d admit.
***
One year later…
The grand halls of the court were bustling with life, brighter than Rya remembered. It had been over a year since she’d last walked through these corridors, and now she returned not as the rebellious princess who defied her father’s will, but as a mother and the Duchess of Dragonspire. In her arms, she carried her infant son, Ronan, swaddled in fine cloth embroidered with the crest of her new house.
The court erupted into joyful celebration upon her arrival. Nobles and courtiers lined up to greet her, their smiles genuine and warm as they offered congratulations and gifts for the newest addition to the royal family. Rya felt a mix of pride and nervousness as she made her way to the throne room, where her parents waited.
Her mother, Queen Isabella, was the first to approach. She wrapped Rya in a tight embrace, tears glistening in her eyes as she whispered, "Oh, my dear... You're a mother now." She leaned down to look at Ronan, her face softening as she gently stroked his tiny hand. "And he's beautiful," she said with a tremble in her voice.
Rya smiled, feeling a sense of comfort she hadn’t expected. "He has Ian's eyes," she said softly, her voice betraying the faintest hint of pride.
Her father, King Alaric, stood at the base of the throne steps, his expression guarded as always. Rya approached him hesitantly, unsure of how he would receive her after everything that had transpired. For a moment, he simply looked at her, his piercing gaze searching hers as if seeing her anew.
Then, without a word, he stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. His grip was firm, but there was a warmth in it that Rya hadn’t felt in years. "You're still my daughter," he said, his voice gruff but sincere. "And I see you've grown into a remarkable woman. You've made your choices, and you've faced them head-on. I can’t say I agree with all of them, but I’m proud of you."
Rya blinked, stunned by his words. Her eyes stung, but she refused to let the tears fall. Instead, she nodded, her voice steady as she replied, "Thank you, Father."
Alaric’s gaze shifted to Ronan, who stirred in her arms. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, and Rya gently handed the baby to him. The king held his grandson with an awkwardness that quickly gave way to a tenderness Rya had never seen in him. Ronan cooed, his tiny hand gripping Alaric’s finger tightly.
"A strong grip," Alaric said with a rare smile. "He’ll make a fine warrior one day."
The moment felt surreal to Rya. Her father, who had once been ready to disown her, now held her son with pride. Despite everything—the rebellion, the heartbreak, and the choices that had driven them apart—she was still his daughter. His little girl, who had grown into a woman.
***
Alaric rubbed his temples as he walked through the castle hallways, the ache in his head sharp and unrelenting. His chest felt tight, as if an invisible weight pressed down on him with every step. The dimly lit corridors seemed to stretch endlessly before him, their familiar stone walls warping in his blurred vision.
As he turned a corner, he thought he saw Isabella coming toward him, her figure a reassuring silhouette in the haze. He blinked, trying to focus, but the image dissolved. A moment later, he realized it wasn’t Isabella—it was Kira rushing toward him, her expression shifting from cheer to alarm as she got closer.
“Father?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. “Are you alright?”
Alaric opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. His knees buckled beneath him, and he fell heavily to the ground, the cool stone biting into his skin.
“Father!” Kira screamed, dropping to her knees beside him. Her voice cracked with panic as she called for help, her words echoing down the hall.
The world around him dimmed further, her cries growing distant and faint. The last thing he saw was her tearful face hovering over him before everything went black.
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