Chapter XXXII: Come
Amused by her reaction, the king chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You know, girls,” he said, a lighthearted jest danced upon his lips. “Soon I’ll be leaving the palace to lead my troops on the invasion of the Theran Islands.” Dara, Jia and Lisanne pouted and whined as the king announced his incoming departure. "I wonder," he mused with a playful twinkle in his eye, "should I bring one of you along?"
Instantly, the air was filled with a chorus of eager pleas as three of the concubines vied for the chance to accompany him. "Please, Your Majesty, choose me!" they implored, their voices rising in unison, each vying for his favor.
The king's laughter filled the room, a warm sound that echoed against the walls. "I’m just kidding, my darlings," he chuckled, his tone affectionate. "The battlefield is no place for you. I would never risk damaging my beautiful flowers."
In contrast to the pleading whims of the other girls, Isabella's response to the king’s news was measured, her question born out of genuine curiosity rather than a desire to be acknowledged. "Will you fly there on your black dragon, your Majesty?" she inquired, her voice sweet.
The king's expression softened as he shook his head. "No, Isabella," he replied solemnly. “My black dragon, Thanatos, perished in the Battle of the South a few months ago."
Isabella's features fell, genuine sorrow etching lines of sadness across her face. "My condolences," she murmured softly, her empathy evident in her words.
As the king's thoughts drifted back to memories of his beloved dragon, Thanatos, a pang of grief pierced his heart. He recalled one of his last cherished moments with the majestic creature – Isabella's gentle touch on Thanatos's nose during the festival. The image brought a bittersweet smile to his lips.
Yet, alongside the memory of Thanatos and the bloodshed in the south, another image surfaced in the king's mind – one of Isabella dancing in the palace garden as he returned from the battle, her movements graceful and ethereal like a sweet dream after a nightmare. Her very last moments as a chaste damsel, right before he made her a woman. His woman.
Memories of the morning he deflowered Isabella flooded the king’s mind, igniting a fire within him. Despite the presence of three concubines eager to please and entice him, his thoughts were consumed by the one who sat before him with her stoic demeanor, her gaze averted. It was Isabella who held his fascination, her silent resistance only fueling the flames of his desire.
As Lady Dara's touch lingered on his neck, the king's gaze remained steadfast on Isabella, his desire burning like a relentless flame. With a swift yet deliberate movement, he guided Lady Dara's hand from his neck to his cock, eliciting a soft moan from her lips as she complied with his silent command.
Despite the pleasurable sensation coursing through him, the king's focus remained unwavering on Isabella, her presence a magnetic force that captivated him. With a sense of determination, he pulled Lady Dara into the water, her linen coverings clinging to her form as she splashed into the bath.
Laughter erupted from the three concubines as they delighted in the playful exchange, the sound of their merriment echoing off the marble walls. But amidst the joyous commotion, Isabella remained seated in silence on the marble steps of the bathtub. Her expression seemed inscrutable as she watched the scene unfold before her.
Despite Isabella's seemingly serene expression, the king's eyes did not miss the subtle changes that betrayed her inner turmoil. As he observed her from across the bath, he noticed the gentle rise and fall of her chest out of rhythm, the faint flush that tinged her cheeks with a delicate hue. Her nipples, perky, almost piercing the linen of her coverings.
As the atmosphere in the bathing chamber grew charged with desire, the king's attention shifted to Isabella, his desire burning brighter in her presence. With a commanding tone, he beckoned her to him. "Isabella, come here," he instructed, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
The other concubines, sensing the shift in the king's focus, exchanged subtle glances of surprise, but quickly resumed their attentions, still eager to please him. Lady Dara's expression betrayed a hint of anger, but she masked it with practiced ease, her movements fluid as she continued her seductive ministrations on the king’s cock.
Isabella, however, remained rooted to the spot, her nerves evident as she hesitated to obey the king's command. The weight of his gaze bore down on her, and she felt a knot of apprehension tighten in her chest.
With a firmness in his voice, the king reiterated his command. "Isabella, I said come to me," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument.
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