Chapter XLVI: Glance
Isabella and Alicent organized a luxurious picnic in the main garden, filled with an array of fresh fruits, decadent pastries, and a bottle of sweet wine sparkling in the sunlight. As they settled on a blanket amidst the fragrant blooms and dappled sunlight, Prince Ikkar sleeping soundly between them on a velvet cushion, Isabella couldn't shake off a sense of trepidation about leaving the royal quarters without explicit permission. However, Alicent's confident demeanor and reassuring words buoyed her spirits, reminding her of her status: she was the mother of the king's first son, his heir.
With each sip of wine and every bite of succulent fruit, Isabella found herself gradually relaxing into the serenity of the main garden, which was indeed even more beautiful than the harem’s gardens, especially because there was no chance of being bothered by a bunch of jealous and shallow girls all of a sudden.
Isabella's wistful smile carried her back to the carefree days of her childhood. "I used to spend hours crafting flower crowns when I was a little girl," she reminisced, her eyes alight with memories.
Alicent's face lit up with excitement as she eagerly plucked vibrant blossoms from the garden. "Let's revive that tradition, shall we?" she suggested.
Their laughter rang out amidst the fragrant blooms as they worked on their flower crowns, the garden's tranquility embracing their shared joy. Isabella's heart swelled with affection as she glanced at her son, the prince, still sleeping peacefully in his cradle nearby.
Just as they finished crafting the crowns, Ikkar stirred awake, his cherubic face lighting up at the sight of his mother. Isabella scooped him into her arms, her tender gaze capturing the precious details of her baby boy.
As the king made his way through the palace corridors, the distant sound of laughter drew him closer to the open windows. Peering out, he witnessed a tender scene unfolding in the garden below. Isabella, cradling Prince Ikkar in her arms, radiated maternal warmth as she cooed to her son. As she pulled out her swollen breast to feed the prince, Alicent, her companion, delicately placed a flower crown atop Isabella's head, adding a touch of whimsy to the serene moment.
Memories of Isabella's youthful innocence flooded the king's mind, transporting him back to a time when the world seemed simpler; the moment he saw her for the very first time, right after her father offered him her hand in marriage: she was playing with flower crowns, unaware of his gaze, enchanting him from afar with the echoes of her laughter. Except now she wasn’t a child anymore, she was a woman, a mother… His woman, the mother of his son, whom she fed from her own breast. But her laughter remained the same, her eyes still glistened with wonder and innocence.
Duties beckoned, pulling the king away from the nostalgic reverie as he reluctantly tore his gaze from the scene below, his heart heavy with the weight of the complex feelings Isabella evoked in him.
In the gentle glow of dusk, Isabella would enter the king's chambers, cradling Prince Ikkar in her arms, his tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb. The king, weary from his day's affairs, would light up at the sight of his son, reaching out to ruffle the baby's wispy hair and coo at his adorable expressions. Isabella's heart would flutter with both affection and apprehension, knowing the delicate balance she must maintain in the king's presence. That was her routine pretty much every day for several weeks since she discovered that sleeping with the king again would fulfill the promise of a new war.
As Isabella approached with Ikkar in her arms, the king smiled warmly, his eyes lingering on his son. "I saw you in the garden earlier," he remarked, breaking the silence.
Isabella's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing. "I wanted to sunbathe, your Majesty, and take Ikkar to see the birds," she replied, trying to sound casual while inwardly panicking.
"Yes," the king confirmed, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "It was a beautiful sight. You seemed well. Laughing, drinking… Stunning, as usual."
Relief washed over Isabella, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said, grateful that he hadn't mentioned her unauthorized stroll.
The king's gaze lingered on Isabella, searching for any sign of the truth behind her eyes. He noticed the faint lines of worry etched on her face, the weariness in her eyes that seemed to go beyond mere fatigue.
The king leaned forward slightly, his brows furrowed with concern as he studied Isabella's weary expression. "Isabella," he began, his voice gentle yet firm, "I've noticed you've been avoiding me lately. May I know why?"
Isabella hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting the king's eyes. "It's not intentional, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice tinged with exhaustion, "I've just been occupied with caring for Ikkar, that’s all."
"I understand that taking care of a child can be exhausting," he said, his voice laced with empathy, "but I brought Alicent back here to help you with that."
Isabella nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. "And I thank you for that, Your Majesty, she’s been helping me a lot," she said softly, her gaze fixed on the floor, "But the prince still depends on my breast, which can be pretty exhausting."
The king nodded again, a faint smile touching his lips. "Of course," he replied, reaching out to gently grasp her hand, "You’re an excellent mother, Isabella."
Isabella offered a faint smile, touched by his reassurance yet unable to shake off her inner turmoil. As the king's hand reached out to comfort her, she couldn't help but wonder if she should confide in him about her fears of the high priestess's ominous prophecy.
Despite her efforts to keep their interactions innocent and familial, Isabella couldn't shake the underlying tension that lurked beneath the surface. She was keenly aware of the king's lingering gazes and subtle hints of longing whenever their eyes met. Yet, she remained steadfast in her resolve to keep their relationship strictly oriented towards their child, which was becoming harder each day. The king seemed to not forget about her easily.
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