Chapter XLVIII: Gift
As the king returned triumphant from his hunt, the castle buzzed with anticipation for the celebratory feast. Amidst the revelry, the king extended a gracious invitation to Isabella, urging her to join him in the grandeur of the royal hall. However, Isabella, ensconced in her own thoughts, politely declined, expressing a preference for the quiet solitude of her chamber.
As the festivities unfolded in the royal hall, Isabella remained in her chambers, preferring solitude to the revelry, all to avoid being too close to the king. Lady Belet's unexpected visit piqued her curiosity, especially when she mentioned the king had a gift for her. Reluctantly, Isabella followed Lady Belet to a secluded winter garden adjacent to her quarters.
Upon entering the enchanting garden, Isabella was struck by its ethereal beauty. Snowflakes danced in the air, casting a soft glow over the pristine landscape. The serenity of the scene contrasted sharply with the turmoil in Isabella's heart. Overwhelmed by emotions, she couldn't contain her tears, each droplet a testament to the hidden sorrow she carried within.
Lady Belet approached Isabella, her expression conveying both sympathy and duty. "Lady Isabella, the king has ordered the construction of this winter garden adjacent to your chambers." Lady Belet continued, making Isabella’s heart sink. "It's a gesture from His Majesty, an invitation for you to join him in his chambers tonight."
Tears welled in Isabella's eyes as she shook her head. "Please thank the king for his generosity, but I cannot accept his invitation. Tell him... tell him I appreciate the gesture, but I must decline."
The king stumbled into his chambers, the scent of wine clinging to him like a heavy cloak. He had hoped to find Isabella waiting for him, her presence a solace after a night of revelry. Yet, the room lay empty, devoid of her warmth.
Frustration bubbled within him, fueled by the alcohol coursing through his veins. He couldn't understand why Isabella continued to elude him, why she persistently rejected his advances. Anger possessed him, gnarling his features into a scowl.
The king, his face flushed with anger and the remnants of wine, barged into Isabella's chamber, his heavy footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. The maids, sensing his mood, hurriedly made their exit, casting worried glances at Isabella.
"Leave us," he growled, his voice low and commanding, his gaze fixed on Isabella.
Isabella, startled by his sudden intrusion, stood frozen for a moment before regaining her composure. "What is the meaning of this, Your Majesty?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and defiance.
Ignoring her question, the king turned to Alicent, his expression unreadable. "Bring the prince to my room," he ordered, his voice carrying a hint of urgency. Alicent, feeling the tension in the air, nodded silently and swiftly got up to fetch the baby prince. "I need to have a word with his mother," said the king as she left.
Isabella watched Alicent go, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. She stood before the king, her body tense and her eyes cast downwards, afraid to meet his gaze. As he approached, she could feel the weight of his presence bearing down on her. When he gently lifted her chin with his finger, she flinched, unable to hold his gaze.
"You've been avoiding me," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "Despite my efforts to make you happy."
Isabella swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to find the right words to respond. But the king continued. "I gave you a room to keep you close," he said firmly. "I brought someone you trusted to watch over our son so you could rest. I showered you with gifts." He paused, his frustration palpable. "I allow you to walk around the palace freely, despite being essentially a war prisoner. And yet, despite all this, you still refuse me. You still won't answer my summons."
Isabella felt a pang of guilt at the king's words, but she remained silent, her mind racing with conflicting emotions.
The king's frustration boiled over, his voice sharp with anger. "Is this some kind of game to you?" he demanded. "Are you intentionally torturing me for some reason? To get something out of me?" He leaned in closer, gripping Isabella's hair tightly and squeezing her cheeks. "Tell me, Isabella, what else do you want? More jewels? More gifts?"
Isabella's eyes flashed with anger as she struggled against the king's grip. "I'm not some whore whose affection can be bought with gold!" she snapped.
The king's grip tightened, his voice low and threatening. "Then what is it that you want?" he demanded. Isabella met his gaze defiantly. "Nothing," she replied, her voice firm.
The king's hand tightened around Isabella's hair as he forced her to meet his gaze. His eyes burned with frustration and longing, his voice low and intense. "That morning," he began, his tone edged with desperation, "That morning when I deflowered you in the garden… You returned to me with such desire in your eyes. I ached to see that fire in you again, I..." His grip relaxed slightly, his hand falling away as he stepped back, his expression a mixture of hurt and confusion. "...now you won't even meet my gaze."
Isabella's heart pounded in her chest as a single tear traced a path down her cheek, but she quickly brushed it away. She kept her head down, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of her dress before she pulled them down suddenly, exposing her breasts. The king watched her with a mixture of lust and confusion, his brow furrowing in uncertainty as she slowly approached the table. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with intrigue.
Isabella stopped, her gaze still fixed on the table as she spoke calmly, "Punish me."
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