Chapter LXIX: Damian
After the Gresaline attack, the palace buzzed with activity as preparations began for an important visit. The king's brother, Prince Damian, was set to arrive, and the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Servants hurried through the halls, polishing the marble floors and hanging fresh tapestries. The royal kitchens were abuzz with the clatter of pots and the aroma of exquisite dishes being prepared.
Isabella watched the flurry of activity from her chambers, feeling a mixture of curiosity and unease. She knew little about Damian, but his reputation as a formidable warrior and shrewd strategist preceded him. She hoped his visit would bring stability after the recent turmoil. The king issued orders to his advisors, ensuring every detail of Damian's visit was meticulously planned. Despite his injuries, his presence was commanding, his voice firm as he spoke.
Isabella knew the significance of this visit. Damian's opinion could influence the court's perception of the Dragon King’s rule, especially after the Gresaline attack. She was determined to make a good impression.
Lady Belet arrived with a selection of gowns for Isabella to choose from. She wanted to wear something that stood out, something that highlighted her position—she was, after all, the mother of the Crown Prince. She ended up choosing a dark green dress that complimented her eyes.
Lady Belet approached Isabella with a look of concern and caution. "My lady," she began, "there's something you must know about Prince Damian's visit."
Isabella turned to face her, sensing the gravity in her tone. "What is it, Lady Belet?"
"The king has ordered that all his concubines are to receive Prince Damian in the throne room, alongside him," Lady Belet explained.
Isabella's face flushed with anger. "All of them? Why would he want them there? What purpose does it serve?"
Lady Belet sighed, understanding her frustration. "It's a display of power, my lady. The king wants to show his brother the extent of his wealth. It is the usual protocol for such visits."
Isabella clenched her fists, struggling to contain her fury. She remembered the Duke of Erkmen’s visit, all the concubines sitting on the steps below the throne, Lady Dara attached to the king’s knee. The thought of standing among the concubines, paraded like a common prize, made her blood boil. "I am his favorite one, the mother of his heir. Why must I be subjected to this?"
Lady Belet placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "The king has also ordered for a special bench to be placed by his throne, just for you. He wants to ensure your prominence is clear."
Isabella took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions. "A bench by his throne," she repeated, her voice tinged with bitterness. "As if that makes it any better."
Lady Belet squeezed her shoulder gently. "You must understand, my lady, that in matters of state and power, appearances are everything. This is as much a political move as it is a personal one. Your position is secure for now, and this gesture is meant to reinforce that. Must I remind you? You are not his queen."
Isabella nodded slowly, the initial sting of anger giving way to a more calculated resolve. "Very well. If this is what the king wishes…"
Isabella spent the rest of the day preparing, ensuring her appearance was impeccable. When the time came, she walked into the throne room with her head held high, her gown flowing gracefully behind her and an enormous green velvet cape being carried by two servants.
The concubines were already assembled, their silks and jewels glinting in the light. They cast curious and envious glances at Isabella as she entered, but she held her head high, refusing to let their presence diminish her.
As she approached the throne, the king’s eyes met hers. He gave a slight nod of approval, and she took her place on the specially prepared bench beside him. Despite the situation, she felt a surge of determination. She would not let anyone, not even the king, diminish her status.
Trumpets heralded the arrival of Prince Damian, their clarion call echoing through the grand halls of the palace. The heavy wooden doors of the throne room creaked open, revealing the prince and his retinue. Damian, tall and regal, strode confidently into the room, his dark eyes sweeping across the assembled courtiers and concubines before settling on the king.
The king descended from his throne, a broad smile on his face. "Brother," he called out, his voice resonant with warmth and authority. "Welcome back."
Prince Damian approached, his stride steady and purposeful. He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect and familiarity. "Brother," he replied, his tone equally warm yet carrying a hint of formality. "It is good to see you."
The two brothers embraced briefly, a show of unity and strength before the assembled court.
“I trust your journey was pleasant," the king said, his eyes gleaming with the pride of a host welcoming an esteemed guest.
"It was," Damian replied, his gaze briefly flickering over the assembled concubines, lingering on Isabella, who sat by the king's side. "You have outdone yourself, as always. How many more girls have you added to your collection since I left?"
The king's smile widened. "Very funny, Damian. Come, let us sit and talk. There is much to discuss."
As they moved, the courtiers and concubines bowed in respect. Isabella felt the weight of Damian's gaze on her and met his eyes with a composed, polite smile. She could sense the curiosity in his eyes, the unspoken questions. Her position beside the king was not lost on him. Why did he keep looking at her?
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