Chapter LXXVIII: Vision
Isabella retired to her chambers, her body aching from the previous night's exertions. She did nothing but rest the entire day, her mind awash with thoughts and memories. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to reconcile the events of the night before with the image she had always held of herself.
She had been shared between the king and Prince Damian, a scenario she never could have imagined herself in. Raised as a chaste, pure princess, Isabella had always envisioned a noble and respectful marriage. She had been taught to value modesty and virtue, to wait patiently for a husband who would honor and cherish her.
Instead, fate had turned her into the concubine of a king whose desires were as insatiable as they were unimaginable. From the morning he deflowered her, Isabella's own desires had begun to emerge, a slow and terrifying awakening of her own desires. Sometimes it scared her how much she enjoyed being treated like a whore, how deeply she craved the king's touch and the power dynamics of their relationship.
Isabella felt a pang of guilt and confusion. How could she take pleasure in something so obscene? Her upbringing had not prepared her for this life, for the complexities and contradictions of her own pleasure. Yet, here she was, living a reality far removed from the one she had been promised. She couldn’t tell if she was happy, but she was definitely satisfied.
The king made his way to Isabella's chambers to visit his son, as he did most days. He enjoyed these moments of familial respite, a contrast to the demands and intrigues of court life. As he entered, he found Isabella seated by the window with Ikkar in her arms, gently rocking him. She looked up and offered him a polite smile, but something in her eyes seemed distant.
"Good evening, Isabella," he greeted, his voice warm. He stepped closer, reaching out to take Ikkar from her. "How is our son today?"
"Good evening, my king," she replied softly. "Ikkar is well, just a bit fussy."
The king held Ikkar, making soft, soothing noises that soon had the baby cooing contentedly. But his attention quickly returned to Isabella, who sat quietly, her gaze fixed on some distant point outside the window. He noticed the shadows under her eyes, the tightness around her mouth.
"Is something troubling you?" he asked, his voice gentle but insistent.
Isabella hesitated, then shook her head slightly. "No, my king. I am fine."
The king's brow furrowed. He knew her well enough to sense when something was amiss. "Isabella, please. If something is bothering you, I want to know."
Isabella took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the window as she tried to gather her thoughts. "I was raised to be a queen," she began softly, her voice tinged with a mix of longing and resignation. "To be an honorable woman, respected and cherished. It's hard to accept that this is my life now."
The king's brow furrowed in confusion. He looked around the lavish chamber, then back at her. "You have everything, Isabella. You live in luxury, surrounded by opulence and privileges I never gave to any woman before. You live like a queen."
Isabella turned her eyes back to him, her expression pained. "But I am not a queen," she said quietly. "I am a concubine. One among many. No matter how much luxury surrounds me, no matter how many heirs I give you, I will always be nothing but an enslaved whore to you."
The king's expression hardened slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. "Isabella," he began, his voice edged with frustration, "after everything I have done for you, after abstaining from visiting my other women, you should be able to see that you mean more to me than just a concubine."
Isabella's frustration bubbled to the surface, her voice trembling as she spoke. "How can I mean more than that if you still shared me with your brother, allowing him to court me? How am I any different from the others if that is what I am subjected to?"
The king's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he carefully placed Ikkar in his crib. He turned back to Isabella, his voice firm but controlled. "I gave you a choice, Isabella. You were the one who chose to be shared."
Isabella's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt. "What choice did I have? Refuse your brother and risk your wrath? Or comply and lose another piece of myself?"
Isabella's tears fell softly as she struggled to find the right words. "You wouldn’t have given me that choice if you..." She trailed off, her voice catching in her throat.
The king's expression tightened with concern and a hint of impatience. "If what, Isabella? Tell me."
She turned quiet, her eyes lowering to the floor. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions.
The king stepped closer, his voice gentle but insistent. "Isabella, please. If what?"
She shook her head, wiping away her tears with a trembling hand. "It’s nothing, my king. I shouldn’t have said anything."
The king’s eyes searched hers, frustration mingling with worry. "Isabella, I want to understand. Please, tell me."
Isabella took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I’m just confused, my king. I apologize. Eventually I will learn to accept my place and play my part."
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