Chapter LXXXII: Feast
Prince Damian and his entourage would be leaving the Dragon King’s court the next morning, a little earlier than expected. The king ordered a great feast to be served to celebrate his brother’s last night in the palace. Isabella joined the king, sitting on his lap while he sat on his throne during the celebrations.
Seated beside Prince Damian was Lady Jia, his new royal mistress, a gift from the king. Besides Alicent, who was never a prisoner, Jia was officially the first woman to leave the Dragon King’s harem alive. The atmosphere was lively, with music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets filled with the finest wine.
The king held Isabella close, his hand resting possessively on her waist as he whispered to her. "Fuck this, the best part of the feast is served in my bed," he said, his voice warm and provocative.
Isabella giggled at the provocation, her eyes scanning the room. She saw Lady Jia smiling and conversing with Damian, who seemed pleased with his new consort. Sha hasn't spoken to him ever since their encounter in her room. The feast was grand, with an array of exotic dishes and vibrant performances by the palace dancers.
As the night progressed, Isabella's thoughts wandered to her conversation with Clara. The weight of her dual identity and the looming choice ahead pressed heavily on her. She forced a smile, trying to mask her turmoil, and leaned into the king's embrace. After suffering so much on his hands, she had found peace under his arms.
Isabella turned to the king and said, "I have to admit, I'm glad Prince Damian’s visit was cut short. I wonder what caused it to happen," giving the king a knowing glance.
The king smiled and replied, "Although I do love my brother, I know the fucker can be tough to be around."
Isabella nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over her. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the din of the feast.
The king leaned in and kissed her cheek, his lips warm against her skin. “I should have never shared you,” he murmured, his tone sincere.
Isabella looked at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of jest. “Are you serious?” she asked, her voice tinged with both hope and disbelief.
The king nodded, his expression serious. “Some treasures are made for kings,” he said softly, “and I should’ve reminded myself to keep a woman I wouldn’t share, not even with my brother. Should’ve been you.”
Isabella smiled, though a hint of sadness lingered in her eyes. Upon hearing the king’s words, she was painfully reminded that she was, in the end, nothing. The king wished he kept her for himself not because he felt something for her, but because she was something to possess. She was a spoil of war, a treasure, “a mere object to satisfy the king’s desires,” as she recalled Lady Theda’s words the day she arrived in the harem. Sometimes her gilded cage felt like a home, sometimes her privileges felt like dignity, sometimes the king’s lust felt like... love. But in the end, she was one woman among many, even if he momentarily decided to abstain from the company of others in her favor.
It wasn’t the first time she thought about it, but it never felt so clear. This realization finished breaking her heart softly, as she felt like her heart had been already broken for a long time. She turned her gaze away from the king, trying to hide the tears that threatened to spill, feeling the weight of her chains more than ever.
Isabella knew the king was both the cause of her pain and the medicine that soothed it. She understood there was no escape, no matter what Clara or anyone else said, so she decided to burn away her sorrows in the same place they came from: the king’s bed. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “Can we leave now, my king?” She asked as she discreetly placed his hand between her legs under the table, making him feel the soft, wet folds of her cunt. “I can't wait any longer.”
The king looked at her with a lustful smile and said, "Of course, my little dove."
As they rose to leave, Prince Damian called out, "Brother, won't you have one last cup of wine with me?"
The king glanced at Isabella, then shook his head. "I think I'll pass, Damian."
Damian persisted, "Come on, it's my last night here. Just one more cup."
The king hesitated, then turned to Isabella. "Wait for me in my room. I won't be long."
Isabella nodded, feeling a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Of course, my king." She curtsied and excused herself, making her way out of the grand hall.
When she reached the king’s chambers, she closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment to catch her breath.
She moved to the bed, her thoughts swirling. The room was filled with the king's scent, a blend of musk and leather that both comforted and imprisoned her. She undressed slowly, slipping into a silk robe, and lay on the bed, waiting. The seconds felt like hours, her anticipation mixed with a sense of dread.
Finally, Isabella heard footsteps approaching. The door to the king’s chamber creaked open slowly. Already tense with anticipation, she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see the king. Instead, a shadow fell across the room, and Prince Damian stepped into the dimly lit space.
Isabella’s heart raced. She sat up abruptly, her breath catching in her throat. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice a mixture of surprise and apprehension.
Damian moved with a deliberate slowness, his eyes glinting with mischief. He let the door fall shut behind him with a soft thud.
Isabella’s heart raced as she saw Prince Damian approach, his expression dark and intent. “You need to leave,” she demanded, her voice wavering slightly.
Damian didn’t heed her words. Instead, he continued his advance with a determined stride. Panic surged through Isabella. She quickly stood up and tried to make her way to the door, hoping to call for the guards.
But Damian was faster. He reached her before she could escape, his hand clamping over her mouth. Isabella’s eyes widened in fear as he pulled her back toward the bed. She struggled, but his grip was ironclad, his strength overpowering her resistance.
With a rough, practiced ease, Damian dragged her back to the bed. Isabella’s muffled cries were swallowed by his hand as he pushed her down onto the mattress. His gaze was relentless, his expression a mixture of predatory desire and cold determination.
In a swift and quick movement, Damian’s hands moved from her mouth and chest to her neck. Isabella tried to scream, but nothing would come out of her mouth as she fought for air while he choked her. It took a few seconds of struggling before her sight turned dark and her consciousness faded away.
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