Chapter LXXXVIII: Emotional

Isabella lay back on the bed, her legs open and her heart heavy with anticipation as the midwife examined her. The cool metal of the speculum made her wince, but she held her breath, hoping that this time, finally, she would hear the news she so desperately wanted.

The midwife removed the speculum with a practiced hand and gave Isabella a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, my lady, your womb seems very healthy, but it’s empty. You’re not pregnant yet.”

Isabella sighed in frustration, her hopes fading like the sunset. She had felt a little sick a few days prior, a hint of nausea that had sparked hope in her heart, only for it to be dashed once again.

Lady Belet, who had been quietly observing, excused the midwife and took a seat beside Isabella. Her presence was comforting, a steadying force in the storm of Isabella’s emotions.

“Why are you so anxious, my dear?” Lady Belet asked gently. “Prince Ikkar isn’t even a year old yet.”

Isabella hesitated, unsure of how to put her feelings into words. Lady Belet watched her closely, her expression curious but kind. “Are you tired of serving the king in his bed? Are you hoping to get pregnant fast so you don’t have to anymore?”

Isabella quickly shook her head, her cheeks flushing at the implication. “No, Lady Belet, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m more than pleased to share the king’s bed,” she replied earnestly. The thought of her intimacy with the king brought a warmth to her chest, even now, despite the frustration gnawing at her.

“Then why the rush for another child? Prince Ikkar is not even a year old yet.” Lady Belet asked, her tone soft but probing.

Isabella looked away, her mind drifting to the thoughts she had tried so hard to bury. Thoughts of Allendor, of Lady Clara, of the rebels who still whispered her name, who still wanted her to be their queen. A part of her longed to be free of those memories, to forget the weight of her past and the responsibilities that came with it.

But she couldn’t share those thoughts, not with Lady Belet, not with anyone. Instead, she forced a smile and dismissed her worries with a wave of her hand. “I don’t know what troubles me,” she said, her voice light, almost airy. “I just think Ikkar is growing too fast. I want another baby—a little girl, perhaps. A princess to play and laugh with her brother. Maybe having another child to care for would be good for my head.”

Lady Belet studied her for a moment, her eyes searching for the truth beneath Isabella’s words. But Isabella held her smile, keeping her true thoughts locked away where they couldn’t be reached.

Finally, Lady Belet nodded, accepting her answer. “That’s understandable,” she said, though there was a note of caution in her voice. “But remember to take care of yourself, Isabella, and enjoy this moment before your next pregnancy. Your position as the king’s favorite only seems to grow stronger each day. I don’t think you need to rush.”

Isabella nodded, though her mind was already wandering back to thoughts of Allendor, of the rebels, and the uneasy feeling that no matter how many children she had, they would never silence the ghosts of her past. All she wanted was to put it all behind her and accept her role as the Dragon King’s favorite.

Isabella met Lady Clara in the main garden, where the absence of Prince Damian’s crowd gave them a rare moment of privacy in a secluded place near the labyrinth. Clara, as usual, was fulfilling her role as Elara, the gardener, and was tending to the flowers while Isabella sat on a nearby bench, a book in hand to maintain the appearance of casual reading in case anyone saw them. Clara made a discreet bow and whispered, “My queen,” upon seeing her.

Isabella sighed heavily, her expression weighed with internal conflict. “You should go back to your father, Lady Clara,” she told Clara, her tone firm but laced with sorrow.

Clara looked at her in confusion, her hands pausing over the delicate petals. “Why? Are you planning something?” she asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and concern.

“Yes, I’m planning something,” Isabella replied, the word hanging heavily in the air. “I’m planning on giving the Dragon King a second child, hopefully a third and fourth, and as many as my body is capable of bearing.”

Clara’s confusion deepened, her brows knitting together as she tried to comprehend Isabella’s words. “What are you talking about, my queen?” she asked, her voice soft with uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, Isabella looked away, her gaze distant as if searching for an answer in the sky. “I am no queen, Clara. Not of Allendor or anything else.”

Clara chuckled nervously, disbelief coloring her tone. “That’s not true, of course you are. What are you saying?”

Isabella turned back to Clara, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Allendor deserves a proper ruler, someone to actually lead them and rebuild our kingdom from the ashes of the war. And that person is not me.”

“That person is you, Your Majesty,” Clara insisted, her voice firm with conviction.

Isabella shook her head slowly, her expression one of deep sadness. “I am a royal concubine of the Dragon King. I love him, I birthed him an heir and I cannot fight this war.”

Clara’s face fell, a mix of shock and disappointment in her eyes. “Would you turn your back on your people?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

A single tear slipped down Isabella’s cheek as she whispered, “I, as Princess Isabella of Allendor, perished at the battle of Rosehall. Our people deserve better than to be led by the ghost of a fallen queen whose only power is to be the Dragon King’s favorite whore.” Isabella, with her voice trembling, looked at Clara with sorrowful eyes. "You must return to your father," she said softly, "and he should crown himself king. He needs to lead our people. I’m... I’m sorry."

Clara’s eyes welled up with tears, and she shook her head. “No, my queen. As long as you’re alive, you are the true queen of Allendor. And my father is no usurper.”

Isabella turned away, her guilt and despair palpable. “I can’t be that queen anymore, Clara. I’ve given up the fight the moment my son was born.”

Clara stepped closer, her voice firm despite the tears streaming down her face. “Then I’ll stay right here with you, my queen. I won’t let you forget who you are, or what you mean to our people. I’ll be here for you. If you do not wish to return, then I’ll stay.”

Isabella looked at her, a tear escaping down her own cheek. “You don’t have to do that, Clara. You deserve a life beyond this...”

Clara grasped Isabella’s hands tightly. “So do you, my queen. But if you wish to stay to fulfill a duty, then I must stay as well. Because staying with you is my duty. Whether you wish to leave or not.”

Isabella rose from the bench, her heart heavy as she tried to hold back her tears. Her breaths were shaky as she hurried away from the garden, her footsteps quick and uneven on the cobblestone path. She wiped at her eyes, but the tears kept coming, blurring her vision as she neared the palace. Lost in her thoughts, she suddenly collided with a figure, and when she looked up, she was startled to find herself face-to-face with the king.

He immediately noticed the tears on her cheeks and the redness in her eyes. “Isabella,” he said softly, concern lacing his voice. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

For a moment, Isabella stood frozen, the storm of emotions inside her making it hard to speak. Then, without thinking, she threw her arms around him, pressing her face against his chest. The king hesitated briefly before wrapping his arms around her, holding her close as she trembled against him.

“I’m sorry,” Isabella whispered, her voice breaking. She clung to him as if he were her anchor in the emotional tempest.

The king’s grip tightened slightly as he tried to soothe her. “What happened?” he asked again, his tone more insistent, though still gentle. “Why are you crying?”

Isabella pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. She forced a shaky laugh, her lips curling into a fragile smile as she struggled to regain her composure. “It’s nothing,” she said, her voice wavering. “Just the book I was reading… it made me way too emotional.”

The king studied her face for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if trying to read the truth behind her words. But Isabella held his gaze, her expression a mask of forced calm, hoping he wouldn’t press further.