Chapter XCI: Delirious

Dara’s condition worsened each day, and her decline reached a point where the fire priestesses were summoned to offer prayers for her passage to the eternal flames. It was clear that her time was drawing near, yet her final wish remained the same: she wanted to see the king one last time.

The king, knowing that her days were numbered, decided to honor her wish. He made the decision to visit her, and Isabella, ever watchful and determined, chose to go with him. It wasn’t out of concern for Dara but rather to ensure that Dara understood that the king was only visiting her on her deathbed because Isabella had allowed it. A chill ran down her spine when she realized that Dara was lying in the very room where she had given birth to Ikkar.

When they entered, Isabella could hardly recognize Dara. Her once vibrant and alluring features were now a ghostly shadow of themselves. Her skin was so pale it had taken on a sickly gray hue, the bones on her face and chest protruding as though trying to escape her body. Her once thick and lustrous hair had become thin, dull, and clinging to her damp forehead. She was covered in sweat and moaning in pain, her breathing labored.

But when Dara saw the king, her eyes lit up with an unnatural fervor, as if all her suffering was suddenly lifted. “My love,” Dara whispered, her voice cracked and weak. “You’ve come… I knew you would.” The joy in her eyes was heartbreaking in its intensity.

The king approached her bedside, his expression softened with pity. He sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “It is good to see you, Dara,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment.

Dara smiled weakly, her hand clutching his with whatever strength she had left. “I knew it,” she whispered again, her fevered mind clinging to a distant hope. “I saw it so clearly… The gods whispered to me… They said the Dragon King would visit me in my chambers, and I would give him a child.”

Isabella felt a sharp pang of anger flare in her chest at Dara’s words. The thought of this dying woman believing she would bear the king’s child was an insult to everything Isabella had fought for. But as she looked at Dara’s frail, delirious form, her heart softened with pity. The woman was clearly not in her right mind, her fever driving her to a place beyond reason.

Dara’s eyes glistened with the remnants of a hope that would never come to pass. “I’ve loved you since I was a child,” Dara continued, her voice faltering. “I… I could never leave this earth without planting the seed of our love. It is fate. Just a matter of time before I carry your child, my king.”

The king said nothing for a moment, his face a mask of sorrow. Gently, he reached out and caressed Dara’s face, brushing back the damp strands of her hair. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Rest now, Dara,” he whispered before standing to leave.

Isabella followed him silently through the dim hallways of the palace. The echo of their footsteps seemed louder in the stillness that surrounded them. When they were finally alone, she reached out and gently placed her hand on his arm, caressing his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “Are you alright?” she asked softly, sensing the weight of the moment.

The king didn’t answer immediately, his eyes distant as they walked. “Yes,” he said finally, though his voice held a tremor of pain.

Isabella tightened her grip on his arm, her touch tender. She knew he was struggling with Dara’s impending death more than he was willing to admit. The memories it stirred in him were deep and painful, and they lingered just beneath the surface.

After a long pause, the king spoke again, his voice filled with a bitter edge. “My father had over fifty concubines,” he said quietly. “Several died in his harem. Some died in childbirth, others by his own hands. And he… he would act like it was nothing.”

Isabella’s heart ached for him as she listened, sensing the deep wounds he carried from his past. The king’s voice grew softer, more strained. “When my own mother, his wife, his queen, died after years of sorrow in that dark chamber… My father’s only remark was that this is why a king must always have a handful of spare wives to keep him entertained.”

Isabella walked alongside him, her heart heavy with the realization that, despite his strength, the king was suffering deeply. Alaric could be a rather cruel man, but he wasn’t like his father. Watching Dara dying like that had brought up memories and pain he had long buried, and Isabella knew that the loss would be far more difficult for him than he was willing to let on. She remained quiet, offering her silent support, knowing that sometimes words were not enough for wounds that ran this deep. It was a bittersweet feeling, Isabella was jealous of thinking he could still love Dara, but it gave her hope; if he was no longer in love with Dara but still cared for her as someone who meant a lot to him, then he was nothing like the late king. And maybe that hidden compassion could be extended to Isabella herself at some point.

Isabella had just put Ikkar to sleep in his crib, his tiny body curled peacefully beneath the soft blankets. She smiled down at him, a warmth in her chest. The prince looked so serene, his little chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Isabella lingered for a moment, watching him before turning away to prepare herself for the night.

The king would be retiring late as usual, and Isabella wanted to be ready for him. She had already bathed and perfumed herself, making sure her skin was soft to the touch, her hair fragrant with the oils she favored. She sat before her mirror, brushing her long red hair, allowing it to flow like silk down her back. Her thoughts drifted to the king—how he had seemed distant lately, burdened by the responsibilities of his kingdom and the events surrounding Dara’s illness. She wanted to be there for him, to ease his mind and body, and perhaps share some quiet moments together.

As she was lost in her thoughts, a soft knock interrupted the silence of her room. Isabella straightened, her brush pausing mid-stroke. “Come in,” she called, her voice steady, though a flicker of curiosity crossed her mind.

The door creaked open, and Alicent quickly entered, her movements quiet and urgent. Isabella noted the haste in her steps and turned to face her, setting her brush aside. “What is it?” she asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

Alicent approached her, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. “News from the harem,” she whispered, her voice tight with both disbelief and urgency.

Isabella’s heart skipped a beat. “What news?” she pressed, her mind immediately jumping to Dara. The last time she’d seen the woman, she was near death. Surely, it had to be her passing. Isabella steeled herself for the words to come.

Alicent’s eyes widened as she delivered the unexpected revelation. “Dara… She is miraculously getting better.”

Isabella’s hand froze mid-air, her mind reeling. “Getting better?” she repeated, disbelief clear in her voice. It was nearly impossible to fathom. Just days before, Dara had been on the brink of death, her body frail and broken, the fire priestesses praying for her soul. Isabella had seen the decay herself—the pallor of her skin, the weakness that had overtaken her once-beautiful body. How could she possibly recover?

“Yes,” Alicent confirmed, nodding with a look of astonishment. “I don’t know how, but she is… The fever has broken, and the healers say she’s stronger now, even lucid. It’s as if she’s been pulled back from death itself.”

Isabella stood from her chair, her heartbeat quickening. A mix of emotions roiled within her—relief that she wouldn’t have to witness another painful death, unease at the sudden recovery, and a creeping sense of dread. “How could this be?” she muttered under her breath, trying to make sense of the situation.

Alicent shrugged slightly, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and worry. “No one knows. But some are calling it a miracle.”

Isabella felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Miracles were often unpredictable things, and the sudden resurgence of life in Dara unsettled her in ways she couldn’t quite place.