Chapter XCII: Miracle
The morning light filtered softly through the lattice windows of the harem as the king made his way to Dara’s chamber. The air was thick with the scent of incense, mingling with the faint rustle of the silk curtains that lined the room. Dara lay in bed, still frail and weak, her once-lustrous beauty now dimmed by the illness that had nearly claimed her life. Her face, though gaunt, had regained some color in her cheeks, and she no longer appeared as a specter on death's door. The maids hovered nearby, gently tending to her as she rested against the pillows.
When Dara saw the king enter, her lips curved into a soft smile. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of relief and happiness, as though his presence alone had given her strength. "My king," she breathed, her voice still weak but filled with warmth.
The king approached her bedside, his face unreadable. He looked down at her, his gaze lingering on her pale but recovering features. “I’m glad to see you getting better,” he said, his tone measured and calm, though there was a distance in his words that did not escape her.
Dara's eyes gleamed with something almost divine. She shifted slightly, her frail hands clasping together as though in prayer. “It is a true miracle,” she whispered, a tremor of awe in her voice. “I saw the flames of death... felt their heat. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t my time.” Her voice held a kind of conviction that seemed to steady her. She looked up at him, her gaze unwavering.
The king’s expression remained serious as he listened. He studied her face as though searching for some deeper truth. “How did you know that?” he asked, his voice quiet but intense.
Dara’s eyes lit up with an almost fanatical glow. “The gods spoke to me,” she said, her voice rising with fervor. “They told me I was not to leave this earth before bearing you a child. It is my fate to give birth to a child of the dragon.”
The room seemed to grow colder as the king’s expression hardened. His jaw clenched, and the silence that followed her words was thick with tension. He took a slow breath and looked at her with a stern gaze. “I’m sorry, Dara,” he said quietly but firmly, his voice steady and final. “But I will no longer share my bed with you.”
Dara’s smile faltered. The light that had filled her eyes dimmed, replaced by a profound sadness that seemed to weigh heavily on her fragile frame. She stared at him, her lips trembling as her eyes filled with tears. “But… my love,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “The gods… they spoke to me. I was to bear your child… I–”
The king’s expression softened, but only for a moment. “As soon as you’ve recovered,” he said, his voice gentle yet distant, “you will be sent to the city of Rhyk. I’ve arranged for you to marry my cousin, Senator Arun. You will serve him as his second wife.”
Dara’s eyes widened in disbelief. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked at him, desperate, pleading. “No,” she whispered. “Please… don’t send me away. Will you not miss me, my king?”
The king met her tearful gaze with a calm resolve. He stood for a moment, letting the weight of her words hang in the air before gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Rest well, Dara,” he said softly before turning and leaving the room.
Dara, her face streaked with tears and desperation, threw herself out of the bed, her frail body shaking as she tried to reach the king. “No! Please, come back!” she pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion. The maids rushed to her side, trying to guide her back onto the bed, but Dara fought against them, her strength fueled by anguish.
The king paused at the door, turning back to look at her with a mixture of sternness and detachment. “Dara, you’re embarrassing yourself,” he said, his tone firm and unyielding.
Dara’s cries grew more frantic as she struggled to get closer to him. “It’s my fate! It’s my fate to be with you!” she sobbed, her hands reaching out as if she could pull him back by sheer will alone. “I belong to you! I am yours!”
The king’s expression remained impassive as he addressed her pleas. “Yes, you belong to me, Dara. So does your fate. And the fate I have chosen for you is far in the east, far from this palace. It’s either this or death.”
Dara’s eyes widened with horror and defiance. “Then I choose death! I choose death! I'd rather die than be away from you, my king!” she screamed, her voice echoing with finality.
The king’s gaze was cold and resolute. “Well, it is not up to you to decide,” he said flatly. Without another word, he turned and left the room, the door closing behind him.
The king entered Isabella’s chambers with a quiet authority, his presence filling the room as the maids and Isabella immediately bowed low in respect. Without breaking stride, he gave a single curt order, “Leave us.” His voice, calm but commanding, sent the maids scattering without hesitation. Isabella handed Prince Ikkar to Alicent, who quickly retreated, closing the doors behind her.
Now alone with the king, Isabella stood in the center of the room, the tension between them palpable. The king approached her with a steady, measured pace, his expression calm but serious. His gaze was intense, never wavering as he neared her.
“Undress yourself,” he ordered, his voice low but firm.
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