Chapter XCV: Hauting

Isabella stared at Lady Belet in disbelief, her voice shaky as she asked, "How and why is Dara returning to the palace?"

Lady Belet sighed softly. “She’s coming with her husband, Senator Arun, from the east.”

Isabella’s eyes narrowed with frustration. “How could the king invite her like this, to our son’s first birthday?”

“The king invited his cousin,” Lady Belet explained calmly, “and his cousin is bringing his wives. It wasn’t personal.”

Isabella’s hands clenched into fists. “I don’t want her here.”

Lady Belet nodded, understanding her concern. “I know. But if I can give you one last piece of advice, it’s this: Don’t let your position be threatened by anyone, especially not Dara. You know damn well that she likes to feed on such weaknesses.”

Isabella took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. “You’re right. Dara isn’t getting anything from me. Not now, not ever.”

The king returned triumphant from his hunt, his armor gleaming with pride as he entered the palace. His personal victory—a massive boar he had felled himself—was to be served at his son’s grand feast. But as he strode through the courtyard, a sight far more precious than his conquest greeted him.

Isabella was crouched on the ground, holding Ikkar's small hands. Her voice, soft and warm, urged the little prince forward. "Go to your father, my love," she said encouragingly.

The prince, clumsy but determined, took unsteady steps toward his father. The king immediately crouched as well, his heart swelling with pride as he watched his son walk to him for the first time. When Ikkar reached him, the king scooped him up in his arms, marveling at this new milestone. The court, gathered in the courtyard, erupted into cheers and applause for the young prince.

The king, beaming with pride, walked toward Isabella, still holding Ikkar in his arms. He leaned in and kissed her lips gently, then pressed another kiss to her forehead. "When did he learn to walk?" he asked, his excitement clear.

"Yesterday," Isabella replied, smiling tenderly at the joy on his face.

"Already walking," the king said, grinning broadly. "Soon he will be mounting, it's only a matter of time before he's flying a dragon."

Isabella chuckled softly, her eyes full of love for both of them. "If something's flying, it's time itself... Ikkar has grown so much."

The king nodded, his expression filled with pride and satisfaction. "The next days are meant to celebrate him growing," he said, his tone warm with affection. Then, his eyes glimmered with a hint of mischief. "But I also have another surprise for you."

Isabella raised an eyebrow, smiling at him. "Another surprise? For me?" she asked, her tone playful. "It’s not my birthday."

The king smiled wider, shaking his head. "I know, but the reason I have a strong and healthy heir is because of you," he said, his voice deep and sincere. "And I wish to reward you accordingly."

Isabella left Ikkar in Alicent's care to be fed and dressed for his birthday feast, her thoughts swirling with excitement and curiosity. She followed the king as he led her to the top of one of the palace's tallest towers. The ascent felt both exhilarating and calming, the air cooler as they climbed higher.

Once they reached the top, the king took Isabella's hand, guiding her to the edge where the expansive view unfolded before them. The sunset painted the sky with vivid hues of gold, orange, and pink, casting a warm glow over the vast land below. Isabella breathed in the scene, her heart light. "It’s beautiful," she said softly.

The king looked at her, his gaze tender and full of affection. "It’s yours," he replied, his voice deep.

Isabella laughed lightly, teasing him. "The sun?" she asked with a playful smile.

The king shook his head and chuckled. "No," he said, turning her gently to face the horizon. "The land."

She blinked in surprise, the playfulness in her expression replaced by confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice soft but incredulous.

The king smiled, his gaze never leaving hers. "I am very grateful for you, Isabella," he said, his tone sincere and heartfelt.

She smiled warmly, touched by his words, but she still didn’t understand.

"Not only have you given me a strong, healthy son," he continued, "but you’ve graced my life with all your sweetness, your kindness, and your love. Before you, I never knew what it was to love a woman this deeply." His grip on her hand tightened slightly, as if to emphasize the weight of his next words. "So, I wish to give you the lands beyond the palace walls and the title of Duchess of Dragonspire."

Isabella’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide with disbelief. She searched his face for any sign of jest, but his expression was as serious as she had ever seen it. "Are you serious?" she asked, her voice filled with shock and awe.

The king nodded, smiling at her reaction. "Very serious."

Isabella’s gaze shifted out to the horizon, her eyes landing on the distant castle, which appeared so small from where they stood. Her castle. She could hardly believe it. The realization then hit her, and she turned back to him with wide eyes. "Wait," she said, her voice filled with sudden clarity. "If you’re giving me a title, that means…"

The king met her gaze steadily. "Yes," he said with a smile. "I’m releasing you from the harem, finally. But you will still continue to serve me as my sole royal concubine."

Tears welled up in Isabella’s eyes, overwhelmed by emotion. Without hesitation, she threw herself into the king’s arms, burying her face against his chest as she clung to him. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Isabella stood before the grand mirror in her chambers, admiring her reflection. The dress she wore was nothing short of magnificent—a flowing masterpiece of red silk adorned with accents of pure gold, hugging her body in all the right places and shimmering in the warm candlelight. Her hair was pinned up elegantly, and her skin glowed with the finest oils and perfumes. She looked like royalty, even if she wasn't a queen.

Tonight was a special night, the first of three nights of celebration for her beloved son Ikkar’s first birthday. The palace had been buzzing with preparations, and she could feel the excitement in the air.

For a moment, she smiled to herself, thinking of how far she had come. A slave, now transformed into the wealthiest and most beloved woman in the kingdom. The king’s gifts had been bountiful—lands, titles, jewels that could rival a crown's worth. He had given her more than she ever dreamed possible. And yet…

Her smile faded as a strange sadness crept into her heart, a feeling she couldn’t quite shake. She stared at her reflection, and her thoughts betrayed her. Why won’t he marry me?

The question lingered like a heavy cloud over her. The king, her dragon, was willing to shower her with everything under the sun—luxuries, honor, power. But not marriage. Why?

She understood the politics, of course. She knew the complexities of alliances, noble houses, and the weight of tradition. But wasn’t he the mighty Dragon King? Wasn’t his word law? Couldn’t he simply do whatever he wished, including making her his queen?

She pressed a hand to her chest, where a sudden ache had formed. Something was missing. There was a hole there, and despite all the riches, it wouldn’t go away. Being given the chance, she thought, would I trade all of this just to be his lawful wife?

The answer wasn’t clear. Part of her wanted to say yes—how could she not? She longed to be more than his concubine, to stand by his side as his equal, not just his most beloved. And yet, there was a part of her that hesitated. Could she ever be content with the crown if it came with the weight of all that a queen must endure? She thought of the late queen, the sorrow that followed her until her death.

Maybe I want too much, she thought with a sigh, shaking her head. Or maybe I’ve already been given more than I ever deserved.

But the ache remained. She forced herself to push the thoughts away, banishing them like unwelcome guests. Now was not the time to dwell on such things. Tonight was meant for celebration, not doubt. She was the mother of the Crown Prince, she was the king’s favored companion. She was powerful in ways she had never imagined.

Isabella took one last look at herself in the mirror, straightened her shoulders, and let a serene smile return to her lips. She would not allow these thoughts to ruin what was meant to be a joyful night. With one final breath, she stepped out of her chambers and made her way to the grand feast, determined to embrace the happiness that awaited her.

Isabella walked gracefully down the corridor, her maids trailing behind her, carefully lifting the luxurious tail of her monumental red and gold dress. The ornate double doors to the hall were opened for her, revealing the splendor inside.

As she crossed the threshold, her eyes scanned the majestic candlelit room, the golden decorations and sumptuous banquet tables making the hall appear as though it had been plucked from a dream. The air hummed with music and laughter. Isabella felt the familiar rush of pride swell in her chest as her presence commanded the room.

But then her gaze landed on the throne, and her smile faltered.

There, standing before the king, was Dara, bowing courtly with a demure smile gracing her lips.