Chapter XCVI: Tragedy

Isabella's steps slowed, her smile fading for just a heartbeat. For a brief moment, a storm of emotions swirled within her—resentment, insecurity, even jealousy. The king looked comfortable, holding Ikkar close, and yet Dara was there, standing so near, as though her return to the palace had been inevitable.

Isabella quickly composed herself, lifting her chin with quiet resolve. She could not show weakness, not now. The court was watching, and Dara was watching too. The moment was fleeting, and with a deep breath, Isabella pushed aside the wave of emotion and allowed her serene smile to return.

She was Duchess of Dragonspire. She was the mother of the king's heir. She had won the heart of the Dragon King.
And no one—not even Dara—could take that away from her.

Isabella walked with graceful elegance toward the throne, her posture regal and her heart steeled against the flickers of doubt that had momentarily gripped her. Her red silk dress trailed behind her like a river of flame, her head held high as the court’s eyes followed her approach. When she reached the throne, she took her place on a bench to the right of the king, settling herself with an air of confidence.

As she did, her eyes met Dara’s. With a soft smile that masked her inner turmoil, Isabella gave her a polite nod. "Lady Dara," she greeted coolly, her voice pleasant but firm.

Dara’s return nod was sharper, her expression less cordial. “Lady Isabella,” Dara replied, her tone clipped as her dark eyes flashed with something more pointed—perhaps jealousy, perhaps disdain.

The king seemed oblivious to the tension between them. He leaned over slightly toward Isabella, a small smile playing on his lips. “You have yet to meet my cousin, Senator Arun from Rhyk.”

Isabella turned her gaze to the senator, who stood tall and broad-shouldered beside Dara. Though he bore a striking resemblance to the king, with dark hair and a strong jawline, time had etched itself into his features. Silver streaks ran through his beard and hair, betraying the years he carried, though his presence remained as commanding as ever.

Isabella offered him a courteous smile as he approached. The senator took her hand gently, bowing his head as he brushed a soft kiss against her knuckles. “A pleasure to meet the famous Lady Isabella of Allendor,” Arun said with a smile that lingered longer than it should have, his eyes holding hers for a beat too long.

Isabella maintained her composure, though the weight of his gaze felt heavy. “The pleasure is mine, Senator,” she replied smoothly, withdrawing her hand with poise. Her heart tightened for a moment, aware of Dara’s watchful eyes upon her, but she dismissed it.

During the grand feast celebrating Prince Ikkar’s first birthday, Isabella basked in the glow of courtly admiration and praise. Every congratulatory remark and flattering comment made her feel cherished and valued, yet the constant attention began to overwhelm her. As she sat at the head table, the food lost its flavor, the wine turned sour, and the cacophony of chatter and laughter grew unbearable.

The king, ever perceptive to her mood, noticed her discomfort and leaned closer. “Isabella, are you alright?” he asked with concern.

Isabella tried to mask her unease with a smile. “I feel a bit strange,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what it is.”

The king’s expression softened. “Would you like to retire to your chambers early?”

Isabella hesitated, not wanting to disrupt the festive atmosphere. “I don’t want to make a scene,” she said, though her voice betrayed her discomfort.

The king reached for her hand, his concern evident. “Your well-being is more important. If you need to go, please do so.”

Grateful but torn, Isabella nodded. “Thank you. I’ll lie down for a while.”

The king offered her a reassuring look. “Do you want me to come with you?”

A part of Isabella longed for his comfort, but she knew how crucial this celebration was for him, especially with the boar he had hunted set to be served. “No, please stay and enjoy the feast,” she said gently. “I don’t want to disrupt things.”

The king’s brow furrowed with worry. “I’ll check on you later,” he promised.

Isabella gave him a grateful smile before rising from her seat. She made her way to her chambers, feeling the weight of the evening’s festivities lift as she walked away from the noise. In her room, she found Ikkar already asleep under Alicent’s watchful eyes.

Alicent noticed Isabella entered the room. Concern filled her voice as she asked, "What are you doing up here so early? The feast isn't even over yet."

Isabella turned her head slowly, a small, tired smile gracing her lips. "I wasn’t feeling well," she explained. "I just needed to lie down for a bit."

Alicent stepped closer, her eyes narrowing in concern. "Not feeling well? What is it? What are you feeling?"

Isabella sighed, pressing a hand to her stomach. "It just hit me all of a sudden... my stomach feels like it’s twisting inside me. I probably ate something bad," she said with a faint chuckle, though her voice lacked conviction.

A knowing smile crept across Alicent’s face. She crossed her arms and tilted her head playfully. "Or... perhaps you’re with child," she suggested, her tone light but teasing.

Isabella blinked, taken aback for a moment. Her expression softened, and a genuine smile touched her lips. "With child?" she repeated, her hand absentmindedly drifting to her stomach. "Maybe… I felt sick like this when I was pregnant with Ikkar."

Alicent chuckled softly. "See? It’s quite possible. Perhaps you should actually rest, just in case."

Isabella nodded. "You’re right. I think I’ll lie down a while longer." She gestured toward the door. "You go enjoy the feast. Don’t worry about me."

Alicent frowned and shook her head. "Not until I help you out of that dress. You’ll be much more comfortable without it." She stepped forward before Isabella could protest and began unlacing her gown.

As Alicent worked, Isabella let her thoughts wander, the smile never quite leaving her face. Could it really be possible? Another child? Her heart fluttered at the thought, not just of the child, but of what that would mean for her life here, with the Dragon King. When she was finally free of the heavy gown, she sighed with relief, her body relaxing.

"There," Alicent said with a satisfied smile, folding the dress neatly. "Now, get some rest. If you need anything, send for a servant to call for me."

"I will," Isabella promised softly.

Alicent gave her one last lingering look before departing, leaving Isabella alone in the quiet chamber. Once the door closed, Isabella walked over to the windows, intending to draw the curtains. As she did, she glanced outside into the darkened gardens below.

Despite the late hour, a few gardeners were still tending to the old harem’s flowers, moving carefully in the moonlight. Her eyes fell on a familiar figure—Clara, also known as Elara, kneeling by a rose bush, working meticulously.

Isabella’s heart clenched at the sight of her. Clara had kept her promise, staying here even though Isabella had told her she wouldn’t return to claim the throne of Allendor. The girl’s determination and loyalty were unwavering, and it filled Isabella with a bittersweet ache.

She stood there for a moment longer, watching Clara’s careful hands trim the roses, the weight of her past and the fate of her kingdom pressing heavily on her mind. Memories of Allendor flooded back—her people, her duty, the life she had left behind.

For a moment, the guilt was almost overwhelming. But with a deep breath, Isabella brushed the thoughts away and pulled the curtains closed. She needed to rest, to quiet her mind. The morning would come soon enough, and with it, whatever truths awaited her.

With a final glance toward the covered windows, she slipped into bed, the weight of uncertainty settling over her as she closed her eyes.

Isabella was tormented by a series of nightmares—visions of war, torture, and fire engulfed her mind. Her kingdom burned, and her people screamed as they suffered. She saw herself trapped, unable to save them.
She jolted awake, her heart pounding in her chest. The haunting images began to fade, but she was brought back to reality by the sound of her son, Ikkar, crying and calling for her. Rubbing her tired eyes, Isabella quickly rose from the bed and went to his crib. She picked him up gently, holding him close to her chest as she whispered, “Shh, it’s alright, my love. Mama’s here. Were you having bad dreams too?”

Ikkar whimpered softly in response, his tiny hands clinging to her nightgown. Isabella hummed a soft lullaby, rocking him gently in her arms. After a few moments, his crying slowed, though his breaths still came in soft, uneven gasps.

As Ikkar calmed down, Isabella walked over to the window and opened one of the curtains just a bit. The first hints of dawn were breaking across the sky. She blinked in confusion—she had slept through the entire night, a rarity given her restless nights in recent months.

Something about it felt strange, unsettling even, but she pushed the feeling aside. She kissed the top of Ikkar’s head and began to reach for the bell to summon her servants.
But she hesitated. Her gaze shifted to the door that separated her chambers from the king’s. It was closed. Her brow furrowed. The king usually left the door open when they didn’t sleep together—always wanting to ensure that she could come to him if she needed anything. The uneasiness in her chest grew.

With Ikkar still resting quietly against her, Isabella carefully approached the door. Something felt off, something she couldn’t shake. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the handle, her heart racing with dread. Slowly, she opened it just enough to slip inside, trying not to make a sound in case the king was still asleep.

As she stepped into his room, Isabella’s breath caught in her throat, and her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. The king was there, lying in his bed, shirtless, sound asleep—but, to her surprise and disgust, he was not alone.