Chapter XCVIII: Clash
It became a scandal that swept through the entire court. Whispers echoed in the grand halls and private chambers—everyone spoke of the king taking Lady Dara as his concubine again, despite her recent marriage to his cousin, Senator Arun. The annulment of the marriage only added to the intrigue, leaving Dara in a strange and uncomfortable limbo. She was neither a royal concubine in the traditional sense nor simply a common woman the king had taken to his bed. Her position was ambiguous, and the uncertainty of her status only fueled the gossip.
The court was unsettled. Those who had always been fond of Isabella were especially displeased by the tension that now gripped the palace. Isabella had won the hearts of many with her grace, wisdom, and the sacrifices she had made as queen. Now, with the shadow of Dara hanging over her, sympathy and loyalty to Isabella grew, but so did the discomfort among the nobles and courtiers.
Dara was unfazed by the tension that had swept through the palace. The scandal meant little to her, and she even seemed to thrive in the chaos. The king had allocated her to the old harem while he tried to figure out what to do with her. He wanted her gone, wanted to repair the damage he had done with Isabella. Yet, the possibility of Dara being pregnant loomed over him like a dark cloud. Lady Belet had informed him that Dara had thrown up the medicine meant to prevent conception, leaving the door open to the worst-case scenario: a potential bastard child.
The king couldn’t bear the thought of a bastard son raised far from the court, especially not by someone as ambitious and cunning as Dara. He feared what she could do, how she might use that child to claim the throne after his death. He knew she couldn’t be trusted, and the idea of her raising his child alone frightened him more than he would ever admit. So he decided it was safer to keep her close, under his watchful eye.
That afternoon, he went to visit her in the old harem. Dara, in true form, was lounging in the garden, her body barely covered by a thin, milky fabric that clung to her curves as she sunbathed without a care in the world.
The king approached, his eyes filled with anger. "I shouldn’t have allowed you to set foot in this palace again," he growled.
Dara looked up at him with a smirk, unbothered by his tone. "Don’t act like you didn’t miss me," she purred, her lips curling into a smile that suggested she held all the power.
His fists clenched at his sides. "I want you gone," he snapped. "As soon as blood comes, you’re going to the convent, and I don’t want to hear from you ever again."
Dara laughed softly, the sound dripping with mockery. “Is all this anger because your little redhead bitch is upset with you?”
The king’s eyes flashed with fury. “You will show respect,” he demanded. “Isabella is the mother of my son.”
Dara’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she leaned back on her cushion. “That’s a role we will soon be sharing, don’t you think?”
The king stiffened, disgusted by her boldness. “I was happy,” he hissed. “What Isabella gave me, a dozen women like you couldn’t offer. That’s why I sent you all away.”
Dara’s smile never wavered. “And yet you came back for me.”
“I didn’t come back for you,” the king retorted, his voice hardening. “I got violently drunk. I have no idea how you ended up in my bed that night.”
Dara’s eyes narrowed as she leaned forward, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “You asked me to come.”
“I doubt that,” the king said coldly.
Dara chuckled darkly, her voice taking on a sharp edge. “You’re the Dragon King! That night, it wasn’t the lie, the fantasy you’ve been telling yourself that ruled your actions. It was your true primal instincts that made you take me, and you know it.” Her gaze bore into him, challenging him, daring him to deny it. “She isn’t enough for you, and she never will be.”
The king’s jaw tightened, fury and guilt warring within him.
Dara sighed, reclining further into her cushions as the king turned to leave. “While I was sick, nearly dying,” she began, her voice soft yet laden with a confidence that made the king pause, “I had many visions. I saw myself giving you, my king, a son.” Her eyes gleamed as she looked up at him, her words slow and deliberate. “I know I’m already with child. It’s just a matter of time for the midwives confirm it.”
The king stiffened but didn’t turn to face her.
“Even if you never touch me again,” she continued, her voice dripping with certainty, “which, honestly, I doubt will be the case… our fate is sealed. Mine. Yours. Ours.”
The king clenched his fists but started to move toward the exit. He had heard enough.
But Dara’s voice followed him, cutting through the air like a blade. “You’re fooling yourself, Alaric,” she said, her tone filled with disdain. “If you think a little girl like Isabella could ever give you what you need, you’re delusional.”
He stopped in the doorway, his body rigid.
“You need a real woman by your side,” Dara pressed, her eyes never leaving him, “someone who won’t ever try to put out your fire. Someone who embraces your power, your instincts. That woman is me. It’s always been me.”
The king didn’t respond. Without another word, he left the room, the heavy door closing behind him with a resounding thud, leaving Dara smiling to herself, as if she had already won the battle.
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