The grand hall was alive with light, the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows in kaleidoscopic patterns. The walls, adorned with golden drapes and intricate carvings of the kingdom’s history, seemed to shimmer in reverence to the occasion. Everywhere Isla turned, there were eyes—thousands of them, all staring, judging, or wondering how a mere servant had ascended to this moment. Her heart pounded in her chest, her nerves fraying at the edges.
She stood beside the King, who was the very picture of poise and command. In the grand robes of royalty, the King radiated an aura of undeniable authority. A dark crimson cloak hung over her strong shoulders, its weight seeming effortless as it cascaded behind her. The golden crown atop her head gleamed, a stark contrast against her strikingly dark hair that fell in soft waves just past her collar. She was dressed in a tailored black-and-gold ceremonial uniform, her sharp lines of clothing accentuating her broad shoulders and powerful stance.
And then there was Isla.
Her dress, painstakingly crafted for the occasion, clung to her form like a second skin. The fabric was rich and heavy, a deep emerald green that set off the sun-kissed hue of her skin. Golden embroidery climbed up the bodice like vines, spiraling into intricate patterns that spoke of elegance and strength. A long, flowing cape of translucent gold fell from her shoulders, pooling lightly at her feet. It should have made her feel regal, powerful, but instead, it only reminded her how out of place she felt.
Her hands trembled as they clutched the sides of her gown.
She could feel the King’s gaze on her, unwavering and intense, as though the ruler could sense her every thought. Isla dared not meet those eyes, knowing the weight of them would only make her knees weaker. And yet, when the officiant’s voice rang out over the hall, commanding the attention of everyone present, the King leaned closer to her, their hands brushing.
Isla flinched at the contact, not out of fear but from the sheer gravity of the moment.
“You’re shaking,” the King murmured, her voice low and barely audible over the hum of the crowd. The tone wasn’t cruel or mocking; it was almost… gentle.
“I-I’m sorry,” Isla stammered, her voice catching in her throat. She forced herself to look up at the towering woman beside her.
The King’s eyes softened just slightly, though her expression remained firm. Slowly, she reached out and took Isla’s hand in hers. The warmth of the King’s palm was a stark contrast to the cold anxiety racing through Isla’s veins.
“Steady yourself,” the King said quietly, her thumb brushing over Isla’s knuckles. “You belong here. Act like it.”
Isla’s breath hitched at the unexpected comfort in the gesture. She wanted to believe the King’s words, but the weight of the crown that awaited her felt impossible to bear.
The ceremony continued, the words of the officiant ringing out like a drumbeat that matched the pounding in her chest. Isla barely heard them, her focus narrowing to the hand that held hers so firmly, so reassuringly. She stole a glance at the King, who stood as a fortress of calm amidst the sea of chaos in her mind.
And then the words came:
“Do you, Isla of the realm, vow to stand beside your King, to serve the people, and to uphold the honor of this crown for as long as you live?”
Her throat felt tight, her mouth dry as she struggled to find her voice. She knew every word spoken here would echo through history, a servant-turned-queen an anomaly in the annals of tradition.
“I…” Isla’s voice faltered, barely above a whisper. The King’s grip on her hand tightened, grounding her.
“I do,” she finally said, her voice trembling but clear enough to be heard by all.
The officiant turned to the King, asking her to confirm her vows. The King’s voice rang out strong and unwavering, a promise to the realm and to Isla that left no room for doubt.
When it came time for the crowns, Isla’s heart nearly stopped. The weight of the golden circlet settled on her head like a physical manifestation of her new responsibilities. The King’s crown gleamed beside her, a symbol of power unmatched, and yet her gaze was focused solely on Isla.
As the crowd erupted into applause, signaling the union of ruler and queen, Isla felt her chest tighten. She tried to step back, to retreat into herself, but the King turned to her, taking her hand once more.
“You are my Queen now,” the King said, her voice low and meant only for Isla’s ears. “Stand tall.”
Isla could do nothing but nod, her knees weak beneath the strength of the King’s conviction.
The ceremony ended, but the tension between them did not. The King led her from the dais, the applause of the crowd fading into the distance as they exited the grand hall. Isla’s mind raced, her emotions a tangle of fear, disbelief, and something else she couldn’t quite name.
Once they were alone in the corridor, Isla finally dared to speak.
“Why did you choose me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The King stopped in her tracks, turning to face her with an expression that was unreadable but heavy with meaning.
“Because you are exactly what this kingdom needs,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “And because you are what I need.”
Isla’s breath caught, her cheeks flushing at the weight of the words. The King’s gaze lingered on her, intense and unrelenting, before she turned and began walking again, leaving Isla to trail behind her with a heart that felt heavier—and lighter—all at once.
****
The room was cloaked in quiet tension, the soft flicker of candlelight painting gentle shadows on the stone walls. Isla sat on the edge of a small, hastily placed bed at the far corner of the king’s chambers, her fingers gripping the thin blanket as if it might shield her from the inevitability of the night.
Across the room, the king sat on the edge of her grand bed, her regal form softened by the loose silken robe that hung over her shoulders. Yet even now, her presence dominated the space. She was silent, her golden eyes fixed on Isla, the unspoken command heavy in the air.
“Isla,” the king said at last, her voice low and unyielding. “Come here.”
Isla flinched at the sound, her heart pounding. “I… I can sleep here,” she stammered, gesturing weakly to her own bed. “It’s fine. I won’t disturb you.”
The king tilted her head, the faintest trace of amusement curling her lips. “That is not our tradition. You are my queen now. You sleep where I sleep.”
Isla’s stomach churned with nerves, but she couldn’t disobey. Slowly, she rose, her bare feet hesitant on the cool stone floor as she shuffled toward the king. Her shoulders hunched, her head bowed, she moved as though trying to make herself smaller—less noticeable.
The king watched her approach with an intensity that made Isla’s skin prickle. When she finally reached the edge of the bed, the king tilted her chin upward, forcing Isla to meet her gaze. Those golden eyes, so sharp and fierce, seemed to pierce straight through her.
“Why do you avoid me?” the king asked, her voice softer now but no less commanding. “You are not a servant anymore. Stop cowering.”
Isla swallowed hard, her lips trembling. “I—I don’t mean to. I just… I don’t understand.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Only a man and a woman do… this.”
The king’s laugh was sudden and rich, a sound that filled the room and made Isla’s cheeks burn with shame. “Is that what you think?” the king said, her tone laced with amusement. “You believe love, desire, and power care for such trivial boundaries? Foolish girl.”
Isla’s head dipped again, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know anything about it.”
The king’s amusement faded, replaced by something more serious. “Then you will learn.” She leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing. “Kiss me.”
Isla’s eyes widened, and her pulse raced. “I—I can’t. I don’t know how.”
The king raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “You don’t know how to kiss?”
“No one has ever wanted me,” Isla admitted, her voice breaking. “Not a man, not a woman. No one.”
The king’s expression shifted, the smirk melting into something almost unreadable. She reached out, her hand brushing against Isla’s cheek, her touch surprisingly gentle. “You’ve been surrounded by fools, then,” she murmured. “But that ends now.”
Before Isla could respond, the king’s hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer with an undeniable authority. Their lips met, and Isla froze, her breath catching as the kiss consumed her. It was not hesitant or soft—it was firm, intense, and claiming. The king’s lips moved against hers with a deliberate, unrelenting rhythm, and Isla’s body seemed to melt under the weight of it, her knees threatening to give way.
The kiss deepened, the king’s teasing Isla’s lips apart, coaxing a response she didn’t know she was capable of. Isla’s hands clutched at the edge of the bed, her body trembling as heat rushed through her.
When the king finally broke the kiss, Isla was gasping for air, her chest heaving. She barely noticed as the king guided her down onto the bed, her movements slow and deliberate. Isla found herself lying on her back, the silken sheets cool against her skin, her breath still uneven.
The king hovered over her, her golden eyes glowing like molten fire in the dim candlelight. She stared down at Isla, her expression unreadable, her lips slightly parted from the kiss. It was a look that was neither cruel nor tender—only resolute, as though Isla were a puzzle the king had just begun to solve.
As the king’s lips descended again, her gaze never wavered, locking Isla in place. There was something overwhelming in the way the king looked at her—this servant girl who had stumbled into a role she didn’t understand. It was as if the weight of the world had shifted in that gaze, and Isla was left trembling beneath it.
The kiss that followed was slower but no less intense, the king’s lips pressing against Isla’s with a deliberate care that left no room for doubt. Her hand rested lightly on Isla’s cheek, her thumb brushing softly along her jawline, as if grounding her in the moment.
When the kiss ended, the king’s voice was low and steady, her breath warm against Isla’s skin. “You are mine now, Isla. Remember that.”
The king extinguished the last candle, plunging the room into darkness. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the faint rustle of the sheets as they lay side by side.
Isla lay stiffly, her breath shallow as she stared into the blackness. The weight of the moment pressed on her chest, her thoughts spinning wildly. The king was silent beside her, unmoving. She doesn’t want me anymore, Isla thought with a pang of relief mixed with an odd disappointment.
But then she froze, her heart lurching as she felt the soft press of lips against the nape of her neck. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, delicate and lingering. Before she could react, the king’s hand slid beneath the thin fabric of her dress, brushing lightly against her skin as she pulled it upward, exposing Isla’s trembling form to the cool air.
The king’s voice was a whisper in her ear, low and resonant. “You will learn, Isla,” she said, her words filled with quiet promise. “But tonight, I will show you.”
Isla’s breath caught, her body frozen as the king’s presence enveloped her. The words hung in the air like a vow, pulling her deeper into the unknowable world she had just begun to enter.
****