ISLA
The ride back to the castle was quiet, save for the rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves on the dirt path. The meadow had faded behind us, replaced by the towering walls of the fortress in the distance. For the first time, I held the reins in my own hands, the king sitting behind me.
Her arms circled me loosely, but her presence was impossible to ignore. Every shift of the horse seemed to press her closer, and I could feel the warmth of her breath against my neck. At first, I thought it was incidental, but then her lips brushed the curve of my neck. It was fleeting but unmistakable.
I froze, my grip on the reins tightening. My heart raced as her lips returned, lingering this time. She wasn’t just kissing me—she was breathing me in, her nose tracing along my skin as if she couldn’t get enough.
“Relax,” she murmured, her voice low, almost teasing.
I couldn’t reply, my throat dry as sand. The horse shifted beneath me, sensing my unease, but I managed to guide it forward at a slow, steady pace. The guards flanked us at a distance, their eyes occasionally darting toward us with thinly veiled curiosity.
They must have noticed how close we were.
When we finally arrived at the castle gates, I turned my head slightly to speak, my voice hesitant. “We’re here, Your Majesty.”
The king let out a long, quiet sigh, the sound brushing warmly against my ear. She pulled back slightly but didn’t release me entirely. As we dismounted, her hands lingered at my waist, steadying me even though I didn’t need it.
“Come,” she said simply, her voice softer than usual.
Her request wasn’t surprising, but I still flinched when she added, “Cook for me.”
I nodded quickly, eager to busy my hands and calm my racing thoughts. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The kitchen bustled with its usual chaos, but as soon as I stepped in, it felt like the center of attention shifted. The other cooks turned to watch me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and something close to admiration. Word must have spread about my cooking skills after the first time I’d prepared a meal for the king.
I didn’t let the stares distract me. I focused on the task at hand, selecting fresh ingredients and working methodically. The sounds of chopping vegetables, the sizzle of meat in a pan, and the aromatic scent of herbs filled the air.
The meal came together quickly—a rich, hearty stew served with warm, crusty bread. I arranged everything neatly on a tray, ensuring it was perfect before I carried it to the king’s chambers.
She was waiting for me, seated at the long table in the room. Her posture was relaxed, one elbow resting on the arm of the chair. When I entered, her gaze lifted to meet mine, and something about the intensity of her eyes made my hands tremble slightly as I set the tray before her.
I stood back, waiting for her approval as she began to eat. The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. She took her time, savoring each bite, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she picked up a piece of bread, dipped it into the stew, and held it out toward me.
I hesitated. “Your Majesty, I—”
“Eat,” she commanded gently but firmly.
I obeyed, leaning forward to take the offered bite. The warmth of the stew spread through me, and I swallowed quickly, embarrassed by the intimate act. But she didn’t stop. Throughout the meal, she continued to feed me, her eyes softening each time our gazes met.
When the meal was finished, she sat back with a satisfied sigh, her expression thoughtful. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her, she said, “Join me for a bath.”
My stomach dropped. The words weren’t a question—they were a command.
I nodded, my voice caught in my throat. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
****
The bath was already drawn when we arrived, the large tub filled with steaming water. The room was warm, the air thick with the scent of lavender and cedar.
She turned to me, her expression unreadable, and reached for the fastenings of my dress. My breath hitched as her fingers worked quickly but carefully, stripping me bare with a precision that left no room for hesitation.
I stood there, exposed and vulnerable, my eyes darting to her face. But she wasn’t looking at me in the way I expected. Her gaze was focused, almost reverent, as if she were studying a masterpiece rather than a mere servant-turned-queen.
When her eyes finally met mine, something shifted in the air. Without a word, she began to remove her own clothing, her movements slow and deliberate. My heart thundered in my chest as she stepped closer, her bare skin radiant in the soft light of the bath.
Her hands cupped my face gently, her thumbs brushing against my cheeks. “You don’t need to be afraid, Isla,” she whispered, her voice a mix of command and comfort.
Before I could respond, she leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t a hesitant kiss—it was firm and unyielding, yet still tender. Her hands slid down to my shoulders, anchoring me as the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
And in that moment, there was nothing but her—the warmth of her lips, the strength of her touch, and the overwhelming intensity of the bond that was slowly forming between us.
****
Dinner was an exercise in restraint, the tension in the room palpable from the moment I entered with the first tray of food. The long dining table, carved from dark wood and polished to a gleam, seemed too large for just three people.
The king sat at the head, her posture relaxed as if the weight of her father’s presence didn’t bother her in the slightest. Across from her, the former king—her father—sat rigid, his sharp gaze shifting from his daughter to me as I placed dishes carefully on the table.
I avoided his eyes, keeping my head down and focusing on my task. The room was unnervingly quiet, the only sounds coming from the soft clinking of porcelain and silver as I set the table. When everything was in place, I stepped back, hesitating only briefly before sitting in the chair to the king’s left.
It felt strange to sit at the table, especially with him there. The king had insisted, but I could feel the weight of the former king’s disapproval pressing down on me.
The king began eating without ceremony, scooping a generous portion of the roasted pheasant onto her plate and pairing it with the spiced root vegetables I’d prepared. She glanced at her father, her expression cool.
“You’re not eating,” she said simply, her tone devoid of warmth.
The former king raised an eyebrow, his fingers tightening briefly around the goblet in front of him. “I’m observing.”
“Observing won’t fill your stomach.”
There was a brief pause before he reached for the serving spoon, placing a modest amount of food on his plate. He didn’t compliment the meal, of course, but I caught the slight narrowing of his eyes as he took his first bite—a sign he wasn’t as unimpressed as he wanted to seem.
The silence returned, heavy and unbroken, until the former king finally spoke. His voice was measured but laced with an edge. “So, this is the queen you’ve chosen.”
I froze, my hand tightening slightly on the edge of my chair.
The king didn’t look up from her plate. “It is.”
“Interesting choice.” He set down his fork, leaning back slightly as he studied me. “A servant girl elevated to the status of queen. Do you think the nobles will take kindly to this? Or are you simply hoping to stir rebellion?”
The king met his gaze, her expression calm but unyielding. “The nobles’ opinions are of no concern to me.”
“They should be,” he countered sharply. “You may have secured the throne, but keeping it is another matter entirely. The people will question your decision. They’ll see weakness in it.”
The king’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “Weakness? Or strength? They will see a ruler who chooses based on merit, not birthright.”
“And what merit does she have?” His eyes flicked to me again, as though I were an artifact he couldn’t quite make sense of.
I looked down at my lap, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.
“She has empathy,” the king said evenly, her voice carrying a weight that silenced her father momentarily. “Something you seem to think is a flaw, but I see as a strength. She understands the people in ways you and I never could. And that will balance this kingdom.”
The former king leaned forward, his tone biting. “Empathy won’t stop a blade aimed at your back. Empathy won’t secure alliances. Empathy won’t keep the wolves at bay when they come for you.”
“No,” the king admitted, setting her fork down. “But it will remind me why I fight. And that is worth more than all the alliances in the world.”
Their gazes locked, a silent battle of wills that seemed to stretch endlessly. I stayed perfectly still, unsure if I should speak or if my presence even mattered in that moment.
Finally, the former king exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re a fool.”
“And yet,” the king said, her voice cutting, “here I am. Still on the throne.”
His expression hardened, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he resumed eating, his movements stiff and mechanical.
The tension in the room didn’t abate, but the king didn’t seem bothered. She continued her meal in silence, her demeanor as calm as if the argument hadn’t just occurred.
When the meal ended, the former king pushed his chair back, standing abruptly. He paused only briefly, his eyes sweeping over me once more before settling on his daughter. “We’ll see how long this lasts.”
The king didn’t reply, simply watching as he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
The door closed behind him, and the silence that followed was almost deafening. I exhaled slowly, realizing I’d been holding my breath.
The king turned to me, her expression softening slightly. “He doesn’t matter,” she said, her tone firm but reassuring. “What matters is that you’re here.”
I nodded, though her words did little to ease the knot of anxiety in my chest.
“Come,” she said, standing and offering me her hand. “Let’s not let him ruin the evening.”
I took her hand hesitantly, allowing her to guide me from the room. As we walked, I couldn’t help but marvel at her composure, her ability to face even her father with such unshakable resolve.
And for the first time, I wondered if perhaps she was right. Perhaps there was strength in empathy after all.
****