ISLA
I hadn’t told her.
The King had been occupied with matters of state, and I seized the opportunity. Two guards accompanied me, their silent presence both reassuring and stifling. I didn’t want them there—I didn’t want anyone there—but it wasn’t my choice.
The journey back to my old village was shorter than I remembered, though every step closer to the familiar streets felt like a weight pressing on my chest. The air smelled the same, a mix of earth and wood smoke, but the sight of the homes—patched roofs, cleaner paths—was different. My father’s house was no longer the crumbling shack I had left behind.
People noticed me as we passed, their murmurs trailing in my wake. “Is that Isla?” “She’s a queen now.” “Look at her.” Their voices were hushed, reverent, curious.
I didn’t look back at them. My heart was pounding as I stopped in front of the door. It was repaired, sturdy, the cracks filled, and a new hinge gleamed in the sunlight. I hesitated, the guards lingering a few paces behind.
Could I do this?
I didn’t have a choice.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.
The interior was almost unrecognizable. The walls had been scrubbed, the floors swept, and there was even a small table with chairs. A loaf of bread sat on the table, alongside a bowl of fruit. The smell of stew lingered in the air.
And there he was—my father.
He was bent over a small project, carving something from a piece of wood. His hair had more gray than I remembered, and his frame looked thinner but not frail. He looked...healthy. Sober.
He turned at the sound of the door, and when his eyes landed on me, the piece of wood fell from his hands.
“Isla?” he croaked, as though saying my name hurt.
I nodded, unable to speak.
He rushed toward me, his steps faltering, his face crumpling. “Isla,” he sobbed, wrapping his arms around me. “Oh, Isla.”
I froze at first, unsure of how to react, but his grip was so desperate, so full of emotion, that I couldn’t help but melt into it. My own tears welled up as his sobs shook us both.
“My girl,” he choked out. “My little girl. You’re alive. You’re here.”
I swallowed hard, my voice trembling. “I’m here, Father.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands cupping my face. His eyes were red and swollen, tears streaming freely. “You’ve grown,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You look...you look like your mother.”
At the mention of her, my throat tightened painfully. “Father, I—”
But he interrupted, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Come back, Isla. Please. Don’t stay with that woman. Don’t...don’t become like her.”
I stiffened, his plea cutting deeper than I expected.
“I’ve changed,” he continued, his voice trembling. “I’ve stopped drinking. I’m working now. Look around—the house, the food—it’s all because I wanted to make things right. For you.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I looked into his face. There was sincerity there, but also desperation, fear.
“You don’t have to stay with her,” he begged, gripping my hands tightly. “You don’t have to be her queen. You don’t belong in that world. You belong here, with me. I’ll do better, I swear it. Just come home.”
I didn’t know what to say. His words struck at old wounds, tearing them open.
“I can’t,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
He flinched as though I had struck him. “You can,” he insisted. “Isla, you don’t know what she’ll do to you. She’s a tyrant, a killer. She’ll destroy you.”
“She’s not who you think she is,” I said softly.
“She’s the reason your mother died!” he shouted, his grip tightening on my hands. “That family, that throne—they took her from us. And now you’re one of them? No. No, I won’t let it happen.”
His words hit like a blow, and I stumbled back, my chest heaving. “It wasn’t her,” I said, my voice barely audible.
“She’s the King!” he spat, his voice rising with anger and grief. “She’s just like her father, Isla. You think she’ll spare you? She’ll use you until you’re nothing, just like the rest of us.”
I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “Father, stop. Please.”
He sank to his knees in front of me, his hands clutching at my skirts. “I’m begging you,” he sobbed, his face pressed against the fabric. “Don’t let them take you from me, too. Don’t leave me alone, Isla.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I knelt beside him, my hands trembling as I placed them on his shoulders.
“I’m not leaving you,” I whispered. “I never left you. But I can’t come back. I can’t undo what’s been done.”
He looked up at me, his eyes filled with anguish. “Then why are you here?”
“Because I needed to see you,” I said, my voice breaking. “I needed to know you were okay.”
His shoulders sagged, and he slumped against me, his sobs quieting. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry, Isla. For everything.”
I held him, my own tears falling freely. “I know,” I said softly. “I know.”
The sound of the guards shifting outside reminded me that I couldn’t stay long.
“I have to go,” I whispered, pulling back reluctantly.
He nodded, his eyes hollow. “You’re...you’re happy?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I hesitated, then nodded. “I’m trying to be,” I said honestly.
He didn’t reply, his gaze dropping to the floor.
As I stood, I looked around the house one last time, my heart heavy. “Goodbye, Father,” I said softly.
He didn’t answer, his head bowed.
I stepped outside, the air feeling heavier than before. The guards looked at me questioningly, but I shook my head.
“Let’s go,” I said, my voice flat.
As we rode away, I glanced back at the house, a lump forming in my throat. He had changed, but it wasn’t enough to bridge the chasm between us.
Some wounds never truly heal.
****
I wasn’t ready to face her.
The ride back to the palace felt endless, though the sun dipped below the horizon faster than I anticipated. Every hoofbeat echoed the dread in my chest. I had gone without her permission, breaking the unspoken trust between us.
As we approached the palace gates, the guards flanking me glanced my way, their expressions unreadable. My heart hammered as the looming palace swallowed me whole.
The King was waiting.
She stood in the center of her study, the golden light of the hearth casting her tall frame in sharp relief. Her golden eyes, molten in the firelight, locked onto me as I entered.
I froze.
The door closed behind me with a soft thud, the sound sealing us in.
Her gaze didn’t waver, but her expression betrayed nothing—no anger, no disappointment, just silence. It was worse than any reprimand.
I couldn’t bear it. Without waiting for her to speak, I fell to my knees, my head bowed low.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I—I went to see him. I didn’t ask your permission. I know I disobeyed you, and I accept whatever punishment you see fit.”
The silence stretched, each second tightening the knot in my chest. I braced myself, waiting for the sharp lash of her words, for the coldness I was certain would come.
But it didn’t.
Instead, I heard the soft rustle of her clothes as she moved.
Then, her arms wrapped around me.
My eyes widened, and I gasped as she scooped me into a firm embrace, pulling me against her chest.
“It’s alright,” she murmured, her voice low and steady.
I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They spilled over, and my body shook with the force of my sobs. I buried my face against her shoulder, the fabric of her tunic dampening with my tears.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out again, my words muffled.
“Shh,” she whispered, her hand stroking my hair. “You don’t need to apologize.”
Her gentleness unraveled me further. I clung to her, my fingers clutching at her tunic as though she were the only solid thing in the world.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, the words tumbling out like a broken record. “I—I just wanted to see him. I didn’t mean to—”
“You don’t have to explain,” she said softly, her voice warm and soothing. “I understand.”
Her understanding broke me completely. The dam holding back years of pain, guilt, and fear crumbled, and everything came pouring out.
I cried for my father, for the man he used to be and the man he had become. I cried for my mother, for the life we lost when she died. I cried for myself, for the years of fear and resentment, for the hatred that had driven me to the palace gates with a knife in my hand.
And through it all, she held me.
We stayed like that, crumpled on the floor, her arms a haven against the storm raging inside me. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. She simply let me cry, her presence grounding me as I unraveled.
When my sobs finally quieted, I felt drained, empty, but somehow lighter. My breathing was ragged, and my face was a mess of tears, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands gently cupping my face. Her thumbs brushed away the remnants of my tears, her golden eyes soft and unwavering.
“You are allowed to feel,” she said quietly. “You’re allowed to grieve. And you’re allowed to seek closure, Isla. Don’t ever think you have to carry this alone.”
Her words sent another wave of tears rushing to my eyes, but this time, they didn’t spill over. I swallowed hard, nodding as I tried to find my voice.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
She smiled faintly, her expression both tender and resolute. “You are mine to protect,” she said, her voice firm. “And I will protect you, even from your own pain.”
Something in her words settled deep in my chest, a quiet promise that I hadn’t known I needed.
We stayed there a while longer, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, the world outside forgotten.
For the first time in a long time, I felt safe.
****