ISLA
The palace halls felt colder as the days passed, and it wasn’t just the creeping touch of winter.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her smile. The King, always commanding, always steady, seemed to be weighed down by something invisible. She came home late every night, her face drawn and tired, her golden eyes dulled with fatigue. And every night, she barely looked at me before disappearing into her chambers.
At first, I tried not to take it personally. The preparations for winter were demanding; I’d seen the endless stream of advisors, merchants, and messengers flooding the palace during the day. The kingdom relied on her, and she carried that burden with the quiet strength I’d come to admire.
But as the days turned into nights, and those nights turned into a week, the ache of her absence grew unbearable.
I filled my days with study, pouring over books in the grand library, my fingers trailing over the spines of ancient tomes. I learned about trade routes and crop yields, tax systems and laws, anything that might help me be useful. But the words blurred together after hours, my mind wandering to her.
The meals were the hardest.
The grand dining hall echoed with emptiness as I sat alone at the long table, my plate barely touched. The King was always absent, and even when I requested to eat in my chambers, the food felt tasteless. I longed for the moments we shared before, the quiet meals where she fed me with her own hands, her eyes softening as they lingered on mine.
Now, it was just silence.
The palace staff seemed to sense my loneliness, their sympathetic glances only making it worse. I knew they wouldn’t speak out of turn—they revered her too much to question her absence—but I could see the pity in their eyes. I hated it.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon each evening, I found myself pacing the halls, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, to hear her voice, to feel her presence. But she was always elsewhere, her attention swallowed by the needs of the kingdom.
That night, as the fire crackled softly in my chambers, I sat by the window, staring at the frost creeping along the glass. My hands rested on the windowsill, cold seeping into my skin as I waited.
The sound of the main door opening downstairs made my heart leap. I straightened, listening intently as her footsteps echoed through the palace.
I stayed where I was, unsure if she would come to me or retreat to her chambers as she had so many nights before.
When the door to her room clicked shut, the hope I’d been holding onto all day shattered.
She didn’t even pause.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turned away from the window. My hands trembled as I adjusted the shawl draped over my shoulders. She was tired, I told myself. Busy. She didn’t mean to ignore me.
But the ache in my chest said otherwise.
I wasn’t her equal, not truly. I was a former servant—a nobody elevated to the position of Queen by her command alone. I had no right to demand her time, her attention, her affection.
She had given me everything, and still, I felt so small.
I extinguished the candles in my room, one by one, before slipping into bed. The sheets were cold against my skin, and the emptiness beside me felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest.
Hours passed, or perhaps it was only minutes. Sleep evaded me as I lay staring at the ceiling, my thoughts racing.
When I heard her door open again, my heart skipped a beat. Her footsteps were slow, heavy.
She didn’t come to my room.
I heard the faint sound of water—she must have gone to the bath. The realization only deepened the hollow feeling inside me.
Curling onto my side, I pulled the blanket tighter around me. The palace was quiet, the world outside still.
I thought of my place here, of how far I had come and how far I still had to go. She had saved me from a life of servitude, given me a purpose, a future. But tonight, I felt more like a servant than ever.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away. I had no right to cry. I had chosen this.
When her footsteps echoed down the hall again, my heart twisted painfully. I heard the faint creak of her door as it opened and closed, the sound punctuating the stillness.
She didn’t come to me.
She didn’t come.
I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe evenly. It didn’t matter. She was the King, and I was just... Isla.
I drifted into a restless sleep, the ache in my chest a constant companion.
****
The morning light crept through the frost-covered windows, painting the room in soft hues of gold and white. I woke with a heaviness in my chest, the memories of the night before fresh and raw.
The King was already gone.
As I dressed, I tried to push away the lingering feelings of loneliness. There was work to be done, books to read, duties to fulfill. I couldn’t afford to wallow.
But as the hours stretched on, the weight in my chest refused to lift.
In the depths of the palace, surrounded by towering bookshelves and ancient scrolls, I sat alone, my hands trembling as I traced the faded ink of a map. The quiet was suffocating, and for the first time, I wondered if this was how my life would always be.
The King had chosen me, elevated me, but what did I truly mean to her?
The thought was too painful to entertain, so I buried myself in my studies, forcing my mind to focus on the words before me.
But no matter how hard I tried, the ache remained.
****