Final Chapter
The storm that swept into the former king’s chambers wasn’t of wind or rain—it was her. The King burst through the doors, her golden eyes blazing like wildfire, and her voice thundered across the room.
“Where is she?” she demanded, her voice echoing in the quiet study. “Where did she go? Why wasn’t I told?”
The former king sat behind his desk, calm and immovable, as though her fury was no more than a breeze. He regarded her with the same quiet gravity that had unnerved countless men before her.
“Answer me!” the King shouted, her fist slamming onto the desk. “You made an announcement! You told the court! My own Queen is gone, and I—” Her voice cracked, but she pushed forward. “—was not informed?!”
He did not flinch. He did not rise. He simply folded his hands and waited.
When she finally paused, her breathing ragged, he tilted his head slightly. “Are you done, my daughter?”
The calmness of his voice, the deliberate choice of words, struck her harder than her own anger. She stiffened but said nothing.
He stood slowly, the chair creaking behind him, and looked at her with those sharp, knowing eyes. “She begged me.”
The King blinked, her fury faltering. “What?”
“Isla,” he said, her name soft but weighted. “She came to me. She begged me to let her leave. To step down as Queen.”
The King’s face was a storm of emotions—anger, confusion, disbelief. “And you just let her?”
“She begged,” he repeated, his tone unyielding. “And do you know why? Because of you.”
The words hit her like a blow, and she took an involuntary step back.
“She didn’t believe she mattered to you. Not beyond being a servant elevated to Queen. She worked herself into the ground, giving everything she had, and she received nothing in return.”
The King opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to silence her.
“You never told her you loved her. You never gave her a reason to hold on to you, to this life. You think she’s just gone, but Isla’s been slipping away from you for months.”
His words were needles, piercing the armor she wore so tightly. She stood frozen, the full weight of his accusations settling into her chest.
“She’s gone now because she believed she had no place here,” he continued. “And that’s on you, my daughter.”
Her legs wavered, and she grasped the edge of the desk to steady herself. The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something else entirely. Fear.
“No,” she whispered, the word trembling on her lips. “She... she can’t just leave.”
“She has,” her father said, his voice gentle now but firm. “And the scariest part, my daughter, is that she’s very good at being invisible. It’s what she’s done her entire life.”
The King straightened, though her heart felt as though it were crumbling. She turned sharply to the guards who had followed her into the room. Her voice regained its edge, but it quivered beneath the surface.
“Find her,” she ordered, her tone low and deadly. “Search every village, every home, every crevice and hole in this kingdom. No one rests until she’s found.”
The guards saluted and rushed to carry out her command, their boots echoing down the halls.
Her father spoke once more as she moved to leave, his voice cutting through the silence. “And if you find her? What will you do then?”
She paused in the doorway, her shoulders taut, her hands clenched at her sides. “I’ll bring her back.”
His voice softened. “And will you be the King she needs? Or will you only take her back to lose her again?”
The question lingered in the air long after she was gone.
Years passed like a river’s steady flow, slow yet relentless. The King remained steadfast on her throne, ruling a kingdom that had transformed under her hand. Prosperity touched even the farthest corners of the land, a vision realized from the lessons Isla had quietly instilled in her. The people revered their ruler, not for her strength alone, but for her fairness, her empathy—a legacy Isla had unknowingly left behind.
Yet, despite the King’s achievements, the hollow ache of absence never left her.
Nine years. Nine winters came and went, each one harsher than the last in her mind. And still, there was no trace of Isla. The King had sent countless riders, armies of men scouring the kingdom, but the search always returned empty.
Her heart grew colder with every false lead, and heads rolled for the lies of opportunists who thought they could profit from her desperation. The once fiery ruler became a shadow of her former self—not weak, but quieter. Sadder. Her golden eyes, once blazing with unyielding determination, now carried the weight of years of longing.
She often thought of her mother during sleepless nights. A slave who had died giving birth to her, leaving behind nothing but a faint memory of sacrifice and love. And now, Isla, the only person who had ever made her feel seen, had vanished as if she had never existed.
Some days, the King could almost hear Isla’s voice, see her soft smile in the corner of her mind. It wasn’t real, she knew, but it was enough to keep her going. Enough to remind her why she ruled the way she did, why she never gave in to the darker tendencies of her nature.
But it was never enough to fill the void.
One morning, as the early sunlight poured through the castle windows, the King sat at the edge of her bed. The quiet of the room, once a solace, now felt suffocating. She stared at her hands, calloused from years of training and ruling, and wondered, not for the first time, if she would ever see Isla again.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. It was one of her father’s messengers.
“My lord requests your presence,” the messenger said, bowing deeply.
The King frowned but rose without hesitation. She strode through the halls, her golden cloak trailing behind her, each step purposeful despite the heavy weight in her chest. Her father rarely summoned her without cause.
When she entered his study, he was waiting, seated calmly at his desk as he always was. But something was different. There was a light in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in years.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
He gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, and studied her for a long moment.
“I found her,” he said finally.
The words struck her like lightning. She froze, her mind refusing to process what he had said.
“What?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He stood and crossed the room, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Isla,” he said softly. “She’s alive. She’s well.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart hammered against her ribs. “Where?” she demanded, her voice breaking.
“A place far from here,” he said. “A quiet life, just as she wanted. She raises cattle, roosters, goats. A small farm, hidden in a place most would overlook.”
Her knees threatened to buckle, but she steadied herself, gripping the back of a chair for support. Her father’s hand remained firm on her shoulder, grounding her.
“How?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “How did you find her after all this time?”
“She never wanted to be found,” he admitted. “That’s why it took so long. But she made an impression, even in the most remote places. Someone recognized her name. It was enough to lead us to her.”
The King’s hands tightened on the chair, her knuckles white. Emotions warred within her—relief, anger, fear.
“I want to see her,” she said, her voice raw. “Take me to her.”
Her father nodded. “You’ll have what you need. But...” He paused, his eyes searching hers. “What will you do when you see her?”
The King didn’t answer. She didn’t know.
The only thing she knew, as her father’s words replayed in her mind, was that Isla was out there. Alive. Waiting, perhaps, or maybe not waiting at all.
And with that knowledge, the smallest flicker of hope sparked to life in the King’s chest for the first time in nine long years.
The winter night was unforgiving, the wind biting and merciless. The King’s breath frosted in the air as she trudged through the snow, her thick cloak heavy with ice. Yet, she barely felt the cold. Her heart raced, each step closer to the place she had yearned for, dreamed of, for nine long years.
The small farmhouse came into view, a golden light spilling from the windows onto the blanket of white. Smoke rose steadily from the chimney, a sign of warmth and life within. The King hesitated, her gloved hand trembling as she approached the door. She raised it to knock, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night.
A soft voice answered, muffled but unmistakable. “Who’s there?”
Her chest tightened. It was her. It was Isla.
“I’m lost,” the King said, her voice rasping from the cold. “I’m stuck in the winter with nowhere to go.”
There was a pause. Then the shuffle of footsteps. The door creaked open, and there she was.
Isla.
Her hair was longer now, tumbling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her face was fuller, her cheeks flushed with health, and her dark eyes seemed deeper, calmer. A small goat squirmed in her arms, bleating softly. She was dressed simply, a white dress that swayed gently with her movements.
The King’s breath caught in her throat as their eyes met. Isla’s calm expression gave way to shock, her lips parting as recognition dawned.
“Your Majesty,” Isla whispered, her voice almost drowned by the wind.
The King’s heart clenched at the title. She shook her head. “Not anymore,” she said softly.
Isla stood frozen for a moment, then stepped aside. “Come in,” she said, her voice steady despite the tension in her frame.
The King stepped inside, the warmth of the room enveloping her instantly. Isla put the goat down, the small creature trotting toward a corner where hay was piled. Without a word, Isla reached for the King’s cloak, helping her remove it as she had so many times before.
The King allowed it, her eyes never leaving Isla’s face. She looked better—freer, more alive than the King had ever seen her. The lines of sadness and exhaustion that had once marked her features were gone, replaced by a serenity that only made her more beautiful.
“Sit,” Isla said quietly, gesturing to a chair near the fireplace.
The King obeyed, her hands resting on her knees as Isla disappeared into the small kitchen. The crackling of the fire filled the silence, and the King let her gaze wander, taking in the simplicity of the home. It was small but warm, cozy. It was everything Isla had said she wanted.
Isla returned with a steaming mug, placing it in the King’s hands without a word. She sat on the floor near the fire, her fingers idly stroking the young goat’s fur. The King watched her, unable to tear her eyes away. The light from the fire danced across Isla’s face, illuminating every delicate curve and angle.
The silence stretched, heavy and charged. The King placed the mug on the small table in front of her, her hands trembling slightly. Isla glanced up, their eyes meeting.
And the King snapped.
In one swift motion, she pulled Isla to her, her lips crashing against hers with a hunger that had been building for nearly a decade. Isla froze for a heartbeat, then melted into the kiss, her hands clutching the King’s shoulders as she was pulled closer.
The King’s hands tangled in Isla’s hair, spreading it out like a dark river as she guided her to lie back on the soft rug by the fire. The heat of the room paled in comparison to the fire igniting between them.
“I’m sorry,” the King whispered between kisses, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Isla.”
Isla’s fingers tightened on the King’s cloak, her breathing ragged. “You left me,” she said, her voice trembling, though whether from anger or passion, the King couldn’t tell.
“I didn’t know how to hold onto you,” the King admitted, her lips brushing against Isla’s jaw, her neck. “I thought you’d always stay, and I took you for granted. Please, Isla—” She pulled back just enough to meet Isla’s gaze, her golden eyes pleading. “Please take me back. I’m not a King anymore. I left everything. No gold, no guards, no throne. Just me. Just... me.”
Tears welled in Isla’s eyes, her lips trembling as she stared up at the King. “Why now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Because I can’t live without you,” the King said, her voice raw. “I’ve tried. For nine years, I’ve tried. But no matter how much I’ve done, no matter how much I’ve changed, it’s meaningless without you. I need you, Isla. I love you.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. Isla’s tears spilled over, and she reached up, cupping the King’s face with trembling hands.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said, her voice breaking. “You hurt me, and I had to put myself back together.”
“I know,” the King whispered, her forehead resting against Isla’s. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving myself to you if that’s what it takes. Just don’t send me away. Please.”
For a long moment, Isla said nothing, her gaze searching the King’s face. Then, slowly, she pulled her closer, their lips meeting again in a kiss that was softer this time, but no less intense.
As the fire crackled beside them and the snow fell softly outside, the two women lost themselves in each other, their kisses a silent promise of a love that had endured the impossible. For tonight, there was no throne, no kingdom, no titles. There was only Isla and the King, two souls who had finally found their way back to each other.
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