ISLA
The kitchen was alive with the sizzle of fire and the fragrant aromas of simmering herbs and spices. I moved gracefully around the stove, my hands sure and steady as I prepared the meal I knew would please the king. The cooks, usually so confident in their work, hovered around me, watching in awe as I blended ingredients with practiced ease. My movements were fluid, almost instinctive, as though the kitchen was where I truly belonged. My hands had seen this task before, had felt the rhythm of it—the chopping, stirring, and seasoning—each action flowing like a dance.
The fire crackled as I added the final touch—a sprinkle of salt, a drizzle of oil—and the dish was ready. The cooks whispered among themselves, unable to hide their admiration. One of them, an older woman with a kind face, clapped me on the shoulder. "You have a gift," she said, her voice laced with respect. "Your cooking is beyond anything we've seen here."
I nodded, my focus never leaving the plate. I wasn’t used to compliments, not in a life where I had been overlooked and treated as less. But in the kitchen, it was different. Here, I had control. Here, I could make something beautiful.
The food was done. It wasn’t just sustenance—it was an offering, something crafted with care and precision. I could only hope that the king would appreciate it as much as I did.
I gathered the meal carefully, placing it on a large silver platter. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in my chest. This was my chance—my chance to prove myself, to show the king that I was more than just a servant, more than just someone she could command.
With the platter in hand, I made my way down the hallway to the king's chambers. My footsteps echoed softly against the stone floors, and the air felt thick with anticipation. I reached the door and knocked gently, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Enter," came the king’s voice, rich and commanding.
I pushed the door open, stepping inside with the platter carefully balanced. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I froze in my tracks. The king was sitting at the edge of her bed, her form draped in elegant attire—deep crimson fabrics that shimmered like fire. Her golden eyes were fixed on me, sharp and calculating.
But it wasn’t just the king’s gaze that made me pause. It was the way she carried herself, the way she held that power in her presence—effortless and undeniable.
"Place the food on the table," the king commanded, her tone smooth but with an edge to it.
I quickly obeyed, placing the platter on the nearby table, my movements slightly shaky. There was a tension in the air, one I couldn’t quite name. It felt like I was standing on the edge of something—something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
The king watched me closely, her golden eyes tracing my every movement. She didn’t speak right away, but there was a silent command in her presence that made my skin prickle. She didn’t need to say anything to make me feel small; the weight of her gaze did that on its own.
Once the food was set down, I stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do next. I had done my task, but now I wasn’t sure how to proceed.
"Well?" the king’s voice broke through the silence. "Taste it."
Her words were simple, but there was something behind them—a challenge, perhaps, or a test. My heart raced as I picked up a small piece of the dish and brought it to my lips, all the while feeling the weight of her gaze. I could feel her watching me, studying my every reaction.
I hesitated for only a moment before tasting the food, my mouth filling with the rich, savory flavors. It was perfect—flawless, even. I had expected nothing less, but still, the pleasure of seeing something come together so perfectly was satisfying.
The king’s eyes didn’t leave me as I chewed, her lips curving slightly in an inscrutable smile. She seemed pleased, though it was hard to tell whether that pleased her out of admiration for the meal or because it was just another thing she could control.
"Good," she finally said, the word ringing with satisfaction. She then gave me a small nod. "Sit."
I looked at her, not entirely sure what she meant. I had expected the conversation to end there, but she continued, her expression shifting.
"Come here," the king said softly. "Sit with me."
I swallowed, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. I had been trained to serve, to be in the background, but this was something different—something that felt more intimate than I was prepared for.
I moved hesitantly, still unsure of what to do. But her commanding presence left no room for hesitation. She patted the space on the bed beside her, the subtle gesture an unspoken order.
I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. Slowly, I walked over, lowering myself to the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the calm of the room. The king’s gaze never left me, her eyes now softened but still sharp, as if she were sizing me up.
I sat there for a moment, unsure whether I was meant to simply sit or to speak. But the king’s next move was swift.
Without warning, she reached out and pulled me closer with one fluid motion, guiding me to sit in her lap, her hands firm yet not harsh. My heart skipped a beat as I was placed against her, the power of her movement overwhelming.
"You’ll feed me," she said, her voice soft yet commanding, as she made me settle on her lap.
I barely had time to react, and before I could fully gather my bearings, she gently but firmly held my wrist, guiding my hand to the dish. I could feel her gaze on me—expectant, unwavering.
****
The horses' hooves thundered through the courtyard as they approached the castle gates. The arrival of the king’s father was imminent. I stood by the window, watching the ominous figures of the royal horses and the guards accompanying them. A sense of dread washed over me, but I couldn’t look away. The tension in the air was thick, almost palpable. The king hadn’t said much, but I could tell she had been expecting this visit.
There were footsteps outside the room, the heavy sounds of boots against the stone floor. The door swung open, and the servants parted.
The first man who entered was like a force of nature—a towering, imposing figure whose very presence seemed to shake the room. His eyes were cold, his jaw clenched, and his dark hair fell over his broad shoulders. Everything about him screamed authority. But what struck me the most were his eyes—sharp, unforgiving. His gaze swept across the room, his gaze landing on the king, who stood poised at the center, unfazed by his arrival.
“You,” the king’s father growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ve come here to see you face-to-face. You’ve been avoiding me for far too long.”
The king’s gaze never wavered. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move an inch, but I could see the hardening of her posture. There was no love in her eyes as she stared at the man before her. This was not a father-daughter reunion; this was a clash of two people who were equals in their own right.
“You haven’t been listening, have you?” her father continued, his tone sharpening with each word. “I’ve warned you about the kingdom, the law. And now you’ve gone and made a mockery of it. You’re playing a dangerous game, and you don’t even know it.”
“Enough,” the king said coldly, her voice steady and unwavering. “I know what I’m doing. You don’t need to remind me of the law. I’ve already bent it to my will.”
The king’s father scoffed, his gaze darkening. “Bent it?” he spat. “You’ve broken it. A king is supposed to have a partner—a queen. And you, you, have refused to follow the most basic of rules. Do you honestly believe the people will respect a woman who refuses to comply with tradition?”
The tension in the room thickened, but the king did not back down. She held her ground, her eyes flashing with defiance.
“You’ve raised me to rule, not to follow the whims of others,” the king replied, her voice unwavering. “Power does not belong to gender, and I don’t need a queen to prove I belong on this throne.”
The king’s father took a step forward, his hands clenched into fists. “You’re a fool!” he yelled, the raw fury in his voice echoing through the stone walls. “Kaira—do you hear me? Kaira, you are my daughter, and you will follow the laws. You will take a husband, or the kingdom will tear you apart!”
The name hit me like a dagger, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The king—the woman I had come to serve—was named Kaira. It was a name I had never heard before, but now that it hung in the air, it seemed to hold all the weight of a thousand battles, a thousand moments of bloodshed. It was the name of power.
I looked at Kaira—the king—who hadn’t flinched at the sound of her name being screamed by her father. Instead, there was a slight twitch at the corner of her lips, as if she were amused by his anger, as if she were unaffected by his words.
“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice sharp and cutting through the tension. “The laws of men have no hold over me. I’m not some helpless princess to be married off for political alliances. I’ve fought for this throne with my own hands, and I will keep it with my own power.”
“You’ve fought, yes,” her father replied, the words laced with bitterness. “But this isn’t about power alone. It’s about legacy. It’s about stability. Without a partner—without a queen—your rule will crumble. People don’t trust a woman on the throne. They’ll never see you as their true king.”
The king’s gaze darkened, her eyes cold and unblinking. “I am their king. I don’t need a man beside me to prove it.”
The words hung in the air like a threat. But her father wasn’t done.
“You do need a man beside you. It’s the law,” he snapped. “You’ve bent it, twisted it, but you can’t avoid it forever. I will not let you destroy everything I’ve built just because you’re too stubborn to admit that you need help.”
The king remained silent for a long moment, her gaze unwavering as she stared her father down. I could see the internal battle in her eyes. She was so fiercely independent, so determined not to bow to anyone. But her father had a point. She couldn’t fight tradition forever, could she?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kaira spoke again. Her voice was low and controlled, but the steel in her words was unmistakable.
“Then let them try,” she said, her tone daring. “Let them come. Let them fight me for the throne. I will crush anyone who tries to take what is mine.”
Her father’s expression shifted, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t say anything more, but the silence between them spoke volumes. There was respect in it, but there was also something darker, something unresolved.
“You’ll see,” he said finally, his voice cold. “You’ll see what happens when you ignore the laws. And when they come for you, I’ll be here, watching. But you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
And with that, he turned, his heavy boots echoing as he walked toward the door. His presence was almost suffocating as he passed by me, his gaze sharp and calculating.
Kaira’s eyes followed him, but she didn’t move. She didn’t speak. And as the door slammed shut behind him, I realized the weight of the battle she was facing. She had already made her choice, and now she had to live with it.
The silence that followed was deafening, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread for what was to come.
I had learned her name, Kaira, but I still didn’t understand her. Not fully. And the more I tried to, the more I realized that I would never truly understand the price of power.
But as she stood alone in the room, her back straight and her eyes burning with determination, I knew one thing for certain. No one—not even her father—could take the throne from her.
****
"Feed me," she repeated, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
I nodded quickly, my hands trembling slightly as I took a piece of food and brought it to her lips. She opened her mouth, accepting the bite with the ease of someone used to being served, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of helplessness in the face of her quiet authority.
She chewed slowly, studying me, her gaze lingering. For a brief moment, the space between us felt charged, as if everything hung on the next movement, the next word.
"Good," she finally said. "You’ve done well."
The words were a reward, but there was something more beneath them. The king’s tone was approving, but it was also a reminder that I was still at her mercy, still bound by the power she held.
I swallowed hard, knowing that my role here was to serve, to submit without question. Even as she held me in her lap, her presence loomed over me—more powerful than anything I had ever known.
The room fell into a heavy silence as the meal continued, and though my heart raced, I couldn’t look away from her, unable to deny the strange pull she had over me.