THE KING'S POSSESSION

Chapter 73

Chapter 73: The Young's Desire





As midnight arrived and Isabel awoke in the stillness of the hour, she found herself lying beside Lucian, who was in a deep sleep. His steady breathing filled the room, and his back was turned towards her, giving her the perfect chance to slip away unnoticed. Carefully, Isabel inched away from the bed while her movements were slow and deliberate to avoid making any noise.

The cool air of the room prickled her skin as she stood up. She then scanned the floor, spotting her scattered clothes. One by one, she picked them up as her fingers trembled slightly. She took a deep breath, resolved herself to stay calm and quiet.

With each garment she slipped into, memories of the evening replayed in her mind, but she pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand. She fastened the last button of her dress, glancing once more at Lucian to ensure he hadn't stirred. But he remained motionless, his back still turned.

Isabel tiptoed across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards she had memorized. Her heart pounded with each step, but she remained determined. The moment she reached the door, she paused, listening once more for any sign of Lucian waking. But still, the room was silent except for his steady breathing.

With a final, cautious glance over her shoulder, Isabel lifted the latch slowly, opening the door just enough to slip through. She stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her with a soft click. For the first time in hours, she felt a relieved. She straightened her dress, took a deep breath, and began to make her way down the corridor, determined to leave the palace and the memories of the night behind.

But as she made her way through the palace, Isabel suddenly halted. Her heart was extremely gripped by an overwhelming memory of her son, her innocent little boy who was mercilessly killed. The pain surged anew and almost immediately her breath hitched as she exhaled, her whole body shuddering with grief.

Unknowingly, her feet had already carried her down a shadowed corridor. She found herself standing before the door to the young prince's room—Victoria's son. Her pulse quickened with sorrow and defiance coursing through her veins. The thought of confronting the child of the woman who had caused her so much pain filled her with a fierce, desperate resolve. She reached for the door, her hand trembling, unsure of what she would do next.

Isabel's hand trembled as she grasped the cold iron handle, her heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, she pushed the door open, the creaking hinges breaking the silence of the night. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows on the walls.

There, nestled in the large, ornate bed, was Julian. He lay on his side, his small frame cocooned in heavy blankets. His face, soft and innocent in sleep, was a complete opposite to the rage in Isabel's heart. For a moment, she stood there, frozen, watching the gentle rise and fall of the little boy's chest. He looked so peaceful, so unaware of the cruelty that surrounded him.

The sight of the sleeping child stirred confusing emotions within her. All of anger, sorrow, and a pang of protectiveness she hadn't anticipated. Tears welled in her eyes as she took a step closer, her breath hitching with the weight of her grief and the enormity of what she was considering. Julian shifted slightly, murmuring in his sleep, but did not wake. Isabel's resolve wavered as she stood over him, torn between her desire for vengeance and the compassion for the innocent life.

Just then, Julian stirred, the soft rustling of the sheets pulling him from his slumber. He blinked up at Isabel with his eyes wide and innocent, filled with pure curiosity. As he saw her tears, he slowly sat up in bed and his small hand carefully reached out to grasp hers.

"Are you... not able to sleep?" Julian asked, his voice a gentle whisper, free of suspicion or fear.

Isabel's heart ached at the sight of him. She tried to compose herself, but her tears continued to flow unchecked. She looked at the child whose gaze was filled only with concern, not understanding the full depth of her sorrow.

"Your highness," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to wake you. I... I was only feeling sad."

Julian, with the innocence only a child could possess, looked at her with a comforting simplicity. "Why are you sad?"

The question struck Isabel like a dagger, her grief crashed down on her anew. She swallowed hard, struggling to find words amidst her tears.

"It's just—sometimes, things happen that are hard to understand, and it makes you cry," she answered, her voice breaking as she tried to explain the inexplicable.

Julian nodded solemnly, though he could not grasp the full meaning of her words. He reached up and gently wiped away one of her tears with his small hand, his touch tender and sincere.

"Are you lonely?" he asked softly, his innocent eyes searching her face.

Isabel's heart twisted at the sight of his concern. She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. "A little," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

The young prince smiled faintly, his small fingers still holding hers. "You can stay here if you want. I don't mind."

Isabel's tears fell freely now, her emotions pouring out in a way she could not contain. She nodded as her voice caught in her throat. "Thank you, Your Highness."

For a moment, Julian sat beside her with his innocent presence offering a gentle comfort to the grieving woman. To him, Isabel seemed like a beautiful, delicate doll bathed in moonlight.

Her golden locks shimmered softly in the dim glow of the night, cascading around her face like a halo of light. Her icy blue eyes, though filled with tears, seemed to glisten with a captivating beauty that contrasted starkly with his mother's dark, mysterious eyes. There was something enchanting and serene about her sadness, a sadness that seemed different from the fearsome shadows that lurked behind his mother's gaze.

Julian studied her with a kind of wide-eyed wonder, his young heart touched by the purity of her sorrow. He saw in her not just the sadness of a stranger but the gentle, almost ethereal quality of a person who had been through much more than he could comprehend.

To the young prince, Isabel was like a fragile flower he loved at the palace garden that was caught in the storm, her beauty untouched by the cruelty of the world, even as she cried.