Capítulo 5: Want to know how I got my scars?

"Excuse me?!" Isabelle exclaimed, her struggle a bit more violent, but it all amounted to nothing. "You sick pervert! Let me down this minute." She screamed but nothing she did or said seemed to work. Isabelle thought this to be some sort of sick joke, but Icarus wasn't the type to crack jokes. He had indeed carried her to his room, and dropped her down on the king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

"You're a fighter, aren't you?" Icarus asked.

"Anyone would fight if they were in my situation.." Isabelle retorted as she looked into his dark, heartbreakingly handsome face. Her eyes remained on his face, the sly smile on his face annoying as ever but inevitably complimented his overwhelming features.

"What is it?"

Isabelle quickly averted her gaze, the abrupt reaction to his words exposing her. He had caught her staring, and now she felt like she was actually going to die out of embarrassment.

"There's no need to be shy, you're not the first person to be caught staring at me." Icarus blew his trumpets. Isabelle wasn't looking at him right now, but she could almost see the prideful grin spread across his face.

'Of course they'd stare at you!' Isabelle screamed in her head, has this man ever looked in the mirror before? She was beginning to think that half of his battles had been won because the enemy had probably been distracted by his features.

"I wasn't staring." She confidently denied, her face still turned to the other side of the room. She hadn't noticed before, but now that she did, this room was unexpectedly bland.

The king's room, while one might expect it to be adorned with opulence and grandeur, was surprisingly plain and unassuming. The walls were painted in a muted shade of grey, adorned only with a few unremarkable paintings and emblems.

The furniture was functional, but not extravagant. A simple wooden desk held a few scattered papers, devoid of any royal decree or prestigious letter.

It was as though he had intentionally chosen an unadorned chamber, perhaps to escape the ostentation of royalty. His simplicity reminded her of her father, a king who was humble to the roots, a man who wanted nothing to do with riches. He was the best human in the world, and this monster before her had taken him away from her.

Her rage surged, but she knew getting angry alone wouldn't solve her problem. She needed to get out of here if she wanted to survive. But with him around, doing so would be impossible.

"Why are you doing this? What do you want with me?" Isabelle mustered the courage to ask. If she planned on surviving then she needed to gather as much information as she could. However, the people around here weren't as nice as her people. She could get killed if she asked the wrong person, the guard from earlier had taught her that much.

"I want Avalon, not you." Icarus put the overly curious girl in her place, every word said with the intention to hurt her feelings. He hated her attitude, everything about her annoyed him, especially her brave persona. She knew he couldn't kill her, and she was making use of that advantage to speak to him as though they were equal.

Unlike him, she clearly had been raised with luxury and had no idea what it meant to work for power. His hatred for her had bloomed the moment he laid eyes on her. She had a thousand guards protecting her, a luxury he never got to enjoy, but it was exactly what molded him into the man he was today. And although he had killed his father and two out of his three brothers, he was grateful for the impact they had on his character.

Isabelle rolled her eyes at his reply, he was trying to be sarcastic, but his words came out blunt and they had hurt.

"What do you want with Avalon? Does it have something to do with you coughing up blood?"

The air around Icarus darkened the moment Isabelle finished with her question. His red eyes shone with murderous intensity, and the weight of his aura had Isabelle cowering in fear. It felt as though she was being submerged into deep cold water, breathing was difficult, and the pressure of the ocean was breaking her bones.

"Know your place!" Icarus cautioned before releasing his rage.

Her breathing was labored, but amidst her unsteady breath, Isabelle managed a wry smirk. "You're dying aren't y—" She'd barely finished when she found herself in the air, his muscular hand wrapped around her throat, threatening to squeeze life out of her. She struggled, but her strength was nothing compared to his.

"Put me down this instant!" She managed to squeeze out, and for the first time, Icarus actually listened to her, but only because another entity had entered the room. It was a male about the same age and height as the mad man in front of her. Just like Icarus, he was equally handsome. But unlike the man before her, this one didn't radiate hate.

"You went too far again, Icarus." Julian scolded before walking forward to meet the lady on the floor. He squatted to meet her face, and with a bright smile he introduced himself. "I'm Julian Tiberius, it's nice to finally meet you princess Isabelle."

Isabelle flinched a little, but that didn't stop her from taking the man's outstretched arm. She was conflicted on what to say to him. He already knew who she was, was she supposed to reintroduce herself?

"N...Nice to meet you, Julian." She stammered before backing away from him almost instantly.

"Look what you've done, she's now afraid of all of us."

"She should be." Icarus said bluntly.

Isabelle took note of how they conversed, this Julian clearly was different from the others inside this fortress. Icarus's guard was completely down around him, there was no iota of hostility in the air, and for a brief while she had actually seen him smile.

"I'll send the maids to get you a new set of clothes princess. Let's try to cooperate." Julian advised before leaving the room. He seemed kind, but Isabelle instinctively knew to fear him more than she did Icarus. He seemed completely different from everyone around, that couldn't be normal.

"It's gotten hot in here." Icarus commented as he walked towards the bed. With a confident grin, he reached for the hem of his shirt and, in one fluid motion, peeled it off to reveal a physique built from dedication to hard-work.

His chest and shoulders were well-defined, every muscle etched with precision. He bore a sculpted torso, not overly bulky but with enough lean muscle to convey strength and athleticism. His arms, with sinewy biceps and forearms, spoke of hours spent in training.

Battle scars adorned his body, adding an extra layer of intrigue to his rugged appeal. Each mark told a story, a visual narrative of his life's experiences.

'He could easily heal those scars, this man is a big show off.' Isabelle thought to herself, but even while she criticized him, she couldn't take her eyes off him.

Icarus leaned in closer, his figure towering over her little one. With a sly grin he asked, "Want to know how I got my scars?"

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