She trudged up the marble steps, her heavy dress dragging across the living room floor, all eyes staring at her body. The silence was almost sacred, not out of respect, but out of sheer discomfort and constraint. At court, smiles were disguises. Everyone was waiting for the king’s announcement, but no one, absolutely no one, was waiting for it.

Her name was Isabela, the only daughter of King Aldemiro, ruler of a cold and cruel kingdom where appearance was worth more than character. Isabela had been born different from the other princesses. Since she was a child, she had a rounded body, rosy cheeks and an appetite that no one could control. While other girls practiced posture and dance, Isabela hid in the kitchen, seeking solace in pies and sweet breads.

As he grew older, so did his father’s contempt. At the age of 13, Isabela was already the object of muffled laughter among the servants. By 15, suitors were even rejecting his portraits. At 17, the king lost his patience. To him, his daughter was not a princess, she was a burden, a shame.

And it was on a cold day, under a gray sky, that everything changed.

The room was crowded. Nobles, knights and ambassadors, all summoned for a special ceremony without knowing the reason. Isabela was forced to wear a tight and suffocating royal costume. Her hands trembled as she climbed the steps of the throne, where her father was waiting for her with an icy expression.

“Today,” said the king, in a firm and emotionless voice, “my daughter will receive the fate she deserves.”

People exchanged glances. “A boyfriend,” they thought. “She will finally be married.”

But instead of a nobleman, two soldiers came in pushing a chained, dirty man with a wounded face and bare feet. “A slave,” the people murmured. Isabela remained motionless.

The king continued: “Since my daughter refuses to be a worthy representative of this crown, let her be the wife of one who is lower than the earth. I give Isabela to this man as punishment for his dishonor, for his weakness, for his grotesque existence.”

The world turned. The princess’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t cry, she didn’t implore. He just lowered his head, swallowing the pain, as he always had. Beside him, the slave, whose name no one bothered to ask, kept his eyes fixed on the ground, as if he wanted to disappear. The room exploded in murmurs. Some ladies concealed their laughter; others averted their gaze. And the king, satisfied, as if he had finally gotten rid of a problem.

Isabela was taken to the back of the palace, to the lodgings where she had never set foot before. His room would now be an old warehouse hastily renovated. The slave received the key, a piece of stale bread, and a single command: “Do not touch her unless she wishes, but keep her forever.”

That night, lying on a thin mattress, listening to the rain hitting the windows, Isabela looked at the ceiling. The slave slept on the floor, wrapped in an old blanket. There was silence, a different silence. It was not the silence of contempt; it was the silence of someone who did not judge. For the first time, he felt no fear. She felt something strange, a light emptiness, as if the humiliation of the day had opened a new space within her.

Dawn came shrouded in fog. The slave, now his forced companion, rose carefully from the ground, trying not to make a sound. She watched him in silence. For years, Isabela had been surrounded by servants who smiled at her as they judged her inside. Now there was only him, a man his father considered inferior to the dogs in the royal kennel.

On the third day, he spoke, “Does the lady want bread?” The voice was low, almost a whisper. She was slow to respond. “I’m not hungry,” he lied. He just nodded and walked away. He did not insist, he did not mock.

On the fourth day, he cleaned the floor. On the fifth, he lit the fire in the fireplace before she woke up. On the sixth, he left wild flowers on the table. Speechless.

And it was on the seventh day that she broke the silence. “What’s your name?” The man hesitated. His eyes, for the first time, met hers. “Elias”. Isabela repeated the name in a low voice. A name without titles, without coats of arms, but with something she had never felt: presence.

Gradually, her routine moved to the abandoned garden. It was there, among the roses battered by winter, that Elias told him his first story. “These flowers,” he said, pointing to some lavenders, “grow best when they are pruned painfully. When the root is removed, when the earth is turned upside down. They seem to suffer, but that’s how they’re reborn, stronger.”

Isabela looked at him in surprise. His words came in like a breeze and not like whips. “And you have been reborn many times?” she asked. He smiled, a short, sad smile. “So many that I’ve already lost count.” Isabela laughed. A strange sound, almost forgotten.

They began to take care of the flowers together. Without realizing it, she knelt in the dirt, soiling her dress, turning over the roots. And he, by her side, showed her how to prune, how to water, how to wait. Always respecting the distance.

One afternoon, on her way back from the garden, Isabela looked at herself in the mirror. He hadn’t lost weight. The body was the same, but there was something different about his face. The eyes were less sad. For the first time, she felt alive.

And that’s where the danger began. The servants began to whisper. “She smiles next to him”, “Walk in the garden with him”. The rumors reached the king’s ears. What should have been a punishment was being transformed into affection.

The king called her to the highest tower. “Have you forgotten who you are?” he roared. “A princess doesn’t mix with trash! He is a slave and you are a shame.”

But it was too late. One warm spring afternoon, in the garden, Elias reached out and gently removed a petal that had fallen into her hair. He immediately backed away, as if he had committed a crime. “Excuse me, ma’am…” But she held his hand. “Don’t ask me for forgiveness,” he whispered. “No one had ever touched me with such affection.” Their eyes met for the first time, without fear, without shame, without permission. Only truth.

The next day, Isabela went to the garden with fruits. She sat down next to him and, for the first time, ate with him. They laughed together. But from the windows of the castle, a servant loyal to the queen mother saw them. He saw Isabella bend down to hear a whisper from Elias. He saw enough. The king’s daughter was in love with a slave.

That night, the king received the news like a sword to his chest. “Enough!” he shouted. The order was given. Elias would be immediately separated from Isabella. She would be locked in her room, the forbidden garden.

Locked up, Isabela cried in silence. He knew they were about to destroy them, but he also knew that, for the first time in his life, he had something to fight for. And on the other side of the castle, chained again and thrown into a dark dungeon, Elias thought of her.

The chains on Elias’s wrists didn’t hurt as much as the emptiness he felt. In her tower, Isabella also felt the chains, invisible but cruel. But she was no longer the same submissive young woman. On the seventh day of confinement, he wrote a letter. “I haven’t forgotten you for a moment. If you can still hear me, know that my heart is still yours. Resist.”

With the help of a compassionate young maid, the letter was hidden inside a loaf of bread and left near Elijah’s cell. As she read it, her hands trembled and she cried, but they were tears of strength. That night, Elias began to plan.

Meanwhile, the king was preparing something more cruel. He decided to marry Isabella to a foreign, old and authoritarian duke. When Isabela learned of the decision, she did not scream. He looked in the mirror and took a deep breath. “Then, the time has come,” he whispered.

That same night, while the nobles were toasting, she put on an old maid’s costume and escaped through the corridors. She went down to the kitchens, down the hidden stairs to the dungeon, and finally saw him. “Did you come?” he murmured, incredulous. She ran to him. The hug was strong, desperate. “They want to marry me,” she said, panting. “Give me a disgusting old man, but I won’t allow it.” Elias secured it by the face. “You’re nobody’s. You’re yours. And if it is necessary to flee, I will flee with you.”

With the help of the maid, they escaped through the tunnels that led to the garden. The moon lit the way and, for the first time, they walked together without hiding. But it didn’t last. The soldiers spotted them as they arrived at the palace gates. The alarms sounded. “Bring my daughter and kill the slave!” the king roared.

The hunt began. They ran through the countryside, along the hidden paths of the forest. They knew that time was against them. And yet, even out of breath, they laughed, because at that moment they were free. “If we die, let it be by the hand,” Isabela whispered. “We will not die,” he replied. “We will live.”

The sun had barely risen when the horses’ hooves echoed in the forest. But Isabela and Elias were already far away. They slept together under the trees, eating roots and wild fruits. Elias carried her when her feet bled. And Isabella, previously accustomed to velvet thrones, now bathed in rivers. “I’m free,” she said, looking at her reflection in the water. “And beautiful. For the first time I feel beautiful.”

On the fourth day of escape, as they passed through a small village, they were recognized. A peasant saw the royal mark on Isabela’s neck and, in exchange for a few coins, warned the soldiers.

The next morning, they were surrounded. “In the name of the king, surrender!” the commander shouted. Elias positioned himself in front of Isabela, unarmed. “If they want to take her, they’ll have to walk over me.” The soldiers laughed. But before they could advance, Isabela shouted, “Stop! I am the king’s daughter and I demand to be heard.” The men hesitated. The princess spoke with authority. “I’m not a prisoner of his,” she said, pointing to Elias. “I’m here because I chose, because I’m free and you don’t have the right to decide for me.” The commander backed away. He ordered Elias to be seized, but without wounding him, and Isabella was taken back to the palace.

A week later, the entire kingdom was summoned to a new ceremony. The king, pale with anger, was determined to restore his honor. He would announce Isabella’s marriage to the duke and execute the slave publicly.

But Isabela had other plans.

When she was taken to the royal hall, she did not enter as a prisoner. It came in like a storm. She wore a simple dress, her hair loose, but she walked firmly, with Elias by her side, chained, but standing. The king got up, but Isabella was quicker. “Before I say anything, Father, I have something to say to the people.” The room fell silent. “I was given to this man as a punishment. I was humiliated, hidden, forgotten. But at the bottom of the castle, where the light hardly reaches, I found something I never had within these walls. Love. True, pure, honest.” The nobles frowned. The king was red with hatred. “This man respected me when everyone looked down on me. He saw me when even my own family ignored me. And even though he was treated like an animal, he taught me what it is to be human.” He took a deep breath. The room was in shock. “That’s why, in front of everyone, I choose him! As a partner, as a husband, as an equal. And if that’s considered treason, then let me be arrested too! But know: the throne that rules without love is doomed to roar.”

A deep silence set in. Afterwards, someone applauded. A maid. Then another, and another. Until the entire room exploded in clapping. The king could not react. For the first time, he felt smaller than the people he ruled.

Isabela took the guard’s keys and loosened Elias’ chains with her bare hands. And there, in the center of the throne that tried to destroy them, the two embraced.

Months later, the king abdicated. The people, inspired by her bravery, elected Isabela as the new regent. Elijah, at her side, refused titles, but never departed from her, ruling as her equal.

The obese princess, ridiculed by all, became the most respected woman in the history of the kingdom. And the slave condemned to silence became the most heard voice in the palace. Because their love was not only survival; It was a revolution.