THE HEIRESS
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EPISODE 01
From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
“You don’t need to go on proving how much of
a lady you are, you know,” Leopold said,
staring up throu-ghthe tree branches to the
summery blue sky above.
Fingers knitted
behind his head, he was the picture of princely
refinement as he lounged against the oak.
“Did I mention that I graduated at the top of
my cla-ss?” Isabelle laughed, her arms spread
as she balanced along the edge of the fallen
tree, a book settled squarely atop her head.
She moved with the grace of a ballerina, the
book ba-rely moving as her feet tested each
step along the log’s surface. Leopold glanced
over at her, a smile tugging the corners of his
mouth.
“At least a dozen times at dinner and two more
at breakfast. Now come over here so I can
read you love poems like a proper suitor,” he
said, patting the patch of soft gra-ss beside
him. Isabelle hopped down from the log, deftly
catching the book as their chaperone, her
maiden aunt Gilda, harrumphed from where
she’d settled on a tree stump in the shade.
“Mind your distance, Isabelle,” she said in that
too-shrill voice of hers, her embroidery needle
flashing throu-ghthe handkerchief she was
embellishing.
“Of course, Aunt Gilda,” Isabelle said, rolling
her eyes for Leopold’s benefit all while leaving
enough space between the two of them to
keep her stuffy aunt quiet. When Gilda’s eyes
had turned back to her needlework, Isabelle
scooted a few inches closer as Leopold’s hand
slid over to find hers. The summer birds
chirped as a breeze sighed throu-ghthe leaves,
carrying the smells of sweet lilacs and freshly
cut gra-ss across the meadows behind the
castle.
Isabelle was happy, as happy as she would
probably ever be. Finally free from the prison
better known as Saint Mary’s School for Young
Ladies, she’d trampled her father’s expectations
and excelled at her studies. He hadn’t been
anticipating much, especially after the tantrum
she’d thrown when he’d announced his plans
for her. It had been little more than a few
weeks after her mother’s pa-ssing that he had
decided she needed to start acting like more
of a lady, but Isabelle disagreed, vehemently.
She’d almost been expelled twice from the
prestigious school, but thankfully Papa was
rich and his pockets were de-eper enough to
keep the headmistress swimming in luxuries
as reparation.
Kentshire, Isabelle’s home, was a rich duchy
on the borderlands between Pretania and
Germania, a pair of kingdoms who regularly
fought over the location of their borders. Years
ago, Kentshire had been a Germanic land,
seized by Pretania in the last great war.
Thankfully, no soldiers had marched throu-gh
Kentshire’s lush fields and bountiful forests for
some time, but even Isabelle was aware of the
never-ending political machinations of being a
borderland. Since before her grandfather’s
reign, Kentshire had been loyal to Pretania,
content to reside within its kingdom’s borders
and obey its laws. However, when the current
king had ascended his throne, he had steadily
increa-sed their taxes after kicking her father off
his council.
Isabelle knew that those actions had, at least
in some part, landed her engaged to Leopold,
the eldest prince of Germania, but she didn’t
much care about the political reasons. Leopold
was dashing, handsome, and gallant and she’d
nearly fainted with joy when he’d ridden up
with his retinue to meet her, two Christmases
ago. Whatever turn of fate had bound her to
such a man was not something she was
willing to question, not when a throne and an
escape from the power-hungry claws of the
Pretanian mornachy was imminent.
“You promised me a love poem,” she said,
checking to be sure Aunt Gilda was still
engrossed in her needlework as she leaned
back against the tree, her shoulder brushing
Leopold’s.
They’d stolen their fair share of ki-ss es when
he’d come to visit her during her school breaks
and now that she was finished like a proper
young lady, it was only a matter of time before
they would be married. She didn’t dare bring it
up in front of Papa again, as he’d thrown a fit
when she’d last asked him. Ever since she’d
finished school, he’d refused to discuss the
wedding, even when Leopold had arrived for
his yearly visit.
“I’d rather talk about something more serious
for a moment,” Leopold said, toying with the
obscenely large diamond around her finger.
“I’ve tried, Leo, truly,” Isabelle said, watching
as the sun caught the stone and set it to
glittering. “But he won’t hear of it from me.”
“Then I’ll discuss it with him tonight,” he said
firmly, “For I won’t be kept waiting any longer.
When I return from Ardalone, I’m taking you
home with me.”
The words sent a thrill racing up Isabelle’s
spine, as visions of the Germanian capitol,
Rhysalia, soared throu-ghher head. Leopold
had described it to her on many occasions,
from the de-eper fuchsia roses that climbed the
palace towers to the mirrored ballroom and its
great gla-ss cu-pola in the ceiling. He’d
promised her that they would dance un-der the
stars when he introduced her to his court and
she intended to hold him to that promise.
“Then let’s not ruin the moment thinking about
my father,” she pouted, leaning her head on the
prince’s shoulder as she followed his gaze
throu-ghthe fluttering leaves to the sky above,
“Tell me about Ardalone.”
“Well, it’s going to be hot, especially in the
summer. The king is a wheezing old bag and
his wife is the one who makes all the
decisions,” Leo said, leaning his head down
against hers, “Their crown prince hates the pair
of them, but he’s agreed to marry the girl
they’ve chosen because she’s supposedly the
most beautiful in the land.”
“That’s romantic,” Isabelle sighed. Leo’s
chuckle rumbled throu-ghhis che-st.
“Of course you’d think so,” he said, planting a
ki-ss atop her head, “But-”
“What is all this?” Aunt Gilda trilled. Isabelle
jumped at the sound of her voice, scooting
away from Leopold even as the old woman
rose from her seat.
“Unacceptable!” she was squawking, hastily
stuffing away her embroidery as she
descended upon them.
“I’ll find you later,” Isabelle whispered, reaching
up to run a caress over Leopold’s cheek before
her aunt’s bony grip hoisted her to her feet.
She squawked and balked, prattling on about
the decency and propriety expected of a young
lady all while Isabelle craned her ne-ck for a
parting glance at her prince. Leopold watched
her go, amused, but he made no move to stop
them.
EPISODE 02
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From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away
the time as Isabelle stood before the great oak
desk in her father’s study. Aunt Gilda had not
had the patience to listen to Isabelle’s excuses
and instead of her usual routine of a sound
tongue lashing followed by confinement to her
bedchamber, this time the spinster had
dragged Isabelle directly to her father’s study.
Unfortunately for Isabelle, the Duke of
Kentshire was already in a foul mood upon her
arrival, his dour look souring as Gilda rattled
off his daughter’s offenses.
“I find it ha-rd to believe that Saint Mary’s top
student would allow a man to ki-ss her in
public,” he said, ba-rely lifting his eyes from the
papers he was poring over and signing.
He’d
kept her standing there for five and a half
minutes and she had known better than to
fidget for it would only have earned her a
longer wait.
“Papa, we’re engaged,” Isabelle said, folding
her arms as she collap-sed into the chair
opposite him, “And he only ki-ss ed my head!”
Her father raised unamused eyes towards her
as the pair of them a-ssumed their usual verbal
sparring positions around his desk.
“You are my only daughter and the future
Duchess of Kentshire. You should be setting an
example for your people, not dallying about
like some tavern wench,” he said. The words
stung, but Isabelle’s mounting temper
dampened their effect. Her aunt’s meddling
had already stoked her anger and she was not
one to back down from a fight, especially not
with a temperament so like her father’s.
“I am the future Queen of Germania,” Isabelle
corrected icily, “And I hardly see how you can
be angry that I’ve found love with the man
you’ve arranged for me to marry!”
Her father pursed his li-ps but said nothing to
contradict her, a reaction that sent a chill down
Isabelle’s spine. Normally they sparred until
her father’s temper reached its breaking point
and he realized how foolish it was to argue
with as headstrong a daughter as Isabelle, the
pair of them apologizing once their heads had
cooled. Their fights never lasted long as they
only had each other, with the harsh words and
raised voices remaining behind in the study
and rarely following them down to dinner. The
fact he even bothered to debate with her rather
than simply ordering her around, like most
noble fathers, was also likely because he
recognized that Isabelle wasn’t a brainless fool
besotted with lace and ribbons, like most girls
her age. Every time she’d returned home from
school, he’d taught her something new to do
with the running of the duchy, much as he
would have if she’d been a boy. The first time
he’d showed her how to balance a ledger,
she’d laughed at him and pointed out that she
was in skirts, but he’d hushed her with such
fervour that she’d gone ahead and listened that
time and every time that followed.
“You’re not saying anything,” Isabelle said
finally, breaking the silence.
“No, I’m not. Because this says enough,” he
said, pushing a thick envelope towards her.
The seal was already broken, but Isabelle
could make out the duelling eagle and lion of
the royal crest of Pretania etched in the
cracked wax. She shot a wary glance at her
father as she slid the letter out, but he’d
steepled his fingers, his eyes on the paper.
Dear Francis,
Please be advised that your daughter, Isabelle
de Haviland, is expected at Highcastle Palace by
the end of the month to participate in Prince
Graham’s Royal Season. We recommend that
you provide sufficient allowance and wardrobe
should the Season last throu-ghuntil the new
year. She-
“Didn’t you tell them about Leopold?” Isabelle
demanded, tearing her eyes from the page.
She flung it way, not trusting her shaking hands
to abstain from ripping it in two.
“I did,” her father said, picking up the letter to
run his eyes over it once more, “Though it
seems that our king doesn’t care much for
foreign engagements.”
“I’m not going,” she said, crossing her arms
once more. Her father sighed.
“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice,
darling,” he said gently.
“I’m staying here until Leopold returns from
Ardalone,” she said firmly, “And after that, we’re
getting married and I’m going to Rhysalia.”
She met her father’s stare with one of her own,
determined to hold her ground despite the
decision already lur-k-ing behind his blue eyes.
“Your king has requested your presence,” he
said, “And the last thing I need is him levying
more taxes because you couldn’t show your
face at a few balls and parties.”
“I’m not going to some other palace to dance
with some other prince when I’m already
engaged!” Isabelle shouted.
“Yes, you are!” her father said, standing,
“Because you can handle a few months in
Highcastle better than Kentshire can handle
more taxes! We’re ba-rely projected to harvest
enough to keep the peasants fed for the
winter. Do you really expect me to disrespect
the king so overtly and risk giving him even
the slightest reason to starve our people with
more taxes? All so you can sit here by the fire
and read books and practice your needlework
until your white knight rides back from
Ardalone?”
His words gave her pause, their blue-eyed
stares still facing off even as he towered over
her.
“If you make me do this, I’ll march into that
palace and wave this in all their pompous
faces,” Isabelle said finally, holding up her
bejewelled left hand. Her father broke the
tension with a bark of a laugh, settling himself
back in his chair.
“Please do,” he said, “And mind that you stay
away from the prince. The last thing I need is
the next Helen of Troy for a daughter.”
“That won’t be any trouble at all,” Isabelle
muttered. Silence settled over them as her
father reached for his quill, resuming his
signatures as his daughter brooded.
Of course he was right. She could throw as
many tantrums as she wanted, but whether she
spent the few months that Leopold was away
in Kentshire or in Highcastle made absolutely
no difference at all. She’d gone over the
harvest numbers with her father on one of her
first days after graduating, so she knew that he
wasn’t lying about the harvest projections. The
unusually dry summer had wreaked havoc on
the crops they depended on to carry the
peasants throu-ghthe winter. More taxes from
the king would mean less food for the people
and, as much as she hated the idea of
Highcastle Palace, she hated the idea of her
people starving even more.
So she would go, but not willingly. If they
thought they could summon her like some
trained dog, heedless of the marriage treaty
her father had signed so many years ago, she
would show them a thing or two about how the
heiress of Kentshire was to be treated.
“I suspect you’ll want me to break the news to
dear Leopold,” her father said eventually,
tearing her from her thoughts. Isabelle’s
stomach swooped as she imagined how her
betrothed would take the news.
Leopold’s hatred of Prince Graham was
legendary, the pair of them loathing each other
so thorou-ghly that neither had ever been on a
diplomatic visit to the other’s country. Leo said
it all stemmed from a rather unfortunate
incident when they were youngsters, when the
evil Pretanian prince had chucked Leo’s
youngest brother into a well to stop the boy
from pestering him. The princeling had
survived, but diplomatic relations between
Pretania and Germania had been tense ever
since. Leo would be beside himself with anger
when he learned that Graham had the gall to
make a debutante of his wife-to-be.
“There is an alternate solution,” Isabelle said,
tracing the edge of the desk with her finger, “If
we were to marry before Leo leaves, I- ”
“No,” her father said, his quill stopping mid-
signature.
“Why not?” Isabelle demanded, rising to pace
before him, “Married women can’t be
debutantes, which means I wouldn’t be
disobeying the king’s orders. He would have
no reason to tax us that you couldn’t argue
down before the council!”
“You are not getting married because I don’t
think you should be. Not yet, at least,” her
father said, “And don’t bother asking me why,
because that’s all there is to it!”
With an angry growl, Isabelle threw her hands
up in the air.
“So that’s it then? We sit down and allow the
king to stomp all over us?” she demanded.
“Yes, Isabelle, we do. Because one day, when
you do marry Leopold, I will be telling King
Charles that Kentshire and all its lands will be
changing allegiance to Germania. You cannot
marry him right away because I haven’t
ama-ssed enough men-at-arms to secure the
castle and protect the people from whatever
retaliation Charles flings our way. As it stands
now, he would kill us both and install one of
his cronies in our seat, which I’m sure you can
un-derstand is not in either of our best
interests!”
Isabelle chewed her li-p as she sank back into
her chair. Her father’s quill scratched in the
silence, the papers fluttering as he shuffled
throu-ghthem, scanning each before signing or
stamping it. She’d known that her marriage
was tantamount to a declaration of war, but
Leo had always rea-ssured her that he would
defend her home as staunchly as if it were his
own. Her father was right, again; If they married
now, Leopold wouldn’t be able to leave his
men in Kentshire, not when he needed them to
escort him throu-ghthe notoriously rebellious
Ardalone. Kentshire was far closer to
Highcastle than it was to Rhysalia, which
meant that it would have to stand on its own
for at least a week before Germanian
reinfor-cements arrived.
With a sigh, Isabelle mentally conceded that
her father’s logic was sound.
“I’ll go then,” she said, her father’s eyes lifting
from his papers, “But only if you promise me
one thing.”
“Name it and I’ll consider,” he said, his blue
eyes glittering with the smile he didn’t allow to
curve his li-ps.
“You won’t punish me if I spit in Prince
Graham’s face during our first dance,” she
said. At that, her father leaned back in his
chair, chuckling.
“Darling, if you do that, there won’t be a thing I
can do to stop them from locking you in irons,”
he said, shooting her a wink, “But I’ll be sure
send the cavalry to rescue you.”
~*~
Leopold left the next morning, though he was
so thorou-ghly enraged that Isabelle would have
missed him if her ladies’ maid, Lissa, hadn’t
awakened her. He hadn’t turned up for dinner
and her father had been in an even fouler
mood as he’d taken his seat at the head of the
table. When the food was served and the place
opposite her remained vacant, she knew that
her father had gotten around to telling her
betrothed about her summons to the royal
court. She’d tried to find Leopold after suffering
throu-gha sullen, silent dinner, but her search
of the castle proved fruitless. If it hadn’t been
for Lissa, Leopold would have ridden off into
the dawn without another word, but Isabelle
refused to allow them to part on such sour
terms.
She’d scampered out of bed, tugging on the
first dress she could find as she raced down to
the stables. Most of Leo’s men were already
mounted, muttering to each other in Germanian
as she wove throu-ghthem, seeking out her
prince. The air was crisp, filled with the heady
scent of horses and mud.
“There you are,” she said, upon discovering her
betrothed talking in whispers with his captain
of the guard.
“You should be sleeping,” Leo said, dismissing
the other man with a nod. He made a show of
tugging at his riding gloves, the corners of his
mouth tugged down in a frown as he avoided
her gaze.
“Not if you plan on sneaking off before I get a
proper goodbye,” she pouted, “Why did you
miss dinner?”
“Because I’ve had enough of your father and his
empty promises,” Leo said, turning away from
her to fuss with the saddlebags already
strapped to his great, black horse. A few paces
away, the captain of the guard mounted his
horse, shouting in Germanian for the rest of the
men to mount up.
“His hands are tied, Leo,” Isabelle said, folding
her arms against both the chill in the air and
her fiancé’s demeanor, “Unless you can leave
your men to defend Kentshire while you’re
away.”
“Yes, he made that point already,” Leo said
throu-ghgritted teeth, a hardness she’d never
noticed before in his brown eyes as he turned
to face her, “And I still think it is a most pitiful
excuse to delay our marriage.”
“Then hurry home,” Isabelle said, straightening
the collar of his riding jacket if only so she
could touch him, “Because the sooner you
return, the sooner your men can defend my
homeland and we can be married.”
Leopold stilled her hands with his own, his
leather gloves cold against her ba-re fingers in
the chilly, pre-dawn air.
“Promise me that you won’t let them change
your mind,” he said, the irritation gone from his
voice as his expression softened. She smiled
as he cu-p-ped her face with a hand.
“Nothing could change my mind about you,”
she said, “And I promise that should the
occasion ever arise, I’ll stuff Prince Graham
down a well for you.”
That earned the tiniest of smiles from Leopold,
who pulled her in for a ki-ss before releasing
her.
“We must be off if we’re to make our ship out
of Eastcliffe tomorrow,” he said, swinging up
atop his mount, “But I’ll write to you.”
He rode past her, leading his men out of the
castle walls with ba-rely a parting look as the
pink sun crested the horizon.
To be continued…..