THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 04
From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
Isabelle’s growling stomach woke her the next
morning. She stared at the canopy above the
bed for a few seconds before she remembered
with a groa-n where she was.
Rain pattered
against the window, the clouds obscuring all
signs of sunrise such that the clock set into
the mantelpiece was the only indication of the
early hour.
The fire had died down to embers
and Isabelle shivered as she sat up, wishing
more than ever that she was back in her cozy
room in Kentshire instead of the draughty
Highcastle palace.
Braving the chill of the floor on her feet, she
took the quilt with her, wrapping it around her
shoulders for warmth as she crossed to the
window. The cold seeped in from the panes,
the weather abnormally chilly for late autumn.
In the watery grey light of dawn, the garden
outside was a soggy, dismal mess. With a
yawn, Isabelle checked the clock once again,
hoping that it wasn’t too early to ring for Lissa.
The queen had specifically instructed her to
meet before breakfast and, if her tone had
been any indication, it was not going to be a
pleasant meeting.
Isabelle knew her temper
would only get sharper as her hunger mounted,
so she’d have to convince Lissa to sneak
something from the kitchens beforehand.
As if on cue, Isabelle’s stomach grumbled
again. As she stared out into the rain that
Kentshire had so badly needed all summer,
she thought of all the villagers she’d pa-ssed on
her way here and their too-empty graineries.
So far, she’d done her duty to them, arriving in
Highcastle as the king had asked, but she had
no idea how much more the royal family
expected from her. Up until now, she’d
a-ssumed that her mere presence would be
enough, but baiting the queen last night had
been a terrible idea.
Shivering again, Isabelle couldn’t shake the
terrible loneliness that settled over her, as
heavy as the quilt around her shoulders. She
had few friends in this palace, fewer still
among the royal family. Now that she was here
and her father was on the road back to
Kentshire, she was at their mercy. By heeding
his summons, the Duke of Kentshire had
proven to the king just how powerful the threat
of taxation was. If the king was as brutal a
man as Isabelle suspected, there was nothing
stopping him from using that threat against her
again.
Toying with her engagement ring, Isabelle rang
for Lissa before lighting a candle at the
escritoire tucked into the corner. Trimming her
quill, she for-ced her thoughts away from the
cold, strange palace that imprisoned her and
focused on her betrothed.
Dearest Leo,
I hope your crossing went smoothly and that
Ardalone is much warmer than here. Highcastle
is as frigid a palace as I’ve ever visited thanks
to both its draughts and its inhabitants, though
I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you. You
should have warned me about the queen and
her penchant for perfumes and rouge. I hadn’t
expected to be curtseying before a painted lady
with such a poor sense of humour.
Isabelle’s quill stopped as she chewed her li-p.
While Leopold would surely have enjoyed
hearing her opinion of the queen, Isabelle
realized that she had no idea whether any
prying eyes would censor her letter before it
was sent. Since she was already about to be
scolded before breakfast, it wasn’t wise to
potentially irk the queen ever further if the
contents of her letter were exp-osed. Crumpling
the paper, she tossed it into the fire as she
settled back to brood.
The snick of the service door jarred her from
her thoughts as Lissa backed in, stifling a
yawn as she set down a tray on the corner
table.
“Good morning, my lady,” she said, curtseying
before fixing Isabelle with a frown, “My
goodness, it’s colder than the winter solstice in
here!”
“It’s this infernal palace,” Isabelle said, rising to
inspect the tray. The aroma of freshly baked
bread had already filled the room, setting
Isabelle to salivating.
“Infernal indeed. I’ll bank the fire more tonight,
my lady, my apologies,” Lissa said, poking
around so the dying embers would light the
log she had added.
“There is absolutely no need to apologize,
especially not when you’re saving me from
starving,” Isabelle said, seating herself before
the tray of rolls, bu-tter, and jam.
“It was the best I could do without waking the
cook,” Lissa said, making a face, “I didn’t dare
ask for help in case they’d been ordered not to
feed you until breakfast. Though I’d have
expected they’d greet a lady such as yourself
with a little more hospitality than an icy room
and an empty belly.”
“We’re from Kentshire, Lissa,” Isabelle grinned,
“It will take more than cold and hunger to
break us.”
Lissa smiled, urging Isabelle to eat before she
disappeared into the closet. With food in her
belly and a fire roaring to life in the grate,
Isabelle’s loneliness melted into the back of
her mind. While it was true that she had few
friends here, she did have Lissa, her blessedly
resourceful maid who wasn’t above stealing
from the kitchen to feed her mistress.
“The queen’s ladies’ maids were already awake
when you rang,” Lissa said, laying out a
demure blue day dress, “So we’d best get you
dressed in case Her Majesty is hoping to
surprise you with an even earlier summons.”
“Lissa, you certainly are a clever little fox,”
Isabelle said, “I’m lucky to have you.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Lissa said, ducking her
head to hide her blus-h before disappearing
back into the closet for sli-ppers and a shawl.
Sure enough, Lissa’s prediction was correct.
The clock had ba-rely reached seven when there
was a knock at the suite door. Lissa had just
finished pinning Isabelle’s hair into a demure
braided bun, the now empty breakfast tray
safely hidden un-der the bed until Lissa could
sneak it away.
“Wish me luck,” Isabelle whispered before
Lissa answered the knock. The maid gave her
mistress’ shoulder a squee-ze.
“You won’t need luck, my lady. You’re a clever
fox too,” she said.
The hallways were dark, cold, and silent as
Isabelle followed another sleepy maid back
towards the old palace. She kept her shawl
wrapped ti-ghtly around her shoulders, the air
so chilly she was surprised she couldn’t see
her breath pluming before her.
Once they were de-eper within the old palace, the
maid paused before a door, whispering
something to the sleepy page just outside. He
eyed Isabelle before knocking on the door.
“Isabelle de Haviland,” he said, pulling open
the door for her. The blast of warm air and
light from within had Isabelle blinking as she
entered. A fire roared in the grate and it
seemed that every surface in the room held a
lit candelabra.
“Good morning, Isabelle,” the queen said, this
time attired in a pale green dress that gave her
the semblance of a ruffled porcelain doll, pale
skin and all.
“Good morning, your Majesty,” Isabelle said,
automatically dipping a curtsey as her eyes
darted around the other a-ssembled ladies.
There were only three of them this morning, as
opposed to the dozen that had surrounded the
queen the evening before, but each one of
them was glaring at Isabelle as if she were a
plagued rat.
“I see you heeded my warning about your
attire,” the queen said, settling back into her
cushy armchair as she ran her watery eyes
over Isabelle’s dress, “Very good, child, very
good.”
Isabelle bit her tongue. They were words,
patronizing ones, but just words nonetheless.
The queen was trying to bait her and she
refused to give the wrinkly monarch the
satisfaction of a reaction.
“That ring, however, poses more of a problem
than your unsightly tartan,” the queen
continued, her li-p curling as her eyes found the
diamond on Isabelle’s finger, “Remove it.”
Isabelle kept her tongue clamped between her
teeth, thanking her lucky stars that Lissa had
snuck her some food. If she’d been as hungry
and miserable as she had been when she’d
awoken this morning, she’d have unleashed a
special kind of tirade on the queen and her
snobbish self-righteousness. But that would
serve no purpose other than to antagonize the
woman whose husband had the power to
starve her people. Let her say what she wanted
about Kentshire, about Isabelle, about all of
them. They were just words and Isabelle could
endure them.
But she wouldn’t remove the ring.
“Forgive me, your Majesty, but than ring was
placed there by a Prince of Germania. I will
not remove it un-der anyone’s orders but his,”
Isabelle said, forcing all the anger and
combativeness from her tone. It didn’t help
placate the queen, however, as her ancient,
rouged li-ps were now pursed.
“I would counsel you not to cross me, child,”
the queen said, folding her hands in her skirts,
“Remove the ring.”
“No,” Isabelle said, pausing to soften the
sharpness that had crept back into her voice. “I
will not remove that ring until I meet my future
husband at the altar. In Rhysalia.”
“Either you remove it yourself or I will see to it
that it is removed for you,” the queen
continued. Isabelle took some satisfaction
from the vice grip the monarch’s bony hands
now had on the arms of the chair – at least the
hatred was mutual.
“I daresay my father would be highly
unimpressed if I returned home with a finger
less than before,” Isabelle snapped. The queen
arched a pencilled eyebrow, exchanging a look
with one of her ladies-in-waiting that had
Isabelle’s hackles rising.
“Child, there are more ways than one to
remove a ring,” the monarch said, waving her
hand dismissively, “Now get out of my sight
and stay in your room to think on your
impertinence until you are summoned to the
ball tonight.”
The queen had already turned her attention to
her ladies-in-waiting as Isabelle sank a
sarcastically low curtsey, fixing the monarch
with a parting glare before she took her leave.
The whispers filling the room followed Isabelle
into the hallway before the drawing room door
closed behind her. The maid that had escorted
her in bobbed a curtsey before rushing back
the way they’d come.
To be continued….