The week slipped by with Isolde enduring training under the Empress’s watchful gaze. The lessons, while grueling, were a calculated move by the Empress to limit her access to the Emperor. Invitations to dine together only reinforced the barrier, keeping Isolde from seeking Leonidas’s company. 

Each afternoon, the Empress insisted on a peculiar ritual—Isolde serving tea herself. It was an act meant to humble, if not humiliate, her. Yet Isolde played along, her sharp instincts refusing to let such oddities pass unnoticed. Every day, she pocketed a small amount of the tea leaves, her suspicions growing. 

One such afternoon, as the Empress elegantly sipped her tea, she turned to Isolde, her tone dripping with practiced sweetness. 

“Isolde,” she began, her smile veiled in faux warmth, “about the upcoming banquet.” 

“Yes, Your Highness?” Isolde responded, her gaze steady but polite. 

“I’ve taken the liberty of preparing your outfit for the evening,” the Empress announced, setting her cup down delicately. 

Isolde hesitated. “But Your Highness, the Emperor has already chosen my attire.” 

The Empress chuckled lightly, waving her hand dismissively. “I know, but as this is your first banquet, I thought something special might suit you better. A bold statement to mark your presence. I hope you don’t mind my intervention.” 

Isolde suppressed a frown. “I understand. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.” 

“The gown is already in your room,” the Empress said with a satisfied smile. “Do take a moment to admire it. I trust you’ll find it… memorable.” 

“Of course,” Isolde replied, bowing before taking her leave. 

Back in her chambers, Isolde found the gown waiting for her. The bright yellow fabric shimmered in the light, adorned with an overwhelming array of floral embroidery. Her lips pressed into a thin line. 

“She knew yellow doesn’t suit me,” Isolde muttered, lifting the gown. The stitching, while intricate, seemed intentionally exaggerated. It was a garment designed to draw ridicule, not admiration. 

As she inspected the accompanying shoes, something caught her eye. Carefully embedded in the lining were small needles, cleverly hidden but entirely detectable. 

“Childish,” she murmured, smirking. “At least they aren’t poisoned.” 

Setting the gown aside, Isolde reached for parchment and ink. She penned a brief letter, slipping the tea leaves into the envelope before sealing it. Then, with a sharp whistle, her falcon swooped through the open window, landing gracefully on her gloved hand. 

“Take this to Father,” she whispered, securing the letter to the bird’s leg. “Sable Dukedom.” 

The falcon took flight, disappearing into the horizon. 

Isolde stood by the window, her eyes following the bird’s path. Her mind churned with unease, the Empress’s machinations becoming more transparent by the day. 'This isn’t just petty sabotage. She’s planning something bigger.'

Turning back to the yellow gown, she studied it one final time. The banquet was two weeks away, but Isolde knew she had to be ready for whatever game the Empress intended to play. 

“Let her underestimate me,” Isolde said to herself, her voice resolute. “I’ll show her exactly what I’m capable of.”

To be continued....