i.

Mid November, 1788

"I HAVE NEVER ASKED ANYTHING of you, Isa," Ruby Alderidge trembled, her words mere wisps of lifeless things that her purple bloodied lips forced out.

Blood was trickling down the edge of her lips as Isadora Tremaine's tears splashed onto the battered girl's face as she held Alderidge's cold cheek in her palm, bending over her form on the surgical table as the physician barked out hushed orders at his attendees—mentions of various equipment and other things to be fetched in desperate urgency.

Isadora Tremaine watched the life flicker in her dear friend and confidante's pale blue eyes. She had only ever seen them brighten and dim over the course of their ten year friendship, their girlhood tainted and painted by everything the ladies had gone through together with crystal glasses and straw baskets full to the brim of gorgeous but cruelly plucked flowers in their peripheries.

"I will do whatever you ask of me," Isa cried, watching through her tears as the whites of Ruby Alderidge's eyes filled with blood each second—miniscule veins tightening and bursting in the girl's tortured exertion to stay present—drenching her soft blue irises against a canvas of red instead of the white.

"Archie—," Ruby choked the name of her beloved son out, coughing out a spraying of blood. "Little Archie is obedient, he will listen to you. I promise he will never give you a reason for complaint."

"He is a darling boy," Isadora managed, her throat closing up. "Archie is a darling boy, and I will care for him."

Isadora Tremaine's eyes hurt. They throbbed on her face like hard stones, and her throat felt as though it would choke her of its own accord. Her chest felt like she was being stabbed continually, a knife being thrust in and out of her body. Just like someone had done to Ruby Alderidge.

What fault was it of hers? She had only been a mother.

Ruby Alderidge had the unfortunate privilege of having borne a bastard son with a gentleman who's name she was much too wholehearted to let loose and tatter. The man had turned his back on her, leaving the lady in her forlorn circumstances, with no money or house to her name.

Isa hadn't known all that had transpired, her confidante had chosen to conceal the part from her-worried perhaps of Isadora Tremaine's own reputation and family name. Though Isa understood, the concealment had still made her feel wretched-as though she were a bottle of expired deadly nightshade corked away in the darkness in someone's cabinet, away from the light and where she was most needed—to help in her own desolate way.

She hadn't found out about her dear friend's child up until an year earlier when the poor boy had turned four and his presence had become known to the entirety of their quaint French town—plunging Ruby into a spiral of being shunned and pronounced a harlot to have given herself so to a man and raising his illegitimate child.

Toulouse was a town much confined by the utmost principle of propriety and decorum, though most people residing had often been reduced to chewing leather just to have a sensation akin to eating. 18th century France was plagued with droughts that spread sporadically and often died out abruptly only to dominate the next second. Toulouse was the hub of it all, and played host to the highest and lowest of French society all at once.

Isadora Tremaine had herself been privy to the unbiased flounderings of Toulouse, though she had started her residence in the town eleven years ago when her widowed mother had married the Baron and had brought both her daughters along to move into the gentleman's exquisite chateau in Toulouse. Eleven years had seemed little to her often, but they had never weighed on her shoulders as hard as they did at present.

"Ruby, please," The girl cried, picture perfect elegance wavering in her distress, her heart rending her blind to the truth that was plain in front of her.

Oh God, how wretchedly cruel could this world be? Isa didn't know, she couldn't fathom it. When had raising an illegitimate child become this expensive? When did the mistake of loving someone not worth it start costing you your life?

Someone had stabbed Ruby Alderidge, a girl no more than a mere peasant who worked sun up till sun down as a maid in multiple houses in three Toulouse streets to support her four year old son. Someone had mercilessly gone beyond calling her a harlot. Someone had decided to take away her life and orphan her son.

"I don't have anyone but you!" Isadora's tears ran freely down her face as she clutched her dying friend's cold hand tightly.

Isadora Tremaine had only ever found comfort in a person. Her mother held on firmly to her strings, making her bend to will like a frozen articulated marionette. Isa's younger sister was a stranger to her—with the girl's overtly stubborn demeanor, decaying sensitivity and harsh aura—Isadora hadn't ever been able to relate to her, her heart shutting itself away when faced with either her sister or mother.

Then there was Cinderella. The late Baron's beautiful daughter. Isadora's mother had leashed the girl tightly, clasping the blonde haired girl's beauty and thrusting her into a readymade cage. More often than not Isa had heard her mother talk to herself in front of her vanity—a display of anguished frenzy—claiming that there would only ever be two beautiful girls in the chateau-one bound by blood and family and one bound by only chains.

Isadora and Cinderella. Lady Tremaine was desperate in her loss that only one of her daughters had emerged to carry the emblem of beauty, while the other was reduced to the coarseness and outlook of a mere commoner—her due beauty stolen by Cinderella and perhaps Isadora too.

Cinderella paid for the supposed theft every second, while Isadora paid for the much deeper of her mother's troubles once every week-in lieu of which she spent her face thrust into a pillow at nights to muffle the sobs that shook her entire frame painfully, hoping that somehow she might just cut off her own breath.

"You have Archie," Ruby sputtered then, thrashing Isadora out of her thoughts, fresh blood falling down the girl's chin out of her mouth as the physician resignedly wiped it away with a clean cloth.

"You have Archie, Isa. Please don't ever leave him alone. Please."

"I promise," Isadora Tremaine let out, no other words coming to her tortured brain and heart. "I promise."

In her agony, she couldn't truly comprehend the promise she had made. How was she to care for a four year old child? Isa had a meager dowry only to her name, courtesy of the late Baron. What would her mother say? Would Isadora be called a harlot too for merely sympathizing with one? Would she, much to her mother's seemingly unending despair, tatter their family name beyond repair and destroy all her and her sister's prospects of marriage in one go?

The physician, Doctor Samuel Harrison took hold of Isadora Tremaine's elbow gently then, forcing her to look away from her dying friend and into his own commiserating emerald orbs.

Isa distinctly remembered his charms. They had been slight and often disheveled, but they had been there-stark and obvious, meant for her in their unorthodox way. The Doctor had asked for Isadora's hand in marriage ever since she had turned twenty. He was but a town Doctor, and he had not the considerable wage that would lilt Lady Tremaine, Isadora's ever unrelenting mother, into his favor.

Isa was twenty and two at present, and the Doctor-twenty five, young and handsome with his subtle dark stubble and lean form enveloped in his tan skin-had continued to remain ardently in her periphery. She had adored his attentions, she had reveled in them, despite her heart not entirely giving itself up to him.

Though now, Isadora did not feel the crystal pleasure of affection that Samuel Harrison's eyes radiated weaved with his sympathy for her distress. She felt nothing aside from the blatant agony churning in her form.

She dropped to her knees on the cold wooden floor of Samuel's makeshift surgery room in his house, hysterically crying as her wails echoed throughout the small house.

Ruby Alderidge, the only friend Isadora had ever had, the only confidante who shared some of Isa's deepest secrets, now lay cold and unmoving atop the surgery table. Along with her, a part of Isadora herself, a side that she may never again be able to reveal to anyone else, had also died.

"Please, Isadora," Samuel Harrison's baritone flooded her ears then as he dropped down beside her, his face pressing close to hers in his deep empathy.

"She's gone. I cannot bear to see you cry."

Isadora Tremaine startled then, as she yanked her elbow away from the Doctor's gentle hold. He had known Ruby Alderidge would die, why then bring her here and act like he cared? Why put on a show when there wasn't a difference he could've made? Why give Isadora the hope only to have it snatched away later?

She eyed him plainly, abruptly wiping her tear stained face with the back of her hand.

"I am Miss Isadora Tremaine to you, Doctor Harrison," Isadora's tone was hard, edges blunt with grief. "You will not touch me again."

—🥀—

Mid January, 1789,

Isadora Tremaine held Archie close to her form, his little snores grounding her as the memory played back and forth in her head. Her hand was holding his head against her neck, the four year old boy's tiny legs sprawled on the mint sofa in the west drawing room at the chateau. Isa rested her own head on his head, her other hand resting on his small knee as she felt the warmth of his chubby yet petite form calm her.

The chateau was presently empty of anyone else. Lady Tremaine had taken Lucinda Tremaine and Cinderella along to the town market, in the odious endeavor of purchasing frivolous items that would turn out to consist of dozens of ribbons adorned with lace and materials for excessive dresses that they may never have the perfect occasion to wear.

Isadora had held her ground, and refused to engage. She had argued till her throat had dried up, pleading for her mother to merely give her the money for her own dress materials. Lady Tremaine had insisted Isadora wouldn't spend it, instead would hoard the money like a common coarse hoarder.

She had been correct. Isa had no intention of spending money on herself anymore. She had lost that urge a while before Christmas last year when she had taken guardianship of a four year old boy who Lady Tremaine couldn't even bear to look at. Isadora's future didn't hold prospects of spending money on herself, everything she could afford would be for little Archie.

Isa had imagined she'd seen a look of wretched pleasure on her mother's face before it had erased itself. Pleasure for the fact that Isadora no longer deemed it important to enhance her beauty—pleasure for the fact that taking guardianship of a boy would plunge her into motherhood and soon Isadora would be no rival for her sister Lucinda Tremaine or even Lady Tremaine herself.

Isa had possessed no energy then to offer even a semblance of a look to defend herself. She had spent last night soothing little Archie as the boy had endlessly wept-as a result of the sudden bouts of distress that overtook him, and Lady Tremaine had barreled into Isadora's room with rollers in her gray hair and had yelled at her to shut the boy up. It made Isa question the depths of the hatred she had felt for her own mother at that moment. Never before, despite having cried herself due to her mother's antics, had she felt this hate. Perhaps it was that her heart had already enveloped the boy, and perhaps with him she felt everything more deeply.

It had been weeks upon weeks since Ruby Alderidge's death. It had rained so hard that day, and Isadora had felt as though the sky was breaking down just as she was. She had felt the heavens mourn with her as she had thrust herself into the carriage and sobbed the entire ride, her heart withering and choking her simultaneously.

Little Archie was with a neighbor of Ruby's and Isa's promise had led her through the bustling streets of Toulouse to the four year old boy with sparkling blue eyes and curly light brown hair.

"Isa?" His eyes were bright as he addressed Isadora, having run up to her familiar face with anticipation. Isa, that was what Ruby insisted little Archie call her. Isadora still remembered the fond smile on the girl's face as she had hummed the words to her little boy, rocking him softly in her arms.

"Mother?" The boy asked about his mother next, glancing behind Isadora as the driver shut the carriage door, no other passenger in sight.

Isadora Tremaine took the boy's face in her fair hands, his plush soft skin warm against the lady's touch.

"Mother is gone, sweetheart," Isadora's voice broke. "Mother has gone to a beautiful place. She desperately loved you so much."

Slightly confused, the boy nodded still, his big blue eyes looking into Isadora's ebony ones. Whoever the father had been, little Archie had Ruby Aldrich's eyes, and Isa had never before been thankful for the simple fact.

"I love you so much too, sweetheart. You know that right?" Isadora ran her hands over Archie's soft curly hair, biting her lip to keep herself from breaking down in front of the precious boy.

Archie nodded, before slowly smiling.

"Will you call me mama, Archie? It would make me so happy," The lady choked back a sob, turning her eyes away briefly to gather her courage.

"Mama," Archie spoke then, his soft smile turning into a wide happy one, as though he assumed they were just playing a little game. As though his mother would be back an hour or two later, with the sweet treats she always surprised him with.

Weeks upon weeks had dragged past and his mother was still not here. The year had changed on the calendar and the boy was starting to slowly understand what his life had morphed into.

Isa did everything she could. She stayed up with him at nights when he couldn't sleep, she held him in her arms and rocked him back and forth when he cried. She made sure she had enough substitutes when he refused to eat—spending her allowance on sweet treats village sellers assured her that children would like. She did everything that concerned little Archie herself, and she would do more. She had promised Ruby that she would do more.

Isadora Tremaine didn't care that Lady Tremaine had forbidden her all aid. Lucinda was debarred from even nearing Archie—not that the latter had shown any affection in the first place-and Cinderella was disallowed to alter her existing chores to cater to an illegitimate orphan boy who Isadora had seemingly taken up in her folly with her sole purpose being to raze her own and her sister's matrimonial prospects to the ground.

The guardianship hadn't involved much of a process. The mayor of Toulouse had sanctioned a document that he had sent over and had her sign fifteen days ago. Courtesy of Lady Tremaine, those involved had gone to much lengths to make sure the matter didn't emerge in public periphery, but it already had. Archie's audible distress at nights and Isadora's visits to markets catering to his needs had given the family away.

But Isadora Tremaine did not care one whit. Gossip had long ceased to affect her, and she had found her heart only beat in sync with her little boy's distressed one each day as she prayed and did everything she could to help him feel better.

Even after having signed the official document, Lady Tremaine's incessant murmurings of orphanages hadn't stopped. It had made Isa uneasy thinking just how long it would take for her mother to realize that she had no intentions of disowning the four year old boy as the lady made her mind up about turning both of them out.

Not having enough money to support both herself and her boy if they were turned out of the chateau, Isadora Tremaine intended to care for Archie as well as she could and stay out of her mother's way while she bid her time and saved up every penny she was given as her allowance to add into her existing dowry. She could survive on the amount if she could only make it up little by little.

Archie stirred lightly, and Isa kissed his forehead. He settled back and relaxed, his snores continuing. He hadn't slept last night, and had spent the entirety of it just sitting on his bed after he had cried himself dry. Isadora had sat with him, her bodice still wet with the boy's tears, suddenly fearful for his silence. She would rather watch him cry it out, push his food away, show any kind of rage and resistance. She would rather have him do anything than go silent.

His silence broke her like glass. He was just four. How can a four year old boy have to go through this much pain and loss? How was that fair?

Isadora had held him the entire night as little Archie stared into the distance, occasionally turning his head to look at the star-filled sky outside the window of Isadora's chambers.

So he was tired now, as he slept with his head resting in the crook of her neck. She was glad that he was getting his sleep, she didn't care if he was getting it in the middle of the day. That didn't matter to her and she didn't care if it disrupted her mother and sister's daily regimes at the chateau.

"Mama?" Archie's soft voice floated into Isadora Tremaine's ears, the boy considerate enough to speak softly in case she was sleeping too.

"Yes, my love?" Isa prompted gently, her heart somehow growing a size larger every time he called her mama.

She had asked him to call her that. And in his infinite softness the beautiful little boy had obliged, pulling Isadora close to him and silently begging her to fill the big shoes his mother had abandoned. The darling boy had called Isa mama every time since, and in her world it had been only him and her, supporting each other and grieving their loss together.

"I'm thirsty," Archie separated from her, his sky eyes twinkly in the morning light pouring into the west drawing room through the big glass window.

"Alright, I will get some water for you," Isadora made to get up, gathering her deep emerald dress skirts, but Archie put his small hand on her elbow, stopping her.

"You stay, mama. I will get it," He assured her, his voice thick and soft as hopped off the sofa and scurried off quickly, without waiting for Isa's response.

She smiled softly as she watched him go. Despite everything, he was getting better. He was healing. The loss of parents was brutal, and Isa couldn't pretend to share that pain because she bore no love for her own deceased father and her surviving mother. It was where Archie and her differed. He would grow up to remember his true mother fondly, and she would only be there watching him do so.

"Archie sweetheart, be careful in the kitchen," Isadora Tremaine called out to her little boy, though she knew the cold kitchen at present posed no danger for Archie since preparations for lunch hadn't yet begun as Cinderella was still engaged in the shopping errand with Isadora's mother and her sister.

Aside from that, Isa had long since shifted all the sharp cutlery into a separate and higher cabinet in the kitchens, notifying Cinderella to keep the adjustment permanent.

"Yes mama," Archie called back, this thick childish voice sounding lighter than it had in a while.

Isadora sighed in relief upon hearing his voice—it didn't matter how many times she heard him, it were the differences in the octaves that she noted and rejoiced in. Things were beginning to look up. Life was starting to feel bright, and it was so scary that everything for her depended on Archie. If he was alright, she would be alright. If he was hurting, she would be hurting. She ached to see him happy, and she counted each hour that he smiled, savoring the moments and locking them up in her heart to hold dear when he cried or didn't eat his food.

Suddenly then, a series of knocking ensued on the main door of the chateau, and in her emotional indulgence, Isadora realized that she had failed to see a pristine black carriage pull up outside the chateau entrance. She could see it clearly from the window now, and as she drank in the sight, an emblem on the small blue flag attached to the side of the vehicle startled her into action.

A royal carriage. The emblem was the kingdom's mark, a bright golden and silver weaved design that was reminiscent of two doves locked in an embrace. Isadora Tremaine had never had many opinions on it, but the sight of certainly did send a jolt coursing through her at present.

What was a royal carriage doing at the chateau? After the Baron's demise years ago, when she had been thirteen, the chateau had received no royal visitors. Isa hadn't seen the various dukes and duchesses she once had when the Baron was alive. It was startling to her how quickly her family had been forgotten.

Brushing a hand over her bodice and touching her long dark hair piled into an effortless do at the top of her head lightly, she hurried over to the main door, exiting the west drawing room with her heart pounding in her chest.

Had her mother done something? Had Lady Tremaine borrowed some more money and hadn't been able to repay her debt? Was that what this would be about? Isadora had just last month given up her entire allowance for her mother to be able to repay a debt. She had dreaded the idea that Lady Tremaine would've had to resort to digging out Isadora's dowry. Of course it would be she who would be needed to give up the sum, Lucinda was younger, she didn't count.

Isa gripped the golden door handle and unlocked the chateau doors with a click, pulling a side towards her as she readied herself to make excuses for her mother. Would the royal guards even listen? Or would they just drag her away and have her jailed in debtor's prison instead? Isadora Tremaine panicked as thoughts of Archie flooded her head.

Instead of the royal guards, the lady's dark anthracite eyes settled on a stout messenger. With a gleaming cream wig fixed atop the short man's head, he scrunched his face up and without looking at her, unscrolled a royal scroll. The two royal guards behind the man stood still, making no move to indicate that Isa would have to be convicted for something.

"All loyal subjects of his imperial majesty are hereby notified by royal proclamation," The stout man began, his eyes rapidly skimming over the text as though he had been putting this performance countless times since sun up and he had countless more times to go.

"That there is to be a ball held and hosted by his royal imperial majesty in honor of the prince, at the palace on the evening of the thirty first of January. It is to be duly noticed that his highness intends and presses upon the attendance of every eligible maiden in the kingdom for this grand affair."

Isadora Tremaine barely held back a gasp, her heart's pound softening to a rapid flutter in her chest.

"The attendees of Toulouse are to wear the kingdom's emblem of the city pinned to their attires. The emblem which will differ from the other cities in highness' rule."

One of the guards came forwards and placed a box full of at least ten sparkling emblems made like embellished brooches at Isadora's feet and backed away.

"This way his imperial majesty will be able to distinguish between guests from different cities. His highness wishes his orders to be complied with and looks forwards to a ball that will highlight the extravagance of his majesty's reign and people."

With that, the scroll snapped back into place and the stout man pivoted on his heels and sauntered over to the carriage whereupon he was hoisted in and before Isa could fully comprehend it, the pristine carriage pulled away.

***

A/N:
So excited for this story! I've been wanting to write a lavish fairytale-esque tragical historical fiction for such a while now. Please vote and comment if you like it so far!