iv.

THE ROYAL PALACE WAS AN IRIDESCENT crystal against the dark horizon as the carriage jostled near. Second by second it grew larger in Isadora's vision, like a shard of broken glass standing taut in the middle of pitch darkness, emanating and attracting every ounce of light in the kingdom towards itself-a throbbing hub of sharp beauty that felt as thought it would pierce her skin to the bone were she to merely touch it.

Like others she knew, the royal palace did not strike at the envy in her heart. Isa knew she had depths of envy in her, but somehow all of it was only stored away-not to be prodded to the surface by any worldly thing it seemed. Then, what was the use of this heavy envy she held for nothing and no one in particular? Why did it stir and weigh heavy in the depths of her being, pushing her body down like the gravity holding onto her feet?

What was the purpose of envy if it wouldn't come out to face her?

Before she could fully realize it, the carriage had pulled up to the front entrance of the palace and she was awash in the startling silver iridescent light radiating off of it. The hubbub of activity around her was a change-an oddly pleasant one to witness.

She spotted some familiar faces from town, adorned in frilly dresses and pruned with features on their attires, large wide smiles marring their expressions as they aided each other out of carriages and up to the steps of the palace—manners tainted and painted with excitement and anxiety in equal measure.

As the driver took Isadora Tremaine's hand and helped her down the carriage, she felt faces in the crowds gathered at the steps, turn to look at her. Murmurs of awed exclamations filled her senses, as she spotted women and men alike whisper to each other, their attentions remaining fixed on her. They didn't approach, their praises of her beauty only restricted to each other's ears and directed through with pointed fingers and wide admiration etched in side eyes.

Isadora Tremaine was a mystery to them, despite having seen her associate with a harlot in town and then going on to adopt the illegitimate child—Isa's beauty slashed at the laws of propriety she had been audacious enough to break. Her stoic demeanor, her high held head, her tendency to speak not more than necessary with even the sellers she purchased things from at market—all of it had rendered her an enigma and invited all sorts of assumptions that she in turn effortlessly avoided facing.

The Tremaines weren't unknown. Toulouse had seen Lady Tremaine's fury often times, in boutiques, at markets, in the streets, through mouths of previously hired maids. They had listened to Lucinda Tremaine's tantrums at boutiques, markets, in streets and through mouths of hired maids too. But Isadora Tremaine had only radiated her silence, making herself unknowingly open to thorough speculation.

Then, her mother and Lucinda stepped out of the carriage behind her, and those same faces that were indulged in deciphering Isa's beauty scrunched up in distaste and hurriedly looked away from the family.

Lady Tremaine noticed the shift immediately. The woman seemed to catch every dip and rise in the air around Isadora as though the latter were a prized capture trussed up for auction—instead, there was no pride in the woman's manner, only the sleek uncharted envy that Isa knew like the back of her hand.

Lady Tremaine took the lead, and Isadora didn't object. Silently the ladies made their way on to the steps as the carriage they had rode in pulled away from behind them.

Isadora held her skirts up slightly as she climbed the stairs with most of the people around her giving her family a wide berth. Those that didn't were very obviously from other parts of France, and Isa felt a certain wonder at them for having come al this way to attend a royal ball for a mere single night of escape from their ordinary lives.

For her, her life was no longer ordinary ever since Archie had come into it. For her, she would give anything to not have to escape to a ball such as this-to leave her little boy behind for a night of glamour that meant nothing to her anymore if it didn't involve little Archie.

Royal guards were poised alongside the entrance at the top of the stairs, dressed in the colors of the kingdom—their formal uniforms pristine on their stiff bodies. The incoming guests paid them no heed, the guards' presence only a reminder that they had all been jolted out of their ordinary lives for a special singular night.

Isadora Tremaine followed a distance away from her mother and Lucinda's heels, purposefully letting a lingering space settle between herself and them—if only for her own sanity. She had long been the tail end of the triangle the three Tremaines formed wherever they went, and Isa had found herself ever conscious of that fact as the years passed by, to a point that she'd rather not form the tail end of anything—let alone her own family's formation.

Soon, Isadora's mother and sister had scurried out of sight entirely in their haste to find the front spot in the noble presentation.

There was to be such a presentation, as per the palace messenger's information a few days ago at the chateau. Families in attendance would have their names called out, upon which they were to walk up front and curtesy to The King and The Prince. A formal presentation—an excuse for The King to finally begin to understand all who resided in his kingdom.

The thought made Isadora want to scoff. There had been rumors circulating in town that The King intended to find his twenty four year old Prince a bride in attendance at the royal ball. Two years older than Isa with freedom, wealth and prestige galore, yet the Prince couldn't find himself his own bride.

If those words were true, however, than The King held no regard for his people let alone want to understand the less than noble families he ruled over, and the formal presentation was but a cruel jest to make the people feel included until the royals could single out the desired prospect for the Prince.

"Isadora," A voice interrupted her thoughts, and she halted in her spot, waiting for the person to approach before she slowly turned her head to look at them.

The familiar voice led her to face Doctor Samuel Harrison, the man no longer in the ragged yet oddly professional clothes he adorned as a physician in town, but instead in a clean brown suit that seemed a little out of place for a royal ball. She could tell that he had borrowed it from someone.

There was perspiration on his forehead, and his breaths were coming in ragged, as though the man had ran up the stairs. Isa realized that he had, and that he'd also hoped she'd lag behind so that he could catch her unaccompanied. She felt irritation surge inside her for falling in line with someone else's plans for her. It was always that odd irritation marring her perfectly straight edges, making her palms fist at her sides.

"You-," The man swallowed, looking around them once before meeting her eyes again. "You look mesmerizing."

Isadora Tremaine blinked in slight thought. Of all the admiration for her beauty, she'd never been called mesmerizing before. She tasted the word silently in her head, but it didn't quite fit right with her looks.

"Thank you," She managed, not knowing what else to say to him. She hadn't seen him since Ruby Alderidge's death, and looking at him now only reminded her of what she and little Archie had lost.

Isadora pivoted then to continue towards the ballroom where an independent guard was directing the incoming guests towards.

"Wait, Isadora—I—," Samuel Harrison jumped in her path, blocking her way, desperation marring his face.

"Miss Isadora Tremaine, please," Isa tightened her jaw, furious at having to repeat the correct way as to her addressing to the town doctor.

Samuel Harrison had never been anything to her but a man in her periphery, occasionally vying for her hand every year since her twentieth birthday, and getting rejected each time. It was perhaps one of the limited things she had agreed upon with her mother—she would never marry the town physician. Lady Tremaine talked of the little prospect present, but Isadora saw the little care she had for him. She saw how plain his implications made her feel—she felt nothing with him.

If he were to fall dead of poisoning from one of his own prescriptions, Isadora wouldn't think of him twice. It was cruel to think of—especially since she had seen death eat Ruby Alderidge until there was nothing left of her—but that didn't make her intentions any less than true.

"Miss Isadora Tremaine," Samuel Harrison dropped his head briefly before looking at her again. He countered the disappointment on his face with bravado. "I just—may I engage one of your dances tonight?"

"I have no intention to dance," Isa offered plainly.

Lady Tremaine would be horrified if she heard, for dancing was necessary if Isadora wanted to win a wealthy and titled nobleman over to her case. But Isadora intended to only dance with the gentleman if she happened to find him. She intended to put all her effort into a single dance, make lilting conversation and then hurry back home to Archie.

Isa intended to try, but she didn't intend to grate herself while doing it.

"Isadora please," Samuel Harrison reached for her elbow and clasped it gently, the warmth of his hold made something in her revolt.

Isadora hated being touched, but it was Ruby's death that had solidified the agony of being touched in Isa's mind. The memory of the warmth of skin had been replaced with the deep cold she had felt when she'd touched the corpse of her dear friend. Somebody had touched her before and then left her on her own, then somebody else had come along, they too had touched her and then taken her life with the sharpness of a knife. It was touch alone that had killed Ruby Alderidge. It was the girl's willingness to let herself be touched-to welcome someone else's warmth—that had led her to her grave.

Isadora had thus come to despise anybody else's touch except Archie's—her body would repel and repent, gnawing her inside out if her fingers so much as brushed against someone else's by mistake at the marketplace or even with Cinderella's as she passed her a cup of tea. As a result of which she had started religiously wearing satin gloves with every gown she wore.

Isa yanked her gloved arm away as though she been stabbed.

"Do not touch me, Doctor Harrison," She seethed, unable to hide the fire translating into her voice. "Do you not hear things the first time?"

She remembered having said the same thing to him before, under different circumstances. Yet it seemed he hadn't understood it.

"Why are you being like this?" Samuel Harrison pressed, anxiety and desperation mapping out his face. "You were never this closed off. You always—reciprocated—listened to me. You talked to me. Why are you being like this now?"

Isadora's brows furrowed as she startled. Reciprocated? Listened? Isa couldn't remember a single distinguishing sentence he had ever said to her. Was simply obliging him in some moments when she needed respite from her mother and sister's infuriating antics seen as reciprocation? Had she somehow made him feel as though he was different than the sellers she'd speak to at the marketplace, or the hairdresser she often went to see, or even the tailor who had stitched the very gown she wore at present?

"You blame me for Ruby Alderidge's death," Doctor Harrison assumed then, his features morphing into those reminiscent of a someone making a deep breakthrough. Isadora wanted to laugh.

"I did my best, Isadora," Samuel pressed, his green eyes firm into hers. "She was murdered by someone. I am merely a doctor, I cannot save someone past a point. I am not the one you should blame."

Had she blamed him? In the moment, yes. But at present? No. Isa had moved on, as cruel and raw as that sounded. Isadora Tremaine had no energy to dwell on what could've been when all her focus was now on what should be. She was here to try for little Archie's future, to fall into her despicable mother's plan only to ensure a better life for herself and her adopted son. She had no time or energy for blame. The murderer who stabbed Ruby could wear a wooden sign around his neck detailing his crime and Isadora would merely look at him in disgust and pass the person by.

Revenge, like blame, was fruitless to her.

"Step away, Samuel Harrison," Isadora gathered her resolve, willing anger away from her tone as she kept her words plain yet civil.

They were the only ones besides the still guards in the entrance way now, all guests had already been ushered in, and the sole attendee in charge of directing the guests to the ballroom was standing taut in his spot, observing both Isadora and Samuel with a varying degree of scrutiny.

In the not so distant ballroom, Isadora heard the formal presentation begin with muffled family names being called out by a deep reverberating voice as the orchestra switched to playing a lighter tone so as to facilitate the presentation and not overcome it. If she didn't show up when her own family name was called, her mother would be furious—and Isa did not want to give the woman more reasons to make her and in turn little Archie's lives at the chateau, hell.

"Please Isadora, I beg of you. Speak to me," Harrison persisted still, and Isa saw his eyes glass up as though he had let the tears come to the forefront. A gush of embarrassment flooded her, would he cry? Was he so attached that he wouldn't even consider where they both were?

He reached for her hand and she instantly jerked it away before he could touch her again. "Stop this!"

Her fury ebbed away at her then, making her hands tremble as she lost her composure, her feet stumbling a few steps back from him.

"Doctor Harrison."

Suddenly then, an intense baritone flooded her senses, overpowering her fury into shock and confusion. She turned to glance at the third voice, fearing that the attendee in charge of directing guests to the ballroom had finally decided to intercede.

But it was not him. The man who stood in her vision then looked to be a figure straight out of a leather bound novel from one of the shelves in the chateau library. She met the foreign chocolate brown eyes and they seemed to widen into her gaze. He was tall, his short dark hair stood gelled and fixed, his eyes were a soft contrast against his rich tanned skin—a darker shade of than she had ever seen in person. His features looked as though they were carved of stone in his face, his muscular form accentuating the man's presence as though he was but a roman statue unearthed for the site of the empire.

Isadora Tremaine forgot her fury then, as she held onto herself to prevent from sucking in the sharp breath that would've given a big fraction of her present sentiments away. She had always prided herself on being self controlled, and this would not be the time she was witnessed wavering.

"Your royal highness," Samuel Harrison broke the spell then, as he blurted the words out and dropped into a formal and dramatic bow.

Isadora's mind rushed as she broke away their gaze, instead of being alert of the fact that a prince was in her presence, she was more conscious that he had seen and heard the exchange that had been taking place prior to his arrival. Isa felt her fury at Samuel Harrison take root again, for it was because of him she felt the embarrassment churn in her stomach.

"Did you not hear the lady, Doctor?" The man—prince—spoke, his voice deep as he issued the question, hands pinned at his back as his dark suit displayed a deep green sash he wore across his chest, etched with the intricate royal emblem of a different kingdom.

"She continuously asks you to not touch her and and leave her be, yet you choose to ignore her plight."

Samuel Harrison shot to his feet, his features molded into regret and dismay.

"Your highness, I didn't intend to discomfort Miss Tremaine," He started, words stuck in his throat as he forced them out. "I merely just—"

"After your visit to my ailing mother yesterday, I assumed you were a good man," The foreign prince vociferated, his tone hard and harsh. Isadora saw his tight jaw and the vein that throbbed under the man's gleaming dark skin.

"I fully intended to ask King Reginald for your services for the duration of our stay. I now believe I was mistaken."

"No, your royal highness, I—"

"If you ever bother Miss Tremaine again," The royal cut Harrison off, a dark ringed pointer finger raised in the air as warning. "I will have you strung up, Doctor. I will ensure none of your own prescriptions or tools are of any further aid to you. You won't need them when your intestines are no longer inside you, but sprawled out and on public display. I do not tolerate misbehavior towards ladies, doctor."

***

A/N:
omg ok i guess the action starts now?? i'm not sure myself haha?? anyway, don't forget to vote and comment! i'm working so hard on this book, i promise it won't disappoint.