xvi.

ISADORA TREMAINE KNEW THEY WERE DISGUSTED. Both her lady mother and her sister Lucinda, if they had followed her descent to the back garden and peeped from a window or from behind a door, watching her sob into her arms against a cold iron bench while critters cooed and hissed in the silence of the damp grass underneath her knees and against the night.

For a scalding moment, Isa felt regret at letting herself go like this. At least she could've pretended. She could've held a brave face and not let her heart shatter like this until after Archie and everyone else in the chateau had slept for the night. She should've waited, held back her despair for hours more.

Instead, now they knew. Lady Tremaine and Lucinda, no doubt they both knew how foolish Isa had been. If Lady Tremaine had held an ounce of hope-or even pride that Isadora might be able to pull for herself a fate none of them could've ever imagined, it had all been shattered now.

There was an unspoken rule in the chateau, and growing up, all the girls left underneath the roof after the late baron's death had adhered to it. The rule being; displays of despair were disgusting, and you never approached someone when they were in this state.

This was why nobody bothered Cinderella when Lady Tremaine's hatred had been sharp quips enough to destroy a growing girl's self esteem, her wails heard at the end of each night. This was why nobody bothered Lucinda when a hot spoon would come flat across the girl's palm harshly when her behavior got too awry. This was why nobody bothered Isadora when her own mother's jealousy rendered blatant slaps across the eldest Tremaine daughter's face when the girl was but a mere teen, all efforts to make sure her skin was always just not the right color. And this was why nobody, except Isa herself, lent a soothing embrace to little Archie in his earlier days when the loss of his biological mother had gotten too hard to bear for his small form.

This, was why Isa was alone on this cold bench at present, her cream coloured gown already damp in the embrace of the dew covered grass in the back garden, moisture pressing against her knees and skin.

But still, all Isadora could think was; this wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with a King. She was supposed to find someone to marry and provide for her son and herself.

Instead, she had fallen in love with someone who had none of Isadora's own cares in the world. A man-a King-who could do whatsoever that he pleased, without hurting or endangering the well being of a loved one in the process.

Isadora could only dream what it would mean to have such freedom as King Alexander Casimir, but she strangled the thought clean in her mind then. Exchanging places with anyone else-even the thought of such a thing-would mean that she would no longer have Archie in her life. Giving up her present life for anything else would deprive her of her son, and though King Alexander's freedom was flashy and bright, it was not worth the cost of her own son.

This was another reason why they could never be. The King had no son, no child to make him understand even a quarter of what Isadora felt on the daily. He was not a woman in 17th century France, he was no commoner, he didn't have the pressure to marry for stability. So how could he ever understand?

Of course, invitations to observatories and dinners was the norm for him. Of course, he could encourage such things for his own pleasure, but Isadora had long ceased to think of her own pleasure. She understood how someone might value their own pleasure first, but in practicality, she had long enveloped ignorance, putting her son's pleasure above her own.

Despite that, her heart had still betrayed her, falling for a King who couldn't be more different than her.

Isa thought of Cinderella then. A mere dish maid, who was now the princess of the Kingdom of Valence. Had not she and Prince Charming been different too?

Why was life so.. wretchedly unfair? Isadora Tremaine had only ever wanted one thing after adopting Archie. She had wanted to find a suitor who would provide for her son's future, help her raise him as his own. Mon Dieu, was it too much to ask for? Yes, Isa had been selfish, she had asked for more things often times. She had wished she'd had a little more money on days she had needed it, she had wished her mother was different sometimes, she had wished her sister was different, she had wished death upon Ruby Alderidge's murderer, she had wished Samuel Harrison would stop cornering her, she had even naively wished that the townspeople would stop staring at her and her son only because it bothered Archie-made the four year old boy feel self conscious, and Isa despised that so much.

Had she been selfish in asking-wishing-for all these things that she had been given nothing at all as a result?

Had Cinderella only wanted one thing, for her to have been given it like this? Upon what star had she wished this single concrete wish? Could people even want or desire for a single thing in life?

Life was an accumulation of anguish and happiness, but how could it all stem from the desire of one single thing? No. That was impossible. You couldn't only want one thing from life. How could you?

"What do I do?" Her lips stammered the question in between her sobs.

She had to get out. She had to find a suitor. She had already squandered her opportunities to do so, the royal ball, the royal wedding. She had squandered all those opportunities to find someone because of the King. The King of Angria had danced with her at the ball, so she'd avoided the royal wedding, and she had ended up ruining herself in the process-ruining all her opportunities and prospects.

How will she ever find someone now? How will she ever get out now? How will she ever give Archie the life he deserved, now?

"My, my," An unfamiliar voice meddled it's way into Isadora Tremaine's senses.

The voice was like warm butter spilling from a bite of croissant, drenching her fingertips in it's warmth and calming her senses. For an odd second, Isa almost gave into the feeling, but her rational mind proved stronger, and she instantly pulled away from the bench, her mind alert.

There, on the bench she had been weeping on, sat a plump old lady draped in a blue cape, her silver hair peeking brightly from underneath the blue hood, her linen dress smartly stretched over the woman's round body, her thick small hands gloved in a sheer material that seemed to sparkle in the night.

She was no bench at all, and Isa realized with a panic that in her distress, she had been crying into the woman's lap, for the linen material there was drenched in the girl's tears.

Isadora clamored backwards, wiping underneath her eyes with the back of her wrist and she put proper distance between herself and the woman, her cream dress ruined as it dragged against the damp dewy grass.

"Mon Dieu, I apologize," She stammered, her hands shaking as she swallowed her earlier distress, tears freezing on her face.

"I didn't realize-"

"Oh pish posh," The woman waved a hand dismissively. "Of course you didn't realize, I made sure you wouldn't, until you had gotten it all out. Or atleast, some of it."

Isa blinked, tilting her head as she looked at the old woman's face. Her skin was plump, her cheeks full and high on her round face, small blue eyes complimenting the thin and small lips stretched into a welcoming smile.

"I beg your pardon," Isa began then, having gathered some of her composure. "May I ask, who are you?"

As far as Isadora was aware, this was the back garden of Lady Tremaine's newly acquired chateau as a result of Cinderella's generosity. Surely, Isa wasn't the one who had committed a terrible mistake here.

The woman kissed her teeth smartly, her small eyes going even smaller as she ran them over Isadora's presence, observing every inch of the girl's present presence, making the latter feel conscious as she carefully ran a hand over her skirts as she sat on the grass, making sure at least some part of her appearance was straightened.

"I'm-," The woman started, but then paused, having thought better of something.

Then she dug a hand in the pocket of her blue cloak, and pulled out a sleek glittering stick-glowing silver and white against the deep backdrop of the night.

"Who do you think I am?" The woman spoke then bringing the tip of the stick against her palm as the thing elicited a sprinkle of sparkles at the contact.

Isadora gasped, recognition swirling inside her. She had known they existed, even if she hadn't ever truly believed in their existence. It was said that there were five of them in the world, and they all were different from each other. Magical fairies, yet their lifetimes had been so long and all encompassing that they had witnessed kingdoms rise and fall in equal measure. No more than five, no less than five. That was how it was said that they would stay.

It was also said that they had alliances with some kings, having done favors for many which included winning battles or even blessing a desperate king with an heir. Those alliances made them free to roam in the kingdoms that owed them. And that was perhaps why, this one was here.

It was rumored in the kingdom that King Reginald's great great grandfather had acquired the throne due to aid from a fairy, thus securing the fate of his entire bloodline to come. Many assumed that King Reginald too was bound under oath to continue an alliance with a certain fairy, allowing her to roam and live in his kingdom as she pleased.

"I see the recognition in you," The old woman smiled then, "You are as sharp as you are beautiful, dear. The last time I was here I had to explain who I was, a tedious task to say the least."

Isa broke her eyes away from the fairy, blinking as she tried to gather her composure. The last time she was here?

Cinderella, the knowledge erupted in her then. That beautiful dress her stepsister had worn at the ball.. the prince!

Could it all have been magic?

"Did you help my stepsister?" Isa asked then. Could this old woman be the reason Cinderella was the princess of the Kingdom of Valence?

The woman smiled. "I believe so. I provided the dress and the transport to the ball, everything else was just her luck I suppose. Sometimes luck needs a little nudge, don't you think so?"

"I don't believe in luck."

"Oh?" The old woman raised a brow at Isa's plain response, before another smile broke out on her face. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have been crying right now. You had hope for luck, did you not? You were crying because you now think you have lost that hope."

Isadora shook her head, her ebony eyes peering into the old woman's blue ones firmly.

"I never had hope for luck, ma'am," She started, not knowing how to address the woman. "I only had hope for myself-hope for what I thought I would be able to do. Luck was never going to be it for me."

The old woman's smile disappeared slowly, as she observed Isadora in silence.

"I like that," The woman spoke then, "But please, call me fairy godmother."

Despite herself, a soft laugh escaped from in between Isa's lips.

The woman blinked, narrowing her eyes teasingly. "Is that amusing?"

"No, I'm sorry," Isadora shook her head, biting her lip slightly. "It just.. it ties in. I think. But why would you help Cinderella? Why would you choose to help any girl like that?"

The old fairy's teasing eyes sombered as they rose briefly to the night sky sparkling with distant stars overhead.

"Call it my desire perhaps, to help curate the lives that some people deserve."

Isadora Tremaine lifted her own gaze up to the same sky.

"I like that," She murmured softly.

A cold wind swept past and she felt the ice on her face, her previous tears drying up.

"Cinderella told me about you," The fairy godmother rested her eyes on Isadora again, observing her. "But I see now that though stepsisters you both were, you couldn't have been more wrong about each other."

Isadora met the woman's declaration with a subtle nod, holding her own resolve.

"I don't think an outsider should ever claim to know more about our relationship than either she or I know."

The woman swallowed, kissing her teeth again as though she had come to expect everything that Isadora would say-as though she had deciphered the girl just as she had deciphered the night sky above their heads.

"That is your problem, do you realize?"

"I beg your pardon?" Isa let out, bracing herself and her composure again, cursing herself silently for letting her guard down.

"That is your problem," The fairy godmother repeated, her tone firm but her eyes kind as she bore them into Isa's gaze.

"You believe whatever that you think is correct, so much so, that you don't give the other person a chance to explain themselves. And if a third person happens to be standing by in that narrative? Oh, he doesn't stand a blooming chance then."

Isadora blinked, realization flooding inside her. The fairy had expertly navigated wider, branching out into topics that had led Isa onto this bench in the first place. And Isa wasn't about to make the mistake of asking how a fairy knew any of her business. For all she knew, the woman could've heard every single exchange she had had with King Alexander Casimir in the west drawing room just now, or even every single exchange she had ever had with Cinderella, for that matter.

"Do actions need explanations?" Isadora Tremaine prompted, her defenses raised high. "Don't they speak louder than words?"

The old woman twisted her lips in consideration, but the evident consideration was not of the words being spoken by Isa, only the way she spoke them-the passion behind those words. And that realization alone fueled Isa's distaste.

"Why should I not judge how people act?" Isa continued, knowing that it was no use, the woman had already formed an opinion of her, whether she liked it or not.

"Why should I sit and wait around for explanations for every action that they do? Cinderella may have hated that about me-Mon Dieu, everyone I know must hate that about me, but I can't seem to care less about what they think."

To her surprise then, the old fairy godmother reached forwards and took hold of Isadora's gloved hand in hers, taking it and placing it on her warm lap, under her own warm hold. The magic wand that she had held earlier had disappeared now, and Isa couldn't recall seeing the woman put it somewhere.

"My dear, find this fact as offensive as you may," The woman spoke gently, "But I seem to have acquired a very acute idea of just how you are. You needn't explain anything to me."

"I don't find it offensive, actually," Isadora managed a smile. "Relieving perhaps, but not offensive."

"That is because you aren't ashamed of what you believe," The old fairy's small blue eyes sparkled in this darkness. "You trust in it, you still have hope in it."

"Shouldn't I?" Isa asked then, peering up at the woman.

"You should," The woman blinked. "It's just that, sometimes, it doesn't hurt to put your beliefs a little to the side and try to understand someone else by putting yourself in their shoes."

Isadora retrieved her hand back to herself. "No, that makes for excusing their behavior. What is empathy worth if you have it for everyone and everything?"

"But that's what empathy is-," The woman exhaled and broke off then, clapping her hands gently together. "Alright, let us not talk in riddles, my dear, I fear I'm going dizzy."

"These aren't riddles, fairy godmother," Isadora narrowed her eyes slightly. "A person should have enough consideration for their actions. Do you think I have ever not thought about my own actions and how they affect others? Why must I keep being the one with the consideration and empathy? Why must I put my beliefs aside and force myself in someone else shoes when they-"

Her voice broke off, a deep and sharp sting in her eyes making her vision glassy.

"When they refuse to do the same for me?"

"My dear-," The fairy godmother reached for her hand again, her face scrunching up in guilt.

"I did my share, fairy godmother," Isa forced the words out, swallowing through her choked up throat. "I did my share of empathy, consideration, putting myself in other people's shows. I did all of that, still, my best friend was taken away from me and murdered. Still little Archie was orphaned, still my lady mother remains the same with nothing but her envy and hatred for me evident in every word she speaks to me. Still every one in town thinks the worst of me and my son when we have done and said nothing to them. It didn't work for me, so I distanced myself. And now you want me to put myself in other people's shoes again? For what, this time? To see their hatred of me up close?"

It was when a gust of wind blew past that Isadora felt ice on her face again. Tears were freely running down her face, and her vision was blurry. She reached the back of her wrist to her face to wipe the tears away, but as she did so, the fairy godmother leaned her form forwards and enclosed Isa's frame into a crushing embrace.

Isadora couldn't resist melting in it, the old fairy's warmth feeling like soothing butter being poured against her heart.

Her sobs deepened, muffled by the woman's body as Isa tried to control herself and kept failing to.

"Now, now, my dear," The woman soothed, her thick gloved hair rubbing Isadora's back gently before patting the back of her head softly, smoothening her hair.

"What happened to your friend was terrible indeed," The fairy spoke softly, "But the hatred you feel is only other people's envy. You do realize that don't you? It is only and only their envy."

"But I never asked for it," Isa managed in between her breaths. "I never asked for any of it."

"So then why don't you accept love instead?"

Isadora blinked, separating from the embrace to peer at the old woman's face, her silver hair glinting against the night as it peeked from underneath her blue hood.

"King Alexander Casimir," The fair godmother spoke warmly. "You have the King of Angria desperate for you, yet you refuse him."

"I-," Isa started, wiping the back of her wrist underneath her eyes. "He doesn't-"

She broke off, not knowing what to say.

"He may be a king, my dear," The old fairy spoke, still leaning forwards as her gloved thumb caressed Isadora's jaw gently. "But he's also a man. He's struggling to understand you, yet you think you fully understand him and his wants. He doesn't know what you are going through, he doesn't know what you want. Don't you think you ought to give him a chance to at least explain himself before you decide if he wants what you want?"

"All men are not the same," The fairy godmother smiled gently. "They may seem so sometimes, because they may utter the same things to you, but some of them just don't know how to say it differently, no matter how much they want to."

"All I'm asking," The old woman pressed her palm against Isa's cheek one final time. "Is that you give him a chance. If only for a few weeks."

Then she retrieved her hands back to herself and straightened up on the bench, fixing her hands in her lap as she smiled warmly at Isadora.

Despite herself, Isa managed a small airy laugh, a tease in her voice as she bit her lip. "Aren't you going to give me a beautiful gown?"

The fairy godmother laughed heartily, before shaking her head fondly, keeping her gaze fixed in Isadora's.

"Some girls need a gown and glass slippers," She managed softly. "Others just need to believe."

Isa's smile fell away as she nodded once, her ebony eyes sparkling with all her emotions infused in them.

"He has left, fairy godmother. He could be halfway to Angria right now."

The old woman clicked her tongue in defiance. "I don't think so."

Isadora waited for her to elaborate, instead, the woman blinked as a thought crossed her mind.

"Do you know, dear, that Angria could very well be at the cusp of war and it's royalty may not be aware of it until it comes?"

"War?" Isa blinked, tilting her head slightly.

"Mhm," The woman spoke thoughtfully. "King Reginald and King Alexander may have to ally formally for it one of these days, though I'm sure everything will turn out just fine. It always does, you know."

The fairy's tone was dismissive, but there was something grave about the nonchalant way she had spoken of war, and it made chills scatter down Isadora's back.

Suddenly, Isadora held Archie laughter like bells in her periphery, but instead of coming muffled through a window from her chamber on the upper floor of the chateau, it was coming from the front gardens of the chateau.

"Anyhow," The fairy godmother spoke then, clapping her hands together once. "As I said, I don't think King Alexander Casimir is halfway to Angria just yet."

The woman shot Isa a wink, as the girl stood up on her feet, straightening her dress, her mind worried for why Archie was outside in the gardens at this time of the night. She had explicitly told Lucy to not let him venture outside after the sun had set unless Isadora was with him, so why was he out right now?

"Fairy godmother, I must go and see to my son-," She lifted her gaze from off her muddied gown and looked at the bench, only to find it empty, the fairy godmother no where in sight.

Isa exhaled softly, feeling slightly melancholic at the sight of the empty bench. But then, she turned away, and made her way towards the front gardens of the chateau, her path guided by the light of the iron candle filled chandelier that was burning inside in the foyer and pouring light through the glass windows and onto the garden outside, lighting her steps through the damp grass.

Rounding up to the front of the chateau, her heart stilled at the sight she saw in the darkness of the night.

Archie was perched on the saddle on top a tall brown horse in front of the chateau entrance steps-a sturdy stallion-while the form of a familiar muscled man held him in place, a frozen smile on her son's face as he held the reins in his hands like they were made of precious gold.

The man looked away from Archie, his hand still holding the boy steady, and in the darkness, his eyes met Isadora's, and she knew exactly who he was then.

Her heart hammered in her chest at the sight. Behind him, Isa saw the same guard who had been privy to their conversation in the west drawing room an hour or two ago. But with the exception of him, the King of Angria had no other groomsmen as his entourage, like he had had earlier.

"Your majesty," Isadora let out, her voice indiscernible in between her heavy breathing as she tried to school her heart.

She approached closer slowly, her once cream gown now muddied and grass stained as the hem rustled against the grass with every step she took. Her hair must also be such a mess now, and Mon Dieu, her eyes too! How puffy and swollen they must be. Isa swallowed these conflicting thoughts thickly, keeping her head held high.

"Mama!" Archie spotted her, his excited voice like a jingle of bells tied to a sleigh. "Look mama, I'm sitting on Augustus!"

Augustus, the name of the King of Angria's stallion, Isadora remembered from a snippet of conversation back at the palace.

"Yes, darling," She breathed, trying to muster an encouraging smile at her son through the pounding of her heart. "Look how high you are!"

Archie giggled. "Yes, mama, Zander says I can ride Gus whenever I want!"

Isadora halted in her steps once she approached the horse, only three feet away from where King Alexander Casimir stood, his hand holding Archie's back protectively. His eyes were fixed on her intently, his jaw tight as his gaze seemed to bore into her, travel through all her layers just to see the bareness she held underneath.

Zander?

"Gus lives in biig stables mama," Archie beamed, letting go of the reins of the standing horse with one hand to emphasize and drag upon the word big.

"Zander says he'll show us! And I can pick a big horse for me too!"

Panic engulfed Isadora Tremaine's chest as she blinked, eyes desperate into the King's. What were all these promises he was making to her son? Why was he here? Why wasn't he on his way to Angria like he had told her?

King Alexander Casimir of Angria didn't break their gaze, as his lips parted to speak.

"You and Archie are coming with me, Miss Tremaine," His baritone was hard, and firm, as though he was merely stating a fact.

"Your maid, Lucy, is at present packing your belongings as well as Archie's. Because I am taking you to Angria with me right now, to my kingdom, to my palace. Your mother and sister will be receiving the invitation too, although two days later, before which, I will make sure you have been settled into my palace, introduced to my mother and been hosted privately by me."

Hosted privately by me. Isadora's heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

"My mother intends to start the celebrations after two days, upon which Reginald, Charming and his bride will all be joining us at the palace in Angria, with your mother and sister now too."

"But I must have you there before," He stepped closer to her, and Isa had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.

"I refuse to-," He broke off, exhaling a deep breath. "I refuse to back off-to admit defeat. I refuse to not fight harder for your attentions."

"Your majesty-"

"Our journey to Angria will not lack," The King broke through Isadora's words, his chocolate eyes hard in hers. "I will make sure you are comfortable and warm, so is Archie. I have summoned a carriage from Angria, it will take us straight to the palace. It waits right now, a distance away from this chateau, waiting for my call. The journey will only be four hours, no more and no less. I will make sure everything you might need in the meanwhile is provided-"

"Your majesty, please-"

"No," King Alexander Casimir blurted out then, his arm reaching out as it gripped the back of her waist, pulling her closer to him.

She held onto both his arms in surprise, his stallion beside them radiating warmth. He dipped his head slightly to meet her eyes, his jaw so tight that Isa had the sudden urge to touch him, if only to relax his form a little. The heat from his palm at her back seeped in through the material of her dress, flush against her skin.

"Please, do not refuse me."

The words were let out in a desperation, his tone hard and deep as his eyes implored hers in a desperation that made her knees weak.

Somewhere inside her, she heard the fairy godmother's voice echo.

"Don't you think you ought to give him a chance to at least explain himself before you decide if he wants what you want?"

"All I'm asking, is just give him a chance."

"Miss Tremaine," The King breathed then, as though words had become painful for him to speak.

His breath fanned her face, and her heart jostled as she realized how close he was to her. If she got on her tip toes, their noses would brush against each other. Isadora felt an ache waver in the pit of her stomach, she wanted to know what his skin felt like. She wanted to know how it felt to touch him, his jaw, his face, his hands, more-all without her own gloves on.

"I need you to come with me, or else I will suffocate with my desire of you. It won't let me breathe."

Desire, the word prickled and burned in her mind.

His head had ventured lower now, and Isadora turned her head slowly to a side, causing their foreheads to brush gently together. The contact was like a spark travelling and igniting in the pit of her stomach. The King still held the back of her waist, his forehead now brushing against her cheek as he dipped his head lower, making all protest rupture and die inside Isadora.

She glanced up at one of the lit, higher windows of the chateau, and saw the familiar form of Lady Tremaine-dark and black against the light of her room, eyes standing out in the darkness of her form as she looked at the scene below with a calculated observance, emotions blocked out and frozen in her eyes from this distance.

"Yes," Isadora found herself speaking then, knowing that if she stayed at the chateau after this, her mother would not let her and her son live.

Isa turned her eyes away from her mother and looked at the King in front of her, tilting her head slightly.

If he was trying her heart for size only, and decided it didn't fit later, he would shatter Isadora completely. But maybe after that she could teach her heart a lesson. Maybe after that happens, it wouldn't ever interfere with her sanity like this again.

And maybe then, she would be able to find a suitor to marry, with no heart inside her chest to blind her ever again.

But, what if all that never happened? What if the King decided that her heart fit the size he was looking for? Would she be able to accept love, then? When all her life she had only be given envy and dislike? How does one accept something they had long decided wasn't meant for them?

"I will come with you," She smiled softly, her ebony eyes sparkling like stars as she looked up at him, even as her heart waged a battle inside with her mind.

***

A/N:
I hope you guys are having a beautiful day<3