xx.

ISADORA HAD EXCUSED HERSELF then, with perhaps the shaky yet firm vigor of a desperate falling star torn suddenly away from it's orbit.

She had brought Archie close to her, holding onto his little warm hand as she had stammered out that it was time her son was put to bed. With shaky glove clad fingers she had tucked pieces of Archie's hair behind his ears and cooed at him with words claiming that he had tired himself and needed to rest.

All the while, she was grievously conscious of the King's eyes on her. She had met them for a split second, and she hadn't known what she had expected to find in them now that she was retrieving with her tail tucked in between her legs. Whatever that she might had presumed, she couldn't have in the least imagined this blatant look of content and determination oozing from the foreign royal's gaze.

He had sensed that something had come over Isa for her to suddenly detach like this-of course, Isadora wasn't the mistress of deception, nor was she as discreet as to master the art of hiding everything that she felt from off her face.

The King had sensed the discourse, yet the content in his eyes didn't declare the feat a problem. The determination in his eyes didn't deem whatever that Isa struggled with at present, an issue.

King Alexander Casimir bore the look of a man who knew what he wanted, and knew that no one would be able to get in between his want and him-regardless of what path the trespasser took. He was confident of it, and would he be wrong to do so? Hadn't he always gotten what he wanted? Who would ever deign to refuse a king?

And Isa? She felt pale in comparison. She felt sickly pale in face of his determination. For what did he know of her life really? What did he know of battles she fought with her mother daily? What did he know of being caged in by your own family-having to build walls around your mind and heart and still failing to keep them up when a stronger tide attacked?

He didn't know any such thing, he wasn't familiar with any such feelings. That realization alone made Isadora feel like a fool. It made her feel so much less then. It made her feel like she and Archie were mere pebbles facing a valuable stone-pebbles easily overlooked and kicked to the side.

The feeling was disgusting. It made her feel tainted and ugly. She had never felt either of those things before. She had felt different, yes. Unwanted, yes, but never anything else. Earlier she had assumed that different and unwanted was all there was to her life, but apparently it all ran so much deeper.

All her life she had been so confident in what she brought to a table for a potential suitor. She used to count those things on her fingers with pride when she was a girl, and she used to revel in adding to them. She brought her intelligence, her pride, her beauty, her capabilities-yes, she had dampened many of those things in the eyes of her mother by adding Archie on that list, but still, Isa had been confident in what she had to offer so much so that a suitor would not dwell on the weight of Archie's existence too much. So confident that her own gleam would keep Archie safe under it's protective shadow.

With the King of Angria, all of Isadora Tremaine's perceptions were shattering in front of her. She had the looming threat of her mother clawing in her mind, and then she had the ugly feeling of the fact that the King would scoff upon learning that he had expressed his interest for a lady who was recently left without a roof to go back to by her own mother. A lady who he had still thrust under the mercy of that mother. Would he assume, were he to find out, that Isadora Tremaine only said yes to him-every time she did so-because she was homeless? That wasn't the reason, Isa knew that in her heart, but would the King see it that way?

The King wished her a goodnight in his deep voice, his tone heavy with his contentment, yet his face remained stoical. It was as though he was holding himself back, bringing himself to his usual height of composure, telling himself calming tales to induce his patience. He didn't-or at least-hadn't looked frustrated with her. He looked merely frustrated with himself for his inability to do.. something. Isa couldn't place her finger on it.

If it was her, in his place, Isa would hate herself so much. She would hate her own reserve, her own reluctance, because she wouldn't know the reason behind any of it. Just as the King, in his own rightful position, didn't.

Then everything else had happened in such a blur. The King had summoned a footman from the distance and spoke to him to escort her and Archie to their room. Isa had curtseyed in her farewell, taking a proper distance away from the King. Archie had bowed, following his mama's lead, and then Isa had steered them both away into following the footman out of the stables.

The King had stayed behind, and Isadora had felt his gaze on her back. Over her shoulder, she had sneaked a glance at him, and found him watching her with a resolve, his posture firm, hands pinned behind his back, chest pushed out and chin held forwards as his chocolate eyes glinted something in a stark contrast to his features set in a stoical congregation.

And now, Isadora Tremaine was in bed with her son snoring softly beside her, in her allotted chambers at the King of Angria's magnificent palace, as the sun slowly made it's red and early appearance in the damp blue sky through the sheer curtains of the room's balcony.

It had been two days since that gleaming dinner she had had with the King of Angria. It had been two whole days since that night, and Isa had been forced to replay the event in her mind's eye a thousand times since, attempting to break it down into tiny glass pieces, if only to critic herself more harshly for her mistakes.

She hadn't seen the King since that night. His mother, Queen mother Ariana, had taken to play the dutiful-though at times reluctant-hostess. Isa was invited lunches and dinners with the Queen, all of them devoid of King Alexander Casimir's presence.

"He is so engaged in matters of court, Miss Tremaine, that it simply exhausts me to ascertain how tiring it must be for him!"

The Queen mother's exclamations on the absence of her son at the lunches and dinners, were abundant in the nature of their expression, with a sprinkle of regret that Isadora was certain she was merely imagining. It was being said, by the Queen mother, that King Alexander preferred to eat in solitude after he'd been engaged in crowded court matters for hours on end.

Isa hadn't argued the statement in her mind, for she was certain the King of Angria was the kind of man who fit the picture his mother proudly painted for him, though his own pride was apt to shrivel in comparison with his modesty.

The Queen mother was attentive to Isadora in the way that elder women were towards a lady that their sons take a fancy to. Attentive in the way that was calculating, deciphering and unravelling. It was as though Isa was always silently being judged, but unlike the judgments of her mother and the townspeople back in Toulouse, Queen Ariana's judgements were being conducted with thorough resolve and dedication, and often with a certain nonchalance.

Her exclamations, though, hadn't stopped Isadora from hoping to catch a glimpse of King Alexander. Perhaps in one of the hallways. Maybe if she pretended to lose her way, maybe she'd run into him. Isa had strangled those urges in their sleep, her senses heightened in alarm at her own audacity and desperation.

But how was this the way? He had told her he was courting her. He had told her he wanted to marry her, he had spoken of the children they would go on to have. Why then had he simply vanished from her sights? Why then was he keeping away?

These questions, jabbing like knives at her heart, forced her to replay that night at the stables over and over again in her mind as though it was some sick bird song-the same notes repeating over and over again until they went stale. She didn't fight the urge, she caved into it. And as she did so, she found faults in every word she had spoken to him, every action she had made, every audacious look in her eyes.

Had he figured her out? Broken her apart in his own mind to come to the true conclusion that she was but a homeless woman with an adopted child? A woman who had non-monetary things to offer, intelligence and outer appearance alike, that a King couldn't care less for? Did he think her conceited, or even a prude for assuming that she deserved the attentions of a King?

Had he seen right through her?

But what was there to see? What was embedded inside her for anyone to see? Hadn't she travelled through life wearing everything-her indifference, her resilience-on her face? Hadn't she always been audible about what she wanted, to her family and everyone else who had inquired things of her?

Whatever Lady Tremaine's oppressions towards Isa and Isa's own past and present, she had long ago cleaned out her insides to make a sacred, impenetrable place, inside for only Archie to tamper with.

So what had the King seen? What had he assumed he had seen? As a result of his new found perception, would he send her away?

The latter was as of yet uncertain, though Isadora had believed she would receive the order to leave last night, and she had paced about in her chambers long after Archie had drifted off to slumber, dreading and fearing the order that didn't come.

The possibility of receiving the order today made her stomach churn. It would have hurt less had she gotten it yesterday. No-it would have hurt the same, but at least she would've quietly left.

For today was the day of the ball, the first of the festivities Queen Ariana was hosting to celebrate the marriage of her nephew, Prince Charming, to Isadora's star blessed sister, Cinderella.

The guests were all coming to the palace today. King Reginald and the newly married couple had already arrived last night. Isadora had been anxious that she and her son would be summoned to greet them upon their arrival, she had been hesitant to look into the sympathetic eyes of Cinderella and the cool indifferent gaze of her husband. But courtesy of some divinity, Isa had been forgotten, and the Queen mother had greeted her family by herself, wanting or needing no extension that Isadora's presence could provide.

Today, the rest of the guests would come to attend the ball. The Dukes, Counts and other Aristocrats that Queen Ariana had often boasted about, and even Lady Tremaine and Lucinda-the latter pair on solely King Alexander Casimir's prompt invitation.

Isadora's chest tightened at the reminder as she watched the sky lighten outside, the sheer curtains softly rustling in the cool breeze. Lucy would be coming in about a few minutes, ready to slowly help Isa wake up and dress for the day.

For which day though? This one? To anticipate the arrival of Lady Tremaine and a confrontation with Cinderella? With the former well armed with deep atrocities and the latter mockingly sympathetic to see that Isadora was still loitering about like a ghost, unsure of her future unlike the new Princess of Valence?

Isa had hoped to see the King one more time before this day came charging at her. She wanted to hold his hand, to touch his hair-she wanted him to keep telling her that he was courting her, because Mon Dieu, Isa was beginning to believe that she had imagined his words. She was beginning to believe he had changed his mind, and the latter was somehow so much more painful than the former.

Isadora Tremaine's eyes misted as she sniffed softly in the silence of the room, touching her lips softly while her mind plagued her with the memory of King Alexander's lips on hers, his tongue caressing hers. She realized that hot tears had already begun falling from the corners of her eyes and wetting her silken pillow.

The belief that the King had changed his mind was truly painful, because Isa was no fool. She knew what courtships were, she had learned every stage of that process by heart as per her designated upbringing. She knew what courtships were, and they weren't this.

They weren't this feeling of.. abandonment, that she was being subjected to.

Yes, the King hadn't yet formally asked permission to court her, from Lady Tremaine like he had said he would. But didn't he realize that he didn't need to? Didn't he realize that he was a King and could court her of his own accord? Didn't he realize that she didn't want him to ask permission from her less-than-merciful mother for anything at all?

If he had only taken a little time out to see her after that night, she'd have told him everything that was pressing on her mind. She had been so desperate to, but he'd kept away, and now all that desperation had lulled and become a heavy weight in the bottom of her stomach weighing her down. She could no longer lift it away and didn't know how to.

Lucy arrived in the chambers ready to dress Isa for the day. The preparation was meticulous as it had always been. Meticulous and careful, as special attention was given to Isadora's hair and the gown she chose to wear.

The preparations needn't have been done with as much care though, for a footman appeared in at the chambers shortly after and declared that Queen Ariana was having breakfast with her son, King Reginald, and her nephew and his wife.

The declaration was astoundingly clear. This was a family breakfast, and Isadora and Archie were not invited.

Before Isa could even comprehend and decipher her own reaction, the footman gestured to the left of the corridor and two servers holding trays full of breakfast options, glided into the chambers as Lucy held the door open for them.

The trays were placed on the tiny dining table in the chambers, with cutlery arranged and cream napkins spread properly, the servers and the footman took their leave.

Archie, all dressed and ready for the day, hastened excitedly to seat himself on a chair at the dining table not six feet away from the foot of the bed, and Lucy, smiling and encouraging, instantly started loading his plate.

Isadora's reaction to the dismissal from the Queen hadn't even arrived yet, and she already felt it evaporate. At the sight of Archie and Lucy, she imagined for a minute that she was back at the chateau, with only the three of them while Lady Tremaine and Lucinda left them be. For a minute, there was nothing pressing to worry about.

Isa walked over to a chair beside her son and sat herself down while Lucy smiled at her. The latter was fully aware of Isa's dilemmas, just as aware as she had been when she had caught sight of Isadora's red puffy eyes upon her arrival in the chambers this morning. Lucy hadn't said anything, perhaps she too, like Isa, calculated and weighed her audacity and impudence every second like Isa did when faced with the King.

If that was true, Isadora made a mental note to speak to the maid. Isa needed respect, and if for just that Lucy had to engage in a constant battle, than Isa would much sooner re-evaluate what she wanted than subject the young girl to the very battle Isa herself was being privy to.

They had breakfast, and Isadora insisted Lucy join them, regardless of her claims that she had already eaten in the palace kitchens with the other palace staff.

After breakfast, upon lack of invitation to venture outside and join the party, Isadora stayed in. Lucy helped keep Archie occupied with games she played with the boy back at the chateau. The two stole away to the balcony whenever their games required a change of scene, but in culmination, the three of them stayed in Isadora's chambers.

The King of Angria was out there, engaging with his cousin and his bride, his uncle-King Reginald-and his mother. His crowded court engagements and duties had spared him early-or perhaps entirely-today, and he was out there now being with his family.

Would he come to her? Now that he had time?

Isadora swallowed thickly as she gazed out at the setting sun, her gloved palms resting on the balustrade of the balcony in her chambers. After lunch being sent to her chambers, the hours had drizzled by quickly, and now the evening was upon her.

Archie giggled in the background, nestled on the bed as Lucy engaged him in a playful round of whist. She was teaching it to him, and Isadora could only be sure of a positive report as Lucy congratulated and encouraged the boy audibly on his every game move.

Isa's own eyes were fixed on the darkening view of the gardens below. Surely Queen Ariana would've hosted her family in the even more extravagant front gardens, and while Isadora's balcony faced the back gardens, she didn't seem to feel anything amiss, for the beauty in front of her was just as entrancing.

A half hour passed before Lucy-who had exited the chambers on account of Isadora's anxiety to find out if her mother and sister had arrived-returned hastily back as Isa and Archie were engaged in a game of their own on the bed.

Isa knew she would be summoned if Lady Tremaine and Lucinda arrived, and she dreaded that moment, but the dread didn't keep her curiosity to find out what was happening outside away, and truth be told, she had never asked Lucy to snoop before.

"My lady," Lucy neared Isadora, curtseying quickly before she began her account.

"The Queen mother just retired to her chambers to dress for the ball tonight, and so did the rest of the family. There has been no other guest arrival as of yet and the staff have started opening the ballroom and putting out the food for the reception."

"You must also begin to dress for the ball, my lady," Lucy added hastily, finishing off her speech and pivoting to approach the wardrobe, throwing it open and going through the Isadora's gowns.

Isa's gloveless fingers were in Archie's soft curly hair, combing through and stroking his head gently. Her knees were tucked underneath her body, her bare feet slipped in half between the cool and warm duvet as her son sat cross legged beside her with his wooden horsy in his lap.

The knowledge of the incoming ball felt like a blow to her. At present, she didn't want to move-to break away from the familiarity of being near her son like this. She had known of the ball of course, but how was it already here? How was it already tearing her away and forcing her attention?

She had hoped the King would visit her-or even just send a footman to summon her. She wanted to speak to him, to say what she wasn't sure. Just the mere feat of talking to him would've eased her heart so much, but instead he was avoiding her. Instead, he was choosing to pretend she didn't exist.

If these were not signs to depict regret or change of mind, then what were? The King had been free to spend the day with his family, what was one single minute to only speak to Isa and acknowledge her? To only just look at her? A single minute? Couldn't he have given Isadora a single minute? She wouldn't have asked for more.

Lucy chose the gown for tonight, because Isa had no heart to. The palace of Angria was open to guests for the ball now, and when Lady Tremaine and Lucinda arrived, they would be given no special distinguishing acknowledgements, and only for that Isadora was grateful. The King might not even find out that the Tremaines were there, for which King knew of every single guest gracing their ballroom? But what would King Alexander not being aware, accomplish?

Isadora let Lucy work on her hair as she ran her hands down the bodice of her bejewelled golden gown. With a square neckline, and the only golden set of jewelry she had brought, glittering in her ears and against her neck, Isadora tugged on the black silk gloves up to her elbows. The sleeves of her dress stopped only inches down her shoulders, leaving half of her upper arms exposed, as the hem of her gown trailed behind her.

The gown had been a lavish purchase, amongst many, made two years before Archie had come into Isa's life, and back then, Isadora Tremaine had found her unorthodox solace in Toulouse boutiques, tucked in between pricey fabrics and jewels. But she hadn't ever had occasion to wear this gown before, and after coveting it for a while, she had forgotten about it entirely, until now.

Her hair was loosely curled with hot tongs, piled and pinned high on top of her head with curls framing her face and longer ones falling down the back of her neck. Then, Lucy began the task of adding pins ended with nail sized golden gems into the beautiful hair do. Those gems, placed artfully in her hair, looked vibrant against Isadora's dark hair, glittering under the light of the chambers.

"Stay with Archie," Isa voiced, giving one last command to the maid before she was forced to brave the outside of the chambers-the outside having become a different and estranged land entirely in the time spent inside.

"Yes, my lady," Lucy smiled and nodded. "Please do not worry tonight, enjoy the ball."

Isadora met Lucy's eyes, an understanding passing between them. Having not been vocal about everything that was happening in her heart, Isadora knew that Lucy was painfully aware of everything regardless. Lucy was a mere girl of eighteen winters, with memorized stories on her lips and a keen eye, of course she knew what Isa couldn't voice, of course she had seen it all pass even while not being there in person.

And that knowledge alone, knowing that Lucy knew, was a slight comfort to Isadora, because that knowledge hadn't changed anything between them. It hadn't made Lucy respect Isa less in any way.

Then, bidding a gentle farewell to Archie, Isadora Tremaine found herself alone in a palace hallway, making her way towards the ballroom as her heels guided her way.

The palace felt alive with commotion, a dull thrum of activity centering from the ballroom in the east wing of the palace, and Isa knew that the royals had already assembled there, alongside the guests who had already arrived.

She followed her instinct, along with the broken remembrances of the palace tour she had been given by the Queen mother, to find the ballroom. Alongside all her sources, she still had to stop and address a guard standing taut against a wall, in order to assist her with some additional directions.

And all that while, Isadora Tremaine felt the weight inside her grow heavier each second. Nobody had come to her chambers to freshly invite or even remind her of the ball. It had only been Lucy, acting as a buffer and extension, extending all that Isadora had earlier been told of.

So then, should she be attending this ball at all? Her presence in the palace had been ignored, and rightfully so. She wasn't family to the royalty of Angria-she wasn't anything to them but a woman who the King had invited. She was an outsider, and she had known that even before she had set out on the journey to come here.

But there was a difference in being the only outsider in a foreign place and being one in a familiar place.

Isadora Tremaine found the ballroom then, and the ballroom air found her. The intricate marble ground was clad in a bright and deep crimson carpet, leading her entrance into the ballroom. The orchestra was playing a gorgeous sonata, and perfumed kisses were lavished into the air as excited lips spoke all at once from above deep suits and glittering gowns-contrasted against varying skin tones and extravagant hair. Glasses clinked in between neatly manicured fingers as laughs-particularly female-tinkled in the air while the male laughs provided a deserving baritone.

Eyes seemed to turn to her when she entered, but even though she saw them, she didn't feel the shocked scrutiny, for her own ebony eyes were fixated on the gorgeous display of the ballroom. At the entrance, ladies latched on to willing arms and made their entrances into the ballroom, but Isadora, glided in of her own accord. Try as she might, this feeling was different, this place was different. This night, clad in stunning yellow light drifting all around her from the gleaming crystal chandeliers overhead, was different from the night of the royal ball she had attended in Toulouse-the royal ball given in honor of Prince Charming.

Isa could smell the extravagance in the air, and it smelled like everything she had ever dreamed of, about such a thing. At Prince Charming's ball, would the air have smelled the same had she paid any attention? Would it have smelled of roses and crystals all at once, mixed with the musings of about a dozen different colognes and perfumes? Why hadn't she paid any attention that night? Why was the King of Angria the only person she thought of when she thought of that night? Why was their magical first dance the only thing imprinted in her mind?

"Excuse me, mademoiselle."

An unfamiliar voice sounded too close in her periphery and Isadora Tremaine halted her observations and turned her head to face the voice, her eyes finding those of a gentleman adorned in a dark velvet suit with silver epaulettes on his shoulders and scarce but glittering badges on his chest. The man seemed to be young, a few years older than her perhaps, with his light blue eyes and platinum blonde hair properly tamed atop his head.

His hands were at his sides, and he smiled slowly as their eye contact lengthened a few beats more.

"My lady, may I have the honor of introducing myself?"

The man's words were tinged with a certain excitement and pleasure, as though Isa's mere presence had provided him with some sort of entertainment-a conceivable way to keep him otherwise occupied. Isadora didn't like that thought.

"Yes, my lord," She answered regardless, her voice steady.

"Count Louis Vladimir," The man spoke, his teeth glinting in between his lips. His accent was Russian, and Isadora realized, the man was too. His French coated in this thick Russian accent was a surprising thing to hear, a pleasing surprise, for Isa hadn't ever had the affinity of being in the presence of a Russian before.

"I hail from Russia," Count Vladimir continued, lifting the side of his lips in a frank smile, "As you may have guessed by now. I fear we are awfully obvious at such a French gathering."

Isa couldn't help but smile as she dipped into a curtsey.

"Miss Isadora Tremaine, my lord," She offered up her name to him, her eyes falling to the hem of her gown in her curtsey before she straightened to her full height again, and met the Count's eyes.

He was looking at her with a certain intrigue now, sky blue eyes gleaming underneath this gold lightening of the chandeliers. He was a purely handsome creature, the kind of man Ruby Alderidge would have, once upon a time, liked to fall in love with.

"Miss Tremaine," The Count repeated her name, gesturing dismissively around the ballroom while his eyes remained fixed in hers.

"Do you realize you have entranced this gathering entirely?"

Isa blinked, her eyes moving away from him and falling onto the groups of people she saw nearby standing in clusters. Most everyone, gleaming champagne glasses held near their chests, was glancing at her. Behind the Count she saw several eyes on her, and she didn't want to look behind her at all, lest she find the same predicament.

Suddenly, she regretted where she was standing. Unbeknownst-trapped in her whimsy-she had ventured out right near the center of the ballroom, offering herself as a specimen to any and every spectator from various vantage points to gape at and judge her. She should've remained in the corners of the ballroom, perhaps her obliviousness was the reason the Count had approached her, trying to figure what motivations fueled such a clueless lady.

"I believe we have all-unceremoniously, much to my regret-declared you the belle of the ball," Count Vladimir grinned, taking a proper step near her.

"I must urge you to dance your first this night with me," He continued, cool blue eyes glinting in Isa's ebony ones. "Unless of course, you have prior engagements. For as much as I enjoy dancing with beautiful ladies, I do not enjoy duels with Frenchmen."

Prior engagements. She had none of those. Had the King expressed a desire to dance with her at the ball? He hadn't. Mon Dieu, the King hadn't even spoken to Isa about the ball. Only Queen Ariana had, and she was the one who had invited her to attend it in the first place. The King had said he was courting her, and then he had vanished.

Once, Isa remembered she had heard the grand duke-in her family parlor at the chateau in Toulouse-say that King Alexander Casimir of Angria didn't participate in the balls that he hosted.

Isadora felt her heart waver slightly. She needed a suitor-a proper, consistent suitor-if she wanted to escape from her mother and give Archie a better life. She couldn't in her right conscience wallow in the King's detachment. She had so much to lose.

Just on cue then, the lights dimmed and the orchestra played louder, delving into deep melodic tunes as couples formed like lightening flashes on the ballroom floor and began spinning all around Isadora and the Count. In her periphery, she saw glittering gowns and spinning figures as the romantic waltz played in her senses, deep and invigorating.

The Count's extended, cream gloved hand, was right in front of her, a smile playing on his lips. Isa placed her own gloved hand in his, and he pulled her to him, a hand on the back of her waist and the other holding her own as he whisked her into the dance, spinning her on the ballroom floor as everything else became but sparkling flashes in her periphery.

As she danced, Isadora tore her eyes away from the Count's and saw the figure of Queen Ariana in the corner, talking to a group of lavishly dressed elder women and gentlemen, laughing as they conversed. The image was torn away as the Count kept her firmly in his protective hold, light and fast on his feet as he danced expertly and with precision.

Then, Isadora spotted the unmistakable forms of Cinderella and her Prince Charming, the newly wedded couple dressed in whites and silvery creams as they danced with each other, deeply immersed in each other's eyes to notice Isadora or the Count, or anybody else on the ballroom floor for that matter.

Isa's heart was pounding in her chest as the Count picked up his pace and spun her around faster and swifter. The cool ballroom air infiltrated her lungs and made her insides feel like sharp ice. She found herself wondering if her mother and sister had arrived, she found her ebony eyes wildly scanning the crowd to spot the familiar faces of Lady Tremaine and Lucinda, but instead, Isa's eyes met the painfully familiar chocolate brown ones of the King of Angria.

King Alexander Casimir-Zander-was standing in the crowd, his kingdom's sash across his chest was a stark contrast to the deep navy blue suit he wore. His hands were pinned behind his back, and his dark eyes were fixed on her with a certain.. calculation? There were people talking to him, ladies and gentlemen alike, but he wasn't listening and he wasn't responding.

His face remained stoical, but harder somehow, as though he was clenching every muscle in his face.

Count Vladimir whisked them both by right in front of the King, and Isadora could almost pick up the King's familiar scent in the air and feel his hot gaze on her. From up close, the calculation she had figured in his eyes was not such so anymore, instead, it felt like something akin to contained fury, and the glimpse of such a thing in King Alexander's eyes made her stomach clench.

The Count directed them both away, yet still, Isa couldn't shake her nerves away.

Was the King angry with her? Had he engaged her for a first dance that she had overlooked? Had he asked something of her that she had violated by dancing with the Count? Isadora Tremaine pried hard into those questions, and found her part in all of them lacking. The King had expressed no such desire, he had asked nothing of her-despite how much she had wanted him to. With the distance he'd maintained from her, Isa couldn't be wrong to believe that he had changed his mind.

Yet still, the memory of his lips on hers, his tongue caressing hers, his kisses in the nape of her neck-all those things tormented her if she dwelled on them. How could he give her those things and take them all away so quickly? How could he pretend that nothing had happened between them?

"You are excellent, my lady," The Count spoke then, his voice unsteady as he met her eyes, paying her a compliment that could pertain to a numerous things at once, not that Isadora believed she had numerous things to be called excellent for.

She met the Count's eyes briefly and offered a small smile, before instinctively, her eyes ventured onto the spot where she had seen the King of Angria, except he wasn't there anymore.

Her heart dropped in her chest as she blinked, wishing that the mere act of blinking would somehow bring him back in her vision.

But then, Count Vladimir halted mid dance, bringing to a graceful stop both his own form and that of Isa's. She turned to look at the reason, disengaging her form from his, only to find the figure of King Alexander Casimir standing right beside them, his arms pinned behind his back and his hard brown eyes fixed in hers, a muscle clenching in his dark jaw.

Some oblivious couples around them continued dancing, while the closer ones stopped in shock, wondering why the King of Angria had been suddenly driven to step in between and stop a dancing couple. The shock had a domino effect, and soon the ballroom was enveloped in hushed whispers and disengaging couples, and even the orchestra slowed down, plunging the air around Isadora into a tension that only made her heart throb in a desperate hope.

The King was in front of her, after avoiding her for so long. He was in front of her, and Isa wanted nothing more then to wrap her arms around his neck and have him tell her how much he wanted her. But there were too many people watching, and none of them knew what their King and Isadora were.

Taking a step back and dropping into an obligated curtsey, Isadora realized that she was just as clueless as the extravagantly dressed ladies and gentlemen watching the scene unfold.

***

A/N:
long time no see you guys<3 thankyou so much for engaging with this book, i see and appreciate you all sm.