xxix.

HE HAD MADE TO LEAVE THEN. THE DUCHESS OF BASINGSTOKE had watched him go, standing as she was at the threshold of her absent husband's estate as the King of Angria had mounted his steed while the royal physician inserted himself into the Duchess' carriage that had brought the man along.

Isadora hadn't realized that the King of Angria had arrived on his horse. Augustus, she remembered the animal's name with a curious fondness. Though her own exposure to King Alexander Casimir's horse had been next to nothing, her son's own familiarity with the animal bordered on love, and if Isa could respect one thing about what had been, she would respect the King's ability to transfer the strength of his own love towards anything to Archie.

Ever since her departure from the Angrian palace and into the Duke's estate, she had observed the King's own mannerisms in her son. Each time the recognition was a sharp jab in her chest, but jabs had a way of making themselves at home, so that the next time would be a welcome blow.

Isadora was no fool, she had realized quickly that the King had been the first and the most impactful male influence Archie had ever had in his almost five years of life. She realized that, but with that realization had come the knowledge that she had torn away that influence from the child. How many times at nights did she tell herself that she had done it for Archie alone so that he wouldn't grow up to hate her for not giving him his biological father? How many times? Isa knew she had lost count.

The King's leap onto his horse was swift, as his dark skin gleamed under the stark sunlight washing his form. The color of the suit he wore was brightened in the light, but like the color of his steed, it seemingly could not overpower the gold of the Angrian King's skin and his sharp chocolate eyes as he looked at her.

Isadora hadn't realized he was looking at her from atop his steed from the distance, so vested was she in observing him, drenched in the heavy composure that she wore to silence her heart and the fluttering veins under her skin.

She had stayed at the threshold of the estate, shadowed and protected from the wrath of the sun courtesy of the estate building, while the entirety of everything starting just two steps in front of her was basked in the pouring sun. It was a hot day, and she had to clutch her composure tightly in order to not express her worry at the simple fact that the King had chosen to ride the journey back to the palace in open air.

He was looking at her from the distance, holding onto the reins of his horse with one hand but not steering the animal towards the gravel path and the main gates of the estate. It took Isa little time to figure the King's contemplation of something.

He wasn't merely looking at her-he was weighing something in his mind while he did. He was distracted and conflicted. In the direct sunlight, the furrow of his brows, narrowness of his eyes and the tightness of his skin-she could tell that all these changes weren't merely a response to the brightness and the heat.

After the physician's interruption to inform of developments in her maid's health, the King had taken a step back. Not physically, for after a recheck Isa had realized that it was only she who had taken several steps back in her anxiety, the King hadn't moved an inch.

He had taken a step back mentally, it seemed. For he didn't speak to her again. He let her go to Lucy after the physician bid his approval, and it was when she was with the maid that the royal physician and the King both expressed the desire to take their leaves.

"He will be available to you whenever and where ever you wish, and he will answer to me if he doesn't comply."

The sentence still throbbed in her brain, doused in the King of Angria's heavy baritone. He had made the royal physician available to her needs—nay, he had decreed it to be so. The royal physician had no choice but to comply, and thankful as Isa was with this development, she was slightly glad to see no inconvenience in the doctor's face.

However, the relief of this generosity was quickly over powered by the way the King had bestowed the feat. His words were hard, the stoicity on his face impenetrable. It struck Isa that he was forcing the words out. It struck her that the main reason for this generosity could possibly be the blissful lack of spontaneous interruptions on her side ever again.

She had accused him of forcing to maintain something that no longer had any merit, in her drawing room only half an hour ago. But he had done no such thing prior, had he? He had maintained his distance, he had left her be while she simmered in her new marriage—tortured by thoughts of him whenever the machinations she had invented to keep herself busy for the day ceased, and she put her head to the pillow each night.

He had complied by her wishes and kept a distance, but then, it was she herself who had reached out in disguise of a hasty and desperate letter sent by the hands of her gardener's apprentice. She was the one who reached out and impeded upon the distance the King had earlier respected.

Mon Dieu, she had no one but herself to blame for the disruption she had caused by not respecting the distance. After so many months, her son had seen and met and exchanged a promise with the King-all his previous feelings for the royal returning in one gesture. And herself? Had this day not tormented her own heart too?

It took one moment for everything to collapse. The complete distance between herself and the King had ruptured, she knew that, and she feared the hurt that would come attached-she feared she'd lose herself in the gravity of it.

Augustus neighed loudly, shaking himself in a jolt as if to bring his owner-mounted atop of him with his eyes still fixed on Isadora—out of the stupor he was in. The poor animal writhed in the continuous impact of staying still in the heat and zero movement.

Isa broke eye contact then, her heart pounding in her chest as she held her elbow, casting her eyes on the King's horse as the royal—now brought out of the stupor-controlled the beast by it's reins.

She didn't look at him again then, keeping her eyes cast low. Soon she saw the hooves kick up dust from her peripheral vision. She saw the wheels of the carriage turn as the pair of horses neighed, and soon, the party had left the grounds of the estate—the forms going smaller and smaller on the bright horizon.

Even now, five days later, as she sat by her vanity brushing her hair, she couldn't stop thinking of him-his departing form on that sun filled day.

Her lavender furnished room was caked in the darkness brought on by the night, only a serene light from the few candles lit around her chambers offering a vision to revel in.

The clock struck midnight, and the subtle tick tock of the various clocks in the estate throbbed as one and in sync.

Archie was already fast asleep in his own chamber, having been put to bed three hours ago. The staff of the estate was also resting for the night, apart from perhaps a wandering footman or two. Lucy, Isadora's ailing maid, too was fast asleep in her own quarters, her health improving by the day.

Five days. The Duchess wanted to break something in frustration as her hands shook. After her marriage, she had went months without counting days like this. She hadn't counted days at all, even if she'd felt the ache and depression. But now, suddenly her heart was forcing her to keep track of the days since the last time she saw him? What torture was this?

After his school hours with Monsieur DuBois, every day on exactly 5pm, a carriage from the palace arrived to fetch Archie for his riding lessons with the King.

Isadora watched her son go. She watched the excitement on his face make his blue eyes sparkle like gems as he clutched Louis' hand and ran towards the carriage as soon as the vehicle arrived and he had planted a parting kiss on Isa's cheek.

The Duchess could do nothing more than ask the gardener's apprentice-Louis-to accompany Archie every time, to keep him out of trouble or just for her own sanity-she couldn't say.

Every day for five days Isa watched them go, and when they returned at 7:30pm, her son was always flushed and giddy. He'd cling to her skirts and go on in one breath about everything he'd learned, the new horses the King had acquired, the new tricks he'd seen some of the beasts do. All of this the Duchess could only listen, but things changed on the third day of lessons when Archie returned home and began his usual excited account of everything that had occurred.

Except, he referred to the King as 'Zander.' Hearing the familiar nickname pass her son's lips was some other kind of torture, and she could do nothing to stop him—Mon Dieu, she had no strength to stop him. He was just a child, how can she keep holding him back—how can she be so cruel as to keep imposing restrictions on him that he just couldn't understand?

Besides, if the King gave him permission, she had no right to interfere.

In summation, Isadora had realized that everything she had fought to maintain had ruptured. The distance in her heart that she had held onto with shaking hands was slipping out of her grasp. She could do nothing but watch the King of Angria grow close to Archie again, and as a result of it she felt estranged and left out.

It was only right, she knew that. Theirs was a relationship that could be easily overlooked, something that wasn't.. dangerous. But everything depended on her keeping her distance, because if she lost herself, there was no telling what she'd make Archie lose.

A tear slipped out of Isadora's eyes then. It seemed to her that women chose their sons' fathers for the sake of their sons and no one else. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but ever since her marriage to the Duke of Basingstoke, Isa had begun to understand things about her own mother that she had never understood before.

It made her heart clench thinking that Lady Tremaine had stuck with Isa's late father for the sake of her and her sister, even after which, the man had left them all nothing to go on with. The whole realization made her sick.

Perhaps if the Duke was around, she would feel her dislike of him consume her thoughts so that they wouldn't rage so wild. Perhaps if her wedded husband was in his own chambers at present, she would've been able to comport herself. But the man had never returned from his duties at the border.

Isa didn't know what exactly was keeping him away—the strength of the work he was to do, but though his presence was stifling yet beneficial for her otherwise desperate heart, his absence was a pure relief.

It was no mystery that valuable political alliance or not, the King of Angria didn't want the Duke of Basingstoke to return. He had told her as much in her drawing room five days ago hadn't he?

"I would be content if he had died."

The King's words were still in her head. But that was just it, wasn't it? The Duke of Basingstoke—stubbornly, selfishly—was alive, according to the letter she had received from him only a day ago. He had talked of his duties in the short letter and had claimed that by royal command he was to remain where he was for the time being.

The time being had emerged into being a full five days of the Duke's absence from home now. Isadora hadn't known—and still believed she doesn't—if she was to thank the King or to let her terror—in face of the King's personal intentions in times of a possible war—consume her.

A soft shuffle sounded behind her then, and Isadora's eyes focused on the figure standing a few yards behind her, reflecting in her vanity's mirror.

"If you meant to scare me," The Duchess began, her voice light as she continued brushing her hair. "You didn't do a good job of it."

The fairy godmother—unchanged in the months since Isa had last seen her, in her light blue cloak and grey hair peaking out from the front of the hood of the cloak resting on her head—took a few steps closer and came into the vision of the candlelight.

There was weariness on her face, and Isadora blinked in surprise, trying to find the woman's previous brightness—the youthful hope on that round face that the woman had worn like a veil before.

"I would be a foolish woman to attempt that knowing exactly the strength of fear that lies in store for all of us."

The fairy godmother's tone was weaker too, as though she had realized that the strength of words really was not something extraordinary at all, and that there was no use relying on them anymore.

"I see," Isadora began with an elaborate exhale as she switched her hairbrush on her vanity surface for an intricate glass pot that contained her cream. "We are still on the topic of doom and destruction."

The old woman twisted her lips—in an act of careful consideration-as she watched Isa carefully apply the cream onto her fair face and massage the remaining product on her fingers into her hands, from the mirror.

"You made a mistake, Isadora," The old fairy spoke then, her voice grim as it reverberated dully in the silence of the Duchess' chambers.

Isa paused, her eyes sharpening in the mirror as she focused on the old woman in the blue cloak. Fury rivalled against patience inside of her, gripping her resolve tighter and tighter.

There was a time when the Duchess of Basingstoke—before she became the Duchess of Basingstoke—had regarded the words of this woman—nay, her entire presence—very highly. Isadora had clung to the old fairy's words for they had given her hope. She had found herself taking leaps of faith guided by the sheer hope that the words of the fairy had given her.

But of course, that was before Isadora had been made to choose between the love of her life and her son, when the fairy godmother had refused to help and had left Isa shattered and sobbing on that gleaming library room floor at the Angrian royal palace.

"I can have you found in contempt, fairy godmother," Isadora began calmly, reigning in her anger. "For not addressing me by my title. Perhaps, in your anxiety, you forgot that I married an Angrian Duke?"

The old woman blinked in confusion then, as though trying to figure what had changed in between them since the last time they were in each other's company, before recognition settled onto her features as she let out a sigh and brought her thick but small hands together at the base of her stomach—the woman's short and round form rounding further at the pose.

"I see. You are angry with me."

Isadora managed a scornful laugh at the woman's words, fury dissolving into-what she could only classify was a mockery of—forced contentment.

"Angry?" She managed with a nonchalance, gathering her long dark hair up with both her hands and wrapping her locks into a bun at the base of her neck, her other hand reaching for a pearl embedded grip to secure the hair.

"I'm disappointed in myself, to be sure," She continued, feeling the coolness of her chambers caress the back of her neck as she adjusted the loose falling bits of hair framing her face—her eyes all the while fixed on her own reflection in the mirror.

"Disappointed for trusting in your words—for failing to question the seemingly wholesome front you deceived me with."

"Deceived you?" The fairy godmother blurted out then, her calm composure ruffling into discomfort and shock.

"When have I ever lied to you?" The woman pressed, her voice louder than the initial tone she was using—her ardent desperation evident. "Every word I spoke to you—about His Majesty King Alexander Casimir, about the war, about your future with him, all of it was nothing but the truth!"

"Who am I to believe in any of that?" Isadora cried out then, her own composure lost as she turned on her vanity chair to face the standing old woman behind her.

"What cause did I have to believe in a word you said or go on to say? But still I believed, I did everything you said," The Duchess' voice broke slightly. "I came to Angria following the hope that you gave me, else I wouldn't be here at all. I wouldn't have come with Zan—His Majesty. If it weren't for your persuasion, I wouldn't be here at all."

The fairy godmother's fair round face—fleshy with abundant pale cheeks doused in a sharp crimson rogue—crinkled as she thinned her eyes, sadness staking it's claim on her features.

"I believed in you, fairy godmother," Isadora took a breath, lowering her voice. "I believed in you, but you left me when I needed you the most. You refused to help me when I would've given anything for your aid."

The old woman's face crumpled some more as she took a step forwards, her thick arms raised.

"Darling Isadora-"

Isa edged herself away from the woman, making her stop in her tracks with arms raised-melancholy on her elder's features.

Suddenly somewhere far outside, in the silence of the night, Isadora heard distant shouts and cries. In the town village perhaps. She could hear the muffled crash of things shattering, people in Basingstoke screaming—and for that moment she believed that the rage in her broken heart had materialized around her, mirroring her anguish onto the world and making her believe it was real. The screams were for her, all that strength was on her behalf. She wondered if anybody else could hear the distant terror—she wondered how loud it had gotten for it to travel outside of her own hallucination and into the real world.

"You left me there to choose, so I chose," The Duchess gathered her resolve, trying to shut out the imaginary chaos her mind seemed to be tricking her into acknowledging.

"So don't you dare stand there and tell me that I made a mistake when I was left to fend for myself. You have no right to."

"Isadora please," The old fairy pleaded, despair in her voice. "You must understand that there was nothing that I could've done—"

"Nothing?" Isa raised her brows, her tone sharp. "Was there truly nothing that you could've done? Couldn't you have kept the man away from the palace? Cast a spell on him to have him maybe fall from his horse and be made to go to the physician instead of coming to the palace that night at all? Or how about the simple act of making him forget everything pertaining to the fact that he had a child? Or perhaps just making him sleep away the night and missing the ball at the palace, that would've suited everyone involved wonderfully."

The Duchess' heart clenched tightly, her voice shaking.

Somewhere far outside, the terror seemed to be rising. She could hear the ghost screams deepening and solidifying, she could hear the heavy thud of her heart suddenly scared at the anguish it had conjured onto the world outside. It felt as though the ground underneath her feet was alive with the energy of the anguish-thrumming with panic. Could the woman in front of Isa hear the terror? Or was Isadora's materialized anguish only cursed to be audible to her own rattled psyche?

"If the Duke wouldn't have been there that night, fairy godmother, I would've been married to the King at present. Do you understand how much this simple realization hurts me every time I think of it?"

The old fairy's eyes glistened with tears, and it was when Isa focused on the wet tracks underneath the eyes, that she realized the woman was truly crying. Isadora's own vision had blurred seconds ago, and she furiously wiped the hot tears that she now felt on her face.

"Darling, anything I would've done—the Duke would've still found his way into your life—"

"But by then I would've been married to Zander," Isa countered, letting herself say the King's nickname when he was not around to hear her, her fists tightening at her sides as she dealt with the blow of heartache that came pounding with saying his name.

"It wouldn't have mattered then. I would've already been married. Do you understand this, fairy godmother? If you would've only delayed the Duke's presence into our lives somehow—that alone would've sufficed. I would've never known Archie had a conscious biological father, but when I'd realize, it wouldn't have mattered as much. And for that help alone I would have forever been indebted to you."

The old woman blinked in face of her tears, shaking her head against something she was murmuring to herself soundlessly.

"But you didn't," The Duchess breathed out then, watching the woman. "You were only content to bring out your wand and use your magic to get Cinderella a gown and glass slippers for a stupid ball, but you couldn't bring yourself to use your magic for me when it mattered the most. I never asked you for glass slippers—I never asked you for anything but help in that moment and you just left me there."

"But I suppose I should still thank you," Isa blurted out, cutting off the old fairy before the woman could respond. "I wouldn't be married at all if you hadn't come into my life or interfered as you did. I wouldn't have had anything for Archie's future except my own meager dowry and savings. He has a home now, and considerable wealth to his name as well. I suppose I should be grateful for that alone if not for anything else."

"Isadora, my dear, please," The fairy godmother ushered closer, desperation and anguish making her posture drop low.

Isadora watched her as the woman took Isa's hands in hers-the fairy's hands clammy but cool as she held onto The Duchess' resolute ones. Isa bit back her discomfort at the rushing—sticky with perspiration—contact with her skin. She retrieved her hands back in under seconds, her heart stirring wildly in her chest-reveling in anguish—as she shut her eyes tight, held her hands away and tried to regain her composure.

Isa opened her eyes then to the fairy godmother's distraught face, and this time, her abundant cheeks were drenched in tears and the woman's beady small eyes were red rimmed.

For a few minutes, the old woman bore her distraught eyes into The Duchess' before she too gathered herself and sniffled, straightening her posture and taking a singular step away from Isa's seated form at the vanity chair.

She was about to say something, Isadora decided. The woman was about to perhaps explain her perspective—her cold shoulder when Isa had needed her the most—in a manner of descriptions and collected words. Perhaps an explanation was to be given, and perhaps it would make Isadora understand something she already understood, but in a different way. Isa found herself waiting for it-anticipating it.

But then, the old fairy suddenly bristled as the defeated anguish in her features dissolved into a sudden confusion. The woman shifted on her feat, eyebrows furrowing at she peered into the massive sleeve of her blue cloak as though The Duchess was not in the room at all and perhaps a tiny creature had found it's way into the woman's clothing.

But Isadora saw the woman pull out her silver wand instead, a curious expression on the old fairy's face as she examined the wand for something, with confusion dangling from her face. It was then, that her beady eyes widened as she saw something in face of the sleek stick, and a gasp released from between her lips, panicked eyes full of recognition and horror landing on Isadora.

"My dear," The woman let out, entirely panicked. "I didn't come here tonight to—goodness gracious! I came here tonight to warn you! How could I have forgotten it?"

The fairy godmother bustled close, her features wide and heavy with panic. "We must get you out of here! Something terrible is about to occur and I came as soon as I found out!"

Anger forgotten, confusion wafted on The Duchess of Basingstoke's face now as she tilted her head slightly, dark ebony eyes observing the anxious old woman in front of her.

A breeze drifted through the sheer curtains of her chambers, and Isa's gentle silk gown—a long sleeved luxurious red robe that tied at her waist and covered the matching red silk set she wore underneath—blew against her seated legs like a furious but still gentle caress.

"Isadora darling, we must—"

Suddenly a crash sounded too close outside and Isa jumped in her seat. Was this the anguish she had heard earlier? But that was just her hallucination solidifying to torment only her was it not? The ghost screams and breakage wasn't to be heard by any other person, but one look at the fairy godmother and Isadora realized she had been entirely mistaken. She had twisted and molded something materially happening outside into a hallucination of her own accord.

"Oh no, my dear we must get you out of here," The fairy godmother let out, grabbing Isadora's hands as she got off her seat, the old woman's panic translating onto her.

"What is happening, fairy godmother?" Isa clutched the woman's hands tighter in her fear, not caring about the clamminess of them.

"There is civil unrest spreading quickly in this kingdom, and people have begun to take sides," The old woman swallowed quickly.

"Sides? What do you mean?" Isadora insisted, fear and hesitance in her voice. Did she truly want to know what the fairy godmother meant? Or was she better off not knowing?

It had been five days since she'd seen the King of Angria at all. He had informed her of barely anything happening on the border, only insisting that he wanted her and Archie to be safe. Even the Duke, in his recent letter sent from where ever he was stationed, hadn't mentioned anything political or anything that she needed to worry about.

Perhaps both men thought it less than prudent to let her know of anything. The King, Isadora thought with a hurt in her chest, was not obligated to tell her anything. But her husband? The Duke of Basingstoke should have said something in his letter. But then why would he? He was being kept away on the King's insistence and he probably suspected why the royal was being so biased. Added to that, Augustus Bennett didn't exactly care for Isadora and neither did she care for him, so why would he share any information with her at all?

"The King of Angria has done nothing for Alopie," The fairy godmother's words barreled through Isa's raging thoughts. "And people are angry."

The old woman tightened her hold further on The Duchess' hands and started leading her out of her chambers with an urgency as Isa—dazed and confused—allowed herself to be whisked off.

"I-I don't understand," She murmured, her heart thudding in her chest.

What did the fairy godmother mean the King had done nothing for Alopie? He had assembled people on the border—Mon Dieu, the Duke was there with an army. Surely that counted for taking measures, regardless of the King's hatred towards the Duke. Besides, he must be doing something for Alopie in the aftermath. A burnt town needed rebuilding, resources, aid for the injured—surely King Alexander Casimir of Angria, who couldn't even stand to see her with a twisted ankle, was doing something for the Angrian town of Alopie after it was dealt the blow? Surely he must.

Suddenly another crash sounded, but this time it was heard on the estate grounds outside, rather than the last one she had heard in the distance. If that one was close, this one sounded closer and more dangerous.

"I have to get Archie," Isadora managed the words with effort, her dazed confusion not letting her speak properly.

She halted herself forcefully from being led by the fairy godmother, and just as she made to run towards Archie's chambers, three footmen barged into the main hall, spotted her and came running towards her. Their eyes ventured towards the fairy godmother once, but their kept their focus on their Duchess.

"Your grace, there is an angry mob of people outside," The first one began, his tone quick and smooth, white gloved hands in fists at his sides.

Isadora shook her head, panic making her dizzy as she furrowed her brows. "Why? What do they want?"

"They are targeting the Angrian nobility that they can," The fairy godmother hastened, taking both of Isadora's hands firmly and covering them with her own. "To get the attention of the King of Angria. We must get you out of here."

"The guards are trying to hold them off, your grace," The second footmen uttered, ignoring the fairy godmother's words. "They are refusing to relent. It is dangerous for you to be here at present."

"Where's Archie—someone get Archie," Isadora managed, her mind going numb. What had she done to anyone to have angry people gathered at her doors? What wrong had she committed to be terrorized so?

It was then, that the gardener's apprentice was seen coming to them them, holding the small hand of a drowsy curly haired boy, while he gave his other shoulder to the weak form of Isadora's maid—Lucy—supporting her.

"Mama?" Archie murmured, confused as to why he had been pulled out of bed.

"Oh, thank goodness," Isa let out, bending to her knees and embracing Archie tight.

"Your grace, you have to get out of here," Louis let out quickly. "It will get ugly outside, the people they-"

To Isadora's shock then, the third footman on the scene spoke out, his eyes fixated on Louis with something sharper than hatred.

"Don't speak of their insignificant motivations, sympathizer."

"What?" The Duchess uttered, straightening herself and looking at the footman who had spoken, the two others with him stayed silent.

The footman met her eyes with determination. "He's a sympathizer, your grace. He supports the cause of the civil unrest against the King."

Civil unrest against the King? Mon Dieu, why was tonight the first she was hearing of such a thing? Had she closed herself into the small world of her new life that much?

"No!" Louis blurted out, distress on his features as he securely supported Lucy's ailing form with his body, desperation to defend himself leaking onto his face.

"Your grace, I don't support the cause-I would never intend malice on anyone like that. I met the King only five days ago by courtesy of you, and he isn't—I wouldn't—" The gardener's apprentice hastened. "I can only understand the perspective—it isn't that I—"

Understanding is support, is it not? Before Isadora could say anything, the shouts and screams outside became clearer than they had been before, and this time she could make out voices and even words.

"Enough of this!" The fairy godmother let out, "It isn't safe to stay here a moment longer."

"I have a discreet carriage waiting out back," The old woman bore her eyes into The Duchess', "Taking your own carriage will give the escape away."

Isadora nodded, bending down to take Archie into her arms. He was heavier, no longer fit for her frequent carrying—a fact that had deduced in the past month, but at present, Isadora's anxiety and fear was heavier than Archie's form.

"Louis, you bring Lucy," She turned then to look at the old fairy. "Lead the way, fairy godmother."

The chaos outside was humid in the perfumed estate air as they ran from the main hall making their way quickly to the back exit of the estate. Isadora's heart pounded heavily against her chest as she held Archie securely against her body. He was drowsy, and though wouldn't sleep in the panic, he rested his cheek against her shoulder and held onto her, not saying or asking anything and half believing that he was dreaming.

Stepping outside into the night air once they reached the discreet back entrance of the estate, Isadora was met with the dulled thrum of the shouts and screams-for the mod had gathered at the main entrance of the estate grounds. But in her periphery, she saw a distant sparking flash of yellow and orange. Her heart tightened in her chest at the sight as she turned to look.

Though the darkness of the night had encapsulated most of the landscape of the estate grounds, she could tell that it were the Duke's stables that had been lit with fire. She could hear the distraught neighing of the animals trapped inside translating to anguished groans, and tears rushed to her eyes. Mon Dieu, why had the people lit the stables on fire? Why target the innocent animals the Duke kept?

It was then that she realized that the King of Angria gift to her, the cream mare was inside too. He had brought it five days ago, goodness, was this it? Was this how the fate of this gift had written out?

"Please," Isadora let out, turning towards the three footmen who had followed the escaping party's descent outside. The staff weren't to be accompanying, they would stay behind to salvage the situation and keep the mob away and at bay from the estate and all of the Duke's valuables inside, while The Duchess took off with their son.

"Save the stables! How can they have gotten inside and set fire to the stables while the guards are at the gates? The animals—" She broke off, pain in her voice.

The first footman nodded. "A handful of staff is on the scene at present, your grace. The animals are being guided out because the stables cannot be salvaged. Many animals will not make it, your grace. One or two of the rebels got inside and committed the act. We are trying to find the trespassers."

A chill ran down her spine at the thought that one or two of angry protestors—violent strangers—had been on the premises while she was in her chambers with the fairy godmother.

Isadora nodded, swallowed thickly, and hoped that the cream mare was one of the animals being saved. She hoped that it wouldn't die, out of all the animals in the world, she found herself desperately hoping that the beautiful cream mare wouldn't die.

"Isadora," The fairy godmother called from inside the carriage, "You must make haste!"

Lucy had already been helped and was seated inside the carriage with the fairy godmother, while Louis stood at the carriage door, holding it open for Isadora.

The three footmen turned and vanished inside the estate as Isa made her way towards the carriage, being mindful of her steps taken in the dark while she held onto Archie firmly.

The gravel underneath her feet crunched and clashed together, the thin slippers she wore became suddenly uncomfortable over hard gravel, and she could feel the shape of the stones she was stepping on. In this semi silence, her descent was making much too noise against the gravel, and before she could be entirely wary of that, she heard rapid noisy footsteps of someone else's, coming from her periphery.

She turned to look, and in a split second, she was grabbed and pushed to the ground with Archie in her arms. The push knocked the wind out of her as she hit the stones on the gravel pathway, instinctively shielding Archie's body with her own. He stirred in her arms, as she cried out in the pain and shock of it. The body that had pushed her, tried still to grab her and keep her down as she struggled to drag herself and her son away from the person's violent desperation.

She could make out the man in fearful glimpses in between her struggle. A man, dressed shabbily, his dirty clothes as well as facial skin stained with soot and ashes.

Louis jumped to her rescue before she could even understand what was happening. He grabbed at the man, trying to pull him from off of her, but it didn't seem to work as she could feel the man's breathing directly against the skin of her neck as he held her tighter underneath him. The fairy godmother screamed in anguish, helpless and terrified at the scene. Isadora let go of Archie and used her strength to push him away from her and the man trying to hold her captive against the ground.

Archie was crying, and she didn't understand how she hadn't heard him at all. He was crying and shouting, refusing to part with her as she resorted to roughly pushing him away from her and shouting at him to keep away. The fairy godmother jumped down from the carriage, quickly taking hold of Archie and screaming at the assaulting man to stop as Isadora continued trying to push the man from off of her.

Louis was no match for this violent man, and try as he might, he could not muster the strength needed to yank the man off of her. Isa felt the horror make her cold, the feel of the strange man's body against her-panic and fear blinded her senses as she tried to fight him off.

"The Duchess of Basingstoke," She heard the man grunt against her, his voice tight and his fingers digging into her skin as he held her against the ground, not letting Louis' efforts deter him. "You are not going anywhere. This is retribution!"

Before she could even fathom the words, the weight on her grew lighter then as Louis was kicked off of the man, and then finally the man on top of her was ripped off of her with a force that left her breathless on the ground as she quickly scuttled to her knees and dragged herself away.

Her lungs burned as she breathed heavily, her chest aching. She had scraped the skin of her legs at multiple points with sharp stones on the gravel ground, and the knot she had tied her hair in was dangling loose at the base of her neck, pieces of her hair had fallen out and framed her face with bits in front of her eyes, obscuring her vision slightly.

With a hand on her chest and her knees tucked underneath her, she saw the tall cloaked form of the man who had saved her—a man who could only ever be familiar to her despite any cloak he chose to hide under—as he gripped her assailant by the neck and brought down fist after fist to the man's face until the crook slumped, his face going bloodier and bloodier by the second as the cloaked man tore through muscle and to bone with only his bare knuckles.

Isadora's heart was pounding too hard to move, and it wasn't until the fairy godmother ushered towards her, took her hand and guided her to her shaking feet, that Isa regained some sense of presence of herself. Archie, his cries now muffled into sobs and sniffles, pressed his face into her as he hugged her lower body tightly.

The assailant, by now unconscious and his face a mass of blood and bone, was grabbed and thrown against the wall of the estate building with such force that Isa was sure she heard the sound of multiple bones shatter. With a horror, she realized the man was probably dead, for there were no groans or moans to be heard and no final stirrings of agony to be seen.

The fairy godmother held onto her hands, fearing that she'd fall if not given the support, but The Duchess' own eyes were fixed on her savior as he finally turned to her in the darkness of the night and dropped the hood of his cloak.

"Zander," She murmured, her voice only a wisp of a whisper that Archie instantly heard.

The little boy spun away from her and ran towards The King of Angria, attempting to hug the royal's form before he was immediately picked up and pressed properly into a hug.

"You're alright buddy, I won't let anything happen to you," King Alexander Casimir spoke to the curly haired boy, his eyes pinned into Isa's as he ran a hand over the back of Archie's head.

Then he carried Archie over to the carriage and seated him inside, while the fairy godmother scuttled towards the carriage and seated herself quietly inside after Archie. Louis stood the carriage gate, his head bowed low and arms pinned behind his back in the presence of the King of Angria.

Alexander Casimir turned towards her then, and with quick strides he had approached her grabbed her by her waist, pulling her form close to his as she gasped. He raised a hand towards her face and held her cheek gently, as though he might break her like glass if he was not careful. His touch was warm and cool and it made her skin prickle with stars and sparks.

"Isa, Isa, my love," He groaned the words, his voice full of stifling pain. "I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry."

His lips touched her jaw as he placed desperate kisses all over the skin on her jaw and neck, not stopping, as though she was a rare gem he had only just managed to save from a heavy tide.

"Zander," She gasped, leaning into his touch. What was he apologizing for? Did he even owe her an apology for anything? She didn't think so, she didn't believe so.

He stopped kissing her skin and held her close, his breath caressing her jaw as he shut his eyes and tried to calm his breathing, and it was only then that she realized how anxious he too had been.

"You're going to my palace," He spoke then, eyes still closed as he forced words out. "I'm going to protect you and Archie, do you understand me? Nothing like this is fucking going to happen again, I won't let it."

The muffled shouts at the gates had ceased, and Isadora realized that the King of Angria had arrived at the scene with his own men as well.

He opened his eyes then, only to realize that hers were filled with tears as they glistened in her dark orbs.

"Zander," Isadora spoke again, her voice cracking, "They lit the stables on fire. I'm scared the mare you gave me is going to die."

He shook his head, his throat tight as his chocolate eyes bore into hers with determination, his thumb caressing her cheek.

"It won't, it won't. If it does and I'm not able to save it in time, I'll get you a thousand more. I'll get you a thousand or more of anything you want. Do you understand me? I'll get you everything and more, always fucking more."

Tears spilled out of her eyes then, and Zander's brows narrowed in the anguish of seeing her cry as he pressed his lips underneath both her eyes in turn, before wrapping an arm underneath her knees and lifting her up as she wound her arms around his neck. Then he carried her to the carriage and helped her seat herself as she brought Archie close to her on the seat.

Zander's eyes rested on Archie briefly before he looked at Isadora.

"I'll see you both at the palace. My guards will make sure your journey is safe," He managed the words, before he tapped the outside carriage twice with his fist and there was a jolt as the driver took off, leaving the form of the King of Angria behind at the threshold of the Duke's estate underneath the dark night sky.

Inside the carriage, on the seat opposite to Isa and Archie, only the half asleep and still weak form of Lucy sat, while Louis clung onto the carriage door outside and accompanied them that way.

The fairy godmother however, had once again vanished. Whatever the old woman's task for the day had been in regards to Isadora, the latter could tell that it was already done.

***

A/N:
hi guys, thankyou so much for the love on this book lately?? i'm in the clouds at all your comments and votes<3 thankyouu