xxvi.

ISADORA TREMAINE SAT SEATED IN ONE, FROM PERHAPS a dozen of living rooms in the Angrian royal palace, with the forms of her mother, her sister, her maid and her little boy.

Though it was only she, her son, her maid and Lucinda Tremaine who were amongst the seated party occupying the gleaming green satin sofas. Lady Tremaine was at present engaged in a series of hushed vicious ramblings, that were almost making the elder woman's aging form quake as she walked to and fro about the length of the room, talking in harsh undertones as she kept directing insults and lamentations at both Isadora and herself, for a change.

Archie nestled closer to Isa as she hugged him to her side, encouraging him to keep playing with his small wooden horsy in his lap lest he misdirect his unfortunate grandmama's breakdown as something to be concerned over.

"It is my fault," Lady Tremaine lamented then, her hard facial features scrunched up in distaste and misery alike. "It is my fault to even trust in the fact that you had a brain in that head of yours, Isadora."

Lucy, the maid, kept her attentions on Archie as she sat on the other side of him, asking him questions about the game he was playing on his lap to keep him distracted.

"What were you thinking? How could you be so reckless? This child was going to be your undoing, I knew it from the start! And now you've made a gamble and risked all of our futures for his sake! In any other scenario had you chosen the Duke, it would've been all that I wanted-"

"And I do live to please you, mother," Isa managed with a mock smile.

The woman's features hardened some more as she stopped pacing about and faced her eldest daughter, looking like a grim faced Victorian muse against the palace living room wallpaper that an old and seemingly drunk Russian lovestruck painter would've painted before his suicide.

Isadora tilted her head as she made the comparison, wondering if an old Russian painter could've indeed fallen in love with her mother were this a different timeline—or a different place.

Lady Tremaine was indeed a brutal woman, with hard edges and an even harder tongue. But was she not bathed in centuries old as well as modern ideas and beliefs of propriety and class? There was no distinct beauty in her mother, but there was a sleek refine-ness, there was this feeling of stumbling upon an old but well maintained attic in an estate a fortunate protagonist just inherited-and Isadora's harsh mother seemed to radiate just that.

"I try and fail to fathom what could've occurred," The woman tried again, pushing past her anger and molding her tone to welcome the confidence from her eldest daughter that she hoped for.

"Surely the King had the good sense to advise you to give the child away and stay with him? If so, why did you not listen to him? Mon Dieu, his attachment to you could be seen by even a blind person. There was.. love, from your end too, wasn't there?" She tried again, the skin around her grey eyes crinkling as she forced herself to speak of that foreign word.

Isadora's heart clenched at the word. Ever since last night, she had shut herself away from all that her heart had suffered in the duration of the moment she had broken her engagement. The heartache had been too much, so she had shut it out. She had numbed herself to it. She had become stone to it.

"Indeed," Isadora managed, running her fingers nonchalantly through Archie's curls, "A stark contrast to the love you and poor old papa had for each other, I believe."

Lady Tremaine's facial skin pinched red at the jab, her fists tightening at her sides as the veins in her neck jutted out.

"Look at you," She sneered. "You make foolish choices, jeopardize our futures, and instead of being responsible enough you pick at your mother's past. That is low for you, Isa."

"I can go lower, mother," Isa snapped, her eyes flaring with her sharp anger. "Talk about responsibility to me when you take it for your own future, because I already have enough on my plate and you're not a toddler."

The older woman's lips twisted in fury, but before she could say anything more, a third voice pierced the air and severely undermined the hushed atmosphere the ladies were addressing grievances in.

"Mother!" Lucinda Tremaine uttered then, jumped up from her seat on the sofa as she stomped her foot against the carpet.

"You see? This is your fault!" The girl cried in her high voice, "If you would've invested less time in her antics and focused on me then maybe I could've gotten the King for myself!"

Lady Tremaine's head whipped in the direction of her youngest daughter, the fury in her grim features sharpening.

"She gave up the King for that Duke because of the child! Do you see how ungrateful she is?"

"Sit back down, Lucinda," Her mother uttered with fury, eyes flashing as she put emphasis on each word.

"But, mother!" The girl whined, to which the glare in her mother's eyes only sharpening viciously.

Sulking, Isadora's younger sister sat back down on the sofa and into the embrace of the multiple ruffled layers of her own obnoxiously bright orange dress.

Then, making sure there would be no other disturbance from that angle, Lady Tremaine moved her gaze back to her eldest daughter, only to find that the latter had already moved on and engaged in whispering things in little Archie's hair as she pressed kisses onto his temple.

"I'm still talking to you Isadora," Lady Tremaine snapped, irritation adding a spice into the already mixing fury and frustration in her body.

Isa forced her attention back to her raging mother, feeling a certain hollow amusement at her situation despite the dull pain in her chest that she was keeping barred away. Her indifference aided in the endeavor to hold up the walls, else she knew they would turn to rubble in front of her.

"Are you, mother?" She managed plainly.

In a way, she ought to embrace her mother shouldn't she? For who else could provide such an adequate distraction and engage all of one's understandings of annoyance and dislike into a succession of moments with such little effort? Who else could provoke her indifference and encourage it on so that she could sustain her strength from it?

Surely, without Lady Tremaine to air out all of her lamentations at Isadora, Isa would've had to wait in this corner of the Angrian royal palace alone, while her new future husband-to-be had a final confrontation with the King of Angria and Queen Ariana in the throne room. And then, alone and solitary, the walls she had tossed and turned last night to build up would have caved in. The walls would have caved in and she would have been brought to her knees-all before she had even left the premises.

Isadora's mind suddenly ventured again on it's wonder upon what was occurring in the throne room. She held herself quickly back, shutting her eyes briefly and trying to focus on her mother's grievances against her, and the presence of little Archie right beside her.

All she knew was that this was a second confrontation between the King and the Duke of Basingstoke, Augustus Bennett, since the one that had occurred last night. Both of these conferences, she had not been privy too, and nor had she been informed if the permission that the Duke and herself sought, had been granted or not.

Perhaps this ongoing confrontation was another attempt being made by the Duke, upon failing the one he might have made last night in that library room. Or maybe, it was the first attempt, and the King had never been to that library room last night at all.

Something inside Isa, a small infuriating hope, had hoped that Zander would find a second way. She had hoped that he would find an answer that she couldn't see—an answer that the fairy godmother hadn't been able to give. An answer that could help her keep both Zander and Archie.

But as time had passed-heavy hours in the night-she had realized that whatever it was that the Duke held over the King of Angria—the Duke's political position—it had been enough to cower and suppress. That realization alone was gutting.

Isadora hadn't seen Queen Ariana since before last night, and the dread in the pit of her stomach—that had earlier consumed her entirely—had settled down. After all, yes, injustice had been inflicted by Isa for her to break off her engagement—the King's mother could say—but Isa had worried for the Queen mother's reputation and that of Zander's, hadn't she? She had worried what they would both think of her and Archie if they found out the truth, she had worried what the truth would entail for them and their lineage and if the aftermath would force them to cast her and Archie out. She had worried about too many things of theirs—including their possible hate for Archie—for her to now worry about their dignity as well.

Yes, she may have been unjust and ungrateful, but in the aftermath of her actions, she could not bring herself to worry about anyone else's dignity rather than that of hers and her son's.

For what had she done? She had sensed the danger that could possibly occur to Archie, and she had extracted both herself and him far away from it. If the Queen mother wanted to hate Isa for it, she was welcome to do so.

"The Duke," Lady Tremaine's tone melted into something akin to a thoughtful one as she touched her chin with a thin bony finger.

"Augustus Bennett of Basingstoke," The woman tasted the name on her tongue like it was a fruit of the late season.

"Regardless of his escapade with that dead friend of yours, he is certainly a very compelling figure. Men of his stature do dabble in activities like those, though I do believe the right wife could manage all that and keep it to a minimum. I do understand—in spite of your stupidity—Isadora, that he is quite wealthy as well as powerful. Not as much as the King of Angria, mind you," The woman raised a sharp brow at her eldest daughter. "But he does seem to have some political merit in front of the Queen and King."

"Does he not?" Isa managed a mock relief. "I knew you would approve."

Lady Tremaine twisted her lips again in face of Isadora's blatant sarcasm, but the latter had no inclination of stopping there. It seemed to her that the act of having her heart shattered to bits in a single night, fueled the flurry of all her distaste and hate. Call it a means to mask her misery, call it something to hide behind—label it whatever, still the fact remained the same.

Isadora Tremaine had always known that she wasn't one to wallow in the depression of a broken heart. On the scene and time of the crime she crumpled badly—her insides ripped apart as blood seeped into her every sense. On the time of the crime she cried herself hoarse, she had weakened to her knees in the town doctor's makeshift surgery room, she had buried her face in the fairy godmother's lap in the chateau's backyard, and she had cried herself to sleep just last night, gasping for air and stifling herself as she did so.

But after the hour of the crime passed, she would force herself together like a recycled raggedy doll being re-stitched with meticulous stitches, every time. She would always force herself back together, all her seams being held together by indifference, detachment, and distaste for everything and everyone except the toddler next to her. That was, after all, where she differed the most from her sister and stepsister.

"He has multiple estates in Angria," Isadora continued, her tone light as she humored her mother by divulging more of the information that the Duke had relayed to her last night.

"He told me so in such explicit terms. He calls the one he inhabits as the main estate, and he has little to no family so I assume the reminder of his estates are merely being looked after like his lands."

Unsurprisingly, Lady Tremaine was indeed humored as the woman tried to suppress a glint in her eye.

It was no secret that there was a certain attraction in being a mother-in-law to a King, Isadora decided, but she understood that during the days of her ill-fated engagement, her mother had quickly come to discover how restrained such a position could be, considering the fact that the woman had been up against none other than Queen Ariana.

But to be a mother-in-law where there wasn't another to undermine the same position and bear the same title? That must hold a certain degree of attractive merit, considering the financial or monetary quality of the match being made, of course.

Watching Lady Tremaine once again calculate the pros against the cons of the new predicament Isadora was in, the latter felt a certain relief. Surely if her mother was willing to so quickly toss all that had happened behind, so could Isadora, couldn't she? But then again, it was Isa who had worn that beautiful canary diamond ring and felt the King of Angria's lips against hers, his breath on her skin, his passionate words in her ear. It was Isadora who had borne all that, not her mother.

"But I apologize mother," Isadora started, pressing her lips together as she shut off the painful intrusion in her mind.

"If this new prospect isn't worth your approval. I understand completely. I shall be forced to make your excuses at Christmases and Maydays to come."

Isa didn't meet her mother's eyes as she brushed Archie's soft hair with her fingers, grounding herself as she suppressed her satisfaction at the remark she had made.

"What do you mean child? Don't be daft," Lady Tremaine hissed before controlling her tone and straightening herself as she brought her hands slowly together and held her chin high, with a certain element of pride.

"I wouldn't want to put my eldest daughter in such a predicament, of course, we are family-"

"Are we, mother?" Isadora's gaze sharpened in the woman's then, as she turned her features to steel.

Lady Tremaine's grey eyes flitted anxiously and with haste. "Well of course, you are my daughter and I wouldn't-"

"Wouldn't what?" Isa prompted, tilted her head slightly. "Disown me? Cast me out of the chateau? For I believe you have already done that."

Lady Tremaine's facial skin paled, before she quickly tried to gather her grim composure. Despite everything that had happened to Isadora, if she could thank God for one thing, it would be that He hadn't given her mother the reins to her life any more than she already had possessed.

The woman had had no control over her ill-fated engagement to the King of Angria. Lady Tremaine's dreaded blessing—much to Isa's relief—hadn't even been considered. And now with her arrangement with the Duke, the elder man had no intention of even associating with Lady Tremaine any more than he would have to.

The woman's reign over Isa's life had sufficiently ended and at present if Isadora could nurse her heartache with anything, it would be gratitude over this simple fact.

"Understand this, mother," Isadora spoke as she stood up and faced Lady Tremaine, bearing her anthracite orbs into dull grey ones.

"If you want to attain any privilege for yourself and Lucinda from my situation, by association alone, you do not want to upset me or Archie. I have quite a mental list of everything of yours that I won't tolerate from now onwards, but I have no time or inclination to spare to pen everything down, and I do so trust in your ability to ascertain all points of my distaste yourself and work to eliminate them."

Then, Isadora mustered a small smile, feeling indifference soothe the pain in her chest with ice.

"I hope I have made myself clear?"

Lady Tremaine, her grey eyes hard and still as her hands contorted into and out of the formation tight fists at her sides, thinned her lips.

"Transparently."

It was then, as Isa mustered a smile, that commotion of feet was heard in the hallway outside of the living room, and the figures of the Duke of Basingstoke, and that of Queen Ariana, entered the room. The King was not with them, and Isa felt a sudden dismay weave through her as she quickly severed it's path.

The Queen mother glided in, her chin held high and her lips thin as the Duke followed behind her with a swift certainty, his hands at his back as a small smile played on his lips.

Isadora and Lady Tremaine, dropped into curtseys, with Isa deliberately avoiding eye contact with the Duke and doing a slow one as her mother dropped into a quick and lower one. Lucinda hoped off the sofa seat and ushered herself quickly over to her mother's side—the ever present need of hers to be seen was something that held little merit in Isa's eyes.

Watching Queen Ariana stop in front of her, the woman's small almond shaped eyes observing her form and face, Isadora felt none of the dread she had deciphered last night. She did not fear any reprimand, nor did she feel the need to acknowledge any rebuke that she might receive. The Queen mother had been kind to Isa after her engagement, and perhaps the woman's attempts before the event too could be considered a form of kindness. The loss of that familiarity would feel profound at present, had Isadora not caged her heart in a far corner of her soul.

If she were to let her mind drag her to that cage and unlock it's gate, she would feel more than just the profound loss of the familiarity with the Queen.

"I see that you have made your decision," The Queen spoke then, her tone schooled and stern, as her eyes bore a certain contempt.

"I have, your majesty," Isadora managed, her voice steady. "I hold nothing but respect for you and his majesty, and I apologize for any hurt I have caused."

The apology felt disgusting—demeaning—to her own ears. For out of the hurt caused, could the Queen mother, or even the King, have felt more than Isa had? Did their wounds go deeper than hers? Isadora doubted it. She would hold respect for them both regardless of what course her life took, but they were mistaken if even for a second they allowed themselves to believe that their pain was more than her own.

Isadora Tremaine would forever hold shattered pieces of glass in her chest, and they would cut her apart bit by bit inside if she was not careful.

The Queen mother turned her eyes away before meeting Isa's again, a plain scrutiny marring her gaze.

"That is one way to take your leave, I suppose."

Isa didn't reply, trying to muster as much certainty in her eyes as she could. She could feel the Duke of Basingstoke's gaze fixed on her, watching her with a certain expectancy and intrigue—the kind that she supposed wealthy men on the cusp of beneficial and politically arranged marriages were habitual of sporting.

"Miss Tremaine," The Queen mother inhaled a slow breath, mustering up her composure to say her peace.

"Regardless of the ache you have caused us, I will remind you firstly that I too am a mother to a son. Both as a Queen and as a mother, I despise you for the choice you have made. But if it hadn't been my son you had jilted, I would have admired you for the love you have for your own, to put your happiness aside in favor of the child's."

Isa blinked, her eyes letting a silver of the state of her heart show, before she quickly disguised it. But the Queen mother, having not removed her own eyes from Isa's, had seen.

Isadora hadn't realized that the Queen mother would—in midst of all her anger—understand Isa's situation. She hadn't expected such a feat from the woman at all. But having received it in the woman's reluctant manner was consolation if ever there was one.

"There shall be no need to entirely cast her happiness aside," The Duke of Basingstoke uttered then, a sly grin on his face as his blue eyes flashed with humor as he eyed the Queen first and then Isadora.

"I do believe, your majesty, that Miss Tremaine will be entirely happy as my wife," The man corrected with a certain pride, his white face—etched with wrinkles brought on by time—bright against the contrast of his combed and gelled short light brown curls atop his head.

"I am a widower, and thus quite familiar with a happy wife's requirements. I shall not deprive her of anything."

"Oh, of course, your grace," Lady Tremaine spoke then, clapping her hands together with overt enthusiasm contorting her grim features.

"Your generosity and kindness is already quite evident," The woman beamed. "My daughter is most grateful for your attentions to her."

Isadora's jaw tightened as something in her clenched, irritation striking at her core in lieu of her mother's words. In the presence of the Queen mother, the words uttered were severely damaging.

The effect was seen quickly then as Queen Ariana cleared her throat.

"I shall leave you to make your departure," The woman's eyes met Isa's. "Take care Miss Tremaine, of yourself and your little boy. Regardless of everything that has transpired, you must realize that we care for you, and such a thing as care is not so easy to let go of—atleast for my son and I."

With that the woman pivoted and left the room, without acknowledging the curtseys in her wake.

Isadora looked away from the Queen mother's retreating form and looked at her son, who had already left his seat and stood beside her skirts, placing his little fingers into Isa's hand at her side as she clutched his hand.

She wondered if he understood that they were leaving, and he would probably never set eyes on Zander again—or any of the horses he had come to admire in the royal stables. She wondered if he would cry when he realized that. Isadora remembered the last time Archie had fully cried and broken his own heart, it was months ago upon his separation from Ruby-who he now didn't even remember.

After those nights spent in tears, Isa had made sure he never had reason to cry again and aside from a little tumble he had taken in the chateau gardens while planting his plants, Archie had never really cried enough to break his heart again, Isa had made sure of it.

But at present, she felt herself quaver slightly, fearing what would come when Archie realized and asked her questions that she would have to answer. At present, he knew they were leaving, but he didn't know it would be forever and without Zander.

"Miss Tremaine," The Duke of Basingstoke spoke then after dismissively responding to whatever that Lady Tremaine had cornered him about.

Isa lifted her eyes away from Archie to find the Duke's gaze in hers.

"Our carriage awaits," The man uttered, his eyes flashing the same expectancy and intrigue. "We shall all depart for my estate, whereupon my solicitor, the set of marriage papers, a priest and my sister wait our arrival. We shall wrap the matter up quickly without a need for fuss."

"Afterwards, of course," The man offered a sly smile as he exchanged a glance with the blushing Lady Tremaine. "We can decide to arrange any event to celebrate the union if you so wish."

Isadora wondered then, as she watched Lady Tremaine's transfixed and pleased eyes on the Duke, how close in age her new husband-to-be and her mother were. He couldn't be more than three years older than her, and that fact alone was startling and unnerving in equal measure. Isa's late father had been three years older than her mother too, he had been forty and nine when he had passed of consumption. Indeed, still, her father had looked much younger than this man.

Shutting her mind, Isa securely held Archie's soft hand in hers and made her way out of the living room, guided by the figure of the Duke who walked promptly a few steps ahead of her, and her mother and sister following right at her heels as Lucy tailed.

Oddly, it was excitement that oozed from Lady Tremaine and Lucinda, and as Isadora eyed them both silently, both flashing wide and curious eyes. She wondered how quick they had been to get over the depression that Isadora had so relentlessly caused them by refusing the King.

Her mother and sister had eyes for the glitter of wealth, and Isa found that she couldn't blame them. If only she had been the same, if only she hadn't gotten her heart involved, perhaps she too would be able to move about the world with flashing optimism and hope.

The Duke's carriage was parked outside, doused in blacks with deep purple curtains framing the small windows inside, and purple satin covering the seats. The carriage was spacious, yet the man had called for another, a simple fully black one, to employ for the transportation of Isa's family to the estate.

The Duke's servant, a proper thin man with a grim face, ushered Lady Tremaine and Lucinda towards the tailing carriage, helping them mount the ride.

"And you and Archie will sit with me, Miss Tremaine," The Duke's voice slithered in her senses as Isa looked away from the second carriage after Lucinda's heavy skirts had been pushed in and the door shut behind her by the thin grim man.

She looked at him plainly, as he held the door open for her.

"And my maid too," She added with a certain firmness which she disguised by engaging herself in helping Archie into the carriage first.

The man cast a glance at Lucy, who was standing mutely behind Isadora with her head down.

"Of course," The Duke mustered as he took Isadora's gloved hand and helped her get into the carriage next.

The warmth of his hands seeped through Isa's gloves and disgust tightened her core. Having seated herself at the window next to Archie, she snatched her hand quickly away.

Lucy climbed in next, taking her seat on the other side of Archie and leaving the opposite seat entirely empty for the Duke as he heaved himself in next, sitting down with a vigor that made the entire carriage jolt.

Isadora didn't look at him, indifference marring her manner as though the man in front of her was merely an escort. She wrapped her arm around Archie and pulled him close to her side, fixing her gaze outside the window.

The Angrian footmen outside were disassembling, preparing to go back inside after having completed their obligatory standings and shifting of Isadora's belongings into the second carriage, upon the departure of the guests.

Isa glanced at the palace, her eyes venturing onto it's vastness. The Duke was talking to the driver in low tones over his shoulder, and the carriage hadn't yet started moving.

Then, suddenly, Archie stirred at her side, intaking a sharp breath.

"Mama," He stood up in the carriage, alarm in his wide blue eyes as he looked at his mama.

"I forgot to tell Zander something!"

Isadora blinked, Zander's name on her son's tongue disrupting her composure as the ache in her chest throbbed.

Then, before she could anything, Archie pulled onto the latch of the carriage door with such efficiency and haste that the door was thrown open.

"Darling, don't!" Isa gasped, but the boy had already first seated himself at the edge and then jumped onto the ground, as the two step stairs had been removed by the footmen.

He held his wooden horse toy in his clutch as he stood on the gravel, and he quickly turned to give Isadora one last glance in the carriage.

"I will hurry back mama, I promise."

And with that being said, he ran off in a sprint, taking the garden route instead of entering the palace building. Isadora's heart thudded painfully in her chest as she looked at Lucy, and the maid efficiently got up and jumped out of the carriage in Archie's pursuit.

Isa's eyes landed then on the Duke, and she witnessed his facial features contort in an annoyance as he craned his neck to look after the disappearing figures of Archie and Lucy. The man's lips were apart slightly, his brows furrowed together and his mouth on the very verge of a reprimand that she could tell he was holding back-a gesture of impatience to be delivered verbally that he was having to swallow.

Isadora wondered then how sharp the impact of those words would be, once she was his wife and days had elapsed after which he would see no great urgency to hold himself back in the name of propriety. The fear of it didn't come to her though, she had already lived with a woman the likes of her own mother to prepare her for such things. And Isadora doubted that the man in front of her would ever truly be able to empower her—Mon Dieu, she could laugh at that very assumption had it been made at present to her face. The Duke was merely a vessel taking her to the kind of privileged and comfortable life that she had wanted for her son and for herself, he had no influence upon her beyond that.

The Duke of Basingstoke's eyes met Isadora's calculating ones then, and he wiped off the annoyance from off his face with effort, but she almost gave into the urge to assure him that neither his annoyance nor his future anger would ever be able to penetrate her. He didn't know her, and she had no qualms about showing just how unfazed she could be. She found that she wasn't afraid, merely curious about the power she would have once she became his wife. She was curious about how it would feel after she signed those papers. The curiosity wasn't sparking, it was a tamed and dull sort of feeling—but still it was hope in a form.

"Is he always this excitable?" Augustus Bennett spoke then, straightening the collar of his coat and dusting an invisible shower of lint off his sleeves just to have something to do.

"He is four," Isadora's eyes narrowed slightly. "Not forty and eight."

The Duke exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "Talking to you will take some getting used to, Miss Tremaine. Though I do believe it shall be an engaging endeavor."

"If I respond back, that is," Isa turned her eyes away to the window. "I do not usually have an affinity for conversation."

"Well," She could see the smirk on his aging face from her periphery. "We can remedy that can't we? When we will spend such time in a single room every night, conversations are bound to occur as is the way."

Isadora scoffed as she managed a smile on her face, her eyes landing on the Duke's.

"Well," She mustered a smile, "We won't be doing any of that, your grace. I will be having a separate room, and you will be fulfilling your affinity for conversation with someone else."

The Duke's smirk dropped then, but Isa went on.

"I do hope you haven't mistaken my reasons for agreeing to this marriage?" She mocked confusion, "It was done because of your desperation for Archie, and your pocket. I must emphasize upon the fact that neither your conversation nor your portrait have played any significant part in adding to the benefits."

The Duke Bennett's jaw tightened, before it dissolved and he let out a roaring laugh and shook his head.

"Such humor," He made a show of wiping a laugh tear from the corner of his left eye, and Isadora fought back her frustration from showing.

It was then that footsteps were heard on the gravel and Lucy appeared in view, holding Archie's hand. Archie broke away from her and ran towards the carriage. Lucy followed and quickly helped him get inside as Isadora took his hand and sat him down at his seat while Lucy took her own place.

"Darling, don't run off like that," Isa spoke with a frown, brushing her fingers through Archie's messy curls as he panted from his run, his bright eyes sparkling.

"Sorry, mama, I just forgot to tell Zander something."

Isadora waited for him to tell her, but his eyes settled warily on the Duke's, who in turn looked at him with mustered encouragement as though he wanted to hear too. Isa didn't press him and ask, instead snaked her arm over his shoulders and pulled her son close to her.

She noticed something as she did so, and surprise overtook her.

"Sweetheart, where is your horsy?"

The wooden horse figure she had bought for him a long while back in the village in Toulouse, was no longer held tight against Archie's chest as it had been before he had run off from the carriage. It wasn't on his person anymore.

"I gave it to Zander, mama," The boy spoke happily, his eyes peering upwards into Isadora's. "He promised he will take care of horsy, and give it back when he comes to see us."

Isadora stilled, her heart threatening to tear itself through every wall she had built up around it.

She offered Archie a small smile, and turned away to the window. The Duke was talking to the driver again, engaged in a conversation about the routes to take to his estate, and hadn't paid enough attention Archie's declaration.

Isadora wondered if Zander had himself said that he would come, or if Archie had forced him—made him promise—to come visit. It had to be her son, Zander himself would never have expressed a desire like that, why would he when she had broken his heart and her own, so mercilessly? Isa wondered what notions of marriage Archie had now. He had been told that his mama was marrying Zander, and perhaps he had understood it to some extent. But now? Did he still believe that now, to be so sure in Zander's presence in his life?

She couldn't fathom how hurt Archie would be when he realized. How hurt he would be when Zander didn't come, and merely sent over his toy by the hands of a footman.

"Zander and Cinderella were in the stables, mama," Archie spoke in a murmur, resting his head against her shoulder. "Zander was grooming Augustus."

The horse's name caught the Duke's attention, and Isa saw him pretending as if he hadn't heard. The King of Angria had a horse that shared the Duke's name, the realization made Isadora suddenly want to laugh. Had it been voluntary? But Zander loved his horse, surely if he had meant it as a poke, it would no longer land in that way now.

But Cinderella? What was she doing in the stables with Zander? Curiosity and another prickly feeling she couldn't name washed over her, and she suddenly wished Archie hadn't told her. What could they be possibly talking about? For Isadora's time in this palace, Zander had only ever conversed with his cousin's wife when his cousin—Prince Charming—was there next to her. Had the prince been next to Cinderella now too? Had Archie merely failed to mention him? Isa didn't want to question her son, and she didn't want the answers to agonize her.

She looked out of the window again, her eyes venturing towards the garden path Archie had taken to the stables, but instead of seeing an empty path, she saw the familiar form of Zander leaning against the brick wall of the palace building and watching her. His tall muscular form was half obscured behind a plethora of vines that crept along the walls of the palace, and he was the size of her finger from this distance. But she knew his eyes were on her, and it made her insides jolt.

He was dressed in a dark grey, and in his hands he clutched the brown wooden horse Isadora was so familiar with. He was turning the toy in his hand, his face unmoving and his eyes fixated on her. She couldn't make out any expression from this distance, she couldn't read his eyes, and she wanted to so much. A yearning engulfed her, and she had to focus on Archie's presence beside her and keep her hands still as they threatened to betray her and reach for Zander.

Her eyes didn't move away from his form, and she saw him reach into a pocket in his coat and pull out a gleaming thick white lace ribbon. Familiarity struck Isa again, and she could almost feel him as he had extricated the ribbon from her hair that night in the drawing room at the chateau. Zander's face didn't move, his eyes didn't falter from hers. He went onto carefully thread the ribbon around his fingers, the wooden toy horse in his other hand.

The picture of him, with her ribbon and Archie's toy, struck Isadora so hard she felt her eyes sting sharply. She tore her gaze away from him, and it was then that the carriage jolted forwards and started moving away, leaving the standing form of the King of Angria behind, with artefacts held carefully in his hands that Isa wished he would just burn, and rid both their hearts of the agony.

***

A/N:
y'all, don't you dare lose hope because i haven't!!<3