xxxii.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" KING ALEXANDER CASIMIR of Angria's baritone was hard and heavy with his fury as it thundered through the sharp cold air as soon as he regained his senses, his chocolate orbs—desperately clawing at vision amongst the whipping front bits of his hair and the powerful gale blowing—glowed with anger and desperation as he yanked his head towards the first form he saw-the fairy godmother's weakened form.

The woman was crouched down, her round and stout form visible as the blue cloak she always adorned pressed tightly against her body and threatened to rip away with the force of the blowing wind.

Alexander Casimir turned away from the old woman when she failed to answer him, his feet digging into the ground as he held himself against the strong wind.

Overhead, the sky was a dark cloudy grey, and there were green plains as far as he could see around him, with only a littering of a dark village on the horizon—a detail he could easily have missed with the wind pressured against his eardrums and his own hair whipping painfully against his forehead and veiling his vision. Even with his knowledge of his own lands, familiarity on the ground he stood upon, refused to come to him, and there was a dizzying ache in the back of his head as though he had come down upon something hard.

Anxiety clawed at him sharply then. One second he had been at the altar after having married the woman he loved and desired like he had loved and desired nothing and no one else. The woman he had yearned for, and would always continue to yearn for like she was the reason he had always needed to live.

And the next second, he was here, in a land he did not recognize, in midst of what looked like an incoming storm.

The stark realization made his fist tighten at his sides then. He was no longer in the Kingdom of Angria—that he could tell, and his wife—fuck, where was his wife?

"Where is Isadora?" He shouted then, panic engulfing his chest as he yanked his head towards the fairy godmother again, as the old woman stammered something as she was pressed against the ground, using a meek and bewildered voice that was lost in the winds.

She was having trouble getting to her feet in the strong wind, but she was no longer trying to get up, for a thick hand of hers was desperately digging amongst the surface of the grass trying to find something, her head bent into the grass in desperation as the wind blew the hood of her cloak from off her head.

Zander saw sleek grey hair tied into a small knot at the base of the woman's neck. The knot was so small, he almost didn't notice it, and as the wind continued it's wrath and the old fairy pushed against it to look for her belonging in the grass, The King of Angria saw inches of skin in between the scarce, thin and sleeked back grey hair on the woman's scalp. The scarcity of hair, and the old woman's desperate display, struck him hard—making something heavy inside of him. An old frail woman. That is what this fairy was. But was that all? Would that be all there is to her?

He approached her and dropped into a crouch right in front of her face as he impeded her search, his eyes hard on the woman's face.

The King of Angria—regardless of his sudden sympathy for the old woman—still felt as though he could impale her under the wrath of his anger, for frail as she may look, she was the reason they were here and not at his wedding ceremony anymore.

"Where is my wife?" He ground his jaw, shouting in case the old woman had trouble hearing him over the raging wind. "What the fuck have you done to my wife?"

Recollections started focusing themselves inside his mind then. The breaking glass windows, the gust of wind, the falling chandelier at church, the guests' screams, Lucinda Tremaine's scream, the fairy godmother approaching Zander and Isa in the darkness and telling them to come with her. In what order had all those things happened? Why couldn't he remember that? Where was Isa? His mother? Good Lord, where was Archie? What the fuck happened?

The fairy godmother let out a choked sob, lifting her head to look at Zander with difficulty. He saw the wetness on her cheeks, he saw the redness in her eyes.

"I—I only wanted to—," The woman cried out, shaking her head as she supported herself to a sitting position with her thick arms. "I don't know what happened—I—"

Shock and frustration morphed into red hot anger inside Zander.

"What?" He let out, fists tightening. "You brought me here. You asked us to come with you. What do you mean do you not know what happened? Where. Is. My. Wife?"

He ground his jaw, reiterating every word as though he was using up all the patience he had left just so that he wouldn't lash out at the woman. Every word was hard on his tongue because otherwise, he'd lose his composure if he used other means to source out the pressure and fury inside of him.

The fairy godmother broke down in a sob, and Zander startled. She covered her face with her thick hands and cried into her palms while the woman's form shook.

Zander looked away from her, taking in the green plains around him and the rapid darkening of the grey sky. The storm would be upon them both any minute now, and there was no immediate shelter for miles in sight, unless they decided to embark on the long walk to the spattering of the dark village still visible on the horizon.

His eyes landed back on the old woman on her knees in front of him as he shifted slightly in his crouched position.

"You will tell me what you did to my wife," He began then, fury and distaste for the frail woman overwhelming him as he tried to retain his composure and school his tone. "You will tell me why you brought me here and what happened at the church."

The old fairy stopped crying and lifted her splotchy wet red face out of her small thick palms, weak eyes meeting Zander's as she sniffed.

"Do you understand me?" He let out. "You will collect yourself this instant and tell me everything or I swear to everything you hold dear, your damn magic-or that of the four other of your compatriots—will not be able to save you from me."

The old woman's eyes widened then, as the threat knocked her clean out of her depressed stupor. Realization welded into the small ungainly almond eyes as she swallowed tightly, scared pupils flitting in rapid thought as though she was considering the consequences, before they met Zander's eyes again.

"I-I wanted to bring you and Isadora to safety, your majesty," The woman stammered. "But I think Ferdinand didn't let me. We had suspected—that he could target our magic but we weren't sure. One of the fairies was adamant that he had the ability to intercept—to alter—"

The woman broke off again, holding back a sob.

"But you see, we didn't all agree with her and now its been proven true and I—Oh, God, I shouldn't have—"

Zander ground his jaw, but still waited for the woman to continue with an aggressive patience that clawed at his chest.

"I shouldn't have used my magic when I suspected he was in the vicinity," The fairy godmother lamented, the voice turning into a wail as she struggled to confess over the raging wind.

"I should have listened to Augusta—she was right about this—about him and them-"

"Him? Them?" The King of Angria let out, questions on his tongue that he momentarily forgot how to voice properly. "Who is them?"

The fairy godmother's eyes sombered from her distress, as though she had already cried about this particular half of the matter before already, and now she'd much rather not.

"Ferdinand and the Heraum," The words spilled out of the woman's mouth, her lips barely moving as her eyes settled into the distance blankly.

Zander blinked, one word catching the fire of recognition in his head. The Heraum.

No, he found himself shaking his head. The Heraum were a myth—they weren't real, only a bedtime story mothers throughout the kingdoms relied upon, for their children to do as they were told. A myth to use for when children needed to be threatened, a myth to use in writings from scholarly pens where they examine the human psyche and it's creations on paper, creating countless leather covered volumes that collected dust in Zander's palace libraries and those of the other kingdoms'.

The Heraum were supposed to be a myth. Heavy creatures that roamed the lands once, with their average heights amounting to six feet, their skins the alleged color of the bottom of an algae infested stagnant lake, their teeth like elephant tusks protruding from the corners of their mouths, their posture and limbs entirely humane, but their individual strength thrice that of a normal human man.

The Heraum had been banished because of the threat their presence had been, collectively imprisoned inside a mountain prison by a joint effort made by all the Kings of various kingdoms across the lands and the five fairies, more than four centuries ago. At least, that was what all the stories said. But those were just stories, myths, were they not?

"Ferdinand freed them, your majesty," The fairy godmother let out then, moving her blank eyes to meet the king's.

"He was our sixth," She murmured. "He was the sixth fairy, until he rebelled and left years and years ago. None of us realized that he was truly back.. that he was secretly working on freeing the Heraum for his vengeance.. that he was forming an army."

The woman's words seemed lifeless and mere wisps of wind, but the weight of them shook Zander to his core.

He didn't know a lick about the fairies, and nor had he, his late father or his late grandfather cared about setting up an alliance with any one of them for the Kingdom of Angria. They had all held themselves away from the fairies and the magic the creatures had promised, and there had been no regrets. But now? What the fuck was even happening? An untold rivalry between the fairies? One of them having broken off and trying to act upon the vengeance he had sworn? How was everything threatening to go so wrong?

The fairies of the lands were supposed to have their own fucking affairs in order first, for them to ally with Kings. How could they have been this unstable, for one of them to rebel in the first place?

Were all the blind attacks the kingdoms had suffered, done by magic? This fairy witch—Ferdinand—had he used magic to set those attacks? Holding his army at bay for the real battle? The attacks on Alopie, the church, the wedding.. had this bastard been the reason for all the chaos?

Fuck, Zander cursed to himself. He needed to see Isadora, Archie, his mother—were they all alright? Where were they? And the guests at the wedding? Had the church been destroyed? Holy fuck, he felt the panic starting to choke him. He needed them all to be alright, fuck, he needed his wife to be alright.

The matter of Ferdinand and The Heraum pushed itself back in his mind. Zander needed his family to be alright first, beyond that his mind refused to focus. He needed to know if Isa was alright first.

"Where is my wife?" He let out, a vein in his jaw throbbing violently as he held himself at bay, eyes burning into the old woman's.

"Where is my family? Why the fuck am I here?"

"Your majesty," The woman swallowed, anxiety lacing her distress as she struggled to compose herself in face of the King's anger.

"Ferdinand intercepted my magic. I was to take you and Isadora to safety, just in case," She hastened again, putting emphasis on her words. "But the church is alright—your mother and little Archie, as well as the rest of the guests, they are all alright."

"I had Augusta with me," The fairy godmother swallowed. "She was outside the church, we had suspected Ferdinand would do something. If he did, I was to take you to safety. His army is still being held by him, but he was bound to do some mischief himself—"

"Mischief?" Zander blurted out, scoffing in repressed fury before his anger flared his features. "You call what happened at the church during my wedding mischief?"

"No, your majesty, I didn't mean to imply—I only just—"

Zander's hands fisted at his sides.

"Please, your majesty," The old woman hastened again. "Augusta was prepared to protect the guests and your family, so you needn't worry about them. Us fairies, we can handle Ferdinand—we can counter him, though we don't know how powerful he has gotten in the years past. Still—we can at least defend, but the army—it's the Heraum army that we won't be able to counter. These are trapped monsters, imprisoned for years with the size of their hatred and vengeance doubling by every second that goes by. We even have an idea how difficult it is for Ferdinand to control them, let alone—"

Zander shut his eyes briefly, willing his composure in.

"Where is Isadora?" He asked for the umpteenth time, his voice harder this time.

He wanted to care about the looming threat on the kingdoms, his mind was pleading him to access the situation, but at the same time, his resolve was desperate for Isa. His heart was choking him in his want for Isa. His hands shook in his fists, yearning for a touch of her just so that he could get his mind to focus. She grounded him, her mere presence was enough to heighten all his senses. But she wasn't here.

"I—I—," The old fairy stammered, losing her train of thought and seemingly searching desperately for the answer of the question inside her own self.

Zander's heart stopped then, his blood going cold as he witnessed the pure helplessness on the old woman's face. The determination she had embodied still when relaying the plans of the estranged fairy of their clan and the Heraum, had vanished now.

King Alexander Casimir of Angria couldn't hear the wind pounding against his ears anymore, and as the dark clouds gathered above started to rain down heavily on both solitary forms on the plains below, water drenching Zander's body and blurring his vision, he wished for anything but the blatant confusion and horror engulfing his bones at the moment.

"Where is she?" He yelled fruitlessly, knowing the old fairy's response before she had even spoken it.

"I—I don't know."

"No," Zander shook his head, a dull thrum in his ears. "Don't give me that. Don't fucking give me that."

"Your majesty—," The old woman stammered then, grasping at straws in her desperation. "Isadora's either been intercepted—taken—by Ferdinand or she's—she's been lost on the way. I—I lost control of the spell midway so I—I don't—"

The fairy godmother broke off then and her wail carried through the plains, fighting against the sound of the raging thunder, as she dropped her face into her thick small hands and sobbed.

Zander stumbled back in his crouched form, all his senses paralyzing themselves as the heavy rain pounded against his skin as through it was trying to bury him into the earth. His shoulders felt like lead, and he could feel everything inside of his body turn into lead too as it all fell inside his stomach, a terrifying hollow gaping inside his chest.

Taken. Lost.

Out of the two, King Alexander Casimir couldn't at present decide which predicament he'd rather prefer his wife and Queen to be in.

If she was taken, he would find out where to find her. He would know who to blame-where to put his fury. He could crush every bone in that rebel fairy—Ferdinand's—body to such an extreme that the bastard's dream of leading the army he was hoarding would remain a fucking dream. Zander could impale the fucker's head on a spike and have it rot itself out.

But if Isadora was lost, where the fuck would he look? Where would he start? Where would he put his fury? How would he be able to even fathom what condition she was in?

What did he prefer? What the fuck was better? Her being lost, or in the hands of a rebel with an army of the Heraum? How could he choose? How the fuck could he ever choose? Why was he being made to?

Zander's fists were so tight his hands ached and shook profusely. His eyes reddened as he struggled to maintain his vision amidst the heavy rain veiling the world in front of him.

"I was supposed to protect her," He spoke then, his chest heavy. "I promised to always be there-to never let her get hurt."

There was a tearing sensation inside him, as though there he had been struck with a knife, and that blade kept twisting and plunging deeper inside of him.

He had yearned for Isadora for so long, and all the while the whole fucking world had—it seemed to him—conspired to tear her away from him. Just when he'd thought she was hers, and nothing would ever come in between them again..

Alexander Casimir's eyes stung with his furious despair. Suddenly, just like that, the entire world felt like his enemy.

"Your majesty," The fairy godmother lifted her puffy red face, her almond shaped eyes sporting an equal redness as she looked at the King.

For a moment, hatred at the woman engulfed Zander, blinding him.

"This is why Angria wants nothing to do with fairies or their alliances," He spat, his tone vicious as he pushed himself to his feet, regaining his tall height as he looked down on the battered and—what he recognized as pathetic—frail old woman.

"You are the reason she's gone!"

He lifted his hands and ran them over his drenched hair, pushing his drenched hair back from his forehead, before his vicious—and determined—eyes fixated on the woman again.

"What could this bastard," The King of Angria managed then, grinding his jaw as he affirmed his composure, fury making his skin tremble as he considered a possibility. "If he has her, possibly want with my wife?"

Why Isadora? Why Angria? Since the start of the threat, the Kingdom of Angria had suffered the major attacks. Alopie had been the first and only town to be entirely affected, while other kingdoms had only experienced small spontaneous attacks in comparison. Alopie had to be rebuilt, for fuck's sake. There had been more than a dozen casualties. Why? Why Angria?

"Your majesty," The frail woman uttered, her voice shaking as the impact of the rain seeped into her aging body.

"Ferdinand.. he's aware of the centuries long Angrian refusal against fairy alliances," She shut her eyes. "He's spiteful. He has suffered such a refusal himself when he approached an Angrian king—one of your forefathers—a century ago. He's—he also knows also of what us fairies saw in the future—he knows how the war he is going to wage will turn out, so he's trying to change everything."

Zander eyed her, before spinning on his feet and bringing his arms to the back of his neck as he held himself, trying to control his anger before it eviscerated him. He needed to be in his right mind to find Isadora, and at present, with the old woman speaking in vague riddles, Zander couldn't trust himself to open his mouth and form a coherent sentence.

"As much as he hates the fairies, and the kingdoms, Ferdinand has a deeper grudge against Angria, your majesty. He—he was insulted by an Angrian king, and he knows he will be defeated by one. So he's—he's trying to change it all."

Alexander Casimir scoffed then, his fingers tightening on the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Oh he will," Zander ground his jaw. "He will be defeated by an Angrian king. I'll see his body rot after I have fed him his own limbs. I will see him choke on his own bones."

"But to target my wedding and take Isadora?" He shouted then, desperation and anguish in his voice, "What was her fault in this? I promised to protect her! Fuck, I promised to not let anything happen to her."

His voice cracked as he let out a shout of frustration before forcing composure. He needed to be present for Isa, if he wanted to find her, he needed to be sane enough to do so.

"Isa," He murmured, her name a desperate prayer on his lips as heavy rain continually pounded onto his body. "Isa, Isa, my love. I'm so fucking sorry."

Zander turned away, dipping his head backwards to face the storming sky for a moment as he sifted through his thoughts. His tears were washing away as they came, courtesy of the heavy rain, but his eyes burned in their sockets. He turned back to the old woman on the ground.

"You lost your wand, did you not?" He asked, composing his voice, another question he already knew the answer to.

The woman by his feet on the grass nodded her head, her eyes on the ground in helplessness. With the knowledge that she was without her wand, the old fairy looked merely human, and to Zander, a miserable one at that.

"It must have fallen, your majesty, or—or Ferdinand—when he intercepted my spell-probably took it-"

"And I will take your head," Zander broke in then, his jaw tight as he spoke to the bent woman clutching the grass in between her thick fingers, her head dipped low into her chest.

"I swear to God, I will take your head and that of that bastard's, if anything happens to my wife. Do you understand me? I will tie your limbs to my horses and I will have you quartered, regard for your age can go to hell."

The old woman's form shook, an impact of the heavy rain or Zander's words, an onlooker watching—if there was one—couldn't have been sure.

The King crouched back down again, his eyes hard as he reached out his hand and placed a solitary finger underneath the old woman's chin, forcing her to look up at him.

"Do you understand me, fairy godmother?" He repeated his words, his baritone merciless as he penetrated the woman's small eyes with his gaze.

"I will do worse to this Ferdinand, don't you worry about that. But you? I need to you understand that you will be equally blamed if I find even a hair harmed on Isadora's body."

The old woman's tears were indistinguishable from the rain pelting down her face, her once sky blue cloak now dark in it's drenched state. Her bottom lip shook, and Zander found the fear on her face adding fuel to the fire of anger and hatred he felt in his chest. The regret on the woman's face infuriated him—disgusted him.

"Isa trusted you," Zander spat, "She talked highly of you to me—fuck, she was the reason I even considered giving you an audience with me to hear what you had to say when my father and my forefathers would have had you taken and pelted on sight for even daring to approach them."

He could already hear his own father's words from once when as a boy Zander had asked questions he had wanted answers for. 'Angria is better off without magical aid, son. It needs strength and muscle for it's success and glory. Magic, is a cheap way out. It is the weak's weapon, and we are not weak.'

The present King of Angria blinked, focusing back onto the old woman.

"Do you understand me?" He shouted then, and the old woman startled and shut her eyes tight, nodding desperately, her face scrunched up in anguish.

Zander let go of her chin and stood back up on his feet again, his posture steeled as he fixed his eyes on the storm clad horizon.

"Get up," He let out. "We are going to get back to Angria. Once there, you will get me the rest of the fairies. I will have this Ferdinand's location, and every other information associated with him. I will have my wife, fairy godmother, or I will have all of your heads on pikes and no kingdom need ever be tied to a fairy alliance again."

—🥀—

The Queen of Angria's first revival to her senses after the ordeal at her wedding, was not the sharp but sweet tang of rose petals in her nose, or the warm hold of Zander's skin caressing hers, or the sound of her little boy's bell-like laughter, or the sight of chocolate brown orbs against the backdrop of the lavender scented, beautifully furnished and grand wedding chamber that she and her husband would now occupy at the Angrian palace.

Instead, she saw, heard, felt, none of these things.

Her nose caught the scent of rust, water drenched walls, the smell of stagnant water on dingy granite floors that carried a layer of solidifying dark green froth with it.

Her ears heard no laughter, only a sullen dripping of an endless stream of water somewhere, continuous and never-ending.

Her skin felt numb, except for heavy pressure at her ankles weighing her form down and the feel of hard granite against her back.

And her eyes, as they opened slowly, saw only darkness that slowly but surely allowed a true glimpse of her surroundings to her.

She saw a small room, dark four walls closing in on her, a space that was only a few yards. A high square window on the wall in adjacent to her sported the plunging night sky outside, and Isa could make out the shape of a crescent hiding behind a thin cloud, making it glow.

The door to the room—nay, cell—was a heavy wooden one, and it was etched with iron workings on the back which definitely constituted for a mechanism to lock the door from the outside. Isadora saw no keyhole, no way to have a door such as this one lock from the inside.

This was a room where people were kept, she decided. People who were given no choice of their own.

She moved her legs slightly, and distinguished the pressure at her ankles to be the cause of the heavy chains clamped at her feet. Both of her ankles were trapped in three inch length iron clamps joined to chains that were fixed onto the wall she was seated against.

Her wedding dress—the beautiful, gorgeous white gown—was streaked with dirt, it's heavenly color dulled by the darkness she was plunged in.

Isadora's heart constricted. Where was she? How had she come here?

She was supposed to be at her wedding. Mon Dieu, had the wedding happened? Or had she dreamt it all while she had been stuck in this place? Had she dreamt saying 'I do'? Had she dreamt Zander's kisses at the altar?

No, she shook her head violently, feeling the air from the high square window hit her cheeks as she realized she was crying.

No. She couldn't have dreamt it. It had all happened. She was wearing her wedding dress, and if she shut her eyes tight enough, she could feel Zander's kisses. She could smell him, and taste his kisses in her memory. The Queen mother had walked her down the aisle, and Isa remembered the feel of the woman's elbow in hers too.

She had married Zander. She had been crowned the Queen of Angria. It had all happened.

But then, was this a dream? Was she sleeping in her marriage bed, dreaming this horrific dream as a way of her mind reminding her what it would feel like to lose Zander? But, she already knew what losing him felt like, didn't she? She had lived through it, so then why the continuous torture? What lesson was there that Isadora hadn't yet learnt, for her subconscious to target her so brutally through this dream?

Isa brought her hands forward, her eyes searching for something in the dark room. Then, right beside her on the wall, she saw a forgotten iron protrusion sticking out from in between the bricks. It was a previous chain attachment perhaps, something that had been built but taken out later.

Without thinking, Isadora brought her right hand—open palmed—right onto the protrusion, and felt the sharp iron corner tear through her skin painfully. Quickly, she retrieved her hand and saw the wide darkness of blood right on the center of her fair palm as it started to drip down her wrist.

This wasn't a dream. She wasn't in a dream, for the pain she felt—the one in her chest more so than the one in her palm—was too intense to be merely a fiction of her subconscious mind's imaginings.

What had happened? The last thing she remembered was the fairy godmother's face, asking to take her and Zander somewhere. The church had.. had it been attacked? Isa remembered the chaos, the fall of the chandelier as Zander had pulled her away from it. She remembered the guests' screams and the penetrating one of Lucinda's. She remembered all the candles going out, plunging the church into a darkness.

From one darkness, Isadora had found herself in another. But this one was terrifying, whilst the previous one in the church had only evoked a dazzling confusion in her.

Was this the place the fairy godmother had meant to take Isa and Zander to? A confinement so terrifying? It couldn't be. Why would the woman do such a thing?

Isa remembered her sister's claims then, uttered in the girl's shattering voice as she held a silver wand out of the fairy godmother's reach in the church.

'You were pointing it at the altar! I saw you. You saw something outside of the church window and then you pointed this thing at the altar!'

Isadora shut her eyes tight then, tears streaming down her face. Was this some kind of revenge? Had the fairy godmother been so troubled that Isa hadn't seen it amidst her own selfish happiness? But she had apologized, hadn't she? Isadora had apologized for her harsh words the night the Duke's estate was overrun. She had apologized to the old woman, so then, what had been the cause of this.. betrayal?

It had never occurred to Isadora to be afraid of the fairy godmother. After all, the woman possessed magic and Isa herself had none of it. She could do anything she wanted but somehow, Isadora had never considered the fairy as powerful. The woman had always been—despite the wand she possessed—a friend to Isa.

Mon Dieu, was it because Zander had refused to accept the fairy's alliance? Or some kind of proposition she had made in midst of her meeting with Zander that day?

Isadora shook her head again. Dropping her head onto her pulled up knees as sobs spilled out from between her lips. No. The fairy godmother.. Isa had cried on the woman's lap once. Nobody had seen as much of her heartache as the fairy godmother had. The old woman had told Isa every second that she would marry Zander, it was she who had given Isadora the courage and made her believe, regardless of the choices Isa had gone on to make. And now, at present, which of the fairy godmother's words had been a lie? Everything she had said had happened. No. She wouldn't hurt Isadora like this. She wouldn't.

Something must've gone wrong. Something must've happened, but what?

"Zander," Isa whispered, taking solace in the feeling that speaking his name gave her.

He was her husband, he was her desperate dream come true. She was going to dedicate the rest of her life to him, she was going to give him every ounce of love that she was capable of feeling. But what had happened? Who had pulled her away from him?

"Where are you?" Her voice cracked as she dug her nails into her knees over her dress, holding onto herself.

Could he be in the same position? Being held like her but someplace else? Perhaps in a similar room just a distance away from hers?

No, Isadora forcefully shut that thought away. Zander was a King. He was the King of Angria, surely he wouldn't be chained to a wall like this. Who would have the audacity to do such a thing to him? He wouldn't allow them to, he would break them apart.

She thought of her vows at the altar then, her hands in his, the crown placed onto her head. Her bleeding right hand reached to feel the studded crown on her head, but she found nothing except the weight of her embellished hair comb nestled in her hair and still attached to her veil.

Isa felt her heart crack. Had they taken her crown? Was she not Zander's wife anymore? Was she not a Queen anymore? Terror engulfed her senses as she cried, her hands shaking as she rocked back and forth, trying to control her thoughts and fears but failing to. The composure she prided herself in, seemed to be failing her now.

Did Zander know she was here? No. If he knew, he would never allow this. She was his wife and she hadn't done anything to harm anyone. He wouldn't allow this.

Isadora's chest tightened more as she wiped the back of her wrist against her spilling tears.

She thought of Archie then. The last she remembered of her son was him clutching the hand of Queen Ariana, as they both had made their way outside of the church to get baskets of rose petals for Zander and Isa's church exit, before chaos had erupted in the very church hall.

Queen Ariana would be protected, if something had happened. She always had guards at her side, she was the Queen mother of Angria, she was always protected. Isadora could only hope that Archie was still with her—that her little boy was safe and sound.

Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine him safe. She tried to imagine Archie at Queen Ariana's side, indulging in tea as the former Queen reminded him to hold out his little pinky as he sipped from his floral porcelain cup, teaching him the perfect gentlemanly tea manners that the royal had lately begun to, laughing to herself with fondness at the image of her almost five year old grandchild trying his best.

"He is going to be the most handsome and well mannered darling in all the land," The Queen mother had gushed to Isa a week ago over afternoon tea.

"Just you see my dear, we shall have a grand ball when he comes of age. The likes of which even Prince Charming will be made envious by," The woman had laughed, pressing her lips onto Archie's forehead. "We shall have dozens of princesses and ladies scrambling for his attention, shan't we?"

Isadora tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. Her wedding hairdo—a cacophony of gorgeous curls pinned into a do at the crown of her head—was slowly coming loose, with bits and pieces of her dark hair falling out. Her bleeding palm throbbed in pain as she looked at it through tears veiling her vision.

In the corner of the room, as the moonlight streaked in through the high square window on the adjacent wall, the silver light fell onto Isa's skirts, lighting her dress up. She shifted her legs again, and saw her crystal shoes gleam iridescent as they peaked out from underneath the hem of her dress.

"Please," Isadora murmured then, shutting her eyes tight and pressing her hands against her chest. Her diamond jewelry was still resting on her neck and dangling from her ears.

"Please. Please."

She didn't know what she exactly was begging for. At the core her pleading was for Archie's safety, for Queen Ariana's safety, for Zander's safety. For her own safety she felt it was useless to beg. For own safety, she felt as though it was too late.

She was also begging for the images in her mind, for the Queen mother having afternoon tea with Archie, for Zander and Archie in the royal stables, for Zander's lips against the most sensitive parts of skin on her body, for Zander telling her how much he loved her, for him signing his name next to hers on Archie's adoption papers.

Now that she was married to the King of Angria, there was to be a coronation ceremony for Archie when he turned ten years old. A coronation ceremony to crown him the crown prince of Angria. The event was still five years away, but Isa hadn't even managed a day in. Already she was torn away from everything she had wanted and everyone she had barely gotten.

Was this it? Was this how her story ended?

She struggled to stifle her sobs in her hands, scared of the silence penetrating around her. What if there was someone outside? What if they heard she was awake and decided to come in? What would she do then? What would they do to her then?

Isadora bit her lip, her forehead resting on her pulled up knees. A fairytale life and love like Cinderella's hadn't been meant for her. Isa had only been spared a glimpse of such a life and such a love, and then it had been taken away from her.

Why? Anger and heartbreak throbbed at her. Did it matter that she wasn't made a scullery maid by her mother and had comparative privilege—to not hold a broom and a dustpan—to some regard? Who had decided that she was undeserving? That her son was undeserving, for them to punish him through Isa?

Perhaps two stories had happened, and in Cinderella's story, Isadora had been deemed unworthy. It could be so, couldn't it? For Cinderella had no role at all in Isadora's own story. So somebody had made Isa a villain in her stepsister's tale. And now? Was this retribution?

If it was, who had given the right—the power—to deem people as villains and take their stories away from them?

This couldn't be the end for her, Isa decided with miserable determination. This couldn't be it.

She thought of her mother—Lady Tremaine—and her sister Lucinda then. What were they doing? Where were they? If retribution was indeed happening, where was their punishment?

Suddenly, a muffled disturbance was heard outside, and footsteps grew loud enough to be deciphered as footsteps.

The Queen of Angria's heart clamored in her chest as she held onto herself, fear thrumming in her veins as terror made her eyes wide.

Then, just as her pounding heart deafened her, the footsteps stopped right outside of the door of her confined room, a clanging sound of iron sounding as the door lock started to be tampered with.

***

A/N:
i wish this book had a playlist but i literally have zero energy to make one</3 anyway, i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It's getting dark in here