Isabella let her four sisters push in front of her to greet their grandmother. Each week, the Dowager Empress invited five of her granddaughters to tea. No one knew how she decided on which to choose, but Isabella was uncomfortably aware of how frequently her company was requested, then ignored.
She trailed the others to the round table, making for the seat usually assigned to her, the one a couple of places around from the Dowager Empress, the one that, with the correct posture, could allow the occupant to stay almost out of sight of the older woman’s sword-sharp gaze.
One of the others was already sitting there, fluffing out her peony-pink skirts, the tiny wrinkle between her brows the equivalent of a furious scowl on most people.
The only seat remaining was the one on the right of Her Imperial Majesty. Damn.
These teas were a trial at the best of times but, in her usual chair, she could lean back, just enough, and watch the interplay – frequently as good as theatrical performances her mother sometimes sponsored. A seat by Grandmother though, that meant attention, and probably an uncomfortable conversation, with her sisters as witness.
She bowed her head to her left as she sat and was rewarded with a nod from her grandmother. “Pour the tea, Isabella, it’s steeped long enough.”
She did as she was told as Grandmother’s gaze swept the table. “And what has all of you pouting like toddlers?”
The peony-pink sister (Isabella only bothered with names when she absolutely had to) leaned forward. “It’s awful, Grandmother, they’ve sent our favourite guard to the mountains. Between the raiders and the demon beasts, what if he doesn’t come back?”
They had a favourite guard? Isabella hadn’t realised they were observant enough to tell them apart.
The Dowager Empress tapped her chin. “That would be Tommaso, yes?”
The teapot rattled, drawing all eyes to Isabella, right when she least wanted them. She had to speak. “Tommaso’s left the palace? I hadn’t realised. Does anyone know why?”
A sister in soft sky blue dabbed at the corner of her eye. “The other guards were probably getting jealous, everyone knew he was our favourite.”
Another, this one in apricot, chimed in. “How could he not be? Tall, handsome, considerate, so well-mannered…”
“And kind…”
“And have you ever seen him in the training yards?” Several hands fluttered in a fanning motion.
They couldn’t speak like that, Tommaso was hers! Her handsome, considerate, kind… oh goddesses, she was just like her sisters after all.
Grandmother’s severe stare silenced the table. “He left at his own request.”
The princesses gasped, and one asked. “But why?”
“Because he was uncomfortable with the attention he was getting from certain princesses. If it had continued, it would have been him who bore the consequences, and he decided he was less likely to die in the Southern Mountains than serving in the palace.”
It was her fault. He’d left because of her. If he died out there… it didn’t bear thinking about.
The DNA of Stories 