Isabelle would have given a great deal to be a fly on the wall at her grandmother’s next grand tea. Just what that ‘great deal’ would have been remained unexplored, as the Dowager Empress showed her the hidden way into her favourite sitting room, already set for a larger-than-usual tea gathering.
The hidden way included a concealed door, and a peephole next to it. Isabelle tucked herself into the dark, narrow passageway between the walls, adamantly not thinking about an equally narrow set of passages in the depths of the Imperial Archives. She hadn’t seen Tommaso since that day and now she was apparently betrothed to him.
He was going to be doing a lot of talking once they met again. She wanted a full account of his actions and reasons for leaving, for following some obscure prophecy, for somehow (thankfully) triumphing and becoming King of Valen. The only part that showed any sense at all was when he insisted Isabelle was the only one of her father’s daughters he had any wish to marry.
And her gaggle of gentle, graceful, gracious sisters were about to find out their favourite guard had a favourite of his own.
It went much as expected, Grandmother shared the identity of the new King and avaricious delight washed around the table.
A sister dressed all in white clasped her hands together. “Perhaps he’ll enter into a treaty with Father, and require a bride.”
The Dowager Empress replied. “He has, and he did. Isabelle.”
Silence.
All-in-white broke it. “But surely… Isabelle isn’t supposed to be considered for an alliance marriage is she?”
“She is when she’s the only candidate the prospective groom will accept.”
Isabelle bit down on a laugh at the sight of all the dropped jaws. Not very elegant.
She couldn’t make out which sister spoke next. “He wanted HER?”
“Her, or no one. And very sensible of him too.”
Isabelle had a lowering feeling her sisters’ confused expressions were echoed in her own – why was she a sensible choice? She wanted to be a completely irrational one, purely based on passion and longing.
Her Grandmother knew it too, that sardonic smile was completely for her.
“Isabelle is highly educated in all elements of statecraft and trade. She is clever, sly, loyal beyond belief to those she cares about, and utterly ruthless in her protection of them. Can you think of a better person to partner a new, inexperienced king in a court where many are likely to take advantage of him?”
“But does she care about Tommaso?”
“How could she? She probably didn’t even know his name before he proposed.”
Another sister spoke up, slow and thoughtful. “No, she did know. She was surprised he’d gone. Don’t you remember? She rattled the teapot.”
Apparently that was a convincing argument. There were more murmurs, but it seemed most of the other princesses had accepted the union, on the surface at least. Isabelle thought it might be politic to keep an eye on Princess All-In-White, who was looking decidedly mutinous.
The DNA of Stories 