Chapter 35 Isabeau
thirty-five
Isabeau
Consciousness arrived like a tide, slowly at first, then all at once. I felt myself rising through layers of darkness, each one thinner than the last, until I broke the surface with a gasp that sounded too weak to be my own.
My eyes opened to an unfamiliar, high ceiling. Not the damp stone of my prison cell, nor the crumbling grandeur of the princes’ castle. This place was pristine. Clean. The kind of clean that spoke of wealth and attention, of servants whose sole purpose was to erase any evidence of human messiness.
My fingers twitched against something soft.
Not hay. Not stone. Silk sheets and a feather mattress cradled my body like I was made of glass.
For a moment, I wondered if I’d died after all, if my new immortality had finally given out and this was some strange afterlife.
But the pain still radiating through my limbs told me otherwise. Death wouldn’t hurt this much.
I tried to sit up. My muscles screamed in protest, weak from months of starvation and disuse. Still, I managed to push myself upright, my arms trembling with the effort. The room swam into focus around me, details emerging from the blur like stars at dusk.
White. Everything was white. The walls, the furniture, the canopy over the massive bed that could have comfortably held three people.
Lavender and pale green accents softened the stark brightness.
Cushions on a window seat showed delicate painted flowers on a porcelain washbasin, a silk robe draped over a nearby chair.
It was a room designed for a noblewoman, for someone used to comfort and beauty. Someone I had never been.
My gaze caught on the window, where daylight streamed through sheer curtains.
Not the weak, filtered light of my dungeon’s slit, but proper sunshine.
How long had it been since I’d felt its warmth on my skin?
I couldn’t remember. Time had lost all meaning in that cell where I’d been imprisoned to maintain the connection to my beasts, my princes.
The princes. The thought hit me with an overwhelming sense of worry.
My hand flew to my shoulder, fingers searching for the claiming mark through the thin fabric of a nightdress I didn’t recognize.
It was still there, the scarred imprint of their teeth on my skin.
And through it, I could still feel them—faint, so faint, but alive.
The connection stretched thinner than ever, like gossamer on the verge of snapping, but it remained.
They were still trapped in hell. And I was... here. Wherever here was.
A soft gasp pulled my attention from the window. Two women stood frozen by the dresser, feather dusters in hand, staring at me like I’d risen from the dead. Maybe I had.
“She’s awake!” The younger one squeaked, her face draining of color. Then she bolted for the door like the hounds of hell were at her heels, barely bothering to close it behind her.
The older woman—gray-streaked hair tucked neatly beneath a cap, lines around her mouth that suggested she smiled often but not anymore—approached cautiously, as if I might bite. “My lady,” she said, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes. “You’ve returned to us.”
Returned? I’d never been here before.
I opened my mouth to ask where I was, but my throat was so dry that all that came out was a rasp like sandpaper on stone.
The woman moved quickly then, setting down her duster and hurrying to my side.
She reached for something on the bedside table.
A bowl of what looked like broth, steam still rising from its surface.
“Here,” she said, lifting it to my lips. “You must drink before you fade again. The prince will have my hide if you slip away on my watch without nutrients.”
Prince? My mind sluggishly tried to process her words. The only princes I knew were trapped in the Dark Lord’s realm, their bodies twisted into beast form, their souls bound to mine through the mark on my shoulder.
But the woman’s urgency cut through my confusion. “Quickly,” she insisted. “You’ve been like this for days. Awake one moment, gone the next. The healer says you need nourishment if you’re to recover.”
Days? I’d been here for days? The thought sent panic spiraling through me. How many? How far had I been taken from the castle? From the connection point that kept Marcel, Laurent, and Bastien alive?
I did as she asked, though, letting her tip the broth into my mouth.
It was rich and salty, probably the first real food I’d had in months.
My stomach immediately protested, unused to anything but starvation, but I forced myself to keep drinking.
If I was going to escape, to get back to where I needed to be, I’d need strength.
“Where am I?” I asked when I’d drained the bowl, my voice slightly stronger now. “How did I get here?”
The maid looked surprised. “You don’t remember?
His Highness brought you himself. Carried you through the gates like something precious, half-dead as you were.
” She shook her head, adjusting my pillows with practiced efficiency.
“Never seen him like that. Wild-eyed. Wouldn’t let the healers take you from his arms until the queen herself commanded it. ”
I frowned, trying to piece together fragments of memory. Darkness. Cold. The feeling of being lifted, of strong arms around my wasted body. A heartbeat against my cheek. But the face remained blurry, just out of reach.
“His Highness has been beside himself,” the maid continued, checking my forehead for fever with the back of her hand. “Comes every hour to see if you’ve woken properly. The whole castle’s talking about it. The prince and his forest maiden.”
Forest maiden. The words sent a chill through me. They knew where I’d been found. In a kingdom that executed those touched by magic, that was dangerous knowledge indeed.
Before I could ask anything else, the door burst open.
A man stood there, breathing hard like he’d run the entire way.
Tall, powerfully built, with black hair falling over eyes so blue they looked like shards of sky.
His shirt was half-tucked, as if he’d dressed in a hurry, and fine gold stitching glinted at the hem of his riding pants.
The kind of clothes only nobility could afford.
For a moment, I just stared, something tugging at the edges of my memory. I knew him. Or I should know him. The certainty settled in my chest even as his name eluded me.
“Your Highness!” The maid dropped into a curtsy so deep her knees nearly touched the floor. “She’s awake properly this time, as you can see.”
The man—the prince—didn’t even acknowledge her. His eyes were fixed on me, relief washing over his features in a way that made no sense. Why should my consciousness matter so much to this stranger?
“Leave us,” he commanded, not unkindly but with the absolute expectation of obedience that only comes from a lifetime of being obeyed. I didn’t like it.
The maid bobbed another curtsy and scurried out, pulling the door closed behind her.
Then it was just the two of us, his intense gaze making me feel more exposed than if I’d been naked.
I pulled the silk coverlet higher, suddenly conscious of how the thin nightdress must reveal every protruding bone, every hollow where my body had consumed itself to survive.
“Thou art truly awake this time,” he said, moving closer. His voice was deep, cultured, the old-fashioned phrasing marking him as traditionally educated as I had been by Papa. “I was beginning to fear thy mind had been lost to whatever kept thee in that cursed place.”
Memory flashed through me. This man kneeling beside me in the dungeon, lifting me from cold stone, carrying me away from where I needed to be even though I portested.
“You,” I whispered. “You took me from the castle.”
He smiled, and something in my stomach twisted. Not entirely unpleasantly. He was beautiful in the way dangerous things often are. Sharp edges and perfect symmetry that warned rather than welcomed.
“I rescued thee,” he corrected, settling on the edge of my bed without asking permission. His weight made the mattress dip, sliding me slightly closer to him. “From a fate worse than death.”
I pulled back, putting as much distance between us as the bed would allow. “Who are you?”
“Forgive me.” He placed a hand over his heart, the gesture almost mocking in its formality given his disheveled appearance. “Prince Alain Legrand, at thy service. And thou art in Durand, the heart of my father’s kingdom and the last bastion against the corruption that plagues the borderlands.”
Durand. The word hit me like a physical blow. Of all the places in the world I could have been taken, this was the worst. The kingdom that had outlawed magic generations ago. The seat of power for those who would see me burned if they knew what flowed in my veins.
I had to get out of here. Now.
“I need to go back,” I said, pushing the covers aside. “Immediately.”
“Back?” His smile vanished, replaced by a frown that darkened his features. “Back to that dungeon? That place of suffering? Never.”
“You don’t understand.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring how the room spun around me at the movement. “I have to go back. It’s important.”
“The only important thing is thy recovery.” He reached for me, but I flinched away from his touch. “Whatever hold that place has on thy mind, I will break it. I swear it.”
“No one holds my mind,” I snapped, planting my feet on the cold floor. “But there are those who need me there.”
I stood—or tried to. My legs, unused to supporting even my diminished weight after so long lying on stone, buckled instantly. The prince moved with surprising speed for such a large man, catching me before I could crumple to the floor.