Chapter 43 Isabeau #2
“You’re mine, Isabeau.” The words were soft but laced with steel. “Mine to protect, mine to care for, mine to keep safe from Coventry and the forest and your own self-destructive impulses. You will never leave me. Do you understand? I can’t let you leave me.”
The possessiveness in those words chilled me to the bone. I’d heard their like before, whispered against my skin in Gaspard’s chambers as his hands bruised my flesh. Different context, different man, but the same sentiment.
Ownership, control, the denial of my right to choose my own path. It made him no better. Just because he didn’t physically hurt me during my gilded stay didn’t mean I wasn’t a prisoner nonetheless.
“You sound like him,” I whispered, the accusation hanging in the air between us.
Something flickered in Alain’s eyes—hurt, regret, shame perhaps—but it was quickly buried beneath renewed determination. “Think what you will. But you’re staying. That’s final.”
He yanked the door open, pausing on the threshold without looking back. “I’ll have food sent up. Try to rest. Tomorrow will be... difficult.”
The door slammed behind him, the lock turning with a finality that echoed in my chest like a death knell. I sank onto the window seat, the bag I’d packed falling from numb fingers to the floor. My fists clenched against the rich fabric of my borrowed gown, tears threatening but refused release.
I wouldn’t cry. Not here, not now. Tears were a luxury I couldn’t afford when I needed to think, to plan, to find another way out before Gaspard arrived and recognized me.
But beneath the fear and determination, an unwelcome emotion curled through my chest. Guilt.
Guilt that I had hurt Alain with my attempted escape, that I had repaid his kindness with secrecy and flight.
As much as I wanted to hate him for his possessiveness, for locking me away for my own good, I couldn’t ignore the genuine pain I’d glimpsed beneath his anger.
“Mine,” he’d called me. Like I was a possession, a pretty bauble to be kept on a shelf.
Yet it wasn’t the same as when Gaspard had claimed ownership.
There had been no threat of violence in Alain’s words, no promise of pain if I disobeyed.
Just desperation and something darker, something that looked disturbingly like love twisted by fear of loss.
I gazed out the window at the night sky, stars scattered across the darkness like diamonds on velvet.
Somewhere beyond those castle walls, beyond the carefully tended gardens and guard towers, lay the Forbidden Forest. And within it, my princes suffered, waiting for my return.
The claiming mark on my shoulder throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of promises made and bonds formed.
Prince Theron’s eyes at dinner had sent ice down my spine.
The same calculating assessment Gaspard had given me that first day after my father was taken.
The same look that said I was meat to be devoured, beauty to be possessed.
And the king? He’d called Gaspard friend, respected his opinion, would believe his word over mine without question.
I was trapped again. Different prison, finer chains, but captive nonetheless.
A soft sound at the window drew my attention. A dark shape perched on the stone sill, sleek feathers gleaming in the moonlight. The raven cocked its head, obsidian eyes regarding me with an intelligence that defied its avian form.
“You,” I breathed, recognition flooding through me. My little friend from the forest castle, the one who had helped me know the path to the castle when I had to run after nearly drowning.
The raven cawed softly, hopping closer. Hope bloomed in my chest, sudden and fierce.
In the villages, ravens were harbingers of doom, death’s messengers sent to collect wayward souls.
But to me, this creature had always meant something different.
Resilience, survival, the promise that even in the darkest places, allies could be found.
I reached out a tentative hand, and the raven butted its head against my fingers in a gesture so affectionate it made my throat tighten. “How did you find me?” I whispered. “How did you know I needed you?”
The bird offered no answer except another soft caw, but its presence was enough.
If the raven could find me across the distance separating castle from forest, perhaps the connection to my princes was stronger than I feared.
Perhaps there was still a way to fulfill my promise, to break their curse, to restore what the Dark Lord had stolen.
I stroked the raven’s sleek feathers, drawing comfort from its solid presence. “I need to get out of here,” I told it softly. “Before Gaspard arrives. Before Alain loses what little perspective he has left.”
The raven hopped onto my wrist, its weight surprisingly light for a creature of such presence. Its beak opened, and for a wild moment, I thought it might speak. Instead, it dropped something into my palm—a small, smooth stone that glowed faintly amber in the darkness, the exact shade of my eyes.
I closed my fingers around it, feeling warmth pulse from within. Magic. Raw, untamed magic like what flowed through my veins, what I’d used to heal Thibaut, what connected me to the cursed princes. A key to something I didn’t yet understand, but whose significance I couldn’t deny.
For the first time since Alain had stormed out, a smile tugged at my lips. The raven hadn’t just brought me hope. It had brought me power. And with power came possibility.
Alain might think he could keep me. Gaspard might think he could claim me again even though it would break the curse. The king and Theron might think I was just a pretty, powerless thing to be used and discarded.
They were all wrong. And soon, they would learn just how wrong they were.
I pressed the stone to my heart, feeling its energy merge with my own. “Thank you, friend,” I whispered to the raven.