Chapter 41 Isabeau #2
Alain must have felt my tension. His arm tightened beneath my hand, his body shifting subtly to place himself between me and his brother’s gaze. The protective gesture made something in my chest ache with unexpected gratitude.
“Your Majesties,” I said, dropping into the deepest curtsy Brigida had hastily taught me that afternoon. “I am honored by your invitation.”
“Rise, child,” the queen said, her voice warmer than it had been in the hallway. “We are the ones who are honored. You saved a man dear to our family when our own physicians could not.”
I straightened, careful to keep my head at an angle that wouldn’t expose more of my shoulder. “I was happy to help after Prince Alain saved my life. It seemed a fair exchange.”
King Geraint laughed, the sound booming in the cavernous room. “She has spirit, Alain. No wonder you’ve been hiding her away.”
“I haven’t been hiding her, Father,” Alain said, a hint of irritation coloring his tone. “Isabeau has been recovering from severe malnourishment and imprisonment.”
“And yet she looks remarkably... healthy now,” Theron interjected, his gaze lingering on the swell of my breasts visible above the gown’s neckline. “One might even say blooming.”
Heat crawled up my neck that had nothing to do with flattery and everything to do with humiliation.
My body wasn’t meant to be discussed like produce at a market.
Before I could form a response that wouldn’t get me thrown in the dungeons for insulting a crowned prince, Alain’s hand moved to the small of my back, steady and reassuring.
“Perhaps we should be seated,” he suggested, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger. “I’m sure Isabeau is still building her strength.”
The queen nodded, gesturing to the elaborately set table. “Of course. Isabeau, please sit here, beside me.”
I took the offered seat, relieved to find Alain placed on my other side, with Theron mercifully positioned across from us. The king sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding even in the simple act of unfolding his napkin.
Servants materialized from the shadows, pouring wine and setting down the first course.
Some kind of delicate soup that smelled of saffron and cream.
I watched the others, mimicking their movements with silverware I’d never encountered before, grateful for the small lessons in etiquette my father had insisted upon even in our humble cottage.
“Tell me, Isabeau,” the queen said after we’d begun eating, “where did you learn such skill with healing herbs? Thibaut says you knew exactly what to request, even in his dire state.”
I swallowed carefully, aware of how closely I needed to guard my words. “My mother was a healer in our village,” I explained. “She taught me which plants could save and which could harm. After she died, I continued her work, making tonics for those who needed them.”
“A family gift, then,” the queen said, something wistful crossing her features. “In another time, such knowledge might have been called something else.”
The implication hung in the air between us. Magic. Witchcraft. The very things her husband’s family had dedicated generations to eradicating.
“In Thorndale,” I said carefully, “we called it common sense. The forest provided what we needed if we knew where to look.”
“Thorndale?” The king set down his spoon, his attention suddenly focused on me with laser intensity. “Did you say Thorndale?”
My stomach dropped. I hadn’t meant to name my village so specifically. “Yes, Your Majesty. A small place at the kingdom’s edge.”
“I know it well,” the king said, his expression brightening. “One of my oldest friends hails from there. A remarkable huntsman, the best in all the land. Perhaps you know of him. Gaspard Coventry?”
The name hit me like a physical blow. My fingers tightened around my spoon until my knuckles went white, memories flooding back that I’d tried so hard to suppress. Gaspard’s hands around my throat. His body forcing mine open. The cool press of a knife against my ribs when I fought back.
I caught sight of Brigida near the servants’ entrance, her face draining of color as she registered my distress. She knew. She was the only one in this castle who knew exactly what that name meant to me.
“Isabeau?” Alain’s voice came from what felt like a great distance. “Are you unwell?”
I forced my features to smooth, my practice hiding pain surging to my rescue. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” I said, voice remarkably steady considering the storm raging within. “Yes, everyone in Thorndale knows Lord Coventry. He’s quite... famous in our region.”
The king laughed, oblivious to the undercurrents. “Famous! Ha! Did you hear that, Alain? Perhaps you should tell your forest maiden that so she can stop you from this foolishness of trying to best Gaspard in the tournament.”
“Tournament?” I echoed, latching onto the change of subject with desperate relief.
“In two days’ time,” Alain explained, his eyes still studying my face with concern. “A test of martial skills held every three years. My father believes I’m wasting my time competing against Lord Coventry in the archery and combat events.”
“Because you are,” the king said good-naturedly. “No man has bested Gaspard in fifteen years. His aim is legendary, his swordsmanship unmatched.”
I knew exactly how unmatched Gaspard’s skills were. Had felt the precision of his cruelty firsthand. The knowledge that he would be here, in this castle, in two days’ time made my blood run cold.
“And what do you think, Lady Isabeau?” Theron asked, the formality of the address at odds with the mocking curve of his smile. “Should my little brother abandon his quest to prove himself the superior man?”
The question was layered with meanings I chose to ignore. Instead, I set down my spoon and considered my words carefully.
“I think,” I said slowly, “that a prince who tests himself against the best demonstrates his commitment to protecting those he will one day lead. His future people would be fortunate to know their ruler strived for excellence even when victory wasn’t guaranteed.”
Alain’s eyes widened slightly, something warm and surprised blooming in their blue depths. The queen nodded approvingly, while the king made a thoughtful noise around a mouthful of bread.
“Well spoken,” the king conceded. “Though I still think he’s being stubborn for no purpose.”
The conversation shifted to tournament details, giving me precious moments to collect myself. I picked at the food placed before me, my appetite vanished at the mention of Gaspard’s name.
All I could think about was escape. I needed to be far from here before he arrived, before he recognized me and revealed truths that would see me burned as both witch and liar.
Across the table, Theron continued to watch me with predatory interest, his gaze occasionally dropping to the claiming mark hidden beneath my dress. Had he seen something? Did he suspect?
“The bite marks on your shoulder,” he said suddenly, cutting through his father’s description of the joust. “They look like no animal I’ve ever encountered. Almost... deliberate in their pattern.”
The table fell silent. My hand flew instinctively to my shoulder, horror dawning as I realized the gown’s neckline must have slipped at some point, revealing what lay beneath.
“Theron,” Alain said, his voice carrying a warning edge I hadn’t heard before. “This is hardly appropriate dinner conversation.”
“On the contrary,” his brother replied, leaning forward with the eagerness of a man who’d spotted weakness. “I’m simply concerned for our guest’s well-being. Such marks suggest she encountered something quite unusual in the Forbidden Forest. Something our father might find... concerning.”
My mouth went dry. He knew. Somehow, he knew what those marks meant, or at least suspected their significance. Before I could formulate a response that wouldn’t condemn me, the queen intervened.
“The lady was attacked, obviously,” she said firmly. “And has recovered admirably from her ordeal. There’s no need to make her relive it at our table.”
I shot her a grateful look, surprised to find an ally in the most unexpected quarter. She returned it with the barest nod, something in her expression suggesting she had secrets of her own to protect.
The dinner continued with safer topics like the harvest yields, court gossip, diplomatic relations with neighboring kingdoms. I answered questions when asked directly but otherwise retreated into silence, hyper-aware of every passing minute bringing Gaspard’s arrival closer.
Throughout the meal, I felt Alain’s concerned gaze returning to me, questions forming behind those blue eyes that I couldn’t answer without endangering us both.
The warmth of his attention both comforted and confused me.
I shouldn’t crave it. Shouldn’t respond to it.
My heart belonged elsewhere, with three princes trapped in a hell dimension, depending on me for their very survival.
Yet with every gentle touch of his hand to mine, every protective shift of his body when his brother’s gaze lingered too long, something bloomed in my chest that had no right to exist.
Attraction. Connection. Possibility.
And beneath it all, the crushing knowledge that none of it could matter. I was claimed thrice over, marked by teeth and magic and blood oaths. I had princes to save, a curse to break, and a destiny that had nothing to do with the man beside me whose kindness threatened to unravel my resolve.
I couldn’t afford to forget who I was or what waited for me in that forest castle. Not even for a prince whose eyes held more warmth than I deserved.