The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)

Chapter 3

Isabelle's trunks were packed the next day, though she was not at all inclined to leave earlier than she needed to. Intent on proving to the royals that she was not a servant to be summoned at their will, she incessantly pestered her father to join her on a tour of their duchy until he finally relented and agreed.

"But so help me, if you don't arrive in Highcastle in time for the inaugural ball, I'll send you to a convent instead of Germania," he's threatened, when he'd finally taken a seat after another of their shouting matches. Isabelle grinned.

"Perhaps if I miss the first ball, those meddlesome royals will simply send me back home, where I belong," she said.

Despite his grumbling, her father accompanied her eagerly.

Clad in his traditional family garb of tartan and ceremonial broadsword, the Duke of Kentshire accompanied his daughter to Highcastle. She wore a sash of family tartan as well, handing out handkerchiefs emblazoned with the family sigil in each village they passed. It was her father's idea to wrap each of them around a pence - enough money to buy a sweet or cool drink on the hot day they rode through the surrounding villages. The pair of them dismounted in each village to greet their people, the duke offering handshakes while his daughter handed out the handkerchiefs. Wherever they passed, there were cheers, Isabelle's carriage trundling and jingling along behind them, laden with her multitude of trunks.

As they rode through, Isabelle realized that her father had intended to accompany her from the start, telling her things about each village as they approached. He'd wanted to show her the people she was helping, hopefully so that she would behave herself, but most likely so that she would see who stood to lose if she irked the king. His plan worked; her determination to be an utter nuisance melted away as she looked into the faces of the people who would grow hollow-cheeked and kissed the children whose bellies would growl through the cold winter if she misbehaved.

It was probably the greatest motivator of any, but it did nothing to warm her feelings towards the king. She couldn't help but wonder what kind of brutal man would starve his subjects if only to spite a wayward duke.

They arrived in Highcastle two days later, weary but punctual, a day early for the inaugural ball the next evening. Eager to leave the capitol he so despised, Isabelle's father kissed her goodbye in the palace carriageway, departing with his retinue before he could be dragged into a council meeting or invited to stay and enjoy the royals' hospitality. He didn't have to tell his daughter that he'd rather camp by the roadside, wrapped in his tartan, than spend a night in Highcastle Palace, and she didn't try to stop him.

Unluckily for her, however, the maid that had greeted her informed her that she was expected that evening for dinner with the queen. Fatigued and grimy from travelling, Isabelle had been hoping to soak in a bath before tumbling into bed, but those hopes were dashed when she reached her debutante suite. Awaiting her on the writing desk was a prim, formal letter in sharp, angular cursive with instructions that she would be attending that night's dinner in formal attire, at the invitation of the queen.

"You could always feign illness," Lissa suggested, her maid just as exhausted from travelling as Isabelle was. Stifling a yawn, the heiress shook her head.

"I'll save feigning sick for when I truly can't stand it any longer," she said, helping her maid sift through her trunks for something suitable to wear, "Which will probably be sooner rather than later. Here, I'll wear this one."

Lissa's lips pressed into a line, but she didn't object to the bright crimson gown Isabelle had chosen. It was flamboyant enough to ensure that she'd make a spectacular entrance, which was exactly what she intended to do if the queen thought she could order her around when all she wanted to do was sleep. It also paired well with her tartan sash, which she donned despite the protest Lissa was unable to stifle.