The Fearless Princess (Forgotten Royals)

Chapter Three

Everyone knew about my rebellion. As I made my way down the hall, every eye focused on me. I kept my head high, but I had learned how to sneak glances without others knowing. Aside from avid interest, there was a disquieting merriment. It reminded me of the time I overheard some servants speaking with excitement about the last time I was almost married. The downfall of others was excellent entertainment.

My shoulders stiffened. I wouldn't show them a penitent princess. I smiled like I didn't have a care in the world. But I dropped the mask when I reached my mother's door.

No one announced me as I slipped inside. The gray November day kept the room in shadows. I found her kneeling in prayer and stood a little bit uncomfortable until she finally finished and rose to look at me. Her ornate golden surcoat outshone my clothing. People whispered that I spent too much of my father's funds on fashion, but it was nothing compared to my mother. She was determined to be the most fashionable queen of England. Her glittering clothing made me think she looked like a goddess when I was little. She reminded me of one again, but this time because she had my fate in her hands.

"Ah, you are here," she said. "So you are capable of going places when you're asked."

"My lady mother—"

She held up a hand, her emerald ring having a bit of an eerie glow in the firelight. "We have never asked much you, Isabella. You have more freedom than most king's daughters. I was the daughter of a count and you have more liberty than me."

I squeezed the fabric of my dress. "I am grateful for everything."

"Perhaps we have failed as parents," she said.

I shook my head wildly. "You are the best parents in the world."

"Are we?" She sighed. "What would you think if you heard of the King of France's daughter behaving in such a way?"

"I would think that she must have a good reason and hopefully her father would understand," I said with an innocent smile.

She picked up her book of hours. "You would think no such thing. You and your friends would be gossiping and laughing about it until next Michaelmas. This is more than just us, Isabella. A woman's reputation is fragile. Once it breaks, it will never repair again. Do not forget about your grandmother."

I scowled. "How can I ever forget about my grandmother when you named me after her?"

The shadow of the Isabella from France had hung over me since the day I was born. While I enjoyed sharing her name, it didn't mean I wanted people to think I was the same as her. I wanted some freedom to decide my path in life, but I wasn't going to murder for it.

Of course, from my mother's expression, what I did was exactly as bad.

"I am not her, Mama," I said. "I just don't want to marry him."

"Help me understand." She pressed the book of hours against her chest. "You were not unwilling when you first met him. You offered no resistance when your father arranged the betrothal. What could have possibly changed in less than a year?"

I bit back a frustrated groan and paced around her chamber, fighting my urge to run to free myself from explaining. My mother had traveled to England as a young maiden and never balked at her role. She had fallen for Papa before their marriage and that was hardly surprising. My papa had been the Prince of Wales, a young man on a mission to free his kingdom from wicked governance. He had a quest to defend his mother, a lamb pursued by wolves. Never mind that his mother was more of a wolf and she used him as a pawn at the time. I could understand why Mama was enchanted by him and even more so when he fought his own mother to get his wife recognition and the riches owed a queen.