A/N: Hello loves! New project for you! This one is based very loosely off of the book Heartless by Marissa Meyer. It was one of the options on the poll, the one that included Queen!Bella, Mysterious!Spy!Edward and a masquerade ball. 3rd person POV alternates each chapter between Edward and Bella. The pairing will ultimately be a BellaxEdward HEA, though there will be plenty of struggles along the way. Stay tuned to see how all those things fall into place. I wish I had the time to dedicate to both stories, but I realize after posting the poll that my time was really limited, so maybe one day I'll get around to the pre-French Revolution story, but at the moment, I am at my capacity for ongoing stories. Anyway, I hope you loves enjoy! XOXOX
Day One
Isabella kneaded the dough back and forth in a rhythmic motion, trying to get out all the lumps before it went into the pan. She needed this batch to be perfect, even more perfect than all the batches before it, which was a lot to live up to seeing as though she had been cooking since sunrise and it was well into the afternoon. Not that cooking ever felt like work. No, it was much more of a passion, her greatest joy. She would cook all day and night if it were allowed.
"Careful, or you'll rub your knuckles raw," Angela chided gently as she passed by carrying a pan of quiche. The smell was heavenly, and the crinkled edges had darkened to just the right shade of brown - yet another thing Isabella could check off of her list.
"A casualty in the pursuit of perfection."
"Your cooking is always perfect," Angela replied with a slight roll of her eyes, as if to think otherwise was ridiculous.
"And you are always biased," Isabella retorted with a smile, teasing her friend.
Angela had been up just as early as Isabella, and was usually the only kitchenmaid who entertained her peculiar hobby. Without Angela, the real cooks would have kicked Isabella out of the kitchen years ago. But, it was not Isabella's fault that she was better at it than the entire staff combined, and it was not like she purposely tried to outshine them.
"It's true!" Angela protested, hands digging into the apron wrapped around her waist. "You have been in here for days and I have yet to see a single thing come out of the oven that is not completely and utterly to die for."
"Well, it does not really matter what we think, now does it?" Isabella replied, thinking of all the guests soon to flood the palace ready to stuff their faces on free food and wine. They were her true audience, the ones whose opinions truly mattered.
"Only a fool would dare insult your skills," Angela said, walking over to check the oven. Isabella could feel the heat seeping from its mouth, warming over her skin. She wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow and went back to work. The dough was so close to being just right, pliable yet firm.
"I only want everyone at the ball to enjoy the food as much as I do."
"And they will, I promise you. They would have to be without tongues and souls to find displeasure in your cooking," Angela assured, taking Isabella's hands from the dough and squeezing them comfortingly in hers. Isabella had not realized how sore her fingers felt until they were at rest. "Everyone in the kingdom knows of your talent. I'm sure the reason half of these lords and ladies are stepping out of their abodes is to get a taste of what you are making."
"That, and to bend their knees and ears into my private affairs," Isabella stated wryly.
"That too, but you cannot blame them for being curious. It is not their fault that their queen chooses to live the reclusive life of a servant."
Isabella rolled her eyes and shook her head, not dignifying Angela with a response.
Oh, how much easier her life would be if she was not a queen! Even though she was raised in the landed gentry, Isabella despised the attention, the constant poking and prodding. Guilt ate at her constantly. Most girls would do anything to have the kind of life she had, but Isabella felt like a bird trapped in a gilded cage. The social mandates of the court made her anxious, like an exotic creature on display, and this ball was the pinnacle of all she despised.
Twelve nights. Twelve nights of parties - of singing and dancing and drinking and merriment. Twelve nights of all eyes on her, scrutinizing her figure, her dress, her hair, her jewels. It was exhausting. She would rather be in the kitchen, elbow deep in grease, than subject herself to that torment.
"He's quite the handsome cad, isn't he?" Angela mused, her lips curled up into a mischievous grin as she shamelessly stared out the window.
The windows in the kitchen lent to a rather spectacular view of the palace grounds, the sprawling gardens and stone steps on dazzling display. It was picturesque, though Isabella knew that it was the pair of gentlemen winding their way around the side of the palace that drew Angela's attention. The two strode side by side, one tall and blond and the other a slight bit shorter with russet colored hair. While the blond was very handsome indeed, it was the other who drew Isabella's attention.
"Yes...quite..." Isabella agreed.
It was true, he was handsome: tall and lean with a creamy complexion, hair neatly combed and slicked back, ink black suit cut in the latest style. Isabella could not see his face, but she assumed it was just as pretty as the rest of him. He could not be from around here; she would have remembered encountering someone like him at court. That was not a surprise though. Nearly every noble, celebrity, and politician from the surrounding lands were coming to the soiree. Shame that such a beauty could only grace her halls for twelve days.
Then, the handsome stranger turned right towards the window. Whether it was his intention or not, his golden brown eyes locked onto her own for the briefest of seconds. Embarrassed, Isabella's cheeks flushed and she averted her gaze back to the dough which was now ready to parse into smaller pieces.
"Though, not as handsome as the king," Angela said, drawing Isabella out of her daze.
"Hmmm...?" Isabella hummed, not quite catching what Angela said, far too focused on rolling small bits of dough onto a pan. She heard something about the king, but she usually droned such things out as she did not like to speak of things that distressed her - such as her husband - while she was in her happy place.
"The king. No man must compare to him."
"I suppose," Isabella shrugged.
Angela cocked Isabella a look. She opened her mouth to say something, but never got the chance.
"Majesty!" a tense voice rang out through the halls. Isabella groaned.
A young woman can bursting into the kitchen, her black maid's uniform rumpled and her white apron askew from her hustle. Dark, frantic eyes scanned the area only to fix on Isabella a moment later. She heaved a sigh of relief and scuffled over to her mistress.
"Thank goodness I found you!" she exclaimed, one hand placed over her heart as she leaned up against the butcher block, feigning exhaustion for effect. "Always in the kitchen. I do not know why I bother checking elsewhere; you are here so often you might as well sleep here."
"Whatever is the matter Alice?" Isabella asked, entertaining her peculiar maid's dramatic tendencies.
"You are the matter!" Alice exclaimed, shooting up and grabbing Isabella by the wrist. "There is only an hour until the ball and you are covered in flour!"
"Is it really so late?"
Isabella looked up at the clock on the wall, the hour hand perilously close to the seven. She had been in the kitchen for nearly ten hours, and yet could stay for a dozen more.
"Yes! Now come along! I must turn you into a queen by the time the King comes to fetch you, or I will be out of a job."
"But...the biscuits..."
Isabella cast a longing gaze to the oven, knowing that her creations were nowhere close to being brown and flaky.
"Can be handled by someone who actually works in the kitchen."
Angela mouthed 'I will get them', to which Isabella nodded gratefully. They would not be as spectacular as they could had she handed them herself, but Angela was the next best cook and the only one Isabella would trust to finish such a job.
Isabella barely had time to convey her thanks before Alice was yanking her arm and pulling her out of the kitchen and down the hall. They wove through myriad maids and other household staff preparing for the night's festivities. Butlers were polishing silver; servants were inserting candles into the chandeliers. Alice even dove under a ladder to procure the quickest route to the queen's chambers on the opposite side of the palace. Isabella was quick to duck her head and avoid any wandering eyes. While it was no secret that she liked to spend her days in the kitchen, she always felt self-conscious about being watched or recognized. The last thing she wanted was a rumor started about how the queen looked like a ragamuffin.
Finally, they reached Isabella's private chambers. Double doors opened to reveal a spacious abode, complete with two separate sitting rooms and entertainment space. There were other maids scurrying about, poking the fire and readying all of the odds and ends for the night. Isabella took one look at her ostentatious crown sitting in the lap of one of the maids as it was cleaned, gems shining in the firelight, and shuddered at the invisible weight on her head.
At the sight of their mistress - or more likely, Alice - all of the other girls got up and started working double time. Jewelry was placed on pillows, new shoes were laid out next to fan made of ostrich feather and white elbow gloves, while all Isabella saw was a whirl of black and white before the room was cleared and she was left alone with Alice.
"There is no time for a bath, but I'll have someone send up some lavender sprigs and honeysuckle that we can tuck into the seams of your gown," Alice fretted, circling Isabella like a hawk as she looked for any and all imperfections to fix. Her eyes narrowed as one small hand lashed out to grasp one of her dark curls. Or, at least it was dark the last time she checked her hair in the morning. Now, it looked vaguely grey.
"Goodness me! You have got flour all in your hair!" Alice cried, now even more stressed. "What am I going to do with you, Majesty?"
"Put me out of my misery," Isabella grumbled.
Of course, Alice's response was to put Isabella into even more misery. The maid scowled deeply and pushed Isabella not-so-gently in the direction of the vanity. Isabella plopped down on the red-velvet lined stool as her hair was yanked and pulled with a comb. She instantly regretted pulling it back into her bandana earlier, all the tangles creating a nest out of her normally compliant hair. Thankfully, Isabella's scalp went numb from the pain half way through the treatment, so she suffered minimally until Alice was finally finished shoving gem-encrusted pins into the tight hive of gentle curls she had created.
"Absolutely stunning, Majesty," Alice praised, pride shining through at her handiwork.
Isabella had to admit, it was a miracle that her hair looked so sophisticated from what it had once been, but it was not her at all. So, she grinned thinly and to the best of her ability, hoping it came off as genuine and not forced. Judging by the way Alice's face fell slightly, Isabella had failed.
Dashing off to the wardrobe, Alice pulled out the monstrosity for the night: a voluminous red taffeta ballgown complete with a corset (or as Isabella called them, death traps) inlaid with diamonds and rubies. It was a dress fit for a queen. Isabella hated it on sight.
"Oh come now," Alice clucked her tongue disapprovingly at the horrified face Isabella was making. "The seamstresses worked tirelessly on this one. It is a work of art that any woman would be lucky to wear."
"Any woman except me."
Alice frowned. Isabella knew that her maid must think her the most spoilt, ungrateful brat in the entire kingdom, but she simply did not understand that Isabella found pleasure in the simple things. She did not need nor want such extravagance. For the hundredth time that day, Isabella pondered how this life would be better suited for someone who appreciated such things. If only she had not drawn the eye of the king...if only she had been born a simple peasant...perhaps life would be simpler.
Then again, so many people in the kingdom were poor, starving even. Every day she heard pleas and petitions for the king to do something, anything, to relieve the conditions of the underprivileged, and every day the king gave them a sympathetic ear and the same phrase: "We are doing all we can." It made Isabella's heart bleed, and her blood boil. How those women with so little, who worked themselves to the bone, would kill for even a taste of what she had. Alice was right - any woman would be lucky to live such a life of luxury.
Then, an insane idea sprang to life inside her mind.
"Alice..." Isabella started, unsure of how to even phrase her insane request. "How about you attend the ball in my place."
"That is very funny, Majesty, but I do believe the people want to see the queen, not the queen's head maid."
"But what if you were the queen...took my place per say?"
"Nonsense!" Alice brushed off the request, thinking Isabella was joking with her like usual. "There is not a chance I could fool anyone, Majesty. I am nearly a head shorter than you."
"Nothing a good pair of heels cannot fix," Isabella replied, the wheels turning in her brain faster than she could keep up with. "And we are the same size in dress, so nothing would have to be altered. If I lent you some hair extensions and pulled them up into a chignon, no one would notice the difference in length. Our eyes are close to the same shade of brown; we have the same pale complexion..."
"Oh dear me, you are serious aren't you?" Alice blanched, now eyeing Isabella skeptically, as if she had gone mad.
Isabella nodded, and Alice shook her head vehemently.
"What of our voices?"
"It will be far too loud for anyone to spot the difference. Besides, I do not make public appearances often; I doubt the majority of the populace even remembers my face, nonetheless the sound of my voice."
"And the King?"
"Will be so thrilled by my attendance that I doubt he will give me much thought outside of the first dance, for which no words are required."
"N-no! This is madness! I could not possibly...it is the first night!" Alice spluttered, completely overwhelmed. "There is the commencement speech and first dance and - "
"All things you have been rehearsing with me for weeks," Isabella pressed, trying her best to bring Alice onboard with this crazy idea. "You know everything just as well, if not better than I do. Please, Alice, do this for me. Go to the ball, wear this lovely dress, sip wine, dance with strangers, and leave me here to relax in peace."
Alice bit down on her lip, torn. It was evident by the spark in her eye that she wished to go to the ball. The petite maid had done nothing but gush about how exciting the preparations were and how she looked forward to sampling all the food and admiring the glamorous women. It would be like a dream come true for her, a fairytale. All her life Alice had served royalty, and now she could have the chance to be royalty.
"I don't know..."
"If you incur any trouble, blame it all on me and I shall never coerce you into such a ruse ever again," Isabella rushed to supplement, ready to say whatever it would take to seal the deal before she lost Alice's interest permanently.
That seemed to do the trick, the maid looking up at her mistress shrewdly. "Do you swear it?"
"I swear," Isabella promised, crossing her heart for added effect.
With that, the last bit of Alice's resolve crumbled away and nervous excitement took its place. "Oh, alright, I suppose one night won't hurt."
"Thank you!" Isabella cried, pulling her maid into a crushing hug. "Thank you a million times over Alice!"
"Yes, yes, all in the name of duty, Majesty," Alice replied modestly, patting Isabella on the back twice before pulling away.
"Now, let's get you in that dress," Isabella clapped her hands together, eyeing Alice up and down, ready to take on this new project. "We have just under an hour to convince the world that you are the Queen of Forks."