Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.
Isabelle sat on the edge of her bed waiting impatiently for her brother, Alec, to fetch her after his afternoon lecture. She had told almost everyone in the Lightwood palace that she was fully capable of finding her own way, but they didn't want to hear it. You will be accompanied to and from places, that is how princesses go about, mother had said.
That was the catch. All the books and stories about princesses and fairytales could be refuted. A lot of it was not true. The magic and the balls weren't as common as those stories made it seem. Being a princess was all about being pristine and perfect. It wasn't the life Isabelle wanted.
Just as her patience ran thin there was a slight knock on the large wooden doors. She stood and flattened out the folds in her dark blue dress before answering the sound.
She was shocked to see not her brother, but Simon, the stable boy, standing before her. Isabelle pulled him inside her bedroom, closing the door tightly behind her.
"What in the world are you doing here?" she whispered in horror. If Alec walked in now, she knew she would be a goner. Imagining her parents walking in was the definition of a nightmare.
"You don't want me here?" Simon asked taking a necessary step forward, letting his arms wrap around her waist.
Isabelle glanced over her shoulder at the door, fearing for the moment that someone would walk in. She had always met him in secret, never directly in the palace before. The nerves made her hands shake.
When her head whipped back around she found his face much closer than it had before. When their noses grazed, Isabelle's cheeks burned red.
"I want nothing more," she replied.
Their lips briefly touched, sending the usual butterflies down her stomach, when the door sounded. She jumped away from him in pure terror. "That's Alec," she whispered frantically.
Somehow, Simon looked calm and collected. "Tell him that you're not feeling well and that you must miss your painting lesson today."
"But Simon that's lying."
"And what we're doing right now; is this not lying?"
She felt guilt like a high tide. Isabelle had never wanted their relationship to be a secret, but it was not something a princess should be doing – going off and seeing the stable boy for other reasons than using the stables.
"Isabelle, are you alright?" Alec questioned from behind the door.
"Please, my love," Simon grabbed at her hands. "Just tell your brother this and we'll go somewhere together."
The idea was appealing – going off somewhere with Simon for the rest of the evening sounded heavenly. She nodded in agreement.
Simon hid on the other side of her wardrobe as she answered the door, putting on her best sick face.
"Brother, I am not well," she said, immediately feeling the fakeness behind her falsely placed words.
"Are you alright?" he asked with concern in his voice.
"I believe it was my mid morning tea. The crackers were the slightest bit off. I already notified the kitchen staff of the problem. I believe I must stay here and rest for the remainder of this evening. Tell Sir Starkweather that I am sorry for the inconvenience."
"It will be no problem at all, little sister. Please do feel better." Alec never questioned her. He left without another word.
Simon appeared at her side again just as she had closed the door.
"I have to show you something," was all he said. He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her along with him, out the door and down the corridor.
If anyone had seen how he touched her wrist, or held her while they kissed, they would be appalled. It was unladylike to be touched in such an informal manner. But Isabelle never cared.
They eventually stopped, both hunched over panting, in a small closet. Isabelle had spent her entire life in this castle and she never realized that that door was there.
"What is this?" she whispered. There was a light hum of people talking above them. "Where are we?"
"I found out that officials were bringing Sebastian Verlac to the palace to be questioned for his crimes."
The name brought her up short. Sebastian Verlac along with his father had tried to destroy the entire country. They failed, of course, but not without taking hundreds of innocent lives. Including her little brother's.
Max had been captured out of the castle and murdered a fortnight later. Nothing will ever describe opening up the front gates to find a nine year old boy chopped into pieces – his head mounted on a spike.
She did not quite understand what them being in a closet and the murderer of hundreds had in common.
"So I found this room, so we could listen to the trial. And look," he stood on his toes, "you can see what's going on in there if you stretch. They won't even know we're here."
Isabelle's blood was pumping. Women weren't allowed into court rooms, it was against the law. This could possibly be the closest she could ever get to an actual criminal. The idea made her lightheaded. She was going to see what the boy who murdered her brother was going to have to endure.
The court was filled with men, all wearing black robes with lettering written on them. The renowned judge, Sir Zachariah, wore the ceremonial white wig and fire shaped brooch, symbolizing the Lightwood home.
Shortly after the judge was seated and the other men on the council had followed suit, the discussions started.
"It has been alleged that the one in questioning has been tried for the murder of hundreds of townspeople? Is this correct brothers?"
A collective murmur echoed throughout the space. Isabelle stood on a box next to Simon to peer into the area. He gripped onto her hand helping her up, and refused to let go after she was situated.
The room was large and every square inch of the walls, ceiling, and flooring was white. The judges black robes stood out shockingly against the light color.
"Yes, Brother," a tall figure said from beside Judge Zachariah. "The boy, Sebastian Verlac, was a part of the devilish ways of Valentine, the one responsible for the Mortal War. Whereas Valentine was killed in battle, his son made back alive. Sebastian must be reprimanded for and as if he was his father."
"That does not seem fair," one council member said at the end of the table. He had thinning brown hair, his eyes set deep in his face indicating his old age. "Yes, he must be punished for the crimes he has committed, but by putting his father's responsibilities on his shoulders the kingdom will think that we are trying to pick a blame, which is what we are not doing. We will find justice some other way."
"We have found justice," another member called. "The closest thing we'll find next to Valentine is standing just in the other room. His son. Everyone on this council, in this palace, in this kingdom has been affected by this war. We must take who did this horrible injustice and kill him, for it is the right thing to do. Valentine, may he burn in hell, cannot pay for his crimes. I say we take his son's life away, just as they took away so many others."
"Are there any other ideas on what to do with the boy?" Sir Zachariah asked.
"Death. Death is the only answer. It is the only way we will know for sure that something like this won't happen again," a small member said in a crystal clear voice.
"He must be exiled," another called.
"For the greater good, Judge Zachariah, you must understand. We mustn't look past this indiscretion. He must be killed," the small man threw back at his brothers.
"He has done nothing for our society besides murder helpless workers. There must be a penalty for this boy."
Isabelle's heart iced over as the men before her fought. If she had a say there wouldn't be any further discussions.
Out of the small crowd of townspeople watching, a wretched man stepped forward. The signs of fatigue were evident on him. "I am sorry brothers, for I know this is a council meeting and the people don't have a say. But what I am about to say must be said. I see no reason to let him live. I believe we all forget, or try to forget, about the death that has affected us all. Yes, we cry and we mourn for our loved ones, our mothers and fathers and wives and children who have passed on. But will we just deny the fact, even as we sit in their home, that the king and queen's youngest son was brutally murdered as well? It seems unjust to talk about these things while in their abode and never mention it. We must always keep the king and queen in mind. They would vote execution for it would be the only way to grieve one last time."
The man's words rang through the room as he concluded his short speech. Isabelle hadn't realized her knees were shaking until she almost fell off the box she was standing on. Simon caught her before the ground did.
She held onto him as she silently sobbed. The tears ran thick down her cheeks as she thought of Max. She hadn't cried in front of anyone beside her mother before, Princesses hold themselves together, even in the most stressful of situations. So gripping onto Simon as she fell apart was different.
After she collected herself she looked up at him, her whole face saturated as if she had recently come out of a bath. "Thank you," she whispered.
The enigma was written all over his face. "For what?" He used the back of his hand to dry the tears that she hadn't known were still flowing.
"Being here. Letting me cry. Holding me when I want to be held. All these things that I'm not supposed to do, feel incredibly right when I'm with you. Simon, you mean so much to me," she stressed.
"You know," he paused, twirling a strand of her hair around his fingers, seeming unfazed by her words. "I sometimes wonder why you, out of everyone here, would pick me. I'm just the stable boy after all."
"Simon, stop it. Don't be so base."
"I'm not being that way. I speak the truth, and you know it. You deserve the world, and yet you choose me. It baffles me sometimes how it could be so."
Before she could even take a breath, she let the words tumble out of her mouth, leaving the truth out in the open for the first time. "It's because I love you."
He looked at her longingly, brushing back her hair and looking directly into her eyes as he said the words back. "As I love you."
He bent forward and lightly feathered his lips across her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and finally ending with her mouth where his lips came with crashing force.
She could taste the salt from her tears as they embraced in the small closet, but she didn't have the energy to care. It was perfect. Every inch of her felt Simon and Simon only.
Through the tears and kisses she vaguely heard Judge Zachariah make the decision of execution. She felt like she was flying.
For the first time in her life, encased in the love of her life's arms, she finally felt like a princess.
Kourtnie speaks: lol I write fanfic and hand it into my English teacher for grades