A/N

Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and reccs on facebook and elsewhere, and welcome to the new readers. I'm glad you enjoyed the pictures of Bella's gown and mask. I now have a heap of more 'likes' on my facebook author page - something I'm told is vitally important though I'm not all that sure why. Personally I'd rather you read and 'liked' my stories!

I've had a crazily busy week, but I am overjoyed to be able to say I've finished the edit for Protection, the sequel to Innocence. The cover is done (thank to the incomparable SoapyMayhem from Mayhem Cover Creations) and TWCS are getting ready to send out the ARC copies for review. Roll on May 7th...Protection's publication date. I can't wait!

The good news for Restoration is I can now focus on finishing it without distraction. :)

Thanks, as always, to my lovely betas, Katmom and NKubie. You guys are the greatest!

Chapter 10

Edward rocked on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. Doing his best to keep his expression impassive, he gazed out over the colourful, chattering crowd. They reminded him of a flock of exotic birds . . . peacocks maybe—there were enough of their plumage on display—or parrots. He couldn't decide, all he knew was he'd already had his fill of the incessant noise and endless pandering, and the evening was still young. The musicians began warming up, signalling the dancing would soon begin. What joy.

Like the odd compulsion to pick at a half-healed wound, Edward couldn't resist the urge to glance to his side, even knowing he would encounter Rosalie's cool, disdainful countenance. She could be bored witless, fuming with anger, or lost in some lovelorn fantasy for all he knew. King Marcus's only child kept her cards, along with her thoughts, feelings, and opinions, close to her impressive bosom. That she was a remarkably beautiful woman was not in doubt. That Edward felt nothing for her, not even the slightest hint of attraction, was equally certain. If he'd been able to read her in the slightest, it might have helped. But the only woman he'd ever felt that sort of connection with, where a glance revealed as much as a conversation and words flowed easily between them, was the maid he'd spent a day and a night with in a run-down cabin, deep in the mountains.

Bella.

Edward's mask slipped, and he only just managed to hide his anguish behind a sigh.

God, how he missed her, which he reminded himself was ridiculous. He barely knew her, having spent far less time in her company than Rosalie's. His feelings couldn't possibly be real . . . be fixed . . . be the sort that could sustain a relationship over a lifetime. But what a beginning it would have been if they'd been able to take that initial attraction, the spark that threatened to ignite an all-consuming fire, and seen how brightly it could burn.

Edward didn't believe, for one minute, that it would have ended like Emmett's short-lived affairs His brother's lust for the latest in his never ending stream of conquests invariably reduced to smouldering ash in a matter of weeks or even days. He never cared about the girls. He wasn't interested in their opinion like Edward was in Bella's. He never spoke of finding a kindred spirit, someone whose words felt like they'd been drawn from his own thoughts, whose experience of the world, though totally different, somehow shared the same path . . . or illuminated a future path in such a way that it became the only one he wanted to tread.

But couldn't.

Edward had to stop torturing himself, stop thinking about the girl, stop going over and over in his mind every moment of the time they'd spent together, reliving every word, every touch, every kiss. In reality, there'd only been the one, but it was the standard by which he would measure all others . . . and all others would be found wanting.

"If you clench your jaw any harder, you're going to crack a molar," Jasper murmured at his side. "You're a miserable enough sod as it is, lately. I don't fancy your company if you add a toothache to the mix."

"Oh, shut up." Edward threw his friend a withering look. "I'm doing my best. I don't see anyone berating Rosalie for looking less-than-thrilled at the prospect of our betrothal."

Jasper huffed a breath. "Who would dare? Besides, how can you tell what she's thinking? She could be tickled pink for all you know."

The hint of a smile curved Edward's lip, but it couldn't prevent a second sigh escaping his lips. How was he supposed to make a life with a woman whose only expressions were twitches of eyebrow, nostril, or lip? Mind you, if he was reading those twitches correctly, they betrayed her opinion of him as loudly as a bellowed denunciation. The only time he'd seen her show any positive emotion was when they'd been introduced during his time in exile, and she'd laughed out loud at some outrageous comment of Emmett's. His future bride and younger brother had seemed to hit it off, which had been no less than he'd expected, but whatever connection the two of them had made was apparently a one-time thing. No matter how hard Emmett tried—and oh, he tried, regardless of the inappropriateness of his actions on more levels than Edward could count—Rosalie showed even less interest in his younger brother than she did in him . . . which was saying something. It showed class on her behalf. Emmett, on the other hand, was acting like a lovesick fool experiencing his first ever bout of rejection.

"You are aware she is to be my wife?" Edward had been forced to demand of his brother in regard to his antics. "I didn't die as a result of Caius's attack, and you don't get to inherit the kingdom."

"I don't want the damned kingdom, father's or Marcus's." Emmett had shuddered. "And I'm well aware you're not dead . . . and glad of it."

"Yet, you insist on making a play for my future betrothed. What are you thinking, Em?"

"Hell, if I know." His normally imperturbable sibling had thrown his hands in the air. "I'm sorry. I'll back off. But it's damned hard to watch when it's obvious you don't care for her one iota."

"And you do?" Edward had scoffed.

"Yes! No! How would I know?" Emmett had paced a few yards before returning. "I've never cared before, so maybe that's what I'm feeling."

"Hardly. You've just never been scorned by a woman before."

"Not one I want as badly as this one," Emmett had admitted with a grimace, one Edward had mirrored.

"So, if she was willing, you'd have cuckolded your own brother even before he is wed?"

"Not if I thought you cared about her." Emmett shrugged. "Either way, I'd wait until she is with child—yours—so there'd be no doubt about the succession."

"How very big of you, little brother."

Edward rolled his eyes at the memory just as he had at the time. The saddest part was all he could think when he pictured Emmett lying with Rosalie, the woman who was to be his wife, was better him than me. It would be a different matter if his brother had made a play for Bella.

"Forget the tooth, you're going to crack your jaw at this rate." Jasper nudged Edward in the side, and he deliberately eased the tension in his muscles, facial and elsewhere.

"You're not still pining over that girl from the forest, are you? You do realise that ship was never for you and has already sailed."

"Thanks for the reminder." Edward scowled. "Now why don't you do something useful and go get me a drink. Enduring this farce sober is clearly not an option."

"Of course, Your Highness. Anything you say, Your Highness." Jasper made a sweeping bow, ignoring Edward's muttered curses. Fearing Rosalie might have overheard, he was relieved to see she'd gone to sit by her father. King Marcus appeared far from well. In fact, he looked like he should have followed the physician's orders and remained on his sick bed. Some were calling it his death bed, and Edward couldn't blame them for the assumption. It was little wonder the man was in a hurry to see his daughter's future—and that of his kingdom—secured. It also meant that Edward was likely to become the ruler of Marcus's realm much sooner than he'd expected.

A commotion near the entrance to the ballroom drew Edward's eye, a welcome distraction from contemplating his formidable future.

"What's going on?" he asked Jasper as his friend approached from that direction and handed him a glass of wine, one Edward downed in a large gulp.

"There's a mystery guest causing something of a stir. Quite a stunner, though I only spotted her from a distance. She's one of the ones wearing a mask."

"Strange business." Edward shook his head, never having attended a ball whose female guests were arrayed in such an eclectic array of fashions before.

Jasper nodded. "Apparently it's in response to being freed from Aro's oppression, a sort of 'anything goes' approach after the years of stifling rigidity. I wouldn't be surprised if the locals aren't testing their new king and queen to see how they'll respond to a little mild rebellion."

Edward looked to where his parents were hovering over Marcus and his fretful wife. The populace could allay their fears, as he couldn't imagine either of his parents being bothered by such frivolity. With a war being waged on one border, food shortages, a possible peasant uprising, and an imperative alliance hanging in the balance, they had enough to contend with. He imagined the nobility could dress as clowns for all his father would care, as long as they didn't act like them and try to interfere with his plans for reform.

"I'd best go see if I'm needed." Edward handed his glass back to Jasper.

"While I shall continue impersonating a servant," his friend retorted with mock affront and another sweeping bow.

"Pfft." Edward flicked his fingers. "We both know you'll go find the mystery guest and begin your seduction as soon as my back is turned."

Jasper slapped a hand to his chest. "You wound me . . . though it has been a while since I've bedded such a comely wench."

Edward raised his brows. "She must be a looker, since the lass I saw sneaking out of your quarters this morning was far from plain."

"You know me," Jasper said with a grin. "I have excellent taste . . . in wine, women, and song."

"Don't forget friends," Edward called over his shoulder as he made his way to his father's side.

"Edward, dear, you're just in time," his mother said, a concerned look in her eyes. "Marcus is feeling poorly, so we thought we'd bring the betrothal announcement forward so he can retire."

"Let them dance, first." Marcus waved his hand towards where couples were forming lines in the centre of the ballroom. "I've dreamed about this day, and I want to see my daughter on the arm of your son, symbolising our two kingdoms united at last."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Edward bowed before Marcus then held his hand out to Rosalie. He was glad of any excuse to put off the inevitable, even if it did involve making a spectacle of himself on the dance floor while accompanied by a partner who might as well have been carved from ice.

"Shall we, my dear?" he asked, provoking the twitch of her brow with his wording.

"It's lovely to see them getting along so well," he heard Rosalie's mother say as they walked away, and it took all Edward's not inconsiderable training in court etiquette not to release a guffaw.

"She sees what she wants to see and is oblivious to anything else," Rosalie said, her chin lifted even higher than usual.

It was the closest to anything of a personal nature she'd said to him in three weeks, and Edward raised a brow. "I'm sure your mother just wants you to be happy."

"Happy?" Rosalie turned to face him. "Since when does happiness have anything to do with ruling a kingdom?"

"It's not possible to accomplish one while experiencing the other?"

"Only if one is as delusional as my mother." Rosalie rolled her eyes then faced forwards. "Now let's get this charade over with."

"Let's." Edward drew in a deep breath. As far as he could tell, the charade had barely begun.

~xxx~

The grey stone walls of the castle rose high into the night, the lights of a thousand torches competing with the grandeur of the stars blanketing the sky above. As the carriage made its way up the winding mountain road, the horses' hooves drowned out the pounding of Bella's heart . . . almost. Passing through the towering gates and into the immense courtyard that fronted the palace, she was grateful for her long, black gloves. They not only disguised her servant's hands but hid the fact her palms were sweating.

"Will ye be all right, miss?" Ben asked in a low voice, as he assisted her down from her seat. Nodding, she wrapped the long, fur-trimmed coat that matched her glorious gown more tightly around her shoulders. It was late in the season to be holding a ball, but the coronation of a new king could not go uncelebrated.

With head held high, she ascended the endless stone steps to where sword-bearing soldiers guarded the palace's entrance. Any second now, the spears they held to their sides would be crossed, barring her entry. Questions would be asked, proof of her claim to worthiness would be demanded. Her mask would be torn from her face, as she was denounced as an imposter, or worse, accused of being a spy. With her heart in her mouth, she turned to flee.

"This way, my lady." The guard to her left gestured, as the massive carved doors were opened.

"Enjoy your evening, my lady." The guard to her right bowed at her passing, and Bella forced her frozen lips into the semblance of a smile.

"Miss Isabella Swan," she informed the head steward after her cloak had been taken and she'd been escorted to the top of the stairs that led down into the glittering ballroom. "My family arrived earlier, but I was delayed. Would you mind not announcing me, as I'd rather not draw attention to my tardiness."

With trembling fingers she slid a coin into the courtier's hand, her breath catching in her throat while she awaited the man's response. His eyes widened, but then the hint of a smile twitched his lip.

"Certainly, miss. I had the pleasure of announcing Lady Swan and her daughters earlier. They're holding court on the right side of the ballroom if you'd prefer heading towards the left."

Bella gave the man a grateful smile, the first natural one she'd managed all evening.

"I remember your father well," he added. "It was a bad business, his banishment and what followed. I wondered what happened to his little girl. He'd have been proud to see how well you turned out."

"Oh!" Bella swallowed around the lump that formed in her throat. So many years had passed since she'd last visited the castle, she didn't think anyone would have remembered her. "That's very kind of you."

The steward nodded and stood to attention, leaving Bella to make her way down the grand stairway into the colourful crowd below. She had worried she'd look ridiculous in her mask, but Alice had worked the oddest of miracles, with every third lady in attendance wearing some sort of exotic adornment. Her sisters' creations still took the cake in terms of absurdity, but she was happy for them to draw whatever attention they could . . . away from Bella, preferably. She would stay just long enough to find Edward and speak with him, taking only a few moments of his time. Until the opportunity arose, she would hide in plain sight, mingling unnoticed in the crowd.

Halfway down the stairs, she began to question her plan. People were staring, murmuring, even pointing. A glance over her shoulder confirmed she was the only late arrival. Another glance assured her nothing was amiss with her gown, the bodice not that scandalously low. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, she was soon surrounded by elegantly attired gentlemen vying for a place on the dance card she'd been handed by a steward and which now hung from her wrist.

"Of course. Certainly." She smiled, her gaze barely registering their features as she strove not to panic at the questions she heard being asked.

"Who is she?"

"Where is she from?"

"Does anyone know her name?"

"What's all the fuss? Why are the gentlemen congregating over here? My daughters' dance cards are not yet filled." A familiar voice rose above the others, and Bella jerked her head in the direction of the imperiously issued demand. Not three rows of people away stood Victoria, Jessica, and Lauren.

Bella's heart threatened to burst from her chest when she saw them staring right at her. As one, they looked her up and down, their lips pruning with displeasure. If she wasn't mistaken, their expressions betrayed jealousy, but rather than savour the moment, she held her breath, awaiting their denouncement. It didn't come. Instead, they raised their collective noses in the air and turned their backs.

Alice was right. With the elaborate mask, Bella was virtually unrecognisable . . . but far from invisible.

The musicians began warming up in preparation for the first dance—she had arrived just in time—and she wasn't lacking in choice when it came to selecting a partner to escort her onto the dance floor. She tried not to seem rude but was barely aware of the man opposite her, her gaze scanning the crowded ballroom in search of Edward.

As the dancers formed two long rows, Bella spotted a lady who could be no other than Princess Rosalie, and her heart sank. Tall, elegant, regally gowned and with her long fair hair arranged in a stunning design, she was every bit as beautiful as Bella had been warned. How could she possibly compete?

Gritting her teeth, she concentrated on recalling the steps to a dance she'd not studied or seen performed in what felt like a lifetime. She wasn't here to compete with a princess. She just had to find Edward and beg for his assistance.

Her steps had faltered when she saw him, standing tall and proud opposite his wife-to-be. Dressed all in black, his tunic embellished with silver, he looked every bit as handsome as she recalled . . . but far less accessible. After changing partners several times as the dance slowly progressed, Bella calculated that she wouldn't come close to reaching Edward before the music ended. She'd not come this far to fail.

"Please excuse me." She smiled an apology to her partner then threaded her way through the crowd. At the beginning of the next rotation, she boldly stood before him, ignoring the spluttered protest of the lady whose place she had usurped.

"Hello, Edward," she said, her heart in her mouth as she awaited his response.

~xxx~

Hmm...so why does Edward think that 'ship has sailed'? A bit of an evil cliffie, but I'll try to have the next chapter up for the weekend. ;)

I've posted a few images on my facebook page - Elise de Sallier Author - that give an idea of what a medieval prince might wear. There are also some amazing manips by Fallinsnow Winter for you to enjoy.

I've been asked where this is set and when, and I'll admit my research is a bit light on for this story (hence the 'vagueness') as I'm so busy with my editing/professional publishing duties. So...roughly medieval and somewhere in Europe!

Thanks so much for your lovely reviews. They make me smile and fuel my writing mojo. :)