THE BROKEN THRONE

Chapter 11

January 3rd, 1489 – Wessport

The ceremony had been a hasty one. The archbishop had been summoned in the early hours of dawn to the chapel of the castle—a summons at the cathedral would arouse too much curiosity. Once he saw the king standing there with a woman and some witnesses, the bishop understood what was going on. He did, however, not object to the hasty marriage, understanding why it was such a hushed down event. But the time they had given their vows, Magnus had arrived with his wife, Rebecca. Their presence caused tension, for it was evident that they would not take kindly to the marriage, as it was only meant for one thing; to produce an heir. If Philip had a son, Magnus' claim to the throne would be void and he'd have to take it by brute force.

Rumors had already circulated the city the moment the king was seen entering the chapel with so many people in tow. It had been too late to interfere when the prince arrived. The damage was already done.

Rebecca fought hard to hide her scowl as she witnessed the young woman next to Philip's side; the new queen of Angloa.

"He marries a girl, hoping she will bring him any children into this world," Rebecca snarled under her breath. Magnus hushed her, hoping Philip had not heard her remark as he walked past them on the aisle, toward the door to lead his new wife to the chamber. Their marriage was to be consummated immediately.

"If my brother can even perform," Magnus scoffed as soon as Philip had passed. "Marianne is dead, he has no love for anyone else. That Frenchwoman will help him little in the bedroom," he reassured his wife. "I am not too worried, and neither should you be, Rebecca. Your family still supports us, as well as some of my most powerful friends. What's more, we have an ace up our sleeve ourselves." Magnus tried to calm her down, because he knew to which lengths she was capable of going. He did not know yet, but he suspected she had something to do with Marianne's death. And if that was the case, Magnus feared his wife more than anything in the world. He had little love for his brother, but he did not wish for him to be hurt.

"In a few months we shall see, dear," Rebecca said, watching the strange couple mount the carriage that would take them to the main door of the palace. "Besides— " Her hand went to her stomach. Her pregnancy did not show yet under the masses of robes that hid her belly. But in a few months, it would be protruding. "If we have a son, we could—"

"Don't think of such things now, Rebecca. I will take care of it all," Magnus muttered under his breath.

March 15th, 1490 – Wessport

The young queen stared at the finished needlework. The pattern was all too familiar to her by now. She had stitched that tree at least five times. The cushioned chair was sat by the windows so that she might have better light.

Wessport was gray and cold. The Frenchwoman detested the city, but she never shared her feelings. Her hand went to fetch another piece of linen and fresh needle, so she might start anew.

"Your Majesty, you have been embroidering for the last few hours, might you not wish to do something else?" The sweet voice belonged to Victoria Fell, daughter of Leonore's husband. She was almost ten, yet in her demeanor, there was an awareness only found in a fully mature woman. Victoria thought much like an adult, for whenever she spent time with Rebecca, the older woman would treat the young girl like just that—an adult. It was one of the reasons Victoria liked her so much.

"I've no wish to do anything else," she murmured to herself. Every day waking up was a struggle for her. Being married and still a virgin was laughable. Despite being married for more than a year, Philip had yet to visit her bed. Leonore had known from the start that the king would never love her, his heart would always belong with the late queen. But it still hurt the young woman. The only thing she wished for was comfort and love—she hoped a child might bring that to her. Leonore was still naïve in some aspects; not familiar with the politics of Wessport she could have no idea what bringing a child into the world might mean, for her and for those at court.

"We could visit Lady Rebecca and my cousin, Jasper," Victoria exclaimed. Her sister, Rosalie, ignored her as she played next to the fire.

"We visited them yesterday," Rosalie countered. The younger sister had little against her cousin, but she did not care much for Rebecca. She was only six, but even she could perceive something offsetting about her aunt—something about the woman sent chills down her spine.

Victoria's head snapped to meet her sister. "Well, the laugh of a baby always brings a smile to anyone's face. I believe mother could use some distraction." Leonore did not know if the teasing was well meant or intended to bring offense. But being called mother in such a tone did not sit well with her.

The queen got up, casting away the needlework. "I am not your mother," she said to the girl who was half her age. "I am only your father's wife," she growled. It was no secret that the queen did not feel comfortable in the palace at Wessport. She did little to hide her dislike for Victoria. The oldest child of Philip would many times lull her into thinking they had some kind of friendship, before blatantly throwing insults her way. Leonore supposed Victoria did it because she disapproved of her father's marriage, thinking he had forgotten her late mother. She had lost Marianne at a very tender age, after all. Nonetheless, the queen could not accept such disrespect.

Victoria got up, an eyebrow arched as she stepped out, but not before pushing past the queen. Some ladies in waiting gasped at the foolish act of the girl.

Rosalie stared at the floor, a sour look spreading over the subdued features. "I apologize for my sister. She's stupid and does not understand the consequences of her actions." The six-year-old spoke with words beyond her years. Still only a young princess, she seemed to already start taking on the burdens of being royalty.

"I have nothing against your sister, Your Highness. But I will never tolerate such a show of disrespect again," the queen answered. Even if she was out of her element and uncomfortable in the palace, she still knew of the power and influence she held there. "I will let it slide by this time, but if it happens again I shall speak to your father."

"I understand," Rosalie agreed. Her sister was too flamboyant, too proud—like their father. But, lately, it had gotten worse. Lately, Rosalie felt that Victoria spent too much time with Magnus and Lady Rebecca.

"Do you know she had the nerve to speak back against me? I am the daughter of a king, while she is only a lowly count's daughter!" Victoria exclaimed as she paced back and forth. "I lament that father does not see this faulty side of Her Majesty," she sneered, finally sitting down. She had run to the only people in the castle that would listen to her after her morning confrontation with Leonore.

Rebecca kept playing with her son, never feeling more accomplished than in that moment. "It is unfortunate indeed, my dear. But do not despair," she halfheartedly tried to comfort her niece. Ever since the death of her mother, Victoria had turned to Rebecca for comfort. The older woman had not liked the role at first, for the moment she gave birth to a son, she almost cast Victoria aside. But Magnus warned his wife that the young princess was still an asset to them.

"There are rumors that my father has not yet visited her chambers," Victoria chuckled as she went to the fires where Magnus sat, reading a book. Rebecca was not surprised at the way she talked about her father's marriage. She had herself hinted at the intimacy between a man and a woman. The young girl spoke without really understanding; what the union between two adults really meant. But she spoke without fear in their presence, always blunt and to the point. Sometimes it scared Magnus just how alike she was to her father.

"Well, my dear, if it continues that way and their marriage is fruitless, I imagine your father will pass the crown to you," Rebecca said, offering an encouraging smile. But she knew in her mind that it was not the case. The moment Philip died, Magnus would claim the throne, for he had sired a son and would no doubt receive more support than Victoria would. But the couple never said this to the princess.

"My father has no wish to pass the crown to me," Victoria scoffed. "He thinks me too proud at times. If anything, he'd rather give it to Rosalie before anyone else." She gracefully glided over the large carpet, over to her cousin. "Or, perhaps, little Jasper would receive the crown," she said in a distant tone. Rebecca smirked at how easy it was to manipulate young children. Years of cooing over the girl started giving fruit as she was in the palm of their hands, not realizing what they were stealing from her.

"I am sure my brother will know the right choice when the time comes." Magnus was alert to his niece. He needed her to at least accept the idea that Jasper could take the throne and not she. Women as rulers were not common, basically not possible. Their country had never seen a queen govern and he doubted very much that Victoria would be the first.

The young princess had no intentions to claim the throne either. "I would rather you or your son be crowned king than the offspring of that Frenchwoman; if she ever has one," Victoria sneered. "For I would never call it my sibling." Her harsh words provoked a sly smile in both Rebecca and Magnus, it seemed her thoughts were in their favor.

When Rosalie had left her, Leonore had stared at her reflection in the small mirror by her desk. What did her beauty matter if her husband would not even visit her bedside? She pushed the object aside, frustrated with her situation. She was queen, but her life was empty. Leonore figured that if she had a child, her life would have some meaning.

A knock sounded on her door. "Your Majesty?" It was a voice she recognized well.

"Enter," the queen commanded. Athar was quiet as he entered the royal chamber. The man was growing old as well. Ever since the loss of his wife and child he had felt the old age slowly creep into his limbs. Philip would never speak of it, for he was too proud to admit he suffered the aching pains of aging, but Athar voiced it more. He would jokingly complain whenever in the presence of the king. He did the same thing with the queen.

"That you would have an old man open the door for himself," he shook his head and a smirk graced his lips. The goatee was gray, as was his hair. In a few years, Athar was certain he would be left with only white strands. He planned on growing his beard so long that he would be mistaken as a wizard by the children. He always amused himself with scaring the children of the lords that visited the palace, telling stories of what might lurk in the dark corridors of the structure.

Leonore could not help a sad laugh escape her. "My husband is at least twenty years your senior, and yet he does not complain. To what do I have the pleasure of your visit, my lord?"

"Rosalie sent me." When Leonore was about to protest, Athar put up two hands in defense. "She is young and has yet to understand the world she lives in. But the girl perceives much and she worries for you. So I am here, to see if I can be of any service."

He watched the young woman staring at her reflection in the mirror. She saw a beauty of nigh twenty, doubt dulling her features, her whole body tense. "Well, my lord," she knew she could confide in him, to some extent. "Like Rosalie, I am still unfamiliar with a lot of things in this world. I am in a country that is foreign to me and my husband is of an advanced age. I suspect it is not normal for a young wife to have to wait until her marriage to be consummated." She blushed as she stared down at the floor, fiddling with her hands. For the first time, her youth shone through and Athar got a glimpse of the modest and unconfident girl that hid behind the mask of the respectable queen.

He sighed, knowing he could offer few words that would comfort her. "Philip is a complicated man, he has suffered a lot."

"I know that." She was tired of hearing of her husband's suffering. She was at the start of her life, his sorrows should not weigh her down. "I know he could never love me and I accept that. But he married me for a reason." She remained calm as she spoke, but her words were loaded with power.

"I cannot force him to—"

"One child is all I ask, my lord. You may relay that to my husband when you see him next," Leonore said, thus ending their conversation. Athar stood up and bowed deeply, taking into account the wishes of his queen.

April 2nd, 1520 – Constantinople

The network spread across the city like a spider web, covering each corner of Constantinople. It had been easy putting the word out via Kamil. The young craftsman had been more than eager to help once he got over the shock at seeing Edward again.

Karid had to return to his post later that same day, so Edward and his friends kept inside the house. That same evening, Tohin, Asul, and Hafza prepared a small feast for the starving men. While Edward ate, Tohin would ask him of his travels, and where he now resided. The otherwise quiet man soon started talking like he never had before. Jacob and Carlisle were surprised at the ease he conversed with Tohin as if he were a different man. His eyes glittered and chuckles escaped him whenever she gave sly remarks to his stories.

But the most impressive thing to them all was when Edward spoke of Isabella. They did not understand the language he was speaking in, but they understood of whom he was speaking. His eyes softened behind the mask and the usual arrogant or stoic look in them was gone. It was replaced by something else. His voice grew warmer when he thought of her and the tension in his body washed away.

Sitting by his side at the small table Tohin sighed loudly. "To be young and in love," she whispered, letting the loaded word float through the air. Edward nearly dropped his spoon and coughed.

"Love?!" he exclaimed. Tohin chuckled as his eyes grew wide at the word.

"Love Edward—that is what you feel for that woman, isn't it?" she asked, expanding her arms to show the grandeur of the word.

"I do not think that is what I would call it…that…" he trailed off as his heart started beating hard in his chest. It could not be love, he thought. He thought himself incapable of such feelings. He did not wish to open up his heart that much to Isabella.

Tohin snickered at him, sighing as she went to button the last button of his red doublet in a motherly way. "That is what I see when you speak of her. But I cannot tell you what you feel—you must figure that out for yourself," she said, her small brown eyes stared into his radiant green ones as she patted his cheek. "But do not lie to yourself too long," came her stern voice.

The door to the living area and kitchen swung open, a young man stepped in, dragging in the dust and waft of spices and fields from the street. He bore his black hair cropped close to the scalp, his head bare and a simple vest over a dirty chemise. His loose pants bloomed out and puffed at his ankles. The colors of his clothes were muted, as he could not afford the lavish and expensive dyed cloths. His sunburnt face turned to the small group eating by the table far off to one side, squeezed in between the various pots and other alien furniture. Stern brown eyes scoured the room for someone. Kamil's eyes lit up as he saw the masked man once more.

"They might have found her." The sentence was short but loaded, fired off like an arrow in the room. Edward's spoon fell out of his hand as he got up from his seat—the chair scraping against the floor as it was pushed aside.

"Where," he demanded, long strides took him across the room to Kamil, who had just closed the door after him. Both men went to a small sofa as Tohin scurried after them. At the sign of curiosity in her faded features, Carlisle and Jacob followed, unsure of what was taking place.

"Do you think they found her?" Jacob whispered to Carlisle, not understanding any of the words that were being spoken before them.

"It seems that way," came the tense response. This was what they had been waiting for. "We have only three days left until the ship leaves without us, we better hope they found her," Carlisle murmured under his breath.

"Where did they see her?" Edward asked, leaning forward so that he might catch every last word from the young man before him.

"They were not sure it was her. But a servant has confirmed a young brunette foreign woman to be living in the tower of some nobleman, who happens to be Angloan."

"Then it must be her," Edward said, sure of it.

"Easy now," Tohin began, sitting down next to her friend. "We need to confirm that it is indeed whom you seek."

"Very well, I shall go and have a look myself," Edward said, getting up from the sofa, waiting for Kamil to show him the way.

"It is not that easy, my friend. I hate to say it, but just like eleven years ago, your mask will no doubt attract much-unwanted attention. You have both your friends here, who know her as well. Send them in your stead." Kamil spoke with wisdom in his words, a wisdom that Edward lacked, blinded by his worry for Isabella. He was so close, yet so far.

"Jacob and Carlisle?" he exclaimed. Both men looked up at the mention of their names. "How can I send them in my place?"

"What are you speaking of?" Carlisle asked. Edward turned to face him, a frustrated expression briefly touching his eyes. He gripped the handle of the door and took a deep breath, recollecting his thoughts. He knew Kamil was right. Braun or his guards would instantly know something was amiss if a masked man appeared at their doorstep. He cursed under his breath.

"They might have found her, but I cannot go myself to confirm that it is Isabella…" he trailed off. He wanted to say that it was due to the mask but the words never left him. Edward was ashamed that his mask had become such an obstacle.

"Then we will go in your place," Jacob said, ready to burst out of the door. A hand came to stop him as Carlisle walked past him.

"I suspect it isn't that easy, Jacob," Carlisle murmured. His jaw squared as he saw the look in Edward's eyes; the anger and despair that showed through. The mask was in place but he could still read the expression in those eyes like an open book. The stoic and rational demeanor was completely gone and it seemed irrationality wanted to rule in its stead. It seemed Jacob caught wind of Edward's state.

"Oh," Jacob said, his voice growing muted as he understood the situation Edward found himself in. He had sailed half a world away to save his fiancée and now he couldn't even go see her himself.

Kamil, unaware of what the Angloans were speaking of, turned to Edward instead. "The same servant can sneak them into the tower to speak with her, but only for a few minutes during the morning. The guards are always away at that time and her caretaker leaves her before her tutor comes. It could work if they went, in disguise," he said, looking at Jacob and Carlisle.

Edward's brow furrowed and he went to sit down with a heavy sigh. He already knew the outcome—Jacob and Carlisle would speak with Isabella and he wouldn't be there.

A long silence passed where Edward could not decide. He stared at the dirty floor, taking in the muted sounds filtering in through the cracks of the door.

"Fine, make the preparations," he said in Turkish. "Jacob and Carlisle, you will go in my stead," Edward said with defeat in his eyes. "It is the only way without arising suspicion." He knew there was no other way, but never had such a decision weighed him down before.

"Then tomorrow I will take them to the tower. The rest is up to the servant girl and them," Kamil said, giving Edward a pat on the shoulder as he disappeared again.

Tohin arched an eyebrow as she saw his lowered head. "Love," she whispered, mostly to herself. But Edward heard those words. He suddenly sprung up, reaching for a cloak with a hood and pulled it over his frame.

"I will return before you leave," he muttered, walking out of the door, leaving the bunch standing, all confused at the strange exchange that had just taken place.

April 1st

"I can bring you with me right now if that is what you wish. You are not obliged to stay here anymore," Hassan said with a glee on his features. Something in Isabella spoke to wait. She remembered the saying "better the devil you know than the devil you don't". She had no idea who Hassan was and where he was taking her. But, deep within her, something pulled. The universe spoke to her, told her that it was not yet time.

"How can I be sure that you will take me where you say?"

He seemed almost offended at the blunt question. "I am reminding you that I am doing you a favor by even being so courteous. Let me remind you that your Lord Braun is selling you. As a slave you should have no right to speak nor ask questions," he stated in a grave voice. But then he put his hands up, as if in defeat. "But I am a generous man. I am taking you where I said—my connections have given you an opportunity for a brilliant future. You will be taken to the Royal Harem, to become a woman of the Sultan."

"Of course." Isabella curtsied slightly. "Then perhaps you will give me a few days to prepare for this journey. I feel overwhelmed by such good news," she said in her sweetest voice. Hassan seemed convinced for the smile only spread on his features.

"I understand your willingness to leave this place. Be happy that you are finally leaving. Even if Braun receives the money, he will not last long here. His reach in Constantinople is drying up as most of his old friends and connections are gone," Hassan revealed. Isabella could not help but arch an eyebrow.

"Then I am most fortunate," she said carefully—not wanting to give him her personal opinion on the matter. It was too early to trust Hassan with her specific thoughts on Braun. However, she was happy to hear that he was nearing his ruin, it was more than he deserved.

"In two days hence, before the sun sets, I shall return and deliver you to the harem in my personal palanquin," he smiled before saying his goodbyes.

Isabella stared as he left. There was something unnerving with the whole situation. What if Hassan was taking her somewhere worse? She had no qualms about leaving Braun and his people behind, but she worried where she might end up next.

There was no need to inform Braun of what had just transpired. As she left the courtyard, she could see his form slithering in the shadows—watchful of her every move.

April 3rd

Jacob readjusted his tunic one final time, scratching as the constricting turban squeezed his head. His otherwise clean-shaven face was now dotted with a false mustache and beard, the same dark shade as his hair, hiding under the dark maroon turban. Carlisle wore similar clothes. Both felt out of place as two men led them through Constantinople.

Carlisle and Jacob looked like they belonged there for the first time. They did not receive the strange looks as they trekked through the narrow streets of the city. They could enjoy taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the place.

It was early morning on a market day. People placed carts in front of their houses, mounted the tents that would shield them and their products from the sun. Some street musicians had already started playing, hoping to catch a few coins before the day was over. There were more guards present in the city than previous days. Karid had warned them which streets they should keep away from—in case the guards decided to randomly stop them for inspection.

Edward had kept awake the whole night. He could not step outside on such a day, for he would surely attract attention amongst the market goers. Rumors—Tohin said—spread like wildfire in Constantinople. If word got out about a masked foreigner wandering the streets, even the most remote and closed off homes would hear of it. If the lord keeping the young woman was Lord Braun, he would no doubt flee as soon as he caught wind of Edward's presence.

Edward had stayed back, sharpening his sword. The motion was a monotonous one but it calmed him. He was nervous, which was understandable. For someone being so specific on how things should be executed, it was hard to leave all the responsibility to others—even if they were his most trusted companions. Carlisle had assured him that all would end well before they had left. Edward had given them no words of courage, just a look that still haunted them as they walked in silence. He had put his complete trust and faith in them and they felt the burden of that on their shoulders.

They began walking up one of the hills of the city. As the song of the seagulls reached from the docks, Carlisle and Jacob felt their stomach stir—it was almost time.

Kamil had gone with them—a familiar face was always welcome when in a strange place. But there were two other men with them—barely at the age to be called men yet. They knew the location of where Isabella might be kept. Kamil barely knew any words of English and Jacob and Carlisle had no skill at all in his language, so communication was limited.

One of the boys pointed at a structure in the distance. It rose up amongst the other lavish houses that surrounded it. This was a richer part of the city. The tower was round in shape, built out of light stone. It reached for the sky and hugged one rectangle building in a darker stone. A narrow street separated the other houses; lower in roof. Yet, it looked almost as if the tower and those terracotta tiled roofs were a mere silver from touching each other. At its top was a small balcony, rounding the structure. Only a modest metal fence sealed it off, so that the watcher might not fall to his death. They could see blue curtains in a sheer fabric blow gently in the breeze.

Kamil turned to them. He did not speak, but in his eyes, they knew that they had arrived.

"So how do we enter?" Jacob turned to Carlisle.

"One of our guides should know a servant here who will let us in through the kitchens," Carlisle whispered as they casually grazed the street in front of the house. The tall red doors looked intimidating as they towered over them.

Suddenly, a palanquin came down the western street, stopping just by the house. A servant opened the box and out stepped a very familiar man; Braun. Carlisle had to restrain Jacob, who on mere impulse went to attack the traitor. "Control yourself," Carlisle hissed. But the darkness in his clear eyes hinted that he too held a great amount of despise for the lord.

Jacob stared in disbelief as Braun entered the house, the red doors swallowing him as he disappeared behind them. They had noticed his thinning face and bloodshot eyes from where they stood. His manner had been agitated, as if he were nervous. Maybe he knew they were coming?

Kamil looked at their reaction. There was no doubt; the Angloans knew that man who had just walked into the building. It meant that they had probably found the right place. "You!" he said in a casual voice to one of the boys who had taken them there. He placed a coin in his hand as he spoke. "Take them to your friend and I will give you another coin when you return.

The boy stared at him and then bit the coin to make sure it was real. He then nodded, walking toward the vast house. Kamil made a motion for Carlisle and Jacob to follow him. His part of the job was done and now he could only watch as the two men walked away, hoping to bring back with them someone he knew very little about.

Isabella had been left alone for the morning, as usual. The first call to prayers had sounded just over two hours ago from the tall towers of the city. She was amazed at how used she had become to the bizarre new twists in her life.

Her morning lessons were over and it would be an hour or so before Melike came to take her down for her courtyard walk. Isabella sat in front of the mirror, dressed in her fine clothes. Today was the day that she would finally leave Braun. It was the true beginning of the end for him. The moment she left his house he would not last long with her as a bargaining chip in his hands. The money she would bring him would run out, or so she hoped. She stared at the alien face in the mirror.

The visage before seemed changed. Her face had tanned—her once pure and white skin was gone as she had been kissed by the rays of the sun. She had slimmed down, her bone structure defined and the form of her body more pronounced than before. The chocolate eyes that looked back at her looked foreign, as if they knew a secret she didn't. Isabella was shocked at the physical changes her stay in Constantinople presented. She unleashed her curls from their pins and started brushing her hands through them. The incense that burned by the window dispersed in the room as the wind kept entering, uninvited. She had a mind to close the opened doors, but having the sky just outside of her room reminded her of the freedom she had once lost.

Isabella wondered if she would have the same freedom away from her tower. The orbs looked back at her with an emptiness that unsettled her.

Suddenly the door burst open and a servant stepped in. Isabella got up from her seat, flustered as she was caught by surprise.

"How dare you enter this room without knocking? I should—" she silenced herself once two men burst past the servant. Isabella took a step back, fright rising inside her at the prospect of two complete strangers in her presence.

They made no hasty move to approach her, instead, a baritone voice spoke in calm words. She could only hear bits and pieces of it. The sound of her own blood rushing through her ears canceled out any other prevalent noise. Isabella felt her world spin and her body tremble as she recognized both men before her.

Carlisle and Jacob heard her draw a deep, shaky breath before she did anything else. The mirror in her hand was still pressed tight against her chest, as if the last defense. They could not believe it was her.

Jacob wanted to shout and cry in happiness as he saw her stand before him, unharmed by the looks of it. The heavy smell of incense wafted through the air as the chatter of the street was dulled. Isabella looked different, in many ways. She looked hardened—her eyes bore more secrets and sorrows than they had before.

Carlisle stepped forward, putting up a calming hand—reaching for her. "Isabella, it is I, Carlisle," he said in a soothing voice. But she withdrew from him, as if he were a specter. Jacob stepped forth with more resolve and tore off the false beard, showing her his whole face.

"And Jacob—your friend, Jacob. We've come here to take you home," he said, reaching to embrace her.

A sudden pain shot through her at the sight of them. Isabella knew that her worries had ended, she did no longer have to worry about her uncertain future. She could finally rest and let them take her across the sea, back to her motherland.

But…

She looked into their eyes. Both looked so certain that she would cast it all aside and follow them. Isabella wanted nothing else, she was sick of being tired and afraid. But the shadow of uncertainty always seemed to loom close.

This time it took mortal form.

She perceived someone listening in on their conversation. Her breath caught in her throat. Her prison seemed to extend into every aspect of her being. Not even now—before her friends—could she speak truthfully. She wondered who the servant would report to. If it was Melike, Isabella was certain she would only get away with a whipping. But if it was Braun, she feared what he might do if he found that Jacob and Carlisle were here, right in the most protected part of his house.

Her tense shoulders dropped in defeat as she made her decision. "You should go," she whispered in a harsh voice. Jacob's smile froze on his face as it quickly faded away. Carlisle stared at her in slight horror.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I have no wish to go with you." The mask resurfaced, however hard she found it to say those words. Every part of her being wanted to scream 'save me, take me with you'. But what would happen if they walked out of that room, only to encounter guards that would question the two men that accompanied her?

She would never survive the death of Carlisle and Jacob. Not when they reminded her so of Edward.

"Isabella," Jacob tried, placing his hands on her shoulders. But all he received were empty eyes. He never saw the internal struggle behind them, the shaking that threatened to reveal her.

"Listen to me, Jacob, Carlisle," she began in a smoother voice. "I am glad you came here to bring me back, nothing pleases me more than to know that I can count on such good and loyal friends. But there is little left for me back in Angloa—." Isabella had to stop to look away as her voice broke at the thought of Edward.

She wrenched herself free of Jacob's light grip and walked over to the window. "How can I return when Edward is no more?" she asked. The young woman did not wish for them to see the defeated look and sorrow that now touched her features.

Carlisle and Jacob gave each other confused glares. Did she not wish to go because Edward was not there? That could not be the case.

"What are you implying?" Carlisle asked in a careful manner.

"Do not play games, Carlisle," Isabella said as she turned around, the broken mask once more mended. "I know Edward fell in battle with Braun." The words shot through her like raw pain. But she ignored them. "I…know he is…dead."

Suddenly it made sense to them. Braun must have thought he killed Edward with his final blow, or he had lied to Isabella—making her believe her fiancé was really dead. "Oh, Isabella," Carlisle lamented. He could not imagine what she must have gone through, thinking the man she cared for was truly gone.

"He is not dead," Jacob said, ignoring the nervous servant who kept insisting that they go.

Isabella trembled at his words. Her hope suddenly spiraled up at the prospect of Edward being alive. But what if Jacob only said those words so that she would go with them? She wanted to desperately believe that he was telling the truth. But if he was, then where was Edward?

"I cannot come with you," she said more forcefully, but the look she gave him spoke otherwise. "I must stay." The words came off as unfeeling, almost robotic.

"Do you know what Braun will do with you if you stay?" Carlisle lashed out, never having caught the look she sent Jacob. Before he could stop him, Carlisle continued. "He will sell you off like a slave to the highest bidder—"

"I know," came the tense reply. "I have known since we arrived here." Isabella kept glancing at the spying shadow, hoping she sounded convincing enough.

Carlisle pushed his way past Jacob, staring at her in disbelief. "You knew? And yet you wish to stay here? As Jacob said, Edward is alive! He could not come because—"

"I have to stay. Tonight, before the sun sets Lord Hassan will take me to the Royal Harem where I most likely will become a concubine. I have made peace with my fate, and I wish you would too," she said, stepping in to embrace Jacob. As she did she pressed her mouth to his ear, the words barely audible as she spoke them. "If Edward is alive, I wish to see him desperately." When she stepped away she gave him a stiff smile.

Carlisle was about to lash out at her when Jacob stopped him, understanding what was happening. "If Miss Swan wishes to stay, there is little we can do to convince her, Carlisle. She obviously doesn't believe Edward is still alive, or she has chosen to neglect him. So why would she come when it appears a more exciting future is in store for her?" Jacob spoke with anger lacing his voice.

A small blink followed. It was the only evidence that assured her that he had understood her message.

"Please take them out the same way you came from," she said as she turned to the servant woman. The young servant, almost collapsing from her nerves, was more than willing to get out of that room.

Carlisle had to practically be dragged out. "If you do not come with us, I will not be held responsible for the havoc that ensues as he comes for you," he protested as he watched Isabella turn her back on them before the door was closed shut.

In the hallway, they stumbled upon a woman who had shamelessly been listening to their whole conversation. It was only then that Carlisle started to have a semblance of understanding as to what was going on.

When the door opened once more, Isabella had collapsed to the floor, clutching her mirror close to her chest as she tried to control her rapid breathing.

Cynical applauds sounded behind her as a low, mocking laugh followed. "What an amazing performance," came the low tone of Melike. Isabella turned around in horror as she realized it was she who had been spying on them.

"You made the right decision. Had you gone with them the guards now patrolling the entire house would have soon found you and probably slaughtered you all," she said in an amused tone. "Oh, how they must despise you. After having come all this way to only have you reject them," she laughed taking delight in seeing the wretched woman before her.

"Out," Isabella growled. When Melike didn't listen she stood up herself, ready to throw the woman out of her room.

"I will lock you in for the rest of the day until Lord Hassan comes. I still do not trust that you will keep your word," she said, dangling the keys that would soon barre the door to her freedom once and forever. Isabella watched as the keys swayed back and forth, sensing her fate had been sealed forever.

A/N: Thanks for the support and reviews I am receiving lately! Thrilled that you are liking it so far. Now, get ready for some intense stuff for the following chapters! Please let me know what you think by leaving a review.

A side note: you guys do remember that the whole Philip and Leonore storyline is something that has already been mentioned, right? It was what Athar spoke about in the dungeon when Edward went to visit him in chapter 18 of the last fic. I know there are so many details to remember but I suggest you reread that chapter knowing what you know now. I think that chapter will become clearer to you then :)

As always, cheers!