A/N: Another chapter within 40 days of the last one. Feel the love...
The boat on which they would travel was the Zephyretta. Painted a jaunty green and yellow, she was a small, swift boat. It was not long until they were aboard and off down the river to Conradia. Isabelle leaned against the rail, watching Peabo pester the captain with questions. Isabelle smiled-Peabo wanted to know the purpose of every piece of equipment on board. She started when someone touched her arm.
"A little jumpy, are we, cara," Trestan smirked.
"I don't enjoy you sneaking up on me," Isabelle admonished, pouting, "that is all."
"Is everything well?" Trestan asked, easing his arm around her.
"Of course," Isabelle said without hesitation.
"You are aware that I could hold onto you until you tell me what is bothering you, are you not?"
"Trestan, you are being ridiculous," Isabelle rolled her eyes.
"Am I? I am not the one who seems paranoid: watching my feet to see if my glass slippers are still there, breathing sighs of relief when Peabo is quiet, or looking over my shoulder constantly. It's almost as if you expect someone is following you."
"And it is you who believes that I am paranoid?" Isabelle said skeptically. "I believe that you are worrying enough for all of us."
"But if something did happen yesterday, while Friar Justin and I were out," Trestan added seriously, "I would like to know of it. Preferably from your sweet little mouth instead of Peabo's. Yet, of course," Trestan said brightly, "you would have told me anything important, non?"
"You are being ridiculous," Isabelle said huffily, "of course I would have."
"Good," Trestan said, kissing the top of her head.
Isabelle wondered how soon they would arrive in Lerei; for her, it would not be soon enough. Then Trestan would forget and she would no longer have to lie.
The next morning, Isabelle woke early-sleep had been evasive, uneasy. With a yawn and a stretch she made her way out of the stuffy little cabin and into the cold morning air. Trestan was standing at the prow of the boat; Isabelle had forgotten how very much like a king he had become. He stood taller, straighter, younger since his curse had been broken.
"Good morning, cara," he said softly, finally noticing her. Isabelle stood on her tip-toes to kiss him hello. She snuggled closer to him, taking in his warmth. "Welcome to Conradia."
Isabelle gazed at the cliff on the right side of the river and the bank on the left. Olive trees grew in orderly lines while sheep grazed beneath them. The earth was scarlet, the plants were emerald, the sky a sapphire.
"It is beautiful," Isabelle murmured. "You are glad to be back here."
"Yes," Trestan breathed, not taking his eyes from his land. "I am glad."
They arrived in Lerei late that afternoon, paying the captain and disembarking without trouble. The city rested on a hill, made of gleaming white marble, whitewashed stone, and terra cotta. They strolled up the wide cobblestone streets to the palace: Isabelle trying to take in the grandeur and understand how large the city truly was, Peabo turning his head this way and that to try to see everything new and exciting, Trestan with his head held high-a king coming into his own, and Friar Justin calmly leading the way.
When they arrived at the gates of the palace, Isabelle grew nervous: how were they going to get inside? Trestan would hardly be recognized as a prince. She was wearing the ring of Conradia, but her story would hardly be credible. Isabelle was slightly confused when Friar Justin drew one of the guards aside and showed him something small and metallic hidden in one hand. Bribery? That's hardly a way for a friar to behave. But it did succeed-the gates opened and the travelers were allowed into the palace grounds. Isabelle shrugged and followed Trestan along the wide marble steps to the grand entrance of the palace.
Isabelle gasped as she stepped through the arched doorway-crystal and mirrors were everywhere, polished to perfection as were the plate glass windows. The ceiling was painted like a night sky-brilliant stars twinkled down at them. Peabo and Isabelle stood and stared for they had never seen such opulence. Friar Justin and Trestan all but ignored it, in a quiet discussion with one of the stewards.
Not long after, the new arrivals were shuffled through several pairs of elaborate doorways, down hallways, and into what Isabelle guessed was the throne room. A golden chair of elegant curves stood on a dais; in it sat a man who was very much like an older version of Trestan but with black eyes instead of silver.
The King stood suddenly when he realized who had entered the room. With a cry of astonishment, he bolted to Trestan's side and swept him up in an embrace before any of them had a chance to utter a greeting. "My son has been returned to me," the King boomed. "Gloria in excelsis deo. Thanks be to God. Welcome home, welcome."
"Thank you, father" Trestan choked, tears streaming down his scruffy cheeks.
"How long has it been since you left, my son?"
"Eight years and twenty-seven days," Trestan said automatically.
His father drew back, doing a double-take. "You are-you…" He sputtered, defeated.
"No, counting is a habit that is hard to unlearn," Trestan said shaking his head.
"It has been too long then. But you return here as a free man, to take up your mantle in our city?"
Trestan simply nodded, too overcome by emotion to speak. Isabelle had never seen him cry before; she stared at him in astonishment, not knowing what to make of it. But now he was free and home and with her and everything would work out, wouldn't it? Isabelle sighed, gaze now fixed on her feet. She would either find a way to lift off her curse, or find a way to make it not matter.
Trestan's father finally turned his attention to Friar Justin. "I see you have found your way back here, like or not."
Isabelle was scandalized for a moment before she realized that these words were spoken in jest.
"Welcome, brother," the King added warmly. "I see you have adopted a vagabond." Peabo blushed. "You too are welcome here."
Isabelle had been standing outside, away from the action. The edges of her heart felt rough, guilty. There was no place here for her in Trestan's new life-he needed someone who could stand by his rule, not blight it with her affliction. Isabelle felt shabby and plain compared to the filigree of the glasswork in the palace and the lush velvet carpeting that she was currently studying, unable to watch any more of the happy reunion that she could not be a part of.
Isabelle was startled out of her reverie by Trestan's hand on her arm; he had remembered her at last.
"Father, this is my savior, mio tesoro, my beloved, Isabelle Fernette," Trestan said, sweeping a protective arm around her.
"And how is it that you have become the savior of my son?"
"I am not his savior, rather he is mine, Sire," Isabelle said, curtseying deeply. "I would have died many times over but not for him."
"I am eager then, to hear your stories," the king replied, taking her hand. "I pray that you feel as welcome here as if you were my own daughter, Isabelle. But now you shall all rest and refresh yourselves until supper, for then you shall be able to share your stories all the better for a little food, clothing, and hot water.
The King's steward led them to the private apartments, installing each new arrival in a suite of their very own. Isabelle arrived in hers to find a small sitting room arranged with couches and charming little tables, decked in soft sea-green with a large filigree window that looked out over the palace gardens. As Isabelle stood, awkwardly admiring the lovely room, a woman bustled into the room, a steaming tray of food in her arms.
"Greetings and welcome, Madonna," she said crisply. "My name is Caria and you shall be in my charge during your time here, which I hope will be pleasant for you."
"As I hope having such as myself in your charge shall be for you," Isabelle replied dryly. "My name is-"
"Please sit down. And I have heard what your name is, Madonna," Caria said, pointing to one of the chairs. "You insult both my intelligence and the palace gossip to pretend that I didn't know." She thrust the tray in Isabelle's face. "Now, you have the look of one half starved, so eat and we shall exchange pleasantries once you are filled."
Not knowing whether to be abashed, angry, or humorous, Isabelle did as she was told. The olives, cheese, steamy fish with cream sauce, and hard boiled egg were paradise. Not in her whole life had Isabelle eaten so well. Once she was comfortably full, Isabelle was taken by Caria through the antechamber to the garderobe where stood a steaming tub of water.
"Madonna, I mean not to insult your pride, but you must take off your lovely glass slippers before you bathe," Caria said tersely.
Isabelle started-she had not even thought about how she was going to retain her secret. What could she do? What would everyone else do when they saw the silver mist descend and Isabelle grow fur and a tail? "No!" she squeaked. "Caria," Isabelle said, bringing her voice to a more reasonable register, "I will retain my slippers, for it is for I to decide, not you." Isabelle stepped past the astonished servant and into the tub.
Caria, for once, was speechless.
After the bath, Isabelle was dressed in a gorgeous gown of organdy that matched the ruby in her ring. The skirt was draped in cascades that made the skirt alarmingly wide. The flowing sleeves helped to mask how thin winter had made Isabelle, although the bustline was ostentatious enough to slightly augment the problem until Caria made some clever changes to Isabelle's undergarments which Isabelle bore with indifference. It was wonderful to be wearing something beautiful, lush and clean, her hair piled above her head in a mass of curls, and her ears shining with subtle rubies. Isabelle felt like a goddess from the old stories, impossibly beautiful and happy, even though she knew that her wolf-self was only just under the surface.
Once she was ready, Isabelle was escorted to dinner by Trestan, Father Justin and Peabo, none of whom said much on the way to the King's apartment. They were allowed inside by the guard-servants at the doors and ushered into a small dining room. The king entered a moment later, and after Friar Justin blessed their food and they were served, they were left alone.
"I am overjoyed to welcome you all," the King said after a short silence. "My burdens have been lifted, my yoke made lighter. My son, would you care to tell your story of what has occurred since I last laid eyes on you?"
Trestan began his story-Isabelle knew most of it, how he had gone from place to place with several hair-raising near-escapes and many scars to show for them. He had been a lonely man, close to despair, when he had found Isabelle in the castle that night long ago. So much had changed since then, and yet so much was the same-her curse in particular. There were very few details that Trestan left out-but he mercifully skimmed over Isabelle's fits of temper. She was glad of that, but it was rather difficult to relive some of the moments of the past months. But Trestan was home now, and safe.
"And then we arrived here at the palace and were let in," Trestan concluded. "It is wonderful to be home again, Father."
All were silent for a long time.
"You have all walked a barren road, but now may you find comfort in our home," Trestan's father said at long last. "I shall not keep you awake any longer for I see that you all grow weary. But allow me to speak to my new daughter for a moment," Trestan's father said kindly. Still, Isabelle's stomach clenched. But she managed to smile when Trestan met her eyes. The others exited the room, Peabo half-asleep.
"Isabelle Fernette, is all that my son told me tonight true," the King asked solemnly, "every detail was as he had painted it?"
"No, your majesty," Isabelle admitted, "Your son was far kinder to me than I deserve for I have shown him a wicked side of my temper."
The King eyes lit up for a moment. "I have a question to ask of you: are you prepared to become our princess, to be thrown into an arena in which you have no experience, no knowledge, nothing? For the slightest thing you do will be damning to your enemies or shame to your friends. Could you survive the scathing gossips and palace intrigues without losing your head?"
Isabelle thought for a moment. "Your majesty, if I had the strength to survive a winter with no one but a man-bear for company with myself as a half-wolf, than I have the strength to survive any mere palace chatter. But," Isabelle added, resolve breaking, "I am still a wolf-maiden with a pair of enchanted shoes. If this be a strike against me too deep to repair, I shall concede my game for I would not wish to make your son miserable or his enemies glad."
"Your answer is satisfactory, mademoiselle," the King replied. "For with a tongue like yours, I should think you shall tame it a little and get on very well here at court. As for your curse, I shall see what can be done, even if I must confront that woman again myself."
"All my thanks, your majesty," Isabelle said, curtseying lower than she had in her entire life.
"No more of that," he said gently helping Isabelle rise. "You are a member of the royal house now, Isabelle. You are welcome. Now, I shall see you in the morning."
"Thank you," Isabelle said, stifling a yawn. "Goodnight."