A/N: A big thank you to anyone who reviewed! Almost there...
The next morning, Isabelle woke to find light streaming into her room from all directions. The bedroom's wide window looked out over a small pond in the palace gardens that reflected the sunlight like a mirror. The ceiling was made of translucent marble that glowed yellow as the sun hit it. But even better than the sunlight was the fact that Isabelle's room was decorated with yellow roses-on the bedspread, carved into the headboard, the carpet, painted faintly on the walls. And the best part was the trellis of yellow roses at the window, peeking their yellow blooms inside as if trying to see what was on the other side of the glass.
After a few well-deserved minutes of lounging about, Isabelle emerged from her room to start her whirlwind of a day. She was whisked into her sitting room, given a tray and told to eat by Caria, who had produced a splendid dressing gown of aquamarine silk and had helped Isabelle into it before she had even had the chance to say "good morning." Once she was finished eating, the dressmaker arrived and every bit of Isabelle was measured, down to the length of her little finger. There were some very fine swatches of gossamer fabrics, but Isabelle only caught a glimpse. She hoped that her new wardrobe would not disappoint. After eating more food, Isabelle was allowed to take a nap. Then she was dressed for dinner in a flowing jacquard gown of ecru, with delicate folds and embroidery on the skirt.
"Isabelle, cara," Trestan said, entering the room, "you are beautiful."
"I see that I am not the only one who cleans up well," Isabelle grinned, "for you are even more handsome that the last time I saw you, if that is possible."
"You, mio Tesoro, are an idle flatterer," Trestan said, taking her arm. "Are you ready to idly flatter all of the nobility as shamelessly as you idly flatter me?"
"I am not ready for this," Isabelle sighed. "I don't know what I am doing, pretending to be a princess. What if I irrevocably damage either or both our reputations?"
"I am sure that they will be so charmed by you that they would not notice if you did a war dance around the dinner table. And you are new to our court and could not possibly have learned all of the rules. Most of them will be quite kind and forgiving and gracious to you. And remember," Trestan added huskily, "you are a wolf, but more importantly, you are mine."
"But I thought," Isabelle said coyly "that you were mine."
"And this is why I love you," Trestan smirked. "Now let us be off to charm everyone out of their wits."
Dinner was not as bad as Isabelle had been expecting. She made sure to glance around and do what everyone else did, using the all but one of the correct forks in sequence like a seasoned veteran. Still, some training in etiquette may not hurt her. But at least no one had noticed or made a comment on how she had used the fruit knife on the fish.
Once the meal was over, Isabelle was ushered around by Trestan and introduced to everyone in the room in quick succession. Isabelle smiled, curtseyed, and desperately attempted to not only be clever and make conversation but to also remember all of their names.
"Yes, it was lovely to meet you, Count, er Duke, Sospirio," Isabelle twittered. "Please pardon me." She made her way back to Trestan's side.
"How are you doing, love?" He whispered.
Isabelle grimaced.
"That poorly, eh?" Trestan said dryly. Isabelle nodded. "I must give you some private tutoring then," he smirked.
"I heard that, my son," the King muttered, rolling his eyes.
Trestan smothered his laughter for the moment. After meeting another thirty people, Isabelle and Trestan managed to sneak away from the festivities.
Once back in Isabelle's sitting room, she sank onto one of the couches, sighing. Trestan joined her a moment later pulling the door shut softly behind him.
"You do realize," Trestan said, with a wistful glance at Isabelle, "that both your reputation and mine would be destroyed if we were caught alone together. I should leave."
Isabelle found this hysterical-not only had she sipped a rather potent wine at dinner, she had also been holding back her giggles for hours. "We were alone," Isabelle panted after her giggling fit had subsided, "in an abandoned castle…for months…. And that. Is. Just. Ridiculous."
Trestan snorted, plopping down onto the couch beside her. "It is rather. Even though I was barely present half of the time."
This set Isabelle off on another fit of giggles. "This is why I love you."
"Why of course," Trestan said tipping her face gently toward his. Isabelle giggled as he kissed her nose, then wrapped her arms around him, kissing him earnestly.
When both of them had lost their breath, Trestan finally pulled away. "You are a little drunk, cara."
Isabelle laughed, unable to think up a comeback. The room spun a little, though whether from the wine or the kissing she did not know.
"Get some sleep, mio Tesoro," Trestan said gently.
"I'll pout until you kiss me again," Isabelle threatened.
"You shall be pouting then a while, but it will not be long 'til our wedding day."
"Oh," Isabelle said dramatically. "But it will be long…"
"Goodnight, Isabelle," Trestan said, reluctantly kissing her forehead.
"Goodnight, Trestan."
Isabelle opened the door that led to her wardrobe and antechambers, startled when she ran straight into Caria on the other side.
"Pardon," Isabelle apologized to her intimidating servant.
"Madonna," Caria said ironically, "It is I who must beg pardon from you. Let me help you out of your dress for the night."
"Yes, of course," Isabelle said, letting Caria lead her into her wardrobe.
"You are interested in a bit of advice, are you not?" Caria said once Isabelle was dressed in her nightgown.
Isabelle nodded warily.
"In this palace, no matter what you may believe and when all evidence is to the contrary, you are never alone," Caria said pointedly.
"Did you hear that whole exchange then?" Isabelle said, outraged.
"Be glad it only was me and not one of the other servants," Caria said, drawing herself up archly.
"My most sincere gratitude for your advice," Isabelle said with as much sarcasm as she could muster. She shut her bedroom door behind her with a satisfying bam. The nerve of that servant to insult her to her face!
Isabelle flung herself on her bed, face flushed with indignation. Caria was so blunt sometimes, with no respect for her authority. Isabelle suddenly stopped mid-moan of aggravation. Something had struck her-the last time that she had treated someone in such a manner was when the old woman had confronted her on the road to Fernette Manor. And then she had been cursed with a burden that had changed her entire life. Had Isabelle learned any lesson at all from this?
Isabelle drew in a ragged breath, wiped the tears from her face, and rose from her bed.
"Caria," Isabelle said tentatively. Caria was hanging Isabelle's dress from that evening in the wardrobe.
"Yes, Madonna?" Caria said archly.
"Thank you for the warning you gave me," Isabelle said humbly, "for I have the utmost confidence that you have my best interests in mind. I will be sure to heed your advice in the future."
"Thank you, my lady," Caria said, curtseying low.
The days passed quickly-Isabelle spent them meeting people and trying to remember their names and how to best avoid offending them. She was ushered into a study every morning and taught to read. Although she was not doing anything particularly grueling, she was exhausted all the same by the pre-wedding planning and general whirlwind of activity. Trestan was always busy being briefed on his duties, making up for lost time with a fanaticism that engulfed him. Isabelle had convinced him to take a long honeymoon where he would do nothing but make love to her for several weeks. Then they could return to reality and be taught all they needed to know.
The thing that really taxed Isabelle, keeping her awake in the night even while she was exhausted, was her curse. It was getting so that she could hardly do anything in the afternoons without checking on her slippers to make certain they were still on her feet. Her nightmares were worse than her insomnia, however. She was often a wolf in her dreams, trying to find Trestan in the maze of a palace while avoiding the mob that was coming for her.
But finally the wedding day arrived. Isabelle's family had arrived a week earlier, a surprise from Trestan. Although Marie was terrified of him at first, Trestan drew her out of her shell-now he was the only one she would speak to. He would make a terrific father, Isabelle mused, if only they could survive the wedding.
The day was cold for mid-spring as Isabelle and her father drew up to the cathedral in their carriage just before midday. She had not slept at all the night before. Most of the things she had accumulated in her short stay had been moved to the new royal suite which created a disconcerting emptiness in the room. But the worst part was the anxiety that clamped her stomach so terribly she could hardly stand it.
Isabelle's father did not say much as they alighted from the carriage, nor while they made their way into the nave of the cathedral. But just as the music began, before the heavy oak doors to the sanctuary swung open, Isabelle's father whispered, "You are sure you will be happy then, daughter?"
Isabelle stared at her feet, still encased in their glass slippers, the sole buffer between her and her curse. The curse, the only thing that kept Trestan and her from complete happiness, but then, what did her own happiness matter?
"I'm not sure that I will be happy, but I shall make it that Trestan is," Isabelle croaked, tears beginning to fall behind her gossamer veil.
"You have grown much, Isabelle," her father said, as they stepped into the sanctuary, arm linked in arm. Trestan stood near the altar; Isabelle was now openly weeping. Her heart was being broken more with each step-how could she be doing this to her lover, forcing him to live with her curse? Yet she loved him all the more for standing by her when he could have easily cast her by the wayside.
Isabelle and her father had just reached the altar when someone burst into the room. An old hag was running up the aisle, but as she ran, her ugliness transformed itself into youth and beauty. But it was an artificial thing, stiff, and cold, and lifeless.
"Stop," her voice rang out without need, for everyone had ceased whatever they were doing and were silent, down to the silliest girl giggling in the farthest pew. The crowd was silent, as if frozen in time.
"What mischief do you seek to cause here, Magdalena," the King challenged from where he stood behind Trestan.
"Mischief?" the witch replied, affronted. "I only sought to meter out justice, my old friend."
"Have you not given us enough of your justice already?" the King asked distainfully. "You could not have me in our youth therefore take up your grievances with me, not with an innocent woman and man about to be wed. There is none of your justice in this."
"No, for my justice is that of a woman scorned," the witch said scathingly. "For I could take your life, but what good is there in that? You would suffer ever more greatly if I took away what you prize most on this green earth: your only begotten son."
"No!" the king cried, but the witch was swifter than a shadow.
She flew, reeking of magic, toward Trestan. Her eyes burned with malice-if they could have shot balls of fire, the Prince would have been but ashes in the wind by now. To her own great surprise, Isabelle darted in front of Trestan, shielding his body with her own.
"Do not hurt him," Isabelle commanded the witch. "Do whatever you like to me: burn me, transform me, slay me, but I will not allow you, while there is breath still in my body, to hurt this man. His life, Trestan's life, matters more than my own."
The witch halted in her tracks, momentarily repulsed, whether by Isabelle's words or her courage, no one knew. Then, enraged, the witch dove at Isabelle, tearing at the girl's feet. Nails like claws dug into Isabelle's skin. The cathedral bells began their crashing clang! Isabelle felt first one (clang!) then the other (clang!) of her enchanted glass slippers being ripped from her feet. (Clang!) She stumbled, (clang!) catching on to Trestan for support. (Clang!) But the witch had other ideas. (Clang!) She drug Isabelle away from Tristan, (clang!) Isabelle heard something snap in her arm (clang!). Pain shot through her body, making her eyesight dim. (Clang!) The witch swung her around, so they were both facing the people. (Clang!)
"This," the witch cried derisively, "is your Princess. See now what she truly is without her artifices, her enchantments," she snuck a glance over her shoulder at Trestan, "her Prince."
The bells gave one last booming CLANG, settling over the silent crowd like dust. Nothing happened. No one in the church moved a muscle. It was exactly noon.
Isabelle, mind wreathed in red rings of pain, waited for something, although she was not sure what. When she finally realized what had been missing, she blinked. There had been no transformation. She was a wolf-maiden no more. Isabelle opened her mouth to speak, turning to Trestan to tell him the news. Somehow, the room began to spin, spiraling around her vision. The ground rose to meet her and Isabelle was lost in darkness.