Chapter 17 The Weight of the Crown
Mrs Louvre opened an inconspicuous door and entered, leaving the door slightly ajar for Isabella to follow through.
She walked in gently, the curiosity on her face not hidden.
In the words of Mrs Louvre, she'd brought a teacher to do what? To teach her how to be a queen properly.
“This must be her.” A slim woman whom she'd not noticed sitting by the window, gestured at her with her head.
“Yes.” Mrs Louvre nodded. “Isabella Thorne.”
Isabella stood by the door and watched the two women refer to her as though she wasn't present in the room with them.
“I'll leave you to it.” Mrs Thorne said as she made her way out of the room, leaving her with the stranger she'd called her tutor.
“Hi,” She stepped forward, hands outstretched. “I'm Isabella. Isabella Thorne.”
“I know. You were just introduced.” She said, glancing at her hands, the irritation evident.
Isabella chuckled awkwardly, before drawing her hands away and folding her hands behind her back. She looked like a schoolgirl awaiting instructions from her teacher.
“My name is Margaret.” The woman said after what seemed like eternity to Isabella.
She looked imposing, her nose set straight in the air. Actually, her entire body was straight.
“His Majesty sent for me,” she continued. “He's the only reason I agreed to do this. I've tutored kings, royalties and people with pure blood, but never this.”
She circled Isabella, studying her gently.
“The first rule of what you are about to embark on is that you do not stretch your hands out to greet.”
Isabella nodded stiffly. She was barely here for up to 10 minutes, yet the woman had called her some unprintable names.
“Is that clear?” Margaret barked, yet it sounded charming.
She nodded.
“Is that clear?” She asked again.
“Yes,” Isabella said weakly realizing that she wasn't supposed to nod. “Yes, it's clear.” She added.
“Good.” Margaret huffed as she returned to her chair and sat down graciously.
“Sit.” She pointed at the chair a few feet away from her.
“Thank you,” Isabella muttered as she sat down, sighing in relief. Her legs were killing her.
“Stand up!” Margaret said with alarmed alacrity.
Isabella stood up hurriedly. What was wrong? Was there an animal or had she sat on water or something?
“What's wrong?” She asked, looking back fearfully. Margaret’s alarmed voice had made her scared.
“Do not,” Margaret's voice was chilly. “Sit like that, ever again.” She looked petrified as though Isabella had just committed a crime.
Isabella stood, mouth agape. Had this woman seriously made her heart fly because of the way she'd sit down?
Margaret stood up slowly, gracefully as though she was in the presence of a crowd and not that they were the only ones in the room.
“This is how to sit,” She began, her eyes trained forward, her neck straight and sat down gently, before placing her two hands by her side.
“See, simple. Now you do it.” She motioned to her.
Isabella hesitated. She knew it really wasn't that simple. It had taken years of practice for her to have perfected it like that. And the worst part was that it was an uncomfortable position for Isabella.
She sighed, as she tried to imitate what Margaret had just done.
Margaret nodded, and a flicker of approval appeared in her eyes before disappearing.
“Again.” She ordered.
Isabella huffed, standing up and doing it again.
“Good. This is barely manageable. With time you'll get used to it.” Margaret said after Isabella had done it for the 15th time.
Beads of sweat had appeared on Isabella's forehead. She couldn't believe this was what she would have to go through.
“The next on the list should be eating mannerisms.” Margaret began, bringing Isabella back to earth.
“I believe you're familiar with the use of the cutlery?”
Isabella’s stunned expression met her stare.
“I'm human, it does not mean I'm uncivilised.” She forced the words out of her mouth, trying to remain civil.
Margaret ignored her, her lips pursed.
“You'll be with His Majesty on all occasions and will sit at his right hand.” She began as though she were reading from a book.
“You will not speak unless you're addressed.”
“Excuse you?” The words were out before she could stop them. She was surprised as hell. “What do you mean I will not speak unless spoken to. I am the Queen…”
“You are the King's mate.” Margaret interrupted harshly. “You are no queen. You are not even the King's mate, you are just the mother of his son. That's who you are.”
Isabella opened her mouth to speak but Margaret hushed her.
“You will know your place, and you will not speak unless spoken to, and that includes here.”
“I understand.” Isabella nodded unwillingly.
“Now, let's get right back to it,” Margaret said, giving a small smile.
“You will not speak unless spoken to and you will address the King by his titles except in your private quarters when you're mating.”
Cough
Isabella held her chest as she coughed heavily. She'd not expected that turn and her face turned red.
Margaret held her smile as she watched her.
“Do you understand?” She prodded.
Isabella raised her hand. She had something to say, she just needed to stop coughing.
“I can't address Lucien by his name?” She spoke, the moment the cough ceased.
Margaret raised her brows in annoyance. “Is there anything I've said that is not coherent?” She was irritated.
Isabella swallowed. The woman was terrifying but there was no way she was going to let it go.
“Yes, this is not clear.” She said, standing up, ignoring Margaret’s raised brows.
“What do you mean I can't address Lucien by his name even when we are speaking privately?”
Her voice was rising and she was clearly agitated.
“I agree.” She swallowed. “I haven't been crowned Queen and you aren't even sure I'm his mate, but I'm the mother of his child. And there is absolutely no way in hell that the only time I'm going to address him by his name is when we're having sex. That is ridiculous to say the least.”
She was huffing, breathing hard as she faced Margaret.
Margaret on the other hand, was seated, calm and unfazed by the rage she was exhibiting.
“Are you done?” She asked, her head raised, cocked to her left as she studied Isabella, the expression on her face that of amusement.
“Let me reiterate. You will address His Majesty by his title every single time, except when you're having intimate moments. Now, speaking to him alone in the room is not having intimate moments and so, he will be addressed by his title.”
Isabella nodded, before catching herself in time. “Understood.” She mumbled like a child who has just been scolded.
Well, she had actually just been scolded, like a little school child.
“Let's move to the next.”
Isabella sighed. “Can we rest a bit? I've been up and about since morning. We've been doing this for the past three hours.” All traces of her previous anger were replaced by a young, humble woman.
Margaret scoffed. “I told his Majesty, but he wouldn't believe.”
“What?” Isabella was confused. She'd just asked for some time to rest. What was Margaret yapping about?
“You are not fit to be queen.” Her voice was cold. Chilly even.
“Excuse you? I will not have you speak to me in that manner.” The angry Isabella had returned.
“Or what?” Margaret mocked, leaning forward.
“Can we rest a bit?” She mimicked, her voice exactly like that of Isabella's. “Is this how you intend to rule like a queen? Taking breaks every little time like a child who needs to pee.”
“You either choose to be queen or not, you spoiled little brat.”
Isabella bit her lips, an action she would always take to stop herself from crying, but she was failing.
Without a word, she picked up her gown and ran out of the room, the tears falling, not minding who saw her.
She'd barely taken a few steps out when she collided with someone.
Hurriedly, she wiped her tears off to see whom she'd hit properly.
Alas, it was the one person she didn't want to see.
“Lu…” she began, but quickly remembered Margaret and stopped herself immediately.
“Your Majesty,” she curtsied. “I'm sorry, I didn't see you coming.” And without waiting for another word from him, she took off to her quarters, her hand over her mouth, to stop the strange noises from coming out and drawing more attention to herself than she already had.
“Wait.” Lucien's voice stopped her in her tracks, his gaze softening as he walked up to her, and gently wiped her tears.
“It's for your own good.” He whispered, drawing her to him. “I understand it's hard, but you're stronger than you think.”
Isabella nodded appreciatively before disengaging herself from him and walking to her quarters.
She'd taken some steps, when it occurred to her what had just happened. How did Lucien know what had transpired in the training room?
He…he'd been watching her?