Chapter 80

Henry de Tournois’s POV

After Philip was helped out by the servant, I watched as Lord Howard directed servants to clear away the wine bottles and burn incense to freshen the air.

"Clean everything," I ordered, straightening papers on my desk. The Holy Land was finally secured, yet here I was, dealing with my brother's stubbornness in matters of the heart.

Lord Howard approached cautiously. "Your Majesty, regarding Lady Isabella... Do you truly intend to—"

"Marry Duke Stonehaven?" I laughed, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Come now, Howard. You know me better than that."

"Then why—"

"I don't steal women from my brother." I moved to the window, watching the palace torches below. "Besides, the Queen Mother would never allow it. Her friendship with Isabella’s mother runs too deep."

"Ah." Understanding dawned in his weathered face. "You meant to force Prince Philip's hand."

Memory drew me back to that day years ago, when Philip had come seeking Isabella mother's hand. The earnestness in his plea, the promise to return victorious... But she had chosen differently, arranging Isabella's marriage to William instead.

"I couldn't tell Philip then," I murmured, more to myself than Howard. "He was leading crucial campaigns. But Sir Fenton.." I shook my head. "He told him anyway. Those were dark months."

The candlelight flickered as Howard shifted. "And William has proven faithless, seeking to marry Beatrice almost immediately after his triumph."

"Yes. And Isabella?" A smile tugged at my lips. "She surprised me. I expected tears, pleading. Instead, she came with dignity, requesting the marriage be dissolved. I underestimated her."

"Perhaps Prince Philip still has a chance?"

"If he'd stop hiding behind duty." Irritation crept into my voice. "'She's under my command.' That's all he'll say. As if I can't see his fists clenching when I mentioned Duke Stonehaven."

Howard's eyes widened slightly. "He wouldn't dare strike Your Majesty..."

"Oh, he wanted to." I laughed again, genuinely amused this time. "My little brother, always so proper, so controlled. He needs a push, Howard. Tomorrow, I'll have the Queen Genevieve summon Isabella to court."

"Your Majesty is wise," Howard said carefully. "The Prince's hesitation... it likely stems from fear of overstepping."

I nodded, settling back at my desk. "Well, if he continues to drag his feet, perhaps Duke Stonehaven's offer will become more appealing."

"You wouldn't actually—"

"Of course not." I waved away his concern. "But Philip doesn't need to know that."

Isabella’s POV

Even before the manor came into view, I could hear the hurried footsteps and excited whispers. Thomas stood at the front of the gathering, his weathered face beaming with pride as he led the household in welcoming my return.

Emma broke ranks first, tears streaming down her face as she rushed forward. "My lady, you're finally back! I was so worried!"

"It was just a campaign, Emma," I said, trying to lighten her mood. "Nothing to fret about." But the tremor in her voice touched something deep within me. These people—they were all I had left now.

Thomas stepped forward, his voice thick with emotion. "The honor you've brought to our house, my lady... Your father would have been proud."

"Thank you for watching over everything, Thomas." I placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the slight tremor there. "These past months couldn't have been easy."

"It's my duty, my lady."

"No," I said softly. "It's more than duty. It's loyalty."

Lady Catherine and Lady Anne fussed over me as we entered the manor, their questions about possible injuries overlapping each other.

"I'm fine," I assured them, suppressing a yawn. "The wounds were minor and have long since healed. What of Melisande and the others?"

"Already retired, my lady," Thomas informed me. "They seemed quite exhausted from the journey."

I nodded, understanding their choice to skip the victory celebration. As warriors from independent clans, they preferred to keep their distance from court politics.

The prospect of a hot bath and my own bed seemed increasingly appealing. The familiar scent of home—wrapped around me like a comfortable blanket. I barely remembered my head touching the pillow before sleep claimed me.

It felt like mere moments later when Emma's voice pulled me from my slumber. "My lady? My lady, you must wake up."

I blinked against the midday sun streaming through the windows. "What is it?"

"The Queen has summoned you to court."

That got my attention. "The Queen? Not the Queen Mother?"

Emma shook her head, helping me sit up. "Her personal messenger just left."

I frowned, trying to recall the Queen's face from that single audience with the Queen Mother years ago. The memory was frustratingly vague—just a glimpse of a dignified figure beside the throne.

"How strange," I murmured, but didn't speculate further. Whatever the reason, I would know soon enough. I added as Emma helped me dress.