Chapter 84
Lady Constance’s POV
In Lady Johanna's chamber, I stood beside my husband Edmund, my fingers nervously twisting the embroidered handkerchief in my hands. The night air was heavy with tension, and Lady Johanna's fury seemed to make the very flames tremble.
"Do you have any idea," she demanded, her hand striking the oak table with enough force to make the candlesticks rattle, "how Isabella left this castle?" Her eyes, sharp as steel in the wavering light, fixed upon us with contempt. I instinctively lowered my gaze to the floor, studying the intricate patterns of the carpet.
"Her dowry was used to support the household and pay for Margaret’s herbs, and her reputation sullied," Lady Johanna continued, her voice rising with each word. "And now you want me to go begging to her? After your brother brought that violent woman into our home? That savage who struck Roland?" She laughed bitterly. "Look what's become of this noble house!"
Edmund remained silent beside me, his shoulders tense. I could feel his discomfort without looking at him, could sense the way he held himself rigid against the onslaught of accusations.
"My face," Lady Johanna declared, drawing herself up with wounded dignity, "will not become a stepping stone for others. And who would pay for my heart medicine if I were to fall ill from such humiliation? Surely not that woman your brother married."
When we finally escaped to our chambers, I gathered my courage. The fire in our hearth cast a warm glow, but I felt cold inside. "Perhaps," I ventured quietly, watching Edmund's face, "we shouldn't interfere in William's affairs..."
He turned to me sharply. "This is family business," he snapped. "You don't understand the weight of these matters." The rebuke in his voice made me shrink back, any further words dying in my throat.
We found Margaret in her solar, her pale fingers endlessly counting prayer beads. When we shared Lady Johanna's refusal, she barely seemed surprised.
"There might be another way," Margaret said slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Princess Eleanor... Isabella's aunt. She has always had a soft spot for her niece."
I watched the hope bloom in Edmund's eyes, but before he could respond, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor. William appeared in the doorway, his face dark with anger.
"None of you will approach Isabella," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "This is my final word on the matter."
William’s POV
The moonlight cast long shadows across the maps spread over my study table. I sat alone, watching the untouched dinner grow cold, my fingers absently tracing the outline of St. Croix Fortress on the parchment. Sleep had become an elusive luxury since our return from the border. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the village burning, heard the screams...
I reached for the wine bottle, noting with detached interest how my hand trembled. The memories of that day haunted me like persistent ghosts - Beatrice's cruel smile, the smell of smoke and blood. Two chances at glory, both squandered. The first I traded for love, the second destroyed by the very woman I'd sacrificed everything to marry.
A soft knock interrupted my brooding. Mother entered, her face pale in the candlelight. "William, you haven't eaten again."
"I'm not hungry." I didn't look up from the maps.
"We could petition the King," she said carefully, settling into a chair across from me. "Beatrice struck your father. That alone is grounds for divorce. Add her disrespect towards me, and-"
"Enough." The word came out sharper than I intended. "I pray His Majesty forgets my existence for the next few years. The last thing we need is to draw his attention."
"But surely-"
"Mother." I finally met her gaze. "You don't understand. We can't afford any scrutiny right now. No petitions, no requests, no contact with the court. And absolutely no reaching out to Isabella."
She studied my face, and I wondered if she could see the weight of secrets behind my eyes. "What happened, William? What aren't you telling us?"
The question hung in the air like poison. I took another drink, letting the wine burn away the words that threatened to spill out. How could I tell her that Beatrice had ordered the slaughter of an entire village?
"Nothing that can be spoken of," I finally answered. "My military career is effectively over. No more border campaigns, no chance of promotion. We'll be lucky if they let me lead patrols against local bandits."
"Because of her?" Mother's voice hardened.
"Because of my own foolishness." I laughed bitterly. "Two chances at glory... The first I spent petitioning to marry Beatrice instead of accepting the command I was offered. The second..." I shook my head. "My gut twists every time I think about it."
"You could still salvage-"
"No." I cut her off again. "Our only hope is to fade from memory. Three or five years of quiet obscurity - that's what we need. No contact with Isabella, no court politics, no ripples of any kind." I stood, walking to the window. "The best thing Isabella can do is forget we exist."