Chapter Seven
The royal ball happened once every three years. An event that where the strongest alphas attended and flexed their might, and where the weaker ones gather to eat the crumbs that fell from their table. A place where the people got to see a rare sighting – the royal family.
Not that Isabelle had ever been opportune to attend...her family had deemed it an event well above her station. It didn’t matter that she was the first child of her father. No, when it came to her, nothing mattered.
And that only served to add to her amazement.
Isabelle stared at her reflection in the mirror, amazed at the beauty that stared back at her. She almost felt like an impostor, like the body she contained didn’t belong to her. There she was, in a red dress that accentuated her curves, in shoes that already made her ankles ache, and wearing a diamond piece around her neck that she could swear was worth more than her future.
So caught up was she in her thoughts that she didn’t hear Khalil come into her room. He gasped as his eyes fell on her, marveling at the beauty that was his wife. He allowed his eyes to feast on the curves of her voluptuous body and the way the dress accentuated it. He sighed as he admired her reflection in the mirror – The fullness of her red lips, and how sensual er eyes were.
For the first time since the death of his mate, heat rushed through his veins and settled in his loins as he continued to look at her. For the first time since the death of his mate, he felt a heavy rush of arousal...something he hadn’t felt even with Cassandra. He took a deep breath and swore under his breath, chastising himself for his impure thoughts.
But even then, he couldn’t bring himself to stop staring.
He finally walked fully into the room, startling Isabelle with his presence. He stood behind her, and met her eyes in the mirror, smiling as she slowly turned around to face him, and for the second time that evening, his breath caught in his throat again. She was even more beautiful up close.
“You’re staring...” Isabelle said and shifted on her feet, not used to be the center of attention.
Khalil chucked lightly and stepped closer to her, enjoying the blush that rose in her cheeks, and the way she shyly fluttered her lashes at him.
“It is hard not to stare when you’re standing before a goddess, don’t you think?” Khalil asked and raised her hand to his lips, his eyes holding hers captive as he placed a soft kiss at the back of her hand.
Isabelle giggled and she placed her free hand on her stomach in an attempt to still the butterflies. He was standing dangerously close to her, so close that she could smell his cologne, the few gray hairs that were beginning to gather at his temple, the tiredness and lust in his eyes...and all of it caused her stomach to flip.
Isabelle scoffs. “There is no need to patronize me, Alpha Khalil...”
Khalil chuckled and raised her hand to his lips again. “Call me Khalil...that alpha nonsense is a bit too formal, don’t you think?”
Isabelle smiled wistfully as the memory of her first night here came flooding back. She remembered how she had sat nervously in that very room, nervous on what was expected of her on her wedding night. She remembered how she had gathered all the courage that could be found on her person and found her way to his office, only to find her freshly minted husband in the arms of a strange woman.
The smile dropped from her face as she remembered how the bitch had commanded her from his office, and how he had sent her away like she was nothing...like she meant nothing...like she was naught but a pesky human sent to make his life miserable.
She pulled her hand away from his and took a step back. Suddenly, the attraction waned from her, and she was harshly reminded that this was her new reality, she wasn’t in a fairy world...and she wasn’t a princess. She was a woman stuck with a man whose heart was sworn to another.
“Is that what she calls you?” Isabelle asked, unable to keep the anger and bile out of her tone.
Khalil straightened, somewhat confused as to the switch in demeanor. “What?”
“The bitch you were with on our wedding night?” Isabelle pressed.
Khalil growled. “Watch your mouth, Isabelle.”
Despite the situation, Isabelle couldn’t help but admire the way her name rolled of his tongue.
“Else?” Isabelle asked, feeling boldness she hadn’t felt in a while. A boldness that she was quick to attribute to the dress. “Would you ask me to leave this room too? Or maybe you would return me to my father?”
Khalil cocked his head to he side, and took in the vixen before him. He took several steps towards her, smiling to himself as she continued to move back until her back hit the mirror behind her.
“Are you jealous, my darling?” he asked, and leaned in until their lips brushed. “If you wanted me in your bed so bad, all you needed to do was ask...”
Isabelle swallowed hard and fought against the sudden burst of heat that rushed her body. “Only a fool would want that...”
“Is that so?” Khalil asked as he trailed the tip of his nose down her neck, enjoying the sharp breath she drew in, and the silky texture of her skin.
“Yes...” She replied in a breathy whisper.
“Is that why you’re jealous of Cass?”
‘So that was her name...Cass...’ Isabelle thought to herself.
“I see that you even have a cute little nickname for your mistress...”
Khalil’s hands balled into fists. “You will not disrespect Cassandra,” he stated firmly.
Isabelle chuckled, for some reason her heart broke at the thought of this man...this strange man that up until last week, she would never have thought of breathing the same air as him, this same man that she found herself married to, the thought of him defending his other woman caused her heart to wrench inside her chest.
“How noble of you,” she said, ignoring the knot in her throat. “How noble of you to demand respect for your mistress while you disrespect me by parading your whore around the whole kingdom.”
Isabelle knew that she had overstepped her station when his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened. Up close, she could see him fighting for control, and sadness settled in her stomach, heavy as a cast iron pan.
“It seems that you forget your place, Isabelle,” Khalil said, his voice cold enough to freeze hell. A very heavy contrast to the sweet tone he had used when he had entered her room.
“I —”
“Because you find yourself in the station of my luna, you suddenly think that you’re good enough to speak to me in that manner,” Khalil said, ignoring the tears that were beginning to gather in the younger woman’s eyes. Ignored the way it pulled at his heartstrings. “You suddenly think that you’re as good as Cass, better than her?”
“No, I —”
Khalil’s hands go around her throat, tight enough to refrain her from speaking but not enough to stop her breathing. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but notice how her neck fit perfectly in his hand, like they were meant to be.
“Remember your place, love...and stay there.”
With those touching, parting words, Khalil pulled away from her and walked out of her room, leaving her to follow behind him.