Chapter 3: 2: Dance of Devils

Isabella had been standing on the sidelines of the ball, tactfully refusing all requests to dance. The people that had been requesting her hand were all part of various factions, and to dance with one would send a sign to various others. The factions weren’t clearly defined yet, but her actions were being noted. Even dancing with one of her half-brothers might damn her. There were only a few people she reasonably could accept the hand of. And eventually…

“Would you care to dance, Your Highness Isabella?” Gaspar of Forseth, Knight-Commander of the Holy Paladins, offered his hand. Garbed in pure white finery with a long cloak displaying a vibrant golden sun, he stood out in the crowd with his tall figure honed both in training and on the battlefield. He had lovely blonde locks, piercing blue eyes, and an easy smile all working in tandem for quite the handsome look.

“I would,” Isabella said, placing her hand atop his.

The two of them swept out into the center of the ballroom to join the slow-paced waltz, where many eyes fell upon them. Isabella stood firm and unshaking in the midst of their gaze. The Holy Paladins were the personal guard of the king, chosen from the ranks of the paladins in the church. Officially, they were neutral. This man would change that, becoming the leader of the Theocratic Faction when he deposed the child-king Edgar III.

And later... he helped Isabella rise to the throne, where he became her military advisor.

If there was someone I trusted the most personally… it was Gaspar, Isabella reflected as she danced the steps effortlessly. By now, this dance was ingrained in her so deeply she could do it while sleeping. He saved me from numerous assassins. He bled for me, very nearly died for me. He seems straight-forward, earnest… but I never knew what he was thinking. She looked into those blue eyes of his. Did you kill me, Gaspar?

“Thank you for your consideration,” Isabella said to him.

His brow raised slightly. “What consideration, Your Highness?”

“If I danced with none, it might be seen as a protest. If I danced with some, it might be seen as a statement. But the Knight-Commander of the Holy Paladins remain neutral.”

Gaspar smiled at her. “You do me too much honor. I had no such considerations. I merely desired to share a dance with Your Highness.”

“Nevertheless, thank you.” She twirled gracefully, then took his hand once more as they danced in lockstep. “You know the doctrines of our faith intimately, yes?”

“I do,” he said without hesitation.

“Would the gods grant a mortal a second chance?”

Gaspar’s face turned pensive at her unexpectedly strong question. “It is in their nature to forgive, just as it is in man’s nature to sin.”

Isabella took his words in stride. “If we had failed at something, and the gods gave us that second chance… would we be expected to try again?”

Gaspar grew yet more thoughtful. “I don’t dare presume, but… does Her Highness have a specific scenario in mind?”

“Yes,” Isabella said. “But our time is nearly over. I do wonder if you’ll be so convenient a partner for me in the years to come.”

Gaspar seemed uneased by her words as the music entered a lull. Isabella split away from him, searching for her next partner in this two-part dance. She found him quickly, fortunately: Arthur of Hamore, the named successor of the Archwizard. He dressed in natural tones—brown and green—likely to support his hair and eyes of the same tone. His brown hair was tied lazily back, and his sharp, suspicious green eyes were framed by rectangular glasses.

Isabella offered her hand to Arthur. “Shall we?”

Arthur, who’d been standing on the sidelines, studied her offered hand and then met her gaze. “Your Highness should be aware that I am unskilled at dancing.”

“I was aware,” she pressed, keeping her hand out.

As the music began to resume, Arthur, hesitant to refuse her twice, took her hand and moved toward the center of the ballroom alongside her. They joined in the second phase of the waltz. Arthur wasn’t as skilled as Gaspar, but he wasn’t as terrible as he suggested. He was merely uneased by intimate contact, but Isabella did her best to accommodate him.

The title of Archwizard, and by extension the title of his successor, was a title removed from many of the dictates of the royal court. Both the present Archwizard and Arthur practiced firm neutrality. They were one of the few who could manage that here, because their services as spellcasters would always be coveted no matter who rose to the throne.

Arthur was the person whom I trusted the most professionally, Isabella mused internally. If there was something I wanted done properly, I could always rely on him. There was no greater master of magic. Even in matters of statesmanship, he effortlessly outdid the nobles that’d spent their lives preparing for governance. I named him my regent, even.

More than that… I had him instruct me on magic. At twenty-five, my body was fully developed—I was incapable of actually using magic, because it required forming a mana lock within one’s mind. Now that I’m once again eighteen… perhaps I can form a mana lock. It’d be pushing things, but… certainly not impossible. Arthur was the most competent teacher I’d ever had, and his teachings stuck.

His competence did make her confront a dark fact, though. If anyone was capable of concocting a poison that withered her body, it would be Arthur. He could easily have poisoned her.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Do you know of any magics that allow mastery of time itself, Arthur?” she asked spontaneously.

Arthur, stone-faced, replied, “It is against my master’s wishes to discuss any magic research, ongoing or finished, with a member of the royal family besides the king.”

Arthur was unfailingly stiff and formal, like a great impenetrable wall. But Isabella still pressed, “Perhaps you could share something on an informal basis.”

“That would imply informality between us,” he said, standing his ground.

Isabella smiled slightly. He hadn’t changed in many years. Whether past or present, he never let his mask of propriety slip. She never quite knew where she stood with him. “Then off the subject of magic… do you know of any disease or poison that causes one’s skin to turn rough like parchment, and strength and sensation to slowly leave their body? It has no cure, so far as I can tell.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You ask very bizarre questions.”

“Curiosity is a powerful emotion.” Isabella repeated something he’d told her once in her past life.

His hand tightened around hers before he remembered that he was dancing with a princess. “…an interesting sentiment, Your Highness.”

She said no more, taking the hint that he didn’t intend to answer any questions. She’d always respected Arthur’s distance from the politics of the court, but perhaps that was merely a clever guise to hide away deeper ambitions. There was nothing in the world that said a successor needed to follow the neutral mandate of their predecessor, and Arthur was soon to become the Archwizard of Dovhain.

“Skin like parchment… I’m unfamiliar with such an affliction,” Arthur said, surprising her. “But my knowledge on the field is lacking. Next time we speak, I’ll have an answer.”

“To both questions? How generous,” she said.

“N-no, I didn’t—”

“I’m only joking,” she interrupted him with another slight smile. “That’s already much more than I hoped for. Thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t respond to her words of thanks as the song came to a close. He stepped away to the balcony, cleaning his glasses as he walked—the man had always disliked attention and contact, and she felt guilty for troubling him. But Isabella, having danced one song, had fulfilled what was expected of her in the eyes of the nobles and the king. She retreated to a secluded corner where she might relax and gather her thoughts.

Or at least… she’d hoped to.

King Edgar II of Dovhain split the crowd as he walked toward her, with his arrogant gait and cocksure smile. He offered his hand to Isabella.

“Dance the next song with me, Isabella,” Edgar said—an order, not a request.

Isabella swallowed. She wanted to refuse. The man before her was perhaps the worst king to ever grace Dovhain. It was because of his indiscretions and excesses that the kingdom was thrown into the perpetual succession crisis that had flavored her life. He was paranoid, vindictive, sadistic, delusional, and ill-educated.

But he was still the king.

Isabella took his hand, and he roughly walked back to the center of the ballroom as the next song began to play. She had a feeling she knew what he wanted to say, to do.

“Duke Albert informed me that he saw you smiling as you danced with the wizard Arthur,” the king said as they danced. “Yet what do I see? The same dour face as ever, even after I deigned to share a dance with you on my special day.”

Isabella managed a polite smile, though her stomach turned when she heard that Duke Albert had already been watching her. “Forgive me. I was nervous.”

“There we are,” Edgar said with a hint of triumph. “Men like a smiling face, sister. You need to smile more. You’re of age for marriage. For stability in the kingdom, it’s imperative that you smile.”

Isabella could see the message beneath the words—that he was already looking for marriage partners for her. In her last life, that had fated her to endure the twisted obsession of Duke Albert, a man fifty-two years her senior. That engagement had been the worst of her misery. She had managed to turn that scenario to her benefit, but…

“I’ve had thoughts on that subject, Your Majesty,” Isabella said fearlessly, widening her smile. “If I may be so bold… I believe that I can help secure a marriage of tremendous benefit to you.”

Now, though, she wasn’t willing to be so meekly overwhelmed. She would have to seize the initiative.

“That’s my matter to decide,” Edgar II said, pettily asserting his authority. “Still… with whom?”

“I dare not speak of the subject with so many birds listening,” she said, playing on his paranoia. “Still, I shall support your reign as ably as I can.”

“You have good sense… on both points,” the king said in a low voice. “But there are some things I don’t mind being overheard. What of value could you possibly bring me when I have the wealthiest duke in the kingdom asking for your hand?”

Isabella came to an unpleasant confirmation. It’s definitely Duke Albert. He was probably speaking to Edgar long before this coronation even happened. If he’s already got it set in his mind…

“All I ask is for the chance to prove my worth,” Isabella said, looking Edgar right in the eyes.

“Hmm.” As she looked in Edgar II’s eyes, she saw a petty imp within—something that couldn’t stand to see others happy, to see other’s success. “One way or another, my royal court will be downsized, Isabella. My father entertained far too many buffoons, and had far too many children. I can’t fault him for taking mistresses, but I still have to clean up his mess. If you should try and make a fool of me in a matter regarding my steadfast ally… I’m not opposed to making an example of you for the rest.”

“Then I shall strive to serve as an example of utter loyalty,” she said in turn. “As a leal subject that elevates their monarch unto greater heights through their good works.”

Edgar finally smiled, but no life came to those eyes of his. “You’ve volunteered to be made example of, then. Whether you’ll serve as a monument of fear to my enemies, or a statue of the king’s grace to his allies… that shall rest solely on you, Isabella.”

Isabella nodded determinedly. She had caught the king’s attention, but bought herself freedom of movement. A fine trade-off, in her eyes.

“Still… the partners that one dances with at my coronation… it has to hold some significance, no?” Edgar raised a brow.

As the music lulled, it became time to switch partner. As Edgar’s words sunk in, she realized what his intent was—and soon enough, she saw it as well. Duke Albert limped toward her, his intention to join the dance obvious.

As they parted, Edgar lifted her hand up and kissed the back of the palm.

“Smile for your next partner, dear sister. Consider that a royal mandate.”