Chapter 4: 3: New Name, New Fate

If there was one thing that Isabella hoped she could avoid in this life more than anything else, it would be the engagement with Duke Albert. It was far more than the fact that he was old and corpulent. He was a twisted man that didn’t view people as people at all—merely commodities to be traded and sold. Duke Albert had made tremendous wealth from the arts patronizing artists and authors. He treated his beneficiaries cruelly, elaborately manipulating, abusing, and entrapping them with his connections.

To offend Albert was to end your career as an artist.

During her engagement with Albert, Isabella had been forced to wear especially revealing, salacious garments while she had her painting taken by a suite of his artists. They were instructed to use her as the model for the goddesses of the pantheon. She’d been forced to stand for eight hours, day after day after day, often with little more than a blanket draped over her figure.

That alone was humiliating enough, but the duke had then sold those paintings of her in his auction as he would any other pieces. Portraits bearing her figure and her face propagated most noble households. Every time that she went out, people watched, talked, compared… people knew. And all the while, Duke Albert and the king propped it up as though she should be honored to have been granted the opportunity. Like they had done her a favor, even when the duke refused to let her see a single coin of what he earned.

I’ve made my fiancée far more famous than me, Duke Albert boasted in her memories. I’ve made her a goddess in the eyes of men, and my vault the envy of the realm. It’s an enviable partnership… don’t you agree?

When Isabella was finally free of him, she vowed to never have another portrait made.

In this second life, she most certainly didn’t wish to share a dance with him like nothing had ever happened. Just the sight of him as he limped over made her tense, uneasy. The thought of him holding her hand, while the other slid around her back… it almost made her nauseous. Her eyes darted around for any other partner she might take, but the others seemed to know Albert’s intent, and backed away so as not to offend him.

All except one.

Isabella stepped forward and offered her hand to a man in humbler dark gray clothes. She presumed him to be of a lower house, perhaps ennobled by merit—he was tall, broad, and stood as straight as a man of the battlefield. Such a man might not even recognize Duke Albert. He was tanner than the sheltered nobles, further adding credence to her assumption he was ennobled by merit.

“Shall we dance, sir?” Isabella asked him hastily.

The man turned his head, and she saw his face more clearly. He was quite handsome—certainly enough that she’d recognize him if she’d seen him in the royal court many times before. He had a scar on his right brow that extended diagonally to his temple, and another on his left cheek. His hair was dark and fell slightly past his ears, while his eyes were so black they resembled a bottomless hole. He had quite the intimidating, stern look with a sharp jawline and intense eyes.

“As you wish, Your Highness,” he answered, taking her hand.

Isabella didn’t need to feign her smile as the second act of the music began, and they resumed the waltz. Despite his size, he proved a graceful partner. She saw Duke Albert standing there with anger in his eyes, but he quickly retreated out of view so as not to make a fool of himself.

“I apologize if this causes you trouble,” she said quietly, looking up at her partner.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why would it?”

Isabella felt guilty at the prospect that he was clueless about what he’d done. “Duke Albert is a vindictive man, and he wanted this dance,” she explained. “But… don’t worry. I’ll do what I can to ensure nothing comes back on you.”

He raised a brow. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” she said resolutely. “Perhaps not in the way you’re familiar, but nevertheless.”

He laughed from his nose and gave a cynical smile. “I can hold my own.”

“I insist. Just give me your name, and you’ll receive no disruptions to your life.”

The man continued the dance for a while without saying anything, but Isabella didn’t press. She merely stared at him, silently prompting for his answer. In her experience, silence made people uncomfortable, and they usually spoke up simply to break it. But the man seemed intimately familiar with silence, and the dance progressed as a silent staring contest.

When the music began to slow to signal the end, he leaned down and said simply, “Valerio.”

It was a common enough name—she could think of several counts and barons named Valerio. “And the name of your house, Valerio?” she pressed further.

“A name should be enough,” Valerio answered, stepping away as the song closed. “Though it seems to me you should worry about yourself, Your Highness.”

***

Isabella leaned on the balcony railing, more exhausted than she'd expected. She thought that these days of endless anxiety and stress were behind her, but now she was thrust back into the very heart of it. Things had moved forward so fast, and she simply reverted to old preservationist habits by instinct. There was barely any time to process what was happening to her, let alone why.

As her eyes wandered the hedges of the royal garden, she reflected on what the king had said. She’d be made an example of, one way or another. To wax poetic, Edgar had thrown her into a pit of spikes, but there was a single spot that had a velvet pillow to land on.

I can't prevent an engagement, she accepted. Edgar doesn't want me to become a threat to him, so he'll use me to either guarantee alliances or win over enemies. He makes terrible decisions, but he is decisive… so I need to act quickly.

Duke Albert wasn’t someone that could be easily disregarded. He had friends and allies earned over seventy years of life, tremendous wealth from his own territory and his patronage of artists, and enough troops that her brother the king thought it absolutely essential to keep Albert placated. Finding someone that could stand up against him and also entice the king seemed quite impossible.

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Isabella had been in the court of Dovhain long enough to know that things were never as they seemed.

As she thought of possible candidates, someone joined her on the balcony. She turned her head, and had to make an effort to conceal her reaction.

Bernadetta, in a regal lavender dress, leaned up against the railing. “Bella,” her cousin greeted affectionately. “Quite the day, isn’t it?”

Isabella studied her cousin’s face with her smiling purple eyes. Even now, the memory of being smothered with that pillow played in her head. The face that she saw now was the perfect representation of friendliness, compassion, kindness. It didn’t have a flaw that she could see… but then, perhaps she’d never truly looked very hard.

“Bernie,” she responded in kind. Her cousin hated that nickname, so now she used it freely. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Bernadetta gave a stiff smile. “That nickname is a little…”

“Bernie and Bella. BB. It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Isabella smiled. “It’s like we’re twins, or sisters. I’ve always thought of you that way.”

And you smothered me while I was helpless in return, Isabella thought. When did you come to hate me so much? Or… was our friendship always a lie?

Bernadetta swallowed and changed the subject, remarking, “You caused quite the stir today. You’re not usually so bold.”

Isabella looked out to the gardens. “I’m unsure what you mean.”

“Come now, don’t be coy.” Bernadetta moved closer. “Dancing with the Knight-Commander, the Archwizard’s heir, the king himself, and then the Duke of the Isles.”

Isabella’s brain paused upon hearing the last name. “The Duke of the Isles?” she repeated, to be sure that she hadn’t misheard.

“Duke Valerio,” Bernadetta said. “Oh… did you not know? If you didn’t, it doesn’t matter now. Everyone is talking about it. Very few people have seen the pirate lord up close. He came especially for the coronation.”

Isabella went silent. Everyone knew who the Duke of the Isles was—his title rung up from north to south, from the lowest barony to the highest dukedom. He was a pirate of fearsome renown whose fleet once had a stranglehold on all of the shipping lanes leaving Dovhain. He’d based himself in an archipelago bridging the inland sea to the wider ocean.

Isabella didn’t know too many details, but Valerio allied himself with her father, and in a fateful engagement, lost the majority of his fleet to secure victory for Dovhain. As recompense, her father King Edgar the Great had raised him to the title of Duke, enfeoffing him with the archipelago on which he’d established himself. It was a backhanded appointment—without the ships, the chain of islands he owned was useless.

It's certainly not the first time I’ve seen him… but I remember him looking different. She thought back. Duke Valerio had attended her coronation, too. The face… it roughly aligned to the one she remembered. But his eyes were as white as the moon, and his hair… was it black? No, I think it was gray. She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. I can’t remember.

Whatever the case, she was somewhat relieved. Valerio was another neutral party. He didn’t involve himself in the politics of the court. As far as she knew, he mostly stayed at sea or in his coastal estate here in the capital, rarely attending events. But a memory from today resurfaced even as she thought of that.

King Edgar had mentioned Duke Valerio during his coronation speech. He said he intended to build an armada with the help of the Duke of the Isles. She supposed that was another grand ambition that was interrupted by the perpetual succession crisis of the Kingdom of Dovhain.

“Now you’re back to as you are normally,” Bernadetta said. “Standing there without a word, making others ask all of the questions.” Her cousin inched closer. “What was he like? He seemed an adequate dancer.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Isabella answered. “I’m not likely to see him again."

***

King Edgar sat in one of the many dressing rooms throughout the royal court, sipping the finest wine out of an immaculately carved glass. In many ways, his life hadn’t changed much—this was always the lifestyle afforded to him. But in others… he was now the king. King Edgar…

…the second.

“Perhaps I should adopt a new name,” Edgar mused. “A regnal name. What do you think, Albert?”

“I think it’s inevitable that Your Majesty is going to be the only Edgar remembered,” Albert praised unabashedly.

Edgar looked at him. “What do you want from me? You’re leaning forward on your chair—that means you want something.”

“I’m merely curious when Your Majesty is going to announce my engagement with Isabella,” Albert said.

“Princess Isabella,” Edgar reminded him. “Don’t forget you’re speaking of the royal family, Albert.” He looked at the man and said very deliberately, “My sister’s engagement will be announced on my time.”

Albert fell back into his chair, cowed. “I’ve already hired the portrait artists, Your Majesty. My household is ready to receive her.”

“Are you telling me I should revolve my decisions around your awful scheduling, your overzealous assumptions?” Edgar shook his head. “This is not my problem. Should I move at your pace, or mine?”

Albert scratched his leg where his old scar was. “You set the pace of the kingdom, Your Majesty.”

“Exactly,” Edgar agreed, then took another drink.

Duke Albert’s expression shifted to one of calculation. He thought for a few moments, nodded, then leaned in once more to say, “Would Your Majesty be interested in examining some of the new exhibits before they go to the auction?” Albert suggested. “I’ve had the work of some very promising artists come to market. Some of them are from old favorites of yours.”

“Mmm.” Edgar pointed a finger. “Now that sounds lovely. Any work from that fellow… what was his name, Santiago?”

“Santiago…” Albert’s face scrunched up. “He’s been… yes, Your Majesty. One of his pieces will be there.”

“Good. Great!” Edgar praised. “Send me an invitation, and I’ll attend.”

Silence settled between the two men. There was a tacit quid pro quo between them.

“One week,” Edgar said decisively. “I’ll announce my sister’s engagement in one week.”

If Isabella can surprise me in a week… why not indulge her? Duke Albert’s already thrown in his lot with me—he’s not going to leave so easily for one pretty face. Still, unless she can surprise me… I’ll keep him placated. Have to feed the piggy what he wants to make it all the fatter for the slaughter. I wonder how those flabby chins of his would look severed from his body…

“Thank you for your magnanimity, King Edgar,” Albert said, bowing his head.

“Yeah, sure,” he said idly, then swirled his glass. “Edgar… Edgar… Perhaps I could become Richard. Leo. Julius. Henry. Edward. The archbishops of the church take new names when they assume the office, why not the king?”

“A reasonable question, Your Majesty,” Duke Albert said.

“Hmm… perhaps Arundel. Or Eric. Or Louis. Lucian. Or… perhaps I can just make up a name. All words are made up, after all.”