The light was beginning to fade now, and she was amazed at how much time she had wasted chasing ghosts. Dropping down into the high-backed chair, she ran her fingers along the worn wood of the arms and wondered what it had been like when Erik had been a child. Had his father ever sat in this chair? Did he remember it? Was he the type of child that would run into his father’s office and be scooped up in the older man’s lap? Had he lived removed, raised by a nanny? What had he been like as a baby, a toddler? The tiny heir to all of this?
There was hundreds of years’ worth of history in this room. A Kingdom’s legacy. The intricately designed leather protector on the desk, with beautiful cogs and lettering, must have seen so much. Isabelle ran her hands over the drawers which lined either side of the desk. The top one held a little brass key and Isabelle pulled the drawer open, inside there was paper and writing equipment. She pulled the key out and unlocked the next drawer and the next. It wasn’t until she opened the last drawer that the desk lost her attention.
There in the smallest drawer sat a worn, leather-bound journal.
A triumphant smile crept over her lips.
Emblazoned on the front in intricate gold leafing was a beautifully stylised name.
Jaques.
Isabelle picked it up delicately, almost afraid it was a figment of her desperate imagination. A small portrait fell out and she was quick to react, snapping it up before it fell to the floor. It was the same woman from the other portrait, yet on the back there were words.
Her Royal Highness, Queen Asta Jaques.
Had a queen lived here?
Her Royal Highness.
HRH.
His Royal Highness M. Jaques
Isabelle felt like an idiot. She took a breath glancing up to the larger portrait. Queen Asta? She was beautiful, with bright blue eyes, the picture though faded, looked so real, like she might have been there watching her. After a moment of contemplation and trying to search her mind for any recognition of an ancient Queen named Asta, Isabelle surrendered her attention back to the journal. She just hoped his journal keeping was neater than his accounting.
The first two pages were a beautifully illustrated family tree. A royal family without a doubt, but one which she had never heard of. Was that even possible? It seemed overwhelming that an entire royal dynasty could just vanish into history.
Was this before or after Erik’s parents had lived here?
Isabelle studied the start of the family tree, trying to find the name of a king or queen that she might recognise, one which linked her to a period or place. This elaborate family tree could tell her everything about those who built the castle. About the woman in the fading portrait, she decided to learn their names, it felt wrong that they should be forgotten. It was exhilarating that she was holding such lost information.
In her slender hands, she held the key to the history of this castle, who built it and why. As daunting as it was, she knew she wasn’t going to turn away, not now.
Isabelle carefully skimmed the names; her finger froze over Queen Asta and her husband. Prince Mahieu. So M Jaques was not a king after all, but a prince.
They were the last perfectly drawn names of the family tree, their branches linked beautifully in with the rest of the picture. Underneath two simple names were written as if they had not had time to have the family tree completed properly.
The names made Isabelle freeze.
Kari and Eiríkr.
Eiríkr?
Erik?
Her head was spinning. This couldn’t be real, were these Erik’s parents? Had he lied to her about them being unimportant landowners? This was a massive breach of his privacy and she knew that she should stop, she shouldn’t be here. Nevertheless, she couldn’t unlearn it now. There was something that gave her more pause than Erik’s name, and that was his sister’s birthday written beneath her name.
It was Isabelle’s birthday too.
Give or take three centuries.
How strange to see that symmetry reflected here and now?
Before her was Erik’s entire life, his dynasty. This was too overwhelming.
Erik was a prince?
Why had he lied? All along his entire history had been here, locked away.
Did Erik know any of this? Isabelle felt stupid for even questioning it, did he know he was a prince? Of course he did. There was nothing about this overly decadent castle which didn’t scream royalty.
Did Mr Hands know?
What about the other servants?
Did anybody wonder? Did they ask questions? Had anybody even looked? The last remaining member of the royal house of Jaques was here, turned to a frightful beast.
Had anybody taken up the mantle for this Kingdom? Had some distant member of the family claimed a right that wasn’t theirs? Crowned himself whilst the true heir stayed here, festering in this castle. Three centuries on and nobody had uncovered the truth.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” the growl came from the door and Isabelle jumped so hard she knocked the chair over, just about regaining her balance so that she didn’t go with it. Isabelle met yellow eyes with defiance she didn’t quite feel, she was ashamed of herself for prying so deeply. Lucky really, that she had been discovered by the only person in the castle that no longer intimidated her. Though Erik should have been the scariest one.
“You lied to me.” She stated bluntly, his enormous features creased into a scowl. “How does nobody else know this? You’re a prince, by all accounts the only one left in your family. Your people paint you as some big mystery, like a thing which arrived here and delivered them from your parent’s reign. Do they truly not know? Not one of them? That this castle, this city,” Isabelle shook her head, unable to fathom it, “that their fearful beast is the last Jaques heir? Do they know that she’s your mother?” She inclined her head towards the portrait, Erik looked for a second but then shook it off.
“I’m not a prince.” He stated dryly but before she could protest he added “I am a King.” Belle realised with a start that he was right. His parents were dead. Long dead. The castle, the land, the fortune, was all Erik’s.
“I’m still not going to curtsey,” Isabelle added with an insolent smirk, the beast shook his head lightly as if he hadn’t expected any other reaction.
“What difference would it make if they knew? I’m not him anymore.” Going back to her former question and ignoring her contrary statement.
“You don’t just stop being somebody because you’ve changed in appearance. I’m not the same as I was when I was seven. I’m hardly some scrawny tomboy anymore.” She made a loose indication to her figure “but I haven’t stopped being me.”
“You don’t understand.” He countered.
“So explain. Tell me. I want to-”
“You cannot understand.”
“Only because you won’t tell me.” Isabelle cried, closing the journal and stashing it in the deep pockets of her dress. She locked the drawer and put the key back in the top one so that it looked undisturbed, there was no way she was leaving that journal.
Erik hovered at the door, like an enormous dog poised at the threshold of a room his master would not allow him into. His body seemed almost too wide to fit through the narrow frame. Belle decided that a change of subject was in order, lest he vanish entirely, and leave her alone again. “Why aren’t you at the town meeting?” No answer. “Are you still afraid of me Erik? Or are you just angry at me for finding this out?” Anger would be better than the cool indifference she had been getting ever since their heated encounter.
“No.” The answer was a throaty grumble; he shook his head to emphasise his point.
“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want,” Isabelle spoke softly, stepping forward to lessen the gap between them, her hands desperate to touch him.
“I acted unforgivably.” His eyes were staring through the floor vacantly.
“Just my luck that I would get the only beast who’s plagued by morality.” He looked hurt an
d Isabelle instantly regretted her words, turning and picking the picture up off the table by way of a peace offering, Isabelle looked at it for a moment. His mother had been beautiful. “I found this…” but when she looked back to the doorway he was gone. “Bye,” Isabelle breathed to the emptiness.
Chapter Nineteen
The castle returned to normal almost as soon as the others got back. Nothing was said of the town meeting, nor of what it concluded. Isabelle was desperately curious, but she daren’t ask. It was bad enough knowing that they blamed her, worse that she didn’t much care. She would not be anything but pleased that Erik was spending more time here, with her, she wished he never left at all. When he was gone, her life felt empty, boring, she lived for the snatched moments where she would catch him watching her. His attention was intoxicating.
The morning was warm, and Isabelle was brushing down the horses. Erik had two, old enormous workhorses that she presumed had only ever been ridden back or too from here to the city. It was a shame; they were beautiful animals. Grooming them, cleaning out the stables, feeding them, it reminded her of being home. It made her miss Briar, the horse she had grown up with, with a painful yearning.
“Excuse me?” A voice interrupted, Isabelle spun expecting to see Thomas but surprised, instead, to see two unfamiliar men. Isabelle put the brush back down on the shelf, before walking over to the men. She twisted her hands in her skirts to clean them off as she walked to them.
“Can I help you?”
“Do you work here?” One of them asked brusquely.
“I live here.” Isabelle amended; offended that they would automatically mistake her for a servant. They didn’t apologise, nor let the revelation deter them.
“Do you mind if we ask you some questions? We’re from Knightsbridge, we work for a newspaper…” he spoke slowly as if he was speaking with a child, Isabelle rolled her eyes.
“Which one?” She asked they exchanged a glance. “Not a popular one then. What exactly are you looking for here?”
“Well this castle, in fact, the entire city, seems to be a bit of a mystery; some traders stumbled upon it a few months ago and it would be marvellous if we could put a name to the estate. Nobody is even sure which jurisdiction it falls under.”
“Must the estate have a name against it?” Isabelle enquired, “can it not just function as a community project?”
“It has to belong to somebody Miss.” The speaker looked to his companion with a smile at Isabelle’s expense.
“Why are you really here? Nobody cares about an old castle in the mountains, well, certainly not bottom of the barrel reporters anyway.” Isabelle was sceptical, she’d had nothing to do with journalists, but her father had spoken poorly of them. “If you’re honest with me I might actually be able to help you.” The taller of the two reporters leant forward.
“Okay. We’ve heard stories; about a huge, unnatural animal terrorising the woods.” Excitement was clear on his face; his eyes were sparkling with it.
“So have I.” She stated simply, they were after Erik, it made her automatically defensive. “But like most people, I stopped believing in monsters when I learnt that they weren’t real.”
“You said you live here, is this your castle? Do you have a husband, a father?”
“Everybody has a father.” Isabelle quipped dryly, the reporter didn’t seem quite as amused by her wit as she was. “If there was a dangerous animal roaming the woods, do you think I would be out here alone. Husband or no. I’m afraid you’ve been chasing ghost stories.”
“So, you’ve not seen anything? Or heard anything?”
“I hear wolves, some attacked a local farm recently. I’ve heard bears too. We’re quite far away from the city, they can grow quite big out here.” Isabelle dismissed him with a shrug.
“Is there somewhere inside we can go and talk?” He asked, and Isabelle stiffened, she didn’t like how pushy they were being. How had they found this place? Was it Peter? Had he gone home and started spreading stories of her Beast? Isabelle felt betrayed and angry.
“I suppose we can,” Isabelle said carefully, she had already harvested some nightshade over the winter and had the leaves drying in her room. Within an hour she could brew it into a deadly tea, it would certainly eliminate the threat of these reporters going home and spreading more stories.
If anybody found Erik he would be ruined.
And she would probably never see him again.
Isabelle wasn’t going to let that happen.
“What’s going on here? Are you aware you’re trespassing on private land?” Charlotte yelled from the door, Isabelle turned her head ever so slightly, keeping her eyes on the reporters.
“Are you-?” One of the reporters started, but Charlotte didn’t let him say more than that.
“Get out of here, my husband has a gun and he is more than willing to use it. This is private land and you are trespassing.” The front door opened almost in perfect time to punctuate the sentence; Joseph was loading up the barrel of the shotgun as he did so. The two men shrunk backwards visibly.
Isabelle wanted to scream at them, if they chased these men away then they would simply come back. They needed to end the threat now, before it escalated.
“Miss-” The taller of the two men appealed to Isabelle, who’s expression darkened in return.
“Don’t say another word, Isabelle. Ignore them and go inside.” Charlotte ordered.
“I can handle this myself you know.” Isabelle seethed, if they had left her to it, these men wouldn’t be alive long enough to tell tales.
“Go inside.” Charlotte snapped. Isabelle nodded reluctantly, she bid farewell to the reporters and made her way inside the castle. Isabelle sat at the table in the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of tea and waited for the inevitable telling off from Charlotte Hands.
Charlotte didn’t disappoint, she came storming into the kitchen, face red.
“What did you say to them?”
“Nothing,” Isabelle said honestly. “They were looking for Erik. I told them that we have bears and wolves, but that they were quite deluded if they were on a monster hunt.”
“You shouldn’t have said anything at all. Stupid, stupid girl.” Charlotte snapped.
“If you’d have left them to me, they wouldn’t have been a problem for very long.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Charlotte tutted, “sometimes Isabelle I think you’re living in an entirely different world than the rest of us. Please, let us deal with these things in our way, we have survived this long.”
“So what?” Isabelle felt like she couldn’t win. No matter what she did, it was wrong. “I should have just run away? Or pretended they weren’t standing there?”
“Enough bickering. Come to my office, Isabelle.” Joseph spoke firmly.
“I’d rather not.” Isabelle glowered, “if you’re just going to shout at me, you might as well get it over with here and now.”
“Fine.” Joseph scoffed,
“Joe…” Charlotte warned but he dismissed her,
“No Charlotte, there are things she needs to hear. Her behaviour, these reporters,” He gestured wildly, his anger palpable.
“Oh, I suppose they’re my fault too?” Isabelle accused angrily,
“Yes, quite frankly I believe they are. Ever since you arrived here you’ve acted appallingly. You demand endless attention, you wander around dressed obscenely, you pick fights with the Master. He has work of his own to do, but all you care about is whether or not he’s here to entertain you.”
“I don’t have to listen to this” Isabelle fired back. She stood up and stormed off, she didn’t expect Joseph to follow her.
“Yes, you do, as a matter of fact. I think you’ve gone your entire life without hearing a cross word from anybody. People tiptoe around you, dance to the beat of your drum. You think you’re better than everybody, that we’re all here for your entertainment. Well we’re not. We all have our lives here, and your place is at the v
ery bottom. You’re a prisoner who struts around with delusions of grandeur. If I had my way your room would be in the dungeons.
“Well you don’t have your way, do you?” Isabelle rounded on him, “because I’m not in the dungeons. And you’re not in charge. You squirrel away facts, hoping nobody questions your self-given right to rule. This isn’t your castle, it’s his. Erik lets you live here, you’re no better than I am. You’re no more deserving. As for my behaviour, I answer to Erik, if he has a problem then he can stop being such a coward and address me himself.” Joseph’s nostrils flared but he said no more. “And I’ll talk to whoever I damn well please.”
Isabelle didn’t wait, she turned and stormed out of the castle. The doors slammed shut behind her. She hadn’t looked up, but she’d known that he’d been watching from above. Isabelle was done being nice, she was done pretending to play by their rules.
They obstinately refused to address the fact that she wasn’t here by choice, Erik had bargained for her, forced her to stay here.
She wasn’t the villain in this scenario.
They were.
Chapter Twenty
E ven the emerging spring flowers weren’t enough to cheer her up. The air was just starting to warm; this had always been her favourite time of year. The cold February harshness gave way to the awakening beauty of March. There were buds and life blossoming everywhere, the hope of a new year, of amazing things to come. But instead of hope, Isabelle was filled with ice. Her life would not change again, this was what she would be forced to endure for the rest of her days. Trapped, alone and despised. She pulled a leaf off a plant angrily and paced through the walled gardens, she couldn’t go back inside. Isabelle wouldn’t endure another lecture. Who did he think he was anyway? The distant relative of a man once appointed by Erik’s father. It was by Erik’s good nature that he remained here. Yet he acted like he was the crowned King. It drove her mad.
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