Underground Royals

3

Lavender mall has architecture that most shopping centres can only dream of. The ceiling is domed higher than any cathedral and made of the most beautiful hues of violet stained glass. The walkways flow with no sharp edges in sight - a tribute to the rivers of people that walk through them every day. And the whole centre is scented with a mist of (shocker) lavender.

We walk with our heads held high towards "Domina Casia", which is latin for Lady of Lavender. Mrs Osmanda, the owner, was a good friend of my fathers before he passed, and was always my first stop when I needed a dress on short notice. Her designs are simple yet elegant, and blended feminism with femininity in a way that is well respected in the community. On seeing Daemon and I, she let out a small squeal before regaining her composure and giving Daemon a squeeze, before placing kisses on both my cheeks.

"Oh my Isolabella how you've blossomed!" She cooed, eyeing my hands and neck, presumably for a sign of jewellery. A flash of disappointment crossed her features as her eye fell on my bare hand, save my ring to represent my place in the house of Sterling. The ring was ornately blackened by age in the way antique silver does but it was pretty in an elegant way, especially when viewed as a whole with the blue stones that formed an S in the centre.

Mrs Osmanda beckoned us further into the glamorous pearly white shop, with a flick of her hand. "So what is it I can do for you my dear?" She asked, already sifting through a pink folder with a large "Isolabella" on it. She had made it with me one night when she had visited for business with Alfred, saying I could put any dress I liked in it, so that whenever I wanted a dress we could use it for inspiration.

"Well, the Wraith's Christmas ball is soon..." I start, and by the look in her eyes, I can tell she already knows.

"You still don't have a dress!" She all but screeched. I nodded, as Daemon laughed beside me. I elbowed my arm into his ribs as Ms Osmanda begins frantically flicking through pages.

"Nevermind making me a dress..." I rush, knowing even some as good as her would struggle to make me a custom dress by tomorrow with all the other Christmas orders she has. "Do you have any from your winter collections that would suit the occasion?"

"Do I have any dresses..." She mutters quietly rolling her eyes. "Of course I have a dress for you! But we should hurry, I have some appointments coming in very soon." She remarks, smiling fondly at me. Then her eyes widen at Daemon. "It's bad luck for him to see you in your dress beforehand!" She reprimands, waving him off as she turns away.

"But Osmanda, it isn't our wedding!" I cry after her as I wave goodbye to Daemon.

"Not yet my dear!" She smiles at us as Daemon winks at me. I groan involuntarily as I follow Osmanda to the dressing rooms.

I stand by the mirror as she holds up various dresses against my body, before thrusting one into my hands and shooing me into the confines of a smaller room to put it on. It was a grey-blue colour, like the lake when it frosts over. It had a figure hugging sheer top, studded with some of the finest gemstones money could buy, and a ballgown bottom, with layers that spiralled down, making the skirt appear like a rose. An added bonus, was the snowflake detailing that framed my bare back. In the words of Mrs Lockington, it did wonders for the imagination.

I open the door quietly. I always liked the dresses Mrs Osmanda picked me, and the minute I put this one on I was sure it was the one, but I knew better than not to show her first.

"Mrs O!" I call in my daintiest voice. "I'm ready!"

"Oh my darling you look positively wonderful!" She cries as she sees me, smiling big and wide. "Do you like it?" I nod vigorously, doing a small spin to show off the, for lack of a better word, fluffiness of the skirt. I quickly slip back into the room to peel off the dress, careful not to damage it, before gathering it in my arms and walking back out. "Daemon won't be able to keep his eyes off you." Mrs O smiles knowingly, a twinkle dancing through her eyes as she scans the dress through and puts in it a bag. I roll my eyes playfully and pull out my wallet. Just as I'm about to pay, the door opens and I feel a presence at my side; speak of the devil.

"Uh uh uh." He scolds pushing down my hand and by extension my wallet. "You know father would murder me if I didn't pay for my lady." He grins.

"If only." I groan, though I give him a small peck on the cheek in thanks as he swipes his card.

"Hmmm, if I got one of those every time I spent 500 pounds on you I'd do it more often." He mused taking my hand in his and the bag in his other.

"Don't get used to it." I scoff as I swat his shoulder playfully.

Not long after Daemon lead me to the ice cream parlour by the indoor fountain and ordered me my favourite - a bubblegum swirl with sour gummies. I dig in immediately while Daemon watches me, an amused smile gracing his face. Once I'm done, which really means I've only eaten about a third of the ice cream and all of the gummies, I push the glass towards Daemon.

"Why do I even bother getting your favourite, you barely eat any of it!" He mumbles. It was true, and he always got stuck finishing it off.

"Because I'm your favourite." I pout, sticking out my bottom lip as I look up at him. He rolls his eyes and nods. By the time we finish, the afternoon is melting into the night, and my uncle calls to summon us home. Daemon and I hug goodbye, and then as quickly as he came he is gone, and the manor is empty again.

I guess you could call me lonely, but over time I have learned how to lessen the pain. We are born needing a sense of others. Even if we are alone we need to fool our senses into thinking that we aren't. And so, in this empty manor, I immerse myself in the noises of the help, dusting furniture and cooking dinner, their scent and occasional glances, the chatter as they go about their business, and give my brain a little of the humanity it craves until tomorrow when I can see my friends.

My name, Isolabella, was given to me by my uncle, after the death of my father, Morpheus Sterling, in a turf war between a rival gang, and my mother Iris Sterling, giving birth to me. It means isolated beauty, homage to the lonely fate given to from birth. Alfred never shied away from the fact that I was, save him, alone - the lone heiress of the house of Sterling. He taught me from a young age if you embrace the feeling of loneliness; let yourself feel the pain in its full force and have the courage to persevere, you win. The universe and all in it, will sense that you have the strength and determination to lead a good life and so opportunities will appear to you. He would never tell me it would be easy, or that I would enjoy it. But he told me I would need to be strong, because it was the only choice I had.

When I was younger, I never fully understood why an heiress needed to be strong. I thought my life would be filled of hosting parties like Mrs Wraith and trips to Italian fashion shows like Mrs Lockington. But that was before I found out what I was really inheriting. A coveted place in one of the most dangerous societies on the planet.

I find myself wondering through the hallways of the manor, which are lit by a mix of decorative candles and lanterns. Portraits of my ancestors stare down at me, almost curiously, but I pay little attention to them, stopping at the portrait at the very end of the hall; my parents. I always thought of them more during Christmas time, and with Christmas Eve tomorrow, I couldn't help but envy them for being together, and leaving me all alone. I stare at their portrait for a long time, just soaking in their presence.

My mother wasn't beautiful in the classical sense, lacking flowing curls or ivory skin or piercing eyes of green or blue. She was shorter than average and certainly larger than a model with deep earthy brown eyes, but in her ordinariness she was breathtaking. There was something that radiated from her, causing men to desire her and women to court her friendship. She had a kind of understated beauty - perhaps because she was so disarmingly unaware of her prettiness. Her freckled sun kissed skin was completely flawless. My uncle says that when she smiled and laughed you couldn't help but smile along too, even if it was just on the inside. To be in her company was to feel that you were someone. Of course I only know her from home videos and my uncle's memories, but it does help me make peace with her death.

My father had his arm wrapped around her waist, his midnight black curls swept to the side and his dark brown eyes staring straight ahead, framed by graceful sloping brows. His skin was tanned in the way that made girls swoon and he had prominent cheekbones and a well-defined chin and nose which I inherited.

I knew I would like to meet them, but I couldn't say I missed them or that I loved them, the way that orphans often do. After all, I didn't know them and they didn't know me. I suddenly feel a presence behind me and turn to see my uncle.

"You really should get to sleep Isolabella, tomorrow will be a long day." He murmurs, guiding me away from the portrait with his hand on my back.