𝐀 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍'𝐒 𝐋𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘 - Cinderella AU

XVI - in the darkness so clear

xvi.

ISADORA TREMAINE KNEW THEY WERE DISGUSTED. Both her lady mother and her sister Lucinda, if they had followed her descent to the back garden and peeped from a window or from behind a door, watching her sob into her arms against a cold iron bench while critters cooed and hissed in the silence of the damp grass underneath her knees and against the night.

For a scalding moment, Isa felt regret at letting herself go like this. At least she could've pretended. She could've held a brave face and not let her heart shatter like this until after Archie and everyone else in the chateau had slept for the night. She should've waited, held back her despair for hours more.

Instead, now they knew. Lady Tremaine and Lucinda, no doubt they both knew how foolish Isa had been. If Lady Tremaine had held an ounce of hope-or even pride that Isadora might be able to pull for herself a fate none of them could've ever imagined, it had all been shattered now.

There was an unspoken rule in the chateau, and growing up, all the girls left underneath the roof after the late baron's death had adhered to it. The rule being; displays of despair were disgusting, and you never approached someone when they were in this state.

This was why nobody bothered Cinderella when Lady Tremaine's hatred had been sharp quips enough to destroy a growing girl's self esteem, her wails heard at the end of each night. This was why nobody bothered Lucinda when a hot spoon would come flat across the girl's palm harshly when her behavior got too awry. This was why nobody bothered Isadora when her own mother's jealousy rendered blatant slaps across the eldest Tremaine daughter's face when the girl was but a mere teen, all efforts to make sure her skin was always just not the right color. And this was why nobody, except Isa herself, lent a soothing embrace to little Archie in his earlier days when the loss of his biological mother had gotten too hard to bear for his small form.

This, was why Isa was alone on this cold bench at present, her cream coloured gown already damp in the embrace of the dew covered grass in the back garden, moisture pressing against her knees and skin.

But still, all Isadora could think was; this wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with a King. She was supposed to find someone to marry and provide for her son and herself.

Instead, she had fallen in love with someone who had none of Isadora's own cares in the world. A man-a King-who could do whatsoever that he pleased, without hurting or endangering the well being of a loved one in the process.

Isadora could only dream what it would mean to have such freedom as King Alexander Casimir, but she strangled the thought clean in her mind then. Exchanging places with anyone else-even the thought of such a thing-would mean that she would no longer have Archie in her life. Giving up her present life for anything else would deprive her of her son, and though King Alexander's freedom was flashy and bright, it was not worth the cost of her own son.

This was another reason why they could never be. The King had no son, no child to make him understand even a quarter of what Isadora felt on the daily. He was not a woman in 17th century France, he was no commoner, he didn't have the pressure to marry for stability. So how could he ever understand?

Of course, invitations to observatories and dinners was the norm for him. Of course, he could encourage such things for his own pleasure, but Isadora had long ceased to think of her own pleasure. She understood how someone might value their own pleasure first, but in practicality, she had long enveloped ignorance, putting her son's pleasure above her own.

Despite that, her heart had still betrayed her, falling for a King who couldn't be more different than her.

Isa thought of Cinderella then. A mere dish maid, who was now the princess of the Kingdom of Valence. Had not she and Prince Charming been different too?