"I finally know my place, Your Majesty. And that is not in your arms." - Isabel Archer
"You shall not leave my side, Isabel. You are bound to me, body and soul." - King Lucian Devereux
~
Isabel is a commoner who has become a maidservant at the palac...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Isabel stood by the fireplace, wanting to prepare something special for the empress to help restore her appetite and lift her spirits. Her sleeves were rolled up, her apron securely tied, and her hands deftly maneuvered through the delicate process of baking egg tarts. Flour dusted her cheeks and apron as she carefully measured ingredients and stirred mixtures. The staff though aware of Isabel's true identity, watched from a respectful distance. Their eyes were curious, unsure of how to interact with the imperial highness in such an informal setting.
Finally, after a flurry of activity and the tantalizing aroma of baked goods wafting through the kitchen, Isabel set the tray of golden-brown tarts on the tray.
As she stood there with a small, contented smile on her face, Isabel suddenly became aware of the quiet presence of the kitchen staff. She turned around and noticed that all eyes were on her, their expressions a were of surprise and hesitation. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized that her impromptu baking session had drawn an audience.
Isabel's face flushed with embarrassment. She straightened up, her hands instinctively clutching the edges of her apron. "Uh... S-sorry for intruding..." she stammered, her cheeks reddening as she nervously looked around.
The kitchen staff, caught off guard, quickly shook off their surprise and responded with a flurry of polite apologies and reassurances. "No, Your Imperial Highness! It is an honor for us to have you here!" one of them said with a warm smile, while the others nodded in agreement.
Isabel's cheeks grew even warmer at their words. The formality of their response contrasted sharply with the casual and personal nature of her current activity. She bowed her head slightly, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "I am not the princess. Please regard me commonly," she said, her voice tinged with modesty.
Without waiting for a reply, she quickly grabbed the tray of tarts and headed towards the door. The staff exchanged amused glances and chuckles. As the kitchen door closed behind Isabel, their laughter erupted into a happy chorus.
"She is exactly like Her Majesty! Kind and polite!" one of the staff members remarked, their tone filled with admiration.
The rest of the kitchen staff agreed as their laughter mingled with their heartfelt comments. "She's so humble! Just like the empress."
Meanwhile, Isabel walked through the palace corridors with her steps echoing softly as she approached the grand room where Ilyana rested. As she stood before the closed door, uncertainty gripped her heart. She hesitated while her hand remained clutching the tray of freshly baked egg tarts. Her actions weighed heavily on her and she knew she was the reason the empress had fallen into such a state of despair.
How was she supposed to start a conversation? What could she say to make things right?
She tightened her grip on the tray and her knuckles whitened as she forced her eyes shut. She tried to summon the courage to proceed. Just then, a voice behind her broke the silence, startling her.
"Why are you hesitating?" Cedric, the grand steward, asked gently.
"S-sir!" Isabel stammered, turning to face him, her eyes wide with surprise. Before she could say anything further, Cedric gave her an encouraging nod and opened the door to the grand room. He then stepped inside to announce her presence. "Your Majesty, Isabel is here."
The room was quiet, and Isabel was strained to hear any response. When none came, Cedric stepped aside, allowing her to enter. She hesitated, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves before finally stepping into the room. Cedric quietly exited almost immediately, leaving the two women alone.
Empress Ilyana was seated by the window, bathed in soft morning light. Her eyes immediately softened upon seeing Isabel. She remained silent while her gaze was distant and cautious. Isabel curtsied respectfully and her voice trembled slightly as she spoke.
"Your Grace... I prepared some soup and egg tarts for you to enjoy," she began, trying to gauge Ilyana's reaction. There was a pause as Isabel glanced around the room, searching for something to anchor herself to. "How have you been?"
But Ilyana only offered a small, strained smile. She merely shrugged and turned her gaze back to the open window, and her silence became a painful reminder of the rift between them. Isabel felt her heart sink, dejection seeping into her veins. She carefully placed the tray on the table near the bed, her mind racing with thoughts of how to bridge the growing chasm between them.
As she stood there, a deep-seated need to connect with the woman before her surged within Isabel. Her voice broke the silence, soft yet filled with a raw honesty that she hadn't allowed herself to express before.
"I never knew who my father was," Isabel began. Ilyana's head snapped around, her eyes locking onto Isabel's at the mention of her husband. Isabel hesitated, then continued as her gaze dropped to the floor. "Mother seldom mentioned him. I never even remembered his name. I grew up in the slums of Montebello, not knowing why I was different or who I truly was. Well... I never questioned my mother who raised well."
Isabel's voice wavered as she recounted her childhood and the hardships she faced. She spoke of the poverty, the struggles, and the quiet resilience that her mother, Teressa, had instilled in her. It was a life devoid of luxury, but one where love, though scarce, was cherished.
"I always wondered why we lived the way we did," Isabel continued, her eyes misty with emotion. "Why my mother seemed so sad and distant at times, why she never spoke of the past. I learned to accept it, but the questions never stopped haunting me."
As Isabel opened up, she noticed a change in Ilyana's expression. The empress's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. It was clear that every word Isabel spoke resonated deeply with her.
"Mother did her best to protect me, to keep me safe," Isabel said, her voice thick with emotion. "But I never understood why she seemed so guarded. Now, standing here, I feel like everything I knew is slipping away, replaced by truths I never imagined. I have been through a lot... and I thought I would never come to trust anyone."
"But now..." Isabel paused as her lips quivered. She was trying to suppress her emotions but failed.
Ilyana's voice finally broke through. She stood up and reached for Isabel, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Isabel... I can't change the past, nor can I undo the pain it has caused. But I want you to know that you have always been loved, even when you were far from my reach."
She pulled away slightly, cupping Isabel's cheek with a gentle hand. "And now, you will be loved even more. So please... give your mother a chance," she pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion.
Isabel looked at her as a tear slipped down her cheek. "Are you really my mother?"
Ilyana chuckled, though her tears continued to fall. "You are literally looking at your own reflection," she said with a soft smile, referring to Isabel's icy blue eyes and light golden hair that mirrored her own. "You are my daughter, Isabel. My beautiful Isabella."
