Great bells chimed melodically, faintly audible through the glass windows. Isabella opened her eyes, looking toward the origin of the pleasant noise. She tried to turn her head… and could.

  Isabella sat up quickly, gasping and touching her throat. She felt her neck, then her face… not moments ago, they’d been leathery, weak, almost hollow. She couldn’t feel a single thing. Now… now, things were different. Her body felt alive and full of vigor. She looked around, taking in the sights.

  This is… my old room, she realized at once. The tacky red walls… my father had them painted this color. Then… am I…?

  Isabella stood up, feeling vigor that she hadn’t in months. She very nearly tripped over her own feet as she moved around the room. She ran to the window, peering up. Outside, the eight Royal Belltowers rang mightily. She faintly saw her own reflection in the window, but it was vague and muddled, and looked far different than she remembered. She turned her head, then walked to her old mirror.

  A young woman—almost a stranger to her, after so long—looked back at Isabella in a night gown. Her face was pale with faint color, framed by straight silver-white hair that cascaded to her waist. Her eyes were a radiant burgundy. Isabella’s skin, which she recalled had felt like parchment after the withering illness had taken her, was now unblemished.

  Isabella always had a cold, emotionless face. People always told her she was the opposite of her father, who could always be seen smiling. Now, though… her own shock looked back at her. Shock, surprise, joy… they all twisted her face into a mask of expression that she’d never seen her own face bear. But it was hers.

  This felt real. Isabella of Dovhain looked and felt young again, unburdened by her illness.

  Dream, delusion, fantasy? It hardly mattered after being trapped in a bed for so long. Isabella looked around, taking in the room and puzzling out her situation. She’d been moved out of this room not long after her father’s death. Considering that, and considering the bells… this was the day of her half-brother Edgar’s coronation. She had been eighteen, then. He was named King Edgar II a week after the death of her father, Edgar the Great, who had founded the Dovhain dynasty.

  Edgar II only ruled for three weeks before he was murdered, Isabella reflected. Then there was Claude… then Claude died… seven weeks later? And then his one-year-old son, Edgar, became Edgar III. Then Edgar III was deposed in favor of Sylvain…. The names carried on from there, without an end in sight.

  Isabella had risen to the throne with the hopes of doing away with the constant, internecine politics. But in the end… she was just another name, wasn’t she? Isabella I, who died of a withering disease after a long regency council. She supposed it had been a withering poison, if Bernadetta had spoken truly. What had it all been for? She’d wanted to put an end to the cycle, turn the government back toward governance instead of the unending wars of succession… but she’d just ended up another casualty of them. She could still feel that pillow, bearing down on her face…

  All the indignities she’d endured, all the things that she’d set aside, all the happiness she’d abandoned… and it all meant nothing. Bernadetta’s words were still raw in her head. She thought her cousin loved her. She thought she had steadfast allies that believed in her vision. But… they had poisoned her, dragged her name through the mud, and then Bernadetta herself had smothered her. Isabella prided herself on composure, but she couldn’t help but tear up thinking of it.

  The door to her room opened, and a short maid entered. She had a cheeky smile and wore her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail.

  “Ah.” Instinctually, Isabella wiped at her eyes and comported herself. She never liked others seeing her cry.

  “Umm.” The girl placed her hands before me. “I-I should have knocked, Princess Isabella. Forgive me. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  After making sure her voice wouldn’t tremor, Isabella said, “It’s fine. Carry on.”

  “Thank you,” the girl said in relief. “Your brother Pri—King Edgar instructed me to attend to you before the coronation. Shall I return in some time, or would you like to get ready now?”

  “Immediately,” Isabella said decisively.

  “Oh! Wonderful,” said the young maid, smiling brightly. “I’ll draw your bath.”

  As the girl moved about in the background, Isabella looked in the mirror. The wound of the betrayal was still raw… but even it wasn’t harsh enough to make her overlook what was happening. She didn’t quite understand how, or why… but this felt as real as the first time that she’d done it. If this was a dream, she didn’t wish to wake up. If this was a delusion brought about by her illness, it was a pleasant reprieve. If this was the afterlife… well, she’d learn soon enough.

  But if it was real… what in the world was she going to do now?

  ***

  Alice brushed the hair of Princess Isabella with great, yet restrained, zeal. She had been more than a little flustered upon receiving word that she would be attending to the infamously taciturn Princess Isabella, so much so that she’d made a fool of herself by entering without the proper procedure. She never expected to see the princess shedding tears.

  She misses her father, Alice reasoned sympathetically. Who wouldn’t?

  The princess’ radiant eyes seemed totally divorced from the situation, staring into the mirror without seeing anything within.

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  It’s my job to prepare the princess, Alice said. Both in mind, and in appearance. She doesn’t need much help on the appearance front… but perhaps I can cheer her up?

  “Your hair is so beautiful, Your Highness,” Alice said, idly brushing it. “Would you like to wear it in any particular fashion?”

  “As is,” Isabella answered simply.

  “All the better. It looks great just like this!” Alice said with a sheepish laugh. “Now… is there any particular dress you have in mind? If I may… I believe you’d look radiant in this.” Alice moved to the wardrobe and retrieved an ivory-white dress of silk and lace with cloth of silver woven into it tastefully. “It’ll allow your natural beauty to flourish.”

  Isabella gave a curt nod and stood, and Alice walked over with the dress happily. After dutifully helping the princess fit into it, she studied the young woman from afar. Isabella looked positively captivating—her lithe figure and naturally graceful posture… of all Edgar’s children, Isabella looked the most like the late king, but Alice elected not to mention that.

  “I’m sure you’ll be the center of attention, Your Highness.” Alice clapped her hands eagerly, smiling brightly. The princess sat back down before the mirror, disaffected. Alice, disappointed she’d failed in eliciting a smile thus far, walked back up.

  Alice stared into the mirror ponderously. “I think… if it pleases Your Highness, I’ll only apply some light makeup. Your skin is perfect, so too much would subtract rather than add.” She smiled brightly as she stared into the princess’ eyes. “The head maid probably gave me this job because I couldn’t possibly make a mistake. After all, Her Highness will be beautiful no matter what I do.”

  Isabella met her gaze in the mirror, and smiled faintly. “You’re very kind, Alice.”

  Alice’s heart skipped a beat as her name was mentioned. She hadn’t recalled ever giving it… meaning the princess remembered it, even though she’d only been here for a month at most. “I-I’m honored the princess assesses me so. And I hope the coronation can be… not unduly stressful.”

  The princess said no more, and Alice worked to dutifully apply her makeup. She hadn’t been exaggerating much when she said there wasn’t much to do, and she was finished before long. As Alice went to retrieve the princess’ jewelry casket…

  “Do you believe the afterlife can be blissful, no matter what you did before you reached it?” the princess asked.

  Alice paused, holding the casket of jewels in her hand. “I… I’m not sure, Your Highness. I…” she walked up, and set the jewelry casket down. “I like to believe so. Elsewise I’d spend all day worrying about my brother,” she managed with a quiet chuckle.

  Isabella looked back to the mirror thoughtfully. “I hope that it is.”

  Alice opened the jewelry casket, rummaging through the necklaces and rings. She hadn’t expected the princess to open up to her, of all people. But then… who did Isabella have around to talk to?

  In a rush of sympathy, Alice said, “I’ll do my best to make sure you’re happy, princess!”

  When she realized what she’d said, butterflies disturbed her stomach. She was just a lowly maid—why in the world was she running her mouth?

  Isabella smiled once more. “Perhaps there’s a chance at that.”

  Alice grinned in relief, then looked toward the jewelry casket. “Now… perhaps we can find a gemstone that matches your beautiful eyes?”

  ***

  A priest in immaculate white vestments lowered a grandiose gold crown upon the head of a young and handsome man with silver hair and pale skin. His eyes were the color of red wine, and they scanned the vast crowd arrayed before him with a lazy sense of superiority. He was draped in white and gold in abundance. He might’ve looked an angel if not for his cold, callous eyes.

  As the priest stepped away, a fat old man with skin reminiscent of a slightly rotten potato limped up the stairs with a cane on hand. He turned slowly once coming to the throne, shouting to the assembled, “All kneel for King Edgar II!”

  Isabella finally heard the words she’d been waiting for and knelt down as quickly as she could.

  Just as I remember this, she thought as she looked upon the king. That old man is…

  “No need for undue ceremony, Duke Albert,” said the king, waving his gloved hand lightly as he rose. “All of you, rise.”

  Duke Albert, she confirmed, feeling a chill rush up her spine. I thought he was gone. I counted every day that he was with joy.

  “After the military and economic reforms of my father, our Kingdom of Dovhain stands at the heart of a golden age,” Edgar II proclaimed grandly. “But I don’t intend for this to be its peak. I intend to continue our ascent for my first year, my second, and the many decades to come!”

  As polite claps filled the throne room, Isabella’s brain was entirely elsewhere. There’s half a dozen future kings in attendance… and as many kingmakers. Isabella’s eyes flitted about, scanning the crowd. It’s a vicious tempest of factions. No matter what I do… I remain the daughter of the first king. A valuable marriage for many, a useful tool for some, and a target for elimination for the most treacherous among them. The court won’t let me leave here under my own steam.

  “My father well deserves the sobriquet of ‘the Great,’” Edgar II continued. “But only the gods are perfect. The winds of change come. We’ll explore that together in the years to come. I won’t say too much of yet, but… our rivals have bested us at sea once before. With the aid of the Duke of the Isles, I intend to make a grand armada that shall dominate the most distant reaches of the ocean, bringing with them riches unimaginable.”

  As her half-brother’s speech droned, Isabella could only think of all that she’d endured in this hellish place. She’d entered an engagement with the seventy-year-old Duke Albert breathing heavily beside the king, endured the reprisals and retributions of her squabbling siblings, and suffered the mercurial excesses of the ever-changing regal mandates. She’d done things that she wasn’t proud of—first for survival, then for hope of putting an end to the misery that had been wrought upon her family and the people.

  Still, with all Isabella learned, all the experience she’d gained… couldn’t it all go so much smoother?

  “But for now… let us enjoy the celebration of Dovhain’s continued golden age! Let us drink, dance, and make merry in the ballroom,” the king finished grandly.

  Isabella stirred as the guests to the coronation around her began to move. All of the most prominent figures of the age would be at this event. Old allies, old enemies—all on a blank slate, though of which she had tremendous knowledge. As she walked, she thought of Bernadetta’s words.

  You were poisoned by the man you trust most.

  Isabella couldn’t think of a name that jumped out immediately. She had several trusted advisors. But one thing was all but certain: that man would almost definitely be at this ball today. She wouldn’t rule out justice for the Isabella that had died.