Before you proceed, I'd like you to play this video first. This is the music I envision Cal & Isleen would be dancing to, you really need to listen to heighten the atmosphere.
(Italics are for flashbacks.)
.·。.·゜·༺♥༻ ·゜·。.
They spun and twirled together in the midst of cello and violin strains. He started to wonder what kind of secrets she had that he had yet to uncover. Aside from being the daughter of the Head Lord of the Southern Isles, who was an open rebel too.
Now he knew why she was dubbed 'freak', the drunken man must've seen her doing some kind of pagan worship in the forest, which was something the Southern Islanders were known for. Angletonia looked down on such things due to their complicated history with the Southerners after they allegedly murdered one of their kings, Maximillian Leroy. People in modern society thought it was only make-believe, and the rest who believed would rather vanquish it to the core; Cal was siding with the former.
Holding her securely by the waist, Cal took the opportunity to lean his lips close to her ear. "Does your father know that you were out this afternoon?"
It took some time for her to answer, he thought it partly because she was surprised he'd figured out who she was. "No. He did tell me it was dangerous to go alone." She added after a pause, "But if you want him to know about what you did—"
Cal pressed his lips together. "It is more your secret than mine," he said with a muted chuckle. He understood perfectly the vexation that came with an overbearing father, and even though he didn't know Velius Corodi he wouldn't let him have the satisfaction of preaching on his own daughter.
If he was expecting her dance to be awkward and gauche, he was wrong. Cal had always had a penchant for dancing, and had been hoping he'd catch her off-guard, maybe take a wrong turn or stamp on his toes. Though her movements were imprecise, she managed to keep up with him, even when his leaps were becoming more elaborate with each tune, with the complexity only advanced dancers could follow.
Imprecise, yet effortless. There was a breath of fresh air to it.
He couldn't help comparing her to Olivia, or a whole lot of other women who were striving for perfection. They were obsessed, their makeup, dresses, and even their speeches had to be on point. Isleen wasn't even trying, and yet she managed to enchant the whole hall with her simplicity.
In a final spin, she did a dip, lunging sideways as he held her with both arms. Her eyes caught the light from the chandelier, giving Cal a clear view of them for the very first time.
A very strange shade of blue. Dark, with greyish specks like a metal; unlike Olivia's bright sky blue eyes.
He heard loud applause from the guests, marking the end of the dance.
***
The next day, Olivia was nowhere in sight. Usually, she would wait for him along the trails where they would ride together before they would stop and snog on a secluded corner.
As predicted, it had successfully planted a smug smile on Callisto's face, as if rubbing an 'I told you so' over his face. He had also explicitly ordered Cal to give Isleen a palace tour while Callisto himself would be trying to talk her father into allowing Angletonia to rebuild the land.
It drove Cal into a fretful mood. Although he did save her last time, it was purely out of decency and didn't worth the trouble and energy he would have to spend consoling his fiancée, had she known about this afternoon.
"So, this is the conference room," he explained dully as he opened a door to a medium-sized room with a long table and dozens of chairs around it. "The place where we hold meetings with the ministers."
Isleen gave the room a thorough observation before playing with her hair. "Why should I learn about every room in the palace? Am I to live here?"
"If our fathers reach an agreement then you and I are going to be working together in the future." He turned back to her after locking the doors, raising his brow as he caught her looking away when their eyes briefly met.
"Together?" she repeated, unable to hide the rosiness that was rising in her cheeks. "...I like the sound of that."
An amused smirk tugged on his lips. She was swooning over him too? How typical. Should've seen this coming. "Just wondering, how old are you?"
"I just turned sixteen," she admitted timidly.
Jeez, no wonder she looked so young, she was indeed young. Now Cal wouldn't want to be a creep. "Last year?"
"Just a day before this year, on new year's eve. My father said it means I have the power to both start and end things."
It would be nice if Velius could inspire his father to take a look into astrology or fortune-telling as a hobby. Perhaps he could learn how to chill and slow down a little. He smirked inwardly, imagining his father trying to read lunar phases and collecting therapeutic crystals.
"And you wear red often?" he asked, having noticed that she was now back in the nineteenth-century crimson dress. "You don't like wearing a colour more symbolic to your home? Like sapphire, perhaps?"
"Our colour isn't really sapphire. At least it wasn't, at first. It changed since we split from the bad blood."
Not minding her answer which was probably another relic of their pagan faith, Cal gestured to a spacious corridor in the upper floor. The walls were covered in large paintings and photographs which aligned neatly over an ornate emerald wallpaper.
"This is the gallery, where we hang the portraits of every Leroy monarch to date. In the end, you see my father's, and this is my grandfather—"
"I know him," blurted Isleen suddenly, pointing at a huge painting to the left of his grandfather's, depicting a sturdy dark-haired man in a waistcoat. "Raedan the Dread."
Pressing his lips together, Cal gave her a half-smile. "I'm sure what you meant to say was 'Raedan the Great'. He was the first Emperor of Angletonia and my great-grandfather," he gazed up at the portrait proudly.
"Raedan the Dread, pretty sure. He seized the land from my ancestors."
Cal wasn't unaware that Raedan II earned the title Emperor by conquering the Southern Isles and it might arouse some opinions against him. But it was because their leaders were corrupt, arrogant, parochial and allegedly involved in the death of his brother—which according to conspiracy, achieved by utilizing dark arts.
Letting out a sour chuckle, he tucked his hands behind his back. "Dread? Too bad, for I was named after him. Do you think I'm very dreadful, Isleen?" He softened his gaze, putting on a pitiful expression.
The pinkness reappeared on her cheeks once more, and Cal seriously hoped it wasn't that easy. She shook her head quickly, glancing down at her feet. "Not remotely, my Prince."
"Good. I believe you aren't a evil witch as much as I'm not dreadful." He winked at her before walking over. "And this was his wife, Orianne. She was his confidante and trusted advisor."
"Do all the consorts have to be dark-haired? I know that having dark hair is a Leroy trait, but I didn't know that it applies to the consorts as well."
Cal looked through at the consorts' portraits. It was true, they were all dark-haired, even though he'd never really noticed before. "It is preferable, but not mandatory. Just like my darling Olivia, who is blonde."
"Who's Olivia?" Isleen's expression hardened, showing obvious displeasure for the very first time since they met.
"The only woman I ever intend to marry," He said pompously, walking around Isleen in circles. "She's going to be Princess of Emraullt, the future Empress of Angletonia; she's the Orianne to my Raedan. Perhaps she'd be assisting me in conquering some lands, too."
Isleen frowned. "But when you said we're going to work together here, I thought—"
What a poor, foolish girl. Did she really think he would marry her just after dancing with her one night? When he was already engaged to begin with?
"No," Cal smiled coolly. "I'm betrothed to her. In a few weeks, we'll be married, she'll be the crown princess of Angletonia, and give birth to the next Leroy heir."
***
Angletonia, August 1933
In the present time, Gigi rubbed her hand over to soothe Cal's stiff back.
"So, Lady Olivia was your true intended?" She squeezed his shoulder gently as she got no answer from him, as he stared in horror at the empty wall. "I've had a feeling for some time that the two of you were involved. But I hate having to assume. ...It doesn't matter. Whatever happened between you in the past, stays in the past.
Cal let out a painful chortle. "It wasn't meant to be. We were ill-fated, it would go down sooner or later, regardless of Isleen. In the end, she had never trusted me."
"I don't like how she continues to drag you. The next time she does that, she will not get away."
Rubbing his temple, Cal felt cold sweat over his brow. "Looking back, I regretted ever mentioning having an heir to Isleen, always trying to block it from my memory. It was almost like I planted the idea in her—" Clenching his fist, he started shaking as he felt a surge of panic ruan through him. "Oh my goodness, I must have led her on! Oh, no no no! I encouraged her— it was all my fault!"
"No!" Gigi rebuked quickly, enclosing her uninjured arm around him. "Sire, nobody in their right mind would ever do what she had done to you, be they tempted or not! Nobody deserves to be treated the way she treated you."
Cal curled up, hugging his knees. "What she did to me... she changed me. She left me with no hope of pursuing a healthy, proper relationship. I decided to enter a political marriage because I have given up on love."
"Because you've always wanted Praja?" she tilted his head, grinning playfully.
Smiling weakly, he reached over to stroke her head. "Now I've got something better than Praja itself. Someone who inspires and supports me to heal."
"You will heal. You've worked so hard and doing so well that I'm sure of it." She readjusted their pillows as he settled back down to sleep. "But I'm curious. How did you come by this decision, Sire? Did our closeness not set you off anymore? Did the Doctor agree?"
"She didn't," Cal turned to her. "But I don't care. If Isleen continues to haunt me; I'll mentally lock her up or shoot her. I had a dream once where I triumphed over her and I can do it again, a thousand times if I have to. I don't want her shadow looming over me anymore. And if Jaeyr is really on my side, she'd be able to help me withstand it."
"Is there anything else you wish to tell me?" she asked as she snuggled into his chest.
"I think that's all I can tell you tonight. There is still so much more to tell you, but we need a full night's rest."
"I was talking about Dewata," she beamed up at him with a grin. "We can still go there, Sire."
.·。.·゜·༺♥༻ ·゜·。.
ISLEEN WEARS RED BECAUSE SHE IS SUS.
The music at the beginning of the chapter was Black Swan pas de deux from Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky. In the story of Swan Lake, Odile the Black Swan magically disguised herself as Odette the White Swan to seduce her lover the Prince, by dancing with him on a ball.