Izzy's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

The grand hall held its breath. From the royal box, Isabella watched as the High Priest lifted the crown into the air. The golden circlet caught the firelight from the braziers, gleaming above the gathered nobles as though it carried the weight of every king who had worn it before. Mason’s hand was warm in hers, their fingers gently intertwined, and though she did not look at him, she did not need to. His quiet presence beside her steadied her in a way few things could. The High Priest opened the ancient book resting upon the velvet cushion and began to read. Isabella tried to listen, but the words were difficult to make out from where she stood. Her attention drifted to the book itself—the Bible. There was only one copy in the entire castle, kept safely in the library, and no one had been permitted to touch it while King Aldric lived. He had claimed the words inside could not be true, not after the injustice he believed had been done to his family. Not after Isabella’s mother had died. Isabella had never understood how someone could reject God's word because the world had shown him cruelty. She only wish she could know them. The High Priest’s voice faded beneath the pounding of Isabella’s own heart as the crown was lowered. Slowly and deliberately, it settled upon Eric’s bowed head. For one moment, the hall was silent. Then the cheers erupted. The sound crashed against the marble walls like a wave, spilling through the open doors and out into the city beyond. Bells rang from every tower and spire, their voices joining together in celebration as the kingdom welcomed its new king. Isabella felt her breath catch as she looked down at him. “He looks like a king,” she whispered. Mason leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “He looks like he needs a friend.” A small smile touched her lips. Of course he would notice that. Everyone else saw the crown. The ceremony. The power. Mason saw beyond the frivolous. Before the cheers had even fully faded, the great doors to the left opened, spilling golden light and the sound of music into the hall. Guests began making their way toward the ballroom, eager to celebrate the new reign. Isabella let go of Mason’s hand and followed the crowd. The ballroom shimmered like a dream. Chandeliers hung overhead like captured constellations, their crystals reflecting candlelight across the polished floors. The scent of lilies, warm wine, and stone filled the air as nobles moved gracefully around one another, their silks brushing together with every turn of the dance. Isabella slipped through the crowd with two crystal glasses balanced in her hands, having taken them from a passing tray without a second thought. The laughter and conversation surrounding her faded as her attention settled on the thrones at the far end of the room. Eric sat there, the crown resting upon his head. He looked every bit like a king. His posture was straight, his expression composed, and his presence carried the authority everyone expected from him. Yet Isabella knew him better than most. His eyes were distant as though some part of him remained somewhere far away. She approached him with a smile. “Eric, the new King,” she said brightly. “I thought this day would never come.” He looked up, startled, and whatever emotion had crossed his face vanished behind a familiar grin. He rose quickly, took the glasses from her, and set them aside before pulling her into a tight embrace. “Come on, Izzy. Isn’t this wonderful?” he said, gesturing toward the ballroom around them. “A glorious ball, exactly as I planned.” She laughed. “You planned the entire thing?” “Obviously.” His expression turned dramatically serious. “Now I only have one important task left. Finding a future bride.” Isabella raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” “Absolutely. Perhaps you will get lucky too.” He motioned toward the crowd. “A ballroom full of charming gentlemen. Surely one of them will catch your attention.” She scoffed and nudged him. “That is the last thing on my mind.” She lifted her glass to hide the warmth rising in her cheeks. The truth was, there was only one person who occupied her thoughts, and Eric knew it. His smile turned knowing. “Ah.” Isabella narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?” “Nothing.” “It never means nothing when you say it like that.” She followed his gaze. “And speak of the devil.” Mason was making his way through the crowd, greeting guests with his usual ease. He had always been like that. He could enter a room full of strangers and leave with a dozen new friends. He joked with servants, teased nobles, and somehow managed to make even the most serious people laugh. It was one of the things she loved about him. It was also one of the things that made him impossible to understand. As if he could feel her watching him, Mason's green eyes found hers. Then, because he was Mason and apparently incapable of behaving normally, he winked. Eric noticed immediately. “Hm. I do not think that wink was meant for me.” Isabella rolled her eyes. “We have been friends a long time. He likes teasing me, that is all.” Eric gave her a completely serious look. “We have been friends just as long, and he has never winked at me.” She groaned and took another sip from her glass just as Mason reached them. “Would you care to dance?” The question surprised her enough that she nearly dropped her drink. Thankfully, Mason’s hand moved quickly, catching the glass before it fell and then steadying her afterward. “You all right?” “Yes,” she answered far too quickly. Then she cleared her throat. “Perfectly fine.” His lips twitched with amusement. “And yes,” she added, trying to recover her composure, “I would enjoy a dance.” Eric’s grin widened. She immediately grabbed Mason’s arm before Eric could say anything that would make her regret the decision and pulled Mason toward the dance floor. The music carried them beneath the glow of the chandeliers, and for a while Isabella forgot every reason she had told herself not to hope. That was the dangerous thing about Mason. He made impossible things feel ordinary. He could turn a quiet evening into an adventure. He could make a room full of strangers feel familiar. He could find humor in moments when everyone else saw only seriousness. And somehow, without ever trying, he had always made her feel as though she was the only person in the room. His hand rested lightly against hers as they moved across the floor. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just there. “You are thinking too loudly again.” Isabella glanced up. “I am not.” “You are.” “How could you possibly know that?” “Because you do the same thing every time.” She narrowed her eyes. “And what exactly do I do?” “You disappear.” The answer was quieter than she expected. Her teasing response faded. Mason looked at her, his expression no longer playful. “You get this look,” he continued. “Like you have wandered somewhere no one else can follow.” For a moment, she forgot they were dancing. The words sounded too much like something he had noticed. Something he had cared enough to remember. “Maybe I have.” His thumb brushed lightly against her hand as they turned. “Then I hope you will let me follow..” Her breath caught. “Mason...” He looked almost startled by his own honesty. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment vanished. “You know,” he said, glancing around the ballroom, “ You look beautiful.” The shift was small. Someone else might not have noticed. The words should have made her smile. Instead, she waited. Because she knew Mason. She knew the pause before a joke. She knew the grin that meant he was about to turn something meaningful into something harmless. And there it was. “I suppose I should tell you before some desperate lord tries to steal my opportunity.” Her fingers stilled in his. “Is this entertaining to you?” He laughed softly. “It’s a joke Izzy.” The hurt came before she could stop it. Not anger. Not even disappointment. Something worse. The feeling of reaching for something only to realize it had never been offered. “You were joking.” Mason's smile faltered. “Isabella—” “No.” The music continued around them, but she barely heard it. “You cannot do that.” His brows drew together. “Do what?” She swallowed. “Make me believe you.” The words hung between them. For once, Mason had no quick response. She looked down at their hands. “You do this all the time. You say things that sound like they matter, and then when I believe you, you laugh.” “I am not laughing at you.” “But you are laughing.” That silenced him. Her voice lowered. “And I hate that I never know when you mean something.” The truth was out now. Too late to pull it back. Mason stared at her. The playful confidence he carried so easily was gone. “Is that really what you think?” She looked away. “I do not know what to think.” And that was the worst part. She wanted him to tell her she was wrong. She wanted him to say he had meant every word. But she was afraid he wouldn't. So she stepped away. “I need some air.” “Isabella—” She didn't stop. The ballroom doors closed behind Isabella, muting the music into a distant melody. She had not gone far. The terrace outside the ballroom remained within sight of the celebration, where guests still wandered beneath the moonlight and servants carried trays between the gardens and the hall. It was not a place where anyone would question her presence, but it was far enough away that she could finally breathe. That was all she wanted. Just a moment where she did not have to pretend. Her fingers brushed beneath her eyes, and she froze. When had she started crying? Isabella quickly wiped the tears away, annoyed at herself. She was not a child. She had survived things far worse than a careless joke so why did Mason’s words feel as though they had found the one place in her heart she had tried so hard to protect? Because they sounded real. That was the part she could not forgive. Not Mason but herself for believing him. The sound of footsteps on the stone path made her turn. A gentleman stood a few steps away, holding himself with the uncertainty of someone who was not entirely sure he belonged there. He immediately stopped when he saw her. “My apologies.” Isabella straightened. “For what?” “I did not mean to intrude.” His answer surprised her. Most people at court did not apologize for entering a room. They simply assumed they had every right to be there. “You are not intruding.” He nodded, though he still remained where he was. For some reason, that small act of respect caught her attention. “You are not from Lynfair.” The gentleman glanced toward the ballroom. “Is it that obvious?” She almost smiled. “A little.” He looked down at himself as though searching for the evidence. “Then I suppose I have failed at appearing as though I belong.” There was something about the way he said it. Something closer to amusement. “You were trying to?” “Not exactly.” That answer made her look at him. He hesitated. “I only arrived moments ago. I thought I would look around before joining everyone inside.” “Why?” His eyes moved toward the ballroom. “Because walking into a room where everyone already knows one another is easier when you have had a moment to breathe first.” The honesty of the answer surprised her. She understood that more than she wanted to admit. “Where are you from?” “Caldor.” She nodded slowly. That explained why she did not recognize him. “I have never met you before.” “No.” A small smile touched his face. “I imagine there are many people here who could say the same.” Isabella looked back toward the gardens. For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet was strange. Not uncomfortable. Just quiet. “You are not joining the others?” “I will but I thought air would be best for me right now.” She knew the gentlemen noticed her tears or at least her puffy face after she cried although he did not point that out. Instead, he looked toward the fountain. “It is a nice place to pause.” “Pause?” “Before returning to whatever waits inside.” Something about that word made her look at him. Pause. Not escape. Not hide. Just pause. She lowered her gaze. “Sometimes it feels like everyone expects you to go along with the flow and it's too much to bear sometimes.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. The gentleman remained quiet. So she continued. “Even when they do not mean anything by it.” A breeze moved through the garden, stirring the leaves around them. “I think that is the hardest part.” “What is?” She looked at him. “When someone hurts you, but they never meant to.” The gentleman’s expression softened. He did not immediately answer. “Because then you feel wrong for being hurt.” “You know they were not trying to cause pain. But somehow, it still stays with you.” The gentleman looked toward the fountain. “I think people often forget that a person can have a good heart and still leave someone with a wound.” Isabella went still. She had expected him to tell her she was overthinking. Instead, he understood. “My sister once told me something similar.” She glanced at him. “Your sister?” He smiled slightly. “Older.” There was warmth in his voice. Not the kind people used when speaking of someone important. The kind people used when speaking of someone loved. “She showed me a verse once.” He hesitated. “I do not know if it will help, but I thought of it when you spoke.” Isabella waited. “The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.” The words were unfamiliar. Yet something about them made her grow still. “The Lord is... nigh?” He nodded. “Near.” She looked at him. “Near to those who are broken?” “Yes.” His voice remained quiet. “Not disappointed in them. Not waiting for them to become stronger before He comes close. Near.” Something tightened in Isabella’s chest. She had spent so long trying to hide the places where she was hurting. Trying to appear as though everything was fine because there were always people depending on her. But this verse spoke of a God who already knew. “You believe He knows?” The gentleman looked at her. “Yes.” “That sounds difficult to believe.” A small, understanding smile crossed his face. “I think many things about God are difficult to understand.” “Then how do you believe them?” He looked toward the garden. “Because I have found that He understands me even when I do not understand myself.” The words settled quietly between them. “He does not wait for us to have everything figured out before He cares for us,” he continued. “He sees the hurt before anyone else does. He sees the battles no one knows we are fighting.” Isabella swallowed. The tears she had wiped away earlier suddenly felt heavier. “Even when it seems too small?” His expression softened. “Especially then.” She looked at him. “Why?” “Because if something hurts your heart, it matters to Him.” The answer was simple. But it was the simplicity that made it difficult to dismiss. Isabella looked back toward the ballroom doors. She thought of Mason. Of all the times she had convinced herself she should not be hurt because he had not meant to cause pain. She thought of all the times she had carried things quietly because she believed they were not important enough for anyone else to notice. But perhaps God noticed. Perhaps He always had. “I have never read the Bible.” The words came before she could stop them. The gentleman looked at her. “Oh.” She nodded. “I was not allowed to.” That was all she offered. No explanation. No excuses. Just the truth. His expression changed slightly, but not with judgment. “I think you would enjoy and learn lots from it.” The gentleness surprised her. He did not ask why. He did not ask who had stopped her. He simply accepted the weight of what she had said. “Thank you,” Isabella whispered. “For what?” She looked at him. “For reminding me that perhaps I am not as alone as I thought.” A small smile touched his face. “You’re welcome.” A moment passed before she realized they had not introduced themselves. “I do not even know your name.” He smiled. “Neither do I know yours.” She hesitated. Not because she did not want to say it. Because she realized she liked that, for a few minutes, she had not been treated as anyone important. Just someone standing in a garden. “Isabella.” “Chandler.” The names rested between them. No titles. No expectations. Just names. The ballroom doors opened behind them. “Chandler.” The gentleman turned. A man stood inside the doorway, his expression somewhere between annoyed and relieved. “There are people waiting for you.” Chandler sighed quietly. “Of course there are.” Isabella smiled. The man at the door shook his head. “You cannot hide out here all evening.” “I was not hiding Anthony.” The look he received suggested otherwise. Chandler glanced back at Isabella. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” “It was a pleasure meeting you as well.” He gave a respectful bow before returning inside. Isabella stayed where she was for another moment. Then she turned back toward the ballroom. She felt different. Not fixed. Not suddenly healed. But lighter. Like she had been carrying something heavy and, for just a moment, someone else had helped hold the weight. When she stepped inside, the warmth and noise surrounded her again. Then she saw him. Mason. His eyes found hers immediately. The moment he saw her, he began moving toward her. Her heart pulled painfully in two directions. She wanted to hear him explain. She wanted to believe him. But she was not ready. Not yet. She shook her head gently. He stopped. The disappointment in his expression lasted only a moment before she looked away. She wanted time.