The Bell Tolls for Me 3: New Name, New Fate

If there was one thing that Isabella hoped she could avoid in this life more than anything else, it would be the engagent with Duke Albert. It was far more than the fact that he was old and corpulent. He was a twisted man that didn’t view people as people at all—rely commodities to be traded and sold. Duke Albert had made trendous wealth from the arts patronizing artists and authors. He treated his beneficiaries cruelly, elaborately manipulating, abusing, and entrapping them with his connections.

To offend Albert was to end your career as an artist.

During her engagent with Albert, Isabella had been forced to wear especially revealing, salacious garnts while she had her painting taken by a suite of his artists. They were instructed to use her as the model for the goddesses of the pantheon. She’d been forced to stand for eight hours, day after day after day, often with little more than a blanket draped over her figure.

That alone was humiliating enough, but the duke had then sold those paintings of her in his auction as he would any other pieces. Portraits bearing her figure and her face propagated most noble households. Every ti that she went out, people watched, talked, compared… people knew. And all the while, Duke Albert and the king propped it up as though she should be honored to have been granted the opportunity. Like they had done her a favor, even when the duke refused to let her see a single coin of what he earned.

I’ve made my fiancée far more famous than , Duke Albert boasted in her mories. I’ve made her a goddess in the eyes of n, and my vault the envy of the realm. It’s an enviable partnership… don’t you agree?

When Isabella was finally free of him, she vowed to never have another portrait made.

In this second life, she most certainly didn’t wish to share a dance with him like nothing had ever happened. Just the sight of him as he limped over made her tense, uneasy. The thought of him holding her hand, while the other slid around her back… it almost made her nauseous. Her eyes darted around for any other partner she might take, but the others seed to know Albert’s intent, and backed away so as not to offend him.

All except one.

Isabella stepped forward and offered her hand to a man in humbler dark gray clothes. She presud him to be of a lower house, perhaps ennobled by rit—he was tall, broad, and stood as straight as a man of the battlefield. Such a man might not even recognize Duke Albert. He was tanner than the sheltered nobles, further adding credence to her assumption he was ennobled by rit.

“Shall we dance, sir?” Isabella asked him hastily.

The man turned his head, and she saw his face more clearly. He was quite handso—certainly enough that she’d recognize him if she’d seen him in the royal court many tis before. He had a scar on his right brow that extended diagonally to his temple, and another on his left cheek. His hair was dark and fell slightly past his ears, while his eyes were so black they resembled a bottomless hole. He had quite the intimidating, stern look with a sharp jawline and intense eyes.

“As you wish, Your Highness,” he answered, taking her hand.

Isabella didn’t need to feign her smile as the second act of the music began, and they resud the waltz. Despite his size, he proved a graceful partner. She saw Duke Albert standing there with anger in his eyes, but he quickly retreated out of view so as not to make a fool of himself.

“I apologize if this causes you trouble,” she said quietly, looking up at her partner.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why would it?”

Isabella felt guilty at the prospect that he was clueless about what he’d done. “Duke Albert is a vindictive man, and he wanted this dance,” she explained. “But… don’t worry. I’ll do what I can to ensure nothing cos back on you.”

He raised a brow. “You’d do that for ?”

“Of course,” she said resolutely. “Perhaps not in the way you’re familiar, but nevertheless.”

He laughed from his nose and gave a cynical smile. “I can hold my own.”

“I insist. Just give your na, and you’ll receive no disruptions to your life.”

The man continued the dance for a while without saying anything, but Isabella didn’t press. She rely stared at him, silently prompting for his answer. In her experience, silence made people uncomfortable, and they usually spoke up simply to break it. But the man seed intimately familiar with silence, and the dance progressed as a silent staring contest.

When the music began to slow to signal the end, he leaned down and said simply, “Valerio.”

It was a common enough na—she could think of several counts and barons nad Valerio. “And the na of your house, Valerio?” she pressed further.

“A na should be enough,” Valerio answered, stepping away as the song closed. “Though it seems to you should worry about yourself, Your Highness.”

***

Isabella leaned on the balcony railing, more exhausted than she'd expected. She thought that these days of endless anxiety and stress were behind her, but now she was thrust back into the very heart of it. Things had moved forward so fast, and she simply reverted to old preservationist habits by instinct. There was barely any ti to process what was happening to her, let alone why.

As her eyes wandered the hedges of the royal garden, she reflected on what the king had said. She’d be made an example of, one way or another. To wax poetic, Edgar had thrown her into a pit of spikes, but there was a single spot that had a velvet pillow to land on.

I can't prevent an engagent, she accepted. Edgar doesn't want to beco a threat to him, so he'll use to either guarantee alliances or win over enemies. He makes terrible decisions, but he is decisive… so I need to act quickly.

Duke Albert wasn’t soone that could be easily disregarded. He had friends and allies earned over seventy years of life, trendous wealth from his own territory and his patronage of artists, and enough troops that her brother the king thought it absolutely essential to keep Albert placated. Finding soone that could stand up against him and also entice the king seed quite impossible.

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Isabella had been in the court of Dovhain long enough to know that things were never as they seed.

As she thought of possible candidates, soone joined her on the balcony. She turned her head, and had to make an effort to conceal her reaction.

Bernadetta, in a regal lavender dress, leaned up against the railing. “Bella,” her cousin greeted affectionately. “Quite the day, isn’t it?”

Isabella studied her cousin’s face with her smiling purple eyes. Even now, the mory of being smothered with that pillow played in her head. The face that she saw now was the perfect representation of friendliness, compassion, kindness. It didn’t have a flaw that she could see… but then, perhaps she’d never truly looked very hard.

“Bernie,” she responded in kind. Her cousin hated that nickna, so now she used it freely. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Bernadetta gave a stiff smile. “That nickna is a little…”

“Bernie and Bella. BB. It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Isabella smiled. “It’s like we’re twins, or sisters. I’ve always thought of you that way.”

And you smothered while I was helpless in return, Isabella thought. When did you co to hate so much? Or… was our friendship always a lie?

Bernadetta swallowed and changed the subject, remarking, “You caused quite the stir today. You’re not usually so bold.”

Isabella looked out to the gardens. “I’m unsure what you an.”

“Co now, don’t be coy.” Bernadetta moved closer. “Dancing with the Knight-Commander, the Archwizard’s heir, the king himself, and then the Duke of the Isles.”

Isabella’s brain paused upon hearing the last na. “The Duke of the Isles?” she repeated, to be sure that she hadn’t misheard.

“Duke Valerio,” Bernadetta said. “Oh… did you not know? If you didn’t, it doesn’t matter now. Everyone is talking about it. Very few people have seen the pirate lord up close. He ca especially for the coronation.”

Isabella went silent. Everyone knew who the Duke of the Isles was—his title rung up from north to south, from the lowest barony to the highest dukedom. He was a pirate of fearso renown whose fleet once had a stranglehold on all of the shipping lanes leaving Dovhain. He’d based himself in an archipelago bridging the inland sea to the wider ocean.

Isabella didn’t know too many details, but Valerio allied himself with her father, and in a fateful engagent, lost the majority of his fleet to secure victory for Dovhain. As recompense, her father King Edgar the Great had raised him to the title of Duke, enfeoffing him with the archipelago on which he’d established himself. It was a backhanded appointnt—without the ships, the chain of islands he owned was useless.

It's certainly not the first ti I’ve seen him… but I rember him looking different. She thought back. Duke Valerio had attended her coronation, too. The face… it roughly aligned to the one she rembered. But his eyes were as white as the moon, and his hair… was it black? No, I think it was gray. She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. I can’t rember.

Whatever the case, she was sowhat relieved. Valerio was another neutral party. He didn’t involve himself in the politics of the court. As far as she knew, he mostly stayed at sea or in his coastal estate here in the capital, rarely attending events. But a mory from today resurfaced even as she thought of that.

King Edgar had ntioned Duke Valerio during his coronation speech. He said he intended to build an armada with the help of the Duke of the Isles. She supposed that was another grand ambition that was interrupted by the perpetual succession crisis of the Kingdom of Dovhain.

“Now you’re back to as you are normally,” Bernadetta said. “Standing there without a word, making others ask all of the questions.” Her cousin inched closer. “What was he like? He seed an adequate dancer.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Isabella answered. “I’m not likely to see him again."

***

King Edgar sat in one of the many dressing rooms throughout the royal court, sipping the finest wine out of an immaculately carved glass. In many ways, his life hadn’t changed much—this was always the lifestyle afforded to him. But in others… he was now the king. King Edgar…

…the second.

“Perhaps I should adopt a new na,” Edgar mused. “A regnal na. What do you think, Albert?”

“I think it’s inevitable that Your Majesty is going to be the only Edgar rembered,” Albert praised unabashedly.

Edgar looked at him. “What do you want from ? You’re leaning forward on your chair—that ans you want sothing.”

“I’m rely curious when Your Majesty is going to announce my engagent with Isabella,” Albert said.

“Princess Isabella,” Edgar reminded him. “Don’t forget you’re speaking of the royal family, Albert.” He looked at the man and said very deliberately, “My sister’s engagent will be announced on my ti.”

Albert fell back into his chair, cowed. “I’ve already hired the portrait artists, Your Majesty. My household is ready to receive her.”

“Are you telling I should revolve my decisions around your awful scheduling, your overzealous assumptions?” Edgar shook his head. “This is not my problem. Should I move at your pace, or mine?”

Albert scratched his leg where his old scar was. “You set the pace of the kingdom, Your Majesty.”

“Exactly,” Edgar agreed, then took another drink.

Duke Albert’s expression shifted to one of calculation. He thought for a few monts, nodded, then leaned in once more to say, “Would Your Majesty be interested in examining so of the new exhibits before they go to the auction?” Albert suggested. “I’ve had the work of so very promising artists co to market. So of them are from old favorites of yours.”

“Mmm.” Edgar pointed a finger. “Now that sounds lovely. Any work from that fellow… what was his na, Santiago?”

“Santiago…” Albert’s face scrunched up. “He’s been… yes, Your Majesty. One of his pieces will be there.”

“Good. Great!” Edgar praised. “Send an invitation, and I’ll attend.”

Silence settled between the two n. There was a tacit quid pro quo between them.

“One week,” Edgar said decisively. “I’ll announce my sister’s engagent in one week.”

If Isabella can surprise in a week… why not indulge her? Duke Albert’s already thrown in his lot with —he’s not going to leave so easily for one pretty face. Still, unless she can surprise … I’ll keep him placated. Have to feed the piggy what he wants to make it all the fatter for the slaughter. I wonder how those flabby chins of his would look severed from his body…

“Thank you for your magnanimity, King Edgar,” Albert said, bowing his head.

“Yeah, sure,” he said idly, then swirled his glass. “Edgar… Edgar… Perhaps I could beco Richard. Leo. Julius. Henry. Edward. The archbishops of the church take new nas when they assu the office, why not the king?”

“A reasonable question, Your Majesty,” Duke Albert said.

“Hmm… perhaps Arundel. Or Eric. Or Louis. Lucian. Or… perhaps I can just make up a na. All words are made up, after all.”