“Of course,” Issy said, twirling so that the copper silk twined around her legs, eliciting strained looks from Lady Fiona and the modiste. “We’re his daughters. And we must be properly attired when we meet our future husbands.” She giggled, and Livia joined in, wrapping the chocolate material about her waist and mimicking a waltz with an invisible suitor.
Nina stalked in, attracted by the high-pitched laughter of Livia, and prowled towards the Princess, completely mindless of the priceless silks and damasks her paws trampled.
“Shoo!” Lady Fiona attempted, but the cat ignored her and rubbed against Livia’s ankles, purring contentedly. Livia whisked her up into her arms and began to dance with her, as Fiona’s lapdog, Zorro, barked from his basket.
“Ladies!” Fiona chased after Livia, grabbing the end of the brown satin and trying to pull it away, but only managing tobecome entangled in it herself. “This is not proper behaviour for young women of royal birth. Stop. Dancing. At. Once!” She tugged on the fabric and was dragged along, tripping over Zorro’s basket and collapsing in a heap on the floor with an inelegant grunt.
Livia let out a peal of laughter, but Issy felt the sting of regret. She didn’t want to humiliate Lady Fiona, she meant her no ill will. Not really. All she wanted was to be allowed to be herself. To choose a husband for love, and not for a political alliance. And to wear her own clothes, not these garish, tasteless designs Fiona preferred.
She reached down to help the Lady up. “Are you alright?”
Fiona bared her teeth and swatted Issy’s hand away, her carefully coiffured hair coming loose and her expression livid. “Do not touch me. You two do not deserve my help.” She clambered to her feet and jabbed a finger at Issy. “You. You’re a self-important brat. And you.” She pointed to Livia. “You’re nothing but a delusional, empty-headed bore. No prince will want to marry either of you at this rate. And, frankly, I could not care less. I wash my hands of the pair of you!”
Fiona stomped from the room, only pausing to gather Zorro’s wicker basket into her arms, and the modiste quickly followed, bolts of colourful material trailing from her hastily fastened wardrobe.
After a moment, silence settled over the receiving room they had been using as a temporary fashion boutique. Livia stood, a remaining strip of chocolate satin around her ankles, hands over her mouth. “What did we do?”
Issy grimaced. “I think we’ve upset Lady Fiona.”
“Should we apologise?” Livia’s face was a picture of contrition.
Issy shook her head. “No. At least, not yet. Let’s allow her to calm down first. She seemed quite—” She couldn’t think of the word.
“Unhinged?” Livia suggested, and the pair of them burst into giggles again.
Issy looked over at the low coffee table where a bone china teapot and a cake stand studded with pastel-coloured macarons sat, untouched. “It would be a shame to waste perfectly good macarons.”
Livia’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed. We would be doing the cook a service if we ate them. She cannot possibly enjoy spending hours making delicate treats for us, only to throw them away later.”
Issy nodded solemnly. “Yes, we’d be helping. Protecting her, you might say. It may hurt her feelings to see a completely uneaten plate of macarons returned to the kitchens.”
Liva grinned, mischief in her light brown eyes, and threw herself onto the velvet sofa before the tray of tea and biscuits. The two sisters ate their fill of sugary, almond-paste filled treats and drained the last dregs of the teapot, still utterly captivated by the beautiful bolts of fabric they’d seen. And devastated at the thought of never getting to wear them.
“I’m sure Dominic would have found you simply enchanting in that colour,” Issy teased.
Livia bit her lip, but she raised an eyebrow at her sister all the same. “Oh, I’m sure, dear Sister. And I believe Anders would have swooned to see you in the copper.” She feigned a fainting spell, draping herself across the back of the sofa with one hand to her forehead.
Issy’s heart leapt into her throat. “What? That’s not—I don’t even know what you’re talking about. That’s ludicrous. The very thought.”
A grin spread across Livia’s cherubic face. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
“He’s just helping us to escape the enchantment. That’s all.”
“Is it?” Livia asked, popping a raspberry macaron into her mouth and speaking around it. “The others were offered your hand in marriage if they succeeded. What makes him so different?”
Issy baulked. How could her sister be so dense? “He is not a prince, first of all. And second of all, he is a common criminal! A prisoner who has been offered nothing more than his freedom to figure out the curse. There has been no mention of my hand, and if there were I would refuse. So, keep your idle prattle to yourself in future.”
Issy leapt up from the sofa and stormed out of the receiving room, leaving Livia sitting there.
Marry the Silver soldier, indeed. Her sister had completely lost her senses if she thought Issy would ever stoop so low. It would almost be funny, if it weren’t so absurd.
“Father,I told you it was no use. Livia and I do not need etiquette lessons. We—”
The King gripped the edge of his mahogany desk, knuckles turning white. “What you and your sister did, is you offended and humiliated a dear friend of mine. Someone who was only trying to help you both, as a favour to me. I am appalled at your behaviour Isadora. I did not raise you to treat others this way, or to consider yourselves better than others, particularly those who are trying to do you a kindness. This is beneath you, I won’t abide it under my roof any longer.”
Issy hung her head. She hated when her father chastised her. It didn’t happen often, in fact he usually seemed to enjoy her antics, whether it was dancing through the halls or arguing afiner point about politics with him. That twinkle would always appear in his eye and she’d know she’d won.
But not this time. The veins throbbing in his neck and the sweat beading on his brow told her she’d overstepped the line by quite some distance.
