Inside the White Rose Palace's dressing chamber, Isabella allowed her maids to unlace her corset. As the whalebone slipped from her ribs, she drew her first easy breath. "Margaret, why is the King helping me?"
The old maid, scenting her underdress with sandalwood incense, nearly dropped the burner. "This morning, when His Majesty received the urgent dispatch from Dover, he was mid-signature on the order to execute a French spy. When he learned you'd been 'invited' by the lady, he tore the parchment apart on the spot—"
"Focus," Isabella said, running her fingers over the Greek letters etched into her coin.
"His first question was—" Margaret mimicked the King's low growl, "'How many guards did the Queen bring?'"
From outside, the crunch of iron boots echoed on the snow. Richard de Clare's voice filtered through the door: "His Majesty bids me remind Your Grace—the banquet for the Flemish envoy is tonight. He asks that you kindly..."
"'Dress like a harlot?'" Isabella snapped, seizing a pair of golden scissors and slicing into the deep V-neck of her Venetian velvet gown. "Tell him the envoy will get a taste of England's 'hospitality.'"
As the scissors trailed toward the skirt's slit, a figure appeared in the mirror. Alfred stood in the doorway, his silver mask shimmering in the firelight like molten metal.
"To spite me, you'd even debase yourself?" he strode toward her, yanking the scissors from her hand. Their fingers brushed—his were cold as tombstones, and yet heat flared beneath her collarbone.
Isabella let one shoulder strap fall. "Debase myself? Isn't that what Your Majesty expects? So you'll have an excuse to cast me out?"
"Do you know why I asked you to attend the banquet?" Alfred stepped closer, his scent of cedar and steel curling around her. "The envoy is your father's man. They're bringing a letter from Duke Winston... outlining the distribution of your estate after your 'untimely death.'"
In the mirror, the King slowly removed his mask, revealing a twisted scar that ran from brow to jaw—an exact match to the thorned pattern on her Byzantine coin.