The Ring and the Crown (The Ring and the Crown 1)

As he walked toward the ballroom, he spotted Leo’s familiar golden head bowed low, kissing a girl in the shadows. Isabelle, of course. The two of them were pawing at each other. A last hurrah before the engagement was announced and the dancing began.

Wolf shook his head. His brother was truly brazen and unapologetic. He should know better—what if someone from court saw him? War could be declared again if he embarrassed the queen in this way. On the other hand, he had to hand it to Leo. He didn’t let duty get in the way of his fun.

Maybe it was time Wolf did the same.

Sure enough, just as she had expected, the minute Isabelle stepped foot inside the Crystal Palace, Leopold pounced. Here he was, all over her at the royal ball, on the night his engagement would be announced. Isabelle pushed him off, balling her hands into fists, and pushed against his chest with all of her might so that Leo finally had to let go of her. She had been struggling against his hold, closing her mouth against his kisses, fighting the urge to scream while he pawed at her chest. “I told you, I don’t want this, I never want to see you again,” she said, spitting out her words. “Please, leave me alone.”

Leo only smirked. “You’ll change your mind, chérie, you always do. You will be begging for my attention before the night is over. You will be so jealous of Marie-Victoria you won’t be able to stand it.”

She slapped him as hard as she could, and gasped. She hadn’t meant to hit him that hard, but his cheek was red. Her ring had opened his old wound, and the cut on his face was bleeding. “Leave me alone—I am not your toy!” She smoothed her hair and gathered her skirts, but Leo’s arm shot out and grabbed her by the wrist.

“I will scream!” she said. “And everyone will know!”

“Everyone will know what?” he asked, his voice soft and amused, even as his hold on her was growing more painful by the moment. She felt as if he could break her bones in half, one by one. She felt like a caged bird, struggling and flapping her wings as the cat pounced. A bird, a mouse; always she felt like an animal around him, and now she wondered, was it her or him who made her feel this way?

“Everyone will know the truth about you—that you take advantage of women! That you are not the hero everyone claims you are!”

“Go ahead,” he whispered in her ear, his voice smooth and silky and dangerous. “Tell them. See who they believe—their beloved future king, or you, a descendant of a failed house.”

“I hate you,” she said. “I hate you so much. I curse you with any power left in our bloodline. I curse the rest of your days. May your light turn to ashes, and everything you hold dear disappear from this earth.” She had no idea where the words came from, but it was something her mother used to say when she spoke of the British royal family.

“Hard words, my lady,” he said. “But your threats are emptier than a beggar’s cup. I will see you on my wedding night.”

“I will see you in Hell,” she vowed as she twisted away from him. She pushed the curtains aside and stepped back into the party. She hadn’t taken one step when someone accosted her.

“Isabelle, what is the matter? I have been looking for you—are you all right?”

For a moment she was scared that Leo had returned to rough her up again, and she cringed away, but it was only her cousin Louis. He was wearing the Valois medals on his gold-trimmed jacket, and he looked so handsome and French that even though they had arrived at the ball together, she fell upon him as if she had not seen him in days. “Louis!” she said, falling into his arms and hugging him tightly. “Thank God! Do I look okay? I tripped, my heel caught on something,” she said to explain her disordered appearance. She held on to his arm and leaned on him heavily. She hadn’t realized how off-balance she was until now.

“How are you? Are you sure you can go through with this? We can go home, you know—just say the word.” Louis had been offering his sympathy since she had signed the papers. He thought she was still in love with Leo.

She smiled thinly. A lock of hair fell onto her cheek, and she tucked it back behind her ear. “No, actually I pity the princess.” Now that she knew exactly what kind of a man Leopold was, she was sorry for Marie-Victoria. Isabelle herself still felt confused about the love she had felt for him—was any of it real? Just a few months ago she would have done anything for him, and she had let him do anything he wanted to her…how had everything changed so quickly?

Her cousin stared at her. “You are different today.”

“It is like I was sleepwalking, and finally I am awake,” she said slowly. It was as if a veil had been lifted, and she could see Leo for what he was. He was not even as handsome as she had first thought. Upon closer inspection, his hair was dishwater yellow, his eyes set too close together in his face. It was his younger brother Wolf who was the looker in that family. It was odd how no one ever noticed or commented on it. Everyone was always talking about how wonderful Leopold was; no one ever mentioned Wolf, except to chastise or criticize him.

“You look very beautiful today, Izzy,” Louis-Philippe said as they approached the dessert sideboard, which was groaning from the weight of many fantastic desserts. “Here.” He handed her a cherry ice

and a slice of lemon cake. “Eat, you look hungry.”

“Thank you,” she said. “So do you. I mean, you look very handsome.”

He smiled, and she felt better for the first time that day. Her maid had talked her into wearing the daring new style of dress, and while she was worried about going without a corset, she was relieved to be comfortable for the first time at a party. Why did women wear them, anyway? They were awful. In the meantime, the orchestra was playing a Prussian melody in honor of the Crown Prince’s home kingdom, and in preparation for the entrance of the prince and princess. They melted into the crowd and scanned it for familiar faces. Isabelle nodded to a few girls she knew, taking note of dresses, gloves, and fans to see if there was anything she wanted her seamstresses at home to replicate. So this was the mythical Bal du Drap d’Or. So far she was not impressed, although she had been a little nervous when she had been presented to the queen earlier. She had been so frightened that the Merlin would cast a spell on her, but he did not. He let her live, let her dance. He had merely nodded, dismissing her like all the rest. She wondered if they even knew who she was, or if they even cared at this point. It had been almost five hundred years ago now, and House Orleans posed no threat to the Crown. As Hugh said, they were merely grateful for scraps. She hoped that at least Louis was having a nice time.

“Have your eye on anyone?” Isabelle asked. “Spill it—who’s caught your fancy?”

“Nobody. I don’t have ‘an eye’ on anyone,” he said as he finished his ice and set it down on a passing tray.

“Oh. But surely you like somebody?”

Louis-Philippe bowed his head, and when he looked up at her, he was blushing. “I do. I do. I do ‘like’ someone.”

“Who? Tell me!” Isabelle asked, fanning herself with vigor. “Tell me!”

“I can’t…she doesn’t know…and I think she might get angry.”

“Angry? Why would she be angry? At you?”