She walked quietly into the grand hall, her footsteps echoing against the marble floor. The scent of burning incense filled the air — cold, regal, suffocating.
Stopping before her father, she bowed low.
"Your Majesty," she murmured.
The king — her father — looked down at her, his expression unreadable, his eyes distant as though she were a stranger.
Then she turned to the queen — the woman who sat in her late mother's seat, draped in silk and pride. Isabel's gaze lingered for a heartbeat before she bowed slightly, the motion stiff with restrained resentment.
Now, standing before the royal council, Isabel could feel her knees tremble, though she forced herself to stand tall.
The king shifted in his throne, the weight of his crown casting shadows across his face. He missed his daughter — the child of his beloved queen — but the man before her was no longer just a father. He was a king. And kings did not have the luxury of a tender heart.
"Isabel," he said at last, his voice firm and cold.
"Your Majesty," she answered softly. She had grown accustomed to his tone — that icy distance that had replaced warmth since her mother's death.
"Where is the monster you are hiding?"
The words struck her like a blade. But Isabel did not flinch. Her chest rose and fell once before she replied, calm but wounded.
"Of which monster do you speak, your majesty? As far as I recall, I have housed none… unless, perhaps, Your Majesty hid one in my chambers without my knowing."
Gasps rippled through the court. Whispers crept like serpents among the council members.
"You insolent child!" one of the dukes barked. "Apologize to His Highness at once!"
Isabel smiled faintly, her eyes glistening.
"For what, my lord? For breathing? For existing? Tell me — what else do I owe?"
The room fell silent.
"Even if you were to answer me," she continued bitterly, "I doubt I'd wish to hear it. You would only lie again, as you always do."
Her voice cracked, emotion slipping through her composed mask.
"You call Xavier a monster? A demon? Then what are you — all of you who sit here, hiding behind titles and lies?"
No one spoke.
"I rebuke you all," Isabel said, her voice trembling with fury and grief. "My mother served this kingdom faithfully. She was kind to you — to everyone here. And how did you repay her? With betrayal. With silence."
A sword pressed coldly against her neck.
"One more word," the king thundered, rising to his feet.
Isabel's lips curved into a sad smile. "So this is the justice of men," she whispered.
The queen — Murine — stood abruptly, her jeweled hand striking Isabel across the face.
Maya, her faithful maid, fell to her knees. "Your Majesty, please! It is my fault. I failed to teach her proper conduct. Punish me instead!"
Murine's eyes glinted with cruelty. "Then you shall both learn your lessons. The maid will receive fifty lashes. And the princess…"
Her voice grew sharp and cold. "…will kneel in the courtyard until she learns repentance."
Guards dragged them away.
Hours passed. Snow fell relentlessly upon the palace grounds. Isabel knelt in the courtyard, her hands trembling, her skin pale from the cold. The world around her blurred between frost and fading light.
Then came the queen again — Murine — walking toward her beneath an umbrella held by a servant. Her lips curved in a mockery of pity.
"You don't have to be stubborn, Isabel," she whispered, bending close. "The more you cling to hope, the more it will destroy you. He doesn't care for you anymore. You've already been forgotten."
She turned and walked away, her perfume mingling with the cold.
Isabel lifted her face weakly to the falling snow. Memories flooded her — laughter, warmth, her mother's gentle voice calling, 'Isabel… Isabel…' as they played together in the snow.
"I didn't know life could be this cruel," she whispered to the wind. "That the snow which once brought me peace… would become my grave."
Her vision dimmed. The cold wrapped her like a shroud.
And then — she fell.