The morning bell jolted Isabella from sleep. She lay curled in the corner of her bed, still dressed.
Sunlight poured through the stained glass windows, dyeing her nightgown the color of fresh blood.
Maids stood ready with holy water and whalebone corsets, their faces pale and tense.
"His Majesty will arrive after morning prayer," said Joan, the chief handmaiden, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lady Elena insists… insists you wear the Queen's crown."
Isabella allowed them to tighten her bodice without protest.
By the third steel cinch, the chamber doors burst open.
King Alfred II stood framed in blinding light, his Burgundy cloak flaring like a banner of war. At his side hung the very sword from her nightmare—the one that had once kissed her throat.
"Leave us."
He pulled off his deerskin gloves, revealing the Gryphon ring of House Lancaster.
The maids scattered. Someone knocked over the basin of holy water, and Adeline's backward glance held the grim stillness of someone watching a witch burn.
Alfred used the tip of his sword to lift the strap that had slipped from her shoulder.
"Is this what passes for Winston decorum?"
"Better than preaching the Bible in your mistress's bed," Isabella retorted, letting her neckline dip provocatively lower.
She saw it—the subtle bob of his throat, a flicker identical to the masked man in her dream swallowing blood.
"The Flemish envoy arrives tonight."
His fingers clamped around the nape of her neck in a hold that, to the untrained eye, might look like an intimate whisper.
"If you humiliate me before him—like you do here—"
"No need to worry."
She inhaled deeply. Gunpowder clung to his fingertips—rumor held the King had personally executed three adulterous noblewomen.
"I have no interest in balding old men from Flanders."
The tip of his sword pressed against her chest. The thorned scabbard snagged her silk blouse, tearing it.
"Remember—your father's cities are not yet in my hands."
When the iron door slammed shut, Isabella pulled the now-warmed coin from her corset.
Sunlight struck its surface—and revealed a hidden Greek inscription:Αιώνια μνήμηEternal Memory
（It was what her Cambridge senior always said—before the fire turned him to ash in the library's west wing.）