A few days later...
The Hale household bustled with nervous energy. The small, timeworn cottage—though humble—had been scrubbed until it gleamed. Faded curtains had been freshly laundered, and the cracked tea set reserved for special guests was placed carefully on the table, even if the tea to fill it was little more than boiled herbs from the garden.
Isolde watched her mother, Mrs. Vivienne Hale, fuss with a frayed napkin at the corner of the table, trying to hide her nerves. Her younger sister hummed anxiously, peeking through the thin curtains that overlooked the dusty road.
"They're here! I see horses. Carriage too!" her sister whispered, eyes wide with awe.
Moments later, the crunch of carriage wheels on gravel announced the arrival of the esteemed guests. The Evander family stepped out with practiced grace. Mr. Evander himself—tall, dignified, with eyes full of kindness—was dressed in his finest noble attire, his presence both comforting and commanding. Behind him trailed his mother, Lady Evangeline, with her sharp eyes and elegant air, and his younger sister, Margaret who immediately began inspecting the home with a single glance that screamed distaste.
Despite the difference in status, Mr. Evander stepped forward and offered a warm smile to Mrs. Vivienne. "Thank you for receiving us. I hope our visit does not impose."
"You are most welcome," Mrs. Vivienne replied, trying to sound confident, though her hands trembled slightly. "It's an honor."
Isolde curtsied quietly, her face downcast, cheeks warm with a strange mixture of excitement and embarrassment. Mr. Evander's gaze lingered on her for a moment—a tender, searching look—as if he saw something more than just the girl in simple linen.
As everyone settled, it became clear that one person was less thrilled.
Janet.
Her eyes rarely left Mr. Evander, and when they did, they flicked toward Isolde with something colder—envy, maybe. She forced a sweet smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"How charming the countryside is," Janet began casually. "A refreshing change from the grandeur of the capital... I imagine it must be difficult, living so far from the latest trends and comforts." Her voice was honey-laced poison.
Isolde gave a polite nod, choosing silence.
Mr. Evander broke the tension. "We've come to speak on a matter close to the heart." He looked directly at Mrs. Vivienne,Mr Jonathan and then to Isolde. "I would like your blessings to take Isolde as my future wife."
Mrs. Vivienne hesitated. Her eyes flicked to her daughter, then back to Mr. Evander. "You seem like a good man, sir, but… we are not equals. This union may invite ridicule."
"Love knows no rank," Mr. Evander said, gently. "And I see more value in Isolde than in all the gold of the kingdom."
Janet's smile dropped for a second—just a flicker. She looked at her mother, Lady Evangeline, who was watching quietly, lips pursed.
"Mother," Magaret whispered, loud enough for only her to hear, "my brother marrying this lady would make me the ugliest,Let him marry the first daughter rather."
Lady Evangeline didn't reply. But the disapproval in her eyes was clear,She didn't want her son to marry a lowly girl but after all she was pretty.
Still, Mr. Evander took a deep breath and turned to Isolde. "Would you accept this promise ring, Isolde Hale? As proof that, no matter what comes, I will return and make you my bride?"
The room fell into stunned silence.
Isolde blinked, her heart hammering. "I... I accept."
He slipped the delicate silver ring onto her finger, its tiny sapphire catching the light. The moment felt surreal.
But joy was fleeting.
A sudden knock interrupted the moment. A royal messenger, dressed in the Duke's crest, entered the room without invitation. "Forgive the intrusion, my lord," he said to Mr. Evander, bowing low. "But the Duke has summoned you immediately. You are to ride for Duskmoor tonight. He insists you go in his place."
Mr. Evander's brows knit. "So suddenly?"
"It is urgent. You are to leave within the hour, my lord."
The room grew tense.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, facing the Hales again. "It seems duty calls me away. I must leave town tonight... but I give you my word, I will return. And when I do, our wedding will take place."
He turned back to Isolde. "This ring is my vow."
Then, without waiting for another protest, he rose and gave one final nod to the room before striding out.
Janet watched him go, her jaw clenched. Her chance was slipping away, and she could feel it
Market Day Mockery
The scorching afternoon sun hovered above the crowded town market, casting golden light over the bustle of vendors and townsfolk. The scent of roasted peanuts, fresh vegetables, and warm bread filled the air, but Janet's heart was far too heavy to enjoy any of it.
She trailed beside her mother, Mrs. Vivienne Hale, their basket nearly full with foodstuffs. Still, neither of them spoke of tomatoes or fish. Their minds were on Mr. Evander.
"It is best, my dear," Mrs. Vivienne said, her voice low and purposeful as she picked through a bunch of plantains, "that Mr. Evander has been called away on duty. Now we have a chance—one we must take—to make him yours."
Janet rolled her eyes, brushing her fingers over the ripe mangoes on the stall before them. "It seems impossible, Mother," she muttered bitterly. "He gave Isolde a promise ring. In front of everyone. Did you forget that part?"
Before her mother could reply, a group of women—draped in vibrant fabrics and carrying baskets of yams—stepped into view. Their eyes sparkled, not from kindness, but from mischief. Mrs. Vivienne tensed immediately.
"Ah, Vivienne!" one of them, Madame Claudette, called out with feigned cheer. "We heard the great Mr. Evander came to your humble home!"
"Yes, and with a promise ring too!" another woman chimed in, nudging her friend with a sly smile. "We never imagined Isolde would be the one to catch a man like that. Especially not before her older sister."
The words struck like a slap. Janet's face turned pale.
"Tell us," a third woman crooned, "how does it feel, Vivienne, knowing your Isolde is marrying before Janet who is the eldest."
Janet's breath caught in her throat. She gripped the basket so tightly her knuckles whitened.
"Oh, don't mind us," Madame Claudette continued with a mocking chuckle. "But truly, one must wonder. Is Janet not beautiful enough? Or was it her pride that scared him away?"
Laughter rang from the group like thunder. Cruel, sharp, and merciless.
"Perhaps Mr. Evander thought Isolde was the maid and fell for her sweetness. Or maybe… just maybe, Isolde did some secret spell to win him over. After all, poor girls will do anything to rise above their station."
More laughter. Janet blinked rapidly, willing the tears not to fall.
"Honestly," one said, "in all our years, have we ever seen the younger daughter marry before the elder? It's shameful. What kind of family raises their children like that?"
Mrs. Vivienne's lips trembled, but she forced a tight smile. "Mind your words," she said quietly.
But they only cackled harder. "Why? Afraid of the truth?" someone jeered.
Janet couldn't take another second. Her vision blurred with tears as she turned sharply, nearly dropping the basket of groceries. Her feet carried her swiftly away, past the stalls and through the chattering crowd, as whispers followed her like shadows.
She could still hear their voices ringing in her ears.
"Not beautiful enough."
"Passed over."
"A younger sister married first? How disgraceful."
"Isolde must have tricked him."
She didn't stop until she reached the edge of the market, out of sight, where she could lean against a wall and let the tears fall freely. Her pride was shattered. Her heart ached not just from rejection—but from humiliation.
Back in the market, Mrs. Vivienne stood frozen, her eyes scanning the road her daughter had just vanished down. The whispers around her refused to fade. Everyone had heard.
The damage was done.
And now, more than ever, Vivienne realized: they had to do something. Janet's future—her dignity—was slipping through their fingers.
And it was all because of Isolde.
The market buzzed with the usual hum of hagglers and loud vendors, but for Mrs. Vivienne, everything felt painfully silent. The weight of the insults still echoed in her ears, carving deep into her pride. Her daughter had run off, tears streaming down her face after being mocked, humiliated, and compared cruelly to Isolde — the girl Vivienne resented more than anyone.
"She's not even married yet, and already she's wearing his promise ring?" one woman had scoffed.
"And what about Janet? Poor girl, not even beautiful enough to catch a man's eye. What a shame."
Another had cackled, "It's unheard of! A girl like Isolde, younger and born out of nothing, marrying before the elders? She must have bewitched Mr. Evander!"
Vivienne's cheeks had burned with shame, her hands trembling as she clutched the basket of tomatoes tighter. The same way Ellen once took everything from her… Now her daughter would suffer too?
She walked on in a daze, alone now, stopping briefly to buy onions. As she reached out for the bag, her ears caught a chilling conversation happening a few feet away.
"You got someone to sell off?" a man's voice asked, low but clear.
"I did," a woman answered. "Young, strong girl. How much you offering?"
"Eighty gold coins," the man replied gruffly.
Mrs. Vivienne froze, her fingers tightening around the onion sack. Eighty? Her heart skipped. She turned slightly, just enough to see the man handing a pouch of shining coins to the woman. Her breath hitched.
Eighty gold coins... for one girl?
She watched as the woman tucked the pouch away and disappeared into the crowd, her face calm — satisfied.
Vivienne's mind reeled. She remembered Janet's teary face, her broken sobs as she stormed off. She remembered the old days — when Ellen stole her husband, when Isolde was born from that betrayal, when everything began to fall apart. And now… history was repeating itself. Was she going to stand there again and do nothing?
"No," she whispered, almost like a vow. "Not again. I'm doing this… for Janet."
Clutching her shawl tightly around her, Mrs. Vivienne didn't call out to the man. She followed him.
He walked briskly through the winding alleys behind the market, past shuttered stalls and crooked crates. The path grew narrower, darker. Still, she trailed him quietly, her slippers padding on the stone path. When he turned left, she turned left. When he paused, she stood behind a post, watching.
The man finally sensed her. He halted, glancing over his shoulder. Without a word, he took a sudden sharp right into an even darker alleyway — deserted, silent.
Vivienne followed.
A flicker of steel glinted in the dim light as the man spun around, grabbing her and pressing a small knife against her side.
"What do you want from me, woman?" he growled, eyes narrowed.
Her heart raced, but she stood firm, staring directly into his eyes. "I have someone I want to sell off… to the slave establishment," she said, her voice cold, determined.
The man's grip loosened. Slowly, he lowered the blade, assessing her with surprise… and interest.
"Who?" he asked, his voice now calmer, curious.
Vivienne didn't answer yet. Instead, she stared past him into the shadows — into the future she was building.
A future without Isolde