[h2]I S A B E L L A D E L R E Y E S[/h2] [hr] Princess Isabella Cotilla del Reyes of Evalusia was [i]not[/i] happy, to say the least, to be stuck with Doña Augustina. Augustina Dominga Eleuterio was formally there to make sure that the attendants that had been set with Isabella to Aciras were doing what they were supposed to do. But Isabella was no fool, and some small part of her was offended that her father thought she was stupid enough to believe that story. No; Augustina's husband was a sniveling brat that had somehow wormed his way into King Gabriel I's good graces. Isabella knew that her father knew that Don Eleuterio was less than useless; she suspected that he only kept him around because he liked hearing his every word parroted around. Or something like that. In any case, his wife was [i]much[/i] smarter than that, though she hid it well; as any good Evalusian wife should, according to her father. Isabella had no idea what King Gabriel I had said to Doña Augustina, but she imagined it was something along the lines of "make sure that my daughter doesn't find away to overthrow me so that Evalusians can have actual individual freedoms and so that we will continue doing everything like they did two thousand years ago when Jesus died for our sins. Oh, and if you fail, I'll kill your husband and have you banished." So, yeah. Having Doña Augustina around would make things considerably more difficult, but Isabella would manage. The navy-blue gown that Isabella had picked out for the occasion had been sewn by hand back in Evalusia. Although it was certainly not conservative enough to be [i]ever[/i] worn at home-and here, Isabella resisted the urge to let out a bitter laugh at the word "home"; that palace, with all its unpleasant memories, was the only home she'd ever known-Isabella had fought tooth and nail for this gown, and she intended to make good use of it, thank you very much. The long sleeves and expensive blue satin were nothing too far from the norm. Nor was the delicate, understated embroidery and beading that decorated the sleeves and bodice, or the high collar. What had almost gotten her kicked out of the palace was the narrow, plunging neckline. Isabella had insisted that the seamstresses add it in, based on images she had seen from the most recent Fashion Month using the atrocious Evalusian internet connection (even in the palace, they were not afforded luxuries such as [i]Google Chrome[/i]. They were still on Internet Explorer, and if that wasn't a sign of how damn [i]backwards[/i] Evalusia was in terms of modern technology, then Isabella had no idea what was). Her father was not supposed to find out about the neckline. But he did, and they argued for hours. Isabella eventually won him over, spinning a bullshit story about how the world already viewed them as a Catholic backwater and her showing up in a nun's robes would do nothing but reinforce that image, while her father basically confirmed that they were indeed a Catholic backwater by yelling about how no "respectable woman" would wear something of that sort, how she was showing the entire world that she was nothing but a sinful whore, or whatever. Anyway. Point was, Isabella had won that argument, and it was very rare that anybody won anything from her father, so she cherished the victory, even though it was tiny and insignificant compared to the victories he had won over [i]her[/i]. The rest of her outer appearance mostly adhered to Evalusian standards of stuffy conservatism; her hair was pulled up in a simple but elegant bun and decorated with glittering diamond hairpins, although her make-up was heavier and bolder than what she would have worn at home. Her father would have never permitted such a dark shade of red for her lips, for instance, and Isabella had a feeling he wouldn't be too keen on the bold eyebrows and mascara that she had decided on. Whatever. Doña Augustina had protested the entire time that Isabella was getting ready, fussing over the neckline and the eyeliner and the heels, but Isabella ignored her, for the most part. Five hours of hearing "your father this, your father that" was more than enough to make Isabella lose her patience, however. "Doña Augustina, just blame it on me if my father throws a temper tantrum," Isabella snapped, not bothering to look away from the mirror as she added a couple finishing touches. "[i]Dios mío[/i]. Is a little peace and quiet really so much to ask for?!" Doña Augustina shut up, and Isabella let out a long, slow breath. It would do nobody any favors if she showed up at the ball already irritated. Isabella opened her jewelry box-the same one she'd had for her entire life-and drew out a pair of diamond earrings that matched her dress. Her fingers lingered on the jewelry box for perhaps a moment too long as something inside her gut twisted violently. Against her will, she remembered the note she'd found in that very same jewelry box, the day after Elena allegedly committed suicide. [i]Wait for me,[/i] was all it said. Isabella could remember her older sister's neat, immaculate handwriting with painstaking detail, even though she had immediately ripped the note to shreds and then burned those shreds, because if her father suspected that Elena was alive and if he suspected that she was in contact with revolutionaries the way that Isabella suspected, then he would stop at nothing to kill her. Isabella had long known that her father cared nothing for her or Elena. Elena was worth less than nothing to him after they discovered that she could not speak, and Isabella was only worth as much as whatever alliance she could secure with her hand in marriage. But her father doted upon their older brother, Gabriel II. Isabella rarely saw her brother, these days. He was some kind of commander in their father's military. She supposed that it was easier, this way. As far as she knew, Gabriel II had nothing wrong with Gabriel I. Which would be a...[i]problem[/i] in the future. Probably. When Isabella deemed herself presentable, she picked up her silver clutch-chosen to complement the diamond earrings and hairpins that she was wearing-and took one last look in the mirror before turning towards Doña Augustina. "Stay here," she ordered coldly, in a voice that left no room for argument. She was a spy, a spy for her father, and Isabella had no intention in letting her follow her around wherever she went. "I will be back in a few hours." "But, Princess-" Isabella ignored her and strode brusquely out the door. Of course, she couldn't guarantee that Doña Augustina wouldn't slip out during the ball, but she knew that the first thing the other woman would do was search through her belongings. Isabella thought she was a fool, to think that she was careless enough to leave anything potentially incriminating lying around in her luggage. She destroyed any form of written communication almost immediately, after all. The only reason why the aristocratic revolutionaries that were plotting a revolt right under her father's nose had not yet been discovered was because they were very, very careful. She arrived at the ballroom. Princess Lea, in all her sparkly pink-ness, immediately beamed at her. "Princess Isabella! You look [i]so[/i] gorgeous," she gushed as Isabella dipped into a slight curtsy directed towards the Aciran royal family. Isabella smiled politely, though she knew that there was no way the expression reached her eyes. "You are too kind, Princess Lea. You are as lovely as always," she murmured in response, stepping past her and into the ballroom proper. Isabella was aware of her lilting accent as she spoke-the [i]r[/i]'s too drawn out, the [i]s[/i]'s too soft, the vowels too breathy-though if Lea or Queen Cecilia noticed, neither of them said a single thing. Isabella took a deep breath and steeled herself, letting her gaze flit from one end of the ginormous room to the other. Isabella had never met most of the people in the room-why would any of them want to associate themselves with a dictator-king who forced his citizens to live according to the word of a book written two thousand years ago, after all?-but for all his shortcomings, King Gabriel I knew the value of digging up dirt on potential friends and foes. And so Isabella would have wagered that she was just as, erm, [i]educated[/i] about the other invitees as they were about her. Rhiannon Cadfael of Wales was near the main entrance, as were the princesses of Notia. Isabella had no opinion regarding the three of them; all of them had been coddled since birth, with everything they could have ever wanted handed to them on a silver platter. She might have been interested in Rhiannon, had she been male and therefore a potential husband, but alas, she was already betrothed to Prince Quentin Houston of the Texas Sovereignty. ....Who was, as Isabella soon deduced, not here yet. She could not say that she was surprised; everything that she had ever seen about the prince made her think that he was the complete opposite of her in every way, shape, and form. Princess Alexandra of Castelleve was dressed in a black suit, and Isabella thought she was remarkably similar to the protagonists of the few absurdly popular Aciran young adult novels she'd been able to get her hands on when she was thirteen or fourteen. Elena had adored those heroines, all spunk and stubbornness, but Isabella thought that they had neither substance nor subtlety. And, quite frankly, she found them stupid. Yeah, okay. Princess Alexandra would [i]probably[/i] not appreciate it if Isabella said that to her face. The two Lusitanians were together, a bird perched on the shoulder of Liviana. Isabella arched an eyebrow at the [i]suit of armor[/i] that Domitia was wearing, but made no further comment on the matter. A red-haired princess rushed past her, towards an extremely tall prince. She guessed that the princess was Genevieve Anders, and the prince Hui-Bawa, whose country was in an analogous situation as that of Evalusia's. He had her sympathies. She recognized the platinum blond hair of Prince Yu Liang of Weifang, talking to a red-haired prince whose features Isabella could not make out from her viewpoint. Prince Diederik Isidor seemd to be conversing with a member of the palace staff, Princess Mai Mei was standing by herself with a glass of champagne, and Isabella thought that she recognized Prince Alejandro's annoying voice as she walked past a couple paintings hanging from the wall. Was she just imagining it, or could she still hear the Castilyan lisp in his voice, despite the fact that he speaking English instead of Castellano? The person he was talking to, however, made Isabella pause. It was Prince Erik von Rothschild of the Veredunian Empire. Her sharp, sea glass-colored eyes quickly flashed in their direction. Was he aware that his grandmother provided most of the technology needed to censor the Internet in Evalusia? Was he aware? And furthermore, did he have any power over that sort of thing? Isabella could not be sure-she guessed that he did not. But she would watch, and wait. It was the only thing that she [i]could[/i] do. Isabella ignored Prince Anastasiy Romonova and the two Talulian princes (who seemed to be almost identical) in favor of Princess Venera of Rustavya; blonde, blue-eyed, and wearing what Isabella thought was an ostentatious amount of jewels, Princess Venera was one of the other invitees who gave Isabella a reason to pause. Her father, Isabella recalled, had sold a massive amount of weapons and tanks to King Gabriel I. Weapons and tanks which were still in use, Isabella knew, enforcing his oppressive polices over all of Evalusia. She clenched her jaw, almost imperceptibly, and forced herself to move on. Isabella found herself near the main entrance, again. She procured a glass of champagne for the sake of keeping up appearances, and glanced to her left to find Princess Hye-ri of Haneul. Isabella knew of her; another princess who had been coddled from birth, whose popularity was evidenced by her frequent television appearances. There was nobody who was more different than Isabella in the entire world. Nevertheless, she gave Princess Hye-ri a polite smile, and tried to quell the uneasiness stirring in her gut. [i](Interacting with [@Garden Gnome])[/i] [hider=Isabella's dress][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/17/ae/5b/17ae5b32109bb0719fef4920a907cfbf.jpg[/img][/hider]