Alfonsi: Chronicle of the Seven Realms

**WARNING: CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF PHYSICAL ABUSE**

The sound of an open palm hitting flesh echoed sharply around one of the empty guest rooms of the Asteri palace.

Whenever her mother used physical violence, Isabelle became a mannequin. Allowing herself to be positioned and moved however her mother wished. Compliance would lead to the punishment ending swiftly. Resistance was futile.

Her head stayed at an angle, cheek throbbing a heated red. Isabelle breathed a silent breath of relief. The last time her wedding rings had cut into the tender flesh and she almost lost her mind, apologizing and crying on her knees. The merchandise must never be damaged.

At least Isabelle was grateful for that, she was never hurt where others could see. The last thing she wanted was for them to give her the eyes she used on the homeless hiding in dark alleyways she sometimes saw on her excursions beyond noble residence.

"Not one word, not a single word between you and his Highness."

Not my fault.

"I raised you specifically for this moment."

I tried.

"Failure is not an option."

"Yes mother."

"For All Father's sake Isabelle, stop slouching."

"Yes mother."

"I'll have some maids fetch some ice and powder. If you're going to be dancing with the Prince by the end of the night, you won't be looking like you caught heat stroke."

Or like I was slapped.

"Isabelle?"

"Yes mother."

"Yes mother what?"

"Yes I will be sure to dance with the Prince before the debutante ends."

"Good."

Lady Elena Ashton watched as her daughter raised a hand to her red cheek but flinched in discomforted at the slightest touch to the irritated skin.

She turned with a smile on her face, intending to fetch the maids. This time she remembered to remove the rings on her dominant hand in case the child showed even a hint of rebellion.

While she would not shy away from corporal punishment she couldn't have the ladies thinking she was an abuser of some sort. She wouldn't allow others to undermine her authority. Not ever again after what happened in this past.

Thankfully it seemed the All Father had turned his smiling face in her direction. With that bitch dead, everything was left before her for the taking.

If she were to fumble the chance again...

The shame would be on none other than herself.

- - -

Azra sat, grateful for the large table that hid his fidgeting hands.

He had barely eaten anything, picking at his food as the nerves began to eat away at any semblance of an appetite he could scrounge up.

"You still have not chosen?"

"Chosen what?"

Temporarily forgetting his manners Azra spoke to his father as he would in a private setting. He was more unsetted than he thought.

"A partner for your first dance."

"Well..."

"Would you prefer I choose?"

"Y-..."

Azra clammed his mouth shut from giving in so easily.

As much as he wanted to be childish and push all the bothersome decisions onto his father he couldn't. At some point he would need to do things for himself. The earlier he started, the easier it would become.

Right?

Forcing a bite of food he turned to the King with a stern expression.

"No, I'll choose someone."

"Any of these young women would be completely satisfied with being asked to dance with the Crown Prince. Remember that and stand tall when you ask for a hand."

Azra blushed at the heavy flattery, embarrassed and slightly disbelieving. If he put himself into the place of the young woman, it felt like a burden no matter how he looked at it. He would rather dance with some nobody away from the spotlight, where mistakes that wouldn't threaten one's future could be made.

Nevertheless, he gave his father a dazzling smile.

He was getting better at smiling through the pain.

Marvelous.

A hush fell over the crowd and everyone settled into their places as the band began to play the first dance melody, a perfectly soothing tone meant to ease the dancer's mind.

It wasn't helping.

"It is time."

Azra nodded and somehow managed to pull himself from his seat smoothly before approaching the young ladies his age. The way they all stood like shoes in a display case waiting to be picked didn't sit right with him.

He didn't want to choose, he really didn't.

Like a hound smelling the first hint of blood before rain, Isabelle sensed his hesitancy. This was her chance, formalities be damned.

Weaving her way through the flood of fluffy dresses and stiffly styled hair she bow before him.

"You're Highness, I understand it is improper of me but... may I have this dance?"

A woman could flirt, and allude to wanting a dance, but she should never, ever say the words aloud...

Across the room, two late attendees were finally making a less than graceful entrance.

"Finally, we're here. If Azra has already had his first dance and I miss out on his awkwardness because of you I'll- wait... Did something happen?"

Callum shifted from side to side, trying to see through the crowds gathered around the dance floor. Their harsh whispers left nothing to the imagination.

"How dare-!"

"She's far too bold, how uncouth for such a young lady..."

"...children nowadays..."

All eyes were on the Prince, waiting for him to tell her off and choose among the more respectable woman who were quite ready to throw themselves at him.

Quentin stiffed as he watched Azra smile. Living as a noble and attending a highly acknowledged school Quentin had seen many beautiful people, but there was something about the Prince that seemed to glow especially bright. He had seen it as a child and even now he couldn't put a finger on it.

He had grown since their last meeting, the shape of his face beginning to show as the baby fat melted away. Familiar glowing eyes now trained on the red haired girl standing confidently before him.

From where he was standing Quentin gazed at the outline of her side profile. Similarly, her features were nothing to scoff at.

He watched from his place among the crowd with the strangest combination of emotions as Azra took her hand and walked with her to the center of the dance floor. He led her into a smooth waltz in slow circles around the open space.

Quentin backed away from the view to lean against one of the pillars stationed all throughout the room.

He closed his eyes, trying to push away the image now burnt in his mind by focusing on the way his muscles ached with even the slightest twitch. As soon as he finished his extended training (punishment); he was rushing to shower and change into something more presentable. Cal was hot on his heel the entire time, complaints running like water from his mouth.

He was sure that being able to speak with Azra after all this time would be well worth it. It wasn't like he could leave school grounds whenever he wished to.

Today was supposed to be a fun day when he would retell stories of Yelrine and his fellow knights in training. Throw a few jabs at Callum and watch Azra laugh at his outbursts.

Instead, here he was, moping around on the outskirts as Azra had his first dance as the Crowned Prince. Agonizing over emotions he couldn't even begin to decipher.

Pathetic.

His head snapped up at the sound of applause echoing off the walls. It seemed the dance was over and more would join the floor hand in hand.

Quentin caught a glimpse of them as Azra offered the stunning red head a drink with another one of his dizzying smiles.

How lucky.

He wasn't sure whom he was referring to.