Chapter 266: Chapter Two Hundred And Sixty Five
Isabel flinched slightly at his cold tone, but she was too angry to back down.
"But father..." Isabel whined loudly, stepping closer to the desk, refusing to obey his command.
Lord Ryde became furious. His patience was exhausted.
He stood up from his chair with speed.
BANG!
Lord Ryde raised both of his hands and slammed them violently against the top of the desk. The sound was loud, echoing like thunder in the large study. The inkwell rattled, and the loose papers jumped into the air.
"ISABEL!!!" Lord Ryde shouted at the top of his lungs.
Isabel froze.
The angry complaints died instantly in her throat. She stared at her father in shock. She shook visibly in fear. Her father rarely raised his voice at her, and he had never, ever looked this violently angry.
Lord Ryde glared down at her. He pointed a shaking finger toward the double doors.
"Leave this place immediately!" Lord Ryde ordered, his voice booming across the room. "GET OUT!!!"
Isabel’s lower lip began to tremble violently. The tears of frustration instantly turned into real tears of fear and humiliation.
She did not dare to say another word. She quickly grabbed the sides of her pink silk dress. She dropped into a very fast, clumsy, shaking curtsy.
She turned around immediately and ran. She pushed the doors open and sprinted out into the hallway, leaving the study as fast as her legs could carry her.
Lord Ryde watched her run away. He let out a harsh breath, sat heavily back down in his chair, and rubbed his aching temples. He pulled his maps back to the center of the desk, completely putting his foolish daughter out of his mind.
Isabel ran down the long, carpeted hallways of the second floor.
Tears were streaming down her face, ruining her perfect makeup. She felt angry, embarrassed, and alone. Her father had yelled at her. He had refused to help her. He had chosen his boring papers over his own daughter’s happiness.
She reached the white door of her bedroom. She pushed it open, ran inside, and slammed the door shut behind her.
The bedroom was large, decorated entirely in bright pinks, soft whites, and shiny gold. It looked exactly like a room fit for a spoiled princess.
Isabel walked quickly across the soft, fluffy rug. She went straight to her vanity table.
She sat down heavily on the soft, velvet-cushioned vanity stool. She leaned forward and looked at her own reflection in the large, clear glass mirror.
Her hair was slightly messy from running. Her blue eyes were red and swollen from crying. Dark streaks of black makeup were running down her wet cheeks. She looked terrible.
She wiped the tears away from her face with the back of her trembling hand and stared into her own eyes in the mirror. The sadness and the fear from her father’s shouting slowly began to fade away. It was quickly replaced by a dark hatred.
She blamed everything on one single person. If Camilla had just died in that well or in a carriage accident, or if she had just agreed to sign the divorce papers, none of this would be happening. Isabel would be happily married to the General, and her father would be proud of her.
Isabel narrowed her eyes. Her reflection glared back at her with evil intent.
"Camilla," Isabel whispered out loud to the empty bedroom. Her voice was steady and cold.
She gripped the edge of the vanity table tightly. Her nails dug into the polished wood.
"I want you dead," Isabel declared softly, finalizing her decision.
If her father would not help her, she would do it herself. She did not need his permission. She had her own gold, and she knew the dark secrets of the capital city. She knew exactly how to handle unwanted problems.
Isabel pulled open a drawer on her vanity table.
She reached inside and brought out a clean piece of expensive parchment paper. She took a feather quill and dipped it carefully into a small glass bottle of ink.
She placed the paper flat on the table and began to write.
Her hand moved quickly across the page. She detailed exactly what she wanted done, how much gold she was willing to pay, and the exact target she wanted eliminated permanently.
She finished writing. She sprinkled a little bit of fine sand over the wet ink to dry it, then blew the sand away.
She folded the parchment paper carefully in half, and then in half again, making it into a small, tight square. She reached for a stick of dark red wax and a small candle. She melted the wax, letting a thick drop fall onto the folded edge of the paper. She pressed a blank, smooth stamp into the hot wax, sealing the letter so no one could read the contents.
Isabel set the sealed letter down on the table.
She reached her hand out toward the very edge of her vanity. Sitting there was a small bell used to summon her personal servants.
She picked up the bell and shook it twice.
Ring. Ring.
The high, clear sound echoed softly in the quiet bedroom.
Isabel sat still, staring at her reflection in the mirror, waiting.
Exactly one minute later, the door of her bedroom opened without a single knock.
A tall man stepped silently into the room.
He was not wearing the neat, formal uniform of the Ryde family servants. He was wearing dark, unremarkable clothing. A dark gray cloak was wrapped tightly around his shoulders. The large hood of the cloak was pulled down very low over his head, hiding his face, his hair, and his eyes in deep shadows.
It was the hooded man. The exact same man who worked for her in alleys of the lower city.
The hooded man walked silently across the fluffy rug. His boots made no sound. He stopped a few feet away from the vanity table. He stood still, his hands hidden beneath his cloak.
Isabel did not turn around to look at him. She watched him through the reflection in her vanity mirror.
She picked up the sealed parchment letter from the table.
She held her hand out to her side, offering the document to the man in the shadows.
The hooded man reached out. A large, dark leather glove emerged from the folds of the cloak. He took the sealed letter from her fingers smoothly and quickly. He pulled his hand back, hiding the letter securely inside his dark clothing.
Isabel looked at the dark shadow of his hood in the mirror.
"Make sure it is delivered safely," Isabel commanded softly.
The hooded man did not speak a single word. He did not ask questions about the target or the price. He slowly lowered his head, offering a deep, silent bow of compliance.
He turned around immediately and left.
Isabel looked back into the mirror. She picked up a small, soft cloth and began to carefully wipe the ruined makeup away from her cheeks.
A slow, wicked and satisfied smile formed on her lips. She had officially set the wheels of murder into motion. The spy network had failed to break the marriage with rumors, so now she was upgrading to the final, absolute solution.
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