Isabelle was thinking that night.
She was sprawlingly seated: placed against the majestic and precious cherry wood inside her room.
She held a small crystal goblet filled with fine red wine in her fingers, she thought.
The princess was thinking about the things that had happened in the last few days: the murder of the prince consort, the strong ties Gilbert possessed and the possible enmities that could have been created, both at court and externally.
She bit her lower lip and she thought savouring the sublime taste of the sweet wine.
Isabelle remembered what she had done.
The death of Thomas Cross had already founded suspicion about the royal house and definitively the assassination of Gilbert had confirmed those doubts.
The problem had immediately come to her, now she had not only accumulated enemies outside her family but also definitively within it.
After these deaths she had noticed a worrying rapprochement between her older brother and her cousin.
A connection that did not usually exist in their past.
She was afraid that someone might take power instead of her.
The princess was well aware that one of the real candidates was most likely Henry himself.
The prince was the son of the king, the son of her father and for the majority of the population not eager for a further offensive against France, putting Henry on the throne could be an opportunity.
He could have reunited England and France, but this was a manoeuvre that she could not accept.
A union would have meant sharing power and economical resources as well as soldiers of her precious army.
Isabelle couldn't afford such a loss, just as she couldn't allow someone to take her place.
Juniper was already out of action, with a bullet piercing his abdomen, but Henry...he was a rival, he was her brother, she had to find a way to threaten and silence him.
She had to do something that would cause him so much fear to the point of forcing him to stay in England and not betray her for the French homeland.
So the princess decided to strike at one of her older half brother's weak points: what would sadden him for life and lead him to follow her every order.
She thus covered her white and precious nightgown with a long dark-coloured cloak which covered the pale color of her dress.
The princess walked out of her room, everything around her was dark except for the flickering candlelight of the oil lamps.
No one was around but a couple of royal guards guarding the door to her chambers.
She would need their help in her plan.
Isabelle had covered her long golden hair with the black hood of her cloak, so that their colour would not betray her and she took a corner behind the door of her half brother's room to wait for him to leave.
She was aware of Henry nocturnal visits and knew that he left his room between nine and ten every night.
The princess knew that her brother's visits were rarely directed to the company of beautiful maidens.
In fact, he sometimes preferred the young women to come into his room but most of his older brother's exits were directed in entirely different directions.
Isabelle knew where and so she waited for Henry to leave his room to go to the much desired destination.
And it was not in fact necessary to wait more than half an hour before the prince left his room.
He too accompanied by both of his own guards.
And so it was that, as quietly as possible, began the nocturnal chase.
The suspicious prince turned back repeatedly making it difficult for the princess and her guards to follow him.
They walked for a long time through the white and dull corridors illuminated by the warm candlelight, until the chase ended once they arrived in front of the large and wooden door. The prince left the guards behind to observe that no one found out where he was.
Isabelle waited a couple of minutes to make her brother believe that no one had followed him.
On the other hand, her brother's guards were her own guards and would not have hesitated for a moment before following every order and command of the princess regent.
So there was no need to waste any more time before convincing them to smash through the heavy door locked by Henry himself.
When the young woman entered the huge room darkened by the long and black damask curtains, the prince immediately stopped his whispering in French language and full of terror he turned his gaze to his little half sister.
Henry held in his hand an old oil lamp, enlivened by the light of a faint candle and it was difficult for him to keep it in his own hands from the fear.
Isabelle took numerous looks at the secret room, she noticed the majesty of that ancient room, looked around, the huge paintings surrounded by heavy wooden frames lacquered in a golden and majestic colour.
In that room were the memories of all the members of the royal family, who have reigned since the first generations.
-What are you doing here?- asked the prince, bringing his tall body to tremble with fear.
-A lovely room...Isn't that so? - the young woman asked bringing both her small and delicate hands covered by white silk gloves together inside each other -a real good fortune that our deceased loved ones can thus continue to live...-.
At those words Henry looked away from her, nodding in terror, he could not do otherwise.
Isabelle reached her brother's side, and immediately she noticed at first glance the picture he was contemplating.
She noticed the elegant and very sweet face of the woman, her long and straight caramel-coloured brown hair and those eyes of hers, so deep and expressive.
-It is her then- Isabelle began to say passing to a slower and more melancholy voice -she is your mother...I have always had the curiosity to see what she looked like-.
At that statement Henry was amazed and struck by the unexpected reaction of his half-sister, so much so that he now feared the worst in her.
-She was pretty, so beautiful...I'm not surprised our father fell in love with her after all- admitted the princess as envy for such a beauty began to spread in her gaze -but it is not possible that this painting will remain here longer- said the princess as with a wave of her hand ordered her guards to remove the picture from the white and clean wall of the room.
Henry began to feel bad, bitter and full of fear, what did his sister mean? What did she want to do? Moreover, that painting was the last memory that the prince kept of his mother.
At that command Henry tried to protest, go against the guards, get back in possession of the painting, but it was not possible for him as Isabelle ordered the two remaining guards to contain the fury of their older half-brother.
Henry was pinned down and made to kneel by his sister's guards.
-Do not be angry Henry, it will not help...- she said as she stretched her hands into the lamp until she pulled out the bright fire of the candle and without any mercy throwing it on the precious canvas of the painting depicting the woman and stood there watching as the fire consumed it.
-Why are you doing this to me?- Henry asked desperately crying, unsuccessfully freeing himself from the guards' grip -I am your brother, I am a prince, how dare you cause me so much pain?-.
The young woman smiled.
-You are my half brother Henry, you're right about that- admitted Isabelle staring back into his grey eyes full of tears -but I don't understand how you were so blind to not understand beforehand what kind of danger you represent for me, for the crown, for my rise to power-. The princess began to speak, taking her brother's chin with force in her hands -it is too risky for me to ignore it and let you create and form alliances behind my back...-.
At those words Henry's face turned pale and took a tired and terrified gaunt.
-Denude him of his royal clothes and sent to prison. I do not want that out of my acquaintances any visit is brought to him- the guards pushed the traumatized prince inside the town's prisons.
Henry stood there, he did not move and was now observing the last remnants of ash left from his mother's picture.
The prince was terrified and he had lost everything: he had lost the last memory of his mother, his castle, his people.
He had been brutally beaten and stripped of his belongings.
Over the course of one evening he had lost everything.