In the short time following the death of John, Duke of Canterbury, and an important member of the family Hannover, Isabelle had ordered the guards that the body of her deceased cousin be placed in the family chapel and that the causes of death were of medical origin.
She thought no one could prove it had been her, even if it was clear, at least to the guards, it was compromising to find the half naked body of a nobleman right in the princess's bed.
A scandal had broken out within the walls of the castle, as the news of the mysterious death which took place in the princess's room had leaked.
As often happened the rumours in a castle spread like oil and it was, already in that delicate situation that the princess was given the least inadequate nicknames for a lady.
It was a disgrace to the royal family that the princess had a clandestine affair with her cousin, an already married man.
One of the first people to know of the man's untimely death was the queen herself, whose fact had reached her ear thanks to her protégé Johanna Cross.
Of course on the one hand Johanna wanted the princess to be ruined, she wanted it somewhat, since she and she alone had brutally killed her two children, first her the younger Thomas and then Francis.
She was a mother yearning for justice and although justice could not be the strength of that woman, it was however her revenge.
Johanna was now forty-two and although she was still in a perfect age to conceive children, she had gone through enough traumatic experiences to make her want to be alone, eternally, with herself.
And although it was not the sovereign's strength to berate and punish her own daughter, she soon realised that everything the princess had not been rebuked as an infant had to be done now.
Not only because it came every time put lives at stake, but also because she knew that one day she would not be there to protect Isabelle either, not when she was in the very wrong.
So Lady Katherine rushed to her daughter's room.
She was very sad, looking deeply at the princess, the little girl, that she herself had brought into the world, that little, sweet creature that she had held twenty years before in her arms, her daughter did not even resemble her a little.
She had grown up in beauty, but unfortunately her mind was irreparably corrupted.
And now she had her in front of her gaze, frail Isabelle, quite petite and beautiful with her long, wavy blonde hair.
It had been years, and the princess had never come to measure more than 1.55m and she had never weighed more than 48kg.
Katherine knew it, she had always known it, from the first moment she had held the child in her arms, that she was too inadequate to govern, despite the fact that she had never said it.
It was strange, because essentially that girl was the descendant on the paternal side of a dynasty of rulers who had carried the gene of height and majesty for generations, then there was her, Isabelle, who had not taken anything from this genetics, apart of the soft and golden color of her hair.
-What do I owe this visit to, dear mother?- Isabelle asked, sitting on her softly padded chair, observing her mother with her light-blue eyes that she had inherited from her.
The princess held in her hands a small wooden box, decorated, dyed with a thousand active, lively colours, perfumed with the strong smell of flowers and lavender.
Isabelle opened the small lid, took a pinch of the brown and soft powder that was inside and placing it on the palm of her hand inhaled it.
That powder smelled strongly of tobacco but Lady Katherine was aware of it, this pure tobacco powder was used as a calming for one's nerves and as a lighter alternative to drugs.
-My daughter, I am worried about you, about what is happening to you...- said the woman trying to place one of her delicate hands on those of the princess, not exactly succeeding, as, on her arrival, the daughter seemed to have taken a somewhat nervous attitude.
-John, your cousin, a married man, it was you who seduced him and took his life, he did not die of natural causes, it could not be, he was still too young and without any circulatory problems...-.
Lady Katherine seemed to be mourning for the death of her step-nephew.
Of course, it was difficult and she couldn't ignore it.
As stepmother of Prince Henry she had however seen how the two cousins, peers of the same age were close, attached to each other, as real brothers and she knew for this that when the missing prince had learned of John's death he would have fallen into a deep depression.
Isabelle left her comfortable chair, that conversation was starting to bore her, always being guilty of everything she did.
She too was a human being, on the other hand, she too sometimes needed to feel the love of someone and being a noble she was free to try it with whoever and when she wanted.
She placed her body in front of the precious and large mirror in her room, looked at her figure, looked at her, with scattered, humid eyes, that powder, which she had taken before had a certain influence on her, like drugs, it carried her away, away from real life.
She kept her long, messy hair on her head, some plowed in a bun on her head and others sprawled and sweaty placed on her forehead, falling on her pale face.
-Mother...- spoke Isabelle continuing to place her figure in front of the mirror, clutching both her hands next to the precious wooden desk.
-I perceive in your tone a certain compassion for me, a rather unusual compassion...- said the princess with a tone of anger and resentment in her delicate voice -since when do you care about John? How long have you started talking about Henry?-.
Was that her problem? Was she envious? She was afraid she might lose the affection of her mother.
-My daughter, you know how much I love you, but also as my nephew I was very fond of John, who came here every summer to visit us...to visit Henry-.
The woman tried to justify any concern the daughter might harbour in her heart.
But she Isabelle seemed to have lost her heart for some time now, she had lost it, inevitably replacing it with a heavy and tangled mass of hatred and anger.
-He is not your son!- cried Isabelle, turning her face towards her mother.
The woman saw the her eyes, they were humid and full of tears, she was afraid, Katherine saw it, and she was sad to see it and not be able to do anything.
-But the saddest thing, mother, is that your daughter has always been a monster for which to feel compassion-.