Underground Royals — Chapter 2 & 3

“Don’t tell me you forgot about it…” He drawls, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Perhaps you should go buy a dress?” He suggests, feigning kindness, but the smirk on his lips gave him away. “You could go with Daemon. Lilith mentioned wanting to get him out of her hair so she could focus on preparations for the ball.”

A light blush taints my cheeks as I nod and leave the room to phone him, calling out a quick goodbye to my uncle. Daemon and I have been getting suggestive comments all our lives, but I’ll never get used to our families’ not-so-subtle attempts at setting us up. Nonetheless, he was one of my favourite people and I called him immediately.

“Daemon guess what!” I whisper-scream into the phone the moment he answers.

“Belly, what’s up?” He asks excitedly. Normally I would’ve rolled my eyes at the nickname, but when he said it I didn’t mind so much, more importantly I had cooler things to tell him.

“I’m coming to Rubion!”

“No way! Belly this is great!” He almost squeals. “You’ll be with Celest and Thorne and Orion and I and you can join the archery team and help me with all my assessments and-”

“Yes yes I know! It’s perfect!” I cut him off, laughing into the phone. That boy could talk forever if you let him. “Oh also, do you want to come shopping with me?” I ask, tentatively.

“Now?” He scoffs, though his voice betrays his happiness.

“I may or may not have forgotten about the Christmas ball…” I admit, feeling shame creep up the back of my neck in red splotches.

“Isn’t that Celest’s job? If you didn’t notice I’m not exactly the epitome of female fashion…” He jokes. If he was here with me I would have shoved him, but instead I had to settle for a dignified huff.

“She only comes back from Greece tomorrow so you’ll just have to do as her replacement. Anyway I heard from your mother that you are quite the stylist, wasn’t it you who selected her last Christmas outfit?” I tease. “I think I might be getting someone better than Celest…” I finish, a Cheshire cat worthy smile plastered to my face. He fell silent in what I can only presume was embarrassment and I could almost see the red invading his pale cheeks.

“Yeah yeah ok enough of that, I’ll be at your house in a bit?” He rushes, and I wonder just how flustered the comment had made him. I hear another voice in the background, presumably Mr Wraith. “Oh and Father’s gonna pop by too! Said he wants to talk to Alfred about business.”

“Perfect! See you soon Daemy!” I coo into the phone for good measure — just to get back at him, obviously.

“You best get ready! You certainly can’t leave the house in your current state!” My uncle calls.

I groan as loudly as possible, hoping the sound would reach him. “By the way, Mr Wraith is coming, he wants to talk to you! Says it’s business!” This time it’s his turn to groan.

The Wraiths have always been a close family friend of the Sterlings and for as long as I can remember Daemon and I have been friends. I’d like to say that we were forced into our friendship, but from the moment we were born we hit it off. We had other friends too, mostly from high society, and more importantly, underground royalty. Celestria Hall for example, my best friend and one of few girls in our close knit circle. Thorne Lockington, who was practically my brother since his mum, who had been my mum’s best friend, stepped in when she passed away giving birth to me. And, Orion Dalton, Daemon’s best friend, though there are others too.

Our families have always been connected, through their “unique” business. We are all the young heirs to our houses’ estates, fortunes and prestige. But we are also the royals of an underground world of crime, gangs, cartels and power. Together our families have controlled the underground and through it, the surface, seamlessly ruling the streets with iron fists and influencing politics in their favour. As their children, we are trained to be able to navigate both sides of our futures — high society and the dangerous world that lies within it.

As a Sterling, I know my place in aristocracy, but my path in the underground is far less defined. My family, though extremely powerful, had always attempted to remain neutral in the crime scene, preferring clean cut operations and no repeat customers. We had allies but never adopted their enemies and helped our friends with dangerous jobs, but never got involved ourselves. But I know that’s changing — something is brewing. Alfred won’t tell me what it is, but he always tells me I will need to be prepared — that I will not have the luxury of remaining impartial and must master both intellect and strength if I want to survive.

I shake off the thought, instead focusing on the task at hand as I sift through my clothes for an outfit appropriate for an heiress of Sterling. My eyes lock onto a red and navy plaid skirt and white knitted jumper that Mrs Lockington had gotten me on one of our many shopping sprees. I slipped it on along with some black stockings and boots with small heels to add some height to my small frame. Once I was dressed and had slicked my blonde hair into a neat low bun, I didn’t have to wait long before Daemon and Mr Wraith knocked on the front door.

“Belly!” We hear him shout from what I presume is the living room. My uncle shakes his head at this, a repressed smile playing on his lips. We make our way into the room as we hear Mr Wraith shush Daemon.

“I do apologise Mister Sterling for arriving on such short notice. Daemon was just so thrilled when he found out Isolabella would be joining him at Rubion.” Mr Wraith explained, almost shyly to my uncle. After all, not many people could simply appear at the house of Sterling.

My uncle chuckles heartily and shakes Mr Wraith’s hand. It was only when he stood near Mr Wraith, that I appreciated just how old my uncle was. His hair had begun to grey significantly more in the last year, so it resembled freshly powdered snow instead of its usual salt and pepper, and his face was lined with wrinkles that pressed deep into his sun kissed skin that was riddled with age spots. I shake off the thought and smile at Mr Wraith instead.

“Please, call me Alfred, and it is never trouble for you to visit, especially considering it was Isolabella who invited you.” He replies, as warmly as his voice gets. I move to stand next to Daemon and Mr Wraith smiles at the sight.

“My my Isolabella, you’re becoming more and more like your mother every time I see you. You’re going to have a handful with this one.” He comments, with a nod in my direction. I can’t fight off the blush that stains my cheeks at the statement. It isn’t often Mr Wraith compliments anyone. My uncle bristles at this and Mr Wraith chuckles lightly. “Not to worry Alfred, Daemon won’t let anyone near Isolabella.”

“I’ll be holding you to that, Daemon.” My uncle laughs, patting him on the back. I understood my uncle’s concern. Throughout my life he might have left me for a week here and there but never for months at a time. Going to Rubion would be the first time we would be separated for so long, and he clearly wasn’t as thrilled about it as I thought he might have been.

“And I hardly recognise Daemon. Are you sure you’re only fifteen? I almost mistook you for your father.” He says, interrupting my musings. At the great Alfred Sterling’s words, Daemon almost appears to be puffing his chest out proudly, with a small smirk playing on his lips. Alfred wasn’t lying. Daemon had changed significantly over the last term. His hazel green eyes appeared starker against his caramel skin which now shone with a healthy glow, and he had grown his hair out so it framed his face in a crown of dark brown curls.

“I say we leave these two to get onto their shopping, and we can go discuss in my study.” Alfred smiles at Mr Wraith, while offering towards one of the staff who was holding some biscuits and tea. The two men leave, and Daemon and I share a look before tackling each other in a ferocious hug. Hand in hand we dash out the door for the sleek black Bentley which is waiting for us.

Finally seated in the warm air, Daemon helps me peel off my coat and we both grin. “Oh Daemon this is just perfect! We’ll finally be going to school together!” I clap excitedly. He nods approvingly as he slides his arm around my shoulder in a one armed embrace.

“I can’t wait. And don’t worry, if you get in trouble I’ll be there to work my charm and get you out.” He teases. I roll my eyes, knowing the charm isn’t so much his own charisma, but the “charm” of being threatened with our not-so-secret criminal associates.

I scrunch up my nose in distaste. “Never mind you liking me, Alfred would force me to give up my place in the house of Sterling if I did.”

“And even if that happens, I’ll definitely still like you.” He says now squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. I lean my head on his shoulder and breathe in his sent — fresh mint, lemon and a hint of cologne.

“Together?” I mumble into the embrace.

“Forever.” He responds confidently. It was a little motto we had made up for ourselves as children, and evidently, had never grown out of. It never failed to make me feel better.

By the time we arrive in the early hours of the afternoon, Lavender Lane is bursting with energy. As we get out Daemon holds me close and I make sure to put my chin up as the herds of people suddenly take notice of our presence. I feel countless pairs of eyes trained on us, and immediately school my expression. I can hear whispers of our names on hundreds of lips, and more importantly, our family names. I hold my head higher as the crowds of people moved to the side to let us pass. The Sterling and Wraith names held power, and power incites respect… and more importantly, fear.

If there’s one thing I do enjoy about being part of the more prominent families in our world, it’s how they teach men to be gentlemen from a young age. Escorting ladies and protecting them was second nature. Daemon offers his own arm to me with a wink and I take it gladly with a laugh, but slowly slide out to grab his hand instead. Remembering Mrs Wraith’s lessons on proper posture and expression, I let Daemon lead me towards the entrance of the shopping mall.

CHAPTER 3

Lavender mall has architecture that most shopping centres can only dream of. The ceiling is domed higher than any cathedral and made of the most beautiful hues of violet stained glass. The walkways flow with no sharp edges in sight — a tribute to the rivers of people that walk through them every day. And the whole centre is scented with a mist of (shocker) lavender.

We walk with our heads held high towards “Domina Casia”, which is latin for Lady of Lavender. Mrs Osmanda, the owner, was a good friend of my fathers before he passed, and was always my first stop when I needed a dress on short notice. Her designs are simple yet elegant, and blended feminism with femininity in a way that is well respected in the community. On seeing Daemon and I, she let out a small squeal before regaining her composure and giving Daemon a squeeze, before placing kisses on both my cheeks.

“Oh my Isolabella how you’ve blossomed!” She cooed, eyeing my hands and neck, presumably for a sign of jewellery. A flash of disappointment crossed her features as her eye fell on my bare hand, save my ring to represent my place in the house of Sterling. The ring was ornately blackened by age in the way antique silver does but it was pretty in an elegant way, especially when viewed as a whole with the blue stones that formed an S in the centre.

Mrs Osmanda beckoned us further into the glamorous pearly white shop, with a flick of her hand. “So what is it I can do for you my dear?” She asked, already sifting through a pink folder with a large “Isolabella” on it. She had made it with me one night when she had visited for business with Alfred, saying I could put any dress I liked in it, so that whenever I wanted a dress we could use it for inspiration.

“Well, the Wraith’s Christmas ball is soon…” I start, and by the look in her eyes, I can tell she already knows.

“You still don’t have a dress!” She all but screeched. I nodded, as Daemon laughed beside me. I elbowed my arm into his ribs as Ms Osmanda begins frantically flicking through pages.

“Nevermind making me a dress…” I rush, knowing even some as good as her would struggle to make me a custom dress by tomorrow with all the other Christmas orders she has. “Do you have any from your winter collections that would suit the occasion?”

“Do I have any dresses…” She mutters quietly rolling her eyes. “Of course I have a dress for you! But we should hurry, I have some appointments coming in very soon.” She remarks, smiling fondly at me. Then her eyes widen at Daemon. “It’s bad luck for him to see you in your dress beforehand!” She reprimands, waving him off as she turns away.

“But Osmanda, it isn’t our wedding!” I cry after her as I wave goodbye to Daemon.

“Not yet my dear!” She smiles at us as Daemon winks at me. I groan involuntarily as I follow Osmanda to the dressing rooms.

I stand by the mirror as she holds up various dresses against my body, before thrusting one into my hands and shooing me into the confines of a smaller room to put it on. It was a grey-blue colour, like the lake when it frosts over. It had a figure hugging sheer top, studded with some of the finest gemstones money could buy, and a ballgown bottom, with layers that spiralled down, making the skirt appear like a rose. An added bonus, was the snowflake detailing that framed my bare back. In the words of Mrs Lockington, it did wonders for the imagination.

I open the door quietly. I always liked the dresses Mrs Osmanda picked me, and the minute I put this one on I was sure it was the one, but I knew better than not to show her first.

“Mrs O!” I call in my daintiest voice. “I’m ready!”

“Oh my darling you look positively wonderful!” She cries as she sees me, smiling big and wide. “Do you like it?” I nod vigorously, doing a small spin to show off the, for lack of a better word, fluffiness of the skirt. I quickly slip back into the room to peel off the dress, careful not to damage it, before gathering it in my arms and walking back out. “Daemon won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.” Mrs O smiles knowingly, a twinkle dancing through her eyes as she scans the dress through and puts in it a bag. I roll my eyes playfully and pull out my wallet. Just as I’m about to pay, the door opens and I feel a presence at my side; speak of the devil.

“Uh uh uh.” He scolds pushing down my hand and by extension my wallet. “You know father would murder me if I didn’t pay for my lady.” He grins.

“If only.” I groan, though I give him a small peck on the cheek in thanks as he swipes his card.

“Hmmm, if I got one of those every time I spent 500 pounds on you I’d do it more often.” He mused taking my hand in his and the bag in his other.

“Don’t get used to it.” I scoff as I swat his shoulder playfully.

Not long after Daemon lead me to the ice cream parlour by the indoor fountain and ordered me my favourite — a bubblegum swirl with sour gummies. I dig in immediately while Daemon watches me, an amused smile gracing his face. Once I’m done, which really means I’ve only eaten about a third of the ice cream and all of the gummies, I push the glass towards Daemon.

“Why do I even bother getting your favourite, you barely eat any of it!” He mumbles. It was true, and he always got stuck finishing it off.

“Because I’m your favourite.” I pout, sticking out my bottom lip as I look up at him. He rolls his eyes and nods. By the time we finish, the afternoon is melting into the night, and my uncle calls to summon us home. Daemon and I hug goodbye, and then as quickly as he came he is gone, and the manor is empty again.

I guess you could call me lonely, but over time I have learned how to lessen the pain. We are born needing a sense of others. Even if we are alone we need to fool our senses into thinking that we aren’t. And so, in this empty manor, I immerse myself in the noises of the help, dusting furniture and cooking dinner, their scent and occasional glances, the chatter as they go about their business, and give my brain a little of the humanity it craves until tomorrow when I can see my friends.

My name, Isolabella, was given to me by my uncle, after the death of my father, Morpheus Sterling, in a turf war between a rival gang, and my mother Iris Sterling, giving birth to me. It means isolated beauty, homage to the lonely fate given to from birth. Alfred never shied away from the fact that I was, save him, alone — the lone heiress of the house of Sterling. He taught me from a young age if you embrace the feeling of loneliness; let yourself feel the pain in its full force and have the courage to persevere, you win. The universe and all in it, will sense that you have the strength and determination to lead a good life and so opportunities will appear to you. He would never tell me it would be easy, or that I would enjoy it. But he told me I would need to be strong, because it was the only choice I had.

When I was younger, I never fully understood why an heiress needed to be strong. I thought my life would be filled of hosting parties like Mrs Wraith and trips to Italian fashion shows like Mrs Lockington. But that was before I found out what I was really inheriting. A coveted place in one of the most dangerous societies on the planet.

I find myself wondering through the hallways of the manor, which are lit by a mix of decorative candles and lanterns. Portraits of my ancestors stare down at me, almost curiously, but I pay little attention to them, stopping at the portrait at the very end of the hall; my parents. I always thought of them more during Christmas time, and with Christmas Eve tomorrow, I couldn’t help but envy them for being together, and leaving me all alone. I stare at their portrait for a long time, just soaking in their presence.

My mother wasn’t beautiful in the classical sense, lacking flowing curls or ivory skin or piercing eyes of green or blue. She was shorter than average and certainly larger than a model with deep earthy brown eyes, but in her ordinariness she was breathtaking. There was something that radiated from her, causing men to desire her and women to court her friendship. She had a kind of understated beauty — perhaps because she was so disarmingly unaware of her prettiness. Her freckled sun kissed skin was completely flawless. My uncle says that when she smiled and laughed you couldn’t help but smile along too, even if it was just on the inside. To be in her company was to feel that you were someone. Of course I only know her from home videos and my uncle’s memories, but it does help me make peace with her death.

My father had his arm wrapped around her waist, his midnight black curls swept to the side and his dark brown eyes staring straight ahead, framed by graceful sloping brows. His skin was tanned in the way that made girls swoon and he had prominent cheekbones and a well-defined chin and nose which I inherited.

I knew I would like to meet them, but I couldn’t say I missed them or that I loved them, the way that orphans often do. After all, I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me. I suddenly feel a presence behind me and turn to see my uncle.

“You really should get to sleep Isolabella, tomorrow will be a long day.” He murmurs, guiding me away from the portrait with his hand on my back.