“Isabeau?”

The voice is soft but sudden in the hush of the room, and Isabeau blinks her eyes open sleepily. Her gaze focuses near the curtains, where a sliver of moonlight escapes and washes over the woman sitting beside her, and a slight pout crosses her features.

“…Maman,” she complains. “You woke me.”

“You were not asleep at all, ma puce,” her mother hums, running a hand over Isabeau’s tight curls. She leans forward, and the moonlight briefly catches her earring. “Are you very tired?”

Her voice is playful, but there is a note of… something, in it. Isabeau was unaccustomed to that strained tinge in her mother’s voice, and she turns over slightly, pressing her cheek against the woman’s knee.

“No,” she murmurs. Her mother’s hand is still stroking her head, and she winces as a ring momentarily tugs on her hair. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” The words come out slightly too fast, and Isabeau watches as she withdraws her hand, removing her rings. One of them draws her attention — a golden band with a simple floral design engraved on the front, a stark difference from the pearls and gems her mother would so often wear. She wordlessly reaches out, picking it out of her larger hand to inspect it.

“This one is new,” she notes. “Who gave this one to you?”

The woman tuts, reaching back for the ring. “How do you know I did not buy it myself? Or maybe I stole it,” she chuckles as she pockets the ring, “like in those little fairy tales you read all the time.”

“That is not a fairy tale!” Isabeau giggles, the tension from earlier forgotten. “You’re confusing it for crime. That is a crime.”

“Oui, oui. My little girl has a sense of morality already, I am so proud.” The rings now removed, her mother cups her face, thumbs gently caressing the smooth, dark skin of her cheeks. “Tell me, ma chouchou, what do you do when I am out? I constantly worry about you, you know.”

“You worry for me, but you still go out,” Isabeau retorts, though it is lighthearted. She knows how to manage herself when she is alone: reading, cooking, tidying and whatnot. It is not an issue for her.

“…Ah. Yes.” Her mother at least has the decency to look sheepish, glancing down at the covers briefly. “I am sorry. But… do you not get lonely?”

That takes her off-guard, and she blinks. Lonely? What was she getting at?

“…No.” Isabeau’s reply is slow and cautious. “Why?”

Silence. The woman sighs, simply watching her daughter watching her, before murmuring.

“…I cannot find an easy way to ask this,” she hums, stilling her thumbs. “How… How would you feel about a brother?”

Isabeau stares, her gaze dropping slightly. “Excuse me?”

“Ah, um— Not a baby. Non, non, that is not what I meant.” She waves a hand in a fluster, trying to bring Isabeau’s attention off her stomach. “Isabeau.”

“…Ah. Right.” Her cheeks heat up, and she looks back up at her mother’s face. “What… did you mean, then?”

There is not much point asking. She could already hear the answer before her mother spoke it.

“You know… Edouard,” she sighs lightly, and Isabeau finds it hard to miss the dreamy lilt to her voice at the mention of Edouard. “He… Ah, how do I… He has proposed to me.”

Of course he has. As much as Isabeau loved her mother, she could not bring herself to understand exactly why she had fallen for a man like that. And was that ring before from him? A ring that was so different from anything her mother had ever voluntarily worn before?

“…Ah.” Her words practically scrape against her throat as she mutters. “So… he is my father now.”

“Yes, ma chérie.” The hands on Isabeau’s face drop to clasp her own hands instead, and her mother watches her intently as she continues. “You will learn to like him over time. And he has a son, you know? About your age — non, a little older, but a lovely boy — and I am sure you will get along fine, oui?”

Isabeau’s jaw is clenched, but she nods woodenly. “Oui, maman. Of course.”

The woman beams, and the girl’s expression softens only slightly as her mother wraps her arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you, ma fille,” she whispers, rocking her gently. “I knew you would understand.”

It is several minutes before she slowly extracts herself from the embrace, and Isabeau blinks, realising she has almost fallen asleep again. Another kiss to the cheek, another murmur in her ear, and her mother is gone from the bedroom, and she is alone.

Slowly, she lies back down, pulling the covers up to her chin as her thoughts race. She did not like Edouard Soubry one bit. He had never done anything personally to her — in fact, he was a rather sweet man, but that made it somehow worse. It made her sick. Not to mention her new step-brother… Henri. She had only met him once, but he was curt and distant, clearly wanting this no more than she did.

She hated the thought of these two strangers taking pieces of her mother that had always belonged to her. In her mind, it would be Isabeau and Valaire Diagne, forever together with no one else.

With that blissful thought, she turns over and falls into a peaceful sleep.