As the morning bells for prayer rang out, Isabella finally pieced together the truth. She had transmigrated—into a parallel medieval world—and become the infamous "White Rose" Queen.
"His Majesty commands that you remain in the North Tower," Nurse Margaret said as she tightened Isabella's corset. "But tradition dictates that the nobles shall pay respects to the new queen at noon."
Maids weaved her fiery hair into intricate braids.
The bronze mirror reflected a vision too exquisite to bear—snow-pale skin adorned by emerald jewelry, her curves framed in deep sapphire velvet. This body was a breathtaking masterpiece—yet it carried a reputation so vile it stank through the centuries.
"Margaret… was I truly that debauched?"
The silver comb in the old nurse's hand dropped with a clang. "My lady… during the Harvest Festival, you kissed three knights in public. You spiked the papal envoy's wine with aphrodisiacs..." She leaned in, voice lowered to a horrified whisper. "The worst was telling the Court Gazette that His Majesty's… ahem, manly prowess was inferior to your lovers'."
Isabella nearly choked.
The original owner of this body wasn't just promiscuous—she had a death wish. No wonder King Alfred looked at her like she was plague incarnate.
"His Majesty has sent the captain of the royal guard," Margaret said suddenly, adjusting her veil. "Lord Richard himself..."
The door opened. A knight in silver-blue uniform entered and knelt before her.
When he looked up, something flickered in his storm-grey eyes. "By order of His Majesty, I am here to ensure your safety."
His lips moved silently: "Do not fear, my rose."
Isabella's heart skipped. So—this was one of the infamous lovers. A Templar knight.
By noon, the audience hall was a gauntlet of whispers and stares.
The Spanish delegation entered, and the dark-haired crown prince boldly stepped forward, taking her ringed hand.
"Prince Fernando of Castile offers you his regards."
His lips lingered far too long on the gemstone. "The White Rose plan continues."
Before she could reply, the doors slammed open.
King Alfred swept in like a winter storm, his black cloak trailing behind him.
His glacial eyes locked onto their entwined hands.
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
"So," he drawled, "my imprisoned queen has already found herself a new toy?"