All Chapters of Crown's Wrong Kiss : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The amber glow of the candle did little to warm Isabelle Ellwood’s bedchamber. Like herself, it was modest in proportion to the ostentatious grandeur that defined the rest of Ellwood Estate—a space that had been decorated with the desperate zeal of new money seeking to disguise its novelty. Gilt mirrors reflected gilt mirrors, crystal chandeliers hung perilously low, and brocade fabrics in clashing colors assaulted the senses from every angle. It was a house that screamed of its own importance, as if volume could compensate for pedigree. But here, in her sanctuary, Isabelle had created a different world. Bookshelves lined the walls—not the leatherbound collections her father purchased by the yard to impress visitors, but well-worn volumes of poetry, philosophy, and history that had been read so often their spines had softened like butter left in summer sun. A simple writing desk stood beneath the window, where moonlight now spilled across the pages of her journal. She set down her p

Morning light streamed through the breakfast room windows, catching the dust motes that danced in the air above the polished mahogany table. Isabelle sat quietly, nibbling at a piece of toast while her mother fretted over the day’s correspondence. Priscilla had not yet descended, a privilege afforded to her beauty—no one expected the family jewel to rise at an unfashionable hour. “Bills, invitations, bills,” Mrs. Ellwood muttered, sorting through the small pile with increasing agitation. “Mr. Ellwood will be most displeased at the milliner’s account. I told Priscilla that the feathers were an extravagance, but she insisted they were all the rage in London.” Isabelle made a noncommittal sound, knowing her mother expected no real response. The cost of maintaining Priscilla’s wardrobe was a constant source of complaint, though never when Mr. Ellwood or Priscilla herself was present to hear it. Her father indulged his elder daughter’s every whim, while her mother’s protests were merely

The gilt-edged invitation had promised grandeur, but nothing had prepared Isabelle for the overwhelming presence of Cresthaven Palace. As their carriage approached through the immense iron gates, she felt herself shrink further into the shadows of the velvet-lined interior. “Sit up straight, Isabelle,” her mother hissed, adjusting her own emerald necklace for the dozenth time. “And for heaven’s sake, try to smile. You look like you’re attending a funeral rather than the most prestigious event of the decade.” Isabelle obediently straightened her spine but could not muster the smile her mother demanded. The lace collar of her dove-gray gown scratched against her neck, a constant reminder of the hasty alterations required to make her presentable. Unlike Priscilla’s cornflower blue silk creation, which had been ordered months ago in anticipation of some grand occasion, Isabelle’s gown was a reluctant afterthought—much like her presence at this selection. “Look, Isabelle,” Priscilla lea

The grand ballroom of Cresthaven Palace glowed beneath the light of a thousand candles, their flames dancing upon crystal chandeliers that hung like constellations from the gilded ceiling. Music swelled from the orchestra positioned at the far end of the hall, the melodious notes floating over the assembled nobility who stood in clusters of silk and jewels, their voices a delicate hum beneath the strains of the violins. Isabelle stood at the periphery, her fingers curled tightly around the stem of her champagne glass. She had chosen a dress of sage green for the evening, a modest gown with little embellishment save for a cream-colored trim that edged the neckline and sleeves. The color had seemed sensible when her mother purchased it—“to hide your fullness, dear"—but now, amid the peacock display of the other debutantes, it seemed hopelessly dull. Like a houseplant among exotic blooms. Her gaze drifted across the room to where Priscilla stood, resplendent in amber silk that caug

The morning after the opening ball dawned pale and quiet, as though the world itself were exhausted from the previous night’s revelries. Isabelle stood at her chamber window, watching the palace gardens emerge from the mist. Her fingers still tingled where Sebastian had touched them, steadying her after that near-disastrous stumble. A prince’s touch, fleeting and no doubt forgotten by him already.She sighed and turned away from the window. In her mind, she could still see Amelia’s radiant face as Sebastian led her through the quadrille, their movements perfect, their smiles genuine. And why shouldn’t they be? They made a striking pair—the handsome prince and the golden-haired beauty. It was like watching a fairy tale unfold before one’s eyes.“Miss Ellwood?” A soft knock accompanied the voice of her maid, Lucy.“Yes, you may enter,” Isabelle called, straightening her shoulders and adopting a pleasant expression.Lucy bobbed a curtsy as she entered, carrying a silver tray. “A letter f