Chapter 2: The Cost of Loyalty

"Loyalty isn’t given—it’s bought, borrowed, or stolen."

The soft glow of the dying afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Isabella’s bedroom, casting golden light over the polished marble floors. She stood before her open closet, its vast array of garments stretching like an endless sea before her. Her reflection in the mirror showed a figure draped in black mourning dress, shoulders slumped, a woman bereaved.

She slipped off the mourning sash, letting it fall onto the chair behind her, and fingered the smooth silk of a pale blouse hanging on the rack. Too soft. The men she would face in it—hardened by years of power struggles and war—would see her as weak if she wore something too delicate. Isabella’s eyes shifted to a tailored military-inspired jacket with brass buttons, an obvious nod to her father’s legacy. Too hard. Even with her toned and athletic body, she would look a girl playing dress up in her father's clothes.

The sound of busy footsteps echoed down the marble corridors outside her room. Servants no doubt, hurrying to clean and prepare the palace for the next day after the whirlwind events of today. Isabella allowed her focus to drift for a moment, before snapping back to the task at hand.

Her mother Emiko, in one of their rare meetings growing up, had taught her that clothing was a language —what she wore could sway the tides of loyalty and betrayal. You don’t just dress for yourself, Emiko’s voice echoed in her memory. You dress for who you want others to believe you are.

General Serrano would no doubt be found at the military headquarters for the next few days, orchestrating the war against the guerillas. She imagined the smell of gun oil and cigar smoke, the sharp salutes of his men, lined up to welcome her arrival. Serrano would demand a show of strength. For him, she selected a dark fitted suit with sharp lapels, subtle military accents, and a bold red scarf to hint at the power she intended to wield.

Another planned stop, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, would be far less intimidating. Her uncle Sato Nakamura had invited her to his ministry, ostensibly to discuss foreign policy, but in truth to offer his help in bribing the electoral commission in her favor. For him, Isabella chose a crisp ivory dress with a high neckline, adorned with understated gold jewelry. It was diplomatic yet commanding, befitting a young leader who would not be dismissed or overlooked.

She also intended to pay a visit to another ministry, confronting Eduardo Valdés in his lair at the Ministry of the Interior in order to get to the bottom of the papers she found. She was unsure if the emotionless man would be stirred by her feminine wiles, and frankly she would not be surprised if she pulled down his pants to find a featureless mound, like the male dolls she used to play house with. Still, it was worth a try, and she chose a strapless black dress that emphasizes her breasts, with tantalizing slits running up the thighs.

Lastly, there was the clandestine meeting with Carlos Silva, the cocky and lustful Finance Minister. The accounts that he hold hostage could cement her rule—or ruin it. The man was a known playboy, with an appetite for expensive luxuries and beautiful women. She couldn't afford to alienate him, so she picked out a salmon pink satin cocktail dress, its neckline plunging to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. Even so, it was elegant and form-fitting, the skirt flaring just enough to allow movement.

She stepped back, looking at her selection with satisfaction. Each outfit sent a distinct message, but together they told a story—Isabella was not the scared, clueless girl her enemies believe her to be.

A frown crossed Isabella's face, however, as she realised a mistake. In her rush to get ready, she had neglected the most important item. Lingerie. She pulled off her dress at the shoulders, letting it drop in a heap around her ankles. Her fingers skimmed her bare breast absent-mindedly, the nipple hardening from her touch.

Would it be lace? Something silky? Or perhaps simple cotton, in anticipation of its violent removal at the hands of her hosts. Her fingers trailed downward, teasing her stomach before slipping between her legs, gliding over the smooth skin of her mound. She bit her lip, imagining how each fabric would feel against her bare skin. Her fingers slid lower, feeling the heat rise as her arousal increased.

As much as she'd like to keep touching herself, she reluctantly pulled her hand away, thoughts returning to the issue at hand. She glanced at the clock, realising it had taken far longer than anticipated, and that she would not be able to make a visit today.

However, she can still make a call to her mother, asking her to focus her efforts over the next two days.