The next day, there was no carriage from Kentshire and the letter Isabelle had received from her father had clearly been penned prior to Leopold's arrival. It had been filled with nothing but the mundane every day updates about Kentshire and the castle, which did nothing to calm Isabelle.

Isabelle's rest had been fitful, but at least she'd been able to sleep. She'd awoken in the dead of night, choking out a scream as she sat up in bed, Leopold's angry face still looming before her in the darkened bedchamber. Her dreams had been naught but nightmarish repeats of Leopold slamming her against the wall, only this time his hand had closed around her throat rather than hitting the wall. She'd reassured herself that it wasn't real, but she'd had trouble falling back asleep after that.

It was the promise of a letter from her father that had drawn her out of bed in the morning, though she'd refused to rise and dress for the debutantes' breakfast with the queen. When there had been no news about her betrothed, the same fatigue from the night had settled over her.

If her father's plan had been to await the signing of the new law, he would send Leopold back to Germania, hopefully smoothing over her betrothed's temper. But Leo was smart and Isabelle realized that she'd made a huge mistake mentioning the law to him. She should have allowed her father to handle it, rather than give the foreign prince any clue as to why she was now hesitating as well. Her father had known about the law for a very long time, but he'd always found some other excuse for his hesitation. Now Leopold would fit the pieces of the puzzle together...

Isabelle buried her face in her hands, Lissa pausing as she brushed her mistress' hair.

"Are you all right?" the maid asked, resting a gentle hand on Isabelle's shoulder.

"No," Isabelle admitted. "I'm a fool. A stupid little pawn who thought she had a feel for the game, only to find out that I've never been more wrong."

Lissa said nothing, her brows creased with concern as she looked at Isabelle in the mirror. Isabelle's stomach turned at the purple welt on Lissa's cheekbone.

"I don't know whether we should pack my things and prepare to leave so I can help, or whether I should await word from Papa," Isabelle said. "Oh Lissa, what have I done?"

"He had no business marching in her and scaring you like that, let alone tricking me into thinking it was under His Grace the duke's orders," Lissa said, giving Isabelle's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You did the right thing by sending him to your father. I'm sure they will straighten things out. Until then, you'll have to keep up your brave face."

Isabelle looked at herself in the mirror, blinking away the frustrated tears that had pooled in her eyes. Lissa was right. She'd done enough wallowing and she was stronger than this. Her father would fix things, as he always did, and so she'd bide her time and wait for his summons. She'd already missed two meals with the royal family, which, coupled with the vicious rumours Alicia had likely spread at dinner, had probably already set tongues to wagging. Whatever was happening in Kentshire was beyond Isabelle's control, but she certainly could control what the court gossips were saying about her in Highcastle.

"You're right," Isabelle said, resting a hand atop Lissa's. "Thank you for helping me clear my head."

"Always, my lady," Lissa said, smiling. "Shall we get you dressed?"

"In my best, yes," Isabelle agreed.

She suffered through the day in the queen's reading room, the rest of the debutantes whispering furiously whenever she approached. When she thought she couldn't stand it any longer, she dealt herself a game of patience, focusing all of her attention on the cards rather than the whispered mentions of Kentshire, Germania, and Prince Leopold that surrounded her.

After tea, she attempted to call on Violet before their dinner, only to be turned away at the door. The very same weariness that had overcome her the night before settled onto her shoulders once again. Exhausted and unwilling to face the battlefield of the dining room, she returned to her suite and sent her ladies-in-waiting down in her stead, once again.

Isabelle fell asleep before Lissa could even return with a dinner tray, sleeping heavily and waking with a start when the sun crested the horizon the next morning. Her stomach grumbled with annoyance as memories of the past few days came rushing back. She wallowed in her sheets until Lissa arrived, forcing a steaming bowl of porridge into Isabelle's hands before she allowed her to even ask about any letters.

Once Isabelle had eaten, Lissa slid a thin envelope from her bodice. Isabelle didn't bother checking the seal, breaking it and hurriedly running her eyes over her father's handwriting.

Isabelle,

The prince has left, but under no circumstances are you to return. At the moment, our arrangement with Germania is precarious at best. You are to stay at the palace until I send for you.

I will write more soon, but now there is much to attend to. Stay strong, my Isabelle.

With all my love,

Papa

The brevity of the letter and the clipped tone of her father's words sent a chill down her spine, but what scared her even more was what she read between the lines of the letter. Yet again, her father had made it sound as if it was not safe for her to return to Kentshire, which was terrifying in and of itself. Her home had always been her safe haven and now she'd been instructed to remain in the snake pit of Highcastle Palace instead.

What had happened? Her father had said that the arrangement was precarious, but not that it had been nullified, which only fed into that pit of dread in her stomach. How could she face Leopold again, with the memory of their last encounter seared into her mind? How could she marry him after seeing such a side to her once-charming prince? Had her father been able to pacify him by any other means than ensuring that their betrothal remain in place? What was the 'much' that her father had to attend to? Was Germania threatening Kentshire now that she'd gone and sent Leopold away?

Folding the letter, she slipped it into her bodice, her thoughts on the ring buried in her jewelry box. If something was happening in Kentshire, there was one other person in the palace who had any chance of knowing.

One person that she knew her father trusted just as much as she did.

~*~

Ignoring the social schedule that had instructed her to be present in the queen's sitting room after breakfast, Isabelle had Lissa find out where the men were spending their day. Bundling herself in a cloak against the chilly morning air, Isabelle descended to the gardens, where the men were holding an archery competition.

Their voices carried through the morning air, jovial taunts and laughter filling the courtyard. Isabelle hung back, hidden behind a hedgerow as she searched for Sam Winters. As usual, he was easily spotted, thanks to his height, but unfortunately for Isabelle, he was surrounded by a crowd of courtiers as he squared off against none other than the crown prince himself.

Graham's arrogant grin was in place as he chatted with the men around him, laughing and taunting Sam as the northerner nocked his bow. Sam, however, was focused on the target, set all the way across the lawn in the gardens. He'd gone as still as a stone, eerily unmoving as he set his sights. The twang of his bowstring was followed by delighted whoops as several courtiers applauded and clapped him on the back. Across the lawn, his arrow had buried itself in the bullseye of the practice target.

Isabelle watched as Prince Graham stepped into Sam's retreating path, but rather than tease or taunt him, the prince offered Sam a hearty congratulations, shaking his hand. Sam's posture relaxed as he bowed, clearly having anticipated the same reaction as Isabelle had. He had the beginning of a smile on is face as he wove his way through the crowd of men. Isabelle took a step out from behind the hedgerow as Prince Graham nocked his own arrow.

Either her movement or the crunch of her shoes on the gravel alerted Sam to her presence, his eyes snapping up and landing on her while the rest of the men were focused on Prince Graham, sighting the target. Gesturing quickly for Sam to follow, Isabelle ducked back behind the hedgerow.

"Are you all right?" were the first words out of Sam's mouth, running worried eyes over her. "I heard about-"

"I'm much better now," she interrupted. "But I need you to write to your father for me. I need to know if Papa has called up his men-at-arms."

Sam regarded her warily, something warring behind his blue eyes.

"Why do you ask?" he said slowly. A shout and cheer erupted from behind the hedgerow.

"Because of this," Isabelle said, fishing the letter from her bodice. Sam cleared his throat, awkwardly looking away at the impropriety of watching her remove a piece of paper from her undergarments.

"You really are out to make a reputation for yourself," he grumbled, unfolding the letter. His eyes flew over the contents, his brow creasing before he folded it and handed it back to her.

"It doesn't sound like him," Isabelle said, taking the letter between her hands again. "Please, Sam, if you know something..."

"...is he? He can't have left before I gloat!" the voice rose above the others as Prince Graham strode past them, halting in his tracks as he took in Sam and Isabelle.

"My, my. I hope I haven't interrupted something?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. Isabelle wasn't quick enough to conceal the letter in the folds of her cloak.

"Not at all, your Highness," Sam said with a bow. "From the sounds of it, your shot was better than mine."

"Indeed it was," Graham said, his eyes on Isabelle. "Why don't you go see if you can best me again, Winters?"

Sam swallowed, bowing before shooting Isabelle a loaded look as he took his leave. She watched him go, cursing the prince in her head as he folded his arms before her. The olive tweed of his jacket had his green eyes glittering like emeralds, the orchard-scented autumn wind ruffling his golden locks.

"Have a nice morning, your Highness," Isabelle said with a curtsey, breaking the silence that he'd allowed to stretch between them, waiting for an explanation. She turned on her heel, but Graham was upon her in several quick strides, slipping around her to block her way.

"What's happened?" he asked. His eyes slipped to where the letter was still clutched in her hand, covered by her cloak. Isabelle swallowed, debating her options.

Sam had clearly known something, but her chances of getting him alone before that evening's ball were slim to none now that Graham was suspicious. Besides Sam, the only other person in the palace who might know and be willing to tell her what was happening in Kentshire was standing before her. Asking Graham, however, would require that she trust him with the contents of her letter...

"I received a letter, that is all," she said. "It's none of your concern."

The prince frowned.

"It is of my concern if it's enough for you to miss breakfast and sneak around to find Sam Winters," Graham said.

"I overslept this morning and I was seeking Sam's counsel. He is a dear friend and trusted confidant," Isabelle replied, lifting her chin. "One of the only ones I have here in this infernal palace."

"So you don't trust me?" Graham asked, taking a step towards her as he reached for the letter. Isabelle took a step back, turning away from him.

"Stop," Isabelle said, more firmly this time. "As I'd said, this is none of your concern."

"If it has anything to do with the state of Kentshire at the moment, then it very much is of my concern," Graham said, holding her gaze to weigh the impact of his words.

Thankfully, Isabelle had grown accustomed to the prince's games and kept her face decidedly impassive. So the prince was aware of what was happening in Kentshire...unless of course it was a bluff meant to earn Isabelle's trust.

"Kentshire is perfectly fine," she huffed, attempting to appear affronted as she lied."I was simply seeking Sam's counsel about how to best make amends with Leopold after the harsh words we exchanged."

At the mention of the Germanian prince, Graham's face grew stony before he took a step towards her, resting his hands on her shoulders. Panic ignited in Isabelle's stomach, remembering the last time a man had taken her by the shoulders, and she froze at his touch.

"I saw the wall in your suite, Isabelle. I know that he was the one who did it," he said. "How can you not believe everything I've told you after a display like that?"

"Did your spies give you all the sordid details?" she demanded, attempting to both change the subject and back away, but he held fast.

"Why do you think I keep spies in your room?" Graham demanded, his grip tensing on her shoulders. "What would have happened if your maid hadn't been thinking quickly and alerted the guards? Do you really think he would have stopped with the wall?"

"It's none of your concern!" she said, fighting down the nightmares as she swallowed. She could still feel the vibration of the impact skittering along her spine, the pictures dancing against the wall as Leopold's fist quivered in the dent he'd created, mere inches from her head.

Graham's brows knit at the haunted look on her face, the concern in his eyes enough to shake Isabelle to her senses. There was a reason she'd gone to Sam and not Graham. It was because Graham was a conniving, skilled manipulator. Whatever she read on his face was there purposefully, just another trick meant to confuse her. As much as it meant wasting an entire day waiting, she'd find Sam at the ball that night so he could explain.

But for now, she'd seize the opportunity to beat Graham at his own game.

**A/N: Thanks everyone for the wishes. It's been a week since I spent my last day with my beloved lab retriever and it's still not easy, but at least she's not suffering any more. Thank you for all your kind words and understanding. I have a few chapters that were pre-written which I will try to continue posting, but my original idea of finishing this story ASAP might not happen as quickly as I'd liked now that I don't have it in me to write as much anymore.