**A/N: Well, I'm alive but definitely still congested! Sorry about the delay in updating, I had to cancel two days of work and make them up with extra hours, which was decidedly NOT awesome while sick. I'm almost off for the Christmas holidays and I'm hoping to churn out the last chapters while I'm on vacation. Thank you all so much for your patience and well wishes! :D

~*~

He should have gone to check on her.

The thought had crossed Graham's mind at least a dozen times in the past hour, amplified by both his frustration at having underestimated Kentshire's heiress and his anger with Samuel Winters.

The night before, he'd suffered through dance after dance with the remaining debutantes, each more infuriating than the next. He'd done as his father had ordered, locking Isabelle in her room and posting guards at each of the doors, including the service corridor. He knew she wasn't above sneaking out dressed as a maid, but he hadn't anticipated she'd resort to violence. He'd trusted his guards to keep her safe as he'd pretended to enjoy himself at the ball.

But he should have gone to check on her.

He could still hear her voice begging, pleading, crying his name as the guards dragged her away. He'd dug his nails into his palms to keep himself rooted to the spot, that invisible pull between them yanking taut. But he hadn't moved. He was under orders to attend the ball as if nothing was the matter, so he had.

But he hadn't gone to check on her. He'd buried the truth behind his reasoning, that he didn't want to find out whether she would allow him into her suite after he'd allowed her to be dragged away. He didn't want to see how badly he'd damaged whatever fragile trust had grown between them.

Because of his cowardice, it was only as the stars winked out in the murky grey pre-dawn light that he'd discovered her flight. His cousins had screamed for the guard, awakened from their sleep as something crashed in Isabelle's bedchamber. There, the palace guards had discovered one of their own, a tipped-over wardrobe and a splintered closet door attesting to his imprisonment. The guard hadn't seen his assailants, but he remembered Isabelle's maid distracting him before he was attacked.

Of course, by the time the palace guard had thought to awaken Graham, Isabelle's maid had fled as well, telling the guardhouse that she was posting a letter for her mistress before vanishing into the city.

Graham's fist hit the desk before him, Isabelle's sapphire ring bouncing along the wood as he gritted his teeth. From the moment they'd discovered the guard barricaded in Isabelle's closet, the clues had laid themselves out like a well-drawn map, taunting him. Her jewelry box had been emptied of everything, save for her farce of an engagement ring. Her horse was missing. Outside the stables, one of the guards had discovered her sapphire ring and earbob from the night before, both half-buried in the thin dusting of morning snow.

Upon questioning, the evening shift gate guards had reported that Sam Winters had left the palace with his valet sometime before midnight, while the morning shift had reported that Cedric MacGibbon, Winters' valet, had left the palace grounds shortly after dawn. No one had any record of the valet re-entering the palace grounds, which meant that Sam Winters had left with someone else in the dead of night.

Graham had instantly known who that someone else was, even though his guards had only barely pieced it together when they roused him. He was of half a mind to strangle them all for their incompetence, but the brunt of his wrath was squarely aimed north. Sam Winters was the one he wanted to punish. Sam Winters, who had given him his word that he'd leave Isabelle in Highcastle. Now the pair of them had at least an eight hour head start towards the northern roads that were not even remotely safe for Kentshire's heiress.

Graham had gambled on Sam's loyalty and, as he'd stormed out to the stables that chilly morning, he came to the bitter realization that the northerner had proved himself a most loyal ally.

The only problem was that he'd chosen to ally himself with Isabelle, rather than the crown.

But then, how could he have expected her not to fight tooth and nail to leave? Graham knew Isabelle was not one to give up without a fight, not if her blind allegiance to Leopold had been any indication of her stubbornness. The hope that their kisses would be enough to keep her twiddling her thumbs in Highcastle while her father lay dying in Kentshire had Graham's cheeks heating with mortification. He'd been a fool, an utter and complete fool.

The summons from the king came while Graham brooded over Isabelle' sapphire ring, plunked on his desk after his inspection of the stables with his guard.

You failed.

His father hadn't bothered to sign the note, nor seal it, but it was his own personal butler who had delivered it into Graham's hands, with express instructions that the king awaited him in the council room. The terror those two written words evoked were enough to drive Graham to his feet, his mind unable to stop from spinning with all the ways his father would punish him for this.

Most of all, it kept returning to all the ways the king would punish Isabelle for her disobedience.

He should have gone to check on her...

Scraping his hands through his hair, Graham forced himself to calm down. It was barely past dawn. Sam and Isabelle had a head start, but he'd already instructed his personal guard to prepare to ride. He'd hurry north himself to find her, but not without his finest men at his back. If he had been in Leopold's shoes, a roadside ambush would only be one of his many plans. Graham couldn't defend her alone, just as Sam couldn't, not when faced with Leopold's entourage.

With a frustrated groan, Graham swiped the ring from the desk, jamming it into his pocket.

For now, he needed to stow all those thoughts away and prepare to face his father. Yes, he had failed. He'd failed at the single most important task his father had assigned him during this farce of a season. He'd been under orders to keep Isabelle de Haviland in Highcastle and unmarried for as long as possible and he'd been doing a splendid job of it, especially with his father's help. The new inheritance law, which was the likely reason Isabelle hadn't fled when Leopold had snuck in to abduct her, had been one of his father's strategic moves to keep Kentshire within the confines of Pretania's borders. He'd picked up on Duke Francis' hesitation to marry off his beloved daughter and had capitalized on it.

Now, however, such a paradigm-shifting law would be useless, especially if Isabelle fell into Germanian hands. Granted there were a few other sole heiresses floating around Pretania, but King Charles didn't much care what happened to the Harwood estate and any others like it. Kentshire was what he was after and because Graham had chosen to trust Sam, that prized jewel was now slipping through his fingers.

"Your Highness?" the king's butler said, clearing his throat.

Graham shoved every last thought of Isabelle away, forcing that icy calm through his veins as he followed the butler out. He would fix this later. He would ride up to the northern wilds and bring her back, even if it meant putting her in shackles and neutralizing Sam Winters. Whatever was needed to keep her away from Leopold.

He followed the butler down to the council chamber, the rest of the palace still sleeping after last night's ball. Inside, the pink light of dawn had spilled over the massive council table, staining the wood crimson. His father didn't rise from his seat at the opposite end of the room, instead watching his son with eyes like twin chips of ice. But rather than stare him down, Graham kept his eyes ahead as he crossed to his seat beside the king, pausing to bow.

His hand was on his chair when the king barked, "Stand."

So Graham stood as his father raked disgusted eyes over him.

"You let the little wench outsmart you," the king said.

"What would you like me to do?" Graham replied, cutting to the heart of the discussion instead of defending his actions. No matter what he said, the disgust and disappointment in his father's eyes was not about to be swayed with words. Rather than endure the tirade the king had no doubt been brewing since he'd learned of the heiress' flight, Graham had instead chosen to curtail the king's verbal lashing as best he could by asking for orders.

"What do you think?" the king growled, dropping his eyes to the letter before him. Risking a glance, Graham realized it was the desperate plea from the estate agent, asking for urgent aid for the duke.

"I will assemble a force and return her to Highcastle," Graham said. His father grunted in annoyance.

"You will assemble a force and arrest her, along with whatever accomplices aided her escape. If this letter is to be trusted, the duke won't be able to come for her. If it isn't, then he will. But either way, that disrespectful little hag will benefit from a few weeks in a cell," the king said.

Graham's world turned a shade of crimson that had nothing to do with the sunrise.

"Of course," was all the prince said, bowing. There was no sense in protesting. He would find some way around such a command later. For now, however, he couldn't let the king see how badly Graham wanted to strangle him for his words. The thought of his father locking Isabelle away in some dank, freezing cell...

"Don't you dare fail me again," the king said, waving his son away. Graham bowed, careful not to hurry away as he took his leave.

Kentshire awaited him.

**A/N: Yikes! Looks like Isabelle's in more than a little trouble with the king! What do you think Graham will do? As always, if you enjoyed it, please don't forget to vote and comment! :)**