Duke Francis' study smelled the way it always did, with the faint scent of woodsmoke and leather filling the air. A fire roared happily in the hearth, in stark contrast to the icy panic coursing through Isabelle's veins. But she refused to let that show, refused to allow the foreign prince the satisfaction of seeing how unnerved he had made her.

So she sniffled into his handkerchief, playing the part of grieving daughter and confused fiancée.

"I shouldn't have acted the way I did when we last saw one another," Leopold said, inching his chair closer to Isabelle's. Tension wound around her spine, her ears straining for any noise of a squabble from the second door, the one that led to the hallway where Sam was hopefully standing guard. Leopold's proximity had awakened the terror that had haunted her sleep for days after their last encounter. As a result, she was unable to keep her wary eyes from tracking his hands, ready to dodge or fight or both if he made any move towards her.

She knew that he could not kill her, not if he wanted Kentshire. For that, he'd have to marry her first, and to marry her, she'd have to leave this room alive. At the very least, she had that one reassurance. But whether she would leave this room free or as a captive remained to be determined.

"I was rude and far too brusque," Leopold continued, staring down at the palms of his hands. Isabelle couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him to perfect that semblance of innocence as he continued. "But you must understand, I'd heard the most terrible rumours while I was abroad. I was so caught up in brokering deals with the Ardalonians that I didn't have the time to write to you and dispel whatever doubts you were having about us. I'd hoped that the horrible things I'd heard weren't true, but when I snuck into Highcastle and you treated me like some...some enemy, I snapped."

Isabelle fought the angry snarl that rose to her lips at the way he was addressing her, as if she was some lovesick fool of a girl who would easily excuse him for his prior actions. But, she reminded herself, that was exactly what she was striving for. She wanted him to believe that she was still the easily-manipulated girl she had once been. The foolish little girl who had fallen for him and his wildflower crowns and love poems, clever feats of camouflage to blind her to the monster lurking behind his handsome face.

"What I mean to say is that I'm sorry, Isabelle," Leopold said, reaching for her hands. She froze under the touch of his cool, calloused fingers, only for Leopold's eyes to dart to her bare ring finger.

"Your ring..." he started, anger and annoyance flashing in his dark eyes before he blinked his mask back into place, his expression pained as he looked up at her. Once again, Isabelle wondered how he was so skilled at schooling his features. Perhaps it was a prerequisite for the title of crown prince.

"I removed it when I learned of Julia Andover," Isabelle said, speaking only when it became clear that Leopold wouldn't fill the silence any longer. His fingers twitched, releasing her as he leaned away.

"Julia?" he repeated. She took some satisfaction from having caught him so wrong-footed, but his stony emotional shutters had slammed back into place, hiding whatever he was thinking. Let him think she was jealous, let him doubt whether she'd sent him away because she wanted to rule Kentshire on her own or because she'd learned of his lover. The more he was preoccupied in doubting her, the better chance she had of talking her way out of this.

"Julia Andover, ninth Countess von Tarlsburgh. Who is she to you, Leopold?" Isabelle repeated, folding her hands to hide their shaking as her heart continued its staccato beat in her chest.

"Julia Andover is a friend, nothing more," Leopold said, his annoyance returned. "But this is ridiculous, I've come here to discuss our engagement and you're-"

"Why do you think I wouldn't leave with you?" Isabelle cried, refusing to let him steer their conversation where he wanted. She buried her face in his handkerchief once again so he wouldn't notice her crocodile tears.

"I hated Highcastle. All I wanted to do was leave, until the other girls started whispering about Julia Andover and her lover, the prince of Germania," she lied, sobbing. "Have you any idea how foolish I felt? Wearing your ring while the rest of them whispered about your lover behind my back?"

She sniffled, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Leopold's brows were furrowed, clearly flummoxed.

Good, Isabelle thought.

"You said-" he finally began, but she cut him off.

"I know what I said!" she sobbed. "But how was I supposed to leave with you, wondering about her? How was I supposed to ask you about her with the ever-present palace ears listening, while you were rushing me to leave? You made a fool out of me, Leopold! How was I supposed to forgive that? I couldn't, so I lied about some stupid law and sent you away!"

Isabelle fought to keep her hands from clenching into fists as she prayed that her sham of an explanation worked. It was shaky at best, but it was the only thing she could think up on such short notice.

With a sigh, Leopold rose to his feet, raking a hand through his hair as he paced before her. Swallowing, Isabelle didn't dare dart a look towards the door. She couldn't give him any indication that she wanted to escape, not if she wanted to maintain her guise. Instead, she remained seated, calming her fake sobs and following the prince with hurt, heartbroken eyes.

"You should have just asked, my love," Leopold said finally, sinking to his knees before her. He took her face between her hands and it took every ounce of Isabelle's willpower not to shove him away.

But he was believing it.

"Think of all the trouble you could have spared us," he said. "All the things I've had to do to get you back here."

The hairs began to rise on the back of Isabelle's neck.

"You broke my heart," she whispered, forcing down her dread as she brought her hands up to rest atop his. The feel of his cold fingers on her face flooded her mind with thoughts of her father, freezing to death despite the stifling heat in the next room.

All the things I've had to do to get you back here...

"Then allow me to fix that," Leopold said.

Distracted by the shadow of an idea just barely taking shape in a corner of her mind, Isabelle realized too late that she'd provided him with the perfect opening. When she didn't speak, frantically thinking of some way to wrench back control of their conversation, he continued.

"I can help your father," Leopold said, still gazing into her eyes.

Isabelle froze.

All the things I've had to do to get you back here...

"How?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper, even as her mind screamed in protest, finally seizing upon that shifting, shadowy thought.

"I know what ails him," Leopold said, releasing her to fish something out of his cloak pocket.

The vial sparkled in the firelight, a caramel coloured liquid sloshing beneath the stopper. Desperation drowned whatever semblance of control Isabelle had attempted to maintain over her emotions.

"Give it to me," Isabelle said, unable to keep herself from lunging for it. But Leopold backed away, holding it out of her reach.

"Marry me, my love," he said. "And I will heal your father."

Time ticked to a halt as Isabelle's mind emptied of every thought, save for one.

All the things I've had to do to get you back here...

Leopold had done this to her father.

Isabelle's ruse crumbled.

She leaped for him, thankfully unencumbered by skirts as she flew out of her chair. Surprised by her sudden motion, Leopold huffed as her shoulder met his gut, tackling him to the floor. The vial skittered out of his hand and across the floor. Desperate, Isabelle scrabbled for it, only to scream as Leopold seized her by the hair and tugged her away.

"You have my terms, Isabelle," he said, dragging her across the room from where the vial glittered on the rug. "Unless you insist on making this more unpleasant."

With a bellow, she sank her nails into the hands holding her hair, raking them along Leopold's skin. He yelped, releasing her with a Deutch curse.

Not caring that she was turning her back on a dangerous foe, Isabelle threw herself across the room towards where the vial had rolled to a stop against the wall. Landing on her hands and knees, she scrabbled towards it. The sounds of a scuffle in the adjacent hallway reached her ears, thumps and singing metal muffled by the wood of the door.

Behind Leopold, the two Germanians that had blocked Isabelle's escape through the service corridor reappeared from her father's bedchamber.

"Eure Duchlaucht, we must leave," one of them said, right as the other door banged open and Sam Winters' bulk filled the frame. The front of his tunic was spattered with blood, his sword glistening with it.

Isabelle cried out, lunging too late to stop the heavy wood of the door that Sam had slammed open from crashing against the wall, crushing the vial. At the sound of her cry, Leopold let out a cold, cruel, mirthless laugh that had Isabelle rounding on him, teeth bared.

"You'll be glad to know there's more where that came from," he cackled, a vile, venomous grin on his face as he backed behind his men. "You have my terms, Isabelle. Though I'd warn you that the luxury of time is not on your side."

Sam had seized Isabelle, hauling her to her feet and throwing her behind him. She caught herself on her father's desk as Leopold turned and darted from the room.

"Are you all right?" Sam demanded, tearing his attention from the fleeing prince just long enough to ensure that she was uninjured. Leopold's men had turned tail and fled as well, skirting her father's bedchamber towards the service door.

He killed my father. He has the antidote. He's going to get away. Please, don't let him get away...

All her words wanted to come up at once, but nothing more than a strangled sound escaped her throat. Desperate, she finally choked out, "Stop him!"

That was all that Sam needed to lift his sword and charge after them.

Isabelle, meanwhile, whirled around and dropped to the floor, prying the door away from the wall as she frantically attempted to salvage what was left of the vial. But her attempts were in vain. The caramel-coloured liquid had seeped into the rug, bits of broken glass sprinkled throughout.

She leaned back on her heels, clenching her nails into the palms of her hands as she tried not to scream.

**A/N: Apparently every time there's a Leopold scene, I gravitate towards the Inception soundtrack! Either way, I figured it was dark and dramatic enough for this part. Do you think Sam will manage to catch him? And if he does, will Leopold fork over the antidote? As always, if you enjoyed it, please don't forget to vote and comment.

Finally, I wanted to take a moment on this last day of 2016 to thank you all for what has been a truly incredible writing year for me! A Watty, a Fiction Award, three #1 Historical Fiction Hot List stories...and NONE of it would have been possible without you, my readers. You are the reason I keep doing this, you are the driving force that keeps my fingers clicking away at a keyboard to put the stories in my head out there for all to read. So I just wanted to let you know how incredibly thankful I am for all of you and all of your insightful/hilarious/somehow psychic comments.

Here's to hoping 2017 will be just as awesome!

Love, Kate

xox