Isabelle awoke with a splitting headache, worsened by the throbbing of her hands and the stinging wound on her neck. It took her a few moments to realize she'd been put to sleep in one of the many guest suites in the castle, this one decorated in shades of plum to compliment the rosewood furniture. The colours swam before her as she squeezed her eyes closed, the memories of last night flooding her thoughts.

She clung to one, seizing onto it if only to keep from drowning in the swirling abyss of loss and pain that threatened to swallow her whole.

Graham.

He'd come back. He loved her. He'd barged in with Sam Winters and helped free her from whatever hell Leopold had planned for her. He'd bandaged her bleeding, injured hands.

He'd come back for her.

He loved her.

Truth be told, his admission hadn't come as a surprise. She'd had her suspicions since the day he'd pinned her into a shadowy corner of the ballroom terrace and told her that he couldn't stand to see Leopold's ring around her finger...

Just the thought of Leopold's name sent her stomach plummeting and had the blood roaring in her ears.

Reaching for the call bell, she winced at both the movement and the twin bandages winding around her palms. Her fingers were just barely able to close around the rope, compressed and held rigidly in place by the bandages. Brown, crusted blood darkened both palms and the sharp dart of pain she'd felt at using her hand told Isabelle that she probably shouldn't have squeezed her palm so soon after her injury. She gingerly felt the place where Leopold's sword had bitten into her neck, another bandage tied there too.

Before she was overwhelmed by thoughts of her wounds and how hideous they must be beneath her bandages, she focused on the fact that she was alive and that she was free. If she bore the scars of her fight to free herself for the rest of her life, at least she would bear them as the Duchess of Kentshire and not as Leopold's subordinate queen.

If Leopold had even planned to keep her alive that long...

"You're awake!"

So caught up in inspecting her injuries and fighting back her dread, she hadn't heard the service door open. Lissa nearly dropped the tea tray she'd been carrying in her rush to throw her arms around Isabelle.

"You're safe!" Isabelle exclaimed, squeezing her maid just as tightly in return.

"We arrived with Lord Winters," she said. "Cedric stayed with me the entire way."

"It's nice to have a familiar face," Isabelle said, fighting her pooling tears as Lissa tried not to look at the bandages winding around her mistress.

"I nearly jumped out of my skin when you rang, it's still hours before dawn," Lissa said, turning her attention to the tea tray. "Though the palace healers have told me that you're not to leave your bed today."

Isabelle didn't miss the fact that her maid's hands were shaking as she poured.

"I'd like to know what became of Leopold," Isabelle said, his name like ash on her tongue. Lissa stilled.

"Perhaps you ought to focus on you recovery before-" Lissa started gently.

"Lissa," Isabelle said firmly. Her maid pursed her lips.

"The last I'd heard, he was being kept in the dungeons. Rightfully so, I say," Lissa said, her lips curling into a vicious little sneer as she shook away thoughts of the foreign prince. "Vile monster of a man."

Isabelle obliged Lissa by taking a fortifying gulp of the heavily sugared tea before pushing the covers off as best she could with her injured hands.

"Help me get dressed," Isabelle said, waving away her maid's protests and fighting down her dread at the prospect of facing her father's murderer.

~*~

"If you think I'll do a damned thing to help you, you're wrong," Leopold spat, his eyes little more than slits after Sam's beating.

Graham sat on a wooden stool, facing the foreign prince who was chained to the cold stone wall. The wound that Sam had opened on the prince's face had been closed by one of the healers, but Graham couldn't help but hope it would scar. A glistening scar across his face would serve as a nice little reminder of what Leopold had attempted and failed.

Except he hadn't failed, not completely. The foreign prince knew far more than he'd let on before about the state of Pretania's finances and the unrest simmering among the nobility. Leopold had banked on that, knowing that starting a war would push Pretania to the breaking point, both financially and politically. It was the only reason he'd been brazen enough to return to Inverloch for Isabelle after the duke's death.

The fact remained, however, that Leopold was suspected of having poisoned Duke Francis. As such, under Pretanian law, Leopold was to be tried in the Pretanian High Court, whose jury comprised members of the king's council. Duke Francis had been a dear friend and ally of many men on that council.

And that council was the very same one where Isabelle now held a seat as the Duchess of Kentshire.

"As I've very patiently pointed out more times than I can count, I don't see that you have much of a choice," Graham repeated. He was exhausted. He was hungry. He wanted a warm bed and a hot meal and a reprieve from this nightmare so he could sort his thoughts out. But he was not yet ready to surrender to the day, not until he accomplished what he'd come for.

"Either you release me, or we're at war. It's in your hands, Graham," Leopold spat. "Unless you're too scared to decide, like your pitiful excuse of a father."

"I decided weeks ago that I'd very much enjoy seeing your head on a pike above my palace gates," Graham replied evenly, his patience fraying. "Though thankfully for you, I have an alternative offer."

"I'm on pins and needles," Leopold said, glaring as best he could through his bruises.

"You sign a peace treaty on behalf of your father, agreeing to cease all hostilities against Pretania-"

Leopold laughed, the sound grating against every last nerve in Graham's body.

"I never thought I'd say this, but Isabelle was right. You really are an imbecile," Leopold chuckled.

It took every ounce of Graham's willpower not to leap to his feet and deliver a fresh beating. That Leopold had the gall to so much as speak Isabelle's name...

"Oh yes," Leopold continued, misinterpreting his silence. "Don't forget that I've known her far longer than you have. Well done on brainwashing her, I must say. Though hopefully you'll help her improve on those kisses. Terrible, truly terrib-"

This time the stool did topple over, Graham's fists already curling into balls.

"Stop."

The voice had Leopold laughing once again.

"Why hello, love," he drawled. "What a fetching necklace. Bloody, but it suits you."

Gritting his teeth against the venom he longed to spit at the cad of a man before him, Graham forced himself to turn towards the voice he knew so well. He hadn't wanted to believe that she'd venture all the way down here in the frigid pre-dawn, but here she was. Standing in the doorway to the cell, her maid holding a candle beside her, was Isabelle De Havilland, the bandages on her neck and hands the only evidence of last night's events. She'd washed and dressed in fresh black mourning attire, her hair tucked back into a knot at the nape of her neck.

But there was something wrong with her eyes. He'd never seen them so cold, nor so full of hatred as they landed on the foreign prince. Folding his arms, the tension loosed itself from his body as Graham waited for what he knew was coming.

Leopold's words hung in the silence between them before Isabelle crossed the room with remarkable speed, using her fingernails to tear out two of the stitches holding the flesh of Leopold's cheek together. He thrashed against his chains, screaming out as she backed away, a fresh trickle of blood leaking down to drip off his chin.

"Now we'll match, darling," she said, her voice as frosty as the northern wastes.

"I will kill you, you little-" Leopold began, the hysteria mounting in his voice once again.

"And she can have your head as a centerpiece, if she so desires," Graham thundered over him. "Mind your manners."

Leopold's eyes narrowed as they slid between them both.

"Your terms," he said finally. Isabelle looked over at Graham in surprise as he reached into his pocket to remove a sheaf of papers.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Signing a peace treaty," Graham said. Isabelle nearly tore the stack of papers from his hands.

"He killed my father!" she snarled. "He deserves death and nothing more!"

Leopold watched them spar in silence.

"He is a crown prince of Germania," Graham said patiently, hating that it had come to this. "If we kill him, we go to war, with Kentshire as the battleground. Do you think they'll stop fighting so your farmers can sow their fields in the spring? Do you think they'll limit their battles to your uninhabited lands rather than raze whatever villages and towns are in their way? Are you prepared to feed, shelter, and clothe the sheer number of people who will come flocking to Inverloch for protection?"

The questions hit her like arrows, deflating the rage and bloodlust that had driven her down to the dungeons in the first place. She'd taken a sick satisfaction from ripping open Leopold's wound, but she hadn't intended on stopping there. She wanted him dead so she could send his head home to his father in a box, with a warning about crossing her ever again.

But now that Graham had punched so many holes in her plan, she was able to see it for what it was: nothing more than petty revenge. Killing her father's murderer only to plunge Kentshire into war was not how Duke Francis would have wanted her to avenge him. Kentshire needed a good harvest next year. They had enough men-at-arms to defend Inverloch, but none of the other towns and hamlets under her protection. They had enough food to see the castle and the town through the winter, but not if the surrounding farmers and villagers flocked to her for protection.

As much as it tore her already broken heart to pieces, Graham was right.

"Tell me about the treaty," she said, turning her eyes down the papers she'd torn from Graham's hands.

"On behalf of the Germanian crown, Leopold hereby agrees to cease all hostilities against Pretania and recognize Kentshire as Pretorian territory, in exchange for his pardon for the murder of Duke Francis De Havilland," Graham said.

Leopold remained silent, too silent.

"It's a piece of paper," Isabelle said, handing it back to Graham. "What's to stop him from turning around and marching back in once he's safely behind his own lines?"

Graham couldn't help but smile that she'd found the very same loophole Leopold had clearly seized upon.

"That is why I am having him sign multiple copies, so that Germania's neighbours in Ardalone, Rittenland, Vareinne, and Bazera, as well as the colonies in the New World will know exactly what transpired here. If Germania invades, the rest of the world will know that his word is worthless. As a future king, Leopold's goodwill to broker deals with any other nation in the region will be compromised."

"Schwein," Leopold swore under his breath.

Isabelle remained staring at the papers that now sat safely in Graham's hands.

"Of course, if you'd rather he be punished according to Kentshire law, I defer to your authority, your Grace," Graham said quietly.

The silence blanketed the room so heavily that it was almost too hard for Isabelle to breathe.

Kentshire law permitted her to mete out justice for any crimes committed on her lands. Murder was punishable by death, which meant that Leopold's life was hers to take, if she wanted it. She most certainly did want it, but Graham's counter-argument had given her pause.

Killing Leopold would avenge her father, but plunge Kentshire into turmoil. A failed harvest next season would ruin the duchy and Isabelle would not be able to protect her people from the warfare Leopold's father would rain down upon her for taking his son's life.

"If he signs them, I will not interfere," she said finally, bile rising to the back of her throat. Graham regarded her calmly for a few moments, as if giving her the chance to change her mind.

But she wouldn't. She couldn't doom her people for the sake of revenge. She would get her revenge on Leopold by living a life free from his shackles, protected by Graham's treaty.

When she looked to Leopold for his answer, Graham dragged over the battered wooden table from the corner.

"You are going to rue the day you crossed me," Leopold spat, seizing Graham's proffered quill. He grumbled in Germanian as he signed each copy with his jagged, spiky signature, sliding them over to Graham.

Isabelle forced herself to watch. She forced herself to bear witness as her future king signed the paper pardoning her father's murderer to protect her people and the rest of Pretania from the ravages of war. She had no doubt that these two men would meet in the future, with both of them destined to be kings. She also did not doubt that the bad blood between the two would never be forgotten.

As far as she was concerned, forgiveness was also out of the question, a sentiment she very much hoped Graham shared.

"Excellent," Graham said, inspecting each copy. "I'll send some men to escort you out."

Leopold spat, bitterly staring at the wall as Graham ushered Isabelle out.

**A/N: Such a bittersweet chapter. At least Leopold will be out of their lives for good, but do you think Isabelle and Graham did the right thing? Or should they have killed Leopold instead? As always, if you enjoyed it, please don't forget to vote and comment!**