"Oh, damn," Isabelle muttered, watching as Cora dropped her gaze to her plate, fuming. Beside her, Violet had pressed her lips into a line.

"That is most certainly not how we thank people in Highcastle," Graham said, glancing down at her in amusement. Isabelle grimaced, too hungry and short-tempered to play along.

"Thank you, your Highness, for escorting me in, though I'm quite sure I can find my way on my own now," she managed through gritted teeth. Graham chuckled.

"Did you really think I'd let you get away so easily?" he asked, stopping in the middle of the room to face her. Isabelle realized with a sinking feeling that he'd chosen the exact spot that afforded each table a perfect view of the pair of them.

"I suppose this is where you call me a foolish little girl for hoping," she said, watching him warily. That devious grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

"Perhaps, though I'd much prefer to continue this conversation when your stomach isn't constantly interrupting us," he said, his eyes running down her figure again on their way to her growling belly.

"Or I could curtsey and thank you before we go our separate ways," Isabelle suggested, wishing that Graham would let her go so she could eat. Around them, servants were placing plate upon plate of food at each of the tables, the smell of cooked bacon and warm bread setting Isabelle's mouth to watering.

"As I said, you aren't getting such a favour from me for nothing. But I'm feeling generous this morning, so I'll release you...for now," Graham said, his eyes dancing as he leaned down to kiss Isabelle's hand in parting. "After all, even prize cows must eat. Have a wonderful day, Miss de Haviland."

Isabelle watched Graham's retreating back, anger simmering into an unpleasant mix with the hunger in her stomach. Growling anew, it was her stomach that propelled her towards Cora and Violet's table, brushing off the prince's favourite insult.

"Good morning," Isabelle smiled, casting a glance around the table as she took her seat. Violet was the only one to reply, her wide brown eyes darting between Cora and Isabelle.

Across the table, Cora continued her conversation with Henrietta Barclay, the pair of them thoroughly ignoring Isabelle. She had expected as much from bitter, competitive Cora, but that Henrietta was now shunning her meant that Graham's favour had just made Isabelle's life a little more difficult than she'd anticipated. It was no secret that Henrietta, the pretty redheaded daughter of the Duke of Shefford, had been the most titled debutante at court before Isabelle's arrival. Clearly Isabelle's proximity to the prince was doing her no favours, instead earning her spiteful glares whenever Henrietta happened to glance her way.

With a shrug, Isabelle reached for the array of breakfast foods before them. Her stomach growled even as she ate, employing every ounce of her willpower to stop herself from shovelling down her food like some sort of ruffian. She ate as quickly as she dared, however, aware of the queen's pale eyes on her.

Yes, Graham's favour would come at a cost indeed, she thought darkly.

"Goodness, it's as if you haven't eaten in weeks," Henrietta said, finally turning her attention to Isabelle. The redhead had pushed around a few slices of fruit on her plate, barely touching them.

"Since I arrived, to be exact," Isabelle said between mouthfuls. She fixed Henrietta with an icy glare to match the one that the redhead had fixed on her, holding it until the other girl looked away in annoyance.

"A barbaric appetite to match her barbaric origins," Cora put in. Isabelle didn't even bother to look at her, rolling her eyes as she speared a piece of sausage with her fork.

"Don't pretend you wouldn't cut off your own hand to have my title, Cora," Isabelle said. "Call me whatever you like, but I am still the future Duchess of Kentshire. And Queen of Germania."

That silenced the table, the other debutantes' forks stilling on their plates.

"Well I would certainly be unimpressed if my betrothed was throwing herself at some other man," Cora huffed. Isabelle's eyes leaped up to meet hers.

"I beg your pardon?" Isabelle demanded, setting down her fork and knife despite the food still on her plate.

"I said, I would be unimpressed if my betrothed was throwing herself at some other man," Cora said. "Perhaps someone ought to tell Prince Leopold exactly what you've gotten up to here in Highcastle."

"Cora..." Violet said, disappointment and pain warring in the single word.

"Don't you Cora me, Violet!" Cora snapped, throwing her napkin down onto the table. "She told us she was engaged and here she is, waltzing with the prince and sauntering in with him for breakfast. I know a harlot when I see one and, unfortunately for us, she's sitting at our table."

Isabelle's fist curled around her knife.

"Call me that name again," Isabelle said frostily, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Which one? Harlot?" Cora repeated, cocking an eyebrow.

"You jealous little shrew," Isabelle sneered. "To think I had ever considered using my position to help you."

Cora swallowed, the rage briefly slipping from her face to give way to panic. But it didn't last long before she narrowed her eyes.

"Lies," she said, "Just like everything you spout."

"Ladies, I-" Violet started, but Henrietta shushed her, too enraptured by the scene unfolding before her.

"I made you a promise that I intended to keep," Isabelle said as evenly as she could despite the anger coursing through her. "But now that I see what kind of jealous, cutthroat dog you really are, I have no reason to help you."

Cora opened her mouth to speak, clamping it closed as her eyes darted to the head table. Swivelling around, Isabelle let out a groan. The queen was standing, commanding the attention of the room while her eyes were still fixed on Isabelle.

"Ladies, we will allow the gentlemen to continue their breakfast in peace. You will all follow me to my drawing room," the queen said, before sweeping from the room.

Isabelle squeezed her eyes shut, praying for patience as she gobbled back the last bits of food on her plate. Cora and Henrietta left the table abruptly, exchanging whispers, while Violet hung back.

"We should get going," Violet said, when most of the debutantes had filed from the room behind the queen. Isabelle nodded, still chewing as she dabbed her mouth with her napkin. When she stood, some invisible power drew her eye to the head table.

As if the morning hadn't been infuriating enough, Prince Graham was watching her, a maddening grin on his face as he looked from her to her plate with raised eyebrows.

"Curse this infernal place," Isabelle muttered under her breath, hurrying after Violet.

They followed the rest of the debutantes and ladies-in-waiting upstairs and deep into the old palace, filing in to a room that positively reeked of the queen's stifling rosewater perfume. The room was dark despite the summer sun outside, heavy red velvet drapes drowning the sunlight. The walls were painted red and peppered with paintings of members of the royal family, hung to cover nearly every inch of available space. Yet more chintzy chairs littered the room, with a raised dais off in a corner. To Isabelle's dismay, there was not a bookshelf in sight.

She took a seat in a corner next to Violet, as far from Cora's glares as possible. Once they had all taken seats, a trio of maids circled the room, passing out decks of cards, board games, and squares of embroidery and thread. By the time they reached Isabelle and Violet, all the games had been claimed, so they settled for needlepoint.

"So are we now a simple pair of two?" Isabelle asked eventually, the room filling with soft piano music from a musician in the far corner. Violet sighed.

"We can't really blame her, can we?" Violet asked. "It looks awful, Isabelle."

"If I hadn't been absolutely starving, I never would have allowed him to escort me in for breakfast!" Isabelle protested, her needle flying through the square.

"Well, Cora isn't exactly the most understanding of people," Violet said, twisting her fingers in her skirts as she always had back at school. "She was already angry last night and it didn't help matters that you sauntered in with him this morning."

Isabelle let out a sigh, punching her needle through the handkerchief so hard she pricked herself.

"I can't spend all of my time here apologizing to Cora when the prince and his mother have clearly made it their mission to torment me," Isabelle said. "It's not as if I'd asked him to choose me! I was wearing my engagement ring, for goodness' sake! And besides, I left straight afterwards. Surely that was scandalous and embarrassing enough to appease Cora."

"Somewhat," Violet conceded, "But it only added insult to injury that she thought he was about to choose her for his first dance when you drew his attention. He chose Henrietta Barclay after you and only chose Cora third."

"Then perhaps he was simply dancing with us in order of station," Isabelle said, sucking on her pricked finger. Violet hummed noncommittally.

"I'm sure she'll calm down in a day or two. Besides, I think she should be happy that she even danced with him."

"He didn't dance with everyone?" Isabelle asked, resuming her embroidery with less aggression.

"Hardly, he left halfway through the ball," Violet said, her cheeks colouring as she ducked her head. Isabelle frowned.

"All right, have out with it. Why are you blushing like a bashful goose?" Isabelle pressed. Violet shot her a worried glance before ducking her head again.

"Only that...well, he wasn't alone when he left," she managed, tripping over her words.

"Who was he with?" Isabelle asked, confused as to why her friend was so embarrassed to be spreading gossip when it clearly had nothing to do with either of them.

"One of your ladies-in-waiting," Violet mumbled. Isabelle dropped her needlepoint square, the frame clattering to the ground.

"One of his cousins?" she asked in disbelief. Violet shook her head.

"No, the little brunette one," Violet said. Isabelle followed her gaze to where Alicia was gossiping in whispers with Laura and Marjorie, their embroidery forgotten on their laps, the three of them clearly bitter that they'd missed breakfast.

"Well that is certainly interesting," Isabelle said, her eyes on Alicia as she leaned down to collect her needlepoint. "When you say that they left, do you mean that they went out to the gardens together?"

"No, they left through the doors to the old palace," Violet said. "The other debutantes were quite scandalized and the queen didn't look very pleased either."

Isabelle's eyes hopped over to the pallid monarch who was thoroughly ignoring the lot of them as she conversed with her ladies-in-waiting. But one of the women, the one who bore the closest resemblance to Laura and Marjorie, kept glancing over at Isabelle's ladies-in-waiting, a frown creasing her pale blond brows.

"How very interesting that the queen's spy is also the prince's plaything," Isabelle muttered, returning her attention to her embroidery. If she'd disliked Alicia before, she despised her now. Was it some cruel joke of the queen's, saddling her with a lowborn harlot for a lady-in-waiting? Or was there more afoot than Isabelle had yet discovered?