As soon as they'd met with the Ardalonian ambassador, Graham wasted no time with the trivial court formalities that usually preceded a royal wedding. For the first time in what seemed like weeks, there was no candle burning late into the night in his room and Graham turned up rested and bright-eyed for breakfast the next morning.

To Isabelle's surprise, he had her dress quickly and climb into a carriage with him, bound for the cathedral to meet with the bishop. The usual blessing of their betrothal had been delayed to allow Graham the time he needed to get his father's affairs in order and settle in as Prince Regent, but now that the threat of rebellion seemed to have abated, he saw no point in delaying any longer.

Much to the queen's chagrin, that day over luncheon Graham announced that he and Isabelle would wed within the month. Isabelle nearly spat out her soup at the ugly squawk that escaped her mother-in-law's mouth. While the queen rattled on and on about propriety and what was to be expected of a royal wedding, Graham simply repeated that he and Isabelle had waited long enough and very much wanted to be married, tradition be damned.

"I'm sorry for surprising you with such a large announcement," he said later, over dinner in his suite. "I hope you're not angry with me."

Isabelle couldn't help but laugh, thinking back to the look of sheer incredulity on the queen's face.

"Angry? I think it's high time we put Lissa out of her misery, worrying about that locked door all night," Isabelle said, running her stocking-toed foot along Graham's calf. His green eyes smoldered as his lips tugged up into her favourite version of his grin.

"Pardon me, but I am sitting within earshot you know!" Lissa pointed out, returning to her mending with a huff. Isabelle laughed in earnest this time, something hot and heady simmering in her chest as she stared at Graham in the candlelight.

Just like that, the days that had once dragged on like weeks quickly sped away in what seemed to be mere minutes. Between dress fittings and planning the series of balls that would follow their wedding, Isabelle found herself caught up in a whirlwind of premarital duties. Cora remained by her side, helping select food and flowers and music all while deftly deflecting the queen's multiple attempts to sabotage their arrangements and delay their nuptials.

They were both down in the head seamstress' workshop one day, having Isabelle's wedding gown fitted, when Lissa appeared with a calling card.

"A Mrs. Byron Fletcher for you, you Grace," she said. Isabelle exchanged a look with Cora before nodding to her maid. Lissa held the door open and Cora let out a little gasp when Violet walked in.

Gone was the meek little girl they'd once known. In her place was an even meeker woman, the shining purple bruise on her cheek poorly concealed under layers of powder. Despite the head seamstress' protests, Isabelle flew from the dressing stand, throwing her arms around her old friend.

"I didn't think you'd return," she said, squeezing Violet tight.

"I didn't know if you'd have me," she said, her voice just as broken as she appeared to be.

"Of course I'd have you, silly goose!" Isabelle said, still holding her tight. "I couldn't dream of getting married without you, just like I'd said in all those letters."

"You were right," Violet said quietly. "About him. About everything."

Isabelle caught Cora's eye over Violet's shoulder as the new Mrs. Fletcher let out a sob. Cora was across the room in an instant, wrapping her arms around the pair of them. She and Isabelle exchanged a look, a promise to protect their friend as best they could from the monster she had married.

"It's all right, Vi," Isabelle said softly. "We're here and we're not leaving."

They stood together in silence, Isabelle and Cora's arms wrapped protectively around their broken friend. Isabelle hated that she hadn't been able to save her from the mistake of marrying Byron, though she knew that Cora likely felt worse for pushing the two of them together.

But come what may, they would weather it together. They always had and they always would.

"I'm ruining your fitting," Violet sobbed finally. "And your gown...it's spectacular."

"Nonsense, you haven't ruined a thing," Isabelle said, beckoning to Lissa for a handkerchief to mop the tears from Violet's face. "In fact, I'd count this as a most pleasant surprise. Cora, show Violet what you've picked out for your dresses. Vi, are you planning to stay with us until the wedding?"

"I was hoping to," Violet said, the ghost of a sad smile flitting across her face.

"You know you'll always be welcome here," Isabelle said, as Lissa helped her back up to the dressing stand so the seamstress could continue her adjustments.

"And you don't have to go back," Isabelle added mentally, inhaling to fight down the swell of hatred for Byron Fletcher as Cora pulled Violet over to show her the bolts of material she'd chosen for their bridesmaid dresses. So long as Violet remained in her palace, she would see to it that Byron was kept far away. Isabelle knew that ruse would only last so long, but hopefully it would be long enough to chase the haunted look from Violet's eyes.

Watching her friends in the mirror, Isabelle couldn't help but sigh at all they had been through, the good and the bad and everything in between. All three of them betrothed or married, Isabelle could hardly believe that a mere year ago they were giggling together late into the night in a finishing school bedchamber.

Sam and Cora were planning a summer ceremony in Umberwood, much to Cora's chagrin. It was Winters family tradition to be married in the family chapel, something that ran contrary to Cora's dreams of a lavish cathedral wedding. But it was a price she was willing to pay, if it mean becoming Lady Winters. She'd already agreed to join Isabelle's court as a lady-in-waiting, a position Isabelle intended to offer to Violet as well. Perhaps her quiet friend could use it as an excuse to spend less time with her loathsome husband, in Highcastle palace and far from his estate, where Isabelle could protect her.

No matter what happened, though, Isabelle was relieved that the three of them were together again, as friends, at last.

~*~

The night before the wedding, Lissa insisted on moving Isabelle into another suite, far away from Graham's, too superstitious that he would catch a glimpse of her before he met her at the altar if she remained in her usual bedchamber. Isabelle grudgingly obliged, knowing that it made little difference to her, but would ensure that her maid slept peacefully without having to fret about the infamous locked adjoining door.

Cora, Violet, and an army of ladies' maids descended upon Isabelle's suite at dawn, forcing breakfast down her throat as they shoved her into a bath, then sat her down at her vanity for the tedium of preparation. The seamstress arrived with the gown and veil, ensuring not a thread was out of place before leaving. It was a spectacular garment glittering with diamonds and trimmed with lace, something fit for a princess. Much to Cora's dismay, Isabelle insisted upon donning a Kentshire tartan sash with her De Haviland family crest insignia pin. Try as she might, her friend was unsuccessful at arguing her away from such a brazen choice.

Let the court talk, Isabelle thought, but she wouldn't walk down the aisle at her own wedding without something of her father's to keep her company.

Another Kentshire tradition that Isabelle insisted upon was that the sound of bagpipes accompany her down the aisle, rather than the sedate organ that usually filled the cathedral. The queen had nearly burst a vein when Isabelle had announced her decision, while Graham had simply grinned, acquiescing to whatever his bride-to-be requested.

And so, with the sun hanging high and a dusting of snow glittering in the streets, Isabelle and her ladies made their way to the Highcastle cathedral in a cushy royal carriage. Despite the chill, the streets were lined with onlookers, waving flags and banners of the royal family's crest. Isabelle's heart swelled when she noticed her own family crest fluttering in the breeze as well, clutched in the hands of revellers.

The cathedral itself was filled with nobles and foreign dignitaries, all of them shuffling to their feet as Cora ensured that Isabelle's train fanned out behind her and Violet fussed with her veil before each assumed their places behind her. With a breath to calm her nerves, Isabelle lifted her chin and took her first steps down the aisle. She chose to walk alone, without a man leading her to Graham's side, her father's family tartan warm against her skin instead. Ahead of her, the sunshine dappled the altar in brilliant reds, blues, and greens, Graham's back turned as Sam Winters and Hadrian Amberly watched Isabelle's approach.

Sam was clearly fighting a grin, his Umberwood tartan bright next to Hadrian Amberly's demure, dark formalwear. But Isabelle's eyes were not on her friend, despite the silly, giddy look on his face.

She was looking at Graham, his silhouette outlined against the brilliant stained glass as he snuck a glance over his shoulder, much to the bishop's consternation. It was all Isabelle could do not to gather her skirts and run to him, forcing herself to maintain her sedate pace until she climbed the few steps to the altar.

"Don't you look beautiful for a turnip farmer's bride," Graham leaned over to whisper, as the bishop's sermon echoed off the cathedral walls. The prince's eyes were clear and well-rested, that cheeky half-grin on his face as he looked her over. The light sparkled on Isabelle's tiara, throwing dancing rainbows across his face.

"Just like a proper prized cow," Isabelle replied, sharing a secret smile with the man who would shortly become her husband. His smile grew in earnest before the bishop cleared his throat, Isabelle biting her tongue to keep from giggling at the older man's indignation that they would dare whisper through his proceedings. Graham reached for her hand, twining his fingers with hers as the bishop spoke the holy words that would bind their lives forever, a contented smile on his face.

When he'd finally finished his pontificating, the bishop had Isabelle and Graham kneel before the altar to receive his blessing, rising once again to the sound of the choir filling the cathedral with song. When the time came to make their vows to one another, Graham spoke in the clear, powerful voice of a king while Isabelle did her best not to let her pounding heart warble her words. Her hands shook as Graham slipped a simple golden band onto her finger beside her mother's sapphire ring, his green eyes burning as the bishop's words cut through the silence of the cathedral.

"Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder. By the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they be man and wife, together, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost."

Once the cathedral had chorused an amen, Isabelle turned to face her husband as Graham lifted her veil, her heart galloping in her chest. Before the bishop could instruct them, Graham took her into his arms, kissing her as she laughed in the sparkling sunshine before the altar. Music filled the air as she and Graham led the recessional down the aisle, unable to keep the smile from her face as they headed towards the carriage that awaited them outside the cathedral. A roar from the assembled crowd greeted them as they emerged into the bright winter sunshine, finally coaxing forth a laugh from Graham as he looked down at his wife.

"I don't think I've ever laid eyes upon someone more beautiful in my life," Graham murmured, tugging her in for a kiss that earned an even bigger cheer from the onlookers before he ushered her into the carriage.

Three days' worth of celebrations awaited them at the palace, with balls lasting well into the nights and tables loaded heavy with delicacies. The newlyweds, however, spent little time at any of them, retiring far earlier than was customary, too wrapped up in one another to care.

~*~

Three short weeks later, the king passed away and Graham's nights turned sleepless once again. Whenever she awoke in the night, Isabelle would find him hunched over his desk in the adjoining sitting room, plotting and planning. The royal funeral left a dark spot in what should have been the happiest months of their lives, but Graham still went out of his way to spend quiet evenings with his new wife, putting aside his work for at least a few hours so they could enjoy each other's company.

After the funeral, the queen locked herself away, refusing to leave her suite while she mourned. As a result, the full weight of running the court fell to Isabelle, who did her best to step in and take over where the queen had left off. It was no simple task, navigating the treacherous waters of Queen Leonora's court, but with Cora and Violet at her side, Isabelle had at least two allies she could count on.

As the date of Graham's coronation approached, Isabelle's frustration with the fickle, flighty women Queen Leonora had chosen for her queenscourt reached its tipping point. Not a day passed that she was not pulled into some petty battle about something insignificant, which usually resulted in at least one of the queen's old ladies-in-waiting storming off in a huff while the others postured and preened at having swayed the soon-to-be-queen their way.

"I hate them all!" Isabelle raged that evening, the pent-up frustration finally spilling free. She felt terribly guilty unleashing it in Graham's presence, especially with the weight she now knew he carried as Prince Regent and soon-to-be king.

"Then get rid of them," Graham said, looking up from his desk just long enough to let her know that he was truly listening, not absorbed in his work and distracted as he usually was. The obligatory months of mourning were coming to an end, the coronation little more than a week away and, as a result, Graham's workload had grown considerably, eating into their time together.

"How am I supposed to do that? I can't very well send all of Highcastle's royal court away without alienating key allies," she said, flopping down into the chair opposite his at the desk.

"I'm planning on asking mother to retire to her country estate, where I think she'd be far more comfortable as dowager queen," Graham said, signing something with a flourish and setting it aside before folding his fingers and facing her with his full attention.

"Will she accept?" Isabelle asked, not daring to entertain such a hope. She'd been dreading the queen's return, her stomach turning at the thought of what misery Leonora would subject her to once she returned to sit among her cronies.

"I won't leave her much of a choice, especially since she'll be miserable watching a younger, more attractive queen assume her throne," Graham shrugged. "Besides, I know you're clever enough to find a way to ask all her hens to go with her that makes it sound like an honour rather than a dismissal."

Isabelle leaned back in her chair, her mind working as she stared at him. His lips twitched up into that arrogant grin of his as he leaned back as well, knitting his fingers behind his head.

"You have a plan," Isabelle said, grinning despite her annoyance that he hadn't bothered to share it with her until now, when she was about to scream with frustration.

"Of course I do," he replied, smirking. "Because I can't stand the idea of a group of old crones tormenting you so thoroughly."

"You're going to have me ask the queen's ladies-in-waiting to leave with her and keep her company in her grief, aren't you?" Isabelle asked, shaking her head at him with a chuckle.

"Oh, I think we can word it a bit better than that," Graham said, stretching before rising from his seat. "But that is the general idea, yes."

"Have I mentioned that I love you?" Isabelle said, as he came around the desk to help her to her feet.

"Not nearly as often as you ought to," he said, pulling her into his arms for a kiss. "Though I have an idea about how you can redeem yourself for such an oversight."

Isabelle laughed as he spun her towards his bedchamber, closing the door behind them to leave his work behind.

Nine months later, a healthy, bouncing baby boy entered their lives.

They named him Andrew.

THE END

**A/N: ^^My most and least favourite words to write! I honestly can't believe that I've finally reached the end and I have nothing but eternal thanks to give to you, my readers, for sticking with me through not one, not two, but three stories that I'd never thought I'd have the courage and grit to sit down and write.

THANK YOU for your never-ending support, your insightful/hilarious/occasionally murderous comments, and for putting a smile on my face every time my inbox lights up with Wattpad notifications. You make writing a joy and I would be lying if I said that your comments didn't serve as motivation for me to keep going in the deepest throes of writer's block. For that, I cannot thank you enough, lovely readers.

On that happy note, I leave you with all my love,

Kate

xox