The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)

Chapter 31: Part 1

The next morning, Isabelle awoke with a start. She'd fallen asleep as soon as she'd pulled the covers over herself, so exhausted that her mind hadn't had the energy to mull over the day's events. It was a blessing, as she'd surely not have slept much if she'd gotten to thinking of Prince Graham and that shadowy corner of the terrace.

As it was, she pulled a pillow over her head as she blushed furiously at how much she'd enjoyed him crushing her against the palace wall with his kisses. Leopold's kisses had been thrilling enough since they'd been her first, but those kisses had always been on his terms. He'd started them and he'd ended them, never seeming to care whether Isabelle was interested or not. Last night, Graham had kept his distance with admirable restraint, waiting for her either to kiss him or push him away.

He'd allowed her to decide, something that Leopold had never bothered to do.

Later that day, when she'd buried herself in a book, obediently attending the queen's afternoon salon, Isabelle told herself that the butterflies in her stomach upon seeing the prince stride into the room were solely because of the turmoil in her head and the leftovers from last night's "negotiation." She'd gotten the information that she'd needed from him, which she was thankful for, especially as Sam Winters had not appeared for breakfast or luncheon. She couldn't bring herself to ask Cora about him, not when the pretty blonde kept smiling like the cat that got the cream as she chatted with the other debutantes.

Acutely aware that she'd read the same sentence at least a half dozen times, Isabelle finally admitted defeat and allowed her eyes to wander where they wanted. The prince had leaned down to whisper something into his mother's ear, the queen's eyes roving the room until they settled on Isabelle. The queen turned to her son, saying something to him in a whisper before returning her attention to the ladies-in-waiting around her. Graham didn't dally in the room, instead crossing back to the door and barely acknowledging the few debutantes that dared wave or call out in greeting to him.

He did, however, pause in the doorway before he left, that arrogant grin on his face as he met Isabelle's gaze and bent forward ever so slightly into a semblance of a bow. She blushed as her eyes dove back onto the page of her book, only this time the heat in her cheeks was mirrored by a pleasant swoop in her stomach.

That evening, Isabelle spent the majority of her time at the museum viewing alone, wandering the exhibits to avoid the other debutantes. Sam Winters was again nowhere to be found and Violet hadn't left Cora's side. Isabelle's once-friends had arrived arm-in-arm, Cora's vicious gaze finding Isabelle where she loitered by the entrance. She whispered something to Violet, who at least had the good grace to frown and pull away, darting a glance Isabelle's way, but Cora brushed off her reaction and steered Violet towards where Henrietta was holding court.

Byron Fletcher appeared some time later and Cora finally released Violet so she could peruse the exhibit with the shipping heir. Feeling sick that Cora had the gall to push Violet into Byron's deceptive arms, Isabelle fled into a less crowded part of the museum, taking a seat on a bench before a great painting of Alastair and Mysthena. Her eyes travelled over the painting, devouring it if only so she wouldn't lose herself to the thoughts swirling in her head.

She was trapped. Trapped in this infernal city while Kentshire was in turmoil. Trapped in a place where lovely, quiet girls like Violet were thrown into the arms of wicked beasts disguised as courtiers. Trapped in a place where her two best friends wouldn't speak to her and the only friend she had left at court seemed to have disappeared.

Not your only friend, some devious part of her mind protested.

Wrenching her eyes from Alastair's handsome face, she forced them upwards to where his uncle was aiming for Mysthena. She wouldn't think of Graham as a friend. An ally, perhaps, but not a friend.