The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)

Chapter 38

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-"