The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)

Chapter 52

**A/N: Surprise! I completely forgot that I'd written this chapter eons ago and that it definitely did not fit into the epilogue. But in the spirit of tying up loose ends and answering the big question that was never really explained in The Debutante...here you go :)**

Graham did not delay in fully embracing his new role. With the king growing more and more frail with each passing day, the newly minted Prince Regent slept very little and plotted very much. Thanks to their adjoining suites, Isabelle knew that he was always awake and working before dawn and late into the night, a candle flickering under their connecting door long after they'd parted ways after dinner and well before they met again for breakfast.

The High Council finally adjourned after four gruesome days of dealing with Duke Carveston and his cronies. When Isabelle fumed at how little they'd managed to accomplish, Graham had offered her naught but a weary smile over his goblet of wine that evening at dinner.

"Highcastle wasn't built in a day, love," he'd said. "The most important thing is that they named me Prince Regent. Anything else we managed to accomplish was simply icing on the cake."

But the work did not stop once the council adjourned. Rather than force Isabelle to spend her days at the queen's elbow, suffering through the very same salons she'd often fled from as a debutante, Graham had her sit in on nearly every one of his meetings. She didn't question his decision, instead sitting as a silent observer, in awe of Graham's negotiation skills. He was indeed always twelve steps ahead of whomever he was meeting with, anticipating their responses and having his own prepared beforehand.

One morning, however, he was was pacing when she joined him for breakfast, the circles under his eyes even more conspicuous than usual.

"Please tell me you slept last night?" Isabelle said, halting his pacing by taking his hands. He offered her the barest flicker of a smile, kissing her knuckles before ushering her to her seat at the breakfast table, still lost in thought. No sooner was she settled than he started pacing again, though this time with a piece of toast in his hand.

"We're meeting with the Ardalonian ambassador today," he said, crunching as he paced. Isabelle watched him, her own appetite lost in her concern for the toll his new title was taking on him.

"Perhaps we ought to delay that meeting for a day or two. You need to rest, Graham," she said, her chair scraping against the floor as she made to stand. Torn from his thoughts by her movement, he sighed, yanking the chair opposite her out and collapsing into it.

"There isn't time to rest," he sighed, serving himself from the spread of breakfast before them. "Callum Winters went to Ardalone and I know it wasn't by coincidence. He has family in the New World and yet he chose to flee south. I've been trying to set up this meeting for nearly a week, which is what has me worried. The other ambassadors were falling all over themselves to meet with me, now that word of the king's condition has spread. But not Ardalone..."

"Should I speak with Sam? Try to find out if Callum has dared to plot again?" Isabelle asked. That weary smile tugged at Graham's lips before it disappeared once again.

"Let's see how the meeting goes, shall we?" he said, not meeting her eyes as he pushed his breakfast around on his plate.

With a sigh, Isabelle forced herself to eat, if only so she wouldn't worry. It was the first time Graham had shown any sort of hesitation, any real concern about what was to come next. Normally, as exhausted as he was, he'd use their breakfast to share with her his plan for the coming day. That he had done nothing but express concern had Isabelle's stomach squirming.

When the time for their meeting finally arrived, Graham led her towards a quiet study in the royal apartments where the Ardalonian ambassador was already waiting for them. Outside, the winter wind howled and, despite the roaring fire in the grate, the chill in the room was palpable. The knot in Isabelle's stomach tied even tighter when the ambassador barely rose from his chair to bow to Graham.