THE HEIRESS
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EPISODE 31
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From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
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 blus-hed furiously at how much she’d
enjoyed him crushing her against the palace
wall with his kis-ses. Leopold’s kis-ses had
been thrilling enough since they’d been her
first, but those kis-ses 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 kis-s 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
bu-tterflies 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 ba-rely 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
blus-hed 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 for-ced 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.
More than a friend , whispered that same
traitorous voice in her head.
“Isabelle?”
She jumped, turning to where Violet was
hesitating a few paces away. Her friend’s
worried eyes were on her, only for Isabelle to
notice Byron loitering in the next room. He
gave Isabelle the tiniest of bows behind
Violet’s back, anger blooming in Isabelle’s
mind to drown out the hurt and confusion.
“Do you finally have permission from Cora to
speak to me?” Isabelle asked, rising and
smoothing out her skirts. Violet swallowed,
looking so miserably guilty that Isabelle had to
beat down the urge to gather her friend into
her arms and apologize for her harsh words.
She couldn’t be nice to Violet, not while Byron
was watching. As much as it would hurt for her
to shun her friend, especially now that Violet
had sought her out to speak to her, it was the
only way she could still try to drive Byron
away. The only reason he was interested in
Violet was because of her proximity to
Isabelle. Making it seem as if she was no
longer interested in their friendship might be
her only way to save Violet.
“Byron noticed that you looked lonely. He
suggested I come sit with you,” Violet said, her
expression softening at the mention of the
shipping heir. Isabelle’s resolve galvanized into
a cold, steely desire to shove Byron off a cliff.
“Then perhaps he should’ve come to entertain
me,” Isabelle said, hating the damage her
words were doing to their fragile friendship.
Violet’s brows crashed together as she shot an
involuntary look over her shoulder to where
Byron was making a great show of inspecting
a painting.
“Why have you grown so cruel?” Violet asked.
“First by stealing Cora’s prince, now-”
“Cora’s prince?” Isabelle demanded. “Is that
what she’s been telling you? That I’ve
somehow stolen Graham from her?”
“You’re not wearing your ring any more,” Violet
pointed out. “You told us both that you weren’t
here to catch a husband, but now you’re the
prince’s favourite and you sent away your
betrothed when he came to take you home.”
“He almost beat me, Violet!” Isabelle said,
ba-rely managing to control her voice.
“He’s your betrothed, Isabelle!” she fired back.
“Are you even listening to yourself?” Isabelle
demanded.
“I could ask the same of you! You know how
long Cora has been daydreaming about Prince
Graham and instead of helping her with him,
you chose to take him all for yourself!” Violet
replied.
Isabelle stared at her friend and realized that
no matter what she did now, it was futile.
Violet could not be saved because she would
never believe Isabelle’s truths over Cora and
Byron’s lies.
Hating herself for what she was about to do,
Isabelle prayed that someday Violet would
un-derstand.
“I see you’ve turned into one of Cora’s arch
little minions, just like the rest of them,”
Isabelle snapped. “I remember that day your
lady-in-waiting closed the door in my face, the
day after my maid had her eye blackened by
Leopold so it wasn’t my face he struck. I will
remember this day, too, Violet. I’ll remember it
as the day you finally turned into the pathetic,
guileless pawn your father always thought you
were. How disappointing you are.”
The words his their target so squarely it might
as well have been a dagger to her best friend’s
heart. Violet took a step backwards, her eyes
welling with tears.
“That’s right, run along to Byron and listen to
his honeyed nonsense words,” Isabelle said,
her stomach so nauseated at her words that
they almost wouldn’t come. “He’ll say anything
to win your father’s lands and bountiful coffers,
all the better to finance his shipping empire.
You’ve done a spectacular job of setting
yourself up for a marriage exactly like your
parents’, though if Byron leaves you in peace
by the seaside I daresay it’ll be so he can
parade his mistress around Highcastle in your
stead.”
Violet fled. She let out a keening wail as she
ran, stumbling over her skirts in her haste to
throw herself into Byron’s arms. Isabelle held
the shipping heir’s gaze, willing herself not to
shake or vomit from the horror of what she had
done to one of her dearest friends. But the
way Byron was staring at Isabelle, a mixture of
anger and incredulity on his face as Violet
sobbed in his arms, confirmed that perhaps
Isabelle’s last effort might work. He’d chosen
Violet because he’d thought that Isabelle would
become the next queen of Pretania, so
marrying her best friend would bring him closer
to the royal family. If Violet and Isabelle were
no longer friendly, Violet would not be nearly
as valuable to Byron.
Which means that you think you’re going to
marry Graham , that dark, wicked corner of
Isabelle’s mind trilled with glee. Shoving that
thought to the back of her head, Isabelle to-re
her eyes away from where Byron was leading
Violet out, attempting to calm her as Cora
rushed over. Byron said something that had
Cora flinging the most vicious of glares
Isabelle’s way.
Resuming her seat, Isabelle fought the urge to
cry out, instead loosing a silent, desperate
scream in her head as she sat there, still as
the statues around her despite the turmoil in
her head.
Isabelle remained staring at the tragic painting
of Alistair and Mysthena until the rest of the
debutantes began to file back towards the
carriages. She waited until most of them had
left, joining a group of straggling ladies-in-
waiting whose names she had never bothered
to learn. They whispered amongst themselves
the entire way back, shooting questioning
looks Isabelle’s way. Isabelle ignored them,
choosing instead to watch the glittering town
homes of the capitol’s nobles float by in the
moonlight.
Cutting throu-ghthe giggling and gossip filling
the entrance hall, Isabelle hastened to her
room, certain that if Cora managed to corner
her alone, she’d be on the receiving end of a
sound tongue-lashing. Normally, Isabelle
would have welcomed the chance to square off
against the willowy blonde for throwing Violet
into the arms of the waiting wolf, Byron, but
that familiar weariness had settled over
Isabelle once again.
She sque-ezed her eyes closed to fight the
swirling thoughts in her head, tugging open her
suite door. She leaned her head back against
the solid wood as she closed it behind her,
relishing the relative silence of her suite. It
wouldn’t last long, especially since she’d
pa-ssed Alicia and the twins in the entrance
hall, the three of them gossiping with Henrietta
Barclay’s ladies-in-waiting. A fire crackled in
the hearth, the soothing sound a balm for her
worn nerves. She inhaled the familiar scent of
the room before pushing away from the door.
“The museum couldn’t have been that terrible.”
Isabelle let out a little yelp, her eyes flying
open to land on the crown prince. Seated on
her love seat, still dressed in his formalwear
with his hands folded behind his head, he
watched her with a cheeky glimmer in his
green eyes.
“Is there nothing else for you to do in this
infernal palace besides pester me?” Isabelle
asked by way of greeting, as Lissa came over
to collect her fur stole and satin gloves. Her
maid whispered an apology as the prince rose,
a grin tugging at his cheeks.
“Hardly. Though I fear my head may have
turned to mush after tonight’s dinner
conversation,” he said, appreciatively looking
over her de-eper blue satin finery. “The future
Ardalonian queen is quite beautiful, but quite
stupid.”
“Thank the heavens you aren’t a diplomat, or
we’d be at war,” Isabelle said, awkwardly
hesitating in the middle of the room as Lissa
quickly stowed her things. The silence that
stretched between them was interrupted when
the suite door banged open, Alicia’s cackling
laugh preceding the trio of ladies-in-waiting as
they swooped into the room.
“Did you really make Violet Harwood cry?”
Alicia demanded archly, before halting in her
tracks. One of the twins slammed into her, the
pair of them staggering forward as the other
twin seized her sister’s arm in surprise. The
three of them managed to sink curtseys, the
smug look on Alicia’s face replaced by cold
calculation as her eyes hopped from Isabelle
to Graham and back again.
“I daresay that whether Isabelle made anyone
cry is none of your business,” Graham said,
fixing the nosy lady-in-waiting with a
dangerous, kingly glare. “Which reminds me,
Alicia, my mother is having you rea-ssigned in
the morning. I suggest you start packing your
things. Laura and Marjorie can help you.”
“We’re being rea-ssigned?” one of the twins
asked, still gripping her sister’s arm. Graham’s
glare softened ever so slightly.
“Not you, Laura, nor your sister,” he said
kindly. “You two are far too valuable. Alicia,
however, is not. Now run along, you three.”
Lissa took her cue from the prince, fluttering
over to usher the three ladies-in-waiting to
their room. Alicia’s breath was coming in
ragged gasps, her ne-ck flushing puce as Lissa
herded her away.
“Is she really being rea-ssigned?” Isabelle
asked, watching as Lissa jammed a
handkerchief into the keyhole to hinder any
spying eyes before returning to the seat she’d
been occu-pying near the dining table
“Yes, she’ll be gone in the morning,” Graham
said, tearing his eyes from the bedchamber
door to look at Isabelle.
“Why?” she asked warily. A smile tugged at his
cheeks, but he ignored her question.
“As I was saying earlier, I fear my head might
have turned to mush thanks to the endless
monotony I endured during dinner. I thought
you might help me sharpen my thoughts with a
game of chess,” Graham said, gesturing to the
floor before the fireplace. He took a step aside
to reveal that he’d set up a shining marble
chess set between twin piles of pillows.
Isabelle’s eyes leaped from the chess set to
the prince as she debated whether she had
enough mental energy left to spar with him.
Noticing her hesitation, Graham tilted his head,
none of the arrogance in his gaze as he
watched her.
“It seems you had a long night too. At least
allow me to try to distract you from whatever
has you chewing your cheek like that?” he
asked gently. It was a tone she had never
heard from him, one that sent her stomach
swooping pleasantly again as he extended a
hand to her.
“I fear I won’t be much of a chess partner
tonight,” Isabelle said without thinking, utterly
distracted by the warm feel of Graham’s
fingers around hers as he helped her settled
herself among the pile of pillows. Her heart
was hammering in her che-st as he flopped
down across from her, a lock of hair spilling
deliciously over his face. Her eyes followed his
fingers as he pushed it back into place, the
tension sprung as ti-ght as a bowstring
between them.
“Ladies first,” he said gesturing to the board,
but Isabelle had already seized a pawn and
jumped it forward. A smile flitted across his
face as he countered her move, blocking the
aggressive opening she’d attempted.
“Was the museum as dull as usual?” Graham
asked eventually, breaking the silence that had
stretched between them. It was as if she’d
forgotten how to talk to him now that he wasn’t
antagonizing and sparring with her.
“It was fine. The company was rather lacking,
but the paintings were beautiful,” Isabelle
admitted.
“I seem to recall you were supposed to be
touring a new exhibit of statues and sculptures,
not paintings,” Graham said, a smile tugging at
the corner of his mouth.
“As I’d said, the company was lacking, so I
wandered off by myself and found most
remarkable Alistair and Mysthena piece. It’s a
shame it’s buried so far in the back, the poor
lighting didn’t do it justice,” Isabelle said.
“I hadn’t guessed that you would be one to
enjoy art,” Graham mused, looking down at the
board as he pondered his next move.
“Why, because I’m from a backwoods duchy
like Kentshire?” Isabelle asked, incorrectly
guessing that he was trying to bait her. He
glanced up at her, amused, before he seized
one of her pawns with one of his.
“No, because you’ve been groomed since you
were young to run a duchy. Appreciating art is
not usually a requirement for such a position,”
he replied. He leaned back to survey her as
she attempted to study the board, unable to
focus on the chess pieces when he was
watching her. Just when the heat had started
to creep into her cheeks, he spoke again.
“Viewing paintings…is that what you would do
to fill your time if you had the choice?” he
asked.
“You mean spend all my days indoors,
wandering throu-ghmuseums?” Isabelle asked,
fighting a snort. “Absolutely not, they’re far too
stuffy.”
Graham smiled in earnest this time. “And yet
you seem to quite enjoy the upstairs solar,” he
chuckled. “What would you prefer to do
instead, then?”
She paused, contemplating both her next move
and that he’d noticed how often she frequented
the sunny reading room before replying.
“If I’m being honest, I’ve never really given
much thought to what I’d do with my time. I’d
always been so certain that my life would
follow a predestined path that I’d never
stopped to consider what I really wanted,” she
said.
Some part of her was screaming in protest at
her honesty, at how dangerous it would be to
open up to a man like Graham. But the
combination of the crackling firelight and the
way he was watching and listening to her as if
she was the most interesting thing in the entire
world had crumbled whatever defenses she
had left against him.
“Has that changed?” Graham asked. She lifted
her eyes to meet his and something tugged at
her core, that swooping feeling swirling around
her stomach again.
“I think so,” she replied. He dropped his eyes
back to the board, picking up his queen to
seize one of Isabelle’s bishops.
“Check,” he said.
She moved a pawn to block his queen’s path
to her king. He took the pawn, undeterred.
“Check, again,” he said. She captured his
queen with another pawn, reaching over to
hand it back to him. His fingers lingered on
hers, his green eyes glittering as he set the
queen to the side of the board. Behind them,
Lissa let out a delicate snore, her head
slumping forward while her needlework sat
forgotten in her lap.
“Have you ever wanted to do anything besides
become king?” Isabelle asked, as he moved
one of his knights to threaten her pawn. She
retaliated by threatening it with her rook.
“I haven’t allowed myself the luxury of such
thoughts,” he admitted, moving his other
bishop onto the field.
“But you must have dreamed of becoming
something outlandish at least once during your
life,” Isabelle said. “When I was younger, I
spent an entire winter season fantasizing about
becoming a ballerina.”
The weight of the memory hit her like a brick
and she immediately regretted bringing it up.
She swallowed down the lump that had risen
into her throat, clumsily moving a knight if only
to distract from the tears she was frantically
attempting to blink away.
“I wanted to become a privateer,” Graham
said. He chuckled when Isabelle looked up at
him in surprise.
“Besides the fact that the crown now considers
them criminals, my dreams came crashing
down around me when I discovered that I
suffer from terrible seasickness.”
“The infallible Prince Graham of Pretania
suffers from something as mundane as
seasickness?” Isabelle asked, amused.
“Alas, I am but human,” Graham said, a rueful
smile quirking the corner of his mouth. He
held her gaze as he reached down to the
chessboard, jumping his knight back towards
his pawns.
“Checkmate,” he said, his bishop a single
move away from taking her king. Isabelle
slumped back in defeat.
“I warned you,” she said, yawning. “I never
have been very good at thinking several moves
ahead.”
“On the contrary,” Graham said. “I think you’re
absolutely splendid at thinking several moves
ahead. It’s one of the things I enjoy most
about you.”
That tug twisted in Isabelle’s stomach yet
again, heat rising in her cheeks that had
nothing to do with the fire in the hearth beside
her.
“What else do you enjoy about me?” she asked,
seizing upon that same reckless boldness that
had gotten her pressed up into a darkened
corner the evening before.
“Your wit. Your determination. Your
intelligence,” Graham said, a delicious half-
smile on his face as he leaned closer to add,
“That you decided to stay.”
Isabelle hadn’t realized that she’d been leaning
closer and closer to him as they spoke, their
breath mingling as they each hovered over the
chessboard.
“I want to kis-s you again,” Graham whispered,
his eyes dropping to her li-ps.
“I’d like it if you did,” Isabelle said.
She was so sure that he was about to lean in
and close the space between them that she’d
closed her eyes in preparation, only for them to
fly back open as the clocktower chimed
midnight. She reeled back from Graham, who
was still watching her with those glittering
green eyes of his as the spell broke.
“Goodness, is that the hour?” Lissa said,
leaping up from her chair. “My lady, we should
get you to bed.”
“Yes, I think so,” Isabelle agreed, blinking away
the heady stupor that had overtaken her as she
fli-rted with the prince over the chessboard.
Graham pushed himself to his feet wordlessly,
the ghost of an amused grin on his face as he
offered Isabelle a hand. She took it, her skin
tingling at the feel of his warm fingers around
hers.
“You aren’t wearing your ring,” Graham noted,
lifting her hand to kis-s it. His li-ps lingered
longer than they should have, but Lissa made
for a poor chaperone, too preoccu-pied in
flitting around the room, tidying up, that she
hadn’t noticed.
“I’m a woman of my word,” Isabelle replied.
She felt Graham’s li-ps lift into smile against
her hand before he released her.
“Goodnight, Isabelle,” he said.
“Goodnight, Graham,” she replied.
To be continued…..