The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)

Chapter 7

Isabelle hesitated, hoping the prince would take her hint and return to Cora for his first dance, but Graham waited calmly, his hand still extended while the rest of the royal court looked on. His green eyes were amused, watching her intently with something mischievous in his gaze.

"Forgive me, Leo," Isabelle thought with a sigh, not bothering to wipe the sour look from her face as she took Prince Graham's hand to rise.

When their hands met, she felt a little jolt of surprise that his were warmer and softer than she'd expected. She was used to the cool, calloused hands of her betrothed and she didn't much like that some part of her was pleasantly surprised by the feel of Graham's skin against hers. Silencing that traitorous part of her mind, Isabelle twisted her hand in Graham's ever so slightly, lifting her ring so that Leopold's diamond glittered in the chandelier light. Graham glanced down at it, cocking an eyebrow.

"That is an exquisite ring," he said, leading her towards the center of the ballroom. Around them, more men entered the dance floor to pull the other debutantes from their curtseys. Isabelle noted with relief that Cora was one of the first to secure a partner, the dashing Samuel Winters, son of Kentshire's neighbour, Lord Winters, offering her his hand. Isabelle had known Sam since they were children and the Northerner was easily one of the most sought after men in the room. He was titled and rich, but Cora wouldn't care about any of that because he wasn't a prince. Winning Sam's first dance wouldn't appease Cora in the least and Isabelle wondered whether Prince Graham's foolish choice would irreparably damage their friendship.

"Yes, Prince Leopold has exquisite taste," Isabelle replied, pulling her eyes from Cora to watch the prince's reaction to her barb. But rather than sneer, Graham's lips twitched as the ghost of a grin flitted across his face.

"I wholeheartedly agree," he said, running an appreciative gaze from her bosom to her waistline and back again as the music started. "It truly is a shame your father is so intent on wasting such fine Kentshire blood on Germanian swine."

Graham held fast to her fingers as she attempted to yank them away, insulted. Appearances be damned, she wasn't about to dance with someone who made such uncouth remarks about her father or her fiancé. Something glinted in his green eyes as she struggled and Isabelle guessed it was the laughter he hadn't allowed to escape his lips. The music started and, despite her struggles, the prince swept her up into a waltz, expertly leading her around the dance floor.

"I know I speak for the entire court when I say we are grateful that you would deign to grace us with your presence," he continued, "I'd always hoped to get a look at Leopold's prize cow before he carted you off to Germania."

Isabelle bristled, aborting her struggles to better glare up at the prince as they waltzed. She gritted her teeth as he drew her in closer, closing the distance she'd attempted to keep between them. She hadn't liked the way her skin had tingled at the touch of his fingers and she liked even less the way his green eyes were glittering with mischief as they held her gaze.

"I'd have thought your mother would teach you better manners than to liken your debutantes to livestock," she said, "I'm sure Leopold won't take too kindly to you implying he's a pig and I'm a cow either."

The prince laughed outwardly this time, his eyes dancing as he relished her anger. Isabelle could already feel her temper rising, longing to wipe the smirk from the crown prince's face. Now she knew why her father had warned her to stay away from the crown prince: he was the type of man who liked to taunt and torment and drawing his attention, especially when mired in as sticky a situation as Isabelle's, a debutante who was already engaged, was far from wise.

"Isn't that what you all are though? Daintily dressed chattel, sent here to steal my heart so your family can profit?" he asked. Isabelle ground her teeth, looking anywhere but at her dance partner. 

"In case you weren't aware, I am not here by choice," she said, "And I would look upon it as an act of great mercy if you were to send me home since I am already spoken for."

"But I've just chosen you for my first dance," Graham replied, clearly fighting a grin in attempt to seem serious, "Which, in case you weren't aware, means that you are now my first choice among all the young ladies here."

"I am betrothed to Leopold of Germania, which should disqualify me as a debutante," Isabelle said, repeating the very same argument that hadn't worked for her father against the king's request for her presence. Graham laughed, drawing even more looks from the dancers around them.

"Perhaps you ought to give life at our palace a try before you resign yourself to becoming a Germanian brood mare," he said.

"I'll thank you to stop comparing me to livestock!" she managed through gritted teeth, her temper fraying.

"Now why would I do that? You have no idea how entertaining it is to watch your colour rise when I liken you to cattle. Tell me, did Leopold entice you with bales of sweet grass? Or perhaps he promised you your very own field of clover for grazing?"

"I pity your future wife," Isabelle snapped, "What savoury title do you have in mind for her? Sow regent, perhaps? Have you enough room in your stables to pen her ladies-in-waiting as well?"

"Oh no, darling, you're thinking of your future home, Rhysalia. Only the highest ranking nobles get private paddocks there," Graham said, the endearment souring Isabelle's expression even further, "Which means that you, as queen, might be so fortunate as to get a whole barn to yourself. What a lucky girl you are."

"Insult them all you like, but at least my Germanian prince would never imply that a lady is a cow," Isabelle said, pulling as far away from the prince as the hold of the dance allowed.

"If you believe that, then now I'm even more convinced that you know woefully little about him," Graham chuckled.

"I know he's above stuffing a little boy down a well," Isabelle snapped. But rather than wipe the smile from his face, her words only caused the prince's grin to grow.

"Ah, so he's still spreading that dreadful lie, is he?" Graham mused, "Pity that he has the story all wrong. You should join me in the gardens and I'll regale you with the true tale."

"You are the most insufferable person I have ever met," Isabelle said, once again leaning as far from him as she could. She'd leap from the tallest tower before she'd be caught in the darkened gardens with the loathsome crown prince of Pretania.

"Wonderful, I'll add yet another title to my name. Crown Prince Graham of Pretania, heir to the throne and most insufferable of gentlemen. Mind that you spread that around, yes? It will certainly help your chances of winning me if the other debutantes think I'm horrible," Graham said, tugging her in close as the dance crescendoed to its finish, "Because don't think you'll be escaping home any time soon, Miss de Havilland."

When the music ended, Isabelle took an abrupt step away from him, tearing herself from his arms.

"Good evening, your Highness," Isabelle managed, her anger boiling over as she dipped a stiff curtsey before turning on her heel and storming from the ballroom. She didn't care that the queen was glaring from her throne, nor that Violet was shooting worried looks her way. Cora was likely fuming and she knew there would be a price to pay for having stolen Prince Graham's first dance, but Isabelle was too enraged to care. Let them talk and let them gossip because none of it would matter when Leopold returned.

As she dashed up the entrance hall stairs back towards her suite, she hated that there were tears pooling in her eyes. Curse that damned king for compelling her here and curse her father for not allowing her to marry Leopold to prevent this whole mess. Curse Leopold for leaving without her and curse her own terrible luck for having been chosen by Graham for his first dance.

As she thought of the arrogant crown prince, she blinked away her frustrated tears. Now was not the time for crying, it was the time for planning, for she had to get away from this place, quickly. After having suffered through a mere dance with the prince, she wasn't sure she could endure the next few months in the palace, awaiting Leopold's return.

Slamming the door to her suite behind her, Isabelle slid down to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest as her mind spun, attempting to concoct a plan that would free her from Highcastle Palace without raining the king's wrath down upon Kentshire.