The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)

Chapter 37

"You must hide," Marcus whispered, attempting to rush Isabelle towards the service corridor. Sam had placed himself between her and the door, his sword ringing as he drew it from its sheath.

"Isabelle please, I only want to talk. I can help you," Leopold said, his voice muffled by the door.

"He's lying," Marcus hissed, sensing Isabelle's hesitation. They'd made it halfway across the room when the service door opened, a pair of burly Germanians blocking their path. Sam whirled around, roaring a warning, only to freeze in his tracks as the bedchamber door was kicked open behind him.

In his bed, the duke groaned and all the pain in Isabelle's heart congealed into rage.

"For the love of all that's holy, you will sheathe your weapons in my father's presence!" Isabelle roared, whirling around to face Leopold. "Call off your men at once, before I consider this invasion an act of war!"

The foreign prince, whose expression had been nothing but schooled surprise from the moment one of his henchmen had broken the lock, gestured to his men in the service corridor. Once again, steel sang as their swords slipped back into their sheaths. Sam Winters, however, remained coiled like a spring, his knuckles white around his broadsword as he kept his eyes trained on Leopold.

One wrong move and Isabelle had no doubts that the northerner would attack, which would inevitably result in Leopold's men massacring the rest of them. But if she could keep Leopold from acting rashly, if she could lie to him and convince him that she hadn't really meant what she'd said in Highcastle, perhaps she could prevent him from resorting to violence.

The room teetered on a knife's edge, her father's coughing the only sound cutting through the tension.

Inhaling to steel herself, Isabelle marched across the room towards Leopold. She would not cower in her own castle, nor would she accept so many armed men in her dying father's bedchamber. She'd chosen her words carefully, well aware that the suggestion of a declaration of war would give Leopold sufficient pause to allow her to take control of the situation.

Praying that she'd learned enough of Graham's tricks, she forced an expression of annoyance onto her face, burying her fear and sadness to better play the role that might save all of their lives.

"You dare break down my father's door?" she demanded, poking Leopold in the chest. He stared at her, that same surprise on his face.

"Forgive me...I thought..." he began, but she shoved past him, throwing open the door to her father's study.

"Isabelle," Sam said, a warning in his tone.

"He wants to talk, then we will talk. But like civilized people in my father's study, not like savages with swords over his deathbed!" Isabelle snarled. Leopold blinked while Sam swallowed. The prince eyed the northerner warily as he passed him, following Isabelle towards the study.

"Marcus, you mind this door and fetch someone to sort this all out. Sam, you mind the hall," she said, fighting down the panic that clawed at her throat as Leopold approached her.

But she would not let that show. She would play the part of angry, conflicted, mourning daughter. She would throw herself, sobbing, into his arms if she must, even if it made her skin crawl. Anything to buy enough time for Marcus to alert Sam's men and give her some chance of ridding her castle of this pestilence of a prince.

Isabelle had no idea how many men Leopold had with him, nor how he'd managed to get them onto the castle grounds, but she'd leave that to the estate agent in the bedchamber and the warrior in the hallway to figure out. She had no time for such worries, not when Leopold was gently closing the study door behind him, as if to make amends for his earlier entrance.