The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)

Chapter 40

"Good evening, Isabelle," Leopold drawled, not bothering to rise from where he sat, sprawled across her favourite armchair. Isabelle's eyes darted among the five men gathered in her room, her hand reaching behind her for the doorknob. Father Hammond was staring at his feet, his folded hands concealed by his sleeves as one of Leopold's cronies hovered menacingly behind him. The other two advanced towards her at a gesture from Leopold.

She managed to reach the door handle before two pairs of strong arms lifted her off her feet and away from escape. A scream rose in her throat, only to be cut off as one of them clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her backwards. She scrabbled against his hold, biting and scratching as best she could, but Leopold's men had come prepared. The pair of them wore heavy leather gloves against which her teeth and nails were useless. Panic bubbled up inside her as one of Leopold's men locked the door, tossing the key to the foreign prince.

"Now now, love," Leopold said, slipping the key into his pocket as he tipped back the dregs of a wine goblet. "There's no need for such a fuss. I offered you the easy way the last time we spoke, but it seems you've chosen poorly."

As her eyes darted to Father Hammond, his skin pale against the dark vestments he'd worn for the funeral, Isabelle's panic threatened to overtake her. There could only be one reason Leo wanted a priest and three witnesses in her room...

Think, Isabelle.

It was Graham's voice in her head, the same calm, chiding tone he'd used when they'd walked together in the gardens all those weeks ago.

Going slack, she sniffled, channelling all her panic into tears. As she cried, Leopold gestured to the man holding her. As soon as he released her, she crumpled to the floor in a puddle of dark mourning skirts.

She fought down her panic once again as she noticed the pile of discarded, bloody Winters livery in the corner. That must have been how they'd gained entry to the castle...

"Did you come to gloat about how you could have saved him? About how Germanian medicine is superior to ours?" she sobbed, tearing her eyes away from the tartan stained with innocent northerners' blood.

Let him think that she wasn't intelligent enough to have figured out it was Leopold who had poisoned her father. Let him think that she was still that pathetic, mewling, lost little girl...

"Darling, I offered you salvation and you attacked me," Leopold said, standing. Isabelle's entire body tensed as he approached. She fished a handkerchief from her pocket to cover her face, her mind racing to formulate some sort of plan.

She needed the key. She needed to get out of this room before Leopold succeeded at whatever it was he'd come here to accomplish. She needed to distract him. There would be no overpowering the other men in this room, not even with Father Hammond's help. What she didn't have in brute strength, she would have to make up for with wiles.

"Can you fault me? My father was dying and you held the cure!" she sniffled. "An honest, righteous man would've allowed me to heal my father and then bother with negotiating a marriage!"

"Your father was in my way," Leopold said, standing over her. "He of all people should have known what happens to people who get in my way."

It was as good as an admission of guilt, which meant that he no doubt realized she'd come to that conclusion on her own. Her heart hammered in her ears as she tipped her head back to look up at him.

Leopold was smiling.

He was smiling down at her like the victor surveying his prize.

But Isabelle was not a prize.