The rest of the long Midwinter night faded away in a whirl of dancing and congratulations. Graham hadn't left her side until Isabelle's travel fatigue caught up to her. Rather than sneak away surreptitiously, however, the royal fanfare heralded her departure on Graham's arm, his grouchy mother accompanying them as they left through the same doors that they'd used to enter the ballroom as a newly betrothed couple.
He'd escorted her back to her suite, his hand warm around hers as they walked through the quiet palace. Ever the pragmatist, Graham briefed her quickly about what awaited her tomorrow as they walked. The High Council would meet after breakfast and remain in session until the end of the day or until they reached the end of the proposed agenda, whichever came first. Graham warned her to choose her battles, as plenty of the lower-ranking members would likely try to use her new rank and power to sway decisions their way.
"As much as I know that you can stand on your own, you have but to look at me if you ever find yourself floundering," he said, lifting her hand to chastely kiss it farewell at her door. Much to Isabelle's dismay, a good number of debutantes had decided to leave the ball when they did, lurking in the hallway as their jealous eyes watched the prince bid goodnight to his betrothed.
"What of Lord Winters?" Isabelle asked, fighting down her annoyance that the nosy debutantes had stolen their chance for a goodnight kiss.
"All I ask is that you follow my lead," Graham said, his eyes dropping to her lips to let her know that he shared her disappointment. "As soon as the council is concluded, I'll see to finding you more suitable living arrangements."
A pleasant thrill swirled in Isabelle's stomach at his smile, his green eyes dancing as he released her hand.
Sleep came easily, but morning dawned far too quickly. Lissa woke her early enough to give her time to wash, dress, and eat before the council was called into session. Isabelle's footsteps echoed in the empty palace hallways as she steeled herself for what she would face in the council room. She'd timed her arrival so that she wouldn't be forced to wait too long in the company of her father's old friends before the session started, eager to avoid their condolences until after she'd faced the intimidating council and whatever it held in store for her.
When the footmen opened the heavy double doors to admit her, she maintained her composure when all the eyes in the room turned towards her. She'd had Lissa dress her in her finest black mourning gown, once again taming her hair into a stern, demure knot at the base of her neck. She wore no jewels, save for the sapphire ring on her fourth finger. She couldn't afford to look like a frivolous, brainless thing to these men, something she hoped to convey through her matronly attire.
The men exchanged looks as she crossed the room towards the ornate chair emblazoned with the De Havilland family crest. Memories of her father nipped at the edges of her thoughts, but she forced them away, refusing to let them crumble her composure. Thankfully, she was served with a distraction rather quickly: across the table, Callum Winters' eyes had widened as they settled on her ring.
His eyes had barely had time to jump to hers, betrayal and anger simmering in their blue depths before the doors to the royal apartments opened. Isabelle rose along with the other lords and dukes, her stomach twisting as they muttered between themselves when Graham strode out alone, assuming his father's seat. His face was a stony mask, his eyes daring them to question him.
"Before you plague me with questions," Graham said, remaining standing so that the rest of them were forced to do the same. "The king is unable to join us this morning."
Across the table, the oldest man there let out a grumbling huff, slamming his cane on the marble floor.
"Unacceptable!" he grumbled. "This is a session of the King's High Council, not the crown prince's!"
A few other lords muttered their agreement, Lord Winters among them. Isabelle's eyes bounced back to Graham, but clearly the prince had been prepared for this.
"His Majesty is dying," Graham said, his voice loud enough to drown out the murmurs and command the attention of the room. "Which means that you ought to grow accustomed to the idea of me leading these meetings. Is that quite understood, Duke Carveston?"
Isabelle's eyes snapped back around to the older man, instantly recognizing the name of one of the men her father had found the most irritating on the High Council. Archibald Carveston, the Duke of Islingbury, was her father's western counterpart, ruling a territory that stretched from Umberwood's northwestern border all the way to the villages to the west of Highcastle. According to her father, he was a stubborn old man who had clawed and grasped at whatever measure of power he could get hold of. He and King Charles had gotten along splendidly, their penchant for taxation to fund their lavish lifestyles building a bond between the two of them.
Isabelle had no doubt that the old codger would prove difficult that day.
"Quite, your Highness," Duke Carveston said, his bushy white moustache twitching as he pursed his lips. "Though I propose that a discussion of the king's current state of health be immediately moved to the top of this session's agenda."
"Excellent suggestion," Graham agreed, his green eyes nothing but cold fire as he turned his gaze to a handsome man a good decade older than him, sitting two seats away from Isabelle. "Lord Amberly, the floor is yours."
Lord Hadrian Amberly stood with an easy grace, his face only just beginning to show the weathered lines from his years of travel to the farthest reaches of the world. He nodded to the prince as Graham sat, the rest of the council following suit. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Lord Amberly cleared his throat as he unfolded a letter.
"As you all know, of late I have made several journeys to the New World and the Far East. The purpose of those journeys had been to search for a remedy for the king's condition, on the orders of the king and the crown prince."
"And what condition is that?" Duke Carveston put in from the opposite end of the table.
"Cancer of the stomach," Graham said, fixing the Duke with a stern look for his interruption. "Go on, Hadrian."
"The remedy that the king has been using for the past year very recently ceased being effective," Lord Amberly continued. "After a visit to Ardalone to consult their leading physicians and many letters to my contacts out East, it appears that there are no further treatments left to help slow the king's sickness."
The whispers grew into barks of incredulity as the reality of the king's impending death dawned on the faces of the highest ranking nobles in the country. Isabelle was busy watching Callum Winters, her heart thumping hard when Lord Winters gave a subtle nod to Duke Carveston. She looked to Graham in a panic, longing to warn him that Winters was about to make his move, but her prince seemed to have already noticed, his expression darkening as he surveyed the room.
When the grumbles had finally abated, Lord Amberly cleared his throat once again, calling the rest of them to attention.
"His Majesty has known that this day would come for some time," Hadrian went on, smoothing the letter out on the table before him. "Which is why he entrusted me with the task of ensuring His Royal Highness Prince Graham's smooth ascent to the throne. As a result, King Charles has decreed that he will name his son Prince Regent of the Kingdom of Pretania."
The room went so still that Isabelle didn't dare to breathe, her eyes darting around the room to gauge the reaction.
"No," Callum Winters said. Isabelle's stomach dropped.
**A/N: Dun dun dun...here comes the coup! I'm hoping to have the next chapter up ASAP, but I'm writing and editing so fast that I might have missed some errors/typos. Please let me know if you spot any and, as always, please don't forget to vote and comment if you enjoyed it!**
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The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)
Historical Fiction**The Season Series Prequel (#0.5)** Isabelle de Haviland is hopelessly in love with Prince Leopold of Germania. Fortunately for her, the dashing foreign prince is her betrothed, thanks to a decade-old marriage treaty signed by her father, the Duke...
