"How did you find me?" Isabelle demanded, the poker quivering before her as Prince Graham closed the door quietly behind him. He cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her makeshift weapon, sighing as he strode towards one of the side tables.

"A pair of little birds witnessed you fleeing your suite," he said, pulling a matchbook from his pocket to light a candle. "And I found it most bizarre for a fire to be flickering in this window as I strolled through the gardens."

"Did Alicia share any savoury news once you'd plied her with kisses outside?" Isabelle demanded. She bit her tongue as soon as the words had slipped out.

"You certainly do the poorest job of concealing your jealousy," Graham mused, touching the flame of the first candle to a myriad of others littered about the room. As he circled, Isabelle kept the poker firmly pointed in his direction.

"I am not jealous, only disgusted," Isabelle shot back.

"Really? Because to me, it certainly sounds a great deal like jealousy," Graham said, setting down the candlestick as he turned to face her. "Now, are you really planning on bashing me over the head with that or can we have a civilized conversation devoid of weaponry?"

"I'd like you to leave me alone," Isabelle said through gritted teeth.

"No," Graham said simply.

They glared at each other in the flickering, golden firelight as the flames of a dozen candles sent shadows dancing across the walls.

"Why?" Isabelle asked finally, lowering the poker.

"Because you're stuck in a daydream and you refuse to wake up," he replied.

"Perhaps I enjoy that daydream and I don't want to be woken up," she said.

"Would that we could all exist in a happy delusion, though in your case that presents quite a problem," Graham said, slowly sauntering away across the room, his hands clasped behind his back. Isabelle took advantage of his movement to sidle towards the door, abandoning the poker.

"And what problem is that?" she asked. He spun around to face her, freezing her in her tracks. She was still too far from the doorway.

"That you're too busy dreaming to open your eyes and notice what's going on around you," Graham said. "You've been at court for over a month now. Have you learned anything useful beyond the usual, meaningless court gossip?"

"I've learned that you're a pig," Isabelle offered. He rolled his eyes, unamused.

"The king has been in session with his closest advisors for the better part of a week. Do you have any idea why?" he continued. The flickering light was dancing off the jewels in his coronet in a most distracting way.

"I haven't the faintest clue, nor do I particularly care," Isabelle said.

"You should," Graham said. "Of all the people at court, you're the one who stands to gain or lose the most because of what's being discussed in such meetings."

"So I'm supposed to trust that you have the faintest idea about what I want?" Isabelle demanded. Graham's lips curled up at the corners as he advanced towards her, his hands still clasped behind his back. He moved slowly, deliberately, like a cat stalking its prey, his steps the only sounds in the firelit silence surrounding them. The medals pinned to the sash that cut across his broad chest winked as they reflected the dancing flames of the candles.

"I know a great deal more than you do about what you should want," he said, running his eyes over her. "For one, you are a little girl besotted with a very dangerous man, something you still fail to understand."

"I am not besotted, I'm betrothed," Isabelle fired back, her hands curling into fists in the folds her skirts as she resisted the urge to slap him. He deserved it, but she was acutely aware that they were alone. It was already far beyond proper and antagonizing a man in such a situation would not help her escape any faster. She didn't dare test how Graham would react to such a move, as she wasn't entirely sure that it would be with a smirk and scathing comment.

"Betrothed by an agreement that your father clearly regrets," he said, plucking up a tiny globe to examine it before setting it down again and resuming his advance across the solar towards her.

"He regrets nothing!" Isabelle snapped, backing around a love seat to put a piece of furniture between her and the prince she so longed to strike. The urge was growing as he dared to speak of her father as if he were a doddering old fool. Of course her father didn't regret her betrothal. If he had, he would've delayed...

Isabelle paused in her retreat as her stomach plummeted to the floor.

"Then why did he send you to Highcastle and not to Ardalone with your husband-to-be? Why did he never allow you to visit Germania?" Graham asked, his green eyes glittering in the candlelight as he asked the very questions she was asking herself.

"Because marrying Leopold would be tantamount to a declaration of war, something my father has never wanted but your father has openly threatened!" Isabelle managed, spitting out the first excuse that came to mind. Her fists remained curled as she rounded on the advancing prince. Graham cast an amused look down at them before meeting her eyes once again, that taunting half-grin still in place as if he was daring her to make use of them.

"Marrying Leopold would turn you into no more than a brood mare for Germania," Graham said. "Marrying me would turn you into a queen."

Isabelle couldn't help but bark a bitter little laugh.

"I'd rather marry a turnip farmer than marry you," she said. Graham's head reeled back ever so slightly, the amusement vanishing from his face as he studied her, those kingly shields up behind his green eyes once again.

"You still don't understand, do you?" he asked, shaking his head as he watched her. The cold metal of Leopold's ring was biting into the flesh of Isabelle's fingers as they remained clenched together.

Enough. Enough of these mind games and manipulations. She was going to end this once and for all.

"No, you're the one who doesn't understand," she said, advancing angrily towards the prince. "You compelled me here to prove your power over my family. You neglected to send me home when I asked and you kept me here despite my desire to be anywhere else in the entire kingdom. I know you're playing with me and I've had enough of it, Graham!"

His name on her lips seemed to have the same effect on him as it did on her. It was the first time she'd ever said it alone, without the title preceding it, and suddenly the space between them was too close, the heat of the room too intense as her cheeks flamed scarlet.

To Graham, however, it was a sound he hadn't expected he'd enjoy so much. Feisty Isabelle de Haviland, cheeking him by using his given name. If he had had any doubts about it before, he knew it now: this woman could never marry the cold, brutal, selfish prince of Germania.

Because he wanted her for himself.

He took another step towards her, but this time she didn't back away, defiantly holding his gaze. There was an edge of fear in her eyes and he didn't blame her, for had she been anyone else, she would have reason to fear him after addressing him so informally.

But not Isabelle.

"Let me go home," she said, her voice little more than a whisper as the prince paused in front of her, so close that their breath might have mingled if she hadn't been holding hers.

"I think not," he said.

Before she realized what he was about to do, before she could lift either of her clenched fists, Graham's thumb was tracing her cheek as he brought his face down to hers. She went rigid, expecting something rough and demanding like Leopold's kisses, but Graham's lips on hers were gentle, almost teasing. Her hands flew up to push him away, but once they'd settled on the firm curves of his shoulders, she couldn't bring herself to break free. The feel of his mouth had stilled her protests with a searing dart of heat through her stomach.

She didn't want it to stop.

When he pulled away, she realized with a flood of shame that she wanted him to do it again. It must have been written all over her face because Graham's grin returned, his face just inches from hers.

"I'll wager that a turnip farmer couldn't kiss you like that," he said, his green eyes spellbinding. She swallowed, hating herself even more when her gaze fell to his lips.

"I'll wager he wouldn't either," she said, yanking her hands back from his shoulders. "Because that was horrific."

"Horrific?" Graham repeated, amused. He bit his bottom lip if only to draw her attention back to it, relishing the blush that crept up her cheeks once again. "Perhaps I ought to try again so I can convince you otherwise."

A delighted shiver ran through her at the thought of kissing him again before some logical part of her mind roared in protest. Horrified by her own treachery, she backed away from him.

"You forget that I am spoken for," Isabelle said, thrusting Leopold's diamond up and into Graham's face. He laughed as he seized her by the wrist, tugging her towards him. Isabelle's heart was hammering as his hands found their way around her waist, his fingers running along her bodice in such a way that all she could think about were his lips, once again just inches from hers.

"I forget nothing," Graham said, running his eyes over her face. "Especially when it has to do with you."

He leaned down again and this time Isabelle didn't bother trying to resist. It was futile, especially with the way he held her, his hands warm even through the many layers of her dress. This time he was more insistent, but once again nothing like the bruising kisses she'd grown accustomed to from Leopold. His mouth played with hers, gentle, coaxing, taunting, as his tongue darted out to taste her. Blinded by the heat rising in her middle, she forgot whose arms she was in, running her hands up around his neck to pull him closer. But where Leopold's hair had been long enough to run her fingers through, Graham's was short, too short, the contrast yanking her from whatever spell his kiss had been working over her.

This time she did push him away, breathlessly staggering backwards until she caught herself against an armchair. They stared at each other in silence, Isabelle's mind spinning with a thousand shameful thoughts as he grinned at her, amused by the after-effects of his kiss.

She needed to leave. She needed to flee from this infernal palace and its devious prince before he twisted her mind so thoroughly that she'd never be able to look at Leopold again. Already the mere thought of her betrothed filled her with a flood of guilt. Amidst all the chaos whirling around her mind, her father's words surfaced as she silently stared down the prince.

Please remember that many men would see you as little more than land in a skirt...

That was why he'd kissed her. It was nothing more than another move in his game. Graham wanted Kentshire and he was going to use whatever means necessary to keep it, even if that meant seducing her away from Leo and imprisoning her here in his palace. Her crumbled resolve began to piece itself back together as she pushed away from the armchair, brushing off her skirts and lifting her chin.

Graham's kisses, no matter how they set her stomach to tumbling in a delicious, giddy way, would never eclipse the promise that Leopold had made to her. The Germanian prince had vowed to love and cherish her as his future wife, to protect and nurture Kentshire alongside her, as her family had for centuries.

"Have a good evening, your Highness," Isabelle said frostily, dipping a curtsey before striding past him to the door. Graham watched her go, the smile fading from his face at the ice in her eyes.

He'd watched the thoughts race across her face as she straightened, the flustered, blushing girl vanishing as she built up her walls once again. When she'd curtseyed, it had been the future Duchess of Kentshire bowing before him - the cold, calculating woman who was decidedly immune to his charms. He'd allowed her to leave, for anything else he said or did would be powerless against whatever she'd told herself to shake the blush from his kisses and freeze her eyes to ice once again.

Except now, there was a crack in that wall of ice. He hadn't been imagining it when she'd kissed him back, the feel of her hands running up his neck into his hair sending a hot flush of longing through his body. Some part of her had wanted to be kissed by him, opening a chink in her impenetrable armour. Such a discovery had been a long time in coming and knowing that he'd finally been able to break through to the girl beneath the frigid facade was somewhat of a comfort. But any triumph he might have felt was soured by the knowledge that it was not yet enough to tear her away from her blind allegiance to Leopold and the years of groundwork the other prince had painstakingly laid to gain her trust.

As the door snicked shut behind her, Graham wished that he'd been truly able to read her mind, to find out what she'd told herself to shut off those blue eyes so quickly. Whatever it was, he'd find some way to defeat it, to chase those thoughts from her head. Kissing her had certainly worked like a charm and, as much as he'd have enjoyed doing it again, he very much doubted that the frosty future duchess would allow him within an arm's length any time soon. His mouth curved down as the thought crossed his mind, aware of how difficult it would be to corner her alone now that he'd made such a move.

Lowering himself into the very same armchair she'd used to catch her balance, Graham attempted to comfort himself with the knowledge that, at long last and at the very least, he'd uncovered one of the indomitable Isabelle de Haviland's weaknesses.

**A/N: I feel like this author's note should just be a bunch of eyebrow-wiggle emojis after a chapter like this hahaha. I hope you all enjoyed it! We're hurtling towards the end now, though I still have a few twists and turns in store for you. How much longer do you think Isabelle can hold out? And what do you think Leopold will do if (when? mwahaha) he finds out about all this?

As always, please remember to vote and comment if you enjoyed it! :D**