The next morning, Isabelle awoke with a start. She'd fallen asleep as soon as she'd pulled the covers over herself, so exhausted that her mind hadn't had the energy to mull over the day's events. It was a blessing, as she'd surely not have slept much if she'd gotten to thinking of Prince Graham and that shadowy corner of the terrace.

As it was, she pulled a pillow over her head as she blushed furiously at how much she'd enjoyed him crushing her against the palace wall with his kisses. Leopold's kisses had been thrilling enough since they'd been her first, but those kisses had always been on his terms. He'd started them and he'd ended them, never seeming to care whether Isabelle was interested or not. Last night, Graham had kept his distance with admirable restraint, waiting for her either to kiss him or push him away.

He'd allowed her to decide, something that Leopold had never bothered to do.

Later that day, when she'd buried herself in a book, obediently attending the queen's afternoon salon, Isabelle told herself that the butterflies in her stomach upon seeing the prince stride into the room were solely because of the turmoil in her head and the leftovers from last night's "negotiation." She'd gotten the information that she'd needed from him, which she was thankful for, especially as Sam Winters had not appeared for breakfast or luncheon. She couldn't bring herself to ask Cora about him, not when the pretty blonde kept smiling like the cat that got the cream as she chatted with the other debutantes.

Acutely aware that she'd read the same sentence at least a half dozen times, Isabelle finally admitted defeat and allowed her eyes to wander where they wanted. The prince had leaned down to whisper something into his mother's ear, the queen's eyes roving the room until they settled on Isabelle. The queen turned to her son, saying something to him in a whisper before returning her attention to the ladies-in-waiting around her. Graham didn't dally in the room, instead crossing back to the door and barely acknowledging the few debutantes that dared wave or call out in greeting to him.

He did, however, pause in the doorway before he left, that arrogant grin on his face as he met Isabelle's gaze and bent forward ever so slightly into a semblance of a bow. She blushed as her eyes dove back onto the page of her book, only this time the heat in her cheeks was mirrored by a pleasant swoop in her stomach.

That evening, Isabelle spent the majority of her time at the museum viewing alone, wandering the exhibits to avoid the other debutantes. Sam Winters was again nowhere to be found and Violet hadn't left Cora's side. Isabelle's once-friends had arrived arm-in-arm, Cora's vicious gaze finding Isabelle where she loitered by the entrance. She whispered something to Violet, who at least had the good grace to frown and pull away, darting a glance Isabelle's way, but Cora brushed off her reaction and steered Violet towards where Henrietta was holding court.

Byron Fletcher appeared some time later and Cora finally released Violet so she could peruse the exhibit with the shipping heir. Feeling sick that Cora had the gall to push Violet into Byron's deceptive arms, Isabelle fled into a less crowded part of the museum, taking a seat on a bench before a great painting of Alastair and Mysthena. Her eyes travelled over the painting, devouring it if only so she wouldn't lose herself to the thoughts swirling in her head.

She was trapped. Trapped in this infernal city while Kentshire was in turmoil. Trapped in a place where lovely, quiet girls like Violet were thrown into the arms of wicked beasts disguised as courtiers. Trapped in a place where her two best friends wouldn't speak to her and the only friend she had left at court seemed to have disappeared.

Not your only friend, some devious part of her mind protested.

Wrenching her eyes from Alastair's handsome face, she forced them upwards to where his uncle was aiming for Mysthena. She wouldn't think of Graham as a friend. An ally, perhaps, but not a friend.

More than a friend, whispered that same traitorous voice in her head.

"Isabelle?"

She jumped, turning to where Violet was hesitating a few paces away. Her friend's worried eyes were on her, only for Isabelle to notice Byron loitering in the next room. He gave Isabelle the tiniest of bows behind Violet's back, anger blooming in Isabelle's mind to drown out the hurt and confusion.

"Do you finally have permission from Cora to speak to me?" Isabelle asked, rising and smoothing out her skirts. Violet swallowed, looking so miserably guilty that Isabelle had to beat down the urge to gather her friend into her arms and apologize for her harsh words. She couldn't be nice to Violet, not while Byron was watching. As much as it would hurt for her to shun her friend, especially now that Violet had sought her out to speak to her, it was the only way she could still try to drive Byron away. The only reason he was interested in Violet was because of her proximity to Isabelle. Making it seem as if she was no longer interested in their friendship might be her only way to save Violet.

"Byron noticed that you looked lonely. He suggested I come sit with you," Violet said, her expression softening at the mention of the shipping heir. Isabelle's resolve galvanized into a cold, steely desire to shove Byron off a cliff.

"Then perhaps he should've come to entertain me," Isabelle said, hating the damage her words were doing to their fragile friendship. Violet's brows crashed together as she shot an involuntary look over her shoulder to where Byron was making a great show of inspecting a painting.

"Why have you grown so cruel?" Violet asked. "First by stealing Cora's prince, now-"

"Cora's prince?" Isabelle demanded. "Is that what she's been telling you? That I've somehow stolen Graham from her?"

"You're not wearing your ring any more," Violet pointed out. "You told us both that you weren't here to catch a husband, but now you're the prince's favourite and you sent away your betrothed when he came to take you home."

"He almost beat me, Violet!" Isabelle said, barely managing to control her voice.

"He's your betrothed, Isabelle!" she fired back.

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Isabelle demanded.

"I could ask the same of you! You know how long Cora has been daydreaming about Prince Graham and instead of helping her with him, you chose to take him all for yourself!" Violet replied.

Isabelle stared at her friend and realized that no matter what she did now, it was futile. Violet could not be saved because she would never believe Isabelle's truths over Cora and Byron's lies.

Hating herself for what she was about to do, Isabelle prayed that someday Violet would understand.

"I see you've turned into one of Cora's arch little minions, just like the rest of them," Isabelle snapped. "I remember that day your lady-in-waiting closed the door in my face, the day after my maid had her eye blackened by Leopold so it wasn't my face he struck. I will remember this day, too, Violet. I'll remember it as the day you finally turned into the pathetic, guileless pawn your father always thought you were. How disappointing you are."

The words his their target so squarely it might as well have been a dagger to her best friend's heart. Violet took a step backwards, her eyes welling with tears.

"That's right, run along to Byron and listen to his honeyed nonsense words," Isabelle said, her stomach so nauseated at her words that they almost wouldn't come. "He'll say anything to win your father's lands and bountiful coffers, all the better to finance his shipping empire. You've done a spectacular job of setting yourself up for a marriage exactly like your parents', though if Byron leaves you in peace by the seaside I daresay it'll be so he can parade his mistress around Highcastle in your stead."

Violet fled. She let out a keening wail as she ran, stumbling over her skirts in her haste to throw herself into Byron's arms. Isabelle held the shipping heir's gaze, willing herself not to shake or vomit from the horror of what she had done to one of her dearest friends. But the way Byron was staring at Isabelle, a mixture of anger and incredulity on his face as Violet sobbed in his arms, confirmed that perhaps Isabelle's last effort might work. He'd chosen Violet because he'd thought that Isabelle would become the next queen of Pretania, so marrying her best friend would bring him closer to the royal family. If Violet and Isabelle were no longer friendly, Violet would not be nearly as valuable to Byron.

Which means that you think you're going to marry Graham, that dark, wicked corner of Isabelle's mind trilled with glee. Shoving that thought to the back of her head, Isabelle tore her eyes away from where Byron was leading Violet out, attempting to calm her as Cora rushed over. Byron said something that had Cora flinging the most vicious of glares Isabelle's way.

Resuming her seat, Isabelle fought the urge to cry out, instead loosing a silent, desperate scream in her head as she sat there, still as the statues around her despite the turmoil in her head.

**A/N: Poor Violet! Do you think Isabelle did the right thing? Was there any other way to get through to her without hurting her?  As always, if you enjoyed it, please don't forget to vote and comment!

YOU ARE ALL THE BEST READERS I COULD EVER ASK FOR!!! I honestly have no words to describe how humbled, flattered, touched, and emotional I get when I think about all of you and all the love you continue to show me. ❤️❤️❤️ Keep being awesome, all of you :)

Now, back to writing! Because you all deserve it :)**