Duke Francis died two days later.

Isabelle had insisted that they at least try to wring what they could of the antidote from the rug in the duke's study, but it was not enough to save him. Sam and his men had chased the Germanians through the castle, but Leopold had used the secret passages and service corridors to evade them. Had the foreign prince been foolish enough to attempt an escape through the main courtyard, he would have come up against the full brunt of Lord Callum Winters' men. Unfortunately, it seemed that the Germanians had warned him in time, allowing Leopold to instead slip out a back door, where his minions awaited him on horseback.

Desperate for an antidote, Isabelle sent all the Kentshire men she could muster after him. Unfortunately for her, the extent of Leopold's plotting was confirmed when her cavalry, supplemented by Lord Winters' men, came up against a sizeable line of Germanian troops stationed mere miles from Inverloch. Marcus confirmed that his scouts had been monitoring their movements, but that they seemed to have marched in the night, sprouting up as suddenly as dandelions in the rolling fields on the Kentshire side of the Germanian border.

Thankfully for Isabelle, Marcus, Lord Winters, and Sam took on the task of dealing with the Germanians and preparing the castle to defend itself, allowing her to spend every waking hour with her father.

Duke Francis deteriorated quickly, unable to speak, eat, or drink without coughing up thick, sticky gobs of blood. Isabelle remained by his side, holding his icy hand and mopping the sweat from his brow even once he slipped into the too-still sleep of the dying. Father Hammond arrived to perform his last rites at dawn of her second day at home and the duke slipped into the afterlife shortly thereafter. Isabelle had known he was gone before the healers did, his fingers giving hers one final squeeze before the duke loosed his final, rattling breath.

Isabelle shrouded herself in black for his burial, which took place with little delay, as was the custom in the north. While the castle prepared for the funeral feast and the townsfolk donned their black armbands, Isabelle, Sam, Lord Winters, and the other Kentshire nobles that had arrived in time braved the early winter winds for the castle graveyard.

As her father's coffin was lowered to the sound of Kentshire bagpipes, Isabelle couldn't help but wonder whether she'd made the right decision. She could have saved his life by sacrificing her own, but marrying the monster that had murdered her father was unthinkable. She'd throw herself from a cliff before she tied herself to such a man for the rest of her life.

Perhaps it was selfish of her to not even have considered Leopold's offer, but she knew that her father would never have forgiven himself had he lived only to see her carried off to Germania as Leopold's brood mare.

So she'd stood there and watched her father's coffin disappear into the ground, buffeted by the wind as a hole opened inside her heart. A hole filled with cold, empty, soul-crushing loneliness. He was gone. The only man she'd ever loved was gone. She'd never hear him laugh again. They'd never square off over his study desk again. She'd never get to learn what he thought of whomever she decided to marry...

The wind hissed through the dead grass of the frozen graveyard, all the other mourners save for one having long since returned to the warmth of the castle. Sam Winters lurked beside the graveyard archway, using the stone as cover against the wind, watching over her as he had since the moment they'd left Highcastle Palace. He stood as silent and still as a statue, his back turned to grant her some privacy.

The howling wind wasn't enough to hush the mournful sound of the bagpipes that still echoed in Isabelle's head, even though the pipers themselves were long gone as well. It whipped the shawl from her hair, as it had throughout the ceremony, tugging at her heavy black mourning dress as it twisted around her ankles. It had dried her tears, whisking them away before they could track down her cheeks as she stared at the mound of black earth covering her father's casket.

She'd gotten to say goodbye, but not in the way she'd hoped. She'd hoped he'd be alive to walk her down the aisle at her wedding. She'd hoped he'd be alive for the birth of her first child, so he could bounce the little wonder on his knee and coo like an old hen.

She'd hoped he'd be alive.

The tears started anew as she sank to her knees, pressing her gloved hands against the soft mound of earth.

"Oh Papa," she sobbed. "I miss you already."

So she cried. She cried her heart out for the man that had raised her, the man she'd fought with and loved with all her heart, the only man she'd ever really trusted. He was gone now and she would be forced to face the cruel world alone, for the rest of her life.

Or until she married.

The wind tore at her shawl again and she forced the thought from her head. She'd think about the mess she was mired in tomorrow. For now, she wanted to spend what little time she could with her father before the cloudy day darkened into night.

So she lay back against the black mound of earth until her sobs abated and the wind howling in her ears somewhat numbed the hole in her heart. When the grey afternoon light began to fade, she rested her hands against the earthen mound once more, whispering her goodbyes to her father as she rose. She brushed away what little dirt the wind had left behind on her skirts, fighting down her sorrow and pain so she could walk into the great hall as the new duchess, not a dirt-stained little girl.

She'd taken barely two strides back towards the castle when a cloaked figure detached itself from one of the graveyard trees. Halting in her tracks, Isabelle looked towards the archway for Sam, but the big northerner had disappeared. Seeing her hesitate, the stranger pulled back his hood.

Isabelle blinked in surprise when she was met with a head of sandy curls.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, the cold nearly setting her teeth to chattering as she approached where Prince Graham waited for her on the path back towards the castle.

"I came to pay my respects," Graham said, glancing towards the grave, but not moving out of Isabelle's way. She said nothing, holding his green-eyed gaze.

"It's two days' hard ride from Highcastle," Isabelle said flatly, "So I very much doubt that you're here solely on my father's behalf."

That little spark of admiration flitted across his face before he looked away, towards the bare-branched trees surrounding them.

"I followed you," he admitted finally. Isabelle, too tired for such games, stepped around him.

"At least do me the courtesy of clapping me in irons after the guests have departed," she said darkly. "For that is the only way I'll ever return to Highcastle."

He caught her arm, his hand warm through the icy layers of her mourning dress.

"I'm not here to arrest you," he said. "I followed you because I wanted to ensure you arrived safely."

"That sounds like a load of hogwash, especially from the man who locked me in my room to keep me in Highcastle," she snapped. But she found she was unable to shake off his hand, the warmth too welcome for her frigid skin.

"I shouldn't have done that, I-" he started.

"You're right, you should have helped me!" Isabelle said, glaring at him.

"I was trying to help you-" he said, only for her to cut him off again.

"By allowing your father to deliver that news? By ordering your guards to haul me away like some criminal?" she demanded. "You have some nerve, coming here at a time like th-"

"I'm the only reason you even reached Inverloch," Graham said, raising his voice if only to cut her off.

"Samuel Winters is the only reason I reached Inverloch," Isabelle snapped.

"Then ask Sam why he rushed you away from your camp outside Dunwood," Graham persisted. "My father sent an embarrassingly large cohort of men to bring you back. I headed them off and ensured that you kept running, by having my scouts nip at your heels whenever Sam slowed."

Isabelle glared at him, searching his green eyes for the truth. But Graham's face was not shuttered as he looked at her, no hint of duplicity to be found. For the first time since she'd met him, he seemed genuinely troubled and upset, all traces of his trademark arrogance wiped away.

"I'm sorry," Graham said, his eyes finding hers. "For everything."

Isabelle swallowed. Then shivered.

"I should return to the feast," she said. But before she could set off again, Graham had removed the ermine-lined cloak from his shoulders to drape it around hers. He fell into step beside her, their boots crunching along the frozen path. Isabelle tried not to savour the warmth, her shoulders relaxing into the soft lining of the cloak. It was a simple gesture, but it was so decidedly unlike the cold, calculating prince who had locked her away from her father...

She wouldn't think about that now.

They walked in silence until they reached the entrance hall, Graham pulling open the door before her.

"Feel free to enjoy the feast," she said, returning his cloak. Even the air inside the castle was chilly, biting into her shoulders when the warmth of Graham's cloak left them.

"Thank you," he said, bowing to her before she walked away. Over Isabelle's retreating shoulder, Graham exchanged a look with Sam Winters, who was leaning against the far wall, apparently having waited for them.

Graham had followed the group of mourners, keeping his distance until all the others had left. When Isabelle had sunk to her knees beside her father's grave, he'd been unable to stay hidden, lurking between the gnarled old trees. Sam had nearly throttled him when he'd approached, but somehow Graham had found the words to convince the northerner to let him be the one to watch over Isabelle instead.

Graham had a feeling Sam knew just how instrumental the prince had been in ensuring their safe, unhindered arrival in Kentshire.

He watched Isabelle pause in the middle of the entrance hall, her eyes straying towards the great hall, where the feast had begun without her. The quiet sounds of the mourners floated through the marble-floored hall and her shoulders slumped before she turned towards the stairs.

She was tired, so tired. She would face them all tomorrow. She couldn't face the burden of accepting their condolences and smiling as they reminisced about her father. Besides, they'd all turn up tomorrow for the second day of feasting, Marcus could tend to them tonight. She took the stairs wearily, climbing towards her bedchamber. Resting a hand against her father's closed door as she passed it, she fought back tears once again before seeking the sanctuary of her childhood bedroom. She leaned back against the door, her eyes closed as she savoured the silence, before something creaked.

She let out a little yelp when she realized that she was very much not alone.

**A/N: Once again, apologies for the cliffhanger! It was as far as I got with writing this one before real life came calling and I had to run back to work...so I figured a cliffhanger was better than no update at all! That being said, who do you think is waiting in her room? What about Graham, do you think she believes him? As always, if you enjoyed it, please don't forget to vote and comment! **