It had been a very near thing, arriving on time. Isabelle had torn through the streets of Highcastle, racing against the clock and all the delays they'd faced on the road. Lady Winters had not been as frail a traveller as they had expected, which meant that they'd only been able to overtake the Umberwood party much closer to Highcastle than Isabelle had hoped.

She, Lissa, and her guards had arrived at much the same time as the carriages for the ball, which had clogged the palace courtyard and had pushed Isabelle to the brink of losing her mind with frustration. In the end, she and Lissa had abandoned their horses with her guard, snatching up a palace footman to haul her belongings up to her old suite for her.

The one thing that seemed to have gone right was that a fire was happily crackling in the grate of her old debutante suite, chasing away the chill and helping hasten her preparation for the ball. She'd barely stepped into her dress when the music started playing, lilting wisps of a waltz floating up to them from the ballroom. It had ignited a new sense of urgency in Isabelle as thoughts of Graham's letter spurred her to hurry. She'd washed and changed out of her travel clothes into her ball finery as quickly as she could. Lissa had hastily combed back the mess of her hair into a chignon, but Isabelle didn't much care what she looked like, so long as she was presentable. In an act of defiance, she'd removed the ribbon around her neck hiding her scar, choosing to wear only her family tiara as jewels.

With a final glance at the clock, Isabelle had stifled a yelp, rushing from the room. The clocktower chimed eleven as she ran, her corset digging into her ribs as she sprinted as quickly as her heeled slippers could carry her. The hallways were dark and empty, all the light and life of the palace concentrated in the ballroom, where Graham was waiting for her.

She hoped she wasn't too late.

Skidding to a halt in the entrance hall, she caught her breath as she waited for the herald to announce her. Still panting, she craned her neck to search the sea of nobles, hunting for the head of sandy curls as her name was announced. Panic mounted inside of her when she noticed the queen sitting alone on her throne, her eyes racing over the assembled guests until finally, finally landing upon the one she'd come for.

She couldn't help but smile at the look on his face. As he turned away from a shocked Henrietta Barclay, it took all of her willpower not to dash down the steps and throw herself into his arms. The space vanished between them as the crowd parted before him while she descended the stairs.

Graham looked every inch the prince that evening, in a white formal jacket with glittering gold buttons. A crimson sash cut across his broad chest to match his crimson trousers, the golden royal insignia pinned at his chest.

But what stopped Isabelle's heart in a most spellbinding way was not his attire, but the look in his green eyes: it was the very same one he'd worn in Kentshire, that windy dawn atop the castle ramparts.

"Good evening, Isabelle," he said, bowing before her.

"Good evening, Graham," she said, curtseying. She was utterly unable to fight her smile, the tug in her stomach narrowing the world to nothing but the two of them.

"Does this mean that you have an answer for me?" he asked, unable to tear his eyes from her face, a sight he'd missed so sorely it was almost painful.

"Yes," she said, that ravishing smile growing, her blue eyes thawed and warm.

His hand was halfway to his pocket before the next words left her perfect lips.

"But there's something I need to tell you first," she said.

His hand stilled as he felt himself lean away from her, the ring suddenly as weighty as a brick in his pocket.

"And that is?" he asked slowly, aware that every inch of his body had gone taut as he awaited her reply. Whatever relief he'd felt had vanished, caution etched into every line of his body.

"Not here," she whispered, shooting a glance towards the ball guests standing within earshot.

He'd tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow and turned on his heel before he even really knew where he was taking her. It was as if his mind had ceased functioning, stalled on the fact that her answer had been "yes, but..."

They skirted the crowd, whispers following the pair of them as they walked in silence, Graham forcing himself to slow his pace so she could keep up in her ballgown and slippers. He heard the audible gasp from his mother atop her dais when he shoved open the door to the old palace and dragged Isabelle through it.

They hurried silently through hallways until the chilled, humid air of the winter garden bit into his skin as he held the door open for her. The entire time, his heartbeat had been thundering so loudly that he wondered if she could hear it. She paused in her tracks, a gasp escaping her lips at the sight of the starry winter sky through the climbing vines twining around the glass-domed greenhouse.

"So?" was all Graham could manage, his heart splintering at how perfect she looked when she turned her face towards the moonlight. If she was about to say no...

He didn't dare to even think it.

Isabelle had been so caught up in the beauty of the room that she'd forgotten why he'd brought her here in the first place. Her fingertips were dancing against the petals of a rose when he spoke, reminding her of why she'd come. Glancing over at him as if just remembering he was there, her eyes softened and Graham wondered whether the dread and despair hardening around his heart like armour were the harbingers of heartbreak.

She was about to say no, there was no escaping it. She hadn't wanted to say anything in the ballroom so she wouldn't embarrass him. Perhaps she still cared enough for him to grant him that favour, but either way-

"Lord Winters is inciting a rebellion."

Of all the words he'd expected to hear, it was not those.

"Pardon me?" he said, blinking dumbly in the silence.

"He's going to spread word when he arrives for the Midwinter Council tomorrow. He tried to recruit me and I played for time, but I thought you deserved to be warned as soon as possible," she continued. "He's going to blame you for releasing Leopold to rally the nobility and he's going to use your father's taxes to incite the commoners."

Graham continued to blink at her, his mind still stalled.

For the first time in his life, he couldn't bring himself to push aside the longing clawing through his soul to discuss politics.

"Graham?" Isabelle asked.

Rebellion. Lord Winters. Taxes. Leopold. Nobility. Commoners.

The words swirled around his head as his mind attempted to fit them into place, but it couldn't. Not when Isabelle's mother's sapphire ring was weighing in his pocket. Not when she was looking at him with genuine worry, her brows furrowed with concern.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He closed the space between them in a few brisk strides, tipping her head back to kiss her.

There was no way around it. His mind had mounted a mutiny, refusing to function without an answer. He needed to know whether she had come back for him or for the sake of the kingdom. For that one moment, nothing, not even treason, was more important than finding out whether her answer was "yes" or "yes, but."

He hadn't needed to worry.

After a brief, frozen moment of surprise, her arms wound around the back of his neck, shattering the tension that had been mounting within him since dawn. She was here. She wanted him. The rest of the world could wait while he kissed the woman he loved.

"Marry me, Isabelle," he said breathlessly, resting his forehead against hers. She laughed.

"Have you listened to a word I've-" she started, her eyes dancing with amusement as she ran her fingers down his cheek. He interrupted her by sinking to a knee, his hand finally diving into the pocket where her mother's ring sat patiently, waiting for this exact moment.

The words stilled on her tongue as her eyes landed on the sapphire ring. Her mother's ring. The one she'd thought she'd lost during her escape to Kentshire. Tears sprang into her eyes as she looked back up at the prince, the conniving, arrogant prince who'd somehow found her most prized heirloom and was now offering it to her as a promise of love and commitment.

"Where did you-" she started again, her voice little more than a whisper.

"I love you, Isabelle, that's all that matters," he said, his green eyes burning in the moonlight. "Will you do me the incredible honour of becoming my wife?"

"Of course," she breathed, smiling as the tears rolled down her cheeks, all the tension sweeping from Graham's face. Gone were the stony shields of a king and, in their place, was unfettered hope. When he rose, he swept her up into a kiss, lifting her off her feet to twirl her around the winter garden. The scent of roses swirled around them, heady and intoxicating as they kissed, laughing together in the moonlight.

**A/N: We're racing towards the end, lovely readers, and I hope you've enjoyed the ride! Unfortunately this chapter ended up being twice as long as I'd anticipated...but the good news is that you can look for another update with the second half later today/tomorrow (depending on where you are in the world :D). 

As always, if you enjoyed this one, please take a moment to vote and comment! :D**