The high council meetings dragged on and on, gridlocked as Duke Carveston challenged Graham at every turn. Isabelle's patience had worn thin by the end of the second day, but Graham didn't appear to least bit tried or annoyed by the older man's constant opposition.

"He's a nightmare!" Isabelle fumed that evening, when she met up with Graham outside the council chambers. The prince had spent his final few minutes in whispered discussions with other lords as Isabelle waited, the growling in her stomach only worsening her frayed temper.

"He's Archibald Carveston, it's to be expected. Besides, he's going to abhor the changes I'm planning, so it's best to let him get this out of the way now," Graham said, unfurling Isabelle's icy fingers from the fists she'd been clenching since luncheon. His grip was warm around hers, his lips caressing the backs of her hands. Meeting his loving, green gaze, all the frustration and pent-up anxiety from facing off against the contrary Duke Carveston slid from her thoughts.

"I have a surprise for you," Graham said finally, after Isabelle's sigh had released the tension in her stomach.

"A dinner as delicious as last night's?" she asked, thinking back to the spread of food that had awaited her in her suite the evening before. Graham had escorted her back after the council had retired, the debutantes glaring in jealousy through cracked doors as they passed. Lissa had been awaiting them, once again playing the grinning chaperone when Graham slid into the seat across from Isabelle to spend the evening in her company.

"Better than that," Graham said, his lips twitching up in a most devious grin. Her curiosity piqued, Isabelle allowed him to lead her away from the debutantes' wing and deeper into the palace. The darkened hallways remained a maze despite the amount of time she'd now spent living in Highcastle, the dark grey stone of the walls the only hint that they'd entered the old palace.

"I told you that I'd find more suitable living arrangements after the council," Graham said as they walked, finally pausing before a rather unremarkable door. "But I find that my patience with the debutantes' wing has waned. After you, my love."

Fixing him with a questioning look, Isabelle opened the door and stepped into a room that made her debutante suite seem like that of a pauper. It was decorated in golds and blues, at least twice the size of her old suite. A set of double doors to the right opened to the bedchamber, a massive canopy bed dominating the far wall. Across the sitting room, a pair of glass doors stood closed, the frost tracing delicate patterns in the moonlight between the heavy navy drapes. A fire roared in the grate, chasing the chill from the room as Isabelle ran a hand over the carved wood of the loveseat armrests.

"Do you like it?" Graham asked, his hands in his pockets as he sauntered in behind her.

"Did you think I would say no?" Isabelle asked, fighting to keep from laughing. Of course she loved it. Blue was her favourite and if it meant she didn't have to endure the debutantes' tittering giggles through the walls any longer, she'd have gladly slept under a pantry shelf.

Thankfully, such an opulent suite was far better than a pantry shelf.

"I'd hoped not," Graham said, coming up behind her to wrap her in his arms. Isabelle leaned back into him, savouring the feel of him nuzzling her neck.

"Good evening, your Highness and your Grace!" Lissa trilled, suddenly appearing from the bedchamber. Isabelle jumped, but Graham held on to her, directing a lazy smile at her maid. When he didn't release her mistress, Lissa folded her arms and fixed Graham with a stern glare. She was opening her mouth to say something else when Graham's arms loosened, his hand lingering on Isabelle's back.

"Good evening, Lissa," Graham said, still grinning. "I must commend you on being a most excellent chaperone."

Lissa pursed her lips, dipping a curtsey as a thank you.

"Your dinner has been served in your sitting room, your Highness," Lissa said. "I will join you momentarily once I've finished arranging Her Grace's closet."

"Oh I hardly think that's necessary," Isabelle said, fighting a grin when her maid huffed in disapproval.

"I most certainly-" Lissa began, before Graham glanced down at Isabelle and the pair of them laughed.

"I suppose our wedding can't come soon enough," Graham said, slipping his arm around Isabelle's elbow. He turned her away from the bedchamber, towards a door in the opposite wall, opening it to usher her through.

The adjoining suite was decidedly more masculine, decorated with dark woods and deep greens. A table was set for two in the middle of the room, another bedchamber just beyond. Between the windows, bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, while a large desk covered with papers and sealed envelopes sat tucked in the opposite corner.

"Is this...?" Isabelle started, her eyes roving the room. It was very decidedly Graham's, everything from the decor to the crisp, organized efficiency of the desk reminiscent of him.

"Far more convenient than fetching you from the debutantes' wing each morning? Yes," Graham said, pulling out a chair for her as a butler waited patiently by the wall. When she sat, Isabelle couldn't help but shoot a pleasantly surprised glance behind her, towards the door connecting to her suite.

"Sadly, Lissa has taken ownership of the key," Graham leaned down to whisper, following her gaze as his lips caressed the skin behind her ear. "But at least I'll know that you're close."

Isabelle's heart set off at a gallop, fervently wishing that the infernal high council would conclude so she could commence her wedding planning. When Graham sat down across from her and their dinner was served in the candlelight, she realized that the hunger she felt was not from her stomach, but from her heart.

They conversed while they ate, Graham preparing Isabelle for what she would face during her third day of council. Lissa had entered sometime between their soup and their main course, quietly assuming a seat in the corner to supervise the pair of them.

Once their last dishes were cleared, she allowed Graham to give Isabelle a chaste kiss on the cheek before ushering her mistress into her own suite. Longing roiled in Isabelle's stomach when Graham's eyes had held hers until the door had closed between them. In an attempt to distract her mind from the man who now slept so nearby, Isabelle watched her maid with amusement as Lissa locked and double-checked the door between the suites.

"It's for your own good," she said, waggling her finger at Isabelle when she noticed her watching. "Until you're married, I will not allow my duchess to compromise her reputation!"

"You needn't fret," Isabelle chuckled. "I have a feeling that day will come soon enough."

Lissa continued her clucking as she helped Isabelle prepare for bed, checking to be sure that the door was still locked before retiring for the night. Staring up at the canopy, a deep sense of contentment took root in Isabelle's heart. For the first time in a long time, she fell asleep feeling safe and loved, something she hadn't thought possible so soon after her father's passing.

~*~

The next morning, a weary, travel-worn Sam Winters strode into the council session shortly before luncheon. He assumed his father's seat, warily eyeing each of the men in the room and studiously ignoring Isabelle. Try as she might to catch his eye, he remained staring at either Graham or Duke Carveston, intently following their debate about taxes in an attempt to catch up on what he had missed. He was still dressed in travel attire, his red hair tousled from the wind and his cheeks a bright ruddy red from the cold.

The moment Graham suggested that they break for luncheon, Isabelle was out of her seat, hurrying around the table towards her friend. Thankfully, Sam didn't make any move to avoid her, instead inclining his head towards the door while the rest of the assembled nobles made for the spread of food on the far wall.

As soon as they'd stepped from the room, Isabelle seized Sam in a hug.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, hoping that he wouldn't hate her for exiling his father.

"You're not the one who should be apologizing," he said, shooting a dark look towards the council chamber. Isabelle followed his gaze to where Graham was watching them through the open door, stuck in a discussion with Lord Roxton.

"He had no choice, Sam," Isabelle said.

"He's Prince Regent, he could have pardoned him," Sam muttered. Isabelle swallowed.

She'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. She'd hoped that she wouldn't be forced to choose between the man she loved and the man who had been her friend for longer than she could remember. She owed so much to Sam, but Graham was her future. Even though she understood her friend's argument, she had to stand with the man whose decision she had backed.

"Do you really think your father would have stopped plotting if Graham had pardoned him?" Isabelle asked quietly. Sam fixed her with a look, the same one he always used when someone was right and he didn't like it.

"He wanted my father's head on a pike, Izzie," Sam said. "You can't expect me to be happy about it."

"I don't expect you to be happy, but I expect you to understand," Isabelle said, folding her arms. "We didn't have a choice. I thought exile would be far more preferable than death."

Sam grumbled something in Gallic and Isabelle pursed her lips.

"If he hadn't been plotting treason, none of this would have happened," she said crossly. Once again, Sam fixed her with that look, aware that she was right, but Isabelle had a feeling that this argument was far from over. She couldn't really blame Sam for reacting in such a way. In two short days, his world had been upended: his father had boarded a ship for Ardalone and he had suddenly inherited all the responsibility that came with being Lord of Umberwood.

"If you hadn't spoken for him, he would've been beheaded," Sam retorted. Behind him, Graham had ended his conversation and made his way out of the council room, his stone-faced guise still in place as he closed the door behind him.

"Your father's head was safe," he said, startling Sam, which only served to further inflame the northerner's temper.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" Sam demanded. "From the man who ordered his execution?"

Graham sighed, fixing him with a disappointed look.

"Unlike some, I am a man of my word," Graham said, the cold steel in his eyes squaring off against the fire in Sam's. "When I say that your father would never have been executed, I mean it."

"What in the name of Fate is that supposed to mean?" Sam demanded, his hand unconsciously hovering to where the hilt of his dirk would have been, if he'd been allowed to wear the weapon into the council room. Despite their difference in size and even with Sam hulking over him, Graham appeared completely unperturbed.

"Did you or did you not break your word to me that you would leave Isabelle in Highcastle?" Graham asked. Sam's tensed shoulders relaxed for the barest of moments, a sheepish look flitting across his face despite his angry flush.

"She invoked her right of safe passage after you locked her in her suite," Sam snapped. Graham cocked his head, unimpressed.

"And look where that landed us," he said, with a pointed look to the fading pink line arcing across Isabelle's throat. She touched a hand to the healing scar unconsciously, mortified that Graham had called attention to it.

"She had the right to see her father one last time!" Sam snarled. "And you're a right bastard for daring to deny her that!"

"It very nearly cost her her life!" Graham fired back.

"That is quite enough!" Isabelle said, stepping between them. She fixed each of them with her finest icy glare, waiting for their tempers to simmer down before continuing.

"I would thank you to leave all of that in the past," Isabelle said, fixing Graham with an annoyed look before turning to her friend. "Sam, you know that your father was wrong. I showed him mercy because of all that I owe to Umberwood, but if I ever hear that you are following the same path, friend or not, I will not be so merciful."

Sam regarded her for a moment and Isabelle had a sinking feeling that an angry retort was brewing, before her big friend deflated with a sigh.

"I've been trying to talk him away from this for so long," he said, shaking his head. "That you spared his life was more than I could have hoped for, I simply hadn't imagined that it would happen so quickly."

He paused, chewing his cheek before his eyes found Isabelle's once more.

"Thank you," Sam said, before looking to Graham. "And thank you for listening to her."

"I'm far too familiar with the consequences when I don't," Graham said, the ice leaving his eyes as he offered his arm to Isabelle. "Come, we ought to eat before the rest of them devour our luncheon."

~*~

The next morning, Lissa informed Isabelle that Cora Neasmith had requested an audience with her during the council's luncheon break. Isabelle grudgingly agreed, in no mood to square off against Cora's demands after a morning of dealing with Duke Carveston and his cronies. Graham had warned her that she needed to befriend some of the women she'd never bothered to speak to, now that she was going to become queen. She didn't want to be saddled with a court appointed by her bitter mother-in-law, so Isabelle figured that speaking with Cora would help to preclude such a fate.

Cora was waiting outside the council room when they paused for luncheon, offering Isabelle a heavy, fur-lined cloak and suggesting that they take a walk together. To Isabelle's surprise, gone was the cold calculation in Cora's eyes, a quiet hesitation in its place. She offered her sympathies for the loss of Duke Francis as they made their way outside, nothing combative in her tone or demeanour as she listened to Isabelle tell the abridged story of what had happened in Kentshire.

They circled the frozen rose garden, silence falling between them as Isabelle wondered about what was coming next, now that they'd exhausted their small talk. When she finally couldn't stand it any longer, Cora blew out a sigh and spoke.

"I owe you my thanks, but more importantly, I owe you an apology" she said. "You spared my father-in-law's life and made me Lady of Umberwood rather than the betrothed of an exiled noble, even after all the horrible things I said to you."

Isabelle remained mute, both curious and wary about where the conversation was headed. When she didn't speak, Cora filled the silence, her beautiful face falling.

"I'm sorry, Isabelle. I was downright rotten from the moment you arrived because I was jealous. You've always gotten everything that you wanted and I couldn't stand it when I thought that you were going to win the prince I was after as well. I should never have said all those horrible things and I should never have sided with Henrietta."

She turned her eyes to the frozen path, taking a fortifying breath before continuing.

"I was so blinded by jealousy that I didn't see the forest for the trees. I almost didn't say yes to someone who loves me very much simply because I couldn't stand to see you win yet another prize," she continued. "But it's become clear now that none of us really stood a chance, not with a prince like him. He made a sport of making us miserable, but most of the debutantes endured it simply because of his title. He's different with you, though. He genuinely seems to enjoy your company."

Once again, Isabelle remained mute when Cora paused, not wanting to interrupt the pent up flow of words.

"You two make a very fine pair," Cora said finally.

"Thank you," Isabelle said, looking over at her. "I think the same of you and Sam."

Cora swallowed as if to steel herself before continuing.

"I'd very much like to be friends again, if you'll allow it," Cora said tentatively, glancing up at Isabelle.

As much as a part of Isabelle wanted to let Cora stew for a few weeks for how horrible she'd been earlier in the season, she knew that she and Graham needed allies now more than ever. Cora could help her build bridges with the other young women of the court that Isabelle had so thoroughly ignored during her time in Highcastle. If she was going to build a successful queenscourt, she'd need a friend by her side. She couldn't shake the doubt that Cora may only have been making amends because Isabelle was about to become queen, but the fact remained that Cora was marrying her best friend. Hopefully forgiveness could mend what had broken between them.

"On one condition," Isabelle said finally. Cora's eyes lit up when she looked over at her.

"I'd like you to stand with me on my wedding day, as one of my future ladies-in-waiting," Isabelle said.

"Of course!" Cora said, her beautiful face breaking into a smile. Her arms were around Isabelle before she remembered herself and tried to pull back to curtsey, but Isabelle laughed, hugging her old friend close.

No matter what they had been through and the harsh words they'd exchanged, Cora would forever be like a sister to Isabelle. Not having her there on her wedding day, when she had no other real family left, seemed wrong.

"I was hoping you could convince Violet to speak to me again as well," Isabelle said finally, their steps once more crunching on the frozen garden path. Cora made an unhappy noise in her throat.

"I fear I might not be the best candidate for such a task," she said. "Violet and I exchanged rather harsh words while you were in Kentshire."

"What happened?" Isabelle asked, her stomach tying into a knot of worry. Cora sighed.

"When Prince Graham kept giving his first dances to Violet, Byron was none too pleased. Violet arrived to breakfast one morning with a rather ugly welt on her forearm, so I took it upon myself to speak to Byron about it. I was told in no uncertain terms to mind my own business. When I tried to speak to Violet again, she accused me of attempting to tear her away from the man she loved."

Cora looked up at the brilliant winter sky, her mouth turned down in a frown.

"They left shortly before Midwinter, headed for Violet's father's estates, if the rumours are to be believed. I doubt she'll return unmarried."

Both women stopped walking as the knot in Isabelle's stomach twisted tighter.

"We failed her," Isabelle said quietly.

"We did," Cora agreed sadly. They exchanged a look before Cora reached over to take Isabelle's hand.

"But we can still look out for her," she said. "Just as I swear I will look out for you. You have my word that I will guard your back and stand by your side until my dying day."

"Thank you, Cora," Isabelle said simply, smiling as she gave her friend's hand a squeeze. 

**A/N: Looks like all those loose ends are tying up now. What do you think of Cora making amends to Isabelle? And what about Violet, do you think they'll be able to talk her around? (To those of you who read The Debutante, no spoilers please! :D) As always, if you enjoyed it, please don't forget to vote and comment!

Also, I want to thank all of you who have joined me and supported me on this journey, whether you've been here since I was writing The Season or you've only just discovered my stories. While I might not have the time to reply to every one of your comments, know that I do still see them and appreciate each and every one of you for taking the time to write to me. Hearing that my words can move you to laughter, tears, giddiness, and, on occasion, frustration (I'm looking at you, Libby in The Debutante...lol) means the world to me and more than I could ever express.