The afternoon dragged on until, finally, the queen released them all to prepare for dinner. Bidding Violet farewell, Isabelle didn't bother to wait for her ladies-in-waiting, especially now that she knew the truth about Alicia. She pondered whether she should confront the brunette for her utter lack of decency, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to the situation.

Thankfully, the queen's efforts to starve her seemed to have abated, as she was not barred from filling her plate with sandwiches at luncheon and scones at teatime. Already thinking ahead to dinner, Isabelle could hardly wait for Lissa to loosen her corset strings.

Isabelle was sitting at her vanity table, choosing between the three pairs of earrings Lissa had set out for her when Alicia slipped into her bedroom.

"Forgive me, Isabelle, but you should have been sitting with us today in the queen's drawing room," she said, her eyes running over the room before landing on Isabelle. "It is the proper thing to do, you know."

"You have quite the nerve, barging in here without knocking and addressing me so informally," Isabelle said, standing. In her heeled slippers, she stood a good three inches taller than the brunette, drawing herself up to her full height.

"I think it only fair after we all missed breakfast," Alicia shot back, her smiling facade still in place.

"Fair? You precious thing, since when is courtly life fair?" Isabelle laughed. Her words soured Alicia's expression and Isabelle made a mental note to ponder on that later.

"You ought to treat us with more respect," Alicia managed, her cheeks heating. "We could be of great assistance to you, you know."

"I highly doubt that, especially considering the assistance you offered the prince last night," Isabelle said, unable to resist the barb. But rather than embarrassing Alicia, Isabelle's words seemed to embolden her.

"He and I are close friends," Alicia said haughtily. "You ought to keep that in mind, my lady."

Isabelle fought to keep her smile in place despite the hatred in her eyes as Alicia dropped a sarcastically low curtsey, sweeping from the room in a huff.

"I caught her sneaking around in here," Lissa said, emerging from the closet with a nasty glare towards the sitting room.

"What? When?" Isabelle asked.

"When you were at breakfast. She was poking around the escritoire," Lissa said, nodding towards the writing desk. "But nothing is missing, I checked."

"Tell me if you ever find her in here again," Isabelle said, inhaling to shake her annoyance. "Perhaps we should start locking the door when I'm out."

"I'll look into obtaining the keys, but with a sly one like her, I doubt that would keep her out for long," Lissa said. Isabelle scowled, bidding her maid farewell as she forced the thought of nosy Alicia poking through her things to the back of her mind.

She stopped at Violet's door, waiting for her friend before the pair of them made their way down to dinner. Cora was ahead of them, arm-in-arm with Henrietta Barclay, the two of them giggling and gossiping together. Isabelle sighed inwardly, wondering whether Cora was worth the all the trouble it would be to win her back.

"I completely forgot to ask earlier, but are there any eligible gentleman you were hoping we'd sit with tonight?" Isabelle asked coyly, linking her arm with Violet's. Her friend blushed furiously, dimpling with a shy grin.

"You never warned me how unbearably handsome Lord Winters' son is," Violet said, giggling as Isabelle grinned at her.

"I have yet to even properly say hello to him," Isabelle said, "But I'd be more than happy to introduce you two."

Violet flushed with pleasure as they approached the dining room, the rest of the debutantes milling in the hallway as the doors were still closed.

"As a matter of fact, there he is now," Isabelle said, rising onto her tip-toes to see over the heads of the other women. "Let's go see him."

Violet giggled, shyly following as Isabelle barged through the rest of the debutantes, towards where the inductees were chatting at the opposite end of the hallway.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favourite little rebel," Sam Winters said, interrupting his conversation with Byron Fletcher, the heir to the Fletcher shipping fortune, and a man Isabelle didn't recognize, so he could bow before her. She couldn't help but smile at his highland accent, something no amount of schooling had ever been able to expunge.

A friend since childhood, Sam Winters had grown from a gangly, freckled youth into a tall, broad-shouldered man. Try as she might, however, it was hard to think of Sam as anything but the brother she had never had. The pair of them had kept up a steady correspondence while she was at finishing school, much to Leopold's annoyance. In his mind, it was improper for his future bride to be friendly with another eligible bachelor, but to Isabelle, Sam would always be a friend and ally, especially as he was the future lord to lands neighbouring Kentshire. She even noted with satisfaction that Sam now sported an ascot pin featuring the Winters family tartan.

"Aren't we just as dashing as ever," Isabelle said, curtseying. "I was hoping to present my friend, Violet-"

"Just the woman I was looking for."

Prince Graham brushed past Sam Winters to seize Isabelle's hand, kissing it brusquely in greeting before tucking it into his elbow and pulling her away.

"I beg your pardon, but I was in the middle of-" Isabelle started, throwing a look back at Violet and Sam, the pair of them stunned into silence as she was dragged away.

"Something that can wait until we're seated," Graham finished for her, "Because tonight, you have been granted the distinct honour of sitting with me."

Isabelle scoffed, attempting to pull her arm away from him as the footmen opened the dining room doors before them.

"Are there really no other women here that you can torment in my stead?" Isabelle demanded as Graham led her towards a table at the center of the room, set for six.

"Yes, but they're all too well-behaved and polite to spar with me," Graham grinned, pulling out a chair for her. "Irritating you is far more enjoyable than teasing them until they burst into tears."

Isabelle made a face as she sat, cursing herself for not acting more like her pretty, polite friend Violet. If she'd simply blushed and held her tongue when Graham had slung insults at her the night before, perhaps he'd have tired of her, but now that he knew she wouldn't endure his torture without a fight, he was like a dog with a bone.

A juicy, delectable bone that he was not about to give up.

"You'll be even happier to know that I've invited some of your friends to join us," Graham said, hovering behind the chair beside her as he gestured to the footmen by the door. Isabelle swivelled around in her seat, letting out a distinctly unladylike groan upon noticing the couple headed their way.

Cora Neasmith and Byron Fletcher were shown to the seats across from them, Cora wedged between the prince and the swarthy shipping heir. Isabelle knew the fire in Cora's eyes did not portend a pleasant evening, though Cora was clearly doing her best to smile coquettishly as she took the seat next to Graham.

"Miss de Haviland, I believe you and Miss Neasmith are already acquainted," Graham said, his green eyes dancing as he forced the pair of debutantes to acknowledge one another.

"Yes, quite well," Isabelle said warily. Cora had flatly refused to look at her since she had taken her seat, instead choosing to bat her eyelashes up at Graham.

"What a lovely surprise to be seated next to you, your Highness," she said, dimpling prettily. Isabelle had to fight not to snort in derision, which only earned an amused look from Graham.

"Pardon me, but were you saying something, Miss de Haviland?" he asked. Isabelle sighed as Cora fixed her with a glare.

"Nothing at all," Isabelle said frostily, returning Cora's glare.

"Good," Cora said, looking back up at Graham. Isabelle watched the pair of them converse quietly while Byron Fletcher looked on as well, clearly unimpressed that he was being so thoroughly ignored.

"You can't be rid of me that easily."

The voice startled her, Sam Winters' laugh rumbling from his chest as he passed behind her, Henrietta Barclay on his arm. The redheaded debutante ignored Isabelle as well, chirping her greetings to Cora and allowing Byron Fletcher to take her hand and kiss it.

"Well at least there's one friendly face at the table," Isabelle muttered, as Sam hovered behind the chair beside her. He and Byron waited for Graham to seat himself, the prince's chair nudging closer than was necessary to Isabelle's. In response, she scooted her chair towards Sam, accidentally kicking him and earning a quirked eyebrow in response.

"Aye, let's not get too friendly before we've even had our soup," Sam said, waggling his eyebrows at her. Isabelle made a face at him before Graham cleared his throat.

"Well then, it appears the two of you have already met," Graham said, his keen green eyes taking in Isabelle's familiarity with the northern lord's son. "But I don't believe you've met Cora Neasmith yet, Sam."

Isabelle groaned inwardly as Sam turned his eyes towards Cora, who reluctantly tore her eyes from the prince beside her. Sam sat ever so slightly straighter in his chair as he exchanged a polite how-do-you-do with Cora, who was clearly just as flustered to be faced with the ruggedly handsome lord's son across the table from her.

"And I'm Byron Fletcher, though you all clearly know that," Byron put in, edging closer to Cora as he shot a glare Sam's way. Isabelle dropped her gaze to keep from laughing aloud at the farce of a table she'd been invited to.

Here she was, seated next to the prince of Pretania while two of her oldest, previously unacquainted friends made eyes at each other over the table, all while the richest man in the room attempted to stake his claim on the prettiest girl at the table. And as if that wasn't amusing enough, the oblivious Henrietta Barclay was there too.

Isabelle would have paid her weight in gold to rest her chin in her hand and watch the whole thing unfold from afar, but seated in the middle of it as she was, she had no choice but to stifle her laughter and force a pleasant smile onto her face.

"Of course we do," Henrietta Barclay said, replying to Byron as she cocked her head prettily at him. But she, like Cora, was not about to let her time with the prince go to waste, turning her glowing smile towards the future monarch. "I must say, your Highness, you certainly have arranged for the most interesting table tonight."

"Let the games begin," Graham said, lifting his wine glass to toast the lot of them.

Isabelle reluctantly raised her glass to toast with the rest of them, wishing they'd all just get on with their conversations so she could have a proper talk with Sam. As their glasses clinked, however, she caught a pair of brown eyes from across the room.

Seated at a table of men and women Isabelle didn't recognize, the hurt and loneliness on Violet's face was enough to twist a dagger into Isabelle's heart.

**A/N (again): To those of you astute readers who may be wondering, yes I did change Isabelle's family name and the name of Prince Leopold's country since mentioning them in earlier The Season/The Debutante. Thanks to frangipani1011 for pointing that out! Foiled by my own edits, once again! XD **