The Heiress Queen (Season Series Prequel)

Epilogue

As soon as they'd met with the Ardalonian ambassador, Graham wasted no time with the trivial court formalities that usually preceded a royal wedding. For the first time in what seemed like weeks, there was no candle burning late into the night in his room and Graham turned up rested and bright-eyed for breakfast the next morning.

To Isabelle's surprise, he had her dress quickly and climb into a carriage with him, bound for the cathedral to meet with the bishop. The usual blessing of their betrothal had been delayed to allow Graham the time he needed to get his father's affairs in order and settle in as Prince Regent, but now that the threat of rebellion seemed to have abated, he saw no point in delaying any longer.

Much to the queen's chagrin, that day over luncheon Graham announced that he and Isabelle would wed within the month. Isabelle nearly spat out her soup at the ugly squawk that escaped her mother-in-law's mouth. While the queen rattled on and on about propriety and what was to be expected of a royal wedding, Graham simply repeated that he and Isabelle had waited long enough and very much wanted to be married, tradition be damned.

"I'm sorry for surprising you with such a large announcement," he said later, over dinner in his suite. "I hope you're not angry with me."

Isabelle couldn't help but laugh, thinking back to the look of sheer incredulity on the queen's face.

"Angry? I think it's high time we put Lissa out of her misery, worrying about that locked door all night," Isabelle said, running her stocking-toed foot along Graham's calf. His green eyes smoldered as his lips tugged up into her favourite version of his grin.

"Pardon me, but I am sitting within earshot you know!" Lissa pointed out, returning to her mending with a huff. Isabelle laughed in earnest this time, something hot and heady simmering in her chest as she stared at Graham in the candlelight.

Just like that, the days that had once dragged on like weeks quickly sped away in what seemed to be mere minutes. Between dress fittings and planning the series of balls that would follow their wedding, Isabelle found herself caught up in a whirlwind of premarital duties. Cora remained by her side, helping select food and flowers and music all while deftly deflecting the queen's multiple attempts to sabotage their arrangements and delay their nuptials.

They were both down in the head seamstress' workshop one day, having Isabelle's wedding gown fitted, when Lissa appeared with a calling card.

"A Mrs. Byron Fletcher for you, you Grace," she said. Isabelle exchanged a look with Cora before nodding to her maid. Lissa held the door open and Cora let out a little gasp when Violet walked in.

Gone was the meek little girl they'd once known. In her place was an even meeker woman, the shining purple bruise on her cheek poorly concealed under layers of powder. Despite the head seamstress' protests, Isabelle flew from the dressing stand, throwing her arms around her old friend.

"I didn't think you'd return," she said, squeezing Violet tight.

"I didn't know if you'd have me," she said, her voice just as broken as she appeared to be.

"Of course I'd have you, silly goose!" Isabelle said, still holding her tight. "I couldn't dream of getting married without you, just like I'd said in all those letters."

"You were right," Violet said quietly. "About him. About everything."

Isabelle caught Cora's eye over Violet's shoulder as the new Mrs. Fletcher let out a sob. Cora was across the room in an instant, wrapping her arms around the pair of them. She and Isabelle exchanged a look, a promise to protect their friend as best they could from the monster she had married.