Living in royalty can't be so bad, right? But... what if you're not technically royal?
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In late eighteenth century Europe, nestled in eastern France, is a peaceful kingdom called Totresia. A carriage wreck disturbs that peace when found by Totr...
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As the final curl fell in place, Céleste blinked at her reflection.
Graduation Night.
At last, it had arrived; the evening that would declare the seven Seniors as graduates. The moment they would become real ladies and leave the Academy. No more bullying, chiding, whispering in corridors. No more Charlotte and her glacial glares, Julia and her mousy laughter, Hermione and her pointed remarks.
Céleste had made efforts since the day she sat in Miss M.'s office. She took the threats to heart and stashed The Golden Girl in the rear of her armoire, fighting her desire to read it over and over, to glimpse through the lines, to understand if it was all real.
She frowned at her mirror. "My cheeks are too pale." She snapped her fingers. "My rouge!" She reached for the copper container, its silver lid cold on her skin. A gift from her mother before her death, Céleste treasured it and rarely used it, but tonight, she had to.
As she dragged the color down from the top of her cheekbones, she sighed. Juniors didn't attend the Graduation Ceremony, but shewould. Sir Knowles and Miss M. had invited her, as an aide for the graduates behind-the-scenes. Then she'd have the honor of sitting in the front rows to watch them go from sassy Seniors to proper ladies.
She glanced at Sir Richel's note on her vanity. He wrote to her when he received the news from Miss M.
"What an opportunity—the Junior representative at a Graduation. If memory serves, your mother held that coveted spot, too." She sniffled, recalling the tear stains she'd left on the parchment. "I will convene with you in December, for your school break, to discuss this privilege and prepare you to become a Senior."
The rest of his letter reminded her how important her studies were, how he hoped her final year would go without disruption or chaos. She had to admit, her Freshman and Sophomore years were a bit tumultuous and rebellious. But she'd vowed to stop.
Next to her father's note was Miss M.'s, stating she'd chosen Céleste as the Junior Ambassador.
"You are worthy, despite your faults. I realize the potential in you."
Potential.
That word carried her through her long days of classes and homework. After all she'd done, the eavesdropping, the secrecy, sneaking her book in class, Miss M. still trusted her.
Céleste didn'tdeserve it. A respectable lady wasn't defiant. Her daydreams and creeping about were childish. She needed to outgrow her behavior fast if she wanted to please her father, her brother, her future husband.
She swore to herself that Graduation Night would be the start of that. She'd obey without question, not let her attention waver, ignore any haunting ideas racing through her skull. She'd muffle her urges to ask those attending the events if they knew who the mystery Duchess was.
