The Golden Flower (#1 in the GOLDEN series) ✔

•E L E V E N•

The one I am not in.

A few times, Jules had run in to scare them, or Cordelia to complain about this or that etiquette lesson she'd endured.

But not that day; that day Lady Alice showed up, heels clicking with her quick paces, her raven-and-crimson gown billowing about her—the one she wore when Queen Clémentine asked her to watch over the Prince and the Duchess.

"There you are," said the sapphire-eyed woman, squinting. In the years since she'd arrived at court, she gained a few wrinkles on her forehead, several pounds in the waist area, and a list of abilities that included hiding in bushes and spying on children. But her most esteemed prize, her favorite gift—the Queen's trust. "Your Highness," she curtsied, breathless from her running, "your royal father awaits you in his Study."

Antoine didn't stand but closed his book. "I have not finished my chapter."

The Crown Prince detested Alice from day one; she treated him with a sugary sweetness, and was rude towards Marguerite, which he didn't tolerate.

"He insisted, Highness." Alice set her fists onto her hips. "Would you send me back to him alone? Would you have me report to His Majesty, King Edouard of Totresia, that his eldest son refuses to come when beckoned?"

Marguerite turned to him as he rolled his eyes and got up. "Fine." He handed her his book. "Put it away, would you? I will have to resume tomorrow." He bowed but didn't kiss her knuckles as he often did when leaving. "See you at supper."

She watched him leave, trying not to sulk as she huddled his novel against her chest.

Alice swished around, walking backwards, and pointed at her while mouthing, "Sit up! The Queen will know!"

Marguerite puffed out a breath of annoyance but didn't fix her posture.

How she missed Lila, her governess from earlier years. So sweet, so calm, so quiet. Because Alice was a handful; she marched between them, smacked their hands away if they got too close, chided their vocabulary when it got too playful.

Marguerite and Antoine never wandered off alone, but Alice wasn't always able to look after them. So when members of Clémentine's staff weren't available, she'd concoct other ways to ensure they never got too close. Sometimes, a serving girl would follow them on their strolls, to report what they did or said. Once, a young squire-in-training climbed the tree by their favorite spot in the garden patch, but when Antoine mimicked shooting a gun at a squirrel near him, he panicked and fell, injuring himself. Clémentine never used him again.

And I bet she fired him for it.

When in the Library, Marguerite knew the Librarian, an elderly man whose name she never remembered, glanced their way more than he should. Clémentine employed him, too; Clémentine employed everyone.

Worst of all were the days when the Queen herself chaperoned. She huffed, complained she had better things to do, ladies-in-waiting to train, games to organize, piano lessons to give Cordelia. But instead, she scrutinized her eldest son and his best friend, barked at them to maintain their distances, to walk farther apart, to not address each other with such ease.

"Do not bow to her, Antoine!" she'd yell, whenever he met up with Marguerite.

Or, "Do not kiss her hand!" if the Prince attempted to be friendly.

Antoine never understood it—was he not to smooch a woman's palm in greeting?

Nothing in her attitude ever surprised Marguerite; she'd grown used to it. In the past, the Queen never paid her any mind, isolated her, ignored her. As she entered her teenage years, she found the smoldering chocolate-eyed royal wouldn't leave her alone. She allowed her into the Queen's Solar, invited her to tea, glared at her as she spoke with other ladies. She took special care in reprimanding her out in the Queen's Corridor if she did anything displeasing—which turned out to be everything.