Marguerite, the former Duchess of Torrinni, receives two letters that will change the course of her life forever; and that will impact young Céleste Richel's life too, in more ways than one.
*****
When Marguerite is forced to return to Torrinni cour...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As she paused by the door, Marguerite listened to the three men's footsteps fade into the side-exit corridor. Once certain they'd gotten far enough, she gave a quick nod to the guards, who let her slide out into the East Wing.
She released a heavy breath. A clock chimed, and she counted eight rings. Eight o'clock—time for the Dowager's after-dinner stroll.
We need to get back upstairs.
Before she could panic, a whirl of cream frills and dark blonde hair plowed into her.
Céleste, cheeks flushed, squeezed Marguerite's shoulders. "I have done something wrong, very wrong!" She shivered, eyes darting and unfocused. Her voice was low, but Marguerite heard the worry laced in it.
She tried not to sneer at the girl. What could be worse than bumping into an ex-fiancé who thought you were dead?
"What happened?"
Céleste struggled to breathe and splayed a palm over her chest. "I met the Queen. The Queens, in fact, since the Dowager was with her—"
Marguerite's insides froze. "You what?" She tugged Céleste away from the Ballroom and the guards flanking its doors. "I told you to wait in the Winter Garden!"
"I did!" Céleste winced. "I traveled straight there, as you said! But they visited by surprise! I was discreet, and I curtsied, but I fear I may have displeased them, since I was unaccompanied. They were not happy."
Marguerite put a finger over Céleste's mouth—she didn't need to know anything else. Her heart raced as her brain flooded with flashes of Clémentine's snake-like slits and Adelaide's diabolical crimson hair. Their bitter but refined voices rang in her ears.
She pulled the girl to the King's Corridor to the right, which led to the main entrance, and to the stairs.
She'd thought seeing Antoine would be the worst part of her stay, but she'd forgotten about the Queens and their supposed alliance.
Letting out a low groan, she clasped Céleste's wrist and trudged forward, angry with herself for not thinking ahead. Of course they'd scour the castle, seeking wandering, disobedient ladies, instead of lounging in the Dining Room for a digestif.
Céleste fidgeted. "I also startled Prince Jules!"
Marguerite stopped their trek and peered left and right, biting her tongue.
Jules is harmless—he is not who I worry about.
The younger Prince hadn't said much when he burst in, but she knew he was elated to see her. Unaffected by his arrival, Sébastien had rambled on, and Antoine remained in uncomfortable silence, poised and perfect in his tailored breeches and matching shirt, his deep forest-green frock coat velvety smooth against his skin.
