The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)

•T W E N T Y - T H R E E•

They strolled, quietly at first. And when Prince Sébastien broke the silence, he almost had to stoop to speak to her.

"How are you enjoying the castle so far, Miss Richel? I assume life at court differs from what you are used to."

She felt her forehead grow warm as she glanced at him. "It is fascinating, Your Highness. Our Academy is grand, but nothing compared to this."

He wrinkled his nose. "Ah, the Academy. Mother's pride and joy. How I wish to visit it, determine what the fuss is about. The castle tutor educated me; a stuffy old man, he is."

Céleste adjusted her coat to hide the redness creeping down her breastbone. "There are a few of those at the Academy, too."

He slowed his pace and glimpsed her as if shocked she would say such things about her professors. Before she could apologize, he smirked. "Ah, you have a sense of humor! I appreciate that."

Flustered, she looked elsewhere. She had never considered herself humorous—no one but Emeric had ever laughed at anything she said.

"What is your favorite subject at this Academy of yours?" He halted their march and pivoted to face the castle.

Céleste did the same, admiring the four-story building with its faded canary yellow walls. "I enjoy music lessons. Languages are interesting, too. I like art sessions, but I am not the most skilled artist." She dared a glance at him, and more warmth flared across her skin. "I do not think I have a favorite subject, but I have a favorite place."

His brows snuck up as he turned to her. "A favorite place? Which is it?"

"The Library," she said, without hesitation.

"The Library?" He grinned. "So you enjoy reading?"

Though she squirmed on the inside—the Prince was asking her about her favorite hobby!—she couldn't mess this up. She couldn't embarrass herself. "I do, Highness. Very much so."

"I apologize if this appears too personal, as many women have scolded me for prying," he tapped his chin, "but do you have a favorite book?"

She frowned. "Well, I..."

Was it wise to give him the name of the novel she read until her eyes itched and her mouth was dry? The one that often got her in trouble and prompted her need to creep about the castle to solve mysteries?

He will mock me.

The Prince flinched. "I am sorry, have I stumbled on a tough topic? I do not wish to make you uncomfortable."

Her scalp seared as he stared at her, apologetic and confused.

"No, Highness, I am sorry. My favorite book is not one you would expect. Not well-reputed."

His cheeks turned a delicious shade of magenta. "Oh, well, forget I asked, then."

She gasped, understanding what her hesitation had implied. "Oh Heavens, no! Not that kind of novel, Highness! Never!" Shame burned in her chest and her lungs constricted—she'd ruined their meeting, embarrassed herself and her family.

Now he thinks I read nasty novels!

He blew out a breath of relief. "Thank goodness. Not that I am in any place to judge your tastes, but I could not imagine you reading raunchy tales. So then, what is it? I must know; you have tempted me."

She lowered her chin, unsure if the truth was any better. "Well, it was written by an anonymous author. The Golden Girl."

When he remained silent, she gaped up, bracing for his reaction; for his scowl, his dismissal, his refusal to acknowledge he ever requested to meet her. Such a silly book choice would displease him.