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.
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When Marguerite is forced to return to Torrinni cour...
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"Eat," said Céleste, echoing Marguerite's earlier orders.
Marguerite struggled to contain her bubbling rage; food wouldn't settle in her stomach if she forced it down.
"No."
"Yes." The girl stuck a plate of doughy croissants under her nose—pastries she'd enjoy were it not for the pangs of pain in her gut.
Still, she accepted the platter, taking a few bites to please Céleste. And despite her irritation, the savory taste erupted in her mouth and transported her, if only for a moment, far from the drama.
Céleste tapped her foot to the ground as she glared into the crowd. "None of them seem to care. Why?"
Marguerite deposited the platter on the buffet and peered at the dais. "Agreed. I do not know why."
Edouard's stern voice played on repeat in her mind. "Keep Giromians at a distance. It is an ancestral law, and you had best ensure Antoine obeys it."
Why was Clémentine disobeying? And why did Antoine lether?
She fingered her flower-shaped pendant as courtiers whipped towards the royal platform. Some whispered, some lifted to their tip-toes, but all tried to see what was happening.
From their vantage point, Marguerite viewed it all without issue. Adelaide teetered at the edge of the podium, guzzling down the remnants of liquid in her crystal goblet, swaying to and fro, completely drunk. She flung her cup at one of her ladies, then shook out her petticoats and froze upon noticing all eyes on her.
"Oh," she said, half-giggling, half-hiccupping. "Hello, everyone." She attempted to descend the steps, and one of her girls lunged to her, to ensure she didn't trip. "Thank you for attending such a lovely soirée. I am off to bed!" She slurred, prompting more mumbles to buzz about in the sea of attendees.
They curtsied and bowed as she tumbled by, her great train and ladies-in-waiting trailing behind her.
To Marguerite's surprise, the Dowager wasn't far on her heels, clutching the Princess by the elbow with a tad more force than necessary. Cordelia had turned a slight shade of pink as she whirled around and waved at someone before Clémentine yanked her close.
Clémentine didn't bother addressing the guests as her crew and Cordelia's followed, heads lowered.
When the doors closed, the crowds resumed their loud conversations and the music picked up where it had left off. Several individuals still gawked at the exit in shock while fanning themselves; the rumor-mill would begin shortly.
"What on earth was that?" Céleste's eyes were round like saucers as she pivoted from the scene.
Marguerite was about to fetch a glass of wine, but caught someone else sneaking out.
