The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)

•F O R T Y - O N E•

"Is Miss M. to chaperone you?" Her boots were tighter than she remembered, and she tried not to scrunch her nose at the pain.

Esther dabbed at her cheek-bones with the poof. "No. When I saw her earlier she said we may use a royal chaperone."

She saw her? When? Where?

Céleste refrained from attacking the girl with her inquiries. "Where is she? Miss M., I mean."

"You are her lady, not me." Esther shrugged. "Check with Harriet or Cristina."

Harriet's room was Harriet-less. And when she gaped towards Cristina's chambers near the Royal Stairs, she swallowed, wary of disturbing the girl who'd almost massacred her the night before.

"No... I cannot." She started to veer down another corridor, but recoiled when she realized her only other options were Charlotte and Julia. "No, not them!"

With little choice—and unwilling to run about the hallways to figure out where her mistress had disappeared—she dragged her feet toward Cristina's room.

As she racked her brain for how to approach the scorned girl, the bedroom door whooshed open. Cristina stood in the threshold, holding a note to her chest, her eyebrows cruising downward. She didn't see Céleste at first—but as Céleste stopped walking and opened her mouth to speak, Cristina's neck whipped up.

"Céleste?" She squinted and lowered the paper she held. "What are you doing?"

She sucked in a deep breath. "I am looking for Miss M., have you seen her?"

Cristina tipped against the door-frame and crossed her arms. "Why would I have seen her? Are you not her lady?"

Wanting to scoff at yet another reminder of how she'd failed at her main task, Céleste was about to whirl around and leave, when Cristina trudged up to her.

"Wait," her expression relaxed, "I wanted to apologize. For last night. I was upset that the Prince chose you over me."

"You..." Céleste's pulse sped up. "You have nothing to be sorry for. He should apologize."

Cristina sighed. "He did. He sent me a note, earlier. And I received another..." She bit her lip, stopping her smirk from widening.

They weren't friends; far from it, in fact. Yet Céleste was overcome with curiosity, her eyes set on the paper Cristina carried. "Who?"

Cristina cupped a palm around her mouth and leaned in. "Axel... Julia's brother."

Céleste didn't even remember seeing Axel the night prior; had he been lurking somewhere in the Ballroom? She knew him from the few times he'd visited the Academy; as a friend of her brother's, he was always polite to her.

"Can you imagine how peeved she will be when she finds out?" Cristina swayed to and fro, dreamily. "He is beneath my station, but I am sure Father will accept him. Anyway, I do not resent you. When I glared at you like I did, I had not yet accepted the situation. It was immature and foolish of me. I wish the two of you happiness, but," she flinched, "be careful. Entering a courtship with a royal is no laughing matter."

"I am not laughing," Céleste later muttered as she hastened to her quarters to put on her riding cloak.

She prayed Sébastien would have a chaperone for them—because Marguerite had, yet again, evaporated into thin air.

***

Sébastien was prepared. A narrow-framed, aging lady waited by the entry doors as Céleste descended a few minutes later.