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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One side of Céleste's mouth tugged up, the other trembled as it fought gravity. One side of her heart filled with admiration, awe; and the other paralyzed.
The Prince liked her; but would his mother like her too?
The moment he'd faded into the forest to seek the men hunting, she'd sagged in her saddle, all her courage evaporating.
She dropped the chaperone near the courtyard and returned to the stables alone.
The primary doors were closed, so she rounded to the left to find the side entrance, if there was one. Her hair had come undone from the breeze whipping against her cheeks, and she looked up to witness the sky turning gray.
The golden mare took her to a small entryway into the enclosure corridor. A stable-boy covered in sweat, hay stuck to his garb, greeted her and helped her down. She offered to settle the mare in its spot, but his eyebrows zoomed up as he shook his head.
"I would not advise that, Miss," he said, taking the reins from her.
She scoffed. "Why, do you fear I will dirty my dress? I only wish to view the other horses." She enjoyed the company of animals.
He flinched, eyeing the end of the hall which opened into the main room with the office. "No, Miss. I begyou, do not go near there."
Too intrigued for her own good, she trudged past him. "Am I not allowed?"
A manure odor tickled her nostrils, and dust whiffed up to coat the hem of her gown. It smelled like home, in a sense, and comfort seeped into her bones in warm waves.
"Miss, please," the stable-boy hastened after her, pulling her horse up to block her passage. "There are visitorsin the entrance, and it would not bode well if you disturbed them."
"Visitors?" As she said it, she heard them—booming tones, one feminine, one deep and masculine; arguing. "Who?" She squinted, craning her neck, listening.
"Once more I beseech you, Miss, they... you and I will..."
"Why would I get in trouble for being in the stables?" The horse nibbled at her hand as she squeezed by it. "Prince Sébastien invited me here. Whocould surpass his command—" Her eyes widened as she recognized the male voice, growing in volume. "Oh."
The stable-boy joined her, still gripping the reins tight. "Yes." He hunched. "The King."
The King? Feuding with someone in a public place in the afternoon?
Sébastien had mentioned King Antoine was holding court; how could he be in two places at once?
Something urged her forward, ignoring the stable-boy's warnings. She snuck close enough to hear the arguing without being spotted.
The boy didn't stop her; he let her press on as he put the horse in its pen and set about brushing it, muttering under his breath.
Céleste found the closest enclosure to the arched entrance to the main room. She tiptoed in and huddled against the wall, trying not to cringe at the stench sleeking across the floors.
