The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)

•F O R T Y - T H R E E•

The other voice—the feminine was—had grown in volume, too.

"... but you cannot keep wavering! You must be firm. Unlike three years ago."

Marguerite?

Céleste nearly lost her balance, but gripped the enclosure's door-frame to stabilize herself.

"What would you have me do? I have no proof of what you imply. Of her schemes." The King's voice was curt, but laced with spiraling anger. "Is she plotting? Yes! She most likely is! But until we have a way to solidify this, I cannot be firm, as you say. I cannot send her away!"

Something shuffled—was someone pacing?

"I told you last night—you have your proof. The Giromians! That is proof she went behind your back and enacted treaties you had no inkling of! Is that not enough?" Marguerite was infuriated too, yet her speech was more level, more controlled.

So she was meeting him last night, then?

"Why do you revert to this? That is not why I summoned you." He groaned, and the shuffled pacing stopped. "I wanted to make sure you were okay, after our discussion."

Marguerite let out what sounded like a snort. "You dare pretend to care? Your mother unleashed enemies into your home and your wife is suspicious, but you wonder if I am all right after our argument? That sort of reaction is three years too late."

Though they kept their voices low, Céleste worried. Why would they meet in broad daylight, with their only protection a sweaty stable-boy who couldn't even halt her from wandering in? She needed to warn them, scold them, alert them to how dangerous their conversation was—

But it was not her place. They had history—deep bonds that she'd never understand.

"You think our predicament pleases me?" Someone slumped against the facade separating Céleste from the entry. She shriveled away, crouching in the middle of the enclosure, as if her touch on the facade would signal her presence. "But what Mother did was not illegal. Eerie, yes. Uncalled for, yes. But she had every right to allow Schwartz in."

"And the King? Your biggest foe?"

"I can do nothing until Romain gets here. We will chat. Rectify this. It would shock me if coming here was his idea of a good time."

"Chat?" Marguerite chortled, and Céleste imagined her scrunching features.

"Yes—we are both monarchs now. Things are different. We will be civil. And you," Céleste pictured him pointing at Marguerite, "will do the same. Be on your best behavior and leave the questioning to me, do you understand? Do not snoop. This is perilous business, and I would not have you involved."

"Too late for that."

There was silence. Céleste was certain they stared at each other, furious, defiant, teetering as far apart as they could while fighting their invisible—and obvious—link.

"I was with your sister when you called for me, did you know? She advised me that your mother communicates with Pauline." Someone gasped. "Yes! That Pauline—the Dowager of Giroma. Is that not proof? Is that not a reason to be firm?"

Céleste fell backwards, creating a cloud of dust and hay in her wake.

The Dowager of Giroma? Why?

To her luck, the irritated King and former Duchess continued their bickering without a clue of her eavesdropping.

She hauled into a crouch and fanned herself, sensing her cheeks about to erupt with boiling lava.