The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)

•F O R T Y - T H R E E•

She hated to agree with Marguerite's far-fetched theories, but this news showed truth in her hypothesis. The Totresian Dowager was up to something, and it involved more Giromians than expected.

"How... how would Cordelia know that?"

From her spot, Céleste caught his shadow coming closer to the archway separating the enclosures from the hall. She skittered backwards, praying for concealment.

"She has her ways. But your sister is the closest person to your mother. Do you not trust her?"

"I do, but why would she tell you? Why not tell me?"

"Because you would not listen! She knows you as I do." A hint of sorrow broke through Marguerite's composed timbre. "She worries too. We did not speak of it, but I would not doubt she sees your mother playing against you, like me."

"Yes, back to your assumption Mother wants to take the throne from me, as you have mentioned three times in the past twenty minutes."

Céleste wished to be a fly on the wall, to better witness their facial expressions, their body language. Both were so stubborn, so convinced, she feared they'd tackle one another and punch until they were too exhausted to argue.

"But would she not make deals with our enemies and dethrone you to have someone easier to manipulate in your place?" It was a genuine question; Marguerite wanted his opinion.

He huffed; in her mind, Céleste saw him shrugging his fingers through his messy hair. "She never favored me. I was Father's favorite, and she despised it. So would she invoke laws against me, to unseat me? To have a favorite of hers in my place? Would she betray me?" Céleste crawled closer, eager to find out his answer. "Well... yes, yes she might."

"With the law?"

Céleste hiccupped. She knew which law Marguerite referred to; but did the King?

"What are you talking about?" His voice changed from enraged to confused.

"Your wife... she told me she cannot conceive, and it frightens her. Meaning it should frighten you, too. Your mother overheard us. A King suspected of being unable to produce heirs... if that were to get out... you see where it leads, no? How that anchors my beliefs your mother does not act in the benefit of you and your kingdom?"

He expelled a disheartened chuckle. "Adelaide and her massive mouth, of course. But... yes, Mother might use that law to her advantage. With her and Ade concocting deals, bringing you here without my knowledge, the Giromians... sure, why not? How low would she stoop? I have no clue."

Neither spoke for a few moments, prompting Céleste to assume they exchanged another set of glances she'd never get to examine.

"Fine. You have made me wonder, Maggie. You have woken doubt in me."

Nauseated and dizzy, Céleste refused to listen in on anything else. She needed to lie down and clear her mind, as their speculations caused doubt in her, too. Her body shook, her temples flared with pain, and her gut was uneasy.

When they resumed talking, their words muffled her hurried steps as she whisked out of the stables.

She arrived at her quarters in record time, and sank to the floor against her door, panting. Something shiny caught her eye, glowing a few feet from her. She crept over to pick it up, and found it harbored the royal emblem.

"Sébastien?" She smirked, her earlier delight returning in the form of butterflies in her abdomen. "Another outing?"

Her jaw dropped at the words written on the parchment.

Miss Céleste Richel,

You are invited to a Queenly Dinner this evening, with all contenders in the Royal Season.

Please present yourself in formal wear at the Dining Room, with your invitation, at seven o'clock sharp.

Peace Above All

The note slipped from her grip as she tugged at her hair.

"A Queenly Dinner. Queenly. Which Queen?" Her knees buckled. "But I am not eligible! Not yet presented! How? Why?"

Her hands were clammy, her muscles limp, her eyes rolling to the back of her head—

"Oh."

You will meet her soon, he said.

"That sly little—" she glared at the note at her feet. "He knew!"

She couldn't decline the invitation. Saying no would show her as impolite and ungrateful and garner more hatred from his mother. But to accept meant to let everyone see that he pursued her. Cristina was aware and had moved past it—but what would the others say? Charlotte, Julia, those she hadn't met; she'd be vulnerable to their scrutiny, exposed to their attacks.

Her vision blurred and her thoughts were fuzzy, swirling around like a violent hurricane as she fell onto her bed.

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