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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A weight on Marguerite's heart had lifted—a minusculeone, but it was gone, nonetheless.
Still her mind piled with dreary doubts and conflicting concerns.
After the Ceremony, Céleste would be a full-fledged contender. She'd have to learn to fend for herself and grow thick skin against insults.
Underage privileged girl, sneak, cheater, the list will be endless.
Seated at her vanity, Marguerite twirled her tresses into a large bun and decorated them with ebony pearls and jewels. She sighed at her low-cut navy neckline—rarelydid she wear off-the-shoulder gowns, but they were a trend in Totresia, thanks to Adelaide. And to escort the daughter of a revered noble to meet the royals, she needed to blend in with the other hawks in the crowd, the gossiping groupies; to notmake them wonder who she was.
I am not the runaway Duchess reputed as dead. Not a ghost.
The shade she chose was her twisted idea of honoring the Giromians. They were known to love bright ceruleans and pretty peacocks; navy was ominous, mysterious, reflecting how she felt about their invasion.
After verifying her powder and luminous rouge, she applied a touch of rose pomade. The gown was heavier than what she usually wore, but it fit her figure and revealed the curves she so often pretended not to have.
As she pulled on her black satin gloves, she arched her spine, inhaled, exhaled—and joined the girls near the stairs.
Charlotte showed up first, in light peach and black lace, bracing to present herself as Jules' secondcontender. Julia came next, standing farfrom her, in pale gray and blue, long sleeves fanning over her white gloves.
She got my note to wear something blue—good.
Esther sported ever-extravagant bundles of brilliant pink, distraught at being without her courtier for the night. Harriet regaled in peach-pink and white, the fabric smoothing her silhouette in suggestive ways. A boldchoice for her, but one Marguerite admired her for. Cristina arrived last, her demure burnt-orange outfit less revealing than most outfits she wore. She fiddled with her gloved fingers as she lined up by the girls.
"Are we ready?" Charlotte tapped her foot, glaring at the carpeted staircase.
"We await one more person." Marguerite peered over the ladies' bouffant hair-dos and saw her final contender, traipsing over with timid steps. "Here she is now!"
All pivoted to see Céleste sneaking up, her brilliant white dress outshining everyone else's. She twinkled like a star, hypnotized like a diamond. The seamstress' adjustments were impeccable; Céleste was a Princess in all but the official title.
The others gawked at her as she settled close to Marguerite. "Is this okay?"
Marguerite thanked the heavens for Johanna's handiwork—she had offered to help Céleste prepare.
