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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Céleste's abdomen tightened as a wave of nausea navigated up her throat.
Why did I drink all that wine?
She wasn't the only person affected by the easy access to strong liqueurs and bubbly beverages. Many had already fallen prey to the dangers of drinking, and it showed. They traipsed about the room like no one watched them, guffawing at one another, dancing too close, stuffing their faces with food to drown the effects. If Céleste were sober, it would have disgusted her.
But she was one of them.
The crowd of nobles had thinned while she stood in a daze. They stumbled to the doors, bade drunken farewells to friends and foes alike, as the orchestra played in the background.
From the corner of her blurred vision, she caught the Giromian King kissing Julia's knuckles, sending swarms of redness up her cheeks. Then he marched to the dais and spoke to the Dowager, before bowing and departing with the inebriated party-goers.
A few lingered on the dance-floor; the newer courtiers who drank too much but lost their chaperones. The lower-bred ones clustered near the windows, in awe at such a spectacular view, still unsure how they secured an invitation.
It wasa stunning set-up. Shimmers all over, decadent delicacies, overflowing drinks—
Overflowing.
The word nearly drove her to burst, but two foggy figures appeared before her, halting her sickness from spilling to the floor.
"Céleste?" The voice was toobuoyant. Esther. "Are you all right? You look pallid."
Céleste sucked in a breath to steady her queasiness. "Uh... I..." She smacked a hand to her forehead. "No, no, I am not."
"Heavens," the second figure said, her hair like twinkling tangerines, her tone leveled but stern—Harriet. "She had too much to drink."
Too embarrassed to confirm, Céleste sulked against the buffet table.
"This will not do. You are a contender now. We must get you upstairs before you bring shame to your name," whispered Esther, slipping one arm under Céleste's. Harriet grabbed her other, but remained silent.
"Should we not wait for the others?" Céleste fought hazy images of Cristina and Axel swirling on the dance-floor, of Charlotte and Jules exchanging slobbery kisses—though she wasn't sure they had kissed, now that she thought of it.
"Miss M. will round them up." Harriet peered about the area. "Where is Miss M.?"
"I detected her sneaking out. She likely needed some reprieve from," Esther waved about her, "all this. And those Giromians... I should have taken Emeric's example and not attended."
