The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)

•S I X T Y - S E V E N•

She once slipped in when Marguerite was elsewhere and gasped. Empty coffee cups piled up on her nightstand, heaps of opened tomes littered the tea-table, notes scrunched on the vanity. There were half-eaten meals on her bedspread, used handkerchiefs on the floor, and the curtains were closed. The air was so stuffy, Céleste coughed. It had been half a day of seclusion, yet Marguerite's room looked like she'd sheltered herself for weeks.

Marguerite returned to find her snooping, and threw her in her own chambers; and locked the adjoining door.

Céleste had tea with Sébastien later that day. When she tried to ask questions, to discuss the situation, he shushed her.

"We cannot be so open about this," he whispered, his teacup up to his mouth, muffling his speech. "I am glad she filled you in on everything, but we cannot show how much you are aware of, not in public."

That evening, she caught a piece of a conversation between Johanna and Marguerite. Something about a storm coming, a poison brewing. Nobles from around the country were arriving—those on the council who didn't reside at court. They were pouring in, taking rooms upstairs, some staying in the city.

Johanna had sounded perplexed. "What does it mean, Miss?"

Marguerite's timbre was firm, frightening. "It means a meeting. A big one. A vote."

Heart thumping in her rib-cage, Céleste pried from the door at that point and hurried to her vanity to write a message to her brother. Desperate for news, intelligence; anything to help.

He never wrote back.

The next day, December nineteenth, Céleste coaxed some information out of Johanna.

"Julia only meets with Romain, if he summons her, which—" she teetered at the threshold of Céleste's room, "—he has. Maintaining appearances."

"But no sightings of the Vidame?"

Johanna recoiled. "No. I keep a strict watch on her, and when not with Romain, she is in her chamber. Safe."

The following day, as Céleste applied a final touch of powder to her nose—though she had no plans to go anywhere—Marguerite billowed through the adjoining door. A light brown gown clung to her slender figure, and her hair was wild, waving behind her.

"Céleste."

"What is it?" Céleste jumped up, one palm smacking to her chest.

Marguerite caught her wrist and dragged her into her chambers. "Harriet is coming to talk with me. You must be there. A witness, if you will." She motioned at Céleste to sit at the vanity. "I struggled to get a letter to her, wary her father would intercept it. But with all of Totresia at court, he is occupied."

A few instants later, a knock signaled the Vidame's daughter's arrival. Marguerite heaved the girl inside.

"Miss M.?" Harriet's expression was fearful and her shoulders tight, nervous. She saw Céleste and squinted. "What is wrong?" Her strawberry curls were tangled and tumbling down her back, swirling under the folds of her silky beige dress. The flames in the nearby hearth illuminated her distraught face. "Did Céleste deliver my warnings to you? About Julia and Father?"

"Yes." Marguerite lowered into a couch and waved at Harriet to join her. "He will not marry her, you have my word. I have my handmaiden surveying Julia's every move and ensuring none of your father or his goons loiter around her."

Harriet swallowed a visible lump in her throat. "Good. He has been less than discreet, and it worries me."

"Is it worse than you speculated?" Marguerite took the girl's hand in hers and squeezed.