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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After four days of being cooped up—minus seeing Sébastien for tea—Céleste was stir crazy. Two days prior, when confronting Harriet, Marguerite had left her with cryptic decisions that tormented Céleste's sleep.
I will fix this.
Johanna came and went, as did other serving folk and royal staff members and even a few pages; but on that fourth morning, Céleste declared she'd had enough. She needed to locate Emeric before any of these rebellious meetings took place. He would fix things, since Marguerite refused to end her seclusion.
She had no clue where he was, but she'd hunt him down.
Taking the main steps two at a time, breathing in the fresh air coming from the open entrance doors, Céleste smiled. At the bottom, she puffed out her chest and sprinted across the way, unsure where to start.
Winter Garden... that place always helps me focus.
Sneaking inside, her nostrils expanded as the floral scents surrounded her. Shimmering torches lit up the shadows, and the sun poured in, basking her in a holy glow.
A voice called to her from the right; one that shocked her to hear as she'd been yearning to find just that person. "Céleste?"
"Has God listened to my prayers?" she asked, peeking at the glass roof.
She watched the other presence in the room walk up to her. "It is you," said Emeric, sporting his habitual gray garb, but his dark blond curls combed back. "What are you doing here?" A pinch of irritation lingered in his tone, and he billowed up to her like a bull running to its target.
"Is this not a publicspace?" They hadn't spoken since his denial to escort her to Romain's Ball, and though she was learning to forgive him, he tended to hold on to grudges.
"It is, but I was waiting for someone." He reached out to take one of her hands and placed a quick kiss atop her knuckles. She gave him a confused look, and he chuckled. "What? Are you not a properlady now? Can a brother not salute his sister?"
"I suppose." She removed her hand and squeezed it shut at her side. "Who are you meeting? Esther?"
He smiled; it wasn't genuine, nor was it wide enough to be called a grin, but it reminded Céleste of the boy he used to be. "Business matters, actually, though I intend to see herlater." His cheeks flushed.
It wasn't sufficient to warm her up to him. "I wrote to you," she blurted, remembering how she sought his help—again—and he declined it. "I needed you for something important."
"Yes, well," he tugged at his collar and peeped at the ground, "my correspondence is watched nowadays."
"Watched? By whom?"
He scoffed. "The people Father sent me here to spyon, of course. Since those Giromians arrived, everything has been disrupted. Father is furious, panicked. He wants me to come home, but..." He blinked at her, the grays in his eyes morphing to blue. "We cannot leave you here alone. And with one of your classmates ogled by the Giromian King himself we worry more. We fear your Prince may not be capable of protecting you."
