Following their actions in The Golden Girl, Marguerite and Céleste must deal with the repercussions of their recent behaviors.
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Marguerite has landed herself in quite the shameful predicament, but she needs to make priorities; to somehow mainta...
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Adjusting her bulky navy riding ensemble, Marguerite winced at her reflection. She'd slept maybe two or three hours, and it showed in her glossy eyes and blotchy skin. But she had no time to fret about coating her cheeks in thick powder, as the sun had started its ascent, and she had places to be.
After a quick glance at the adjoining door, she promised herself to no longer hide anything from Céleste. She understood the Marquess' intentions to protect his daughter, but she was marrying into the royal family; which meant she was bound to stumble into the chaos, regardless.
Marguerite took off, not slowing down until she reached the front doors, where the horse she'd requested the night prior was waiting. The brisk morning breeze surprised her, and the ice nipped at her cheeks, so she pulled her cloak up higher as she settled on the saddle.
Atop the steed, she faced the forest—a place she dreaded going to, as it dug up memories she'd tried so hard to forget.
Too late to turn back now.
Gloomy clouds cluttered over the sky as it shifted to a paler blue. Marguerite's horse rushed past the castle, through the trees, its hooves crunching over the frost-ridden dirt. Bare branches smacked against her arms and curious critters peeked at her from within sleeping shrubs.
The trip was fast, too fast for her liking. She spotted the familiar clearing, surrounded by vast pines and browning bushes, and snuck into it with a grimace. She dismounted, landing on her feet with ease.
"They should be here soon," she whispered as she stroked her steed's mane. "I hope."
She almost prayed Antoine wouldn't come. That evening, she'd feared him. His jealousy had never been so violent, so dangerous, and so public. He'd reserved his anger for her, after Balls where young nobles had ogled her, or after functions where older men had winked at her. Never had he been so vocal, and not in presence of his family.
Luckily, no one ever dared touch her, but that never stopped them from looking. Antoine hated it, and clearly, that hadn't changed.
It has become worse.
That night, she'd worried he might kill Romain. In doing so, he'd bring the Giromian army to their doorstep, set fire to the castle, and destroy the heritage his father had been so proud of.
A crackling sound behind her prompted her to jolt around, dismissing the images of Torrinni in flames. Two mares pranced into the clearance, and their riders dismounted; one in somber gray, the other in black. Both gazed at her with mixed expressions of unease and caring.
"Jules, Séb," she curtsied as they approached, "thank you for coming."
The two brothers walked close to one another, as if they hadn't spent several weeks despising each other. Closer up, Jules' eyes sparkled, and he had a silly smirk over his mouth, and Sébastien seemed to struggle to walk.
