The Golden Princess (#4 in the GOLDEN series) ✔

•O N E•

The hooves hammering on the path lulled her to sleep, but Prudence's eyes stayed open.

What am I doing?

King Romain of Giroma dozed off across from her, and his squire at his side also seemed to fight slumber. Both were nestled against the blue velvet cushions; peaceful, serene, and unaware of the Princess and her inner turmoil.

Prudence kept her gaze trained outside, fixed on the last of the Totresian landscapes as the proceeding of Giromian carriages galloped farther and farther from Torrinni. They'd reached the Marquessate of Mara, but didn't plan to linger, as Romain wanted to get home as soon as possible. Mara was the final stop before the border to France; the final Totresian town before Prudence exited the only country she'd ever known. For good.

From under the cerulean flap covering her window, she spotted the fields of vines that the Mara countryside was famous for. Tiny specks of ice covered the bare branches, and the usually vibrant grass was faded, browning, dead. Like her soul.

With her free hand, she rubbed her upper arm. She blew out a few breaths, praying their next stop would have a large hearth she could sit by. She'd never been so cold; even as a child, when traveling with Edouard, she didn't recall encountering such frosty temperatures.

But then again, were her memories correct? Was anything regarding Edouard ever legitimate?

Her bitterness from discovering the truth hadn't lessened, and she doubted it ever would. He and Clémentine had known everything from the start and never informed her. They'd never thought it necessary to divulge her true identity—controversial as it was—or give her a chance to meet her real family.

She snickered. At least last night, she'd gotten those truths out of the Dowager, and was on her way towards a new life, after twenty-one years of uncertainty and bullying.

Am I even twenty-one? Is my birthday in spring, like Antoine's?

Antoine—a name still so sour on her tongue. Anytime she envisioned him, acid fizzled in her belly. He'd sworn he had no idea that his family had betrayed her. His parents were her captors for two decades, refusing to set her free. He wasn't to blame for their treachery, but he'd done his own damage by seducing her, making her his mistress, and humiliating her in front of all of Totresia. Then doing next to nothing to confront his mother and shame her for all she'd plotted. Prudence would never look at him the same; if she ever saw him again.

"Giroma is much prettier," said a muffled voice across from her.

She dropped the flap, setting the inside of the carriage in semi-darkness. "Ah, is it?" She peeked at her twin brother as he smiled, stretching from his quick nap. "How different is it?"

Glancing at the material over the window, he shrugged. "Bigger. Colder, yes, but there is such warmth from our people." He adjusted his seating, nudging his squire—who jolted upright and blinked, as if forgetting where he was. "Nothing like how Totresians portray it, I assure you."

All Prudence knew of Giroma was what Edouard had told her. It was a military country with a stern leader who preferred violence over peace. He sometimes added that it was a mountainous world of cold citizens, frozen landscapes, and corrupt nobles.

She licked her lips. "The army does not wander the streets of the capital at all hours of the day and night?"

Romain widened his smile, amused at her image of his country. "No, dear sister. Our army keeps a tight watch, but they stick to the castle or the Military Academy." He snapped his fingers, and his squire produced a leather pouch filled with water. "Our castle is grand. I cannot wait for you to see it, Prudence!"

She still cringed hearing her name. Why had her parents named her that? She hated Clémentine, but at least the name she'd given her had meaning. The flower in the sun, the flower who braved the storm, the flower whose petals never died—

I am not that person anymore. Marguerite is gone.

Romain's diluted tone brought her back to reality. "You are afraid." He took a swig of the liquid in the pouch and thrust it into the squire's hands. "You fear the reactions of our residents?"

Prudence nodded, but it was her new family's reaction she worried about most. Would her real mother accept her? Would Prudence pick up on all the new traditions she'd have to learn? And would the staff at the castle acknowledge her as a Princess and treat her with respect, though she'd lived all her life with the enemy?

Regret pinched at her innards. The rest of the scene on the veranda came to mind. Sébastien, Jules, and Cordelia—the trio of royals she'd always treated as siblings, always loved, always admired. Even Jules, with his brief alliance with Clémentine's antics, warmed her heart, and she wished she'd allowed him a moment to say goodbye.

Then she pictured the other person she'd neglected to embrace in farewell—Céleste, the spunky girl she considered as a best friend. More regret swelled in her stomach, and she clenched her teeth to not unleash a moan of pain.

She'd had an ultimatum presented to her and had had to act fast; stay in Totresia, shamed, foreign, traitorous because of her blood? Or flee to Giroma and discover her true origins?

At that moment, the choice had been easy.

"You are the long-lost Princess! They will welcome you with wide open arms." Romain slid a strand of golden hair behind his ears as he leaned forward and patted her knee. "Fear not. We will enter your real territory soon, and it is a place where you will not be tortured by anyone, lest I cut their heads off."

She almost chuckled, flattered at his protective manner. But it wasn't easy to open up to him; not after his cruelty from days past. He'd pointed fingers at her predicament and called her names and bruised her heart; it would take a long time to forgive him, to learn to love him as a brother. For now, he was only her new King.

King.

She chewed the insides of her cheeks to hold in her tears. She'd only known two Kings in her lifetime, and both had wounded in her ways she hadn't expected. Despite the rage coursing through her, she still cared for the second one; for Antoine, the boy she'd grown up with, the teenager she'd missed, the man she'd fallen in love with. Perhaps she'd always care for him... and perhaps she was confusing her fury for lust. But she'd never know, deciding to shove him in a dank corner of her mind and move on with her life. Many new hurdles awaited her, and she didn't have time to dwell on the past.

Once more, she lifted the flap to glimpse the graying landscape as they slithered through Mara. The faded stone of the city walls reminded her of her childhood voyages. She'd loved the cobblestone streets and the colorful dwellings and stony buildings that lined the road to the Marquesses' Palace. But would she feel the same about Giroma? Would its capital, Westten, offer as much joy as Torrinni and its charming pathways had? Would the view be as breathtaking as from the Torrinni Castle watchtower, overlooking a sea of trees in the distance and a bustling town of caring citizens?

She released the fabric and slunk into the plush cushions, staring into the lap of her black dress. She sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes, rehearsing her forced happiness in her mind, preparing to pretend to be awed.

This was the decision she'd made—to assume her role as a Giromian Princess, and live in the halls of a new home, with a new purpose, a new entourage. A new life. Now, so close to the Totresian border, was not the time for remorse.

•••