♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE PREQUEL, THE GOLDEN DUCHESS, TO READ THIS BOOK!♦
BEWARE--spoilers in this blurb, for those who have not read previous books! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
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The world is upside down, and those you thought you knew... you no longer...
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After recomposing herself, Céleste snuck out of her room and to the service stairs. She'd never miss an opportunity to witness the Dowager shamed, and her permanent exit from the castle would be one such occasion. Punished for what she did to her family, shunned for her conniving plots and unapproved foreign alliances, Clémentine would no longer pose a threat once escorted off the premises—or so Céleste hoped.
She'd promised herself to not eavesdrop anymore, but this was an exception Céleste was willing to make. So she hurried down the creaking staircase, landed in the service hallway, and glided into the West Wing. If she pranced down the Long Corridor, she'd be spotted instantly, so instead, she slithered past the Ballroom and on to the King's Corridor, stopping at its edge. She peered left and right and, with only a butler and a page boy walking by, she saw the coast as clear. She rushed up to the wall concealing the Meeting Room and the King's Office, and scaled it until she arrived at the corner opening out into the main entrance.
She glanced past the wall's edge, setting her sights on the Entryway.
A few guards and several serving girls and squires carried heavy trunks outside.
Cordelia was there, her back to Céleste. Clémentine was hugging her, and her voice wafted over from the doors, where they stood together.
"Be sure to continue your lessons. You think you are a proper Princess, but you still have much to learn—"
"—enough, please," said the Princess, pushing away the somberly dressed Dowager. "You do not decide for me anymore. Antoine does." She stepped backwards. "But I wish you safe travels to the palace."
From where she perched, Céleste struggled to capture the pain on Clémentine's face. But she took in her frail frame, her small posture, the uncertainty in how she watched her only daughter slip from her reach.
Jules walked into the area, and Céleste held in a gasp as she yanked herself back into the King's Corridor, worried he'd see her.
"Mother," he said, cold and unloving. "You will find that the staff awaits your arrival, but they have strict instructions, so do not try anything sly."
The Dowager replied nothing to her youngest son. Surely she was still disappointed in him; he was the boy she'd counted on, the one she'd bet her money on to replace Antoine. Now, he sided with the King and contributed to sending her away.
Cloaked in shadows, Céleste listened as a third royal child spoke, his soft timbre echoing over to her. Unable to resist the temptation, she peeked around the wall once more, her sights resting on her beloved Sébastien as he gave his mother a stiff hug. He wore the same dreary colors, and he'd tied his hair into a ponytail.
"Safe travels," he said, devoid of affection. Without waiting for a reply, he took off towards the Long Corridor, walking too fast for Céleste to gauge his reaction, to read his facial expression. He didn't notice her, but a part of her wished he had, so she could embrace him, console him, or share a toast with him, to celebrate his mother's demise.
