♦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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Pacing back and forth in front of Prudence's old bed brought too many memories to crash into Céleste's mind. How often had they marched to and fro in this room, attempting to uncover the latest plot, the latest scandal?
The latest was her real identity, and how long it stayed hidden from court.
Yet now it was Céleste's room. It still smelled like caffeine and roses, though her products scattered across the vanity, and her clothes hung in the massive armoire, and her favorite drink—fruity tea—sat untouched on the coffee table.
This time, she paced alone.
"How dare he?" Her feet slammed onto the wooden floors and her fists bunched at her sides. Her skin burned, as if she'd jumped into her hearth and let the flames consume her.
The contents of her father's letter seared onto her brain. His stupid words, his stupid requests infuriated her beyond belief. She loved him and would do anything for his approval, to feed his pride... but this was too much. Especially for loyalty to a man who was, in fact, a murderer.
Barnabé Richel knew what Prudence meant to Céleste. Had he no thanks to give for all she did for his daughter? Did he have no respect for the director of the Academy that aided Céleste in attaining the position she now held?
She peered at the ceiling, at its cream-colored surface, and growled. "How could he ask me to do such a thing?"
She glared at her bedroom door, as if he were standing behind it, listening to her reaction. How had he gotten wind of Prudence's situation so fast? He'd left court soon after Cornelius—the first time—and Emeric had followed with Esther. So, as far as Céleste knew, there were no Valeville representatives in Antoine's council at the moment. If someone was, she had no notion who they were.
"Oh." She halted her stomping and set her hands on her hips. "Is someone here in secret? Spying on me? Overhearing my conversations? Is that how he found out I still consider my Giromian mentor a friend?"
She squeezed her arms to her chest and continued to glower at the door, imagining a man tipped against it, ear glued to the surface, jotting down notes on paper to relay to her father.
Why would it bother Sir Richel so much that Céleste was still friends with Prudence? Giromian or not, Prudence was not and never would be an enemy. She grew up in Torrinni, resided at the Academy, was an esteemed member of Torrinni Court—so how could she be a turncoat?
"She was unawareof who she was," said Céleste, grunting as she dragged herself to her window. "Does Father assume she lied?"
Too many sordid images filled Céleste's head; those of Prudence running off, cursing Totresians as she returned home with her dreadful brother. Pictures of the ex-Duchess laughing at Céleste's naivete, at how she believed her ruse, how she trusted and loved her.
