The Golden Flower (#1 in the GOLDEN series) ✔

•T W E N T Y - O N E•

"You swear by all that is holy that she is what matters most, Sir; so, if that is the case, rethink your position."

They told him to devise plots, to join Napoléon's more secretive causes, to make Adelaide more useful.

"She must marry someone of means, Sir. Someone she might rally to us and our actions."

So Adelaide discovered she'd be moving to Totresia.

"Such a dull and dead country," she said to herself, pouting her berry-hued lips, pleased that their hue matched her wedding outfit. "Kings die here! And their Queens become old crones who nag."

She would have preferred Giroma and all its splendors and riches and luxuries, but Father said to be patient. Father said everything happened for a reason.

"You will rise through the ranks in due time, daughter dearest."

She hadn't understood his meaning then, when he shoved her into the carriage that would carry her to Torrinni; but soon enough, she comprehended. His relentless drive for her success, his sudden strictness—he wanted the best for her.

When he first mentioned King Edouard sought eligible ladies to compete for his eldest son's hand, Adelaide's father appeared so nonchalant and cold, she'd refused out-right. "No! I will not go to Totresia!" She ran to her room and cried for hours, unable to shake the shivers shuffling up and down her spine.

Totresia? Why? Such a boring place; nothing like the countries she yearned to visit. Like the vibrant palaces in Giroma, the mountainous cabins in Switzerland, the looming castles in Germany—

When he found her later, his demeanor warmer, she listened.

"I promise you his son is charming, or so the women whisper," he said, sitting on the edge of her apple-red covered mattress. "I have plans for you, Ade, I told you this. I know you abhor my advisors, but they are right. Staying here in Avignon will amount to nothing for you. You are my most prized jewel—my strongest weapon."

If she couldn't travel, Adelaide would rather stay in the oversized manor she'd lived in all her life. In the place where she ruled the city. Where all spoke of her in hushed tones and gushed about her exquisite outfits and fiery mane. The red-headed beauty, they called her. All stopped whatever they were doing when she arrived in a shop, a tavern, a square.

"Father..." She plopped out her lower lip—once an infallible gesture; but that time, it didn't work.

"They want a French girl at their court. Of all the counties and duchies and petty provinces, they want us. You. It is an honor, trust me. I need you to do this. Heed my every request, and they will crown you their Queen."

Queen of Totresia?

Her eyes grew blurry with tears as she got up to stretch her curtains apart. Rays blasted over her cheeks—another heated southern French day. "I would have preferred Giroma."

"You will take this and spin it to your profit. He is the Crown Prince." He stood straight, his faded blue irises sharp like steel. "You will have a list of objectives, and I will write to you often and expect progress reports. Do not disappoint me, daughter."

Her heartbeats turned erratic. Marrying a Totresian man? Not what she'd aspired to. She would have rather snuck into Versailles, to canoodle with the higher-bred ladies and obtain a prize-worthy spouse. Or run off with that marvelous noble-boy she'd had a brief stint with a few summers prior—

"Totresia? Are you certain?" Her belly fluttered at the recollection of that pretty boy. Handsome, muscular, a dashing smile and the darkest eyes, yet full of warmth when he—