♦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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Exhausted from her stupor, Prudence slept soundly. She said nothing of her discovery to Pauline, and sealed her lips the next morning when Sarah woke her.
Her nausea had lessened, but her belly still ached, meaning she had to wear another loose-fitting gown. She was well enough to stay out of bed, but refused to leave her quarters.
Sarah toyed with her curls, fashioning them into the typical Giromian style—bouffant and buoyant. "Yes, but the ball preparations—"
Prudence glared at her in the mirror. "I care not for those." Her gut gurgled, but Sarah didn't seem to hear it.
"You will not take part?" Sarah's eyes widened. "Your mother will be so disappointed."
"Yes, well, she has a handle on things and does not need me." Prudence glanced into the lap of her turquoise and pink gown. "I am certain I will approve of whatever she does. She has exquisite taste."
Though she grimaced, Sarah hummed in approval.
"Besides," Prudence sucked her lips in to apply a subtle rouge to her cheeks, to conceal her sickening pallor, "I would much rather be surprised."
Once Sarah had scurried out, the wheels in Prudence's mind spun out of control, whirling so fast she feared she might be ill again. She set a hand on her abdomen, breathed in and out, then fished out her attempted letter for Céleste. She thought of adding her misadventures with Cornelius, and how he implied evolution for Europe.
"Oh, things will evolve, all right," Prudence said, scowling at her lower half.
She was with child. If—or more like when—her predicament became public news, she had no inkling what would happen. All in Giroma likely knew by now of her fake—but not so fake—affair with Antoine. Romain might have spread the rumor that she'd never actually given her virtue to the King of Totresia... but if her belly were to swell in size and her throwing up episodes were to multiply, it wouldn't take long for all to guess the truth, to be aware that she carried the heir—a bastard—to the Totresian throne.
What would the Giromian people do in such a case?
She scrunched up her letter, bracing to stuff it into her mouth, to eat the words, to dispose of yet another sign that she was a fraud. Writing to Céleste to warn her of Cornelius was perilous, and being pregnant with Antoine's infant was deadly.
With a whimper, she shot to her feet, further crumpling the note. She envisioned Romain ordering her imprisonment, Pauline sobbing herself into a depression, Cornelius cackling as he pointed fingers. Sarah would shake her head, the other ladies would sneer. The Westten court would cringe at her sinful actions, and loathe her for her link to Totresia, the enemy.
"Oh, dear." Her knees gave out, but luckily her plush fur carpet smoothed her fall. She swept the back of her hand over her dampened forehead. "What can I do?"
