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

•T H I R T Y - F O U R•

If she'd kept mum and stayed out of everyone's business, this wouldn't have happened. Emeric might have continued to twist words to get Antoine to invade, but he wouldn't have information to further his cause. And she wouldn't be locked in her room with no power to fix what she'd done.

Everything rested in Sébastien's hands. Because, as Clémentine had said, he was the smartest of the brothers; and now he had to control the fire Céleste had started.

***

Her Prince didn't stop by the next day, either. Trays of warm-ish food were dropped off, but that was her only contact with the outside world.

She stayed in her nightwear all day. She didn't fix her face or her hair, and barely touched her food, instead yearning for alcohol to spike her tea and take the edge off her suffering.

All she did was sulk and doubt. Could Sébastien talk his brother down? Had he even seen the message, as Céleste hoped he would? Surely Antoine had showed him, sought his advice, to expose to him another of their mother's secrets. Had they gotten Jules involved, too? She felt so cut off from the world, from the court she so hated yet loved to creep through to sniff out drama.

"I am a child with no grasp of politics," she said, blowing out her cheeks. "What possessed me to think I could get in the middle of this? I am losing my mind."

She spent the remainder of the day between sobbing and chuckling at her situation. A fickle fright fluttered through her, too; events would soon disrupt any fake peace between Totresia and Giroma. Her brother and father misinterpreted messages and misunderstood allegiances, and the King needed someone to hold him back, not launch him forward.

She fell asleep cradling her pillow and praying for answers.

***

The following day, a hunch poked at her, telling her to prepare for a confrontation. So she dressed in demure colors and shaped her hair into a low bun, practicing her grimaces as she stared at her reflection. She'd not let Emeric bark at her today. No more demeaning her and disrespecting her opinions.

"I will use my wits and convince him to advise against war. He must not devise stupid actions without further investigation."

She strode before the door, waiting for his footsteps, for his grunt, for his authoritative voice to request entry.

The footfalls came, but the voice that accompanied them was not the one she'd expected.

"Let me in," said a familiar man, his tone chilling Céleste's insides.

The King?

The door opened to reveal Antoine, draped in rich purple. "Céleste."

Though she struggled not to stare at him—purple wasn't a color she'd ever seen him wear—she curtsied. "Majesty?"

He closed the door and motioned for her to stand. "I dislike your brother's methods more and more."

She straightened up and brushed off her gown. "As do I, but I have no say in anything."

"Well, I do," said Antoine, brisking farther into the room. He peered around, his eyes stopping on the unmade bed. He flinched. "It is distasteful to lock someone up to bar them from speaking their truth. But you are the only one being frank with me. And Séb, of course. This behavior offends me."

She lowered her chin and fixed her gaze on her bare feet. She hadn't had a chance to slip on stockings or shoes before she'd had the urge to pace.

"So you are not angry with me for spilling such horrid news without explanation?"

"I am not angry with you, no." Antoine finally twisted away the mattress he'd been concentrated on, and walked towards the sofa. "Angry with Mother, with Gregor, with that damned Cornelius, perhaps a smidgen upset with Prudence, too. But you? No. You have done nothing but strive for the good of our country by begging me to avoid a war."

Céleste sucked her lips between her teeth. "But I have failed, no?" She shifted her weight. "You are infuriated with Giromians and wish to punish their leader, right?"

Antoine scoffed. "You have not failed." He ran a hand through his hair and leaned into the couch back. "I went to talk to Mother."

Céleste gasped and clutched at the left side of her chest. "You visited her?"

"Yes, shocking." He let out a heartless chuckle. "I surprised her, for sure. But I had to go. I did not mistrust you, but her? She is a master of lies and deception, so I had to be positive of this story. As it turns out... it is all real. None of us knew about," he winced, "Philippe. Father bribed all in court to keep quiet, paid historians to erase him from history. With time, everyone forgot he'd ever existed. Like magic." He rubbed his forehead as his shoulders slumped. "I was born not long after."

"So it is real. All of it." Céleste's heart skipped a beat. "And Prudence has no clue."

"Correct." Antoine perked up at her name. "My apologies... I imagine you wondered where your fiancé was during your confinement. He was with me. I brought him to see Mother, as another witness. A level-headed one." He snorted. "Much more than me."

A weight lifted from Céleste's soul; the doubt Emeric had placed there, swearing to her that her betrothed would be disappointed in her.

"I plan to have an in-depth chat with your brother about how to treat women, but I am told he is only like that with you." He glanced at her from head to toe, and squinted. "Overprotective? His friends and other nobles swear he loves Miss Bristol and is a perfect gentleman with her."

Though reassured—Emeric was not a womanizing prick as he once was—Céleste frowned. "I am a woman, too. A younger one, but a lady, and he must learn to respect me!"

"He will." Antoine took a few steps away from the sofa and adjusted his coat. "But that is only part of why I came to you. I wanted to notify you that I am leaving Totresia after Jules' wedding."

Céleste cocked her head and blinked. "Leaving? On vacation?"

"I am going to Giroma." He averted his gaze at once.

Céleste couldn't contain her squeak. "Majesty! You promised me you would not invade! You agreed with me about my brother's nonsense, and you—"

"—I am not invading, I meant that. I am traveling there in secret. Not as a King, but as a man wishing to communicate with the woman he loves, to inform her in person of her family's secrets and offer her aid." He gulped. "And a new home, should she wish for one."

Céleste bit down on her lip so hard she could have sworn she tasted the metallic flavor of blood.

She scanned his face for a sign of his mood. For a trace of the level of seriousness of this situation.

And it was very serious. So serious that she feared she'd have to make a major decision that might alter the rest of her life.

Resounding in her mind were her brother's yells, her father's moans of discontent, and her fiancé's pleas to rethink her heart's desire, but she ignored them.

I must see her, one last time.

"May I come with you?"

He let her words linger in the air for a moment as he narrowed his gaze on her, analyzing her as she had him. His eyebrows scrunched and his lips curved downward. He was angry, and he wouldn't permit her to accompany him to meet with her best friend.

Her jaw dropped, and she covered her mouth. "I am sorry, I should not have asked, I—"

His sudden smile stopped her speech. "Bringing you with me is essential, Céleste. That was part of my plan. You are coming, because Prudence will only accept to converse with you."

•••