♦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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Prudence couldn't come to terms with the news. She paced her room all night, and the next day declined food or company. She went as far as locking her door, wary anyone would walk in and find her glaring at her mattress, where the letters remained hidden. At least until she figured out if she should warn Romain, or keep Antoine's arrival secret.
"Romain..." She wiped her face for the fifteenth time, having cried enough tears to fill several bathtubs.
Her strong-willed yet naïve brother who strove for peace and to undo his father's actions was unaware that his mother had games of her own, and that his biggest rival was on his way to Giroma.
In her haze of emotions, Prudence had begun writing letters. One to Céleste, thanking her for her honesty; and one to Antoine, composed of scribbles and crossed-out words and unfinished sentences.
All those messages ended up scrunched, as she had no clue when Antoine planned to arrive. None of her notes would reach him in time, and she wasn't sure Céleste knew of his departure from the castle.
She soon settled before her open window, letting the snowy breeze wash over her cheeks as the sun set over the bustling city of Westten. She prayed for answers to come to her in the wind; to drizzle into her ears and fill her mind and give her insight.
As the light faded, someone knocked.
"Yes?" She pivoted from the window-sill, and her multi-colored skirts grazed some of the papers she'd thrown to the floor. She hurried to pick them up, then pulled her shawl tighter over her shoulders.
The door creaked, and Romain appeared in the threshold, decked in a blue-gray suit, his expression somber. "Apologies if I have disturbed you," he said, striding into the room. "I heard you requested isolation, but this is important."
She dipped into a curtsy, doing her damndest to avoid his gaze, lest he see the truth in her eyes. "Nonsense, you would never disturb me." Her lungs constricted, and her corset dug into her ribs with her every breath.
"I will not take much of your time." He marched to her and handed her a parchment. "We are to attend a wedding tomorrow, and must leave at dawn." He cleared his throat and covered his mouth with a tightened fist. "Cornelius' and Adelaide's wedding."
Prudence snorted. "You jest, right?" Her brows shot up as she peered down at the paper—the invitation—and sealed her lips shut to not spit on the words.
To His Majesty King Romain, Her Highness Princess Prudence, Her Grace Dowager Pauline,
The Duke of Terter, Cornelius Schwartz, has the pleasure of inviting you to his impromptu wedding to:
