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

•T H I R T Y - N I N E•

On:

January twenty-fifth, seventeen-ninety-eight

It would honor us if you graced us with your presence.

Regards,
The Terter Palace

She thrust the message back into Romain's grasp, afraid its texture might seep into her skin and poison her.

"You do not jest. So soon? Is that necessary?"

Romain shrugged and snuck the invitation into his pocket. "It is not, but as King I must attend, and give my," his nostrils flared, "blessing. Mother refused to go. So it falls on you to do so. It would not look good if both women in my lineage were not present." A weak flash of sympathy crossed over his face. "Terter is a few hours away, but if you cannot travel—" he gaped at her belly and winced.

She patted her stomach. "I do not want to go, but I am fit to." She grimaced. "Whatever you wish, Majesty."

Romain planted a quick kiss on her hand. "Thank you. I appreciate it." He scurried off, leaving her with double the anxiety she'd had when he arrived.

***

When Sarah woke her, it was still night outside. She helped her into a navy and emerald dress bordered in gold, and teased her hair into an oversized bun, with a space in the front for a crown.

Romain had crowned Prudence at their birthday ball, but had held onto the jeweled tiara for official affairs. This—representing the royal family at a high-placed noble wedding—was one such affair.

As Romain met her at their carriage, in the blistering cold, he arranged the ruby-encrusted diamonds atop her head and smiled.

"That is better." He rubbed her upper arm, trying not to shudder at the icy gusts nipping at the exposed skin of his neck; he'd tied his hair back, and his own crown seemed to weigh a thousand pounds atop his scalp. Beneath his dark cloak, he wore a creamy ensemble trimmed in gold, and appeared every bit the regal man on the portraits hanging in the castle.

Inside the vehicle, he sat across from her, and his trusty page boy beside him. "Ready?"

She nodded, and peeked out the window as they glided out of Westten. She detected the massive forest ahead, the woods splitting Westten territory and Terter apart. The only sounds were the wheels crunching over dead leaves and snow, and the gentle horse neighing whenever they picked up speed. Romain was silent, dozing off; and the page boy read from a small poetry book.

Prudence's mind hadn't rested in what felt like days. Antoine's letter had imprinted on her soul, and she still hadn't decided what to say to Romain. The person she would have consulted, asked for advice from—Pauline—continued to evade her; and she had much to explain, too.

She wondered if Antoine's upcoming travels involved Julia. Had he received Romain's offer, and accepted? Was he accompanying the young lady himself, as a peaceful emissary between the two lands?

Did Romain know it?

Antoine would not be so foolish. He would not enter Giromian territory without a warning.

She assumed Romain and Antoine had agreed on terms and her sibling knew of the Totresian King's voyage, but she couldn't bring herself to speak of it. To do so would be admitting that she had contact with Antoine, and Romain had asked her not to. Antoine wrote to her, it was true; but she debated answering on many occasions. And that would displease the Giromian monarch.