♦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!
••••
The world is upside down, and those you thought you knew... you no longer...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Halfway into her happy dancing dream, as she twirled in a satin ball-gown of ivory and cerulean, with Sébastien's hand clasped over her shoulder, someone shook Céleste awake.
"Miss Richel." The voice wasn't Sébastien's, and she grimaced. "Céleste! Wake up!"
She wrenched her eyes open to find Antoine, his eyes wide and worried, his hand on her shoulder; not Sébastien's.
"What is it?" She tipped sideways, out of his grasp, and rubbed her forehead, trying to adjust to their luggage carriage's semi-darkness. Trunks had fallen over between her and Antoine, as if splitting the vehicle in two; but the King had angled over the mess to rouse her from slumber. "Where are we? Is someone attacking us?"
Thanks to the flimsy lantern dangling from the top of the window, she detected his flinch as he lowered into his seat. "No, but Séb had to rush off ahead because someone might have spotted us. Me."
She planted her feet on the floor, ready to stand up and run after her fiancé. "Spotted?" Panting, she clutched at her chest. "You? What did you do?"
Antoine reached over to bar her from getting up. "Calm down—"
"—how? We are well-hidden, who would notice us? Notice you?"
"Please, settle down." She'd lifted from the cushions, and he waved at her to sit. "I snuck my head out a few times while we traveled, so surely someone spied me and wondered who I was. But I do not question Sébastien's hunches." He scrubbed his face. "He sensed something odd and hastened off to scout the area. He has Miss Espinar's papers, in case patrolmen found him. Since he is the official escort. All is well."
Céleste sucked in the frosty air and wrinkled her nose. "Then why did you wake me? You scared me half to death." A drift fluttered into the carriage and she tugged her cloak collar up. "Are we out of Totresia?"
They'd left what felt like ages ago, yet Céleste had a hunch they hadn't gotten far. A royal Prince accompanying a high-bred lady to Giroma, while smuggling another high-bred lady and the King of Totresia in the baggage freight? A difficult and slow task.
It had to be around midnight, and Céleste's groggy self struggled to grasp reality.
Antoine pulled out a flask from the bag at his feet. He uncorked it with his teeth and gulped down a few swigs. "We are. Currently in France, and possibly surrounded by guards controlled by Giroma. Or Frenchmen intent on capturing a Totresian Prince for Napoléon, for who knows what reason." After a few more sips, he wiped his mouth with his leather glove. "Perhaps they doubt one noblewoman would have an entire vehicle filled with belongings?"
Céleste chortled; Julia's trunks stacked haphazardly within the carriage, and any passing person glimpsing within would wonder how one could accumulate so much stuff.
