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

•F I F T Y - E I G H T•

"Prudence's lady-in-waiting, the one who we accuse of poisoning the Dowager." She scoffed as she plucked a book from the rummage—one she would have loved to read while sitting by the fireplace and sipping on spiked tea. "If the Princess is right, and Sarah worked with Cornelius, then she might have been tasked with stripping the castle bare, capturing all its secrets before she fled."

Sébastien wiped his hands on his pants and trudged over to her, hunching and jumping and side-stepping the obstacles between them.

"We should get started on the letters and documents I found," he said, kissing her forehead. He smelled like dust and metal, yet she welcomed his touch and nodded at his advice.

Together, they ventured to the desk, where he'd placed their meager findings. He lowered into the somehow unbroken chair with a strained sigh and stretched.

He mumbled positive words to encourage himself, but Céleste sneered.

A Queen would not hide secrets in books.

Queen—the word rang in her brain like a blasting bell.

Prudence was now a Queen. The Queen—the regent who would rule over Giroma, the country her ex-lover despised. She'd sit on the throne and pick up where Romain had left off—but what did that mean? Would she attempt peace with Totresia, at last, having grown up there and having laid with its King, resulting in her carrying his unborn child in her belly? Or would she become bitter as her father and brother, and spread more hatred against Totresians?

Céleste struggled to picture Marguerite doing the latter; but Prudence, the stone-faced Princess who had lost her entire family, might do things differently. She might refuse to interact with Totresia, fearing another Gregor-Philippe situation.

Céleste assisted Sébastien, but paid little attention to what she read. Her mind wouldn't rest, too busy imagining Prudence banning them from her country, from her life, and holding them accountable for her tragedy.

"Oh, dear." Sébastien's voice was frail, barely audible at first. "Look at this."

Céleste spun to him and noticed that his cheeks had turned as pale as the ivory walls. "What is it?"

He slid the note over to her and pointed, urging her to read.

She growled when she recognized the handwriting.

January the tenth, seventeen-ninety-eight,

To Her Grace, Dowager Queen Pauline of Giroma,

I beseech you—convince your son to marry me. It is clear my marriage with King Antoine is falling apart—no thanks to your horrid daughter—and I will leave soon, to head back to my father's home in Avignon. I do not wish to do that.

I have your secrets, as you well know. The things my father cumulated over the years, in anger at your first denial at my union with Romain. It was your fault I was sent to Totresia and now is your chance to rectify that. I am certain, in the next coming days, that Antoine will have our marriage annulled; so, to fix your past mistakes, I ask you to speak with Romain.

I would make an excellent addition to Giroma. For I, too, abhor Totresia and would be in agreement with Romain and his current reign. You cannot deny I would also provide you with grandchildren, as you may have heard the rumors—Antoine is incapable of conceiving an heir with me. I guarantee the fault is not mine.

I will have this letter delivered to you in haste, for I will come to Giroma no matter what. However, if you were to reject me, I will reroute my carriage towards someone who will have me. Mark my words, Dowager.