The Golden Queen (#5 in the GOLDEN series) ✔

•T W O•

If he agreed with her, Antoine didn't express it, and instead fell into a thick but somewhat comfortable silence.

***

Later that night, as they rolled through frozen countrysides, Julia roused from a nap and stretched. She twirled her ebony curls, and candlelight reflected in her bright blue eyes, showing the terror swelling within.

"What am I to do now? I was to marry King Romain, and he... is dead. What does that mean?"

Céleste hadn't bothered to sleep, but Julia's whimper-like wails would have woken her in haste had she tried. "Lower your voice, please."

Antoine scrunched his eyebrows. "Agreed. We have authorization to travel, but we are still enemies in this country." Fatigue lines perforated his cheeks, and traces of irritation indented over his forehead. "We will discuss it once we are home and safe."

"But..." Julia's lower lip puffed out, her elbows pushing into Céleste, who had the misfortune to sit by her. "I am confused. Should I not stay in Giroma to marry another Giromian? Was I not meant to help establish some alliance with them?"

Though she rolled her eyes, Céleste understood Julia, to a point. She, too, would have preferred to stay in Westten, with her beloved.

Threading his fingers through his messy mane of ashy chestnut curls, Antoine sighed. "It was never official. The agreement was more verbal than written. We need you in Totresia, to seek a different but decent match your father will approve of. If Giromian prospects become available and are beneficial to your family's estate, then we will revisit the issue."

As she thought of it, Céleste saw that they already had an alliance with Giroma, no matter how flimsy it was—through Prudence. She wasn't sure the Queen regent and Antoine had mended their woes, but they'd be better business associates than any other Totresian and Giromian monarchs had ever been.

And they are having a baby. Surely that links our lands in some unspoken agreement, no?

Julia fussed about with a loose thread in her lavender gown.

"I promise to ensure you make a suitable match, Miss Espinar. To compensate you for the emotional turmoil of the past few days." Antoine pinched the bridge of his nose, already fed up with Céleste's earlier behavior, and on the verge of losing his temper with Julia's. "In the meantime, settle down, would you?"

There was more than impatience and frustration in his attitude, Céleste could tell. Even in the dimmed light, she'd recall that expression; the same as when he'd chased after Prudence's carriage when she left Torrinni. The same sorrow swimming in his gaze, the same slight quiver of his chin, hunching of his shoulders, fidgeting of his legs.

Was he imagining himself holding Prudence, placing soft kisses near her temples, untangling her golden hair, drowning in her ocean and pine eyes? Was he wondering if he ever would, again?

That is how I feel about Séb...

Antoine caught her staring, and though she braced for him to scold her, he didn't. He instead flashed a weak smile, as if acknowledging her thoughts, as if he'd read them.

Would they form an actual friendship in this ordeal? Bond over their losses like siblings, share their burdens like old friends? What would it be like to be in a King's close circle?

As he wiped a palm down his face, Antoine grunted. "We will not receive a happy greeting once we arrive in Totresia."

Céleste's eyes widened. Would he divulge the depth of their conspiracies in Julia's presence? He'd only glossed over details as they departed from Westten, and with her affiliation to Charlotte—someone they mistrusted, along with Clémentine and Jules—Julia might not respond well to their formulations.

Julia blinked. "What do you mean?"

He tugged at his collar. "We believe the Duke of Terter will have sent messages to Torrinni to announce our deaths, unaware that we did not perish like Romain and Pauline. Such information will cause chaos, rile up our people, and dig a deep rift between Jules and myself, as he is my heir and regent should anything happen to me."

"Oh!" Julia's squirming to and fro made the vehicle sway. "You said you suspected the Duke of foul matters. But why would he seek to disrupt our Totresian court? He has no qualms with me or Céleste, does he? Why would he lie about our deaths?"

Holding her tongue—she wanted to call Julia an innocent soul who knew nothing of the real plots—Céleste patted Julia's thigh to calm her.

"He does not, but he has hatred for me and my family. Though I will admit, Schwartz has qualms with many people. He thirsts for something that is not his. The Giromian crown is up for grabs, and in his delusions he may believe he can seize it. What would writing to my sibling have to do with all that, you ask?" He snorted. "Jules is easier to manipulate. And his wife longs for more power, I bet. So with news of my demise, our nobles will grant Jules regency, and he and his spouse will make me nothing but a ghost. Cornelius will fight for the Giromian throne, and if he wins it," he held his breath and closed his eyes, "he will reach out to Jules and talk him into some sordid alliance, or invade. Or unite with Napoléon."

"Charlotte?" Julia wrinkled her nose at her friend's name, paying no heed to any of the King's other hypotheses. "I cannot speak for these others, but her? She would not be in on such foul plans. Yes, she quite enjoys power and royalty, but she would not manipulate her husband. And merge with Giroma?" She scoffed. "Her father would never allow it."

"But..." Céleste fixed on Antoine as new ideas ruminated in her mind. "Other nobles might, no? Is that what you think, Majesty? That Schwartz might find other allies in Totresia?"

He nodded. "Let us not forget he once had Mother." He curled his lip. "And Sir Geitz could allow it. He does not have the pristine record you think him to have, Miss Espinar. None of my nobles do. Some backed my father's murderous intent towards Giroma, and conveniently forgot about the damage. No one is one hundred percent innocent."

"Fine, her father, perhaps." Julia set a hand to her heart. "But not Charlotte. She would not be involved in such things. She is a Princess and has more dignity than that. Scheming with a Giromian? Certainly not."

Céleste and Antoine exchanged a glance, though Céleste wasn't certain what it meant, at first.

"I do not point fingers." He reached for the pouch beside him and extracted his gourd. "I would never imply my brother's wife has sneaky intentions." He side-glanced at Céleste so fast, she might have missed it had she not been staring at him already. "We will no longer mention such things in your presence, I promise." Again, he gazed at Céleste, narrowed and widened his eyes, then returned to Julia.

Céleste's lips formed an o of comprehension.

No speculating in depth in front of Julia, got it.

Julia's allegiances were up in the air and constantly wavering. The King didn't trust her.

So Céleste acquiesced as she crossed one leg over the other, making it clear she received his message. "So at this very moment, a rider may be carrying news of our deaths to Totresia?"

After a sip of water—or liquor, because Céleste swore she smelled a faint whiff of brandy—Antoine corked his gourd. "I can almost guarantee it. Our arrival will not warrant a welcome parade. Be on your guard, both of you. Let me do all the talking, no matter who we encounter en route, is that clear?"

Julia vowed to obey, but asickening weight in Céleste's stomach warned her that the young lady would do nothingher King commanded her to.

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