♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE PREQUEL, THE GOLDEN PRINCESS, TO READ THIS BOOK!♦
BEWARE--spoilers in this blurb, for those who have not read previous books! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Kings. Queens. Princes & Princesses. Duchesses and Dukes. And... regents?
Eve...
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All Marguerite wanted was to cry, yet no tears would let loose once she was finally alone.
She rubbed her reddened eyes and massaged her stiff neck, and her stomach gurgled; she was famished.
She recalled Sébastien mentioning a late breakfast, before the meeting. Though she'd abhorred his implications of her potential marriage, she couldn't refuse food as she poured over paperwork.
So, after summoning Sébastien, she shoved the incriminating documents aside as a butler brought in a tray of egg whites, bacon, and a steaming mug of coffee. The java breezed into her nostrils as she sat back in her chair and sniffed in the fumes, letting the scent soothe her. She wasn't sure she should drink it while pregnant, but the relief it provided her—albeit temporary—was worth the risk.
Sébastien parked across from her and watched in awe as she downed half the liquid in her cup, not once reacting as it burned her tongue.
"Did you sleep at all last night? You looked exhausted, earlier."
"I slept in this very chair, actually," she said, smacking her lips before glaring at him. "I am aware of how ragged I look, and it is no thanks to you."
"Me?" He jammed a thumb to his chest, his voice too innocent to be sincere. "What have I done to offend? I figured the men debating your future right under your nose would cause distress, but not me."
She picked up a utensil from the platter and plunged it into the eggs. "Perhaps you angered me when you decided I would marry one of those men to solidify my claim?" With more force than needed, she crammed the food into her mouth and chewed, delighted by the savory salty texture. "This is scrumptious, but it will not placate me, Séb."
Sébastien dared a smirk. "Coffee and nourishment... is that how Antoine seduced you all those years ago?"
She pointed her utensil at him, fixing to poke it through his forehead as she spat out a witty retort, but a knock on the ajar door interrupted her. She got to her feet, and Sébastien did the same, spinning to witness a page boy sneaking in.
"Your Majesty," he said with a bow, remaining in the threshold. "Someone seeks an audience with you. A representative who rode from Terter."
Her utensil fell onto the plate. "My envoy, that I sent two days ago?"
"No, Majesty," the page dipped his chin, "from Terter, as in from the Duke."
Marguerite stormed around the desk, seething, but Sébastien threw his arm out to stop her from attacking the page. "Maggie—"
"—he dares? That foul-mouthed bastard dares send me someone and while he holds my man captive?" She sensed flames spilling from her nostrils, and was thankful Sébastien's body barred her from lashing out.
