♦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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The Torrinni Palace had lost its regal elegance. The faded canary stone had turned to a monotone gray, the iron and gold gates were flaky with rust. The surrounding trees slouched, their branches drooping. It was as if the building itself mourned the loss of the King.
But at the sight of said King, when he snuck his neck out of the carriage, the guards at the entrance bit their tongues and froze in shock.
Denis explained the situation. The soldiers hesitated to let them pass, and Céleste wondered if they were stalling; if their mistress wasn't home, as she was supposed to be, and they were inventing excuses to divert the King.
"Is she not here?" Antoine tipped so far out the vehicle, he looked ready to gush out like water from a jug.
The main guard winced. "She is, Sire, of course. But she is in bad shape." He peered down at his muddied boots. "She is conscious of your supposed death, and your brother's. She mourns."
Céleste couldn't see the King's face, but the tension rippling across his spine terrified her. "We will visit her, then."
The driver carried them down the lengthy driveway and dropped them in the courtyard, where Céleste repressed her sensation of déjà vu.
Antoine descended, and as she followed, she noticed a young, dark-skinned woman squeezing outside from the entrance doors.
Her stern facial expression gave Céleste pause.
The woman scowled at them. "Who is—" her bright eyes widened as she visualized Antoine. Her curls jiggled as she muttered a string of curses and lowered into a curtsy. "No, it cannot be." She gawked at him, dipped her chin, then gawked again. "It cannot."
"Mary." Antoine marched up to her, with Céleste and Julia at his heels. "Do you recognize me? I know it has been some time." He halted his strides inches from the hem of the young woman's dress
Mary whimpered. "Of course I do, Majesty. But how is—" she gulped, "—how can this be?"
Antoine snorted. "I did not die, that is how." He took her wrist and pulled her up. "Is my mother inside?" Mary chewed on her lip, but nodded. "Good, then rouse her, would you? I must speak with her at once."
Mary's transfixed features seemed to imply such a task would be difficult. "I..." She broke from his grip and strolled backwards, into the foyer, clutching the corners of her maroon satin gown. "I will fetch her, but I warn you, Sire, she is unwell."
He removed his cloak as Céleste and Julia hastened inside. "So I have been told." He wrinkled his nose at a butler standing near the stairs, across from the doors. He threw the coat at him and nudged Céleste and Julia to do the same. "As her son, I have seen her worst days. Nothing will startle me. Hurry, because I hate waiting, as you well know."
