♦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 King's Study was a smaller version of the Meeting Room Céleste had seen the day before. A musky, firewood scent permeated the area, and red marks linked territories together on a broad map of Europe behind the cushioned desk chair. Velvet curtains blocked out the afternoon sun.
Comfortable, reinstated, Antoine lounged in this throne. "It pleases me that she concerns for your welfare, but she has no clue what is truly going on, does she?" He blew out his cheeks and his breath swished over the paperwork on his desk. "Her issues link with ours in so many ways. Too many."
Discomfort numbing her insides, Céleste couldn't move. "She is unaware of that, too."
The hallway door creaked open, sending them both to their feet.
A woman stood in the threshold, in layers of slate and faded berry, and snorted. "There is a lot Prudence is unaware of, and it is my fault."
It was Clémentine, the Clémentine—not the mourning, teary-eyed Duchess that Céleste remembered from a few days ago. Her umber-hued strands were pinned up, and her quick to quip lips were painted in a deep violet.
Without invitation, she navigated into the room, sniffling at the overlapping cigar stench from next door, in the Gaming Room.
Antoine snickered at her. "Mother." He motioned at the spot beside Céleste. "By all means, make yourself comfortable."
Clémentine perched by Céleste, and after a curt nod at her, she waved at Antoine. "Well, resume your conversation, then. You were speaking of Queen Prudence? How is she? Does she suffer from Schwartz's empty threats, still?"
"You dare pretend to care?" Antoine's jaw tightened.
"She is Marguerite again, Your Grace," said Céleste, before the King's rage could bubble.
"Is she?" Clémentine eased into her cushions. "A risky move, taking the name I, a Totresian royal, gave her."
"I hate to say this, but I agree." Antoine's fury left place to concern. "I prefer it, but it will not gain her any favor. The Giromians will use that against her."
"You requested my presence at the opportune occasion, son. After your departure from the Palace, I thought. A lot." Clémentine inhaled, exhaled, and sat up straight. "She is not safe in Giroma. Home or not, true monarch or not."
The sincerity in her tone shocked Céleste, who bit her tongue to not scoff.
"Again I ask—why do you care?" Antoine glowered at his mother. "I made you aware of her situation, and while I appreciate your support of late, that is not why I brought you here. You have no say in discussions about her. What I require from you is information on nobles here, linked to our cause, our family. To you. Do you work with Geitz?"
Clémentine shifted in her spot. "I do care. She is Giromian, but I raised her. I never wished her physical harm. She loved you boys, and Cordelia." She then scrunched her nose. "Geitz? The Count, or his witch of a daughter?"
