♦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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Swimming in viperous schemes and abandoned by those she trusted, Céleste glared into the cup containing her night-cap.
Not only had everyone abandoned her, but they'd left her in the care of a woman she once despised. The snake who'd made Marguerite's life hell, the witch who'd allied with foreign Dukes and corrupt locals, the devil who kept deadly secrets.
Clémentine's layers of silk swished and swayed as she wrote letters, prepared warnings, and sent out information to her spies. Still confined to the Meeting Room at her behest, Céleste watched her every move, untrusting her newfound allegiance to her eldest son.
Jules had swung by once returned from Torrinni Prison, and when he'd viewed Clémentine his jaw dropped. She and Céleste told him about Antoine's imminent departure, and he ran off, saying something about intercepting his brother and returning to them later.
Later had come and gone. Céleste had distracted herself to the best of her ability while scrutinizing the former Dowager's actions, but being stuck in the stuffy Study with her took its toll on her psyche.
It was close to midnight when Prince Jules finally stumbled in. He was unstable, his breath reeking of alcohol, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, his hair ruffled, and pronounced lines under his tired, dull taupe eyes.
"Apologies," he said, closing the Study door. "I had to wait for her to be asleep." He tumbled behind the desk, shooing Clémentine from his spot, and dropped into the seat. "I had a long day that yielded little results, so clarify things for me, would you? Antoine gave me some news this morning and again as I caught up to him in the stables. Sébastien wrote about a ball?"
Sitting across from him, Céleste tried not to snarl—it wasn't his fault Sébastien hadn't written to her. "Yes, to marry Marguerite off."
"Heavens." Jules scoffed. "Adelaide and Cornelius married, Sébastien marrying Prudence off—I mean, Maggie... anything else I missed in terms of confusing unions?"
As she took the spot beside Céleste, Clémentine snorted; but Céleste beat her to the punch, desperate to speak before the Duchess turned things in her favor.
"Not about unions, but your mother provided us with new intelligence about her ties with not only Thatcher and Cornelius, but with Sir Geitz."
"Ah," Jules squinted at Clémentine, "well, unsurprising, at this point. And Antoine leaves me with her, splendid." He set his joined palms behind his head. "I must coordinate, come up with a story, prevent them from making me regent once more. Charlotte screamed at me when we moved out of the Queenly rooms. I would prefer to avoid that again."
"So you spoke to Antoine before he departed?" If tired or irritated, Clémentine showed no sign of it. Any trace of her mourning, morose self had evaporated as if never existing.
