**THE BRAZEN SERIES is part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE**
♦YOU MUST HAVE READ BOOK ONE, A BRAZEN MAIDEN, TO READ THIS SEQUEL!♦
♦♦It is ALSO recommended that you read THE GOLDEN GIRL/DUCHESS/PRINCESS & QUEEN to better understand events in this novel, as...
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♪ What if it hurts like hell Then it'll hurt like hell ♪ {Snow Patrol—What If This Is All The Love You'll Ever Get}
With the castle secured, and threats like Charlotte and her father neutralized and locked up, Torrinni seemed to regain its appeal. The streets animated again, court re-opened, the skies were wide and blue, the atmosphere having lost its dramatic dread.
And yet the mood remained morose within the walls. Preparations for funerals and mourning and hard weeks to come dampened the attitudes of most courtiers; mostly Axel and Cristina, who had the horrible task of informing the Viscount of Malaros of Julia's death. They then kept to themselves, though Cristina often spent time with Esther as Emeric fluttered about helping the Duchess and her staff.
Others had perished, too, and though Harriet didn't know them, she prayed for their souls. She prayed for her own.
Charlotte had been responsible for it all. She'd been the one to order assassinations of those who opposed her, and had kept Princess Cordelia as a potential ransom should King Antoine return. She had killed Julia herself; her best friend, the only girl who truly tolerated her.
Too many questions kept Harriet up at night, and eventually she accepted Prince Jules' invitation to reside at court until she went home—which she hoped to do soon. There were still riots in Limesdale, after all, and she needed to clear her name, prove to all she had nothing to do with her father's ploys.
For days, she spent her time between consoling the Prince—who refused to see anyone but her, drawing suspicion—and, to her surprise, the Princess. Both found comfort in her presence; a silent, nonjudgmental manner to her words, a soothing aura to how she drank her tea and nibbled on biscuits. Neither talked to her much, only appreciated the quiet as they met in the Reading Room or took chilly strolls in the gardens.
But the Prince often declined to leave his chambers, making it difficult for Harriet to visit him. It was improper, if not illegal, for her to be alone with him, and so she had to fight for a chaperone to be there at all times, which prompted his unhappiness.
On the third day, and after multiple mean stares and comments, the Dowager-turned-Duchess Clémentine decided to put her foot down. She cornered Harriet as she departed Jules' room, her silky slate skirts rushing around her like toxic clouds about to devour any in her vicinity. Though cleared of most charges, Clémentine remained the vile snake Harriet knew her as.
"Miss Thatcher," she said, lips pinched, brows drawn, shoulders tight. "A word?" She motioned for Harriet to follow her to the stairs, where a small retinue of ladies awaited her—including the ever-elusive but beautiful Mary.
"What can I do for you, Your Grace?" Harriet inclined her head, gaped at Mary—who merely blinked in response—then glimpsed the Duchess. "Might I help with preparations in any way?"
