Céleste woke to a grayish light pooling through her open curtains.
She tossed her pillow across the room and grumbled as she stood up. After hours of frightening images of Charlotte suffocating her and Julia setting her bedroom on fire, she'd struggled to sleep, as predicted.
She stretched and yawned as she snatched the teacup on her breakfast tray and sipped as she wandered to her door. She nearly choked on a gulp as she found a folded letter on the floor—one sporting a shiny royal emblem.
She bent down to pick it up, fingers grazing the silk-like stamp on the crisp paper. "What is this?"
She read the words scribbled in tight, slanted handwriting.
Céleste,
Would you please join me at the stables a little before noon? I wish to take you riding, so dress accordingly.
See you soon,
Sébastien
The hand holding the mug shook. "So that part of the evening was not a dream, then." She held the message to her breastbone, swooning as she heard his voice resonate in her mind.
After depositing her teacup on her vanity, she perused her closet for her riding outfit. Its maroon hues stood out amidst her pale and pastel dresses.
She fished for her undergarments, draped the garb over her figure, and pulled on her boots. Tugging her hair into a few pins, she twirled in front of her vanity mirror, inspecting herself.
Before she could hasten off to meet with the man of her dreams, she needed to warn Marguerite of the summons.
She would need to be our chaperone, no?
She tried the adjoining door, happy to detect it was unlocked. Breaking through the threshold, she plastered a massive grin on her face.
"Marguerite, guess what—"
Her heart sank to find the room deserted, like the night before. The clock showed ten; was Marguerite out and about, checking on the girls? The bed was untouched, the drapes pulled aside, and an empty cup sat on the nightstand.
Céleste marched to said cup—one whiff told her it had once contained Marguerite's signature strong coffee.
"I will ask the girls." She cringed at the notion of confronting the ladies after the events of the evening.
Esther answered her door at once, a powder poof in one hand, a brush in the other. "Yes?" She blinked at Céleste's silence. "What is it? I am in a hurry. Meeting with your brother," her cheeks flushed, "so what do you want?"
"Is Miss M. to chaperone you?" Her boots were tighter than she remembered, and she tried not to scrunch her nose at the pain.
Esther dabbed at her cheek-bones with the poof. "No. When I saw her earlier she said we may use a royal chaperone."
She saw her? When? Where?
Céleste refrained from attacking the girl with her inquiries. "Where is she? Miss M., I mean."
"You are her lady, not me." Esther shrugged. "Check with Harriet or Cristina."
Harriet's room was Harriet-less. And when she gaped towards Cristina's chambers near the Royal Stairs, she swallowed, wary of disturbing the girl who'd almost massacred her the night before.
"No... I cannot." She started to veer down another corridor, but recoiled when she realized her only other options were Charlotte and Julia. "No, not them!"
With little choice—and unwilling to run about the hallways to figure out where her mistress had disappeared—she dragged her feet toward Cristina's room.
As she racked her brain for how to approach the scorned girl, the bedroom door whooshed open. Cristina stood in the threshold, holding a note to her chest, her eyebrows cruising downward. She didn't see Céleste at first—but as Céleste stopped walking and opened her mouth to speak, Cristina's neck whipped up.
"Céleste?" She squinted and lowered the paper she held. "What are you doing?"
She sucked in a deep breath. "I am looking for Miss M., have you seen her?"
Cristina tipped against the door-frame and crossed her arms. "Why would I have seen her? Are you not her lady?"
Wanting to scoff at yet another reminder of how she'd failed at her main task, Céleste was about to whirl around and leave, when Cristina trudged up to her.
"Wait," her expression relaxed, "I wanted to apologize. For last night. I was upset that the Prince chose you over me."
"You..." Céleste's pulse sped up. "You have nothing to be sorry for. He should apologize."
Cristina sighed. "He did. He sent me a note, earlier. And I received another..." She bit her lip, stopping her smirk from widening.
They weren't friends; far from it, in fact. Yet Céleste was overcome with curiosity, her eyes set on the paper Cristina carried. "Who?"
Cristina cupped a palm around her mouth and leaned in. "Axel... Julia's brother."
Céleste didn't even remember seeing Axel the night prior; had he been lurking somewhere in the Ballroom? She knew him from the few times he'd visited the Academy; as a friend of her brother's, he was always polite to her.
"Can you imagine how peeved she will be when she finds out?" Cristina swayed to and fro, dreamily. "He is beneath my station, but I am sure Father will accept him. Anyway, I do not resent you. When I glared at you like I did, I had not yet accepted the situation. It was immature and foolish of me. I wish the two of you happiness, but," she flinched, "be careful. Entering a courtship with a royal is no laughing matter."
"I am not laughing," Céleste later muttered as she hastened to her quarters to put on her riding cloak.
She prayed Sébastien would have a chaperone for them—because Marguerite had, yet again, evaporated into thin air.
***
Sébastien was prepared. A narrow-framed, aging lady waited by the entry doors as Céleste descended a few minutes later.
"Miss Richel?" Her tight, graying bun of hair shook as she waved Céleste to her.
"Yes?"
The woman tugged her outside as the guards moved to let them through. "I am to chaperone your meeting with the Prince," she said, hobbling through the courtyard, then taking a small, pebbled walkway towards the far left of the property. "I expect you to be on your best behavior. If I view anything out of place, I will inform your Director."
With a gulp, Céleste acquiesced. The lady sported the charcoal uniform of a servant, but she held herself like a noblewoman, her steps easy and graceful.
The stables were a set of two extensive buildings linked by a tall entryway, bordering the left side of the castle ramparts. Composed of rock and wood, and a flattened, coppery roof, the place looked old and abandoned. But once they got closer, Céleste sensed a lively energy seeping from under the rusted doors that hung from their hinges. A hay and horse dropping scent immediately swirled into her nostrils as they snuck inside.
Dimmed candelabras decked the faded walls, and between them alternated nets and saddles dangling from old metallic hooks. A modest office sat in the back, its door open, candles within illuminating a battered desk covered in paperwork.
A few horses neighed from a corridor of stables to the left. To the right she noticed dog kennels, quiet and empty.
"Some would say today is a good day for a hunt," said a familiar voice arriving from the horse's side.
Céleste twisted in his direction, unable to stop the grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. Sébastien wandered into the wide space, holding the reins of two beautiful horses; one black as his hair, nibbling at some hay stuck to his coat, the other golden with thick lashes and a mane as white as a cloud.
The chaperone curtsied and took the golden mare. "I will ride with Miss Richel, if it pleases Your Highness."
He nodded at her as he released the dark-haired horse and marched to Céleste. She dipped into a curtsy, but he plucked her up the instant he was within reach.
"Céleste," he took her hand in his and planted a chaste kiss atop it, "I am delighted you accepted to join me."
"How could I refuse?" Her heart fluttered as she drank in the curves of his body beneath his beige riding coat. He wore a faded ebony hat and matching boots over black trousers; looking every bit a Prince, and a dashing one at that.
"I worried you might have changed your mind overnight," he said, guiding her to the horse. "I could not locate Marguerite to confirm it with her, so I prayed you would decide on your own." He helped her up, then the chaperone behind her.
Céleste fixed her skirts. "I wanted to ask for her permission, but I also could not find her." She watched as he hopped atop his black steed and settled into the saddle. "And I would not dare make you wait."
He beamed at her as he directed his horse through the primary doors. Céleste followed; though a tad rusty, she'd ridden a lot at home, in Valeville, and enjoyed the view from higher up.
They crossed the main driveway and continued towards the forest. A gentle breeze whooshed through her tresses. She'd forgotten to bring a hat, but liked the freshness caressing her cheeks.
The castle's yellow walls paled in the overcast light, and as they trotted past, she couldn't remove her vision from the dreamy balconies and balustrades. Couldn't help ogling the impressive stone and the magnificent windows. She imagined one of said windows was Charlotte's or Julia's and fought to not guffaw at the idea of them peeking out to catch her with the Prince they'd threatened her not to frequent.
"What is so funny?" Sébastien brought his steed close, his voice enchanting and melodious.
Blushing, Céleste shook her head. "I was admiring how gorgeous your home is." She twisted to watch him gaze up to the dazzling roof with a cheeky smile.
"I missed it while abroad." He slowed his pace, and Céleste imitated him, as they rode near the forest line. "You know, it is actually smaller than most European structures. And yet I prefer it to the seven-story castles I encountered in my travels."
"How marvelous it must have been." Céleste peered ahead at the orchards, and at the further parts of the gardens in the distance. How colorful they would be once spring and summer came around. "To travel."
He followed her gaze, but didn't appear as enthused. "It was at first, but not all places were as marvelous as you would expect."
She sensed the restraint in his tone, and the chaperone fidgeted behind her.
"Which places did you not enjoy, Highness?"
He chuckled, stiffening as he sat up straight. "The French were not always welcoming, I will admit it. The British... pleasant enough, I suppose. But those who rubbed me the wrong way..." He winced as he shifted to her. "Must I say it? You are the daughter of a prominent noble, I am confident you know which European country I despise the most."
A few breaths lodged in her throat as her eyes widened.
Of course; what a fool I am.
"Giroma," she said, keeping her voice low. "You went there?"
"I did." He tugged on the reins, slowing their trot to a brisker pace as he wheeled his stallion closer to the woods. "In fact, I stayed there the longest, since I knew my family would not breach the country limits to fetch me."
As she urged her mare after his, she glimpsed the dense foliage concealing the forests' mysteries. "But they let you stay? The Giromians, I mean. Do they not hate us as much as we hate them?"
This time he halted completely, rotating to face the woods. He inhaled the wintry air, his expression neutral. "I was in disguise, in the beginning. I stayed with friends. We do have allies in Giroma, believe it or not." He glanced at the chaperone, then jumped off his horse, landing without difficulty on the grass. He offered his palm to help Céleste down, and she accepted.
"I had no idea." They settled side-by-side before the forest entrance.
Sébastien swerved in front of her and took her hands in his. "Giromians are aggressive. I am positive your father and brother know this. And I imagine Marguerite warned you of the one currently at court?" His eyes, usually sparked with joy and mischief, turned dark.
Nose scrunching, Céleste did her best not to gag. "I met him. He danced with Julia, and he informed Marguerite that King Romain would join us soon?" Heat fluttered to her neck and cheeks.
"Yes, Antoine told me, too. Father," he groaned. "would have died before letting this happen. I am certain yours will hesitate to keep you at court once he discovers. Which is why I wished to spend a few moments with you, in case he..." He squeezed her hands, bringing them to his mouth as he closed his eyes.
She squeezed back, prompting him to look at her again. "It will not please him, but Emeric is here. And he would not remove Emeric during a royal Season. So long as my brother is with me, I am safe. Father will not summon me home."
Sébastien's lips tried to tug into a smile. "You are safe with me, too. I realize that book of yours might have painted my family in a dire light, but I care for you, Miss Richel, and would not let any harm come to you. I promise."
She lowered her chin. "You worry because of that Duke, yes?"
He tipped her chin up. His mouth was so close to hers, for a moment she wondered if he'd kiss her. Though tempted, she wasn't ready for such physical demonstrations of affection. But his fresh breath was enticing and his plump lips inviting—
He pulled a few inches back, releasing her to play with a strand of hair dipping down her temples. "The Duke is not a good man, no matter how many ladies already fawn over him. And his King... Antoine abhors that man, yet he lets him into our kingdom? Yes, I worry." His gloved fingertips trailing along her sleeves sent shivers down her spine. "My mother... ah, I should not be telling you this, but you can inform Marguerite. She was in a panic last night."
"What about your mother?" Céleste bit her tongue to not spill out all she already knew, thanks to Marguerite's venting session.
He cupped her face, his eyes boring into hers. "She is deep into all this Giromian business. I assume Maggie figured that much out, but make her aware to tread lightly, will you? The same goes for you. More so once you... well, once Mother understands I intend to court you."
Céleste gulped. "She does not yet know?"
He lowered his hand to her shoulder. "I have said nothing, though I am positive she has someone trailing us as we speak—so she knows. She always does."
"Is that bad?"
He smiled and spun her towards their horses; the chaperone eyed them with caution, one brow raised at their proximity. But Sébastien didn't seem to notice as he aided Céleste onto her saddle.
"I suppose we will see. You will meet her, soon enough."
Her extremities tingled.
He has no clue we already met, and I did not make a good impression.
•••