Despite her often dreary moods, Prudence loved color. Yellows and aubergines, reds and ceruleans, vivid golds, and forest greens.
Her quarters in Westten Castle were devoid of them. They were white; white bed sheets, white duvet, white-wood bed-frame and posts and vanity. White seating area—though splashed with navy and copper—and white walls covered in golden flowers with green leaves. Not to forget the plush rug—also a creamy shade of ivory.
She'd hated it at first, but now, the emptiness inspired a certain peace and calm. It soothed her as she peered out from behind her enormous changing panel, adjusting the navy bustier of her gown. She clashed in such dark hues as she skidded across the room to fetch the matching feathers from her vanity.
The dress—and most of her new wardrobe—was a gift from Pauline, and she appreciated its lack of white. But as she glimpsed herself in the mirror, she didn't recognize the woman standing there. She wasn't Marguerite; she was Prudence, Princess of Giroma. Elegant, poised, prim. Not the girl who ran barefoot through the grassy fields in Torrinni, plucking fruit, or screeching down halls as she rushed from her chaperones.
She arched her spine as she snuck the feathers into her intricate up-do. Behind her, the large oak door leading into the corridor was closed, thankfully sealing her from those who awaited her presence.
To her right, the massive mattress remained untouched, unused, as she hadn't dared ruffle its silky blankets. In Giroma, everything and everyone was so fancy, so bathed in luxury it made her suffocate. She recalled the halls of ornate paintings and golden linings, the copper door-frames, the polished bronze chandeliers—and cringed at having to get used to such extravagance.
Her bedroom door creaked open, startling her into turning around.
Sarah appeared at the threshold and dropped into a hurried curtsy. "Are you ready, Your Highness? I am to escort you downstairs to dinner. The King assumed you would get lost."
Prudence held in a snort. "It seems he already knows me well."
Propping the door farther from the frame, Sarah motioned for Prudence to exit the room. Though she would have preferred to stay locked up in her soft-toned yet too immaculate room, she strode forward and followed Sarah out.
She kept herself upright, her limbs stiff, her dress swaying with her every move, her face-paint impeccable, her hair in place—yet she felt far from refined. Not that she lacked taste in materials or had trouble with proper manners, but every breath she took made her worry she would knock something over or say the wrong thing and shame herself.
"It is intimidating," said Sarah, her voice chirping in Prudence's ears. "But in time, you will find your way."
Before long, they arrived at the main steps, and Sarah jogged down, unbothered by her layers of skirts as she landed on the ground level.
"I do hope you are right," said Prudence, taking each step with caution, fearful she'd trip over the hem of her expensive gown.
"I expect someone will give you a tour in a few days, that should help." Sarah smiled as she waited, yet there was an impatience to her timbre that Prudence disliked.
She tried not to slouch as she finally met up with Sarah, who issued a polite head nod before taking off to the next staircase. Dizzy and disoriented, they arrived at the bottom of the cerulean carpeted steps that ended at the Grand Entrance.
Prudence bit her lip at the sight of the large doors up ahead; the ones she'd been determined to push open, to escape from her new home and avoid the introductions, the explanations. They were now flanked by guards, who inclined their heads at her as she and Sarah passed by, at a distance.
Sarah steered to the left, down a wide corridor splashed in auburn and copper. A set of oak doors waited at its conclusion, letting a light wave of soft music escape.
Halfway there, the lady-in-waiting stopped and swirled to Prudence. "The Dining Room is through those doors, Highness." She curtsied, then backed away into the Entrance. "The King and his mother await you! Enjoy your supper." She snuck off before Prudence could retort—or beg her to stay with her, to be her guide in the throng of foreigners she was about to meet.
She grasped an edge of her gown and padded forward, entranced by the rhythms creeping out from the Dining Room. As she met with the threshold, she released a sigh of relief. The area was vacated but for the man playing at the mahogany piano, and a handful of nobles eating at the lengthy tables on either side of the space.
One foot inside, one foot out, Prudence hesitated. No one had seen her yet, and she didn't want to draw attention, didn't want anyone to overwhelm her with questions she wasn't ready to answer.
"Prudence!" Romain's roaring voice cut through the melodies, though not stopping them. He appeared from her left, garbed in gray, one arm extended as he hopped over to her.
The men at the tables flipped around and sighted her, all rising to bow and grin at her.
"We worried Sarah might not reach you before you hurried out on your own," said the King as Prudence took his arm.
He pulled her between the tables, grumbling about his meetings, motioning at the gentlemen nearby—though staying away from them, to Prudence's pleasure—and speaking of the gracious warmth from the giant fireplace to their left.
He then gestured at the raised dais ahead, looming at the end of the room. It had a smaller table atop it, and Pauline stood there, beaming from ear to ear.
"Prudence," she said, shimmying to the podium's edge to greet her daughter. She'd changed into a shimmering beige number with a plunging neckline and a ravishing necklace that blinded Prudence the closer she got to it. "Welcome to the Dining Room!"
Romain helped Prudence up, and pulled out her chair before settling in his own next to her, at the middle of the table. It was more of a throne, decked in green satin, its obscure hue matching the navy seats everyone else sat on.
Pauline perched on his other side, but leaned forward to whisper at Prudence. "I am happy the dress fits you so well!"
"Thank you," said Prudence, staring into her lap, hoping her cheeks hadn't turned a nasty shade of puce. "I very much like the color."
A butler poured a dark crimson liquid into Romain's silver goblet. As soon as the last drop had splashed, Romain picked the cup up and pointed it at Prudence. "How are you faring so far? What do you think of our castle?" He sipped, smacked his lips, then requested for the butler to fill Prudence's and Pauline's glasses. "Divine, yes?"
Once more seeing Romain in a different light—not a fitful foreign monarch in Totresia, but the rightful heir of Giroma, in his rightful place—she allowed a small smile before taking hold of her beverage.
"It is, Majesty." She tasted the wine—a fruity vintage that satisfied her tongue.
Romain returned her smile. "Good. It pleases me that you show signs of adjusting. It is a lot, but I trust you will fit in well here." He flinched, but so briefly Prudence barely noticed. "Much better than over there."
Pauline again angled over the table. "She had a meltdown earlier, but you feel better now, yes?" Her cheeks were pink, and her sweet rose scent wafted over to Prudence.
Replacing her cup, Prudence frowned. "I had hoped you would not mention that." Her fingers knotted together in her lap, and she fought her chin as it tugged downward.
Pauline's chair scraped against the floor as she shot up, about to hurry over and console her daughter.
Romain shoved his own chair out to block her. "Mother, please." He patted Prudence's shoulder while shooing Pauline back into her spot. "It is natural for you to have some trouble, Sister. I did not expect you to jump into Mother's arms and become my highest advisor within seconds of entering the castle!" He leaned sideways, close to Prudence's ear. "Forgive Mother; she is excited, but has a lot to atone for."
His flowery aroma tickled inside Prudence's nostrils. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Romain's hand wrapped around her shoulder. "Romain, please. Or Brother. No need to be so formal when it is just us."
An array of servants soon grouped onto the platform, carrying scalding plates of boiled potatoes, leafy greens, and a strong-scented venison. The food was scrumptious, Prudence had to admit; and even as her bodice tightened while her belly swelled and she swore she'd have no dessert, she caved upon sighting the fruit-filled pastries deposited before her. After days of flavorless meals from run-down inns, she enjoyed every bite.
Romain left them seconds after he finished his pastry, claiming he had papers to review and a long night's sleep ahead of him. "I shall see you both in the morning, as we have marriage arrangements to discuss."
Prudence nearly vomited her wonderful meal all over the ornate tablecloth.
My marriage arrangements with Cornelius...
The Duke was there, in the building, somewhere. Why hadn't he joined them for supper? Not that she minded being away from him, but it was odd to not have him there kissing Romain's arse, doing all he could to be in his favor, and sending inappropriate winks at Prudence.
As dishes were being cleared, Pauline took her from the Dining Room and out into the hall. She showed her the Ballroom—sometimes Throne Room—and rambled on about how many parties she wished to organize to celebrate her daughter's return.
Prudence didn't want parties; she'd much prefer to remain cloistered in her chamber and stare out the window and write letters to her true friends.
Céleste, Cordelia, Sébastien. Maybe even Jules. If only to tell them I have arrived safely?
"Letter," she said under her breath, as she and Pauline climbed the main steps.
She'd been so preoccupied about Edouard and Clémentine and Antoine that she'd forgotten she'd abandoned Céleste in a sea of betrayal and scandal. She'd left her best friend to drown in the wake of the revelation of her true identity, and many vipers remained at Torrinni Court.
What have I done?
"What is that, dear?" Pauline's grasp on Prudence's arm loosened. "You wish to write a letter?"
Prudence's stomach clenched. "Uh... yes. I assume I have what I need to do so in my room?"
"Indeed." Pauline squinted at her. "Might I ask who you wish to write to?"
"A... friend." Prudence gulped. "A Totresian friend, I admit it. Céleste Richel. She was my ward, and is now a dear friend. And I miss her."
Pauline winced. "Ah. It is ill-advised to communicate with Totresia." She let go of Prudence as they tiptoed onto the first-floor landing. "I will allow it, but best to not tell your brother, hm? He will worry about you divulging our secrets." She gasped, then grabbed Prudence's hand. "Not that we have any! Certainly not. Nothing of worth to a young Totresian noblewoman."
After a hasty goodnight—and loading with suspicion towards her mother—Prudence locked herself in her quarters and sat at her vanity. She fumbled to stretch out a parchment, and her arm shook as she found a quill and pressed its tip to paper.
Dearest Céleste,
I must first apologize for my hasty departure, without saying goodbye. You must understand; I had to leave, as fast as possible. I could not stay there any longer.
But my biggest apologies are for leaving you on your own, in a building filled with snakes and drama. I left in haste, and I am positive it is all a mess—a mess you are tangled in. I fear those lurking about, preying on you, seeking to harm you...
Not that I truly believe anyone will—I trust Sébastien and his intentions towards you—but I do worry for you, over there. Clémentine, Adelaide, and even Antoine; I do NOT trust them, and never will.
Please, Céleste, be on your guard at all times. If anything bothers you, if anything seems strange, return to your father at once. I am certain he may not approve of my new identity, but he only wants your safety, I am positive. However, be warned; he may still see the good in Edouard and Antoine...
I do not.
Take care of yourself.
Love,
Prudence of Giroma
She sealed the note, praying Céleste would heed her warnings and stay safe from the ever-growing schemes of Torrinni's royal inhabitants.
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