It was late. Very late, considering her request. The King had showed up to much later summons, but when Prudence had called him. Not Céleste.
She paced in front of her favorite Winter Garden bench, hair wild, huffing and puffing whenever she glimpsed the door to find it still closed. Half the torches were lit, making the room gloomy, foggy with mystery. If the King showed, Céleste might not even see him until he was inches away from her.
But he wouldn't show. Why would he? He was a busy man, with much more important things to do than to listen to Céleste's complaints.
A creak stopped her dead in her tracks. She whirled towards its source—the Long Corridor entrance door opening.
A figure towered in the shadows of the threshold, draped in dark colors and with a tricorn hat atop its messy curls.
"Miss Richel?" said King Antoine, strained, tired.
Shocked, Céleste dipped into a curtsy as he approached. "Majesty? You came."
"It seemed urgent." He waved her up and settled onto the bench, where he removed his hat and wiped his forehead. "What is it you wanted to speak of?"
Relying on her scrambled thoughts—she hadn't prepared a speech, uncertain if he'd come—she gulped.
He tipped his head sideways. "What is the matter?"
Céleste glanced up at the glass ceiling, letting the stars help her find her footing. "My father had something delivered to me today." She produced the letter from her bodice and dropped it in Antoine's lap. "I know not where he is, or if anyone sits in for him at court, but he wanted this to get to me fast. It... left me unhappy."
Antoine unfolded the parchment and squinted to read it. He kept quiet at first, eyebrows scrunching as his lips moved.
Once finished, he stood up and rubbed his chin. "I am unsure what to say." He slipped the note into her grasp and spun away from her. "Why would you show it to me?"
"Because I believe you can give me proper advice, Your Majesty." He flipped around and glared at her, and she waved him off. "Antoine. I seek your help, because I do not know how to interpret this, and Sébastien said to obey my father, but—"
"—you should always obey your father." The King blew out his cheeks, still turned away from her.
She'd anticipated he would side with Sébastien, with her father; that he'd use logic instead of feelings, that he'd try to present a strong front and wouldn't let his true emotions show. Yet his curt tone surprised her all the same.
"Even now?" She crossed her arms and sneered at the King's back. "Even with this?"
"It is complicated." He shifted his weight and set his fists on his hips. "I understand why he would demand this of you. Refusing to obey him might lead you to lose your family name. He may decline your heritage, decline to offer a dowry, deny you entry into your childhood home. Those are extreme options I doubt Lord Richel would employ, but if he wishes to prove a point..." He snorted. "You Richels are a stubborn lot."
Unclear on whether to be offended or to laugh, Céleste crumpled the note in her hands. "Perhaps, but I cannot shun her. She is... she was my best friend."
Antoine slowly swiveled to her, his expression half-veiled by darkness. "She still is, and always will be. Never believe otherwise." He scrubbed his face with one hand. "I cannot shun her either. My brothers... they told me to let it go, let her go, move on. But they do not understand, do they?"
Céleste's voice had caught in her throat, so she shook her head, squinting to better visualize the King's features.
"But you do." He tipped forward, basking his face in moonlight, showing his thinned lips and his glossy gaze. "This means a lot to you, so I will look into it." He pulled up his coat collar and fetched his hat from where he'd left it on the bench. "Answer nothing yet. Pretend to ponder the matter. If anything, claim you sent out a response, and we will say it got lost, if we must."
"You want me to," she gasped, "lie to my father?"
"Postpone the truth." Antoine groaned. "Your brother and his betrothed will return to town for Jules' wedding, and we will speak with him about this. He is more reasonable, and he is attending in your father's name."
Her mouth gaped open. "Father is not coming to the wedding?" She had never known him to decline an invitation to such a lavish event.
Antoine shrugged. "He did not provide an explanation why, but I trust he has his reasons. His allegiance to the crown has always been the strongest in the country, so this does not worry me. He is grooming your brother to take over as Marquess, so perhaps this is part of his lessons?" He nodded at the parchment in Céleste's grasp. "We will get to the bottom of that. Your brother will know more."
"Will he know why no one sits at court to represent my city?" Céleste cocked her head. "I am not privy to politics, but I find that odd."
Antoine marched past her. "Many of the nobles returned home at my demand. To review affairs, rest, be with their loved ones. Some have emissaries here, others chose not to, like your father. But he promised Emeric would linger here after the wedding. Emeric is an upstanding young man, he will learn quickly."
Something didn't sit right in Céleste's stomach. "Sending nobles home? Why?" It almost sounded to her like he'd told his men to go to their dwellings... to bid farewell. "It seems awfully formal, and scarily temporary." She twisted to him, to gauge his reaction.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and averted his gaze. "I have invited our military men to court. I dismissed a majority of nobles so that I may confer with my General alone."
A glacial chill traveled from her neck to her calves as she recalled his words after running after Prudence's carriage. They were comments she and Sébastien had translated as disappointment, a burst of anger, something he'd never act on.
The day before, he'd promised not to be rash. Trusting in his judgment, Céleste had dismissed the idea of him being drastic... but was he planning on invading? Had she been wrong?
"So you were serious, the other day?" She covered her mouth, blinked, then removed her hand as fire filled her gut. "You would consult your military about retrieving Prudence from Giroma? About using force to wage war on her brother? Sébastien and I thought you jested—"
He stomped up to her, hand raised as if to slap her; but instead he weaved it through his hair.
"You will reveal nothing of this to my brothers." Redness flared from his temples to his jawline. "They are unaware of this visit. They will find out, but not from you, am I clear? I do not want you more involved in this than you already are." His arm tensed and he lowered it to his side. "I will fix this."
Though she'd cowered a few steps backward in fear of his hand on her cheek, Céleste now stood straight, eyes narrowed on him.
"By invading Giroma and fighting with the mightiest army of Europe? By risking the entire country for her? Surely there is another way!"
"I did not say I was invading." He snarled at her. "Do not twist my words. I will consider it if it is my only option, but it is not." He winced, shaking his head as he pulled away. "I am sorry, I get riled up when thinking of her... and you should know better than anyone, Miss Richel; of course I would risk my entire country for her."
Céleste had no answer. This was the love she'd read about in her Golden Girl book, but she wasn't sure Prudence felt the same way anymore. To tell the King about that now might bring him to actually hit her.
"Fine. So I wait? For what, your signal? Your word?" She blew out a breath and gazed at the ground, worrying she'd gone too far, used too much of an attitude with the ruler of her country. Family or not.
He grunted. "I want you to trust me." She looked up, and he grimaced. "She trusted me. Sometimes. I ask that you do the same."
She reminded him that most days Prudence hadn't trusted him in the slightest. "Sure, but—"
"—things will get better. We will talk to your brother and rectify the situation. And I," he wrinkled his nose, "will work on extracting her from Giroma. However I see fit."
Céleste should have acquiesced, curtsied, said goodnight, wandered back to her quarters; but she couldn't stop her thoughts from spewing out.
"What if she does not want to return?"
He stilled. "Excuse me?"
Regret charged into her core, but it was too late; he wouldn't let her leave until she explained herself.
"She left without a word to me, or Sébastien, or Cordelia, or Jules. I struggle to envision her departing like that without being forced to, but what if it was her choice? What if she decided against seeing us? If she wanted to leave?" She swallowed. "I think about this often, and it pains me, but..."
"But no." Antoine pivoted and stormed to the door he'd arrived from. "Romain coerced her, I have no doubt about it. Blackmailed her. Cornelius probably had a say in this, too. I do not trust those men, and I never will. She wants to come back. How could she want to move to Giroma? That dreadful dungeon of Westten? No, I will never believe it."
Before Céleste could agree, or disagree, he slipped out into the Long Corridor and let the door slam behind him.
More confused than before, Céleste collapsed onto the bench and covered her face with her hands, afraid she'd never be able to keep his secrets like Prudence had.
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