Romain's Study was identical to the Council Room; the same patterns, the same velvet-like walls, the same emerald theme.
And much like the Council Room, this office had a gloomy atmosphere that chilled Prudence to the core. Violent vines had wrapped up her legs and glued her to her cushioned yet uncomfortable armchair, forcing to watch as her brother paced behind the desk that separated them.
His grunts made her shudder, and each of his heavy strides sent important documents flying off the table. When he flared his nostrils, she recoiled, praying to become invisible.
When he'd found her talking to her stomach, the night before, Romain had barely given her two seconds to justify herself before slamming her bedroom door and thundering off. An hour later, his physician had barged in to conduct a check-up on her; a check-up that ended with him confirming that Prudence, Princess of Giroma, was indeed pregnant.
Today, she'd found a note under her door, summoning her to Romain's Study as soon as possible. While she dressed—as demurely as she could muster—she begged the heavens that he would not be too harsh, that he would absolve her for her lies.
It hadn't surprised her much to find Pauline in the room when she arrived, seated in front of Romain's desk; but the other presence destabilized her into wanting to jolt around and return to bed.
Cornelius was there, a snarky sneer forming on his face as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his auburn frock coat and glowered at her. He strode back and forth behind Prudence and Pauline, his strides thunderous, likely causing earthquakes. The King did the same, and their stomping was almost in sync, their groans in unison, their features so similar they appeared as brothers.
Pauline said nothing, from time to time glimpsing her son as her lips parted. She refused to look at her daughter, and tipped sideways to avoid touching her.
Do they all think I am poisonous?
Romain suddenly pounded a fist on the desk, the veins in his hands throbbing, turning blue under his porcelain skin. "You lied to me." Even Cornelius quit his paces at the King's tortured voice trembling with anger. "You broke our fragile, newfound trust. You should have told me this from the start."
Prudence gulped and glanced at the fabric of her bland brown gown. No words came to her; no excuses, no reasons for him to absolve her. She did lie. She did pretend her tryst with Antoine had been a plot. Her King was right to be furious with her.
"Romain, I—" she winced, "—Your Majesty, I have explanations, but you will not like them. You despise him—"
"—as we all should! King Antoine of Totresia is a disgusting pig who holds your virtue in his hands and has murder in his blood!" Romain hunched over the desk, panting, palms pressed so hard onto the surface it creaked, as if about to break. "You omitted to inform me you laid with him, out of wedlock! And not once, but twice?" Smoke poured from his nose and mouth. He was a rabid bull ready to dash forward and strike her; a hungry wolf ready to attack. "This disappoints me more than you will ever know."
Cornelius' footsteps resumed. He marched to Prudence's side, but didn't pay her any heed—he glared at his King. "I am ashamed, Majesty." His fists bunched close to Prudence's shoulders. "I might have implied it, I never thought she had truly been defiled. It was a jape, a cruel one, I will admit. But I had no clue."
Prudence swung to the Duke and frowned at him, recalling all his japes, as he called them.
Before she could growl at him, Romain huffed. "Nor did I. But it is done. We must handle it."
Wringing her hands in her lap, Prudence released a slow and steady breath. "Perhaps we could—"
Romain and Cornelius snapped their necks to her. The Duke glared down as one would a dog that disobeyed, and the King angled over the table, his index finger inches from her nose.
"You will do nothing," said the latter, his breath like fire from a dragon's mouth. "You have done enough. Let the men come up with an alternative, would you?"
Cornelius grumbled, continuing his stomps, his musk fluttering into Prudence's nostrils and making her want to sneeze.
"What alternative is there? I cannot marry her now! She holds the bastard heir to Totresia in her belly! She is a fraud! How can I associate with that?"
Pauline cleared her throat. She'd been so mute, so transparent until then, it was as if she were asleep. "That is my daughter, Cornelius. Watch your tone." She tipped close to the desk, and her satiny coral bodice jamming into the wood. "Son, tell me this; is the ball still on? Or should I cancel it? It is tomorrow. I must notify the kitchens and send out messengers if we are to—"
"—no." Romain massaged his temples. "And I would prefer if you concentrated on this issue, Mother, I do not think we should cancel it. It is my birthday too, after all, and I will not let her ruin it with her shameful actions."
Tears gathered at Prudence's lash-line, but she held them in. Bile reached the back of her mouth, but she held it in, too. Along with the scream she yearned to release, and the urge to prostrate herself at her brother's feet.
She was ashamed. Disgusted, riddled with guilt, pained—but she'd already suffered through the embarrassment in Totresia. Here, with her new family, having to experience it all again made her feel sorry for herself.
"Majesty," Cornelius thumped a foot to the ground, "I implore you for time to think this through. I should go home for a few days, brainstorm."
Pauline swiveled in her seat. "And miss the ball?" It was as if none of the discussion had happened, and all that mattered to her was the damned party.
Prudence twisted to watch his reaction. The Duke's face matched all she'd imagined—cheeks tinted scarlet, eyes dark as the depths of hell, shoulders squared, nose in the air. A striking man, but filled with hatred.
"Unfortunately, Dowager, I have other matters to attend to, as it so happens."
"Leave him be, Mother," said Romain, snapping at Pauline. "Do what you must, Cornelius, but I ask that you be smart about this."
Cornelius' teeth clenched as he bowed. "I will, Sire. A reminder; your bride arrives soon. It may be wise to settle this," he motioned in Prudence's general direction, "before she gets here."
"That is my intention." Romain sighed. "Go on, then. Send word when she has reached us."
Cornelius bowed again, then flipped around and sauntered off, a trail of smoke in his wake.
Both women spun to Romain. He rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The marriage treaty remains. He cannot reverse such a decision without my say so, and I do not say so. We set this up decades ago, and he fought me for it! I care not for his pride."
Prudence's jaw dropped. "But he is—"
Romain's fist colliding with the desk once more drove her to silence. "He is crude and vicious and you hate him, yes, we are all aware of it. But if we keep this arrangement, we can cover up your pregnancy. Had you not thought of that? The faster we unite the two of you, the more plausible it will be, and we can save your reputation. Save my reign."
Prudence gagged, but Romain ignored her, his gaze landing on Pauline as she got to her feet.
"You understand how fast we will have to set up the wedding, then?" The Dowager cocked her head. "The physician said... well, if we need to make it seem like Cornelius is the father, we have little time."
Rubbing his forehead, Romain blew out his cheeks. "Yes. We will announce their official betrothal at the ball, tomorrow. Start the plans right away."
Prudence scoffed, earning both his and her mother's glares. "He will not go through with it." She unclasped her hands, realizing her fingers were coated with sweat inside her gloves. "He does not want to wed me anymore."
"I told you, I care not." Romain fell into his chair and raked his fingers through his unruly hair. "He has no choice if he wants to be in Giroma's favor. In my favor."
Prudence prepared to retaliate, but a knock on the door interrupted her comeback.
"Yes?" Romain sat upright.
Prudence turned to witness a page boy slither in, and stop before her. "A letter for Her Highness," he said, sneaking a parchment into her grasp.
"Me?" The boy nodded, and hastened out without another word.
Romain, seething, marched around the desk and towered over her. "What is it and who is it from?"
Chin battling gravity, Prudence unfolded the paper.
It was from Céleste, with a message stating that Antoine had annulled his marriage with Adelaide, and she feared that Adelaide was on her way to Giroma at that very moment... to marry Romain.
Annulment? Adelaide? Romain?
There was more—Céleste seemed to imply she should trust Antoine, not fear him.
She asks me to see reason regarding him? How?
"What... how..." Her vision blurred, and she felt herself slipping off her chair.
Romain's voice was distorted, far-off. "Sister, speak to me."
Fanning herself with the paper, Prudence slowly came to. Romain had kneeled before her, his expression much changed from earlier, when he'd wanted to eat her alive for her mistakes.
"What has you so distraught?" he said, cupping a hand over her knee.
The contact sent jolts up her spine and caused her cheeks to inflame. "You..." Her arms were so rigid they became sore, and she clutched the parchment with such vigor it nearly ripped. "Distraught?" She jumped up, sending him backwards, onto his behind. "That is putting it lightly!" She extended the note, waiting for him to get up and take it.
He hopped to his feet and took the letter. "You want me to read your private correspondence?" He snorted as he lifted it to his eyes with one hand, and used his other to brush himself off. "Do you have more to confess?"
Rage bubbled in her gut, and she moved away from him before it exploded in a way that he'd never forgive her for. "Read it."
He obliged. "Miss Richel sent this?"
Prudence pivoted to her ever-quiet mother. "You both force Cornelius into this union with me, but you disregard mine and his feelings, and my regrets." Her heart-rate raced out of control. "Yet Romain would not mind having Antoine's sloppy seconds, would he? His discarded wife, that treacherous French harlot?"
"What?" Pauline's eyes widened, and she gawked at her son. "What is she talking about?"
Prudence's insides boiled.
He knew, of course! He had to!
She'd had enough of holding back, of sitting pretty, of chewing the insides of her cheeks to prevent her true thoughts from coming out.
"You heard me, Mother. The former Queen of Totresia, Adelaide, is coming here, to marry Romain!" She reverted to her brother and snickered. "And I am certain he was aware of it!"
Romain dropped the parchment and stiffened. Pauline collapsed into her chair with a whimper.
Prudence sensed a toxic cloud enveloping her, drawing her into a dark pit she knew she'd never escape.
Adelaide, her nemesis, was coming to Giroma.
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