Céleste couldn't stop herself from peeking out as the carriage turned right. They swerved onto a sloped passage into the East Side—the upper-scale neighborhood of Westten, according to Antoine.
She swallowed a gasp and clutched the cloth window flap so hard, she nearly tore it down. Torches lit the way like glowing bugs, revealing a tall, lengthy bridge to her left, made of weathered gray stone. Lining it were buildings with snow-coated rooftops, with faded white walls and curtain-covered windows. Far ahead, atop a majestic cliff, was the Westten Castle, its silvery gray roofs glistening under the moonlight, its balustrades overlooking the city split in two by the bridge.
Céleste had seen drawings of the Giromian royal home and its splendor, but never in her lifetime did she expect to see it, so close and yet so far. Torrinni Castle was flimsy in comparison; which might have explained why Antoine refused to join her at the window to admire Westten's regal edifice.
It was mid-evening when their vehicle sloshed through a slick batch of snow covering the pavement. They passed stony houses, and brown-walled businesses that had closed for the night. Torch lamps posted at every corner, sprinkling the road in a soft but ominous glow. It was picturesque, and yet straight out of a mystery novel.
They parked before a reputable Inn a few yards from the cliff. From her spot, Céleste noticed this structure was a blend of heavy wood and bricks, standing several stories high with a lantern out front showing its sign, East Side Inn.
The guards hurried about, and she heard Sébastien barking orders. She pulled up her cloak collar to cover her chin and mouth, and secured her small bag of belongings over her shoulder then tightened her gloves. Her nose had transformed to ice, and she wondered if it was still there, numb as it had become.
Antoine put his tricorn hat over his greasy hair, and sat up straight when someone knocked on their door.
"Yes?"
A soldier appeared and ushered them out, right into the powdery white substance that concealed the path to the entrance.
"Keep your heads low," he whispered, as he guided them inside the Inn. Once the door closed, he gestured at a wobbly set of stairs and disappeared into a side room.
Heat blew onto Céleste's cheeks, and she kept her balance as best as she could while focusing on the soaked floors. A scent of roast and potatoes filled her nostrils, but she didn't have time to dawdle about and request a bite. Or two. Or three.
I am starving!
Climbing the steps proved difficult, but Antoine helped her, ensuring she didn't slip and fall and break her neck. At the top, another man waited to lead them down the darkened hall. He shoved them into a stale-smelling room at the end, and sealed the door behind him.
"Where is Sébastien?" Céleste unfastened her coat, but didn't remove it. She spun on her heels, inspecting the area. She located a door to the left, a draped window ahead, a dresser and a single bed to the right. It wasn't fancy by any means, and she didn't expect to sleep there... but after days in a rickety carriage, she'd sleep on this Inn's floor if necessary.
Antoine marched up to the hearth, near the middle of the room. "Figuring out how to sneak us into the castle." He pointed at the door Céleste had noticed. "I assume that is a washroom, so if you need to refresh, do so now."
Céleste instead slithered up to the window and peered out. Her view was on the cliff—its dark layers were in part weighed down by thick snow, and in others shiny with melting ice. She scanned the perimeter, happy their location hovered over most of the one-story buildings separating them from the rocks.
To the far left, she detected a set of steep stairs connecting to the bridge.
Shivering at the idea of taking on such a treacherous trek, she hurried into the room Antoine had singled out. Inside, she found a tepid bowl of water, an empty tub, and a chamberpot. A streaked mirror hung from the wall, between two rusted sconces, and when she glimpsed her reflection, she scowled.
"The Princess will never receive me looking like this."
Charcoal stains smeared beneath her eyes, her lips were near purple from the cold, and the tip of her nose was red.
From her bag she withdrew a gray and white striped gown, fresh undergarments, a change of stockings, and a small pouch loaded with powders and cloths. She threw off her cloak, slipped out of her dirty rags, and dipped a kerchief in the water to wipe off some of the grime and stench of traveling from her body. With a silky, perfumed powder, she coated her skin; a delicate rosy aroma permeated the air, easing her tension for a spell. She then switched out her underwear, her hose, and her dress, before dabbing some color to her cheeks and a peachy shade to her lips.
"Better." She wouldn't smile at herself. She was too nervous. But she tolerated her revised appearance, and threw her cloak back on as she exited the room.
Antoine sat on the bed, his clothes changed—though of the same depressing hue—and the dirt gone from his face.
Pacing near the door, hunched and grumbling, was Sébastien.
Without hesitation, Céleste hustled over to him and fell into his arms. He hadn't put on fresh clothing, and a pungent horse odor whipped up from his jacket, but she didn't care. She nestled into his unwashed curls and sighed, sniffing in the mix of citrus and dirt.
She'd been so worried they wouldn't make it. That Antoine would be thrown into a dungeon, and Sébastien taken to Romain for questioning; but they'd survived. She had no idea how they got through the Westten gates—had Sébastien announced himself?—but they were unharmed, albeit a bit smelly and shaken.
"I stayed at this Inn years ago. The keeper is a friend." Sébastien released her and stepped back to scan her face, inspect her for any bruises. His eyes, usually so gooey, were serious. "But if the Duke or Romain finds us, I cannot guarantee our safety."
"How have they not yet been alerted?" Antoine didn't move from his spot, but motioned at Sébastien to approach him. "How did we get in?"
"One of the soldiers posed as a captain. I hid my hair under a helmet and dirtied my face and mingled with the others." Sébastien cringed and stopped a few feet away from his brother. "We believe it worked. They will send word to the castle that Julia is here, and I had her driver take her to a different hostel, on the other side. Romain will not like that she is in the worst of neighborhoods, but the ruse will go over better that way."
"Fine." Antoine marched to Sébastien, leaving inches between them. "So how do we get into the castle? To her?"
Sébastien removed his gloves. His hands were white, his veins a glowing blue beneath. "I sent someone trustworthy to carry a message to her." He rubbed his palms together and flipped away from Antoine, heading for the fireplace. "At this rate, I doubt we can get in without alarming half the town. The area is surrounded by armed men, more so than usual. They tried to tear into both vehicles to search them, but Julia—bless her soul—screamed at them that she wanted to meet with her fiancé at once. They did not question her, as she is to be their future Queen."
Céleste vaguely recalled cringing at the sound of a screech, an hour ago, but had dismissed it as an annoying bird, instead.
Well done, Julia.
"Something else is going on," said Sébastien, warming himself up by the fire. "Everyone is on alert."
Antoine returned to the mattress and sat, his head between his knees. "She must have showed Romain our messages. He interpreted my arrival as an attack." He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. "So he prepares for my invasion, and rallies his troops... but why let Julia through? Did he receive my acceptance, then? I am confused."
"He saw the notes, for certain. But he must believe you would sneak in by other means." Sébastien snorted. "I mean, hiding in a luggage transport? He would not think you to use such obvious tactics. If he expects you to show up with an army... anything is possible. He had no qualms about letting Julia in, though she deterred his men from snooping, thank goodness. He fell for the trick."
"What if..." Antoine perked up, cocked his head, and frowned. "I hate to say it, but what if Romain dug through her things and found the letters? And now he is using her to set me up? Or," his eyes widened, and he clapped a hand over his forehead, "what if she has turned on us? If she willingly announced my arrival and encouraged her brother to corner me?"
Céleste squeaked, then covered her mouth when both men looked at her as if she'd fired a gun at them. "Sorry, I..." She gawked at Antoine, lowering her hand to her side. "No, Majesty. She would never do that. She may be angry with you, but she would never betray you like so. You must stop thinking King Romain has such control over her. Prudence is strong-willed." She grimaced, realizing she wasn't certain of her words.
What if Prudence had renounced all her ties with Totresia? What if her last letter served as a warning that she would no longer care for them—for Céleste, for Sébastien, for Jules, and Cordelia?
"I agree," said Sébastien, joining Céleste and linking arms with her, as they both faced the King. "I made it obvious in my note, carried by the messenger, that her best friend was here. She will not deny you, Céleste." He nudged her and smiled.
But Céleste didn't smile back. "She will be furious. She wanted me safe at home, and now she will find out I snuck into Giroma with her ex?" With a huff, she withdrew from Sébastien's grasp.
"Séb is right, Miss Richel." Antoine's gaze narrowed. "With me alone, she might not accept a meeting. But with you... well, is that not the reason I asked you along? To aid me in speaking with her?" He didn't wait for her to answer before jumping up and grabbing his head between his hands. "But what if Romain intercepts your message, brother? Have you prepared for that?"
Sébastien rubbed the back of his neck. "I am... seventy-five percent sure my messenger will deliver the note to her without Romain blocking him."
Antoine and Céleste yelled in unison, "Seventy-five?"
The former kicked at the ground. "That is not enough. We have no way to communicate with him, I presume? No, here we are; King and Prince of Totresia, and a future Princess with a powerful and enraged father, stuck at a Giromian Inn, clandestinely. Fantastic prisoners of war, and perfect pawns to barter with Torrinni with terms that will ruin us."
Céleste pinched herself,praying she was locked in a nightmare. But she didn't wake, and the sensationaround her wrists only gave her a taste of what it would feel like to be cladin chains. It enabled her to imagine when she'd be tossed into a cell to rotfor having dared to defy her father.
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