Despite the bright, creamy-colored walls and the light and peppy furniture, there was no joy in Pauline's office. The fire had raged on above the room, and had burned through parts of the ceiling, scattering bits of plaster and rubble everywhere. Navigating through the area was rough, and with workers inspecting the floorboards upstairs and securing the perimeter within the study, it was hard to concentrate.
Sébastien had braved into the room first, and conversed with the staff to explain what he and Céleste were doing. The workers sought to dissuade him from exploring, but he prevailed, and soon enough he and Céleste were going through Pauline's belongings.
The fire wasn't the only thing that had destroyed this once grand space. Clear remnants of fighting and pillaging startled Céleste when she'd wandered inside. Such a beautiful place it must have been, with delicate feminine touches and light-wood bookshelves and tables and cozy seats. But it had been transformed into a mess of ruined furniture, mountains of cloth and wood, ripped curtains, and shattered artwork. Feathers sprinkled across the floors, erupting from torn pillows, and chairs were turned over, their pretty patterns scorched, and some with missing feet. Bits of glass from the broken window loomed dangerously to the left, and piles of ash rested to the right.
A minuscule passage allowed them to locate the desk and its locked drawers, which Sébastien had pried open without difficulty. He broke seals and boxes and containers, attempted to unlock safes he ignored the codes to, and hopped over debris to reach inaccessible spots.
Céleste's heart pounded, and she was too frozen in shock to help the man she loved as he bent over backwards—literally—to unearth proof of the royal family's murderer.
Prudence had asked for the impossible. There was no way they'd recover anything in the ruins. Most papers had been burned, and many books and notepads had missing pages or scribbles crossed out by heavy black ink. Few spots remained unscathed—a bookcase to the right, several drawers under the desk, and a safe in the rear which, once cracked open, revealed nothing of worth.
"Someone has been in here, before the fire but who?" Sébastien tutted as he scrutinized an ash-ridden parchment. "Or did Pauline sabotage her own things?"
Céleste couldn't prevent a growl from creeping up her throat.
"Sarah." When she said the name, she wished the young woman would show herself so she could punch the life out of her, kick her, choke her until she gave in to her bruises and descended into the fires of hell.
She hated violence, but anyone who aspired to hurt her best friend deserved to die.
"Sarah?" Sébastien flipped to her, his face visible between two empty shelves. He opened a book, shook it up and down, back and forth, and a few loose papers fell to his feet. He'd done the motion many times already, managing to scrape up a dozen or so messages that he'd stacked onto the desk.
"Prudence's lady-in-waiting, the one who we accuse of poisoning the Dowager." She scoffed as she plucked a book from the rummage—one she would have loved to read while sitting by the fireplace and sipping on spiked tea. "If the Princess is right, and Sarah worked with Cornelius, then she might have been tasked with stripping the castle bare, capturing all its secrets before she fled."
Sébastien wiped his hands on his pants and trudged over to her, hunching and jumping and side-stepping the obstacles between them.
"We should get started on the letters and documents I found," he said, kissing her forehead. He smelled like dust and metal, yet she welcomed his touch and nodded at his advice.
Together, they ventured to the desk, where he'd placed their meager findings. He lowered into the somehow unbroken chair with a strained sigh and stretched.
He mumbled positive words to encourage himself, but Céleste sneered.
A Queen would not hide secrets in books.
Queen—the word rang in her brain like a blasting bell.
Prudence was now a Queen. The Queen—the regent who would rule over Giroma, the country her ex-lover despised. She'd sit on the throne and pick up where Romain had left off—but what did that mean? Would she attempt peace with Totresia, at last, having grown up there and having laid with its King, resulting in her carrying his unborn child in her belly? Or would she become bitter as her father and brother, and spread more hatred against Totresians?
Céleste struggled to picture Marguerite doing the latter; but Prudence, the stone-faced Princess who had lost her entire family, might do things differently. She might refuse to interact with Totresia, fearing another Gregor-Philippe situation.
Céleste assisted Sébastien, but paid little attention to what she read. Her mind wouldn't rest, too busy imagining Prudence banning them from her country, from her life, and holding them accountable for her tragedy.
"Oh, dear." Sébastien's voice was frail, barely audible at first. "Look at this."
Céleste spun to him and noticed that his cheeks had turned as pale as the ivory walls. "What is it?"
He slid the note over to her and pointed, urging her to read.
She growled when she recognized the handwriting.
January the tenth, seventeen-ninety-eight,
To Her Grace, Dowager Queen Pauline of Giroma,
I beseech you—convince your son to marry me. It is clear my marriage with King Antoine is falling apart—no thanks to your horrid daughter—and I will leave soon, to head back to my father's home in Avignon. I do not wish to do that.
I have your secrets, as you well know. The things my father cumulated over the years, in anger at your first denial at my union with Romain. It was your fault I was sent to Totresia and now is your chance to rectify that. I am certain, in the next coming days, that Antoine will have our marriage annulled; so, to fix your past mistakes, I ask you to speak with Romain.
I would make an excellent addition to Giroma. For I, too, abhor Totresia and would be in agreement with Romain and his current reign. You cannot deny I would also provide you with grandchildren, as you may have heard the rumors—Antoine is incapable of conceiving an heir with me. I guarantee the fault is not mine.
I will have this letter delivered to you in haste, for I will come to Giroma no matter what. However, if you were to reject me, I will reroute my carriage towards someone who will have me. Mark my words, Dowager.
Sincerely,
Her Majesty
Queen Adelaide of Totresia
"That... that vile thing!" Céleste's saliva thickened in her mouth and she wished to spit it in Adelaide's face. "She always planned to come to Giroma, and had a back-up in Cornelius!"
Sébastien stood and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This may not incriminate him, but it shows motive for her, and possibly her father." He snarled as he folded the paper and snuck it into his coat. "His new wife, begging to marry the Giromian King and she was not even post-divorce yet? Suspicious."
Céleste smacked the desk, causing excess dirt and dust to shimmy up to her nose and make her sneeze. "What if," she sneezed again, "Adelaide was so mad at the rejection that she manipulated Cornelius into killing the entire Giromian family? In vengeance, and for her stupid pride? That date," she scratched her chin, "that was three days before we had tea, before she offered her apology." She fought to keep upright as ideas flooded her, rendering her dizzy.
Sébastien tugged her from the desk, and pushed furniture out of the way to permit them passage into the corridor.
Out there, the air was more breathable, and Céleste relaxed.
"Thank you."
"You are not wrong," said Sébastien as he closed the door. "She has always been thirsty for a crown, and she is an easily offended woman. Her yearning for Romain is unsurprising, especially if this was her second try! Your first denial to my union with Romain... she had already petitioned him!" He shrugged a hand through his curls. "I wonder how long she has been pining for him. Antoine and Prudence knew it, they saw her glances, but Romain may not have returned her feelings, not with as much fervor. He toyed with her."
Céleste winced at the pangs of pain in her head and set her forearm against the wall for support. "It amused him, perhaps. But Adelaide is so deep in all this that it points to Cornelius' involvement, for sure. Prudence is correct that he schemes, but he does not pull all the strings. Not alone."
Sébastien paced up and down the unobstructed portions of the corridor. "Prudence mentioned that, too." He grunted with every step. "Adelaide's place in Torrinni was always wobbly. Antoine never loved her, and Mother had little fondness for her, despite her responsibility in the union. We are all aware it is Adelaide who cannot conceive, not Antoine. I mean..." He swirled to Céleste, his chocolate eyes nearly exploding from their sockets. "Prudence is with child! It was proven! She can break Adelaide in seconds with that information! Adelaide is infertile!"
"Prudence is living proof that Adelaide lied?" Céleste tilted her head and crossed her arms. "And Cornelius knew that! Which means Adelaide knows... and perhaps they both wanted to get rid of that proof? To erase Prudence, erase the truth that Adelaide cannot conceive children?"
"That blasted bitch." Sébastien had never spoken so crudely in front of Céleste. Yet his rage sparked her adrenaline, and she watched him with intrigue as he punched a fist into his palm. "She tried to conspire with the Giromian Dowager, too. The Dowager hid that from her children. She should have warned them... that was one of her secrets." He peeked at the door Prudence had gone through earlier and flinched. "We must tell her."
Céleste grimaced. Prudence's mother had indeed concealed perilous knowledge that might have stopped them all from being killed. This was news that might have prevented their home from being set aflame and their enemies from surrounding them, hungry for power.
"News," she said to herself, tapping a finger to her chin. "Do you figure... has Totresia gotten wind of the events here, yet? Has anyone written to Prince Jules? It would take a few days to arrive, but someone must have advised him, no?"
Sébastien covered his mouth with a trembling hand. "None of us have, but Schwartz will, I guarantee it. To shift things in Totresia, he will have written to Jules, or to Mother, telling them of Romain's death. Of Pauline and Prudence and us. Because," he stomped his feet, the floorboards rumbling beneath him, "of course, of course he knew we were all here, and he was planning on us getting caught in one of his traps! With the news of our deaths, Jules will become King, and Mother will go running to court to get back into his favor—"
"—would she?" Céleste's throat throbbed, and she clawed at the base of her neck, overcome with dread. "Ignore her elder sons' deaths and hurry over to her favorite as he takes the throne?"
"I do not know. But she knew of our trip here. She knew the risks. Antoine wrote to her after our visit to her, to warn her. I informed him it was foolish, but he wanted to learn to forgive her, to trust her again." A vein pulsed in Sébastien's temple and fear flashed in his eyes. "Her story about Philippe... she gave it to you, to us, and predicted it would send Antoine to find Prudence. I cannot presume to guess if she still has ties with Schwartz, despite dismissing him, but would Mother still hunger for power?" His chin trembled, and he blanched. "Would she be pleased that her puppet son is granted Antoine's place? I love him, but Jules is a moron, always has been. And that wife of his..."
Céleste choked. "Charlotte. You speak of women thirsty for crowns... Charlotte is one of them. Being a Princess would never suffice."
Sébastien yanked Céleste down the hall. "Cornelius will write to Jules, assuming he will become regent. Jules will write to Mother. Mother will be back at court, and plots will resume as before." He fluttered down the halls as if knowing them, and stopped as they arrived at the top of the stairs. "Antoine needs to know, now."
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