Prudence once found the Westten Castle Ballroom to be overwhelming. She recalled it filled with life and music, sprinkled in gold and silver, lavish with delectable treats and comfortable chatter, colorful gowns twirling, and frilly frock coats spinning.
But now, it was dark, abandoned, and reeking of smoke. Though the fire hadn't reached it directly, a haunted haze loomed, and a burnt odor imprinted in the fabric of the thrones.
Yet, even in its happier instances, the Ballroom held no decent memories for her. The last time she'd been within, she'd spent the evening desperate for her mother's affection, praying for her brother to forgive her, and hoping the Giromian nobles would accept her.
The Giromian Princess, raised in Totresia, was now Queen Regent of Giroma. As such, she sat on Romain's throne, her skin crawling with goosebumps and her tongue tasting like acid. How she wished the cushions she perched on still smelled like her twin, and not like impending doom, past mistakes, and crippling pain. How she yearned for another whiff of his rosy scent, for a glimpse of his vibrant eyes, for a burst of his japes in that demeaning voice of his.
"Prudence." Antoine's voice—far from demeaning—seeped into her reverie. He knelt before her, clutching her hand in his, his mouth pressed to her glove. "My... Your Majesty." The words rolled off his tongue with ease, as if he'd practiced them for years. He might have, as she was once to be his Queen.
She'd loved him, hated him, loved him again, lost her virtue to him, despised him, and now... she had no idea what he meant to her.
She nodded at him. Flushing, her heart swelling, her lower abdomen tightening. But her lips wouldn't tug into a smile. She worried opening her mouth would lead to comments she'd regret, and for the thoughts she'd intended to keep to herself to pour out.
"Antoine," she managed, gulping down all the terror in her throat.
How to express her appreciation to him without engaging in an hour's long conversation about their future? He'd come so far for her, wishing to whisk her off her feet and haul her back to Torrinni, to protect her... but he'd jeopardized his country for it. For her. Anything she'd say might delay him, and he couldn't waste time.
Her lungs loaded with air. "I... I cannot begin to explain—"
"—you have nothing to explain." He tugged her a few inches forward. "You did not summon me here. If anything, you advised against it, and I would not listen. And now..."
"We have made things worse," she said, chewing on her lower lip, dropping her chin.
Antoine raised it. "I made things worse. I hate to abandon you after the chaos I caused, but..."
"... but you must return to Totresia. To save your throne." She batted her lashes, hoping to erase any hint of sadness, to stop the tears before they fell.
She'd wanted this—for him to depart from her kingdom, for his safety. But as she thought of her own safety, she knew only he could provide it. Only he would be able to safeguard her from the perils ahead, in her reign.
"To desert you in this mess... Prudence, forgive me, please. My crown..." A tear slithered from his eye, and he sniffled as he whipped his neck sideways and wiped his cheek.
Prudence gripped his jaw and turned him to her. "I understand. I have one of my own now, remember? You must go, and you have my full support. All Giromian gates will open to you, and you need not travel clandestinely."
He flinched, a flicker of some unknown emotion flashing through his eyes. "But you... you and I... and—" he gawked at her belly, "—are we... is there... hope for us?"
A bitter pang in her heart forced her to wrench herself from his grip. "Do not do this."
He hesitated to move his hand as it levitated an inch from her knee. "Prudence. Please. Tell me."
Their fates had united them and separated them so many times, she had no inkling what would come next. Their paths were drenched in blood and deception. Now, a child would join them.
"I am Queen Regent of Giroma." She cringed at how she spoke—cautious, doubtful, unclear about her own status. She wished to sound confident as Edouard, poised as Romain, but she'd never fully learned the ways of the royals. Bred to be a Duchess, an advisor, a spouse, she'd never anticipated one day she'd sit atop an emerald and ruby throne and oversee a country. "You are the King of Totresia. Sworn enemy countries. Let us save our kingdoms, first, and then we will see. We will talk."
It felt unresolved, but Antoine acknowledged her words as he got to his feet and bowed.
As he backed away, she captured him to memory, unsure if she'd ever stare at him again. She marveled at the dimples near his full lips, those hazel eyes she'd dreamed of every night of her life, that forehead she'd placed soft kisses on. Those locks framing his face, messy as ever, begging to be tousled. Those strong shoulders, and those arms bracing to carry her, those boots she'd seen him wear when wading through mud and wielding pistols as he hunted.
Goodbye, Antoine.
Before breaking into uncontrollable sobs, she flipped to Céleste. Her rock, her best friend, her unofficial sister. She beckoned her over and, tossing tradition aside while trying to keep her emotions at bay, she hopped down from the dais and embraced her.
"I am so sorry. Your trip here, braving your father's scoldings, sneaking in, all the death—"
Céleste deepened the hug. "I am sorry. You lost everything, and I wish... I wish I could..." She rested her cheek on Prudence's shoulder and sobbed.
They were about the same height, and though weeks before Prudence would have called her a girl, Céleste was now a woman. A future Princess entwined in coups and secrets—and having seen death up close one time too many.
"Say no more." The tears wouldn't remain at bay any longer, and Prudence pulled away to press her forehead to Céleste's. "I am so proud of you, of your wits, of your courage. Never change."
It was a formal goodbye with too much finality. Prudence waved Céleste off fast before her legs gave out and she crumbled. Her nobles weren't gathered, and her only audience were soldiers, but she wouldn't show herself as a weakened regent.
Her final farewell fluttered over, his ebony hair tucked into a low ponytail, his arms outstretched to hold her. Of all the surprises she'd had recently, he was a major one; once a boy, a shy sword-fighter, Sébastien was now a skilled warrior, a fierce politician. A sneaky spy, a smart man that she trusted with her life.
"Majesty," he said, his chocolate eyes sparkling with nostalgia.
She hugged him and touched his cheek. "My wonderful friend." When he ripped from her arms, she noticed him biting his lip and shifting his weight, debating something internally. "What is it?"
He cleared his throat. "I have decided not to leave."
Prudence's eyebrows shot up so fast they might have flown off her face. "What?"
Céleste—the stunned fiancée—raced up to his left side. "What are you talking about?" She pouted, yanking at his sleeve as if hoping to heave him out of the Ballroom for a private discussion.
Antoine, shocked and sullen, plastered himself to his right. "Excuse me? You are not leaving? How... how am I to... how do you expect me to thwart all these plots you figured out without you there?" His stance was wide and defensive.
Sébastien stood just as tall and fierce as his older brother. "I have to stay." He twirled to Prudence and inclined his head. "Someone has to protect you, and since he cannot, I am the next best thing."
"How long have you been scheming this?" Prudence arched an eyebrow and glanced at Antoine. "I did not ask him to stay, I swear it."
Antoine groaned, and Céleste continued to whimper, begging her beloved to reconsider.
Sébastien seized the latter by the waist and kissed her, bringing her so close they seemed to mold into one another. A flurry of butterflies woke in Prudence's belly at the sight.
She dared a peek at Antoine, and found that he'd had the same thought, glancing at her with remorse, with an urge that he couldn't satisfy. Both blushed and looked askance, waiting for Sébastien to finish his passionate kiss with his betrothed.
"I started formulating this the moment we discovered Romain's death," said the Prince, a frown forming on his face as he drew away from Céleste. "You will need advice as you clash with your nobles, present evidence, and fight for your claim. As I am privy to Giromian customs and well acquainted with you... what better choice?"
It ailed Prudence to see him trick his brother and fiancée, but he had a point.
"I do need allies, and as it is, I have none. My people will believe Cornelius and whatever excuses he comes up with. He might frame me for Romain and Pauline's deaths." She sighed. "I would have a stronger chance of survival with you than on my own. Cornelius will come for me when he hears I am alive." She plunged her gaze into his. "Are you sure? Is there no one else you would designate in your place?"
Sébastien spun to his brother. "Antoine?" He coughed into his fist. "Majesty? Do you have any better options?"
Though he scoffed and his knuckles turned white and he appeared ready to pounce onto Sébastien and clobber him until he was too weak to stand, Antoine nodded once, with a disgruntled mumble, "Fine."
Sébastien bowed to Prudence. "Allow me the honor of protecting you."
With Antoine's permission, Prudence gestured at Sébastien to straighten up. "Granted. And thank you."
Céleste was a blubbering mess of tears when her Prince cajoled her, reassured her, and promised her he'd be careful.
He then demanded that Antoine get Céleste home safely, close to her family.
"Oh, and Julia," he said, pointing at the door. "She stayed at her Inn and has no clue what happened, but it would be preferable if she returned to her father, yes? With Romain dead, there is no place for her here."
"Agreed." Antoine patted his brother's shoulder—though with such force the usually friendly gesture appeared violent. "And you watch over her, understood? She carries my... our... the future of Totresia." He sent one last glance at Prudence, hiding his emotions under a mask of neutrality.
"You have my word." Sébastien held Céleste once more and placed a peck on each of her temples. "Be strong and brave. I will return home to wed you, Céleste Richel. I promise."
After a few more goodbyes—these more watery than the first—the King of Totresia and his sister-in-law to be slowly meandered out of the Ballroom, off to prevent Clémentine and Charlotte from manipulating Jules into taking the crown for himself, forever.
Prudence settled into her throne, and signaled for Sébastien to join her atop the platform, to take her former seat.
He lounged against the plush, decadent fabric. "What now, Majesty?"
With a deep inhale and an internal prayer, Prudence craned her neck to him. "Now we prove Cornelius' and Adelaide's guilt, capture them, and make them pay." She set her hand onto the spot where, soon enough, she would sense gentle kicks and signs of life growing within. "They killed my family, so I will kill them."
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