**THE PRINCESS SERIES is part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE, and considered a sequel to THE GOLDEN QUEEN/A BRAZEN LOVE**
♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE GOLDEN UNIVERSE NOVELS AND THE BRAZEN NOVELS TO READ THIS SERIES!♦
Cordelia, the Princess of Totresia, has alw...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
♪ I don't remember your face Or your hair, or your name, or your smile ♪ {Matt Maeson ft. Lana Del Rey—Hallucinogenics} EXPLICIT warning—for the song
Cordelia knew she had to wake Helen, to bring her up to speed on their situation. But something told her that two of them panicking would do them no good. And if she woke Helen with blurred facts and a fuzzy mental image, the poor girl would panic more and turn frantic. Most days, when she finally woke from her slumber, Helen wasn't the most chipper of ladies. She tended to awaken abruptly, with a short temper and an even shorter tolerance for missing memories.
Her memory was sharp, she'd told Cordelia, after one of their benders in a dingy bar surrounded by half-dressed wenches, guzzling down horrible mead. "Even with alcohol, I remember everything. So in the rare instances that I do not, it disturbs me. And yet I cannot stop the flavor of liquor from enticing me into drinking more. Regardless of not being certain what I will remember the next day," she'd commented, nuzzling up to Cordelia to whisper in her ear, to guarantee she heard her.
And Cordelia had heard her loud and clear. But right now, she had to make sense of their predicament, and then wake Helen to inform her of it.
But where to start? Where do my memories fizzle off?
Weakened, and faint from thirst and hunger—her belly growled, and she hoped its vibrations wouldn't rouse Helen from her heavy slumber—Cordelia inhaled and exhaled. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and realized she had to start at the beginning. The night they left Torrinni.
Once out of the forest surrounding the town, they rode day in and day out, stopping in smaller cities where Cordelia believed she wouldn't be recognized. They avoided any territory known for rebellion against Antoine, and blended in with freight carriages transporting goods past the French border to escape the country.
Once in France, they'd visited grand chateaus as tourists, and shared tiny rooms in cramped inns filled with drunkards and courtesans. They did their hardest to save the money they'd left with, and sold whatever trinkets they owned and that they didn't care about parting ways with. But it didn't take long for their frivolous tastes to demolish through their reserves, and they were forced to rely on other means. Helen's eyelash batting, Thomas' way with words, and Razin's wit got them to Paris.
"Right... Paris," Cordelia whispered, recalling she'd at least figured that out.
But were they in an actual prison, or in some whore-house, set to work for their bread in other ways than stealing? Were they in a rich man's house, waiting to become slaves? Or near the Seine river, about to be shipped off by boat to some foreign island that took runaway Princesses to teach them lessons?
Her stomach churned, and she cringed at the notion. And at the realization that her severe hunger and thirst were causing her hallucinations.
No, they could only be in jail—but the question was why were they isolated, away from the other inmates?
