Marguerite, the former Duchess of Torrinni, receives two letters that will change the course of her life forever; and that will impact young Céleste Richel's life too, in more ways than one.
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When Marguerite is forced to return to Torrinni cour...
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"I cannot believe it." Jules' voice was high-pitched—more so than usual.
The three brothers swaggered on towards the Cigar Room, after departing the Ballroom—and the surprise visitor who'd been waiting within.
Marguerite. Maggie. She is here?
"Can you believe it? I cannot believe it."
Antoine refrained from rolling his eyes at his brother's over-the-top reactions. It wasn't unlike Jules to exaggerate and to repeat the same thing over and over. Whether it was for attention or because he enjoyed being so flamboyant, Antoine would never know, nor did he ever plan to find out.
"What I cannot believe," started Sébastien, keeping his voice down—he always was the smarter of the siblings. He gripped Jules by the biceps to slow him down. "Is that we did not know about it."
He exchanged a pointed glance with Antoine; a glance Antoine at once interpreted as Sébastien asking him, indirectly, what he knew. Antoine was the King, he had spies, allies who snuck about to keep watch over everyone and anyone in the castle. Surely he'd known about this, right? He'd been informed that the Director of the Academy was coming, and that this Director was none other than his ex-fiancée?
The truth was that Antoine knew nothing. Sure, he had employees creeping about to eavesdrop on private conversations—but all they'd gathered lately were rumors of who slept with whom, and which of the public rooms was best for open flirtation without getting caught. He'd also gotten wind of Jules' antics—his drinking habits and his gambling debts—but planned to address those later, once the excitement of the new season had died down.
But the Director's arrival? No clue. As far as he remembered, the Director was always invited to court with any students summoned by the Dowager, but this Director had never consented to come. Until now.
And the fact that the Director was her? An absolute shock. Hadn't she been dead? Or had she really been alive this whole time, and right under his nose?
Once the Cigar Room door opened, a whiff of stale smoke swirled around him, and he choked. Though most men enjoyed unwinding in there, lounging on the leather couches or grouping around the green-carpeted tables for card games, Antoine was repulsed by the mere sight of the beige walls—which were more of a yellow twinge from all the fumes. The odor within never left despite how many times he'd asked the servants to focus on this particular room, to make it more appealing, less noxious. He'd asked them to open the windows, air the space out, light scented candles—but the men, Jules in particular, had snickered at that last option. And it appeared most maids were afraid of entering the room, let alone opening the heavy curtains and letting any light in.
Most days the place was filled with courtiers coming back from a hunt, hiding from their wives, or plotting on how to meet up with their mistresses. Luckily, today, it was empty.
