**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! AS WELL AS BOOK ONE, PRINCESS OF CANDOR!♦
In...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
♪ But there's something 'bout that struggle That makes me wanna get back up ♪ {BANKS ft. Samoht—Spirit}
Helen was already dressed, but she waited outside Cordelia's room as the Princess hurried to throw an outfit together. Her closet was filled with purples pastels and deep aubergines—an eerie coincidence, or had Lady Read chosen their rooms according to which gowns and colors were left in the armoires? Cordelia assumed the woman had guests often, and wasn't sure if these outfits were hand-me-downs, discarded fashions from prior years, or if they'd belonged to the child she'd lost. Helen had mentioned a son or daughter who'd died, but Cordelia hadn't had time to find out more.
On the ground floor, they were taken to Lord Read's study—a large room with no window, smelling like cigars and cinnamon. It was cramped, packed with bookshelves, piles of documents, and boat and fishing memorabilia. Old chairs were spaced out haphazardly, their fabrics ripped, with fuzzy wool poking out. It reminded her of a more cluttered, less maintained Cigar Room—like the one at Torrinni Castle, that she'd snuck into occasionally and played cards in while checking the door for noblemen about to come in and denounce her presence. Women weren't usually allowed in there; Cordelia wrinkled her nose as she grasped that the same rule likely applied in this office.
The desk at the far left was covered with papers, ledgers, quills, kerchiefs. Cordelia's nose further wrinkled when she and Helen sat before said desk, in the only two chairs in the room that didn't look ready to fall apart or burst at the seams. Compared to the rest of the house—tidy, luxurious, thoughtfully decorated—this room clashed. Its masculinity was overflowing, and its obvious refusal to follow rules set it apart.
What it meant, Cordelia thought, was that Lady Read had no say here, no control over what Lord Read did when inside; no control over him, period.
She was sweet and welcoming, but Lord Read will never be so pleasant.
As Cordelia had suspected, the wallpaper here wasn't floral, but a faded beige. The lack of window rendered the space so stuffy, she sensed her lungs clogging with air.
If he cared about her distress—or Helen's, for she was shuffling about on her seat, twitching—Lord Read omitted it. He dropped onto his chair with a huff. He made little effort to conceal his belly when seated—the height of the desk hid some of the volume from view—and didn't bother to sit up straight or present himself graciously to his guests.
There were dark smears staining under his eyes, and he pinched the bridge of his nose before peering at Cordelia and Helen, no sympathy or emotion in his expression.
"I have dispatched a messenger to Westminster and Buckingham," he said, setting a hand on the table, the other ruffling through his short sandy gray curls.
Cordelia cocked her head, and Helen leaned in close to her. "The Court of St James is at St James Palace, but the King hates it there," she whispered, filling Cordelia in on English politics. A two-second course in British royalty that Cordelia wished she'd received before now. "Queen Charlotte lives at Buckingham, and the King may be there with her."
