Living in royalty can't be so bad, right? But... what if you're not technically royal?
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In late eighteenth century Europe, nestled in eastern France, is a peaceful kingdom called Totresia. A carriage wreck disturbs that peace when found by Totr...
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"My little flower that braved the storm."
Rubbing her burgeoning belly, Queen Clémentine peered at the sleeping four-year-old, her golden-blonde curls a glowing halo around her head, fluffy forest-green pillows surrounding her like a fort protecting its people.
"I named her once I realized no one would claim her," she said, addressing the youthful maiden standing beside her. The more the latter wrung her hands and bit her lip, the more Clémentine clutched the side of her scarlet dress, squeezing the fabric, relieving her stress.
Newbies. All the same—fearful, tip-toeing on broken glass, eager to please.
"Marguerite, after the daisy flower, in French—since I believed she was French, like me. No matter what Edouard thought." She chuckled and lessened her grip, imagining her strong and stubborn husband. "My flower that bloomed in the harsh rain and survived the coldest, most brutal storm."
She kept most tasks for wet-nurses and governesses, but Queen Clémentine enjoyed introducing her children—and sweet Maggie—to newer members of her staff. The nervous lady next to her, Alice, had arrived at Torrinni Castle only that morning, recommended by several of the women in her crew.
She patted her belly once more, praying this pregnancy wouldn't incapacitate her as the others had; Antoine's birth had made her incapable of lying with Edouard for years, and little Sébastien, born the year before, had taken days to make his presence known and came close to stealing the life from her.
Clémentine twirled a strand of her umber hair around her ungloved fingertips. She usually kept her curls up in a tight bun, but as of late, her pregnancy caused horrid headaches—so bad she even struggled to wear her crown without cringing. "She loves the story of her arrival, curious thing that she is." She smiled. "Strange but clever child."
Alice took a few strides past Clémentine and approached the bed, her discrete auburn dress swishing against the silky emerald sheets as she towered over the girl, awestruck by how peaceful she appeared. "Darling child she is, Majesty."
Picturing the child's vivid gaze, her already elaborate sentences, her clumsy but looping scribbles as she learned to write, her girly but proper tone, Clémentine's smile widened. "Indeed. And she continues to grow in beauty."
Alice gawked at the Queen, her cheeks reddening. "Such kind words, Majesty. Especially for one who is not of your blood."
An impulse to slap Alice took over Clémentine, angry she would utter such bold remarks, as she knew nothing of their unconventional family. But in dire need of a new lady in her service, she couldn't frighten this one. She'd scared a few others, and Edouard had warned her.
"Be nice, Clém. I beseech you."
"She may not share our blood, but we love her all the same." She shifted her weight, trying to find comfort in her standing position, but her feet ached something fierce and her lower spine seared with pain whenever she moved. "Edouard decreed a Ball in her honor. None ever came forth to claim her... so he did. As his foster-child; not his daughter, but close as can be."
