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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Face scrunching in the most unladylike of manners, Céleste watched Marguerite glide towards the bending of the hall. Her dress flowed like a soft blanket in the wind, and every step was poised and measured, ever the perfect lady.
Céleste opened her bedroom door and slammed it shut, but she didn'tenter.
A sense of adrenaline slipped under her skin as she tiptoed forward, watching for Marguerite to march around the corner and disappear. Céleste knew she should obey, keep to herself, but she pushed onward. Speeding past the statues and portraits, footsteps muffled by the carpeted floor, she ignored the screams inside telling her to stop. Her heart thumped, begging her to slow down, think this through—but she couldn't. She wouldn't. Not until she figured out what Marguerite was up to and if it somehow linked to the mystery she craved to solve.
Was the note from the Duchess? Is she here?
Since their arrival at the castle, Marguerite's secrecy and fogged attitude nudged Céleste towards disobedience. Like she'd fallen into an action-packed book, unable to flip the pages ahead to determine what would happen, unless she overstepped boundaries and peeked past walls and doors she wasn't allowed to. Unless she eavesdropped—an act Sir Knowles and Marguerite had reprimanded her for often at the Academy.
She hadto find out more about the Golden Girl, the ominous Duchess of Torrinni, and if they were the same person.
A hunch told her Marguerite knew. The royals knew. It all began here, in this Totresian Royal Court.
About to pass the tip of the hall, she gasped when a door to her right swung open. Esther's high-pitched voice erupted into the hallway, like a lightning strike piercing through a navy-night sky.
"Who is there?" Esther's rosy cheeks popped out from behind the door. "Ah, Céleste. Come here!"
Céleste's shoulders drooped. She teetered close to the curving in the corridor that would lead her to the main stairs; to Marguerite. But as she leaned around the facade and peered at the steps, she no longer saw Marguerite's bouncing curls; she was already gone.
Omitting from uttering a string of unhappy curses, she swiveled to Esther. "What is it?"
Esther tapped her foot. "Are you otherwise occupied?" Her deep auburn locks were pinned up in haste and she appeared flustered.
Céleste winced. "I was, uh, doing something for the Director, but matter."
Esther swished out into the hall to display the extravagant, blindingly white dress she was wearing. Its bodice was too tight, its gown much too wide. The petticoat was covered with flowery patterns stitched into the fabric.
She twirled on her heels. "What do you think? It is one of my options for the Presentation. Harriet says it is a tadoverboard, but you only come out to Totresian society once, no?"
