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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Céleste fell back asleep, but her pressing urge to rise and discover the castle by day simmered so much inside it kept waking her. She stretched, rubbed her eyes, sat up straight.
Why would Queen Adelaide summon Marguerite soearly to speak of Presentation details?
Checking her reflection—a tangled mess of dirty blonde locks bunched in dangerous knots, charcoal-colored smears lining the skin beneath her lash-line, imprints of her pillow indented on her cheeks—she squeaked.
"This will notdo!"
She splashed powder all over her face, hoping to conceal her fatigue. She then dipped into her mother's rouge and a light-hued pomade. Struggling to tug her brush through her hair, she settled for a half-do, toying with the top part to make it rise.
Somethingwas missing.
She opened a small box on the far right of her vanity and extracted a few flowers and placed them on the higher parts of her curls.
"Much better."
She slipped into her comfortable shoes and rolled on her white gloves. Puffing her chest, she marched to the door and peeked out into the hallway.
It was past eight o'clock—she'd heard the chimes from Marguerite's suite when fastening her shoes. The castle's occupants would awaken soon, and she couldn't afford to cross any more royals.
Where would Marguerite and the Queen meet?
She made a dash for the main stairs, hoping to sneak towards the Queen's Music Room; perhaps they'd be close by.
Gliding down the hall, she pretended to know where she was going. She wasn'tsupposed to be out and about, but curiosity ate her on the inside. She couldn't sit still and wait.
Passing Esther's room, she remembered her sour encounter with Emeric. The nerve—how could he speak like so to her? How could he be so demeaning?
Recoiling at the memory of his resentful speech and cruel glares, she turned into the first-floor landing. She swayed across the hall and descended the stairs with caution.
On the ground floor, servants rushed about, and a butler carried a tray down the King's Corridor to the right. Guards flanked the main doors, scanning the entryway, and when they saw her they nodded.
She relaxed her shoulders as she lowered one foot to the ground and looked left and right before hurrying down the Long Corridor.
At the crossing of the Queen's Corridor and the West Wing, her gaze found the Queen's Music Room and another door not far from it. She tiptoed closer and read: Queen's Solar.
"Oh, they might be in there." A hunch warned her she'd best not knock to request access—it wouldn't please the Queen to find her dawdling about when not permitted to.
