The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)

•T W E N T Y - T W O•

Marguerite's balanced steps radiated a confidence she wasn't sure she had as she approached Prince Sébastien. Though he, of all royals, was her truest and dearest friend, she couldn't help but set up walls around her heart. If Antoine had harmed her—who was to say his brother wouldn't?

At the sight of his unkempt raven tresses swaying in the breeze, she curtsied.

He had better not harm Céleste, either.

Without hesitation, he hoisted her up. "Marguerite." His obscure eyes sparkled, full of a warmth she hadn't realized she'd missed. "How wonderful to have you back at court. No matter the reason. No matter what you did, what he did, this is your home. Where you belong."

As sandpaper lined her throat, she lowered her gaze to his shiny boots. "How much did you rehearse that?"

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and she looked up to spot him smirking, a genuine glow oozing from his skin. "Oh, Maggie. I missed you."

"And I you," she said, reverting to a scowl, "but what are you doing?" She slipped backward, folding her arms to her chest, closing up. "Inviting Céleste Richel for a formal meeting? She is not one of your contenders. The Academy did not present her and will not until next year. She is my ward. What are your intentions?"

He combed a hand through his hair. "So inquisitive. Do you care for the girl?"

She refrained from smacking him. "She is in my care, so yes. Answer me."

He looked over her shoulder and grinned. "I intend to meet her; that is what an introduction is."

Marguerite couldn't help the growl rumbling to life in her throat. "Do not be evasive!"

He lifted his arms and sighed. "She intrigues me. She has haunted my mind since I saw her with you two days ago, in the Ballroom."

"I knew it." Her mouth curved downwards. "She is young. Vulnerable and naïve and clueless about how court works. You should not have done this."

Since receiving his letter, Marguerite's insides had been knotted. It was her fault; she'd dragged Céleste to the castle for her selfish needs. Delightful and pretty as she was, men at court would prey on her, ogle her, desire her—

"Should not have picked a lady who sparks my interest?" Sébastien's bushy brows drooped. "You sound like Mother."

"You sound like a capricious child!" Marguerite bit her tongue, squeezed her eyes shut, breathed in and out. "She is not yours to pick. She is seventeen, unrefined. This ordeal scared her to death, poor thing. We both..." Her eyelids parted to find him scrutinizing every inch of her face. "We smell a plot brewing."

"A plot?" He pointed at his torso. "With me?" He fiddled with his collar, flustered by Marguerite's implications. "Never. I do not partake in such activities. Jules, perhaps, but me? I seek simpler things. I seek drama-free ladies. And Miss Richel," his lips snuck into a shy smile, "I have a feeling she is one such lady."

Céleste, drama-free?

She held in a laugh as she snatched the Prince's hand in hers. "You are confusing me. Confusing her." A gust of wind whooshed into her, almost sending her toppling backwards. Sébastien clutched her palm, aiding her in keeping her balance.

"I do not mean to. She appears less stuffy, less frilly than the others. A dreamy air on her features at all times—"

"—have you been watching her?" Marguerite's jaw dropped. "Spying?"

Redness spread from his chin to his temples. "No, I have not! I observed her at the Presentation last night. I daresay, she made me dreamy, too."

"So she enticed you to break the rules? Are you calling her a sorceress?"

He patted the top of Marguerite's palm. "She bewitched me, so... yes? Maybe I am. But I paid no regard to the official contenders. None swept my attention like she did." He stroked the back of his neck, his expression softening. "I am intrigued."

Marguerite gulped.

He let go of her and perked up, fussing with his flapping cloak. "I am curious about her, and cannot hide it. That is why I invited her. Not as part of some scheme, not as a ruse."

Marguerite shifted her weight. "And your mother? What will she say when she finds out? Because she will."

He narrowed his gaze, his upper lip curling, his nostrils twitching as his cheeks lost all their color. "To hell with Mother. She lied to us all by stating you were dead. I care naught for her reactions; she is not the monarch's wife anymore."

His unusual irritation made Marguerite cringe. "She is your mother."

He looked ready to howl at her, but he bunched his fists and turned around. "She does not decide for me. I am eighteen, a grown man, and aware of my choices. Antoine will support me, and his opinion is the only one that carries value at court."

She wiggled her gloved fingers, itching to shake Sébastien, to warn him how sly the Dowager was. How she'd do anything to control her son's lives and who they allowed in them.

"Are you sure? Céleste is a newcomer. Must you put her through such trials? I brought her here to learn, as my lady; not to drown among envious, viperous contenders."

Swerving around, he kicked at a few pebbles. "From what I understand, she can fend for herself." Marguerite's eyebrows shot up, and he chuckled. "Yes, rumors of the Academy reach me, too. The whispers in my ear, about her, have been nothing but good."

She pursed her lips. "The whispers? Sir Richel Junior, I presume?"

Sébastien nodded. "I beg you, let me meet her. I am not playing games." He spun Marguerite towards Céleste, who waited a few feet away, pretending to not stare in their direction. "Mother asked me to come home, but otherwise I operate for myself. I wish to speak with Miss Richel."

Heart unsettled, but aware she had no alternative, Marguerite raised her shoulders. "In that case..."

He crept up beside her, and both glimpsed Céleste, her chin down, her curls golden in the sunlight. Slender, unsteady on her feet but a hint of poise in her posture, she acted like no one was there, like no one watched her. Like a Prince hadn't set his stubborn sights on her.

"She is a rare gem of a girl, I can tell. I am dying to get to know her." The sincerity in his timbre prompted Marguerite to crane her neck towards him, to scan his face, to ensure he spoke the truth.

"Fine." She stepped aside. "But be careful, Highness. Do not give her false hope if Antoine cannot abide by your requests, or if your mother interferes. Do not hurt her how he hurt me."

Before he could reply, Marguerite curtsied and scurried over to Céleste.

She will never suffer as I did.

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