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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Snuggled in her warm bed, a fire roaring in the hearth to her left, Céleste relaxed. Her heart thumped in her rib-cage as she omitted the bad parts of the evening to focus on the positive. And despite her curiosity about Marguerite's usual evasiveness she smiled.
What a night!
She hugged one of her pillows, knowing she now stood on the verge of a massive cliff leading to bigger things.
Could Sébastien make it happen? Her, a real, official, presented lady? She had no notion how, nor if the King would allow it; yet her lungs filled with hope.
Her arms covered in goosebumps as she pictured Sébastien for the thousandth time. His silky ebony mane dangling on either side of his chiseled jawline. His eyes so sparkling she'd swallow them up and become drunk on the taste. And his smirk; dashing, shiver-inducing, a bright light in an obscure tunnel. How had she not been enamored the moment she saw him during her first tour of the castle? She tried to remember him then, what he wore, how he held himself.
But her thoughts always raced to tonight. When she twirled in his arms, when the world around them faded. As they swirled to a gentle tune, and a soft breeze seemed to weave through her hair, whip up her neck. Her imagination took off; she pictured them surrounded by trees and flowers, barefoot, their toes digging into a dewy grass as they held hands and ran.
She chuckled when she realized how hard she clutched her cushion.
Had there ever been an underage presented lady before? "I need to look that up in the Library."
The flames crackled, prompting her to sit up straight, heart-beats quickening. She glared at them, offended they'd interrupted her reverie. But then another crackle occurred; like floorboards creaking under someone's weight. It didn'tcome from the fireplace.
Releasing her pillow, she tilted forward to scan through the obscurity, focused on the front of her room. The noise happened again, accompanied by shadows fluttering under her threshold—someonewas creeping by her door.
She watched, willing whoever they were to keep walking, to meander farther down the hall; but the shadows lingered.
Hushed voices slithered beneath the door-frame.
Her spine arched as she clutched her covers to her chest. Who snuck about at this hour? It had to be close to midnight. Had some drunken nobles made their way upstairs, in search of somewhere to sleep?
Her doorknob jiggled, and she gasped. Yanking the blankets over her head, she sank onto the mattress. She prayed the invaders would change their mind, prayed they wouldn't come in—
