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 released a trembling exhale as she closed her bedroom door.
The dinner had dragged on with hushed insults and crude stares. If it hadn't been for Esther and Harriet, she wouldn't have made it to her room in one piece.
Charlotte and Julia's parting glares hauntedher.
Slumping against the door, she jumped when she heard a rustle of fabric, followed by a yawn, coming from her bed.
"So, how did it go?" The voice was smooth but tired, and she recognized it without effort.
"Marguerite?" She tiptoed closer, and sure enough, the Director sat on the edge of her mattress. A candle from the nightstand cast shadows across her hard-to-read features.
"I am sorry," said Marguerite as she stood and walked over. Her steps were light—she was barefoot. In the tiny glow from the dying hearth, Céleste caught traces of tear streaks down her cheeks. "I wanted to catch you before you went to sleep."
"I was about to come to you." Céleste kicked off her shoes and dragged herself to the mattress, where she dropped with a dramatic sigh. "It was awful."
"Was the Queen unpleasant?" Marguerite's tone crackled as she lowered beside Céleste.
"Not outright, no." Céleste hunched over. "She said I was an underdogand implied I would encounter more difficulties soon. And that I would face the Dowager tomorrow. Odd; I thought she would be at this dinner?"
"Ah, yes." Marguerite straightened and spun to bring her legs onto the bed. She tugged on her gown to drape it over her ankles and feet. "The afternoon tea. It is tradition to meet with the mother of the main catches of the Season. And as you are a favorite of Sébastien's, I expected this."
Céleste swiveled to sit like Marguerite; but she didn't bother to adjust her dress hem to cover her legs. "But—" she took a large swallow of air, preparing for her speech to come, "—there is more to report. About the Queen."
Though her eyes were lackluster and lifeless, Marguerite smiled, brushing stray hairs from Céleste's forehead. "Whatever she did, you may speak freely about it with me."
"She," Céleste gulped, "implied that she would remain Queen of Totresia. As though she no longer feared for her position, as she told you."
Marguerite's smile melted. "Ah." She pulled away and folded her arms. A few laces of her bodice had come undone, likely from lying face-down on her sheets to muffle her sobs.
Was she crying?
"The Princes... I spoke with them, while you were at supper. They confirmed something is up between the Queen and the Dowager. They worry about that lack of heir law, too. That their mother is interfering where she should not." She cleared her throat and peeked at the wall. "Clémentine is pushing them to find brides too fast. I know they are Princes, and finding the right woman to continue the legacy is important, but it is a lot. Why do they need wives so soon if not to... well..."
