The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)

•F I F T Y - T H R E E•

Too many emotions drenched Céleste at once. Fury, fear, despair? All three?

The tears she'd tried so hard to hold in drizzled down her cheeks.

She had no idea how much time had passed since Emeric had stormed out, but she sat against the tree trunk, her knees pulled up to her chest, shielding her as she sobbed. Beside her was Harriet—when had she showed up?—seated at the edge of the stone surface, heels tapping to the ground.

Esther paced before them in a puff of yellow silk and pink taffeta. "This will not do." Her voice drained the fog around Céleste's mind, drawing her to the present. "It is one thing to speak down to his sister, perhaps; but to me? The woman he courts?"

"Calm down," said Harriet, her tone a breeze of fresh air compared to Esther's strained squeaks. Her soft sleeves against Céleste's shivering arms were a welcome comfort. "It sounds to me he had his reasons."

"Reasons?" Vivid violet lines scarred through Esther's pupils as she glared at her friend. "I care naught for his reasons! A gentleman does not speak like that in the presence of a lady!" She grunted. "Two ladies. Forgive me, Céleste; I tend to forget you are a contender."

"Right," Harriet spun to Céleste before the latter answered. "A contender of Prince Sébastien, asked to present herself in front of the King and Queen during a party for a Giromian." She crossed one leg over the other, her foot jiggling as she studied Céleste. "You know him best. Would you say he disrespected you? Or Esther? Was he out of line by refusing this?"

"He..." Céleste swallowed, but winced at her acidic saliva. "He used tones, but he was not out of line." She peered at the still distraught Esther. "He has a temper, and it gets out of hand if he is triggered. You and I, we triggered him."

"How?" Esther dug her fingers into her auburn curls and tugged. Céleste had never seen her so overcome with anxiety. "By asking him to attend a Ball with us? To present you to the King and Queen?"

"No," interjected Harriet, pressing a fingertip to her light lips. "By pushing him to attend a Ball where a Giromian is the guest of honor. I know your family, Céleste. My father does, at least. The Richels, Senior and Junior, would rather choke to death than be in a room with a Giromian. More so one of a higher status and a feeble reputation such as the Duke of Terter. We have dealt with him and he is unpleasant. I expect your brother was furious about that, and now livid with a second Giromian arriving."

"There must be a way to change his mind, no?" Esther seethed, actual fumes seeming to derive from the top of her head. "He wants me to go by myself? Does he not consider how that will make me look? Courted by him one second, deserted the next? First, I am rejected by all the Princes, now by the son of a Marquess? I will end up with a squire! Or a page boy! Ahhh!"