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.
*****
When Marguerite is forced to return to Torrinni cour...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Forcing happiness took more energy than Marguerite expected. Concealing her worries beneath suave smiles and curtsies took more strength than she had.
Her mind raced too much to appreciate Céleste and Sébastien's first official dance, so she meandered to the wine fountain and dunked a goblet into the burgundy liquid.
"Oh, the things one can discover when all the aristocrats are out of the way."
King Romain's words pounded in her brain on repeat.
Was he spying, seeking to uncover Totresian secrets to bring home with him?
Her heart sped up as her gaze drifted to him. The royal arrival from an enemy country, the defiant yet decadent figure parked beside her former fiancé. Though different in every way—Antoine was taller and stiffer, demurer, and Romain flaunted his wealth all over his badge-littered chest—they had the same contempt in their expressions. They had similar crowns with gems that sparkled atop their well-kempt manes of shiny hair.
Lurking below them was the Duke, garbed in obscure colors that brought out how pallid his skin was. She started upon realizing he stared at her—through the flock of damsels, past the dancers and the giggly girls at the extremity of the dance-floor. He fixed her, unblinking, the corners of his mouth itching to inch upward. A cold, crippling air loomed about him, and his eyes were so dark and dreary they were like two globs of infinite night sky, withoutstars.
He and Romain looked alike. The same glacial aura about them, the same lengthy waves of hair—though Romain's was lighter—and the same gruff demeanor, devoid of emotion.
As she glanced at the Kings again, she found them watching someone else. A lonely girl across the dance-floor, gaping at her shoes, her gray and blue threads exquisite, her raven curls tucked and twirled at the nape of her neck.
Julia.
Romain said something to Antoine, who flashed the most snarling, spite-filled smile Marguerite had ever seen, and motioned in Julia's direction.
She had to get to the girl before Romain did.
She deposited her untouched cup on the table, and in a few leaps, she reached Julia and tapped on her shoulder, drawing her from her daze-like state.
"Julia."
Julia came to, startled. "Oh, Miss M., apologies, I..."
Marguerite approached her mouth to the girl's ear. "Compose yourself, because King Antoine will arrive soon to introduce you to King Romain."
Julia's breaths accelerated. "Right. Yes. The King. An opportunity of a lifetime, wanting to meet me... best behavior."
Wondering if Sir Espinar was aware of the situation, Marguerite took Julia's hand and squeezed. She had little affinities for her, but most of the girl's disturbing behaviors developed from Charlotte's proximity. When alone, Julia was harmless.
