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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While conversing with Axel of Malaros, Sébastien kept Céleste close. She and Cristina exchanged pleasant smiles, but it was clear they both wanted alone time with their suitors. To be anywhere but there, listening to hunting adventures.
"... and when the horse tried to throw you off," said Axel, laughing so hard his short-cut raven curls shook with him. He had such similar features to his sister, they might have been twins; but there was a sweeter, softer energy about him.
Sébastien was about to reply when a mousy boy dressed in burgundy and copper snuck up and whispered something to him. Céleste remembered him to be a squire that often followed the Prince around responding to his every need.
"She what?" The Prince looked at the Ballroom doors. "But Cordelia is not to be near the Ball. Why... how did she...?"
The squire mumbled another string of explanations, and Céleste strained to listen. She heard urgent and Miss M., and gasped.
Sébastien waved the boy off. "Why take Marguerite?"
Axel's features scrunched. "Marguerite? Who is that?"
With a perplexed smile, Sébastien excused himself and drew Céleste to the food-spread. She noticed the tension lining his forehead and took his hand in hers.
"What is it?"
"Cordelia." He groaned and pulled her knuckles to his mouth for a kiss. "She dragged Marguerite into the hallway, to meet someone in the Winter Garden. But no one knows who."
Her heart skipped a beat. "The Winter Garden?"
"I will handle this." He pressed his lips to her gloves. "Stay here, eat, drink, mingle. It is yournight as much as it is that foreign King's."
Before she could retaliate, he scurried through the crowd and slipped out the door.
Alone in an ocean of unknown faces, Céleste squeezed near the platters of delicacies. The overwhelming perfumes made her nauseous, the twinkling jewelry hurt her eyes, the music morphed in her ears, causing her head to spin.
Who stole Marguerite from the Ball?
Like the night she'd first caught Sébastien glancing at her, everything and everyone around her became a blur. Panic infested her gut and bubbled up in her intestines, then her throat, coating her tongue in a nastytaste.
Unwilling to show herself so distraught—more so now that she was a contender—she whirled to the buffet and fanned her face. She sighted a platter of macarons and snatched a vanilla-flavored one, stuffing it into her mouth.
The flavorful treat did the trick, and able to relax, she rotated to focus on the dais, where she located the Queen and the Dowager in deep discussion. The former's cheeks were spiked scarlet, and the latter snarled and spoke with pinched lips. They stood close and seemed tense; were they arguing?
