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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Marguerite had cried so much her ears clogged, her mind fogged, her chest ached. She battled to differentiate reality and fiction.
Had she fled the Winter Garden in a dazed panic, abandoning her girls to the ruthless and scrutinizing nobles in the Ballroom? Had she run so much she didn't realize which turns she'd taken and which room she'd stumbled into until Céleste hobbled in?
Another wave of tears attacked her, plunging her into the misery she had no idea how to escape.
"We will fix this."
Antoine's voice vibrated in every confine of her brain, tryingto infuse into her consciousness and reassure her; but it was too late for that. If Clémentine held the keys to her destiny, she was doomed.
She'd never been so eager to leave the castle and its schemes. She'd never needed comfort as much as now.
Céleste, innocent and vulnerable and sweet, was the only one she could trust.
Céleste shoved a few of Marguerite's matted curls from her wet face. "What happened?" Her breath was wine-scented, and in the firelight her eyes were glossy, unfocused.
Marguerite sniffled, apologetic for showing herself so damaged, so ruined. She was a Director, a former Duchess, once promised to a Crown Prince—this was beneathher.
"They... he... she..." The tears burst forth again and she nestled into the girl's shoulder.
"Shh, relax. Tell me what it is... we will fix it."
Marguerite jolted up, disturbed by Céleste's sentence, identical to the promises Antoine had made.
"Fix it?" The two words rubbed her the wrong way, and she pulled away from Céleste to huddle in the corner, using pillows to shield her.
"Talk to me." Céleste's brows scrunched as she squinted. "I only mean to help."
She was correct, Marguerite knew. They allmeant to help, but none would succeed.
"The short version is... Antoine and I thought his mother wanted to unseat him. Which you were aware of." She wiped her cheeks, though they were so drenched she feared they'd never dry. "Then she would marry his wife to Duke Cornelius and ship her off to Giroma, along with our frail French alliance. And then put one of Jules on the throne in his stead, due to his easy-to-manipulate nature."
Céleste's skin flushed. "Are you saying these are no longer theories?"
"No, they still are." Marguerite clutched a pillow tight, throwing all her sorrow and pain into it. "But we were wrong on a few aspects. Corneliusis not the one taking Adelaide; King Romain is."
Céleste blinked. "But he is here for Julia, no?"
"It appears that is a cover-up. In truth, he came to cooperate with Clémentine, to annul Antoine's marriage, trigger a vote to remove him, because Antoine is heir-less. Without a wife, they will see him as weak. She knows. That foul woman knows it will irritate the council of nobles." Marguerite did her best to suppress a shiver, but it was so intense her spine smacked against the wall and she cringed.
