•S I X T Y - S E V E N•

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A throbbing, stinging pain roused Céleste from a fitful sleep. Her scalp felt like someone had scraped it off with a razor-blade, and her temples pounded like hammers breaking her bones.

She blinked at the stream of sunlight peeping through a slit in her curtains.

She groaned—then someone else groaned beside her.

"What?" She peeled off the mattress and gawked at the person, breathing in a slow, steady rhythm. Still asleep, despite the rumbling in her throat, as if complaining of Céleste's abruptness. "She slept here?"

Marguerite's golden locks lounged over the pillow, and parts of her navy gown protruded from the covers, dangling onto the floor. She looked so peaceful, so unaffected.

At the sight of the tear-stains streaking down her cheeks, Céleste's memory jogged.

Romain stealing Adelaide... Jules stealing the throne... the Duke taking Marguerite—Maggie!

Another sharp pang thrummed at her temples, and she stared at her nightstand, wishing she had water. Why hadn't she prepared for the agony she'd endure after a night of copious drinking?

As if someone had read her thoughts, her bedroom door opened, and Johanna slipped in, humming as she carried a tray of food. Her gray eyes widened at the vision of Céleste and Marguerite in the same bed.

"Miss Richel?" She tiptoed forward, the tray trembling in her grasp.

Céleste lept over Marguerite's body to land on the ground with a cringe. She pressed a finger to her lips. "Do not wake her!"

Though shock wrote all over her expression, Johanna set the tray of eggs, ham, a slushy-looking porridge, and a steaming cup of tea on the vanity table. "What happened?"

Céleste waved Johanna to the door. "She... we had a long night. Many developments." She spun to glimpse Marguerite. "Would you fetch her breakfast, too?"

Johanna's face reddened. "I already dropped hers off and wondered where she was. It is in her room, I will get it."

Céleste had seconds to catch her balance before Johanna returned and slid Marguerite's tray next to hers.

"Thank you, Johanna," she said, swiping some sweat from her forehead.

"Did she..." Johanna joined Céleste near the door once more, "did she tell you why she was so distraught that she would not sleep in her own bed?"

"She did, but I am unsure if she wishes to speak of it yet." Tipping her chin down, Céleste realized she'd slept in her marvelous gown; and that the seamstress still needed to re-alter it for the Masquerade. "Wait. Before you go—" she skidded to her armoire, extracted the first outfit she found, and snuck behind her changing panel. "Would you," she threw the silky white threads over the top of the shift after stepping out of them, "deliver this to the seamstress? She knows what to do with it."

The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)Where stories live. Discover now