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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Pine and spruce smells swished into the carriage; a crisp winter breeze that transported Marguerite away from her woes. Yet no matter how pleasant the scent, she knew what it meant.
Torrinni Castle loomed straight ahead.
She closed her eyes as the coach slowed, then halted. A weight lifted from the front and the door opened, allowing a slither of faint sunlight to pour over her cloaked face.
"We are past the castle gates, near the stables, as requested, Your Grace." The driver—an elderly man who'd served the Totresian royal family for decades—smiled. "Shall we transport your things inside?"
She inhaled the gust of wind whipping in, and shook her head. "Wait here. I will assign someone to fetch them. I appreciate your discretion, and your services these past days, Bernard. I will ensure all those at the Palace receive a handsomereward."
Bernard extended his arm to help her down. "We serve you, Your Grace. His Majesty King Edouard decreed it, and we only heed his commands, and the current King's. No one else's."
After another sharp intake of oxygen, she alighted. The moment her boots crunched over the pebbles, she grimaced.
There it was, in all its gloomy splendor, in all its concealed conspiracies—Torrinni Castle. Its rooftops pointier, its arches and pillars steeper than she remembered.
She would have preferred to stay at the Palace. Protected, praised, pampered; not filled with guilt and terror.
As she tiptoed to the kennel door to the stables, she offered another quick mutter of thanks to Bernard.
Once inside, she accosted the stable-boy and dropped a few coins into his palm. "If anyone asks, I showed up early, took a horse, went for a ride, and returned just now."
He cocked his head, but nodded as he pocketed the money.
As she exited through the main doors, her hood fell and bunched around her neck.
Nine days I was gone, and it was all for naught.
She'd spent mornings studying scrolls of ancient Totresian laws. Afternoons sipping on coffee while perusing heavy books covered in dust. Evenings in her Reading Room, going over official letters with Edouard's seal.
He'd shipped half a library's worth of documentation to the Palace, to prepare for when Marguerite would live there full time, as Antoine's advisor. Though she was thankful for his wistful thinking, it had amounted to nothing. She'd found none of the answers she sought. No mentions of proper ways to break a treaty, no peaceful manners to employ to rearrange a contract or change its wording.
She assumed whatever ruse Céleste and Johanna had used worked, because no one had come to find her. According to her serving girls—who'd ventured into town for supplies—no rumors of a runaway Duchess had bloomed among the townsfolk.
