Following their actions in The Golden Girl, Marguerite and Céleste must deal with the repercussions of their recent behaviors.
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Marguerite has landed herself in quite the shameful predicament, but she needs to make priorities; to somehow mainta...
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Never did Céleste think running about the castle to avoid someone would be so exhausting. With so many halls and narrow stairways and statues to hide behind, one would expect it to be easy; but Céleste found it complicated. Remembering which corridor led where, which potted plants concealed all layers of her skirts, and which rooms she was allowed in, her brain swelled with too much information.
It was the opposite of what she'd gotten used to. For weeks she'd snuck around searching for Marguerite—now she wished to avoid the woman's gaze for as long as she needed to heal her wounds.
She told Sébastien nothing of her discoveries, but he was no idiot; her frosty demeanor with him that morning had been enough to teach him a lesson. Passing it off as not having slept well, she was monotone during their breakfast, but she expected that by the end of the day, he'd come to her to ask for an explanation. He hid the truth, but surely because Marguerite made him.
After her uneventful lecture with Cordelia, she zipped up to her room and let out a sharp breath once inside. She prayed Marguerite wasn't waiting for her, or pacing the adjacent chambers, bracing to jump through the adjoining door at the first noise. To her luck, no one was there.
Water rushed to her lash-line, but she didn't cry. Her heart ached, tore and twisted, but she didn't dig her nails into her chest to soothe it. Her head throbbed, but she didn't massage her temples. She let the pain fuel her, solidify her resolve. Because otherwise, she'd break down and allow Marguerite to justify herself. She wasn't ready for that yet.
Moments prior to removing her shoes and gloves, someone knocked, startling her into crouching behind her vanity.
She found me; she knows I know and she wants to apologize—
"Miss Richel?" A voice Céleste didn't recognize slithered under the cracks of her door. "Forgive me, but Miss Geitz sent me... please, might I speak with you?"
"Charlotte?" mumbled Céleste under her breath, rising to her full height again. She tiptoed to the door, but worried if she opened it, Marguerite might be there, might force herself in somehow. "I am not decent at the moment. What does Charlotte want?"
The girl on the other side cleared her throat. "She wishes for you to join her and Miss Espinar to prepare for the royal dinner." Céleste heard her fidgeting about. "And she... insists."
Céleste's eyebrows scrunched as she leaned away. On the verge of refusing—how atrocious an idea to be locked in a room with those vipers!—she recalled Sébastien's plea that she get close to Charlotte, get to know her and uncover what she might be aware of. And to establish some ties to Prince Jules.
This would be the perfect opportunity.
"Well..." She winced, still upset with her fiancé, but remembering how important this would be to him. "I suppose I should accept." The girl in the hallway breathed in relief. "Tell her I will be there once I have gathered my things." The acidic reluctance in her tone was a tad too obvious, but she hoped the young woman wouldn't relay it to Charlotte.
