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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After pacing, mumbling curses, yelling curses, and scribbling excuses on paper, Marguerite had made up her mind. It was a decision she'd regret, and warning flares flew about in her head, but Jules was family. Despite his betrayal, his behavior, she had to meet with him.
She threw her cloak on and scampered down the hall, down the steps, and out the main entrance. Her brisk strides caused a glacial wind to smack into her cheeks, and her teeth clattered when she finally arrived at the stable doors.
A hay scent met her nostrils as she slid into the dimmed room. An eerie quiet reigned inside, despite the animals inhabiting either part of the space.
"Hello?"
She pulled up her cloak collar as she peered towards the unoccupied stable-master's office, then advanced farther inside.
She heard him before she saw him. He coughed and shuffled over, arms crossed, his short chestnut curls more unkempt than usual.
The flames from a sconce reflected in his eyes as he widened them. "You... you came." He kept his voice low, but the surprise in it was clear.
"I did, though I am still uncertain why," she said, squinting at his ruffled coat and the muddy stains on his boots as he came closer.
"Thank you. It is not the best spot, but no other alternative to escape prying ears." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I wished to apologize, but I do not know where to begin."
Marguerite rubbed her tongue over her teeth, then let out a huff. "Perhaps by explaining yourself?" Her shoes dug so hard into the ground that the soles of her feet burned. "Why... how could you do this to your brothers, to me? Siding with your mother and her antics and lying about it? Conspiring to take the throne when you have made it quite clear you did not want it?"
Jules pulled his lips between his teeth. "Yes, I apologize for that. But I was in over my head. Trapped. Mother forced me into this, backed me into a corner. She knows certain things about me, and threatened me to divulge them, to shame me. More than I already shame myself. I had no choice. It does not forgive my behavior, but—"
"—nothing can forgive your behavior." She glared at him, uncaring for formalities. Prince or not, Jules was a child who didn't grasp the consequences of what he'd done and how he'd ruined his family. How he'd enabled his mother to turn Totresia against its leader.
Jules couldn't maintain her gaze and kicked at the dust on the floor. He filled his cheeks with air, expelled it, and raised his chin but focused at something behind her, instead.
"My behavior is the result of hers. Mother," he groaned and jammed his hand to his forehead, "she plays games with the wrong people. Sets up deals and contracts, acting as a Totresian benefactor, thinking she can save the kingdom... but by doing so she allied with our enemy. And she will drown when they double-cross her, which they will do any day now."
