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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Sébastien had responded to her tea invitation an hour after she'd sent the page boy to find him; his reply was to bring her to meet him in the Dining Room.
Upon seeing her, he lit up. All his recent distress and dreariness had evaporated since their kisses that morning.
"My dear betrothed," he whispered, ignoring tradition as he yanked her into his arms, squeezing her until her lungs constricted. "It pleases me that you wanted to meet." He released her and helped her sit into the spot beside him.
A steaming cup of what smelled like chamomile awaited her, and she grinned as a serving girl set a napkin in her lap. "It seems we had the same idea," she flushed, "my dear Prince."
Their newfound intimacy had changed everything. From the way he looked at her—droopy and dreamy-eyed—to how he said her name, each letter languorous and dripping with desire.
But was it desire? Céleste had never experienced such intense feelings. And she didn't want to after all that had transpired between Marguerite and Antoine. It was a forbidden sensation that stabbed into her gut and drove her dizzy with disgust.
She'd been pondering it all before stumbling upon Adelaide's tantrum in the Ballroom. Then that afternoon spent with Sébastien, swooning from his warm touches on her hand, his sweet voice like drizzling honey into hot tea, smoothing its taste, might have shifted her views. Their quick kisses between sips might have made her realize that lust wasn't that bad, if not fully indulged.
She'd tried to extract information from him about the Ball, but he'd focused more on staring at her lips with hunger, causing her cheeks to turn so crimson she could have blended in with the Dining Room walls. Her heart had swelled and almost masked the fear rumbling in her gut.
At the end of their meeting, Sébastien claimed he had to converse with his mother, Jules, and Adelaide about party preparations.
"I did not expect this," he muttered, guiding Céleste out of the area. Nobles shoved past them for the dinner rush—it was a little after six o'clock—but she wasn't hungry. They'd fed enough on each other's lingering gazes. "And unplanned. When Antoine told me earlier, I thought of warning you and Maggie, but I did not want to bother her." They wandered down the Queen's Corridor. "I figured she needed time to think."
The subject hadn't come up much, as they were too busy blushing and giggling to bring up sensitive situations, but Céleste stiffened, remembering the details Marguerite had told her.
She prayed the monarch's wife, or her horrid mother-in-law didn't loiter nearby. "Marguerite was shaken." She gaped left and right before leaning closer. "They were interrupted in the forest by your mother."
Sébastien's pupils enlarged, but he maintained a straight face to not draw suspicion. "Antoine implied that, and it is not good. And the Ball announced after... most curious."
