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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A surprising smile flitted across Céleste's lips when she woke. She stretched and yawned, recalling how, for once, she didn't have nightmares—she had pleasurable dreams. Grand Balls filled with dazzling dresses, piles of pastries, lively music, dances she thought were forbidden. Noblemen clinking glasses of sparkling wine, ladies discussing with bubbling delight. That was how Balls were supposed to be; not dreaded like the one to be held the following night.
Her smile faded. Her fears from the night before crashed into her, prompting pain to flare into her temples. The royal guard's face flashed in her mind—his short temper, his threatening gaze.
Marguerite!
She threw a pale peach dress over herself and didn't bother to check her reflection before she dashed out into the corridor. The guard was gone, but she had no inkling if that was a good thing.
Returning to her room, she knocked on the adjoining door. Once. Twice. Three times—to no avail.
Tugging on the doorknob, she huffed in relief when it wasn't locked.
"Are you in there?"
A groan escaped from somewhere near the bed, and Céleste poked her head farther inside, spotting Marguerite at the foot of the mattress, wrapped in her blankets, her lower limbs uncovered and bare.
Céleste flung the door open completely. "Maggie!" She shimmied over to kneel at Marguerite's side, pulling the woman's duvet over her legs. "What are you doing?"
With a sniffle, Marguerite turned her cloudy gaze to Céleste. Her eyes were red, tears streamed down her cheeks, her lips were chapped and swollen.
"He... we... he..." She blubbered a few more words, but Céleste couldn't understand her.
She thumbed a few tears from the Duchess' lash-line. "Who? The guard?" Her face overheated. "Did he hurt you? Or whoever he accompanied here? What happened? Did someone harass you?"
"No, not the guard... and no one harassed me," said Marguerite, sinking against the bed's base, covers slipping off her legs. "He... him... Antoine."
Céleste froze. "The King was in here last night?" Strings of shock, fear, disgust, and uncertainty weaved around her wrist, tightening, blocking her circulation.
I thought he would not dare...
"What does that mean? Why was he—"
"—because!" In her wriggling about, the blanket fell off of Marguerite, exposing her nudity.
Trembling, Céleste fumbled to yank the cloth up over Marguerite's naked body. "Oh Heavens, why are you—" She couldn't even say it out loud. "Come on, get up." She gripped Marguerite's upper arm. "We must get you into bed, to lie down. I will fetch you some clothes..."
