♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE PREQUEL, THE GOLDEN DUCHESS, TO READ THIS BOOK!♦
BEWARE--spoilers in this blurb, for those who have not read previous books! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
••••
The world is upside down, and those you thought you knew... you no longer...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Despite her often dreary moods, Prudence loved color. Yellows and aubergines, reds and ceruleans, vivid golds, and forest greens.
Her quarters in Westten Castle were devoid of them. They were white; white bed sheets, white duvet, white-wood bed-frame and posts and vanity. White seating area—though splashed with navy and copper—and white walls covered in golden flowers with green leaves. Not to forget the plush rug—also a creamy shade of ivory.
She'd hated it at first, but now, the emptiness inspired a certain peace and calm. It soothed her as she peered out from behind her enormous changing panel, adjusting the navy bustier of her gown. She clashed in such dark hues as she skidded across the room to fetch the matching feathers from her vanity.
The dress—and most of her new wardrobe—was a gift from Pauline, and she appreciated its lack of white. But as she glimpsed herself in the mirror, she didn't recognize the woman standing there. She wasn't Marguerite; she was Prudence, Princess of Giroma. Elegant, poised, prim. Not the girl who ran barefoot through the grassy fields in Torrinni, plucking fruit, or screeching down halls as she rushed from her chaperones.
She arched her spine as she snuck the feathers into her intricate up-do. Behind her, the large oak door leading into the corridor was closed, thankfully sealing her from those who awaited her presence.
To her right, the massive mattress remained untouched, unused, as she hadn't dared ruffle its silky blankets. In Giroma, everything and everyone was so fancy, so bathed in luxury it made her suffocate. She recalled the halls of ornate paintings and golden linings, the copper door-frames, the polished bronze chandeliers—and cringed at having to get used to such extravagance.
Her bedroom door creaked open, startling her into turning around.
Sarah appeared at the threshold and dropped into a hurried curtsy. "Are you ready, Your Highness? I am to escort you downstairs to dinner. The King assumed you would get lost."
Prudence held in a snort. "It seems he already knows me well."
Propping the door farther from the frame, Sarah motioned for Prudence to exit the room. Though she would have preferred to stay locked up in her soft-toned yet too immaculate room, she strode forward and followed Sarah out.
She kept herself upright, her limbs stiff, her dress swaying with her every move, her face-paint impeccable, her hair in place—yet she felt far from refined. Not that she lacked taste in materials or had trouble with proper manners, but every breath she took made her worry she would knock something over or say the wrong thing and shame herself.
"It is intimidating," said Sarah, her voice chirping in Prudence's ears. "But in time, you will find your way."
Before long, they arrived at the main steps, and Sarah jogged down, unbothered by her layers of skirts as she landed on the ground level.
