Living in royalty can't be so bad, right? But... what if you're not technically royal?
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In late eighteenth century Europe, nestled in eastern France, is a peaceful kingdom called Totresia. A carriage wreck disturbs that peace when found by Totr...
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Marguerite loved the Queen's Solar. The demure navy sofa she often lounged on beside Queen Clémentine. The matching curtains on either side of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the giant castle gardens. And best of all—the gossip bouncing off the beige and gold walls, the rumors concocted by the Queen's ladies, the beautiful words rolling off their tongues in delicate tones.
But she didn't understand them.
Today, she had a chair toherself, something Clémentine rarely allowed. As part of her lessons, she had to learn to sit upright, never slouch, never let her shoulders droop. She struggled to be still, as she yearned to peer out the window or watch the ladies and their card games. Today, the Queen warned her to behave. They had new guests, she'd said; new arrivals to court, girls who had Presentation ceremonies a few months ago and proved themselves worthy to join the Queen in her Solar.
At only four-years-old, even Marguerite knew how big of a privilege that was.
Her governess—an elderly lady by the name of Lila—explained to her what a Presentation ceremony was earlier that morning. "When a young lady has reached the age of eighteen, and her family deems her ready to make her debut into society, she has a Presentation," she had clarified. Fussing with her bright pink bow—she despised the color pink—Marguerite had stumbled at the word debut. And more so when Lila specified it meant a young girl was eligible to marry.
The idea of marrying anyone didn't appeal to Marguerite at all. Not that she comprehended what it entailed; she only knew it meant sleeping in the same bed as a man and holding his hand.
No, thank you.
Now, feet dangling down from her cushioned seat, she watched as a handmaiden arrived and curtsied for the Queen. "Will Her Majesty take tea, today?"
The Queen's sofa rested to Marguerite's left, and atop it were Clémentine, and to her left a lady named Alice. Marguerite met her not long ago, as she came to check on her at bedtime. She'd tried to read the story of her discovery in the stormy forest, but it never sounded quite right coming from her. Clémentine told it best.
Alice always had large flowers and feathers in her hair. Though she had tanned skin, she dabbed thick layers of white powder over her face, as was the trend at Torrinni Castle. Clémentine only decked herself that way for serious occasions.
Too busy saluting another lady, Clémentine didn't pay attention to the serving girl, so it fell on Alice to talk to her. "Her Majesty will have her usual lavender blend." Alice turned to Marguerite. "Will Her Grace take tea?"
A recent change for Marguerite was getting used to others calling her Your Grace. King Edouard told her everyone was to address her as such—she was the Duchess of Torrinni, his most revered noble, he said.
