♦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.
Clad in peachy-pink gowns with fanned-out sleeves, the bridesmaids held on to Charlotte's train, navigating down the chapel halls. As was custom, they—and the royal seamstress—stitched in the last seam of the dress after arriving. And though all three maidens had seen the outfit before, they marveled at it again and again. Bordered in gold, wrapped in satin, bright as a flickering candle, it took up the entire aisle in Torrinni Chapel. Each patch of creamy white draped over Charlotte's massive hoop, and each bow and flower on her bodice was eye-catching.
No matter Céleste's hatred for her, Charlotte was perfect for royalty, brilliant as a future Princess ought to be. Céleste hoped to shine as much at her own wedding.
Jules waited at the end of the row, atop the elevated plateau for the altar and clergy. Gleaming in gold, he smiled at his bride as she approached.
Julia marched to Charlotte's right side, and Cordelia guarded her left; and Céleste, in the rear, had the chance to witness every noble-person's gaze gluing to Charlotte, wondrous and envious, stupefied at her elegant pace despite her voluminous skirts.
Clémentine sat towards the front, rigid and cold as always. Upon sighting her, Céleste battled a grimace. The former Dowager had received an ounce of forgiveness from her sons—an invitation to the wedding—but Céleste would never fully trust her. Covered in layers of lavender, she said nothing, and little emotion showed on her ever distinguished features.
The ladies guided Charlotte to the platform. Surrounding the altar, children and teenagers and priests spread out in a semicircle, singing hymns and praying. Antoine and Sébastien, swathed in canary yellow, stood beside Jules as he watched Charlotte climb and settle before him. Julia and Cordelia installed Charlotte's train, pressing down on the creases, setting it up in a perfect circle—a splendid halo around a not-so-splendid lady, but who, today, would become a real Princess.
Céleste fixed Charlotte's light blonde curls, then shimmied aside as Jules took his future wife's hands.
As the priest began his speech, Sébastien tugged Céleste close. "Soon, that will be us."
She gulped.
***
Those invited to the after-party and coronation at the castle buzzed about Charlotte's outfit and Jules' incredible maturity, considering his rumored adventurous past.
Inside the Ballroom—cloaked in gold and silver and cream—a gentle tune played while the royals proceeded to the dais. Céleste didn't yet have a throne of her own, but Charlotte did, and she sat atop its plush green cushions with pride. Antoine placed a glittering tiara on her head, proclaimed her Princess Charlotte of Totresia, and welcomed her to the family.
Céleste bit her lip as she curtsied; for a few months, Charlotte would be above her in station, and she'd have to respect that.
After speeches from the King, Prince Jules, and—to the shock of most—Charlotte, Céleste wandered down to the buffet and piled a plate high with chicken thighs and potatoes, and stacked chocolate macarons on the rim. Her duties as a bridesmaid weren't over, yet she ignored Charlotte's distress as ladies crowded around her, suffocating her with questions. Julia and Cordelia pushed them off, but Céleste was too hungry to care.
