♦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!
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The world is upside down, and those you thought you knew... you no longer...
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Out in the hallway, Prudence had left her sanity, her composure, her poise—but alone at last, she let the shells of her pretense crumble.
Two steps into the stale-smelling office, she dropped to her knees as tears poured from her eyes. She muffled her wails with her hand, and prayed Céleste and Sébastien wouldn't hear her and try to hug her again. Hugging meant accepting their sympathy, and accepting their sympathy meant accepting the situation—and that, she couldn't. Not yet. She, Princess Prudence of Giroma, had become the last living member of the Giromian royal family. Which meant she would be Queen regent, and govern this country that she called home, but didn't know.
Somehow she gained the strength to stand, and wobbled about the room to light candles and sconces, to illuminate her deceased father's office. Like when she'd first stumbled in, thick coats of dust peppered the oak bookcases, the rich mahogany desk, the borders of paintings, the rims of the pots that once contained plants.
She marched to the desk and pulled out the auburn velvet chair that once belonged to her father. Tall, commanding, regal, it was as she'd envisioned him. Had anyone sat in it since his death?
"Death," she said, licking her lips as she peered up at the canvas of her family.
There it was, in perfect lighting—her father, her mother, her brother, and her. She and Romain were tiny babies, held by a mother who harbored secrets, and a father who would soon take off on a journey he'd never return from.
Tears plummeted down her cheeks again, but she shook herself, standing up straight. "I have no time to dwell on the past." She lowered onto the seat, and a layer of dust shot up from the cushions, causing her to sneeze. She sneezed again after wiping a hand over the desk's grimy surface. "Only the future matters. My future, as the sole inheritor of all this."
To her surprise, paperwork clustered in corners of the desk. She scanned the papers—blowing on them, sneezing, reading, sneezing once more—but detected nothing of worth. Last-minute travel plans to France, summons to other counties, a love-letter from Pauline—that, she slipped into her bodice for safekeeping.
She searched the drawers, yanking them open one at a time. Some squealed, their inner workings rusty; some were near glued shut, having been closed for so long. She extracted everything, and analyzed every document, noting that her father's handwriting was like Romain's.
Once finished with the drawers, she inspected the bookcases, and a few armoires overfilling with old scrolls and crumpled parchments.
Stacking the papers she'd seen value in on the desk, she settled on the chair, cracked her knuckles, and stretched. "Here we go."
***
After what felt like hours, Prudence adjusted her slouched position. The candle before her still burned brightly, its wax dripping onto the plate, its flames flickering in and out of focus.
