♦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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Despite the bright, creamy-colored walls and the light and peppy furniture, there was no joy in Pauline's office. The fire had raged on above the room, and had burned through parts of the ceiling, scattering bits of plaster and rubble everywhere. Navigating through the area was rough, and with workers inspecting the floorboards upstairs and securing the perimeter within the study, it was hard to concentrate.
Sébastien had braved into the room first, and conversed with the staff to explain what he and Céleste were doing. The workers sought to dissuade him from exploring, but he prevailed, and soon enough he and Céleste were going through Pauline's belongings.
The fire wasn't the only thing that had destroyed this once grand space. Clear remnants of fighting and pillaging startled Céleste when she'd wandered inside. Such a beautiful place it must have been, with delicate feminine touches and light-wood bookshelves and tables and cozy seats. But it had been transformed into a mess of ruined furniture, mountains of cloth and wood, ripped curtains, and shattered artwork. Feathers sprinkled across the floors, erupting from torn pillows, and chairs were turned over, their pretty patterns scorched, and some with missing feet. Bits of glass from the broken window loomed dangerously to the left, and piles of ash rested to the right.
A minuscule passage allowed them to locate the desk and its locked drawers, which Sébastien had pried open without difficulty. He broke seals and boxes and containers, attempted to unlock safes he ignored the codes to, and hopped over debris to reach inaccessible spots.
Céleste's heart pounded, and she was too frozen in shock to help the man she loved as he bent over backwards—literally—to unearth proof of the royal family's murderer.
Prudence had asked for the impossible. There was no way they'd recover anything in the ruins. Most papers had been burned, and many books and notepads had missing pages or scribbles crossed out by heavy black ink. Few spots remained unscathed—a bookcase to the right, several drawers under the desk, and a safe in the rear which, once cracked open, revealed nothing of worth.
"Someone has been in here, before the fire but who?" Sébastien tutted as he scrutinized an ash-ridden parchment. "Or did Pauline sabotage her own things?"
Céleste couldn't prevent a growl from creeping up her throat.
"Sarah." When she said the name, she wished the young woman would show herself so she could punch the life out of her, kick her, choke her until she gave in to her bruises and descended into the fires of hell.
She hated violence, but anyone who aspired to hurt her best friend deserved to die.
"Sarah?" Sébastien flipped to her, his face visible between two empty shelves. He opened a book, shook it up and down, back and forth, and a few loose papers fell to his feet. He'd done the motion many times already, managing to scrape up a dozen or so messages that he'd stacked onto the desk.
