♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE PREQUEL, THE GOLDEN PRINCESS, TO READ THIS BOOK!♦
BEWARE--spoilers in this blurb, for those who have not read previous books! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Kings. Queens. Princes & Princesses. Duchesses and Dukes. And... regents?
Eve...
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Chirping birds in the morning was once a sound that would have spread Céleste's lips into a grin. Instead, she scowled at the canopy above her, remembering she was in Totresia, at Torrinni Castle, surrounded by sharks and vipers.
Groaning, she got up, swung her robe over herself, and sat at her vanity. Jules' written plea remained there, untouched, his thick handwriting smudged and desperate. Since the moment she'd read it the night before, she hadn't been able to remove it from her mind. Even after asking a few guests about Cordelia—whose ominous absence concerned her—and being told she was on an outing with a chaperone, and viewing Julia and Denis flirt, all she thought about was the message Jules had insisted on giving her.
Help, he'd said. Help from what? From who? For what reason? Why would someone of his stature, a Prince turned King regent, require aid from her?
She'd kept the note scrunched in her palm for the rest of the night and avoided his gaze. She avoided everyone's gaze, wary her distress would show in hers. Part of her worried Jules would scold her if he learned she'd read the letter in such a public place. But how could she not be curious? How did he expect to throw such cryptic information at her and not allow her to decipher it?
"He should know me by now," she said, crunching the parchment in her hands.
The only other person in the castle who remotely knew and understood Jules was Emeric. He wasn't at the fancy dinner, as she'd anticipated him to be. Had he left court, despite Antoine's demand that all nobles stick around while he was gone? Or was he so disappointed by her clandestine trip that he'd made himself scarce, preferring to avoid her at all costs?
What if the note was a trap? A means to lure her out, trick her, lower her guard so that Jules could better play her and figure out how to retain Antoine's crown? What if he meant to cause her doubt, to drag her into some foul-planned scheme? He'd learned games from the master—Clémentine.
"But what of Charlotte, then?" She recalled the Queen regent's eerie behavior all night, hoarding Jules to herself, never letting him leave her side. And Jules' constant discomfort at her touch, his flinching whenever she whispered in his ear. "Was his appeal because of her? Did she do something to Jules?" She scoffed, imagining Charlotte holding her fists up and threatening Jules if he didn't fight for the crown. "Plausible, but he would not shove such a frightening letter in my hands because of her." She unfolded the note once more. "Or what if she needs help? If they both do? Hm, I cannot dismiss that theory."
With Emeric who-knew-where, and Cordelia away, Céleste had no one with whom to debate options, to analyze the facts. Letting Julia in on it would be too risky, with her allegiance to Charlotte. She knew no one else at court well enough to share such secrets and expect assistance.
Releasing a monumental sigh that blew onto her vanity and knocked over her products, she slouched on the bench.
She had no choice—she had to write to the only person who'd give her insight.
