♦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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
After receiving no news about Sébastien and Henry, Marguerite spent a while in the Chapel, banishing the images of them racing down snow-covered hills, through lush forests of pines, wielding their guns and shooting, fighting, falling from horses.
For the first time since she'd arrived in Westten, she decided to take the lengthy trek up to the Observation Tower, curious to visualize what her guards saw—and to figure out if they'd been able to recognize a sneaky seamstress hastening down the bridge.
Few nobles or serving staff went up there, as the steep steps were strenuous, but Marguerite was determined, deranged with fear and fueled with a thirst for revenge. Since she couldn't jump atop a horse and pursue her advisors herself, this was her best means to investigate.
Her mind overflowing with scorned speeches she'd give them when—if—they returned, she proceeded up the stairs. One step, two, three... she pushed herself, her vision fogging, losing balance. The sconces lighting her way doubled, and the steps seemed longer, larger, expanding.
On the top step, she collapsed. "I... came to..."
Her eyes slammed shut, and all she heard were shuffles of boots and muted yelps as she lost consciousness.
***
She woke in her chambers, on her bed, unaware how and when she'd been transported there. Someone had removed her shoes, but they hadn't placed her under the covers, nor had they bothered to draw her curtains to block out the sun.
"How in the...?" Swelling with shame, she slipped on her heeled slippers and stretched, thankful to see clearly again. Her plan had failed—in her condition, she couldn't attain the Tower—but she had another resort. She had to speak with those who would be privy to the comings and goings of everyone in the castle, including an upper-class noble and a foreign Prince.
The military men.
Taking her time—she was still a tad disoriented from her faint spell—she descended to the ground floor, and made her way to where she remembered the Armory to be. She didn't bother to knock on the door, and swarmed into the cluttered but quiet space, clutching her belly and willing her limbs to stabilize.
"Hello?" She teetered at the threshold, unsure if she'd made the correct choice, erupting into a place filled with armored men and sharp weapons.
Worn-down sconces hung from the faded wallpaper, and rows of bows and pistols and swords lined the left side. To the right were tables, chairs, bookshelves, and closets.
"Majesty?" A few men came into view, seated on benches in the middle. One of them, his voice fluttering out from under a bush of black and gray whiskers, approached and bowed. "Can we help you?"
She was clueless. Surrounded by strangers, encircled by thick ivory walls of stone, weighed down by a crown that rendered her valuable only if she drowned in her own blood. Without the Prince and the Duke to help fend off attacks and to weed out traitors, who was she to trust?
