♦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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It was like reliving the Westten tragedy all over again, minus the fire. The bodies, the stench of death, the dread of blood—but this time wrapped in pretty packages and stuffed into closets.
The image of Julia's corpse, above all others, would never leave Céleste's brain.
Clémentine proved herself a worthy ally, a true mother, a real lady. She swept in fast, shielding Céleste's eyes and shoving her out of the way, landing into Cordelia—who'd been retching in a corner. Together, the Princess and Céleste watched the Duchess in her skill.
"Identify these and sneak them upstairs," she said, addressing the men who'd accompanied her. A pinch of concern cluttered her usual wall-shattering volume, but she stayed strong in the face of them all. "One of you will take my daughter and Miss Richel up to the Queen's quarters, discreetly. Secure them until myself or Prince Jules arrives."
As the guard who'd uncovered the bodies snatched both girls by the elbows, Cordelia struggled to keep in her insides.
Céleste went blank—she remembered nothing about the voyage upstairs, her heart-rate too speedy and her sight too blurry.
Once in the room, her legs gave out, a trickling, cold sensation seeped under her skin, and she fainted.
When she woke, she was under the thick covers, drenched in sweat. The bandeau she'd used to cover her mouth was scrunched in one hand, and Cordelia's limp fingers were in her other.
She jumped up and cursed, before scurrying to the chamber-pot where she dumped half her insides.
Soon after, Clémentine resurfaced, strands of hair spiking out of her bun, eyes glazed, and posture rigid.
As she woke the girls from their disgusted stupor, her voice was strained. "You must creep into Julia's chambers and investigate," she said, motioning at a change of clothes for each of them, resting on the edge of the bed. "Search for clues; anything to incriminate Charlotte and that scam of a father of hers."
Without argument, they removed their sick-infested dresses, freshened up, and slipped on regular outfits—burgundy for Cordelia, blue and white for Céleste.
They wavered between crying and feeling nauseous, but the former Dowager was firm, urging them to control their emotions—for now.
"The sooner you do this for your brothers," she arched a brow at Cordelia, "the sooner we can all mourn."
The girls shrugged on the hooded shawls Clémentine offered them, and followed the Duchess to the main stairs.
"Do not be too conspicuous," Clémentine nodded at Céleste, "and though you need not hide, Miss Richel, you must be cautious. She is likely on the prowl by now. Jules has given me no instructions, but that means he is distracting her, still. The longer he does so, the better. We cannot have her snooping around." She waved them downward. "Her ladies are busy, too, so you should not encounter any obstacles."
