♦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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Though unwilling to gaze directly at him, Marguerite always knew where Cornelius was throughout the night—and how close to her his position in line was. His fake smile and shiny gold suit and tomato red tights never went unnoticed as he moved forward, inching nearer with every breath she took. The baby blue sash sprawled across his chest became clearer—she first saw the Terter emblem, then the motto's outline, then could almost reproduce the font in her mind as if she'd written it herself.
He sneered, and barely interacted with other nobles in line or nearby, only ogling her.
Adelaide, however, brilliant as ever, was the perfect spouse. She sealed her pouty lips and inclined her head at this or that aristocrat, and stood out in the crowd with her over-the-top, bouffant gown. She held herself with a sly pride, as if expecting to outshine Marguerite and shove her off the throne the moment she reached the dais.
Sébastien fidgeted whenever a new noble introduced himself, mumbling whether or not this or that man made a good impression or would be a great match for her. But his heart wasn't in it. He'd had too many glasses of wine to count, yet when she sipped from her second, he had the audacity to criticize her.
"Your condition might worsen if you drink too much," he muttered, his breath reeking of alcohol.
"My condition?" She scoffed. "What of yours?" She glanced at the doors, seeking some secret entrance her cousin might burst in through. "Where in the devil is Henry?"
"I have no idea," he said, fighting a slur in his speech. "He was to stand up here and help talk about your prospects. Did he hatch another plan? Oh, your cousin is sneaky," he hiccuped, "he likes to come up with plots of his own. To garner the success and the fawning ladies, ha!" He swished his glass in the air as if toasting Henry, then guzzled down a few sips. "Not that I blame him. I know nothing. Just a Totresian Prince playing dress-up with foreigners."
After the noble at the bottom of the dais plastered a wet kiss atop her knuckles, she swerved to Sébastien and snatched his cup.
"Enough." She extended it to a nearby butler. "You are cut off. I need you sharp tonight! What is wrong with you? Why do you not know where Henry is?"
Affront painted across the Prince's face, but he shrugged. "Prepping the seamstress, to frame him? Or he discovered something else, during his wandering. I did not see him again after breakfast." As if recovering all his mental faculties at once, he straightened up. "Forgive me, Maggie. I cannot deal with all this in such a state, you are correct. But without him here, I am useless. I do not know which of these nobles are genuine."
Marguerite side-glared at him as a young noble presented himself to her, gushing, fumbling to kiss the top of her palm.
"You wanted this," she whisper-yelled, nearly smacking the youth by accident. "You urged me to sit here and meet these men and pick one, but now you are unsure? I thought you knew Giromians! Was that not why you pushed for this?"
