Living in royalty can't be so bad, right? But... what if you're not technically royal?
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In late eighteenth century Europe, nestled in eastern France, is a peaceful kingdom called Totresia. A carriage wreck disturbs that peace when found by Totr...
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She felt it before anyone else did. The golden-haired Duchess hovering around her son, devouring him with her endless pools of tropical green splashed with blue. Wearing her best dresses when they took their walks, their hands millimeters from touching. Sabotaging any other courtier's chances of meeting Antoine. Her name—the one Clémentine chose but now detested—on every Totresian tongue.
Marguerite, the Duchess of Torrinni, the Golden Girl of Totresia.
Everyone considered her a favorite of King Edouard. He privileged her over any other noble—and over his own daughter. Cordelia was young, thank the heavens, and didn't understand why he didn't visit her, why he educated Marguerite in his stuffy office instead of teaching her, or her brothers.
Clémentine couldn't ignore it any longer. The Duchess of Torrinni wouldn't ruin her peaceful household.
Edouard will see reason—I will make certain of it.
A few days after the seventeen-ninety-one Masquerade, Edouard announced he received an invitation for a large meeting of European monarchs, taking place in Paris. He selected his councilmen, sent word to those he preferred to reside at court in his absence, made his travel plans; and declared he would bring Antoine andMarguerite to it.
It was the final blow to Clémentine's ego. She refused to allow this girl—whose identity and origins remained unknown, though Clémentine had no doubt she was foreign—voyage with her husband and son, acting like a part of the family. She wasn't, never had been, never would be.
"No," she said, straining not to bare her teeth at her beloved. He overruled her all those years ago, when taking the two along on his trip around Totresia; and he spoke over her when deciding Marguerite would receive private tutoring with him.
She loved her spouse more than anyone in the world, but he was too naïve. Marguerite was a rodent, a sly snake squeezing into their comfortable circle, hoping to gain a crown, a throne beside Antoine.
Not if Clémentine could help it.
"What do you meanno? You do not think they should come with me?" Edouard's bushy eyebrows linked, and he scratched at the stubble on his chin. Though still as handsome as the day she met him, he had grown weaker, and a few gray strands dusted into his chestnut hair. Stress, responsibility, and the weight of the country on his shoulders had drawn a thick but invisible line between them, and she struggled to hop over it and reach his heart. Most days he was too preoccupied to listen to her; and when night fell, he only yearned for silence and brandy.
"He should; she should not." They sat in the Parlor between their quarters; a shared space where they joined for a night-cap, or to discuss affairs of the day away from their squires and ladies, or to relax in the quiet while peeking out at the moonlit gardens below.
