Living in royalty can't be so bad, right? But... what if you're not technically royal?
*****
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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The late summer temperatures in August of seventeen-ninety-six were sweltering; not the cooler, breezier atmosphere from Valeville that Céleste was more used to. Serese was farther south, and brewed up hotter, stuffier air. The only chance to venture outside was at dawn, or in the mid-evening, an hour or so before sundown; and she took advantage of those moments to escape. Behind the carriage parking building she spotted an apple tree and found a plump bed of grass stretched around it, comfortable and squishy. Its swaying branches and leaves provided ample shade from the sun and kept her close to the Academy should anyone search for her. A perfect place to sit and read. Or daydream. Or both.
She started visiting the spot once or twice a week, in July. as August rolled around, she went there nearly every day. Relaxed, diving into her novels, enjoying a few new ones—including some that brought additional heat to her cheeks—she relished in the quiet, at a distance from the students and their stress.
One fine afternoon—cooler than most—she rested against the hardened tree-trunk and sighed, recalling the surprise visit she'd received earlier that day.
Emeric!
His gray eyes had been full of life and thrill when they sat together in the Parlor, two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table before them. He conducted the usual formalities—how are your lessons? How are the girls? Are you behaving?—before he could no longer contain himself.
Squirming in his seat, he clasped his hands and smiled wide. "The real reason I have come, sister dearest, is because I have bignews."
Céleste took a quick sip of her drink and blinked at him. "Go on, then, spit it out!"
His smile expanded. "The royals have invited me to Torrinni Court!" A flush crept up to his temples and he sealed his fingers together. She could tell—if he let loose, he'd throw his arms up and shriek for joy; but Emeric was a proper gentleman and would reserve his excitement for himself.
She loved seeing him so elated, even if he didn't display it. After their mother's death, he'd grown dreary, and every time he visited from the Military Academy he appeared as a ghost, a specter of who he once was. Today, the man she saw beside her was alive, thriving, basking in a positive glow.
"That is fantasticnews!" She wrapped her hands around his and squeezed. "I am proud of you, and I expect it has pleased Father, too! He has wanted someone as his extension at court for years, since he hatestraveling there."
Sir Richel's complaints blew about in her head—his moaning about uncomfortable coaches and pointless pit-stops, the horrific state of roads once they passed into Rosford County, the smell of pastures they rolled too close to. Valeville was about a day and a half from Torrinni, if not two days depending on the driver and the horses. But Sir Richel opted to stalk in his fabulous palatial manor and send letters to court, instead.
