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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A year passed before Clémentine permitted Marguerite to approach baby Cordelia without smacking her hand away. The Princess had turned one, and began to walk, precocious as Jules had been, and Clémentine asked that the Princes keep an eye on her when they played together.
"Which means, I assume, you will be with them, Marguerite, since my sons and you are attached at the hip, it appears," said the Queen, on the fateful day she allowed Cordelia to mingle with the boys and the Duchess. "I caution you, young lady; guard her with your life. She is my precious jewel and I will not tolerate any harm coming to her. A single scrape on her perfect skin, and I will accuse you of mistreating her."
My precious jewel.
The three worded sentence rang like a broken bell in Marguerite's skull, but she retained the information well-enough. "Of course, Your Majesty," she said, curtsying. She wondered if the King—who still allowed her to call him Father—would have said such cruel things. He loved Cordelia, he did; but Clémentine's love for her daughter also peppered with a growing hatred for Marguerite.
So, heeding the Queen's warnings, Marguerite was reluctant at first as the infant wobbled with the Princes and her, joining in on their adventures. She worried; Antoine finally accepted Jules as part of their crew, but often groaned when he couldn't keep up. Sébastien, three years old, had no problem maintaining she and Antoine's rhythm, but sometimes his curtain of ebony locks would conceal his eyes and cause him to trip. But it never fazed him; he laughed it off, which made Jules laugh, which then prompted Antoine to crack a smile—faint, and somewhat forced, but enough to reassure Marguerite that he loved his brothers.
To her shock, it took no time at all for the Princess to make her mark amongst them. She giggled a lot, never whining if she was paces behind them. Her adorable face, bright and bubbly, and her rosy cheeks, never failed to brighten Marguerite's day. They all taught her new things; Antoine showed her how to run, Sébastien to race up and down the stairs, and Jules to tiptoe past chaperones and ladies-in-waiting charged with watching over them. Marguerite did her best not to sulk, at first, but she joined in and instructed Cordelia how to curtsy—and how to use the gesture to get herself out of trouble.
This caught Clémentine by surprise one afternoon, when Cordelia visited the Solar, on a tour with her wet-nurse to meet the noblewomen. The Queen spotted her pulling at her dress and scolded her, prompting the infant to stomp her feet. A punishable offense, one Marguerite had committed more than once. The Queen raised her eyebrows, and her anger brewed; but Cordelia dipped into a sloppy curtsy and cut the woman off.
"Why, what sort of temperament is—" Clémentine scoffed and looked at the wet-nurse, who shrugged, no clue where Cordelia, who fought to stand upright, had learned to curtsy when someone prepared to reprimand her.
To further defy, the girl's lips parted into a wide smile, and several ladies surrounding the Queen couldn't help themselves; they giggled, covering their colored mouths with their lacy gloved hands.
