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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In the years that followed the acclaimed—and somewhat criticized—voyage around Totresia, Edouard took particular care in backing up his words. He wouldn't let the Duchess fall down on herself and huddle into a ball because his noblemen had sticks up their arses; or so, that was what he told them a few months later.
"The Duchess will have sessions with me, where I will keep her up to speed on what is happening in Totresia, and around Europe." Groans and grumbles met his announcement—but he didn't care. He was the King.
Clémentine attended this special council—the first of many instances when she immersed herself into places reserved for men.
She voiced her concern the moment they all departed the Meeting Room. "She is notyour daughter, Edouard." Seething, she breathed fire down her husband's neck though she stood feet away.
She once had such fair features, a glowing complexion, eyes that twinkled like stars; but she harbored such rage in the passing years that Edouard no longer recognized her. Still, he'd never stop loving her. She was his voice of reason, the keeper of his heart.
"Giving her privatelessons? Why?"
He leaned against his emerald-hued throne, watching his wife pace back and forth by the hearth. Her movements cast haunting shadows over the middle of the table, extending to the other side of the room like a monster prowling, parading, bracing to pounce on its prey.
"She is a Duchess. The Duchess, Clém. As King, I am to decide of her education. What harm is there in offering her private tutoring to further her knowledge?"
"It is too soon. She is tooyoung." Clémentine stopped stomping and swirled around, fire in her brown eyes. "She is a girl. You never gave mesuch treatment when I arrived at court!"
"You did not need it, dearest—you were older than she is now, and the smartest woman I know. Always will be." He smiled, but she snarled, forcing him to frown. "Clémentine, please. We must stop our arguing. You have pestered me for years regarding Marguerite. Did you not wantto raise her, train her, protect her?"
The Queen's expression darkened further. She squeezed a piece of her ruby gown in her fist, and her other bunched and unbunched at her side. "I did, until I found out—" she closed her eyes and sucked in a deep, pained breath. "Things have changed, Edouard. I do not trust her."
He winced; Clémentine had suspicions, but she'd kept them to herself. She knew more than she claimed, but he had no idea what she had figured out, and why she refused to share it.
Straightening his posture, the King cocked his head and blinked. "And? Is that not more reason to keep her close and teach her our values?"
His hopes of appeasing his wife diluted as the woman scoffed and threw her hands up, pivoting to the flames once more. Their orange and red hues danced over her skin, turning it to burning lava, as if she were about to erupt.
