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.
A prisoner. That was all she'd ever be, no matter the freedoms she had. No matter the lavish quarters she slept in and the delectable dinners she ate. no matter King Edouard's special treatment of her, and Prince Antoine's unconditional love. She'd never be anything more than a captive in the place she called home—
At least, until the day Queen Clémentine fastened her shackles to a carriage, insisting she tour the country instead.
A pilgrimage?
The freight's wheels spun faster and faster, ripping her roots from the Torrinni Castle soil. Queen Clémentine's smug expression plagued her mind; her all-too-happy waving and well-wishing brought a sour taste to Marguerite's mouth.
Garbed in her donated cloak—one Clémentine urged her to wear, dripping with royal jewels and heavier than a ton of horses—she trembled. She was a girl, albeit the richest and highest placed among all Totresian aristocrats; but all she wanted was her best friend.
She hated it, but she almost missed her seclusion, the bed-post she stared at during her lock-ups, the ceiling she gaped at when trying to sleep. For the next few weeks, she'd be in unfamiliar inns with unfamiliar owners, and surrounded by unfamiliar faces.
It took years of silent torture and passive-aggressive japes for her to get used to her royal jailer; the woman who denied her affection but showered her with unwanted remarks on how to be perfect. Yet now, said jailer had sent her off, far from the castle comforts, accompanied by a small retinue of ladies and soldiers. Off to travel Totresia—alone.
"You should rest, Your Grace." Alice covered her mouth and yawned. No hint of sympathy came from her tone, and she sat stiff across from the Duchess, engulfed in her favorite furs—a gift from the Queen. "We have hours before our first stop, in Serese, and they will expect a speech upon arrival."
Though her lips begged to curl into a snarl, and her nostrils wrinkled, Marguerite held in her irritation. "Thank you, my lady." Everything she said or did would get to Clémentine via Alice—so behaving would be of utmost importance if she wanted to see Antoine again.
Oh, Antoine.
She hadn't seen him in a month—the longest they'd been away from one another. Though he wrote her a week ago, announcing his return, she'd expected to be in the courtyard when he rode in. Unlike the day he left, when the Queen ensured she had other things to do.
Music lessons mattered more to her.
His moodiness, visible through his hasty words and his choice of punctuation—several exclamation points, insistent periods, commas that bled ink—proved he couldn't wait to end the trip and rest, at last. After so much time abroad, she imagined he yearned for his bed, his siblings, and her. In code, he made that plain—he missed her more than he ever thought possible.
