Page 132 of Summer of Sacrifice

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Seleste said genuinely.

Agatha nodded, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. “There is an old chateau out in the country, along Noir Bay, that belongs to the Crown, but it’s been abandoned for some time. Grimm had staff and physicians sent out there. Since we’re travelling to Helsvar, we have enough time to take a small day’s detour there. When we leave in the morning, the king will go with us as far as Boisloch, just outside Bellvary, where the manor is.”

Seleste stiffened and Agatha faced her. “Seleste?” Her face had gone ashen in the candlelight. “Seleste, what is it?”

Seleste, Then

AUTUMN,

ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTY NINE YEARS AGO

The streets of Merveille were drenched. Sodden and frightfully chilled. Seleste ducked out of the rain and into the inviting golden warmth of the inn off Mer Row she called home while on a case.

She’d been working the same case for nearly a fortnight, but almost cracked it. All Seleste needed was to find proof that Roberta Kingsley had faked her own death, and she could return to her isle.

Magdalene, the inn’s owner, came out of the kitchen at the sound of the bell above the door, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hallo, Lady Beetle. You’ll be wantin’ supper in the dinin’ room or up in your room?”

The Calla Lily Inn had a lovely dining room. So lovely that it made Seleste doubly angry the aristocrats felt the need to separate the classes as they did. Mer Row’s patrons were just as wonderful as Gemme Road’s, even if they wore patched clothing and had dining rooms made up of a hodgepodge of beau monde cast-me-outs.

Alas, Seleste wanted to continue working on her case in peace.

“My room please, Magdalene. You’re a gem.”

The portly woman nodded, and Seleste tiptoed quickly up the first few stairs, but Magdelene called after her.

“Oy, Lady Beetle!”

She peeked back down, brows raised. “Yes?”

“Did you hear the news, then?”

“Pardon?” She’d been completely consumed by her case, paying little mind to anything else for days.

“About the prince.”

Seleste’s stomach dropped to her toes. “What about the prince?” But she already knew what Madelene would say.

“He died today. Poor little fellow, always so sick since birth. Succumbed to the fevers. he did. Terrible, terrible shame. King doesn’t have another son, you know. Too old to have another, I’d reckon.”

Seleste’s heart was pounding, loud in her ears. She knew those facts far, far too well.

Magdalene turned back toward the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder. “You had a delivery today, too! Already put it in your room.”

This time, with all the slowness of a frightened girl in a haunted graveyard, Seleste ascended the rest of the steps. The door to her room loomed before her, the hallway stretching out wide like in the warped mirrors of the cirque.

The prince was dead.

It meant the entirety of Seagovia was about to flip on its head.

For the better, she told herself. For the better. It had to be.

It still didn’t make sense—the why of it all.

Slowly, she raised her hand and put it on the doorknob, twisting, not bothering with a key and letting her magic open the door.

She let it swing wide, her gaze going directly to the large box on her bed, tied with a yellow bow, a lone sunflower tucked into the ribbon. She almost sobbed at the sight of it.

Leaving the door open, more out of the sheer addled state of her mind than anything else, Seleste approached the box and ran her fingers down it, tears gathering in her eyes. There was a small, rolled parchment hidden beneath the sunflower, and she unfurled it with trembling fingers.

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