Till Death Do Us Part

THREE

Twelve Years Later...

The soft embrace of dawn's first light filtered through the delicate lace curtains, casting a gentle glow across the opulent room. Celeste awoke from a restless sleep, the vestiges of her dreams clinging to her like cobwebs of memory. She couldn't help but feel that her dreams were an escape, a brief respite from the intricate dance of reality that life in the aristocracy demanded.

With a sigh, she pushed the disheveled strands of her ebony hair from her face and stretched her limbs, the silken sheets slipping from her delicate shoulders. As she moved to rise, the very thought of her dreams escaping into the ether saddened her. Those whimsical tales offered a respite from the drudgery of her daily life, a life where the boundaries of propriety were more rigid than her corset.

The grandeur of her room, draped in lavish fabrics and adorned with gilded furnishings, felt like a beautiful cage. She was a prisoner of her station, her every move and action scrutinized. Celeste yearned for something more, something beyond the constraints of her noble existence.

There came a series of brisk, impatient knocks at her chamber door, disrupting her early morning reverie. Celeste rubbed her eyes and slowly rose from the plush mattress, her feet sinking into the sumptuous carpet. She couldn't help but wonder if these intrusive knocks signaled the dawn of yet another day entangled in the intricate web of high society.

With a hint of irritation, she called out to the figure at the door, her voice a combination of exasperation and curiosity. "What?" she snapped, casting an expectant gaze at the person on the other side.

The door swung open, revealing her lady-in-waiting, Meira. Celeste's initial annoyance shifted into relief and warmth as she recognized her dear friend. "Meira?" Her eyes sparkled with delight. "What are you doing here?"

Meira, looking resolute and somewhat out of place in this grand chamber, spoke earnestly. "I saw poor Morena in the kitchen, on the verge of tears, explaining to Mrs. Howard that she couldn't rouse you."

Celeste realized her tardiness had caused undue concern among the palace staff, and she felt a pang of guilt. As she glanced out of her window, her gaze wandered to the sun-drenched courtyard, where a cacophony of courtly affairs unfolded. Though she cherished her friendship with Meira, it was clear that her life in the palace was as intricate as the most elaborate minuet.

She couldn't help but muse on the constraints that bound her and her emotions. "Is this all I was meant for?" she thought to herself, silently yearning for freedom.

"Meira," Celeste began with an air of intrigue, "why are you in Zedraya? Why are you not at home?"

Meira's voice conveyed a sense of purpose as she answered, "Her Majesty deemed it necessary for me to ensure your safe return."

A flutter of apprehension stirred within Celeste. Why did her mother feel the need to send her lady-in-waiting to accompany her? Her ponderings deepened when Meira's attire caught her attention—a navy blue dress with an aqua blue button-down front that accentuated her athletic form.

Celeste contemplated this unusual turn of events, her mind filled with questions. She observed Meira's unyielding demeanor and couldn't help but sense that there was something more beneath the surface. 

Her reverie was interrupted by her brother Enzo, who appeared unannounced in her chamber,  his voice laced with exasperation. "What's taking you so long, Celeste? Everyone's ready, and  all your belongings are sent to the carriage."

When Celeste and Enzo arrived in Lamia she became a part of the noble Reynolds family, whose father Sir John was the hand of the king. Enzo has become somewhat brooding but fiercely protective. He was now an unexpected presence within her room.