Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
The next morning, Rosie woke up with a headache and no desire to get out of bed. But before she could ruminate too much on the night she wished she could forget, Snow burst into her room with two baskets in hand.
“Lady Sandra is abominable, and her daughter is worse,” she said, throwing open Rosie’s curtains, blinding her with the morning light.
“And I’m determined never to show them an ounce of favor unless they repent.
But,” she turned, beaming, to Rosie, “I asked Frederick this morning and have found something that will vastly raise your spirits!”
Rosie glared at her sister through bleary eyes, but Snow ignored her, throwing a dress down on the bed, grabbing a brush, and jumping on the bed to run it through Rosie’s tangled knots.
“Will there be anyone of royal blood there?” Rosie grouched. “Because if so, I don’t want to go.”
“It’s the gardens, silly! And the orchards!” Snow laughed. “So I doubt you’ll find many high-born persons wandering about.”
Despite Rosie’s desire to remain in a bad mood, the thought of visiting the royal gardens raised her spirits immensely.
They’d kept a small but varied garden at home for as long as she’d been alive. As soon as she was old enough not to eat the dirt, she’d begun tending it with her father. Then, after her father died, it had become hers.
Leaving her garden had been one of the most difficult parts of saying goodbye to the little house.
When she closed her eyes now, she could still smell the tang of the tomatoes and feel the gritty soil in which she grew her carrots and potatoes.
Their single apple tree had provided them with more than enough fruit every year to last through the winter, and the herbs had been their own perfume when gathered all together.
Only three days had passed since she’d worked the soil, but oh, to get her hands dirty now!
“Where did you get this dress?” Rosie asked Snow as she hurried to dress.
“Oh, it’s one of the queen’s old dresses.” Snow waved her hand dismissively. “But don’t put it on yet! Wear your old dress first.”
“I’m not sure she wanted me to have–” Rosie began.
“They’re my dresses now, and I will do as I please,” Snow said, a sliver of displeasure slipping into her usually sunny voice. “Now, get dressed. I have princess lessons today, and I want to show you how to get to the gardens before I need to go.”
Thirty minutes and several wrong turns later, Snow led Rosie out to the back of the castle and into a sprawling, ornate walking garden full of blooming flowers, shaped hedges, weeping willows, and stone-lined pathways scattered with benches.
There were even several bubbling brooks that wound in and out of the path.
But instead of stopping here, Snow took Rosie’s hand and led her past the beautiful walk until they broke free and came to acres and acres of raised garden beds, lines of tall, green stalks, and in the distance, countless rows of various fruit trees.
Dozens of servants worked the land, and for the first time since coming to the castle, Rosie felt her body relax.
“Oh,” she said with a happy sigh. “If only I’d known this was here yesterday!”
“Here.” Snow pulled a folded piece of fabric from where it had been draped over her arm, and she looped it around Rosie’s neck. “Frederick got this apron to protect your dress.”
“Are you sure he’s really a prince?” Rosie teased. “I’m not sure how the queen could really be his mother. He’s too sweet.”
Snow chuckled. “I’m of the firm belief that he took after his father.”
At these words, the crown prince’s face flashed across Rosie’s mind, and she blushed just thinking about his curt parting words the night before.
Ignoring the sudden urge to bury her head in one of the raised beds and cover herself with dirt, Rosie raised her chin as though any courage found in the gardens now might help heal last night’s wounds.
What right did he have to judge her? She’d never wanted to come to a place like this, where catty snobs seemed to occupy every corner of existence.
She’d lived in the real world, working the ground with her hands and surviving winters near foreboding woods.
She had never wanted an existence where she had to compete with people fighting like cats to be at the top.
She just wanted to be there for her mother and sister, just as she had always done.
But then again, maybe this was what she was supposed to protect her mother and sister from, she thought as she walked slowly down a row of herbs, lightly brushing her fingers along the tips of the cilantro leaves.
Well, she would do it. And she would do it without help from people like him–people who seemed genuine at first, but were just as bad as everyone else in the end.
He could take his handsome, judgmental face and stick it in the mud for all she cared.
“Rosie,” Snow called her. “Wake up! I have one more place to show you before I go! Follow me!”
As Rosie followed Snow back into the castle, she secretly studied her sister.
Snow seemed happy. Frederick had truly done all he could to see to her happiness.
But becoming a princess was undeniably a challenge Rosie would never be able to understand.
Snow might receive fewer snubs to her face than Rosie, but she was also in a position to be scrutinized by every person she came into contact with.
Not that Snow couldn’t handle herself. She seemed to be doing far better than Rosie in that aspect. Rosie smiled wryly to herself. Snow had always been better with people.
“Here we are!” Snow announced as she led Rosie into a large room. “I present to you the baking kitchen!”
Rosie’s mouth dropped open, and she laughed with delight. “Oh! Oh, how wonderful!”
And it truly was. There were two long wooden tables placed at the center of the room.
Against the walls were stacked barrels and crates labeled Flour, Sugar, Salt, and other ingredients, and jars of golden honey stood just under one of the three windows.
A small balcony jutted out from the far corner of the room, where there were no less than two dozen loaves of bread rising in the morning sun, and six servants hurried around, taking turns kneading dough, mixing large bowls of batter, and pairing fruit.
Then, of course, there was a woman who could only be the baker, ordering the servants around and tasting whatever it was that they were making.
“Madame Nadine,” Snow called, approaching the baker with her hands clasped demurely over her skirts.
The woman looked up and smiled when she saw Snow. She dropped a deep curtsy.
“My Lady,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
“I am a bit hungry, actually.” Snow smiled. “I was also hoping to introduce you to my sister, Lady Rose.”
Lady Rose. That would take some getting used to.
The baker curtsied to Rosie as well, then she turned back to Snow. “What are you hungry for?” she asked pleasantly.
“I would love some honey-sweetened fruit,” Snow said. “What you served at supper last night was delightful!”
The baker grinned. “Good. I have some left over. Let me get it.” She glanced at Rosie. “Would you like some as well?”
Rosie nearly said no, but Snow nudged her. So Rosie immediately plastered a smile on and nodded. “Um, yes, please.”
Of course. Snow was winning the woman’s good graces. Why couldn’t Rosie think to do things like that?
“While we’re here,” Snow said as the baker began to spoon some honey-covered strawberries into two bowls, “I was hoping you might show my sister around the kitchen.”
The baker paused before resuming her work. “Surely her ladyship wouldn’t be interested in kitchen work,” she said, her voice slightly less warm.
“Actually,” Snow continued. “I have asked her to bake my wedding cake.”
This time, the clouds that appeared in the woman’s eyes were undeniable. “The wedding cake,” she echoed. “For the royal wedding.”
“Yes. It’s something I’ve wanted her to do since we were very small,” Snow said, her smile still sweet, but her voice uncompromising.
The woman glanced at Rosie before frowning. “And the queen approves of this?”
“She said it’s my wedding,” Snow said. “So I may choose the cake as I please.”
The woman stared at her a moment longer before slowly nodding. “Of course,” she finally said. Then she turned to Rosie, her smile suddenly looking somewhat feral. “If you’ll come this way, then.”
“I’ll see you later,” Snow said, kissing Rosie’s cheek. “Have fun!” And then she was gone.
“I’m afraid,” the woman said when Snow was safely down the hall, “that it is time for my luncheon, as it is for my assistants.” She clapped, and the women and young men helping her immediately left their work where it was.
“We shall return when we have finished eating. In the meantime, feel free to look around.”
Rosie blinked at her. “When… When do you think you’ll be back?”
The woman gave her a sardonic grin. “I don’t know.” And then she and her assistants left.
Rosie was certain she’d been snubbed. But as she walked slowly around the kitchen, peeking into cupboards and under the tables, she realized suddenly that she would happily take the baker’s snubbing if it meant she could bake in such a place.
This kitchen held more supplies and ingredients than Rose had ever dreamed possible in one place. She could make anything here.
And I will, she decided with growing determination. Suddenly, it was hard to control the giddiness that bubbled up inside of her. She might have to come up with ways to offend the baker more often if it meant she got the kitchen to herself.
Unlimited flour, salt, honey, eggs, and even sugar–a very difficult ingredient to get in the village–combined with the fresh food from the gardens out back would allow Rosie to make her sister the most beautiful, decadent cake she could dream up using the parchments, pen, and writing table in her room. Her sister deserved that.
And Rosie suddenly couldn’t wait to begin.