Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Rosie bided her time that day after leaving the kitchens by wandering the gardens and getting to know as many of the gardeners as she could.
The master gardener–Silas–was a sweet man who was just older than her father would have been.
And after answering about a dozen questions from Rosie about the soil and their fertilizers, he personally took her on a tour of the gardens, giving her a far more thorough explanation of how the plants were laid out and how crops were rotated than she had dreamed possible of such a busy man.
After two days of misery, her afternoon was pure bliss when he suggested she spend time with several of his men and women in the fields, asking them any questions she might have and watching their methods herself.
“How comes such a fine lady to be interested in growing food?” Silas asked with a smile.
Rosie blushed. “I’m not… That is, I wasn’t a fine lady until two days ago, sir.”
He studied her thoughtfully for a moment before realization lit his grizzled face. “You’re the new princess’s sister!” Immediately, he swept into a low bow, which embarrassed Rosie immensely.
“My father studied at the university in the capital,” she explained, hoping that continuing their conversation from earlier would distract him from court etiquette.
“But he fell ill just before my sister and I were born. So he and my mother purchased a little cottage in the country where there was good soil, and he grew nearly every food imaginable there.” She looked around and laughed.
“Well, not as much as this, of course. But far more than most people in our village could grow.”
“Well, My Lady,” the gardener said with a smile. “Though I’m sure you’ll find many pleasures to keep you busy within the castle walls, you’re always welcome here.”
Rosie thanked him from the bottom of her heart, and by the time she returned to her suite to prepare for supper, she was feeling so happy that she didn’t mind being expected in the dining hall once more.
Only the fear that Prince Jonathan would be the one to escort her again made her hesitate.
But much to her relief, he was, according to Frederick, busy with a pressing matter, and one of his cousins appeared to escort her in his place.
This cousin, Sir Milo, was lighthearted and amiable, and while he flirted with every woman he laid eyes on, he was a pleasant enough dinner companion.
Lady Sandra and her daughter both eyed Rosie suspiciously, but to her relief, neither had an opportunity to come within distance to converse that night.
And when all was said and done, and Snow had retired to her room to sleep, Rosie did what she had been dying to do all day.
She put on her apron and snuck back up to the kitchen.
To her great relief, the kitchen was clean and empty by the time she arrived. Looking around in wonder, she wandered the big room again.
“What shall I bake first?” she asked the empty room. “A little cake, perhaps? Or something simpler just to begin?”
After a moment of searching unsuccessfully for the large, round cake pans, Rosie decided that she would need to bake something simple until she was able to locate what she needed.
After all, the wedding wasn’t for three weeks.
She would have time to practice before then.
So she grabbed a clean bowl and began to dump flour into it.
It was less than convenient to bake when the sky was dark, as Rosie was used to letting the bread rise in the window.
But there were two ovens–one large and one small.
She guessed that the small one was specifically for bread, as bread had been baking inside of it the last time she’d visited.
Even now, though the ovens were empty, they were both still burning.
Someone, she guessed, would come by in a few hours to stoke them and ensure their embers didn’t go out.
Thanks to her earlier study of the room, the rest of the ingredients–salt, honey, yeast, and oil–were easy to find, and soon Rosie was joyfully pounding on the dough, wishing all her problems could be so thoroughly beaten.
But just when she was putting it back into the bowl to rise in the warmth just outside the oven, footsteps sounded on the stone floor, and she looked up to see the crown prince walk in.
Oh fantastic.
He saw her at about the same time, and they stood frozen, staring at one another for an eternal moment before she remembered her manners and dropped into a curtsy.
“Your Highness,” she said, willing her voice not to sound as frosty as she wanted it to.
He blinked at her and then looked down at the bowl of dough she held. In his hands were parchment, ink, pens, and several books.
“Worried we don’t have enough bread?” he finally asked. She frowned at him as he looked pointedly at a table in the corner, where several dozen round loaves were stacked, each wrapped carefully in a cheesecloth.
She had the sudden desire to retort that she wasn’t entirely certain his baker wasn’t above poisoning her out of spite, and that she’d rather eat her own bread, when she realized that the corner of his mouth had turned up.
Had he…
Had he just made a joke?
She must have taken too long to figure this out, however, because his smile faded, and he bowed his head. “I’ve interrupted you. I apologize. Madame Nadine lets me use the balcony here to work on warm nights when I need to escape my study.”
Rosie had no idea what to say to this. The last time they’d spoken, he’d been insulting and frustrated with her. And now he was begging her pardon?
“Oh.” She finally nodded. “Yes. Um, please continue. I just…” She looked down at the floury mess on the table before her.
“I needed some time alone, I suppose.” It was probably a stupid thing to say.
But to her surprise, he only nodded as though this was completely ordinary.
Then, to her relief, he went out to the balcony, where he pulled up a chair she hadn’t noticed before and laid his work on a little table she supposed had been put there for him.
It hadn’t been there earlier that day when the bread was rising under the sun.
With nothing left to do, she found a rag and began to scrub the counter, wishing the dough would rise faster. When this task was done, she searched for the cake pans again.
The prince hardly made a sound, but for some reason, she was overly aware of his presence.
He might as well have been jumping up and down and shouting that he was near.
Rosie didn’t like this, nor did she know what to do about it.
So she was more than relieved when it was time to knead the dough again.
And this time, she punched it harder than the last.
All the rude comments. All the smirks. The awareness of being unwanted that she’d endured since arriving were punished in the dough. Including, she thought darkly, the prince’s sharp words from the night before.
Even her full enjoyment of this, however, was somewhat stifled as she felt his eyes on her while she worked.
Just as she gave up punishing the dough, however, and had placed it beside the oven to rise again, the tongues of fire in the sconces on the walls and the flames in the ovens flickered, and sparks began to fly.
Bowls, barrels, and bottles began to slide out of their orderly places, and Rosie let out a shriek when a little woman appeared in the middle of the room.
Her sun-darkened skin was rather lumpy, and her thin, wispy orange hair was curled oddly all about her head.
She was no taller than Rosie’s chest, and her warty feet were wide and bare so that Rosie could see mushrooms and moss growing on the tops of them.
What gave her away, however, were her long, pointed ears.
A troll. Rosie had been found by yet another troll.
“You!” the short woman said, pointing a long, knobby finger at Rosie. “Are you one of the girls who killed my brother?”
The sound of scraping steel came from the other side of the room, and Rosie looked up just in time to see the prince drawing his sword and running toward them.
“No!” Rosie shouted, but it was too late. The troll woman had pointed her knobby finger at him and, with another shower of sparks, knocked him off his feet, throwing him back down onto the stone floor.
Rosie watched in horror as the troll woman then did her best to strike him with lightning while he was on his back. But not once did she succeed in jolting him as he pushed himself unsteadily to his knees, appearing dizzy but unharmed. Finally, the troll huffed and shook her head.
“Dratted fairy godmothers. They always think of everything,” she muttered. Then she turned back to Rosie, her green and brown eyes gleaming. “But you! Tell me, girl, are you–”
“We didn’t kill your brother!” Rosie hurried to say. “He attacked us, and… and another saved us by stopping him.”
“You mean this whelp’s brother.” The troll sneered, jabbing a finger at Jonathan.
“Well, that’s what I’d heard, but unfortunately for me, I can’t very well seek vengeance on either of them, as they’re fairy-protected.
You, however…” She grinned, showing green, mossy teeth.
“You and your sister were complicit in the murder.”
Prince Jonathan was back on his feet by this time. With his sword drawn, he tried once again to rush at the troll, but it was as though some invisible wall stood between them. Every time he tried to walk forward, he was pushed back, even though there was no visible barrier between them.
“Not murder,” Rosie said, forcing herself to speak, despite her voice shaking terribly. Perhaps if she distracted the troll, the prince would have time to make his escape and get help. She disliked the man, but he didn’t deserve to die at the troll’s hands.
“As I said,” Rosie continued, raising her voice, “your brother attacked us first! And that was after we’d saved him three times from his own folly!
” The stupid little man had gotten his beard stuck in a tree, was picked up by a bird of prey, and had nearly drowned in front of the twins.
And each time Rosie and her sister had saved him, he’d been less than grateful.
“You still refuse to acknowledge your part in his death!” the troll screeched. “And now I shall have my vengeance!”
A new kind of anger–deep and slow–had been simmering inside of Rosie for the last two days.
And though she didn’t know what it was about this little woman’s threat, these words made something inside Rosie burst. It was like a beaver’s dam breaking under a strong current.
And Rosie decided she was done with this nonsense.
Grabbing the rolling pin from the counter, she raised her hand and brought the pin down hard on the creature’s head–shocking herself nearly as much as the troll.
“Ow!” the little woman cried, rubbing her head and looking extremely surprised–and even a little hurt. “What… what did you do that for?”
“I have dealt with your brother, arrogant harpies, stuffy lords, and more nonsense than I can bear these past few days,” Rosie said, shaking the rolling pin at the troll again, confidence building with each angry word. “And I am not going to be bullied by the likes of you, too!”
“So you want a war, do you?” The troll woman scowled. “Well, if you want to start a war over my brother’s honor, a war you shall have! I–”
“If it’s war you want,” said a deep voice from behind the troll, “Next time, I suggest you come prepared.”
The troll turned and let out a squeak as Jonathan emerged from the shadows. His sword was still drawn, and there was steel wrath in his blue eyes.
“You like it?” he murmured, twisting the blade slightly so the light reflected off its silver edge. “It’s fairy-blessed. A gift from my godmother for my sixteenth birthday.” His eyes glimmered dangerously. “You can touch it if you like.”
“You don’t know what you’ve done!” The troll stuttered, stumbling back a few steps. “I’m just getting started! And I can swear to you that this wedding will not take place without repercussions!” And with that, there was another loud crack of thunder, more sparks, and the troll was gone.
As soon as the troll disappeared, Jonathan hurried around the room, searching every nook and shadow for the troll. But in the end, they both concluded that she was truly gone, and he walked back to Rosie, sheathing his sword.
“I’m beginning to see how you helped my brother defeat the first one,” he said, smiling wryly as he faced her.
“We really didn’t do much against the troll,” she explained, hurrying back to her bowl. It had risen much faster than it should have–probably an effect of the troll’s bursts of lightning that had heated the room.
“Perhaps not. But you just knocked one on the head with a rolling pin. Not many people, warrior or civilian, can boast that.”
“I don’t feel brave. I just want to go to bed,” she said, suddenly experiencing exhaustion as she’d never felt it before. “As soon as this bread is done, and I’ve cleaned this mess, I’ll be returning to my room.”
“Let me help you,” he said gently. Rosie looked up incredulously as he grabbed a rag and knelt to wipe up the flour that had fallen on the floor when Rosie had brandished the rolling pin.
She ought to refuse him, a voice whispered in her head. Crown princes ought not to be crawling about on the floor with a cleaning rag, wiping up spilled baking ingredients.
But she was too tired to argue, and after thanking him weakly, she found another rag and began to wipe up the counter as well.
“I think,” he said after a moment of silence, “that I need to make a clarification.”
She looked warily at him as he stood and dusted his hands off.
“I didn’t offer the etiquette instructor to offend you.”
Rosie stiffened, but he went on.
“I offered the help because court politics are ruthless, and I don’t want you to be unprepared.” He gave her a wry smile. “They truly are difficult to master.”
“I… Thank you,” she said, not sure what else to say. “I appreciate the… the clarification.” She paused. “Perhaps it would be helpful, if for nothing else than to let me eat my meals in peace.”
He gave her a small smile, though his brows were still lowered, before returning to his books.
An hour later, Rosie had wrapped the bread in a cheesecloth and placed it with the other loaves before turning and heading back to her room.
She didn’t know what to think of the night’s events.
It was rather horrifying to think that now she and her sister had yet another enemy–and one with magic at that.
And yet, her last thought as her mind began to drift off to sleep was that maybe…
Maybe the prince wasn’t quite so bad after all.