Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
For the rest of the day, Rosie wandered the palace, thinking about all that had and hadn’t been said.
She hadn’t planned to tell the prince that she was leaving. But the distance between them as he’d held her basket had become unbearably short. He’d been so close that she could have reached out and touched him.
And she had.
Even that small gesture–touching his arm–had suddenly been far too little.
She had wanted more. More of him. More of his steadiness and his sense of right and wrong.
She hadn’t realized until that moment just how much she wanted someone else to shoulder the burdens she’d carried for her mother and sister for so long.
So she had told him the truth. And as she’d expected it might, it had driven him away. It was evening now, and she hadn’t seen him since their walk in the orchard. He’d missed both the palace luncheon and supper–events she’d attended in her suddenly desperate hopes of seeing him again.
Only after she had left him did Rosie realize that she’d told the prince something she hadn’t even told Snow. She cringed now as she considered this. If Snow found out about it from someone else, Rosie was going to get a tongue lashing like never before.
But Rosie couldn’t get herself to regret telling him.
For one brief moment, he had been the place of solace that her father had once been.
He had become her hiding place. And for the briefest of moments, she imagined herself in his arms again, the same way he’d carried her after she’d been unable to walk.
His chest had been solid and safe, and, unable to do anything else for the pain, she’d forced herself to lean against him as he carried her.
How she wished to be carried again. But she wouldn’t be carried by him again, she severely chastised herself.
She couldn’t. So it was better not to wish at all.
And the sooner she was gone, the sooner she might stop wishing for him to appear around every corner…
and feeling disappointed when he did not.
She might have awakened to similar thoughts the next morning, had she not awakened to find an unwelcome visitor standing beside her bed. Rosie let out a shriek of surprise as she found a now-familiar green face staring at hers.
“What are you doing in my room?” she demanded as soon as she had the sense to speak. “I’ve covered it with yellowbelles!”
Indeed, she had. Not only had the prince helped her pick armfuls of the little flowers from the forest after the troll’s appearance, but he had also helped her dig up several plants that could be brought back to the castle and transplanted into pots and gardens.
“I know.” The troll grimaced. “And it stinks the place up, too! No, I won’t be here long.
” Then she let out a nasty grin. “I just wanted to let you know that you’ll be needing to pick more cherries.
The ones you left in the kitchen last night are no longer…
usable for their intended purpose.” Then she let out a little giggle and disappeared with her usual sparks and lightning.
Rosie groaned as she hurried to dress. As soon as she was decent, she ran out of her room and waved down the first servant she could find.
“The troll was back,” she said breathlessly. “Call the guards and tell one of the princes!”
Minutes later, there were half a dozen guards in her room, searching for any sign of the troll, but Rosie knew she was gone.
Unfortunately, the earsplitting shriek from the direction of the kitchens was enough to let her know that the troll really had been up to no good.
And when Rosie arrived there, she did so to find that every single one of her cherries from the day before had been turned into a little cherry-colored frog.
And every little frog was hopping happily around the kitchen as the staff stumbled around, trying to catch them.
“You!” Madame Nadine thundered when she caught sight of Rosie. “I have a note for you!”
Reluctantly, Rosie made her way toward the woman, doing her best not to step on any of the little red creatures as she did. When she reached the baker, the woman thrust a stained and dirty scrap of parchment at her with letters written in what looked like cherry juice.
I can see why my brother grew so aggravated with you. Take all these little gifts with my love, and tell your sister to think of them as a wedding present. And you, too, for all your troubles. Lest you were beginning to believe I wouldn’t keep my word.
Rosie sighed heavily before turning back to Madame Nadine. “I’ll help you catch them,” she said heavily.
But the big woman barred her way. “Oh, no! The prince put me in my place the last time you tried to help. The best you can do is to go right back into that hall and be the fine lady you’re supposed to be!”
Rosie did not like being ordered around by the baker, but she didn’t really want to catch the frogs either. So, with a look of annoyance at the woman, she whirled around and made her way back out into the hall.
She could have tried to think up a retort, of course.
But her last experience in the kitchen during the day had been less than stellar, and she had no desire to repeat it.
Besides, she reminded herself, she would need to be up late tonight and tomorrow to prepare the cake for the wedding.
She might as well go back to her room and sleep now while she could.
She would also, she realized with another sigh, have to pick more cherries as well.
As she turned a corner, she passed the king’s study, where the door was slightly ajar. Angry shouts–shouts that sounded very much like they came from Jonathan and his father–made her pause.
If she passed by the door, they might see her, and she had no desire to be a part of whatever was going on in there. But there was no other way to return to her room.
She jumped when the door banged open, and she found herself looking up at Jonathan.
His face was red, and he was breathing fast. Rosie knew she ought to say something so he would know she wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. But before she could think of anything to say, he took her hand and almost roughly dragged her behind him with a single terse order.
“Come with me.”
Rosie decided that she wasn’t going to fight him-one, because he was already towing her behind him and two…
Well, she had been missing him terribly.
She would just follow along and see where the tide–or the prince, rather–carried her.
She was tired of fighting, after all. She’d been doing it every day since arriving at the palace.
He led her to a tower that held a set of spiral stairs.
These they climbed until they reached the top, where they emerged onto a square platform with tall stone ledges and a roof, but no windows or walls.
Judging by the pile of weapons stashed in one of the corners, Rosie could only assume that this tower was defensive in purpose.
As soon as they were both out of the stairwell, Jonathan turned and shut the trapdoor with a surprising ferocity. Then he strode over to the nearest ledge and placed his elbows on it before rubbing his face and letting out an exhausted groan.
Rosie didn’t know what to think about this behavior, nor did she know what he wanted her to do. So after a moment of internal debate, she finally walked to his side and leaned against the stone wall as well, waiting for him to state what it was that he wanted.
“Do you ever indulge in what-ifs?” he finally demanded, turning to look at her with burning intensity. Then, before she could answer, he shook his head and faced the countryside once again. “I suppose you don’t. You’re too practical.”
The tone in which he said this was one that sounded almost irritated, and Rosie felt that she had to say something.
“Every now and then,” she admitted. “When I was younger, especially. I liked to imagine what our life would have been like if Papa hadn’t died.”
“I know I shouldn’t,” he said, his words growing faster as he spoke.
“That I ought to try and be content with what my parents decide for my life. And yet…” He stopped and swallowed convulsively.
“What happens in my life has consequences for the entire kingdom. And I count it madness that my parents see me fit to run the kingdom upon their deaths, but they won’t believe me responsible or wise enough to know who I ought to marry! ”
Rosie knew better. She had known better than to allow herself to hope. And yet, at these words, her heart fell.
“So they’ve made their decision, then,” she said, doing her best to sound casual.
He didn’t answer, just glared out at the countryside. After a while, Rosie began to feel stiff from standing so still, but just as she was about to move, he broke the silence.
“I always knew I wouldn’t marry for love.” He turned to look at her, his eyes still burning. “But before now, I never had a reason to hope for more.” As he spoke, he leaned closer, and for the shortest of moments, she wondered if he might kiss her.
But then he stood abruptly and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve given orders for your cherries to be picked again. They should be in the kitchen for you by nightfall.” Then he looked around as though the scene suddenly disgusted him. “Come. Let’s go down before the breeze gives you a cold.”
Again, they walked in silence until they reached the bottom of the stairs. Then he left her with a sharp bow and stormed away.
That night at supper, Jonathan was missing once again. The king was there, however, and he stood and held out his hands until the room was silent.
“It is with great pride that my wife and I announce our eldest son, Prince Jonathan, is now betrothed to the lovely Miss Marianne, daughter of General William Radish and Lady Sandra!”
The room erupted into cheers and shouts as all eyes immediately turned toward the blessed lady. Marianne was wearing a lovely gown of pale blue, so thin and light that the seamstress who made it might as well have fashioned a moonbeam into a gown.
Rosie clapped, but she couldn’t smile, and when she looked down at her plate, she felt her sister’s sharp eyes on her face.
She took care for the rest of the meal not to meet her sister’s gaze.
And as soon as supper was finished, she declared that she would nap for a few hours so she might awaken that night to begin the cake.
“Rosie?” Snow called from outside her door. “Please talk to me.”
“I’ll talk with you later,” Rosie called back, doing her best not to let her sister hear the tears that she was now shedding on her pillow.
Tears for knowing she must soon tell her mother and sister goodbye, and for the pain the last month had brought.
Tears for the man with whom she would never know what might have been.
But several hours later, when it was time to get up and begin baking, Rosie sat up, her tears gone and her resolve hardened.
If she hadn’t been sure about leaving before, her decision was made for her now, and there was nothing she could do about any of it except embrace what was to come.
She might as well bake the cake and look forward to the journey home.