Chapter Ten - The First Salon
CHAPTER TEN
The First Salon
THE DAYS IN Blackthorn Hall passed with an unsettling mix of speed and lethargy.
She could lose hours in the conservatory, and yet the days dragged on whenever she left her sanctuary.
The day would begin the same way, every day.
Gnash would sit on her chest and stare at her until she woke, whilst Elira would run the bath and desperately attempt to put her in any outfit that wasn’t either her worn brown riding dress, or her gardening leathers.
All efforts to tame her long dark hair were met with unshakeable resistance.
Rosamund had started plaiting it in the bath, just to stop Elira trying to style it whilst she brushed.
There were few things she felt she had control over these days; her hair would remain entirely her domain.
She could not afford another horrific updo.
Once dressed, she would head down from the tower to the dining room.
Since that first morning she had not seen Dorian there again, though she had witnessed the remnants of his passing through.
On one occasion she was certain that she had only missed him by seconds.
She heard the bustle of someone moving quickly and found; an empty seat, a half-eaten plate of food, a steaming mug of coffee and Rowan, covering up a laugh with a cough.
It was for the best. He was the last person she wanted to see, and it appeared the feeling was mutual.
Still, a pang of loneliness had started to creep in.
Thankfully, with Gnash, no meal was a silent one.
When he was not stuffing his face with food, he was mindlessly chattering to anyone that would listen.
Corvin was sometimes there as well, and occasionally Mrs Hawthorn would come from her bustling in the kitchen to sit down for a while.
When she suggested that Elira and Rowan might want to join too, both had looked horrified and immediately left the room.
Tomas, on the other hand, had taken to joining them on those occasions he was not preparing to drive Dorian into the district or city.
She barely saw her new betrothed. They had passed in the corridor on occasion, but they swept by each other with no acknowledgement.
Occasionally she saw him out on the balcony of his tower when she was working in the conservatory, engrossed in whatever book he held in his hands.
At times, she missed their barbed insults to each other; anything was better than this silent isolation.
The conservatory was her oasis. Though still in need of a lot of work, the restoration of it was the highlight of her day.
She had realised early on that this was not a one-man job, or rather, one woman and one goblin job.
Especially when said goblin was more a hindrance than help.
As Tomas had clearly been sent to spy on her anyway, she had enlisted him to assist with some of the structural repairs.
Rowan and Elira had come to help a few times as well, both peering in from the broken glass doors until Rosamund had ushered them in and given them gloves.
Within a week Tomas had replaced most of the rusted ironwork, whilst the rest of them cleared away the debris.
It felt good to be busy, to be working on something again.
In this strange dead place she felt more alive than she had since even before she came to Aurelmere.
It helped stave off the melancholy that crept in those moments she was not in her greenhouse.
When she browsed the library, lay down in the empty ballroom, or walked along the quiet corridors of the gallery.
She had taken a wrong turn one afternoon and found herself descending a series of stone steps to the crypts below.
Given the prince’s purview she should not have been as surprised as she was to find a veritable cavern of stone tombs.
She had jumped out her skin when Corvin had materialised beside her and rasped, “The hall of princes,” he gestured to the tombs, “where all members of House Mordane are laid to rest,” he limped forward on his cane pointing to each one as he named them, “Queen Alysanne, his majesty’s first wife, died due to complications with childbirth. ”
That was not what Rosamund had heard, but she had nodded serenely and continued to follow the old man on his tour of the dead. He pointed out Queen Vivienne, who sadly took her own life, and far too many smaller tombs of brothers that had never made it to adulthood.
“And, we have Queen Evelaine, though only her body of course,” he said sadly, at Rosamund’s confused expression he continued, “her head remains at the Celestine Palace.”
She wanted to ask more. Why had the King kept her head?
It was morbid, though no more morbid perhaps than having all your ancestors buried beneath your home.
It made her skin crawl and suddenly she was desperate to leave this cold dark place.
Corvin could see her discomfort, “These halls are not for everyone. Though,” he looked around admiringly, “I find a sense of peace here amongst the spirits. As does the young master. There is still wisdom to be heard, if one only chooses to listen.”
Rosamund smiled politely but her eyes had flicked towards the staircase.
He had gestured for her to follow and led her back to the upper floors.
Once there she felt she could finally breathe but could not help the feeling that someone had been watching her and still was.
After that she never returned to the tomb of princes.
The days stretched on, the monotony of it all began to grate on her. She longed for something to break this endless routine. Such a break came in the form of Prince Osric suddenly popping into existence in the middle of the dining room.
His dark brown hair fell to his shoulders and was swept back with oil, an oil that dripped down his over large forehead that glistened in the light.
His nose was somewhat hawkish, and despite his height, he stooped, giving him the appearance of a hunch.
He was dressed in grey and silver, the coat and trousers clinging to his slight frame.
It washed him out, and there had been a moment where Rosamund had thought she had seen her first ghost. That was until Corvin rose to his feet and bowed, Rowan doing the same, and Mrs Hawthorn dropped a respectful curtsy.
“Your highness,” they said in unison.
Rosamund had not officially met the sixth son of King Ovidian; however she had discovered a scroll in the library with House Mordane’s family tree, complete with portraits. She realised now that the artist had been quite generous with their depiction of the sixth prince.
“Your highness,” said Rosamund, standing and dropping a curtsy a moment behind them.
Osric’s brow furrowed as he looked around the room, his eyes passing over Rosamund before snapping back, “Ah Lady Rosamund I presume?”
“I am she,” she said with a nervous smile
He reached inside his coat and pulled out a golden embossed champagne card, “Princess Celeste invites you to Sunfall Keep.”
Rosamund took the card from him. The letters had been done in swirling calligraphy, and there was a distinct scent of vanilla.
“Thank you, when would-” she started to ask.
“Immediately,” said Osric, taking out a pocket watch and glancing at the time, “I have other messages to deliver,” he looked her up and down, he raised an eyebrow, “unless you would like some time to change?”
She fought down the irritation and forced a polite smile, “I would hate to hold you back, I can leave whenever you’re ready.”
He snorted, “Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t offer.”
“Though Prince Dorian has made it very clear that I am not to leave the house,” said Rosamund sweetly.
“I doubt he will object to this summon, I assure you,” said Osric.
He looked anxious to leave, shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting around the room. As he held out his arm to her the doors to the dining room opened and Osric jumped. He immediately looked round at Dorian, who on spotting his brother smirked and leaned against the door frame.
“I thought it was you,” drawled Dorian.
Rosamund saw the small step back the silver clad Prince took, “I’m here for Lady Rosamund.”
Her betrothed frowned and took a step forwards. Osric stepped back again, and a little behind where Rosamund stood, looking over her shoulder.
“What for?”
“Princess Celeste has summoned her to discuss the wedding,” said Osric quickly, “all the royal ladies have been invited. I am to bring her directly.”
A growing trepidation was building with her. All the ladies? To discuss the ceremony? What she thought was going to be a simple meeting was rapidly becoming something else entirely. She did not like the sound of it and regretted her earlier impulsiveness.
Perhaps it would have been better to change.
“Then who am I to stand in the way,” said Dorian as he crossed to the table and took his seat, “take her.” he glanced round at her, “If she wants to go?”
“She must,” said Osric in a tone that was not quite as firm as he would have hoped.
Dorian only looked at Rosamund. Was he challenging her? Did he see her hesitation? She lifted her chin and held out her arm to Osric. Dorian smiled and turned back to start filling his plate, “Enjoy.”
Osric stepped forward to take her arm, as he did so Dorian said, “And Osric, the foyer, as discussed. Or I will ensure that the next time you teleport into my domain, you never leave.”
His brother blanched, and he gave Dorian a curt nod before a swirling mist rose from the ground to surround them, and her world became nothing but grey.