“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I’m promised to another.”
His face darkened, his grip on my arms tightened, and I winced. “Who?”
“I… I, uh….” Unsure how to answer him, I ultimately decided on the truth. “The prince.”
His nose crinkled in disgust and his hands dropped. “You would rather become the prince’s whore than be with me?”
“I don’t have a choice,” I retorted, angry he had called me a whore.
“You do. You can choose me!” His fist pounded his chest, and I could see the pain of rejection written across his face.
“You don’t understand.” I reached for him, but he shrugged me off.
“Yes, I do. It’s not the first time someone has chosen him over me. I just thought that once he was married, it would stop.” He shook his head and looked at me in disbelief. “I had hoped you were different, but you’re not. You’re just like all the others,” he sneered, then took off into the dark, leaving me alone in the maze.
Alone and confused.
My thoughts were so filled with questions and very few answers that I almost walked right past the beautiful deep red rosebush that had caught my attention the other day. A white stone bed surrounded the bush, with a golden dedication plaque on a column:
* * *
To my little flower
May you ever rest in peace.
* * *
It was a memorial, but for whom?
There was something comforting about the exotic flowers, though up close, I could see the roses were browning and dying while every plant around them was flourishing. Wondering if there was a disease or sickness, I reached closer to inspect the flower, hoping my knowledge of herbology would help me identify the threat.
Before I could lay a finger on the flower, a branch snaked out and wrapped around my wrist. The thorns, like teeth, sank painfully into my skin.
Chapter Seven
Hissing in pain, I tried to pull away from the thorns, but they only wrapped tighter around my wrist and dug in deeper. Just when I was about to burn the whole bush to ash with a spell, the thorny branch released me from its painful hold and slinked back into the bush. Seconds later, the bush shimmered and the flowers regained their color, turning deep red. The previously closed buds opened wide, and I swore the whole plant grew before my eyes.
“What magic is this?” I whispered, then reached out to stroke the rose. I could almost feel it stretch and reach for more of my blood, but I recoiled from the bloodthirsty plant. Never before in my studies had I come across a species like this; not even the Venus flytrap could compare. I ran two fingers along my injured wrist and healed the small bloody pinpricks left by the rosebush, sighing as the healing warmth filled my body.
“Interesting, isn’t it, that this particular rosebush grows here?” a voice said from behind me. I spun around on my heel and was face-to-face with Lord Earlsgaarde once again. It seemed he had an interest in following me, but I had no desire to answer any of his questions.
His mustache twitched, reminding me once again of a mouse. He moved forward to inspect the flower, and I wondered if he had seen the rose drink from my blood.
I turned slightly, giving him my shoulder, signaling that I did not want to continue this conversation.
“You can tell by the blood-red color of the blooms and the thorns speckled with a red hue that this is the imperial rose and is only able to bloom in Florin. Until now. Odd, don’t you think, that the imperial rose would be planted with such care in the royal garden of Baist, and is not only growing but thriving? Now how could that happen?” he asked suspiciously.
“I wouldn’t know,” I answered coldly, moving away from him.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as he studied me slyly, then gave me a grin. “I’m sorry, but I must know—why does the prince not recognize you? It’s obvious to me, at least, that you’re the new wife.”
It seemed I wouldn’t be able to appease him until I gave him an answer, and it felt good to finally tell the truth. “Because he has never set eyes on his wife. I was covered with veils on our wedding day, and he has bidden that I stay locked away in my rooms and guarded forever.”
“Ah, but a guard is no match for Lorelai’s daughter. Do you want to know why the prince refuses to look upon you?”
My quick inhale made Lord Earlsgaarde smile knowingly. “It’s fear. The king has as much told the prince that if he so much as looks at you, he will be forever under your spell.” Earlsgaarde came to stand next to me and whisper in my ear. “The same happened with your mother, and now everyone is scared of your beauty. Which is a shame, because beauty should be looked at, not hidden away. Am I right, Rosalie?” He said my name as a test, his eyes glittering as if he’d just uncovered a deep and buried secret.
“I’m sure it’s only a rumor.” My heart fluttering, I dared not react.
“Rest assured, it is no rumor. There is a witch and beast in residence here, but the question remains, which one murders in cold blood?”
“Why are you here?” I demanded.
His mustache twitched, and Earlsgaarde scratched his neck. “Much was taken from us that fateful night eighteen years ago. The king was heartbroken at the death of his queen. War is inevitable. Unless you can give us something we want?”
“What is that?”
“I think we have an idea, but the question is whether you’re willing to pay the price for peace.” His rubbed his mustache, and it wavered out of focus. No, it was a twitch. He was always twitching his mustache like it itched. “Peace is never free.”
“They’re dead,” I stated matter-of-factly. “And it happened eighteen years ago.”
“Time does not lessen the loss for the king. In fact, over time the pain can become septic. He wants retribution.”
“You won’t get it,” I said, astounded by the absurdity of his request.
“Yes, we will. For I am very, very patient,” Lord Earlsgaarde warned as he stepped back and then turned, heading back out of the maze.
I knew I should leave as well, but my eyes were once again drawn to the imperial rosebush. The plaque itself was old, faded over many winters and summers, the unnamed child long forgotten. Did my mother know who might lie below the earth?
I acted rashly, breaking off one of the roses and taking it with me. I would make cuttings and plant it in my room to study on my own time.
When I strayed too close to the edge of the gardens, I felt compulsion magic hit me hard.
Go away!
I paused. Spinning in a slow circle, I searched for the source, the caster, the witch, but I was alone. When I took another step, the compulsion came again.
Go back!
This time I knew there wasn’t a caster. Kneeling, I carefully brushed the gravel away and saw the glowing gold sigil on the ground. A ward to compel people to leave the area when they walked across them. I wondered what other spells and traps I might come across if I continued my journey. Each sigil left a signature of their caster, and even though it was old and fading, having been cast long ago, I could easily recognize the creator.
Mother.
Covering the glowing sigil back up, my curiosity was thoroughly piqued. What had my mother done here long ago? Was this why she had returned and brought me with her? Or was there another secret as to why I was suddenly married to a horrid prince?