Page 27 of A Cake of Cherries and Charm

Maybe Rosie ought to leave the castle after all.

“That’s it!” Snow announced on the third day. “You’re not hiding in here tonight. I know you don’t have a stomachache, so get out of bed and wash your face. It’s the queen’s birthday ball tonight, and you’re coming.” She picked up Rosie’s newest dress–a pink gown trimmed with little white pearls–and shook it at her.

Rosie pulled the covers up higher. “I’m not going, and you can’t make me.”

“Rose Red!” Snow snapped, throwing the gown on the bed and putting her hands on her hips. “You beheaded a snake when we were twelve so it couldn’t bite Mother. You were the one to open the door to Frederick when he was a bear. And you are far too brave and practical to hide from bullies.” She began to unfasten the buttons on the back of Rosie’s new dress. “There will be dancing and supper, and the entire court has nearly decided that you’re guilty of the rumor’s charge because you were too afraid to say otherwise. And I’m not about to go answering questions on your behalf again because you were scared!”

Rosie glared at her twin, half in annoyance with Snow, and half in annoyance with herself. Really, when had she become such a coward?

“Fine,” she snapped, standing and snatching the dress from Snow. Then she turned so her sister could unbutton the day gown that she wore. Which was, by now, embarrassingly crumpled from sitting up in bed in it. “But I’m blending in, and don’t even ask me to make any speeches. I’ll pretend I’ve lost the power of words.”

As Frederick’s cousin, Sir Milo, escorted Rosie into the ballroom that night, Rosie decided that her decision to blend in was the right one. The queen, from her frosty nod in response to Rosie’s low curtsy, seemed to be of the group that believed Lady Sandra’s story. In her eyes, Rosie was a pauper trying to snatch a prince.

Well, Rosie would just have to prove her wrong. She would ignore the prince as much as was politely possible, and she would refrain from making any comments or gestures that could be interpreted as flirtatious. She would go, eat supper, cheer on her sister, and then leave the moment it was acceptable.

Thanks to the tables’ horseshoe shape, Rosie was saved from having to meet the queen’s gaze. She did realize, however, that Prince Jonathan, who had arrived late and was sitting two seats down from her, sent her curious looks more than once, and loneliness hit her even stronger than before. One of the few people in the castle that she wanted to speak with, she couldn’t.

How she would dearly love to talk with him tonight. When she was with people who knew her and weren’t constantly judging her face and hair and the way she walked, Rosie had been told she could be rather witty. And Jonathan was so often solemn. She should very much like to make him laugh–his real laugh–not the polite one he was giving a duke now.

And she decided that in the unlikely chance that they ever were allowed private speech again, she would try to speak to him of good things, not only those that made her sad. She would try to make him smile.

She entertained herself this way, thinking about how she might do so, for the remainder of the meal, but was startled out of her silent musings by the very man she had been musing about as soon as the dancing had begun.

“Lady Rose,” he said, coming to stand beside her chair. “I hope you’re feeling well now?” His words were commonplace enough, but the way his piercing blue eyes searched her own endangered her sworn distant politeness. To give herself courage, she looked around and found Natalie dancing with her husband far off.

Distant and polite. It wasn’t rude. It was the best for both of them.

“I am, thank you,” she said, bowing her head as she did. “And I hope you’re also feeling well.” There, she congratulated herself as she went back to watching the dancers at the center of the room, that was both distant and civil.

“I had hoped the castle’s… atmosphere wasn’t too heavy for you,” he said, his eyes still boring into hers. And suddenly, she knew what he was and wasn’t saying at the same time. Her eyes stung with comprehension, and a weight was lifted from her heart. He wasn’t angry with her after all!

Unfortunately, however, the reality of the situation was still there.

Distant and civil.

Distant and civil.

“It was a tad heavy, I’m afraid,” she said lightly, touching her temple. “Surely just an effect of the dreary weather we’ve been having.” A glance at the queen told her that they were being watched, and not with joy. So Rosie went back to watching the dancers, but this was interrupted when a large hand took hers.

“Rose,” he said, his deep voice making her soul sigh with both happiness and pain as he said her name.

Just her name.

“I know Lady Sandra has been up to mischief. Tell me, are you well?”

“Your Highness,” she said in a low voice, finally bringing her eyes to meet his. “I wish to speak to you. Truly, I do. But Her Majesty is watching us now, and I… I don’t believe she is pleased with me at the moment. And–”

“How do you know that?” he asked sharply, glancing up at his mother as well.

“I was uninvited to her tea the other morning, just after the rumor began,” Rosie said, pitching her voice lower still. The last thing she needed was for another courtier to hear her speaking of the queen. If that happened, she might as well kiss her life in the palace goodbye.

“Of all the foolish things!” he muttered under his breath, and Rosie was so shocked that she looked up at him again in surprise. Never had she heard him speak so passionately or–dare she think it–so out of propriety. Especially about his mother.

“Your Highness,” she tried again with a sigh, “I can’t express to you how… how thankful I am for all you’ve done for us. You have been more than kind, and you owe me nothing. Any deed I might have done for your brother, you have repaid in goodness ten times over. But–”

“You think I’m being kind to you because of what you did for Frederick?” he asked, his brows shooting up.

She blinked up at him. “Well… Aren’t you?”