Page 42 of A Cake of Cherries and Charm

She was so close.

Rosie prepared her ingredients slowly, methodically, enjoying the silence and basking in the solitude. The palace itself was a beautiful place full of countless resources and opportunities. When the courtiers within weren’t being awful, she was delighted to find her way around.

In truth, she admitted bitterly to herself, she didn’t want to leave the palace. But as the wedding would take place the next day, she needed to sleep before dawn. So with a sigh, she began mixing ingredients. It would be her last time in these kitchens. She had to make the most of it.

A few hours later, her solitude was interrupted, but the visitor was a welcome one. Frederick walked in with rumpled hair, wearing a loose shirt and trousers.

“Not able to sleep?” she asked as she placed a cherry on the second tier.

“No, but not for the reasons you might think,” he said with a wry grin.

“Would you like a taste?” She indicated the extra cake she had baked in case one of the main layers didn’t turn out.

He pulled up a stool on the other side of her work table. “I would never turn down your baking.”

Rosie would have accused him of flattering her, but he had shared meals at their tables for nearly five years, and she was quite aware of his affinity for sweets. Even as a bear, he had eaten every treat she had ever made. So with a smile, she found a little dish and served him a piece of the cake, wiping a dollop of frosting on it and topping it off with a cherry.

“Were the sweets worth the countless cold nights you spent sleeping at our front door when the wolves were out?” she asked as she passed him the plate.

“They were more than worth it,” he said seriously. “Your family made me feel somewhat human again. I had begun to think I might go mad by the time I found you.”

“Well,” she said, returning to her decorating. “I’m glad you didn’t go mad. We enjoyed your company immensely, and we all felt much safer when you were there, sleeping between us and the wind and the wolves howling outside.”

She expected him to take a bite, but instead, he studied her, tilting his head thoughtfully the way he had done when he was a bear.

“How are you doing?” he asked softly. And she knew by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t asking about her baking.

“Snow doesn’t know it yet,” she said, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “I haven’t had a chance to tell her. But… I’m leaving after the wedding.”

“My brother didn’t accept my parents’ betrothal choice out of duty,” he blurted.

Rosie turned to stare at him.

“He fought the match with Miss Marianne when they proposed it,” Frederick continued in a rush. “But my mother…” His shoulders slumped, and he stared miserably at the cake in front of him. “He fought her until she threatened to send you away in disgrace.”

Rosie continued to stare at him as her mind whirled in circles. She had been the reason Jonathan had capitulated? His mother had used her to force him into marrying that… that troll?

“I fell in love with Snow nearly the moment I laid eyes on her,” Frederick said with a sad smile. “But to me, you’re already the sister I never had. You have been since your family took me in.” He laughed a little. “I know I used to growl at you for it, but you had every right to scold me for making messes and acting like a brat. I was a brat, but you…”

He swallowed hard, and his eyes grew hard. “It’s not fair. You saved me every bit as much as Snow did, but you’re being punished for it. And I…” He shoved away from the table and stood suddenly, taking the little plate with him, his expression darker than she had ever seen it.

“I just wish I could do something about it,” he grumbled, almost sounding like his bear self again as he stomped out, leaving her alone once more.

Rosie didn’t know what to do after that, so she returned to decorating because it was all she could think to do. Her mind felt numb as she tried to digest all that he had just told her. And yet, there was a little part of her that felt better. Frederick’s anger, even if it accomplished nothing, made her feel a little less alone.

When she was finished, she cleaned up the kitchen before looking around once more. It was near midnight, and the rest of the palace ought to be asleep. But she couldn’t help looking wistfully out at the little balcony where Jonathan liked to study and work.

“There’s no use in crying over what I can’t have,” she told herself out loud as she began to lift the cake–which was quite heavy by now–to take it down to the cooling cellar. But then she put the cake back down. Quickly, she placed another piece of the extra cake in a little dish, just as she had done for Frederick, and dropped a spoonful of icing and a cherry on top of it as well. Then she went out onto the balcony and left the little dish on the wide balcony wall.

As she lifted the cake and carried it down to the cellar, she indulged in what she knew she should not–she immersed herself in the what-ifs.

What if Jonathan hadn’t been a prince? Who would he have been instead?

He certainly wouldn’t have been too common. His mind was too sharp not to have been drawn to some sort of practice or respectable trade. She imagined him practicing law. Perhaps one day he would have risen to the rank of judge. They would have had a house at the edge of the city. Nothing too deep in the winding, dirty streets she had seen while visiting the seamstress.

A cottage. Yes, they would have had a little cottage at the edge of town. He could have walked or ridden a horse to work, and she would have made the house beautiful. They would have had a thriving garden, and eventually, climbing roses would have adorned their walls. She could almost see children playing in the yard as she picked herbs.

Jonathan, she was sure, would have been a hard worker in whatever trade he engaged in. And while she would probably have had nothing as fine as what she wore now, their family would have been clean and warmly dressed in clothes that she could easily mend on her own. They wouldn’t have been rich.