Page 9 of A Cake of Cherries and Charm

Rosie glanced at Snow, who was still smiling. But this time, her smile looked strained.

As the queen continued to rattle off tasks, there was a gentle knock at the door. Without looking up, the queen called for whoever it was to enter. In floated five women, one of them far older and more finely dressed than the others. She carried a pink cloth bag.

“This,” the queen gestured to the older woman, “is Mrs. Franko, our castle seamstress, and these are her assistants. If you don’t mind, they’ll take your measurements and colors as we continue our planning.”

The only thing to do, of course, was to heartily agree. Although Rosie’s willing submission was nearly put into question when she was pulled to her feet and unceremoniously stripped down to her undergarments in front of the queen. But the queen, unperturbed, simply continued making her list.

Rosie’s hopes for their immediate future began to sink when the queen informed them that their gowns would take weeks to months to be finished. But the queen only rattled on as though that little detail didn’t matter, listing decision after decision that must be made within the next three weeks… before making most of the decisions herself with hardly a thought from the bride.

Since their betrothal, Rosie had known, of course, that she couldn’t plan the wedding herself as she would have done if they were back home. But she had desperately hoped to be a part of it. She had always expected to play an important role in her sister’s wedding, as her sister had expected to have one in hers. But here, aside from standing where the queen ordered and holding Snow’s flowers when she turned to say her vows, was there anything Rosie might have a hand in for the sister she so loved?

“We shall have to choose colors for the ribbons in the castle chapel and the ballroom soon, for those always take longer to make than they ought. And of course,” the queen continued, “there will be the cake.”

“Oh!” Snow exclaimed, brightening. “That’s easy. Rosie shall make the cake!”

The queen stared at her as though she’d spoken a foreign language. “I’m sorry, my dear, but… who is Rosie?”

“I am, Your Majesty,” Rosie said, feeling her face redden slightly. “My name is Rose Red, but Rosie is my nickname.” She laughed nervously. “I don’t think I’ve gone by Rose Red since the day I was born.”

“Rosie makes the most beautiful cakes!” Snow gushed. “She made all the wedding cakes for our village friends back home!”

“I see,” the queen said slowly as she put down her pen. “Of course, if that is what you wish, it shall be done. But may I gently remind you that this will be no country village wedding?”

Rosie blushed even hotter. The queen’s words were gentle, but her intentions were clear. And before she could think better of uttering them, the words were out of her mouth.

“You are correct, Your Majesty. This is no country wedding. It is my sister’s.”

From the look of shock on the queen’s face, Rosie half expected the queen to send her to the gallows as soon as she had uttered the words. But after a moment, the queen only looked once more at Snow. “If,” she said again with great forbearance, “it is what you truly want.”

“It is,” Snow said firmly.

And Rosie couldn’t help but grin.

Chapter

Four

Once the queen released them, Rosie, her mother, and Snow spent the rest of the day resting from their journey and preparing for the betrothal dinner that was to be held that night in Frederick and Snow’s honor.

Rosie sighed as she studied herself in the full-length mirror. After wearing Mayra’s dress in the carriage the day before, and then to the queen’s tea that morning, it was looking more than a little tired. Normally, a wrinkled dress wouldn’t have bothered her in the slightest. But this was the palace. Attending a royal betrothal dinner in a dress that was most decidedly dirty and rumpled wasn’t really something she looked forward to.

Your gowns will be finished as soon as possible, the queen had assured them that morning. In the meantime, as Snow will be attending more royal functions, I’ll send a few more gowns from my wardrobe for the seamstress to alter so she’s not without proper attire for any event.

Well, Rosie drew in a deep breath, at least the bride would look lovely. And that was most important.

When a knock sounded at her door, Rosie startled slightly before smoothing her hair once more and then hurrying to answer. She nearly fell over when it wasn’t her sister or even Frederick at the door, but the crown prince.

“Good evening, Lady Rose,” he said with a bow.

“I… Your Highness.” Rosie fell into what she hoped was a decent curtsy.

“Please,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice, “call me Jonathan.”

Rosie was not entirely confident she could do that, but she did her best to smile. “Thank you. That’s… very kind.” As she spoke, however, the memory of her sarcasm toward the mean girl the day before returned to her, and she almost grimaced. Hopefully, the girl and the crown prince weren’t very good friends.

His eyes moved up and down her person–not in a leering way as some men might–but almost as though he were trying to sum up her person in a single glance. Did he scrutinize everyone he met the way he always seemed to study her?

Oh, please don’t let him look too hard, Rosie prayed. Not, at least, until she’d had a chance to wash her dress. And yet, she still had the feeling, as she had every time he looked at her, that he was trying to peer into her soul.