Later that evening I had returned to Pierre's chambers. I stood awkwardly, observing a tower erected in the middle of the room, made entirely of glasses filled with champagne. The servants were bustling around the room, Pierre nowhere to be seen.

I walked over to the tower, inspecting the meticulously placed glasses as I waited.

A door behind me opened and I heard the clicking of heels across Pierre's hardwood floor. They stopped behind me and I held my breath, not sure what to expect. Anticipation sizzled across my skin, something warm spreading through me the longer he lingered.

The soft touch of a finger traced a line down my neck, the sharp point of a nail pausing over my beating pulse. His breath caressed my sensitive skin, sending a pleasant chill down my spine. He sucked in a breath.

"Sweet rose," he whispered. He removed his touch and a moment later something else brushed against me, the scent of roses filling the air. Out of the corner of my eye I saw green leaves and the petals of a blood rose. I turned and found Pierre grinning.

I took it, inhaling deeply, marveling at the natural red petals. Even back home they were rare. Blood roses only grew when blood saturated the flower beds. Nowadays it was common practice to use animal blood, but it was a fickle and often unsuccessful process. Even the most experienced botanist struggled to keep up such a stock. To see one so fresh and perfectly red here in Garnette was something I would have considered impossible.

"A blood rose? How?"

Pierre wore a high collar that was ringed with many different gems. It flared around his neck, creating the perfect frame around the defined lines of his jaw.

"Anything is made possible when I want it," he said, red lips curving into a satisfied smirk. "And I wanted to see that exact smile upon your face after my father tried so hard to steal it from you."

A hot blush warmed my cheeks, but I couldn't contain my excitement. "You are too much. How did you—"

Pierre let out a laugh, shaking his head. "If I told you my secret, then anyone could offer you a blood rose. I would much rather keep it as something special." He reached out, clasping my hand as he led me over to one of the couches. "Something that only I can give you."

I bit my lip. I was both embarrassed by his boldness, but also privately pleased. We sat and I held the rose carefully, taking in its sweet scent.

"Thank you."

Pierre grinned, plucking the rose from me and replacing it with a glass of wine. He waved a servant over, asking them to fetch a vase and some water and have it to taken to my rooms.

Once done he returned his attention to me. "Now let's settle in before the performers get here. Tonight, I won't have to worry about sending you off early."

I tensed. "How so?"

He grinned. "What I mean is that there is no dinner for you to attend this evening." He lifted his glass of wine, taking a sip before letting out a laugh. "Not that I am against something else, but..." He trailed off, reaching out to trace a finger down my arm before meeting my gaze, his smile gone. "But they would have your head if we gave into such forbidden temptations."

A dangerous warmth spread through me. I averted my gaze. So bold...too bold. His words should have sent me running, his lavish smile should have been a warning. I didn't move, staring down at my rose.

"I rather enjoy having my head."

Pierre withdrew his hand just as it reached the back of my wrist. "As do I—you having your head that is. I find myself growing rather fond of it."

I looked back at him, to see a shadow steal over his face. He gazed away from me, sipping his wine.

"Have you met the Queen yet?"

"Just once, briefly. She invited me to tea once but had to decline shortly after. Another bout of poor health, my servant suspected."

Pierre appeared glum. "A pity. I remember how she used to be when we were younger, bright, lively. Everyone loved her. I always wished to know her better."

I frowned. "Better? Were you not close to your mother?"

Jourdon had seemed rather concerned with her during our short time together. She had not seemed like someone to distance herself from her children. Not like my mother had.

Perhaps it was because both Pierre and I were second heirs, the spares. The ones to be married off for political reasons. Though, I had not heard any rumors that Pierre was already betrothed. For some reason the idea that he could already be promised to someone else stabbed through my heart unpleasantly.

Pierre's expression seemed more sober than usual. Like his extroverted and dramatic persona was indeed just that--one of his many faces. And now I was seeing that private, often unseen part of him. He looked much more tired, like the long nights and partying had reached him. His lips tugged into a rueful smile that did not reach his eyes.

"She is not my mother, certainty you have heard the rumors by now."

I had heard rumors of Pierre, alright. It was like everyone had a story concerning the prince--usually followed by scandalized laughter. Sabine had not been exaggerating.

There were many tales of midnight romps with the ladies and men of the court. Stories involving card games where each player stripped an article of clothing. His love for things that were inhaled alongside his drinks.

But instead of these rumors turning me away from the prince, each story only fascinated me more. He reminded me of Elliotte in a way—aside from him obviously not being my brother. But the antics, the parties. Elliotte had often gotten carried away, too. As the second born and a boy, he had no place on the Roserian throne, and was in love with a boy he knew he could never have. His lifestyle hid the pain only me and those close to him knew.

And now I was getting a glimpse of what Pierre was hiding under all the gambling and drink and recklessness.

Still, none of the stores had mentioned his mother. If the queen was not his mother, then who was? I considered how best to approach this. He seemed to want to talk about it but it seemed rude to pry.

"I'm sorry, I haven't heard rumors of that nature?"

Pierre's lips tugged. "I was born to one of my father's mistresses but taken on as an heir when the Queen failed to provide the king with more sons. Marquise Etienne is my birth mother."

The Marquise.

The minute he said it, I knew it to be true. He resembled her even more than the king, down to the inky black color of his hair and his smooth olive complexion.

"Oh."

Pierre chuckled, but it lacked his usual humor. "Yes. She was a mistress to him for several years, and now she parades about as if she is queen in Queen Caressa's failing health." His lips turned down in distaste as he spoke of the Marquise—his mother. Now I had a better sense of the complicated nature of the relationship between the two women.

"I see," I said, not quite sure what else to say. I had not expected Pierre to be so honest with me. It was a stark relief from his usual flirting.

Pierre's sighed. "Sorry to trouble you with my torrid tale." He leaned forward, his usual charm returning in full force. "Make me feel better, tell me of yourself. Is it true that you have magic?" His eyes glinted. "That you can entrance men with a single look, and do spells with their ripped-out hearts in order to condemn your enemies?"

I wrinkled my nose. "What is that nonsense? I'm not some witch or enchantress." I hesitated. Discussing our magic was forbidden, but as long as I didn't reveal any secrets, I didn't think it would hurt. Especially if this was what the Garnetti came up with when no one told them otherwise. "Yes, I have magic. I know little of its ability, for it has been locked away for years."

Pierre's expression had not changed, but something in his eyes had. I couldn't place it, they still glinted playfully, but there was something sharper there. Something beneath the surface.

"But you still show some symptoms of the magic, no?"

I furrowed my brows, shifting uncomfortably. How did he know that? Only those within my family and our close advisors knew the ailments that came with carrying the Gift.

"What makes you say that?"

Pierre gave an easy smile and a shrug. "I've heard you retire early often. It is just a premonition. Has being away from home been hard?"

I studied Pierre, some of the warmth and heat of his gaze fading from my skin. The idea that one of our secrets had already slipped away from me was troubling. Had I been acting that obviously? I would need to be more careful of who was watching.

I ran a finger over the stem of my wine glass. "More than I anticipated, to be honest." I glanced at Pierre. I needed to be careful around him, it would be easy to spill all my secrets. But, I supposed, a small truth wouldn't be too harmful. He had shared something about himself with me. "It's the headaches, they come sometimes, and I thought being further away from home would ease them, but instead it has gotten worse."

Pierre regarded me for a pause. "And the headaches are a symptom?" He considered this. "I suppose that explains things. I can emphasize. I, too, used to struggle with headaches as a child. Still do sometimes to this day." He held up his glass, now full of spirits. "This helps, for a time at least."

It was true, the whispers didn't seem to bother me as much while I was drinking. Though I figured Pierre had different reasons for self-medicating, the numbing effect of the liquor was also making some of the pain fade, even if it only prolonged it until the morning when the headache would resume tenfold.

"Seems so."

Pierre sighed dramatically. "So, not even an ounce of magic, hmm? I was hoping you might be able to give me a demonstration of your enchanting qualities." He allowed his gaze to linger appreciatively, making my heart pick up speed. "Are you positive you aren't doing so now? Though, I suppose an enchantress wouldn't share her secrets." He let out a laugh.

I looked away, blushing.

"Well, even that horrible play your father had us watch carries some small truths. We did have magic, once long ago, but we no longer do. The red coloring of my hair is all but decoration at this point."

Pierre arched a brow like he wasn't entirely convinced. "It's okay if you wish to keep me in the dark, Princess. You have my permission to use your enchanting wiles on me as much as you like. I find it rather enjoyable."

I let out a surprised laugh. "Pierre! I am not doing anything, I promise."

Pierre winked at me. "Then I suppose it is just your natural radiance. I will take it either way." He leaned back, sipping from his glass. His gaze turned curious. "So, was it really locked away?"

This part was no secret, so I shrugged. "Yes, ages ago when Rosailles first tried to accommodate Garnette for peace, though the peace only lasted a short while. Does Garnette not include this in their lessons?"

I had not gotten the impression. The play, as inaccurate as it was, had still included this detail.

Pierre waved flippantly. "Oh, I'm sure my Governess included all types of things in her lessons, I just was rarely present, nor very good at remembering." He attempted to look apologetic, but it soon fell away with another mischievous grin. "It's not like any of the information was important to me. My brother, I assure you, was an exemplary pupil."

I laughed, though the sound was hollow at the mention of Jourdon. I quickly pushed the mention of my betrothed away from my mind. "You and Elliotte must never meet, you would likely scandalize the court with your combined antics.

Pierre lifted his brows, appearing for once caught off guard. "Elliotte? Who is this man, should I be jealous?"

"Not at all." Now my laugh was genuine. "Elliotte is my brother. A scoundrel much like you."

Pierre pressed a hand to his chest in mock relief. "Ah, a brother. I suppose he and I might have a few things in common." He pressed his red lips together thoughtfully. "Male heirs are not common in Rosailles, no?"

"So, you did pay some attention in your lessons, I see." I was finding with the glass of wine, it was easier to fall into a playful rhythm with Pierre, now that I was used to his flirtations. To be fair, I found I enjoyed it. "No, men do not inherit the throne in Rosailles."

"Hmm." Pierre appeared troubled for a moment. "Even if they are firstborn?"

"Even if they are firstborn," I confirmed. "Not even Rose heirs seem to have the same claim they once—" I caught myself, alarmed. I was speaking too freely. What was I even saying? I bit my lip, glancing at Pierre.

The playfulness was gone. He placed his cup on the table, looking at me seriously.

"It must be even harder. For you, that is. Being the Rose of Rosailles."

I startled at the mention of my name in Verenician Court. "There was little my mother could do. After Blanche was not born a Rose, they did not expect my mother to bear one in our generation. It was out of our control, I was already promised to Garnette."

But even as I said the words, I found it hard to look at Pierre. He reached over, taking my hand in his. His fingers were cool and soft, his thump rubbing over the inside of my palm.

"No need to lie to me, Ophelia. I understand what it's like. To be second, to feel like you are meant for more. To want things you can't have. It does not make you terrible. It makes you human."

Slowly, I looked up at Pierre. His blue eyes were soft. Gentle. It was true, he did understand. Perhaps understood what I felt even better than myself.

"Please don't say anything, your brother can't know that I—"

Pierre smiled, stopping me. "Your secret is safe with me." He winked. "Besides, if it were me in your shoes, I could only imagine what I would do. For one, I would want my magic back."

I withdrew my hand, shocked. "Bring magic back?" I shook my head. Dangerous thoughts indeed. "That would mean war."

"War?" He laughed without any concern. "Well, if I had magic then I would squash any such thing. Obviously. Who cares what everyone else thinks if you are a Rose Queen. Even I know the tales of your fearsome history. Why do you think just a glimpse of that red hair frightens so many in my country? Children, women. Grown men, hardened from years of battle. Even if they don't intend to, the fear has descended generations. It's in their bones. Though I know better myself, knowing you in person, I can see why they have been...reluctant."

I tried to suppress my frown. I wasn't sure why Pierre's words bothered me so. The idea of bringing magic back...

But... he wasn't wrong, either. If I had magic, then marrying me to Garnette wouldn't be an option. When Rosailles had our magic, things like political marriages weren't a thing, and they would never dream of marrying a Rose to another family--their enemies family at that. I would be home, with my siblings. I would be the Heir. I would be powerful. There would be no second-guessing, no disappointed frowns. No years of lessons on how to be a perfect Garnetti wife.

I pictured the woman I could be. Strong. Victorious. Poised. It was the secret part of me I had only ever glimpsed in dreams.

Yet, she would never exist. I slammed down on the image of her in my mind, pushing her away.

I shifted away from Pierre, trying to clear my head. Even with the wine, my temples throbbed. As if the Angels heard my thoughts and were drawn to them.

"I will never be a Rose Queen, so that doesn't matter."

Pierre's smile turned secretive like he knew something I didn't. "Well Roses, when tended properly, can be known to blossom in the most surprising of places."

I sensed there was a deeper meaning to his words, but before I could try to unravel them, a servant came, replacing my wine.