Early autumn sunlight filtered through the forest that bordered the palace as I stood out on its steps, waiting for my handmaids and guards to finish their final preparations.

Across from me I watched Darren giving out orders as he dealt with directing servants to load up the carriages, his face stern and, his brow furrowed with a mirror of the same nerves dancing around in my stomach.

A flurry of men in pinks and yellows tended to my trunks as they loaded the last of them into my carriage. It was strange, seeing all my possessions—my very existence—whittled down to no more than a few boxes. I was bringing only some clothes and a few keepsakes, the rest to be provided for me in my new home—the Court fashions of Garnette were likely quite different than what I was familiar with here.

I let out a slow breath. Elliotte and I had already shared our goodbyes in private. It had been teary-eyed, even though I had done my best to hold back most of them.

I missed him already. My brother, my friend. The one person I had ever allowed myself to get close too. We both promised to write and to visit...but I already knew visits would be difficult. Even with my marriage to Jourdon in the terms of the Accords, the transition from enemies to neighbours would be a long and arduous one. Things were not changing quickly enough, but I was hopeful once Jourdon stepped into power with me at his side, I could bring on the change my mother had arranged for.

I smoothed out my travel clothes, fighting off another swell of emotion— it was somewhat more comfortable than my usual attire since I would be sitting for through a long journey--but no less extravagant. I would be meeting my husband and giving the court their first glimpse of me in these after all. Golden roses shone over soft pink that shimmered a red deep enough to match my hair. I was a like a doll, primped and decorated, ready to be placed on a Garnetti shelf, or rather, a future Garnetti King's arm.

I frowned at my own thoughts, quickly silencing them. I shouldn't be thinking like that. I was just sad to be leaving Elliotte. That was all. I needed to exude an aura of calm. Sweetness. Joy over my task—marriage, peace, a new Era. The Angels wished it, and so it would be.

After last night's onslaught of angelic whispers, they were blessedly quiet today. The remainder of last night's headache still throbbed, the sunlight like daggers in my eyes. I narrowed them, shielding them with my hand as Mother approached.

"Daughter."

I lowered into a respectful curtsy. Then I met my mother's eyes.

"Mother," I replied. "Kind of you to see me off."

Queen Laverne tilted her head as she inspected me, her gaze running a shrewd line down my clothes, searching for imperfections. At her shoulder, Blanche stood, quiet, her gaze distant. She didn't meet my eyes, and another pang rang through my heart. I wasn't sure if I favoured Elliotte's tears or Blanche's complete indifference. Both hurt in different ways. I clenched my fists, letting my nails dig into my skin as I hid them in the folds of my skirts, trying to fight off another wave of tears.

I had to hold it together. There were too many eyes on me, always watching.

"I leave the fate of this Queendom in your hands, child."

I lifted my chin, the only sign of my defiance I could allow myself. I itched to remind her that at eighteen years, I was far from a child. "The Angels watch over me."

Mother nodded, the harsh line of her mouth unwavering. Her smooth, ivory skin appeared carved of stone, like she already was stationed in the Great Hall with our angelic ancestors. "Angels Above. You may not be my heir, but your task is no less important. You must not forget that."

I inclined my head. Mother had never looked at me with warmth—I didn't expect it either. But the unfeeling weight of her gaze—it was too much today. I wanted to crawl into my carriage and get it over with. To be alone with the mess of feelings trying to lay claim to me.

"As I'm aware. My Governess has trained me in the ways of Garnetti preference, and the advisors have schooled me in their ways. I'll not disappoint you and be sure to be the perfect wife and not bring dishonor to our line."

A cool finger lifted my chin. Surprised, I met my mother's red-toned gaze. It wasn't soft or sad—some traitorous part of me hoping for some glimpse of a woman who at least cared for me. But there was something there. It was gone before I could understand it.

"A Rose," she said. I furrowed my brows in confusion, and she continued, "You are a Rose Heir, whether you inherit my crown or not. Roses are never just wives. Understand that, and you will understand the truth of your task."

Her fingers disappeared from my chin as she gave me one final nod. "Farewell, daughter. I suspect I will see you again soon."

I watched her walk away, a bright gleam of red silk and gold, the sun catching on the crown embedded in the waves of her hair. My lips parted as I tried to make sense of her words. Blanche still stood before me, filling in the space our mother had just left behind. Where the Queen and I resembled Rosailles's symbolic bloodrose—roses painted red to represent the blood spilled during the Great Continent War—Blanche was the white roses that grew naturally in our hedges. The true Rose of Rosailles.

I was confused. Why was she still here? She stepped closer, and glanced quickly around us. Uneasiness spread through my already unsettled stomach. What could she possibly have to say?

She kept her voice low, whisper soft, so only I could hear.

"Be careful Rosebud. Trust no one, not even your maids. The treaty is still not signed." Her hand took mine, pressing something soft and small. I met her gaze, shocked.

"Blanche—" I paused at the expression in her eyes. A glimpse of the two of us, young and laughing and playing in a field of wildflowers, braiding them through our hair crashed through my barriers. It was hard to understand missing her when I had already lost her years ago.

"Stay safe. Trust no one. I love you, sister. Come back to us."

And like mother, she departed quickly. I swallowed, clenching my fingers around whatever she had given me. I hastily wiped my face and turned to see the maids. They kindly kept their gazes averted.

"All is ready, Your Highness."

I nodded, not risking looking down at my hand until they had led me into the carriage. Only then did I see the gift Blanche had left me.

It was a silk pouch. I opened its strings, letting its contents pool in my hand. It was a necklace, a thin gold chain set with a beautiful tiny rose.  A rosebud.

A sob threatened my chest and I quickly drew the curtains. Mother's cryptic words, Blanche's warning, all of it fell aside as I realized that despite our distance, despite this tense ball that formed in my stomach every time I thought of her, Blanche was still Blanche. All these years, the girl that had been my sister might have faded, but she had never disappeared.

And that, above all else, hurt the most.

#

I was still clutching the necklace to my chest when the carriage door opened. I hastily wiped my cheeks and sat up straight, dropping the necklace to the bench and hiding it under my skirts like it was some kind of forbidden dagger.

A woman stepped in. Dark brown curls and golden bronze skin combined with the pinks and yellow of my handmaiden's attire. She gave an awkward curtsy, poised half in and outside the carriage door.

Then she looked up. It was the servant from last night's dinner.

"Your Highness." She gave a smile, making no move to incline her head like what was proper. "Lady Sabine. I have been assigned to keep you company as we travel to Garnette."

I hesitated before nodding and she straightened, moving into the carriage. I had been told I would be assigned my own handmaidens, but I had been given no notice that one would be accompanying me in my carriage.

"Miss Moreau," I said in acknowledgment. I was embarrassed that anyone would see me in this state, and I knew how the maids liked to gossip. "I would rather travel alone. You may ride with the other maids."

Instead of heeding my command, she took a seat across from me. I looked sharply at her, irritation prickling.

"My apologies, Your Highness. Queen's orders."

I blinked, trying to conceal my surprise. My mother had ordered a maid to accompany me? Why in all the Heavens would she do such a thing?

"Well you have no need to obey them. I would prefer some privacy." There was an edge to my voice. It was also a test. Whether the Queen had assigned the handmaiden or not, it would be only us I going forward. If she respected the Queen orders more than mine now, I would know she couldn't be trusted.

Lady Sabine gave a thin smile. Her gaze was focused. Bold.

Improper.

"Queen's orders I'm afraid outrank even yours."

My fingers tightened on my skirt and I looked away from Lady Sabine's dark eyes. Her gaze made my skin prickle with heat. The way they were peering at me, measuring me, taking in my red tear stained cheeks. Was she really a handmaiden?

Silence settled between us. I contemplated stepping outside, calling on my guards, demanding a different maid take her place at least. But something about Lady Sabine gave me pause. Perhaps she expected me to do just that. Besides it would only cause a scene, and that was the one thing I could think of as more intolerable than the woman currently in front of me.

Once we were in Garnette I could relieve myself of her presence. I was sure she had been chosen for a reason—perhaps she was masterful at applying cosmetics, styling hair. Something that might forgive her terrible manners.

I cleared my throat. "Very well."

Outside, voices rose. The horses whinnied impatiently as the last of the carriage doors closed I peered out the curtains just as the carriage jolted forward. It took all my energy to not look outside.

But something Blanche had said stuck with me as I glanced back at Lady Sabine. She was gazing out the window, hands clasped before her.  I took in the straight nose, her tall height. The winged rose pinned to the collar of her dress—a symbol of devotion to the Great Queen Mother. Her dark skin suggested southern, likely Cristanian heritage, yet she had the faith and the fluid accent of a Roserian, forsaking the Sun Goddess of the South.

Lady Sabine caught me looking and I quickly averted my gaze. She looked familiar, but other than last night's dinner I couldn't recall ever seeing her before—which would have made sense if she wasn't also one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen.

I chewed the inside of my lip, a bad habit Mother had always hated.

"Trust no one."

I closed my eyes and leaned back against my seat. I was being silly. She was just a Lady of the Court. Perhaps she had spent some time away, which was why I couldn't remember her.

Outside light flickered in between the curtains of the carriage. The cobblestone rocked under the steady flow of the horse's gait, and cheers rose and fell as the people of Verenice—of Rosailles—said their final farewells to their Princess.