Servers swarmed the room carrying in trays of steaming food. Sabine brushed past me again, quick as a whisper, placing a plate of food before me. I found it hard not to glance up at her as she lifted the lid, revealing a steaming soup, its cream base complemented by potato dumplings. She drifted off and I caught Prince Pierre's gaze, fixed on me. He arched a brow, sending me a secretive smile before he turned, addressing the courtiers around the table, all of whom vied for his attention.

I focused on my soup, finding though it was delightful, that it didn't sit well. Peels of laughter broke out after Pierre made a joke, and I was quickly forgotten.

Jourdon turned to me, catching me by surprise. Something seemed to be tugging at him and he considered me a moment. I paused, putting my spoon down.

He cleared his throat. "I meant to ask earlier, are your rooms to your liking?"

"Yes," I replied after a short hesitation. "They are very nice, thank you."

His lips remained pressed into a firm line. "Good. I had the maids study Roserian design. I hoped it would make the transition easier for you."

The rooms were Jourdon's doing? I studied him. If he was not a fan of the marriage arrangement, why try to make me comfortable? He had given no indication thus far that he cared even a little that I was here. I wasn't sure what to make of him.

The silence stretched on and I returned to my soup, assuming the conversation was over. Until Jourdon leaned over again. "Sorry about my brother."

I shot him a polite smile. "No need to apologize. He seems nice."

This small talk was pricking at every one of my nerves. It was nice for Jourdon to initiate for once, but I was gathering, based on how he kept glancing around us, that it was mostly for show. He and I not talking a word at dinner would only attract more attention.

My  gaze wandered over to the other prince, who was tilting his head, leaning back to look at me, his eyes glinting. I immediately darted my gaze away, caught off guard. But it was too late, Pierre had already noticed us looking at him.

He leaned over conspiratorially. "What slander is my dear brother already spreading about me?"

Jourdon's jaw ticked and he took a deep sip of his wine, the first time he had touched it all night. "I was apologizing for your tardiness on your behalf, as you neglected to do so."

Pierre's eyes widened, and he pressed a hand to his chest. "Oh dear, how terrible of me! Please forgive me, Princess." His lips curved, not even remotely ashamed. He reached out, clasping my hand in his. Long-pointed nails glittered with bright red paint against my skin. "I did not mean to offend you; I am just horrible at keeping track of time."

His hands were cool against mine, but it didn't do anything to placate the way my cheeks immediately flushed. Something about Prince Pierre was just... too much. Too wild, too extravagant. Kind of like Elliotte, but with more make up and more glitter with a wicked smile... and also very decidedly not my brother.

I carefully withdrew my hand from his. "No need to worry, Your Highness, we were not here long before you. I'm sure you did not mean anything by it."

As per usual tradition, the King would arrive last as he was the highest rank, but because this dinner was to welcome me, Jourdon and I had been supposed to arrive last to the festivities. I could see where Pierre's arrival could be seen as a slight against be, but I saw nothing in him to assume such ill intent. It was likely just as he said--he had lost track of time.

Pierre grinned, and settled an elbow on the table, propping up his chin as he peered at me.

"You are a delight! I am envious, brother. I should hope to find a match half as dazzling as your betrothed."

I had to force myself to look away from Pierre. I turned to Jourdon, who was looking between the two of us, a frown curving his mouth.

"I hope you can help me keep her busy. As you know I will not have much time in the coming days."

I tilted my head. What did Jourdon mean, he wouldn't have much time? Uneasiness soured the little food I had eaten.

Pierre's expression flickered, his smile disappearing for a moment before returning in force. "Ah yes, there is that. We both know I am better at entertaining anyway. Your betrothed will not find herself with a dull moment in my care." He turned, addressing the other courtiers, who had been doing little to disguise the fact that they were listening in on the conversation. "Am I right? Shall we show Princess Ophelia how we entertain ourselves here in Garnette?"

That sounded like a terrible idea if Pierre was involved. But I smiled politely, already trying to think up excuses I would use later. Getting to know Jourdon was my priority, as the fate of our two nations rested on this marriage being a success, and he would serve to be challenging enough.

I needed him on my side. Especially now. Especially here. It struck me, now. The vipers den my sister had mentioned. I gazed around at all the courtiers, wine staining their lips, rich dishes of steaming food before them. They were all polite to me now, but I would be a fool to assume they liked me.

I was a target painted in red, my Rose heritage a beacon amongst them.

The rest of the meal continued on. After the soup came a round of mushrooms and caviar, which was then followed by a main dish of duck in a rich wine sauce with a side of potatoes, a common crop in the southern regions of Garnette. I was not used to it, accustomed to the breads and barleys of home, but I found it all quite pleasant and rich.

Dessert followed; a fine set of puffed pastry stuffed with sweet berries and creamy cheese. I enjoyed the food, growing less tense by the end of the meal than when it started.

The King stood to speak, "We have arranged some special entertainment this evening in honor of our newest member of the court, my future daughter, Princess Ophelia."

I smiled, curious about what he had planned. I saw the Marquise look up at him, a tightness around her eyes. She pressed her lips together but remained silent.

"I am excited to see what it is," I replied.

King Gilroy smiled, but it was a greasy, sly thing. Nerves gathered in my stomach. This must have been what Jourdon had been concerned about. I had been determined to prove to him that I wasn't easily ruffled, but now I felt less sure. I had no idea what to expect. The doors opened, a troupe of performers walking in.

"I think you will like it very much. I introduce Garnette's finest talent, The Begger's Jewels."

One of the performers stepped forward, bending in a low bow. Like the rest of the men of the court, he had his hair styled sleek and dark, his clothing mostly black except for a few shimmering gems.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. We are honored."

"Tell me, what are you performing for me and my guests today?"

The actor's eyes darted to the Marquise for a brief second, and I saw her give a slight shake of her head. The performer straightened, and I might have imagined it, but he glanced over at me nervously before clearing his throat.

"The Comedy of Roses, Your Majesty. At your last-minute request. We have done our best to get things in order at such late notice."

The King nodded, sitting back in his chair, a smile parting his shining face. I looked around the room, not sure what any of it meant. I was not familiar with the title, as it was not one that I was familiar with in Rosailles.

"Well, get to it. Don't leave our Princess waiting."

I watched as the men arranged themselves, growing uneasy as one of the men donned a bright red wig, draping himself in crimson robes, a mockery of the ceremonial dress I had worn on special occasions back home. The clothing of the Rose Heir. Beside me, Jourdon's jaw was tensed and his nostrils flared.

Perhaps there was a good reason this play was not performed in Rosailles.

The man dressed in the wig pranced out on to the floor, introducing himself as Queen Roselle IV, and I sat straighter in my chair, schooling my features into my best imitation of my mother. As I watched it play out before me, anger flared up inside me, and I curled my hands into my skirts under the table. I knew which part of history this play was meant to portray.

The Treaty of Peace as was laid out between Queen Giselle of Rosailles and King Aurel of Garnette. During the Great Wars that occurred hundreds of years ago, our first Roserian queen, Queen Roselle Rosiers, had been gifted by the Angels with magic, something that made it hard for the nations to maintain peace afterward—even once the war was won and Rosialles separated into its own nation.

Especially when King Aurel took power, his hatred for the Angels formed a special type of anti-Angel sentiment known as Aurelism, a belief system within Garnette that led to people hunting a killing anyone believed to worship the Angels, calling them witches. Tensions peaked, and Giselle visited Garnette herself, much like how I am now, a preliminary truce eventually struck between Giselle and Aurel which managed to hold off the worst of the fighting for a time.

She agreed to lock away our royal magic to placate the other nations, afraid of the power Rosailles wielded over them. And so, the Queen of Cristaney presented them with one of their magic sealing crystals, and the Queen sealed the Great Queen Mother's magic away. The same magic that currently sat latent in my veins.

It remained locked away in a place only the Rose Heirs were told, forgotten, as Magierre started to heal. But in the years to follow, tension still remained, from trade to skirmishes near the mountains that led to raids and worsening tensions. Aurelism never completely died out, rumors of their special school where they trained Angel hunting assassins still lingering. The only two living people that knew how to unlock the magic were myself and my mother, not even Blanche knew. I gritted my teeth as the play continued, a small part of me wondering if they would be so bold had things unfolded differently. But then I likely wouldn't be here to begin with.

The Garnetti version of our shared history was somewhat different than what I had been told. It presented Queen Giselle as a flashy, trifling woman that seduced and slept with many men. In it, she was a lover scorned, who locked away her magic in an effort to get the king Aurel to leave his wife for her. I found myself biting the inside of my cheek hard as the slander played out before me, drawing blood in an effort to keep my disgust at bay.

It was obvious this was all a plot on the King's part to get me to react, to show weakness. My hands trembled, but I kept them drawn tightly in my lap. The binding under my dress seemed to tighter than before, and it became harder to breathe. But I didn't dare show it.

If such a play had ever been shown to my mother, they would all find themselves without their heads by sundown. Eyes drifted to me, watching me, waiting to see how I reacted. I refused to give them the satisfaction, a slow acidic burn settling in my stomach. When it finally ended, I applauded politely. I sensed the Kings gaze upon me, so I plastered a smile on my face as the actors gave a final bow. I could do this, pretend. I was used to it.

But never had I been surrounded by so many strangers. Back home the gazes had never really been spiteful or mocking. Curious, intrigued, maybe even a bit jealous--but never like this. My skin prickled.

I wasn't home. I was in Garnette. A country made up of my enemies.

Clearly bored with my lack of response, the King took his leave once the actors had cleared out. I let out a tight breath and looked over to see Pierre gazing at me, pity in the set of his mouth

It was too much. Embarrassment made my cheeks flame. Today had been a whirlwind of emotions. First, there had been meeting Jourdon, only to find him cold and distant. All I wanted was peace between our countries. It was why I had come all the way here, placing myself in this foreign palace. Why I had convinced myself I would be happy marrying Jourdon.

But I wasn't so sure anymore. Everything was wrong. Tears threatened at the corners of my eyes, my hands were slick with sweat. I was going to be ill. My head throbbed and the Angels' whispers grew louder, hard to ignore, a cacophony unfolding against my eardrums.

"I would like to take my leave. I can have my guards escort me." I stood from the table, not bothering to wait for Jourdon's permission. He might have warned me, but if he knew his father was like this, he could have tried to prevent it too. A small part of me wondered if maybe he had purposely let it all unfold, like some kind of sick test.

This time I didn't care if I failed. I was too tired to keep trying right now. Perhaps in a day or two, once I could get my bearings in all this, but right now I couldn't help but hate Jourdon a little bit.

For the first time, I considered that perhaps there would never be peace between Garnette and Rosailles after all.

I started away from the table, Darren and another guard parting from the wall toward me. Sabine had disappeared into the kitchens with the other servants, cleaning up after the meal.

A chair moved behind me.

"Ophelia, wait. I will escort you."

My lips pursed and I wanted to tell him there was no need. But I stayed my tongue, pausing just long enough to let him catch up. Behind me, I felt the weight of Pierre's gaze as he watched us. It was a good thing most of the courtiers had cleared out already, but I was sure there would still be plenty of gossip of this night come morning.

I didn't care. I just wanted to be alone. A faint whisper played next to my ear, thudding, like the beat of my heart as it roared through my veins.

Jourdon and I took to the hall. It was quieter out here, heavy chandeliers lighting the way with flickers of light, playing shadows across the dark paintings of the hall. So different from home. So foreign.

I wanted to go home. I wanted it to be Elliotte beside me. If he were here, I would tell him everything and then he would take my arm in his and plot vengeance on all those who wronged me. This might have been my duty, but for once, I allowed myself to loathe it. To hate all the wasted years. All the time I could have been living freely instead of waiting for something that wasn't even real. It didn't make sense. I was the Rose Heir. The inheritor to the Rose magic. Sure, it was locked away. But it didn't make sense to put me in our enemy's hands. What if Jourdon and I had a daughter? Would she be gifted like I was?

It would mean the power of the Rose line wasn't ours anymore. It would be Garnette's.

"I'm sorry, Ophelia... I sensed my father had something up his sleeve, but I never knew—"

"It is quite alright," I replied. Moments ago, I might have been thrilled Jourdon was walking me back to my room. Now I felt sick. I had thought I could handle whatever the King threw at me with grace, but I saw it for what it was. A threat.

I was not welcome here. And of them all, Jourdon had been one of the least welcoming. I needed to breathe. To escape this endless anxiety that had started the moment we met.

"There is no need to escort me, Jourdon. I have my guards."

He winced. "I know. But I feel like I should anyway."

Politeness be damned. I spun on him. We were in a quieter area of the palace, and I did not mind Darren witnessing.

"Since the moment we have met, you have made it clear you can't bear me. The Marquise arranged this marriage, and I understand that you may not be pleased about that. So please, Jourdon, do not feel the need to pretend any longer. Whether you want this wedding or not, it does not matter. Our marriage was a condition for peace, so because of it I will find a way on my own here. I suggest you do the same." Tears stung my eyes and I clenched my fists.

Something in Jourdon's mask cracked. He took me in and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Wait, no, Ophelia. That's not—"

"Stop." I shook my head. "Just stop. Don't say anything. Every time you do you leave me just as confused as before." I turned from him, prepared to make off to my rooms myself.

Angels curse him.

"Please, wait. I need to explain." He took hold of my arm before I could go further.

"Let go of me," I demanded. Darren shifted, always watching in my shadow, eyes on Jourdon's hand as it gripped my wrist. His expression soured.

My betrothed or not, Darren's first concern was my safety. I met Jourdon's gaze with a fierce one of my own, and his grip relented.

"I didn't mean to make you feel this way, Ophelia. We have only just met and... Maker, I don't know what I am doing."

I pursed my lips. I considered him. His hair was a mess from his hands, and he shifted uncomfortably. When I first met him, he was cold, distant. Caught up in the grief of his mother. Perhaps he still was. But now his attention was on me. He sucked in a breath and looked uncertain.

"Fine," I relented. "I wish to get to my rooms."

Jourdon nodded, and moved to my side. We continued the rest of the way. The whole time Jourdon seemed on the verge of saying something like a held breath lingered between us. Some of my foul mood dissipated. It didn't seem like he was in on whatever his father's cruel game was, but it didn't mean I was ready to trust him. When we reached my doors, Jourdon paused, shifting uneasily.

Hours ago, such a scene might have inspired me. I might have imagined Jourdon taking my hand in his. Maybe he would have kissed it, like his brother had, something intimate passing between us. If I really let my thoughts wander, perhaps he would have kissed me. I looked up at him, hoping to get something. Anything. Even if it would confuse me all over again.

Instead, we stood there awkwardly. Jourdon made no effort to reach for me, and I stayed a few paces apart from him.

"There is something I wish to tell you, but I fear you will only be angrier with me."

Dread threaded its way through my stomach. How else could this day possibly go worse?

When I didn't reply, Jourdon continued, "Tomorrow I have to leave. I was dealing with a situation at one of our ports before my mother fell ill. I'm afraid it still needs my attention."

My stomach sank. He was leaving so soon?

It was my turn to layer myself with the protection of apathy. "How long?"

Jourdon's jaw tightened. "Three weeks at most, I will try to return in two."

I stared ahead numbly. "We are to be married in less than a month."

Jourdon reached for my hand. Oh, how hard he was trying now! I had no patience for it, pulling my hands out of his reach.

"I know. I apologize. Once I am back, I promise—"

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to hear the rest, whatever false promise he would make. I couldn't keep pretending, I couldn't continue clinging to hope. The foolish idea I had held onto since I was a girl slipped from my fingers. I wasn't getting my fairytale.

"Very well," I said shortly, cutting him off. "I will see you then. Good night, Jourdon."

I turned from him, leaving him in silence. The doors to my room thudded behind me.